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From: tmquin@ibm.net (Thomas M Quin)
Subject: {ASS}SSK:The Horse Trader pt 2 (M+/F, Bond)
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*****************************************************************
STANDARD DISCLAIMER
===================
The following piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment and
has been posted only to an appropriate group on the Internet. If it is
found in any other place this is not the responsibility of the author.
The author explicitly prohibits.
1) The posting of this story in an incomplete form.
2) The use of this story in a larger work without his express
permission.
3) The use of this story on any CD, BBS or Website without the
written permission of the author.
This work is copyright ravishme 1998.
All characters in this story are fictitious, any similarity to
persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author does not
necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities detailed in this
story, some of which are dangerous or illegal.
rravishme@hotmail.com
*****************************************************************
"The Horse Trader" by ravishme
=========================
"The Bidding"
============
I woke up, groggy, slowly.... disoriented. As consciousness
slipped in, so did panic. I couldn’t see, and I couldn’t move. My
mouth was filled with cloth, making breathing difficult. I was
standing--sort of. My arms were tied high above my head, spread about
shoulder width apart. The pain in my shoulders, wrists and neck told
me I’d been this way for awhile. My legs were spread, and tied at the
ankle to something that wouldn’t let me draw my knees together.
A chill rippled my skin, and another wave of blinding panic
rolled over me as I realized I had been stripped of all my clothes
except my sensible silk teddy. I lifted my head, blindly trying to
discern where I was and how I got here.
When the rush of fear subsided slightly, I heard the soft
chomping of horses eating their hay, the occaisional snuffle, the
sounds of them moving in the straw. I moved my fingers as much as I
could, and felt stall bars. They ended about half-way to the floor, I
figured I was back in the big barn.
My calves were screaming in agony, and I was alternating between
the punishment of taking more weight on my hands, and pushing up with
my toes to ease the pressure when I heard them. Lots of them. I heard
men, despite the foreign tongue, I heard the edge of greed, the
gutteral growl of lust, the laugh of Russian vodka. I panicked,
pulling, twisting, writhing to loosen my bonds somehow.
The old horse trader laughed as he opened the stall door and saw
my struggles. I stilled as I felt and heard him approach, my breathing
shallow, quick, panicked. He said something to the other men, I heard
mubles which sounded like agreement. It sounded like there was half a
dozen of them.
What came next, I only remember in pieces. My mind refused to
make rational sense of it. I felt the old horse trader rip my teddy
down, exposing my breasts. I tried to struggle, and the murmers of
approval from the crowd had me stilling. Tears flowed from beneath the
blindfold. Muffled sobs escaped the gag. He lifted a breast, pinched
my nipple as I tried to cringe away... ran his hand down my abdomen,
over the slight plumpness of my belly. I felt his fingers rake through
the loose ends of my shoulder length caramel hair, testing the
softness. I think he smelled it.
I’ve never been to an auction, but when he started speaking, I
knew immeadiately that’s what this was. The cold was seeping into my
bones along with the fear. I began to shiver. My jaw ached from the
gag, my wrists burned from the rope.
After a few moments (which felt like hours,) the bidding seemed
to slow. Without warning, My hands were cut loose. I fell forward, and
the old horse trader pushed my to my knees, my legs still held open by
the bar between them. He quickly pulled my hands behind my back, tying
them again, then adding a few wraps around my elbows and upper arms.
Shame battled fear as my big, soft breasts were thrust forward. He
grabbed a handful of hair, pulling my head back, arching me
further.... Into waiting hands. Suddenly they were there. Testing the
flesh of my breasts, lifting them, holding them in their hands,
judging... smoothing their rough, calloused, cold hands over my
belly... lower... testing the muscle in my upper arm, measuring the
silky warmth of the inside of my thighs... painfully pulling on my
cold nipples...
I couldn’t take it. I thrashed, pulling, and my hair was yanked,
making me scream and cry. A unanimous laugh went up from the bidders.
Someone finished ripping my teddy, I felt the blush of shame reddening
my belly, moving up my chest... One reached for the newly exposed
thatch of hair, but the old horse trader yanked me up by my hair and
spoke gruffly to him. I was moved a few steps--next to impossible in
the straw of the stall, and then he forced me to bend over by lifting
my hands. With the ‘snick’ of a snap being closed, I was tied in that
position, my most vulnerable parts opened for display.
The bidding heated up again.
To contact the Author Please remove the _NS_
from the return address.
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