The story below was written by m’Lady Tethys as a birthday gift for me – I was thrilled to wake up and find it waiting for me in my inbox, along with an audio clip where ey read it aloud to me (as you can probably imagine, I wanked my brains out listening to it). It is with permission and with great pleasure that I share the words with you now, after keeping it to myself for a month.
The crowd this year was even larger. Not that this was a surprise; word had got around about a new star on the scene, and this was to be her first public showing. The private sessions were being discussed enthusiastically – about how she was prime fuckmeat, about how she could easily take all that people could give her and more, about how her fuckholes were a delight to any tongues, cocks, fingers or hands that used them. The talk had whetted the appetites of some, and stoked the fires of curiosity in others.
The general air of impatience within the crowd turned to excitement, as the auctioneer climbed the steps of the circular presentation platform and strode into its centre. She smiled and waved to various points of the compass, then held up her hands for silence. The chatter of the crowd dissipated rapidly.
“Thank you all for coming today. I know you’re all excited to see what’s on offer, and I can tell you, I’m certainly excited as well! We have flesh you’ll be more than delighted to see, feel, use and be serviced by. You can be confident our staff have personally and thoroughly pre-screened the fuckmeat to ensure it meets the high standards you’ve come to expect from us. Let’s get started!”
Whore cow number 1 of Lamdba Farm waited with her owner at the foot of the presentation platform steps. She was, of course, entirely naked but for her collar, bell and ownership tag. Her owner could not only smell eir property’s cunt juices, but could actually see them running down the inside of her thighs. This was, of course, precisely why she was such a wonderful whore cow, and why she was in such demand – she not only wanted to be naked and exposed and available for use by others and the profit and pleasure of her owner, she needed it, and her physical responses demonstrated that clearly.
Still, her owner could sense an air of nervousness to her, and began gently stroking her back. “Relax, my fuckholes. Just be your gorgeous beautiful self, and everything will be fine.” She nodded silently, and tilted her head onto her owner’s shoulder.
The auctioning of the other two pieces of fuckmeat seemed to drag on and on interminably; but finally, it became her turn. A staff member motioned to her owner: “You’re up.”
She mounted the steps slowly, her proud owner following her, and then the two of them made their way to the centre of the stage. The auctioneer spoke.
“I know this is the moment many of you here have been waiting for. I present to you, whore cow number 1, of Lambda Farm!”
Whore cow number 1 looked out across the crowd, and noticed some people were quite shamelessly stroking various parts of their bodies at the sight of her. Comments were being exchanged, and though she couldn’t hear what was being said, the smiles and lecherous grins involved gave her some idea of the thoughts on people’s minds. The auctioneer spoke again.
“Bidding will start at 100 credits. Though this amount is obviously noticeably higher than the other starting prices today, our research has determined that anything less would not be fitting for such quality. So, 100 credits. Do I hear more? 110, I have 110. 130, I have 130 ….”
Her owner smiled. There was something special about these service auctions. Whoring out eir property at fixed rates to individuals and groups was certainly satisfying – not to mention arousing – but being able to see people compete for access to eir property, and compete by being willing to put down hard credits? That was more than gratifying.
“180, 180 …. 200! I have 200 ….”
Hearing the bid price reach double its starting value was too much; she spontaneously orgasmed, her legs buckling underneath her, cunt milk visibly squirting onto the platform floor in long pulses. Her owner immediately went to support her, and she leaned on em gratefully as she bellowed in her pleasure.
The bidding suddenly became even more enthusiastic.
“220! 250! 290! 300!”
A cheer went up each time the bid rose. The crowd itself seemed to have become a single organism straining towards orgasm, eager to reach a point of satisfied completion.
“370! Do I hear more than 370? More than 370? Anyone?”
The crowd went quiet, expectant.
“Going once. Going twice …. Sold! Sold to number 92 for 370 credits, a new record!”
The crowd erupted into a cacophony of yelling, whistling, howling and clapping. Whore cow number 1 visibly orgasmed again, ecstatic at being so publicly recognised as such exceptional fuckmeat.
Her owner smiled broadly, and scanned through the list of bidders. Number 92 …. The Drake Consortium. A group whose depravity was legendary. Organisers of events that went for days at a time. A group whose members made use of all sorts of substances to push their own bodies to their limits, all the better to take their pleasure from each others’ bodies and anyone else in their orbit. Hedonists who would have no qualms whatsoever about using whore cow number 1 of Lambda Farm thoroughly, inside and out, leaving marks and bruising that would last for weeks, not mere days.
Oh yes, this was going to be a wonderful experience indeed.
Thank you, m’Lady, for such a delicious birthday story!