"Well, gentlemen, any other requests?” Malcolm asked. "Are we ready to start the bidding yet?”
She braced herself for the haggling. What were they buying? The right to fuck her? Or was it still part of the game?
"Bend her over,” one of the men said. "Let’s see all her holes.”
"If you insist,” Malcolm said.
"I want to know exactly what I’m getting,” the man in the red mask said. "If it’s no trouble.”
"I admire a savvy buyer. And no,” Malcolm said. "No trouble at all. I’ll put her on the pedestal.”
"Very good,” the red-masked man said. The other three men murmured their assent.
Pedestal? What sort of pedestal? Malcolm dragged her off the wooden platform and into the shadows. The light followed as one of the men lifted the floor candle and carried it over to the far corner of the room where Malcolm was taking her. She saw something there, something waist high and covered with a large velvet cloth. Malcolm pulled off the cloth and dropped it to the floor. It was a black leather stool of sorts, but wide enough for her to kneel upon easily. Jutting up from the center of the seat was a large thick phallus, smooth black leather and terrifyingly long—a foot long at least. She shrank from the sight of it, but Malcolm didn’t allow her to flee. He lifted her off her feet and placed her on the top of the pedestal. He took her hips and angled them so that the tip of the phallus kissed the entrance of her hole.
"Take it,” he said, an order she couldn’t refuse. Her body wouldn’t let her. She went down onto her hands and knees and sank onto the phallus, sliding her knees apart and taking as much of it into her as she could. As wet as she was, the massive object went into her easily and she rocked on it a little to take even more. She felt the muscles giving way to the phallus, accepting it, engulfing it. Malcolm had her pinned like a moth under glass. Pinned and put on display.
"Gentlemen, have a look,” Malcolm said. "I have oil here if you need it.”
The consummate salesman.
Mona hung her head, hiding her face behind her hair as the first man whose face she couldn’t see in this position came behind her and spread her buttocks apart. He made a pleased sound like he liked what he saw. He touched her with a finger and she gasped and shuddered. The fingertip was wet, covered in some sort of thick oil or lubricant. He slicked it all over the little hole, all around it. She tingled at the unusual sensation. It wasn’t unpleasant being caressed there on that sensitive opening, wasn’t unpleasant when the man slid a single finger into her as far as his finger could go. He held the finger in her, not moving it for a long time. She heard the men talking among themselves, saying things like "Very nice” and "Well done.” Inside her she felt the man moving his finger, not in and out, but around in a circle, opening her ever more and more.
"You have a plug?” the man asked Malcolm.
"Of course,” Malcolm said.
The finger left her but she soon felt something cold against her, cold and smooth like another phallus but far narrower than the one inside her sex. The man wielding it pushed the tip into her, paused, then pushed it in a few inches more as Mona let out a tense hiss between her teeth. Never before had a lover put anything into her ass—not a finger, not a phallus, not a cock. Yet here it was, going in as if it was made for her body. The man slid it in to the hilt and stopped. The base of the plug would let it go no deeper. Soft moans escaped her lips as Mona’s body adjusted itself to being doubly penetrated on the pedestal. She rocked back and forth, fucking herself with the phallus inside her vagina as the four prospective "buyers” walked around her. One stroked her hair, lifted it and sniffed it. Another stood by her face and took her nipples between his fingers and lightly pulled them. His fingers were cold and sent currents of electricity through her breasts and back. Another man played with her clitoris. His fingertip was wet with the oil as he stroked her. The last man rubbed her buttocks, caressing them lightly but over and over again. Sometimes he would pause to touch the plug or the phallus between caresses.
"Now, gentlemen,” Malcolm began, "let’s start the bidding, shall we?”
"I’ll take her for a hundred,” the man in the red mask said. A hundred dollars? A hundred thousand? A hundred days?
"Anyone wish to counter-offer?” Malcolm asked.
"Too rich for my blood,” the man in the gold mask said. He pinched her nipples again and she flinched as her sex contracted around the phallus.
"Mine too, I’m afraid,” said another man. He slapped her thigh lightly as if saying goodbye to prize horseflesh.
"I’d love to take her,” the last man said. "But I promised myself I wouldn’t spend more than eighty.”
"Then I think we have a deal, my good sir,” Malcolm said. The man in the red mask had been the one fondling her clitoris. Through the veil of her hair she saw him and Malcolm shaking hands. They moved out of her eye line, stood behind her. "Shall I take her off the pedestal for you?”
"No,” the man in the red mask said. "Leave her there. I’ll handle it.”
She heard footsteps, the door opening and closing, but she was certain the man in the red mask hadn’t left her because she felt his finger on her clitoris again. And then on her labia split wide by the huge phallus penetrating her.
"Magnificent,” he said. "Worth every penny.”