He took her hips in his hands and pushed her down, forcing her to take more of the phallus. Her head came up and she moaned with need. She could barely see. Everything was red. The blood behind her eyes, the blaze of her desire, the engorged flesh of her sex, all red, red everything everywhere, red as the man’s mask, the man who owned her. He lifted her up and off the pedestal and put her on her feet. He’d opened his black suit pants and his cock was out, erect and glistening with fluid at the engorged red tip. She had to have it inside her. She had to. She reached for it but he caught her hands, pushed her back into the wall and held her wrists over her head. Desperate, she thrust her hips forward to rub against him. Every move she made sent wild tremors through her body. The plug was deep in her ass still and she wanted it there. But she needed his cock inside her too. Needed it more than anything.
He guided the tip to graze her painfully swollen clitoris and she cried out. With one quick pump of his hips, he pushed the tip through the folds of her labia. With one more pump he penetrated her and with a final pump he entered her entirely. She came off her feet as he lifted her with his hips and pinned her again, this time against the wall. Her breasts bounced as his thrusts lifted her and lifted her. She was nearly screaming in her ecstasy, out of her mind with her pleasure. It felt like she had a rod of iron inside her, as thick, as hot, and as hard as anything could be. She didn’t know this man at all but he owned her. He’d bought her body and now he owned her. She was his slave, his possession, chattel, an object, his to do with as he willed. And what he willed was to fuck her against the wall, ram himself deep into her, pound her and pound her until she came with an unholy moan. Her head fell back against the wall and the man in the red mask kissed her neck, sucking the skin there until she felt it break against his teeth. She didn’t care. The pain spiked the pleasure. The plug in her ass and the cock in her pussy magnified the orgasm a hundred times. His thrusts were relentless. The man in the mask rammed her once more, twice more, a third time and then she felt the burning seed explode inside her so deep she could swear she could taste it on her tongue.
Mona went limp, but she was still impaled on the man’s penis, her feet twined around his thighs, her back pressed to the wall. She rested her head on his shoulder and breathed. Who was this man who’d bought her? What would he do with her? What had she given herself over to? It was wrong, all wrong. She shouldn’t be having sex with this stranger, this cypher, this ghost. She put her hands on his chest to push him away.
"Put me down,” she said.
"Not yet.”
"No, now,” she said though he remained inside her, still hard.
"Carte blanche,” the man in the red mask said.
"That’s for Malcolm, not—”
The man took off his mask. It was Malcolm.
"I told you I liked to play games sometimes,” he said with that smile he stole from the devil. "Didn’t I?”
"Malcolm…” She stared at him in shock and in horror, still pinned to the wall. "You had a beard.”
"Did I?” he asked, lifting his eyebrow.
"You did. Was it…It had to be a fake. You fooled me. I was so sure…” The four men were likely friends of his and when they’d haggled behind her back, Malcolm had taken off his false beard and put on the red mask to trick her. And she’d been tricked, thoroughly tricked.
"You saw what I wanted you to see,” he said. "The oldest magician’s trick.”
"Is this a trick too?” She struggled to free herself from the organ that penetrated her and his body that trapped her against the wall.
"Oh no, this is real. This is the only thing that’s real to me,” he said. "Come to bed.”
He pulled out of her and drew her to the waiting bed, where he threw back the covers and put her on her hands and knees on the white sheets. He stripped out of his clothes and joined her on the bed. Mona shivered with eagerness as Malcolm pushed her hair off her back and kissed her spine from the base to the nape of her neck.
"We won’t be needing this anymore,” he said as he gently pulled the plug from her ass. She felt far too empty the moment it was out of her body.
"Malcolm…” She made his name a plea. Malcolm positioned his hips behind her and slowly entered her, filling the emptiness inside her. His shaft was wider than the plug but she wanted it inside her more. Mona leaned forward until her head rested on the pillow. Her ass opened up as she bent low and Malcolm was able to enter her fully. She took it all, every inch, and felt a sense of pride that she could.
"You enjoyed being sold and bought,” he said as he pumped his cock into her. The strokes were long but not hard, and she could take them easily.
"I hated it,” she said.
"You lie. It’s fine. I like liars. Lie all you want, my darling. I know you loved it. Your body tells me what your words don’t.”
"I’m your slave,” she said.
"No. You’re my employee,” he said. "A slave has no choice. But you’re here because you want to be. Aren’t you? Admit it, Mona…admit you love being my whore,” he said as he slid in and out of her ass. No man had ever taken her in that orifice before. Only Malcolm. And only because he’d paid her.
"Never,” she said. "Not in a hundred years.”
"A hundred years? Is that all?”
"You sold me at auction. You’re the devil.”
"I’m not the devil, my darling,” he said, sinking his teeth into the side of her neck again like some kind of rutting beast. "The devil wants your soul. I only want your body.”
He could believe that if wanted, but Mona knew the truth. If he kept fucking her like this, soon enough he would own both.
Nymphs and Satyr
Mona wanted to be angry at Malcolm but it was impossible. Although she’d been frightened by the masked men he’d brought to their liaison and furious he’d tricked her into having sex with a man she thought was a stranger, she couldn’t deny she’d never been more aroused in her life. All those men…all those hands…all those mouths on her body…she couldn’t think of it without growing damp. Often she’d sneak into the back room, lie on the bed, and bring herself to orgasm with her own hands as she recalled that night, the hands holding her legs in the air while a man she didn’t know from Adam plumbed the depths of her body with his fingers. And she could still feel that brutal phallus inside her, pressing against the plug in her ass, the wall of tissue between them quivering and tender. And Malcolm’s cock in her ass, she remembered it with such pleasure her nipples hardened with even the slightest recollection of it. Her body buzzed constantly with low-level ardor. If the month didn’t pass any faster, she might go mad waiting for him.
The month passed slowly. She didn’t go mad.
Instead, she went to an art appraiser to have Malcolm’s payment for her night on the auction block authenticated. He’d left a small pastel drawing of figs on the bed, which the appraiser recognized instantly as the work of nineteenth-century Swiss-French painter Jean-étienne Liotard. She’d almost been hoping for another Degas so she could see Sebastian Leon again. But could she do such a thing? Date a man while her body was promised and sold to another? She was certain Malcolm wouldn’t mind her taking another lover. He’d even told her he wouldn’t stop her from seeing someone else. Malcolm only required her body one night a month after all. But how would she tell Sebastian about Malcolm? She couldn’t, of course, so she did not call him or find an excuse to see him. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her. After two nights with Malcolm and his perversions, she was pleased to find she still had a conscience.