19
Lynn
"Wear the Chinese necklace," he said.
"Why?" Sometimes I wore it; sometimes not. He had never specifically mentioned it again after Saint Louis.
"Because I tell you to."
So the jade and gold necklace hung from my neck as I eagerly disembarked from the Delta jet and hurried into the terminal, where I found only Jefferson, who greeted me atypically with a kiss on the mouth replete with wet tongue and hands roving over my ass that attracted attention from other disembarking passengers.
"He couldn't make it to the airport," was all Jefferson said about Brad's absence on the way to Palos Verdes; but when the Rolls Royce headed up the private drive to the estate, he turned off at his own house and parked.
My assumption that he was merely stopping to pick up something before continuing to the main house was proved unfounded when he came around and opened the door for me.
"What's going on?"
"Brad's in Europe. He'll be back tomorrow. He told me to take care of you tonight."
My disappointment must have been obvious.
"Don't be so sad," Jefferson grinned. "It's dinner just for the two of you tomorrow. And I'll do my best to keep your mind occupied tonight."
Which he did. Methodically plundering my body all night long. Coldly bringing me to orgasm after orgasm with his thick cock and tongue in hole after hole. Waking me from sleep, using his magnificent muscles to drive me into blithering frenzies; then lying back and making me move on top of him or on my knees fuck back on his cock up my ass while he remained motionless, until my muscles were on fire and rubbery with exhaustion.
By morning I felt as bruised as if I had just played in the Super Bowl, and I called Broadthroup's Beverly Hills office and canceled all my meetings and slept all day.
----
"It was unavoidable. Last minute," he said.
Maria had gone. Dinner was over and we were sitting with snifters of calvados, a bottle of which he had brought back from Paris.
"You could have let me know."
"How? By posting something on your computer that Christopher and everyone else at Broadthroup would read, or perhaps call you at home and leave a message with Winston? Besides you were coming out anyway and I knew I would see you tonight. And Jefferson promised to take good care of you."
"Oh, he did."
"I'm sure he did. To shift the subject slightly, the necklace goes perfectly with that dress."
I was wearing light green linen, sleeveless, neckline curving just below the necklace, which lay against my skin, and matching medium high heels.
"Are you going to tell me why you wanted me to wear it?"
"No. I'm going to do better than that. I'm going to show you."
I don't know if it was something in his tone or in his manner, but I felt my body tense with anticipation.
"When?'
"When you finish your drink."
I upended the snifter. I took too much and, despite being thirty years old and smooth as silk, the calvados burned.
Brad shook his fat head sadly. "A waste. But since you are so eager, come on."
I followed him into the bedroom area and watched anxiously as he crossed to the bank vault door and touched the keypad, becoming increasingly certain that something important was about to happen as the massive steel door swung silently open.
"After you," he said.
I walked around him and into the vault, hesitating on the stairs while he stepped through, shuddering slightly as the door closed and I knew I was entombed.
"Go on."
My heels tapped down the stone steps, and I gasped as I neared the bottom and saw that the vault was already occupied.
Two naked figures that had been lying on their sides were struggling to come upright, at least to their knees. This was difficult because they were joined together at three points and their hands were behind them, held horizontally in the middle of their backs by black leather cuffs attached to straps suspended from thick black leather collars around their necks.
By the time Brad had made it down, they were on their knees, facing one another, as they had no choice but to do.
"Go ahead. Get closer. Look." he said.
I took a tentative step.
The people were pleasant looking. Both, I thought, a little younger than I, late twenties or early thirties. The woman with short blond hair, and a trim figure, small breasts, good legs and ass, pretty rather than beautiful; the man with medium length medium brown hair, a nice face. If they were standing, I thought they would be nearly the same height, about 5'7" or 5'8", which was fortunate for them because otherwise the locks would have been even more uncomfortable for one or the other or both.
Steel rings pierced both her nipples and both of his. A small padlock secured her left nipple to his right and his right to her left. Lower, a steel ring running all the way through the head of his penis was locked to a similar ring running through the hood of her clit. Even when they moved in unison, the rings pulled, twisted, distending sensitive flesh. Both were completely devoid of pubic hair.
In the reflection from the highly polished metal walls of the vault, I thought I caught a glimpse of something else, and stepped around behind him, moved back a few steps, then behind her.
On the left cheek of their asses was the letter 'B' about one inch high, similar to the way Brad had drawn the initial on me for the pictures he sent to Winston. But these were not drawn. They were permanent tattoos.
The couple kept their heads down, eyes toward the floor, foreheads touching, and did not speak during my examination.
"So, what do you think?"
"I don't know what to think."
"Do you like them?"
"Who are they? What are they? How long have they been here?"
"Forgive me. I have forgotten my manners. That is Tiffany and that is Bob. I am sure you can tell them apart. Tiffany and Bob, meet Lynn."
They raised their heads and looked at me and said, "Hello," as though we were meeting at a party.
"Tiffany and Bob are married. To each other. And they both belong to me. Don't you?"
They both nodded agreement and said, "Yes."
"I bought them at an auction more than a year ago. Bob works for me now at one of my concerns out in the San Fernando Valley, where they live with their two children, Mike, age 7, and Debbie, age 5. A typical all-American family, except for the fact that I own them."
"You really mean it."
"Of course I do."
Remembering the reference that night at Chaucer's, I said, "There are such auctions?"
"Yes. Mostly voluntary, though I know of instances even in this country where the individuals on the block may not be completely willing, and in other parts of the world, the Middle East, parts of Europe, the former Soviet Union, Japan. Well, there are different rules. Sometimes people let themselves be sold for only a few hours, or a single night; sometimes for a weekend or a week or a month. It all depends on their motivation. Some do it for the money; some the thrill. Some do it permanently. A married couple on the block is rare. I only happened to hear by chance from a dominatrix who knew their former owner that Tiffany and Bob were going to be sold . They have proven reasonably satisfactory. I have, of course, put my imprint on their bodies and had them pierced. What else did you ask? Oh, yes, they have been here since about 5:00 this afternoon. Waiting patiently.
"Generally they are quite obedient. But tonight they are to be punished. Partly it is my fault. I have been spending so much time with you that I have neglected them. They are not permitted to have sex, even with each other, or even to masturbate, without first obtaining my permission, which I usually refuse. But they did. Last Tuesday night, after tucking little Mike and even littler Debbie in bed, they retired to their own and, succumbing to overwhelming temptation, fucked. Twice to be exact."
"How do you know that?"
"As much as I would like to rely on the honor system, alas my trust in human nature has too often been abused--though they quite probably would have confessed, wouldn't you, just to be punished? I'll bet there was even an extra frisson to the conjugal pairing in delicious anticipation of the retribution that would inevitably follow. But, no. I don't rely on honor. They undergo a polygraph test monthly. And this month they failed."
"Do you own many other people. slaves, whatever you call them?"
"I don't know about many. Some."
Brad took a long black leather whip, which lay coiled over the arms of one of the metal machines. "You had better step back," he told me.
The man and the woman were still on their knees. "Straighten up." Brad''s voice became sharp. Their bodies trembled, almost it seemed in anticipation rather than fear, as the end of the whip trailed slowly across their shoulders. "The interesting aspect of this is seeing how long it takes before love gives way to self-interest."
The whip flicked out and struck a light blow.
Both of them gave what sounded like a sigh, and pressed their bodies closer together, flattening her breasts against his chest, the inch of his cock forward of the ring slipping between her labia.
For several blows of ever increasing severity, they remained pressed together, motionless. But with the fifth or sixth, one of them moaned, and they both began to flinch. The bodies broke apart, though they could not separate by more than a sliver of space, then contorted. Nipples tugged nipples, cock tugged clit, as each tried to escape the full force of the whip, which of course meant exposing the other to it. They fell onto their sides, rolled, the locked rings tugging until it seemed that flesh must tear, Bob trying to get below Tiffany, Tiffany below Bob.
I looked up from their writhing forms. Brad's face remained calm, interested, observant, as his arm rose and fell as methodically as a pendulum. They began to beg him to stop, they howled promises of obedience, they promised anything. Tears spilled from their eyes; Bob's first.
When Brad finally stopped, their backs were crisscrossed with red streaks from shoulder to thigh.
"Move apart," Brad ordered.
Tiffany sobbed, "You know we can't"
