The Auction 25

The Auction

"My, Laura," Phyllis says in a happy purr, "she's really giving it to him."

"Yes." I agree as I watch my husband's balls jounce under the impact of the pegging the petite blonde is giving him up on stage. "She did win the bid." I observe, taking a quick glance up at the large screen monitor where the close up from the camera aimed up between his legs from below live streams the 'action' for audience members who prefer to relax in the more comfortable seating further back from the stage. I myself prefer the non-mediated version in front of me, but the close up does convey a visceral sense of impact as the balls jounce and his erection bobs in time with her thrusting. "But yes, she's getting her money's worth I guess."

"Uhnm." Phyllis says and nudges me approvingly as she watches. "Giving us ours too." Then, "Will he come that way, I mean without her needing to jerk him to finish? That would be so sweet." She enthuses.

Now, before I answer that, you're probably thinking I should begin this at the beginning. But if in medias res is good enough for Virgil, who are you, dear reader, to quibble? Besides, my husband, with his doctorate in literature, would appreciate the nuance, or lack thereof, of having his jouncing balls be the first image off my prurient palette to amuse you. They're a nice set; I wouldn't share him this way otherwise, and his erect penis is prettily flushed and twitching in a way that suggests the answer to Phyllis' hopeful inquiry just might be 'yes'.

To be honest though, I wasn't entirely sure this would be the best use of him for my own enjoyment. It's not that I object to pegging, I just have no urge to do it myself, so watching other women take men that way has less of that vicarious appeal these voyeuristic outings usually provide. But the bidding got so high and this little blonde, Cheryl I think or maybe it's Susan, had apparently taken a shine to my Mathew earlier in the evening. She suddenly insisted that she would offer five hundred dollars for a round of pegging, but only if she got to give it to him rather than either of the other two who had been put up to auction in that category.

Now, it's all in good fun and we

are

here to raise money for the Women's Center. But as my own inclinations have never led me to explore anal play with Mathew, I had no real idea how he'd take it or... quite literally, take it. Besides, my good friend Liz had already put up her pledge to sponsor him in the edging portion of the entertainment, so Susan's (or Cheryl's) offer, while quite generous, was not in entirely good form.

To be clear, when I say I am not inclined toward anal play, certain qualifications are in order. It's the visual of penetration that doesn't appeal to me; that and the thought (let alone reality) of me being the one doing it. Yet in certain situations, a male taking it up the anus for my entertainment can be appealing.

Case in point, there was a lovely and very satisfying set piece earlier this evening before dinner as attendees were arriving and grabbing those first drinks from the bar. It was not a formal stage presentation but a more casual viewing opportunity for people to gather round and chat; an ice breaker of sorts. At three hundred dollars a plate just to get in the door, it was a nice welcome gesture from Clairice, our hostess, to get folks in the mood to open their wallets for the upcoming auction.

A small straight-backed chair without arms had been set up on a slightly raised platform, like a speaker's dais, off to one side of the bar; far enough away so as not to interfere with the line forming for drinks. A generous floor space had been cleared out around it so attendees could mingle in a convivially cozy but not cramped 'arena' of sorts for viewing. Strapped upright to the chair, in the center of the seat, is a six or seven inch long black dildo glistening with what seems to be a generous amount of lubricant. The implications are obvious, but our hostess waits for a decent number of guest to arrive before leading out the intended recipient.

As I stand, drink in hand, greeting fellow Center members and making small talk with Liz on the side, I'm pleased to see many of the males brought for auction by wives and girlfriends are already fully or partially erect in anticipation of their future use. My Mathew, with his usual charmingly prompt response to the presence and attention of women he knows are here for just that, is already at full stand as we mingle with the early arrivals. All males in attendance having shed their clothing in the dressing room immediately upon arrival, the bob and sway of several nicely tumescent cocks among the small but growing crowd is a pleasant mood setter.

Mathew and I have agreed upon a budget - the charitable deduction, though welcome, only relieves so much - so I circulate a bit for a better look at a number of the males to inform my bidding. This is apparently when Cheryl (or Susan) first latches onto my husband, chatting away with him about who knows what as she eyes his body over the rim of her glass of Chardonnay.

But I digress. I'm soon distracted from my perusal of available auction stock when our hostess returns from a nearby storage room leading a young male.

I say young, and at first I am slightly taken aback by the lithe, boyish blonde she leads to the chair. I would learn later that he was nineteen and had been brought by the hostess's niece who attends college in town and met him in a first year art class. But just now I get this somewhat uncomfortable twinge of pleasure at the thought we've commandeered one of the local high school boys for our sport. I confess, as I age, I get worse and worse at guessing the ages of younger people; I swear my dental hygienist can't be more than 20 though I know she's gone through a four year degree program and worked in the office for several years.

I have no romantic illusions about the innocence of youth and all that. I know that, whoever this nubile young thing is, no one has dragooned him into this. He knows full well what he's here for and that lovely penis arcing up at such a pretty, fully erect angle when Clairice positions him in that inviting open stance up on the dais for initial viewing, makes clear his excitement at what he knows is coming. But all that said, there is something that strikes me as deliciously, but for the same reason unsettlingly vulnerable about him. One should not find transgression, even if only imagined, quite so delectable.

He's not being auctioned so there's no introduction; he's simply staged for viewing without comment. I like that; no name, no faux civilities or mock grand announcements of intent. The chair behind him and his arousal all the explanation needed. Audience members can make their own anticipatory comparisons between the dildo's dimensions and it's slender, narrow hipped intended recipient.

My sense of his vulnerability is only enhanced by the sight of his clean shaven genitals and helplessly erect penis. It's a very nice penis; not a trophy piece but slightly larger to scale than one would anticipate from his build and sporting a prominent glans that flares out nicely beyond the width of the shaft - a feature that always recommends itself in my appraisal. But to get back to my sense that yes, it's helpless; he's helplessly erect the way young men can be. It makes me picture Clairice's clever niece overmastering him, manipulating his sexual excitement with lurid stories about her aunt's salacious doings and how lovely it would be to share him this way. He looks out at the crowd, scanning faces, seeming to grow more excited, his penis flexing, as he takes in the women gathered to see his impalement and ejaculation. Yes, I approve of the staging; let him stand there a bit. There's no hurry, we're just starting things.

Clairice turns him so we can get a look at his ass. I feel another twinge of pleasurable ambivalence; he seems so scandalously boyish when he leans forward in that wide straddle to place his hands on the low seat in front of him. I don't find this vantage terribly appealing. Like I said, I enjoy the idea, but not the visual of male anal penetration, and with that dildo jutting up from the chair in front of him, my visual imagination (which, you have likely guessed can be lively to the point of distraction) simply goes there. I do enjoy this view of his balls from behind this way, but I am distracted a bit from that by the trepidation that either he himself or Clairice will spread his ass cheeks to make the suggestive, blatant. Call me finicky. Thankfully, we are spared that (or at least I am, whatever other women may think themselves cheated of) and he turns back to face the audience again.

Now as to the scandalously boyish aspect of this, my pleasure has somewhat eroded my reticence to enjoy the transgressive fantasy. Maybe he isn't old enough to get a drink at the bar, but they'd give him an AR15 and send him off to war if he asked so... look at him, he's asking for it. Who am I to quibble? Sure, it's a rationalization; but it's not like my enjoying this less will spare him. So as he staddles the chair and begins to lower himself onto the dildo I let the bad girl script writer in my imagination loose to narrate this as she pleases.

Clairice's niece has come up to the dais to assist. Since the chair has no arms or other means of support, she and aunty stand on either side offering an arm to steady him as he takes it in that wide, audience friendly straddle that lets us enjoy the view as the dildo slowly disappears behind the hang of his young balls. Yes, it tell myself, such young balls; just enjoy it. He wants you to. The way he looks out at us as his chest shudders and the young cock spasms with the first penetration, is charming.

Now, you see,

this

I very much like. Watching the expression on his face, the tension in chest and the strain of his spread thighs, the excited dance of his penis as he slowly works it up his ass for us. I can see the length of dildo behind his balls shortening, then lengthening a bit before shortening again as he works it in. But I don't see the actual penetration, just the bodily effects as - and this, dear reader, is important - as he does it to himself for our entertainment.

There is something sweet, almost poignant in the way he glances up once or twice at the niece; how she smiles and tilts her head out to look down at his penis to assure him of her interest and approval, speaks softly to him, "Yes, that's it.", until he has finally taken it all, his young balls settling, draping symmetrically on either side of the silly make believe balls at the dildo's base; like two full saddlebags draped across the back of a horse.

The women around me are appreciative and offer various comments, complimenting Clairice and her niece, some speaking gently to the young male in the chair who is left there for our perusal for a bit before things move on.

It's pleasant to see him teased that way; the slightly comical, but at the same time charming disparity between his pre-ejaculatory level of excitement and the playful, pornographic banter of the women just beginning to feel those pleasant twinges of arousal from this first bit of eye candy as we "warm up" at our more leisurely pace. As the evening progresses the disparity will diminish and things will get a lot more boisterous, but just now;

"Uhm, it's so nice to see young cock." A woman tells him when he meets her gaze as he scans the crowd. "C'mon, show me that young cock."

Which is, of course, completely redundant as he is already fully exposed. But it's not about logic, of course. It's about pushing those exhibitionist buttons that make him excited to do this in the first place; and for that, even with (or maybe especially because of) that silly repetition of the "young cock' cliché (the fact that it is, in fact, a young cock, doesn't make it less of a cliché, just a more effective one perhaps) it works just fine.

The woman stands a bit off center to one side in the crowd. Though the way his legs are spread she has a perfectly good view of things, his response is all but reflexive - again, something helpless about it - he turns his hips slightly in her direction and lifts to offer that 'young cock' for her particular appraisal. Each movement of course twists and moves that dildo up his ass, and I like knowing that without needing to see it as I watch his predictable (yet no less entertaining for that) responses each time he's verbally tweaked.

"Lift, show me the hang of your balls. Up, yes, just there, hold that."

"Down now, let's see you take it all."

"Up, show me your balls."

Two women tag team him playfully to get him fucking himself for the audience.

Other women simply coo their encouragement at him, or prod him to answer silly but erotically effective (at least in the circumstances) questions about his willingness, eagerness or need to come for us or lapse into the rhetorical with gems such as; "You like it up the ass, don't you?"

The questions are not mocking; we are all very much conscious of our feminine complicity; like the proverbial tree in the forest, there are no spectacles without spectators and we make no pretense to enjoy this less - if inevitably somewhat differently - than our male volunteers. The point is to agitate him, and ourselves, in ways that add to the ambiance of convivial pleasure.

I know I'm deflating the dominatrix balloon for humiliation geeks out there by saying such things. But the power dynamic we enjoy at such gatherings arises naturally and willingly on both sides from the fairly simple sexual mechanics - naked men who crave attention and release, and clothed women who enjoy objectifying them - without the need for elaborate costumes or faux honorifics like 'mistress' or boot licking and... don't get me started. Because all I really meant to say about this is that the sport of agitating our young man this way; getting him clenching and shifting and reflexively bucking gently on his chair, pushing his and our mutual voyeur/exhibitionist buttons; this is the sort of anal play I like; watching his face and body as, with every shift and squirm I know that dildo up his ass is prodding and stirring and yet seeing he's truly unable to sit still under the playful barrage of female voices.

As icebreakers go, along with the alcohol beginning to flow, it's pretty effective at warming up the attendees (yours truly included). But most of the expected guests have arrived by now and dinner is yet to be served, followed by the auction over desert and coffee. So the young man has served his charitable purpose; well, mostly anyway. We have no intention of denying him or ourselves of the pleasure of his ejaculation to christen the evening. By the looks of those young balls now so tightly drawn up to the root of his blushing penis, that shouldn't take long.

My own preference would be to have him jerk himself off; I simply like seeing them do it themselves; there's something about watching them work it when I know it's simply entertaining us that's fueling their excitement that hits the spot; yes, it's a power thing. But Clairice and her niece adopt a more hands on approach. They toy with him a bit more, taking turns working his cock, edging him to the verge of ejaculation a few times each, getting him gasping and thrusting then clamping down hard on the base to keep it in his balls as his flushed penis spasms prettily in frustration.

They're good at it and it is entertaining but, at least until the finale, I like glancing around at the other men watching. Many of them now are working their cocks in vicarious pleasure as they, perhaps, imagine themselves up there on display. I say perhaps, because I really can't quite picture what goes on in their heads as they watch other men being used like this. I can see their excitement and anticipation, but they're men (apologies to my readers of that persuasion, but you must acknowledge this) and marvelously inarticulate (even my Mathew) when queried about their feelings, emotions or mental processes in these situations. The futility of that most basic and natural feminine inquiry - 'Darling, what are you thinking? - seems exponentially multiplied once the competing head is engaged. That said, the resulting blank slate leaves me free to interpolate my own preferred narrative; a pleasant indulgence.

"Time to toast the ladies." I hear Clairice say and turn back to see what those young balls have for us.

It's not long in coming. The niece is given the honors and works him quickly. We raise our glasses in a mock toast to the one we expect shortly from him. At the first quick fleck of white popping from the head a pleased "Here, here" rises from the women, which swells into more appreciative coos and murmurs as the niece releases his penis to let it spasm and dance on its own as he bucks and shudders and shoots generous amounts of semen in five or six strong spurts, up onto his chest and stomach. He makes a lovely post ejaculatory tableau, leaning back, his come splattered chest and stomach still heaving as his penis continues to spasm for a while forcing a few last burbles of semen from the slit to slide pleasingly down the front of the still twitching and flushed shaft to his balls.

Uhnm, just saying that...

As you can tell, I have a bit of a connoisseur's relish for such details. Why else would I squander a perfectly good summer evening, not to mention Mathew and my agreed budget (some six hundred dollars total between the ticket and purchases at the auction) on this sort of entertainment? I mean, yes, we absolutely support the work of the Women's Center and would likely give anyway. But I confess at this point I would likely require some other outlet for these interests if this yearly event were unavailable. I've acquired a rather demanding taste for at least the occasional indulgence of this appetite.

But here now, I've gotten off track again. I wanted to start with my husband's performance, because it really was most interesting to see him in such a role for the first time without really knowing anything more about his likely responses beyond his (grudging? Was it grudging? I know we both wanted to secure the $500 for the Center, but there wasn't time to discuss beyond his brusque 'okay, I'll do it') acceptance. Still, so far as squandering our respective time on this, you, like me, probably have other more practical matters to attend to, and brevity, as you might have intuited by now, is not my strong suit.

Maybe another time.