"Sold!"
My heart sank. The auctioneer strutted up to me and pushed a button on my collar, confirming my new ownership. Sadly, I looked up at the crowd ahead as a gaggle of young women thronged down to claim their prize.
I am not a toy. I am not just some sexual plaything. I am Slim Tim, and I a sensation in the slaveboy wrestling world. I was on TV for years, facing one boy after the next, and I took them all down. The fans loved me. The network loved me. My owners loved me.
But that was over. I had just lost one fight, and, by the rules of the network, that meant that my fighting career was finished. My trainer said something about giving rookies a chance, but I wasn't listening. I had barely listened to anything since I lost that last fight.
As one of my new owners excitedly collared and leashed me, I felt a hand on my butt and a few more perusing my torso. Looking dejectedly up, I saw most of the women to be wearing matching tee shirts. I tried to take a closer look, only to cringe as one of them squeezed my balls too hard. When I focused again, I saw the shirt to be the uniform of the Slim Tim Fan Club.
I knew them. They were a sorority of fangirls. I had seen them before; I had met them and written them all autographs. Suffice it to say that I probably shouldn't have been surprised that they ended up purchasing me.
The exact moment they unstrapped my feet from the floor, the whole mob of them enveloped me, sweeping me off my feet and hauling me out of the auction house, cheering deliriously. As I tired to regain my orientation, I felt at least six hands groping me at once, squeezing my butt, running across my smooth chest muscles and grabbing at my penis. With female hands grasping me up and down the length of my arms and legs, all I could do was writhe and twist against them. Even though I knew I could not escape, it amazed me that I failed even to slow them down. Their combined strength was nothing short of astonishing.
In this morass of groping hands, I neglected to look around to see where we were going. It seemed only minutes into our spontaneous parade when the women arranged into a line and, still not letting me touch the ground, pulled me through a narrow doorway. Their fondling briefly subsided and their pace quickened as they hurried around a series of corners, then suddenly dropped me onto a plush surface.
Finally, they backed away, and I looked around the room. Firstly, I noticed that the walls were plastered with what was probably every Slim Tim poster ever made. Below these, cushions haphazardly covered the floor, broken only by a wide couch and a shallow, queen-size bed with shackles hooked to each bedpost.
On the wall next to the door, I saw a rack of sex toys, consisting of a standard array of gags and male restraints to gas masks, clips and, to my disconcert, strapon dildos. These implements were all colored the same shade of oceanic blue as my hair.
These stood out among the rest of the room, which was, from the furniture to the walls and even the light, colored various shades of red and pink.
While I took all this in, most of the women whispered among themselves, and the rest sat and stared at me with vacant smiles. Mildly frightened, I crawled back against the wall and stared back. The gawkers blinked a total of five times.
Eventually, the whispering women turned back to me, and two of them approached me. The first was a dark-skinned one with a black ponytail and the second was a paler one with purple hair worn in a bob. Smoothly, they each wrapped their arms around one of my shoulders and pulled me up.
At this point, a proper sex slave would have gone limp, or perhaps walked with them. Instead, I resisted. With a muted grunt, I pulled my left arm from the grasp of the purple-haired woman and shoved the dark-skinned one away.
Both women staggered, releasing me. When they faced me, their faces were portraits of surprise and indignation.
I was not sure what my plan was now. Getting them away from me had felt right, but now my instincts abandoned me. Realizing that I had adopted my fighting stance, I hesitated.
My dilemma was answered for me when I took a slap straight across the left cheek. If that had been a punch, I would have reflexively maintained my stance. Instead, I crumpled to the ground.
"On your knees," ordered one of them.
It had been years since I got an order like that, but I knew what to do. Hoisting myself up, I knelt in front of them and looked at the ground.
The dark-skinned woman grabbed my chin with her thumb and forefinger, then turned me up to face her.
"Don't you dare resist us, Slim Tim," she restricted, speaking through a growing smile. "You're ours now."
I stared back at her, waiting for her to continue.
"So..." prompted Purple-hair, "What do we say?"
"I... what?" I stammered out.
Both women chuckled.
"Say, 'yes, mistress.'"
"Yes, mistress," I repeated.
"Good," approved Purple-hair. "Now get on that bed."
"Yes, mistress."
Smoothly, I stood up and crawled onto the pink bed, then sat down cross-legged on it, facing them.
I tried to keep a straight face as the entire sorority closed in on me, and the dark-skinned woman grabbed my foot and unfolded my leg, showing just a peek of my genitals. As she locked the leg in place and skirted around to the other side, Purple-hair leaned on the footboard and leered at me, licking her lips as she took in every inch of my well-trained musculature.
As the dark-skinned woman pulled away my other leg, exposing my treasure, Purple-hair shucked off her clothes with suspicious speed and crawled up onto the bed. Kneeling in front of me, she grabbed my abdomen. With a grin, she pulled me up to a sitting position, her fingers closing around the firm ridges of my core muscles.
I felt her heat. As she pressed against me, I half-expected her to orgasm on the spot. Instead, she separated from me and looked down, seeing my masculinity erect and waiting for her.
As a few hands from the sides of the bed came in and probed all over my body, Purple hair pushed me onto my back and hissed, "Back off, it's my turn!"
Spreading her legs and straddling me, Purple-hair looked straight down at me, her hair forming a halo around her face as it drooped toward me. With another lick of her lips, she shifted her weight.
All at once, I felt her heat and moisture slide down over my waiting masculinity, her hips slamming against mine. I resisted her force to the best of my ability, trying to act like I was blocking an opponent's hit, but this was not like fighting. In a fight, I always had perfect control of my body. My nervous system was aflame, and my muscles were like bowstrings. Now, I was quickly losing control of my body; my nervous system was awash with sex and my muscles endured one spasm after the next, completely at her mercy.
When I opened my eyes, her face was just inches from mine, her hot breath breaking on my sweating skin. Her hands tightened around my shoulders, which tensed with each thrust, and her nails dug into my skin.
"Don't... don't you dare cum yet," she hissed through gritted teeth.
Inwardly, I doubted that I could control that.
Mercifully, her bucking soon slowed, and I could feel her shuddering for a few moments. Then she erupted, nearly dislocating my shoulder as she squeezed, squirting all over me.
For a few moments, we sat there. She panted with exertion, smiling a thin, broad smile as afterglow simmered in her brain. Sitting back, still engulfing me, she seemed unaware that I was dangerously on the brink of orgasm.
At last, she withdrew from my pulsing manhood and slid off the bed. I went limp, all except for my organ, which stayed up like a flagpole.
"Don't rest yet, Slim Tim," said the dark-skinned woman, shuffling up to me.
Looking up, I saw her climb onto the bed and close her fingers around my testicles, passing them softly around in her hands for a few seconds. I cringed, expecting her to squeeze too hard, but she never did. Instead, she disengaged and looped a leg over me. As she did, I caught a sight of what was behind her and recoiled visibly.
The entire sorority stood impatiently in a single-file line before the bed. Some of them held up phones, recording my performance, and some others read from tablets, but each member was waiting for her turn.
"Oh god..." I dreaded.
I can't remember when I came first. All I know is that, when I did, I still had most of the women left to go. Eventually, they got creative, using every sex toy in their repertoire to get what they had bought me for. As soon as I could get hard again, I managed only one more taker before spending. After that, it was a cavalcade of oral pleasure, fingering and kissing.
As soon as the last one finished using me, I collapsed. The minute she turned out the lights, I fell asleep.
* * *
Sometime in the night, I awoke to the sound of the door opening, then closing again. The light remained off, but I could hear footsteps padding towards me in an uneven gait.
"Is someone there?" I called.
"Get on your back, I'm still horny," ordered a bleary female voice.
"Don't you people ever sleep?" I moaned, turning over.
Ignoring me, the woman pried my legs open, then, to my surprise, brought her head down. With a sudden jolt, I felt the warm wateriness of her mouth over my manhood, sucking the overused organ slowly to erection.
I decided not mention that I hadn't washed that days. Instead, like a proper sex slave, I sat back and accepted her desire, doing what I could to harden for her.
Then I heard the door open.
"Alice, did you want him, too?" asked the woman using me. "I'll be done with him in just a minute."
"Oh crap!" sputtered a male voice.
The door slammed shut. There was a moment of silence.
"Who was that?" asked the woman.
That had sounded like a question, but I knew that she didn't expect me to answer. Even so, I asked the same question. Normally, I would have dismissed it, but I could have sworn I recognized that voice from somewhere.
Seeming to share my curiosity, the woman got up and made slowly for the door, stopping halfway there to retrieve her pants and shirt, sliding them both hastily on.
The door slid open, then there was an electronic snap and a dull thump.
"Lights on," warned a gentle male voice.
As soon as the door eased shut, the light came on. Bathed in pink glow was a man with thick, short brown hair, intense eyes of the same color and a stocky torso with subtle ripples marking his muscles. He wore a slave collar, but he walked with confidence. Over his shoulder, he carried the woman who was using me, seemingly unconscious. For clothes, he wore a utility belt and nothing else, showing off his smooth, stout manhood.
"Got her," he said to himself. "That was a close one."
He leveled his pretty eyes on me and smiled.
"Slim Tim..." he addressed. "It's been a long time. I see the boyfights finally dropped you. If it's any consolation, I don't think anyone else has ever lasted that long in the league."
"Are... are you a fan?" I guessed.
"Hah," he chuckled, "Yes, actually, but I'm not here for the reasons you're thinking."
"What?"
"I'll explain in a minute. Scoot over."
Standing up, I watched, amazed, as the visitor set the woman down on the bed, then turned her onto her back. Yanking off her shorts, he exposed her vagina, which, to my amusement, was still wet. Moving up to her shirt, he inexpertly pulled it up and off of her, causing her voluminous breasts to jiggle.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Getting a bit of revenge," the visitor explained, grabbing a ball gag. "Mistress authorized me to leave a calling card, so here's mine."
Saying this, he gagged the nude, limp woman, then stretched the shackles from the bedposts to her limps and bound her.
I could not help but smile.
