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The Auction (night 1)

Night 1

I was item #32 at last night's sex auction in a country villa near metropolitan Marseilles. High rollers from all over the world came to this remote site in the South of France to a one of a kind auction. To become an "item" for this event, one has to go through a battery of psychological tests, medical checkups, and several "casting couch" interviews. Only the finest looking and most sexually adept volunteers will qualify. The number of "items" at the auction varies with the amount of confirmed bidders attending.

The rules for the auction are as follows. Each bidder is only allowed one bid per item, and each bidder is only allowed one winning item per auction. (It's common knowledge, however, that after the auction a lot of e-mail addresses and motel room numbers are exchanged.) It's the winner's prerogative, however, to have sole possession of the "item" for all seven days. The winning bidder is further responsible for returning his or her "item" to the Villa by the end of the week.

For one hour before the auction officially begins, bidders are allowed to wander through the gallery of "items", squeezing, pinching and touching whatever they want. They are encouraged to interview the various "lots" as to the nature of their particular specialities, etc.

When it was finally my turn to step onto the slow rotating pedestal up on the stage, the renowned neurosurgeon Renquist Crenshaw opened the bid at 7500.00 francs hoping I would be his oral sex slave for the week.

Mr. & Mrs Braxton upped the bid to 8000.00 francs because, having been last year's high bidders for me, they wanted another week of the same or better.

Denmark's Alber Skyhuis yelled "10 thou!" as he lustily studied my soft pillow breasts through his opera glasses. It's not like he needed to leer after spending almost 20 minutes feeling me up back stage.

Mrs. Wynona Walton, the lady with cold hands, bumped the bidding up to 12,000 francs as she envisaged seven nights of intimate romance on several custom-made, vibrating, double-ended dildos of her own design, which, I must say, sounded quite appealing.

The Dutch cigar magnate Brin Van Lundh only nudged the excitement up to 12,500... but I heard that he liked to get way weirder than where I cared to go. What do you expect from a guy whose initials are 'B.J.?'

"Twelve Five, do I hear Thirteen?"

[dead silence]

"Twelve Five going once... twelve five going twice..."

(please no!!!)

"FIFTEEN!!!" from the back of the auditorium. Mrs. Chandler, a statuesque fifty-ish gazillionaire was standing with one foot propped up on an empty seat while Lena, her personal assistant, reached under the wealthy woman's skirt and massaged the median of her thoroughly soaked panties.

"Ah, Mrs. Chandler bids fifteen for this fine specimen. Do I hear SIXTEEN?"

"TVENTY" hollered Norway's Svetlana Bergstrom who's hand was massaging someones breast in the seat next to her. Both of Svetlana's pink nippled breasts were peaking through heart-shaped holes cut into her white mink jacket.

"T'irty T'ousand" retorted Japan's Kiyoshi Kanwashoku. His sexual endurance was legendary and there would be some other unofficial 'geisha girls' present if he was ultimately the winner.

"THIRTY THOUSAND LADIES AND GENTS, DO I HEAR FORTY?"

"One Hundred Thousand" said a cool feminine English voice. Lady Elizabeth Audrey Prentice-Stillwell had all manner of automotive and aircraft assets to back up her bid.

Without hesitation the stunned and overly-excited auctioneer closed the bidding with a resounding thud of the hammer and shouted "S O L D ! ! ! to Miss Prentice-Stillwell of Kent-on-Shropshire!"

Miss Elizabeth then walked up to me on stage, and in the lightest and most elegant manner possible, touched my right breast and left buttock as she kissed me full on the lips. The crowd applauded enthusiastically and she then lifted my hand in hers high over our heads.

As she guided me off stage she promised that the upcoming week would be the most fulfilling of my life.

I wrapped myself in a lovely Chinchilla coat offered to me by Elizabeth's driver and we left to spend our first night together aboard her yacht in Marseilles harbor.

Miss Elizabeth treated me like a goddess and I felt it was I who should honor her. She opened the door to the limo for me and when she sat down next to me her jacket swung open a bit and I sensed something was wrong. She took my hand and placed it on her left breast, as perfect and round as a girl could wish for. Slowly she moved my hand to where her right breast should have been, but there was a bumpy flatness that took me unaware!

"Oh you poor thing!" I whispered, "You've had breast cancer?!"

She looked back at me, lips pursed, cold, distant, alone. Her head gradually nodded a sullen confirmation.

"Oh you poor thing!" I repeated, unable to convey my sorrow in any other way.

She turned from me and looked out the window as the car started to move.

I felt miserable but fortunately we arrived at dockside fairly quickly where a small boat was waiting to take us out to her yacht in the harbor.

The time was just approaching midnight as we disembarked the motor skiff and climbed aboard the "Sapphic Traffic" registered out of Lesbos. Cute.

A wine, cracker and cheese table was freshly set out anticipating our arrival, and I helped my self to two glasses of Zinfandel. Elizabeth downed a single rosier glass of wine, and then without looking or saying anything, disappeared below decks.

I followed her down the elegantly curved staircase and into the forward-most cabin. There was a gorgeous tiled tub with room for three or four occupants toward the after part of the room and the rest of the space was primarily devoted to richly appointed cushions and brocade pillows. The bath was already drawn and filled with expensive bath salts. The aroma was better than incense and Elizabeth, with her back to me, quickly shed her garments and stepped into the luxurious suds.

Already 3/4 nude from the auction, I let the chinchilla dream fall to the floor and followed Elizabeth into the generously hot but not overbearing tub of water. No sooner had I sunk to my knees in the sumptuous water than Elizabeth's fingers were massaging my cunt.

"Oh, oh! OH!" I exclaimed settling down on her deft and talented fingers.

She had a way of rubbing, twisting and kneading all at once that was scintillating beyond words! I so desperately wanted to please her but instead was nearly instantly brought to the verge of an orgasmic coma! Letting go of my pussy for a minute she grabbed both of my nipples and pulled them hard toward the water. I bent over accordingly and she pulled still harder.

"Bend over so your nipples just skim the hot water." she said.

I did as she said and that's when she slid around and threw hot water up on my back. She soaped my buns and pushed her finger back and forth firmly but rapidly over my butt hole. That sensation combined with my hot nipples and cold back very nearly made me pee.

"I, um, I think I have to stand up I said. I gotta pee."

Sliding around the tub so that she could look me in the face she again attached her fingers to my nipples and said, "I won't tell anyone if you wont!"

"Do you mean..."

"Yes!" she smiled, thrusting one hand under my cunt, "right now."

"Oh, my!" I said smiling, closing my lips to kiss her as I released a full flow on her hand.

"Mmmmmmmm" she hummed her lips into mine.

"Mmmmmmmm" I said reaching gently under the suds for her luscious cunt.

As my fingers closed in on her pussy, I could feel her little aqua jet contributing its wine and water into the mix.

"I think we better drain this and head back to the shower." she suggested.

"Definitely!" I replied, shooting her an intimate wink.

Two rooms back on the starboard side was a full 'head' as the sailors say, and once again, everything was decorated in a fabulously ornate style reminiscent of the early 20th century passenger liners.

The showers were equipped with motion sensors and turned on instantly and at precisely the right temperature. I was totally amazed.

After playing in the water for just a bit longer, we dried each other off and turned in for the night. I nestled her wonderful body into mine and I stroked her hair until I heard her gently purring. Shortly thereafter I found myself slumbering... my subconscious pondering tomorrow's visit to a remote stretch of Mediterranean beach where we will meet with some of Elizabeth's closest friends.

End of Story