An Auction Adventure 

Eric peeked through the curtain, his frame blocking the rest of us from seeing out, and turned back to us, letting the thick, heavy cloth fall down before we could see anything. 

“Alright, boys, it’s almost auction time!  How are you feeling?” he asked. 

Eric had been president of the Delta Theta Kappa fraternity for two years and I’d gotten to know him well enough to know that his question was purely rhetorical.  It didn’t matter how we felt; we’d already committed ourselves to his event and there was no backing out now. 

Speaking of backing out, let me paint a picture for you.  We were backstage in the ballroom of The Thistle Room.  It was the larger of two grand ballrooms at the Meridian, the swankiest hotel in the whole town.  It was the place where the well-to-do alumni stayed during homecoming, and where honored guest speakers were put up when they came to visit the university for guest lectures.  I’d never been there, until Eric informed all of the freshmen pledges that we were expected to volunteer for the spring auction.  We didn’t think much of it; we helped Eric arrange rows of chairs in the ballroom and put up fliers in the quad.  It wasn’t until a few days before the auction someone asked what we were selling. 

You can imagine our faces when Eric said we were the goods! 

There were ten of us backstage, nervously waiting to be paraded out onto the stage and “sold” to the highest bidder for a weekend of fun.  What that night would entail was up to the bidders; the spring auction took place every year and attracted all sorts of wealthy, elite alumni.  Some wanted to relive their college days and have a freshman take them out to the hottest clubs; others had more private dates in mind.  At least a third were staying at the hotel itself; as soon as they made their final bids, the freshman would be handed over to them for their date weekends. 

For the last hour, while all of the guests arrived and mingled in the ballroom, sampling appetizers and sipping champagne, me and my fraternity brothers huddled in the wings of the ballroom, behind the red velvet curtain.  Eric had made us strip down to our underwear and he kept circling around, reminding us how important the auction was.  

“Okay, guys.  Everyone is seated.  When I call your number, walk onto the stage.  Do you all have your numbers?” he asked. 

We nodded.  We had pulled our numbers from a hat, earlier.  Eric loved making us pull stuff from hats but I was starting to think it was rigged because it seemed like I always ended up as part of his crazy schemes.  I had chosen #10, which meant I would be last.   

“Great.  Let’s rock and roll.  Thomas, give me the mike,” he demanded.  Thomas hurried forward to hand him a cordless microphone, and Eric stepped out onto the stage, flicking it on.  His voice boomed across the huge room: “WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TO THE TWELFTH ANNUAL DELTA THETA KAPPA SPRING AUCTION!” 

“You know anything about this?” whispered Jeff nervously. 

I shook my head, my hair flopping.  It needed a cut.  “Not really.  Just a typical date auction.  I mean… typical for Delta Thetas.” 

Jeff laughed.  He knew exactly what I meant.  You might say our fraternity had a bit of a… reputation. 

We didn’t get to talk any further because, on stage, Eric was announcing “the first of the night’s many offerings,” and Jeff had pulled #1.  We slapped hands before Jeff turned to strut out onto the stage.  The rest of us listened closely, trying to figure out what would be expected of us. 

“Standing 5’8”, Jeff here is what you might call fun-sized… but don’t worry, he’s big enough, where it matters!” said Jeff.  A wave of laughter rippled across the ballroom.  “Jeff, let’s see what you’ve got!  Ah, very nice…” 

“Is he stripping?” whispered Clark. 

Thomas got down on the floor and peeked through the bottom of the curtain.  “Yep,” he reported.  “Eric’s got him butt-naked out there.  His briefs are on the ground.” 

All of us groaned, but none of us really meant it. 

We listened to the auction backstage, curious about the outcome.  The average going rate seemed to be between three hundred and six hundred, which I was pretty impressed by.  But halfway through, Eric took a break and came back, looking distraught. 

“We’re not going to meet our goal if we don’t get the bidding up,” he cried.   

“What?  Didn’t you just sell Marco for, like, five hundred and fifty bucks?” I asked. 

“That’s nothing, Corey!  Our goal is to hit eight thousand… we’re never gonna get there at this rate!” 

“Eight thousand?” I repeated.   

“The last president raked in at least six every year.  But last year, I only brought in four,” said Eric, bitterly.  He waved the microphone at us threateningly, scowling.  “You all better bring your A-games, frosh.  Or there’s gonna be hell to pay!” 

With that, he plastered on a fake smile and walked back out onto the stage.  Those of us who remained exchanged worried looks.  How were we supposed to hit Eric’s insane goal?!  Currently, the auction had netted just over two thousand, and it was already halfway through. 

I listened to the next few guys on stage.  Eric was doing his best to goad the audience and it sounded like he was making a show of all of them; I heard one of them get a paddling, right there in front of the audience, and he sold for $960.  But even with the prices going higher and higher, when it was my turn, I had counted up our goal and saw that we’d only made about $5600.  There was no way I alone could make up the difference.  Eric’s $8000 goal was insane and it always had been. 

Eric threw aside the curtain and came backstage to sip some water.  He looked apoplectic.  “Alright, Corey.  It’s all up to you,” he said grimly, glaring at me like it was my fault his goal was so high. 

“Well, hey, Eric, you made nearly six thousand, just like the last president.  That’s pretty good,” I said, trying to look on the bright side of things. 

Eric scowled at me.  He grabbed his backpack and yanked it open so hard I thought he was going to break the zipper.  From it, he pulled out two thick, black leather cuffs.  “Give me your wrists,” he demanded.   

I stuck out my arms.  Eric wrapped the cuffs around my wrist.  The leather was worn and soft, but several inches wide.  More like a shackle than a bracelet.  Eric pulled the straps tightly through the silver metal frame, securing them. 

“There’s only one way we can probably recover.  Corey, you’re gonna have to take one for the team.” 

“Sure,” I said.  I knew if I didn’t agree, it would be a paddling back at the frat house. 

“No limits contract.  We might be able to break the four-figure mark, if you agree to anything goes.” 

“Anything goes?” I repeated. 

“Exactly..” 

“Hold on, what does that mean?” 

Eric rolled his eyes.  “It means anything, birdbrain.  But look, it’s just for a couple of nights.  You can handle a couple of nights, right?” 

I paled a little.  “I don’t know if that’s a great idea, Eric.” 

“Do you have a better one?” he snarled. 

I shook my head.   

“Then you agree we should offer a no-limits contract?” 

I hesitated.  “Maybe we could offer… limited limits?” I suggested half-heartedly. 

Eric laughed and slapped me on the back.  “Corey, you’re sometimes really funny on accident.  Alright, I’m gonna go out there and announce you.  Get ready!” 

He swept away before I could protest any further.  I was alone in the dark, dusty backstage area; the other guys had disappeared with their dates.  I listened to Eric for my cue. 

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, it’s been a great night so far… but it’s about to get better.  I saved the very best for last!  He’s a fifth-generation Delta Theta Kappa and one of the freshest freshmen you’ve ever laid your eyes on… introducing… Corey Vanderbuilt!” 

The room burst into polite, dignified applause, and taking a deep breath, I pushed the curtain aside and stepped out onto the stage, blinking in the stage lights. 

My eyes adjusted to a scene of opulence.  The wooden parquet dance floor was polished to a point that it actually reflected the light from the crystal chandelier hanging above the heads of the audience.  The room had so many gold and crystal accents, but it was the audience I couldn’t stop staring at.  The men were all in black tuxedos, but the women were in gowns that encompassed every color of the rainbow.  They were like exotic birds made of ribbons, in rich blue and emerald green and fierce red.  One look at them and you could tell they were rich.   

I must have frozen because suddenly Eric was beside me.  He gave my back thighs a sharp tap with his microphone, and I jumped in surprise. 

“Corey!  Stop daydreaming!  Don’t you want to show off to our guests?  You’ll notice, ladies and gentlemen, that Corey here is a natural redhead… Corey, the carpet matches the drapes, doesn’t it?” 

I blushed as I pulled the waistband of my underwear down a little, teasing.  A few chairs in the room creaked as a few women leaned forward, peering at my body.  The room was cold and I felt my nipples hardening in full view of everyone.  But the guests must have been hot in their gowns because many of them were fanning themselves with little cardboard paddles that had numbers on them.  I guess that’s how bids were made.  I’d never seen a real auction, except on TV. 

I tried to take off my underwear as seductively as possible, aware that Eric was appraising me just as much as everyone else.  But it felt crazy to be naked in front of a room of well-dressed rich alumni!  As I pulled down my boxer-briefs, I felt like I was somehow more naked than I had ever been, and subconsciously, I moved my hands to try to cover myself. 

“Now, now, Corey, no need to be shy!  Lot Number Ten here is inexperienced, ladies and gentlemen, but don’t let that fool you.  He’s suggestible and easy to please, and eager to obey your every command.  Corey, get over here.” 

Eric grabbed my cuffed wrist and led me to a large, wooden post in the center of the stage.  I saw there were chains at the top; Eric pulled my arms up and threaded the chains through the cuffs, removing my ability to hide behind my hands.  My arms were held up, my torso was bared.  I had thought I couldn’t have felt more exposed, but I was wrong. 

Worse, the wrists were not only above my head but a little bit behind it, so that my center of gravity was all in my hips.  My cock was thrust out like an offering and everyone could see it. 

“Since Corey is our very last offering of the night, we thought we’d make things interesting.  Corey himself suggested that we offer a no-limits contract for the night.  That’s right, no limits!  Zip!  Zero!  Zilch!” exclaimed Eric. 

“Eric!” I hissed, squirming helplessly on the post.  Eric ignored me. 

“We’ll start the bidding at five hundred,” he said.  Several of the little signs went up; Eric’s little speech had generated interest.  I saw one woman in the middle of the crowd lick her lips.   

“Five-fifty?  Do I see five-fifty?  Six hundred!  Six-fifty?  Yes, thank you, we have seven!  Remember, ladies, this is a no-limits contract; gentlemen, why not treat your partner to something a little different?  Eight!  I see eight… can I get eight-fifty?  Just look at this body, folks!  If you haven’t purchased a boy tonight, this is your last chance…” 

Eric turned to me and walked around the post, then pointed to my groin with his microphone.  He pushed it between my cock and balls, lifting my length like it was a fine specimen to show off.  …actually, I guess that’s exactly what he was doing. 

Heat pooled in my stomach; despite my trepidation, my cock began swelling.  Something about the exposure was very erotic; it’s not every day you have a room of a hundred people looking at you like that! 

“Just look at this body, ladies!” continued Eric, as if they needed the encouragement.  “It can be all yours for nine-fif– oh!  Do I see a thousand?” 

I blinked in surprise under the bright lights, squirming.  A thousand?!  I hadn’t expected a thousand; I just had made the most out of any of the boys there.  But Eric wasn’t finished.  The audience seemed engaged and competitive; the ladies shifted, rustling in their evening gowns, and a few in particular kept bidding more and more.  A bidding war!  It was exactly what Eric had been hoping for. 

“Just look at this body.  He’s ready to go, ladies– twelve hundred!  –he’s got a nice, firm chest and some solid abs, and, of course, a very responsive member.  Corey, spread those legs for us!  Thirteen hundred!” 

I moved my feet apart, opening up my legs.  I could feel a hundred pairs of eyes on me.  The exposure should have been embarrassing but my body seemed to want to show off; my cock throbbed, growing as the audience watched.  Having them watch just turned me on more.  I smiled, shyly, listening to Eric bark out higher and higher numbers.  They were bidding for me!  For my body, anyway, for what was on display.  It felt so objectifying but, in a way, I felt flattered at how they wanted me.  How they lusted after my cock. 

It was almost enough for me to forget the whole “no limits” contract thing. 

“Seventeen hundred!  Can I get seventeen-fifty?  Seventeen-fifty?” called Eric, casting a hopeful look around at the crowd.  “It’s for a good cause!  Remember, no limits… this is your chance to leave some marks and get freaky!” 

“Eric!” I hissed, mortified.  But Eric was too excited about the high bidding to even turn around. 

“No limits at all.  Just think of all the fun you could have with this stud!” said Eric. 

“Twenty-four hundred,” said a voice from the front row, and the room gasped.  A hush fell over the audience. 

Sitting right against the stage was a woman in a purple dress.  Her legs were crossed, revealing a pair of silver high heels; her arms were crossed, too, a thick white fur stole draped elegantly across her shoulders.  Her hair was pale blond and cut just below her earlobes, giving her a severe look.  She was old enough to be my mom, but she was in amazing shape; she probably had a personal trainer.  She hadn’t bid at all before, and looked pleased at her shocking offer.   

“Twenty– wow.  Twenty-four hundred.  Two thousand and four hundred,” repeated Eric, who seemed just as dazed as everyone else.  I realized, distantly, he’d just hit his goal… he’d just made a record amount at the auction. 

He shook his head out to clear it.  “Twenty-four hundred!  Well.  That’s a very generous bid.  Does anyone want to go higher?  …going once… going twice… SOLD!” 

He didn’t have a gavel so instead he whacked the palm of his hand against the live microphone, making a thunk noise to indicate that the bidding was closed. 

The room burst into applause.  The big spender rose and stepped up onto the stage, sticking a hand out like a queen expecting her subject to kiss it.  Eric took it automatically and helped her up.  She walked over to me, her heels rapping sharply on the stage, and raised one perfectly thin, curved eyebrow at me. 

“So, Corey.  Is it true?  A fifth generation Delta Theta?” she purred, her voice warm and rough like a cat’s tongue.  Her lipstick was as purple as her dress and her nails.  Purple, the color of royalty.  She really was a queen. 

I nodded dumbly.  “Yes… ma’am?” I said.  I had no idea how to address her. 

“That’s very good.  I was a Zeta Kappa Theta back when I came here.  Do you know about the Zeta Kappa Thetas?” 

I turned red.  Oh, I knew about them, all right. 

She laughed and turned to Eric.  “He’s perfect.  Let me write you a check now; I’d like to get the evening started.  I have big plans.” 

“Of course, Mrs. Tennyson. Absolutely,” agreed Eric.  He looked completely drunk on excitement.  “Is your husband not in attendance this evening?” he asked, as she pulled a little black clamshell out and fished from it a checkbook and a fountain pen. 

“Mr. Tennyson is all tied up at the moment, but I’m sure he wouldn’t object to me treating myself,” she said, as she wrote the check.  “Us girls need to have fun too, you know.”  She tore a check out and handed it to Eric.  “May I?” she asked. 

“Oh.  Yes.  Here, let me get that for you, Mrs. Tennyson!” babbled Eric excitedly, reaching up to pull the chains off my cuffs.  My arms ached from being pulled up for so long; my cock ached from being neglected. 

Eric yanked the chains down and held them out to Mrs. Tennyson, who wrapped her fist around them eagerly and gave me a tug.  I stumbled forward, my hair falling in front of my eyes. 

“Have fun, Corey!  And be good,” he warned. 

“Hey, wait, what about my–” I began, but Mrs. Tennyson was already leading me down the stage, my underwear left in a crumpled pile on the floor.  I hunched my shoulders as she led me through the crowd.  The women turned as we passed; a few were wearing masquerade masks and their eyes glittered through the eye holes, flickering down to stare at me as Mrs. Tennyson paraded me through the middle of the room toward the carved double doors at the far end. 

My wrists were bound together in front of me and I had no choice but to follow her as she led me into the hallway.  I hoped we wouldn’t see any of the hotel staff.  Looking back, it’s kind of crazy that I cared if a cleaning lady saw me naked, considering a whole ballroom of people just had. 

But we didn’t see anyone as we walked down the hallway toward the elevator bank.  The foyer was empty, filled with plush armchairs and lush tropical plants.  A fountain in the center trickled.  The doors to the elevators were as shiny as the ballroom floor had been.  With one long-nailed finger, Mrs. Tennyson pressed one of the buttons.  The elevator pinged and we stepped in; she pushed the button for the penthouse.  The penthouse!  No wonder she had offered so much; she was clearly even richer than the rest of the rich auction attendees. 

“So, Corey,” she murmured, turning and stepping toward me suddenly.  She pushed me against the cold mirrored walls of the elevator as it rose swiftly through the hotel.  “How’s your stamina?” 

“My– stamina?” I repeated.  “It’s– it’s good.” 

“I expect so.  You’re a healthy young man.  I’ll bet you can put up with all sorts of things.  That’s good, because my husband, Mr. Tennyson, can be quite the bore.  I’m in need of a little… invigoration.  Someone who isn’t stubborn, who’s willing to try new things.  You’re willing to try new things, aren’t you?” 

I nodded.  The elevator pinged and the doors opened. 

Mrs. Tennyson stepped back and I peeled myself off of the wall.  I glanced behind me as I excited the elevator; there was a print of my ass on the elevator’s mirrored wall.   

Sorry, cleaning ladies, I thought to myself. 

Mrs. Tennyson pulled me into the penthouse and I ogled at it.  The suite was enormous, and crowning it was a chandelier even larger than the one in the ballroom.  There were huge, embroidered couches surrounding glass coffee tables that were scattered with rose petals, and on the tables were countless candles, already lit and flickering.  Mrs. Tennyson clearly had an evening in mind and the hotel staff had prepared her room for a romantic weekend. 

I could see the door to the bedroom was open, but the bedroom was completely dark.  It seemed weird to me to want to fool around in the main living room but I figured perhaps that was part of the fun for Mrs. Tennyson, playing around in a space where you don’t normally do that sort of thing. 

“Lie down,” she commanded, pointing to the couch. 

She dropped my leash and I obediently padded over to the couch.  The chains dangled from my cuffed wrists.  I eased myself onto the thick, padded furniture and laid down, putting one of the couch’s pillows under my head.  “How’s this?” I asked. 

Mrs. Tennyson walked over and pulled off her fur stole; she hung it over my chest, then dragged the fur teasingly down my stomach and between my legs.  My hips twitched.  She smiled. 

“Spread yourself out a little more.  That’s good.  So, Corey, what do you think of my penthouse?  Do you like the candles?” 

“Yes,” I agreed.  “They’re very, uh, pretty.”   

She bent and picked one up, considering it.  The flame flickered.  “Aren’t they?  …why don’t we make you pretty, too?” 

“What do you me–” I began, but I never finished.  She flung one leg up, putting her heel onto my chest to hold me down, stepping so hard on my ribs I thought she was trying to impale me.  And, grinding me under her shoe, she held the candle over me and tilted it.  A string of thick, melted wax fell onto my chest; I yelped with surprise at the heat of it.  It was already cooling into stiff, blue puddles. 

Mrs. Tennyson was grinning.  “Oh, dear.  I shouldn’t have started with blue.  Blue isn’t your color, dear…let’s try green, instead.” 

I bit my lower lip as she set down the first candle and reached for another.  My fingers flexed against the pillows, but this time it was less shocking when she dribbled the candle wax over my chest.  This time, the thick goo hit my nipple, solidifying tightly over it, like a kiss.  I whimpered.  Mrs. Tennyson smiled down at me, dripping wax slowly down toward my stomach.  My cock pulsed. 

“Look at that.  Lovely,” she purred, the fingers of her opposite hand dancing down my skin.  It prickled under her touch and I struggled to hold still.  The spot on my chest where her shoe had stomped me hurt, but the rest of my skin was burning pleasantly from the hot wax.  It was hard not to touch myself but I didn’t dare; it was clear Mrs. Tennyson would not abide any disobedience from me. 

“How does it feel, Corey?” she asked.  She said everything with a loud, projected voice, like she was announcing it. 

“Good,” I said. 

“Louder.” 

“Good!” I said. 

“Describe it.” 

“Uh–”  I had not been prepared for an oral exam. 

She tipped a fat red candle over me and my back arched as the wax poured over my skin.   

“AH!  Ah.  It feels– it feels smooth and hot, but it tightens when it dries.  My– my nipples are hard and it feels like it’s pinching them, almost,” I said. 

“Mm-hm?” she prompted, waving a thin, tapered white candle over my stomach.  I felt the wax pool in my bellybutton and splash down, just over my pubes.  My cock throbbed; as painfully hot as the wax was, I was so desperate to be touched I would have gladly accepted if she wanted to paint it rainbow with her hot, melted glazes. 

But she stopped there, standing over me and admiring my torso.  It was frosted with a kaleidoscope of colors. 

“I find that wax really helps get the skin soft, and supple,” she said.  She reached down and pressed one of her long nails into the dried wax.  It scratched the surface of my skin, and then, with a smooth motion, she peeled away the coating.  The cool air shocked my skin and I drew a sharp breath in. 

That was a mistake.  Mrs. Tennyson grabbed a riding crop off a nearby chair, turned, and slapped the leather square on my chest, knocking all the wind out of me.  My eyes snapped open. 

“Oh!” I gasped.  My skin was sensitive from the heat; the slap of leather on it was like a shock of lightning on my skin, sending out crackling little sparks down my nerves. 

“Count!” demanded Mrs. Tennyson. 

“What do you–” I began, but then she brought down the crop again with an audible crack!  I yelped. 

“Count!” she repeated, her voice quivering with ominousness. 

“One!” I gasped as her crop came down onto one of my nipples.  This lady is crazy, I thought.  But then again, was it her fault?  My body was giving her every encouragement.  I’d been hard since Eric had pointed out my cock to the bidders, and since then, my erection had quivered with delight every time she touched me, even when it was with hot wax, sharp nails, or thick riding crops. 

“That was three!” she corrected, twirling the crop between my legs.  I tightened up, but she only tapped my balls with it.  Sharp enough to be a warning but not quite enough not to be a little bit stimulating.  Unable to help myself, I spread myself wider for her, and was rewarded with several sharp smacks directly to my hole.  I moaned. 

“For a college student you certainly don’t seem to know your numbers very well,” she admonished me. 

“I– I think that was sev–” I began, jumping as her crop slapped my inner thigh.  “Eight!” I corrected myself shakily.  I had no idea how many times she was going to smack me with that crop, but every time it seemed like she found some new place to do it.  I wanted it on my hole, and she knew it, but she kept running the crop teasingly between my legs and then slapping it down on my chest instead.  Bruises were emerging, red and purple on my pale skin.  I’ve always bruised easily but I think Mrs. Tennyson probably could have bruised a marble statue with her talents. 

I admit I lost count more than once, but she kept reminding me as she slapped her crop all over my body.  She stopped at thirty.  I was panting, a sweaty mess, somehow still erect, completely aroused by her skill and her air of mystery. 

“Thirty is a very special number,” she informed me. 

“Is that how old you are?” I asked without thinking. 

She threw back her head and burst into laughter.  “Oh, my goodness!  You really are quite the charmer, Corey; someday you will make some woman very, very happy.  My husband could certainly learn a lot from you!  He’s a rather selfish man, I’m afraid.  You, though… you strike me as the kind of boy who cares very much about making other people happy.  That’s why I bought you.  You seem like you wouldn’t hesitate to kneel down on the ground and lick my shoes.”  She sat on one of the armchairs and stuck out her foot, crossing her other leg over it. 

I took a hint.  I rolled off the couch with a groan of pain.  My body was aching; I felt like a piece of well-tenderized meat.  Come to think of it, I was a piece of well-tenderized meat!  My nipples were stinging, my chest bruised… and my cock was still hard, the pain of unaddressed arousal bittersweet. 

I crawled on my knees and forearms over to Mrs. Tennyson’s feet and leaned down to kiss her shoe. 

“Good boy.  Now turn around.” 

I turned, still prostate.  I felt like I was mooning her.   

She put her feet up on my ass like it was footstool.  I tried not to wiggle but I couldn’t help but squirm a little; the tip of my cock was brushing the rug and I was desperate for anything.  I rubbed myself on the floor like a dog in heat while Mrs. Tennyson sat regally in the armchair.  I heard her rifling through her little clamshell purse for a cigarette; there was the soft click of a lighter and she lit it, the smell of smoke mingling with the scented candles in the room. 

“Turn,” she commanded.  

I turned around.  “Sit up.  Tongue out.” 

I sat up on my knees like a begging dog and stuck out my tongue.  She reached over and tapped her cigarette, ashing it on my tongue; the powdery taste was muddy and crisp, and it made me gag, but I swallowed it because I was terrified of what she’d do to me if I got any on the rug of her fancy hotel suite. 

“Very, very good.  It’s good to see Eric was telling the truth about you being eager to please.  This is a very special weekend for me, so it’s important to me that I have a very obedient, open-minded boy to share it with.” 

“Yes ma’am,” I said, my tongue feeling weird from the ash. 

Mrs. Tennyson took another drag on her cigarette.  “I have many plans for the weekend.  For obedient boys who behave.”  She kept throwing her voice like she was announcing this to a large crowd instead of just me.   

“Right,” I agreed, confused about why she needed to emphasize it so much.  I would have done anything for her.  My cock was dripping onto the rug; I was completely under her spell. 

“Very good.  Let’s go to the bedroom.”  She rose and swung her legs over me; before I could react, she had straddled my back and was grabbing a fistful of my hair.  She drew her legs up and dug her heels into my sides.  They were as effective as spurs.  “Giddy-up!” 

I wobbled on my hands and knees toward the bedroom, Mrs. Tennyson riding me, her gown hitched up to her hips so that I could feel the warmth of her crotch radiating against my back through her thin silk panties.  I nearly came feeling her body rubbing against my back, her thighs pressing down on me, but I managed, somehow, to stagger into the dark bedroom, panting. 

Mrs. Tennyson gracefully rose, plucking a pair of cute little panties off the bed.  She tossed them at my face.  “Here.  See if these fit you.” 

My eyes widened; I had thought they were for Mrs. Tennyson, not me.  They were made of a slippery, soft material; the panties had a small pink lace frill and the bra had thin little spaghetti straps, with a matching lace trim on the front.  I blushed as I pulled on the top and then slid my legs into the panties.  I groaned at the way the underwear slithered over my length and the way my shaft strained against it.  I was so stiff I felt like I could punch right through the delicate material if I thrust my hips forward hard enough.  I didn’t dare; I was pretty sure the underwear belonged to Mrs. Tennyson herself. 

“Such a pretty boy!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.  “Now why don’t we get into bed and cuddle?  I think you deserve a nice handie after all your hard work.  This is what Hubert doesn’t understand and what I’m trying to get through his thick skull.”  She rolled her eyes and swatted the bed, and that’s when I realized… there was a figure lying prone there!  

Swathed in a tight latex suit, his mouth held open with a spider gag and his limbs tied to the massive bed’s sturdy wood posts.  He was blindfolded but clearly awake and straining.  The latex suit left nothing to the imagination; he was as hard as I was.  He’d been listening to everything, and that was why Mrs. Tennyson had been so loud! 

She had been teasing him this whole time!  My jaw dropped. 

I stared in shock at her husband, and felt her hands slide over my shoulders.  She draped her body over mine and leaned in to murmur in my ear.  “It’s important, Corey, to keep things lively in the bedroom.  After thirty years of marriage, we’ve learned the secret to success is to try new things and make sure we don’t let ourselves get bored.  But certain people were being naughty and refusing to try on their panties and so I decided I would purchase a good role model to teach Hubert here how a real man acts.  Which is however I want him to.  As a footstool, an ashtray, a whipping post, a show pony, or an underwear model.  Right?” 

“Right,” I said, shifting my weight, trying not to let the silky panties rubbing over my rod to drive me crazy. 

“Very good.  …you see, Hubert?!  It’s not hard at all!” said Mrs. Tennyson, swatting the crotch of the latex-bound man spread out before us.  “Even this little freshman boy can behave himself  Now, Corey, why don’t you climb into bed and I’ll show you the reward for being obedient?” 

Mr. Tennyson groaned with jealous lust, which earned him another swat.  This was, hands-down, the weirdest situation I’d ever been in.  I doubted Eric would even believe me if I tried to explain to him what his “anything allowed” contract had gotten me into! 

I climbed into the bed beside Mr. Tennyson, still wearing the panty set, and Mrs. Tennyson climbed in after me, wrapping her arms around me and grinding herself into my hip.  I didn’t think it could get weirder, but it did when she climbed on top of me and then leaned over to whisper into Mr. Tennyson’s ear. 

“Happy thirtieth anniversary, darling,” she murmured. 

I don’t want to brag, but I can say with confidence that that couple probably had the best anniversary weekend of their whole lives.  Eric got his auction money (and set a new frat record!), and as for me, well… Mrs. Tennyson left me with more than one souvenir.  Aside from a very sore ass and a lot of bruises, she let me keep the panty set, since my underwear had been left behind in the ballroom.   

I couldn’t help but notice the brand when I got back home… “Limitless.” 

– End –