LOT SEVEN
By: Raven de Hart
Copyright 2011 Raven de Hart
Smashwords Edition
A Kitten Knights Free Fantasy
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With three knocks and a hundred-dollar tip, he was in. Silas handed his hat to the doorman with a nod, and the guard pointed him towards the door—it was good to be the heir to millions. As soon as he stepped through the entrance the familiar scents of whiskey and citrus filled his nose, but he passed by the bar today—it was almost time for the auction. He tapped on the fourth wall panel from the left and it opened. Getting into the bar was hard enough, but the auction hall had to be kept secret. After a final look around, he darted inside. Another nod at this guard and the large man stepped aside, revealing a thin corridor. Sighing, Silas sidestepped through the cramped tunnel. It only went for maybe thirty feet, but it certainly seemed longer to him.
Coming out, warmth crashed against him. He never once questioned who made this place—it made no difference to him. He handed another hundred-dollar bill to this doorman, a thin Asian man, and went through the arch, “Ira.”
The old man wrapped him in a light hug, “Silas. I’m glad to see you made it.” He brushed the dirt from the young man’s suit, straightening it, “I apologize again for the difficulty in getting here.”
“You say that every time, Ira. I’m well used to it now.” He swiped his hair back, slipping it behind his ears, “I just hope I’m not too late.”
“Not at all.” He handed him a small white paddle with a bold red ‘28’ painted on it, “It’s a sparse turnout today. The prices should stay low.”
Silas chuckled, “Ira, you know me better than that.” He followed the old man through another tunnel, the smell of cinnamon growing stronger with every step, “If I see something I like, I’ll buy it. Price isn’t an issue.”
“Does your father know how you’re spending your money?”
“Of course not. I’m twenty-three years old.” He huffed, pulling the lapel of his jacket straight again, “I believe you’re needed on stage. This auction won’t start without you, after all.” As Ira walked off, Silas took a seat in the front row, “My father. It’s my money after all.” He coughed again, looking around at the rest of the bidders. Three older men he didn’t know and a very elderly woman he recognized immediately, “Henrietta.” Out of everyone, she would be the hardest to outbid.
“Welcome to today’s auction.” Ira stood behind a spindly pedestal, the spotlight illuminating his wrinkled body against a backdrop of green velvet, “If I do say so myself, you should all be especially excited for our lots today.” He winked and Silas smiled—he said the same thing every time, “There’s a small catalog under your seat if you care to take a look.” The three other men reached down and grabbed the glossy guide, flipping through it briefly. Neither he nor Henrietta bothered to move, “For those of you new to our auctions, there are a few guidelines. You may not touch the merchandise. You may not step beyond the red line.” He pointed to the thick border on the floor, tracing it with his finger, “Hold up the paddle, I take your bid. No haggling, cash only, is everybody ready?” He waited as though someone might protest, even though no one had since Silas started coming to the auctions, “All right, then. Let’s begin.”
Ira clapped twice and the curtains parted. A young blonde, no older than Silas, walked forward in nothing more than a pair of black briefs. The Asian doorman led him in by the wrist Ira waved his hand in front of the youth’s blindfold and, when he didn’t respond, turned back to the auctioneers, “Lot one is a fine specimen of Swiss descent. Five foot, seven inches, name: Brüno. Who’ll start the bidding at seven-hundred?”
Paddles flew into the air, mostly between two of the older men with the occasional bid thrown out from Henrietta. He hoped she would get him—that way she’d have less money to outbid him when something good came up, “Sold to number fourteen for seventeen-hundred dollars.” The man closest to him nodded at Ira subtly and the blonde was led back behind the curtain, replaced quickly by another. Silas hoped they weren’t all so Aryan—blonde hard-bodies lost their charm if you had one every day.
After four more blondes and a redhead—he bid on that one a few times until he noticed the nose stud—Silas was losing hope. Still, experience told him not to leave before the end, “We’re having some technical difficulties with lot seven, but it won’t take long.” He looked back at the curtain and, just as he did, they parted. The next one was strung out between three burly men, the Asian nowhere in sight, “There he is!” He certainly caught Silas’ eye, practically carried out. Cloth bound his ankles, his hands behind his back. Ira looked at the three guards and they moved back, but didn’t leave, “All right, lot seven is of Polynesian descent, five foot, four inches, name: Nahele. As you can see, he’s a bit feistier than most, but I’m sure you all can handle him.” The young man twisted, barking indistinguishable words—he didn’t sound happy, “I’ll even give you a break on him. Opening bid at five-hundred.” Henrietta threw out the first bid, followed by the only one of the old men that hadn’t bought anything yet, “Popular product. Do I have one-thousand?”
Silas took another look at the merchandise. Smooth face, pale lips, mahogany skin. He threw up his paddle and the bidding started again. It wasn’t long before they hit the two-thousand mark, knocking the old man out of the running. Henrietta bid-twenty-five-hundred and he knew he’d have to scare her off before it got too exorbitant—he could afford whatever the cost, but cheaper would still be better, “Five-thousand.”
Ira clapped, “A generous jump. Do I hear six?” Henrietta hesitated, but her paddle came up all the same, “Seven?”
“Ten.”
“Ten thousand dollars. Will anyone go to eleven?” He looked to Henrietta, but she didn’t respond, “Once? Twice? Eleven-thousand going for the final time? All right, sold to number twenty-eight for ten-thousand dollars.”
The guards led Nahele back behind the curtains and they brought another. In all, six young men came out after him, but none of them suited Silas’ taste. It was a shame, too—he hadn’t been in a threesome for a few months. After the auction ended, he hung back while the others paid. Ira walked up to him with a smile, “I’m glad to see you bought something.” He took the paddle and the envelope of money, “I was afraid you were dissatisfied with my product.”
“Don’t fool yourself, Ira. You always provide at least one quality piece in every auction, though you may lay off the blondes next time.”
The old man laughed, “I tried to keep it in balance, but there were a lot of blondes looking for asylum this time. I guess they must be unhappy with Sweden.” The two of them walked back on stage and towards the exit, “Should we deliver him, or would you prefer to take him home yourself?”
He thought about it, but wasn’t sure how compliant his new purchase would be, “I’ll let your people bring him.” He slid another hundred-dollar bill into Ira’s pocket, “If you could deliver him last, it would be much appreciated.”
“Of course, Silas. You should have him no later than, say, eight?”
“Make it nine.” He opened the door, “Ira, how old is this one?”
“I believe he’s thirty or so, but he certainly fights like younger man. See if you can’t get a little more peace in him.”
“I’ll try.” Silas walked up the stairs to his car—he had important things to prepare, and only an hour and a half to prepare them.
***
A few minutes after nine, the chimes rang through Silas’ house—he was waiting by the door, “Silas, yes?” He nodded to the khaki-covered delivery man, “Then this should be yours.”
He nodded again, taking his prize. Far more compliant than before, “How long were you sitting out there?”
The delivery man coughed, “I’m not supposed to say. Is there anything else?”
Silas looked him up and down, noticing the sizeable bulge in his shorts, “Not unless you’d like to join us tonight.” The man took a step back, stammering, “It’s all right. It was a joke.” Kind of. He wouldn’t have minded having him, but he could cope with the loss. After the door closed, he led Nahele to the sitting room, lowered him on the couch, and undid the blindfold, “Did someone drug you?”
The Polynesian opened his eyes—orange speckled with bright green, “What do you mean?”
The voice took him aback—rough, but lilting, “I mean you. You’re not fighting back.”
“Well of course not. You paid ten-thousand dollars for me, right?”
“Well, yes, but—“
“Ira paid me two hundred dollars to struggle during the auction. He said it would drive up the price.”
“It certainly worked.” He breathed a sigh of relief, “I guess I won’t have to give you any Rufelin, will I?” He took the pills out of his pocket and put them on the end table, “So you’re going to be cooperative?”
“I’ll be as cooperative as I want to be. I still have standards.” He leaned back, “Do you think you could untie me?”
He smiled, “I might be able to.” He reached down and pulled on the cloth around Nahele’s ankles, slipping the knot apart, “But I think I’ll keep your hands where they are, for now.” He grabbed a tiny remote from the coffee table and clicked the shutters closed over the windows. This was always the hardest part for him—no matter how many guys he bought at these auctions, the nerves boiled in his gut right before the first move. Still, paying ten-thousand dollars at least left him feeling more deserving.
He unbuttoned his jacket and shirt, placing them in a rough pile on the couch, “I wish I was being a better host.”
He dropped his pants, Nahele’s eyes fixed on him the whole time, “Are you really worried about being gracious to me?”
“Maybe not, but I thought I should try to be polite.” He stood there, looking at the Polynesian but not moving, “Are you sure you don’t need a drink or something?”
He scooted forward and hopped up, “You’re in your shorts, asking me if I’m thirsty? Listen, don’t be nervous.” Hands still tied, Nahele rubbed against Silas’ body, “You paid for me, and I need to get some minor misdemeanors taken off my record. It’s a win-win.”
Silas laughed nervously as his new toy pushed him into the couch cushions. Nahele tried to take off Silas’ boxers, but he couldn’t maneuver well enough, “I’ll get it.” He hooked his thumbs under the elastic band and lowered them, but they only reached his knees before a callused hand wrapped over his balls, gently kneading the flesh. Silas leaned his hips further forward, his dick already tingling with blood flow. As he grew, his head cleared a bit—it always did. He pulled on the base of Nahele’s black briefs, shimmying them down. He felt a coarse mat of hair running against his belly. Time to take control.
Nahele may have been older, but he was lighter, and couldn’t use his arms. It took little effort for Silas to flip him over, taking him across his lap. The hardening cock pressed into his thigh. He leaned down and whispered, “Struggle a little.” He immediately took to it, whimpering. Silas knew it was fake, but it still worked for him. The stirrings grew more intense, sweat misting across his chest as power burned in his core. He pulled down the back of his sex toy’s briefs, pinning him along the small of his back. Each squirm shifted the pressure, massaging the thick growth deeper into Silas’ leg.
He rubbed the soft, rounded ass, tracing every curve with his hand. He kneaded the muscles from the bottom of his spine down between his legs, running light touches against his milky thighs. Nahele whimpered, his body shuddering. Silas felt precum leak from the tip of his dick as he squeezed the pale brown cheeks.
“I have a confession to make.” The tone in Nahele’s voice changed, higher, more cutting. It sent a cold spark wandering his spine, piercing through his daze, “I did something very bad.”
A game. Silas’ mouth was dry and getting drier, but he had to reply. He rubbed the smooth bump as he spoke, “What did you do?”
“I smoked pot. They said they’d take it off my record, but I don’t think that’s a good enough punishment.” He sniffled very convincingly, but his cock twitched against Silas’ thigh, giving him away. Silas ached to continue, rubbing closer and closer to the center of Nahele’s ass as he confessed, “I want to make it right. Will you help me?”
He so wanted to touch himself, relieve the pressure building in his crotch, “I would be remiss if I didn’t help my fellow man.” The Polynesian may have been older, but Silas felt the elder at that moment. He licked his lips, drawing his hand back. Electricity spiked up his body, shooting up to his fingertips. He whipped the hand down, slapping Nahele’s ass quite loudly. He heard the quick gasp, but didn’t let it stop him, drawing back again, “How many times did you commit that crime?”
“Ten.”
He slapped down again, the skin already growing hot. A red spot appeared with the next hit. Nahele didn’t just gasp anymore. Each strike fired a whimper from his mouth, stomach contracting, cock twitching against Silas’ thigh. After the tenth strike, the pale skin had a full blush across it, painting the mound like a sunset over the hills. He tried to squirm away, back to struggling, but Silas kept him firmly pinned. He didn’t say a word this time, wriggling his hand between the two cheeks. The tip of his finger brushed over the rosebud and Nahele shivered again, groaning. Silas now ached, his dick hot with tension, head fuzzy. Slowly, he pressed against the ring of muscles, wiggling his finger. It was tight, and rough, but he made slow headway, the Polynesian gasping again, “Do you really want to make up for your crimes?”
Now fully inside, he circled the finger, making Nahele shout, “Yes!”
Silas pulled his finger out just as slowly, circling the entrance. His prize bucked his hips, sliding the rest of the way off the finger. With a firm grip, he grabbed Nahele’s engorged cock, using the other hand to direct him, “Don’t fight against it. I want to help you.” After bending him over the coffee table, Silas reached for the lube tucked behind his lamp, popping the cap. He stroked himself a few times, making sure he was fully hard, and then squeezed the clear gel over his head, spreading it down to the base of his shaft. He used his clean hand to shift Nahele’s legs, spreading them apart until he could see the contractions of the hole. As he spread lube over the silky brown flesh, his balls gave another twitch, more heat rising through his core. He panted, biting his lower lip to keep from exploding then and there. He squeezed around Nahele’s shaft and slowly stroked it. The Polynesian moaned and grunted, bucking against the tabletop.
The skin of the cock was soft and warm on his palm. When he got to the top, he rubbed his thumb across the head, smearing sticky precum over the hard flesh. He rose to his knees, bringing his slick shaft up to the hole. Wrapping his arms around the Polynesian, he rubbed the bud of Nahele’s nipple, pinching and squeezing the hard peak. He started to guide his dick forward, leaning over and bracing himself against the coffee table. The muscles didn’t give way and he pushed harder, a small gasp rocking the slender, brown body beneath him. Nahele shook as he pushed harder, but all at once it gave way, Silas’ tip popping through the barrier. He stroked the man as he gasped, steadying himself. The cock in his hand twitched with each squeeze.
Once Nahele stopped quivering, he pushed in further, slowly snaking his dick inside. The pressure surrounding it left him weak in the knees, but he held back, sliding his dick out again, letting the muscles do the work for him. The whole while, he rubbed up and down the silken shaft, squeezing around the base. Nahele groaned again, his cock and balls shaking. Silas removed his hand, turning his focus back to his task. He sped up, thrusting in and out of the ass, growls passing over his lips as he worked towards release. The Polynesian grunted each time Silas slammed back into him, his whole body moving with the force of the thrusts.
Heat filled Silas’ loins, his toes curling up until the joints popped. With a final ram, the warmth shot up his shaft, cum spraying from the tip of his cock. When he pulled out, the air cooled the nectar on his shrinking shaft. He took Nahele’s dick back in his hand and went back with a fury, milking it. He watched the smooth body tighten, heard his breathing catch, and cum traveled up, shooting through the Polynesian’s dick and splashing across the tabletop. It twitched again and another burst traveled up, this one dripping against Silas’ fingers. Silas sat back on the couch, “I think you’ve atoned for your crimes.” He pulled up his boxers, using the front to wipe his cock clean, “But I haven’t gotten my money’s worth yet.”
***
About the Author: Raven de Hart, after losing her way for several years, has returned to writing her tales of salacious, sassy sensuality, bringing her journey full circle. She can be reached at http://dehartslist.blogspot.com and emailed at dehartslist@gmail.com or found consorting with the Kitten Knights at http://kittenknights.blogspot.com