My life fell into a kind of strange rhythm. In the morning, they lined us up. The cold water was always a shock, but at least it got us clean, at least it washed out all the filth left on us from the previous day. As they toweled us dry, the servants would gossip about the latest scandal; bets at the games, trysts in the castle, bastards born in the street. To we slaves, knowledge of this caliber was hardly useful. I'd been fucked by princes and paupers alike. It seemed to me that if it involved gold or a cunt, they'd get their dick in it.
The march outside was once so frightening. Though we were a staple in this community, many of the passersby ignored our passage. I no longer had the urge to run away, naked and barefooted, through the busy streets of the city. The icy cobblestone hardly bothered me. In comparison to where we were headed, the crisp air and open sky were a treat.
Once inside the den (as they called it), we were each locked into our own cages. They were only big enough to fit one, standing, with little wiggle room. We were on display, but not for sale. We were the slaves that failed to auction, too dumb to write, not pretty enough to warm the bed of some rich lord. So we were rented. It cost a silver piece to get into the den. I'd seen slaves murdered for the price of that silver piece. Girls like me usually just get fucked, which is only so bad the first few days. After a while you don't really care so much. After a while, maybe you start to enjoy it a little. Boys, if they're pretty enough, sometimes they get fucked too. But sometimes the guests just want to kill someone, and it's usually the guys that go.
Mornings are slow. Our usual fare is probably sleeping off last night's drink. I try and get myself wet by thinking about what might happen to me today. I'm hoping it'll be busy later, because then the day goes by quicker, and they don't feed us 'till we get back to the slave quarters at the end of the night. They used to give us breakfast, but there's only so much come you can swallow after eating eggs and bacon before you yack it all up. And the guests don't like that so much. Or maybe some of them do.
The first few guys to come in take other slaves. I watch avidly as the girl in the cage next to me holds onto the bars in front of her as she's taken from behind. Her tits are bigger than mine, and they sway with every enthusiastic thrust of the man behind her. I've always liked watching, at least as long as I can remember, and I can feel my arousal rising. When he comes, I close my eyes and imagine that feeling, that hot, filled feeling. My thighs are slick and I'm ready for my first customer.
A petite gentleman is standing in front of my cage. His clothes are fine but simple, almost a leisure suit, dark gray with a white vest and red shirt. His features are soft, but it's difficult for me to make out the details of his face in the dim light. I'm amazed to see that he's clean-shaven—it's rare that a man doesn't have a mustache at least. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?" I ask.
"Turn around," he says, almost a whisper, husky. I see him tightening the black leather gloves he's wearing before I obey. My rear cheeks press against the bars as I lean forward and I feel his fingers urging my thighs apart. I bet he can feel my fire even through those gloves as he probes down my slick slit. I arch my back, trying to give him better access to my pussy. I'm wet and hungry, probably dripping, and the relief makes my knees weak as he slides two fingers inside me. They curve down and press into the sweet spot, and at the same time, his thumb comes up and rubs a slow circle against my hard clit. Omigod it feels so amazing, I'm sure I groaned out loud.
He leans in close behind me. I can feel his heat, even though he can't get too close. "You like that?" he asks, pressing deeper inside me, his thumb doing wild things to me. "You want to feel my cock?"
"Yes," I gasp. "Please."
I hear the metal clinking of a belt, the sound of a zipper. "Turn around and suck my cock, get it good and wet for you."
I spin and crouch, licking my lips. But when I see his cock, I freeze.
It's a strap-on.
I look up, reassessing my judgment. The slight frame, the hushed voice. This isn't a man—it's a woman, pretending to be a man.
"Is it too big for you?" she asks, mockery in her voice. I press my lips together and take another look at the tool attached to her groin. It's just a cock, pretty lifelike actually. I feel her fingers in my hair and she pushes my head forward, my forehead against the bars. "Suck it, open that pretty mouth."
I want to touch it. To oblige her, I kiss the tip of it, slipping a bit of tongue, raising my eyes to her face. She's watching me. I can smell her sex, musty, wet against the leather harness. The cock tastes different, but not bad. I've had worse in the real thing, in unwashed males, used dicks, filthy men. The clean synthetic material is almost a blessing. It gives a little under my fingers as I pull it closer, my lips sliding over the realistic head. She groans over me as if she can feel it and her fist tightens in my hair.
"That's right," she croons, holding my head still as she pushes into me. "Get it nice and wet. I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before."
I stay quiet as I go through the almost mechanical motions of cocksucking. I can't tell you how many pricks have spread these lips, but this was certainly the first one not made of flesh. I'm just beginning to appreciate the lack of all the things that made it an undesirable activity when she suddenly yanks my head back. A line of spittle breaks between the bobbing end of her dick and my lower lip. "That's enough," she says. "Stand up and spread those legs. I want you to hold onto the top of your cage—like that, yes, now bring your hips forward..."
I'm straining as hard as I can to get my cunt where she wants it. She probes at me with her fingers again, then lifts her gloved hand and licks my honey from her fingertips. Her eyes are on me steadily for this and I refuse to look away. She steps forward and holds my waist steady, my hips almost painfully pressed against the cold iron, and she impales me in one stroke on that long cock. I cry out, not in pain, but relief.
She is relentless. There's no building up, she just pounds away. Though the air in the den is heavy, she's not even panting. I want so badly to wrap my legs around her and grind, feel that dick in the deepest of places inside me. I'm sweating, grasping to the horizontal bars on the top of my cage, coming closer to coming with every thrust.
When I do come, she doesn't stop. Doesn't even pause. I'm standing on my tip-toes, cries ripping from my throat. When my arms start to shake, she commands me, "Don't you dare let go of those bars," and keeps right on fucking me. I don't dare, and I don't dare to ask her to stop. I lose count. My body is wracked by climax again and again, my knees shaking, my mouth dried out. I lick my lips, panting, and look down at her as she's thrusting away. Just beneath the heady scent of my own sex, I can smell her arousal. From what I can tell, she hasn't come yet. She's just fucking me for the sake of the fuck for all I know. I gather my nerve.
"Please, sir," I whisper, "let me suck your cock again."
She stops, looking up at me, deciding. Her finger is on my clit, stroking lazily, but I've come so many times already that even that gentle touch is almost painful.
"All right," she says, and steps back, sliding out of me. The cool air, the emptiness is a shock, but I close my thighs together and kneel down, my arms tingling as blood recirculates. I don't hesitate to take as much of her length in my mouth as I can, unperturbed by the layer of my come thick along it, sucking like my life depended on it. I'm still breathing heavy, my heart pounding. I take my chance while I can, sliding one hand down the length of her cock, bumping against the supple leather harness and quickly slipping a finger between it.
She gasps. But doesn't pull away. In fact, she pushes forward, nudging the head of her cock against the back of my throat. I keep sucking, stroking with my tongue, as I locate her slit and stick first one, then two fingers inside her. I feel her hands on the back of my head again, fingers curling and tangling in my hair. Her legs spread a little, belt buckle jingling. "F-f-f-f-f-f-uck yes," she whispers. Her hips buck, taking my mouth with almost the same ferocity as she took my cunt.
The rhythm grows erratic, her pussy contracting around my fingers. She's as wet as I'd ever been, hot. When she comes, she shoves against my jaws and holds my head steady as if she's shooting down my throat. Her entire body shudders.
Inexplicably, she shoves my hand away, yanks her cock from my mouth. The corners of my lips are sore and my groin is throbbing, though from hunger or use, I couldn't say. She tucks her cock into her pants and tucks in her shirt, does up the fly, buckles her pants. I stay crouched, hands steadying my body on the bars, looking up to her. She avoids my gaze completely. The transaction is over.
I watch her leave, and even from behind any hint of a female figure beneath the suit is hidden. This interaction is just one unique stone in a riverbed of rocks. Though as I feel my mind slipping back into the usual stoic, bored state, I can't help but notice something else there. Something a little like curiosity.