John Friday - Cuffed and whipped wife

"Lanore…" The woman was almost scolding her. "…the whole neighborhood is talking about what's been going on at your house the last couple of days. I think you'll fit right in."

"What do you mean, the neighborhood is talking?"

"Well, you haven't been exactly quiet and discreet. Do join us, I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself."

"Gill won't like it if I go alone."

"Leave him a note. Tell him to hurry down right after, he gets off work. He'll enjoy himself too. There are some really gorgeous women in our group."

Lanore thought about it. Al and Marilee were obviously having a good time all by themselves, and the blonde was starting to feel horny again. "All right," she said. "I'll see you at eight."

She brushed her long golden hair until it shimmered brightly, and put on a clinging low-cut dress that was soft and sheer and fiery bright. Lanore got so excited doing that, she completely forgot about leaving a note for Gill.

The Bennetts lived in a big two-story house at the end of the block, spacious and impressive, much nicer than anything she and Gill could afford. Lanore's heart beat nervously when she rang the doorbell.

"Aaahhh, Lanore!" Blake Bennett greeted her warmly, as though they'd been good friends for years. "You look ravishing! Simply stunning!"

"Thank you," she replied softly. There didn't seem to be anyone else in the house.

"Everyone is downstairs in the basement rumpus room," he explained, ushering her inside. Blake Bennett was some kind of business executive, Lanore recalled. Obviously very successful. The house was elegantly furnished, everything expensive and in the best of taste.

He was tail, trim and impressively distinguished. But instead of the usual business suit she remembered seeing him in, tonight Blake was dressed more like an old-time riverboat gambler.

Marge hadn't said anything about it being a costume party, but half the people in the huge basement room were strangely dressed. Several women wore harem outfits.

There was a dark-haired woman dressed from head to toe in snug-fitting black leather. She was wearing a bandits mask and carrying a coiled whip.

A man on the far side of the room had on only a black leather jock strap and spiked leather wrist bands. There were men in tuxedos, women in diamonds and furs. A strange group, Lanore thought. But exciting. Every man in the room was looking at her.

Blake Bennett left her with his wife Marge who introduced Lanore to a few friends – a city councilman dressed like a Roman soldier and his wife who looked like dancer with nothing but gold chains and spangles to cover her tits.

Blake climbed up on a raised platform that spanned the far end of the long, narrow room. He walked to a microphone at center stage where a little spotlight shined down from the ceiling above.

"Everyone is here now," he said. "It's time for the auction to begin."

The guests cheered and clapped, all but Lanore who whispered to Marge, "What auction?"

"It's our club's annual charity event," she said, "to raise money for the new children's wing at City Hospital."

"Oh, I wish I'd known. I didn't bring any money."

"A check will do if there's someone you want to buy."

"Someone?" Lanore repeated.

"Yes, dear. It's a slave auction."

The masked, leather-clad brunette had climbed up on the platform.

Blake moved aside and put her under the glare of the overhead spotlight. "Our first offering of the evening is this lovely dominatrix, perfect for the person or couple who would like to learn discipline. What am I bid?"

"Fifty dollars," a male voice said, the man with spiked wrist cuffs.

"Sixty!" said a woman in a gorgeous white mink.

The city councilman's wife went to the block next in her chains and spangles. He didn't even bid for her. She was sold to a frat jock for a contribution to the children's hospital wing. Then Blake said, "How about you?"

"Come on," Marge urged quietly. "It's fun for a good cause. The way all the men have been looking at you, you will probably bring in the highest price of the night."

"Do you think so?" There was something strangely exciting about it. "All right!" she decided, stepping forward uncertain.

"Now who need special care!"

"Six!" shouted the city councilman.

"Seven!" Blake said firmly.

"Seven-fifty," said the matron in white mink.

Blake whispered to Lanore, "Take off your dress. Show them what you got."

"No, I can't do that."

"Oh, come on… it's for a good cause." He reached over and pulled down the zipper that closed the back of her dress.

"Stop that!" It was sliding off her shoulders, starting to slip down, showing more of her creamy big tits.

"Aaahhh, we have a timid one tonight," Blake said. "I'll bid eight hundred dollars for this buxom little beauty."

"Nine," challenged the councilman. A hush fell over the crowd. Lanore was flustered, trying to pull her dress back up.

"One thousand dollars!" Blake shouted anxiously. There was silence after that.

The city councilman was heard muttering, "Shit, I could get three harem girls for that."

"Going once," Blake said. "Going twice. Three times. Sold to the auctioneer – one beautiful blonde slave girl for twenty-four hours!"

"Wh-what do I have to do?" She was bending down, trying to pull her dress back up.

"Oh, wait! I'm not a whore you can just pay for and fuck!"

"I'm making a donation to charity on your behalf," he reminded her. "And I'm not going to fuck you, my son is."

"Your son? This is getting crazier by the minute. What do you think I am?"

"We all know what you are, my dear. You're my son's slave for the next twenty-four hours. Don't bother putting your dress back on." He gripped her arm and pulled Lanore upright.

"Let go of me! I'm getting out of here!"

"No, we can't allow that. Not once you've volunteered yourself. My son and all the other guests would be so disappointed."

"God damn you, let go of me!" Lanore whirled and slapped him hard across the face with her free hand. Bennett was stunned briefly and lost his grip. Lanore kicked free from the red test that was down around her knees and bolted for the door.

"Stop her!" he shouted, his cheek ablaze.

Lanore feuded off the first man who trial. Then the councilman grabbed her bra from the back.

The bra broke and she slipped out of it stumbling forward in blind fright.

She clawed viciously at a woman who made a grab for her and kicked the man with spiked wristbands in the balls. He went down in a groaning heap, and she almost made it to the door. Then the dominatrix uncoiled her long braided whip and whirled it toward her feet.

The sinewy braid snaked around her ankles in a binding set of coils. Lanore tripped and sprawled, her hands just short of the door.

The whip cinched tight around her ankles and she was dragged back screaming, clawing desperately at the floor. That brought a cheer from the strangely dressed crowd.

Lanore screamed, terrified by the way they bunched around her, all more frightening in appearance when viewed from her position, helpless on the slick floor.

"Chain and whip her!" said the man she had kicked in the balls. He was just getting up, grunting fiercely and holding the contents of his leather jock.

"Yes, master!" replied the dominatrix with a twisted. Lanore had forgotten until that moment, the man was the one who had purchased her for his pleasure.

The crowd cheered wildly and pulled back to give the leather-clad masked woman plenty of room. Lanore kicked free from the coils of the whip, stumbling to get up, then saw that the whip was hissing in a high arc and heading for the pain seemed to shoot right through Lanore. It made her budding pink nipples heat up and throb. She fell sobbing, on her knees, her luscious panty-clad ass on the carpet.