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The Knockout Bid

What's your price? One woman finds hers.

“Knockout” – an extremely attractive woman.
“Knockout bid” – a strong first bid designed to intimidate and eliminate potential competitors.

Traders like the negotiation; it’s practically a game. Figuring out their opponent gets them off. Making the offer, the counteroffer, or even pulling the bid, is all part of the fun. It’s how they measure themselves, and how they keep score. It never occurred to me, until it happened, that I might be part of the deal.

~~~

My relationship with Stu seemed normal enough. He worked hellish hours trading commodities, so he had only one free evening a week, and yet that was plenty. His intensity was intriguing. He didn’t just “work hard, play hard,” he seemed determined to wring every second of pleasure out of the few hours he had available.

Often, Stu would text me – “Hey Knockout, find something hot on Net-a-Porter. Send me the link.” The first time it happened, I chose something sexy, but not too expensive. He replied, “U can do better.” Instead of a Hervé Leger on sale, I chose a suede Saint Laurent minidress with a neckline down to my bellybutton, priced at an aggressive $3,500. Seconds later, I got a text saying, “Super sexy. Wear 2night.” Hours later, the delivery guy appeared at my office with a garment bag containing the dress and a coordinating pair of stilettos. 

The ladies on my floor at the PR agency would chant, “Give us your runway walk!” and I obliged. I had a brief flirtation with modeling in my teens. Unfortunately, my body wanted to be a size 4, even as the sample sizes required a size 2. My curves dictated college, but I still had “the walk.” So I’d sashay down the hall in the platforms or boots or whatever Stu had sent over, thrilling to the attention and the decadence.  

Our evenings had a rhythm. A black sedan with a trim Haitian driver named Jean-Jean would be waiting for me. I’d text Stu as we got close to his office, but I always had to wait. I’d make small talk with Jean-Jean, whose double barreled name made me giggle. When Stu finally appeared, he’d hurl himself into the car as if he were still playing rugby. As soon as the door clicked shut, Stu would settle into the plush leather seat and unbutton his jacket and pants.

“Do you want me to suck your cock?” I’d draw out the words “suck” and “cock” for emphasis.

“Yeah, Knockout. I need it. Would you?” Stu thought orgasms were therapeutic.

“Jean-Jean might be offended.” I didn’t want to seem too easy. I actually said “no” the first time Stu asked, and it was a month before he texted again. Stu wielded a carrot and a stick, and I much preferred the carrots that came in Net-a-Porter bags.

“He’s never been offended before. Have you, Jean-Jean?” Stu looked toward the front seat while Jean-Jean put the car into gear.

“No, monsieur.” And that settled it, Jean-Jean was fine. I’d lower my mouth to Stu’s exposed cock and get to work. My tongue knew his penis intimately. Every ridge and crest had become familiar in the six months we’d been going out. I understood how to linger on his head, sucking the flesh between my teeth over and over again until Stu couldn’t stand it any longer. He’d push down on the back of my skull, so that my lips reached the base. Then I’d concentrate on the lower part of his cock.

I’m patient and I became practiced. Stu’s cock was predictable. I’d grip his balls with my left hand and his shaft with my right, and then I’d raise and lower my head with deliberate slowness. After about a minute of this treatment, I’d feel him twitch.

I’d accelerate and my mouth would become wet as I trailed my lips and tongue from the tip of his cock down to the bottom, encircling his organ and smoothly gripping and licking. Stu’s cock invariably became further engorged, and my mouth would have to stretch to take him in. But it meant so much to Stu, being transgressive in the car after a long day at work, that it didn’t bother me much after the first few times.

Sometimes, I’d peer up, and see Jean-Jean’s brown eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. He was unabashed as he watched the weekly ritual. Our eyes would meet, and he made no effort to look away or feign an absence of curiosity. Stu had to know – and like – that there was an audience.

As Stu and I reached our crescendo, he’d grab my head and move his hips up and down. After a few seconds, I’d taste him, salty and fresh against my tongue. Then we’d go to dinner, still giggling from the drive. If he continued to feel frisky, we’d sneak off to a bathroom. We’d watch ourselves fucking in the mirror, careful to avoid spilling potpourri or getting singed by candles.

I’d have been happy if the relationship had continued this way. Unfortunately, Stu began to change. I should have realized something was different when he stopped using his cock like an instrument of pleasure and started using it as a battering ram. When the markets began to falter, one of the guys introduced the team to a cocktail of testosterone, Adderall and coke.  The prospect of hacking and enhancing their performance was intoxicating.

“Fuck, Cynthia. I need more.” We’d just had sex for twenty minutes, which was twice as long and twice as many thrusts as usual. My cunt was exhausted.

“Stu, you’ve worn me out. The puss is closed.”

“Ah, come on, Knockout…Let’s fuck again.” He proceeded to hump the pillow like a deranged teenager, and then he pinned me beneath him, his cock poised above my opening as his weight crushed me into the mattress.

“No, Stu. It’ll hurt. You fucked me too hard…What are you taking?”

“Just Vitamin-T. Nothing serious.” He rolled off me. “Well, if your pussy’s out of commission, how about your ass?”

“Stu, enough. I’m tired. Let me jerk you off, okay?” That seemed like a decent compromise. My arm was still functional, even if the rest of me was sore.

“A thousand bucks.” Stu ran his fingers through my angular bob as he said it.

“A thousand bucks for what?”  

“For your ass, silly. I really need to be inside you.”

“You’re full of shit.” I had to pause. Stu didn’t joke around, yet he’d just offered me a week’s pay for anal sex. “I’m not that girl.”

“Bullshit. We all have a price. Two thousand. For your ass. Right now.”

My student debt was insane, and my rent stratospheric. Stu had just offered enough to provide breathing room for the next couple of months. And yet I knew if I accepted, it would change our relationship. I wouldn’t be the girl he bought nice things for, I’d be the girl he bought with cash.

My psyche was overwhelmed with indecision and fear. I wanted to accept, but I didn’t want to pay the consequences. What was an ass fucking, after all? Ten minutes of my life. What was the value of two months of financial calm? Priceless.

I glanced at Stu, whose rock hard cock made him oblivious to my moral calculations. I knew what my mother would say – “Run.” But spending time with Stu and his friends had coarsened me. I had taken to conducting cost-benefit analyses on everything. As I thought about his offer, the merits of the trade became obvious.

“Fork it over. I need to see you’re serious.” I looked Stu in the eye. I didn’t see any trace on his face of the disgust I was feeling for myself. He walked over to his dresser, grabbed his clip and peeled off twenty hundred dollar bills. It hardly made a dent in his wad, but the crisp bills filled my purse.

“On your belly. Let’s get going.” Stu patted the bed and I took my spot with my butt up in the air.

“Lube. Get some lube.” His cock was turbocharged on testosterone, and without an ample application of gel, my ass would become worse off than my cunt.

“Roger!” Stu pulled out some KY from his nightstand and smeared it on my asshole. And then, without trying to open me up or relax me, he pushed his cock past my sphincter and deep into my rectum. The searing sensation lingered, but I was determined to keep things moving forward and getting him off as quickly as possible. I let out only a small squeal as he filled me.

Stu pushed down on my shoulder blades while he balanced on my back, thrusting his cock past that reluctant muscle and deep inside. It took a minute, but my body stopped resisting and started accepting. Soon, he was gliding in and out, as if he were just fucking my cunt, and not that most intimate of orifices.

“Cyn, this is fucking awesome. My cock needs this.” He kept up his pace, gripping my ass and slapping it with every other thrust. My brain flooded with a sloppy mix of stimulation and pain. Every moment Stu was in me seemed amplified and exaggerated. We’d had anal sex before, but it was never like this. The fucking was hard, furious and incessant. His cock kept going as the drug cocktail seemed to diminish his capacity to come, even as it heightened his capacity to stay hard.

I reached back and pulled my cheeks apart. My pornographic tableau worked, because Stu’s pace changed. Stu dug his fingers into my cheeks as I dug mine into a pillow. He gave me a few more sharp thrusts as he released into me. Finally, I relaxed, still wary of the transaction.

“That was fucking hot, Cyn. You’re a fucking knockout.” Stu flopped onto his back, sighing contentedly as he wiped the sweat from his bald head.

I lay next to him, silently wondering what we’d just done.

Nothing seemed amiss when Jean-Jean picked me up the next Thursday. I was wearing a brand new red Gucci minidress. Earlier in the day, Net-a-Porter had dropped off the dress and a pair of black patent Louboutin pumps embellished with stacks of kinky straps.

The ladies gathered around my cubicle to see what Stu had sent.  I hadn’t weighed in on this outfit, so I was relieved it was an elegant, expensive dress and not something whore-appropriate.

“How can I find a Stu?” asked my fellow PR drone, Patti. “You blondes have all the fun.”

“I dunno. He picked me up at the Brandy Library. Have you been there?”

“Nah, it’s too expensive.” Patti sighed and smoothed her tired Ann Taylor dress. “Maybe you can introduce me to one of his friends?”

“Sure, Patti. They’re cool guys.” I smiled, knowing I’d never do so. It was bad enough that Stu’s colleagues were pretty debauched, but ever since that two-thousand-dollar butt-fucking, I wanted to cordon off my social life from my professional life.

 

 

~~~

Jean-Jean took me to Stu’s office where we waited an unusually long time. I texted him, eager to get on with the evening, even as I was wary. After forty minutes, Stu finally appeared with his boss, Jeff. They both crowded into the back of the car, sandwiching me between them. “Jean-Jean, we’re going to the apartment.”

“Got it, monsieur.”

The apartment belonged to the bank, so it was nearby. We promptly pulled up in front of one of those looming glass monoliths. As Jeff was helping me out of the car, I heard him whisper to Stu, “You’re right, she’s a knockout.” His statement left me flattered and horrified.

The ascent to the penthouse took forever. I knew something was up, but it wasn’t clear to me what the men had in mind. My sense of dread increased with altitude, and yet I never let my smile waver.

Jeff opened the door to a swank apartment, all glossy marble surfaces and sparkling chrome finishes. The furniture was luxurious and masculine. There was an oversized black leather sofa looking out on an expansive view of the city. If the man sitting there didn’t feel like he owned the world, something was wrong with him. Jeff grinned at me as he patted the seat beside him on the couch.

“Stu, can we talk?” I kept my voice as cheerful as possible.

“Sure,” Stu pulled me into the bathroom where he pushed me against the wall and proceeded to grab my breasts, mauling the flesh through the fine silk fabric. “Could you blow me?”

“No! Jeff’s in the other room.” I shook my head in disbelief. “What are we doing here?”

“Tonight? I thought we’d have a threesome with Jeff.” Stu grinned broadly as he loosened his tie. “I told Jeff you had a thing for him.”

“Fuck, Stu. What’s wrong with you?” I sat down on the toilet, wondering how I’d gotten into such a mess.

“Oh come on. It’s no big deal.” Stu began to remove his tie. “I’ve done this before with Jeff. He’s a gentleman.”

“What kind of gentleman screws his subordinate’s girlfriend? That’s crazy.”

“It’s not crazy. Why do you think I sent the Gucci? I wanted Jeff to drool when he saw you.”

“I’m outta here.” I could feel my temperature rising, as I freaked out about Stu's scenario. “It’s over. You can fuck Jeff all by yourself.”

I went for the bathroom door, only Stu stood in front of the handle. The guy did Judo as a hobby; there was no way through or around him. “Five thousand.”

“Five thousand, what? Let me out.”

“Dollars. I’ll give you five thousand. I promised Jeff we’d have a good time tonight, and I can’t look like a schmuck.” Stu leaned against the sink, looking improbably small. “Come on. It’ll be okay.”

“Do you think you can just pay me to do whatever and whoever you want? That’s sick. You’re sick. The coke and the T have gone to your head.”

“Cyn, everyone has a price. I learned yours last week. Five grand.” I could see the beads of sweat forming on Stu’s head and the veins throbbing in his neck. “Come on…” he pleaded. “It’ll be fun. I promise. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Show me the money.” I couldn’t believe I’d said it, but that was an enormous amount for me. Five thousand was the difference between having an emergency fund, and bringing a bagged lunch to work every day.

Stu pulled out his wad and counted off fifty hundred dollar bills.  This time, his money clip looked depleted. I tucked the thick stack into my purse and grabbed a tube of lipstick. As I freshened my makeup I asked, “Who makes the first move – you…me…him?”

“Now you’re talking, Cyn. Allow me.” We exited the bathroom hand in hand, as if we’d never had a depraved negotiation.

Stu led me to the couch. “Cynthia. Come here and sit between us.” Both men smiled at me, and then they both licked their lips in unison. Pavlov couldn’t have timed it better. “But first, give us a twirl.”

I channeled my modeling days. With my left hand, I played with the hem, and with my right, I caressed the plunging neckline. Their eyes followed my fingers as they stared at my décolletage. In the pumps, I loomed over them.

“Stu, you’re a lucky guy.” Jeff leaned back and admired me as I dawdled in a circle. It was a path designed to highlight my slim physique and perfect tits. Seven years out of the game, and I still knew my angles.

“Thanks, Jeff. I have the best boss and a knockout for a girlfriend. Cyn says you’re hot, too. Isn’t that right?”

I paused in front of Jeff and nodded. “Yeah.” I wasn’t sure how much enthusiasm I was supposed to telegraph for five grand, but it was the most I could muster.

“Jeff, you should see her ass. She’s got the most perfect butt.” Stu looked at me. “Cyn, show him your ass.”

I’d been to strip clubs, so I knew the drill, but I was mortified. I turned around, grateful they couldn’t see my face, and slowly lifted up my dress. It was the most surreal experience. Standing there, being examined like an object, and trying to retain my dignity while the two men discussed me.

“Stu, you’re right. Perfect ass. No cellulite. Just the kind of flesh you want to sink your teeth into.” Jeff chuckled as he bit the air.

“Yeah, Jeff. You can really grab hold of it.” Stu clutched my right cheek, and jiggled the flesh. “Cyn, could you bend over?”

I knew at that moment that our relationship was over. Stu didn’t view me as “marriage material,” and I wouldn’t want to make a life with someone who’d offer me up to some higher-status male. And yet, I’d made the deal. My own moral code said I had to make a good faith effort to fulfill my end. I bent over, placing my palms flat against the cool surface of the marble coffee table. My eyes welled as I looked out the window, the city lights shifting and streaking in the night.

The men got behind me, and Jeff pushed my dress up to my ribcage. “Let me take it off. It’ll just get in the way.” I wasn’t worried about their comfort, but more about the safety of the frock. I wanted to wear it again, only I couldn’t afford something so exquisite without a Stu.

As I teetered naked on stiletto heels, I glanced back over my shoulder as Jeff removed all his clothes, except for his black socks. There was no uncertainty in his behavior. Jeff knew precisely what was offered. Stu just stood there, looking back and forth between Jeff and me as he took in the scene he’d orchestrated.

“Stu knows this, so you should too, Jeff. This is my first time with two men.” Although my emotions were more in check, I wanted them to understand why I was trembling.

“But it’s a big fantasy of hers, isn’t it Cyn.” Stu nudged me.

“Yeah, it’s a fantasy. But I’m still nervous. Please don’t hurt me.” I don’t know why I added that last sentence, because if they’d wanted to hurt me, there was nothing I could have done to stop them. But I felt so compromised, vulnerable and outnumbered, my thoughts crystallized on my tongue.

“We won’t hurt you…” Jeff spoke up. “But we’ll fuck you hard. That’s a promise.”

I watched as Jeff rolled on a condom, and without wasting any effort on foreplay, he grabbed hold of my hips as he plunged into me.  Jeff must have been on a similar cocktail as Stu, because instead of using his cock as a battering ram, it was more like a jack hammer. He was pushing and pulling me down onto him at a rapid pace. In and out. Up and down. His motions were quick and furious, while his cock was hard and unyielding. He fulfilled his promise.

Worried about my pussy, I offered my mouth instead. Jeff thought this was a great idea. I climbed up on the coffee table, got on all fours with my knees spread wide. Jeff flicked his condom onto the floor and shoved his bare cock in my mouth. I was wearing only the patent Louboutins, which offered a startling contrast as they braced against the matte white marble. Stu got in behind, and took his turn fucking me. If my mouth hadn’t been full of dick, I’d have asked Stu to wait, but my job was to be amazing for Jeff.

In Japan, the salary men go to hostess bars where they consume too much beer and talk dirty to the ladies who pour. The women are a device that help the men relate to one another in a community where intimacy is difficult. As I was getting double-teamed by Jeff and Stu, I wondered if I was like one of those hostesses. With a cock in my mouth and another in my cunt, I didn’t feel much pride, but at least I was getting a better deal than the lady who pours the beer. And though I hated to admit it, my body was responding to the attention. I felt that floating sensation that precedes my orgasms.

Unfortunately, my arousal was interrupted by Jeff when he grabbed my hair and started skull-fucking me. His cock filled my throat, as Stu grunted encouragement. It was all I could do to keep from tearing up, again, as I gasped for breath between thrusts. I tried to get Stu’s attention, to let him know that things had gotten unpleasant. Unfortunately, he was oblivious. Stu was watching Jeff’s cock go in and out of my mouth with as much intensity as Jeff was watching Stu’s cock go in and out of my pussy.

There must have been a signal between the two men, because they both upped their pace, and soon I was getting reamed from both ends. I was relieved when Jeff pulled out, but that turned to disgust when he ejaculated on my face. Thick blobs of cum mottled my hair and cheeks. Stu pulled his cock out and jerked off onto my ass. I remained immobile, while he finished himself off. Unnerved and appalled, I retreated silently to the bathroom. As I was washing cum from my hair, Stu came in.

“Could you turn off the water? I’d like to talk to you.”

“We have nothing to say, Stu. You guys treated me like crap. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.” I stood in the shower, letting the air chill me. “I got a fucking facial! Who does that outside of porn?”

“I know. It wasn’t cool. But let me make it up to you. -I’ll never ask you for anything again.”

“The answer is ‘no.’  -I should have said so earlier, you fucking asshole. You’ve done this before with Jeff, and you knew I wouldn’t like it.”

“I’m sorry, Cyn. I’m sorry. It’s just that things are rough at work and I thought you’d help cement that relationship.”

“Fuck you, Stu. Get my dress.”

“Don’t you want to hear my offer?”

“No. Because then I can’t be tempted.”

“It’s only an evening. Ten grand, but it’ll be worse than this. There’s this group of traders, and it’s my turn.”

“I’m not your fucking entertainment, Stu. Hire a hooker.”

“I know, Cyn, I’m sorry. But my book is down and I need help.” Stu was slumped against the toilet, sobbing loudly. I wasn’t sure if he was crashing after the coke, or if he was truly scared. But I once felt something for the guy and I was starting to feel it again. “I don’t want a hooker, and I know you need the money. Please, Cyn? Please...It’ll be good for both of us.” He gripped my hands.

“Fuck, Stu. Don’t do this to me. Don’t ask.”

“Cyn, I’m sorry, but I’m being killed. I went long on copper. And, well, you read the papers.” He sat with his head in his hands.

“Fuck, Stu, I’m sorry. Can you unwind your trades?”

“Only with help. And these guys can help. They’ve all got huge books.”

“How many guys?”

“Only four or five.”

“Four or five? Are you nuts?” I paused, as I started to weigh the offer. “At once, or one at a time?”

“Assume the worse.”

“Any other women?” I wasn’t sure why I asked, but the benefits of sharing the load versus the costs of sharing the spoils entered my mind.

“Do you want other women there?”

“No.” That would be one less witness. “Do I know any of the men?”

“I don’t think so…One of the guys is tops at Greenlawn. Another is tops at Quiver. They’re all top guys. Best of the best. I’m lucky to be hanging with them, to be honest. My book is so fucked right now. I could get axed.”

I nodded, relieved they weren’t co-workers of Stu’s who might have met me before. Our worlds didn’t intersect. I could be anonymous. “Twelve. I’ll do it for twelve. And I’m not your girlfriend anymore. I’m just a chick you hired.”

“You got me over a barrel, Cyn.” Stu tried not to look relieved, but he was clearly happy the negotiation had led to something other than a ‘no-fucking-way.’ And maybe he was happy that I hadn’t quoted a higher number. “But it’s a deal. I’ll wire you the money on Friday.”

“No wire, no trace. Cash only.” I didn’t want there to be any evidence of my foray into compensated gangbangs. “And when it happens, you’ll call me Denise.” Stu nodded knowingly as I turned on the shower and finished rinsing my hair. By the time I emerged from the bathroom, Jeff was already on a train back to Greenwich.

Stu escorted me to the curb and had Jean-Jean drive me and my overstuffed purse home.  “Goodnight, Denise.” I stared straight ahead as I climbed inside the sedan.

I didn’t hear from Stu for a week until I got a text with a date and time. A bag from Agent Provocateur arrived at my apartment containing an assortment of lingerie that was all wicked black straps and sheer lace panels. I pulled a pair of patent Louboutins from my closet because Stu hadn’t bothered to complete the outfit this time. Wanting to look and feel like someone else, I gave my hair a blue rinse. It was a small gesture, but it felt significant.

Stu then sent over eight thousand in cash, with a note saying he’d give me the other four once the evening was finished. I was irritated that he hadn’t produced the full twelve up front, but I understood his intention. He wanted me to show. It’s how I would have structured the deal.

With a tan overcoat over my next-to-nothing lace, I found Jean-Jean waiting for me curbside. “You look great, Cynthia. The blue suits you.”

“Thanks, Jean-Jean,” I let out a loud sigh. “Well, I guess we should get rolling.”

“You don’t need to do this. I know what’s happening. I’ll say you took sick in my car, and I drove you to the hospital.”

I sat in the backseat, staggered by Jean-Jean’s kindness. It was all I could do not to cry, but I didn’t want to smear my makeup. “Thanks, you’re the best. But I said I’d do it.”

“Okay. But I’ll be waiting outside. Text or call if you need to get away.”

“I understand. And thanks.”

Since it was Saturday, the drive downtown was quick, leaving me little time to regret my decision to proceed, or to consider Jean-Jean’s offer of escape. Instead, I applied a fresh coat of war paint and brushed my blue hair as waves of anxiety surged through my body.

It was the same corporate apartment as before, only when I got inside, there were men sporting khaki pants and white shirts all over the place. The bar was fully stocked – everything from Pappy van Winkle, to Taiwanese single malts. There were bowls of condoms and plates of coke scattered about.

Stu greeted me. “Denise, thanks for making it.” I gave him a peck on the cheek as I handed him my coat. “Fuck, you look amazing.” He caressed my blue hair. “Guys, doesn’t Denise look amazing?”

I climbed up on the coffee table and posed with my left hand on my hip as I pivoted on my pumps. The guys might as well get a good look at everything. The black lace contrasted sharply against my pale white skin. The bustier elevated my breasts, while still leaving some areola exposed. The thong straps criss-crossed my hips, while a mere scrap of lace covered my mons. The pumps elongated my legs, emphasizing my calves and firming my thighs. Stu had picked an outfit that said, unambiguously, “high-class-whore.”

My legs were trembling, but the rest of me kept it together. I repeated the words “twelve thousand” in my head as I counted down the minutes. Stu helped me down off the table, and then scooped me up in his arms. The men crowded round him, and I became like a beach ball, being tossed from guy to guy. I shrieked with every catch, and the men loved it.

One guy slung me over his shoulder while another pulled off my thong.  I was tossed again, and the guy who caught me put his fingers in my cunt and then licked his hand. “First taste!”

He tossed me to the next man, who removed my bustier and grabbed my breasts as he deposited me on the ground at his feet. He put his semi-erect prick in my mouth. “First blow!” I braced my hands against his hips and moved my mouth gingerly along the length of his cock. As he got harder, he grabbed my shoulders and shoved his cock further down my throat. I sputtered and looked around for help, but couldn’t find Stu. I was on my own.

From behind, a man pulled my hips back, and I felt fingers opening me up and rubbing up against my clit. It was disorienting when my cunt responded and I grew wet. He plowed into me, as my body took over and my hips moved up and down along his shaft. Another man pushed the first guy aside, and took his place at my mouth. Where the first guy had tasted light and salty, the second tasted feral and funky. I shook my head, trying to discourage him, which only made him up his pace. He must have been masturbating, because he came in my mouth seconds later.

A third guy took over at my lips, which pained me. I didn’t even bother to look up, it was just another cock, and I had a job to do. I was staggered to realize it was Stu. And he was so fixated on the moment that he was treating me like all the other men. “Water, Stu. Get me water.”

“Ah, sure, Cyn.” He handed me a bottle and watched as I took a couple of quick gulps. Once I was done, he shoved his cock back in my mouth and smiled. “What a beautiful cocksucker we have here, guys!”

“Spectacular. Never had a blue-haired whore before!”

Another man took his place behind me. Within seconds, I had two thick fingers swirling in my ass, as he readied me for his prick. I couldn’t concentrate and my breathing became shallow as he thrust them in and out. Fearful others might want anal, too, I interrupted the blowjob, “Pussy only, no ass.”

“Aw, come on.” The guy’s cock flopped with disappointment.

“You heard the lady. No anal.” Stu chimed in, to my relief.

The guy settled for my pussy, only he slapped my ass with every thrust in protest. It was a hard, punishing fucking that had me straining. Stu pulled out of my mouth, and like the other men, he watched as I bounced back and forth along the cock, yelping with every blow. It didn’t seem hot or porny to me, but the traders seemed hypnotized. I was startled when my body responded to the mix of pleasure and pain, and I began to feel lightheaded. My nervous squeals turned into sincere moans.

The man kept thrusting, and one of the guys reached between my legs and began playing with my clit.  Soon, I couldn’t help myself. I was rocking and panting instinctively, as an orgasm rolled through my body. Every nerve was on alert. Every neuron was on fire. I pushed my forehead into the couch and rode out the surges of pleasure. They must have lasted for minutes, or at least as long as it took the fucker to get off. His fingers sunk into my sore flesh as he gave me a few last thrusts and exploded into a condom. He pulled out and I staggered, depleted and embarrassed, over to a chair in the corner of the room.

The men left me alone, content to play poker and drink whiskey. I curled up, naked except for my pumps, and decided to stay put until dismissed.

After an hour hiding in the chair, a guy walked over and sat beside me. “Are you doin’ alright? Can I get you a drink?”

“Maybe a glass of bourbon? The stronger the better.”

He got me some Pappy. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t recognize him from earlier. Unlike the other traders in their khakis, Mr. Bourbon was wearing a dark grey suit, white shirt and no tie. He had a lean physique, with short salt and pepper hair. “Did you just get here?” I was trying to figure out if we’d fucked.

“No, but I didn’t partake.” I rolled my eyes. “That was quite the performance.” He gestured over towards the coffee table.

“Thanks, I think.” My face grew red. “This isn’t my typical Saturday.”

“I could tell.” He got down on his haunches. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s a long, boring story.”

“I hope Stu’s paying you.” He took my hand. “You earned every penny, and then some. You know that, right?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“What’d he give you for tonight? What’s he giving you to stay?”

I was mortified by the frankness of his question, and yet I blurted out, “Twelve.”

The guy nodded.  “Not bad for an evening’s work.”

“I guess. It’s my first and last time doing something like this.”

“Oh? That’s too bad.”

“Why? Are you disappointed you didn’t get a shot at my cunt?” I tried to sound ballsy and brave, but the words came out angry and sad.

“Yeah. But I don’t like crowds. And I don’t like these assholes.” He pointed at the poker table. “I wasn’t going to come, but Stu pleaded. Said it’d be worth my while.”

“He said the same to me!” I snorted. “The jury’s still out.”

“I want to get outta here, and I want you to join me. Come to my place. Spend the night. See if we get along.”

“Thanks. But I don’t even know your name…and besides, I got a real workout today.”

The man stood up, buttoned his jacket and extended his arm. “I’m Zack Naismith. Nice to meet you.” Immediately, I recognized him as one of the most successful traders on Wall Street. His fund was worth billions, and so was he.

“Hi, I’m Denise.”

“Denise?” He raised an eyebrow. “I tell you what, I’ll give you fifty thou to leave right now. Put on your coat and we’ll head out the door. You’ve done a great job tonight, and I want to know you better.”

My eyes bulged at the offer. “Fifty? You can’t be serious.”

“Do I look un-serious to you? We call this a knockout bid.” The men had paused their card game and they were watching us intently. Stu wandered over to see what was happening between me and the biggest guy in the room. Zack stuck out his hand and shook Stu’s. “Thanks for the fun evening, but I’m off. And I’m taking Denise. Get her coat, would you?”

Stu paused, turned on his heels and pulled my overcoat out of the closet. I was still shaky as I stood there naked, so Stu helped me button and belt the trench. “You sure, Denise?”

I wasn’t sure what to say, but it was hard to say no. I pretended not to hear when Zack whispered to Stu, “I gave your knockout a knockout bid. Cynthia’s something special. See ya around, little man.”

 

 

 

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