Lucy at the Sex Auction

While out for a birthday meal with her family at the local Country House Hotel, Lucy finds herself lost and alone in its labyrinthine back hallways. What she accidentally encounters in one of the function rooms ignites a sexual yearning in her that only one thing will cure

All characters in this fictional story are aged eighteen years or over.

It was June. I had just turned nineteen and was back home after my gap year travels. All I needed now was a job to see me through until university in the autumn. It was Mum who told me about the vacancy at Crightfellow Lodge, the internationally renowned Country House Hotel situated spank-bang in the most beautiful part of the English Lakes. A sixteenth-century mansion house converted into a hotel in the nineteen-nineties, it stood lakeside, regal and imposing. Conveniently, it was a mere fifteen-minute drive from my childhood home. Mum knew the manager, Ned, and his wife, Eve, amateur dramatics, the thing they had in common. The subject had come up while Ned was whining about how difficult it was to find reliable staff and how his usual casual continental workers were sent packing after Brexit. It was a problem plaguing the entire British hotel trade. “Lucy might be interested.” Mum had volunteered on my behalf. “Would you ask her?” Ned had said. “We’re desperate for someone,” Eve added. “You will ask her, won’t you?” And so Mum had asked me.

When she said I would enjoy working at the Hotel, and its clientele was young and ever-so-chic, she meant they were wealthy. When she said I might meet the right kind of man, she meant the one she might approve of. But after my one and only visit a year ago, the night of my eighteenth birthday, I had come away with quite a different impression than my mother’s. My birthday meal was a family affair — grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I’d rather have spent the evening clubbing with my friends. The weekend in Manchester we had planned became a last-minute postponement. Katy and Amelia were as gutted as I was. My parents had insisted. They wanted to make my birthday a special occasion, to “celebrate my becoming a young woman”, Dad had said. I loved them dearly and did not want to disappoint them. I would be gone in the autumn, and I knew Mum would miss me as much as I would her. But after the bizarre episode that night of my birthday, I didn’t feel grown up at all. In fact, I realized how much I had to learn about people and how bizarre the so-called grown-up world might be. The events of that evening awoke something in me that would not lie down and go back to sleep. By 10pm, I’d drunk too much champagne and had unaccountably wandered off to the toilets on my own. I must have turned the wrong way when I came out of the restaurant, because I found myself walking along a deserted, lushly carpeted corridor searching for the ladies’ loo. I was unsteady on my feet, the walls seeming to shift as I walked, the outlandishly brightly patterned carpet making me queasy. I passed a set of double doors on my right, roped off by gold-plated stanchions and velvet ropes. A sign said, “Private Function.” From behind those imposing doors came laughter, shrill voices, and the dulled beat of House Music. Something about the cacophony behind those doors sobered me, and I wondered what could be happening there. The raucousness was way beyond anything the final hour of a wedding reception might deliver, no matter how much worse for booze the guests might be. I was about to step over the rope and have a quick look inside when a woman’s voice called to me from the far end of the corridor. “Hey!” A voice of authority, the carrier of thou shalt nots. I turned and looked. “Not that door!” the woman insisted, hurrying towards me. Tall, middle-aged, and stunningly elegant, she wore a gown split at the side from ankle to hip. Her neatly bobbed hair was a hue of clotted blood matching her lips and nails. A lanyard dangled around her neck with her photo.

She strode towards me, her gaze fixing me to the spot. “What am I to do with you girls?” she said, looming over me. “I’d have more joy herding cats.” “I’m a bit lost,” I said, looking at the laminated card hung from her neck and noting her name, Melissa.

I craned my neck to meet her gaze. At five-six, I was hardly petite. But for a moment I felt like a girl again, back at school, and hauled out in front of the class. I was sure I was about to receive a dressing down for some silly misdemeanor. “It will be starting soon, and you’re not even changed.” “I was looking for the ladies.” She pointed to the far end of the corridor, where she had just come from. “When you reach the end, turn right, and then follow the signs for the pool,” she said. The changing rooms are the third door on the left. There are toilets and showers — and remember, you MUST shower, sweetheart. After that, Kelly will kit you out. Now hurry. It will be starting soon.” And then off she strode. I watched her go, feeling like I’d been caught up in a tornado, lifted from the ground and set back down. Obviously, she had mistaken me for someone else. But I needed to pee quite badly now, so I set off in the direction she had indicated, intent on using the toilet she had mentioned. But my interest was piqued. Who on earth had this beautiful stranger imagined I was?

I followed her directions and found myself in the changing rooms for the pool and spa, where lots of young women were changing. I did not pay them much attention, because I was desperate to pee. When I exited the cubicle, I stood in a corner trying to figure out why so many beautiful young women were there. Many had donned outlandish BDSM-themed costumes, leather catsuits, basques and stockings, mini-dresses, black sheer tights and thigh-length black boots. An electric current of anticipation flowed throughout the room. The girls were giddy with excitement, laughter and banter. No one paid me the slightest attention. And then the redhead I encountered earlier appeared. She blew a whistle that silenced the chattering, drawing all eyes to her as she read out two names. “Bethany and Zoey.” She looked up from her tablet, her eyes scanning the room. “Do we have a Bethany and a Zoey?” “Here!” each responded as if students at morning registration. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Bethany replied.

“Nearly,” said Zoey.

“I want you here with me Now!” Melissa tapped the screen of her tablet, then looked up and said, “The rest of you, carry on.” Bethany made her way to Melissa, followed soon by Zoey. The pair wore identical bright red latex mini dresses, heels, and black fishnet tights. “Any questions?” Melissa asked, then waited for a reply. “Good!” she concluded when none was forthcoming.

I had not noticed the girl standing nearby, holding the collars and leashes. Melissa took one from her, fastened it around Bethany’s neck, and then did the same to Zoey’s. After one last inspection, she took the ends of the two leashes and led both girls away. Melissa had not noticed me, and none of the others seemed to have a problem with my presence. I was able to follow the three women out of the door. I was just in time to see them further up the corridor, entering another door about twenty yards away. I hurried after them, gingerly opening the door through which they had vanished. A roar of an audience clapping and cheering rose up from the darkness of the room. For a moment, I thought the applause was for me. I quickly realized I was backstage, a large curtain separating me from an unseen audience. A woman’s voice was now speaking through a PA system. I could not hear her words because heavy stage curtains muffled her voice. The only light was the stage, seeping through cracks in the curtain. I made my way to the corner where I could peep out. I had a perfect view of the stage where Melissa introduced Bethany and Zoey. However, the stage lights were too bright for me to see the audience. Melissa mounted a lectern, becoming an auctioneer, launching into her spiel, the two girls’ merchandise, lots on offer to the highest bidder. If only I could have seen the faces of the two girls, but they had their backs to me. I wondered what they were feeling. Why on earth were they participants in something so humiliating? The only answer I could think of was money! I wondered how much they were being paid and what they were expected to do to earn their money once the bidding ended. Another elegantly dressed older woman joined them on stage. She maneuvered Bethany and Zoey, arranging them so that they faced each other, encouraging them to kiss. This they did quite readily, each trying to outdo the other in a wanton, ostentatiously sensual display. And I wondered who the people in the audience might be, so eager to part with money. I imagined men at a bachelor party, their eyes fixed on the sordid little act Bethany and Zoey were now performing, their cocks commandeering their wallets. As I watched Bethany and Zoey kiss, the bids mounted in ten-pound increments, soon reaching hundreds — and then thousands — of pounds.

The sight of these two gorgeous, half-dressed young women locked in the most sensuous kiss I had ever witnessed stirred something in me that was just biding its time in some dark, neglected corner of my psyche. The entire spectacle had a delicious wrongness that thrilled me in a way nothing ever had. Soon, the wetness of my arousal seeped from me, dampening my underwear.

“Are you enjoying the show?” a man’s voice, his accent on loan from the BBC.

I did not answer. Bethany and Zoey were tugging at the zippers on each other’s latex dresses, peeling back the clinging material to reveal their smooth skin, their tidy breasts, hard nipples and flat bellies. All that girlish flesh was airbrushed to perfection by stage lighting. I sensed him behind me, closing the gap between us, his hips making contact with mine, the solidity of his cock in his pants hard against my buttocks. His warm breath moistened my ear as he whispered.

“Curious, eh? I bet you’re wondering what happens after this,” he said.

I turned and looked over my shoulder. A beam of stage light shone through a gap in the curtains and illuminated his face. He was younger than his voice implied, in his late thirties I guessed.

He studied me, deciding, “It’s Lucy, isn’t it? Mary and Joe’s girl?”

He knew me — and that scared me. I didn’t know what to say. Being known made me realize how stupid I was to have let my curiosity led me here to trespass on such a bizarre event.

But now, the presence of this man added a new ingredient to the erotic stew I was simmering in. I gave him a look that hinted at my need, one that certified my consent, before turning away from him and continuing to watch Bethany and Zoey on stage.

I was almost out of my mind with need. I wanted to turn around and have him draw me to him and hold me. I knew that if he did that, I would let him do whatever he wanted with me.

But even though my body wanted him, my mind would not set it free. And so I remained fixed to the spot with his cock unignorable in the small of my back. On stage, Zoey was down on her knees, her head flung way back as she looked up with a kind of wonder in her eyes, before she commenced to lick Bethany between her nicely parted legs.

And all the time, a refrain ran through the darkness where I stood, Melissa’s voice as auctioneer registering the bids, seven thousand and rising in jumps of one hundred, while those hands on my hips slid over my new party dress, down, down, down, and then a U-turn under its hem and sliding back up over the outside of my thighs.

“Is this what you want, Lucy?” the stranger behind me asked.

I could not find the words, so I sent my hands behind me to fumble at the zipper of his pants. While I unfastened him, his thumbs found the elastic of my panties and gave them a smart tug.

His hand on the bare flesh of my buttocks, following the fissure and then worming between my legs. I adjusted my stance, parting my legs to allow his fingers to find my cunt, his palm spreading the sap that my excitement produced. Back and forth, his hand went, his slithering palms and fingers stoking something that I was helpless to resist.

On stage, Bethany and Zoey were laid out flat, Bethany eating Zoey now. As the audience cheered for them and called out the bidding, his fingers took me partway down the road to orgasm.

And then his other hand was flat against my abdomen, delving lower until the shredding thrash of his fingers brought me to completion.

If he had not held me as firmly as he did, my legs would have quit on me. And when I was calm, he took charge of his cock, sweeping it back and forth along the crack of my bum, finally settling it just where I wanted it to be.

When he pushed into me, the size and certainty of him took my breath away. He had me secure by the hips as he fucked me, and I held onto the curtains, filling my palms with velvet, desperately clutching, afraid the force of his thrusting might take me off my feet and send me toppling onto the stage.

By the time he was done with me and extracting his cock, the bidding for Bethany and Zoey had climaxed at an amount I could not believe.

He withdrew his cock, and I felt the slow slide of his cum on my inner thighs. Suddenly, I felt sordid and ridiculous — that surrendering to the profundity of my need had cheapened me. At least Bethany and Zoey were being paid.

But I’d had no agency over the erotic spate that had washed over me. What I witnessed on stage had aroused me, in a way I could never have anticipated, a force surging through me beyond my ability to weather. I had allowed myself to be divested of all decorum and had used whoever was at hand to quench the erotic fire in me. All I felt now was ashamed.

When I turned around, I was almost relieved to see him still there. “I must go. People will be wondering where I am,” I said, trying to worm past him. “These girls... and he nodded behind me, indicating the stage, “are making more money than you can imagine. But there’s not one of them as beautiful as you, Lucy. It’s not too late to play a part, you know.”

I shook my head, and he looked at me. I saw how handsome he was, but I also saw how I amused him. And it angered me — while making him even more appealing. I had never looked at an older man in the way I now looked at Ned. “You’d better disappear then,” he said, “before Melissa finds you here.” He stood aside to let me pass. His cum still seeping, I pulled up my knickers and then whispered a sheepish “Thanks,” and hurried past him and out of the stage door.

I wasn’t sure if I was heading the right way. But when I reached the roped-off room I had passed earlier, I was able to get my bearings. The gold-plated stanchions were set aside now, and the velvet ropes drooped.

I hurried past when I heard voices behind me. A man’s laughter made me stop and turn. Three people were leaving the room. One was Bethany, led by her leash by an older woman wearing an expensive-looking gown and overburdened with jewelry, necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and rings. A man in a tuxedo followed. I could not help but stare, and I stood aside and let them pass. I caught Bethany’s eyes, and she smiled and then winked at me as they led her away. When I got back to my family, Mum asked where I’d been and said she was getting worried. “Oh, nowhere, really,” I said. “I’ve just met your old friend Ned. He had quite a lot to say for himself.”

Thank you for reading,

Episode 2 can be found here; https://readmedium.com/a-surprise-for-lucy-at-the-interview-fe70c4c0c99e