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Risk Versus Reward is a prequel to Girl Friday and focuses on the story of Karin, the ‘H.R. Lady’ who provided Charlotte’s rather unique interview experience when she was hired. You do not need to read Girl Friday to understand what’s going on in Risk Versus Reward. But if you enjoy this story, Girl Friday should most definitely be on your reading list.
In the last chapter of Karin’s story, we found our heroine having serious second thoughts about The Academy and its founder, Doctor Moreau. Her anxiety seeps into her subconscious and causes her to have disturbing dreams. To make matters worse, she can feel her best friend and lover slipping away. Will Karin’s stress dreams lead her to walk out the door and lose Desi forever? Or is there another way to escape the clutches of Doctor Moreau?
I hope you enjoy Karin’s continuing story.
* * * *
Chapter 16: It’s All For a Good Cause
I snuck a quick glance in the mirror to catch Desi’s eye as she and I both tried to sit still in our makeup chairs amidst a flurry of lab coat girls hovering all around us like busy little bees collecting pollen for the hive. Desi winked at me. She and I are the flowers in this little scene in case you missed that pollen analogy I whipped out earlier. And I suppose it’s a fitting reference since we were the beautiful objects being plucked up out of our natural environment so that we could be put on display for someone else’s enjoyment tonight.
Against my better judgment Desi and I were both participating in The Academy’s annual scholarship drive slave auction. It was her idea. We were on our way to afternoon classes after having just been sated with a wonderful gourmet lunch when she caught sight of the charity event on one of the ubiquitous hallway-mounted flat-panel displays and dragged me over.
“Come on Karin,” she had said as I stared at the screen, “it’s for a good cause and it’ll be fun. Imagine all those horny women swarming the club, ogling us while they calculate how much money they’re willing to part with to take us home for the weekend. My nipples are getting hard just thinking about it.”
“Your nipples are always hard, Baby. Ever since you let your favorite P.E. teacher tag you by stabbing her class ring through your left one here.” I poked the top of Desi’s breast with my index finger.
“I know.” Desi responded by placing her hand under her boob to hoist it up for me to see, and at the same time fluttering her lashes. “She’s so dreamy, don’t you think?”
I leaned forward to take a swipe at Desi’s nipple with my tongue. I wasn’t so sure if dreamy was the word I would choose to describe our P.E. teacher Mistress Nguyen, but I’d be lying to myself if I said that I wasn’t fascinated by what she had talked Desi into doing to her tender flesh, and I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity she was presenting. So I trapped that ring behind my teeth and batted it around with my tongue for a time while Desi shuddered and moaned and squirmed and generally pawed at my crotch.
“Mmm, promise?” I said when I finally released her.
“Karin, if you go up on the auction block with me I promise I’ll give you more than just my fingers.”
“OK,” I said. “OK, I’ll go.” It was hard to say no to Desi on a good day, but when she was standing in front of me making sure I could watch her slowly slurping my juices off her slippery digits while I held onto visions of her dainty little fist curling up inside me, it was even more difficult than usual.
So there I was, at the club getting ready for the annual Academy scholarship drive charity slave auction. I was gathering up my usual club attire, the furry cat ear headband and the matching tail, except no diamond studded collar. That was missing from my locker. I know it wasn’t stolen since it had been replaced by a note that I immediately recognized as being written by Doctor Moreau. ‘I have it with me,’ the note said in that elegant handwriting that used to make me all weak in the knees whenever I thought about the attentions of the woman who penned it. Now looking at it just made me shudder slightly. There was no mention of ‘dearest kitten,’ or ‘with my sincerest love,’ only the cold words ‘I have it with me.’ And for the first time since our encounter under the conference room table, I was not looking forward to smelling the spicy scent of her perfume.
But I didn’t dwell on it. If she showed up to bid on me there was nothing I could do about it, so I figured I ought to concentrate on enjoying the pleasant aspects of this evening, like how I was being treated like a VIP and fawned over by the lab-coat brigade as I got ready. Elena adjusted my kitty-cat ears for the umpteenth time and Julieta was still tugging and adjusting my buttplug tail, not that there was necessarily anything wrong with it, I just think she liked to watch it stretch me out when she pulled and then get sucked back in when she let go.
Julieta had volunteered Demetevler Escort to be the one to bend me over and impale me with the thing so I assumed she might be a bit of an ass girl, or at least she seemed to like my ass anyway. The idea for that had pretty well solidified in my mind when she elected to forgo the usual bottled lube and swirled her tongue on me instead. Thank goodness for the bidet. She claimed she was worried that the lube would be too slippery and that my tail might accidentally fall out while I was up on stage. At least that’s what she told me as she blew everything dry after stuffing me. I made a point to ask for her phone number after that.
“Eef that is all it take to win you over, I would have tongue up your ass long time ago.” Elena was chastising me as she knelt down and wrote a three-digit number on my right buttcheek in thick black marker. My lot number. I assumed it was 248 to match the number she had written earlier, high across my left breast. Desi’s lot number was 503.
“Elena,” I said, “please don’t be jealous, Bubala. You know I love you and you’ll always have the honor of being my first ever happy ending.”
I heard her giggle as she slapped me hard on the other buttcheek before standing up. “Don’t you ever forget eet.”
“I dare say you might employ a gentler touch with tonight’s wares, Elena.” It was the lovely English-accented voice of Headmistress Hendricks wafting over to my ears. “We are expecting to raise a great deal of money this evening to fill The Academy’s coffers for next year’s crop of incoming scholarship students, and we certainly won’t be fetching top dollar for bruised merchandise now will we dear?”
“No Miss,” Elena and I said together.
“Oh Karin, you look simply delightful this evening.” Headmistress Hendricks made a point of slowly looking me over from head to toe before touching her index finger to my shoulder, running her tongue slowly over her lips, and then turning on her heel. “I may have to bid on you myself,” she called out as she walked away. “I do think I would rather enjoy having a pussycat to curl up with on a cool evening.”
I shuddered a little as I thought about that prospect, the idea of belonging to the headmistress for the evening and the next two days. The first thing I would do would be to find a way to crawl my little pussycat face over to her and run my tongue along the seam of those sexy stockings she was always wearing, and then if she’d let me, I’d slide my pussycat paw up under that signature pencil skirt of hers and find out what kind of panties she liked to wear, or maybe if I was a really lucky kitty I’d find that she was the type of girl to go without.
Wouldn’t that just be the thing, gently parting those delicious folds with my fingers to find out just what exotic flavor the headmistress was keeping tucked away under there. It would be nice to go down on somebody in a position of authority around here, not that I expected the taste to be any different, it would just be a nice notch in my bedpost, something to look back upon fondly in my golden years. So far I’d only been orally intimate with two of the staff, a certain flowy body-painting enthusiast at the faculty luncheon and one slightly pickled home-ec teacher in preparation for my duties under the luncheon table.
And then there was Miss Spiced Latte, but that was through the fabric of her trousers and I didn’t actually have time to bring her to the peak, so it didn’t seem fair to count it. I began to wonder if Doctor Moreau would even show up to bid on me tonight or if she’d just put the collar in the pocket of her lab coat while she polished her instruments.
“Two forty-eight,” a woman said.
“Two forty-eight,” she repeated before I realized she was referring to me by my lot number. “Let’s go Honey, you’re up.”
“Yes, Miss.” I followed the woman, no one I had ever seen before, as she led me to the stage.
“Knock ’em dead,” Desi hollered and blew me a kiss.
* * *
I found myself blinking against the cold bright light pouring down on me from above the small circular stage, just to the right of the main stage, where I had been taken for pre-bidding inspection. I’ve been on this stage a time or two, usually flat on my back or bent over a bench while a crowd of cheering women watched Desi pressing finger after finger into me until finally even her thumb disappeared, usually causing my eyes to roll back into my skull at the same time. We called it the Karin and Desi show and it was a popular attraction most nights at the club, not to mention a hell of a lot of fun for me.
But tonight I was up here all alone, blinking not only because of the harsh light, but because of the heavy false eyelashes Elena had insisted on pasting on my lids. She told me it would be sure to drive up my bidding price and that this was for a good cause after all. I think next time I will definitely be questioning Elena’s advice, because not Otele gelen escort a single one of these women seemed to be making any remarks at all concerning my lovely lashes. They were all too wrapped up in hoisting my breasts and letting them drop to comment on the lovely way they jiggled, or slapping my ass to do the same.
Occasionally one of them would twist a nipple cruelly or pinch my bottom and then remark on the lovely shade of pink it turned as the blood-flow increased around the freshly molested flesh. I swear one of the nipple twisters was Mistress Nguyen, but it was hard to say since the lights were fairly blinding and all the bidders wore nearly identical masquerade ball masks, and on top of that there wasn’t a single track suit in the bunch.
But once I got over the fact that the bidders would remain largely anonymous here tonight I began to relax, and after a few minutes I have to admit that I rather enjoyed all of the attention I was receiving. It was a bit like one of those sex with a nameless stranger kind of dreams I’d have occasionally, except there was a lot more than just one stranger, and this was very much not a dream. Adding to the surreal nature of the evening, there was an instruction every so often from the woman who had led me over here, always referring to me by lot number.
“Two forty-eight on your knees, please. Chest out. Lace your fingers together behind your head.”
“Yes, Miss.” I dropped down quickly and knelt on the stage with my hands locked behind my head — I figured it was the least I could do since she had said please after all — and I immediately felt the hands on me, dozens of hands. They were pawing at my hair now and groping me in places they couldn’t have easily reached when I was standing up. I felt a finger outlining my ear and another dragging at the corners of my mouth as if my teeth were somehow up for inspection by some horny dentist. And maybe she was a dentist for all I knew, but I was having a hard time thinking about it, or anything beyond keeping my fingers laced behind my head and trying not to squirm too much.
It’s certainly a good thing that I wasn’t standing anymore, because my head was starting to feel a little light and wobbly. So many hands in so many places at once, and so many pleased coos and moans from the women who touched and inspected. Yeah, I felt a little like a piece of meat up there, but a damn fine piece of meat, a piece of meat that any one of these women would be happy to pay top dollar for. I shivered.
“Two forty-eight, lean forward and press your cheek to the floor, please.”
I can’t remember if I responded with my customary yes miss, but I complied nonetheless as I leaned forward, turning my head to one side in order to press my cheek to the floor. I was in what was probably the most vulnerable position since I had walked up onto the pre-bidding stage only a few minutes ago, and you know what? I kind of got off on it. No, I really got off on it. My pussy was leaking down the inside of my quivering thighs pretty steadily now as the hands continued touching me anywhere and everywhere. I felt a hand between my shoulder blades pressing me flatter against the floor of the stage while another pair holding my hips ensured my ass remained up in the air.
I decided to harness that chutzpah Doctor Moreau was always going on about and I wiggled my ass. I heard a few delighted oohs and ahhs in response, and felt a little tug on my tail. Energized by the crowd and the pleasant spasm in my ass from the tail tugging, I spread my thighs wider and got down lower until my tummy was touching the floor of the stage. The hands on my hips stayed with me even as I began gyrating my hips, humping the air just above the floor. If only I were flexible enough to get all the way down I might be able to get myself off.
Try as I might, I couldn’t get low enough to create any friction against my poor pussy that was absolutely sopping wet and aching to be stimulated. Fortunately the woman who had hold of my hips was good enough to move one of her hands to the stage floor just below my aching crotch where I was able to reach it. And I rubbed myself shamelessly, grinding all over her knuckles for a good thirty seconds at least. Oh, that was so good — but short lived. I overheard one of the club hostesses politely inform the woman whose hand I was riding that the merchandise was not to be played with until after the bidding was over. What a pisser.
Apparently groping and pinching was OK, but anything that might get me off was out of the question. But fortunately for me, the bold woman who I could not see was not completely deterred and she took a different tack. She had removed her hand as asked, but quickly replaced it with the toe of her boot or her shoe, at least that’s what I assumed it was when I heard the hard sole clack against the floor of the stage. I suppose it could have been a high-healed pump like the headmistress was so fond Balgat Escort of wearing, but the thing is though at that moment I just didn’t care what it was so long as I could grind on it. And grind on it I did, without holding back, I humped that shoe, boot, whatever the fuck it was for all I was worth. I humped it while women cheered and my thighs shook, and my pussy clenched. Oh my goodness, I’m going to …
But again, it was not to be. Before I got to taste that glorious orgasm that I was working so hard to get, I was hauled upright by a hand in my hair.
“Number two forty-eight, that’s enough. You will stand with your arms crossed behind your back for the remainder of the inspection.”
“Yes, Miss.” I quivered and shook. Having been dragged roughly away from the precipice of my impending release was doing very little for my composure at the moment.
“And keep your legs spread.” The toe of a boot or shoe, I couldn’t see which, tapped at my ankle until I complied. “That ought to help keep the genie in the bottle until you’re bought and paid for.”
“Yes, Miss.” I stood there on stage heaving and doing something akin to the pee-pee dance, except with my legs spread. Oh my goodness did I ever need to come.
I thought for sure that I might die at any minute now as I struggled to control the feelings that only moments ago I was working furiously to bring to the forefront. It actually kind of hurt — a cramping ache deep down inside that needed to be released — that was the price I paid. But I had done it, I had gotten myself noticed. There was little doubt in my mind that I would bring top bidding tonight — and when the woman who had supplied the shoe for my evening antics held it up to my face, the shoe that was covered in my sticky juices — I didn’t hesitate, I licked it clean.
The crowd roared and I raised my eyes to the woman with the shoe, noticed her short-cropped blonde hair and pictured that shiny black high-heeled pump married with a lovely black stocking with a seam up the back, the shoe that I was sure belonged to Headmistress Hendricks. Even with the mask I could tell it was her.
No wonder it took the club hostesses so long to pull me off, they were all students doing internships like me and were probably concerned with her wrath and the possibility of being tossed out of The Academy for crossing her. But then I spied the only woman who could have put them up to it — standing behind and a little to the right of Miss Hendricks was the unmistakable mocha-tinted face and ringlet curls of Doctor Tina Moreau. She was putting in an appearance after all. And I’m pretty sure that standing to her left was satan’s personal calisthenics teacher, Mistress Nguyen. Oh, the bidding was going to be exciting tonight.
* * *
I stood on the main stage, proudly thrusting my chest out as I heard my lot number called out with a dollar amount attached to it time and time again, and each time being answered with a bidder’s card raised in the air. I was standing next to Desi, who despite her higher lot number had already been purchased for the evening. She looked so sexy up there under the lights, slightly sweaty and nipples like diamonds, with the number 503 adorning her breast and buttock.
Apparently I had taken too much time on the pre-bidding inspection so they let her go ahead of me. That’s OK, I don’t think that there was any doubt in anyone’s mind as to who would be bidding on Desi this evening. In fact I had my suspicions that there would be a massive buttplug or maybe some squash balls, or possibly both waiting for her when she stepped off the stage.
The numbers were being called out faster and the bidding for me seemed to be a race between three women. Unfortunately, being under the lights again made it very difficult to make out anything beyond the shape of an arm raising a card in the air, and certainly not to whom that arm happened to be attached. So I stood there, proudly showing off my body and enjoying the fact that these three women were engaged in such fierce competition for the privilege of taking me home for the weekend. In fact, the juices that were leaking earlier seemed to be flowing rather freely right now and I was somewhat afraid that I might be creating a puddle on stage.
I also began to wonder if I could have an orgasm without being touched, a climax purely from the rush of being on display and being fought over in a bidding war. I shuddered a little and felt a warm rivulet running down the inside of my thigh, and at that moment I decided that not only was it possible, but that I was probably very close to having it happen. I thought about that for a while, coming without being touched, wondering what it would be like as the numbers were called out and the cards flashed up in the air in a dizzying display.
“You OK?” Desi whispered. “You don’t look so good.”
“Fine Des, now shut up.”
I watched the cards flashing over the heads of the three women who were locked in a fierce battle to have the honor of taking me home, and my thighs began to quake. Desi was whispering to me, probably chastising me for telling her to shut up earlier, but I pushed her words from my mind and turned my thoughts inward. I thought about each one of these three women in the audience and wondered what it was that she was thinking about doing with me when we were alone.
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