I feel shame paint my cheeks a warmer red than the beautician could ever have hoped to with makeup alone.
In front of me, the curtains open with a swish, and the glare of the spotlights blinds me anew.
As I stand there, blinking at the searing light, the pleasure dress is activated.
Fuck!
Lustful tremors shudder across my skin, as my body is unable to fight the cunning mechanism of this devious dress. Designed to keep the wearer in a state of tortured lust, it’s as though this dress has a mind of its own – as intimately attuned to the intricacies of my body as the fingers of a lifelong lover might be.
Goosebumps ripple across my flesh. My thighs tremble. My nipples harden as they’re stimulated almost to the point of discomfort.
Suddenly, I’m open and exposed to the men who sit in the audience of this looming chamber. As my eyes adjust to the light, I can still barely see who is out there staring at me – but the spotlight’s blinding light soon shifts as the searing brightness moves down the line of the twenty women being sold with me tonight.
Then, finally, I can get a look at the crowd.
Well, some of it.
The Amphitheatre is packed, but because of the searing spotlights, I can still only see the front row. Everyone else is just… noise.
But the front row is where the dignitaries are sat. There are two VIP sections, separated by twenty feet of empty space. It might as well be a mile.
Everyone knows that Aurelians and Toads don’t get along, and for that reason Peter has wisely kept them separated. The Bullfrogs sit to my left, and I can barely look at the four disgusting creatures. Their huge, warty bodies are bulbous and flabby – pouring over the sides of the chairs like green, opaque jelly. Their bodies are being misted continuously by a small device that spurts out clouds of moisture every few seconds.
Despite being grotesque and grotty, the four Bullfrogs have still adorned themselves in jewels and finery; including diamonds and gems that seem to be embedded in their clothes themselves.
They wear black wetsuits that cover most of their warty bulk, presumably to keep their skin hydrated, but there are swollen folds of skin that bulge out from every seam. They look like rotten food squished into black sausage casing, bursting from every opening.
Just the sight of them makes me want to throw up. I turn my head quickly, unable to even look at the disgusting creatures for a second longer.
Gods, imagine being bought by them... Touched by them…
I shudder.
Fucked by them!
As I turn away, and my eyes focus on a different sight, my jaw drops.
To the right of the stage sit the three Rogue Aurelians.
The sight of them is daunting enough – but what’s truly disturbing is that all three of them are staring…
At me.
Their slate-grey eyes are locked on me – each the same, identical shade of grey.
In fact, everything about them is the same. The three, towering aliens look almost identical. They’re not adorned in the power armor that I’ve come to associate with the images and recordings I’ve seen of their species – but, nevertheless, they look as though they’ve come straight from their homeward of Colossus; clad in the pure, white togas that are a signature of their species.
I can understand why, now. In addition to being practical and comfortable, the togas show off these Aurelians’ incredible physiques.
They look like gods – no other way to describe them. They’re towering in their chairs. Their togas reveal their enormous, muscular chests. These three aliens are just fucking huge. They’re bigger, even, than the Bullfrogs who sit across for them – and unlike the laughing, squirming Bullfrogs, these three Aurelians sit stock-still, with their backs straight and their gaze locked in my direction.
Locked, absolutely – like the eyes of a predator on their prey. Steady, as they drink in the sight of my body; and all the curves this damned pleasure dress seems to enhance.
I hate myself for it, but as their gaze burns into me, some dark part of my soul is attracted to these powerful, looming aliens.
I know it’s instinctual. Who wouldn’t be? These Aurelians are like works of art.
Their skin is perfect – flawless, and taut. They look like they were carved out of ivory by some ancient sculptor – an artist tasked to create the ideal image of a man, who went above and beyond what the human physique is even capable of.
It’s hard, but I can’t stop staring at them, no matter how torturous it feels.
In fact, torturous is the only word for it – to stand there, studying these impossibly perfect beings while being kept achingly aroused by the treacherous mechanics of this damned pleasure dress.
Ugh, I just can’t stop looking at their huge, powerful bodies. The Aurelian sitting in the middle of the triad is clearly their leader. I know that instinctively – just from the authority silently radiating from his massive frame.
It’s hard to tell while he’s sitting down, but I know this Aurelian must easily stand over seven-feet-tall.
No man has ever made me feel small before – especially not while he’s still sitting down…
…but this one does.
The Aurelian sitting to the leader’s right looks especially brutal. His eyes are hard – the same slate-grey as his battle-brothers, but colder and crueler.
As I study him, I realize that these three warriors are not just looking at me – although it’s as if their eyes keep returning to my squirming, trembling figure.
No, all three of the Aurelians are watchful – but the
