Chapter 1

I guess this story all started a little more than a year ago. My husband bought an old car he found for sale on the internet. I thought he was being pretty silly. I couldn’t imagine spending that much money on a car that’s almost fifty years old and in such horrible shape. It was a 1969 Dodge Superbee, whatever the hell that is. We drove out with a friend to look at it and when I saw it I was certain he had lost his mind. The damn thing was in pieces! The guy who owned it had started to restore it but he obviously hadn’t gotten very far.

My husband, Dale, wants it because his father bought and restored one when he was a kid. He loved his dad’s car and he has always wanted one of his own. The car has a lot of sentimental value for him.

Dale and I have been married for five years now. He got lucky when he graduated from college. He found a very good job and progressed up the ladder rapidly. We have plenty of cash to play with now so I guess I can’t really complain about the minor extravagance.

Dale’s friend owns a large, flatbed trailer. They wrestled the car and its various parts onto the trailer, covered it with a tarp, tied it all down and we took it home with us.

It turned out that the car was in better shape than it looked when it was scattered around that guy’s barn. With the help of the local classic car club Dale had it restored and looking like a new car in a little under a year. It was actually a beautiful car when they were finished with it. I was surprised.

It also sounds great. I love the deep throaty sound it makes almost as much as my husband does. There’s something exciting about it, something that makes your blood flow a little faster. And it’s the most powerful car I’ve ever ridden in. I’ll never forget that first ride I took in it when Dale floored the accelerator and I sank back into the seat as if I were in a rocket bound for the moon. Damn that thing was fast!

After restoration of the car was completed we started going to shows with the friends we made in the car club. There are local car shows about once a month and we often drove to nearby cities to attend larger shows. A lot of the guys also have custom motorcycles to exhibit. Those are a growing part of most shows as well.

The car club is a pretty close-knit group. We do a lot of things together and much to my surprise, once I made a few good friends I started having as much fun at shows and club meetings as everyone else. I’ve never known much about or been very interested in cars. But I started slowly learning a little about cars and having fun with it too because we all were such good friends and there were so many parties.

Things didn’t start getting weird until we went to a show in a nearby state. It was being held at a county fairground in a medium size town. We caravanned up there with our cars and motorcycles on trailers. This time, however, instead of staying at local motels as usual we planned on camping on a portion of the fairgrounds which had been set aside for that purpose. Our club was assigned our own little section which had been set aside for us.

I had some pretty mixed feelings about those plans. I’m twenty-four years old and have never gone camping. I have no desire to start. I like my creature comforts. I’m fond of a nice soft bed and a clean bathroom I can go to in the dark without getting up and getting dressed.

I thought about skipping the show but I let myself get talked into going. The way the outing was described to me it sounded like it was going to be a big two-day party so Dale and I went shopping for a tent and sleeping bags and all of the assorted paraphernalia required for civilized people to go camping in relative comfort.

We have our own flatbed trailer by now. Dale carefully loaded the Superbee for the trip. We all met up at the local K-Mart parking lot and after a brief discussion of the route we headed for the show. There were only about a dozen couples going this time. Usually there are several more than that but several of the wives didn’t want anything to do with camping out, a sentiment with which I can most definitely sympathize. Besides the couples going there are also the usual half dozen single men who are members of the group.

We left after work on Friday and got to the fairgrounds in about three hours. When we arrived a guard checked our paperwork and was kind enough to show us to the camping area set aside for our group.

It was pretty primitive. They set up a communal shower using some pallets for flooring, canvas walls and hoses to drums full of water on platforms behind the enclosure. They brought in half a dozen port-o-potties and lined them up nearby. I hate those things! Someone had been nice enough to stack up a good-sized pile of firewood for us, though. We appreciated that. We knew it would come in handy around dusk when cools down.

We set up our tents and rolled out the sleeping bags. Then we built a campfire and we sat around drinking beer, talking and joking and relaxing before we went to bed.

I’m not sure who started it. I suspect it was Glenn. Somehow we started talking about doing things for charity, things like raffles and the like to collect money throughout the year and at the end of the year we would turn it all over to a charity in one lump sum.

The method they seemed to have settled upon for their first effort and started talking about that evening was having an auction. Once that was decided they began trying to think of what they could auction off.

The beer was flowing pretty heavily and I guess that’s why so many people thought it would be fun to auction off the wives for the weekend, one wife per weekend whenever we went out of town for a show. The auction wouldn’t be open to the general public. It would only be among the other members of the club. Each wife would be auctioned off and then she would be the slave of the person who bought her for the entire weekend.

I personally thought that was more than a little demeaning. But thanks in large part to the alcohol I’m pretty sure, a lot of the other ladies seemed to think it sounded like fun. Don’t misunderstand, I’m not a prude. I’m not even all that much into women’s lib. I have competed in wet t-shirt contests and gotten a kick out of it. In fact, I won one of them and I believe I’d have won another if my B cup boobs had not been competing with a set of double Ds.

A few times I have flashed truckers on the highway. I did it at my husband’s urging. But I enjoyed it, too. Every now and then when we go to a club for an evening of drinking and dancing I’ll wear something maybe a little too daring. I do it because my husband gets a kick out of it. But usually I get turned on by it too. I’ve come to realize there’s more than a little exhibitionist in me. Still, showing off a little is one thing. I didn’t like the sound of this slave idea. For one thing, there don’t seem to be a lot of rules.

They kept talking it up and trying to figure out how it was going to work and before I knew what was going on that son of a bitch I’m married to offered to put me up for auction. Right now!

I kept insisting I wouldn’t do it but my protests were ignored and somehow I ended up standing next to Carl in the firelight and he was taking bids. Everyone was laughing and joking and having a great time. I’m pretty nervous. I’m also more than a little pissed at my husband. I would have been pissed even if he asked me to go along with this crazy idea. But he didn’t even ask!

The bidding started out pretty low. But I think to everyone’s surprise it rapidly became intense. The bids began to climb swiftly to an embarrassingly high figure.

I should mention here that owning and showing classic cars can be an expensive hobby. A lot of these guys have a lot more money than sense. Still, I was shocked when Glenn finally won me with a winning bid of twenty-five hundred dollars!

I like Glenn. He’s funny and personable and pretty easy on the eyes. He’s also something of a male chauvinist pig. But what the hell, he’s a guy! And I will admit there’s a hint of arrogance about him I wouldn’t want anyone to know I find surprisingly attractive.

I glared at Dale, wondering what the hell he has gotten me into. All I saw was pride. He doesn’t have a clue what I’m going to have to go through this weekend. He’s just so fucking proud that his wife produced such heated bidding and such an outrageous winning bid. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn the son of a bitch has a damned hard-on!

There followed a bunch of crude jokes about the kinds of things I’m going to have to do for Glenn this weekend. Everyone but me seemed to think it was exciting. Even the other women!

Glenn came up, wrote out a check and claimed his prize. He led me back to his chair and pulled me into his lap without any hesitation. Despite all my earlier protests it never seemed to occur to him I wouldn’t go along with this.

At first he just held me there with his arm around me and teased me about how much fun he was going to have this weekend with his sexy young slave. Glenn is almost fifty. I imagine it has been a long time since he had his arms around a girl my age.

He pretty much behaved himself at first. But over the next hour I had to get up and get us both a beer twice. He insisted that I keep up with him. As the night wore on his hands started moving to places his hands weren’t supposed to be.

I tried to discreetly discourage him. Not only did he ignore my protests, but the rest of the club is watching us and they kept insisting loudly that I’m property now and could not object. Even my husband took Glenn’s side! He has no idea how much trouble he’s going to be in when I get his ass home!

I’m dressed in a loose-fitting crop top, a pair of loose terry cloth shorts and panties. It’s the perfect outfit for long car trips and camping out ... until you end up being pulled into the lap of a man who is twice your age and who has been divorced for more than a year. A man who has a very good idea of what he needs a woman for.

By the time he ordered me to get us each our first beer I was grateful. His hands were getting to be a real problem and he didn’t care who was watching.

I got up and looked through the coolers until I found the right brand of beer. As soon as I returned he pulled me right back into his lap and took up where he left off, attempting to work his hand up under my top or inching it slowly higher and higher on my thigh while I struggled to protect myself without making a scene.

It wasn’t very long before he had a hand crawling up under my top and teasing the underside of my breasts. A lot of things started to work to Glenn’s advantage right then. My husband seemed to be enjoying the show as much as everyone else, the bastard. The other people in the club were urging Glenn on. Even the women were encouraging him.

Then there was the fact that Glenn was, as I said, pretty good looking and in very good shape for a man half his age. There was one other thing working for him as well. He is a very dominant person. He is one of those people who always seem to be in charge and always the center of attention.

Here is where I feel I need to mention one of my favorite fantasies. Not even my husband knows about it. I suppose one of the reasons I objected so strenuously to being auctioned off is that my most erotic fantasy is that I am totally under the control of a man like Glenn. Someone who is strong and self-assured. A man, not to put too fine a point on it, who is dominant, selfish, concerned only with his own desires; a man I don’t doubt enjoys using women.

I’ve had slave girl fantasies since I started stumbling through puberty. In other words, the idea of being totally submissive to a dominant man turns me the fuck on. I never intended to explore those fantasies. My conscious mind is fully aware of just how demeaning they are.

Now I found myself sitting in front of my friends and my husband with a friend openly groping my breasts. It appeared that some of the women were beginning to get uncomfortable with what’s happening right in front of them. They were mostly just a little embarrassed. No one seems upset. I was really surprised when I looked around to gage how the women, all of whom are now good friends of mine, are reacting to the way Glenn is blatantly molesting me. As far as I can tell only two of the women seem to disapprove. But I can’t say for sure that was their honest reaction and they weren’t just putting on an act because they didn’t want the others to know how they really felt. Except for those two women, the other women are eagerly urging Glenn on. Not surprisingly, none of the men are having any second thoughts. Not even my husband!

To be honest, I can’t say I’m surprised Dale seems to be enjoying the show. He’s drinking. You know how guys get when they drink. But more to the point, we have a history of me flashing guys to turn us both on. But I’m beginning to worry more and more about how far this out-of-control train is going to travel. To add to my discomfort, Dale and I have, on occasion, fantasized out loud about having threesomes with other men while we were having sex. If Glenn’s intends to turn me into an honest to god sex slave I think it will just turn Dale on.

By the time we finished the last two beers I obediently fetched for us, Glenn had pulled my top up over my breasts. He was enthusiastically encouraged by all the men and most of the women gathered around watching and in response he slipped my top up over my head and tossed it away.

By that time, because of all of the reasons I just listed, and because of all of the beer both of us have consumed, I had given up any hope of fighting Glenn off. I stopped trying to push his hands away and decided I was going to teach Dale a lesson. Besides, it came as no surprise to me that Glenn is good with his hands and knows his way around a woman’s boobs. I’m getting turned on. By that time I no longer wanted to fight Glenn off. And don’t forget, I’m an exhibitionist sitting here topless. What’s not to like?!

We finished our beers and Glenn made it clear to everyone he was about to take me to his tent. I hadn’t been thinking ahead. I wasn’t expecting that! I thought, naively as it turned out, I would still be spending the night with my husband. I’m apparently the only one who thought that. He was met with a chorus of complaints from the disappointed voyeurs when he started to say goodnight. So he agreed to have one more beer before turning in.

He set our empty bottles down beside his chair and helped me to my feet. Before I could go get us two more beers, though, he reached out and slipped my shorts off so fast it made my head spin.

I was left standing in a pair of thin, blue, nylon bikini panties. When I started to protest he said, “If you want to keep those panties on for a while, you had best go get us another beer. I’ll take them off you if I need to spank you.”

There was actually applause from the other members of the club! I was embarrassed and incredibly self-conscious as I moved to the other side of the fire and dug two more beers out of the cooler. My skin is crawling as I feel everyone’s eyes on my nearly naked body.

But as embarrassed as I am, I can’t deny I’m twice as excited. I’m glad it’s so dark that no one can see how damp the crotch of my panties must be. To add to the strange mix of erotic thoughts in my head his earlier warning is buzzing around in my head. I’ve never had a spanking. The prospect of Glenn stripping off my panties in front of all these people, throwing me over his lap and spanking my naked ass is making my legs weak!