The Pageant

The Pageant

Bodo pulled the Limousine into the parking lot and hustled around, opening the door. A powerful man in his late forties, stepped out wearing a tuxedo. It was Manny Hardin. Behind him a pretty girl followed, dressed in a black formal and spiked collar. The gangster extended his hand and the driver handed him a leash.

“Bow your head,” he ordered and the girl bent forward as he attached it to her collar. Then he walked towards the entrance as she shuffled a step behind, shoulders bent in servitude. The chauffer went to the trailer and removed a large cage, put it on a hand dolly and wheeled it down into the service entrance.

Inside, the hall was filled with formally attired men and women. The air was heavy with smoke and the room smelled of alcohol. The walls vibrated with the noise of excited voices and live music. Down one side ran a long bar and down the other a runway, similar to those at a fashion show. On the far end were cages and inside stood women, faced about in formals with their heads bowed low. Along the runway were tables for the judges and numbered placards. The band struck a note and silence settled over the room.

“I want to welcome you here tonight for our annual Pageant….” said the MC. “The contestants and their handlers are all waiting anxiously, so without further ado, let’s begin tonight’s show with the March of the Contestants.

The handlers went to the cages, leashed their charges and began parading them up onto the boardwalk and down onto the runway. The spectacle was reminiscent of a beauty pageant or show sponsored by the American Kennel club. The handlers strolled casually, each before a beautiful young women who followed meekly behind.

“What you see on parade,"‘ said the MC, ”is the Evening Gown Competition. Each of the contestants and their mentors are being scored on grace, poise and presentation.” As they completed their circuits the scores were posted amid loud applause and the din of excited voices.

Inside their chain link enclosures the girls began stripping off their formals, revealing bikinis underneath. Their patrons then leashed them up again and coaxed them down the runway. Amid all the excitement they walked as modestly as circumstances allowed with an aura of quiet servitude.

“The judges are now scoring on physical beauty and comportment.”

Around the circuit they walked as the scores were being posted. Returning to their enclosures they stripped completely naked this time as the handlers put on the handcuffs.

“In this phase the contestants will demonstrate sensuality as they move with a guarded grace and seductiveness, shielded only by an invisible veil of humility.”

Once more they modeled, wrists joined overhead, breasts heaving and hips moving with seductive restraint. Their faces betrayed no wantonness, only the innocence of a repressed desire, intended exclusively for their masters. The crowd buzzed as each passed in review. The room became charged with anticipation.

“And now it’s time to announce the three finalists,” said the MC, checking the tallies…They are numbers 3, 7 and 12. Please be silent now as they compete in the “Dance of Surrender.”

The music began as the the couples bowed to one another. The room grew hushed. The band played a slow number with a sensuous and seductive beat. It was like "Dancing With the Stars" except the participants were naked and totally uninhibited. In the next selection the tempo picked up and the excitement began to build. The eyes of the females were fixed on their males, while their partners show-cased dancing skills in prideful self-assurrance. As the girls stepped away and twirled, the crowd gasped at the witness of three exceptional phalluses, growing hard and extending themselves. Then, each in turn, the couples exectuted a practiced carnal move, known in the venacular as "Yoking." The band picked up the beat, encouraging the tempo of their intercourse. The room resonated with measured clapping as the pace became more and more frantic. The drums rolled as the competitors whirled about their faces flushed with passion. Without heed to any restraint they exhorted each another, twisting and turning until they could bear it no more. The crowd was screaming as the lovers heard the distant trumpet and began to climax, pummeling in wild abandon. As the demon reared its head, the performers offered themselves on the altar of pleasure and surrendered to the onlookers all shame and self consciousness. One by one the girls collapsed in the arms of their masters. Only then did the machismos withdraw, bowing to the thunderous applause…their flaccid members dripping with sated eagerness.

The scores were being posted as the big man squatted next to his partner, breathing hard

"...and the winner is number 7…Manny Hardin and his supplicant, Beth.”

She struggled to her knees, forehead to the floor, glutes pointing towards him. The crowd began clapping as he slapped her hard on the fanny.

"Slut!" he called out.

"Whore-master," she giggled back.

Getting slowly to his feet he attached the leash and tugged on her collar. She followed as he led her off through he crowd.

WC 869