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@Jelly318 #Inscribe A #FuckMeFriday Post <3

March 5, 2011

The hot, dry auction room bristled with more tweed and crinoline than a Conservative Ladies convention. I was balking at the heat, and the faint smell of horses that always seemed to accompany the people who were attracted by these sorts of auctions.I fanned myself with the auction catalogue, but it made little difference.  The majority of the pieces in the sale room today were of little interest to me. Most of the lots were of Japanese origin; urns, Tableware, carvings and figurines, they were causing something of a stir among collectors, or so I had been told. One of the big country estates was in financial trouble, and had been forced to sell off some of their heirloom pieces to keep from losing the estate entirely. Many of the major dealers and other  big estate owners had come out for this one. I had come along today with my eye on just one piece.

As curator of The Erotica Museum it was my job to acquire new pieces for our collections and displays. The piece I wanted today – Lot 570- would make a fine addition to the museum’s art collection. It was a scrimshaw barrel, around 6″ high, complete, with a lid depicting a menage of two men and two women engaging in various coital acts. This detail in itself, was quite impressive. The carving skill required to achieve this, and attention to detail was evident, and the artist who had created it was clearly a master of his art. However, the main body of the barrel , crafted from a single huge whale tooth, was the main object of my desire.

The side of the barrel was inscribed with exquisite detail. The carving depicted a Japanese man, dressed in a luxurious Kimono, performing cunnilingus on his concubine. While the figures were fairly basic physically, the face of the concubine had been delicately etched and showed incredible detail. The light curve of her jaw line, her hair in the traditional top knot, and even her eye brows and lashes had been exquisitely etched. The romantic in me fantasized that the artist responsible had been in love with this woman, and had wanted to capture her grace and beauty, to make her somehow immortal.

The estate owner, along with his accountant, looked on from the side lines of the auction room. As the pieces were sold the total was being gradually totted up. It was clear that the man was heartbroken watching the impassive sale of his heritage and ancestry. I wondered about the other estate owners, and how they felt about picking away, like vultures, at the wreckage of his life. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. But, like the rest of us, sometimes even the comparatively rich had to face up to the reality of the financial crisis.

The bidding for Lot 570 was about to start. As the piece was being brought in by the demonstrator, a buzz of voices and a few gasps came from the back of the room. I turned to look, to see what or who could be the cause of all the fuss. I felt my heart sink as I saw who approached the front of the auction room.
Aaron Sterling. Along side a burgeoning movie and music career, he was currently the proud owner of a quite vast collection of art including sculptures, paintings and a few modern installations which he kept in a private collection.

It seemed he was now branching out into my field of expertise, as I had found myself engaged in bidding wars with him on more than one occasion over the last year or so, though mostly he was on the phone, not here in person. Mostly, but not always. In fact, the last few times he had bid against me in person, he had been annoyingly attentive toward me afterward. He had offered me a chance to come and look at his collection and asked if I would consider going to dinner with him some time. Sure! As if someone like him would seriously want to spend  his down time with the likes of me! It was all a big show, just a vulgar demonstration of his wealth and power. He was fast becoming my nemesis, he had huge sums of money to invest, and I found it difficult to compete with my relatively small museum acquisition budget. I had lost out on the last three pieces I had bid against him for, and somehow I just knew that he was here  to bid for the barrel too.

I bristled as he drew nearer to me, and had to clench my jaw when he asked the woman next to me if he might take her seat. Of course the stupid woman obliged him and moved along the row, after all he had been so very charming, clearly a  personality trait he had been working on. I was flushed and burning with anger at his pomposity. Small trickles of sweat began to slip uncomfortably down the back of my neck. I wiped at them with my pashmina, hoping he didn’t know how much he was getting to me. It was all part of his game I was sure, trying tp psych me out before the bidding even started. Well he had another think coming! I wasn’t going to be so easily swayed.

The auctioneer began almost immediately. Stirling sat down, so close that his thigh was touching mine, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. In my haste to win this one, I made a rookie mistake.  I forgot the first law of auction bidding – never bid with the auctioneer’s opening offer, wait for him to bring the opener down. I could have kicked myself when I saw the smirk on Stirling’s face as I slowly lowered my number paddle, realising my hasty, flustered mistake. It took me a minute to compose myself again, thankfully a few more bidders had joined in, and given me some time to get myself together before he put his bid in. Annoyingly, it was at this point that I began to realise how alluring he was, up close and personal. I brushed my hands through my hair, trying to dislodge the thoughts of him, of us, that began to buzz through my mind.

I was determined that the barrel was going to be mine and before I knew it, the price had gone up from £2,000 to £12,000 and he showed no signs of stopping. Bid after bid he bested me, toying with me, knowing that at some point I was going to run out of budget. I was seething. I have never felt quite such violent swings of emotion towards a person before. On the one hand he was making my blood boil, on the other he was exciting me, provoking a reluctant and unexpected elation. 

Little did he know that the acquisition budget for this piece only stretched to £20,000, and even then I would have trouble justifying it to the board of trustees. The price was now at £30,000 and I knew that if he stopped now, I was fucked, with a capital F. I would have to find the other £10,000 myself to pay for it, or convince the auctioneer’s to let it go to the next highest bidder – Stirling –  adding to my humiliation.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he seemed to grow bored of the fight. He held up his paddle and shouted “£250,000”. The room  collectively drew breath then fell silent, and all I could do was stare at him. This was way, way over value. Truth be told, even £30,000 was way over the actual value of the barrel. The credulity of the people in the room suddenly caught up with the situation, and everyone erupted into shouts of disbelief. He simply turned to me and slowly smiled as the auctioneer tried in vain to hush the room. I shook my head in disbelief, stood and made to head out of the room.

As I turned to retrieve my bag from the back of the seat he grabbed my wrist, his cool fingers biting into my skin “Wait, Carly” he said, his eyes somewhat plaintive. “Just give me a minute to sign the papers and then I want to talk to you. I have a proposition for you” I nodded, then walked outside and lit a cigarette. Bugger. What did the little shit head want this time? And how the fuck did he know my name? And how fucking dare he!? I had been so angry and flustered by the whole debacle that I had left the auction room with the number paddle still in my hand. I quickly shoved it into my bag hoping that no-one would notice. How embarrassing!

An enormous black car with blacked out windows pulled up at the road side by the auction house. The driver got out and waited by the rear door. I had no doubt that this was Aaron’s car, no-one else here would be seen travelling this way. It wasn’t long before he emerged, smiling, from the building and walked over to me. He made to plant a kiss on my cheek but I leaned away from him. He laughed. “Ok, go on, Get it over with”

“Get what over with?” I asked, still bristling with annoyance.

“Telling me off! That’s what you want to do isn’t it?” he was mocking me again and I raised my hand to slap his face. He caught my wrist before I made contact.

“You infuriating bastard!” I spat the words at him, staccato malice –  fired in his direction. My face burned with fury. His expression showed his bemusement as our eyes locked. Annoyingly, I felt my knees go a little weak as he held on to both my wrists, his grip tight and commanding.

“Get in, Carly” he gestured towards the car “We need to talk.” As he said this, he moved closer to me. His proximity was disturbing, and for a moment I thought he might kiss me. Instead he reached a hand round to the small of my back and guided me towards the open car door.

There it was again, he was using my name! How did he know who I was? More to the point, why? I was no more than an annoyance to him, surely. Just an obstacle to him getting what he wanted. I flumped petulantly into the back seat of the car, determined not to be impressed by the soft leather, the plush carpeting on the floor and the mini bar.  He climbed in too, into the seat opposite me, and offered me a drink as the driver set off.  I declined his offer, deciding to keep this strictly business.

“Why did you do that Stirling? I mean, do you even like the piece that you just bought, no, correction – paid a quarter of a million for?” I was almost shouting. I wanted to add ‘You mad bastard’ to the end of the question, but bit my tongue. Again our eyes locked and I felt something stir in me. ‘Beautiful’ was all that would come to mind. I suspected that this was quite a normal reaction, after all, he was all about attracting attention.

“Yes I do like it Carly. At least, I like the carving on it. I like what he’s doing to her” His eyes twinkle with mischief, and he is clearly trying to goad me, it’s working. “It makes me think that her cunt must taste really good, for him to want to represent her like that artistically” My initial shock at the direct nature of this answer is quickly replaced by derision. Right. Not for him the romanticism of love that I imagined in the piece, it was all down to good old-fashioned lust.

“Oh, my god! I mean, there I am, trying desperately to acquire something beautiful, meaningful, to display in the museum, to share with everyone, and all you can say about it is ‘She probably tasted good?’ Do you have any idea about the history of Japanese scrimshaw, the skill involved, the provenance of the piece? Do you care?” 

He held up his hands in front of him, stopping me – mid rant “You can have the fucking barrel Carly!” 

I was stunned into silence for a moment. I was confused. “I’m sorry, what?” I asked, unsure if I had heard him correctly. His gaze bore into me, my mind began to reel.

“You can have the barrel, I want to donate it to the museum, I don’t really need it for my collection. This isn’t about the fucking barrel, it’s not that that I want” As he said this, he dropped to his knees in front of me, gently laying his hands on my thighs. “I just wanted to get your attention, that’s all. I wanted you to notice me. I’ve been following you around from auction to auction for some time now, I had hoped you would take me up on my offer for dinner but…”

“I, um, you…what?”  He moved closer to me now, his face getting closer to mine “But, um, you..” His mouth pressed gently against mine and my thighs yield to him, allowing him closer to me. Our lips open and our tongues find each other, gently touching. My skin prickles with excitement. His lips move slowly over my chin, down my neck and on to my chest. My fingers grip at his hair as his hands slide up my thighs, lifting my skirt. I make no protest, it feels so fucking good.

He bites at a nipple through the light cotton of my shirt, sending a shock of sharp pain direct to my clit. His fingers press against my swollen, exposed cunt lips, finding them wet and slick with my juices. I draw a ragged breath, giving in wholly to the pleasure. My finger nails dig into his back, as his mouth moves closer to my cunt. He moans a little, his fingers stroke me inside, and his tongue finally finds my clit. He carefully circles it, maddeningly slowly. I am starting to lose control

“Oh fuck,.. Aaron,.. suck my cunt” I plead. Mental images of the barrel, and the scenes inscribed upon it are fore-front in my mind. Here, in the back of this car, we are positioned as they were, his mouth is pressed firmly to my cunt. He is feasting on me, like the man in the kimono and his concubine. Aaron’s mouth moves expertly over me, his tongue plays with me, eliciting a pleasure I have only rarely experienced before. My orgasm builds fast, and quickly reaches a crescendo. I come hard, panting and soaked in sweat. Afterward, he strokes and kisses me, and I can taste myself on his lips. “Do you like the way you taste?” he asks, his gaze direct. I feel slightly abashed, but nod and smile all the same. “Yeah, me too. In fact, I love the way you taste. A woman who tastes like you, could easily break a man’s heart”

  1. Thank you so much for joining in on #fuckmefriday, Jelly! Fantastic addition!! ~A

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