Sonic Slave Read online

  "I have two hundred and sixty," the auctioneer said. "Who'll go two-seventy?"

  "The poor man," the Baroness said. "He didn't get the idea about furniture and he doesn't get the idea about this."

  She reached into the straw bag and took out a pair of sunglasses. She balanced them on the bridge of her nose and peered over the tops. She fluttered her long eyelashes at the auctioneer.

  "The bid has gone to five hundred thousand dollars," the auctioneer said in a disbelieving voice. "I think."

  Penelope pushed the sunglasses up to her forehead, then let them slide down her nose again.

  'That's five hundred thousand," the auctioneer said. "A half-million dollars." He took out a kerchief and wiped his brow. "Ladies and gentlemen, do I have another bid?"

  The crowd stirred like some vast animal. The noise in the huge auction barn was deafening. Up in the press section a TV reporter was standing on his desk, trying to locate the mysterious bidder.

  The auctioneer wasn't bothering with his usual chant. He just waited it out. The group of Japanese businessmen, looking calm and unreadable, were whispering softly to one another. They gave the nod to their young American sales agent. He raised a clenched fist and unclenched it twice.

  "Six hundred thousand," the auctioneer said. "I got six hundred thousand, willya go six-fifty?"

  "Not bad," the Baroness said. "Those dear little men have more style than Narayan. I'll say that for them. They wanted to find out."

  "You'd better let them have it, Baroness," Harley cautioned. "You can't buck the Japanese syndicate. None of us can."

  "I think they need a lesson, darling."

  The auctioneer was waiting expectantly. An electric tension crackled through the crowd. The seconds ticked away.

  "He might take a bid of six twenty-five," Harley said. "If you're still determined to go ahead with this thing."

  The Baroness said nothing. She sat there, looking cool and imperturbable in her sunglasses. Up in the stands, smiles were beginning to break out on the faces of the Japanese businessmen.

  "Six twenty-five, then," the auctioneer pleaded. "Willya go twenty-five?"

  The Baroness took off her sunglasses and deliberately broke them in half.

  There was an audible gulp over the loudspeakers. The auctioneer said: "I have a bid of a million dollars."

  Penelope turned to Harley with a blinding smile. "I don't believe in wasting time, darling," she said. "Do you?"

  It was all over. The smiles had been wiped off the faces of the Japanese. Two of them were jabbering at Mr. Onishi, the leader of the delegation, but he was as immobile as a rock.

  The auctioneer brought his gavel down with a bang.

  "Sold for a million dollars," he said.

  The podium was surrounded by reporters trying to find out who had made the incredible bid — jumping the ante four hundred thousand dollars in one leap, when the auctioneer hadn't even asked for it; forcing out both Narayan Lal and the Japanese syndicate. He wouldn't talk, Penelope knew, but the secret would be out anyway within the half-hour.

  "Let's get out of here, darling," she said, standing up.

  He followed her up the aisle. "But that filly will never race. She isn't worth a million dollars."

  "She is to me, darling."

  "But what are you going to do with her?"

  "Breed her, darling. I've been studying heredity. I've had it put through a computer. With the right sire, Royal Rondo will drop a fantastic foal."

  He looked interested. "What kind of sire?"

  "Has to be out of the original Darley Arabian bloodline. And very fast."

  "How about Sea King? I'm putting together a breeding syndicate. You can have the use of him for a quarter of a million."

  "That's sweet of you, darling, but I don't think so."

  He dropped his voice to a whisper. They were passing a row jammed with Clays and Hancocks. One of Harley's cousins waved to him.

  "Baroness, for you I'll make it a hundred thousand. Just don't let it get back to the other shareholders. I've lined up a ten-million-dollar package."

  She gave a tinkling laugh. "It isn't the price, darling. Sea King is lovely. But not for my filly. The computer is worried about that Proud Ruler gene in his ancestry. But I'd love to have a look at him anyhow."

  He brightened. "We'll go right now."

  "Darling, I'm flattered! I didn't think anything could drag you away from this auction. Not with seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars burning a hole in your pocket."

  "You're burning a worse hole in my pocket."

  She glanced at his trousers. "Why darling, what an odd place for a pocket."

  They emerged into blinding sunlight. Small knots of elegant people were standing around the walks and manicured grass, talking horses or deciding which of the black-tie events they'd attend that evening. Some of the groups were dressed all alike, in their family racing colors. Here and there, uniformed chauffeurs lounged against the hoods of Rolls Royces or Lincolns. Harley led her over to a little bright red Triumph Spitfire; he preferred to drive himself.

  He held the door open for her, and she climbed in. He settled himself in the driver's seat and they whizzed off, down the gravel paths and out into the smooth-rolling Kentucky countryside. It was a glorious July day, with a heartbreakingly blue sky and air that smelled clean and moist and rich with fresh-cut grass.

  "Come to my party tonight?" Harley shouted above the roar of the motor.

  "Of course!"

  She leaned back, enjoying the feel of the wind as it whipped through her long black hair and played against her cheeks and the expanse of bare chest. Harley's parties were one of the highlights of bluegrass society — fun events that no one would dream of missing. They brought buyer and seller together to talk about the next day's offerings, served the best bourbon you could drink this side of Lexington and swarmed with the glittering people from Louisville and Philadelphia and Chicago and Houston and England and France and South America, who chartered jets or flew their own private planes for the horsey season that began with Kentucky Derby time and culminated in the glamour of the July sales.

  She could see Harley's place approaching — a splendid old white-columned mansion visible on a far hilltop, surrounded by hundreds of acres of brilliant green grass. The landscape was bisected by the white lines of horse fences, with groves of trees here and there for shade. The white fences were a blur by the roadside as they sped past; everything for the last ten minutes had belonged to Harley.

  He pulled through a gateway with a gold-and-black sign that said ELYSIUM FARM.

  "Want to go to the house first to freshen up?"

  "No, let's go right to the barns. I want to see Sea King."

  The little car bounced down the gravel drive between rows of stately, hundred-year-old oak trees. Harley drove past the fenced pastures where some of his past champions grazed. He parked the car outside an enormous paddock, where a couple of unweaned foals romped with their mothers. Beyond were the horse barns — long rows of whitewashed buildings big enough to contain the more than four hundred brood mares he maintained.

  Penelope climbed out of the car and pushed through a gate. "Where's Sea King, darling?"

  "The big barn at the end. The one with its own walking ring."

  She broke into a sprint, laughing, her head thrown back. Harley pounded along behind her, trying to keep up. They almost collided with an exercise boy leading out a big bay. The horse snorted and pawed the turf. The exercise boy looked reproachfully at Harley and Penelope.

  "How's his majesty, Louie?" Harley said.

  "A little nervous today, Mr. Chase. I haven't had him out yet. I'll come back for him after I finish with Ocean Prince here."

  "Take your time, Louie," Harley said.

  Penelope pushed through the barn door. It was cool and dim inside, with a smell of sweet hay. There were a dozen tall-sided box stalls, only one of them occupied.

  "Has the place to himself, does he?" Penelope
said.

  "He's very high-strung," Harley said uneasily. "Try to keep your voice down, and don't move around too much."

  She laughed. "I heard you were having problems with him. He's got to screw forty mares, doesn't he, darling, before he earns his oats?"

  "It's not funny, Penelope."

  "I know, darling. Your syndicate's getting impatient. It'll be all right. Once he starts screwing, I'm sure he'll love it. Everybody does."

  She walked over to the box stall and climbed its side. She straddled the top rail, skirt hitched up to her thighs, legs swinging, and looked downward.

  "I've always wanted to see a horse that was worth ten million dollars, darling," she said.

  He looked like ten million dollars — an enormous, powerfully muscled creature with a sleek mahogany coat and a white blaze down his face. He switched his tail nervously when he saw the strange human perched above him.

  "Penelope, come down," Harley said.

  "In a minute, darling."

  She slid down the inside wall of the pen, next to the Thoroughbred's massive shoulder. Sea King whinnied and shied away.

  "You could get hurt."

  "Sea King wouldn't hurt me," she said, "would you, boy?"

  She patted the huge neck. The great horse arched his head around and nuzzled her. He nibbled playfully at her bare arm, then buried his nose between her breasts.

  The door to the stall opened. Harley stood there, his jacket over his arm. "You're getting him upset. It'll take hours to calm him down. We're getting him ready to try to service a mare again tomorrow. There's going to be a couple of lawyers from syndicate members present…"

  She rubbed Sea King's muzzle. "He's a good old boy. Even if he doesn't know how to screw."

  "Baroness…" Harley's face was dangerously dark.

  "Maybe he just needs to be shown how."

  Harley gasped. Penelope had stepped away from Sea King's side. With a quick wriggling motion, she pulled the cotton frock over her head and tossed it into a corner of the stall. She advanced on Harley, splendidly bare.

  "Penelope, not here!"

  "I like it here, darling. That wholesome, earthy stable smell, and the dim light and all that comfortable straw to roll around on."

  She wrapped herself around him, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against her bare skin. She plastered her mouth against his, and ground her pelvis against him. She could feel the hard bulge there, getting bigger.

  He broke away, panting. "There's a couch out back in the tack room," he said.

  "The hell with the couch in the tack room!" she said. "Just get those pants off!"

  Fingers trembling, he struggled with the zipper. Penelope found a pitchfork leaning against the wall and began pitching straw. Breasts swinging, black hair tossing, she covered the clay floor with a layer of clean, dry hay. When she finished, she flung the pitchfork like a spear. It stuck, vibrating, in the wooden wall of one of the empty stalls.

  She turned around. Harley was standing there in his checkered shirt and stocking feet. A great throbbing club of a penis stood out between his legs. It was angry and purple, and at least eight inches long with a blunt, meaty head. She looked at it critically. It was the first time she'd seen it. Praise be that it hadn't been a disappointment!

  She grabbed him by it and pulled him down beside her on the straw. He grabbed for her breasts, getting a double handful. His strong rough fingers dug into the soft flesh, not gentle at all. She heard herself moan. Her nipples, engorged to strawberry size, chafed against his leathery palms.

  Past his shoulder, Penelope could see Sea King's long grave face poking through the stall, regarding them with mild curiosity. Harley was straddling one thigh, his thick fleshy lever resting weightily on her leg and hip. One of his knees, bony and hard, was pressing against her crotch, parting the labia slightly. She closed her thighs on it. It was all wet down there. She could feel it, and he could feel it too.

  "Penny…" he said.

  He was trying to get his knee free, but she held it tight. He was sweating, and his penis twitched once or twice.

  "Steady, old boy," she murmured, "we're just at the starting gate."

  She reached behind her head to fluff up the hay and found old leather, well oiled. It was a bridle, hanging on a low nail. She took it by one end and lassoed Harley with it. He grunted with surprise. Laughing, she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him.

  Her tongue pushed past his lips and explored the hot spicy taste of his mouth. There was bourbon there, and good tobacco. And he'd had ham, heavy on the cloves, with his breakfast.

  He was kissing her back, tongue-wrestling with her. Something cold and metallic brushed her cheek: the bit of the bridle dangling from his head. She tugged at the ends of the reins and held his face close against hers. He had marvelous cheeks, leathery and rough, smelling of after-shave lotion. She rubbed her own cheek against the stubble, then gave him a swift nip on the lower lip. He flinched, then bit her back.

  Sea King snorted, and pushed his head farther out of the stall. He looked interested now.

  Penelope reached down for the hot thong that Harley was pressing into her hip and seized it by the root. She released his knee and pulled him over to kneel between her legs. He thought he was going to enter her then, and he began to make little blind preliminary thrusting movements, but she held him off. He had raised himself on his elbows by then, the bridle still dangling crazily over his face.

  She waggled his baton, getting the heft of it, then flicked it against her own swollen vestibule. She poked it an inch into her dripping cleft and rubbed it back and forth, getting it well oiled. Harley groaned like a dying man. She stirred it around some more. A shivery sensation was going through her, sending hot flashes the length of her vagina. She almost dropped his cock, but she caught hold of it again and stroked her distended clitoris with its rubbery tip. Harley picked her up by the hips and tried to maneuver himself into her, but she held onto him like a stanchion.

  There was a whinnying sound from Sea King's stall, and she could hear the great horse pawing the earth. Above her, Harley moaned. The ends of the reins trailed across her breasts, tickling her as Harley swayed back and forth. The straw was scratchy against her back. Her whole body was an erogenous zone. It was exquisite.

  She wanted more. She felt with her other hand for Harley's scrotum. It crawled at her touch. She squeezed the heavy pouch in her palm. Harley gasped. She stuffed his balls into her as far as she was able, swabbing the lining of her desire with them, holding his billyclub free with her other hand.

  "Oh God, Penny!" he croaked. "I'm going to come if you don't cut that out!"

  Instantly she rolled from underneath him and sprang to her feet. He was left on his hands and knees, the big cock standing out like a hoe handle, swaying with its weight, dribbling a little.

  "Give it to me, darling," she said hoarsely, "all of it!"

  She dropped to her own hands and knees on the straw and raised her bottom in his direction. With a little mindless cry, he walked on his knees toward her, his tool bobbing in front of him. Penelope backed into him. His mast slid easily into her without either of them doing anything to fit it into place: a lucky thrust. She felt it pushing its way inside until her ass bumped his pubes. He began work immediately.

  She caught the rhythm from him, ramming her bottom into him over and over again, sobbing with the excitement of it. He was half sprawled across her back, his hands covering hers. She picked up one of his hands and placed it on a dangling breast. It was comfortable there, supporting her while they rocked back and forth. He laid his cheek against the nape of her neck and cradled the other breast with his free hand. His whole weight was resting on her strong neck. She felt the nubby cotton of his shirt on her spine, and wished that she'd made him take that off too.

  Sea King was trying to kick his stall down. Far away, in another universe, she could hear the hammer blows of his hooves. They mingled with Harley's rhythmic grunts. She dropped to her elb
ows, lowering the angle so that his probe could reach another inch inside her.

  He was puffing and huffing, his hands absently squeezing her breasts at each stroke. She moved her behind in a big circle while he went in and out; the new complexity of the motion drove them both into a frenzy.

  She could feel a tremor beginning in the body that was plastered against her. Harley was on the way. She wasn't ready to let herself go yet. There was another, higher level of release waiting, if she could just hold out.

  With a convulsive movement she flung herself upright, trembling on her knees, grasping Harley's meaty thighs to keep him from falling over. She staggered to her feet, lifting Harley's one hundred and eighty pounds clear off the ground. He grunted in surprise, but he was still inside her. He clung to her chest and wrapped his legs around her, lowering himself down her hips a little to adjust to the new angle.

  She trotted him over to the big pile of hay in the corner. If anyone had entered the barn at that moment, it would have been an amazing sight. There was a powerful frame and musculature under Penelope's deceptively slender, willowy form. She could have carried Harley a mile on her back if she'd had to. She dumped him backward onto the pile of hay, still holding his thighs to keep him inside her. She lowered herself, squatting. That was better. With him lying on his back, she could get him into her all the way. With her back to him, she'd forfeited the use of a couple of inches of that marvelous tool of his.

  Harley hadn't come. He'd been too startled. That was good. Sometimes it worked the opposite way.

  Still impaled on his pike, she swiveled round to face him. His face was puffy and slack. He was writhing in a sweet agony.

  "Take the bit in your teeth, darling," she said huskily. "We're running for the finish line."

  She rode him, posting, while he heaved mightily up and down. An ancient thunder rumbled in the caverns of her consciousness. Harley tossed his head back and forth, the bridle tangled across his face. Penelope felt all her insides begin to shift and slide. There was a ravishing bliss taking shape within her. The stable became a blur. Somehow there was an image of Sea King, foaming at the mouth and tossing his head. She heard the thump, thump, thump of his hooves as he tried to kick his stall to splinters. But what was happening between her legs was more important. She felt like a giantess astride the world. All the sensation in the universe was concentrated there, ready to spill out in a hot rapturous flood. There was a premonitory flutter, and a tight, hard spasm, and then she was wracked by a vast, exquisite convulsion that went on and on until she thought she'd die.