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The Dildo Designer's Apprentice Ch. 01

By: Mary_Mitternacht



To start with, he didn't just design dildos, but the name stuck. Alliteration, I guess. And there wasn't just one apprentice, but a bunch of them -- or so we figured. Women weren't, strictly speaking, barred from the workshop/club/restaurant/God knows what else on the edge of town, but I didn't know anyone who'd set foot in the place. 

The ad was small and subtle. Classy, almost. "Hands (and other body parts) needed," it read in small elegant script in a little business-card-sized ad in the Harran Courier, "You know you're curious." And then it gave that infamous address no one talks about, Ehul Hall, and a phone number.

What can I say? A single lady of 40 doesn't get much attention out here. And I *was* curious.

The phone message didn't offer that many clues: "We demand total obedience," it warned. "Don't come unless you can deliver that. This is not an employment opportunity. But you will work hard."

The first available tryout session was on Saturday morning. What's the worst that could happen? I asked myself.

On Saturday, I stood with about eighty other women, ranging from early-twenties to mid-sixties, nervously milling around in casual weekend clothing in a barn-like outbuilding on the Ehul complex. To me, the most shocking thing -- other than how many of us were there -- was how many of them I recognized. Many must have come from out of town, sure. But others: I didn't *know* them, but I'd seen them in the A&P or in line at the post office.

After an interminable wait, a trim woman dressed all in black and carrying a riding crop closed the doors and told us to take a seat on the floor. "Not like that!" she barked, and there was something authoritative in her voice. We listened. She arranged us in a rectangle, in eight neat rows, and introduced herself as Barbara, a roving recruiter for The Designer.

They only needed about ten new women, she explained, but it usually took well over a hundred hopefuls to get "ten viable cunts," as she matter-of-factly put it. "Most of you won't make the cut," she said. "And so feel free to leave at any time. But remember: once you do, you can never come back."

A determined little voice in the back of my head said: I'm getting in.

"And now: strip. Come on, quickly!" She paced in between the rows. "What did you think this was going to be? A tea party? You were going to braid each other's hair and talk about boys?" With the end of the crop, she prodded women who were hesitating. We all hurried out of our clothing and tried not to look at each other.

Barbara blew a whistle, and the doors opened and a group of about twenty leering men streamed in. Several women gasped. One tried to cover herself. "You!" Barbara said, rolling her eyes. "Out! Obviously." The woman grabbed her clothes and fled. The rest of us kept our arms resolutely at our sides.

"Arms raised!" Barbara barked. "Legs apart! Silence!"

In twos and threes, the men began to work their way down the rows, making notes on clipboards. The first one to reach me grabbed my breasts and tweaked my nipples, hard. The second one took out a sling-type scale and actually weighed each breast, jotting down the results, while I blushed furiously. The next one opened my mouth, peered in, and then stuffed it with several fingers, impassively watching me struggle to accommodate them. Another one looked me up and down and then unceremoniously plunged his finger into my pussy and then sniffed it. Several had me bend over and spread my pussy lips or ass cheeks while they examined me with a flashlight. One ended the inspection by pushing the cold metal flashlight into my cunt, having me straighten up, telling me to try to keep the heavy object inside me, and counting the seconds until it slipped out. On the periphery, I noticed several other women fleeing, carrying their clothes; some in tears. I'll confess; I didn't have a lot of sympathy. What the hell did you think Elhul Hall *was*? I wondered. I mean, at that point, I didn't know, either. But I had *some* idea.

The men retreated. They handed their notes off to one man, who sat going through them, and observed us from the sides. "You." Barbara prodded a woman in the second row. "Stick your finger in her cunt." She lightly smacked the woman next to her. The first woman froze. "Out," Barbara said.

To me, she said, "on your knees. Lick her clit."

I'm not a lesbian. I've never been with a woman. But, almost without thinking, I dropped to my knees in front of my neighbor, who was fortunately a luscious young thing with milky skin and a fine golden down across her belly. Her lips were neat -- and slick. I had the feeling we were both going to get through. I ran my tongue down her cleft, momentarily nervous about finding her clit, but the hard nub rose to meet me. I encircled it with my tongue, breathing in her warm dampness and enjoying the mix of textures and her rough breathing. Barbara grunted, pushed me back, and moved on.

When the man had tallied the notes and ratings, Barbara came through the rows and dismissed the low-ranked. We were re-formed into eight rows of five, and told to sit.

Elhul Hall, we were told, was primarily a workshop for the Designer, but it also had to raise money. Much care and cost would be put into our training, and, if selected, we would be indentured and have to work it off. committing to a certain number of days in residence per month. The Hall was also a club for men from neighboring communities, and, if we wanted the privilege of serving the Designer, we would also have to serve the club patrons. In whatever way they wanted. While at the Hall, we had no right of consent -- the only choice was to be there or not, and to be there was to consent to everything. The only two things that mattered were absolute obedience while at the Hall, and absolute discretion while outside it.

This pre-selection, we were told -- or, as Barbara put it, "getting rid of the dregs" -- was done by volunteers, but the actual pool of women at the Hall was managed by a team of sadists chosen by the Designer. We would only make the final cut if a particular man chose to add us to his stable.

With that, Barbara opened the side doors of the barn and ushered us into the courtyard. While we stood there, shivering and blinking in the sunlight, the doms began to arrive. Each pulled up in a cart hitched to two women. No two teams were identical: some had long beribboned tails coming out of their asses; others had hooks in their ass that were attached to their ponytails and pulled back their heads. All had bridles and bits in their mouth, and most had tassels and weights on their nipples, and some were whipped as they pulled.

The second phase of selection was about to begin.

The Dildo Designer's Apprentice Ch. 02



The doms disembarked, and their carts rattled off. They milled around among us, looking at our bodies with interest, but not touching anyone. Then Barbara herded us off into the middle of a large and very muddy area of the field. "Pair up!" she barked, and we obediently turned to the woman nearest us, no fussing and no attempt at selection. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the "volunteer" men - there seemed to be a great deal more of them, now - join the doms around the edges of the mud. I lowered my eyes, seeing only the long shins of the woman opposite me. Cold mud oozed up through my toes. There was a splash nearby, and I realized Barbara had tossed me something, and I'd missed. I bent to retrieve it, and the woman opposite was suddenly on top of me, knocking me fully and face-first into the slurry. I twisted violently to dislodge her, while simultaneously reaching what was tossed - a six-inch latex dildo, on a fist-length handle, dripping with oily lube. I realized I must've missed an instruction, and I simultaneously realized what I was meant to do. 

From the muck, I launched myself at my partner, a middle-aged woman, lanky and fit and determined. She still grasped her dildo, and I dropped mine, which gave me an advantage. I rolled on top of her, belly to belly, mud squirting out from between us. With my knees, I pinned her thighs wide apart. She yelled and grabbed my tits with her one available hand, attempting to push me off her. I slapped her hard across the face, and, while she was stunned, pressed her arms above her head into the glop. I seized her own dildo. With one fluid motion, I sat back, whipped around, and thrust it up into her. It was probably unnecessary by the rules of the task - and completely unnecessary for subduing her, as she'd gone limp immediately on penetration, but I continued to saw it in and out of her until I became aware of her whimpering over my ragged breathing. 

I let go of the dildo then, leaving it inside her, and rolled off heavily, squelching in the churned slop, gradually becoming aware of similar scenes being played out all around me, of the mud dripping out of my hair and down my face and breasts, and of the large numbers of men watching raptly from the grassy perimeter.

Barbara blew a whistle, and the remaining pairs disengaged. We sat silently, not wanting to look at the women we'd just bested or been fucked by. If we'd all been in this together up until now, now it was every woman for herself.

As instructed, we gathered in a group back on the grass, and men came through with hoses and gleefully blasted stinging cold water at us. As they focused mainly on directing the jets at our breasts and pussies, most of us were still left streaked with mud, as well as now reddened, dripping, and freezing. We were ushered back into the barn, where, in our absence, a large standing screen had been erected. There were eight large holes in the screen, perhaps fifteen inches across and a foot high. Crotches and erect cocks appeared through each hole. Seven other women and myself were called up to kneel in front of them and suck.

Mine was circumcised and not too large; a comfortable slab of flesh to fit in my mouth. Without any other information about my partner, I was very aware of the women slurping away a couple of inches on either side of me. I felt like a cog in some kind of machine for men's gratification, and it was a surprisingly liberating feeling to let go of any self-consciousness, of my bare and muddy ass and tits bobbing and jiggling in front of thirty other women. If my mouth was just a tool, I wanted to be the best tool I could be. I sucked hard and deep, trying to extract his come like I craved the hot nectar - which, in fact, I did.

The woman next to me jumped a little, as her man came in her mouth and then withdrew. She sat there for a moment, dazed and uncertain, until Barbara tapped her ass with her crop and motioned her back to the audience. I saw that it was down to myself and the woman on my right, and suddenly felt exposed. I took my man down to the root, my face smushed up against the screen, and feeling his tip rub against the back of my tongue. He swelled, nearly choking me, and then showered salty liquid directly down my throat. Barbara smacked the woman to my right hard across the ass with her crop. "Out," she said.

When the groups finished, and what with attrition during the wrestling, I counted our remaining number as 30. We were taken to a side room of the barn, where dildos had been suction-cupped to the floor in neat rows in front of a TV screen, and told to impale ourselves and take a seat. "Congratulations on making it this far," she said. "While your new owners and their helpers are comparing notes and making their decisions, I want to tell you a little more about what you're getting into."

"Some of you dumb cunts probably still haven't figured out that we're not talking about a spa, or a sex fantasy. Well, it is a sex fantasy. But it's not yours. In a few minutes, we're going to have the final selection results. That will determine which of you are worth putting on the auction block. Not all who are auctioned will be bought. If you're bought, you'll negotiate how many days a month of service you'll spend at Ehul."

She picked up the remote control. I nervously rocked a bit on the dildo attaching me to the floor, and noticed that several of the women around me, including the luscious young thing I'd licked earlier, were doing the same.

"Let me make it crystal clear: when you're here, your holes are common property." She pressed play, and a video clip ran of a naked blindfolded woman on all fours. She was sucking a man - we only saw his body, not his face - while being taken from behind by another. The scene jumped to a different woman, naked, flushed and sweating, moaning, and tied spread-eagled to a bench. A man approached her, holding his hard-on. The camera panned behind him, and we saw a line of about a dozen naked men, cocks semi-hard or dangling, waiting their turn. The scene jumped to a woman naked, standing at a sink, doing dishes. The camera panned down, and we saw that the full and reddened globes of her ass bore the marks of a recent caning. A few women in the audience gasped as the camera then revealed heavy weights clamped to her grossly distended pussy. They swung and knocked against the cabinet as she went about her work. A man entered the frame, and spread her ass cheeks apart, showing her tight puckered hole to the lens. Then he plunged his bare lubed cock inside her. The woman didn't react in the slightest to her unseen and unknown intruder, but kept right on doing dishes. My eyes were glued to the screen as tightly as my cunt was glued to the floor, but, around me, I heard the shuffling as several more women left.

After that was a quick and almost numbing montage: a close-up of a pussy being fisted. A naked woman crawling, a stick in her ass that laughing men would grab to suddenly stop her progress across the floor. Two women languorously sucking a man's balls. A naked woman on a stairmaster, her large tits painfully flopping and flying, while an offscreen voice yelled at her to go faster. A woman clad in tight black latex from head to toe in a stockade that captured her masked head and knees so that her ass hung back, available to all. The latex was split only at her mouth and anus. The camera panned her come-encrusted lips, and then her gaping asshole. More women around me left.

Barbara abruptly shut the video. "I could go on," she said, "but we've lost enough of you craven cunts, and we have the results back from your masters." With difficulty, we lifted ourselves off our dildos - there was some embarrassed giggling, as you could tell who'd enjoyed the film by the liquid suction noises as they disengaged - and went back into the room with the screen.

This time, a group of women were led around back of the screen and told to crawl through the holes. Sitting in the audience, I saw a row of women's faces and dangling tits; the screen cut them off at midriff. Barbara explained succinctly: "You will now be fucked. If he comes in your pussy, you may collect your things and leave." It was impossible to tell, from the variously relieved and crestfallen faces of the women, what was going on behind the screen.

Barbara patrolled, and with a sharp smack on the tits of the affected woman, dismissed or directed her back to the audience as each verdict was nonverbally delivered.

I was called up, and led around back, which was just a mass of bare flanks and pumping asses. A thin cushion in front of an empty slot indicated where I was to go. I crawled through. It was surreal, looking into the women's faces - variously shy, abashed, apprehensive, or smug - as unseen hands roughly seized my hips. A cock pushed into my pussy. I held my breath, my front half a public mask, and my nether parts responding mindlessly and animalistically to being filled. The cock retreated entirely. Pause. And then plunged in again. I exhaled - relieved? Disappointed? Confused. It happened again. And then, with a longer pause, again. The next time, the tip of the cock rested against my asshole, and then pushed in. I started to cry out in surprise and some pain, but opened my eyes into the searching faces of more than a dozen women and grit my teeth as I was punishingly reamed by a few sharp and forceful strokes, and then my ass was flooded.

The first drip had barely hit the floor, when there was a swish and then a searing pain across my left nipple. "Back to the group," Barbara called out. "For auction, property number 11."