From the beginning. ********************************* Bridget O’Brien was sitting in a bar in Arlington, Virginia. The calendar on the wall said 198... – no one had bothered to change it for five years, then. There was a man singing on the small stage, his voice wizened beyond his years by whiskey and cigarettes. He was singing the cheesier of the Irish ballads, Americans would rather hear of Molly Malone and her cockles and mussels than Pádraic Pearse and his butchered schoolboys. They would. She picked up bra and panties, looked at them, and then tossed them on the bed before slipped into a peasant blouse and loose skirt. She put on sandals. Her husband's shots were of him sneaking airline bottles of booze from the little refrigerator in the room, already drinking too much.He completed the job in the bar, slumping over the table while Amanda danced with other men, including the band leader, who pulled her into a darkened hallway where he pulled her peasant blouse down and sucked at. I heard a click and suddenly that thing started humming. I stopped struggling, feeling the muscles in my pussy fluttering in little spasms. "Ohh!" It was good! I started squirming again and trying to free myself of his grip. My breath was becoming ragged and my pussy was clenching tighter around the ball. God I love being helpless, I thought as I moaned. My muscles felt so hard and tense, and he held me so tightly! Then, oh my god! He slapped my ass and I almost came. "Ohhhhh!!!" In a muffled. Seems one of the things he did before coming west was work for an auctioneer. “Ya’ll look then over. The sale starts in an hour, in lots of 10 each.”Bob might be a Yankee but he was no fool. Selling them in small lots should drive the price up. We hoped. The ladies took the opportunity to freshen up in the ‘hotel’, little more than hard sided tents. They wore their best when they showed up for the auction, hoping to distract the buyers enough they wouldn’t realize how high the bidding would.
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