“Welcome, gentlemen, to the December Cunt Auction. As usual, this is a blind auction, with sealed bids submitted anonymously, and the winner revealed only after the winning bid has been selected. In a moment, you will each find sent to your tablets a selection of the bids we have received. I ask you to take care over the decision, and to rank each of the bids on their merits. We’ll have three rounds of this process, before the ranks are recombined to determine which bid wins.”

The Grand Auctioneer folded his arms and leaned back, his smile hidden by the dark cowl over his head. Everyone in the Auction Chamber knew his identity, or at least, a name and a face to put together, but the trappings of his office were there to create the right atmosphere for the solemn duty of determining the fate of the cunts.

Every one of the men in the Chamber was potentially both bidder and seller. The algorithm that assigned bids to each member for judgement made sure that no one was asked to judge a bid they had made themselves, of course, and there were always fewer bids than members, so a reasonable aggregate and as fair as possible decision would be the outcome.

The Grand Auctioneer alone was not allowed to vote, or to bid. The role was determined by a single transferrable vote election, and once appointed was held for life or the expiration of membership. It did have perks, however. And, a sense of long tradition that the Chamber had existed for over a century, and would continue as long as men still did not hold complete dominion over all women.

He spread out his hands once more, casting his gaze around the 5 dozen or so individuals who were privy to this most exalted of purposes and groups. Many wore simple suits, some with ties, others with the top collar button open. A few wore jeans and leather jackets, one or two a more affected style recalling the Bohemian aesthetic of a previous decade. One made a point of wearing his police uniform, displaying both a very senior rank, and the fact that there were protections in place. But in this group, in The Chamber, all were equal when it came to the vote. All were equal when it came to the bid. As long as you had something to bid with.

“Gentlemen of The Exalted Auction Chamber, you may begin.” The Grand Auctioneer tapped his touchscreen and the voting began.

* * *

It was a simple system, a way for men who felt that women were getting above their station and robbing men of their God-given position as the head of the household, of society, of the world (as expressed in the most conservative and unimaginative readings of certain Biblical passages), to mete out some standard of justice, to restore the natural order, and to dissuade the cunts from pursuing their desire for liberation, independence or whatever unrealistic and “feminist” ideas they had now. Controlling women, demanding women, unreasonable women, imposing women. Cunts, in other words. These were the currency and the merchandise at stake.

Membership of the Chamber was tightly controlled, of course, with strict rules about who could be admitted. It didn’t have to do with power or wealth, although a small financial contribution was expected to maintain the running costs of the organisation. But having the right attitude, and most importantly, the right access - that is to say, there was at least one cunt in their life whom they wished to bid, and whom they could reasonably assist the Chamber in procuring.

And, any new member had to participate with their face on camera. The Payment always involved 3 people, plus two more selected by lot (these days, by a random number generator).

First, the Grand Auctioneer. Second, the Bidder. Third, the Newest Member. Only the Auctioneer and the Bidder were permitted to cover their faces, but the others were almost certainly unknown to the Cunt, and were required to recuse themselves if the Cunt proved to be someone they knew.

The Cunt - the person who had been bid to win the right to participate in the Payment - the woman whom the Chamber’s members had collectively declared to be the greatest value - the biggest cunt of the women bid that month.

* * *

“A winner has been chosen,” declared the Grand Auctioneer. “When we reconvene in two weeks, it shall be to witness the award being made to Mr Pennimore, whose Cunt bid was deemed the most deserving of success in this auction. Mr Pennimore, please rise and announce your bid.”

A wiry man in his late twenties stood. His pale, icy blue eyes narrowed for a moment and he ran his fingers through his crew-cut blond hair.

“Thank you, Grand Auctioneer. The Cunt I bid is Ca-”

The Grand Auctioneer interrupted with a firm cough. “Mr Pennimore, you are forgetting yourself. We do not name the Cunts in this chamber. Her details are in the system for the collections team to process her, but within these chambers, they are only ever called ‘Cunt’, for that is what they are to us.”

Pennimore nodded. “My apologies to the brethren, Sir. My Cunt is a short-arse cunt who thinks far too highly of herself, and knows just how attractive she is to men. She says she’s a lesbian, but she’s made expert use of her looks and sexual nature to win over the bosses where I work, and everyone knows she earned her promotions on her knees in late night meetings with the Office Manager. Yet she’s always talking about how she’s got a girlfriend. And just last week when I innocently asked her if she had a good time with her girlfriend the night before, she slapped me with a sexual harassment report to HR! Like, if you don’t want us to ask, why go on about her so much?” Pennimore left out the perverted leer he’d made when he said it, of course. Not that that detail would have mattered in this company. “It wasn’t held up of course, I explained I was just asking how her weekend was, the same as I would any of the lads. But it’s the principle of the thing. A Cunt like that needs putting in her place before she ruins some decent bloke’s life and career.”

The Chamber applauded. This was just the sort of bid they loved, and it was no surprise Pennimore had won. All that remained was to draw the lucky participants, and to administer the Payment.

* * *

Pennimore thought back to his first Auction. He’d been worried he wouldn’t be able to get it up with so many people watching, and the thought that his rape of the 40-something woman who’d been selected from the bids that month was being recorded to ensure he could never go to the cops. He didn’t mind the implied blackmail: he’d never give up this organisation for anything. It was just the abstract thought of it. But when it came to the moment, hearing the woman’s squeals as first the Grand Auctioneer and then the man who’d wanted her raped, forced their cocks into her and used her brutally, had been all he needed to guarantee a massive erection when he stepped up to take his turn. She had big, obviously fake tits, bleach-blonde hair, and looked every bit the older predator she’d been bid as - every bit the sort of arrogant, self-obsessed, fading has-been who preyed on younger men and deserved every bit of pain and humiliation the Chamber could inflict on her.

The memory was still his favourite wank fantasy, 6 months on from his debut. Holding her ankles, forcing them back over her head as he leaned in and pounded her pussy and made her squeal just as much as the two men before him had. He’d spat in her face, called her the Cunt she was, and come deep into her gaping twat. In fact, he hadn’t realised just how turned on he was, until he realised it was all over, far too soon. He grabbed her hair and wiped his cock with it - not just his own cum, but that of the other two men as well. Her look of utter dismay and disgust at being marked that way almost had him ready to go again straight away, but his turn was over then. He wasn’t the only member who regularly wanked off while watching the Payments since, but he hadn’t yet been lucky enough to have his number drawn to be in them.

And now, the bitch Cadenza Corsetti would be at his mercy. He had two weeks to dream of what it would be like to see that stuck-up Italian dyke suffer. He already knew he was going to make it far worse for her than he had the cougar from before.

* * *

Cadenza was the last person at the office before it shut for the Christmas break. A whole weekend before it would be actually Christmas, so plenty of time to catch up with family and presents and all the rest of the festive preparations. She wrapped her exquisite wool coat around her curvy, petite figure and wished she’d been a little less suggestive with her outfit. The thick tights were hardly thick enough to keep out the cold, and her short skirt, red with white ‘fur’ trimmings, did little to help. At least she had several layers on her upper body. She sent a quick text to Gina, her butch lover, to let her know she was finishing up and would be home soon. Suddenly, she felt a figure loom over her 5ft 1in frame. She started to look up, just in time to meet a massive fist crashing into her temple. She dropped like a stone, sprawled on the pavement with her jet-black wavy hair spilled out around her like a halo in negative. She struggled to get up on the icy walkway, but a man pounced and forced a massive ball of dirty rags into her mouth. Her dark eyes flashed and she reached to claw at him, but a second man - no, third, the one who’d knocked her down was also there - grabbed at her wrists as she reached up, and started binding them together. She heard a sickening crunch as the first man’s heel stomped on her phone. One of them draped a blanket over her head, then she was dragged to her feet and marched away.

“That was quite a nasty fall you had there, we’ll just take you for a quick check-up, okay?” Cadenza shook her head, but the gag was effective at keeping her responses muffled. Anyway, she was sure this was a performance in case there was a passerby who might remark on the scene. And she was unsteady on her feet - the punch really had dazed her more than she realised. Then she was bundled into the back of a van, and two men held her pinned down while the third drove. The most chilling thing was, the only time any of them spoke throughout it all, was to make that fake expression of concern. The ride in the van was almost eerie silence, only the hum of the tires and the van’s electric motor for what seemed like hours.

* * *

With equal coordination and determination, the men forced Cadenza to march through a corridor (she was sure she could feel the walls either side of her) and into a new room. It felt large, like some kind of lecture theatre, but the thick blanket over her head meant she had no idea where she really was. She fought hard when the men undid her wrists, but with three against one, her efforts were in vain. They pinned her down on some kind of bench or soft table, and plasticuffed her wrists to some kind of metal bars running either side of her perch. Her feet dangled off the end of the furniture, so she kicked wildly, hoping to make contact. She heard a heavy, brief scrape as her efforts translated into a tiny movement of the bench, but that was all she achieved. And then, the blanket came off. She squinted into a blinding spotlight, surrounded by impenetrable blackness. They undid the gag, and helped her spit it out - she had to catch her breath for a moment, but as soon as she did, she started screaming at them to let her go.

She would almost have welcomed them beating her up to punish her for her screaming, her struggling. She craved that they at least respond and tell her to be quiet, so she could redouble her efforts. But the men just walked away, as silently as they had conducted their attack, their escort, and their binding of her.

Once she realised she was alone, her cries turned from defiance and demands to calling for help, begging someone to be able to hear her. Nothing. Just her own voice echoing around the chamber. At last, when her voice was hoarse, she gave up, with a pathetic whisper, “Dear God in Heaven, what’s going to happen to me?”

After a length of time that could have been five minutes or five hours, she heard a faint rustle, it sounded like people shuffling into the room and taking their seats. An expectant hush, like she heard when the lights went down at the start of a stage play or in the cinema. She craned her neck, trying to see who was there, what was happening, but the blinding spotlight left everything else looking as black as the deepest pit.

“Who’s there?” She ventured. Nothing, except maybe some amused exhales of breath in the gallery. “What do you want?” The same result. “You won’t get away with this!” Definite smatterings of laughter at that. Tears of frustration, both at her bondage and at being treated as a joke, to be laughed at, formed in the corners of her eyes. Her sense of pride forced her to bite back any further demands or questions.

And then, looming over her, a dark, hooded, masked figure. Like some satanic priest or demon. Her Italian heritage came forth and she started to gabble the Pater Noster under her breath. The demon raised a sharp, wicked blade above her, and she closed her eyes.

Then opened them again. It wasn’t a dagger, but a pair of scissors. The figure was cutting away her skirt, her coat, her cardigan and her blouse. The relief at not being sacrificed to the Devil was so great that the fact she was being methodically rendered naked didn’t register as a new threat at all until she was left in only her bra, her panties and her tights.

She shuddered as he made short work of her bra with the scissors, then casually grabbed one of her ample boobs to squeeze, digging his fingers in just a little way as if he was testing the quality of a loaf of bread. He snipped her tights at the waist, and tore them open down the side to get at her panties. At least they were nice and sensible, she was saving the slutty lingerie to treat Gina tomorrow. If she ever got to see tomorrow, she now thought. It made little difference in the end: the sensible knickers were cut to bits just like the rest of her clothes.

Only the hose down her legs remained of what she’d been wearing.

The dark priest stood at the foot of the bench, between Cadenza’s shins. She couldn’t see his face, but she felt his glare nonetheless.

“You are nothing but a Cunt,” he declared, as much for the audience, from his delivery, as for her. “You are a creature with ideas above your station, ideas outside the proper order of things. You shall be reminded of what you are and what you are for. Repent, lest this be visited upon you again!” His voice rose to a crescendo, and she realised it was being distorted electronically. But as soon as he finished, all thoughts of that were driven from her mind by the weight of his hands pressing her thighs apart.

“No, please, don’t!” She begged, but it was too late. In a single savage thrust he plunged his cock to the hilt inside her unprepared tunnel. She screamed, and struggled in futile writhing to escape the violation. There was nowhere for her to go, no way for her to avoid it.

It wasn’t like she’d never been fucked - Gina loved pounding her with a strap-on from time to time - but this was entirely new, and entirely unwanted. A man’s penis, inside her. Fucking her. Raping her.

Her voice was weak, panicked, panting, “Please, stop! No! I’m begging you! Don’t do this!” Over and over again, so many permutations of the words, but all bouncing off the figure like water off granite, the figure impervious to her desperation.

And then, with a growling spasm, he was done. Cadenza felt her face flush with horrified shame at the sensation of hot, sticky, masculine fluid coursing up into her womb. She sobbed quietly as his dick slid out from her squelching pussy.

She felt rather than saw him leave, her whole world limited to the scope of that one punishing spotlight, pinning her on the stage in front of what she was sure was an audience. There was an air of solemnity as she heard one set of feet retreating, followed by another approaching. She had a brief glimpse of a face - one she was sure she recognised - before the new arrival pushed a blindfold over her eyes.

A voice - again, she thought she recognised it, but it, too, was distorted. “I’ve been waiting so long for this, Cunt.” Fingers traced down her side, the curves of her bosom, and her hips. Then the man grabbed her ankles and lifted them, almost folding her in half.

“You’re more flexible than my last Cunt,” the voice said, and he pushed her ankles even closer to her shoulders. She felt him position his forearm to pin them back, one hand on one ankle to keep her from sliding round the end. He free hand, she felt him scoop up some of the first man’s seed.

“I hope this hurts, Cunt. But that ain’t where it’s going!” His hands were both on her ankles again and she felt the fat, bulbous head of the man’s cock brush not against her labia, but at her tightly puckered rosebud.

“No!” She shrieked, “You can’t! I’ve never-” but her protests were in vain. The pressure built and built against her anus until in one moment of agony, it gave way and he drove his cock into her bowels. She screamed and howled in pain, but the man sodomising her was brutal, ruthless, and uncaring. He treated her arsehole as viciously as the first man had fucked her pussy, the smearing of semen he’d put on his cock to begin with doing nothing to help lubricate her dry, resistant rectum.

Cadenza tried to blink away the tears that flowed freely now, but they kept pouring down her cheeks. “Please, stop. I’ll do anything! I’m begging you!” The man just grunted, “Learn your place, Cunt,” and continued the assault on her innards. She fell silent, only the gasps and pants of each new painful intrusion emerging, her body racked by snivelling sobs. She had no idea how much longer it took the man to reach his terrible conclusion, just that the shame and sensation was even worse when his cock spurted its load into her bowels just as the first one had in her pussy.

“I’m going to remember doing this to you for so long, Cunt,” the man muttered, then pulled out and walked away.

Any relief Cadenza felt was dashed almost instantly, as she heard a third set of footsteps approach. The man removed the blindfold, but she didn’t recognise him at all. But, mercifully, he didn’t last nearly as long as the first two. It only took him a couple of minutes of thrusting, holding onto her boobs and mauling them this way and that, before he came in her cunt, adding to the first man’s load.

She was almost too exhausted to care when she heard a fourth set approach, until she realised this man also intended to use her arsehole, at which she started silently shaking her head and pleading with wild, wide, desperate eyes for him to show a scrap of mercy. None was forthcoming, except that this man pulled out to deposit his load on her belly.

When a fifth man walked up to her, Cadenza was too exhausted and broken to say anything or struggle. She simply sobbed to herself as once again her cunt was used and punished by a man, with what his gender used to dominate women. A third load spurted into her, and she just lay there, defeated, limp, like a used rag.

* * *

14 hours after she’d been abducted, Cadenza was untied and shoved from the van into an isolated car park a couple of hundred miles from where she’d been taken. Her body was freshly washed inside and out, and she’d been forced into the sluttiest outfit imaginable. There might be some trace evidence of who had done this other, but she doubted it would be enough, and besides, what police officer would take her seriously when she was dressed like this? And she had no chance of giving a coherent or accurate description of the men who’d done it: she was so sleep-deprived, their features blurred and merged together until she wasn’t even sure herself what they’d looked like.

And she still had to figure out how to get home.