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An unusual raffle for sex partners is laid out.
Chapter 28: Let’s Buy A Sex Slave

I had stumbled into a rare situation. This place was intriguing, enticing, every man’s dream with potentially unlimited, totally uninhibited sex. The prospects for me looked extremely positive to be able to gorge on this endless smorgasbord of carnal delights. I wondered what the downside was.

It was now mid-morning. I had slept like a baby after my unexpected visit from the ‘welcoming committee.’ Having three over-sexed hussies at one time, charged up with lots of alcohol, had overwhelmed me. Such a full court press by the locals took me by surprise. It was gratifying yet there seemed to be a sinister undertone present. As I sipped my morning coffee, I weighed my options. Should I stay or should I go? Neither option felt like the right one.

Befuddled and stressed over this dilemma, I slid my hand into my boxers and found my limp dick. With visions of Carla, Abby, and Crystal still fresh in my mind, I revisited the events of yesterday. Seeing Abby expertly toy with herself, to the point of squirting like a firehose; visions of Carla having her pussy ravished by Abby; and, of course, Crystal’s incredible mouth fuck danced in my head. It didn’t take long before my cock shot a thick, creamy load up my torso.

With my dilemma still nagging at me, I popped a beer and rolled a joint. As I inhaled the acrid smoke it quickly took control. My mind began to wander and to explore what other possibilities there were here in this enclave. I had a mild curiosity about “the gang" that Randy sometimes mentioned. He had been my first sexual encounter with another man. Elements of our intimacy were very pleasing, especially that 9” cock! Randy was my first experience with any dick other than my own. And to start off with a nine incher!! I wondered what it would be like with either a smaller or even bigger cock.

I’m not hung like a race horse, but my dick has always served me well. Yet, I’ve always fantasized about and wished that I had a bigger cock. Don’t get me wrong – I still enjoy tits, clits, and cunts. But I was becoming more curious about cocks.

A quick mental rehash revealed that I had sucked Randy twice and he had sucked me three times. And he had ploughed my ass twice. Sucking another guy’s dick was more enjoyable than I thought but, honestly, I prefer to have my own dick doing the work. Or to have my mouth buried in a sloppy wet cunt. Yet the feelings brought on by having a nine-incher ramming into my asshole and sliding in and out of my mouth and down my throat were sublime. I was curious to say the least.

With no resolution to my quandary, I needed a change of scenery. I rolled a couple more joints and packed up some beers. Almost as an afterthought, I stuffed a virgin fifth of rum into my pack. I dumped the dink and headed to shore. No one was in the office so I ambled toward town, sucking down a beer and finishing another joint along the way. I was feeling no pain, just sort of floating along, head in the clouds.

The town was small. It only had one bar where I had first met Carla. As I surveyed the landscape, I noticed a rundown old cinema a couple of blocks away. The marquee showed that it hadn’t been an active movie theater in years. What letters were still hanging on seemed to indicate that the last movie shown there was Star Wars. My attention had been drawn to it due to all the activity there. People milling about outside, people coming and going, the sporadic shouts of joy as someone came out dancing and celebrating as if they’d just won the lottery.

I ambled over to investigate. I didn’t recognize anyone so I just stood off to one side observing. Both men and women, young and old, continued to enter and exit. Finally, a young dude approached me and asked to bum a smoke.

“What’s going on in there? What’s the hubbub about?” I asked. “Oh, dude! It’s the weekly raffle.” “What’s being raffled?” I asked. He looked at me as if I was from another planet. “Partners, dude! Partners!” I was thoroughly confused now. “Partners for what?” I asked. Again, he just looked at me as if I had three heads. “Partners for the week. Guess you’re not from around here. You’ll just have to go in and see for yourself.” I needed a bracer before I could face the unknown so I popped a beer and chugged it in three big gulps before I went in.

As I entered the dusty, musty theatre, I noticed that the concession stand didn’t offer the usual popcorn, drinks, and candy bars. The concession stand now sold sex toys! Dildos, inflatables, creams, strapons, lubes, butt plugs and so much more were for sale. WHAT?? There were several guys and girls queued up to make their purchases. There were alternate roars and quiet coming from the theater. I pushed through the doors between the lobby and the theater. It took a moment to take it all in, to make sense of it all.

Most of the theatre seats were filled with townsfolk. Both men and women, old, young, fat, skinny; everyone seemed to be there. On the stage was an MC of sorts, chatting up the audience like an auctioneer. He kept up a steady stream of banter.

Spread across the stage were 8 or 10 people, men to one side, women on the other. There was no uniformity to them. Some were old, some young. Some fat, some skinny. Some were attractive, some butt ugly. Just what the fuck was going on?

Then the announcer called out “Okay now! First, we have Dora, number 32.” He turned to the men side. “Who's the lucky fella holding number 32?” A large, overweight man raised his hand and beamed a broad smile to the audience. “We have a match!” cried the announcer. The burly guy rushed over to Dora, picked her up and twirled her around. He was obviously pleased. Dora and Mr. Burly left the stage, arm-in-arm.

“Next, we have Donna, number 74. Who’s the lucky fella holding number 74?” the MC shouted. After a momentary, awkward pause he cried out “Number 74! Do we have number 74?” None of the men responded. “Oh, Donna! Not this time, but just wait till next week!” Donna shuffled offstage to a disappointed groan from the audience. This sequence continued until there were only two guys left onstage. “Alright then. That’s the end of round 4. Will the raffle participants in round 5 please come on stage.”

Ten people, 3 women and 7 guys, took their places. The announcer cried out “Round 5! First, we have Chet, number 33. Who’s the lucky one with number 33 today?” At the mention of Chet's name, there was an audible murmuring and some scattered applause from the audience. Chet was, apparently, popular. Reluctantly, a young boy, skinny as a rail and not more than 18 raised his hand. “We have a match!! Come on, Wilbur, come over and greet your partner for the week!” The audience roared with approval. Wilbur reluctantly shuffled over to Chet; his head downcast. Chet put his arm around young Wilbur’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. Whatever he said did the trick because Wilbur's face split wide open with a huge smile.

This raffle of sorts kept going, one round after another. The town obviously had more males than females because the last three rounds were all guys on stage. It was clear that this raffle was designed to pair people up, but why?

Confused and perplexed, I left the theatre and walked over to join the throngs at the bar. Seems like everyone not at the theatre was at the bar. I squeezed in and shoved through the crowd to the bar. It was three deep but eventually I succeeded in getting a cold beer. The bar was so packed it was nearly impossible to identify anyone. I squeezed through the crowd, slopping my beer on the way, and found my way to the door. Outside were a dozen or so in animated conversation. I could only pick up snippets of what was said but I heard the names “Chet" and “Wilbur" repeated over and over.

Feeling somewhat out of place and desperately trying to make sense out of what I had witnessed, I decided to retreat to my boat. After walking two blocks I saw a forlorn looking woman sitting alone on a bench. “What’s the matter, darlin? Too much excitement for you?” I asked.

As she looked up at me, I could see the disappointment in her face. “Oh, it’s nothing" she said, not very convincingly. “May I sit by you?” She just shrugged her shoulders, so I sat down. “I’m new in town. Maybe you could fill me in on the raffle at the theater. What the heck was that all about?”

She turned to look at me. Her expression had changed to one of surprise and bewilderment. “Oh, that? You must be new. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. I’m Connie. What’s your name?” “Hi, Connie. I’m known as Sailor and I anchored in the harbor a few days ago. But what the fuck was that at the theater?”

“That” she said “was the weekly ‘Partnering raffle.’ Once a week, the town sells raffle tickets. They only sell as many as half the town population. At the raffle, those holding winning tickets get partnered with random people.” “Okay. Sounds like an interesting way to raise funds. But what does it mean to be ‘partnered' with someone?”

“Well, when you get partnered with someone, that means that you have to satisfy your partners every sexual need or desire. In turn, your partner must satisfy your sexual needs. It lasts a week and there are very few exceptions. Only things like serious illness qualify. And you must service your partner whenever they ask or wherever they are. You may have seen random people having sex at unusual times or in unusual places. Even in public. No one minds because almost everyone participates.”

What the hell did she just tell me?! She must be lying. Or making up a story to shroud the truth. How could such a thing be true?

“Now really, Connie. You’ve just made that up. What's this really all about?” She looked at me dead on, with a riveting stare. “I swear on my mother’s grave, it’s the honest to God truth. It’s been going on like that for years here. Everyone seems to like the system. It allows everyone to have their sexual needs satisfied. And it provides much variety.

“It’s unusual for the same people to get partnered with each other very often. We have near zero crime here because everyone is either satisfied or too busy having sex. And we have near zero divorces. I do feel sorry for the men, though. You see, there are more men than women here so the partnering doesn’t come out even. At the end, all the ‘unpartnered' men get grouped together. They connect randomly among themselves. On a daily basis all those men meet at the Elks Lodge and take care of each other.”

Some of the things I had seen or heard seemed to fit with what Connie had just told me. Carla giving head in the booth at the bar, her willingness to let me fuck her ass in the bar's kitchen at the drop of a hat, Randy talking about “the gang", his willingness to spontaneously suck me off at the tiki hut as we smoked a joint. It all seemed to fit together.

“So let me get this straight, Connie. All I need to do is buy a raffle ticket and I’ll get a sex slave for a week?” “Yup. But remember, it works both ways. You have to be a sex slave for your partner, too. And you don’t get to pick your partner. It could be anyone.

“I once got partnered with Don. What a nightmare! He wanted blowjobs just about hourly. But he has a tiny dick, only about 3 inches hard, so blowing him wasn’t a real chore. But the flip side was awful. With such a small dick, he couldn’t even approach satisfying my pussy. And he had no clue how to give me head. He didn’t even know what a clit was or where to find it! I’m glad it was only for a week though. My vibrator got a good workout that week.” She giggled and laughed at her own joke. Or misfortune.

As I let all this revelation sink in, I pulled out my fifth of rum and took a big swallow. Then another before I tendered it to Connie. She paused a moment, then grabbed it out of my hand. She hoisted it to her lips and began to chug-a-lug the rum straight from the bottle. She held on to it as I pulled out a joint and lit it. She took another giant swallow of rum before we exchanged the bottle for the doobie.

“So, tell me, Connie. You were sitting here all forlorn when I arrived. Did you get partnered with Don again?” “Naw. Nothin’ like that. I’m kinda down because I couldn’t be in the raffle this week. I was looking forward to it because last week’s partner was another terrible lover. I’m so horny I could scream.”

“Why couldn’t you be in the raffle?” “I’m due to start my period in a couple of days. Girls can’t participate when they’re on the rag. Even though we have two other holes, rules are rules. I’m getting tired of my vibrator and, as I said, last week’s lover was a dud.”

I slugged down more rum before we exchanged bottle for joint again. I took a critical look at Connie. She was 45, maybe 50 years old. Her hair hung just below her ears and was brown sprinkled with some gray. She was wearing blue jeans and a thin sweatshirt. Her face was pleasant but not remarkable. Pretty darn average. I couldn’t get a fix on her physique due to her baggy sweatshirt and rather loose-fitting jeans. She wasn’t at 10, but she was attractive enough to fuck.

“Look, Connie. Here we are, two individuals without partners. You had a poor lover last week and you admit that you’re horny. This rum and joint are starting to have their intended effect. I think I’m capable of being a better lover than your last one and I’m positive that I can cure your horniness. If you live nearby, we could go there and talk about a private ‘partner for a day’ raffle.”

Having said that, I took a big hit off the joint and offered to trade again. She glanced at me, then turned to face me and we locked eyes … feeling without touching … speaking silently. She took another huge gulp of rum before passing it back to me.

Then she slowly stood up, reached out her hand to me and said “Okay, Sailor man. You’re on. Come with me.”
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