Miss Calico smiled as she began her sales pitch in a smooth, practiced voice.
“Any Chance Auctions are a new service that we introduced a few months ago, for folks exactly like you. Selling a Pleasure Slut is a big decision, and we want to make it as easy, and worry-free as possible. Why don’t we go somewhere where we can sit down and chat?”
“Wouldn’t mind takin’ a load off,” Rita said.
Turning to Trixie, Miss Calico snapped her fingers twice to indicate that I should be brought along. Reluctantly, I abandoned my boyfriend Blue, as Trixie helped me off the pole, and led me by the leash through the store.
There weren’t that many pictures of the warehouse store portion of The Big D online, and the few wide shots emphasized the high ceilings, and endless shelves. Although it used to be a cattle yard, the industrial interior was more typical of a big box retailer. It wasn’t until you realized that the orange cans at the aisle caps were for de-voicing slaves, and that the “water bottles” sold 24 to a pack had sperm in them, that you realized you weren’t in Home Depot.
Miss Calico led us down Aisle 43, KENNELS, which had an infinite variety of cages in every color and size. Most of the stock was packed in boxes, but several display models were setup, including a few that included some very unhappy looking slave girls, hands cuffed behind them. Most were sleeping, although one was attempting to chew the half-inch steel padlock that held her in the cage.
Passing her, I could smell her desperation and slave stink. Chewing through a padlock was a futile task. Even if she got out, she would have been zapped by her collar if she tried to leave the building. How far could a naked girl get, running across a brightly lit parking lot with a man in a golf cart, swinging a lasso, running her down? Silly slave girl!
If I had visited last night, dressed as a member of the 1%, the extensive cage collection might have been interesting to browse. But now, naked and leashed, all I could do was wonder which of these cages I might be spending the night in.
Toward the end of the aisle, an older retiree was checking the latch on the cage, playing with the flap as he opened and closed it. Seeing me, he smiled, and let his eyes roam freely up and down over my body.
Back in Chicago, I was used to male attention, from the young, the old, and everyone between. I deliberately dressed sexy, so they would look at me, so I could enjoy the game of shooting them an outraged look when I caught them checking me out. They’d look away, embarrassed. If I could get them in trouble with their wives or girlfriends, so much the better!
Now, however, seeing me walk naked towards him, the old pervert was free to look me over at his leisure. Instinctively, I jerked at my wrist cuffs in an attempt to cover myself, but they held fast.
Feeling his eyes bore into me, I became incredibly conscious of how naked I really was. I could feel the cold concrete of the store floor on my bare feet, “barefoot-as-a-yard-dog”, as Rita might say. My nipples hardened in the breeze, my breasts bounced and swayed, and I could feel the pussy juice on my legs. And the leering, grinning old man was enjoying it ALL.
The aisle was narrow, but he stood in the center of it, not bothering to step aside to let Trixie and I pass. He let out a low whistle as I squeezed by him, and he got the desired reaction as I felt myself go flush.
If there was a power game, it was HIS game, and I was merely a piece on his board.
As soon as I turned my back on him, he gave my ass a good squeeze. I jerked at my zip cuffs, which held fast. Too shocked to speak, I squeaked instead. It was a ridiculous, pathetic, bimbo chirp, entirely unworthy of the moment, and hearing it, the man laughed.
If that had happened to me in Chicago, I would have slapped him, or pepper sprayed him, or called the police. Onlookers might well have come to my aid. Now, Trixie simply jerked on my leash, jerking me forward. “Get used to it, slave girl,” she said flatly.
Again, I was struck by the peculiar novelty of being referred to as a slave girl. I was, of course, no such thing, but the idea that a passing stranger could fondle my naked ass in passing was, shocking as it seemed, also strangely exciting.
Ahead of us, Miss Calico chatted up Rita, her knew BFF. I recognized her maneuver as “making contact”, one of the first steps in the sales cycle.
“I see you bought some things today. Have you started your Christmas shopping?”
“Nope! Not yet," Rita said. "Gotta start soon, though."
Miss Calico laughed. “I procrastinate, too. So, are you looking for anything particular this year?
“Well, I wanna to get my son a new skateboard, and my husband a new bowling ball.”
“Really?” Miss Calico said brightly. “My nephew is a professional skate boarder. He’s been a Texas state champion 3 times. Maybe he can meet up with your son and his friends sometime.”
“Oh my gosh! Are you jokin’? He’d love that! My boy and his friends are ALWAYS down at that Edge Skate Park.”
I noticed Rita was referring to “her husband” and “her son”. As Rosco was a manager here, he was well known. Skeeter would be less so, but it was a distinctive, memorable moniker, and Rita was being careful.
As we passed the cross aisle, I noticed a free, throwaway newspaper, THE SANDY FOOT GIRL. The naked slave slut on the cover, Miss Sandy Foot, was on the block, rubbing her pussy. Sand clung to her naked body and feet, and it was obvious that she had been rolling around on the block selling herself to the buyers.
Sandy Foot Girls were like the Playmates of the week. The flyers were only available at The Big D, to encourage in person visits. It was said there was a fierce competition among the Pleasure Sluts to make the flyer, and be the cover girl.
This month’s cover girl had tan skin, and long, black hair. She was on all fours on the auction block, her legs spread wide, her asshole was visible, and the gash between her legs was open, wet, and ready. Sand clung to her brown body, and she had a whorish smile plastered on her face, as if she was loving her time in the spotlight.
“Typical Tex-Mex slave trash”, I thought. “She’s not nearly as pretty as me. I belong on that cover, not her.”
It was an absurd thought, and I caught myself immediately. It was a cheap, disgusting paper flyer, after all, hardly worth the attention of a sophisticated, urbane lady who subscribed to The Wall Street Journal and The Economist. But I vowed to pick one up in the morning, when I was free, if for no other purpose than to disapprove of the inappropriate poses and disgusting antics of the slave sluts shamelessly parading themselves on the interior pages.
“I know it Edge Skate Park well,” Miss Calico said. “I saw my nephew put on exhibition there. You know what you should get your son? A BMW Street Carver. It’s one of the best engineered skateboards in the world, and a real bargain at only $500.”
Rita laughed. “That’s WAY too rich for my blood!”
“Perhaps not,” Miss Calico said, smiling enigmatically. “Ah, here we are!”
We walked into a large, open area, with about 10 "bays”.
Each bay had a cabinet and a steel table, a collection of steel tools on each table, and wash sink. It was industrial looking, and reminded me a bit of my science lab at college, or the oil change place where my driver had my cars serviced.
It wasn't until I looked at the large overhead sign that I realized where Miss Calico was taking me: VETERINARY.
"NO!" I shouted, jerking back so hard on my leash that it almost – but unfortunately did not – come out of Trixie's hands.
When I was in graduate school, my boyfriend Jerry had a dog named Buster. Buster was a happy-go-lucky golden retriever, who, unfortunately for him, didn't take his owner's new girlfriend as seriously as he should have. After Buster chewed up a pair of my favorite shoes, I got seriously pissed, and began nagging Jerry into getting Buster fixed.
Jerry strongly identified with Buster, and didn't want to see his "pal" lose his nuts. Amused that I had tapped into one of Jerry's deep-seated male insecurities, I arranged for my friend Kathy, the vet that I was planning on taking Buster to, to come over for dinner. Kathy and I had a great time, laughing and joking about what she was going to do to "Buster's balls". I thought poor Jerry was going to puke, and he spent the whole meal with his hands covering what Kathy referred to as "Jerry's jewels".
When Kathy said I should bring Jerry along for a two-for-one special, he went white-as-a-sheet, in part because Dr. Kathy described it as a "quick procedure, perfect for curbing male aggression, and misbehavior… regardless of species.” Judging from the look of terror in Jerry’s eyes, I think he was genuinely afraid Kathy might do it.
After that, I delighted in curbing my boyfriend’s unruliness simply by smiling at him and snipping my fingers together. We broke up shortly after that, but not before I had the chance to take Buster to the vet, where Kathy and I made him pay the price for disrespecting me. Buster and Gerald were never the same after that, but they knew who was in charge.
But karma is a bitch, and now I was Buster, yanking on my leash as I tried to pull away from the glimmering steel vet table. Rita couldn't stop laughing.
"No, Rita, please!"
"Yer’ the one who wanted to go to The Big D," she guffawed, "and pets gits vets!"
It was true. Rita had given me fair warning. Upon entering The Big D, I'd be livestock, and would be treated as such. I knew Rita would never hurt me, but the harsh realization that I was now Buster, and could be taken to the vet, utterly terrified me.
Rita had warned me that being a slave meant losing all control, and on an intellectual level I fully understood it. Experiencing it, however, was another matter altogether, and like Buster I yanked backwards on my leash, trying desperately to dig my toes into the concrete beneath my feet, as Trixie dragged me forward.
“Silly slave girl,” Rita chuckled.
It was Miss Calico who calmed the waters. "Easy girl," she said, running her hand down the side of my face like I was a skittish horse. "We're just going to sit here and talk. Everything's fine."
Miss Calico smiled at me, and stroked my face, letting her calm wash over me. For a brief instant I actually felt good. It was the first time since Rita had thrown my clothes into the charity bin that anyone had smiled at me, as opposed to laughed at me, or catcalled me, or leered. Miss Calico’s voice was soothing. I smiled back at her, and to my surprise, my submission was rewarded.
The slave candy she popped in my mouth wasn't sweet. In fact, it tasted like old, bitter, black licorice. Back in Chicago, my girlfriends and I had tried slave candy as a joke, when we were partying at The 95th Club, but we had all laughed and spit it out. Oddly enough I found myself grateful for the foul little morsel, and found myself sucking on it eagerly.
Miss Calico sat me on the metal examination table. “We don’t need this anymore,” Miss Calico said, gently taking the rope leash off my throat. She smiled, and patted me on the head. I found myself liking her, and I could tell Rita liked her, too.
Miss Calico asked Rita if she wanted anything, and she responded that "A Mountain Dew sure would wet my whistle." After performing like a bitch in heat, I was thirsty too, but no one asked if I wanted anything. With my ass sitting on a cold, steel metal examination table, I was happy not to be the focus of anyone's attention.
After brusquely directing Trixie to have Miss Calico's assistant, Zach, "Fetch a Mountain Dew,” Miss Calico sat down on one of the plastic chairs in our bay and, all smiles, turned her attention to Rita.
“So why are you here tonight? Tell me your story!” Miss Calico said, addressing Rita with the solicitude of a slave wrangling Oprah. It was time for the next phase of the sales cycle: nurturing your prospect.
“I’m really here for, my sister, Anne,” Rita said. “She’s Prime Minus, and… Well, I hate to say this… kinda hot for the collar! So, I brought ‘er here to be kenneled, and let ‘er live out ‘er fantasy. Plus, I guess I was sorta-kinda tryin’ to teach ‘er a lesson.
“Oh, so you two are sisters. Very interesting. It was very kind of you to bring her here. And what sort of lesson did you want your sister to learn?”
“I wanted to show her that real slave girls don’t have choices. That being a slave girl is about giving up control. And while that might make her pussy feel all hot-to-trot, it also means she ayn’t always gonna get her way.”
“Wow,” Miss Calico said, oozing sincerity. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you are the best sister ever! So thoughtful. So solicitous. Helping your sister, every step of the way.”
“Well, I’m trying to give her the full experience. So, I deloused her, and had her slave humpin’ the pussy post,” Rita explained.
Miss Calico laughed. “I heard about that! In fact, I had a whole bunch of people asking me if she was for sale. I know she’s your sister, but you have the fixings for one hot slave girl. You said she was Prime Minus?”
I recognized she was prospecting, another import component of sales. Miss Calico was warm and solicitous, but as I recognized her moving Rita through the sales cycle, I realized there was something behind her desire to be Rita’s pal.
It was Sunday night, but it was clear The Big D was in some sort of code red, with the janitors furiously cleaning, and new employees, called in from home, racing through the store. The Arabs were coming, and Miss Calico wanted them to invest in The Big D. Yet, Miss Calico, chatting pleasantly with Rita, seemed to have all the time in the world.
Watching her, I realized there was a palpable phoniness to her instant friendship that left me deeply concerned. I was concerned that Rita, less familiar with studied salesmanship, might be played.
"You are so kind to Anne, Rita. She is so lucky to have you."
“Thank you. But the truth is, I’m a bit pissed at her, too. See, she’s like this rich bond trader in Chicago, and well… she’s a bit snooty about it, always putting her nose in the air. Flaunting her money. Actually, she’s a LOT snooty,” Rita confessed.
“A bond trader?” Miss Calico said. “Really? How fascinating! Tell me more.”
“Well, she made a freakin’ fortune, so she don’t really trade nothin’ no more. Between you-me-and-the-auction-block, I think she’s a little bored, living’ in a big mansion, sitting on a big pile-a-money, which is why she wants to go slave-girl slummin’.”
Miss Calico gave me a surprised smile. "Really!" she said. "I had no idea Anne was so accomplished!"
"Yup!" Rita said proudly. "She got 'er degrees from Northwestern and the Un-ee-versity of Chicago! And she was 'Business Woman of the Year' in Stork’s Chicago's business.
"It's Crane's Chicago Business," I said, correcting Rita. "And I won twice, actually."
"Twice!" Miss Calico said. "It's surprising that a woman so accomplished would want to play at being a lowly Pleasure Slut. Does she ever… act out?"
Rita laughed. "Does she ever! Last night, at dinner, she got pretty drunk. Kept coming on to my husband, and my son. Flirtin’, rubbing up against him, practically humpin’ his leg. She teases the poor boy into a frenzy. She’s been doin’ it for years. It’s embarrassin'.”
“Oh, I’m sure!” Miss Calico said, her voice oozing sympathy. “It must be so hard on you. And your poor, son, too! But I may be able to help. Tell me: did Trixie tell you about our implants?”
At the suggestion of the remote controlled “zapper” attached to my clit, I stiffened. Rita continued on, calm as a cucumber.
"Sure did!" Rita said. "Sounded mighty interestin’, actually."
"It is!" Miss Calico said. "And it might be perfect to help you out with the little problem your having with Anne, and your son. Since we're here in the bay, can I give you a quick demo?"
Rita's brow furrowed. "I dunno 'bout that. You ayn't gonna to hurt her none, are ya?"
"Oh, no!" Miss Calico responded. "Perish the thought!"
Miss Calico went to the sink and thoroughly washed her hands. "Since this is temporary, I'll just use a little bit of scotch tape. But I can show you some of the features, and we'll get the same effect.”
This was too much. "Rita, I don't think that…"
"Don't be fussin', Anne!” Rita said. "You don’ brought this on yerself, rubbing up against my men likes you was in heat. Let the nice lady show us how she can help ya'."
Miss Calico smiled at me as she loudly snapped on her surgical gloves. “Oh, Anne! I didn’t go to University of Chicago. I got my MBA in Marketing, from Tulane.” Smiling, she wagged her gloved finger in my face. “But I bet I can teach you a thing or two, young lady.”
Miss Calico put a tiny piece of tape in my outer ear, and a second one outside my ear, right below my hairline.
"Now comes the fun part!" she teased, her eyes twinkling mischievously, speaking in the sort of ga-ga voice one uses when reading a story to a toddler.
I swallowed hard as she lifted up the silver gynecological stirrups and locked them into place. Miss Calico smiled as she picked up my foot.
“STIRRUPS!” I gasped. “You can’t be serious. There’s no curtain!”
“Don’t be a silly-willy, Anne,” Miss Calico said, wiggling my toes. “Slave girls don’t get CURTAINS.”
Rita was smirking. “She’s right, little sister,” she said, as she picked a speculum up off the table and pretended to casually examine it. “Ya got deloused, but she still gotta examine you for internal pests. Plus, customers gotta see the merchandise. Still wanna play slave girl?”
Beaming at me, Rita squeezed the handle of the speculum several times, mocked grimacing as the alligator jaws opened and closed. Seeing me squeeze my thighs together in panic, Rita laughed.
Miss Calico laughed along. "This little piggy went to market, at The Big D!" Miss Calico said, wiggling my toes as she lifted my left foot into the stirrup, and buckled it in with a leather strap.
"And this little piggy got her hoof caught in the fence!" she said, strapping my other foot into position.
"And this little piggy spread her hind legs, nice and wide, so everyone could see!" Miss Calico spread the stirrups to maximum width, them locked them into place.
"Look-ee there!" Rita said, laughing at my absolute exposure. "I kin' see all the way to Christmas!"
Miss Calico, still grinning, put a small piece of tape directly over my clit.
"Rita, I don't think…"
"You sure 'nuff weren't thinkin' last night, humpin' my boy's leg, Annie. Now just hush up and let the doctor do her work."
The doctor! Did washing her hands and putting on rubber gloves make Miss Calico a doctor?
Miss Calico played on her phone for a moment. My feet jerked as my clit came to life, buzzing on its own!
The sensation was incredible. Like a vibrator, only 10 times more intense. The app controlling my clit seemed to vary through a bunch of settings, until if found the perfect rhythm to make me hum.
"That piece of tape on the side of her head is reading her brain waves," Miss Calico explained to Rita. "It reads her reaction, then finds the perfect setting to pleasure her. It can tell what parts of her brain are being stimulated, and by how much. And it can control how close she gets to orgasm."
Miss Calico grinned at me. "And this little piggy, went WEE-WEE-WEE!"
With a swipe of her finger on her phone, I suddenly felt the most incredible wave of pleasure I had ever felt surge through my loins. I was seeing white again.
"Too much!" I said, reaching for my crotch.
"No, no, no," Miss Calico warned. "Try to take it off and you'll get a NASTY shock. Just grab the sides of the table, and hold on, tight!"
"Ride 'em, cowgirl!" Rita laughed.
I grabbed the sides of the table as Miss Calico, thankfully, dialed my pleasure down from unbearable to a low, constant tease.
Miss Calico sat down next to Rita, showing her the features of the phone app. "The software reads her brainwaves and make adjustments accordingly. Men's brains have been controlled by their peckers for years."
Rita laughed. "Ayn't that the truth!"
“Now The Big D is giving women the same opportunity. You can give her timed orgasms, one every hour, or you can keep her on edge all day, teasing, but never pleasing."
"You can control her little slave brain in other ways, as well. Take speaking. Gags can be unattractive, and can damage the mouth. Devoicing spray can be tricky to dose, and can take a while to recover from. But by monitoring the portions of her brain responsible for speech, we can actually put her in silent mode. Let me show you…"
"Rita, I don't think…" I was cut off mid-sentence as my pussy began to squirm. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" I cried out, gripping the sides of the table from the unbearable pleasure.
"See?" Miss Calico said. "No, no," becomes, "Oh! Oh!"
Both women laughed.
The elderly gent who had squeezed my ass looked up from his cage selection at the sound of my cries. Seeing that I was in the stirrups with my legs spread wide, he casually strolled over to the veterinary area. Grabbing one of the plastic chairs, he positioned himself behind the yellow line, and stared directly at my pussy.
Seeing him, I gripped the table tightly. He smiled at me, and gave me a wink. I wanted to scream at him, or close my legs, or at least stop the buzz in my pussy, but I could not. Instead, I watched him, grinning and leering at me, as I air hump nothing in particular with my hot, wet, happy pussy.
"You can program it so her slave gash actually prevents her from having any higher brain function at all. Press on the randy monkey icon, and she won't be any smarter than a chimpanzee."
Rita laughed. "So much fer all that fancy education!" she laughed. "I guess she sure wouldn't be lookin' down her nose at community college then, if she were hoppin' around in Randy Monkey Mode, ha-ha!"
"She certainly would not," Miss Calico agreed. "Personally, though, I like to leave the higher brain functions on, so she can fully appreciate what is happening. I even developed a custom program of slave mantras, specifically for smart, accomplished women like Anne, to help ease them into their new lives."
Miss Calico looked at me and smiled. “Do you know how exercise breaks and rebuilds your body? My mantra program breaks your mind, then rebuilds it into a slave brain.”
Miss Calico swiped her phone, and an instant later the microphone she had placed in my ear began speaking to me in a soft, breathy voice. "You're not intelligent. You're not successful. You're not accomplished. You're nothing but hot slave pussy, aching to be banged."
To reinforce the lesson, my pussy felt a surge of pleasure, causing me to grunt and NEARLY have an orgasm, much to the amusement of the old man sitting in front of me, who was watching my pussy jiggle and squirm with an undisguised glee.
“You are one hot pocket!” he said.
The festivities were interrupted as Miss Calico's assistant, Zach, arrived with the Mountain Dew. Zach was young, and in his early 20's, like Skeeter. He looked like a classic nerd, and had thick glasses and a dopey haircut. He was wearing a Big D sleeveless vest over a T-shirt of a famous science fiction actress whose name I couldn't remember, wearing a skimpy, metal slave girl bikini.
"It took you long enough, Zack," she said. "It's barely even cold."
"I'm sorry, Miss Calico," Zack apologized. "We didn't have any Mountain Dew, and I had to run out and get it. And I’m working like crazy trying to get the girls we need for tonight."
Miss Calico regarded him coldly. "I expect results, Zach, not excuses."
MY pussy surged with pleasure as once again I heard the breathy voice in my ear. “You will rub your hot box in your kennel, keeping yourself in a slave lather, dreaming of your master’s cock in your mouth.” It was a directive I had no intention of following, but as the vibrator caused my pussy to hum, I found myself trying to thrust against it, as I built into a “slave lather.”
“Oh, Master!” I thought. Gasping in pleasure, I fought off the urge to air hump myself, particularly with the old geezer staring directly between my legs. I couldn’t let the old pervert see me like this!
The peculiar part was I also felt a strange sense of pride that he preferred me over the girls in the cages, whom he could actually poke through the bars. It was an outrageous thought, and I realized in horror that the devices taped to me were not simply teasing my pussy, but reprogramming my mind.
Turning to Rita, Miss Calico’s sunny demeanor returned. “I am SO sorry, Rita,” she gushed. “It's kind of crazy tonight, but I really need to talk to my assistant."
"No problem-o!" Rita said, firing up Angry Birds on her phone
Miss Calico crossed over to the other side of my examination table. Glenda The Good Witch vanished, and the Wicked Witch appeared.
"Do you have the Golden Circle Buyer’s alerts out?" she demanded.
"Yes. I sent them pictures, and told them we are selling Prime. I’ve gotten good response, even for a Sunday. These girls are hot.”
"Good. Those Arabs are here to see the operation, and Jake wants them to invest. Maybe they'll bid, maybe they won't. But one way or another, we need to show them bidders with deep pockets, and hot pussy. I want you to personally call up all the rich pervs in Dallas tonight."
"I’ve already started," Zach said. "I have a dozen Gold Club buyers confirmed. And I have the VIP lounge locked and loaded, with 2 naked slut bartenders and lots of cute slave snatch on duty, to entertain."
"Good, but tell the girls not to wear the poor boys out. Now, tell me you have the pussy.”
"9 out of 12. Reina – she's the FBI agent who self-enslaved on Saturday, is having seconds thoughts. I thought maybe we should let her have a talk with the slave psychologist tomorrow, to see if this is really what she wants."
Miss Calico cut him off. "Fuck the slave psychologist, and fuck you, Zach, if you think we are waiting until Monday. I got serious money coming in, and they love Asian pussy. She might have been hot shit on Saturday, but she’s a Yellow now. Pleasure Sluts don’t get badges and guns, and it’s high time she felt the sand between her toes. Get her to prep. We're selling her fortune-nookie, tonight."
"We also have a problem with the red headed girl, Suzanne."
"Fire crotch?" Miss Calico said. "She's smoking hot. The buyers are going to love her milky white skin, and bright red hair."
Miss Calico’s reference to “fire crotch” was ironic, given that she too, had a sexy figure, and bright, red hair. But I was soon distracted as the program kicked in, and once again I heard the voice whispering in my ear, as I began to buck my hips.
Groaning as my pussy buzzed, I looked at the smiling old man staring between my legs as my “conditioning” continued. “No one likes you. No one respects you. You’re nothing but tits and ass. You are a hot piece of tail.”
I pictured myself, lying naked in the skateboard park, surrounded by Skeeter and his friends. Skeeter grinned down at me, holding up his phone.
“No, please,” I begged. “Not..not Randy Monkey Mode!”
Skeeter, smiling, pressed the button. My brain turned off, and my pussy caught fire!
Like the randy monkey I was, I scampered over to one of his friends, and scissored myself around him, humping his leg. Reaching up to Skeeter, I began unzipping his pants, desperate to taste his cock in my mouth…
“Her church put her up as collateral,” Zach explained. “But the church secretary forgot to mail in the payment…"
"Which means they defaulted on their mortgage and her pussy belongs to us. The Big D don't lend money because we want to build churches, fund risky businesses, or help mom put the kids through college. We lend money hoping mom will default, and we'll get ourselves some Prime Pussy on the cheap."
"Yes, but she's a really nice lady, and she's in choir practice tonight."
"She's not a nice church lady anymore, she's Prime pussy heading for the auction block. Call the Sheriff, and have him go over to choir practice, arrest her, and bring her to prep. If her church friends want to see her again, they'd better organize the world's biggest BINGO game in a big fucking hurry, so they can put in some bids. Screw up, Zach, and I’ll cage it for a week."
Wincing, Zach covered his crotch. Miss Calico, clearly enjoying her power over her assistant, smiled. “That’s right, little boy. I’m going to lock up your little tiny pecker, so you can concentrate on your job. Piss me off enough, and I might lose the key.”
"No! I’ll have her arrested. And I’ll get the FBI agent, too. But what about the 12th girl? We're still one short."
Miss Calico turned, and gave me a devilish smile. "No, we're not. I'm reeling in number 12, right now."
A chill ran down my spine, as I realized why Miss Calico was being so generous with her time. I turned to try and warn Rita, who was playing on her stupid phone.
"Rit—Oh! Oh! Oh! OHHH!!!"
I tried to talk. I really did. My near slave-gasm – quite but not there – prevented anything but animalistic grunts and groans.
The voice inside my ear taunted me. “No one wants to hear a Pleasure Slut talk. That’s not what your mouth and tongue are for. Your mouth is for sucking cock, and licking pussy.”
Miss Calico turned back to Zach. "Get busy, and don't waste time jerking off in the men’s room. Like you belong in a room for men," she added contemptuously.
"Yes, Ma'am!" he said, running off.
Miss Calico sat down next to my sister. “I am SO SORRY!” she said, switching back into saleswoman mode. “It’s crazy tonight!” she said, rolling her eyes. “We have a big auction coming up, sort of unexpected, and we’re trying to wrangle us some prime pussy.”
Rita, who hadn’t heard anything, smiled back. “Geez, that sounds tough! ‘Specially on a Sunday night!”
“Tell me about it,” Miss Calico agreed. Miss Calico moved in closer. I sensed something was coming, and sure enough, Miss Calico moved in to the next phase of the sales process: “The Offer”, also called, “The Pitch.”
“You know, Rita, I’ve been thinking. What if I told you I had a way to solve my problem, and all of your problems too? I could get your son his skateboard lesson with my nephew, get him his BMW Street Carver skateboard, and buy your husband a custom made, perfectly balanced $500 bowling ball.” Plus, I can help you, and help Anne, so she'll stop throwing herself at your son."
“Git out!”
“I’m serious,” Miss Calico said. “What’s Anne's favorite color?” she asked.
“Purple,” Rita said. “She says it’s very regal.”
Miss Calico turned, and flashed me her phoniest smile as I gasped and grunted, struggling to speak.
Purple!” Miss Calico gushed. “Oh, isn’t that adorable! Aren’t you the little princess! Would you like a present, my little purple princess?” she cooed.
Miss Calico dialed up my pleasure on her phone, causing me to groan in ecstasy. "Of course, you would!" Miss Calico said, laughing along with Rita.
Calico's tone switched to pure business as she turned to Trixie. “What sort of tag does the computer recommend?” she asked.
“Blue,” Trixie said.
“Perfect. Have the order department bring me a blue tag, a clipper, and an X79 Deluxe, Eternity Style, Purple. Got it?”
“Done,” Trixie said, heading to the computer like a girl on a mission.
Turning back to Rita, Miss Calico’s crisp manner became warm, friendly, and maternal. “Like I said, Reita, I admire you SO much. And think I have an idea that might solve all of our problems. Have you ever heard of an Any Chance Auction?”
I stiffened as the mantra kicked in, and the pleasure in my pussy rewarded me, even as the voice taunted me. “Pleasure Sluts have no degrees, or careers. When we contact your University, and your former employer, your records will be scrubbed, and all everything you accomplished will be taken away. Your assets will be sold, your estate closed. Everyone will forget you. No one wants to admit to knowing a Pleasure Slut.”
A trucker, about 50, fat, wearing the cap from his trucking line, waddled in and sat down a couple of seats from the elderly gentleman. He was heavily tattooed, and was wearing a worn jacket, which he took off and put across his lap. His T-shirt read, “We’ll talk AFTER you suck my cock”, with a picture of a rooster underneath.
The trucker popped open a can of beer and reached into a bag of popcorn, taking a handful as he stared at my squirming, pulsing twat. I thought of those disgusting peep show booths, where some creep put in a dollar, and the black screen lifted, and the girl jerked off for him. Now I was that girl, only no dollar was required.
My brain was swimming. I don’t know what was worse. Having to sit on the exam table with my legs splayed open, with two disgusting perverts watching my pussy squim and jerk, or the tapes taunting me.
“You have no money, no clothes, no power. You are nothing but a hot, juicy cock sleeve.”
As I squirmed in helpless humiliation, I was forced to listen in silent anguish as Miss Calico cheerfully pitched putting my pussy on the auction block. I was watching her build my gallows.
“The Any Chance Auction is an awesome innovation we introduced a few months ago, as a promotion. The idea is, when you put an item up for bid, you can setup a reserve price. So, if I’m auctioning my antique chair, I can set a reserve price of $1,000. If nobody offers $1,000, the item doesn’t get sold.”
“Makes sense,” Rita said, nodding.
“The idea with an Any Chance Auction, is the seller gets to change the reserve auction, up to 12 hours after the final bid. So, if the final bid when the hammer goes down is $1,500, the seller gets up to 12 hours to decide if that is an acceptable price.”
Rita picked up on it immediately. “So, ya’ auction the girl, but don’t actually decide if ya’ want to SELL her till the next day?”
“Wow, Rita. You are so smart! You see, the tough part about putting something up for auction is the risk. What if the right buyers don’t show up? What if you don’t get the right price?”
Rita finished the sentence. “Or, maybe ya’ want the girl to experience the auction, without actually being sold. I see where ya’ going with this, Miss Calico. But how do the buyers feel ‘bout not getting’ what they paid for?”
“Oh, please, call me Isabella,“ she said, taking Rita by the hand. “The buyers know the girl may not be for sale, even with an excellent bid, so it's bit more light hearted than a real auction. It’s quite fun, actually!”
“They are called “Any Chance” auctions, because you can put the girl up for sale if there is literally, ANY chance you might sell her. Sometimes it’s an amusing way of seeing what sort of price slave snatch might fetch on the open market. We had a sorority do it a few months ago, with all the pledges taking a month of real slave training as there initiation, and then getting “auctioned” off, with all the frat boys coming to watch. It was sort of a party, and a real blast!” Miss Calico said, laughing merrily.
I knew where this was going, and I didn’t like it one bit. However, the fiendish program controlling my clit, sensing that I wanted to call bullshit, idled it up a notch, almost as if it were warning me not to speak, or, perhaps, even think.
“We call them Any Chance auction, because they’re so low risk. Between you and me, I think it might be PERFECT for Anne, and you too.”
Rita, considering, nodded. “Ya know, Anne is always BRAGGIN’ about her Prime Minus grade, and how if she ever got put on the block, she’d blow the roof off a dump like The Big D.”
“Did she really say we were a dump?” Miss Calico said. “Well, bless her heart! I know The Big D must seem that way, to a big wheel from Chicago. But maybe this is your chance to change her mind about us, by showing her some old-fashioned Texas style hospitality.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Rita said. “But I don’t know. I don’t really want to sell her, or nothing. You said there were gonna’ be some rich Arabs there tonight.”
“Which is why tonight is the PERFECT night! Maybe she can fulfill her fantasy, and fetch a really high price, with a bid from a rich master. What slave girl doesn’t get hot thinking about that?”
Rita didn’t notice the phone in Miss Calico’s hand, as she slowly slid up the volume dial on my pussy.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I screamed.
The trucker and the pervert staring between my legs cheered me on.
“You go, girl!”
“Yeah, make that pussy squirt!”
I bucked my hips, but alas, did not come. Fortunately, Miss Calico dialed it down, and let me rest, before I broke the metal table.
“I reckon it would be a good way to see her price, without sellin’ her,” Rita said thoughtfully. “But there’s a chance I COULD sell her, right? That’s why they call it an Any Chance Auction? The chance?”
“True,” Miss Calico said. “But that’s what makes it exciting for Anne. The risk. The element of danger. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen, not for sure, because it’s entirely YOUR choice. YOU’RE in control. YOU decide.”
Miss Calico dropped her voice, and said in a stage whisper. “Anne has nothing to worry about, not with her smart, protective, older sister looking out for her.”
“So, how many of the these “Any Chance?” girls actually sell?”
Trixie, who had a small Big D shopping bag filled with the items Miss Calico had ordered, jumped into the conversation.
“A LOT actually,” Trixie said. “Mostly, a girl will get her husband or her boyfriend or her dad to sign her up, so she can have that real Sandy Foot Girl experience. But when he sees the final bid… Heck, it’s crazy NOT to sell her. Plus, after the girl’s had block time, rolling around in the sand, with all the guys bidding on her… well, it’s not really like ya’ can take her home.”
Rita looked trouble by Trixie’s answer. “Yeah, but sometimes it’s just for fun, right?” Rita said. “Like the sorority girls?”
“Just for fun!” Miss Calico agreed.
Trixie disagreed. “They ended up selling off about 2/3 of their pledges. After Daddy saw his little girl rollin’ around in the sand, rubbing her twat and lickin’ her lips while the frat bros cat cat-called her, he decided maybe she was more suited to be a Pleasure Slut than a lawyer or a doctor. And after the parents saw how much they could get for her hot twat, and realized it would pay for all the rest of the kids to go to school, mom and dad just let the sale roll through. Like I said, crazy not to.”
Miss Calico was clearly annoyed, but tried not to show it. “Trixie, sweetie, why don’t you go back and watch the Information Desk?”
“Debbie’s watching it.”
“Then why don’t you go watch Debbie,” she said, smiling sweetly, but through clenched teeth.
Trixie handed Miss Calico the bag, shrugged, and left.
My pussy twitched and writhed in pleasure as once again my conditioning program kicked in. It was slow torture, never letting me come, slowly breaking me down.
“You long to taste your master’s seed. You want to spread it around on your tongue, and gums, and never swallow, so you can savor his salty essence, forever!”
Miss Calico took Rita’s hand. Her tone turned serious. “I know how much you love, Anne, and how much you want to help her. I wonder if it might not be time for some tough love.”
“Tough love?” Rita said. “Whatcha’ mean?”
“I know it was hard for you at dinner last night, seeing Anne rub herself against your poor son, like a bitch in heat. But what you have to understand is, it was hard for Anne, too. She’s an addict, and she’s not going to get better until she confronts her disease. But to do that, and get better, she has to hit rock bottom. She needs her moment of clarity.”
“How she gonna git that?” Rita asked earnestly.
“She needs to become…” Miss Calico paused for effect. “A real Sandy Foot Girl.”
NO! Rita was the only thing that stood between me and the shame and ignominy of the auction block. And Miss Calico, brimming with malice and evil, was telling Rita that releasing the trap door beneath my feet was an act of love.
But before I could object, the conditioning program kicked in, and my pussy buzzed for joy. “Don’t speak! Moan. Moan, and grunt with pleasure like the pig slut that you are.”
“No! I am an accomplished professional woman. I have degrees from… from.. did I have degrees? Had I been to school?”
My clit buzzed on. “Shhh!” the voice said. “Feel your nipples harden. Let your pussy drip. Let everyone see what a little slut you are. Let go!”
The happiness in my pussy was undeniable. With the old man and the trucker laughing at me, I followed my programming, and moaned like the shameless pig slut I was.
“You mean put her in the Any Chance Auction? So, she can have the real experience?”
“Yes, but it’s more than that, Rita. You need to put her in the auction, and let her be sold. Really sold. Then you need to keep an open mind, and look at the bids, tomorrow. Anne needs to know this is real, and that she could be a Pleasure Slut forever if the right bid comes in. She needs to know that it could happen. She needs to know… her pussy is on the block. For real.”
“Gosh, I don’t know if I could ever do that. I love Anne. I don’t know if I could ever really sell her.”
“If you really love her, you’ll help her. She needs to be scared straight, and she’ll know if you’re bluffing. You need to say it, and mean it.”
Rita thought about it, then made her decision. “You’re right. I’m all in,” she said.
