Any Chance Auction - Chapter 6

[imreadonly2]

Note from Joe to Hooked 6: Thank you for your comments on Chapter 5, as they inspired me greatly. Because of your encouragement, I expanded this scene, to include a lot more relationship building between Anne & Rita. I agree, it's an interesting dynamic, as Rita alternates between enjoyment of Anne's predicament, sisterly protection, and "teaching her a lesson!" modes. Also, a big shout out to Orflash for his wonderful and evocative pictures. I hope they both enjoy this next chapter.

I heard the SPLASH! before I realized I was falling. I felt freezing cold, eerie silence, pitch black, and a sensation of sinking. I tried to breathe in, and realized to my horror that I was underwater.

I was drowning. Panicked, I tried to use my hands to swim, or grab onto something, or raise myself in some way. But my wrists were locked firmly together behind my back. I yanked with all my girlish might, hoping that the two hours-a-day spent perfecting my already perfect body, would pay off. But my thousands of dollars of gym equipment and my personal trainers were defeated by the cheap, 99 cent zip cuffs holding my wrists cinched behind my back.

I could see nothing, nor could not breathe. I kicked my legs, and although I could feel my little feet fluttering through the ooze, the force of gravity from my plunge sent me down, down, down into the water.

I felt my feet touch the bottom of the mucky tank, filled with silt from the chemical wash I was drowning in. I pushed off with all my might. It wasn’t enough. The tank was too deep, and I started to sink again.

I was saved, not by my own efforts, but by the rope around my neck. As the conveyer belt above my head ground on, the track above me arched up, and I was lifted up. My head exploded as I broke thru the surface of the dirty black water. I gagged, coughed, sputtered, and spit out the filthy, vinegary water, but with Skeeter’s knot tightening around my neck, I struggled to breathe.

Splash! Down I went again. I thought for sure I was done for! In my last seconds I found myself wondering how much Big D’s Livestock insurance would pay Rita for my loss. Doubtlessly a lot less than the millions she would inherit from me.

But then, the track arched upward, and the rope lifted me up, then down onto firm concrete.

I found myself laying on freezing cold cement. I coughed out, then vomited out, the filth they had dunked me in.

“Disgusting little piggy, isn’t she?” a male voice said.

I heard Hunk’s voice. “That ayn’t nothing. You should feel how wet she was between the legs. I damn near thought she was gonna pussy eat my hand.”

“Sure did swallow a lot”, the man said. “Maybe she thought she was gonna drink her way out.”

"Igran’t slut", I heard Hunk say, his voice oozing disgust as I finished spitting onto the floor. "Probably eat her own shit if we let her."

"Up on your hooves, little piggy," the other man replied, lifting me as he loosened the noose around my neck. "This ayn't no soaking tub."

I was blinded, and it could have been my imagination, but I thought I heard Rita’s hearty, snorting, belly laugh. I had a penchant for long soaks in the tub, and it took time do my hair and apply my makeup properly (which Rita referred to as ‘Miss City Girl getting’ all dolled up!”). As they had only one bathroom at their house, this sometimes annoyed Rita, who felt that I, THE GUEST, was being impolite. I hoped Rita wasn’t seeing this, because doubtlessly she would have found my “bath time” very amusing.

Someone sprayed some sort of wash in my eyes, and the burning eased. “She got contacts!” Hunk said.

“Not anymore she don’t. Get rid of ‘em. We need to get that shit out of her eyes.”

I agreed. Losing my contacts was a small price to pay to be able to see.

The next indignity was a blast of freezing water from the hose. The men laughed as I jumped around. “Look at them dairies bounce!” Hunk guffawed.

My vision was blurred but I could distinctly hear Rita’s twang. “You fellers takin’ ‘er down to cattle wash?” she asked.

“Naw!” Hunk said. We’ll just give her a quick scrub down here. Then you can get her checked in, and crated.”

“Scanned-and-canned” the other man said, laughing as he roughly spun me around.

“Give her a good scrub, fellers’,” Rita said. “Our little Princess here says The Big D is a filthy shithole!”

“Does she now?” Hunk replied. “This is where I work, slut. And I’m mighty proud of it.”

“Yup!” Rita said, condemning me with my own words. “She said it was a shit hole, jist last night. That’s why I decided to take her through the livestock entrance.”

“Don’t you worry now,” the other man said. “We’ll give ya’ real good scrub down. Especially between the legs!”

As my vision cleared I struggled to see what was happening. Hunk was putting on coveralls. Buckets. Scrub brushes. Rita laughing! Not good!

The worst part of it was Rita’s laughter. It was a cruel reminder that I had brought this on myself. My mind flashed back to dinner the previous night.

“The Big D looks like a shithole to me,” I said, speaking in an unusually frank way as I poured myself my fifth glass of $600 wine.

“We actually keep it quite clean,” Rosco said flatly, clearly annoyed at my accusation.

“It looks like a pigsty to me!” I said, amused by his irritation. “It’s got sand all over the auction block. What-sa-matter, Rosco? Tough guys don’t know how to use BROOMS?”

Feeling quite giddy, I laughed so hard at my own joke I almost squirted wine out of my nose. Roscoe, who wasn’t drinking, was not amused.

“That’s for when the slave girls piss themselves,” Skeeter drawled, ignoring his mother’s irritation as he poured himself some more wine.

“My point exactly!” I said, shaking my wine glass at him for emphasis. “The whole place is crammed full of pleasure sluts, peeing like dogs, juicin’ themselves all day. All crated together, I bet they’re totally INFESTED with head lice and pussy bugs! How do you keep a place like that clean?”

“It’s easy,” Rita said, glaring at me with a look that would kill Superman. “All ‘ya need is a little dip, and a good, stiff bristled scrub brush, right between their legs.”

“Sounds good to me!” I said raising my glass in toast. “Here’s to stiff bristled scrub brushes!” Skeeter clanked my wine glass with his. Rita returned the toast with her water glass, while giving me a very strange smile.

I realized now why Rita smirked at me when we clanked glasses. With my gross disrespect of Rosco’s workplace, and my concern over “pussy bugs”, I was toasting myself straight into the dip tank.

Reality returned as Hunk roughly scrubbed my head with the coarse bristle brush, washing off the delouser with a gritty, green industrial cattle scrub.

“Oww! Not so hard!”

“What a little cry baby!” Hunk said.

“City girl,” Rita explained. “From Chicago.”

“Figures,” the other man said, spitting onto the sudsy green wash running off my body as he helped Hunk roughly scrub me down with a stiff brush. “Probably a criminal. Or a protestor. Libs up there are TOTALLY out-a-control.”

“Yup,” Hunk said, sharing the conventional wisdom. “Nothing but shoplifters and looters.”

“I could buy and sell this whole FUCKING place!” I sputtered, finally regaining my voice after my near drowning.

“Oh, she talks!” the man said, laughing. “That’s a drawback.”

“Whatcha gonna buy this place with darlin’?” Hunk asked. “Yer’ pussy?”

I screamed as Hunk scrubbed me between my legs.

“Get rid of them-there pussy bugs!” Rita called out, laughing as she echoed my words from the night before. “Still think The Big D is a filthy shithole, Princess?” Rita mocked.

“Don’t you worry, Ma’am,” Hunk said, addressing Rita with a politeness reserved for customers, not slave girls. “We’ll get this little sow slave slut clean!”

And so, they did. After a scrub that left me sore and pink all over, and another freezing rinse-cycle with the pressure hose, it was time for me to be dried.

As my eyes cleared, I could see Rita was watching from one of the plastic “customer” chairs behind the yellow line, safe from the lather and chemical stink from the filthy slave slut getting trucked washed for her viewing pleasure.

And pleasure it was, for the enormous grin on her face made it clear that she was enjoying watching her spa pampered sister getting scrubbed down like the dirtiest of slave sluts. For years I had insulted Rosco and Rita by referring to The Big D as a “pig style” and a “filthy dump slave market”. Now karma was paying me back, in the form of a good dunking in the dip tank, and a stiff bristled scrub brush between my legs.

Hanks hands freely felt my body as he gave me a quick rub down with a coarse, industrial towel. Despite my near drowning, scrub brush skinning, and freezing hose down, I groaned with pleasure when his hand cupped my pussy.

“Easy girl!” Hunk said, laughing. “Damn near drown her in delouser, and she’s still humpin’ my hand.”

I groaned in pleasure as Hunk once again pleasured me.

“Born slave slut,” the other man said, squeezing my ass as he dried me.

“I wouldn’t mind spendin’ some time with this one,” Hunk said, continuing to rub my pussy as he roughly toweled my hair.

From the sidelines, I could see Rita holding up her phone in front of her face as I writhed on Hunk’s fingers. I hoped that she was playing some stupid game, and not recording me humping the young slave monger’s hand.

“Let’s keep it movin’” the other man sighed. “You know management. Now that they got that fancy-pants computer in, it’s all about profit-per-pussy.”

Taking that as his signal, Hunk withdrew his hand. Rita laughed out loud as I groaned in frustration.

“You need to piss or shit?” Hunk asked me.

The abruptness of the question startled me. I hadn’t eaten much at the restaurant, but in my nervousness, I had drunk way too much water. “Um, yes, actually. Is there a ladies room nearby?”

Hank laughed out loud at my daintiness. Using my rope leash, Hunk led me over to a grate on the floor. The odor below me didn’t smell good.

“Squat, and do your business,” he said, pointing at the grate.

Feeling my face go flush, I squatted down, spreading my feet and legs wide to avoid as much splash as possible. I strained to go, but with Hunk watching me, I could not.

I looked to Rita, hoping she would save me. She had gotten out of her chair, and was standing about 10 feet in front of me, and she was smiling.

I looked up at Hank. “I can’t do it. Not with you watching.” I said.

Rita looked at me sympathetically. “It’s okay, Anne. Just do it.”

“I can’t,” I whined.

Hanks patience was at an end. I gasped as he took the slave goad off his belt, and pressed the button. A little blue arc flashed between the metal prongs.

“I’ll make you pee!” he snapped.

“Can you help me get this zoom to work, Hunk?” Rita asked sweetly, holding up her phone. “I can never figure this thing out.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Hunk said unctuously, eagerly running over to help the customer in distress. As Rosco said, The Big D was all about customer service.

My big sister winked at me as Hunk mansplained the phone she used 24/7. Taking advantage of the of the relative privacy, I closed my eyes, and began to pee.

“See?” Hunk said. “You can zoom straight in-and-out like this, so you can see her the blush on that pretty face of hers…”

“Or full figure...” he continued. “So ya’ can get the wide shot.”

“Or just zoom in on her pussy so you can follow the stream. Damn! She’s peein’ like a racehorse.”

“Wow, look at her go!” Rita said, looking at her screen.

“Look at it arch up. What a gusher!” Hunk observed.

“I’d say we done struck oil!” Rita agreed.

Rita bit her lip to keep from laughing as Hunk filmed every part of my performance. Walking back to me, Hunk picked up the end of my rope leash and jiggled it. “Hurry up, slave girl!” he said, tapping his boot impatiently. “This nice lady don’t got all day to watch you pee!”

Rita, who was grinning like the cat-who-got-her-cream as she filmed her “potty hog” little sister having her leash jiggled as she was forced to pee-on-command like a cocker spaniel, didn’t seem to mind a bit.

When at long last I finished, Hunk used his rope leash to lead me to a Big D golf cart, tying the other end of the rope to a hook on the back of the cart.

Rita smiled as I stood before her, squeezing my thighs together as I desperately tried to finish what Hunk had started.

“Jist, look at you, girl” Rita said. “Slave wet and hot-to-trot!”

Like the loving big sister she was, Rita took a brush out of her bag and quickly combed out my tangle hair.

“Hold still!” she scolded. “Stop juicin’ yerself and let me brush out this bird’s nest up here!”

“Why didn’t you warn me?” I said accusingly.

Rita looked perplexed. “Warn ya’ bout what? The slave dip?”

I nodded.

Rita adopted her big sister voice as she brushed out her little sister’s hair. “Damn, girl, you really do got shit for brains. Dirty little slave sluts always get dipped. Don’t want ya’ bringin’ no crotch crickets back to the house. Plus you pretty much put up your paws and begged for it, at supper last night.”

“I guess... I SORTA did,” I admitted sheepishly.

“And why didn’t ya’ pee at the BBQ place, or in the dip, ‘stead a savin' up a big old water tank fer' Christmas? Damn, girl, are you too stupid to even manage yer' peein'? Or do ya wanna slave spread, and pee with the whole world watchin’?”

Rita’s sisterly admonishment caught me off balance, and I found myself blushing at her accusation. I knew about “slave stupid”, a well-documented phenomenon where intelligent, professional women become lascivious bimbos once placed in their collars. During my extensive slave training I had actually experienced it, although I was always careful to stop the “conditioning” as I felt my intelligence drain away. Even now, as Rita combed out my hair, I found myself squeezing my legs together, wishing I could use the hairbrush handle to finish was Hunk had started.

Rita was talking down to me as if I were a child, or worse, some sort of giggling, air-headed bimbo. Poor little slave-stupid Annie, who can’t hold her water. It wasn’t fair! How can a girl be expected to reason when all she can think about is her hot, wet, begging-to-be-fucked pussy?

Had I subconsciously “begged” for the dip? Or had I just been drunk? And what else had I begged for last night? And how much was my big sister willing to deliver?

“Ready!” Hunk said. “I’ll drive ya’ to the front desk, so ya’ can get ‘er checked in. That way ya’ wont have to walk.”

“Always happy to save a few steps!” Rita said brightly, joining him in the front seat.

There was a second row of seats in the golf cart, but it wasn’t for slave girls. I walked behind the cart, listening as Hunk and Rita chatted amicably about Christmas Lights at the Dallas Zoo.

“I love those tunnels of lights,” Hunk said.

“Yeah, them’s nice,” Rita agreed. “But I really like it when they use all the little twinkly lights to build the elephants and giraffe sculptures. I got like 1,000 pictures of me standin’ next to them things on Facebook.”

At the mention of Facebook I stiffened. A couple of Big D workers passed us as we walked down the utility corridor but they paid my nakedness no special notice. Naked slave girls were what The Big D was all about.

“Can we hurry it up a notch?” Rita said, glancing at her watch. “I wanna get home in time to see ‘Bless The Hearts’.”

“I love that show!” Hunk said.

Hunk hit the accelerator. I cried out, struggling to adjust my pace to match the rapidly accelerating golf cart as I ran barefoot across the hard cement floor.

“You kin’ go a little faster,” Rita urged. “The little slut LOVES to run. Says I’m sed-n-tary, and need to lose weight.”

“Wow, that’s really rude,” Hunks replied, ‘’specially for a slave slut who can’t stop juicin’ herself.”

“Yup! She’s always braggin’ about what a great runner she is, and showin’ off her fancy medals. It’ll help ‘er dry off, too! So, let’s git goin’!”

Hank hit the gas, forcing me into a full sprint. Rita, sitting comfortably in the front seat, played Angry Birds on her phone. And so, I zoomed to the front desk, slave slut clean, with every part of me bouncing, each long stride drawing me closer to being inventory at The Big D.

[Hooked6]

Another wonderful chapter, Joe. The interpersonal interactions among your characters is so well written that it magnifies the intensity and interest of the plot. The dialog and range of emotions is so seamlessly done it blends into the story as if it belongs there rather than being placed there as an afterthought. It’s the type of stuff that makes readers read and RE-read your stories time and time again.

As you pointed out Rita’s vacillation between encouraging her sister (“It’s okay, Anne. Just do it,” and “Like the loving big sister she was, Rita took a brush out of her bag and quickly combed out my tangle hair. “let me brush out this bird’s nest up here!”) to her gleeful enjoyment of her sister’s debasement (“I heard Rita’s hearty, snorting, belly laugh,” and my favorite, “I looked to Rita, hoping she would save me. She had gotten out of her chair, and was standing about 10 feet in front of me, and she was smiling,” and last but not least “Rita, who was grinning like the cat-who-got-her-cream as she filmed her “potty hog” little sister having her leash jiggled as she was forced to pee-on-command .)

I also liked how Rita managed to admonish Anne at just the right times to enhance her embarrassment (“Wow, look at her go!” Rita said, looking at her screen . . . “Jist, look at you, girl” Rita said. “Slave wet and hot-to-trot!”) These lines were such joy to read and very arousing in the context of the story. If you were looking to increase the relationship building between Rita and Anne in this story, I'd say you more than succeeded.

Looking forward to more!

Hooked6

[lovethissite]

Joe: Again i completely agree with Hooked, love visually streaming this series. Thanks again.