Price versus Cost

[cardman314]

Price versus Cost
By Cardman314
(This story set in the world of legalized slavery as set forth in the 34th Amendment. All ‘active’ characters are over 18 years of age and fictional, bearing no resemblance to anyone living or dead.)
People make all kinds of excuses, the most common one being, “The price is too high,” when in truth, they just can’t afford it. Price is a one-time thing but costs accumulate over time. When can you say, ‘the Price is Right’?
To outsiders, the Pearsons had to be good Catholics, passionate Protestants or amorous Agnostics. I mean, who has 3 sets of twins in this economy? Tyler and Tynan, now 20, were the first-born set, followed two years later by Vicky and Valerie, identical twins. Sarah and Susan, who were two years younger than their sisters came along, possibly completely by surprise. Really, with times tough, jobs few and salaries low, no one needed the burden of two more mouths to feed.
Typical of families with three kids, the first-born ruled the roost, the second was just second when the ‘baby’ came along. “The middle child” syndrome played out in stereo every day and everywhere as Vicky and Valerie vied for the attention they lost when Sarah and Susan came along. Competitive is an insufficient word to describe the way these two girls were driven to be top dog. It is tough to be the better sister when you are identical twins, although Vicky always thought she was more identical than Valerie.
Family reactions were all over the map, as you might expect. The older boys resented having taken beatings for lesser things they had done, but the girls just got put in ‘time out’.
The younger sisters were amused by their older sisters’ antics and were glad they weren’t the subject of their parents’ ire. What they didn’t like was the necessity of ‘hand-me-down’ clothes as they rarely got anything new.
Connie, who wed right out of high school, and never had a job, was beside herself worried about how to feed the family and pay all the bills on their limited budget. The boys had been able to find part-time work and that helped but they would have to live at home indefinitely if the economy didn’t change.
Paul, at 45, had hit the ceiling in his field and there were no more promotions to get. Being on a salary, working overtime still paid the same money; it was a dead end. Add to all of this, being cast in the role of family disciplinarian, Vicky and Valerie’s stunts had pushed him to the point of thinking, enough is enough, and looked for way out their strained circumstances.
Meanwhile at home, Vicky and Valerie were becoming increasingly insufferable. Vicky wanted to go to Tulane, and Valerie to NYU, even though their grades were nowhere near what they needed to be. "They would be if you remortgaged the house, and gave Tulane a big endowment!" Vicky suggested. Valerie agreed, but felt the money should go to NYU.
“Could they possibly be more self-centered?” Paul wondered. He didn't have enough equity in the house to pay the tuition at Community College, let alone bribe a top tier college into taking his academically average daughters. It was particularly annoying since Vicky and Valerie might have done better in school, if they hadn't spent the last two years pulling stunts to try and make the other one look bad, and nearly getting expelled in the process.
Paul could hardly wait for Thursday night league bowling as the company team was within striking range of first place, and it gave him an escape from his financial concerns.
"I've seen this problem before," his bowling-buddy, Bill said, as they enjoyed a beer after the game. "Vicky and Valerie aren’t stupid. Most of their friends have been graded as collateral for student loans but neither wants to be the one securing the loan. They think that by making the other one look bad, it will back you into a corner where slavery for one of them is the logical solution. I don’t just mean collateralizing a loan; I mean, actually selling one for a few years to pave the way for the others. Let’s face it, in two more years, you’re going to have to lick this calf all over again. Sarah and Susan are going to need financial aid for college, if they want to go, and you’ll be back with same problem."
"Are you seriously suggesting that I sell one of my daughters?" Paul asked.
“To me it seems to be a ‘no-brainer’. It’s a small price to pay, a few years of slavery, in order to get your family’s finances in order, and at the same time provide for future educational needs.” Bill reached into his bowling bag and pulled out his iPad Pro. A couple of clicks later, Paul watched in shock as Vicky gyrated her body through the sluttiest block routine, he had ever seen... until a minute later, when it switched to Valerie, who took her sister's performance and built upon it.
Paul was stunned and asked, “What did I just watch?”
"I didn't mean to shock you," Bill said, putting the iPad away, much to Paul's relief. "My daughter, Cindy, and yours belong to a social group at their high school; they call themselves, ‘The Untouchables’. They had a ‘girl’s only’ graduation party in our backyard, and each of the members, who had been graded, was paired up with a girl, who hadn’t yet. The leaders wanted to show the girls what they would be facing when they went to the Big D.”
“Each girl was made to strip and the ‘COLLAR’ command was given. The girls assumed the position on their knees while zipties were loosely put around their necks to represent slave collars, and their hands zipped behind their backs. Fake SINs were written on their chins with a red sharpie. They were told to make themselves wet for inspection by rubbing against each other. The ‘slaves’ seemed to enjoy this a little too much, from my point of view, looking out the upstairs, bedroom window, but I kept recording anyways. They were then run through block moves before being tied to the backyard fence for inspection.”
Paul’s mouth dropped open as he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“The leaders poked and prodded the ‘slaves’, squeezed tits and sampled ‘slave honey’. In the end, none of the ‘slaves’ earned a grade below Choice+, and Valerie and Tonya were graded Prime, which thoroughly irked Vicky. Her mood improved though when the leaders used wide-tipped, black, permanent markers to draw the Big D brand on Val’s and Tonya’s asses, which would take weeks to fade or a lot of painful scrubbing to remove.
Paul blanched at the idea of the videos ending up in the Cloud, as everything was these days. “I hope that’s not going to get posted online, is it?” asked Paul.
"Not to worry. I have the only copy. If a judge saw this footage, it would be grounds for self-enslavement for all of them. You could see though that neither of your girls was shy about being naked in a group. They jumped right into character, like they were ‘hot for the collar’ and didn’t balk when the leaders made the ‘slaves’ service their pussies after grading. Just know that if the girls refuse to go along with whatever you and your wife decide is best, I can edit the recording to show their best slave behavior, and you can take them before a magistrate.”
“I’m glad Connie didn’t see this video; it will be tough enough broaching this subject with her as it is,” Paul mused.
“Just remember the videos and how unashamedly they exhibited this slutty behavior, eager to show each other up. Maybe you could suggest some kind of competition around getting graded that would entice them to go for it."
“I’ll think about it. Thanks for the beer, Bill. I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow in the break room.” What kind of competition would differentiate between identical twins?” Paul wondered as he drove home.
Paul couldn’t wait to leave the office; Friday was date night, and he finally knew he had to bring up the slavery idea to Connie. Bill had even picked up a copy of the Big D’s New Buyers Guide, on his way into work, which he passed along over lunch. Paul’s eyes glazed over when he saw the average sales prices for Prime-graded girls; this slavery thing just might be the answer they have looking for.
“….EMMY LOU HARRIS, C’MON DOWN! You’re the next contestant on ‘The Price is Right!’” The announcer’s voice blared in Paul’s ears as he came through the front door.
“TURN THAT THING DOWN!” he shouted over the television to no one in particular.
Immediately, Sarah, the ever-obedient one, hit the MUTE button. “Hi, daddy,” she chirped happily, “We’ve found a channel with reruns from old game shows from 10 or more years ago. Susan and I are killing Vicky and Valerie. We’ve played Jeopardy, Wheel of Fortune, and Hollywood Squares so far and The Price is Right is just starting. Can you play with us?”
“Sorry, Sweetie, I have to clean up; I’m taking your mom to Ventano’s for dinner tonight. I remember this show though; your mom and I used to play along, guessing the prices. Since she did most of our shopping, she used to beat me badly.” As he dashed up the stairs, he said, “Tell your mom I’ll be ready in twenty. Thanks.”
The conversation over dinner was spicier than the food. Connie was initially shocked at the suggestion of losing one of their daughters, but Paul assured her it wouldn’t be forever, maybe four years at the most. He was about to show her the guide, when the waitress wheeled around the dessert tray.
The waitress was a little on the Rubenesque-size, wearing only a shiny collar, bib apron and flat-black shoes with white, thigh-high stockings.
“Tell me…..”
“Amy, mistress.”
“Tell me, Amy, how did you come to be a slave and how do you feel about it?’ asked Connie with great interest.
“To be honest, mistress, it is the best thing that could have happened to me. When I went for grading, I only scored Select+ which limited how much of a loan I could get, so I settled on Culinary College with a major in breads and pastries. At graduation, we had to prepare several samples of our finest recipes for tasting and judging of our presentation. The school invited all the chefs and owners of the major restaurants around the Dallas-Fort Worth area and Mr. Ventano loved my tiramisu. He was thrilled to find out my indenture price was so low; he paid my debt, and immediately took me on for two years. I am doing what I love, I have a room in the basement, I get to eat the best food, and I am learning the business from the inside out. I hope to stay here when my indenture is up.”
“That’s great but don’t you have to offer sex also? Isn’t that degrading?” Connie said, trying not to sound condescending but honestly interested in Amy’s well-being.
“Yes, mistress. Sometimes one of master’s good customers will ask for me but I am flattered and happy to oblige. Remember, mistress, I only graded Select+ and I have put on twenty-five pounds since then. Besides, a girl has certain needs from time to time.”
Connie was seeing slavery in a whole new light and her demeanor shifted as she decided on a cannoli, while Paul picked the tiramisu and asked for an espresso. As Amy turned and pushed the pastry cart away, Paul smiled at the big, floury, hand-print on Amy’s rump. “It looks like the chef has been sampling Amy’s wares,” Paul observed with a smirk.
“So, if we go with your idea, how do we decide which one to sell?” asked Connie, “Neither one is going to volunteer.”
“We don’t decide, we let them compete; the loser gets sold, the winner goes to community college for a start, and we get our financial house in order. Maybe you can even get a new ‘soccer-mom’ van. I already have a competition in mind.”
“Okay, you’ve sold me. Now take me home and sample my wares, you brute.”
Connie rubbed her wrists and pulled the sleeve of her bathrobe down to cover the rope marks Paul had bestowed on her as he ravished her last night. The memory of the waves of orgasms brought a subtle smile to her face as Vicky and Valerie dragged themselves into the kitchen.
“Where is everybody?” asked Val, as she headed for the coffee pot.
“Tyler and Tynan went to the lumber yard; they are going to repair the railing on the back porch today,” replied Paul, looking up from his morning paper. Sarah and Susan left for their piano lesson. How late did you stay up watching those game show reruns anyways?”
“I think we quit somewhere around 3:00; those old Japanese shows are completely insane,” said Vicky. “Is there any orange juice left, mom?”
“I think Tyler drank the last of it but check the freezer, I think there is a can of concentrate left you can mix up.”
“Have a seat, girls, it’s time to get serious about your futures,” Paul insisted. “Sacrifices are going to have to be made if you have any plans of going to college. Your brothers have been fortunate in being able to get into an apprenticeship program with Filmore Construction that also pays them minimum wage while they are learning. In three to four years, they will both have a trade to fall back on while they study for their desired degrees. What are your plans going forward?”
Vicky and Valerie just stared at each other in silence.
“Girls,” Connie said, “Hoping is not a plan. Money is not just going to magically appear.”
“Here are your options as I see them,” Paul began to list them. “First, you can give up on going to college and get jobs, although most jobs today are done by robots or slaves, who don’t get paychecks. Second, you could be registered and graded to collateralize a school loan like many of your friends and be in debt for the next ten or more years as you try to pay it back, always at risk of being repossessed.”
“Oh, please no….”
“Now, Vicky, please let your father finish,” Connie chided.
“As I was saying, third, you could try to find a sponsor for a self-indenture but that could require a longer term of service to bring in enough money for school and you would still be a slave for all intents and purposes. Finally, one or both of you could sell yourselves as pleasure slaves, which would bring in the most money.”
Both girls looked like they were on the verge of tears as their dreams just came face to face with reality.
Connie announced with a grin, “There is a fifth option; you could find a rich husband and sit around eating bon-bons all day.” This temporarily broke through the tension in the room and everyone had a laugh.
Paul resumed control of the discussion, “Anyway you look at it, if college is really what you want, sacrifices are going to have to be made. Your sisters are going to have to face the same issues in just two years unless something changes. I have been studying this Buyer’s Guide from the Big D and if one of you would sell herself for a period of four years, it would be enough to pay for all four of you to get through a decent school, not NYU, but maybe Liberty or Hillsdale, they are both viable options. The ‘slave sister’ would just be starting school at twenty-three instead of nineteen.”
Dead Air. That’s what they call it when the “talk show” goes silent. The silence continued as the girls stared at their parents like they had just sprouted a third eye in the center of their foreheads.
Finally, Valerie spoke up. “I’m not going to volunteer for slavery and you’re not either, are you, Vickie?”
“Not a chance, but I’ll volunteer you!”
“Way to stick together, sis,” Valerie sneered in return, “Next thing you’ll be suggesting is that we do Rock-Paper-Scissors to see who becomes a slave.”
“Now girls, don’t start in on each other now,” Connie scolded, “You have been given a lot to think about. Go to your room and talk it over. Maybe you will just have to set aside college plans in favor of some lesser goals.”
The girls finished their breakfast in silence and after doing the dishes, headed upstairs, taking the guide with them.
“This is insanity,” Vicky muttered to herself as she stepped out of the shower.
“Did you leave me any hot water?” asked Val. “What’s insanity?”
“How could they even hint at selling one of us?” Vicky said raising her voice to be heard over the running water. The question hung in the air, unanswered, and both girls retired to their room to dress in silence.
Valerie was the first to speak, “Look at these prices. Did you ever think that being virgins would add up to $100,000 to our value? I guess joining ‘The Untouchables’ wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”
“Are you telling me that you are actually considering selling yourself?”
“No, not exactly. I was just thinking about Sarah and Susan and finding some way to keep them out of slavery,” Valerie answered.
“Yeah, I hadn’t considered that possibility. I’d still rather it be me than them,” agreed Vicky; the two of them finally thinking of someone other than themselves, for once.
“You know, I really didn’t mind playing slave girl at the graduation party,” confessed Valerie.
“Yeah, we all could tell by the way your juices ran down your leg or how eagerly you dove between Jade’s thighs. I think the only reason you got Prime, and I didn’t was your ‘slave heat’. Real slavery isn’t like that. What if you had to suck twenty cocks a day and get banged in the ass by any Tom, Dick, or Harry?”
“You’re right, of course, but it still sickens me thinking about that happening to Sarah, in particular. Let’s go for a walk and clear our heads,” Val encouraged.
Two hours later the girls returned home and asked the big question of the day, “Dad, neither one of us wants to volunteer but we will do it to save Sarah and Susan. How are you going to decide who is enslaved?”
“Your mother and I aren’t going to decide, you are. I propose a competition, loser gets sold. We use the format of a ‘Best Chance’ auction, setting a reserve so high you won’t actually get sold. You will each make a guess on your final bid and whoever comes the closest, without going over, wins. If we don’t get at least $300,000, neither one will be sold and we will have to come up with another plan. Agreed?”
Valerie and Vickie looked at each other and then at their mom.
Connie shrugged her shoulders and said, “Don’t look at me, it’s your decision.”
They turned back to their dad and said, “Agreed.”
“If you are really going to do this, you need to be clean shaven from your neck down,” instructed Connie.
“FIRST!” shouted Valerie and dashed for the upstairs bathroom, once again pissing Vicky off to no end.
“You’re going down, bitch,” Vicky muttered under her breath, “Your impulsiveness will be your undoing.” Entering their room, she looked at the Buyers Guide sitting on their desk, and quickly scooped it up. “It’s time to figure out exactly how this system works.”
It looked simple enough; it had the Big D logo with a picture of the Big D’s neon cowboy on the cover. Inside was a step-by-step list explaining how to register to bid. Opening the guide, at the first fold, she found a description of the inspection period, the auction and instructions on how to claim your slave if you won the bid.
“That’s pretty simple,” she thought until she opened the next fold and the pamphlet opened like a map from Rand-McNally. Her eyes almost glazed over. “I wish I had paid more attention in statistics class,” she moaned quietly as she stared at the number of full-color charts, graphs and tables. They were separated by stage, “Broadway” and “Off-Broadway. There were graphs showing the “mean” bid values based on grade, further broken down by ethnicity, cup size, height, weight, eye and hair color; “Virgin” status being a huge bonus on top of everything else. There were tables showing numbers of sales based on type, e.g. “Any Chance” auctions, “Best Chance” auctions, “Invitation Only” auctions, and “Self- Indentures”. There were even charts based on the time of year, as well as, on the days of the week; Tuesdays being the slowest and Saturdays the busiest.
What stunned her was the ridiculous amounts bid during “Invitation Only” auctions, as the “high rollers” vied for dominance. What was the most unnerving to her though, was the percentage of times the “reserve” was exceeded during “Best Chance” auctions, guaranteeing enslavement. This was too much to absorb in one sitting, so she refolded it, noticing that the back cover had bidding “Does-N-Don’ts” and a web address for more information. A scream coming from the bathroom, told her that Val had just waxed herself, so she slipped the booklet under her pillow to study it further when Valerie wasn’t around.
Valerie stumbled into their bedroom rubbing her angry, red pussy and fell backwards on to her bed. “FUCK, that smarts,” she moaned.
“That’s nothing, wait ‘til they brand that big ass of yours,” Vicky gloated, certain that she had this bidding game in the bag.
“I’ve got a news flash for you, Miss High-N-Mighty. Prime slaves who are auctioned on Broadway, all get the brand, whether they end up sold or not. SO THERE!”
Vicky gulped and ran into the bathroom; the revelation creating an emergency in her bladder. She managed to reach the toilet with barely a couple of drips running down her thigh and then the dam broke. She shuddered in fear, wondering how she could escape the trauma to come. She briefly considered trying to throw the grading so she wouldn’t be Prime but the thought of Valerie lording it over her for the rest of her life was untenable. “Even if I win, I’m screwed,” she realized.
She took one look at the nasty, hair-covered wax strip sitting on the vanity and wanted to scream, “Valerie, you’re a pig,” but grinned as she thought about the whipping Val would get if she left a mess like that for her master. Vicky sprayed some shaving foam into her hand, grabbed her razor, and stepped into the shower. The waxing that followed left her as smooth as a billiard ball, but wasn’t anywhere near as bad as her “drama queen” sister made it out to be.
Vicky got dressed and headed down to the kitchen. Valerie was making hamburger patties, Sarah was cutting up tomatoes and onions, Susan was mixing up lemonade, and Connie was setting the table. She turned to Vicky and said, “Take your brothers some ice water and find out how soon they will be finished with the railing so your dad knows when to light the charcoal grill, please.”
Two minutes later, Vicky returned. “Tyler said they just needed to finish touching up the paint; it will be fifteen minutes or so.”
Vicky and Valerie fidgeted silently in their seats all through lunch hoping neither parent would mention anything about grading or their bet; the nervous tension causing them both to soak their panties.
Connie gave them a knowing look that caused them both to blush and avert her gaze. She spoke matter-of-factly, “You two should clear the table and do the dishes, since Susan and Sarah have been slaving away all morning making the beds and doing the laundry.”
At the word “slaving”, Valerie lost her grip on her drink and spilled half of her cola in her lap.
Connie’s smile was unnerving as she said, “Oh my, it looks like you’ll have to take that dress off sooner than you had planned, now won’t you.” That remark went completely by all the others, except Paul, who quipped, “Maybe you should just go naked, it would certainly save on laundry bills.” Connie laughed.
Valerie bolted for the bathroom to change her sun dress and Vicky quickly began picking up plates and putting them in the sink.
Connie couldn’t resist another jab and said, “My, my, Vicky, what’s the hurry? We’ve barely finished eating,” drawing out the word “barely”. Vicky grabbed hold of the edge of the sink as she nearly fainted. Connie smirked, “Are you okay, dear? You and Val seem a little flustered today.”
The boys got up from the table and put their dishes in the sink. Tynan said, “Mom, Tyler and I are going to watch Collin College play DBU this afternoon. They’ve got a pitcher who is ready for the majors, it should be a good game.”
“Okay, boys, have fun. I hope you don’t get rained out; they are calling for possible thunder storms later,” she replied.
Susan spoke up as the two of them helped Vicky by rinsing their plates and loading the dishwasher, “May, Sarah and I ride our bikes over to cousin Megan’s? She’s got a new guinea pig that she wants us to see.”
“That’s fine, just be sure to take your house key; your father and I will be out for most of the afternoon.”
Upon hearing this, Vicky pushed the start button on the dishwasher and ran upstairs.
Twenty minutes later, the plan was set in motion. “Girls, come down here, right now!” mom commanded. “There’s no point in putting this off. If we wait too long, you may not get graded today and have to stay overnight in the kennels. We have to stop on the way and get these POA’s notarized, so bring me your driver’s licenses when you come down.”
Reluctantly, Val came down first, while Vicky snuck another peek at the Buyers’ Guide knowing she had to win this game or spend the next four years in slavery.
“Vicky, NOW!” shouted Paul.
“Coming,” replied Vicky as she slipped the guide into her desk drawer and scurried down the stairs. Her eyes bugged out at the sight that greeted her. Valerie was standing, head-down, “slave naked” in flip-flops with Bruno’s dog collar around her neck and her hands tied crudely behind her back with one of Paul’s old ties.
“What’s with the clothes? Slaves don’t get clothes. Strip.”
“Yeah, strip, bimbo,” Valerie chimed in, “You may as well start getting used to it. Just imagine the great tan you’ll have after four years in the Texas sun.”
“Oh yeah! Well, you won’t be getting any sun, chained to a bed in a Mexican brothel,” bristled Vicky.
“God, I wish I had a can of Devox. Stop this bickering, right now,” said Paul. “No body is being sold outside of the U.S., I’ll promise you that. One of the conditions of a potential sale will be “No International Sales”. You still might spend a lot of time tied to a bed if a BDSM club buys you,” he grinned.
“Eeeewwww, gross,” the girls squealed in unison.
“Sorry, we only have one dog collar,” Connie said as she snapped Tyler’s old bicycle lock around Vicky’s neck, “but we do have plenty of old ties. BACK HANDS.”
Vicky flinched as her mom cinched the tie much tighter than she thought necessary but the worst was yet to come. Paul had put the back seats down in their SUV and there sat Bruno’s kennel.
“No way,” the girls protested, “We can’t both fit in there.”
“Sure, you can and you can lather each other up en route. You’ve got to get that ‘slave heat’ going, if you want to get graded ‘Prime’,” laughed Connie. “Now get in there, Val, you first.”
It was a tight fit but they made it. It was a side-by-side, 69-fit which disgusted both girls; not because they had never done it before, but because their mom had put them like this, implying what was expected of them. Could their humiliation be more complete?
The storm clouds grew more ominous as they drove west on the 635 toll-way. It started to sprinkle about four miles before the Big D off-ramp. “I hope the boys baseball game isn’t rained out,” Connie said with a smirk as she gave Paul a knowing wink. No sooner had she said that than it came down in buckets, a real gully washer. Visibility went to near zero and Paul pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Before he could say, “This won’t last long,” it stopped.
Steam was rising from the parking lot blacktop as they pulled into the Big D. “Good news, girls, the rain has cooled off the pavement, so you won’t burn your feet. Time to get out,” said Paul as he opened the hatch and swung the kennel door wide. It took a few minutes to untangle the two of them and get them on their feet but at least they had managed to achieve some level of arousal during the trip. Paul clipped Bruno’s leash to Val’s collar and headed for the entrance. Connie hooked a short piece of rope on Vicky’s collar and dragged her along. Connie’s embarrassment almost matched the girls’, thinking about how she must have looked like trailer trash dragging a slave wearing a bicycle lock instead of a proper looking collar.
“Maybe coming on a Saturday afternoon wasn’t a great idea,” Paul said. “With this mob, we could be here all day. The girls could be waiting to grease the bollards for an hour.”
“Do what? Are you insane? Val shouted over the commotion.
“Polishing the bollards is a tradition. It is supposed to bring you luck and really get your juices flowing,” Paul replied.
“As much as I would love to see them debase themselves further, I can tell by their smell, they are juicy enough already. Let’s see how bad the line is at check-in,” Connie insisted. The girls breathed a sigh of relief.
As they approached the desk, Vicky squealed, “Oh, my God. Who is that hunk?”
There on the wall behind the check-in was an almost life-size poster of a trainer and his ponygirl. The caption read “Pinkie, 2032 Grand National Showpony, with trainer, Richard Jameson. Vicky was mesmerized by Richard’s Adonis looks, though slightly graying at the temples, his broad shoulders, tapered shirt, and tight waist implied a level of raw, masculine fitness that would be the envy of young men half his age. Even though, he was just on a poster, his image command the room. Vicky couldn’t take her eyes off from him….and the $100,000 First Place check he was holding. If she hadn’t been tied, her hands would have gone straight to her pussy.
Valerie and her dad stared at the stunning red-headed ponygirl standing at attention with her perky, gold-ringed tits sticking proudly out of her trimmed in black, red, patent-leather bustier. The red-laced, black, thigh-high pony boots made her stand taller than her trainer, and the black, bushy plume sticking up from her headdress added to her Amazonian stature. Instead of a metallic, slave collar, she wore a tall, leather posture collar which perfectly matched her bustier. She proudly smiled as she held her hoof-gloved hands even with her chest; an impressive display of confidence and pageantry elegance.
“Quite the pair, aren’t they?” queried Rebecca, the Director of Marketing and CFO, startling Paul out of whatever fantasy he was having in his mind. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right; when said ‘pair’, I was referring to Richard and Pinkie, not her magnificent breasts.”
Valerie giggled.
“This poster marks the beginning of a new scholarship program we are testing. We have partnered with several pony ranches to help them find suitable candidates for racing, dressage or showpony competitions. If a girl is athletic and grades Prime or Prime+, she is eligible to apply for a self-indenture from 2-4 years. We send out a link with her SIN and the ranchers have one hour to review her details in the National Slave Registry before the online auction begins, by-passing the need to display oneself on Broadway, and dispelling any worries about where the slave is going to end up. The bids start at $50,000 per year of service and can only go up.”
“Does she still have to put out to anyone on demand?” asked Vicky, who was now engrossed in the discussion.
“Well, yes, dear. Afterall, in the end, you’re still a slave but you’re out in the fresh air a lot, not stuck in a brothel or glory hole. This is a win-win for everyone. Besides pre-qualifying slaves for the ranchers, we have all of their brands on hand, and can take care of any brandings, piercings, shavings, chipping, or tattooing requested, all under the supervision of our veterinarian. We can kennel the ponies-to-be for pick-up or ship them directly for an extra fee,” Rebecca said, smiling to herself at the thought of an extra fee.
“Well, if you have to be a slave, that certainly would seem to be a sensible choice,” responded Valerie, looking back at the regal beauty in the picture. She certainly seems to have adapted well to the lifestyle.”
“I’m sure you will qualify; can I sign you up now?” Rebecca said, smelling and easy sale.
“Yeah, go ahead and sign up, Val, so I can get the Hell out of here,” urged Vicky.
“Fuck off, loser. I’ll be the one walking out of here. Uunngh.h.h.h,” Valerie moaned as she slumped to the floor from the shock of a baton wielded by a nearby wrangler.
“Now, Billy Joe, you know you’re supposed warn slaves before you zap them, and technically she isn’t in the inventory yet, so you just zapped a free woman,” Rebecca chided with a smirk.
Connie piped up, “She deserved it. I hate vulgar language. Nice job, Billy Joe. Where can I get one of those?”
“Sorry, ma’am, these are not for sale to the public as they can cause permanent damage if used improperly,” replied Billy.
“Next in line, please,” the wrangler behind the desk said.
Connie handed him the notarized POAs and girl’s I.D.s; he turned to make copies, then handed the originals back to her. “Who’s first up?” he asked.
Vicky moved to the front while Rebecca continued to try to suck Valerie into a self-indenture.
“Please look up at the camera over my left shoulder and answer the following questions for the record. “Do you affirm that Connie is in fact your guardian and, of your own free will, has your consent to have you graded and possibly branded or sold, solely at her discretion? If so, please answer, “Yes, Sir.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Mrs. Pearson, if you would be so kind as to remove her collar and ties, I need to put an official collar and cuffs on her for processing.”
The attendant came picked up a cuff and collar set and began the formal address, “Collar!” to which Vicky dropped to her knees and assumed the position. “The collar I am putting on you now is capable of delivering a severe, electric shock. All Big D employees are authorized to use any means deemed necessary to compel you to comply with all orders given to you, and those means include, but are not limited to, electrical shock and whipping. If you obey promptly, you will not be harmed. Do you understand?
"Yes, Sir, I don’t want to get zapped like Val. I’ll be good.” Vicky announced nervously.
“Good. Back Hands!” the attendant said as he handed a tablet to Connie. “Please check any additional items you may wish to add after her grading and sign in the box at the bottom.” While Connie worked on the form, Vicky was cuffed and handed over to Billy Joe.
Paul dragged Valerie away from Rebecca and the process was repeated, ending with Val being handed over to Billy Joe as well, since there weren’t enough wranglers to handle the crowd individually. As Paul was handed a tablet, he looked over to a confused Connie trying to figure out what the abbreviations meant. Rebecca seeing an opportunity to further ingratiate herself with the Pearsons, stepped between the two of them. “Here, let me help. I know this can be a stressful and confusing time. What are your desires?”
“We are planning on selling one of them but have to decide who,” said Paul, matter-of-factly. We thought two ‘Best Chance’ auctions would be the way to go.”
“You do realize that if you sell them as a pair, you will get way more than double, most of the time, don’t you?”
“Yes, but the idea was to sell one so the other could go to college. We have planned to use the auction as a competition, so they have to be bid on, separately. Whoever comes closest to her bid price, is the winner.”
“I must say this is a first for the Big D. Okay, check the box, BCA, on your tablets.”
As soon as they did, two new boxes popped up asking, “Reserve?” and “Term.”
“We were thinking $500,000 with ‘no overseas sales’ should be a high enough amount to prevent having to sell both of them, only the loser, with a term of four years,” indicated Paul as Connie and the girls nodded in agreement.
“I’ll tell you what I will do for you since one of the girls is being sold, I will comp the grading and registration fees along with any extras you choose. Let’s finish checking the boxes and I’ll sign off on the fees,” offered Rebecca with a disarming smile.
Paul and Connie huddled to the side out of earshot of the girls as they checked off a few, optional extras. They handed the tablets back and the wrangler quickly uploaded the information to their files, then wiped the tablets clean for the next user. Connie went to Vicky, who whispered her guess to her, “$370,000.” Paul leaned into Valerie who whispered, “$340,000”.
“Okay, girls, we will see you after the auction, Thanks for your help, Rebecca. We will be back to claim the winner later,” Paul said, taking Connie’s hand and heading for the parking lot. “They are going to want to kill us in our sleep later, aren’t they?” asked Connie. “Yes, but it will be worth it when we watch the video later.”

[cardman314]

“Excuse us, please,” Billy Joe announced, as he tried to guide the girls to his cubicle. He had Vicky by the right arm and Val by her left as they tried to slide sideways through the crowd. “Coming through!’ he shouted but the mob was now squeezing in to avoid the rain which had started blowing lightly into the bay. The girls polishing the bollards all jumped up squealing and huddled against the wall. Several girls were visibly upset at not getting their turn while others were relieved.
Rebecca chuckled to herself as the spectacle unfolded, “How could these bimbos be so gullible as to believe that rubbing their pussies on a post would bring them luck? It’s a good thing critical thinking isn’t a requirement to be a slave.”
A beeping alarm began, accompanied by announcement over the P.A., “Please clear the doorway.” A loud clank was heard as the slack was taken out of the chain and the overhead door began to descend. “As soon as the storm passes, we will re-open the door. Please be patient.”
Billy’s patience had reached its limit and he raised his baton over his head and pushed the button. A bright arc jumped between the prongs and the zapping sound caused the crowd to jump back, clearing a path. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he sneered sarcastically. “Hurry, girls, straight then turn left; mine is the third desk along the wall.”
Billy followed the girls into his cubicle and quickly released their handcuffs, letting them relax their arms. He punched in his wrangler number and his computer sprang to life. Vicky’s information from her driver’s license populated his screen. A few seconds later, a new window appeared with Valerie’s info, which obviously matched Vicky’s except for the name. “It is now 1:30. It says here that you are scheduled for the 4 o’clock auction, so we will have to move right along. Vicky, you are first, so sit right here next to the computer. Valerie, you can help yourself to a bottle of water from my mini-fridge while you wait. You’ll need to stay hydrated today.”
He looked at the info and compared it to the slave sitting next to him. “Hmmmm… female… blonde… blue …5’7 …18. Yep, that seems to fit you….or are you her?” he smiled. “Who could tell?”
Vicky smiled and relaxed a little as she tried to rub away the red marks left by the handcuffs.
“Are you currently sexually active?” he asked, trying not to sound indiscrete.
“No, I am still a virgin….uh, well, at least I have never been with a boy,” she replied, realizing how that might sound, she quickly added, “But I’m not a lesbian….at least I don’t think so. You know, everyone experiments as they begin to have feelings…cravings….” She rambled on, her words trailing off at the end as Billy Joe had already turned away and was reaching for something.
“Are you a virgin also?” he asked, turning to Valerie.
“Yes, sir….well, you know, like she just said,” answered Val pointing to Vicky.
“Okay, stand over here next to your sister, I need to change your collars.” He removed Vicky’s collar and replaced it with one with a red band around the middle then shouted over to the next cubicle, “Hey, Frankie, do you have an extra, virgin collar?”
“Yeah, hold on a minute,” came the response. A few minutes later, after fumbling through her desk, Frankie appeared, dangling a collar from her fingers. “OMG! You lucky, bastard. How do you always get the hottest bitches, and virgins besides? They are going to bring in the big bucks.” She handed Billy the collar and took the opportunity to fondle Valerie then Vicky while Val’s collar was changed. “I just love how firm and pointy their titties are at this age. May I borrow one of them while my slaves are in the slut wash?”
“Sorry, Frankie, they are scheduled for the 4 o’clock auction and you know how tight that makes the timing. I’m sure you’ll get a chance if they are kenneled tonight.”
Vicky and Valerie just stared at each other thinking, “That’s not what I signed up for.”
Billy turned to the girls with a smile, “These collars will keep you from getting fucked but like you said, ‘experimenting is normal at your age.’ You can experiment on us later. Right, Frankie?”
“I always loved science class, Billy. I’d better get my sluts before they drown them, and get them to the beauty shop,” she said then turned and left.
“Okay, Vicky, put your hand on this glass and spread your fingers like the outline, I need to get your hand and fingerprints for the Registry.” A bright, red line scanned across the glass and it was over that quickly.
Billy opened a new file for Valerie and entered the same information without even asking. “Okay, Valerie, you know the drill, put your hand here.” One mouse click later it was done.
Billy Joe got a very serious look on his face and began, “As soon as I hit ENTER, your data will be entered in to the National Slave Registry and you will receive your SIN, but I have to ask you one more question.” There was a long pause, and then he lowered his voice so only Vicky and Valerie could hear, “Are you being coerced into slavery?”
The two girls looked severely confused. “What do you mean?” ask Val.
“You both have several, almost indetectable, fading bruises on your arms and legs that are visible in this lighting. Have you been beaten?”
The girls both laughed, “Up until three weeks ago, we were both playing on the school’s field hockey team.”
“Yeah, and my bozo teammate here gave me half of them,” Vicky added.
Val smiled proudly, “You deserved every one of them, you ball hog.”
“Okay, I get the picture, that’s good to know,” replied Billy hitting the ENTER key. Thirty seconds later the computer pinged twice with their SINs. “Vicky, from this moment on you are 628-1477 but today you probably just be called ‘77’ or ‘477’. Valerie, your new name is 628-1478. Don’t forget your numbers.”
“Ha! My number is higher than yours.”
“Oh yeah, my number is first!”
“Stop it! Do I have to Devox you both already?”
“No, sir,” was their sheepish response.
“Okay, Vicky since you are so proud of being first, open your mouth and roll down your lower lip.” Billy sprayed her lip with an antiseptic, numbing spray. “It will take a minute to numb up while I program the laser.” He wiped the head of the laser with alcohol-soaked cloth then pressed it to her lip. Zap!
“All done, you can let go now. Here’s an ice cube to suck on to prevent swelling. We can’t have your Registry pictures looking like someone punched you in the mouth.”
“Thank you, thir,” she mumbled through her numb lips.
“Valerie, your turn. Now, I just want you to know, since your number is higher, I can make it bolder and in a larger font if you want. It will just hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.”
“Just like Vicky’s is fine, we are identical, after all.”
“Yeah, and don’t forget the ‘sisters’ part, you are going to need each other going forward,” Billy scolded them. “You, ‘wannabee’ sluts, had better ‘jill off’, at every opportunity; you need to be really juicy for your Registry photos and the evaluation room if you want to be graded ‘Prime’. “BACK HANDS”, he commanded, “You have to be secured as we move from one station to another.”
Once the girls were secured, he pulled out another tool from his desk and a couple of red and white tags that looked like a pair of running shoes. “This will only sting for an instant,” he promised ass he approached Valerie before she could back away, “We want bidders to know that they are bidding on athletes. That will certainly raise your price.”
While Billy stapled the tag to Val’s left earlobe, Vicky got a worried look on her face; “I didn’t see any mention of that in the brochure. I hope that doesn’t raise our value too much.”
Billy quickly tagged Vicky as well, then taking each girl by the arm, he guided them through the crowd to the photo room. He smiled, as apparently disembodied hands, slithered out of the masses to fondle a boob or grope a cheek, causing the girls is squirm.
As they entered the room, it was obvious they were going to have to wait, as there were two groups ahead of them. Billy Joe uncuffed them and gestured for them to start juicing. The girls began to finger themselves while staring at the disgusting poses the girls ahead of them were forced to perform. Valerie moaned softly as she came into heat first, edging herself ever closer to the “Big O”. Vicky couldn’t believe how fast Valerie gave in to the pleasure slave mindset; in a way, she was almost envious, but quickly shook it off.
When it came their turn, one-by-one, they stepped in front of the back drop, first to be 3-D scanned, then to be run through the poses. When told, “DISPLAY”, Valerie, as she held the pose, even added a few drops of her “slave honey” to the puddle accumulating on the floor. Vicky had to look away.
“Do you want to see your photos before I upload them to your Registry portfolio?” the photographer asked.
“Sorry, Tommy, we have to hurry to ‘block move’ evaluations then the exhibits station. They are scheduled for the 4 o’cock auction”, said Billy.
“Ah, a little Freudian slip there, Billy?” teased Tommy.
“These two have given me such a boner, can you blame me? Hopefully, they will have time to fix it after the viewing before the slut wash.” Billy replied. “I’ll see you later if you are going to Cattleman’s for a drink after work.” He ushered the girls out the back door right next to the block moves judging platform.
“Okay, Billy, right on time for the next set,” Shirley said with a smile. As the personnel manager, and wife of the owner, Jake Henry, Shirley was quick to praise and encourage her employees at every opportunity, knowing full well that the outside world held slave industry workers in distain. Despite having become one of the wealthiest couples in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, Jake and Shirley had never been accepted by the high society “old money” crowd. Preserving the feeling of “family” amongst the staff was one of the Henry’s highest goals.
“Wranglers, you know the drill. Get your slaves in position. Slaves, no shouting your mantras! I want to hear seduction in every phrase. I want to see smooth transitions between commands. When you hear, DISPLAY, I want you to moan as pleadingly as you can, “Pleasure yourself in my depths, Master,” and arch your back slightly. Make the audience feel your desire for them. Flirt with them. Remember, the higher you can make them bid for you, the better they’ll have to treat you to protect their investment in you.”
Shirley turned to one of her senior wranglers and instructed, “Okay, Jim, put them through their paces. Let’s see what they’ve learned in their ‘slave yoga’ classes at school.”
For the next five minutes, Jim ran them ragged until they each glistened with sweat. Along the way, he offered minor corrections, as well as, tips on seduction. “Pretend you’re winking at someone in the second row. Bite your lip. Cup one of your tits and pretend to lick it. Twirl your hair. I know you’ve got your own ‘cat moves’, use them.
Shirley took command again, “Nice job, Jim. Ya’ll did a great job; I’d be surprised each one of you didn’t score at least 90% on this first phase of your grading. This next station can be the most stressful, as maybe some of your classmates, co-workers, ex-boyfriends, or relatives may show up for the public portion of the viewing. For that reason, you will now be Devoxed before going into the exhibit hall, as we don’t want any feuding going on. Remember, it’s only 30 minutes, and then we chase them out and let the pros doing their grading.”
“Front Hands,” was the immediate call and the wranglers quickly cuffed their charges and ushered them down the hall to the viewing room. There was a loud clap of thunder and the hallway went dark causing the girls to scream. The emergency generator kicked in and the lights flicked back on but not before the electronic link to their collars was broken. Most of the girls were able to catch them before they fell to the floor; the others stood there wondering if this was some kind of a sign from God freeing them from their situation.
“Well, don’t just stand there, pick them up,” one of the wranglers said. With their hands cuffed in front, there was no way they could put them back on, and each wrangler re-collared their slaves.
“We can’t have any more silly screaming, it’s going to be darker than that in the chute.” injected Jim, “Everyone open your mouth.” With that Billy went down the line with a can of Devox, and the hallway got very quiet except for the sound of rain pounding on the roof and surges of distant thunder.
Billy Joe led 477 and 478 to the last two stations before the exit, placing them on opposite sides of the aisle, so they could see each other during the viewing. He attached their cuffs to the frame above their heads, spread their legs and cuffed them to the two rails, forming and upside-down “Y”. When he tipped them back to a 45-degree angle, their feet rose about 2 feet off the floor.
“Look around you, sluts. Check out your competition. If you want a Prime grade, you have to be sexier than all the others. Show me how you can writhe in heat, longing for your master’s touch.” Billy encouraged.
477 and 478 didn’t need to fake it, they were already well into lustful fantasyland. The sight of the two erect boys being graded with their group had them wondering if joining the “Untouchables” had wasted their high school years.
Billy helped them along a little with a little groping, tasting their honey, and then having them lick his fingers clean. They would have been moaning if not for the Devox. “You’re ready,” Billy pronounced, as he stepped back against the wall to avoid being trampled by the gawkers as the doors opened.
At first, the girls were safe as the onlookers came in through the far end, but then a mob rushed past the crowd giggling and laughing. It was the rest of the “untouchables”. The look of horror on the girls’ faces was quickly captured by at least four cell phones. “Not so untouchable now, are you,” chirped Liz happily, “Remind me to thank your mom for calling mine. Oh wait, you won’t be around to remind me, will you now. Get ‘em, ladies, leave no spot untouched.”
The torment last only a few minutes, with the girls being careful not to break the rules: touching is allowed but no marking or penetration of any orifice. The girls, six on each side of the aisle, stopped the tickling and wiped away 477’s and 478’s tears, fixing their hair as much as possible and began offering words of encouragement like, “You’ve got this,” “Let them eat their hearts out, “You’re the hottest,” and “I did it, you can do”. They gathered around each of them for a selfie, gave them kisses, and wandered back towards the entrance to get a close-up look at the two magnificent erections on display.
Whoever said, “If you eat a live frog for breakfast, nothing worse can happen to you the rest of the day,” had never been tied down for slave grading. It just got worse!
Passing through the crowd like bulldozer came Tyler and Tynan. “What’s up, bitches? Mom and Dad thought it would be a good opportunity for little payback. They told us one of you was being sold today; we had to come to say goodbye.” With that Tyler turned to 477, and Tynan to 478. The girls trashed against their bonds, realizing that any hope of preserving a single shred of dignity was gone.
“Let’s see who we have here,” said Tyler as he folded over Vicky’s lower lip. “Ah, 477, is it? I wonder if they’d take a bid of $10 for your sorry ass, maybe you could wash my car or something. Remember the time you put shaving cream in my toothpaste tube, do ya? Or, how about the time Val put Jello in Tynan’s sneakers?”
477 started to silently giggle. “You think that’s funny?” Tyler challenged and grasping both erect nipples, he gave a tug and a squeeze. 477 emitted a silent scream.
Tynan checked Val and said, “This one is 478, that almost matches the number of times I’ve wanted to spank her fat ass, and I would now if she was face-down”. He smacked her mound with a flat hand, his middle finger stinging her swollen clit, causing her to arch her back in shock.
Billy Joe was about to step in when Connie’s voice boomed out, “Boys, stop. You are not the disciplinarians in this family. You were only supposed to embarrass them a little for all of the pranks they’ve pulled.”
“Your mom’s right, guys. They have already been punished for past crimes. Cop a feel if you want or sample their wetness but today has already been the worst day of their lives, so lighten up. You know in the end you are going to miss whoever is sold.” Paul said with compassion.
“Sorry, Sis,” Tyler pled, “I hope you win the bet.” He stroked her hair and then turned away before a tear could form.
“Good luck, Val,” Tynan said, lifting her chin with his finger to stare in her eyes. “This is a brave thing you both are doing, trying to protect Sarah and Susan from future enslavement.” He kissed her on the cheek and followed Tyler who was checking out a redhead further back.
Connie and Paul stood in the aisle between the girls, Paul smiling proudly, while Connis had more of a mischievous smirk. “You, two are the class of the show. You will be Prime for sure. I’m sending the boys home to watch over your sisters, so you can pull out all the stops on Broadway without them leering as you spread out in the sand. We will see you again after the auction. Love you,” finished Connie.
As if right on cue, the lights brightened a little, indicating that the main power was back on, and the wranglers announced viewing time was over. People began shuffling to the exit through the gift shop. Connie turned to Paul and asked, “Can we get some cuffs? It’s getting harder to hide my rope burns from Sarah and Susan.”
Frank O’Niell, “the Colonel”, as he was called, was one of the wheeler-dealers who did well during “the times of the Troubles” trading in everything from government secrets to gasoline ration stamps. He was one of the early dealers in slaves too, but that was before the 34th Amendment passed, so he always had underlings doing the dirty work. He became a respectable man of leisure, having amassed a considerable fortune; he indulged himself with starting Tribade Ranch, which became renowned for the racing ponies it turned out.
Fearing his past might catch up to him someday, he signed over the ownership of the ranch to his daughter, Moira, as soon as she turned eighteen. Moira and her lover, Silvia Marco ran the day-to-day operation while her father still kept a hand in the business….or should I say kept is hand and other parts and pussies.
Moira and Silvia expanded the business into ponygirl/ponyboy carriage rentals; their all white, wedding carriage, festooned in gold glitter, was in huge demand, going for a whopping $20,000 for an afternoon. They continued the racing side of the business by teaming with the finest sulky and chariot maker in England and their brand practically dominated the market. It didn’t hurt that their number one racing stallion, Arnold, was respected for his phenomenal winning record. He also kept their ponygirls happy with his massive…uh, stature. (wink, wink.)
Moira’s father announced his intent to spend some time with the ponygirls, so Moira and Silvia decided to go to the Big D for the day, to give dad some privacy. They had lost out in the early auction, not because of lack of funds, just lack of interest. They had bid mostly out of boredom but as they entered for the second viewing of the day, they were stunned by the sight stretched out before them. Unfortunately, Brewster Dillon and his son, Kyle, from the Flaming Arrow ranch, were looking at the same thing.
“Now son, that’s some fine virgin pussy,” announced Brewster.
Moira turned to see who was being disruptive. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dillon,” she said with an icy edge in her voice.
“Oh, there’s no need to be formal, my child. Just call me, Brewster. Just because we sometimes clash over the same merchandise, doesn’t mean we can’t be civil to one another,” he said half gloating. “You’re not going to hold it against me for grabbing the new stallion from you this morning, are you? Besides, you’ve still got Arnold, unless you’d like to sell him, that is. I’ll make you a good offer.”
“Thanks, but no thanks, Brewster,” replied Moira curtly.
“Tell you what, Kyle here, keeps looking back at that redhead, so I won’t interfere with your bidding during the next auction, truce?”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Sylvia said with distain.
“Feisty as ever my dear, Sylvia,” sneered Brewster, “Come, Kyle, tell me why you want this redhead so badly.” With that he turned and walked away with his nose in the air, like others were unworthy of his presence.”
Moira and Sylvia conferred for a moment and gave their evaluation sheet to the wrangler at the entrance and headed to the bar to wait for 4 o’clock.
Brewster wouldn’t dirty his hands with a task so menial as rating slaves; he put his hands to other uses, fondling some buxom breasts or sampling some lovely nectar. The wranglers had to almost whip him to get him to leave when the time was up.
Billy Joe didn’t waste any time getting the girls off the racks and headed for the slut wash. “Open up,” he said as he sprayed the Devox antidote down their throats. “Take a quick drink from the water fountain and let’s get you all dolled up for Broadway. First, we have to get you cleaned up and cleaned out.” With that, he turned them over to four young men in the slut wash, who strung them up a foot off the ground and hosed them down.
“A-a-a-a-a,” they both screamed as the cold blast ran up and down their bodies.
The guys all laughed even though these were probably the thirtieth set they had done today; the joke never seemed to get old. Slowly they warmed up the water and got out the luffas and began a seduction in soap.
There were six girls hanging in the bay and they all began to moan as the guys played with their love buttons. 478 came first, spurring 477 on to just let go and enjoy the ride. It didn’t take long for the guys to get them all off and it was high-fives all around.
The hot rinse helped to carry away some of the stress of the day so far. It didn’t carry it far enough though as they each squealed when the enema tubes went up their asses. “Quiet!” one of the wranglers shouted, “Don’t spoil this special moment together.” This triggered several minutes of bawdy laughter and flippant comments.
All six girls were blushing furiously until the guys settled down and explained, “This is the part your friends didn’t tell you about when they went through grading, did they? I bet you won’t tell and spoil the surprise either, will you. Sluts, we have to clean you out so you don’t have an accident on Broadway so just try to go with the flow,” he smirked at his terrible pun.
As quickly as possible, the sluts were unbound and pointed to the drain holes under the shower heads along the North wall. The sound of feet slapping on wet cement filled the room along with a host of various uncomfortable groans. Moments later they were each handed a hose and taught how to give themselves a good flushing in case their new masters wanted anal sex.
They rinsed off under the showers when done and were lined up under the jet dryer before given the BACKHANDS command and marched over to the beauty parlor.
Frankie was waiting right outside the door and as they approached, she waived Billy and the girls over to the side, out of the line. “Busy Day. The room is full and my charges are done. I have them jilling off in holding pen ‘C’ until it’s time for the auction. How about we take these two back to our cubicles for a little ‘R&R’.
“Oh, yeah,” agreed Billy, “My balls have been aching for the last hour.”
477 and 478 looked at each other and came close to tripping over themselves. “Can this be legal,” they wondered. “Why weren’t we warned about this?”
“Now, 477, is not the time to back away. You must embrace what could be the next chapter in your life. One of you is going to be sold and it might be you. You should be grateful that we are going to break you in so gently.”
477 dropped her head as the truth of her situation hit home. “Sorry, master, how may this unworthy slave serve you.”
“That’s better, now bend over my chair; I want you to get me sloppy wet before I show you how exciting anal sex can be.” He released his prick from his jeans and leaned towards her, sliding in between her lips.
Next door, Frankie had already slipped out of her jeans and thong and positioned herself with her butt on the edge of her desk, leaning back on her elbows. “I’ve heard rumors about what identical twins do with each other, so don’t play shy, get busy, slut.
478 leaned forward on her knees and began teasing Frankie’s labia with her tongue. Like a snake, her tongue shot into Frankie’s pussy and flicked back against her G-spot.
“Oh! OMG! What the hell was that?” Frankie shrieked, pushing 478 back.
478 giggled and then almost licked her earlobe as Frankie just stared.
477 realized what 478 had done and started to giggle as she wrapped her tongue around Billy’s cock and squeezed.
Billy pulled back stunned, “We need to talk. Frankie, get over here.”
Frankie, half-naked, came in dragging 478 with her. “Okay, bitches, spill it. What’s with the tongues? Show us!”
Vicky and Valerie grinned at each other, nodded and then stuck out their extremely long, flexible tongues, first letting them hang down and then lifting them to lick their eyebrows. They formed them into circular tunnels that would wrap around almost any cock and then rolled them into a ball and laughed.
477 spoke first, “When we were young, our tongues were a terrible speech impediment and we spent months and months in speech therapy learning to manage them.”
478 added, “As we got older, we got over our embarrassment and we learned that there were a lot of cool things we could do that others can’t. You know, like the fun things you each felt.”
“If you flash those tongues during your Broadway routine, you will drive the bidders crazy,” said Billy.
“Forget Broadway, I want to feel that again. Come along 478, mama’s getting all hot and bothered thinking about your talent. Your own your own, Billy.” Frankie left in a rush.
It took 477 no more than two minutes to drain Billy’s balls and show him his whole load only covered half of her tongue before swallowing. “He won’t be sticking that limp noodle in my ass tonight,” she smiled to herself.
478 wandered back in to Billy’s cubicle, “I don’t think she’ll be going back to the beauty parlor with us,” she said. “She needs time to compose herself.”
“Beauty parlor! Oh, shit, we’re going to be late. Hurry,” said Billy Joe, stuffing his dick back in his jeans, as he herded the girls down the hallway. Fortunately, two seats had just opened up as they came through the door setting Billy’s mind at ease.
“Hey, Star, here’s your last two for the four o’clock auction. See what you can do to hide the worst of their bruises; they play a mean, and I do mean ‘mean’ game of field hockey.”
“No problem, Billy Joe, just a little foundation and blemish powder and ‘Poof’, magic, all gone. Tracy, be a dear and brush out their hair while I work on these bruises.”
Billy’s tablet sounded off twice with a musical TA-DA! Sound. “Listen up, 477- score 95, grade Prime, 478 – score 96, grade Prime. Well done, bitches. You’re going to bring in some big bids.”
“Ha! Beat cha!” laughed Valerie.
“I don’t know what your happy about. That higher score means you’re that much closer to slavery than me. When you’re on one of your breaks at the brothel, you can write to me and tell me what good that score did you,” sneered Vicky in return.
Before another word could be said, the sound of gigantic hail striking the roof, alerted everyone that the next wave in the line of thunder storms had arrived. The only thing louder was a sudden clap of thunder and then the Big D was plunged into darkness again. The darkness remained sending Shirley and Roscoe, the general manager, running to reset the generator interlock switch. Less than five minutes later, the lights came back on as the generator sprang to life. Fortunately, even though the generator was outside, it was under an awning so Shirley and Roscoe avoided being pummeled by golf ball-sized hail. Shirley returned to coaching the girls in the holding pen as they waited for the auction, while Roscoe headed to Broadway to check with Skeeter and make sure that fresh, dry sand had been put down on the stage.
A few minutes later, the final touch of lip gloss was applied and Star and Tracy turned them back over to Billy.
Billy shouted over the banging hail, “Let’s get you in line. Best Chance Auction slaves go first and I think there is only one other one for the four o’clock.” With that, he herded them out the door and down to the holding pen where Shirley hugged them both and offered her congratulations on their Prime grades.
Billy opened the entrance to the chute and Shirley called out the numbers, “466…477…478…463…464… 467…435…480…444…446…451…458. That’s all twelve for this time. Squeeze in, we have to close the door.”
In the chute, the tension was rising. All the slaves were rubbing themselves, trying to stay aroused as Shirley had been coaching them. The chute popped open and the first slave, the redhead that Kyle wanted, fell out, pushed by the mass of bodies behind her. She scampered to her feet and hurried to spot indicated and assumed the Present position.
Skeeter quickly read off her stats to the confused looks in the crowd. The hail was deafening and when they tried to increase the gain on the PA, the feedback squeal had everyone covering their ears.
466 could only stand there and pray for it to end. And then it did! Her prayers were answered and the auction was able to resume. Her indenture was for only two years which was a good thing as Kyle had the attention span of a two-year-old and quickly tired of things. The Colonel bought her for only $120,000, for as soon as the other bidders saw who they were bidding against, they dropped out. No one wanted to be on his bad side.
The chute opened again and 478 gave 477 a big, slap on the ass, “Knock’em dead, Sis.
Skeeter began his spiel, “477, as you saw during the viewing, is one of a pair of identical twins. They are being sold separately and both have a very high reserve, as this is a ‘Best Chance’ auction. Let’s start at $50,000…do I have 50..now 60..now 70 everywhere..make it 100. Yes, now 120.” In between breaths, he called out positions and when he hit $250,000, he said, “Tongue.” The crowd gasped as 477 tilted her head slightly and licked her nipples. Immediately, the bid jumped to 300 as Moira and Sylvia bit their lips at the thought of bedding 477 and 478.
Kyle glanced at his dad bidding 350. “Why are you bidding? We already have the stud we came for and my redhead.
“Watch and learn, sonny boy. Every once in a while, you have to stir the pot and make them pay if they want to play with the big boys. 370!”
Moira’s look would have turned Persius to stone. “Not today, asshole,” she thought. “$450,000!”
Brewster grinned, “All yours, bitch.”
“Going once for 450…any advance…going twice….last call….sold $450,000 to Tribade Ranch. Thank you very much. Next!”
478 ran proudly out of the chute; Skeeter commanded, “Slave Fours!” dropping 478 to the sand and motioned her to crawl to his side. This was his show and he wasn’t going to be upstaged by some “hot-for-the-collar” bimbo. He used the handle of his whip to lift her chin and asked, “Are you going to behave or do I need to use this? I know some twins will try to show each other up but you’re not going to be one of those, are you?”
“No, master….sorry, master, I’ll be good.”
“Okay, then, “Kneel”.
478 responded quickly while Skeeter ran through her stats finishing with a comment about the fun one could have taming this spirited sister. “Let’s start at $200,00 and not waste time….do I have, I see that hand…who’ll go 250….300…..now 325….340….” The bidding was slowing since one-half of the duo was already sold.
“DISPLAY!”
478 turn her back to the bidders, bent all the way over, looked at the audience through her legs, grasped her cheeks and spread them and licked her clit. The hoots and hollers drowned out the bidding for a minute.
“Imagine what else she can do with that weapon,” Skeeter egged them on, “350 anywhere?....now 375 …”
“You’re not getting off that cheap, Ms. O’Neil. 400!” Brewster bid, leaving Kyle to wonder, “Why bother? Just let them have her; we got what we came for,” though he would never openly question his father’s actions.
The battle raged on but when Moira bid $600,000, that ended it, for even Brewster didn’t want to piss off the Colonel. He knew in that moment he may have overstepped his bounds and knew he had to make peace with Moira before she got back to her dad.
“Going once…twice…sold to Tribade Ranch. Nice purchase, Ms O’Neil. Next!”
The drama behind them, Moira and Sylvia headed to hopefully claim their purchases. “Certainly, they had bid enough to meet any reserve,” they thought.
Meanwhile, Connie and Paul caught up with Billy and the girls outside the branding room.
“Well, girls I have the good news and the bad news. Obviously, Vicky’s estimate was the closest, although it doesn’t seem quite fair due to the bidding war which ensued. Had Valerie gone first, you’d have been screwed, Vicky. In any event, you dodged a bullet as your reserve was not met. The bad news is that the reserve for you, Valerie was blown away, so you’ll be starting college four years from now.”
“It’s okay, dad. They announced that I have been bought by a ponygirl ranch, just like the poster at the entrance. I’m actually excited for the experience. Imagine the shape I’ll be in when my time is up.”
“That’s a great attitude to start out with,” came a voice from behind, as Moira and Sylvia caught up with the group. “Did we meet the reserve? We really want the two of them,” asked Moira.
“Sorry, the reserve was $500,000, so you only get Valerie here,” replied Paul.
“I’ll gladly meet the reserve if that means I get both girls.”
“That’s not up to me, we had a deal that only one had to be sold,” Connie commented.
“Mom. Dad. Take the deal. I’ve been thinking a lot about it and if I don’t go with Val, we won’t share the same connection anymore. I couldn’t live without being her twin and separation would damage our relationship forever,” pleaded Vicky. The two would have hugged and kissed if they didn’t have their hands cuffed behind their backs.
“If that’s truly how you feel, I guess we have to take the deal,” Paul conceded, as Connie hugged them both.
As if by magic, at the mention of a deal, Rebecca appeared with tablet in hand to complete the transaction. “As soon as we complete the enslavement, I’ll upload the status change to the National Registry and they can be chipped right after they are given their badges.”
Brewster and Kyle were standing off to the side and frantically waived Moira over.
Moira told Sylvia to go with Rebecca to transfer the necessary funds while she sees what Brewster wants.
“Now, little lady, I can tell that you’re really pissed at me for bidding you up like that but I want to make it up to you.”
“How’s that? Are you going to refund my money?”
“Not all of it but I have an offer for you. Besides, it’s really your daddy’s money you’re playing with anyways. I’ll pay you $50,000 each for the right for Kyle and I to deflower these two slaves before you brand them. What do you say?”
“What? Are you crazy? First of all, why would you spend the money just to fuck a slave and second, aren’t you a little old to be indulging in raping-a-virgin fantasies?
“Ouch, I’m not that old and it’s more for Kyle’s benefit. All his girlfriends, so far, have been sluts, to put it bluntly. Furthermore, consider this, do you really want their first experience to be with Arnold? That monster will tear their insides apart. Think about it. After they are strapped on to the branding rack, instead of ramping up their endorphin levels by screwing them with the handle of the branding iron, we will step. You don’t have to watch if the thought disgusts you. It’s just business. What do you say, ‘Deal?’”
“As much as I’d like to say, ‘No’, $100,000 is $100,000. Okay, deal. Arnold would probably put them in the hospital, like you said. I’ll tell Billy Joe the plan but I don’t want the girls to have any idea what’s coming. They are nervous enough about the branding; they don’t need the added stress of knowing their first slave rape is coming.”
It took only three or four minutes for Billy and Merle to get 477 and 478 locked on to the branding frames. Their head and hands poking through the pillory end of the bench while multiple metal bands press their backs, thighs and calves to the wooden rack. Professor Merle Atkins’ bench was a marvel of ingenuity as it converted from a horizontal, breeding/branding bench to a vertical, impregnating rack with the pull of a single lever.
Paul walked into the branding room and stroked the girls’ hair. “The worst is almost over and you will wear the brand of a Sandy Foot girl proudly, long after your term of enslavement is over. You are going to make stunning ponygirls and Moira said we could come visit you in a couple of months when your initial training is over. Your mother is very upset by all of this and didn’t want to see you hurt, so we will leave you now. See you after Labor Day; we love you.”
No sooner had he left, than Rebecca came in carrying her camera. “I liked your idea, Merle, for the opening of Season 4 of ‘The Branding Room’ TV show and I immediately thought of using these twins. I got their father to sign model releases for their pictures by discounting our commission by $5,000, so let’s shoot a few promotional stills and a 15-second video clip.”
“I assume you want their gags in nice and tight to give them that wide, slave smile,” Merle added. Having stated the obvious, he grabbed a couple of slimy, recently used gags off the rack, much to the distaste of both girls. “Let me get a hot iron to hold in front of their faces for effect and I’ll shut the lights off. Billy Joe, please close the sliding door to keep out any stray light.”
When the lights went out, they were plunged into a medieval world, lit only by the red glow of the forge and the white-hot branding iron. Merle moved between the two racks and held forth the hot, Big D brand.
“Look at the brand, sluts, and try to look scared,” instructed Rebecca as she snapped shot after shot.
“What do you mean ‘try’ to look scared?” wondered 477 and 478, as they were re-thinking their life choices.
Rebecca took front shots, side shots, rear shots, shots of Merle at the forge and a very, artsy shot of the shadow cast of the Big D logo by the branding iron in the orange forge fire on the ceiling. “Okay, let’s shoot the video clip with you in between the racks like we started and you can just look back and forth at them with a sly grin. “Perfect, just keep doing that. We’re done. I’ll pick out some hot shots and we can work on a voice-over for the intro over the next few weeks. Thanks, Merle.”
“Okay, Billy, be a gentleman and open the door for the lady while I turn on the lights.”
Brewster and Kyle had been patiently waiting outside and casually strolled in as soon as the door slid back. “Is it okay to remove their gags, Merle?”
“Sure, just be sure to put them back nice and tight when you are done and don’t dawdle, it won’t take long to reheat these branding irons.”
477 and 478 were relieved to be able to flex their jaws again but not for long as their mouths were filled with cocks.
“Get them nice and hard; you’ll enjoy the feeling much more in a couple of minutes. This will take some of the sting out of the badging,” bragged Brewster as if he was God’s gift to women at barely 6 inches. When he pulled out, gagged 477 again and scurried behind her, it suddenly became clear his intent and she squealed as he grabbed her hips and mounted her in a single thrust. He held it in for a moment and then began slowly building momentum as he fondled her perky tits. Her shame quickly turned to lust and she struggled to move with him.
Kyle was gentler at first but rape is exciting and before you know it, he was going at it with vigor and the stamina of youth. 478 had her first slave-gasm in under two minutes as her slave heat came to a boil.
“Brands are ready, “Merle announced, blowing the ashes off the head, “Get back if you don’t want to get pissed on.”
It couldn’t have been more perfect as Brewster and 477 erupted at the same time. Brewster tripped over the litter box causing him to back out, almost ending up on his ass, while he spurted some down the front of his pants.
477 was in sensory-overload and her pussy spasmed all the harder when the iron pressed against her; the scream dying in her throat.
Kyle, aware of the potential issues, should he impregnate a slave without the owner’s consent, pulled out just as she came again and dumped his load in the litter and then jumped out of Merle’s way as he applied the magic wand and lit her ass on fire. A perfect brand.
Brewster used his hanky to wipe his pants and he and Kyle made their exit to the sound of both girl’s bladders draining into the litter boxes. Neither said a word, as they passed Moira, Sylvia and the vet on their way in.
The vet sprayed an antiseptic on the burns then Sylvia carefully traced the brand with liquid nitrogen spray causing the charred edges to flake off. This process took a lot of the burning sensation away and allowed for healing in about one week rather than two or three. The vet was impressed with the explanation and wondered why more ranchers didn’t know this trick as she applied a clear spray-on bandage. They removed the gags and gave 477 and 478, two ibuprophens and held a cup so they could drink.
No sooner had they finished, when the gags were shoved back in again, totally confusing the girls, who thought it was over. Moira smiled and said, “Sorry but we have to take every precaution against rustlers.” She showed them the branding head from the Tribade Ranch, a fair-sized T with the back of the R being the stem of the T and both girls screamed and trembled. Moira and Sylvia started to jill them off as Merle heated the second iron.
477 and 478 came to, strapped face-down on exam tables in the infirmary with an IV in their left arm. The heavy, electronic collars had been replaced by a single, stainless-steel ring with a fixed tether point in the front. They would get their posture collars when they began their training. They each felt a slight pain near their right breast where there NSR chip had been inserted, now reading: Status-slave, MD- 6/28/2036. They were officially the property of Tribade Ranch now and the GPS chip, shot deep into their hips, would allow them to be quickly found if they ever tried to escape.
“Just relax, if you can, we will get you up in a minute. You will need to walk around as soon as you can to prevent your muscles from freezing up. Here, have a pony treat,” encouraged Sylvia as she placed a small, sugar cube, flavored with peppermint in their mouths.
“I have some bad news and some good news,” began Moira. “You won’t be going to your new home tonight. The hail storm did a lot of damage, most importantly as far as it applies to you, it shattered the windshield on my truck and the replacement company can’t get to us until noon tomorrow. This means that you will spend the night sleeping on one of the cots here in the infirmary while Sylvia and I go to the Ritz-Carlton to relax for the evening.”
“On the bright side,” began Sylvia, “When your parents checked you in, Rebecca generously comped any add-ons, so you will be going back to the beauty parlor for your ponygirl make-overs instead of waiting until we get home. You are going to look magnificent, trust me.”
478 was the first to want to get up as she could feel muscles cramping up. The vet removed the IV and helped her scoot over the edge of the table and stand. Sylvia steadied her and they slowly tried to walk across the room. Valerie had to stop every six or seven feet to fight back tears from the pain but she carried on like a real trooper buoyed up by the remembrance of Pinkie in that poster.
“You’re doing great,” the vet said, “Take a break and drink this bottle of water. If you start to feel horny, don’t be afraid to scratch that itch while you’re here. I gave you both a shot to prevent pregnancy for the next year and it included an aphrodisiac to take your focus off your badges.”
“Thank you, mistress,” Val whispered through parched lips as she continued drinking. “Let’s go again, I think I’m ready,” she said wincing as she stepped forward.
477 realizing 478 was showing her up, whether intentional or not, asked to be let up. Before long, both girls were walking quite well considering the trauma they had experienced.
“I’m impressed with how well you two are doing. ‘Back hands.’ Let’s move you to the beauty parlor. You can walk more later,” said Moira as she cuffed both of them and led them out the door.
“Hi, Star, I’ve brought you two for the deluxe ponygirl trim, nipple rings and a hood ‘Control’ ring. Make the top a 3-inch-wide by 2-inch-tall Mohawk and then long down the back, please. Where do you want them?”
“Well, since they have been branded already, let’s have them kneel on those pads and put their heads in the pillories. You can leave their cuffs on so we don’t have to work around their hands as we shave them.”
“Here’s my new card,” said Moira. “Would you please call me when they are done; we are going to get some coffee. If you’d like I’ll bring back several for everyone.”
“No thanks, we have our own Brewmaster 16-cup pot in the back but go ahead, expect a call in about 30 minutes,” advised Star.
As soon as 477 and 478 were secured, Tracy started with the clippers trimming the hair off the sides of 477 head. Star grabbed a box of suction cups and a pump and started stretching the girls’ nipples in preparation for their piercings. She followed that by applying suction to their clitoral hoods drawing the tissues out as they filled with blood.
Star began shaving 478’s head just as Tracy was doing to 477 then used scissors and comb to get the Mohawk the right length. Spreading shaving cream down both sides, she took a razor to the stubble. Star and Tracy spread a special hair remover down the sides and throughout their nether regions. Tracy said, “This cream will prevent hair regrowth for up to three months so you won’t have to be groomed as often. We will have to wait a few minutes, so let us know when the burning sensation becomes too uncomfortable.”
“Too bad we didn’t have that option during the branding,” remarked 478, then both girls giggled.
After about 12 minutes, the girls had had enough and Star and Tracy carefully washed away the cream and any tiny stubble that remained. They applied a little spray to make the Mohawk stand up and then blended it evenly into the longer hair in the back. A quick peek in the mirror and the girls were all smiles. Unfortunately, that was about to change.
Tracy raised the supports for the pillories so the girls could stand, while Star vacuumed away the excess hair. Star very carefully removed the cups and put them in the sterilizer, then marked the locations for the rings so as not to create a breast-feeding problem in the future. The deluxe rings were actually made up of a barbell and shackle rather than just a simple ring as they were easier to take care of and healed faster. The hood ring was an actual ring with a screw-on ball that closed the ring. It contained the electronics and the mini, hearing-aid sized battery, good for two- or three-days use.
Both girls whined nervously as Tracy wheeled around the cart with all the piercing tools on it but Star calmed them down a little by explaining how lucky they were and that she was going to numb them up first. She said, “Moira hates nose rings. She thinks they detract from a pony’s natural beauty and they cause the ponies a lot of unnecessary pain. She also hates navel rings as they serve no purpose and are usually associated with ‘street trade’ and brothels.”
Having heard that the girls relaxed a little. Tracy seeing they were still not convinced opened her shirt and showed them her piercings. “I love mine and so does my husband, I would never give them up. You will love yours, too.” She handed Star a can of numbing spray and the two of them went to work. The girls only felt a slight tug as their nipples were pulled out and pierced. They felt nothing around their labia.
Ten minutes later they were freed from the pillories and allowed to look in the full-length mirror. “If you think you look good now, just wait until you are kitted out in your new tack,” encourage Star bragging on them a little.
They turned from the mirror just as Moira and Sylvia came through the door. “Worth every effin’ penny, wouldn’t you say, Sylvia?” asked Moira. “Nice work, both of you,” she added and she handed each of them an envelope with a $200 tip.
“It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. O’Neill,” Star and Tracy replied with a nod. “You might want to show them how bad ponies are punished and good ponies are rewarded before you go?”
“Splendid idea, Star, “said Sylvia as she and Moira took out their cell phones and placed then near the girls’ pussies. They opened the app and pressed “CONNECT”. Both phones beeped and both rings buzzed. The girls jumped and squealed.
“Here’s the deal,” explained Sylvia, “You depend on each other, if one screws up, you both get punished like this.” She set the level to “1-Bad” and tapped the phone. The girls flinched to the small, short shock. “The shock lasts as long as I hold my finger on the pad and can go as high as a taser.” She switched to level “1-Good” and held her finger on it; the resulting vibration had the girls squeezing their thighs together. “This can be set for almost instant orgasms for really good ponies.” With her finger still on the pad, she asked, “Now, you do want to be good ponies, don’t you?” Both nodded furiously.
Closing the app, Moira and Sylvia led them out of the beauty parlor and back to the infirmary. Once there, they removed the girls’ cuffs and showed them their cots for the evening. There were two others spending the evening recovering there so 477 and 478 were chained to a shackle in the floor like the others. The chain could reach a drain in the floor and a water spigot coming out of the wall.
The PA blared, “Moira O’Neill, your Uber driver is here.”
Moira and Sylvia kissed Vicky and Valerie full on the lips to the astonishment of both. “They will bring you a couple of protein shakes for dinner. The vet does want you to have any solid food until tomorrow with all the trauma to your bodies today. She will also give you some additional pain meds later. Sorry, you’re going to have to sleep on your sides for a few days but try to rest. You may get to practice your oral skills later or tomorrow morning but everything else is off-limits until you are completely healed. The truck should be fixed by noon and then we will take you to your new home, where we can officially welcome you to Tribade Ranch. Good night.” With that, they simply turned and left.
Vicky gently hooked a finger in Valerie’s right nipple ring and drew her to her, “I think we might be expected to be more than just ponygirls for those two.”
“It’s a price I’m willing to pay,” replied Valerie and then they kissed.
The End

[Mr. Smith]

That was a fun story that I enjoyed immensely. I have to confess, the whole time I assumed that the loss of power attributed to the bad weather would lead to a glitch in the Big D's IT system leading to both girls being sold as a pair. Hopefully the author will bless us with the tale of these two ponygirl's many adventures. I think we deserve to be present to see which one takes her tail insertion better. I suspect there might be many college scholarship opportunities for these two when their period of enslavement is up. Imagine them as coed ponygirls leading eight ponygirls pulling the Sooner Schooner at an Oklahoma football game.