Any Chance Auction, Chapter 14, by Joe Doe

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Happy New Year, from Joe!

Rosco had left me with my wrists cuffed behind my back, and my ankles tied to the exposed rafters in his office. I swung back and forth, helpless, my pigtails brushing the floor, as Rosco’s seed swished around in my hot, fertile, womb.

I knew my best chance to avoid breeding was to hold still, but that was not an option. I was simply too turned on for that, and I strained to orgasm by rubbing my thighs together. But try as I might, I couldn’t quite bring myself off. I had read about Pleasure Sluts whose sexuality had become so subsumed in obedience that they couldn’t orgasm without their master’s permission. I knew that was not happening to me, because, appearances aside, I was certainly NOT a Pleasure Slut!

No, in a few minutes Skeeter would be here, and I would take control, and I would order him to release me. He had been my master on the block, but that had been a role play, a game we had played together to fool the crowd.

And what a game it had been! I had performed brilliantly, and all the losers who had bid on me thought that I had been reduced to mere slave meat. I smiled, imagining the sorry looks on their pathetic kissers when I returned to Chicago, and used my financial genius to inflict a suitable punishment on each one of the bastards who dared to laugh at me, dared to bid at me, dared to look on me as if I were actually a slave.

But what about Skeeter? Alas, my nephew had enjoyed the game a bit too much, and during my auction his erection had been practically bursting through his pants. I’d invite him to spend a week in Chicago, and when he arrived I’d have a couple of my servants slap a chastity cage on his little pecker. Oh, poor little Skeeter’s stinger all locked up, with his mean Anna Annie teasing him the whole time, causing him pain and humiliation whenever he started to get an erection. Prick teasing him in my favorite French restaurant or private club would be even more fun, with my gorgeous, rich girlfriends laughing at the little bumpkin while he winced in pain.

I rubbed my legs together, excited at the thought of my revenge. But I couldn’t quite get there, as I swear I could FEEL Rosco’s baby batter swishing around inside of me, impregnating me over-and-over.

Rosco had bred me on the floor of a fucking livestock auction house, like I was a pig or a cow, or a prized bitch being taken to the breeders. He hadn’t made love to me, he had seeded me, then left me hanging upside down, like a piece of beef being dry aged.

Oh, how I’d make him pay. They’d all pay!

I smiled as I imagined my “friend” Elizabeth, naked and panting, running through the freezing cold streams of her father’s estate, with her brother and her friends on horseback, in hot pursuit. She wouldn’t look so snooty when I paid her Daddy for the privilege of stuffing the foxtail up her tight English ass.

As for Miss Chopsticks, I’d get some good old boys to arrange a racist gang-bang for her. I’m sure I could find some rednecks happy to try out her fortune nookie, and teach her some Southern hospitality.

I was still rubbing myself to my revenge fantasies when Skeeter, sipping a can of Mountain Dew, and holding a bottle of water in his other hand, barged in.

“Hey, knock, knock!” I yelled out, embarrassed to be caught masturbating.

Skeeter, clearly amused, laughed. “Knock, knock? Oh, wait, I know this one. ‘Pleasure Ho.’ ‘Pleasure ho who?” ‘Pleasure ho who don’t say no.’

Skeeter laughed at his own barnyard joke like he was actually funny. “Get me the fuck down,” I barked. “NOW!”

“Why you hanging up, all ass over appetite, girl?” Skeeter teased. “Floors the other way, Slave Stupid.”

“Your father bred me, then hung me out to dry, literally.”

“That’s how they breed ‘em in the barnyard, girl. Pleasure Sluts don’t get candlelight and champaign.”

“I’m not a Pleasure Slut!” I snapped.

“Is that so?” he said. I gasped as he reached between my legs. “Damn girl, all you been through, I thought you’d be passed out. Damn if you’re not wetter than a swimming pool in a hurricane. Let’s start by cooling you off.”

I screamed in pleasure and pain as he pressed the cold can of Mountain Dew against my clit. Skeeter laughed as I jerked away.

“Cut me down! Now!” I demanded.

“Anything for my Anna-Annie,” he replied dryly. With an athleticism that surprised me, Skeeter leapt up and caught the rafter with one hand, then set his can of Mountain Dew on top. Hanging onto the rafter with one hand, Skeeter used his other to unsnap my restraints, and slowly lower me until my head, neck and shoulders were resting on the floor.

“That’s as far as my arm will reach,” he explained. “I’m going to drop you the rest of the way.”

“No, wait, you should…”

Too late! I cried out as my wounded, whipped ass hit the floor. Skeeter retrieved his Mountain Dew before calmly dropping off the rafter.

“Crawl over here,” he said, walking across the room.

“Uncuff my wrists.”

“Crawl over here,” he repeated. Skeeter sat on the couch, his legs spread wide. “Kneel down in front of me,” he said.

“No,” I said flatly. “Uncuff me. Now.”

Putting down his can of Mountain Dew, Skeeter dangled the bottle of water in front of me. “Thirsty?” he asked.

“Definitely.”

“I figured, since you probably left a quart of pussy juice and slave stink on the block. Crawl your skanky ass over here and I’ll give you your bottle.”

I glared at him, but figured it was better to get the water now and take control later. I crawled over and knelt before him. He raised the bottle to my lips, and I gulped it down thirstily.

“It’s got some jizz in, just like slave water should. But slave girls need that. It’s good for you.”

I did indeed taste the gobs of goo, and I glared at him as I gulped the water. But I needed the hydration, and finished every drop. Oddly enough, the jiz water tasted good. It must have been because I was so thirsty.

“You know what comes next, don’t you slave girl?” he said, spreading his legs wider.

“You had your fun,” I said, not backing down. “But you are NOT in charge here. If you lay a finger on me, I’ll tell your momma what you did, and then I’ll…”

Skeeter, amused, cut me off. “Do you know why I’m here?

“You auctioned me. Now you think I have to suck you off.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t get to suck my dick unless you beg for it.”

“Fuck you,” I snapped.

“No, my father did that,” he said, calmly sipping his Mountain Dew. “I want a hummer, and you want to give it to me.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you’re a Pleasure Slut. I love you, Anna Annie, but part of loving someone is to help them understand who they are, and what they want. Mom’s right. This is a dangerous game you’re playing. Well, now you’re a Pleasure Slut, just like you always dreamed of.”

“I’m not. This was just a game. A role-play. A masquerade, that got a little out of hand.”

“If you’re not a Pleasure Slut, and you don’t want to suck my cock, what is it you want, Annie?”

“I want to take off this collar, and put on my clothes, and go home.”

“That’s too bad, because you don’t have any clothes. Not anymore. You don’t have anything.”

“What do you mean?”

Skeeter smiled and took a long sip of Mountain Dew. “Because you’re a slave girl, Anna Annie. You don’t own anything.”

“I’m not a slave girl. Not yet. My sale is contingent on…”

“Wrong!” Skeeter said, smiling like the cat who had his cream. “Your sale is over, Pleasure Slut.”

“Miss Calico said my sale is contingent until Rita…”

“Calico writes sales brochures. I’ve taken 3 classes in slave law. The contingency bullshit is just marketing crap they use so people don’t feel so bad about snapping the collar around their daughter’s dainty little necks. Did you READ the contract, Anna-Annie?”

I shook my head.

“Of course you didn’t, because Pleasure Sluts have nothing but shit between their ears, all tits and no wits. Once mom got you naked and humping-the-pole, it was like all your brains ran out of your pussy. There is no contingency clause, Annie. There is a cancellation option, which is valid until tomorrow. But there is nothing contingent about your sale. Do you understand the difference?”

My heart was racing. I struggled to breathe. “But that means… that means… my sale is complete. I’m actually…a real… a genuine…”

I couldn’t say it.

“You’re a slave girl? That’s right, Princess. That little tag on your ear that says “SOLD”? That’s the truth. The indisputable, 100% legal, incontrovertible truth. Do you see now why you can’t put on YOUR clothes?”

My voice was a hoarse whisper. “Because… I don’t own any clothes. I don’t own anything.”

“Bingo, or in your case, Bimbo! No mansion in Chicago, no penthouse in New York, no fat bank account, no fancy ass Platinum cards. When we kennel you tonight, and put you on the forklift, and store you in the warehouse, you’ll be no different than any of the other slave girls on the rack. You’re a slave girl, bought and sold, in the national sales registry. And when I turn you over to the warehouse, you’ll just another pussy on the palette.”

Skeeter laughed at me. “I love you, Anna-Annie, but you are one world class prick tease. Asking me all the time if I’d like to have you as my slave girl, rubbing against me, knowing that you were driving me and my friends crazy. You know, I never even got a girlfriend, because I spent all my time studying, working to pay for school, and jerking off thinking about you.”

“I would have paid your bills, Skeeter,” I said, “if your daddy had let me. Of course, I’d need to check in, to make sure you were… keeping up with your studies,” I said, licking my lips.

“Aren’t you a caution?” he said, echoing one his mom’s favorite country phrases. “Even now, thinking you can prick tease me, like you’re in charge. But now, I’m the one holding the whip.”

Skeeter unhooked the ivory handled whip from his belt. I swallowed hard as he shook out the coils.

“Do you know how exciting it was to watch you prance across the auction block, slave naked, with that idiotic slave smile pasted on your face? I wanted to crack your ass with the whip right then, but it was better to make you work for it, showing everyone how hot and juicy you were, stripping away your pride and dignity, one command at a time.”

Skeeter was clearly relishing the shift in our power dynamic. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but he was massaging the stands of the whip through in his fingers in a very purposeful way. Instead, I clenched my thighs together, enjoying my growing excitement as I struggled to fathom the full extent of this mere boy’s new found power over me.

“Wink your asshole, you skanky slut, so I can stick a match in it, and set it on fire with my whip. And you did it! Oh, the look on your face. You didn’t look so smart, clenching your butt cheeks to keep your asshole from catching fire, ha-ha.”

My ears burned with his mocking laughter, but my eyes were transfixed on the whip, playing between his fingers.

“Do you know how powerful I felt, holding the gavel in my hand, listening to the bids pour in, knowing that when I finally decided to drop the hammer, I’d strip you of everything you ever had? What a rush!”

I gasped, struggling to breathe. “I really… I really am a slave girl? I have nothing?”

Skeeter looked genuinely sympathetic as tears rolled down my face.

“Don’t cry, Anna Annie. Skeeter’s here for you. I know it must be hard, going from having more money than you can burn, to being a penniless Pleasure Slut. That’s why I want to give you the chance to earn something.”

Skeeter reached into his pocket. He took out a length of purple yarn, with a few beads on it. “This is a barefoot sandal. You put the little loop around your toe, and then the rest goes around your ankle. Normally you have two, one for each foot, but I thought one was enough to start with. See? The purple matches your eternity collar. Now, girls in the pens normally get stripped of everything, so this is quite the prize, especially for a freshly collared, right off the block piece of slave meat. My, will the other girls be jealous of you!”

Skeeter laughed, as I grinned greedily. He knew all the buttons to press. I had to have it now.

Skeeter, leaning forward, rubbed the purple yarn against my face and collar. The yarn was cheap looking but the shades were almost a perfect match. It was beautiful! “So what do you think of it? Do you want it?”

I licked my lips hungrily as I looked at it. To a free woman, it was really just a piece of yarn with a couple of cheap plastic beads on it. It was the sort of a thing you might give to a young girl playing on the beach, and throw away at the end of the day, rather than bother washing. It was certainly not the sort of thing that a millionaire would ever be caught dead in. My girlfriends would die with laughter if they ever saw me wearing something so obviously cheap.

To a free woman, such a vulgar adornment was shameful, but to a slave girl, a slave bauble like this was a priceless treasure, something of her very own to wear! Like the bitter slave candy that lucky Pleasure Sluts were allowed to eat off the floor as treats, even one barefoot sandal was quite the prize.

I stared at it, marveling at its beauty. “I think it’s gorgeous, Master,” I confessed. “May I have it?”

Skeeter laughed. “Hold your horses their, Anna-Annie. Remember what you always told me about yearning?”

“You need to yearn, earn, and learn,” I replied, recalling my wise Aunt adage, which I smugly dropped whenever Skeeter asked me for something, to the point where Skeeter used to roll his eyes.

“That’s right. Now like you always told me, you have the yearning part down but we need to work on the earning and the learning. Like you always said, everything has a price.”

“How much does it cost?” I said, staring at my prize like a ravenous wolf.

“A local girl makes them, and sells them to us for 10 cents a pair. We sell ‘em by the register in one of the slave mall stores for about a $1. Do you have $1, Annie?”

I pouted and shook my head. I did not.

“Well, you’re family. I could sell them to you wholesale. Do you have 10 cents? Or 5 cents, since I only have one?”

My pout increased. “No, Master”, I said, head down.

“Why not? Why don’t you have any money?”

Skeeter obviously relishing the moment, smirked down at me, even as my eyes filled with tears of frustration. It was humiliating, but to admit it, but I knew what I had to say. “Because I am a stupid, worthless Pleasure Slut. I lost all my money, when I became a slave girl, when you dropped the gavel on me. I have nothing but what you give me.”

“That’s right. The sale is good when the hammer hits wood. You’re learning, slave girl. Do you want the barefoot sandal?”

“Yes, Master. More than anything.”

“I see. Do you expect me to GIVE it to you?” he asked pointedly.

I knew where Skeeter’s game was going, and I didn’t like it one bit. He was enjoying himself, ratcheting the screws ever tighter on my slavery, savoring my loss of power.

“Whatever pleases you, Master,” I said, staring down at his mosquito branded boots.

“Well, I could give it to you. I got it out of the bobbles box in the prep room, so it’s not like it cost me anything. But then you wouldn’t learn anything. You need to EARN, so that you can LEARN. That’s what you always told me, right?”

“Yes, Master,” I said dejectedly.

“How does an illiterate, slave naked Pleasure Slut, without anything to offer, earn her master’s favor?”

Skeeter, leaning back on the couch, spread his legs wider. I could see his erection through his pants. His penis answered his question.

“Please, Master. Please let me suck your cock.”

“Good girl,” he patronized. “See? You’re smarter than you look. Unzip my pants. Use your teeth.”

With my hands cuffed behind my back I really had no choice to do otherwise. It didn’t take me long, for in my private slave training I had learned how to do this, albeit with a dummy instead of a live male, to avoid humiliating myself.

Now, humiliating myself was no longer a problem. Indeed, judging from the smirk on Skeeter’s face, it was the object of the exercise. I unzipped his pants, looking up at him with a silly look on my face as he leered down at me, my chin pressing against his already erect cock through his shorts.

Skeeter, anxious to get started, fished his penis out of his pants. He was a bit smaller than his father, and very, very hard. Skeeter, smiling, bobbled his shaft near my face, tweaking my nose.

“Now, I want you to take a good look at my pecker. Do you see the little mouth at the end? Look closely. He’s laughing at you.”

The little hole of his shaft was slightly open, and the pre-cum was already dripping from it. His quivering little penis seemed like a living thing, as it bobbed up and down on its own, anticipating my slave kiss.

“Please, Master,” I begged, licking my lips lasciviously. “Please let me taste your salty semen. I am not worthy of your beautiful hardness, but let me earn my barefoot sandal.”

Skeeter, grinning, pointed at his pecker, signaling me to begin. I slowly extended my tongue, gently licking the first few drops off the end. Although I had mastered my oral technique in slave training, working with a realistic mechanical model, in my personal life, I never gave head. I had done it once for my grading, of course. It was disgusting, but hot, because it was part of my grading. I had vowed that would be the first and last penis I ever put in my mouth.

In my dating life, I received oral, naturally. In fact, I demanded it. My poor boyfriends would lick me for hours, just to get a quick hand job, or the chance to jerk off while I smirked at the poor little monkeys.

The very idea of a woman as powerful and in control as me, letting some MAN stick his dirty pecker in my mouth, was unthinkable. As a woke, feminist icon, I would never consider degrading myself in that way.

But I wasn’t a feminist icon anymore. Now I was a naked, bound, and sold Pleasure Slut, ordered to lick up her auctioneer’s jizz. Carefully, I extended my tongue, and let the gob of discharge roll onto the tip. It was salty, and smelled like chlorine, but my brain was in full Pleasure Slut mode. I licked my lips, savoring his taste, eager for more.

Without waiting to be asked, I opened my mouth, and licked the head all around, before slowly taking his little purple hood in my mouth.

Skeeter, eyes closed, groaned in pleasure. He kept up a commentary as I sucked his beautiful cock.

“That’s it. Swirl that tongue around. Nobody’s going to want to hear slave jabber from you. Your tongue is for sucking cock. Yeah, you know what to do. EARN your 10 cent yarn and beads, whore – suck it REAL good.”

Skeeter grabbed my pigtails, using them as handles as he fucked my face.

“Good girl. Wrap those big lips of yours around my dick. Oh, yeah, you’re hungry for it. Suck it out, like it’s mommy’s big titty. I know you want it. Pleasure Sluts long to taste their master’s pearl jam. You’re hungry for it. You want me to wash out your dirty mouth.”

I moaned my approval. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you? Of course, you do. You like the taste, too, don’t you, slut? You want to taste my power. That’s it. Polish my knob. Suck the tool of the man who sold your skanky ass off the auction block. Show me what a little whore you are, or I’ll whip your ass.”

My eyes glanced at his right hand, which was holding the slave whip. The nervousness I felt, seeing that Skeeter literally had the whip hand, earned me a stern admonishment.

“Concentrate. At a moment like this, the best way to save your ass is to not think about it. The only thing that exists in your world, slave girl, is my hard pecker. No job, no money, no worries. Just my cock and your sweet, wet, tongue.”

“That’s it. Shine that ding dong. Polish it real good. Roll your tongue around the head of the little boy who stripped you of everything you had, who humiliated you in front of the whole world. Show your auctioneer you were worth the commission I earned selling you.”

“Good news, Annie. I talked to the man who bought you, and he said I could brand you tomorrow. No, don’t stop swirling that tongue. Concentrate. That’s better. That’s a good little cocksucker! Anyway, I told your new owner the entire story, about how I drew the little mosquito in school, and mom put it up on the fridge, and you stole it and framed it in your mansion, and how it became my totem that I put on my books and boots and jacket. I showed it to him on my boots. I told him I wanted to burn it right on your ass. He thought it was hysterical. Too bad I can’t watch. Maybe.”

I tried to protest, but it came out garbled. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Anna Annie,” Skeeter chuckled. “Besides, I know what your going to say. You’re going to say I told Mom that I’d call in the morning and cancel your branding. Heck, I could do it right now, but it’s more fun to leave it for the morning. Make you sweat a little. Let you think about it, the blacksmith getting it all nice and red hot, then SZZZZZZZ!” he said.

I flinched in pain as the laughing adolescent made a sizzling sound as he described burning his childish doodle into my ass.

“Gosh, I hope I remember. Because it would be a crying shame if you got your sweet little ass branded like a cow because I went on the Dive Bomber at Six Flags once too many times. Not that it matters. I mean, you’re only a Pleasure Slut now, right? And they say getting a good old fashioned butt-brand really clears a girl’s mind, and makes her understand what being livestock is all about.”

I whimpered my disapproval. Skeeter laughed.

“See? I just mention a butt brand, and you’re already mooing! Are you afraid of the branding iron, Annie? You should be. ‘Fear is for girls who don’t have platinum cards’, he said, mocking me with my own words. And right now, you don’t got shit.”

“No, don’t slow down. Keep that tongue moving! Concentrate, Annie. Remember, sucking dick is what you’re for now. Ayn’t like nobody’s going to want to have a CONVERSATION with a Pleasure Slut. You need to learn your place, girl,” he said, pointing the whip at me, “before the whip learns it for you.”

“I wonder what your new name will be. Based on the job you’re doing, I think I might call you “Hummer.” “Or maybe city girl, or Chicago”, he snickered, tweaking my blue tag.

“Oh, that feels good. That’s it, I’m almost there,” he said, pulling on my pigtails. “That’s a good little cocksucker. Suck it good. Do you remember what a prick tease you were? Damn it, if you weren’t sexy as hell.”

Skeeter went falsetto as he mocked my Chicago accent. ‘Oh, Skeeter! Would you really enslave me? Would you really take away all my clothes, and strip me down slave naked? Would you make me get on my knees, and pleasure you, with my hot, wet mouth?’”

“Well, you got your wish, my little Sandy Foot Girl. Fresh off the auction block, barefoot and pregnant, sucking on my pecker. I’m going to shoot an enormous load of my dirty splooge right into your dainty little mouth.”

“Remember how you liked to call me “Squirt” all the time, in front of my friends? Are you still going to call me “Squirt” after I squirt in your mouth? Because if you call me “Squirt” again, I’m going to just wink and smile, and we’ll both know. We’ll KNOW. Oh, that’s it. Tickle the vent with your tongue. Tease it…”

Skeeter was close to losing it now. I winced as he tightened his grip on my pigtails, but my tongue kept busy, tickling, teasing, pleasing.

In truth, I could hardly wait to taste his delicious load. Oh, how I wanted my master to be happy!”

“Here it comes. Don’t swallow. Don’t swallow! I want you to taste every drop!”

His ejaculation was powerful, and fired out of his dick like a cork leaving a champagne bottle. It would have hit the back of my throat, but I had learned how to roll my tongue back and over his penis, creating a safe space for him to empty his load, and providing him with the delightful sensation of my tongue pressed right against the end of his gun.

The force of the blast pushed my tongue back further in my mouth, as did the second blast. The 3rd spasm was much easier to handle, although I handled all three to perfection, proving my Prime Minus status, proving my worthiness to suck my master’s little dick.

The last few spurts were sad, and a little pathetic. I milked it out of him, though, enjoying his ecstasy, enjoying my control.

I smiled at him, savoring my triumph as he struggled to recover his wits. He spent a good 30 seconds just staring at me. He had lost it, and we both knew it. Who was the slave now?

“Open your mouth,” he finally gasped. Show it to me.”

I knew what he wanted to see. I opened my mouth, and showed him the gobs of sperm on my tongue.

“Keep your mouth open, just like that. Don’t spill any.”

I kept my mouth open wide, being careful to keep my head steady as he finally unlocked my elbow cuffs. Having my arms free felt wonderful, but I managed to keep the gobs of sperm in place even as I shook out my arms.

Skeeters voice was clear as he gave his next set of directions. “Now I want you to take my jizz, and smear it under your nose, so you can smell it, really good. Then smear it on your lips, and all around your tongue. But keep your mouth open, and don’t lick. I want it to dry. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

I obeyed, and stretched, and smeared, and let his jizz dry under my lip, and lips, and tongue. It was fully dried when he returned to the office wheeling a large dog crate on a handcart, and carrying a black hood.

“Ha, you got a scum mustache, girl,” he chuckled.

“Do you like it?” I teased, giggling as I shook my boobies for him. “I made it just for you. Your cream is delicious, Master.”

Looking at him, I smiled seductively. “I don’t think I need to be kenneled, Master. I’d rather go home, and spend the night with you.”

“That’s what I told Mom,” he said, opening the cage door. But she said you weren’t quite understanding your place yet, so she got a big day planned for you tomorrow. You’ll need some rest, so I’m going to put this slave dummy hood on you. Mom told me to get purple, so it will match your collar. She knows you like to coordinate. Isn’t that nice of her?”

Skeeter held up a large, leather hood, bulky, that looked sort of like a pillow. It was a lavender color, and had an enormous, stupid grin and two eyes stamped on. It had a hole to breathe out of, but no eyeholes, and no ear holes.

“Cute, isn’t it? Mom picked this hood out for you. She said you’ll look just like a tootsie pop.”

“The grin looks like the one on the Kool Aid package,” I said. “I’ll look stupid.”

“I think that’s why mom picked it. You’re a naked, collared Pleasure Slut, with a wet pussy and a face full of jizz, about to be kenneled in a livestock house. It’s not exactly like you’re a hot-shot MBA anymore, is it?”

I shuddered. I knew when you became a legal slave girl, degrees and certifications were automatically revoked, to avoid embarrassing the University. I wondered if my degrees from Northwestern and The University of Chicago were going to be erased in some routine nightly batch program that uploaded information on new slave girls from The Big D.

“I got you a large kennel, with a plastic floor under the grate if you need to pee. The hood will help you sleep. No light, no noise. Nothing but your own thoughts. I’ll throw a wool blanket in there, too. Like I said, you have a big day tomorrow, and you’ll need your rest. But I’m leaving your hands free, so you can buff your button when you feel like it. You have my permission to slave-gasm. “Mom wants me to send her a picture of you in the hood. After that, it’s into the cage.”

“I think it would be better if…”

“You arguing with me is why mom says you need a night in the kennel, and what she’s got planned for you tomorrow, too. But before I flip off your lights, I want you to think about something. You were pretty embarrassed, up on the block, in front of all your so-called friends, right?”

My blush was my answer.

“What I want to know is why you’re embarrassed and they’re not? Why is it okay for a bunch of guys to be turned on watching you git your randy ass auctioned, but you, the one doing all the work, is embarrassed? Seems like they should be way more embarrassed than you.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” I admitted.

“Well now you have something to think over tonight, slave girl. Now, into your kennel.”

“Thank you, Skeet… Master. But what about my barefoot sandal?”

“Maybe next time. The blowjob was good, but I know you can do better. Don’t worry, I’ll give you another chance.

“Fuck you, you little bastard. That blowjob was AMAZING. You promised… ”

“Lights out,” Skeeter said, pulling the hood over my head. Apparently, promises to slave girls meant nothing.

He wasn’t kidding. No sound. No light. Nothing. I tried to pull it off, but there was some sort of electromagnet that sealed the hood to my collar. It was like wearing an oversized purple pillow on my head. I knew I looked ridiculous, and sensed Skeeter was laughing as he took my picture, even if I couldn’t see or hear anything.

Even as Skeeter slapped my ass into the cage, I ground my teeth as I imagined Rita laughing at my picture, slave naked, collared, with the gigantic purple Kool Aide smile on my head. The Purple Princess! Oh, that picture would be a keeper, one to slip into the boring vacation slide shows she made everyone sit through.

That was Rita, always good for a laugh. At least she couldn’t see her son’s white scum on my lips.

When I was in the cage, Skeeter rubbed some cool cream on my ass, and between my butt cheeks. It felt wonderful, and I groaned in pleasure. Skeeter took advantage of the situation to cop a good feel of my pussy with his greasy little hand, but that felt good, too.

I didn’t hear him close the door, or lock my cage, but shortly after he withdrew his hand, I tipped backwards, and realized he was using the dolly to wheel me towards my destination for the night.

The kenneling area must have been pretty far from Rosco’s office, as it took a while to get there. We stopped several times along the way. I wondered it Skeeter had stopped to accept some congratulations on the big auction, or if he had simply turned me over to someone else for warehousing.

I wondered if the men were talking about me, the record-setting Miss Sandy Foot! I hoped they were, but I doubted it. Whatever my former glories were, I was now sold inventory, just another crated and kenneled Pleasure Slut in a dummy hood.

Eventually, my crate was unceremoniously dumped off the dolly and slid onto the floor. I cried out, but I knew no one cared.

The crate remained there several minutes, as I clutched the bars with my little fingers, wondering what was happening to me. The cage jolted as something slid underneath me, and I had the sensation of being lifted high into the air.

High! Very high! I was on a forklift, and I was being warehoused. They were mixing me in with all the other kenneled Pleasure Sluts. What if I got lost? What if there was some sort of computer mix-up? I struggled to get my dummy hood off, desperate to see what was happening to me.

Eventually I was “shelved” and the jostling stopped. I sensed there were other Pleasure Sluts around me, but I could not hear them, or see them. The hood had been a masterstroke on Rita’s part, a final coup de grâce designed to strip away any final shred of dignity that might have survived the endless humiliations of the day. With the hood blocking out all my senses, my mind was left to feed on itself, and reflect on my pole-greasing, my block prep, my public disgrace on the auction block, Rosco’s seeding, Skeeters dried jizz in my mouth, and the loss of my degrees, property, and everything I had ever had.

I pulled the wool blanket over myself, and began to buff my button. I could taste Skeeter in my mouth, and I relished the sweet bitterness of my master’s scum as I rubbed myself to slave-gasm. I wondered if anyone watching. It didn’t matter. Skeeter was right. I had nothing to be ashamed of. I was what I was.

I felt totally alive as I relished every sensation, the coarse brown sand clinging to my body, the purple eternity collar locked forever around my throat, the jizz on my lips, the smell of the leather slave hood.

I had brought a record price. I was a Sandy Foot Girl! The other sluts would be SO jealous!

Hooded, and kenneled, my mind was free to replay the events of the day. As humiliating as it was, Skeeter was right. I had nothing to be ashamed of. After I had turned myself over to Rita, and let her throw my clothes into the charity bin, I had lost the ability to make choices. It was my friends who should be embarrassed about their conduct, not me.

Strange as it might seem, having no choices gave me a sense of total liberation. I didn’t have to worry about my money, or what I was going to eat, or what I was going to wear. I had no worries, no concerns. I was free to give pleasure, which, paradoxically, gave me more pleasure than I had ever felt.

I masturbated myself to two glorious, mind bending slave-gasms before I fell into a deep and restful sleep, and dreamt the sweet, carefree dreams of a Pleasure Slut.

[Carl Bradford]

Great, as always. I do think that Annie owes Skeeter MUCH more than just a blow-job, but at least he milked the maximum education and humiliation out of the situation. After reading Chapters 14 and 15, I have to agree that Annie is completely, incurably, slave stupid. After Skeeter and his dad showed her, thoroughly, that she was both powerless and terminally horny, you'd think that her now-cancelled MBA would have taught her to be humble and eager to please. Instead, each new situation/staff member has to remind her that she doesn't have a penny to her name. I realize that the situation calls for some of this stupidity in order to string out her subjugation, but when, if ever, is she going to learn her lesson? Or do we have to wait for the traumatic learning of her branded butt?
Sorry for the rant. As always, Joe Doe remains the master of power exchange at the Big D.!!

[Carl Bradford]

As for Miss Chopsticks, I’m sure I could find some rednecks happy to try out her fortune nookie . . .

Joe, this was HILARIOUS! Very clever word-play that made me laugh. One of the things that I find so brilliant about your writing is that you throw in moments of humor at just the right time to either add to or break the tension – to keep the reader from going off the deep edge, metaphorically speaking. It helps keep us grounded and reinforces the plausibility of the scene as humor is the most common coping mechanism among humans in stressful situations so when we see our beloved characters express such emotions it not only entertains us but endears us to them all the more.

“You need to yearn, earn, and learn,” I replied, recalling my wise Aunt adage, which I smugly dropped whenever Skeeter asked me for something, to the point where Skeeter used to roll his eyes.

I also love the teachable moments that you manage to work into the storyline. The recognizable steps of making a successful sale from Miss Calico earlier to having Anna-Annie’s words used against her in a very deliberate and humiliating object lesson. I guess Skeeter was indeed paying attention all those years ago, after all. This whole exchange between Skeeter and his “aunt” is truly amazing creative writing.

“That’s what I told Mom,” he said, opening the cage door. But she said you weren’t quite understanding your place yet, so she got a big day planned for you tomorrow. You’ll need some rest, so I’m going to put this slave dummy hood on you. Mom told me to get purple, so it will match your collar. She knows you like to coordinate. Isn’t that nice of her?”

A Dummy Hood? GENIUS! Just when I thought you couldn’t humiliate Anna-Annie any more you come up with the Dummy hood! Damn, you're good!

Hooked6

[jeepster]

Brilliant! So many things to like in 1 chapter!

[Carl Bradford]

Joe,
now that's the part I was waiting for. I was disappointed last chapter because you lead up to the moment and left us hanging.
This part was perfect, the pigtails blowjob, the humiliation, putting her in her place. Her mindset, still thinking she is in charge and the realization that she is not.
Now the dummy hood, please clarify. Is it called that because it makes the slave look stupid, or because a real slave hood has some electronics in that puts them in some kind of limbo state, like the halo in that Tom Cruise movie Minority Report? One that puts the wearer into a suspended state, unable to fight back because it does something to the brain. And this one just looks like one without the mind numbing program.

[lovethissite]

Joe: Well Anne or "Slave Hummer" now has her purpose for at least this part of her life. Skeeter is not a little boy anymore, he may be small in physical size , but he now is a giant to her. I hope you continue your series as "Hummer" evolves into what she is destined to become. Thank you again.

[timerider]

Excellent as always.