"Any Chance?" Auction - Epilogue

I blushed a bit, realizing that my brand--along with my ass--had been reduced to an article in a trade journal for sweaty, blue collar, union workers. I felt a twinge between my legs at the thought of brutish, muscular blacksmiths -- and men who just enjoyed branding girl's butts - admiring my doodle bug. My butt was Atkin's canvas, and my brand his Mona Lisa.

"Nice work," I allowed, "but I'm still the original."

Using the tip of the whip I tapped the inside of her thighs, indicating I wanted her spread her legs. She obeyed, being careful not to spill my wine.

As her butt cheeks spread, she revealed The Big D logo branded on the inside of her butt cheek. It was in the exact place as mine, and indistinguishable. Again, I had the bizarre sensation of examining myself at an angle I could never possibly see myself at.

Her pussy looked like mine, down to the last wrinkle. Breathing in, I realized her excitement even smelled like mine.

Was there something about my birth that my mother hadn't told me? When I had been growing up, one of Rita's wry reposts was, "Well, at least I don't gotta deal with two of ya'!" Did her joke mean more than she was letting on? Did I have a twin, who had been separated from my mother at birth, and had now fallen on hard times, and become a slave girl?

No, no, that couldn't be. My twin would never sink this low. She might look like me, and talk like me, and act like me. Appearances aside, this disgusting Pleasure Slut was nothing like me.

Continuing my slow walk around, I stopped in front of her, and looked her in the eyes, staring deeply. I examined her closely, looking for some difference in our mirror image. There was nothing. On her face, I saw the hint of a smile.

Furious, I went around behind her, and brought the whip down on her ass, which was, of course, a perfect replica of my own. "Slut! Spreading your legs for men! Don't you have any control? You're disgusting."

She cried out in pain as I whipped her ass with gusto, as my wine glass tipped and landed on the table.

"Clumsy slut," I snapped. "Do you know how much that wine is worth?"

Before I could bring down the second stroke, Skeeter grabbed my arm. "Stop it, Anna-Annie. It's not her fault. You're just angry because she reminds you of you the day you were auctioned off. Professor Hollister calls it 'projective slave loathing.'"

I had read about projective slave loathing, a psychosis where free women come to loath and despise Pleasure Sluts for revealing their suppressed desires. "I don't need my smarty pants nephew from a 3rd rate community college playing psychiatrist," I snapped. "This girl's nothing like me. Any man of quality, looking at us, would understand that. I'm not a slave girl!"

"Nobody said you were," Skeeter replied, gently taking the whip out of my hands. "Just stop whipping her butt, that's all."

"We should really recollar them," Rebecca said.

"They're already collared," Norton said. "All of our girls wear the stainless-steel blue collars of Legendary Slavers."

"Rebecca's right," I said. "We want this to be seen as a gift from Jake at The Big D. Get their collars off, Norton, so we can get their new collars on."

Norton used his phone app to unlock each girl's collars, collecting them, as Skeeter quickly brought out a box of collars with The Big D logo on them.

"I paid for them," I said. "I want to collar them. We'll start with this little bitch on the table. "Show us your SIN."

Again, the girl peeled back her upper lip to reveal her number. Skeeter scanned the inside of the girl's lip and received a satisfied BEEP in return.

Skeeter then scanned the girl's collar, attaching it to the girl's SIN. A slightly different BEEP signaled that the SIN was now tied to the collar.

"Collar position," I ordered.

The girl pulled her long hair back, exposing her long neck. Growing up, Rita had called me the giraffe, and even now I felt my neck was too long. My slave girl twin had the same hated feature.

I squeezed my thighs together with pleasure as I SNAPPED the collar around her throat, locking it into place.

Cupping the little slut's chin, and I looked directly into her eyes.

"Welcome to The Big D," I said, grinning.

I ordered the slut off the table, to rejoin her sisters in line. The procedure was repeated, with Skeeter scanning in each girl's SIN to tie it to their collars, and me LOCKING their collars around their freakishly swan like necks.

Stepping back, I surveyed my handiwork with satisfaction. "I'd like a video of them as a group," I said. "Piled on top of each other, slave fucking each other, like slave girls do. We can send a copy of it along with the girls to our six bidders. Can you arrange the cameras, Rebecca?"

"Not a problem, Miss Powers," she replied. Like her boss, Rebecca was eager to please. "But I couldn't help but notice, we're one girl short."

I did a quick head count. Rebecca was right. We have five girls, not six.

Norton seemed to hedge. "Oh, yes, about that. Apparently, one of the Annies from London got rerouted, and we're having trouble finding her."

"How long until we can get her back?" Rebecca asked.

"That's unclear," Norton said. "We have to find her first. We can try to get another girl that looks like Miss Powers, but that could take a while. We need time for training, and prep."

I stared Norton down. "This is TOTALLY unacceptable. The six other Pleasure Sluts I bought are crated up and ready to go. I want to send the girls together, as a pair. Six bidders, twelve girls. I don't have time for incompetence and bullshit."

"Maybe we could send one girl later," Skeeter offered.

"Don't be stupid, Skeeter," I shot back. "These guys are suing, and they all talk. If we leave one of them out, he'll be pissed. And I don't want to wait until the bozos at Legends pull their shit together, because I've already waited too long, and I'm trying to nip this lawsuit before Jake is consumed by legal fees. This is UNACCEPTABLE."

Eager to avoid my ire, Rebecca excused herself to get the video equipment.

"I'm sorry, Miss Powers," Norton offered. "If you want a refund..."

I wasn't having it. "Damn right, I want a refund, and I'll have your ass after I buy your sorry company and fire your dumb ass. You've messed with the wrong girl."

"Please, you have to understand. You're asking the impossible. Where am I going to find a Pleasure Slut that looks like you?"

Skeeter, stroking his chin, got a sideways grin as he offered a suggestion. "I know a girl who looks like you," he offered.

"Seriously?" I asked. "Can I get her tonight, so we can make the shipment?"

"Not a problem," he said.

"Is she slave hot, and fully trained?" I asked.

"One of the hottest pieces of slave tail I've ever had. Rated Prime Minus."

"Can we get her branded? With the Doodle bug, I mean?"

"Already done," he said, smiling.

"What do you mean it's already done?" I said, genuinely dumbfounded.

"It would only be for 3 months, Anna-Annie," Skeeter said. "Nobody checks a slave girl's SIN number against what her name was, since slave girls don't have names no more. All they'll know is that she'll look like you. 3 months is nothing! The time will fly by!"

"You can't be serious," I said.

Samuel Norton jumped in, as if I wanted his opinion. "With all due respect, son, I have to agree. We have standards. Being a Legendary Slave isn't simply about having a resemblence. Obviously, you look like you. But to be a legend, you have to have a body that is, well, legendary."

"I can assure you, Mr. Norton, she does," Skeeter said. "She's been graded Prime Minus."

"We're not interested in USDA grades. We set our own standards, son."

Norton, turning to me, oozed unctuous faux charm. "Miss Powers, you are obviously intelligent, extremely articulate, and highly accomplished. You are an attractive young lady. But let's be frank. You can't hope to compete with one of these girls. You a the real thing, but we offer a fantasy version of reality. You're not Legendary Slave quality."

"Says who?" I protested. "Are you saying I'm not hot enough?"

"It's not meant as an insult. Our standards are extraordinary. You are the client, but as a representative of Legends, I'm responsible for quality assurance, and the final judge in these matters. We can't send just anyone. I'm afraid I must decline your nephew's offer."

Skeeter's suggestion that I become the 90-day fuck-bunny for one of the six men who despised me was, without a doubt, the dumbest thing that had ever come out of his adolescent mouth. But this slimy flesh monger's unsubtle insinuation that I was not up to the standards of one of his skanky look-alikes totally pissed me off.

Sensing my mounting anger, Skeeter suggested a way to put Norton in his place. "Anna Annie, I do believe this fine gentleman just challenged the grading standards here at The Big D. Do you care to provide evidence in response to the judge's objection?"

"I do, indeed," I said, staring Norton down. "Challenge accepted, Mr. Norton. Skeeter, hold my beer," I said, downing the wine for courage and handling Skeeter my glass.

Dropping my Armani shoulder bag and kicking off my Gucci sandals, I stripped off my power suit quickly, as I had no underwear. I stood naked before him, enjoying the look of shock on Norton's face.

Taking my clothes and bag, Skeeter placed them on a chair by a pair of swinging doors.

I did a slow, slave girl turn in front of the gob smacked Norton, showing him my perfect, naked body. "See?" I said, showing him my perfect ass, "I even have a little doodle bug! Isn't it adorable?" I said, tapping it with my finger.

Norton was in shock. My nephew, grinning broadly, was loving every minute of Norton's shock.

"Do you have a Big D logo, Anna Annie?" Skeeter teased. "The other girls all have Big D logos. Ya' gotta have one of those!" he reminded me.

"I do!" I said, smiling broadly.

"Prove it," Skeeter said, grinning.

Smiling, I bent over, spreading my legs as I thrust my ass up in the air. Slowly, my butt cheeks parted like a theatrical curtain, revealing the mark of quality, the coveted logo of The Big D.

Skeeter let out a slow wolf whistle. "Ayn't that a beauty!" he said, appreciatively. "Heck, I can see all the way to Christmas! And that, Mr. Norton, is the mark of quality. Slave present, Anna-Annie."

I walked over to the other girls, and sank to my knees. Locking my fingers behind my head, I spread my legs widely, adding a sixth Annie to the row of Annies.

Looking up at Norton, I smiled triumphantly. "What do you say, your honor?" I asked. "Is your objection sustained?"

"No. Objection overruled," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Norton was in the business, of course, so I wasn't his first naked girl. However, for the last hour he had seen me in charge, and in control. I was the sort of untouchable princess men might fantasize about enslaving, but never could. That's what made me so hot. The rapidness of my transformation from sophisticated 1-percenter to naked kneeling Pleasure Slut had left Norton stunned, lost in the glare of my pointy headlights.

"She's a beauty all right," Norton allowed. "But is she trained?"

"Fuck you, Norton," I said.

"It's a fair question, Miss Powers," he said. "Legends has rigorous standards for all our merchandise."

Skeeter looked down at me. "Show 'em, Anna-Annie," he said.

I reached down, and began teasing my nipples, until they were pointy hard. Reaching between my legs, I began to finger myself. Closing my eyes, I moaned as I humped my hand.

Oh, it felt good! I hadn't been able to touch myself all day, and I was desperate for release. I had gone through the excitement of being back at The Big D, the thrill of buying six slave girls at the auction, and the bizarre ritual of collaring five naked slave girl versions of myself. Can you blame me for riding my fingers like a pony?

It is said that it is the nature of a slave girl to test her master. Skeeter was wearing his big cowboy hat, with his fancy doodle bug logo shoes and belt that I had bought for him. Remembering him over my knee, it was impossible for me to take him seriously. He didn't look like my master, but rather like a teenager playing cowboy.

Feeling puckish, I gave him my best slave girl pout. "Master," I said, "I did something very naughty. I reversed the one-way trip. I walked up the steps of the auction block. I knew the steps weren't for me, but I used them anyway."

Skeeter had seen me on the block, of course, and had thought nothing of it. The room was empty, and the unfinished roughhewn steps leading up to the sand covered dais were hardly forbidden to me, Jake's prospective business partner. It was no different than walking onto a stage in an empty hotel ballroom, or lecture hall. There was nothing to confess, really.

Skeeter immediately picked up on my playful challenge to his authority. When I had gone up those steps, I was Anne Powers, a filthy rich investor with her wallet wide open. Now I was a hot, naked slave girl with her pussy wide open. With a hard slap on their bottom, slave girls entered the auction block from the cattle chute on the left, sprinting across the stage to be sold. After the gavel fell, they went down the steps, their asses smarting from the crack of the auctioneer's whip.

Like all the rules for the slave girls, the procedure was crisp and clear. I had disobeyed and reversed the flow. Bad, bad slave girl!

"I'm glad I did it," I said, rubbing my snatch. "It shows what a clever slave girl I am. All the other slave girls enter the block from the cattle chute, moo-moo! Clever me gets to use the steps, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. I turned my one way into a round trip. Girls with platinum cards have more fun."

I groaned with pleasure as I quickened my pace, driving myself to orgasm. I was close, but I also wanted it to last. It wasn't to entertain Norton, Skeeter, or anyone else. This one was for me.

Being a clever slave girl, I didn't need Doctor Veronica's vet bag to emasculate my feckless nephew. Smiling at him, I made it clear that he was still putty in my manicured hands.

"Is that JP Morgan Reserve Card, the one you need a million in the bank to get, in your purse?" Skeeter said.

"Of course," I said. "I never leave home without it. And it's $10 million... brainiac."

I half whispered "brainiac", more as a tease than insolence. Maybe.

"Fetch it," he said.

"Let me finish first," I said, leaning back as I rubbed myself to slave-gasm.

"No. Crawl over there on your knees, and bring it back to me. And no hands. Use your teeth."

I smiled. So, my little cowboy wanted to play, did he? I'd show him. It took some effort to open my fancy purse with my teeth, but Norton and Skeeter didn't mind if it meant they could watch me wiggle my ass as I dug it out with my "snout".

Playing the mischievous puppy role to the hilt, I crawled over and put my paws up as I offered it up to my master, deliberately adding as much slobber as I could. Frowning, he wiped his hand on my hair.

"Let's see what ya' got, slave girl," he said. "Turn around. Tail up, legs spread."

I obeyed.

"Wider," he said. "Show us that little brown starfish. Yeah, split those butt cheeks, wide. Show everyone what you had for breakfast."

I obeyed, raising my pink anus high as I put my head down.

"So, what can you buy with this credit card, slave girl?"

"Anything," I giggled. "I could buy this whole place, with you in it. There's no limit."

I tensed as he put the corner of the card against my exposed bunghole. "No limit, huh? Slave girls don't get credit cards, brainiac. So, I'm going to stuff this right up your 'HOLE-place'".

The JP Morgan Platinum Reserve Card is made of Palladium, which gives it a real stiffness. Still, I was amazed when Skeeter actually managed to jam it up my ass, not stopping until only the tip was showing.

Like all slave girls who test their master's limits, I realized too late how foolish I had been. "I'm sorry, Master," I said. "I will never use the steps again, I swear!"

"No, you won't," he said. "Next time, you'll use the chute. And don't think my mom's going to step in and save you next time, because she's getting sick of yer' shit, too."

"Please, master, it's too big," I whined, wincing as I tried to shit out the card. "Take it out."

"You giving me orders, slave girl? Still topping from below, huh? Fine, let's give the LADY what she wants."

I hyperventilated as my nephew picked up his slave whip and shook it out.

"So would you like to get a little demonstration of my award winning, slave rodeo whipping technique, Mr. Norton?"

I gave a little cry, too scared to even speak. "I'd love to, young man," Norton replied.

CRACK!

Skilled as he was, the card was so far up my ass that Skeeter's expert shot only pulled it out without fully dislodging it. Unfortunately, it also hit me in a spot no slave girl wants to feel the whip.

"Glad it didn't break the card," Skeeter said. "Otherwise, I could be snapping this whip against her rear doorbell all night."

Before I could even cry out in alarm at the thought of it, the second crack of the whip yanked the card out of my bottom and into the air. A third crack cut into the impervious card, and shot it high in the air, while the final crack finally cut my card in half.

"Impressive!" Norton said. "If you ever need a job, son, please give me a call."

"That's mighty flatterin', Mr. Norton, coming from a fine gentleman like you, but I love my work at The Big D."

My limitless credit was in ruins, along with my tortured asshole. The self-congratulatory circle jerk was interrupted as the swinging doors burst open and Rebecca flew in, followed by a man pulling a four-wheel mesh gorilla cart. The slave monger was in his early twenties, and was wearing yellow coveralls with The Big D logo. Taking the cameras out of the cart, he quickly set them up on tripods, arranging them in a circle.

Rebecca chuckled when she spotted me weeping, with my ass in the air.

"What's wrong with her?" she asked.

"She got a little lippy," Skeeter said. "Nothing that will affect her price.. Back in position, slave girl."

Embarrassed by the painful truth of Skeeter's impost, I quickly resumed my position and put my hands on my head like the other girls. Indifferent to my tears, Rebecca slowly walked down the line of slave girls kneeling before her.

"Excellent!" Rebecca said brightly. "It looks like the sixth one has arrived. That's good news. We should get her collared, though. Come on, up on the table."

I looked to Skeeter, who merely smiled back at me, wondering how I would solve the conundrum. Would I identify myself to the bossy little accountant, and try to explain why I was naked on the floor, rubbing my hot, sticky twat? Or would I play along with the mistake and cover my true identity?

I rose, and scampered up on the table. My breath came in short gasps as Rebecca did a slow walk around the table, evaluating my naked body with the same critical gaze I had used a few minutes before, when evaluating my twin.

"Not bad," she said. "Which one of the perverts is going to get her?"

"I haven't decided yet," Skeeter said.

Rebecca stopped in front of me. She was smiling, but it was a very different smile than she gave me when she was trying to flatter me. This was more of a grin, the smile of the cat who had corned the mouse.

"Show me your SIN," she said.

Feeling queasy, I peeled back my upper lip to reveal my slave tattoo.

My heart skipped a beat as Skeeter BEEPED my number into the system. It skipped again when Skeeter casually retrieved a collar from the box, and scanned it, the BEEP signifying that my SIN was now tied into inventory.

Skeeter handed the collar to Rebecca and clipped his scanner back to his belt. Walking over to the door, he took my clothes and bag and put them in the gorilla cart.