"Any Chance?" Auction Pt. 06

"Do you actually love them, Dad?"

"Hell, no. You fuck them. But they aren't very bright, so they think it's love. All their thoughts get processed through their snatch."

I groaned as he gave my pussy a little rub. "See? Now you first, Skippy. Grab some bread and slide your hand right in. I'd used at least three fingers, to make sure you get a good grip on the bread. Don't worry about fitting them in. Like I said, she's a Sloppy Suzie."

I groaned with shame and pleasure as Skippy, tentatively at first, pushed his fingers and the bread inside me. Skippy gave me a leisurely rub.

"Don't forget to rub her button!" Dad directed, laughing. "Row, row, row, the boat. A day without slave juice, is like a day without sunshine."

The girls at the table began laughing as I began rocking back and forth. I was choking myself on the noose, humping his hand. The girls at the table mock strangled themselves and rolled their eyes as they laughed at me. I hated them, but it felt too good to stop.

"Wow!" Skippy said. "My hand is getting soaked. Look, her slave grease is running onto my wrist."

"Yeah, talk about the squeeze of the day!" Alistair said, laughing.

My desperately desired slave-gasm was close, and since the sensor wasn't controlling them, and their bored waiter didn't seem to give a shit how long they took, I might actually come. I kept pushing back as his thumb tweaked my clit, excited, but humiliated and enraged at the same time.

Did they understand how much they were shaming me? Did they understand how frantic I was for release? Didn't they know how degrading it was, to be turned into the first feel and personal juicer for two metal mouths who had never been NEAR a girl?

Oh, how I DESPISED the three little geeks. I would have beaten them to a pulp if my hands hadn't been tied behind my back, which, of course, they were.

If only they could have seen me in my business suit in Chicago. I wasn't some Pleasure Slut you could cop a quick feel from! I was nobody's toy, nobody's victim. I was a kickass, superheroine, Wonder Woman in a business suit.

Alas, "was" was the operative verb. Now I rocked back and forth, the nose around my neck choking me as little Skippy wiggling his fingers in my pussy like it was a new mitten he was trying out for Christmas.

"Take your hand out, Skippy," Dad directed. "I think she's about to come."

"Yeah, save some for me," Alistair agreed.

The festivities were interrupted when the music suddenly cranked up, and the waitstaff met up front for enthusiastic line dance version of that Big D favorite, Sandy Foot Girl!

My sweetie wanted a wedding,

as the price of her bedding,

but her daddy wanted cash

for her sweet Texas ass.

So I gotta big shock,

seeing 'er on the block

buffin' her pearl

She's my Sandy Foot Girl!

The manager, a guy about Rosco's age, stepped in front, and interrupted the dance. The music stopped.

"Our little girl Veronica here is a management trainee, but she's going to be leaving us tomorrow for her Christmas break, and then to be an engineer at MIT," the manager explained.

The audience applauded politely.

"Now Veronica, we have a little tradition at the Branded Bee, that a girl's last line dance is always done slave naked. Let's see what you got, Veronica!"

Veronica looked like a deer trapped in the headlights. She turned to her other servers, looking for a confirmation that this was just a joke, but they were laughing and clapping.

"Take it off, fancy pants," one of the girls laughed.

"Yeah, let's see what the nerds at MIT are going to be getting."

One of her female coworkers shook out a slave prod, making it clear to the horrified Veronica that her cooperation was NOT negotiable.

The restaurant crowd, ever helpful, began chanting and clapping.

TAKE IF OFF!

TAKE IT OFF!

TAKE IT OFF!

"We'll do it fer ya if we got to, girl!" one of the older waitresses said, as they moved in.

I was pleased that the monitor no longer showed my pussy, but Veronica's panicked, worried expression, as she pulled her T-shirt over her head. The audience hooted as her lacy pink bra came into view.

Soon she was stripping to the beat of the music, as her fellow waitresses clapped along.

I felt myself go weak,

as my girl spread her cheeks.

The hottest pussy in the land,

rolling in the sand.

Veronica, down to her bra and panties, frowned as her smiling manager motioned for her to take off her bra.

JUGS!

JUGS!

JUGS!

I smiled. Like many a girl who had gone before her, Veronica had realized too late how quickly power can shift at The Big D.

Very reluctantly, Veronica reached for her top button, and began to undress, much to the delight of the crowd. Alister, Skippy, and their father paused to watch, giving me a moment of respite for the glorious torment of being used as a human honeypot.

My mind was swimming. One of my tried-and-true business strategies was to calmly assess all situations, rank the problems, and deal with them one at a time. I had so many problems that It was hard to keep count, or rank them. I had been sold last night in the "Any Chance?" Auction at The Big D, and even now I was struggling to remember the exact terms of my sale, or how much longer I had before the sale became final. If Rita placed the call I would be released, but she was at Six Flags, and she hadn't called yet.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock!

Rosco and the other slave handler yokels had "seeded" me last night, fucking me like a breeding bitch and then hanging me upside down. I hadn't been able to shower, or douche, and in my mind I could still feel his little swimmers knocking me up like some slave bitch sow.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock!

I was bound at the Branded Bee, with a ridiculous bee costume covering nothing, and my ass pointing skywards. My wet, soggy pussy was displayed on video monitors around the restaurant, and I was close to coming... again. Skippy had already had his fun, and now it was his brother's turn.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock!

The branding head with Skeeter's doodle bug was stuck in the fire, and was being heated in preparation for branding my ass. The little bugger had seemed cute and adorable when I had hung Skeeter's drawings next to the Monet's and Picasso's in my mansion in Chicago, but now, staring at the branding head heating in the restaurant's fire oven, it looked HUGE. Rita had ordered Skeeter to call in the morning, and cancel my branding, but he hadn't called yet, and the branding head was getting hotter by the second.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock!

My assessment of my dire circumstances was spot on. The problem with my coping strategy was there was no way I could "deal with" any of them. At The Big D, I wasn't in the business of solving problems. I was the business.

Acknowledging that my situation was, at least for the moment, hopeless, I decided to take a moment to enjoy the little things in life. Veronica had been a class A bitch to me, and now the uppity little waitress was doing a reluctant striptease as the crowd and her fellow employees clapped and danced along.

Veronica blushed beet red as she danced. Her humiliation was all part of the fun, of course, as it was infinitely more entertaining to see a smarty pants MIT student being forced to perform her first striptease than it would be to watch a pro go through the tired motions. Remembering her cruelty, and the shade she had given me when I told her I was a University of Chicago graduate, I felt zero sympathy for her.

"You'll see what it's like when you're slave naked," I thought. "Nobody will give a shit about your SAT score then, bitch."

My honeypot respite abruptly came to an end. I'm ashamed to say that my enjoyment of Veronica's predicament was only heighted when Allister, the teenage mathlete whose father had purchased the right to "hand dip" slave bread into my honey pot, took full advantage of his privilege. I gasped with a mixture of shock and pleasure and his skinny, eager fingers slipped the bread into my pussy.

"Don't forget to rub her little pink knob, there at the top of her gash," his father said pedantically. "I call it the slave horn, because when you rub it right, they sound off."

Allister's inquisitive thumb found my clit, and began rubbing it like a lucky coin. Too much! Too fast!

As the music to SANDY FOOT GIRL throbbed over the speakers, Veronica danced in her underwear, hoping that would be enough to please the crowd.

The bids came fast

As he auctioned off her ass.

Sold her slot for money

Could this be my little honey?

She'd been so sweet

At our first meet.

Not at all shady,

She was a real lady.

Allister's fingers were probably touching his first-ever pussy, but I was so hot and wet and horny that he was quickly driving me towards the edge. Veronica's humiliation only spurred me on. Her

boobs were bouncing nicely in the rhythm of the song, but the lunchtime crowd wanted to see the haughty little waitress stripped bare.

"Tits! Tits! Tits!" the crowd began to chant.

"Let's keep this show movin', girl" her manager ordered his blushing employee. "Show 'em yer tits!"

Veronica looked to her fellow female co-workers for assistance, or support, or sympathy, but found none. They were clapping along one, except one, a chippy little redhead with a missing tooth. "Think yer' better than me, cuz' yer gow'n to college?" she said, shaking out the lashes of a slave whip. "Show 'em your titties, slave girl!"

The whip CRACKLED through the air, catching Veronica on the seat of her panties. I felt spasms of pleasure and a quaking slave-gasm begin as Veronica screamed. I screamed too, but in pleasure.

"Don't stop rubbing, Son," Dad directed Allister. "Keep tweaking her little slut button. And get another piece of bread up there, so you get all her juices."

It was then, in the middle of slave-gasm, that I heard Rita's voice in my head. "You comin' agin, little sister? Every time I pop open this phone, yer' comin' like gang busters! You trying to PROVE yer' a Pleasure Slut?"

With my pussy quivering like jello, I was gasping, "Yes, YES, YES!" although not in answer to Rita's taunt.

Rita didn't see it that way. "So, you agree with me? Ha-ha! I guess it's a good thing I ayn't tried to reverse your auction. Lookin' at ya now, gotta wonder why I'd go through all the fuss. All I got to do is nothin', and you'll just go through the slave market, easy as poop goin' through a goose."

My mind was swimming, and my pussy was quivering as behind me Allister continued to rub. "Don't stop, Son!" his father urged. "Keep flickin' her slave horn. Let's make her sound off again."

Allister was supposed to dip ONE piece of bread, but with the waitresses and waiters distracted by Veronica's dance, it was open season on my honeypot.

In front of me, Veronica was naked, and dancing, her breast bouncing to the beat of the music. Most of the monitors were showing Veronica, but a few had switched back to me. Seeing my own quivering pussy with Allister's scrawny little fingers up on the Jumbotron screens prevented me from relishing HER humiliation, particularly with Rita's voice in my ear.

"It was a hoot watchin' Hillary fiddle you this mornin'! Damn, that girl's, good. She and Skeeter were kinda sorta seein' each other, ya know."

I gritted my teeth as I remembered that little blonde bitch in her cutoffs and tap dancing on the wooded board, grinning and laughing the whole time, as I jumped up and down in my chains on the lawn. The humiliation had been intense, but it was even worse when I realized that she doubtlessly knew me, being Skeeter's girl. I felt a new rush of shame wash over me, even as my pussy quivered from my juicing.

Rita couldn't stop laughing. "Hot damn, when they cracked that whip near yer' ass, ya' sure got yer' knees up high, little sister! They were damn near coverin' yer bouncing boobs, ha-ha! I said it was all that Slave Yoga ya'll been practicin', but Rosco said slave talent like that is born, not made. What ya think, little sister? Are ya' a born Pleasure Slut, or have ya' been working on it, real hard?"

I couldn't respond to her sisterly teasing. Allister's evil little thumb was working my "slave horn", as his father urged him to make me "cum like a whore." In front of me, Veronica's boobs were bouncing, the branding head was heating. All I could do is grunt and squeal, like a pig in heat, or like the slave whore all the Texas yokels around me thought I was.

"Damn it you ayn't hotter than a pistol, little sister!" Rita guffawed. "Tell ya' what. If you can hold yer' horses, and not blast off on that skinny kid's fingers for the next 20 seconds, I'll tell 'em to let ya go, right now, and we can fer-git about all this slave girl nonsense. I'll cancel the sale, and everything. It's a good deal, huh? Prove to me ya' got a brain, and you ayn't just a piece of slave snatch with a SOLD tag on yer' ear, and you get to go free. Deal?"

Gasping, and grunting, I couldn't agree to the deal, but Rita started the countdown anyway.

"One..."

"Two..."

It wasn't a difficult challenge, really. Twenty seconds wasn't a long time. The stakes were certainly big enough to focus me. The tinniest bit of restraint on my part would save me from both a lifetime in the collar and the pain of having Skeeter's doodle bug branded on my ass. The thought of the pain, and the sight of the flames as the branding iron heated, should have been enough to put me off.

But instead, for reasons I can't explain, it spurred me on. Why? WHY?

"Stop," I gasped, begging the teenager behind me. "Stop. Don't. Don't make me cum!"

"Rub faster, Son," his dad ordered. "Slave girls don't get to decide when to cum. Show the little slut who's boss."

Allister redoubled his efforts, and I was soon gasping with pleasure as Rita's voice rang in my head.

"Seven..."

"Eight..."

My eyes widened as the little nerd's thumb pushed me towards the edge. In my ear, Rita tried to coach me. "Hold yer horses, little sister. Yer' almost half way there. I'm rootin' fer ya! Nine."

I didn't make it to ten. Veronica, finished with her dance, hand fled the room in tears. To my shame and humiliation, the monitors around the restaurant -- and on Rita's phone, presumably, showed my grunting, drooling face and quivering pussy as I wiggled through yet another shameful and very public slave-gasm.

I could hear the disappointment in Rita's voice. "Dang it, little sister. Twenty seconds is a pretty low bar, even for a certified, sold, Pleasure Slut. I'd almost think that Skeeter is listening in, pushing your love button gizmo on that phone of his."

"No, Mom, I'm not listening in, honest," Skeeter said stupidly.

"Darn, it, Skeeter, this is a private conversation. Where are you, anyway?"

"I'm waiting in line for the Dive Bomber," Skeeter said.

"The Dive Bomber? Is that the crazy bungee jump one? I told you I didn't want you to take that one."

"He's a man now, Rita," Rosco's voice said. "Let the boy take what he wants. He fetched a pretty penny yesterday, selling all that slave pussy. Let him have his fun."

It was surreal. While my family chatted about which ride's Skeeter could take, I gasped and grunted like a farm animal as my slave honey was harvested. Was my fate sealed, a done deal? Rita had said she would free me IF I passed the test, but I had failed it, miserably and publicly.

When Rosco referred to "all that slave pussy" that had "fetched a pretty penny", I knew I was part of the sale he should be rewarded for. Rita had not objected, or attempted to distinguish me from the other Pleasure Sluts. Why reward him for a sale you planned to reverse?

"Please," I whimpered, finally regaining my voice as the men behind me, their bread basket full, finally let my poor pussy rest. "Don't let them brand me."

"Brand you?" Rita said. "Skeeter, you were supposed to cancel that. Are y'all trying to play some trick on yer' poor little Anna-Annie? You little scamp!" she chuckled.

"I'd love to see her ass logoed," Rosco said. "Serve her right for prick teasing poor Skeeter all these years. Besides, he stamps that goofy bug on all his junk. Seems only right he should stamp it on her ass, seeing as how he's the one who sold 'er."

"I dunno," Rita said. "Seems mighty painful."

"Naw, slave girls don't hardly feel it," Rosco said, dismissing her concerns. "Remember, with all those endorphins from cumming all the time, they don't feel pain like a human would. You wanted her to have the full experience, right? Well, branding is part of bein' a Pleasure Slut. It gives them a sense of belonging. They crave it. It's what they need."

"Well, she did want the full experience," Rita said, obviously mulling it over. "I gave her my word I'd help her."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Branding me was helping me? "No, not like that! I'm not a Pleasure Slut," I protested.

"Ayn't ya? I gotta bill-of-sale in my purse, all nice-and-legal, that says you are," Rita scolded. "You couldn't even hold out for 20 seconds! And yer' coming so much, I'm afraid that pussy of yours is going to short out my phone. I bet the thought of gittin' Skeeter's little doodle bug burned into yer' ass set's yer' little peanut slave brain off like a rocket."

I was going to protest, but just then, my pussy started buzzing. Not buzzing...vibrating. Skeeter was using his phone to crank up the internal vibrator planted on my clit!

"Nooooooo! Nooooooo!" I shouted as I rocked through another slave-gasm.

"Shit, I can't even watch you anymore, Annie. I'm going inside, to watch the Mariachi Band Christmas show. Come on, Rosco."

"Noooooo! NOOOO!!" I screamed, as I heard the tiny CLICK of the last person who might save me from the branding iron giving up on me.

As soon as his mom was off the phone, my naughty nephew started giggling. "Sorry, Anna-Annie, but I didn't want you to spoil all the fun. Don't worry, I'll cancel the branding, as soon as I'm done with my ride. But I'm next in line, so I gotta go... and you gotta cum, ha-ha!"

"No, wait!" I heard the audible click in my ear as Skeeter, too, hung up on me.

As if on cue, the blacksmith walked in, accompanied by a group of students carrying notebooks and pads. My satisfaction at seeing Veronica put into the bee costume for "honey pot duties" was tempered as behind me the blacksmith read out the work order on my ass.

"Okay, folks, we got a piece of Prime, freshly sold, that needs branding. Jennifer, cream up her ass. Steven and Peter, lock her down so she can't wiggle, because this is really going to smart. This is a special order, with multiple brands, so I wanted to show you how it's done. She's going to get a Big D logo branded on her inside butt cheek -- that's the easy one. Roger, you can do that burn. Then we're going to put a bug logo on her ass. You can do that, Juan. But we're going to have to do each of the legs and the antenna separately, because these are very fine lines. That will give each of you a chance to have a hot iron in your hand, and get the feel of a girl's ass jerk under a real branding iron."

Skeeter, the little imp, had left my vibrator humming. All I could do was squirm with pleasure as I listened to the smith describe my branding.

Jennifer, a little blonde bitch with a Rachel haircut, gave me a mocking wince of sympathy, followed by a wide grin as she worked the branding cream into my ass cheeks and between. Behind me, the other students were grinning, with the boys not even bothering to try and hide their erections. One bitchy girl whispered something to another, and she laughed.

Despite the buzzing in my pussy, I finally managed human speech. "Mistake... Mistake this is," mangling my syntax like a slave girl Yoda. "I'm not a Pleasure Slut," I gasped.

"They, like, all say that," one of the girls said. "Not even original."