Sandy Foot Girl Ch. 01: Slave Naked

As embarrassing as it was, I was very conscious of the riding crop that Rosa had picked up off the desk and was now tapping against her fat little hand. Trying not to make too big a show of it, I took off my panties as demurely as possible and handed them to Rosa to drop in the bag.

No such luck. Instead of dropping them she checked the crotch. "They're soaked!" she cackled. "Little puta likes taking off her clothes."

Rosa handed them to Becky Lou, who fingered the crotch and then held them up to her hose to take a good whiff! "Whoo-eee!" she said. "Smells like Miss Fancy Britches got the Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, right between her legs!"

Becky Lou made a point of showing the people looking through the window my crotch stain before dropping my last remaining garment in my bag.

"Rug matches the drapes," Becky Lou noted, staring at my closely trimmed pubic patch. "That will increase her price. All nice and blonde and golden, like a baby canary."

"More like a glory hole on an I-35 truck stop", Rosa sneered. "I hope they get a Brillo pad and scrub out any crotch critters before they put her smelly twat on the block."

"They know what they are doing," Becky Lou replied. "They've handle her sort everyday."

My sort? Who "they" were or where I was going was still a mystery, but I had more immediate concerns. Spinning me around Rosa expertly zip-tied my hands behind my back before I even knew what was happening.

"I see this ayn't yer first rodeo," Becky Lou said, complimenting her co-worker on her speed and dexterity. "I'm not sure when they're going auction her. It's getting late, so they may do it tomorrow, or let her sit in the sale inspection pens for a week. I'll set a notification on my phone, to make sure I can get there in time for the auction."

"Here that, fancy britches?" Rosa said, fondling my ass as she whispered into my ear. "Better hope she gets her notification, before they sell your juicy coochie to some Mexican puta palace."

"I'm done with her," Becky Lou said dismissively. "Ship her out."

Rosa pushed me toward the door.

"Wait! I said. "Don't take me out there... in front of everyone... like this! Give me something to wear."

"Oh, that's right," Becky Lou said. I was gonna give you this to cover up with."

Beck Lou took a plastic slave poncho out of her desk drawer and shook it out. It had a hole for a head, and would cover my body without having to remove the cuffs.

Becky Lou reached up to put it over my head, but then stopped.

"You know, I got this fer ya' when you were fancy pants consultant, but you sure-as-shit ayn't that now," she said thoughtfully. "I COULD put this on you, and cover ya' up," she paused, drawing out the suspense, "but I like you just fine the way you are, Sarah, ha-ha!" she said, tweaking my nose.

"Please," I pleaded. "I'm a college Professor. I teach at Harvard!"

"No, you're a pleasure slut, and I got the court order to prove it," she said. "You're not a consultant, you're a slave, and slaves go to market slave naked. So long, pleasure slut. See ya' on the auction block."

I found out what "slave naked" meant firsthand when Rosa flung open the door, grabbed my ear, and propelled me forward with a sharp SLAP across my naked ass.

Rosa swatted me into the crowd of grinning gawks. Several of them took advantage to run a finger through my blonde strawberry patch, tug my curly blond hair, or squeeze my breasts or bottom. With my hands cinched behind my back there was nothing I could do to protect myself.

"Coming through! Coming through!" Rosa shouted, propelling me forward as one hand yanked my ear while the other fondled my naked ass. "Fresh slave pussy! Fresh pussy! Hot, wet, and ready!"

I blushed, partially because of my nudity, but mostly because everything she was saying was true. The institutional flooring felt cold and dirty, but as the much shorter Hispanic woman was holding me up by my ear I was walking mostly on the balls of my feet.

The elevator bank was dead ahead, but Rosa turned right, pushing me into the main aisle and parading me past literally dozens of government workers. "Coming through! Fresh Slave Pussy!" she yelled, attracting as much attention as possible. She was doing everything but ringing a bell.

With my glasses in my bag I couldn't see the detailed expressions of the workers smiling at me, but I could hear their wolf whistles.

"Nice slave pussy."

"All moist and juicy."

"Bet she's a great hump."

"Yeah, if she moves her big ass, ha-ha!"

Rosa was putting me on "slave parade." The worst part was that the more people ogled me, and hooted at me, and humiliated me, the wetter I got. If I were an actual slave girl, I'd call it "block pussy", the reaction that the most lascivious slave meat gets when they are exposed on the auction block.

Seeing the lustful looks and cruel smirks I tried to talk myself down. "You're not slave pussy. You're name is Sarah, and you teach at Harvard, and you have a million dollar slave consulting business. You are an intelligent, highly educated professional woman, respected in the field. Yes, there is a court order making you a pleasure slut, but that's just for show. I am not a pleasure slut. I am not a pleasure slut."

Rosa stopped in the break room, leaving me standing in front of at least a dozen people as she leisurely drank a glass of water. A hard slap on my ass and we were out the door again, rounding the corner.

"What's the matter, little puta? Don't you like being slave naked? You'd better get used to everyone staring at your coochie, because no one is going to bother giving clothes to a little slut like you."

She paraded me slave naked around the entire floor, subjecting me to countless leers, stares, wolf whistles, and lewd comments. After making sure everyone had their fun with me, she brought me back to where we started, and we took the freight elevator down.

My cage was waiting for me at the loading dock. Rosa stuffed a putrid brown canvas bit gag into my mouth, then yanked the strap tight before buckling it onto the back of my head. The pony bit forced my mouth into a permanent forced smile, and she teased it was wonderful to see me "so happy to be sold."

Rosa snapped a temporary collar around my neck and locked it into place. My pet crate had a sleeve for my bill of lading, but it was paper. The collar had a chip in it that would track everywhere I went.

A hard slap across my ass punctuated her command to get into "doggie position, bitch". I dropped on all fours and backed into my pet crate. I watched in horror as the smiling Rosa made a big show of closing the latch and locking it shut with a tiny padlock.

Rosa laughed as I stupidly bounced the lock off the tip of my nose, a futile gesture that only proved how helpless I truly was.

"I'm sorry I'm not going to be able to watch them sell your hot, stinky coochie, my little white puta," she sneered, hitting me on the nose with her finger. "But if we meet again, maybe I'll have time to let you eat my pussy."

I was loaded onto a rusty white panel truck by a large Hispanic truck driver who said nothing to me. He pointed a bar code scanner at me, and it gave out a satisfied BEEP! as I was scanned into his inventory. Great. I was now "goods in transit."

The driver wasn't wearing a uniform. Was this even a delivery service? Where the fuck was I going, anyway? The truck had something written on the side, but without my glasses I couldn't read it. I didn't need to read, or know where I was going. I was a stupid, illiterate slave girl.

As my journey progressed, the depth of my feeble mindedness and stupidity became readily apparent. The truck wasn't air conditioned, and quickly turned into a pizza oven. Like the foolish little bimbo I was, I drooled as I chewed my disgusting leather bit and stupidly hit the little lock with my nose as if that would accomplish anything.

I assumed I was going to be sold locally, but we went out onto the highway and my head hit the barred ceiling of my crate over-and-over. After the first hour of banging around in my pet crate, it became obvious that my journey would be a long one.

Where were we going? The biggest slave markets were in Houston, although San Antonio, being a tourist hub, also did a brisk business. I knew Becky Lou was testing the system; was she going to sell me out of state, in New Orleans? Arkansas was a hellhole; she wouldn't send me there, would she?

I hoped I wasn't going to Mexico. That could be bad... very bad.

Squeezing my thighs together I passed the time by masturbating myself to multiple orgasms as the delivery truck with no shocks hauled me down the highway to parts unknown.