Sandy Foot Girl Ch. 06: On Brand

I looked into the seemingly endless array of thick, wooden branding iron handles protruding from the hot coals. There were at least a dozen of them, stuck into the coals in an apparently haphazard, higgledy-piggledy manner. But I knew that this was a ruse, and that the blacksmith knew exactly which brands were located where. This was his artist's palate, his paint brushes, if you will, and my naked ass, stuck high in the air, was the canvas for his art.

I smelled Judge's Rufus Parker's obnoxious cigar before I saw him. He waddled up to one of the assistants with a big smile and the confidence of a man used to lording it over others. His white cowboy hat was covering his ridiculous comb-over, and the short man was now towering over me, but it was him, the same loathsome sideburns, bulging belly hanging over his belt, and ugly goatee.

I clenched my fists in balls of helpless anger when I saw he was still holding my book, the one I had autographed for him at the book signing, "Profit Per Pussy: The Art and Science of Slaving." The irony was palpable. I had literally written the book on what he had done to me, and the bastard had sat in the front row and watched as they auctioned me off like a bitch in heat. As if watching my auction wasn't humiliating enough, he had come backstage to watch the final, definitive, and irreversible part of my transformation from executive slave consultant to Pleasure Slut.

Judge Parker strolled to the front of the line, and began scanning down the row of girls, searching for me. He seemed troubled, and turned to one of the apprentice forgers, a young man with a bandaged hand.

"Which one is B-269?" he said, identifying me by lot number. The apprentice didn't even look up, or check his sheet. "Rack 16, 4th from the end, your Honor," he said.

Slave girls should be made to wait for their brand. The blacksmith's time is valuable. Hers is not. If the little bimbo had any brains she wouldn't be in a branding rack. After her performance on the block she'll be dazed and confused. Give the little ditz plenty of time to contemplate what's going to happen to her, and to listen to the other girls screams.

Judge Rufus T. Parker's beady eyes scanned down the row until our eyes met. With mock curtesy, the man who had signed my enslavement papers tipped his white cowboy to me, as if he were greeting a well-dressed lady in the street. My bottom flexed as another girl was branded, her gagged screams ringing in my ears. Judge Parker smiled, and winked knowingly at me.

"Judge Parker, what an honor!" a familiar voice said, rounding the corner. "What brings you here today?" It was Jake, striding in like he owned the place, because he did.

"I was in the area, and I thought I might drop by," Judge Parker said casually, as Jake pumped his hand. Jake greeted the Judge warmly. As a slaving judge, Judge Parker could route business to The Big D.

It had been my idea to give the slaving judges and select government officials backstage passes and reserved parking at The Big D, and "free access" to all the girls. I called it "fact finding missions", but behind the scenes I called them "bimbo bribes", a chance to get some more pussy into inventory by giving away a little slave tail. As a result of my cleverness, the bastard who had retaliated against my insults by enslaving me was going to be able to savor his vengeance by watching my butt branding, at my invitation no less.

As per my directions, Jake buttered the fat Judge up. "Well, it's always a pleasure to see ya', yer' Honor. Let us all know if there's anything we can do to make yer' stay more, uh, pleasurable."

"Well, there is ONE thing," Judge Parker said, taking off his hat and wiping the sweat off his bald head as he sauntered into the bribery portion of the conversation. There was an uppity little blue tag girl who insulted me in front of some of my friends at a slaving conference, and she's getting her ass branded today. I was wondering if I might get her to pay me a little LIP SERVICE before we put the iron to her."

My fists clenched in helpless balls of anger as I listened to Judge Parker casually request permission to shoot his filthy spluge in my mouth. As if enslaving me, and branding me wasn't humiliating enough, now I was going to have to suck the dick of the man who had put the official government seal on my enslavement forms.

Yet like all disasters, this was also an opportunity. Jake knew who I was. I had transformed The Big D. We had spent hours together, reviewing every facet of his business. Even naked on the branding rack, with my ass in the air, and sand in my hair, and the O gag making me look like a bimbo slut clown, I knew Jake would recognize me. What's more, Jake OWED me. Every aspect of his business, from the workflow to the placement of the branding racks in front of the forge, had been my idea.

"Jake! Jake!" I cried out. It came out as "EHHH! EHHH!"

Jake turned and looked at me. "Is that the one?"

"Yup, that's her!" the Judge responded.

"Looks like she can't wait fer it!" Jake chuckled. "Wanna come to my office for a drink before ya' go?" Jake said, returning his attention to the Judge. "Seems like it's about time I donated to yer re-election, and maybe we can chat about gittin' some more of those business and farm foreclosure girls routed over to The Big D."

"Lotsa girls heading to the block, what with their husbands and daddies going bankrupt," the Judge agreed. "Have the check and yer' best Bourbon ready, Son," Judge Parker said, shaking Jake's hand.

They talked for a minute more, and as I stared at the heating branding irons, I had to listen to them talk about whether the Cowboys would make the playoffs this year, and their favorite places for beef brisket. Bastards! As I squirmed, nostrils flaring, listening to them prattle, I heard another girl scream, then another. The work ground on.

Their utterly banal chatter underscored the routine, bureaucratic nature of the process. My brown pucker hole twitched, clenched, and unclenched in frightful anticipation. Once or twice I whimpered loudly, or tried to catch Jake's eye. He paid me no mind. I was just another drooling, sniveling slave girl, sold goods awaiting "badging", unworthy of his managerial attention.

Almost absentmindedly, Judge Parker took one of the wooden handled branding irons out of the fire. I tensed when I saw the glowing orange head bore the logo of The Big D that I had designed.

The moment had come! I was going to be branded.

However, to my surprise, he loosened the strap around my waist, then walked behind me. I gasped as he slid the wooden handle between my legs, and it pressed against my desperate for release love button. I was both terrified and turned on. I could feel the heat from the branding head that would soon be burning my ass, but I could also feel the handle rubbing against my clit. What was a girl to do?

I knew that as he chatted up the Judge, out of the corner of his eye Jake was watching me, or at least, he was watching my shapely ass and pussy, as I began to slide up and down the wooden handle.

The vintage hickory handle was worn, and might well have been used on the old time cattle drives Dallas was famous for. But even as I rubbed my clit on the venerable old hickory stick, I blushed with shame, for I knew it had probably never suffered the sort of abuse I was subjecting it to now.

I had wanted to get Jake's attention, but not this way. Subtlety, he changed positions, all the while chattering on with the Judge about his BBQ secrets.

"The key to good pork but is THE RUB. You got to really work in the spices nice and slow, while the meat is all soft and moist."

I rubbed harder and faster. I gasped in humiliation as my slave-gasm approached, but things got infinite worse when the handle was withdrawn, and the rubbing stopped! I bucked my hips, looking for something to hump while behind me, the laughing Judge blew a smoke ring with his foul cigar.

As I squirmed with shame, he took his cigar out of his mouth, and inserted the "cap" end he had been sucking on into my moist, wet pussy. He rolled it around, using me to flavor his smoke, before removing it and putting it back into his mouth.

As if being used as a human humidor wasn't humiliating enough, the Judge positioned the rounding wooded branding iron handle against my pussy lips, and ever so slowly began to push forward.

I couldn't believe it. He was fucking me with the handle of the branding iron! I wish I could say that I stopped him, or Jake stopped him, or at the least, I didn't push back against the stick, driving it deep inside me as I struggled to come! But no. I fucked the stick, and I fucked it hard!

Jake continued. "The key to a good pig roast is time. Put the spit in, and just let them spin. That's how you smoke their meat. That's how you get the really tasty pork butt."

I wish I could say that this humiliating commentary slowed me down, but instead, it spurred me on. Desperate for release, I rode the beaten-up old hickory handle like a pogo stick, bouncing up and down on it, as my ho-hole stretched and slurped to accommodate as much length and girth as I could muster. Again, the voice in my head kicked in.

That's it, slave girl! Ride the lightening! Show Jake what a skanky ho you are! Yeah, he's your last chance to save your ass from the branding iron you're riding, but better that he focus on your hot, wet, gash, because that's all you are. Show 'em the merchandise, girl, and EARN that brand! Forget about your dignity, because that's long gone. You don't have a brain, or a personality, or anything to offer other than your tight, wet holes. Don't be putting on heirs, Sandy Foot Girl! You're nothing but a slurpy pussy that needs to be fucked, so hump, hump, hump like the whore you are!

See those cameras on the ceiling? The ones that are moving around and zooming in on you? It's probably Miss Cook in her office, sipping her tea and laughing as she looks up your PPP on her side monitor, while on her big screen you drool like an idiot, and your slurpy pussy sucks up your slut stick.

The odd part is that as I edged closer to coming, I enjoyed the rush and exhilaration that only a slave girl can feel. Humiliating as it was, a part of me that hoped that Rebecca WAS watching. Yes, she'd look down her nose at me, and view me as a disgusting pig slut, but I also knew she'd envy the pleasure and total abandon only a slave girl can feel.

I had gotten Jake's attention, and he watched me ride the old wooden handle like a bride on her wedding night. I was still trying to come when he bid the Judge well, turned, and walked away, taking my last hope of being saved from the branding iron with him. When he was gone, the Judge withdrew the now soaking wet stick from my fuck hole and smiled.

"Wow, you greased this up good, didn't you? Quite a show you put on for old Jake. Did you think he'd recognize ya?" he said, laughing derisively. "Like he could even see your face, when you were showing him what a randy piece of slave tail you are."

Judge Parker was right. It would have been unspeakably mortifying if Jake had recognized me, but to have him not recognize me was even worse. It confirmed that Sara Hollister, architect of The Big D, was now simply B-269.

"You truly did go slave stupid, didn't ya? Don't worry, it's all part of the processing. Yer' gonna find that yer brains just sorta melt away, like a snow cone on a hot Texas sidewalk. No use fightin' it. I still remember you up on the stage during the conference, strutting around like you fucking invented slavery. You remember signing my book? He opened it and read my inscription aloud:

To Rufus Paker, the fattest judge in Texas, with love from Sarah, the sassy Yankee who got away!

"Do you remember Sara, insulting me in front of everyone? Teasing me about stroking my gavel in court? Well, I damn near came in my pants when I embossed my seal on your slave papers. But don't worry none, slave girl, because I saved a nice big load, just for you."

Judge Parker turned and said something to the apprentice, who casually pulled one of the irons out of the fire and handed it to the Judge.

I cried in panic and the slobber ran out of my mouth as he held the glowing orange head up in front of my terrified eyes.

"This is the logo of The Big D," he said, man-splaining the logo I had helped re-design. It's quite an honor to be auctioned off Broadway block at The Big D, to be a "Sandy Foot Girl", and to wear this logo. I hope you appreciate it, slave girl, and wear it with PRIDE," he said, punctuating his comment with an evil chuckle.

"If it were up to me, after seein' you piss yourself, I'd just brand the word PIG right on your forehead. But don't worry, we'll get to your brandin' in a tick! First, I'm going to let you thank me for putting your sweet little Yankee twat up on the auction block. And we all know how slave girls thank their masters, don't we?"

Rufus returned my branding iron to the brazier, burying the head deep in the glowing orange coals. "Don't want to let it get cold, ha-ha!" he cackled, looking like a fat devil in a cheap, white suit.

"But before we get to yer' slave kiss, I want to try out that tight little winker of yours," he said, tapping me on the asshole, "especially since you like showing it off so much, both here, and on the block. I'll finish in your mouth, but I think you need to take it up the ass from me, to teach you respect for yer' betters, and the law!"

I gasped as Rufus T. Parker reached between my legs and effortlessly slipped two of his pudgy fingers into my hot, wet, pussy. "That is one juicy snatched," he sneered, enjoying my shame as I wiggled on his fingers. "Prime beaver meat, wet and ready for fuckin'. You're slave hot, even now. Don't be ashamed. You can't change who ya are!"

I gasped and pushed back against his fingers, savoring the sensation. I was so close to coming! The Judge laughed. "You want to hump the hand that's gonna brand you, slave girl? Shit, you really are a brainless bimbo, aren't you?"

I gasped as he pulled his fingers out of me. Another few seconds and I would have cum! But he was not interested in my pleasure, as he was fingering my wet twat simply to shame me, and point out what a shameless slut I really was. "Time to git this show on the road," he said.

I whimpered as I felt the bulbous head of his penis tickling my most private spot. "You were a real tight ass when I met you at the slaving conference," he said, relishing the suspense as he pressed against my opening. "Now I'm going to put your sweet ass to use."

I couldn't see his penis, but I could tell he was tiny, and I cried out as much from the shame as the pain as he forced his unlubricated knob all the way into me with a single brutal thrust. "Oh, that's nice!" he chortled. "Nice and tight. Remember, this is fer' you own good, blue state girl. Maybe you won't be so uppity, when you remember how I stuck my dick up your ass."

He only spent about a minute fucking me, but it was a rigorous minute indeed. "Gotta pace myself. It'd be easy to blow a load up yer' pooper, but I want you to taste my salty seed."

Judge Parker signaled to one of the slave wranglers, who brought him a director's foldable chair than he was able to wiggle his fat bottom into. It brought his crotch directly in line with my open mouth. Judge Parker didn't work for The Big D, but being a judge, he obviously had influence here, and I was just another Pleasure Slut awaiting badging. The staff were delighted to let him fuck me up the ass, and service me with my mouth.

The smoke from his disgusting cigar drifted down into my nostrils. The stench was atrocious. But I soon had a worse stench to deal with as I was forced to suck on his pathetic excuse of an unwashed pecker, fresh from my ass.

It was about 3/4 erect, and about 3 inches long. It was surrounded by a thick forest of white kinky hair, and had a bulbous purple head that made it look like a purple balloon on the end of a pencil.

I would have sucked any cock to get off the auction block... any cock except this one. He was wise to have put the gag on me, to prevent me from biting down.

He laughed when I tried to turn my face away, as my head was entirely immobile. Grabbing my hair he laughed as he flicked out a few clumps of sand, then guided his little pecker into my open mouth with ease. The "O" in the gag wasn't large, and wasn't designed for oral sex, but he was able to slide his sad little sausage in with no problem whatsoever.

"Oh, what's a matter, sweetie?" he teased. "Don't you want to suck the cock of the man who put your northern nookie up on the auction block? Well, that's too bad, because you're a slave girl now, and slave girls don't get to make them choices, do they? Git' busy, and get that tongue moving! SUCK!"

What choice did I have? His pecker was in my mouth, and it was going to stay there until he was finished. But without the ability to move my head, or even close my lips or mouth around his shaft, all I could do was frantically move my tongue to try to please him. This was going to take some time. Which gave him the chance to talk, and talk he did.

"I'm glad we all got this time for a little tongue wag, B-269. I wanna let ya' know it was me who arranged fer' yer' auction at THE BIG D. When you were braggin' about how you changed everything down there, and made it all happen like greased lightnin', I figured this was just the place to send ya, so dumb old Becky Lou and Rosa would still be sitting on their dumb asses when you were sold. Shit, they probably won't even check their phones till tomorrow."

And with that, my hopes of rescue were crushed under the heel of Judge Parker's cowboy boot.

"Kind of a hoot, ya' being PROCESSED through yer own fancy-pants system. What a stitch! Too bad you and I are the only ones who git the joke. How many girls have had their pussies sold off that auction block you setup? Bet you didn't feel like such a smarty pants, when YOU were up there, showing everybody your twat, and doing yer squats."

He was right. I felt ashamed, humiliated, broken, and violated. His revenge was sweet, while the taste in my mouth was nothing but bitter.

"That's it... suck it, blue state girl," he said, using his finger to playfully flick the blue tag on my ear as he guided my head. "You look me right in the eye while I'ze talking to ya! I wanna see the stupid look on you dumb kisser while you suck on my Texas Longhorn."

I obediently swirled my tongue as he beamed down on me with his evil, lecherous grin. Nearby, another girl scream as the branding iron found it's mark.

"Uppity college girl! Lecturin' me about slavery! Y'all don't look so high-and-mighty now that ya' got my snake in yer' mouth!"

He was right. I did not. I wanted him to come, so this could be over. But all I could do was swirl my tongue, and look him in the eye, and try to move my head as much as I could to please him.

"Fuckin' slave expert, my ass! Yer' just a fuckin' slave girl dressed up in fancy city-girl clothes. I knew you wuz a big fat fraud from the moment I saw ya', with your fancy degrees and yer snooty attitude! Standin' up on that stage, talkin' down to me! No girl knows as much about slavery lest she's got a hankerin' for the collar. I wish I could take credit, but like your book says, 'REAL Pleasure sluts are born, not made.' You remember writin' that, Professor?"

I did, and I bobbled my head to show my acquiescence as I licked his little pecker hard. "That's it, Professor! Keep yer' eyes on me while ya' suck my pecker dry. You wuz born a Pleasure Slut, just like I wuz born to put stuck-up little bitches like you in yer' place. I wish ya' could see the red welt on that big ass of yers', or the look on yer' face when you creamed yourself in front of the whole damn world! Shit! You were MADE for the collar."