Sandy Foot Girl Ch. 06: On Brand

Tears flowed out of my eyes and down my cheeks. It wasn't because he was lying about me, but because he was telling the truth. There was no use fighting the conditioning I designed. Numbers don't lie, the image in the mirror didn't lie, and Judges and court orders don't lie, either. I was who I was. I realized at that moment how sage and sensible Judge Parker was, and what a stupid, brainless little bimbo I had been all along.

I had told myself I was pretending to be a slave girl on the auction block, to avoid Timmy's whip. But the truth is, it was my life BEFORE the block that had been the fake, the charade. Judge Rufus Parker, in his infinite, all powerful wisdom, had revealed who I really was, with a stroke of his pen. Realizing my true identity, I sunk deeper into my role.

"That's it...yeah tickle the little vent with your tongue, slave girl. That's where the big creamy surprise is comin'. Just like a dreamsicle. Suck on it like it's your momma's titty. The milk's comin', girl. Yeah, yer' hungry for my spunk, ayn't you? All you save sluts are. Wanna taste my POWER. You wanna taste the POWER of the man who signed yer' dumb ass into slavery, and is gonna stick a red hot brandin' iron right up between yer' cheeks. Suck it, slave girl. Suck on my gavel."

"I'm not gonna lie to you, slut. The iron's gonna burn. It's gonna burn like fire. But it's fer' yer own good. Y'all gotta trust that Judge Rufus know best. You gotta LEARN yer' place, Sandy Foot Girl! You gotta stop thinkin' ya'll gotta brain, or any reason fer' existin' besides sucking dicks and humpin'."

He was right. I looked up at him like he was a God. I flicked my tongue under the underside of his fat bulbous penis, straining to please my master, focusing on my reason to exist, his cock.

"Now when I shoot my load in yer mouth, I don't want ya' swallowing. I want you to spread it round yer' mouth with your tongue, so ya' getta REAL good taste. I want that taste in your mouth when I put that red-hot iron on yer' backside, and mark you as a slave slut FOREVER. Ha-ha-ha."

Could you believe I could feel my pussy spasm and moisture as he said that? I hated him more than I had ever hated anything, but still I sucked harder, eager for his delicious seed.

"Yer probably wonderin' who bought ya. Well, truth is, I don't even give a shit. I didn't even bother to turn around and look, cuz when it comes to what happens to you, I'm clear out of fucks-to-give. Yer just another slave girl, and your skanky ass is SOLD."

Judge Parker was right. It didn't matter who bought me. After all, I was only as slave girl.

He thrust his little wiener deeper into my mouth. It wasn't big enough to reach my throat, even fully erect, but I gagged anyway.

"Remember what ya' wrote in my book, slave girl? 'From Sarah, the sassy Yankee who got away.' Who got away! There's a hoot, too! Bet you don't feel like you got away now, with my pecker in your mouth. Do you, slave girl?"

I swirled my tongue around trying to please him as he wiggled his sausage in my mouth, trying to bring him to climax. "Oh, you like that, don't you? Don't you, whore? Yeah, you wanna give yer first ever slave kiss to the man who made all of this possible: Rufus Parker, yer Judge, jury, and executioner, ha-ha!"

I flicked my tongue against the vent, and pressed up on his penis with the floor of my mouth.

That did it! I cried out as the first hot spurt blasted onto my tongue. It was thick, salty, and putrid, just like the man who produced it. Instinctively, I wanted to spit it out, but I did not. I was a only a slave girl, and he was a Judge, the embodiment of the law, and all that was powerful and wise. In contrast, I was a Pleasure Slut, bought and sold, and I needed to taste what he was giving me.

"That's it! Like that taste? Suck it up, slave girl! Suck up the scum of the man who collared you. Suck up the jizz of Judge Rufus T. Parker."

Judge Parker made me open up my mouth, to prove that my tongue was caked in his salty splooge. I did, reveling in the taste of my master's spunk.

Judge Parker eased himself into a standing position and zipped up his pants, as one of the wranglers pulled the chair out of the way. Reaching into the brazier, he extracted the branding iron by the wooden handle, and held the glowing tip so close that I could feel the heat on my face.

He looked at me and smiled. "You know where this is goin', don't ya, girl?"

My heart racing, I nodded.

"It's quite an honor, being a Sandy Foot Girl, and gettin' to wear the mark of The Big D. Ya' understand what a PRIVLEDGE this is, don't ya?"

Again, I nodded as he fed me the bullshit from the marketing materials I had written.

"You're gonna feel this for a long time. Right between your cheeks. It won't decrease yer resale value, but when you bend and spread -- and you'll be doin' that a LOT - everyone will see yer a Sandy Foot Girl! Whenever y'all take a step, or wipe yourself, of get fucked, and feel that brand, I want you to remember who put the iron up yer' dumb ass. Think ya' can remember that, dummy?"

I nodded, signaling his importance in my life as the one man I would never forget.

With his free hand he stroked my cheek as he moved the red-hot branding iron in so I could inspect it closely. I was panting, and drooling, and felt like I might pass out. Sensing my terror, he gently stroked my blonde hair, like I was a puppy he was trying to calm.

"Yeah, it's going to hurt. But pain is how we learn. That's what you said in your stupid fuckin' book, isn't it?" He blew on the tip of the branding head, causing it to glow. "Well, I'm gonna learn you GOOD."

For a moment, I was back on stage at the Slave Expo, lecturing the crowd. Well dressed with a skirt short enough to provoke interest, I strutted across the stage, enjoying my power.

Should all Pleasure Sluts be branded? Absolutely! No pain, no gain. Remember, pain is the only thing the little bitches understand. Pain and its accompanying twin, shame, are essential to a slave girl's education, and there is no such thing as too much education.

I know some women out there whine, "Oh, but it hurts! Tough shit. It's supposed to hurt. Enjoy the power you feel from branding their assess, and letting them know you're in charge. Every Pleasure Slut wants a master who will totally possess her, and nothing shows your control better than a brand on their big, sexy backsides.

As I said "big, sexy backsides", I turned, and kissing my finger, "branded" my own butt. They stared, mouths agape. I had them eating out of their palm of my hand.

I could see a man in the front row trying to look up my skirt. It would be a real treat for him if he could, because I wasn't wearing any panties. I moved closer to the front of the stage, and spread my legs a bit, enjoying his slobber and relishing my power over him as stared up at me, longing to see more.

And never -- and I mean never -- use anesthesia! I've had more than one little slut tell me that when the iron pressed down, and they could smell the stink of their burning flesh, the pain was so intense they felt certain that they were going to die. But they didn't, and so they were "born again", their old lives of wrist watches and reading gone. No more fancy clothes and men fawning over them.

I always enjoyed this part of my lecture, for as I said "reading", I indicated my own glasses, and as I said "wristwatches", I showed them my own solid gold apple watch. For fancy clothes I ran my hands over my own sexy body, as I let the horny men in the audience imagine me naked, not on a stage, but on an auction block.

No need to buy them jewelry, gentlemen, or clothes for that matter. A shock collar will suffice.

If you're using multiple brands -- and I sure hope you do -- have some smelling salts handy, because you don't want the lazy little bitches napping on you after the first couple of brands.

Branding is a transformative experience, at least for them, but the little airheads aren't going to learn if you let them sleep through class. You want them bright eyed, and bushy tailed. You want them ready for school.

"Ya' ready for school?" Judge Parker said, his voice merging in with the voice in my head. "I know I don't brand most of the girls I enslave," he noted. "But I wanted to be here to watch 'em auction off that hot little pussy of yers, and be the first one to shoot my load into yer mouth, and to brand yer sweet little ass."

As he moved the branding head into position, I cried out in fear as I begged him to spare me. My pleas came out like gibberish with my mouth in an "O". The Judge laughed.

"Don't try to talk. Talking means thinkin', and your thinkin' days are over. Well, let's git to it, then. Strike while the iron is hot!"

Behind me I felt one of the slave wranglers spread my butt cheeks widely apart as the Judge walked behind me, branding iron in hand.

My mind flashed to Rebecca Cook. She was sitting in her office, the one I had designed for her, with the view of the naked slave girls coffled together and toiling in the garden. The sweat was rolling off me as the heat from the forge rolled over me. Rebecca's office was air conditioned, and she'd be enjoying an ice tea as she looked up my slave tag and reviewed B-269's Profit-Per-Pussy.

"This is gonna hurt you more than its gonna hurt me!" Judge Parker chuckled.

At my suggestion, Jake had added a most peculiar product to the accouterments sold at the slave mall attached to my redesigned Big D. It was a self-inking rubber stamp with The Big D's brand, designed so that a woman playing slave girl could brand herself between the cheeks. It only cost a couple of dollars to make, but I priced it at $39.95, and placed it with the other impulse items at the register.

I had tried it out myself, for purposes of product testing, of course. It was actually quite a turn-on, and I ended up on all fours in my bedroom, kneeling between my two dressing mirrors with my legs spread wide so I could masturbate while d-splaying and admiring exquisite and beautiful brand.

They fake brands sold like hotcakes, and Jake was pleased. Nonetheless, I had Jake pull the item. After using it several times, I realized it lacked the ridges and scarring of a real brand, and, of course, the pain, which was central to the experience.

"We mustn't cheapen the brand," I explained. "The D brand is a mark of pride. If a girl wants to wear The Big D's logo, it should be an authentic experience."

Here it comes, slave girl. You're going to have an authentic experience burned right into your sweet little ass. Hold still, because you want it to be beautiful, a brand your master will be proud to D-splay!

The pain was blinding. Every muscle in my body jerked against the metal and leather restraints holding me firmly in place, and I understood why I had been fastened down in such an absurdly secure way. As he pressed the brand home hard, into the inside skin of my butt crack, everything in front of me turned orange. The only senses I had were the smell of my burning skin and the sound of my own screams mixed in with Judge Rufus Parker's laughter. Time froze, and the pain seemed to last forever, as my most epic slave-gasm crashed into my twitching pussy and the voice in my head kicked in.

You are so lucky! Not only are you a real Sandy Foot Girl, but now you've been badged. What an honor! Masters will see what a quality piece of tail you are, when they spread your cheeks to fuck you up the ass. The other Pleasure Sluts will be so jealous, when you bend and D-splay!

I hoped Rebecca Cook was watching my multiple orgasms, for I knew she would be SO jealous. The pleasure my slutty pussy hole was experiencing was a sensation impossible for a free woman to imagine.

As I passed out from the combination of pleasure and pain, I knew that from this moment on, the logo for "The Big D" would always be a part of me. No matter who I was pleasuring me, or where I was sold, I would always be on brand.