Sandy Foot Girl Ch. 07: Home Cumming

He said nothing, but stared at me with mirrored eyes.

"Anyway, they thought I was a whore, and that's how they treated me. So, I had black people, and the local Indians, and dirty, swarthy Hispanic miners, fucking all my holes, 18 hours a day. They had ZERO respect for my education, or white skin, and used me like I was dirty puta, which I sort of was, I guess!" I admitted, throwing up my hands and laughing.

"I was covered in miner spunk the whole time, and even if I wanted to go out naked in the street and hose myself down, I was usually too exhausted. "Plus, when you used the outdoor shower, they sprayed you with delouser and all the guys catcalled you when you tried to rub the spunk off, so why bother? So mostly I just stank like a dirty condom, but what's a girl to do?" I said, shrugging it off like the bimbo ditz I was pretending to be. "I thought I'd never get out of there!"

"How did you escape?" he asked.

My tone changed as I stiffened at the memory of my captivity. "Escape? Ha! That's a laugh. Slave girls don't ESCAPE, stupid! At least not from a place like that. There was a big high wall around the entire compound, like a prison, and even if I got up on the roof of my hotel-whore-tell, the wall was like 20 yards away, and 30 foot higher than the roof of my miserable little shack. On top of the wall there was razor wire, and guard towers, and soldiers with machine guns. Beyond the wall there was this no-whore zone, which was patrolled by these vicious slave hounds, and then an electric fence beyond that. The pimp used to tell us if we didn't hump hard enough, they'd feed us to the dogs, and we'd be slave chow. And even if I did get beyond the electric fence, I had no money, and I didn't speak the language, and I was a naked whore covered in spunk. Where could I go?"

"Nowhere," he said. "They'd bring ya' back and whip you, then put ya back on yer mattress, so the miners could fuck ya' on yer' freshly whipped ass. So why you here, slave girl? Why ayn't ya' there, earnin' yer' tokens?"

"Well, that's the really EMBARRASSING part!" I giggled, switching tones. "I have a personal assistant, John Cinders. He's quite good looking, and he was a management consultant, too, but when his boss got caught cheating on her taxes, she framed John, and John got sent to prison. Boo-hoo! Poor little Johnny! A pretty boy like him in prison... oh they weren't very nice to him at all. His dance card was busy every night!"

"Anyway, they found out he was innocent, and he was going to get pardoned. So, I made a few phone calls, and arranged to have him paroled on work release for me instead. I made him my personal assistant. I called him "Cindy", because they made him a bitch in prison, and now he was MY bitch. I worked him very hard, and also made him run personal errands, and fetch me coffee, and give me pedicures, and hand wash my scanties. It was quite a status symbol for me, having a smart, handsome young stud that I could use as my secretary/bitch. And he didn't dare stand up for himself, because if he did, I'd send him back to that nasty old prison, where he'd have to suck ding dongs, and take it up the ass literally, instead of figuratively."

I dropped my voice to a low whisper. "Truth is, I sexually harassed him. I used to slap his ass, and once I even blindfolded him, and made him lick me, then I bent him over my desk and pegged him, good. It wasn't really a sex thing. It was just so he'd know that I was in charge. I think it's important that men who are underneath you understand what being underneath really means. It's a lesson I'd love to teach you," I added, smiling.

Now it was my turn to enjoy watching the burly cop squirm.

"Anyway, it turns out after I'd had been there about a week, my smarty pants assistant figured out what happened, and tracked me down. You can imagine how surprised I was to see him walking into my dirty whore room, wearing his suit and tie, and looking like a million bucks. He walked right by my mattress. He didn't recognize me at first, because I was naked, and had lost weight, and I was on all fours, and covered in semen. I was sucking off an Indian, while a black guy fucked me from behind."

The cop smiled. "So ya' got all slave skinny?"

"Did I ever! I was skin and bones! The water bowls we drank out of always had semen in them. They fed us out of this pig trough in front of the brothel, and we couldn't use our hands. Sometimes they'd let a customer fuck us from behind as we stuck our snouts in. The food was the cheapest slave kibble that tasted like sand and the Mexican version of orange slime, with scraps they couldn't make into dog food. I ate it, even when sometimes one of the pimps would laugh and take a whiz into the trough while we were eating. I swallowed every drop the miners gave me when they shot their loads in my mouth, just for the protein."

"As you should,' the cop said impassively. "Tell me about your assistant rescuing you."

"John kept walking around the room, looking totally disgusted, trying to wipe the spluge off his fancy shoes, until eventually one of the pimps pointed out the skinny, skanky whore in the corner taking on all comers, or all cummers."

I gave the cop my slyest smile. "Let me tell you, Officer Friendly, Mr. John Cinders looked SHOCKED, ha-ha! But then he got a little smirk on his face, and the pimp even got him a chair, so he could watch as the two dirty, stinking beaners had their way with me."

"So, John freed you?" the Deputy asked. "I wouldn't have."

"Well, that's a story, too!" I giggled. "He actually used my firm's money to purchase me from the brothel, and he had a First-Class ticket to fly me back to New York, along with my passport. Naturally, I told him I couldn't go."

"Why not?" the Deputy said, looking genuinely confused.

"Ha-ha! You silly boy! That's the same look he got on his face. Because, dumb-dumb, Judge Parker had signed an enslavement order, which meant that I was still a Pleasure Slut. You can't put a Pleasure Slut in a First-Class seat, and fly her back to Manhattan, and hand her the keys to a million-dollar condo overlooking Central Park. I told him I wasn't leaving until Judge Parker reversed my enslavement order, and that he should leave me in the brothel, because I was still a Pleasure Slut, and until he fixed it, I was precisely where I belonged."

"But if ya' STAYED, that means they made ya'..."

"Suck and fuck dirty brown cocks all day?" I said, giggling. "Yes, unfortunately, that's EXACTLY what I meant. I hated it. I despised it. But I was a Pleasure Slut, and that's what Pleasure Sluts do. Them's the rules! Mr. Cinders didn't understand, either. So, I crawled over to his chair, unzipped his pants, and gave Mr. John Cinders the most amazing hummer he had ever had in his life!"

"You sucked yer' gofer's dick?" the Deputy said, looking genuinely shocked.

"He wasn't my gofer anymore, you silly-willy! He was an important American management consultant, in an expensive suit, and he had just bought me, and I was nothing but a filthy, cum splattered, whorehouse Pleasure Slut. I looked up at him with AWE as I sucked his dick, and I loved him the way only a slave girl can love her master. After all of the filthy lowlifes I had been sucking off, it was truly an honor to have a great man like Mr. John Cinders put his clean, handsome, white pecker in my filthy, ho-ho mouth."

"I gave him the world's best slave kiss, and swished his delicious scum around in my mouth like it was vintage wine. While I was cleaning his shoes with my tongue, I humbly suggested he take a picture of me getting fucked, so that Judge Parker would see how horrible conditions were, and reverse my enslavement. So, he got out his phone, and took pictures of me getting gang-banged by three guys at once, and texted it to Judge Parker, along with a note pleading for him to reverse my enslavement."

"Did Judge Parker bother to reply?" the Deputy asked.

"Right away. He sent a two-word answer: MORE PICTURES."

"So like a total ditz I told him that sometimes when there weren't a lot of customers, they made me go out and troll for business. He talked to my pimp, and before you know it, they dragged me off the mattress, still splattered in jizz. They put me in a pink tube top, and a short skirt, and little pink booties, and turned me out in the street, like a common street hooker. Golly gosh gee! Can you imagine me, dressed like a ho-ho, trolling for business?" I tittered.

His rapid breathing and the bulge in his pants showed that his sunglasses were now a movie screen, as he was picturing me shaking my titties for the swarthy miners.

"Mr. Cinders filmed me calling out to men as they passed by, flashing my pussy, and begging them to fuck me. Then he sent the film of me street hooking to that big meanie Judge Parker. How humiliating!"

"I thought for sure Judge Parker would free me, when he saw how I had to humiliate myself like the lowliest of putas. But he just sent back another text: MORE PICTURES.

"I got TOTALLY flustered, so like a total blonde my bimbo-brain told John that sometimes they made me pose in the big picture window of the brothel, that faced the street, to draw in customers. I said it was too bad he couldn't get a picture of me like that, because that would SURELY convince Judge Parker to reverse the order."

"What a goofball I was, giving him ideas like that! Well, I shouldn't have said that, because he talked to one of the pimps, and quicker than you can say PUTA I was in the big store front window, my face still splattered with spluge, rubbing my pussy as I came over-and-over, while Mr. Cinders filmed it for Judge Parker. Oh, what a stupid airhead I am! It was SO HUMILIATING!"

"After he uploaded the movie to Judge Parker, I sort of let it slip that I spent the first weekend of each month working in the strip club, and that he should try to get me freed before I had to dance again. He said he'd promise to do his best, and said he'd see me soon."

"So he left ya' in the BROTHEL?" the Deputy said, astonished by my story. "So what ya' do?"

"Well, I got fucked, silly!" I tittered. "I spent the next 13 days sucking dirty brown cocks, dirty black cocks, big cocks, small cocks, taking it up the ass, covered in seed. Oh, how I hoped Judge Parker would reverse my enslavement order, and save me from this beastly place!"

"Anyway, when Master John finally returned, I was working in the strip club. He actually brought some of my clothes from Manhattan. He said I could either wear them on the trip home, or, if I wanted, I could put them on first and then strip for him."

"Can you imagine? How HUMILIATING! To have to put on my elegant, fancy business clothes, just like the ones I'm wearing now..."

I fingered my silk blouse, and let the Deputy form a mental image.

"And then get up on stage, and strip down BARE naked for a roomful of hooting men, including my personal assistant? All my beautiful clothes, in a pile on some plywood "stage", while I fingered myself for a room of jeering drunks, shouting terrible things at me in a foreign language I didn't understand. And he filmed it all, to show Judge Parker! Can you imagine how mortifying that was?"

"Sure can," the Deputy said, scratching his head. Glancing at the head of his penis outline in his pants I knew he wasn't lying. "So did you go home with him?"

"No, silly! I asked him if he reversed my enslavement. He said he had, and had gotten an appellate court Judge to declare it null, and sign a full reversal. So, I had my college degrees back, and everything! No one would be the wiser. It wasn't easy, because they almost NEVER do it, especially in Texas. But money talks!"

"So, you went home with him?"

"No, Deputy Dumb-dumb! I still needed Judge Parker to reverse the enslavement. Judge Parker had enslaved me, and I wanted him to sign the reversal."

"But legally, if an appellate court judge reversed yer' enslavement..."

"NO! I wanted Judge Parker to admit it. I wanted him to admit I was never a Pleasure Slut. Don't you see? I had sucked Judge Parker's cock. He had butt branded me, marking my bottom like I was hog, or a silver chalice. I wanted Judge Parker to admit he was wrong."

The Deputy looked confused. "I guess. So, what happened?"

"I put on my street clothes, and then got on stage, and stripped down naked in front of Mr. John Cinders. Then I fingered myself, and let him stick a dollar in my twat. He filmed it, and sent the movie to Judge Parker, so he could see me blush, and see the tears in my eyes as I had to strip for the man who had once been my gopher. Then Mr. Cinders took me into a private room, and fucked me like I was just a fuck-hole, a nameless, skanky Pleasure Slut. It was awful! I came, and came! He filmed my face, and sent it to Judge Parker."

The Deputy offered me his handkerchief as a tear ran down my cheek, and I squeezed my thighs together, at the memory of my shame.

"It took weeks and weeks and a lot of money to get Judge Parker to reverse the order. I don't know why it took him SO LONG, especially when Mr. Cinders sent him a video of me crying, and explaining that every second he delayed meant another dirty brown pecker in my mouth, or ass, or hot, wet slave pussy. Tick-tock! Tick-tock! But Judge Parker didn't seem to be in any hurry at all."

"Finally, Mr. Cinders bribed him into signing, and John arrived to rescue me, like a knight in shining armor. I loved him so much in that moment. I showered in a proper hotel, and walked into First Class looking PERFECT, like I look now. A true lady always looks her best, don't you agree? You'd never know I had been a Pleasure Slut...except for Judge Parker's mark, of course. John proposed to me on the plane, and I accepted."

"I like happy endings Did you and John get hitched when y'all got back to New York? Did you git' 'em paroled?"

"No, silly. Once we landed in New York, I was in charge again. I had him enslaved, and sold, to a gay S&M sex club. He fucked me. ME! Plus he took FAR too long to rescue me, and now he is going to have to pay the price. Forever. I still go to the club, and watch him perform sometimes. Little Johnny puts on quite the little show," I said, laughing. "Sometimes I peg him, just to show him who wears the pants. Just like I'll do to you, Officer Macho, when I enslave you. And don't think I can't. Money talks, especially in Texas."

His face hardened. "You'd never enslave me. I'm an officer of the law," he stated, hooking his fingers into his belt and spreading his legs into a power stance.

"Hold that pose, boy. It's exactly the pose you'll make on the block, when all the women are laughing at you, and your little stiffie," I snickered. "I might even let you wear your macho sunglasses on the block, and pin a toy badge to your nipple."

He winced a bit at the image, and I smiled. Power exchanges are more fun when both parties have some skin in the game.

"I ayn't the one what needs collarin'," he said coldly, looking down at me.

I swallowed hard as he glared down at me. The mirrored sunglasses prevented me from seeing his eyes, and the lenses were huge green orbs. He towered over me, and with his hair face and green eyes he reminded me of a hungry spider coming in for the kill.

I felt my heartbeat quicken. The tension between us was unbearable, and I wanted it to last.

I smiled at him, and reaching down, traced the head of his erect penis through the bulge in his pants. "If I were a runaway, what would you do about it? Knowing what a powerful and successful woman I am, would you really strip me buck naked, and collar me, and turn me back into inventory?"

His lip and cock twitched in unison at the thought.

"Knowing how much better I am than you, would you still enslave me? Do you know how humiliating that would be, for a rich, Harvard educated slaving professional to be enslaved by some working class, rent-a-cop slave hound? Would you really humiliate me that way? Or would humiliating me get you off?"

The bulge in his pants pulsed, and answered my question better than any words could. "Would you and your partner turn me in right away, or would you FUCK me first, as part of your bounty? Would you do that to me? Humiliate me like that? Make me suck your dirty pecker, and then fuck me, before you turned me back into a Pleasure Slut, a ho-ho?"

"Would you let me clean up when you were done, or would you put me on the block with your dirty scum all over my face, and drying on my lips, and leaking out of my freshly fucked pussy? Would you join the bidders, and laugh at me with the others, when the auctioneer cracks his whip and I choke back my tears as I roll in the sand? Then would you go to dinner, and enjoy a nice juicy steak with the money you made selling my wet, sloppy, freshly-fucked slave pussy?"

I moved my finger to the empty spot in the row of badges shown into his shirt, and playfully fingered his nipple through the material. "My capture would be part of the next badge on your shirt. Do you know how humiliating that is, to be a notch on your shitty brag belt, a tiny part of one little insignia in a cluster of insignias on some FUCKING slave catcher's fruit-salad brag shirt? Do you know how DEGRADING that is? Would you really do that to little-old-me? Do you have the BALLS to be my Master? Because if you don't, I might just take them away."

There was a tense standoff as I stared at him, not moving, smiling, enjoying the electricity between us. I tensed as he reached for the cuffs on his belt...

The moment was broken by a booming male voice behind me. "Hot damn, girl, what y'all doing here?"

I turned and squinted to seem the beaming face of Jake Henry, the owner of The Triple D. Jake dressed like an old-time cowboy, complete with hats, boots, and a big Texas sized cowboy mustache. With the pearl handled gun in his holster and the slave whip coiled on his belt, Jake looked like an old-time gunslinger.

"Howdy, Jake," I said, quickly folding my arms over my breasts after I returned his handshake. "It's good to see you again, my friend."

"It's ALWAYS good to see you too, Sarah," Jake drawled back. "Though I hope you ayn't charging me for this visit."

I laughed along with him, as I quickly put on my jacket and glasses. "No, I was in town on some... other business, so I thought I'd drop by and see how much tail you were moving. Plus, I got a business opportunity I'd like to share."

"I love those! Shit, just since the last time you took a lookie-lou at our numbers, we're up another 15%, and our profits more than that! Every visit from you is like a gold bar fallin' from the sky! In fact, I'm hankering to open up another location in Houston, to lock horns with HCI Can I git' yer' help on the deal?"

"Maybe. Call my office and my new assistant will try to set something up. I'm always happy to help."

"Where y'all headin'?"

"I'm not sure. I was thinking of taking a peek at death row, to watch the little sluts sweat it out, or maybe go tease the girls waiting on their dawdle demons. However, this officer has been bothering me."

DEATH ROW: The storage area where terrified slaves wait to be auctioned. "Let's stuff them in the chute a few minutes early. I want Death Row fully loaded, and the trap door ready to go, before 10AM."

DAWDLE DEMONS: "Owners" who make their wives, daughters, or girlfriends wait hours or even days, sweating it out to the last second to find out if their "Any Chance?" auction will be reversed. "My chemistry teacher, Mrs. Halsey, has been waiting since Saturday to find out if she's going to be freed or shipped to Dubai. Her husband's a real dawdle demon!"

Jake's smile vanished as he turned to the cop. "Is that true? You bothering my friend Sarah?"

The cop looked stricken as his swagger drained away. "Mr. Henry, sir, I think she might be a runaway," the officer said grimly.