The Girl in the Window Pt. 02

(The story so far, COURTESY OF JOE DOE: Natalie is a rich, beautiful, and slightly spoiled/self-absorbed young resident of New York City. She and her friends have engaged in the fashionable pastime of Slave Yoga, having a former slave wrangler from the South ("Master Mark") order them through various suggestive poses while they repeated even more suggestive "mantras." Titillated by the thought of being a naked, helpless slave on display, Natalie asked her husband, a former slave wrangler from Texas named Brad, how much money she would bring if auctioned as a slave at the Big D Slave Market.)

(Brad used his knowledge of slave psychology to tease his wife, offering to put her up for an "Any Chance Auction" to see what price she would bring. By this time, Brad had Natalie so worked up that she was naked and humping the window frame of their New York City penthouse, jilling off while imagining that she were a horny slut rubbing herself against one of the famous yellow bollards at the Big D.)

Gasping from the heady mixture of her excitement and complete exposure in the brightly lit windows, Natalie totally found the zone. Quickening her pace, she rubbed her button faster and faster as her excitement grew.

Satisfied with her progress, Brad continued his cool, dispassionate explanation, "That's a good girl. Rub that slave grease in, good. When men you know come in -- and I really expect that a few will -- you will spread your legs and perform for them, the same as any other Pleasure Slut. If you make a proper job of it, they may not even notice that it's you. After all, they mostly see you at charity balls and galas, and there's no reason to think you'd be slave naked and polishing a pussy pole, stinking like a whore at low tide, slathering in your own juices. It's not like they're going to focus on your face, right?"

Natalie grunted at the cold comfort of being an unrecognizable slave pussy even as she groaned at the hot pleasure emanating from her pussy. The pole was warm and greasy now, and the thought that all Manhattan was watching made her more excited, not less.

"However, there will be one VIP visitor who will be invited," Brad said, smiling. "One visitor, in particular, who will be my very special guest."

"Who?" she gasped, not allowing anything to break her rhythm.

"Why, my mother, of course," Brad said, smiling.

"Your mother! You must be joking. Your mother DESPISES me!"

"Keep rubbing. I didn't give you permission to slow down," he chided. "That pole won't paint itself."

Natalie quickened her pace as she pushed forward toward climax.

"Yes, my mother. I will make sure she has a front row seat."

"But... but... your mother HATES me. She thinks I'm... the little tramp... who stole her precious son," Natalie said, trying to stay focused on the conversation even as her mind swirled with pleasure. "She tells everyone that I'm nothing but a shameless whore."

"Actually, she told my buddy Karl that you're a disgusting slave slut, who should be stripped naked, branded, and put on the auction block. Karl likes you, but I could tell he was intrigued by the image," Brad added, laughing.

"No," Natalie gasped. "Why HER?"

"Because no one else on earth could possibly enjoy seeing you roll in the sand, and spread your legs, and pee when they cracked the whip on your skanky ass, more than my dear, sweet, white-haired old mom. Seeing you disgrace yourself would be her dream come true."

"No...No... You can't do that to me. You can't make me perform like this. Not in front of her!"

"Don't be so selfish. Think of how happy you'd make her. Letting her watch you paint the pussy pole might be the only time you'll ever give her a gift she truly enjoys. I'll sit right beside her and tell her that you wanted to please her like that."

Despite her horror, Natalie quickened her pace. Brad was impressed. He knew the metal stick had to be absurdly uncomfortable, but Natalie adapted to it like a pro, and her pussy lips had become wet enough that it looked like a mouth sucking on the pole. She was doing an amazing job. Brad envisioned a whole building exterior being washed by naked slave girls, suspended by ropes, polishing the exterior columns with their groins.

Compared to straddling the sharp metal pole in front of all of Manhattan, painting a yellow bollard in the lobby of The Big D would be a snap. During his time at The Big D, Brad had seen a lot of Prime Pleasure Sluts. Watching his wife suck the pole with her pussy, he realized that Natalie's hot body and natural wantonness could make up for her lack of training. No doubt about it. Regardless of her enormous wealth, social status, and upper East side sophistication, her steamy wet pussy made her a prime candidate for the block.

"Good girl," Brad said. "Keep it moving. Keep that ass sliding up-and-down the pole. That's it. You'll get a very good price."

"If men I knew bid on me," Natalie said, grunting as she slid up and down, "I'd get a record price."

"Indeed, you would," Brad agreed. "Your friends, and your daddy's friends, have deep pockets, and they'd pay anything to fuck you. That's why I'm going to give you a rapid-fire, slap-ya-on-the-ass through, and get your pussy on the block before anyone even knows you're there. I'll have all your paperwork ready-to-go and give you premium access, right to the front of the chute. I'm going to move you from Bergoff Goodman on Fifth Avenue to the block on the Broadway auction stand, faster than you can get a table at Le Bernardin."

"The Chef can give me a table pretty damn fast," she said, gasping as she slid up and down the pole. "I KNOW people."

"I know people, too, although my slave wrangling associates are less genteel than folks are at Le Bernardin. My Big D buddies will get you bagged-and-tagged, give you a minute to warm up the pole, and then whip your ass right onto the Broadway auction platform. Depending on how hot that little pole polisher is, I can get you from farm-to-table, Gucci-to-gash, in five minutes or less. Even if someone you know is there, it won't matter. They can look. They can sure as hell touch. But I'm going to tell them not to bid on you."

Brad watched as the Pleasure Slut polishing the column and he described his plan for her auction. "But.... But.... If you do that... none of the bidders will know who I am," she whined, struggling to wrap her head around her husband's proposal. "Everyone will think I'm just another Pleasure Slut."

"Because that's what you'll be, Princess. No one will know who you are, except for me, and, of course, my mother. The contrast between who you were and what you'll be is what makes this so delicious. You'll go on the block slave naked. No college degree, no trust fund, no lawyer, no platinum credit cards. You'll give me power-of-attorney. Then I'll put your naked ass on the block wearing nothing but a livestock tag on your ear, a steel collar locked tight around your throat, and a great big toothy smile."

Looking down on her, Brad shook the lash out so it teased her belly. "Smile for me, slave girl. Smile as you rub the pussy pole. Show me how much you LOVE it. Show me those pearly whites." Natalie showed all 32 of her perfect white teeth.

"They're going to clip a livestock tag to my ear?" Natalie said, keeping her huge smile even as she quickened her pace on the pole. "Do they have to?"

"Yes, they have to, and they're not going to clip it to your ear, they're going to STAPLE it THROUGH your ear. Remember, at The Big D you're livestock, no different than a cow, or a goat, or a pig. The auctioneer probably won't like it when you get shuffled into his lineup, so he'll be pretty free with the whip, but that's okay. It will increase the entertainment value and probably drive up your price."

Natalie was close now, and rubbed all the faster, secretly thrilled by the image of herself as anonymous slave meat. "Because...he won't know who... I am."

"No one will know, and more importantly, no one will care. In truth, it won't matter who you are, or who you were. Once you walk up those steps, you'll be just another mange on the stage, and he'll sell your hot little snatch in a Manhattan minute."

Just then, Natalie showed how hot her little Manhattan snatch was by shamelessly orgasming all over the cold, square pole. Afterwards, she lay in a quivering mess on the "auction block", gasping for air.

"Keep going," Brad said, staring down at her impassively. "I didn't give you permission to stop."

Natalie, struggling to catch her breath, stared up at him.

Brad CRACKED the whip in the air, causing Natalie to jump. Quickly, she resumed her labors, sliding up-and-down the pole.

"Good. We'll need to get you in shape, if we're going to get you ready for the block."

"The block?" she said. "But if you sell me, you won't be able to fuck me anymore, 'Master.'"

"I like the way you think, slave girl. My needs always come first. That's why I would put you in an Any Chance? Auction."

"What's that?" Natalie said.

"It's a special promotion The Big D offers. The idea is you put your wife or girlfriend up on the block, saying that if there is any chance you might sell her. Then she is displayed and sold. However, the seller has a set period of time to reject the bid."

"So, I would actually be sold? For real?" Natalie said, sliding up and down the pole like a piston.

"That's right. You'd be just another pussy on the block." Brad smiled as Natalie's pussy, gripping the pole, quivered through its second orgasm.

"You may rest, slave girl," he said.

Natalie smiled up at her husband. "Good, because I was about to have a heart attack right in the window."

"It'd be a great LAW & ORDER episode," Brad teased.

Natalie, beaming, looked up at her husband with a slave girl's love. "You're a genius, Master. The Any Chance? Auction sounds like the perfect solution. You'll get a real, on the level, honest to goodness gavel price on me. Then you'll free me, and we'll be having dinner at our favorite table at Le Berardin back in Manhattan."

"Not so fast. I'm signing you up for an Any Chance? Auction. That means there needs to be a CHANCE I'm going to sell you. You want high bids for your body, right? So the bidders must believe I will sell you."

"But you're not going to sell me. We're doing this to get my gavel price."

"Right. But there has to be a CHANCE that I can sell you. The bidders are bidding on you because there is at least some possibility you might actually be enslaved. If not, it could be assumed that I'm entering into the contract fraudulently."

"That's stupid. Who will know? Who cares?"

"Well, the bidders might care, and if they bring a suit in a Texas slave court, the court will care, and if they convince the court, the court will push the sale through. You will be sold to the highest bidder."

"Fuck that. You said you weren't going to sell me."

"Right. But I have to CONSIDER selling you, in good faith, to the highest bidder or that bidder might sue."

"Do the plaintiffs ever win?"

"Hardly ever. 'Any Chance?' is a pretty low standard, or a high standard, depending on your point of view. It's just a smidge of a chance. The Big D doesn't want to make a big deal of it, since the point is to drive traffic, by parading pussy that WON'T get sold, to auction pussy that CAN be sold. So, it isn't a problem unless you're a fucking idiot."

"Define a fucking idiot," Natalie said.

"Tell everyone I'd never sell you. Blowing off enormous, over-market-price bids. Bragging about how you don't have to eat orange slime because in an hour you'll be having dinner at an overpriced French restaurant."

"In other words, everything that comes out of my mouth."

"Pretty much. But I have good news for you. But first, head down, and spread your legs. No, wider. I want to see your butt cheeks SPREAD."

Natalie didn't like Brad's tone, but she had certainly enjoyed her two orgasms. Acceding to the humiliating commands, she bit her lip but spread herself out, splitting herself wide for his viewing pleasure. Natalie tensed as she felt the lash dangle between her cheeks and tickle her butthole.

"The good news is, you don't have to understand any of this, slave girl. All you have to do is act as if you're being sold--spread your butt cheeks and wink your cute little asshole. That's it. Don't worry about being sold or about any of this. Just worry about avoiding the lash and putting in a good performance on the block. Let the smart men take care of the rest."

"So, I shouldn't worry about the fact you might actually sell me?"

"No, you should worry. You should worry A LOT. Because if you don't... If you don't LOOK like you might pee yourself from fear, it might actually happen."

Brad smiled as Natalie panted, and her asshole winked nervously as he teased it with the lashes of the beautiful, antique whip.

"What if the auctioneer decided to crack the whip? What would you do?" He asked, trying to goad her further.

"I'd laugh."

"Laugh? Why would you do that?"

"Because it's funny. Slave girls get the most comic expressions on their faces when they hear the whip. Their mouths form into little "O's", and they get this wonderful pie-eyed, OMG! look."

Taking a step back, Brad popped his phone out of his pocket with the speed of a gunslinger, pointing it at Natalie.

"What are you doing? Don't take a picture of me like--"

Natalie's complaint was cut short as Brad used his other hand to CRACK the whip through the air. He didn't hit her with it, but it was close enough for her to feel the air WHOOSH between her cheeks.

"You bastard, you almost hit me!"

But Brad couldn't stop laughing. "You're hysterical! Look at this! You gotta see this!"

Still laughing, Brad showed her the little film of her reacting to the whip. As predicted, her eyes bulged, her whole body tensed, her mouth opened wide enough to show her tonsils. She seemed to gasp and inhale at the same time.

Brad was beside herself with laughter. "Look at that! You look like Wiley E. Coyote putting his finger into a light socket. Your tongue pops out just as your asshole winks! Here, look at it again."

Brad laughed just as hard on the rerun. Natalie was less amused.

"Delete that, RIGHT NOW," she ordered.

Brad was unimpressed. "Slave girls don't give orders," he said, putting the phone back in his pocket. "Back in position. Legs spread, head down, ass in the air. Show me the pink, slave girl."

Natalie, glaring at him, hesitated. What about the phone? She looked up at her husband.

Brad looked different now. He wasn't angry, but he wasn't smiling either. He had a "don't fuck with me" expression she recognized from her slave training with Master Mark.

Brad was handy with the whip; that much was clear. Apparently, he had learned more about slave training and how to handle slave girls during his playboy summers at the Big D than she had ever imagined. It was a side of him previously unknown to her, as side she didn't dare trifle with.

Brad tapped the whip impatiently against his leg. Swallowing, Natalie assumed the degrading position, exposing herself fully to his male gaze.

"You have other things to worry about, slave girl. Prime Pleasure Sluts at The Big D are badged."

"What is badging?" she asked, knowing it wouldn't be good.

"It's an assayer's mark, to show the girl was a Prime Pleasure Slut, sold at the Big D. It is given to only the tastiest and juiciest of sluts."

"Like a hallmark? Like the one on that Paul Revere silver pot that Daddy bought from the museum, and gave to me?"

Brad smiled. "Yes, just like the overpriced pot your daddy pressured the board into selling him, and which you barely looked at. Only, instead of the mark going on the bottom of the pot, it would go on YOUR bottom. A beautiful, ropey letter "D", branded right between your butt cheeks."

Brad dangled the lash down, so that it grazed the inside of her bottom cheek. Clearly terrified, Natalie's bottom clenched around the dangling lash.

"No, you can't let them brand me, Brad! You have to tell them not to."

"I could," Brad allowed. "But I won't. I'd rather leave it up to you. Don't worry, Natalie. They only mark the most lascivious of sluts, the ones who bring the best price, the ones who are so insatiable they'd hump the handle of the branding iron, or the whip that will skin their ass, or anything else they can get between their legs."

Brad stuck the handle of the whip between Natalie's legs and gave her a little rub. "If you don't want to get branded, all you have to do is show the tiniest bit of self-control."

Brad rubbed the whip gently over her pussy. She tried to pull back. She tried to resist. For almost four seconds she tried, but the temptation was overwhelming. Resistance was futile. Inevitably, she pushed back and began humping the whip. Smiling, Brad turned the whip around and pushed the antique handle into her. Her pussy spread widely to take in the silver tip and the elegant mother of pearl handle.

Soon, Natalie was humping for all she was worth, riding the whip hard.

"That's it. Ride the handle of the branding iron, slut. Ride the handle, while we get the D logo all heated up for you. Think about how exquisite the brand will look between your tight little cheeks."

Brad thought the warning would stop her, or at least slow her down, but if anything, it spurred her on. She was hot and sloppy, and it looked like her gaping pussy was trying to eat the whip handle. Brad wondered if she could stain the old antique, or the stainless-steel pole, with her pussy cream, and her incessant rubbing. He certainly hoped so.

"So how long," she said, gasping as she rode the whip, "until I'm ready for the block?"

"That's mostly up to you," Brad replied. "You need to practice hard, both with your Slave Yoga trainer and me, so you can put on a good show. We'll talk you through everything you have to do and say, every pose until the gavel comes down. Beyond that, I expect you to get the kind of beauty treatments you would normally have before you go on display at a major social event. In fact, think of it as getting ready for your wedding, only the ring goes around your neck, or perhaps through your clit, instead of your finger!--you know, haircut, pedicure, all-over tan, bikini wax. The waxing is particularly important--no pubic hair allowed on slave girls."

"Have you any idea how much that waxing hurts?" Natalie whined, in between pants.

"That's the price of beauty," he answered, smugly. "If you want to be rated Prime and sell for a six-figure price, you have to offer the bidders a beautiful and rampantly-horny pussy on the slave block, got it, slave girl?"

"Yes, Master," she replied, climaxing at the thought. With moist thighs, erect nipples and clit, and a vacant, wanton expression, Natalie already looked like a perfect bimbo slut.

*****

(Natalie's viewpoint, four weeks later)

I decided to do this, but Brad didn't make it any easier: the image of me, slave naked and collared, getting sold on an auction block with my mother-in-law sneering at me was just too compelling, a wild confluence of sex, submission, and humiliation. At least once a week and sometimes more often, one of us would bring this fantasy up, and I would get so turned on I couldn't think straight. I started to dream about an auctioneer using a whip on my butt to evoke the very kind of squeal and o-shaped face I used to laugh at. Brad kept saying that I didn't have the guts to go through with it, which just made me more determined to do it--now I'm wondering how I came to be that dumb! Come to think of it, Brad also suggested that we both go to an attorney to execute wills leaving our property to each other, plus living wills (or whatever you call them) that authorized each of us to make decisions if the other were incapacitated.