The Girl in the Window Pt. 04

Lois came to check on us, briefly, and bring Agatha a glass of lemonade. I wasn't sure whether Agatha had explained who I was to Lois, who in any event seemed to regard me as just another animal on her ranch. Clearly Lois didn't care about who I was, but the source of her indifference was still murky. Unsure, I concentrated on sucking the enormous tool of the stallion in front of me, reasoning that as a slave girl it wasn't in my interest to think. (Besides, to be honest, except for my sore butt I was having fun, living out my submissive dreams and swallowing lots of cock!)

*****

I was slurping down my fifth load of jism when Brad showed up. I didn't stop, both because I was afraid of that whip and because (as I said) I was enjoying myself. So, as I meticulously licked every yummy drop of stallion cum off his still-erect dick, I just listened.

What I heard gave me a rush of hope and even pride! Brad was furious with his mother, and actually took my side over the wicked witch of the South (South Texas, anyway). Turns out that SHE had me branded and shipped off without his knowledge--Brad had planned on rescinding my sale, and just wanted to let me sweat it out a little to increase my fantasy of helpless enslavement. Instead, my mother-in-law had called The Big D and approved the sale without Brad's permission--in fact, without the digital owner's chit to approve it. I thought it was ALMOST worth it to be branded and whipped, just to hear that my husband loved me more than my fortune and even more than he loved his mom! Agatha, of course, was furious, but as he calmed down Brad told her AGAIN that I had agreed to the auction precisely to please her--she got all the fun she could imagine out of subjugating me, but fun time was over.

Lois, bless her heart, turned out to be an honest person--or perhaps she wasn't joking when she told me that she had once been branded? "OK, Brad. I have a policy of never buying ponies when the title is in question, and clearly that's the case here, especially if you as the owner never approved the sale. I'm sorry, Agatha--I was trying to do you a favor, but I never intended to buy the slut if her owner didn't really want to sell her." She looked a little annoyed at Agatha, too, but was determined not to show it, as it was obvious from her tone that she was attempting to mediate the situation.

In moments, Lois freed me from all the pony tack but not my collar. Lois even gave me a couple of sugar cubes to help me get the taste out of my mouth--but feeding me sugar just reminded me that I was a pony! Brad had brought a bag with the clothing I had discarded this morning, and while I hastily dressed they talked about how to un-fuck this situation (it was too late to un-fuck my mouth, let alone my butt!) Brad readily agreed to refund that HUGE purchase price to Lois, including the 10% that the Big D got as its commission. Agatha howled about losing her prey, but he just ignored her.

Meanwhile, because the sale had been registered in the national data base, they couldn't just pretend it never happened. Lois explained, and Brad reluctantly agreed, that legally I was still a slave, with no degree, no husband, and no property, and would remain so unless and until the sale were rescinded in court and entered into the data base. However, this would involve taking me into a Texas slave court, which was "a risky place for a rich Yankee girl to be." Got that right--I wanted to get the HELL out of Texas and never return! My little fantasy had turned into a huge pain in the butt--actually two pains in the butt.

Brad told her about his friend Sheldon, and Lois smiled. "I know him. He's very good, and popular in slave court. He's exactly the lawyer you want, but he will demand the customary fee. He'll want to fuck her," he said, indicating me with a nod of her head, as if she were pointing out the way to the bathroom."

"NO WAY," I said.

"Way," Lois replied. "You two are Yankees in Texas, and you better start learnin' to do things the Texas way, or else. Your best bet of rescinding the sale is to claim fraud, but that will get get Agatha in trouble--and I mean Texas slave court trouble," Lois explained. "Your mom is still hot enough to sell, and they might not like Natalie's resale back to her former husband, so you could end up with two bitches on the block instead of one."

I think the thought of being enslaved herself finally got to Agatha, but I couldn't help saying , "That sounds just fine to me. At the very least I'd like to brand HER butt and take HER for a pony slut spin around the ranch!"

"Carriages are always available," Lois replied cheerfully, shooting her lying friend Agatha a look.

My bitch of a mother-in-law suddenly became as sweet as sweet tea when she realized that her own ass was at stake, apologizing for the "little misunderstanding."

"I really thought Brad wanted to sell you, Natalie, and I hated to see you cooped up in that cage, when we could all go out for a ride together and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine at this beautiful ranch."

That was just too much for me. I exploded "Fuck off!" and tried to strike HER with the damn whip she had used on me, but Lois stopped me.

"I understand how you must feel, Natalie, but you're still legally a slave. If you strike a free woman now you're likely to end up a pony girl for life. Save your anger until after we get you freed." Lois handed me another sugar cube as consolation, which I eagerly devoured, much to Brad's amusement.

"I'm afraid she's right, Darling," my husband said, very apologetically. "You're going to have to play the part until Sheldon can unravel this mess. I don't blame you for being angry, but please, can't you accept my mother's apology?"

So I had to agree to smile when I wanted to scratch her eyes out. A "little misunderstanding," huh? I couldn't say, "misunderstanding my ass," because it had already cost me my butt, so how about horse-manure?

At least Brad took me out of that horrible scene quickly. On the way to the airport, he explained that I was legally obligated to wear a collar and keep the slave chip inside my body until we got me freed--anything else would make me a runaway and almost guarantee my permanent servitude. I understood all that, but then my OWN DAMN PILOT insisted that, in accordance with FAA regulations for slaves, I had to be handcuffed for takeoff! That, plus the pain of having to sit on my brands for take-off, was the last straw, and I dissolved into tears.

As I couldn't really sit on my bottom, my pilot offered me an alternative. A slave kennel was found. My pilot's insistence that I strip butt naked was "FAA regulations" but as this was a private plane I knew the horny bastard just wanted to see me strip for him. But as anything was better than sitting on my brands, strip I did, and even let the grinning stewardess record my SIN number off my lip and lock me in my cage.

"I need a slave name for the manifest," the pilot said. I looked up at him expectantly, wondering how my husband saw me, now that I was naked and caged.

Brad thought for a moment, smiling down at me as he considered the matter. "Sugar Snatch", he said. "Because she gives it up so sweet."

At least Brad fed me through the bars inflight. I wanted to fire them both when we landed, but Brad said I'd better get used to it, because "that's how slave girls are treated, sweetie."

*****

Brad was right. I'd like to say that my life in New York returned to normal, but that would be a lie. It took two weeks for my brands to heal to the point where I could bear to sit on them, and even after that I didn't want to go out in public wearing a slave collar. Instead, once I was mostly healed, Brad and I decided that I might as well use the reality of being enslaved as a vehicle to resume my damaged fantasies of submission. Our bedroom sizzled as I performed for my dazzled and sex drunk husband like the randiest of pleasure sluts, with Sugar Snatch begging her "Master" to "ram your huge cock into all my holes." He happily obliged, and between trysts he joked that it was almost a pity to pay Sheldon so much to try to free me.

"Money isn't the sort of payment to Sheldon that worries me," I said. Brad just smiled.

After I wore his cock down to a nub, I finally resumed my slave yoga classes. Going to and from those classes, turtleneck collars concealed my slave collar. Still, the size of the brands on my ass, particularly the enormous, ropy, D, made it impossible to hide from Mackenzie, Taylor, and Tiffany, so I wore it as a badge of pride, instead. Yes, all four of us decided to take slave yoga classes in the nude with some real pleasure sluts who were brought into the exercise session at The Mercedes Club to make the training more "authentic." My friends were SO jealous, as I was hotter than even the real pleasure sluts, none of whom been rated prime. The spectators watching from the gallery loved my brands with some speculating that the "D" stood for "Delicious" or "Desirable" and that the wagon wheel meant I belonged to the Wheeler family, who, truth be told, didn't have enough money to shine my shoes. It also helped that I had learned exactly what it meant to be a real slave, which made my gyrations even sexier--think of it as method acting!

Of course, my "friends" had their fun, too, as when one of the new attendants at the club didn't recognize me they told them my name was "Sugar Snatch" and laughed when I was forced into the showers with 20 other naked pleasure sluts. My collar didn't identify me as part of the lot belonging to Soho Slavers (thank goodness) so I was hooked up to one of the pleasure racks for "free use" by the club members. As Brad was out of town and I had been devoiced, I was well used for the next two days by Creepy Carl, several friends of my father, Brad's basketball buddies, and (worst of all) my father-in-law, who puffed on his cigar while he fucked me from behind. He was old, and he took forever with me. He barely looked down at me and spent the whole time blathering about his new racket with his racquetball partner, who had his tiny, withered dick in my mouth.

I did feel a surge of pride as my father-in-law commented to his friend on what "a wet, tight fuck she is. "Such smooth skin," he observed. "I've always liked smooth skin," he said, as he caressed my wagon wheel brand with his finger.

"The wheel of fate," he chuckled, reverting to one of his favorite go-to expressions as he slow-pumped me in and out.

Brad returned, and the next morning my father-in-law was the picture of gentility as we enjoyed mimosas at The Metropolitan Club. It might seem odd that he didn't recognize me, but the beautiful young woman with the carefully coiffed hair and the Armani turtleneck bore scant resemblance to the nameless pussy he had slow fucked and reamed the afternoon before.

Agatha, unaware of what had happened, was nonetheless her charming self, asking repeatedly if my chair "was comfortable, or needed more padding" and wondering "why you are wearing a turtleneck in such weather!" Bitch.

Brad's father, who had always ignored the tension between his wife and me, took my hand. "A young lady as lovely as Natalie looks lovely in whatever she cares to wear."

"Or not wear," Agatha said, under her breath. Brad shot her a look.

"Such smooth skin," he said, stroking my hand. "She's quite a catch, Brad," he said pleasantly.

"Indeed," Brad agreed, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

The conversation continued for several minutes while my father-in-law enjoyed stroking my hand as he and Brad chatted about sports. Fortunately, he was utterly oblivious to the fact that the girl he was flirting with was a recent fuck, as a stiff prick doesn't pay much attention to what hole is pleasuring it. However, when he noted that the playoff games were "the wheel of fate," I almost spit my mimosa across the room.

Brad thought my "little mishap" with his dad was quite amusing, and when he realized how anonymous I could be decided to push the envelope. One beautiful Sunday I was one of the bridesmaids at his friend Steve's wedding, dancing with men who had fucked me stupid at the bachelor party the night before. Brad had arranged for me to be the anonymous "entertainment" while his friends made me airtight, stuffing all my openings simultaneously. They were too drunk, or too horny, or too indifferent to recognize me, but I had to admit the wedding was a lot more interesting for me when I knew what the penis of every man in the bridal party looked like. The best man really WAS the best, with a cock big enough around to be a soda can--more like a 16-oz Monster Energy Drink, because it sure energized my climax!

It was then that I realized how important context was. "I didn't recognize you with your clothes on" was a real thing, and elegant, posh society girl Natalie looked and comported herself so differently from the pleasure slut Sugar Cube that we could have been standing next to each other and not be recognized. I told Brad the only difference between me and Superman is Clark Kent only needed to take off his glasses. He loved that joke.

The transformation itself was a turn on. I made a point of hiring different masseuses, relishing their look of surprise when I removed my robe to reveal my collar and brands. Many of them walked out, refusing to dirty their hands by touching slave meat. It was such a turn on, seeing the looks on their faces.

Then we spent some time in the Hamptons. Why give the lawn crew or the pool boy a cash tip when you can let them fuck your hot pleasure slut, chained naked and spread-eagled in the dog kennel? One minute I was giving them orders, and the next I was naked, kneeling, spread wide, and totally in their power. I remembered "the little people" by letting them fuck me. I was happy to play, so long as my "owner" eventually rescued me. And THEN Sugar Snatch beg her Master to pound her until she was slave stupid. What a rush.

I don't know what to think about my approaching court date in Texas. On the phone, Sheldon had made it clear that he would be expecting the "customary personal services payment" BEFORE we went into court. He was a sleazy bastard, and I despised him, which is why I always got turned on asking Brad about him when my owner was fucking me. I guess the sleazier I felt, the more it would turn me on. Go figure.

Brad's dad was right. Although the brands were placed firmly on my ass, the wheel of fate keeps on spinning. On the one hand, I was desperate to correct the wrong and regain my freedom. On the other hand, being a collared, branded piece of PRIME Texas slave ass has its moments . . . Do you suppose that, while we're down in Texas, Brad would be willing to take me back to the Spinning Wheel Ranch and "ride your pony"?

(The End)