“Hello, Manuel. So nice of you to come to the party, today. Thank you for making the long, hard, drive all the way down from Dallas.”
Manuel turned at the sound of the female voice. He was wondering why he had gotten invited to a party in Dallas when he hadn’t lived here since High School. The fact that it was at the house of a classmate whom he only knew from the swim team, and was far, far above his social set, made the invitation all the more bizarre. But there had been 5 crisp $100 bills included with the party invitation, and the words, “More to Come!” written on the party invitation, which made the drive worth it.
The familiar voice belonged to Karen Weld, the mother of his classmate Steve. Karen was Steve’s mom, but she didn’t look it, in her little black dress that showed off her bare shoulders, long legs and perfectly toned figure. From his experience as a slave trainer, Manuel knew that Karen must work out as much as the Pleasure Sluts he trained. Disrespectful as it was, he found himself wondering if she did Slave Yoga; her shape certainly suggested as much.
“It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Weld. Thank you for the invitation to your party. Is Steve here?”
“No, he’s at Harvard. You’re here because I wanted to talk to you. Why don’t we move inside the house?”
Manuel smiled and nodded. Karen was obviously a little drunk, but it was a pleasure watching the MILF’s shapely ass sway as she led him out of the thick of the party and into her husband’s handsomely appointed private study.
“I think this is your first time in the house, am I right, Manuel? I remember you used to mow the lawn, but I never let Beaners in the house. Steve let one in to use the toilet once! Can you imagine?” she said laughing.
Manuel tightened as the beautiful woman laughed at him, and his Mexican heritage, and his lowly social status. He didn’t work for that crappy lawn care company anymore, so he didn’t have to take her shit. But he didn’t tell her to fuck off – he was still curious enough about the $500 and the promise of more to come to hold his tongue.
“Can I freshen your drink?” she said. “Maybe add some tequila?” she teased.
“I’m good.”
Karen Weld filled her glass with whiskey and sat on the desk in front of Manuel’s leather chair, a pose that showed off her long, beautiful legs, and offered him the chance for a glimpse of more, if the drunken MILF moved the wrong way.
Karen smiled as she dangled her open toe shoe just a few feet from Manuel’s knee. “At this point, you may be wondering why I threw $500 at a Beaner on the wrong side of the fence, who only got into my son’s school because you and your mex-maid-mama lived in a little shack behind someone’s mansion? Why would I let a brown, wetback, taco-eater into my lovely WHITE mansion? Especially now that you’ve dropped even LOWER in the world, and become one of those filthy, brutish thug slave graders up at The Big D Slave House in Dallas?”
Manuel sensed it wasn’t just the liquor; Karen Weld was being deliberately insulting. Maybe race-play was part of her fantasy of sexual submission, but he also knew it was how she thought. He had heard it all at school, and had heard the chatter about the “dirty Mexicans” while he mowed their lawns and hauled their trash and cleaned their filthy pools. Resisting the urge to splash his drink in her face he decided to let the drunken woman prattle on, and see where it led.
“I don’t know why you invited me here, Mrs. Weld,” he said coldly. “You tell me.”
“Call me Karen. Yes, I’ll have explain it to you, I suppose. I mean, it’s not like a taco vendor like you is going to figure anything out, right? Let me tell you a little secret. You can keep a little secret, can’t you, Manuel? That’s what servants do. Keep secrets.”
Manuel nodded as she dangled her foot in front of him.
“My husband is “into” slave girls. How naughty! We buy one every now and then, but we usually dump them before long.
Karen’s sultry voice dropped to a whisper. Sometimes I like to play slave girl with my husband. That’s even naughtier. Does that shock you?”
Manuel didn’t respond. He had graded enough rich bitches at The Big D that it didn’t shock him. Nor did her next confession.
“The truth is, I love it. I’m into power games. I like to be in charge. Keeping dirt like you in their place, under my heel. But sometimes, I like to be helpless. Utterly… totally… helpless.”
Again, Manuel was not shocked. It was always the bitchy, powerful ones who loved losing power the most.
“Anyway, I want to give my darling hubby an official grading certificate for his birthday. A real grading, just like a REAL Pleasure Slut gets. And I was thinking that The Big D was just far enough from Houston that I could do it discretely. Then I remembered Steve telling me that big, handsome fence jumper who used to mow my lawn got a job as a slave grader up at The Big D. Just the sort of job a piece of garbage like YOU would get. That’s why you Beaners all climb over the fence, right? To get at the white women?”
Despite her racism, Manuel felt his cock stiffen. Putting rich, white, women like Karen Weld in their place was definitely a perk of the job.
I remember what a stud you were, with your shirt off, mowing my lawn. My friends and I used to call in “Man-uel Labor?” Get it, Manuel? Ha-ha!”
Manuel did not laugh.
“Remember that time you asked to use the washroom? I turned you down, of course. I can’t have some dirty greaseball shitting in my nice WHITE bathroom, can I? I sent around behind the bushes, to water the bushes like a good little Chihuahua, and my friends and I watched you pull that big burrito out of your pants on closed circuit TV. We all had a good laugh, watching you show us your meat while you took your whiz. But I bet you didn’t know that, did you, you stupid, greaseball? It’s pretty funny, how I mad you show us your dick!”
Manuel felt humiliated as the pretty woman laughed in his face.
“Still, I did like your big dick, and I was thinking how EXCITING it would be to be graded by the big, hunky beaner with the big burrito between his legs. I mean, getting graded is bad enough, but to have it done like someone you. THAT’S degrading! I mean, they don’t come lower than you, do they? Don’t you think that would be exciting, Manuel?
Karen kicked off her shoe, and placed her toes on the bulge in Manuel’s pants, teasing his stiff cock. Manuel, a trained slaving professional, gave no hint of the pleasure he was receiving.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Weld. I don’t do gradings anymore. I do training, and auctions.”
“Auctions?” she purred. “Now that sounds exciting! You up on the auction block, holding a gavel, selling all that hot, wet, cowgirl pussy. Are you good at it, Manuel? Do you turn a tidy profit on all that hot, white snatch?”
Manuel nodded. He had risen rapidly through the ranks. He was very good indeed.
“So maybe you’ll make an exception, and do an official grading for little-old-me?” she said, emphasizing her Texas twang as she teased his prick with her toes. “Maybe next Saturday?”
“Sorry. I don’t do day trading. I only work with real slave pussy now.”
Karen pouted and withdrew her foot. “Well, then fuck you if you won’t help me. Fuck you, and get out of my house, you little anchor baby, before I call the police, and they beat your Mexican ass, and throw you mama back into the Rio Grande. Maybe I'll even say you tried to rape me. My word against a horny Mexican? You'll do at least 10 years.”
Manuel looked at her with an undisguised hatred. Karen was every white girl in school who had ever prick teased him, every white teacher who had ever flirted with him and then gave him a crappy grade, every white female cop who had felt his bulge during a “routine frisk.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you, Karen,” he said coolly. “The question is, do you like to play games, or are you just a poser? Because I only have time for players, not posers.”
Karen smiled and moved her foot back to his crotch. “Ooooh, I’m a PLAYER, stud. I love to PLAY.”
“I don’t do gradings, except on real slave pussy. If you want to, you could enslave yourself, and I could train you, then.”
“Oh, you DIRTY boy!” she said, laughing. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Slap a collar on me! Make me a real slave? What would you do if I was a real slave? Would you make me crawl to you, with a whip in my teeth, begging for the lash? Would you brand my round, white ass? Tattoo a Slave Identification Number inside my lip? Would you humiliate me like that, knowing how much better I am than you?”
Manuel felt his cock stiffen at the thought.
“That’s too bad, my little chihuahua, because I’m not a slave girl. I just like to play,” she said, fondling his cock with her foot.
Manuel was unperturbed. “There is one way. Your husband could enslave you to The Big D on consignment. Mexican families desperate for money do it all the time. They put the sister up for sale, to send her little brother to college. Of course, they set a reserve price, so the enslavement only goes through if they can sell her for enough to pay for the tuition.”
“Ooh, I see!”, she purred. “Interesting. So the girl doesn’t get enslaved unless the reserve price is met? How exciting! I imagine the suspense for the family is just DELICIOUS, not to mention the poor girl. That does sound like fun. I could be a real slave… without being a real slave.”
“Yes, exactly. Legally, you’d be enslaved. But it would be… rolled back, voided, unless you hit the minimum price.”
“I only see one little, teeny-tiny problem with your plan,” Karen purred. “The good news: it would allow you to train me. But it would also require you to SELL me. To put me on the block…stark naked. Would you really do that? Put a rich, and powerful woman like me, a woman who is far above you as I am above Mexican donkey shit, and strip me naked, for everyone in the world to see?”
“We don’t sell pigs-in-pokes,” Manuel replied, pulling out an old livestock cliché frequently used at The Big D.
Karen, thrilled with the talk of fulfilling her deepest fantasy, abandoned footsie and began fondling Manuel’s bulge through his pants as she teased him in her little girl voice. “Would you be STRICT with me, Master Manuel? Would you put me through my slave paces on the block? Would you crack the whip on my ass, and make me squat, and jiggle my titties, and spread my butt cheeks, and show everyone my little poopy-hole?”
“I’d get a fit price for you,” Manuel said coldly, showing no outward sign of the pleasure she was giving his cock. “That’s my job.”
“And I bet you do it well!” she said, grinning. “But this neighborhood is so snooty! I can’t let anyone see me that way!”
“They wouldn’t. No one would know you. Once I collar you, you’re just a number, a blip in the computer, another piece of slave pussy. I’d sell you on a weekday, when no one was around. Rush you through with a group, on a day when we were moving a lot of twat. You wouldn’t have long in the inspection pens. You’d be on the block before you’d know it.”
“Oh, how NAUGHTY of you, sneaking me into the pens that way, just like I was a real slave girl. But there’s still a problem. What if someone…bought me?”
“That’s where the reserve price comes in,” he explained. She stopped fondling his cock, which was disappointing, but he was pleased to see that she was seriously evaluating his proposal. “We’d set it really high, at $100,000. The best sale we had last month was for $53,500, Miss Sandy Foot. In this market, with all the slave pussy for sale because of the tough times, we almost never get over $70,000.”
“Which is still a nice commission for you,” she noted with a smile. “Why not make my reserve price a $1,000,000?”
“Because the computer would flag it, and my bosses would bounce it. The Big D doesn’t get paid unless we sell you, and my bosses wouldn’t be pleased to see me wasting time doing training pussy-prep on a Pleasure Slut that has no chance of selling. But if I slipped you into the computer, and sold you at an off time, then we’d get away with it. Of course, I’d want some compensation for my time, and the risk I was taking.”
“I see. You’d have an incentive to sell me at an off time, as discretely as possible, so your bosses didn’t find out about your con. Of course, you’d have to get some burrito money, for your time. And I expect my training to be… excellent. Excellent, and entirely authentic.”
“Don’t worry, Senorita,” he said, affecting a Mexican accent. “Manuel will put you in your place.”
Karen smiled, and reached under her own little black dress. “Oh, Manuel? You naughty boy! You’ve made the pretty white lady all wet. Maybe you’d like to… consummate the deal, right now? I’ll suck your big burrito, until I make all that delicious white queso spurt out.”
“No,” he said. “You’ll suck my cock when you are naked, and collared, and I have the whip hand. Then I’ll teach you to do it properly.”
“You are a big meanie!” she pouted. “Very well, wait here, while your white-sugar-mama writes you a check.”
Karen made a point of swaying her sexy ass as she went into her husband’s desk, got his checkbook, and wrote the check.
The plan was already clear in Manuel’s mind. He planned to take his time with her training. A week or two in one of the Mexican brothels across the border, maybe Boy’s Town, with cocks porking all her holes day and night, and a pimp who forced her to troll the streets and suck dicks for a few pesos. Maybe she’d have to put on shows with other girls, or get her ass strapped. After she was sufficiently fucked, and understood her place in the world, he’d train her… HARD.
Manuel remembered from school that Karen ran marathons. He had a special buyer who hated rich American women, and liked to train them as pony girls, and run them all over his huge estate in Dubai. Manuel have to harness her, of course, and take her out for some long runs, to get her used to the cart, and help her build up her wind. He didn’t mind; in fact, he was looking forward to it. The little Princess would have to get used to running all day in the freezing rain, pulling the heavy cart uphill and through the mud, but that was what the pony whip was for.
Manuel knew the area well, and had a pretty good idea from checking out which rich men Karen flirted with at the party who would pay $100,000 to put Karen in a collar. She was such a snotty bitch, he imagined the list of bidders would be long, and he’d make way more than $100,000 on her skanky ass.
Yes, all her Karen’s rich friends would see her naked on the block, and he’d use her cell phone contacts to invite any he missed. He knew they’d all come, even the ones who didn’t like slavery, for the sheer spectacle of it, and to offer “moral support”. It would be THE social affair of the summer.
Maybe a few “friends” would feign an attempt to buy her out of sympathy, but they’d soon drop out when the bidding swelled. And when her family, and her husband, saw the way she disgraced herself on the block, pleasuring herself to multiple slavegasms, their interest in buying her back would soon wane. She might be worth it as a vengeance fuck, but after what Manuel planned on doing to her on the block she’d no longer be fit to be anyone’s wife or daughter.
Karen handed Manuel a check. He gasped when he looked at the amount. He’d have to tell his bosses about it, but if they made their money selling Karen’s pussy, they’d probably let him keep what the foolish Pleasure Slut’s ineffective “bribe”.
“That should make up for the commission you would had,” she purred, “several times over. How soon can we do this?”
“The forms are on The Big D website,” Manuel said. “Just fill them out, and have them notarized. We can start tomorrow.”
“No, let’s make it Tuesday. Taco Tuesday. Get it, burrito boy? Taco Tuesday? Ha-ha!”
For the first time, Manuel laughed at her joke. Taco Tuesday, indeed.
