Southwest Shipping - Part 13

[ElJefe]

It's deja vu all over again.


Southwest Shipping

"Attention, all slaves. All slaves, fold your blanket neatly and place it on your bunk. Kneel, knees apart, hands on thighs, head down."

"Atención, a todas esclavas. Todas las esclavas, doble pulcramente so manta y colóquela en su litera. Arrodíllate con las rodillas separadas..."

The announcement repeated, the bright light burning her eyes, the air outside her blanket uncomfortably cool. Shit. Shit. Shit!

...or you'll go to the block with fresh whip marks on your ass.

This wasn't a roommate being an ass about waking early, this wasn't even a big business meeting she had to attend even though she'd stayed up too late, this was a goddamn slave market where they really would whip her ass and she'd end up in some stupid suck bar for the next eight years "now serving cock 52". Shit.

She felt like crying but she didn't have time. Must get that blanket folded on the... Shit, that's cold. At least my nips will be perky.

Natalie knelt in the Down position (Why hadn't they just said to kneel in Down? Because stupid slaves didn't know their block moves, that's why...) and glanced around, other nude bodies glimpsed through bars moving to comply. She lowered her head, she could see enough out the corner of her eyes to know what was going on. She waited. And waited.

God, this is boring. She saw a life unfolding before her, a life of waiting, hurrying up, running to have sex, then waiting, waiting again, and she hated it. She had to get out of here.

Physical escape was foolish. First, she'd have to figure a way out of her cage, and then what? Even if she could get off the property, she'd be shocked insensible as soon as she took that first step on the sidewalk. She'd have to find clothes somewhere, well, that might not be too hard. But then she'd simply be on the run from slave catchers, and that kept her from the life that belonged to her just as effectively as being locked to a post with her lips around some man's member.

Step one was just to get through today, getting sold to the richest buyer she could, and then she could figure out her next move. She didn't want to go to auction again, lots of things could happen at auction, most of them bad, some of them awful. Auctions are the worst. But the only way out was through. She looked around. There was no drain in the cage to pee down. Either they weren't going to keep her waiting much longer, or there would be a mess to clean up.

Watching handlers lead other naked slaves here and there only made it worse. I have to pee, god damn it! Every time she saw a handler stop at a nearby cage that wasn't hers, she felt one step closer to making a puddle on her little mat.

Finally a woman came to the door, Natalie carefully avoiding eye contact.

"Slave, Up, Turn, Back Hands." She felt the leash clip onto her collar. Thank God.

The first stop was a large restroom facility with a row of toilets out in the open, some already occupied by slaves. Her handler stood behind her, still holding her leash as she emptied her bladder. Two days ago, she'd have been mortified at the prospect of making her water in front of gawking passers-by, now she was grateful for the opportunity to relieve her aching bladder.

As soon as she finished, her handler stood her with a jerk on the leash and led her to the wall which had a row of...nozzles. Not again. This time, the handler tugged on her wrists, bound behind her back after ordering "Display", enforcing the order to present her opening for the cleaning. For the fourth time in the last 24 hours, she got a bellyful.

Then it was back to the toilets, where she was seated next to a cute red head with short hair, also straining to empty in spurts. Although the other woman would be competition on the block, she seemed approachable in her vulnerability, and Natalie would have attempted an introduction under better circumstances. But with their handlers holding their leashes behind them, Natalie felt like a dog whose owner impatiently urged her to "do her business" rather than allow her to play with the other poodle. Neither slave so much as made eye contact with the other, the situation was just too intrusive and humiliating.

First the other girl, then Natalie was stood and cleaned between her legs with a hose, squatting to allow the spray to rinse as much filth as possible. Although still dripping wet, she at least felt clean down there, and it occurred to her that having a clean crotch was a prerequisite to commanding a high price.

Her hands, still cuffed behind her, were scrubbed with a hot, wet towel, and even without soap that felt wonderful. She tried to think of when she'd last washed her hands and realized that for most of her time that she couldn't, and that they hadn't been really cleaned since her trip through the Cattle Wash the previous evening.

Next was a sort of chow hall with a row of bowls on the floor and naked asses in the air behind them. Wonder of wonders, her hands were uncuffed so that she could eat, and she had no qualms about displaying her own backside as she knelt to scoop the offerings out of the bowl with one hand while holding her hair out of the way with the other. Even better, it was real food, some sort of vegetable stew, greasy but edible. Slaves must be grateful for small favors. She suspected that they wanted to give her (and the others) a little emotional lift so that they'd be at their best for sale. She tried to lift the water bowl to drink, and found it fixed to the floor. After a little experimentation with scooping up handfuls of water, she did as the others slaves and just drank from the bowl.

Then there was a long row of sinks and a mirrored wall, and for the first time, she saw the dangling tag in her ear, still quite sore from the punch. It was a dangling blue token in the shape of the state of California, with her lot number in black and white on the back. So now she knew where her nickname had come from, even if she didn't know how it had been chosen. She wished they'd never attached the damn thing. Well, if she ever got it off, she'd have a ready-made hole for a cartilage piercing. What did they call a piercing through that part of the ear, a conch?

Natalie was given ten minutes with a toothbrush and comb to make herself presentable, and did her best with what she had. She thought the messy hairstyle that the woman in Houston had given her was perfect for the occasion; high maintenance hair was definitely not in order! She wondered if someone graded Prime Plus was given any extra help in looking beautiful.

She was then given to another handler, Ron from the previous day. He yawned.

"Morning, California. Don't answer."

"Yes, Mas..."

"Shut up." The energy changed in the part of the building he was leading her to, although she couldn't tell just what was going on. She followed the man, staring at the way his butt moved in his jeans, and finding herself become aroused. Is that me, him, or that "happy juice" shot I got yesterday?

He resumed. "Now, you may recall our discussion yesterday, in which I expressed my astonishment that your rating did not match your appearance. Although you are comely, you should not aspire to enter the innermost circle of feminine charm reserved for the most pulchritudinous of maidens. And you haven't got the faintest damn idea of what I'm talking about, do you, California Cunt?" He jerked her to a halt by her leash.

She paused a moment. "Master, before this slave became enslaved, she earned an MBA from Harvard and graduated from Tufts magna cum laude with a degree in econ. This slave will do her best to keep up with the conversation."

He stared at her an uncomfortably long time, giving no hint of his emotion. "Tufts? That's not an Ivy League school."

"Master, it's a Little Ivy. It's just two miles north of Harvard."

"Well, I'll be dipped in dog shit." He started walking again, leading her along. "California, where are you really from?"

"This slave grew up in New York, on the East Side."

Ron stopped again. "New York City."

"Yes, Master."

"In Manhattan."

"Yes, Master."

"Over there by Central Park?"

"Yes, Master."

He stepped behind her and goosed her, holding her leash in his left hand while probing her entrance with his middle finger. He urged her forward with the palm of his hand, bending to speak in her ear.

"New York Cunt, you fuck very well. I sampled both your pussy and your butt last night, you might not have noticed."

"No, Master..." He hadn't used her mouth, at least not that she remembered. And it was impossible to tell who was using her back end most of the time.

"Good muscle control. You do your Kegels. Are you a trained pleasure slut?"

"No, Master."

He steered her into a cage with a little stage, sand sprinkled across the wooden floorboards. "What the fuck is a rich Yankee bitch like you doing getting sold down in Texas like any piece of good looking pussy who can't pay her bills?" He pulled the door shut behind him as he waited for her answer.

"I...this slave trusted the wrong man, Master."

"Well, don't you all." He slowly shook his head from side to side. "Get up there on the block." Three steps led up to the block, and a fourth step had her standing on the sand. He followed behind her and took a position where an auctioneer might stand.

"Now, before I dipped my wick in you, I'd have marked you down as Choice Plus. Good, but not a Sandy Foot girl. What did you do in Houston to come out straight Prime?"

"They had me...Master, I picked up a dildo with my vagina."

"With your cunt, Slave, with your cunt. Slaves don't have dainty sounding little body parts." He shook his head again. "Let me guess, they had some kind of sticky stuff on it that made it easy to pick up even with a dripping wet snatch, right?"

"Yes, Master."

"That trick isn't going to work here. We get more buyers that specialize in Prime pussy, hardly anyone would get fooled by that up here. We need you to move your body, look sexy up there. You know any hot dance moves?"

"Master, this slave was trained in ballet when she was younger."

Ron clasped his palm to his face. "Look around you, this is the Big D Slave Market, not the Met. Now, I appreciate a good pas de deux, but most of the buyers here don't even know what that means. And tutus might have been pretty risqué in France a few hundred years ago, but you need moves that look good slave naked."

Natalie scuffed her foot on the floor, testing it with her weight on it. "Master, I think I have an idea."

"Jesus, you ain't been trained, have you? There's no 'I' in slave."

"This slave apologizes, Master. May...would you like to see?"

He made circles with his hand at the end of his wrist. "Get on with it."

She laid on her back, feet to him and head almost hanging off the platform where an audience would be. "What does Master tell slaves who have been gymnasts to do if they have no routine?"

"That's easy, the splits. Show your pussy to the crowd."

"I...this slave hasn't danced in years, but I still stretch. Ballerinas are very flexible."

Natalie brought her feet together up over her head, lifting her hips off the sandy stage. Then her feet separated, each ankle tracing a graceful arc parallel to the floor until her legs went east and west, all just inches from the platform. She paused, displaying herself in all her glory, then continued the rotation until her legs closed, her toes pointing at Ron's shins, still just inches above the sand.

"That's not bad."

"Master, there's more." She drew her knees together up to her chest and rolled to her side then onto them, facing away and presenting her rump. Then, leaning forward to take her weight onto her hands, her legs unfolded to the sides until her toes just touched the boards far to each side of her, her legs again forming a straight line from one foot to the other. She arched her back, presenting her anus and sex between her legs, looked back over her shoulder with a coquettish smile, and winked at him.

"Nice! Can you wink your asshole and your eye in sync?"

She demonstrated that she could.

"Master, may this slave attempt one more thing?"

He assented, thinking she was on a roll.

She stood up. "I don't think I can manage a turn penché any more, and it would take too long to get it back. But one of the girls in my dorm was into modern dance, and she taught me this..."

Natalie faced away from Will again, and kicked one leg up behind her until she was doing a vertical straddle split, reaching back to hold the upright leg in position as she arched her back. Again, she looked over her shoulder at him. "Master, the other dancer was a cheerleader in high school and said they called this a needle, because the legs are so straight." She released her leg and came back to a standing position.

"Good, good. Uh, your pussy goes the other way, you know. Toward the buyers."

"Yes, Master. I...this slave wanted to show you what it looked like."

"I don't know if that'll get you a Sandy Foot, but you're in the running."

"Master, what is a Sandy Foot?"

"Jesus, you are a Yankee, aren't you?" Ron pulled up something on his tablet to show her. "This is the Sandy Foot magazine." A naked slave filled the screen, squatting and spreading her lower lips for the camera. "The hottest piece of ass that goes through here each month gets the cover, and...", he showed her numerous other images in the e-zine, "...all the other Primes get a photo. Prime pluses get a big photo, straight Primes a medium, Prime minuses a small. You have to be Prime to get in the magazine, though. That's what we're trying to do today."

Natalie knew this was crossing a Rubicon. Although anyone who had access could get her rather explicit grading photos from the national registry, being published in the Big D's e-zine would let the whole world know she was enslaved and forced to fuck whoever her new master pleased. She knew of several women who had been previously enslaved and became successful once their indenture was complete, but none of them were part of the exclusive East Coast cliques that Natalie usually associated with. It might take years until her contacts there looked at her as a competent entrepreneur again instead of just fallen fuck-meat, and that concerned her. On the other hand, having her face spread through even such a dubious channel could mean friends or family might use their considerable wealth to rescue her.

Knowing that a high grade increased her odds of getting a good master made up her mind. If nobody rescued her, she might be stuck with a new owner for years, and there was utterly no sense tanking her grade to save her reputation if that made her utterly miserable or even damaged her health. If this worked, her parents would see her smiling and displaying her cunt (it wouldn't be a vagina, at least not to her anymore), and if it didn't, who saw her pussy and who didn't would be the least of her worries.

She decided that her enthusiasm would be genuine, not feigned, and gladly agreed to run through her routine twice more. Ron viewed the last two from below the block, checking how she would appear to the buyers.

"I think that looks good, you're about as ready as you can be. Have some water, and spread your legs."

When she did as he bid, he began playing with her clit. "New York, don't forget to play up your slave heat. When you spread that stuff out for the buyers, it needs to glisten. You know what I mean?"

"Yes, Master, it was that way in Houston. This slave will be ready for her new owner to fuck as soon as she mounts the block."

"Good. You'll be sold soon, I have to get you up on display."

"Master, will this slave be devoxed for display?"

"Big D policy. Devox for display, antidote for auction."

Soon Natalie was mounted to a post similar to the ones she'd been displayed on in Houston. Here, the difference was that she would be up for two hours in a single instance, but no longer. If her arousal had varied during the morning, it hit her hard as soon as she saw the display area. She decided that if anyone pawed her, she'd turn the attention around to help her arouse herself even more. If someone got a finger into her, she'd hump that finger for all she was worth. No longer was she a virgin slave, having never been sold and not knowing what was expected of her, even less was she an ingenue fresh out of high school to be graded, the auction block but a frightening threat on the distant horizon. Last night's gang bang dispelled any reservations that her next owner would use her sexually, hard and often, and that if she wanted top price, that she had to display not only willingness but eagerness to be used that way.

Unlike HCI, the Big D did not follow a policy of "no insertions", as Natalie danced on several fingers that morning. She wondered if that was universal, or if only free women in for a grade were spared the worst indignities. Besides the looky-loos out for a cheap thrill, serious buyers also "checked her heat", as one gentleman put it to his female trainee. Natalie also danced on the trainee's fingers, as she was going through "on the job training".

Other buyers checked everything from her teeth to her feet. One woman made a point of feeling up her legs "for stamina", and when her companion claimed Natalie was too slender to be a good ponygirl, the woman exclaimed, "But Charles, with enough time on the treadmill, we could certainly build her up enough to do dressage." Natalie hadn't found Jordan's description of the ponygirl life all that appealing, but she still found her clit aching to be touched as she considered the prospect of being fitted with a horsehair butt plug that tattled on her arousal status, being bent over a stanchion to be "bred". Again, she wondered if it was her own imagination or just the happy juice talking.

After what seemed an eternity, Ron returned and lowered her from the inspection post. Her hands were cuffed behind her back again, and he told her to "open wide", and sprayed something down her throat. He held a water bottle to her lips as she drank, encouraged by him to "drink it all down".

He explained that she had dropped back down to Prime minus during her inspection, but that wasn't necessarily a terrible thing, he'd thought she might drop all the way down to Choice. It was all up to her now. He took her to an area marked "Broadway", and told her it was the Big D's prime auction arena, known around the world as the theater where they marketed the hottest, most desirable pleasure slaves. A grade of Prime was expected of every slave sold on Broadway, and if she performed her routine as well as she had earlier that morning, he expected her to meet those expectations. As a final word of advice, he said the chute would be dark and that she'd be packed in tight with other slaves. She was not to be concerned if they ground against her to maintain their slave heat, and she was welcome to do likewise if she wished. He uncuffed her, gave her a hard slap on the butt, and pushed her into the chute.

Ron had been right about the chute. Natalie could barely see, and as the door closed behind her, her breasts pressed into another woman's back, that woman's buns against Natalie's hips and mound. The whole chute smelled of pussy, of desperate women wanting to curry sexual favor with unseen buyers. Natalie was able to wedge a hand between herself and the woman in front, rolling a nipple between her fingers. She tried to reach down to her sex, but the angles were wrong, the chute too narrow, her body too tightly packed to find a way. In frustration, she reached past the woman's waist to grasp yet a third woman's flank, finding it moving to a rhythm that could be furious self-stroking and probably was.

There was noise and light up ahead, and the line moved forward, taking a step up a ramp before all was cut off again. Another woman was now on the block, and for a moment, Natalie had enough space to slip her arm between the woman before her and the next woman still further ahead. She pawed around and found both the woman's sex and the woman's hand, working to frig herself. Two hands are better than one, she thought as the woman began to moan and gyrate against Natalie's body. Natalie's only regret was that there wasn't someone behind her doing the same to her.

She felt the door open behind her, and a warm body pressed into her from behind. She felt an arm behind her buttocks, moving up and down. Great, everyone can Jill off here except me. Natalie tried to rub the unseen woman behind her with her butt. Kinkiest conga line ever, she thought.

The door ahead opened and closed, Natalie took another step. The chute sloped up, up to the block. No stairs, nothing to trip over. She was afraid of the block, afraid that her destiny was doomed. She craved the block, knowing that she had to create desire to succeed.

Buy me. I'll be your best toy. Fuck your private jet, you'll forget all about it once you're inside of me.

Her voice had returned, she could hear her own moans. Her bladder swelled, no time for a potty break now, so long as she could spread her cunt without pissing herself before the hammer fell, she didn't care. Sold. Sold. Sold. Sold. She heard the gavel drop for yet another girl, and felt it in her nipples and clit just like she did in Houston. She hated this. She wanted this. She needed this.

The door opened and there was only blinding light. The warm woman before her bounded off, disorienting Natalie until she felt and heard the rough wood of the door close in her face. Next! She was Next! She began to rub herself, listening to the chatter. Hunnert ten, hunnert ten, hunnert nickel dime, hunnert nickel dime, hunnert twenty...

The door opened and she bounded out, waving, her own juices cooling on her fingers. What am I bid on this west coast pussy, PREEEEESENT! She popped into position, smiling and thrusting her tits.

Seventy five, eighty, seventy seventy five, do I hear eighty? Seventy five eighty. Eighty eighty five, do I hear ninety? Drop and doggy fours... Crack! The whip sounded like a gunshot in her ear. She twerked in the doggy position, exposing as much of herself as she could.

"Put her one her back, feet together, raise 'em up." Natalie thought she heard Ron, stage-whispering to the auctioneer.

Pussy on her back, get that pussy on her back! Crack! Feet to the sky, Lordy me, Lordy my! Crack! Bring 'em on back, touch the ground, show that crack. Crack! Hunnert fifteen twenty, twenty twenty fifteen twenty!

Crack! Left go east, right go west, look at pussy, it's the best. Crack! Hunnert twenty five, hunnert twenty five. Natalie heard a murmur go through the crowd as she performed the first split, licking her lips suggestively as she held herself open as wide as any woman possibly could.

Crack! Bring 'em on down, little tootsies on the ground. Crack! Roll it on over, Rover, Rover wants it over. Crack! Hunnert twenty five thirty, thirty, am I bid hunnert thirty five? She presented her bare ass to the audience, sand sticking to her body, stinking of women and women's piss, her own bladder starting to ache.

Crack! There they go, out again, look she's winking, she's your friend. Crack! Winking high, winking low, look she's winking down below. Natalie worked her best "come fuck me" smile, struggling to keep her asshole and eyelid synchronized. She heard applause and hoots, she was sure the comments were crude but she was too busy to focus on them.

Come early, come often. She felt as much as imagined hundreds of eyes on her body, here in the arena and around the world on the internet. She was so close! Coming on the block will make me more valuable. Do it. Do it for yourself, do it for them. You'll enjoy doing it, they'll enjoy watching.

Crack! Everybody, lookee here. She ain't no bull, she ain't no steer. One foot high and one foot low, in the middle she goes and goes. Hunnert thirty five, forty. Hunnert forty. This was for the money, the best move she had. She kicked her left foot high behind her and reached back to catch it with both hands. That alone required more flexibility than all but a few women could manage, but Natalie had been overstretching for years. She looked back over her shoulder again, and winked. Then...it was a crazy idea, it felt wrong, but if it worked... To hell with what she'd rehearsed, she might fall over, she might let go of her leg prematurely. That would look stupid, but she had done well so far. She might have done enough, but she wanted to go for all the marbles.

She gripped her shin tight with her left hand and released it with her right. Balance, balance, all she had to do was find her pussy without falling over. There was a little bobble, but she stayed up, the sticky sand at her feet. Uh, there! She spread her petals wide with two fingers, might as well give them a show, and rubbed her little button with her palm.

Crack! Fingers busy, fingers quick, look out boys that gash is slick...

Her nipples ached, and she went over the edge, amazed that she could climax in such a position. Natalie grunted out her orgasm, horrified to find little spurts of pee squirting out of her with each contraction. Hold it! Hold it! She struggled to control her bladder as her spasms of pleasure overtook her.

Crack! There it is boys, there she blows. She's a squirter, perfect ho.

Her balance faltered. No, no! Her back leg came down quickly, tiny rivulets of pee on her other leg. She stumbled forward, barely catching herself, turned, and waved. Yeah, I meant to do that. She smiled like she had just won a gold medal, but she would have grimaced if not on the block. Her bladder still called, but less urgently now that she'd found some relief, in more ways than one.

Hunnert forty five, one forty five fifty, hunnert fifty one fifty five...

Smile and wave, smile and wave. Yeah, where else are you going to buy that, Dallas? Thirty one years old and can still shoot a needle, and diddle myself while doing it. All you cowboy hicks go fuck yourselves! She jumped up and down as the bids climbed higher.

In her haze, only her nipples "felt" the gavel drop, and as she turned to exit the block something stung her ass as hard as a yellow jacket. The crack of the whip preceded her yip by a fraction of a second, and she clapped hands over her backside as she scampered to the edge of the block, several wranglers waiting for her there. Just as she felt the first tinge of anger at being whipped, she realized how picturesque it must appear to have each girl "whipped" off the block.

"Good Cunt!"
"Great job!"
"Back hands!"
"Back hands!"

One of them advanced on her menacingly with a slave prod, but lowered it when she quickly complied with the orders.

Ron was one of them, ratcheting on the cuffs. "You kept your grade. Not bad for an over the hill liberal Yankee bitch!"

"Prime Minus?"

"No, you got your straight Prime back. Owner took advantage of the free badge offer, wear it with pride."

Several hands lowered her from the block, her weight no more of a burden than a bag of groceries, and then one of them put a yellow "Sold" sticker on her ear tag.

"Do you know who my owner is?"

"All I know is 'VIP Beauties'. Someplace in Huffman, wherever that is."

Huffman...that sounded familiar. Just where in the hell was Huffman, Texas, anyway?

[Belinda]

Loved the fact that she adopted her past demeanor to always be the best. To excel in everything she does. To push herself to prime status. Seems destined to combine both her previous business experience and pleasure slave capabilities
to make her life complete and whole. However, i am just guessing here.

Regards,

Belinda

[mikey22]

This was another amazing installment. Natalee seems like she’s smart and intelligent. And able to adapt to whatever comes her way. Hopefully she’ll continue to keep her grade up and progress even higher to whatever they challenge her with.

[Carl Bradford]

As usual, I must agree with Ms. Belinda. The author has done a great job of depicting this woman as the ultimate over-achiever. Yes, she's fascinated by the powerless sex of slavery, which she is now experiencing up close and far too personal. Beyond that, however, the lady wanted to succeed as an investment banker, to succeed at slave yoga, to succeed as a slave-graded free person, and now even to succeed as a helpless sex slave. I can identify with that drive to be the best, even when your life is a disaster. This is yet another example of how well the author envisions the thoughts of the protagonist in the midst of this disaster/trap. Thank you, thank you.

[jeepster]

Agree with Belinda and Carl about her over achieving ! But the visual of her routine on the block was really well presented! once again a well written chapter!

[imreadonly2]

Natalie winks,
Where the sun’s never sunny,
Natalie squirts,
A big gush of slave honey.

WOWZER. This was another amazing chapter. I’ll echo Belinda, and say the key to this story’s enormous success is the exploration of Natalie’s mind. It was wonderful how her practical sense of her situation, her intellect and past experiences, and her natural slave heat combined to make her a Sandy Foot Girl.

It is said that a Big D badge isn’t given, it’s earned. Natalie has earned it.

I loved all the little touches, like her ass getting whipped off the block, the sand clinging to her, the “needle” pose, her toying with and discarding the idea of escaping, bragging about her degrees as she slyly promises that she’ll “try to keep up with the conversation.”

The "Needle" Pose: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/ed/76/87 ... 10373c.jpg

I wonder if she understands that slaves don’t have property, or degrees, or professional certifications other than slave grades or slave certificates. If someone asked about her economics degree, they would be told that no one named Natalie Mortellaro has ever attended Tufts University. The look on 713-54-6328’s face when she realizes her hard earned education is simply GONE would be priceless.

I love seeing our little economist's hot little coochie being arbitraged, sold & sold again, in a way that she would most heartily approve of, if she writing a paper at Tufts, or doing a case study at Harvard, of if she were the investor instead of the commodity. I can hardly wait for Will to point out the delicious irony of her winking her asshole to raise her price on the block, the ultimate free market. WONDERFUL.

She’s still rationalizing, fighting it, telling herself that she’s not REALLY a slave girl, and she’ll have to “play along” until she can figure a way out, as if such a thing exists. The story does a wonderful of capturing the dual, or, to use a word she might have used at Tufts, triunal nature of her emotions. Yipping like a dog as the whip lashes her ass as she scampers off the block, followed by a tinge of anger, tied with her appreciation of how "picturesque" lashing her ass off the block must look to the spectators she still identifies with. Pride, humiliation, admiration, fear, and a dozen other emotions all merge as (in one of the stories best images) she feels the gavel drop in her nipples.

Her intellect remains, even as she performs as the perfect block monkey, rolling in the sand as the auctioneer cracks his whip. Best that she turn her mighty intellect to pleasing her masters, as she did on the block. If she’s really good, maybe she’ll earn a biscuit.

ElJefe, meanwhile, has earned my everlasting admiration and gratitude, by giving Joe Doe a smoking hot story staring a Joe Doe style heroine at a location Joe created, that Joe didn’t have to write. This story is the best, and I stand humbly in your shadow, as I do with so many of the best writers here who so endlessly inspire me. Instead of writing the story I’ve dreamed of, I can join the audience, hanging on the edge of my seat as I wait for the next chapter.

Thank you. Thank you. This is so good.

While I don’t make the final decisions, I am friends with Jake, and I’m going to send him this text for his consideration.

This month’s Miss Sandy Foot is Winker, so named for the way she’s winking her left eye and her brown-eye in this month’s cover photo. This blue-tagged bimbo hailed from New-YAWK City, and got a fancy-pants education at Tufts University and Harvard, at least before the gavel fell and her fancy pants were taken away, along with her showy degrees.

“She didn’t have any professional slave training, and she wasn’t that much of a looker,” said Ron, the Big D employee who prepped Winker for the block. “But she did have some ballet, and the competitive, winning attitude needed to be a Sandy Foot Girl. She was a hot little block monkey, and all it took was a few cracks of the whip to get her rolling in the sand, and transform her from flashing her $1500 phone and platinum cards on the Upper East Side to flashing her honeypot for the buyers at The Big D.”

Timmy, who auctioned her off Broadway, echoed Ron’s sentiments. “Winker proves that Sandy Foot Girls are born, not made. I knew the moment I saw her spanked out of the shoot, titties bouncing and blind as a bat, but with a big bimbo grin on her face, that she’d fetch top dollar.”

“What a lot of Pleasure Sluts never understand is the auctioneer is their partner. I want to sell her pussy for top dollar, and she wants a rich master. Even with the humiliation burning in her eyes, she winked her asshole and squirted a gusher in front of everyone, just to squeeze a few more pennies out of her coin slot and into my palm. It was a pleasure to whip her ass off my block.”

Winker showed that even without formal training or Prime looks, a young woman can still aspire to be Miss Sandy Foot. As Jake, the owner of The Big D, explains. “It doesn’t matter how many degrees you have, or how much money you have, or how smart you think you are. It doesn’t matter how many friends you think you have, or how respected you are in the community or in your profession. If you got a hot, wet slave snatch, The Big D will strip you down butt naked, and quicker than you drop a gavel, sell your skanky ass right off the block.”

[imreadonly2]

I keep re-reading this, and I wanted to let you know that it is one of my favorite chapters ever. I wasn't sure if the auctioneer was supposed to be Timmy, or someone else, or if Natalie even gets a chance to look at him, given how laser focused she is on her block performance.

I imagine her meeting him at some future date, and him being extremely cordial and gentlemanly, and her being quite flustered as she remembers how he made her perform on the block. He doesn't appear to remember her, but even if he did, it wouldn't truly matter. After all, he was simply doing his job, and she was simply more slave pussy.

[timerider]

Another great chapter. thanks keep the good work cracking.