Sandy Foot Girl, Epilogue, Part 2

[imreadonly2]

A bit more from Joe!

Taking the magazine out of his hands, I held it up next to my face. “I’m looking for this girl. The little slut who looks like me.”

The police officer looked slightly baffled as he looked at the magazine cover, then at me, then back at the magazine. “She looks nothing like you,” he said, staring at the picture of Miss Sandy Foot. “She is… beautiful.”

“I’m NOT beautiful?” I said, clearly unhappy.

Realizing his unintended insult, the officer quickly backtracked. “Oh, no, that’s not that I meant. You are very pretty, Ma’am,” he said, a bit too respectfully.

“But... ?” I said, prompting him.

The officer took the magazine from my hands and adjusted the angle for a better look.

“She is Miss Sandy Foot. She is ripe. She is luscious. Miss Sandy Foot is… irresistible.”

“And I’m not?” I challenged him, my annoyance growing. “Why? Because I have a brain?”

The preference of most men for submissive, insatiable Pleasure Sluts who would beg to suck their cocks was well documented. But to be compared to this PARTICULAR slut, B-269, and to be found wanting, genuinely pissed me off.

“Pleasure sluts can be quite clever,” he countered, “although their cleverness is properly focused on pleasing their masters, and avoiding the whip. As for her physical attributes, there is the waviness of her hair, the ripe roundness of her breasts, the pointiness of her nipples, and the wetness of her slave snatch. What man wouldn’t want a slut like this at his feet?”

Glaring at him, I undid my hair, and shook it out loosely, so it flowed naturally over my shoulders like the little slut on the cover. I dropped my expensive blue blazer on the dirty cement floor, like I’d never need it again. Ditching my glasses, I put them in my purse, then dropped my purse on top of the blazer.

All of the text in the room, from the overhead signs to the details on the slave catches badge, quickly went into a blur. I felt a sudden chill as years of education vanished.

Words did not matter. Imports were popular precisely because ignorant, illiterate slaves were easier to control. B-269 offered the best of all worlds – well spoken, but unable to use reading to either distract herself or as a tool to escape.

The hunky slave catcher barely looked at me as I stripped away my tasteful and stylish veneer, and instead choose to ogle the frisky cover girl block meat known as Lot B-269. I knew she was me, but she was NOT me, and as odd it might seem I hated her, or hated myself, for not being able to draw the interest of the handsome man who preferred the fantasy picture to the educated, wealthy, free woman standing before him.

“I’m looking for the girl because she is my sister,” I said.

“Your sister!” the man said, finally looking up from the magazine in surprise. “Really? I don’t see any family resemblance.”

“That’s because the little slut has her head back, and you can’t see her face that well. You’re looking at MY face, and HER stinking wet snatch.”

He smiled at the truth of the observation. I blushed at his smile, because although I was referring to the wet snatch of B-269, my pussy was now soaking. Without panties, my slave juices were dribbling out of my hot beaver and down my legs.

“You can see our nipples are the same, though, when I tease them.”

I put my head back, and closed my eyes a bit, approximating the pose of the disgusting slut on the magazine cover. Reaching up with my right handle, I tweaked the nipples until they were pointy, and the pinkness poked through the front of my sheer, soaking wet silk blouse.

At his point several of the men passing through the doorway stopped to watch me, the woman in the sheer blouse teasing her nipples. Their attention pleased me. The men weren’t staring at the little slut on the magazine cover. They were staring at me. ME!

“We are blocking the doorway,” the officer observed.

“I don’t care about them,” I said. “Tease my other breast.”

The muscular slave cop didn’t need to be asked twice. He reached out and cupped my breast, massaging it through my blouse.

“See? My right breast is just a bit bigger than the other one, just like the girl in the photograph. Like her, my tits are soft, and ripe, and begging for a master’s touch.”

The cop, mesmerized, nodded.

“The little slut is…me…me sister. I hope she wasn’t sold. We’d get a better block price if we were auctioned as a pair.”

“Yes, a very nice pair,” he said, fondling my breast. “I see the resemblance now, even if you aren’t rubbing your pussy on the auction block.”

“True, but my pussy IS wet, and will get even wetter when I rub it.” Brazenly, I lifted my skirt, to just below the goods, and reached my hand in, groaning with pleasure as I wet my fingers.

I held up my wet, glistening, fingers in front of his nose. “I smell wonderful, don’t I?” He said nothing, but breathed deeply.

“As for auction blocks, you have plenty of those, don’t you? Perhaps all I need is a master strong enough to collar me, and man enough to turn a coin selling off my hot, wet slave pussy.”

“Perhaps you should get assessed,” he said, returning the flirtation.

“Perhaps you should turn in your badge, and get a toy gun instead.” I turned up my lip, flashing the slave registration number tattooed onto the inside of my lip. “I’m registered already, Prime Minus, dummy, with everything about me on file.”

“Pictures too?” he said, leering at me with a lascivious smile.

Blushing, I nodded.

“So you are slave hot?” he said, “like your sister?”

“Hotter than my sister,” I said smiling as I teased the bulge in his pants with my hand. “In fact, we are twins. I got a Big D Badge brand when she was branded, as a show of support.”

He laughed. “You lie! No free woman would get badged. The pain is too intense.”

“I’ll bet you a $1 you’re wrong. I have a gauze and slave cream between my but cheeks.”

He squinted. “Wage on,” he said, reaching into his wallet for the dollar.

I noticed that the crowd of gawkers who had stepped to side to watch my interrogation were still watching. The other cop was now directing traffic, keeping a flow of the crowd moving as a circle formed abound me and Jake. I did not care. Let them gawk.

“Yes, Master,” I said, in my best slave girl voice.

I turned my back, and with great ceremony, teasingly unzipped my tight skirt, revealing my butt crack to his wide eyes. He started at my bare ass, mouth agape, mesmerized.

I felt luscious, strong, and powerful. He was mine. He was in MY control! He wasn’t even thinking of that little bitch, Miss Sandy Foot, now.

My ass was flawless, except of the cotton gauze near the center of my butt cleft.

“See?” I said.

“I see cotton,” he said. “I don’t see a brand.”

“It’s very painful. Excruciating.”

“Good. It’s supposed to be. A girl should feel her brand.”

“I don’t want to take off the bandage,” I said, making a pouty face. It’s hurts to much!”

“I’ll do it,” he said, reaching for my ass.

I didn’t want him to do it, but a part of me… a big part of me… wanted him to see the brand. I wanted everyone, all the men watching, to see my beautiful, luscious, perfect slave brand, marking me as inventory of The Big D.

He wasn’t gentle as he reached into my butt crack and rudely separated my butt cheeks. I gasped with pleasure as he ran his finger down my cleft, pushing at my butthole.

“Oh, Master!” I said, whimpering in pleasure.

My attempts to bring myself to slave-gasm were short lived as he ripped the bandaid off with a short, quick motion. I screamed, nearly fainting from the pain. He grabbed me by the tits to keep from falling.

I gasped, sobbing, his hands fondling my breast, as he examined my brand. “Perfect,” he said.

“The brand or my ass?” I said.

“One compliments the other.”

I straightened up, and with no small amount of difficulty zipped up my skirt.

“It hurts,” I said. “You should run fetch me some branding cream, from the slave mall.”

“It is supposed to hurt,” he repeated. “Free men don’t fetch for slave girls. With each step, think of me. Is your sister’s brand as perfect?”

“It is exactly the same,” I teased. “We are exactly the same in every way. We even have the same SRN.”

“That is impossible,” he said. “No two girls can have the same SRN. Not even twins.”

“Exactly. It makes you wonder if I’m telling you the truth. Slave girls are natural liars,” I said, tweaking the rock-hard bulge in his pants.

“I want to check your SRN,” he said, his smile fading as he stepped away.

“Why?” I said, still smiling.

“Because I said so… runaway.” The last accusing word, runaway, was soft, barely a whisper.

I smiled at him, unapologetic, unafraid. “What of it?” I said, tracing the head of his erect penis through the bulge in his pants. “If I were a runaway, what would you do about it? Are you going to strip me buck naked, and collar me, and strip me of everything, and turn me back into INVENTORY?”

I squeezed his package and licked my lips as I leaned in close. “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 nto a Pleasure Slut?”

“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 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 belt, a tiny part of one little insignia in a cluster of insignias on some FUCKING slave catcher’s FUCKING shirt? Do you know how DEGRADING that is, you BASTARD? Would you really do that to me? A well educated free women. Do you have the BALLS to do that… Master?”

There was a tense standoff as I stared at him, not moving, smiling, enjoying the electricity between us.

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 Jim Henry, the owner of The Triple D. Jake had a handlebar mustache and 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.

“Hello, Jake,” I said, folding my arms over my breasts as I returned his handshake. “It’s good to see you again, my friend.”

“It’s good to see you too, Missy,” Jake drawled back. “Though I hope you ayn’t charging me for this visit.”

I laughed along with him. “No, I was in town on some… other business, so I thought I’d drop by and see how much tail you were moving.”

“Shit, just since the last time you peeked at our numbers, we’re up another 15%, and our profits more than that! In fact, I’m looking at opening up another location in Houston, to take on HCI. I’d love to get your help on the deal.”

“Call my office and we’ll set something up. I’m always happy to help.”

“Where y’all headin’?”

“I thought I’d take a quick peek at Broadway and see how you were doing.”

“Mr. Henry, I think she might be a runaway,” the officer said grimly.

Jake Henry laughed out loud. “Ha-ha! That’s a good one. ‘Fraid yer off the scent in this case, officer. Sarah here’s practically my business partner. She’s the reason I can you all that overtime, and your Christmas bonus. Thanks to Sarah, we’re making money hand-over-fist!”

Turning to me, Jake put his arm around my shoulder in a fatherly way, “Let’s go see Broadway!”

The officer, frowning, reached down to hand me my purse and jacket. Turning my back on Jake, I took the jacket, flashing my breasts at the officer as I put it on.

“Can you hat check my purse, BOY?” I said. “I’ll pick it up on the way out. I reached into my purse and pulled out my slave collar, a “souvenir” from my last “visit” to The Big D, then tossed the bumfuzzled cop my purse.

Leaning in close I whispered into my would-be arresting officer’s ear. “You were right. Some Pleasure Sluts are quite clever… and are real cock teasers, too!”

I flashed him my sweetest smile as once again he stared at me, mouth agape. Jake put his arm around my shoulder in a fatherly way, and we walked away. I winced with each step, the fresh pain caused by bare slave brand driving me crazy… in a good way.

My purse contained my identification, money, and credit cards. They were all the things that a free woman most desperately needed in a place like The Big D. I knew it was foolish to surrender them, but the idea of walking into the bowels of The Big D with nothing but my slave collar and the clothes on my back was simply too exciting to resist.

Leaving my purse behind felt exhilarating, and strangely liberating. Less was more. Indeed, in that moment I was ready to kick off my shoes, rip off my dress, and run naked through The Big D, with the burley slave catcher in hot pursuit. In my fantasy it would be a brisk run, although in reality I knew that escaping slave girls had no friends at The Big D, and I wouldn’t get 10 yards before a laughing stranger grabbed me by the tits or my officer friend shot me in the back with a taser dart.

Looking over my shoulder, I flashed the slave catcher a wicked smile as Jake lead me deep, deep, deep into bowels of The Big D.

[jeepster]

Should of known she couldn't stay away. Are there going to be anymore parts to this story or are we going to be left to make our own ending?

[jeepster]

Awesome chapter! Knew she was wanting more. Hope she gets more in the next !

[jeepster]

So obviously Jake doesn't look at the sales brochure or the Sandy Foot magazine! If he had he would have seen her in/on them! Guess all he is worried about is the money!

[Scman493]

Like a moth to the flame, she just can't stop. Such a great story with really great images. Please continue her road to...….. the depths of her own perversions. Thank you so much for writing.

[Scman493]

To Jeepster's point above....I'm actually hoping that Jake knows she is still technically "Inventory" and that he is intentionally leading her deep into his establishment without her glasses, money or identification so she can be returned to her proper place and sold again on the block for real without a safety net and without escape. She will return to the pleasure slut she saw in the mirror in a prior chapter and her intelligence will wane as her slutty slave urges overtake her educated judgment. >>>>>> I'm just hoping.

[jeepster]

Scman493 I am in complete agreement with you! That was kind of the way I was hoping it would go!

[Scman493]

Yes, I hope she only thinks she is in control when in fact she is being intentionally lead to her demise and well deserved degradation.

[WeekndLights]

Brilliant just brilliant, Can't stop re-reading this. Would love to see a follow up for this.

[jeepster]

More please!

[jeepster]

Well it's been since January it must be time for the next chapter!

[Scman493]

yes please!

[lovethissite]

Loved all the additional chapters. Sarah is on her way to her permanent reality I hope anyway. Humility and good sense are not her strong points.