Christmas Coed Auction Ch. 5

[Mr. Smith]

Belinda Craig’s POV

With a friendly grin on his face, Darwin suggested, “Hey Ted, why don’t you take a seat and get blown by this pleasure slut here. I think you’ll enjoy it. Your tour here at the Big D won’t be complete until you get a slave kiss from a pretty Sandy Foot Girl.”

Mr. McAllister quickly cut in before Ted’s father could object, “Hold your horses Franklin, your wife’s not here. What happens in the bowels of the Big D is none of Suzanne’s business. That age-old adage of what happens at the slave market stays at the slave market applies. Let the boy have his fun.”

“I don’t think that’s appropriate,” replied Franklin sounding defeated, pausing before concluding. “But he’s a grown man now, a gentleman who can make his own decisions.”

Franklin’s tone indicated that he expected Ted to turn down the offer. That didn’t happen. Without any hesitation Ted took the seat vacated by the older wrangler, quickly dropping his pants and underwear in the process, making his rock-hard erection available to Charlene. I didn’t even get a chance to really check out his equipment before that harlot inhaled the whole thing. I blinked and it was gone, what a slut.

Kneeling to the left rear of Charlene, Buck volunteered, “I’ll encourage this slave girl to up her game. Damn, this slave girl's got a runny gutter, she’s dripping on the floor.”

From Charlene’s excited moans I could tell Buck was doing something right between her legs leaving me longing for some of the same. Feeling neglected I wiggled my ass as enticingly as possible under the circumstances.

“I’ll take care of this slave pussy,” offered Mr. McAllister, his words sending shivers down my spine as he moved into position, kneeling behind me to my left.

A new set of hands started exploring my vulnerable body. The contrast with the inexperienced Ted was striking. Mr. McAllister confidently fondled my firm ass like he owned it. Maybe he did. One could only hope. Assessing its firmness at his leisure with his strong hands. My pussy lips were exposed, plump, and glistening with moisture, and still coated with some sand from the auction block. His practiced touch sent delicious tingling sensations throughout my body, shooting up to my eyelids and down to my toes. His imposing personality stoked my arousal to an inferno, and I didn’t know how to respond.

If I were the prim and proper young lady of yesterday, I would have been outraged and demanded that he stop what he was doing immediately, but that girl was no more. Instead, I enjoyed having this strong man pull my firm cheeks apart putting my wet vagina on lewd display treating me like I wasn’t a person anymore. I was just a pathetically horny slave girl to be enjoyed for now.

“What a block dance this one had. Prancing out of the chute climaxing; an incredible display of slave heat. It looked like she had one drawn out slave-gasm the whole time on the block. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything like it at one of these auctions,” he commented while fondling my derriere.

Buck guffawed, “Lost in that slave haze she only had one thing on her mind.”

Master Darwin grunted, “Slave heat done melted her brain; made her slave stupid.”

Gullible Ted exclaimed, “It melted her brain! How?”

Colten laughed, “It’s a figure of speech. It just means her slave heat; her sexual arousal made her so horny she couldn’t think straight. Bet she has a real drippy slave gash.”

Mr. McAlister cupped my moist pussy with one hand while rubbing a thumb lightly over my welts, adding, “Ted, a slave girl’s sexual arousal can become so intense that she loses the ability for rational thought. Only able to focus on achieving her next slave-gasm. Intelligent young women are highly susceptible to this condition the first time they are stripped slave naked and find themselves wearing a collar in a slave market. Many of these privileged women are suddenly living their darkest, most secret fantasy further stoking their arousal. Most slave girls only need to hear the crack of the auctioneer’s whip once to get the message. This one was so slave stupid she had to be lashed twice to comply. To execute basic commands she’d practiced for months in her Slave Yoga classes.”

Colten added, “Just look at her gobbling Mr. Darwin’s cock hoping to be rewarded with another slave-gasm.

“Right now, she’s contemplating how simple life would be if she were shipped off to her new Master straight away, instead of returning to school having to pay attention in class, author papers and prepare for finals. Pleasure sluts don’t have classes, homework assignments, or finals to worry about, just sex, slave-gasms, and more sex. The allure of the simple life of a pleasure slut intensifies the more her slave heat ignites,” added Mr. McAllister.

Sounding astounded, Ted asked, “Is she humping your hand Uncle Clint?”

“Yup, slave pussy’s hotter than a two-dollar pistol,” chuckled Mr. McAllister. “With a nice runny gutter.”

I blushed at the compliment. Or was it because I was humping his hand, grinding my overheated pussy all over his palm, desperately trying to rub my engorged clitoris into his fingers in a pathetic attempt to get off. I didn’t even notice I was doing it until Ted drew attention to my behavior. I was acting like such a desperate skank. I moaned in frustration as he pulled his hand away to wiggle the butt plug in my ass, leaving my “drippy slave gash” on lewd display once more for everyone walking by to see.

“She looks wet as all get out,” added Colten, sounding impressed.

That was an understatement. Thankfully, nobody had noticed my drippings pooling under my vagina, yet. For some strange reason I pictured Mrs. Parson, my high school’s vice principal, standing above me, hands on her hips staring down at me, her disapproval etched on her stern face. I was one of her favorites, always very refined and ladylike, dressing modestly, never overtly flaunting my curves like many of the other girls. She regularly complimented me about my appearance as a good Christian girl.

Mrs. Parson often chided the slutty girls, claiming their revealing clothes demonstrated a calling for the collar. Telling the cheer team that wealthy men coveted cheerleaders as ponygirls. Many of those girls who didn’t heed her warning that school year didn’t make it through the summer after graduation without becoming enslaved. I’m sure many had bells jingling from their nipples and tail plugs by now.

Hazel Moore, one of my fellow cheerleaders, was the main target for Mrs. Parson’s ire. The voluptuous Hazel had the biggest set of breasts on the team. Always shamelessly flaunting them right along with her butt cheeks hanging out of the bottom of her tight shorts or skirts.

In the yearbook our peers selected her as their classmate most likely to be enslaved. She created a scandal with her yearbook picture kneeling slave naked wearing a genuine slave collar looking back over her left shoulder at the camera with a sultry come fuck me look plastered on her pretty face. The angle concealed her lady bits and nipples while emphasizing her slave nakedness and Sandy Foot bona fides prominently displaying the fresh Big D logo burned into her firm left buttock a month earlier after she turned eighteen.

While I stayed on the cheer team, she showed her true colors senior year joining the school’s ponygirl team, something only the true sluts did. Last summer at the Big D Father’s Day special auction her father, intoxicated from the freebies at the complementary bar, sold her off after someone made a rather generous offer. He came home that night with a free Big D t-shirt instead of his daughter much to his wife’s chagrin until she saw all the zeros on the check.

That day Hazel became some rich man’s plaything to do with as he pleased for three years. Last month I learned that she now has the Lone Oak badge burned into her right buttock after developing slave mind during her four months of Horny Juice induced ponygirl training at that elite establishment. Then she was shipped to Dubai joining some rich sheik’s personal herd.

At the time I felt sorry for her, trapped in a foreign kingdom wearing a collar that only allowed her to make horse sounds while running around with bells jingling from her big nipples, a big butt plug tail up her ass regularly getting whipped and bred by some strange Master and his friends. But now, hearing the cries of pleasure from the girls in the room next door I felt a slight pang of jealousy as I realized that slut’s living her life as her true self, shamelessly slave-gasming multiple times a day without a care in the world.

I was surprised how many of my classmates signed up for the free slave grading and the Father’s Day Best Chance Auction that day who didn’t come home. Mrs. Parson warned all the good girls not to participate in that “hedonistic” event if we wanted to retain our dignity. Of my friend circle on the cheer team only Hillary ignored Mrs. Parson’s advice, now she is living the ponygirl dream as part of the herd at Ashford Stud, a prominent thoroughbred breeding farm in the blue grass region of Kentucky. Apparently attractive athletic cheerleaders like me do make good ponygirls.

Humping Mr. McAallister’s hand I realized Hillary had it easy now without a worry in the world, living the life of an ever horny ponygirl. Lost in my slave haze I imagined a life with a bit between my teeth, bells hanging from my nipples, and a big butt plug up my tender ass with beautiful tail hair flowing out of it that matched my own. My master ordering, “giddyap.” Reinforcing his command with his whip, the red-hot sting of the lash landing on my right buttock spurring me forward, knees high, prancing exquisitely for him. He rewards me with a sugar cube when I get it right, rubbing down my sweaty flanks when I notice the large bulge in his pants. When he leads me back into the barn I whinny happily. I know what’s next, a date on the breeding bench!

What would Mrs. Parson think if she could see me now shamelessly wiggling my wet pussy on this stranger’s hand hoping for another orgasm. Squatting over evidence of my out-of-control arousal pooling below me? Oh my God, I’m acting like such a slut.

“Dad looks like your hand’s drowning in a poon monsoon,” quipped Buck.

“This slave girl’s rubbing that drippy slave gash on my hand like all get out, in a pathetic attempt to get off, she can’t help herself she’s so far gone. She’s gonna look good with the Big D badge burned into her glute right about here,” announced Mr. McAllister, slapping me hard on my left buttock for emphasis, bringing me back to my senses a little, only a little. He gently massaged away the sudden sting, chuckling, “If she were mine, I’d add the SMU mustang logo to her right cheek, for a matched pair.”

He slapped me hard, right on my welts, the stinging pain had me seeing stars coupled with an equally intense pleasurable ache in my pussy as the pain and pleasure merged into one. I felt the blood pumping in my throbbing vagina and my nipples becoming so hard that they ached.

Without thinking, I reacted, once more shamelessly wiggling my ass as enticingly as possible and he responded in kind. With his left hand holding me firmly in place in the center of my back, he delivered a brief barrage on my buttocks that took my breath away. Leaving behind a delightful stinging sensation, a good pain. My heart sped up, and my pulse raced from his sudden onslaught followed by the firm, yet gentle, massage that felt just exquisite leaving my pussy drooling.

Could I get any wetter? Why had I responded this way? What is wrong with me? Then it got interesting.

“Tell me about these two. I’d like your insight,” inquired Mr. McAllister, while moving his hand down between my legs once more and expertly massaging my nice and juicy labia.

Excitedly Colten interjected, “Ted, listen up, we’ll get some helpful information on this pair of slave pussies. Mr. Darwin’s a bona fide slave whisperer.”

Darwin let out a deep chuckle, starting with me, “This one’s like whiskey in a teacup.”

He paused, realizing that our northern guests wouldn’t understand the local phrase and started over, “As a debutante she projected an image of delicate elegance on the outside but is strong and a touch wild on the inside. A natural submissive who is just discovering that she enjoys sexual subservience. Even a little pain stokes her fire if her reaction to being spanked just now is any indicator. She is intelligent, trying to wrap her head around her image as a strong-willed, educated, and refined proper young lady, with whom she is now kneeling between my legs with her lips happily wrapped around my fat cock while fantasizing about getting fucked senseless on the breeding bench in the room next door. A woman who will often find herself getting as much pleasure from submitting to a strong man, or woman, for that matter, as the actual sex acts themselves. With her pedigree, Broadstone, or one of the other elite consort academies, would be a perfect placement for her. Right now, she’s stuck in an internal struggle, her inner slut wants to be shipped to her Master without delay instead of returning to school.”

Timidly at first, I looked up into Master Darwin’s eyes seeking the truth, and he gave me a kind, piercing look. It felt like he was looking into my soul as the reality of his words sunk in, but I was not sure what it meant for my future. Engulfed by my slave heat, a part of me wanted to be a pleasure slut without a care in the world other than serving her Master, but I am a college student. Planning on boldly going out into the world upon graduation and making something of myself, not giving up my independence by becoming some man’s sex toy or slave bride.

Nonchalantly talking like I wasn’t even present while fondling my pussy, Mr. McAllister added, “I know her parents, Jim, and Mandy Craig, they are social acquaintances of my wife and me. I’ve done some business with Jim, too. They’re good people; we have much in common. Both our wives are our FINO slaves and avid ponygirls. These days his Bosom and my Buttercup act like frisky fillies putting on quite a show on the stage at the Breeding Barn Cafe. This slave girl is listed in The Dallas Social Register based on her father’s respected family status. Our son Kade was an Honor Guard officer last Spring at the Presentation Ball for her introduction into Dallas society, and I witnessed her flawless Texas Dip at the ball.

He paused before chuckling, “I liked today’s version better.”

I remembered Kade, he was a real cutie, and a gentleman. I felt a sense of shame and humiliation, … and arousal as this friend of my Father’s vigorously massaged my leaking pussy. My arousal was evident on his fingers. There was no hiding it. He moved his left hand to my left breast, kneading it like dough with an experienced touch, rolling my nipple between his thumb and fingers before clamping down hard, causing me to sob a broken moan around the cock in my mouth.

Damn, that hurt! The burning pain was exquisite, leaving me feeling every frantic thud of my heartbeat pounding between my legs.

“This slave girl’s different from her mother. She’s more a one-man woman once she finds her master,” countered Darwin. “Till then, she can’t get enough. Especially with confident mature men willing to dominate her.”

“Your fixin’ to put her over the breeding bench then?” chuckled Mr. McAllister. “Ted, would you like to go first with this slave girl? You never forget your first time. And you’ll get to help introduce this socialite to her new reality.”

I glanced over at Ted, and he had just cum in Charlene’s mouth. That slut had the evidence displayed on her outstretched tongue even as she climaxed from Buck’s handiwork. Ted’s impressive shaft glistened with her spit in the fluorescent light. Fixated on his meaty pole as a rivulet of cum surged out, running down the side. I studied it, wondering how it would feel in me. It was bigger than any of the boys I’d ever been with, capped with a prominent mushroom helmet, but not ginormous like Master Darwin. Much more manageable. Oh, how I was becoming such a slut, comparing penis sizes and cooly calculating what they would feel like thrusting into my delicate vagina. I was still fantasizing about Ted’s penis when Master Darwin pulled me off his shaft.

Grinning down at me, he asked, “Slave girl, you wanna get bred?”

Oh, hell yeah, I did! But I’d never admit it. Good girls didn’t volunteer to be bent over a breeding bench to get gangbanged by a bunch of low life wranglers. Even if a cute college guy or two are mixed in. It just wasn’t done. Instead, I gawked up at Master Darwin, unable to formulate an answer. I also didn’t want to say no and miss out. My longing looks gave me away.

Mr. McAllister wisely assessed the situation, “Pride is unbecoming in a Pleasure Slut. It’s something new slave girls often struggle with.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t want to admit that she needs to get laid. There would have been a shrill, indignant refusal otherwise,” agreed Master Darwin.

“Ted, step aside. I want to evaluate that slut’s oral skills,” directed Buck, taking Ted’s place once he moved out.

While zipping up, Ted confirmed, “I’d like to fuck that cock socket.”

“Ted, you can be the first to use her drippy Texas hot pocket,” advised Darwin, almost pushing me into a climax at the news that I was getting laid by a cute guy, even if he was still in high school, while bent over the breeding bench instead of some of the more disgusting slave mongers I’d seen working here.

“Now that is settled. What about my acquisition? " Mr. McAllister replied, vigorously massaging my labia with greater intensity, I was about to cum again. Yippee!

“The one you purchased is an interesting case. She’s smoking hot and knows it, regularly walking all over men, using them and then discarding them when they don’t perform to her liking. She's promiscuous with a high sex drive and hasn’t found a man that can quench her fire, so to speak. In the same night, she’ll dump a guy and steal another girl’s boyfriend, sleeping with him thinking he must be doing something right in bed, and then discard him when he doesn’t meet expectations. She yearns for a man who will stand up to her, take charge while also sexually satisfying her; she’ll know him when she meets him. She’ll need taming by the right man with a firm hand. She’s also a good Broadstone candidate if they can match her with a strong-willed Master that can sate her strong sex drive.”

I choked on Darwin’s shaft after hearing that description of Charlene. I don’t know how many boyfriends she has stolen, only to dump them the next day. He was spot on. How did he do that?

Mr. McAllister added, “Boys, you show a woman you care for who is in charge while allowing her to retain her friskiness. Keeping a little fight in them adds spice to the relationship. A broken slave girl is nothing more than a boring submissive always horny cock sleeve resigned to her fate. That’s what Middleton Place does. You want them to test you occasionally, then you push their limits. The ones worth keeping inherently need that firm hand to rein them in; craving the discipline that demonstrates your love for them.”

“Yep, she’ll need regular maintenance spankings. My wife’s that way, our relationship, including our sex life, has never been better,” sighed Darwin, pushing suggestively on the back of my head, encouraging me to take more of him into my mouth.

“There’s more ways to break in a horse than ridin’ it hard. Sometimes you gotta let it run a little wild before pulling on the reins and showing it who’s in charge,” added Mr. McAllister, making my pussy throb, hoping he’d show me someday.

Out of the corner of my eye I observed Buck’s big cock. It looked thicker at the base than Darwin’s, just as long, but narrowed into a point at the head. Then I witnessed a smiling Charlene eagerly inhaling it to the root with ease reminiscent of the sword swallower I saw perform at the circus as a little girl. It was like a magic trick; she made the whole thing disappear, and then she slowly spit it out, all while staring up into his eyes longingly. When she got to the tip, licking around the head a few times before inhaling it to the root once more with gusto. Showing him that his cock was the center of her universe and worshiping it was the most important thing in the world to her. Now that was the enthusiastic blow job Mama was talking about.

Next thing I know Charlene’s head is bobbing up and down that tower of cock humming happily to herself. Between Buck’s sudden ragged breathing and his body tensing up from Charlene’s onslaught, even I could tell he wouldn’t last long. Now I knew what a pro looked like giving head. I tried to emulate her, upping my game, seeing how far down I could go before gagging myself.

My head was reeling as it dawned upon me that I might be a pain slut of sorts, mixing in the sting from being spanked with my aroused state was stoking my slave heat. First, Taylor spanked me, even using her riding crop, and now this mature stranger, a friend of my parents. They were talking about something, as I imagined what it would be like if he took me home in a poodle cage for an extended stay. Being bent over his lap and spanked before he fucked me, with my buns still stinging from the blows. And I didn’t even know what he looked like, but Ted and Buck were both hunks as my imagination ran wild.

My nipples had become so hard that they ached, and my sex throbbed while Mr. McAllister rubbed my back in a soothing manner much like one would a fidgety pet. Then his fingers started assaulting my pussy with a purpose, rubbing up and down from my clit to the plug in my ass, teasing me every time with a varied pace and pressure keeping me off balance. I felt the tension building in me as I tried focusing on the hard shaft in my mouth, trying to take more into my mouth each time I went down. I writhed against his touch, trying to push my vagina against his fingers.

"Please don't stop, make me climax," I prayed, unable to communicate my desires although my needy moans around Darwin’s cock were clear.

Mr. McAllister obliged and began circling my clit faster and faster, teasing it without making any real contact causing a strong tingly warmth to spread throughout my vagina. My breath quickened even more before I enthusiastically plunged down Darwin’s hard shaft, taking him into my throat as best I could while looking up at him.

"Do you want to slave-gasm?" Mr. McAllister teased, but his tone belied his confidence. "All you have to do is ask. Speak up. I can’t hear you."

I whined hopefully while upping the intensity of my assault on Darwin’s penis. I was stymied with little more than half in my mouth, unable to take any more while enjoying the softness of his skin on my tongue as I worshipped it as best I could.

Not waiting for an answer from me Mr. McAllister reached around with his left hand finding my nipple rolling it in between his thumb and fingers while homing in on my clitty with his other. The gravely sand stuck to my nipple added to the stimulation. The sensation of the orgasm building inside of me felt like a rubber band that’s getting stretched to its limit—and then it suddenly snaps when he pinches down hard on my poor sensitive nipple as he flicks my skittle. Massive explosions of heat and pleasure coursed through my body as I succumbed to my slave haze riding out the rainbow of waves of delightful full body tingles. One wave crashes and recedes, then another builds up again and again.

When my dazed mind cleared as my orgasm receded, I once more found my nose buried in Master Darwin’s pubic hair and his big log down my throat much to the amusement of the men watching. I had a faint recollection of swallowing it whole. This time I didn’t panic, knowing what was expected, relaxing my throat and swallowing to avoid gagging. Silently I counted to three as the last shivers of my climax waned.

Mr. McAllister gently rubbed my back and flanks before taking charge, grabbing me by my ponytail, pulling my mouth off Master Darwin’s cock. Once more my clitty became unbearably sensitive as Mr. McAllister fingers continued stimulating me and he knew it. Not relenting.

“Work through it, I know it’s sensitive. Take it like an obedient pleasure slut,” he commanded, while continuing to work over my erogenous zones. The overstimulation was beginning to make me nauseous as I whined while trying my best to avoid his touch.

I could feel his breath on my ear when he whispered, “I have just the thing for you.”

Then he slapped my pussy with a loud squelch that I’m sure echoed down that hall alerting everyone within hearing exactly how wet I was. Then there was the sting from the slap on my sensitive skin. Not too hard that it was unbearably painful, but hard enough to deliver the perfect delicious bite that further fueled my slave heat assisted by Mr. McAlister’s magic fingers massaging my labia right afterwards. Losing focus I became lost in the pleasurable sensations as a deep slave haze descended leaving my mind in a fog, limiting my capacity for rational thought.

Kneeling there relishing in the sensations with my mouth hanging open, panting, I felt a rivulet of drool escape my mouth. I was the picture of the slave stupid pleasure slut overwhelmed by her slave heat. All that mattered was Mr. McAlister’s hands and the mighty shaft standing tall before my eyes coated with my spit.

“Give it a slave kiss,” Mr. McAllister ordered, prompting me to once more take that cock back into my mouth with another wet slap to my vulnerable pussy.

The noise was unbelievable. That soggy sound reverberated down the hallway once more alerting all passersby just how aroused the slave girl sucking this big cock really was. I heard two low life slave mongers stopping to watch the show commenting on my slave heat.

“Thatta wet beaver,” chuckled a voice in a deep west Texas twang.

“Slippery slave snatch, she’s natural born,” drawled another voice.

“Slave heat’s hotter than blue blazes, has block value. Worthless as gum on a boot heel for anything else.”

“Looks plumb-stupid frozen there, wid dat silly dazed pleasure slut face, slave girls got atta control slave heat,” replied the second voice.

“Slave heat done melted her brain. Lookie at her eyes. The porch lights on, but no one's home. Don’t look like she’s got the smarts to be a college gal no more.”

“Yup, skanks gotta call’n for dat collar.”

“Yup, just plain slave stupid.”

I could feel myself blushing profusely from the added humiliation. I’m smart, I was my high school’s salutatorian after all. Frozen in mortification at my current plight trying to think, unable to clear my head. Mr. McAllister intermittently slapped my pussy while also massaging it and occasionally running a finger around my engorged clitoris further teasing me. I was in a deep slave haze consumed by my arousal, a sexual delirium having difficulty focusing or staying present. Is this what an out of body experience felt like?

“Squelch!”

He slapped me again. The loud wet slapping sound caused me to mentally cringe as that delightful sting once more engulfed my loins with a wave of warm tingles. He massaged my labia as I waited for that next spank that never came. Suddenly I couldn’t get enough of that wonderful stinging sensation. Spitting out Darwin’s cock I gasped for breath.

“Spank me again Master. Pleeaaase spank my pussy,” I heard myself begging, not realizing I was even mouthing the words.

With a hint of amusement in his voice, Mr. McAlister ordered, “Suck.”

Something clicked inside my head. Leaning forward I took that big mushroom head back into my mouth and kissed it, lavishing my tongue around the spongy head, and marveling at its softness. Another spank spurred me on as I homed in on his pee slit. Drilling it with my tongue as best I could as Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dumber continued their commentary. Didn’t they have something better to do?

“Damn, dat slave gal’s sure taken a lahking to sucking dat big ol’ cock.”

“Can she throat dat hole thang?”

“Stop hee-hawing around you two, and get back to work,” grunted Darwin, his irritation showing while somehow multi-tasking, his ragged voice indicating I was doing something right, he was getting closer to blowing in my mouth.

“Sure thang, boss,” one of them replied as the two losers scurried down the hallway.

“Hey Grampa, hold up, that slave pussy on the right is the girl from my psychology class at SMU I was telling you about,” called out another tourist.

It seemed like everyone had VIP status today. That sounded like Garrett Hamilton, one of my classmates from Professor Adkin’s psychology class. Garret was socially awkward around girls, and that didn’t change when he walked right up to us. I could see his boots only a few inches to my right as it felt like he was somehow crowding my personal space if that were even possible given my current circumstances. Glancing up with my lips wrapped around Darwin’s shaft, I confirmed it was him glaring down at me coldly with lust filled eyes checking me out. Checking all of me out.

If I was honest, Garrett was kinda cute, just over six feet tall, broad-shouldered with an athletic build wearing worn cowboy boots, broken in wranglers, and one of those big belt buckles popular with the country boys. He was some kind of bull riding, steer wrestling rodeo star in high school growing up on a big ranch in the Texas Hill Country. He reminded me of the strong silent protagonists in those Louis L’Amour westerns Mama shared with me even if he was scared of his shadow around women. She called them her Texan romance novels one time just after finishing “Hondo.”

I’d caught Garrett staring at me more than once in class, undressing me with his deep-set blue eyes, obviously perving out on me imagining what I looked like naked. A girl just knows when a boy’s doing it. Part of me liked the attention. Once even uncharacteristically arching my back subtly thrusting my breasts out with my high beams on for him to fantasize about. I knew that all he could ever do was dream. I never thought of myself as a tease, but he was rude that way, and I had to do something. His Wranglers looked a little tight with a respectable bulge after class that day.

I fingered myself to sleep that night imagining him holding me in his strong arms as we fled the Apache horde on horseback before making hot passionate love next to a campfire. Now all I was wearing was the sand from the auction block kneeling slave naked at his feet leaving nothing to the imagination.

“Damn, you can see all the way to the promised land,” Garrett muttered, running his eyes over my bare ass naked body, taking me in from my drippy slave snatch and toned buttocks before lingering on my big titties hanging below.

“Good evening, Mr. Hamilton, how can I help you?” asked Darwin, his tone indicating that Mr. Hamilton was another preferred customer.

Clearly amused at the situation Mr. Hamilton replied, “It seems the slave girl valiantly trying to swallow your pole is a classmate of my grandson Garrett at SMU.”

His voice carried an air of authority that indicated he was used to getting his way which caused my pussy to tingle, so of course he and Mr. McAllister were acquaintances. I wonder if he knew my parents; the Big D was becoming an embarrassingly small world as my social circle outside of the slave market was rudely colliding with my new circumstances.

With an air of familiarity, Mr. McAllister asked, “How are things Hank? I was at the club for a lunch meeting Tuesday and saw you teeing off but didn’t get a chance to hollar at yah.”

“Great. I shot a seventy-seven, one below my age. My drives aren’t as long as they used to be, but my putting is getting better. If only they made a Blue Chew for golf, that would solve my driving problem,” he chuckled.

Mr. McAllister good naturedly replied, “It’s good to see you out there. You’ll never sink a put if you don’t tee off. Find anything you liked tonight?”

“That I did. In my old age I’ve developed a hankering for freshly enslaved teenage pussy. It just tastes better, that’s why I always buy the youngest SLT on the block. Got some hot Asian nookie this time and I was moseying down to the smith shop with my grandson to introduce myself to her when Garrett saw the young woman you’re toying with,” he warmly replied, as I realized he must have purchased Kai Ling. Then he asked, “Is this the slave girl that you wanted to see get the Big D badge burned into her backside?”

Garret replied with a mocking undertone, “Grandpa, let me introduce you to Miss Belinda Clark. A debutante from Dallas, an SLT pledge, and one of SMU’s most prominent cheerleaders as she is so fond of lording over anyone within earshot. Always putting herself on a pedestal acting uppity and highfalutin’ as all get out in class. Like her shit don’t stink, acting all untouchable.”

While fondling my left breast Mr. McAllister chuckled, “Prime graded slave girls often act like they’re too big for their britches while free before they get stripped ’n collared here and experience their new reality. Slave naked she’s so very touchable. Check out these firm hooters.” Then he spanked my pussy again with a loud squelch taking my breath away, saying, “Get it while the gettin’s good.”

Mr. McAllister confidently kneaded my breast in his strong hand, mixing things up, tracing around my areola with his fingertips and then expertly rolling my sensitive nipple between his thumb and fingers the whole time sending delightful tingles straight to my loins. It was like my titty was hardwired somehow to my clitty. No man had ever handled my sensitive flesh this way before; I couldn’t get enough of it. He was a man and not a boy, and it showed.

“Hank, this is the daughter of Bosom, Jim Craig’s wife. You remember her from the Breeding Barn?” asked Mr. McAllister.

Mr. Hamilton boomed, “How could I forget! That mare’s got an impressive set of lungs. A thing of beauty with bells hanging off her big ole gumdrops. Put on a hell of a show a couple of weeks ago. Her Texas hot pocket’s juicy as all get out.”

“Well trained and a damn good breeder,” concurred Mr. McAllister.

“Damn well trained. Bosom has the Lone Oak badge on her hindquarter if I recall correctly. It’s a shame this filly’s teats aren’t as big as her mother’s,” mused Mr. Hamilton, causing me to blush at my failure to live up to Mama’s good genes.

Darwin piped up, “This slut’s likely a late bloomer like her mother. I looked her up in the system. So, there’s still hope her jugs will grow out nicely.”

“Jim put Bosum on the juice after her childbearing days were over to firm them up again when he sent her to Lone Oak during the summer of 2011. I did the same thing that year with Buttercup, it worked miracles for my bride. We became good friends working out our girls making sure they didn’t come down with slave mind. We joked it was our summer without golf. We spent so much time at Lone Oak on the weekends,” added Mr. McAllister.

“She looks like she has good muscle tone. Garret, did you say she was a cheerleader?” inquired Mr. Hamilton.

What am I? A piece of breeding livestock like a thoroughbred or prized heifer for sale? I’m right here. I can hear what ya’ all are saying about my body. I was blushing with embarrassment even as my pussy throbbed at the blatant objectification. It was stoking my slave heat. What did that say about me?

Sounding a lot like a creepy secret admirer, Garret gushed, “She’s a flyer. One of those cheerleaders they hold up high and does all the acrobatic moves.”

“Those cheerleaders make hecka good ponygirls,” quipped Buck.

“That they do,” affirmed Mr. Hamilton.

My mind swirled as I suddenly pictured me and Mama all decked out together in ponygirl regalia with big anal tail plugs with hair plumes that matched our manes. I found myself clenching my butt muscles around the plug in my ass sending delicious shivers down my spine while further heating my loins. I’d never been inclined to become a ponygirl. Only the sluts like Hazel Moore volunteered for the scantily clad high school or fully naked college teams.

Now my interest grew listening to these men discuss my potential. Recalling that ponygirls were bred regularly, I wanted some of that, imagining myself bent over a breeding bench next to my mother. Her titties might be bigger, but my hindquarters were firmer I thought as my loins overheated at these decadent thoughts of what these men would do with us.

“I wonder why Jim didn’t send her to Lone Oak right outta high school instead of wasting all that money on college at SMU,” pondered Mr. Hamilton, letting everyone within hearing know his opinion on what was best for my future.

“She has the pedigree for Broadstone, as a Prime rated legacy they’d take her in a heartbeat. She’d be worth every penny it cost,” replied Darwin, suggesting I had more value as a slave bride.

“Book smarts ain’t nothing but a thang for a high-end filly like that when you send em to Lone Oak or ship them to Claiborne Farms outside of Lexington. Best to get them trained young, but she can always go after Broadstone I reckon,” conceded Mr. Hamilton, pausing before adding, “After you finish breeding her.”

Garrett kneeled next to me, cupping my right breast in his big, callused hand and gently, almost reverently, fondled my titty like I was a porcelain doll that might break. Most guys I knew just squeezed my breast and pinched my nipple hard, lacking any subtlety when manhandling my sensitive boobies. Not Garrett, it seemed like it was the first time he’d ever fondled a girl’s breast.

“Dang, that feels nice. The skin’s so smooth and soft,” mumbled Garrett to himself while gently feeling up the tender skin of my breast.

That’s not what I needed right now. I’d never wanted my breasts mauled by a boy before, but in my current aroused state I craved a firm hand and it seemed that everyone, but Garrett could tell.

“Test her firmness. These teats are some of the perkiest I’ve ever seen. Give that hooter a good squeeze,” suggested Darwin, his ragged breath was testament to my improving oral skills as I once more drove my tongue into his pee hole causing him to squirm a little.

On my left was a mature, experienced man used to having his way with women that intuitively knew how to roll a girl’s nipple between his thumb and fingers for maximum effect. He understood how each subtle change in pressure on my sensitive flesh affected me. Then there was Garrett reverently palming my boobie, the only stimulation coming from calluses on his big hand inadvertently grazing my nipple. The contrast was deliciously decadent, somehow enhancing my arousal. I don’t know how, but it did. Something was seriously wrong with me.

“Pinch her nipple good and hard, you need to let that slut know who’s in charge. Make her respect you,” encouraged Grandpa Hamilton.

“You really need to honk her hooters good,” quipped Colten.

“They’re fixin’ to put her over the breeding bench. You ought to sample her wares,” suggested Buck.

“She looks slave hot,” gushed Garrett, sounding a little awestruck, giving my nipple a harder pinch for emphasis, and then tugging gently on my bud, his strong grip sending sweet tingles straight to my overheating pussy.

“Slave girl here’s all bright eyed and bushy tailed for the breeding bench. An eager little beaver if I do say so, chasing her next slave-gasm. She’s already deepthroated Master Darwin twice. We’re going for a three-peat but first I want you to help me give her a nipplegasm,” added Mr. McAllister cupping my left boobie in his hand while tracing my areola with a fingertip making the contrast between the two even more noticeable.

Colten proudly announced, "My dad can get a slave girl off by just messing with her headlights.”

“Or whipping them just right,” added Buck.

Mr. McAllister spanked my pussy three times in rapid succession with intermittent massages in between loud squelching slaps while explaining, “When the genitals are stimulated, an area in the brain known as the genital sensory cortex lights up from the pleasure ending in orgasms. The same part of the brain also tracks nipple stimulation. Ironically, that part of the brain grows the more it is used. The more sexual stimulation the more the region’s structure alters adapting to its usage which explains in part the increased frequency of pleasure sluts developing slave mind.”

Sounding concerned, Garrett naively asked, “Doesn’t that hurt?”

Sounding surprisingly knowledgeable, Buck answered, “Naw. I know, it’s counterintuitive, but you need to understand how a pleasure slut’s body works. Her clitoris is the tip of the iceberg so to say; the erectile tissue extends into her mons splitting into two around her vagina like a wishbone. The slaps stimulate this clitoral tissue. When turned on her clitoris and this tissue becomes engorged from increased blood flow making her pussy nicely swollen and juicy. That part of the brain that processes pleasure also processes pain, so mixing in a little painful sting while massaging her pussy stokes her slave heat like all get out.”

Sounding impressed, Garrett replied, “That’s a lot to unpack there.”

“You should sign up for the Slave Heat Management class for the intersession term,” added Buck. “They cover all sorts of useful techniques for developing and controlling a pleasure slut’s slave heat.”

Colten sarcastically replied, “Yeah, in the labs horny boys spend hours turning theory into practical application using their cocks as personal thermometers. I’m sure there are more important classes you could take.”

He’s just jealous because they don’t offer it at Stanford,” quipped Buck, before rubbing it in. “The labs at SMU are the best. You get to practice with real slave girls or fellow students that wear the collar for the two-week class earning some needed cash. Some just volunteer for the two-week experience, kinda like a slavecation while also getting course credit.”

“Run your fingers through her pussy and collect some of her slave honey. The moisture on her nipples adds to the pleasurable stimulation,” instructed Mr. McAllister, spitting on his fingers. “Or just use spit.”

Garrett ran his hand over my pussy collecting my “slave honey,” sounding awestruck exclaiming, “Her pussy is overflowing like a mountain spring. You can see it pooling on the floor where she’s been dripping. Is she on Horny Juice?”

I felt my face flushing with embarrassment at the implication. My libido was just out of control like nothing I’d experienced before. Intellectually I wondered what was wrong with me, but everything felt so good. Frankly, I didn’t give a damn.

“No Horny Juice, simply good genes at work, deep down she’s just a hypersexual young woman who's been concealing her true inclinations. Slave girls get the juice if their new owners want it used after title’s transferred,” informed Mr. Hamilton, before chuckling, “Mine will get hers right before she’s shipped to my home making her real juicy when she arrives. She’ll be desperate to please when released from her cage.”

“This slave girl’s just a natural born pleasure slut chasing her next slave-gasm,” quipped Colten, as Mr. McAllister gave my pussy another loud wet slap, the sweet sting adding heat to my loins.

My head was spinning at the thought of getting Horny Juice. I mean, could I even get more sexually aroused than I was right now? They’re still talking like I’m not even here, and somehow that objectification turns me on. I was feeling a little lightheaded, my recollection foggy, lost in an overwhelming euphoric slave daze of arousal as my world closed in around me leaving me focusing on the sensations overwhelming my body. Two sets of hands stimulating me and the hard cock in my mouth. I was so fucking horny that I couldn’t think straight.

I vaguely remember Mr. Hamilton laughing, “I always haul them out of the cage and over my knee first thing for a bare fanny spanking letting them know who’s in charge. Then while their buns are still stinging, I finger them to a quick slave-gasm demonstrating who’s in charge. Demonstrating that I control both their pain and pleasure before taking them upstairs for more fun and games.”

Mr. McAllister had Garrett start intermittently spanking my exposed behind with his free hand. He packed quite a wallop at first. After the first two Mr. McAllister coached him to lighten his touch with swats that added a more playful sting adding to my sensation overload causing me to clench around the butt plug in my ass sending even more tingles to my needy pussy.

“Don’t take too long. I have business here to take care of,” pleaded Master Darwin. “Here, let me help this along.”

Next thing I knew the plug in my ass started gently vibrating, sending a fresh set of tingles of pleasure straight into the molten pit that was my vagina. If you listen carefully, I swear you could hear it buzzing. Mr. McAllister was lecturing Garrett on how to properly stimulate my nipples to coax a nipplegasm out of me.

“That means using the right techniques on her nipples. Pinching them, tugging on them, and flicking them softly. Rubbing them, rolling them between your fingers, and running your thumb in circles around them. You also need the right intensity. You’ll want to be a bit soft and gentle – you’re pleasuring her, not punishing her. But you don’t want to be too wimpy, either. It can’t be too subtle – she needs to really feel everything you’re doing to her. It’s a delicate balance,” informed Mr. McAllister.

The sounds of the slave market receded from my consciousness as the two men manipulating my body pushed me towards a nipplegasm that became the focal point of my current existence. Garrett had a knack for this, rapidly picking things up from Mr. McAllister’s lead. Communicating the whole time they worked in tandem, one pinching down hard while the other softly massaged my areola and nipple; and then they switched back and forth. The pussy slaps, playful swats to my buttocks, and massaging of my labia continued with an occasional finger teasingly circling around my clitoris but never touching it. I was going insane. If Darwin’s cock weren’t in my mouth I would be howling for relief.

The men easily developed a consistent rhythm manipulating my body. I noticed an orgasm building up slowly at first then gaining momentum. Like the sensation was intensifying even though the stimulation wasn’t. And then it happened. My muscles tensed. My breath caught in my throat when simultaneously they rolled and then pinched my nipples, sending a burst of pleasure rushing through my body as I nipplegasmed.

It wasn’t the most powerful orgasm by a long shot. It was no match for the heavy-duty ones I had received from Taylor, or earlier today on the auction block, or masturbating in front of the Christmas tree for that matter. Not even close. It was like being edged, but worse because it left me wanting for more, much more. More than ever needing a true orgasm that packs a much more substantial punch.

Master Darwin pulled my mouth off his cock and leaned forward, removing my hand cuffs freeing my hands while instructing, “I love having a pretty coed fondling my balls when I blow in her mouth. Use your hands, no touching yourself debutante. I know you want too.”

The disappointment evident in my tone, I panted, “Yes Master,” reversing course on my hand that was already halfway to my needy pussy.

I’d always had the innate ability to center myself and focus on a task, whether it was performing an intricate maneuver in the air as a cheerleader or taking an exam. I knew what I needed to do. I put all my energy into delivering for Master Darwin with my mouth. It was time to make him cum, so I upped my game.

“Swallow it, swallow the whole thing slave girl,” confidently commanded Mr. McAlister while giving my pussy another deliciously naughty spank of encouragement.

With my right hand on his thigh and left cupping his balls, I inhaled that big log as far as I could. The space in the back of my mouth was getting tight when Darwin fisted my hair, gripping me by the back of the head, encouraging me to take more. I was living out my fears as his big knob choked my throat. I was about to start gagging.

“Swallow it, debutante,” Darwin calmly encouraged, his tone instilling confidence in me helping me overcome my fear as this time he wasn’t forcing his cock down my throat.

While gently cupping his bloated testicles in my hand I centered myself, finding an inner peace that hadn’t existed before. Mr. McAlister sealed the deal, spanking my pussy once more, sending more delicious stinging tingles reverberating through my loins. His finger circled my clitoris, lightly brushing against it hinting at what was to come if I succeeded. I obeyed, swallowing around that fat intruder; pleasantly surprised when my throat muscles had a mind of their own pulling that thing inward. Next thing I know his coarse pubic hair is tickling my nostrils with his fat pole lodged down my throat. I calmly relaxed and kept swallowing hoping for my reward.

“She inhaled it!” exclaimed Garrett, his hand frozen in place on my breast.

“Good slave girl,” encouraged Mr. McAllister, his fingers keeping me on the precipice of my slave-gasm.

I felt like the horniest skank in Texas having swallowed this massive penis in the hallway of the Big D while two men played with my naked body. Then I remembered to count.

One thousand one.

Darwin groaned, “Ah Debutante, you must be a very eager pleasure slut, swallowing my big cock to the root.”

One thousand two.

“Damn, I didn’t think she could do it,” added Franklin sounding astonished.

“This slut’s a natural cocksucker, just like her Mama,” praised Mr. McAlister, causing me to surge with pride as he slapped my pussy once more.

Mama was going to be so pleased!

One thousand three.

“Dang, it’s Belinda Craig,” cried out Julian Bennett, my old prom dating nemesis from high school.

I’d forgotten about him, cringing when I heard his wingman Bobby Sheppard proclaim, "Holy shit, Belinda, the frigid Ice Queen of the North lives!”

“I never thought I’d ever see this entitled princess slave naked acting like an experienced pleasure slut inhaling a cock like that. I can’t believe she’s got that whole thing down her throat,” gasped Julian, the surprise evident in his voice.

Bobby quipped, “I know. You can see that fat cock bulging her throat."

“She does look pretty as a peach slave nekked on her knees about to slave-gasm like a needy pleasure slut,” quipped Julian.

Sounding hopeful, Bobby pleaded, “Are they going to breed her? Can we get a turn?”

With a ragged voice, Master Darwin grunted, “You two get back to work. If you’re due a break, take it.”

I should have known that Julian’s best friend wouldn’t be far away. Those two were inseparable in high school; some things never change. Back then, I had all the power. Right here, right now, that wasn’t the case with Darwin’s coarse pubic hair tickling my nose as he firmly held me down impaled on his big cock.

I wasn’t sure if their shock was from seeing me, slave naked giving a blow job, or because I had managed to get the whole thing down my throat. I suspected they didn’t think I had that in me. Hell, I didn’t think I had it in me. Lost in my deep slave haze I managed to stay calm, not gagging or choking. I didn’t want to disappoint Mr. McAlister; the man whose magic fingers controlled my destiny. I needed to cum! I needed it bad! It felt like I’d become the biggest slut in here.

Then it got interesting. Darwin pulled my head up until only the big mushroom head of his cock remained in my mouth. I swear his cock seemed to get harder, throbbing even as I grabbed it with my hand unable to wrap my fingers around that slippery fat thing. Gripping my hair tightly he forced my mouth up and down his cock, bobbing up and down on the end of his penis. I fondled his balls with one hand while the other stroked his slimy wet pole with the other. I lavished his cock with my tongue, focusing on the head and the area right below the head while drooling down his shaft. He was in total control as his breathing became strained and his penis hardened, even growing a little if that was even possible.

It felt like my head had become an extension of his hand as he fucked my mouth with my lips sealed tightly around his shaft. My overactive tongue getting a workout. Every task felt mechanical. I was there but not really present as the noise and people in the hallway receded from my consciousness. There was only Master Dawin, Mr. McAlister, Garrett, and me. I was overwhelmed by the simple pleasure of being their slave girl. The nasty kinky decadence of it all. Cum hell or highwater, I was going to make him ejaculate in my mouth making Mama proud. The only question was who would orgasm first.

Mr. McAlister chuckled, “He’s about to give you a slave treat. One cherished everywhere by pleasure sluts just like you.”

Grunting, his breathing ragged, Darwin announced, “Gonna nut…, fixin’ to feed you…, baby batter now…, debutante.”

Hands were mauling my titties, rolling my nipples between their fingers as Mr. McAllister homed in on my clitty, polishing my pearl sending me over the edge. I erupted in a massive orgasm.

Having trouble enunciating, Darwin moaned, “Love it…, a coed climaxing…, lips wrapped around my pole.”

“Damn,” was all Garret could mutter as he pinched my nipple hard for emphasis.

I felt Darwin’s cock pulsing and then, with a suddenness that took me by surprise, he exploded in my mouth. His cum shot out like a geyser. I choked in surprise, but somehow in the throes of my own orgasm I kept sucking, milking his shaft with my hand, swallowing some while capturing as much as I could in my mouth. I didn't want to disappoint him, not now.

Darwin roughly yanked his cock from my mouth, pumping it with his hand he shot one last strand onto my face hitting my right under my left nostril into my open smiling mouth and onto my chin where I could feel it hanging.

Astonished, Garrett exclaimed, “What a slut.”

Darwin grunted, the tension leaving his body as he leaned back chuckling, “Gotta leave some on the face. Make you look like a bona fide pleasure slut.”

“Like icing on a cake,” chuckled Franklin, surprising everyone by suddenly getting into the swing of things.

“No, it’s glazing a donut,” quickly quipped Buck, soliciting laughter from the group watching.

Getting my mouth filled with a man’s semen was almost anticlimactic after the buildup to this moment. The taste was unremarkable—salty, tart, and slimy. I wasn’t grossed out by it; it was just taboo for a girl of my social standing. The naughtiness, the decadence of it all had my pussy throbbing for more. Good girls didn’t play with a man’s semen, only skanky sluts.

Grinning, I opened my mouth and teasingly swirled my tongue around lewdly playing with the thick slimy sperm that filled my mouth while staring lustfully up at Darwin as my climax ran its course. After making a show of playfully swirling the prize in my mouth I stuck out my tongue putting Darwin’s copious load of creamy white sperm on display for all to see. Once more I imagined Mrs. Parsons' scowling face, the disappointment evident in her eyes as she called me the biggest skank in Texas leaving the new me basking with delight, taking her comment as a compliment. Glancing to my right I saw the dumbfounded look on Garrett’s face while I eagerly waited for what came next, the command to swallow.

Darwin let out a big belly laugh that would make Santa jealous, “Ho Ho Ho, all y’all, check out the Christmas Cream on this slave girl’s tongue.”

Timing is everything in life, Darwin made his big announcement right when a very well fucked Issabella stumbled out of the break room on wobbly legs in a deep slave haze led by none other than Julian Bennet. He was the last person I wanted seeing me perform this slave girl ritual, proudly displaying a big load of jism on my outstretched tongue. The added humiliation only fueled the slave heat of this randy slave girl as he stared at me taking it all in as I checked out the sizable bulge in his wranglers. Oh my God, I was checking out Julian Bennett of all people.

Damn, Issabella had cum on her face, in her hair, and running down her thigh. I doubt she even recognized me in her current state. How long had she been back there? Would I look like that when these rough men were done with me? What would Mrs. Parson think if she saw me looking like that!

“Swallow,” commanded Master Darwin, and I did, making a slutty show of it, and playing with the yummy Christmas Cream on my tongue some more before gulping it down. Without hesitating I grabbed Darwin’s deflating cock, licking up the cum that had oozed out running down the shaft, afterwards taking it into my mouth for one final cleanup before spitting it out. Looking up I smiled with pride while my overheated pussy throbbed out of control as the empty ache inside my vagina intensified. Breaking form I squeezed my thighs together, capturing Mr. McAlister’s hand in the process causing him to chuckle. He freed his hand with a loud squelch giving my bottom a playful swat as he and Garret rose to their feet.

Mr. Hamilton impatiently advised, “Garrett, we need to get to the smith shop so I can properly introduce myself to my new acquisition.” Chuckling he added, “I always attend their badging. It’s a personal tradition.”

“That’s a hell of a tradition,” knowingly laughed Mr. McAllister, implying something more as Mr. Hamilton departed.

Garrett paused briefly before following his grandfather, shyly grinning down at me he said, “See you in class Monday.”

Blushing at the thought of seeing him in class in three days, I inanely giggled the only thing I could think to say, “Hollar at you later.”

I dreamily watched him walking away while checking out his ass. He sure had a cute butt under those Wranglers. Next thing I knew he’s gone and Darwin’s slapping me in the face with his softening cock to get my attention.

Giving me a knowing look, Darwin asked, “You gonna quit being ugly to that nice boy in class now?”

I stared up at him nodding my head in the affirmative when the strand of his jism still hanging from my chin fell onto my breast as I thought about a future with Garret. How would he treat me in class after what he just witnessed here at the Big D? Could he ever see me as anything more than a randy pleasure slut? Would he come back and take advantage of me while I was on the breeding bench? Did I want that? A horny pleasure slut can hope after all as I recalled the healthy bulge Garrett had, having to adjust himself a little to comfortably walk away. Smiling to myself, it dawned on me that Mama was right, only as a slave girl would I have license to genuinely enjoy getting publicly gangbanged in a room full of strangers.

(To be Continued.)

[JustBob]

So close to the branding bench! You write the best scenes with slave hot women. Can't wait for the next one.

[Jim927]

Thank you for giving us another great chapter. Well done as always.
Jim