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Any Chance Auction, Part 18 by Joe Doe

Proud, educated, professional women who secretly long for humiliation, discipline, or slavery have their fantasies fulfilled.
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Any Chance Auction, Part 18 by Joe Doe

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The world got stranger as we went backstage again and finally reached the blacksmith’s forge. I was released to the custody of Merle Adkins, or “Professor Adkins” as the monger called him. He BEEPED my collar in with a barcode reader on his belt, signaling that I was now in his possession.

“Present, slave spread,” he said, after verifying the number on the inside of my lip against the barcode reader on his utility belt around his massive black apron.

As I wasn’t free yet, I knelt before him, hands behind my head, legs spread. At 6’5, the barrel-chested blacksmith looked enormous. He was wearing a John Deere cap with a growth of stubble. Merle Atkins had the methodical manner of an older man, coupled with an avuncular charm.

“Well, if it isn’t Skeeter’s Aunt Annie,” he said, smiling. “Northwestern and University of Chicago,” he said, whistling in appreciation as he named my schools. “I’ve been to both. Most impressive!”

Much to my shock, he reached down and shook my hand. I reciprocated, then (still conscious of my status) locked my fingers behind my head.

“So do you have a specialty?” he asked. “Corporate bonds, municipal, junk?”

“Whatever I can make money on,” I explained. “I do derivatives, too.”

“Geez, I never could make sense of those,” he said, scratching his head. “Do you think you could explain it to me?”

“If you had a year,” I chuckled. “Are you really a Professor?” I asked. “Or is that… an honorific?”

“Ha! Check out the vocabulary on our slave girl. Yes, I teach neuroscience at SMU. I did some research up at University of Chicago Medical Center. Damn fine school.”

“It is, although I studied economics and finance, not medicine,” I said.

“Chicago’s where all the Nobel Prize winning economists come from, right? You must be super smart.”

“I’ve done okay. Chicago has a strong program,” I said modestly.

“I’ve looked you up on that Forbes list. You’ve done more than okay. And Northwestern’s pretty strong, too, right? Is it’s MBA program number 1?”

“I don’t know where Forbes gets their numbers,” I said modestly. “Northwestern’s number 3, but who’s counting?” I said.

Merle let out a barrel-chested laugh. “Skeeter chatters about you all the time, about how his Aunt Annie did this, and his Aunt Annie said that. I took a ride on my Aunt Annie’s jet, my Aunt Annie’s Tesla drives itself. Aunt Annie took me to a party where I met Bono. He’s got quite a crush on you.”

“He’s a fine boy,” I offered.

“Yes, he is,” Adkins agreed. “Well, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person. You’re quite the celebrity. I watched a couple of your Ted talks last year. You’ve got a brilliant mind, and you’re a good speaker, too. Very inspirational.”

“That’s very kind of you,” I said, basking in the compliment. “I think most people lack the basic financial literacy, and understanding of the markets, necessary to create a portfolio that will perform under a variety of marketing conditions, save for their children’s education, or plan their retirements.”

The situation couldn’t have been more bizarre. I was a naked, collared slave girl, kneeling with legs spread, discussing my accomplishments with a fully clothed college Professor who, if he had permission to do so, would brand my butt. Ut wasn’t until he smiled, and let his eyes run slowly down my body, that I once again became conscious of my nakedness.

“Speaking of performances, I caught your little number on the auction block. You are one smoking hot piece of slave pussy, Northwestern. I loved the way you lathered yourself up, and showed them buyers all your assets. Talk about a pork-folio!”

I felt myself blush as I was once again reminded of my present circumstances, and why I was there, a point brought home as he ran his hand lovingly over the black iron branding rack next to him. “I wanted to show you this, Northwestern. I figure somebody as rich and smart as you are can really appreciate quality. I made this, in my shop. Sort of a hobby of mine. Do you like it?”

“Um… it’s very… intricate,” I said nervously. “Very… sturdy. Almost beautiful,” I said, qualifying ‘beautiful’ with ‘almost’ as I was painfully aware of its purpose.

“Would you like to try it out?” he teased. “I’d love to get your professional opinion.”

“No, I’m good,” I said nervously. “I’m not going to get branded, actually.”

“So Rosco says. If you behave,” he added, giving me a playful wink. It was obvious that he and Rosco had communicated while I was being walked to the forge.

“Your brand looks kind of silly the way it is. Sort of looks like a bug, I guess, but it’s really half done.”

I frowned as I looked over my shoulder, straining to see my bottom. “Somebody on the way over said it look like a half ass Mickey Mouse. Is it really that bad.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” he said sadly. “Kind of ironic, with that Ted Talk you gave. ‘The future belongs to finishers. Inspiration is no match for completion. Do you believe that, Annie?”

Unsure of where this was going, given the context, I hesitated before nodding.
Merle smiled and walked over to his beautifully crafted branding bench. Clearly proud of his work, ran his hand over the padding. “Your Ted talk inspired me to finish this. It took me a long time, but it was worth it. See, extra padding for the knees and elbows, for maximum comfort. I wouldn’t want an important celebrity finance whiz like you getting your knees scraped. Ya gotta try it out.”

“Well, it is lovely, but I must demur.”

“Demur? Ayn’t you a hoot. Come on, tell me what your think! You’re always the smartest one in the room, and got an opinion on darn near everything, from what Scooter says.”

“Branding racks aren’t really my area of expertise,” I said.

He chuckled, and grinned down at me. “Well, they could be. Please, I insist. Let’s see that doodle bug!” he said, with a wink.

Professor Adkins was playing with me, with him in the role of the cat, and me in the role of the plump, juicy, helpless mouse. I was still a slave girl, and he was the blacksmith, ordering me onto his branding rack.

He was still smiling, but his gaze hardened, indicating that fun time was over. He tapped the branding rack twice, indicating that my time had come. The other hand was pointedly on the slave whip on his utility belt.

Ever the gentleman, he even offered me his hand, and helped me up onto the branding rack, as if he were a stable boy assisting me as I mounted my horse. I positioned myself, bottom raised high in the air, hands in front.

“As you see, I just need to turn like one knob after I get you positioned, and the bars spring closed.”

I jerked as the mouse trap was released, and the iron bars clamped down, locking me into place.

“Nice, isn’t it?” he said proudly. “No straps to tug at, and just the iron bars holding you in place. Lots of bars, so there’s no marks in anyone place, but positioning you in so you can’t get any leverage, or do anything but wiggle your toes, and clamp your little fists.”

Smiling, he put his finger on my nose, and wiggled it playfully, like I was a little girl.

“Yes, I see,” I said, feeling my panic mounting. “It’s brilliantly designed. You can let me up now.”

“I want to show you the best part,” he said. “Speaking of best parts, you’re a pretty smart girl, but this button here gives me access to your best part…”

He pressed a button on the side, causing my ass to slide up, and my legs to spread wide, raising me into the perfect position for sex. Reaching between my legs, he cupped my sex in his hand, and ran his fingers inside of me. “Your best part! Your hot, wet, stinky slave pussy. That’s what Skeeter sold off the block, not your fancy college degrees. Though seeing as how you’re so hoity-toity does make finger-fucking you more fun.”

I gasped as he fingered me towards orgasm. “Please, don’t. Let me up!”

“What’s your hurry, Northwestern?” he said. “Don’t you want to get the full experience?”

I groaned in frustration as he pulled his fingers out of my snatch. Walking over to the forge he used a pair of tongs to extract an iron from the fire. “Recognize this, Annie?” he asked.

It looked like a little squiggle. I tried to shake my head no, but I could barely move.

Adkins laughed as he slowly waved the tip of the glowing branding iron in my face. “This is one of the legs for your Doodle bug. This is the bottom leg, left hand side. I got six in the fire, each one unique, each carefully molded and shaped for that big round ass of yours. Worked pretty hard on it. I was going to make your butt my Mona Lisa.”

“I’m not going to be branded,” I protested, wanting to make sure we see the record straight.

“Aren’t we all sure of ourselves? And from a girl on the branding rack, no less. Normally girls in your… position… are a bit less sassy.”

I gasped as he teased me with the glowing worm tip of the branding head, turing it, and moving it around my field of vision.

“I used the pictures of you on the block, and your measurements, to build a 3-D model of your ass in the computer. It’s going to look like the bug is grabbing onto the sides of your butt, and when you walk down the beach and you shake your ass, it will look like the antenna are moving. It’s going to be a masterpiece, Annie. A real work of art.”

I could feel the heat pouring off the head, and it was so hot that it shimmered in the light, as if it were alive.

“You’re an amazing young woman, Annie. I’ve had you in my sights for years. I brand a lot of pretty butts, but it isn’t often I get to brand a girl as rich, and smart, and accomplished as you are. You’re smart enough to understand what I’m about to do to you, and how a brand like this will change your life, and your mind, forever. You’re special, and you deserve the best brand I can muster.”

Smiling, he held the brand up. “Look at that glow. Wow, that is really going to sizzle, and I’m going to do them one-after-another. I know you’re a big shot, and I’m the sort of little guy a girl like you’d forget 10 seconds after you walk away. But you ayn’t gonna forget me after today. Not ever.”

“Rosco told you not to brand me,” I said nervously. “You work for him, and have to do what he says.”

Atkin’s smiled. “You do have a mouth on you, slave girl. I have to say, I’m not used to girls in your position giving orders. But you’re right about the instructions from Old Rosco. Damn shame, if you ask me. But a fella can dream, can’t he?”

I breathed a sigh of relief as he returned the little worm like brand to the fire, even as I worried about why he felt it still needed to be heated. “Tell ya’ what. Why don’t I put in your gag, like you were going to be branded. Just in case. I mean, if somebody changes their mind, we don’t want to waste any time, right? We want to be ready, right?”

“No, I don’t think ah wa-wa aah gah!”

Opening my mouth to argue allowed him to effortlessly slipped a large “O” ring gag into my mouth, fitting the round bit behind my teeth, and silencing me with the practiced ease of someone who silenced girls like me for a living.

My slave jabber silenced, he turned his attention to my other end, running his hand over my cheek, and checking the workmanship of The Big D logo burned between my cheeks.

“You know, this is just a hobby for me, Annie, but it’s a job I love. Making perfect asses more perfect.”

Taking the cream out of his pocket, Professor Atkins began to rub it into my ass, over the throbbing Doodle bug, and inside my newly branded butt cheek. The cream was cool, but my bottom was screamed as he rubbed the cream in. Soon I was sobbing, and drooling, and looking over my shoulder at him with teary eyes.

“Aw, does that hurt, Aunt Annie?” he teased. “You want me to kiss it and make it better? Well, my kiss is about 300 degrees,” he said chuckling.

I groaned and drooled as he continued to caress my bottom. Running his finger over the welt of my doodle bug brand. “I know this hurts, but I gotta figure out how hot the brand was and what the burn was like, so I can get the right temperature. There’s a real science to this, Annie, but there’s a real art, too.”

Walking around to the front, I watched Professor Atkins take a branding handle off the wall. “I designed this one myself. I can just stick it into the fire and snap it right into the branding head, locking it in place. Then I press the release and move onto the next leg. Quick, and easy.”

He held up the tip of the rubber handle, which was shaped like the head of a bulbous penis. “I think you know where this end goes, Northwestern. Rosco told me you said The Big D’s a shithole. Is that true, Northwestern?”

Merle’s smile disappeared as his face harden. Sensing my plane was in a tailspin, I desperately tried to pull out of the dive. “I didn’t mean to impuign… that is, to say, given the rather unsavory nature of your profession…”

“Unsavory?” Merle said, cutting me off. “You got a sassy mouth on you, slave girl. It’s time you learned some respect for the iron.”

Atkins pressed another switch, and the bars over my hips retracted sightly, allowing me to move my hips as he fucked me with the branding iron handle. Or, to be more accurate, as I fucked the handle, because most of the movement was coming from me.

I didn’t resist, reasoning that if I was going to be branded again, I needed all the endorphins I could muster, and if I wasn’t, I didn’t want to miss this one last chance to play slave girl. As if reason had anything to do with humping Merle’s branding iron. The perverse humiliation of being a naked slave girl at Rita’s feet, begging for my life—or at least for my freedom and my ass! —had left me incredibly hot and bothered. When I had been her kid sister, and squarely under her thumb, she had referred to her scolding’s as “a good dressing down.” This time I had been dressed down literally, slave naked at her feet.

Rita had given me the perfect gift, the best of both worlds. She had let me play slave girl but had rescued me at the last minute. It would be ungrateful not to enjoy the gift to its fullest.

In front of me, the branding irons Merle had so carefully prepared for me were heating, and I could see a bouquet of branding heads sticking out of the fire. The heat was rolling over me, which was both terrifying and exciting. Branding had always been a big part of my slave girl fantasy, and I had been teasing Skeeter for years about branding his doodle bug on my butt. Now one of my deepest and most perverted fantasies had been laid in front of me. I knew I would hate myself if I didn’t take a moment to enjoy it.

There was a leather strap at the end of the large, penis shaped branding iron handle he was fucking me with. The leather loop was used to hang the branding iron on a peg hook, but I enjoyed the extra friction, and took it all.

Professor Atkin’s voice was soft and calm as I humped the branding iron handle that he had designed to brand my ass, my excitement growing by the moment.

“You know, there are a lot of butts I’d like to brand, celebrities and such. I’ve done a few, mostly actresses who were going to play slave girls, and came down to The Big D to get a little slave training and a temporary. Getting your butt branded is good Oscar bait, and the Academy eats it up. But there’s quite a few that weren’t even doing it for a role, and got a private Prime grading, so they could get The Big D branded between their butt cheeks, just like you. There’s something about that Big D that girls just love. I must say, looking at yours, they did a quality job, worthy of Prime pussy. That one’s a keeper!”

I didn’t know if The Big D that was already branded across the crease between my butt cheeks was permanent, but his reference to it as “a keeper” only made me work the stick all the harder.

“But of all the celebrities and rich bitches I’ve done, I’ve always wanted to do you the most, Annie. Every time Skeeter would tell me about you taking him to your townhouse in London, or to the Superbowl, or the Oscar after parties, all the while prick teasing him, and asking him what sort of price you’d bring on the block, I’d look up your latest commencement address or feminist rant at some woke charity, and watch it over-and-over, dreaming of getting you on my branding rack, with your butt in the air. You’re quite the little Karen, and your white ass has been my white whale. So, you just hump that stick, like a good little slave girl, and show me how much you want Professor Atkin’s iron.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d been called a Karen, and in truth I didn’t think demanding excellent service, given who I was and the prices I paid for the best, was at all unreasonable. I knew I’d been Skeeter’s fantasy, and probably the fantasy of his friends, and probably Rosco, too, and probably most of the men who worked for me and strove to meet my exacting standards. However, I had never dreamed that somewhere there was a blacksmith university professor stroking off as he watched my Ted talks, crafting a special branding iron with my name on it.

Professor Atkins had dreamed of this moment for years. He had worked hard developing the skills he was going to use to brand my helpless bottom. It would be rude of me not to play along a little longer, and let him have his fun, while I had mine.

My pussy was humming, but Merle was taking his time, and so was I. Good things should never be rushed. My slow boat ride into slave girl bliss was interrupted by Rosco’s familiar voice as my family entered the room.

“Hey, Merle, how’s it going? See your keeping Annie busy!” he said, clearly amused.

“Holy shit!” Skeeter said. “She’s humping the branding iron. SHE’S HUMPING THE BRANDING IRON!”

“What in tarnation…” Rita’s twang betrayed her disgust. “Here I am, working my butt off tryin’ to spring ya’ from this place, and all you can do is hump a stick. For Pete’s sake, Annie, show a little dignity.”

Rita walked around to look at my face. “You’re slobbering like a St. Bernard. Why’s that crazy O thing in her mouth?”

“It’s so she doesn’t bite her tongue off during the branding,” Rosco explained.

“Well, it makes her look like some sort of stupid sex doll, sucking ding-dongs. For crying out loud, Annie, stop humpin’ that stick. Skeeter’s watchin!”

“I sure am!” Skeeter said. “Her pussy is AMAZING! She’s riding that stick like a pogo pony!”

“Yeah, she’s wet as an otter pocket and tight as a tick,” Rosco said. “If she wasn’t the best slave pussy I ever had, she was damn close.”

“What the fuck!” Rita said, clearly infuriated.

“It wasn’t my fault, sweetie,” Rosco said, backtracking. “It’s not like we’re really related. She’s Prime. She seduced me! Besides, you gave me a hall pass, remember?”

Rita looked down at me. “Is that true, Annie? Did you seduce him?”

I tried to explain that my “seduction” was him seeding me on the hard floor of his office, not even bothering to lay me down on his couch, but with the gag in my mouth, and Merle relentlessly working my pussy with the branding dildo, all that came out was slobber and grunts.

“For crying out loud, Annie, stop humpin’ that stick!” Rita said, clearly angry.

I heard Merle chuckle as he moved his thumb around to tease my button, ensuring that my performance would continue.

“I’m trying to git’ you out of here, girl. Do you want to git’ yer butt branded?”

“Of course, she does,” Rosco said. “All true slave sluts are hungry for the iron. Can’t you see her humping away? She’s even smiling!”

The tight gag had forced my lips back, which meant my face was in a forced rictus, and an idiotic grin. It was an old joke, actually, that “slave smile” created by a gag meant that slave girls loved having their butts branded.

“Is that true, Annie?” Rita said. “You want them to finish off that Skeeter’s little doddle bug?”

“No! Let me go! Make him stop fucking me with the stick!” I said frantically. With my mouth in an “O” it came out as:

“Auuh!

“Et ee oo!”

“aaa mm oo uh-huh eh uh uh i!”

My frantic plea caused my slobber to fly over the front of Rita’s skirt.

“Shit! Yer’ getting’ slave drool all over my new skirt!”

I didn’t object as Rita wiped her skirt with my hair.

“I mean it, Annie. You stop humpin’ that stick right now, or you’ll be sorry, young lady!”

I tried to stop humping the stick, but that only caused Merle to do the work for me, which kept my hips rocking. I did squirm a bit, with my button under his beefy thumb, even though I tried not to—but damn, was that fun!

“Fine,” Rita said, her voice sharp with disgust. “If this is what ya’ want, this is what yer’ gonna git. She’s all yers, Rosco. But I want her cleaned up and deloused before ya’ take er back to the hotel. Give ‘er a good scrub. I don’t want no crotch critters near where I sleep.”

Rita, disgusted, turned and walked out, leaving me to the mercy of three men who clearly had no mercy.

“Please, don’t go!” turned into “EESE ONT OHH!” as I watched my final hope of escape walk out the door.

“No need to scream for it, slave girl, we’re going to fix ya’ REAL good,” Skeeter said, running his hand over the doodle bug brand on my ass, even as he laid on his mother’s Southern accent. “We’re gonna to make this sweet little ass of yers sweeter than sweet tea!”

I heard a voice behind me as someone else entered. “We need a Tesla logo on her left butt cheek. Can you do it right now? We got the buyer waiting.”

Merle Atkins, ever the professional, immediately switched gears. “Yeah, I got the text. Let me scan her in, and I’ll get it done right now,” Merle said. “Rosco and Skeeter can keep this one busy.”

Why someone wanted a Tesla logo burned on some poor girl’s ass eluded me, but I had bigger problems as Rosco moved around to the front and unzipped his pants. “It’s time for you to tip the man who made your branding possible, slave girl,” he said, smiling down at me. I know you can’t close your lips, but I’m expecting lots of tongue.”

Knowing what was required of me, I swirled my tongue diligently as Rosco put his large pecker into my wide-open mouth.

Behind me, Skeeter must have pulled out the branding handle Professor Atkins had left unceremoniously sticking out of my twat. I grunted with pleasure as he cupped my wet sex in his hand and laughed. “Damn, if you don’t got the hottest, tightest slave beaver I’ve ever seen. You were worth that record price. Everybody was pretty pissed when we unwound your sale. Here we are, going into Christmas, and half the women in Dallas want to get slave graded for the holiday, or mailed to their boyfriends on Christmas Eve. Now everybody’s gotta deal with your circus act.”

I felt someone—Skeeter, I presumed--ran the tip of his penis against my wet slot, laughing as I pushed back. “Hold yer’ horses, there, slave girl. I can see why Jake ayn’t going to sign the paper until the morning. Don’t worry, we’re taking you home tonight, cuz Mom insisted. You really stirred the hornet’s nest, Anna-Annie, but you’re gonna make it up to us—to ME, right now, slave girl. Speaking of nests…”

I grunted as my horny nephew sank his teenage hardness balls deep into my pussy, and I began to hump back at him like the slutty slave girl I was, as I swirled my tongue around the bulbous head of Rosco’s pecker. Both Skeeter and I got to live out our fantasies at the same moment, and underneath my sense of humiliation and outrage a once-in-a-lifetime climax was building. What does a girl do, when reality exceeds one’s wildest fantasies? If you’re me, you ride it for all it’s worth. That combination of pleasure and submission was better than all my fantasies.

Skeeter, anxious to make it last, gave me a hard slap on the ass to slow me down. His more experienced father, though, simply let me roll my tongue around his cock like it was a full-service car wash, licking the sensitive underside and teasing the vent as the saliva formed a sloppy pool in my mouth for his pecker to slosh around in.

“Damn, you’re good at this,” Rosco grunted. “A natural born cocksucker! I’ve never had a girl with an “O” gag in her mouth manage THIS sort of action. It’s like putting your dick in a whirligig.”

“She’s a natural talent, all right,” Skeeter agreed. “Lot’sa hot girls out there, but ya’ don’t never find pussy as hot as my Anna-Annie!” giving my ass another hard slap.

Skeeter stopped, and slowed me down by caressing the doodle bug on my throbbing ass.

“This sure is purty, Anna-Annie. Kind of a hoot, thinking of ya’ in yer bikini on Oak Street Beach in Chicago, or at The East Bank Club or your masseuse, and everybody and-their-brother sees my big old doodle bug branded right on yer butt. Hard to believe a sketch I drew at school went from being up on my mom’s fridge to being on my boots, my shirts, yer’ art wall in Chicago, and now yer’ slave girl ass. You’re always telling me I need to develop my brand, Anna-Annie. Well, now you got mine, and I’m gonna get a lot of free advertising.”

It's said that older men have patience, and younger men have enthusiasm, but the opposite was true in this case. I could tell that Rosco was happy to get it over with, while Skeeter wanted to draw things out. A great Pleasure Slut can anticipate and accommodate her master’s—or in this case masters’-- every need.

I concentrated on Rosco. For my entire life I had always been the best at everything I did. As a naked, collared slave girl, I no longer had to worry about market conditions or interest rates or the inversion curve. I was now free to focus the entirety of my intellect on being the dirtiest cocksucker in Dallas.

I started with “the look”, gazing up at him like he was heaven, People’s Sexiest Man Alive, and my daddy all rolled into one. As I couldn’t use my lips or close my mouth, I trapped his pecker between the roof of my mouth and the top of my tongue, moving the latter from side to side to build up friction on the sensitive underside.

I groaned with pleasure, as if having his dirty pecker twitching in my mouth and ready to spurt was the sole goal of my life. The odd part was that in a way, it was. I had fantasized for years about being the juiciest slave slut ever. Bound to a rack waiting for my ass to be branded while sucking off my brother-in-law and getting reamed by nephew, I finally had my chance.

It took about seven seconds in my high-pressure carwash for Rosco to hit a gusher. The first spurt hit the roof of my mouth, but the rest pumped out more like a pitcher of milk than an exploding oil derrick. Rosco was older now, and less fertile, plus he had ridden me like a stallion on the floor of his office less than 24 hours before. I was pretty sure Rita hadn’t touched him since then, if only because “she knew where that pecker had been”, as she always liked to say.

I didn’t have to open my mouth to show him that I hadn’t swallowed, as I was sure the gobs of his spluge were left visible on my tongue. “Not bad,” he said, scratching me behind the ear like I was a golden retriever. “You earned my jizz today, slave girl.”

Rosco squeezed out the last few drops and wiped them off around my nostrils, “so you’ll have something to smell when Atkins brands your ass.”

Turning to Skeeter he got back down to business. “Tomorrow is probably going to be a shit-show because of this little stunt your aunt has pulled. I’m going to try to get some real work done, so I have time to shovel up her mess. I’ll leave her butt branding to you.”

“Got it,” Skeeter said.

So, there it was. My butt branding, which was the most shattering thing that had ever happened to me, wasn’t important enough for Rosco to bother watching. He was going to catch up on paperwork instead. After all, I was only a slave girl.

After his father left, Skeeter relaxed and began pumping me again, albeit more slowly. “I’m going to take my time with this, Anna-Annie, as you don’t want to rush something you’ve been wanting your whole life. You are a world class prick-teaser, but now you are a world class prick-pleaser, too.”

I winced inside, because Skeeter was right. I had mercilessly prick-teased him for years, and I knew that whatever he dished out, I had it coming. I always thought of him as a sweet, innocent kid, easily mentored and manipulated, depending on my mood.

“Don’t be Mr. Nice Guy all the time,” I always said. “Winning is no fun if you can’t gloat and take a little revenge.” Little did I realize at the time how well I had trained him, or how devious my nephew’s revenge would be.

Skeeter continued to fondle my doodle bug as he gave me a nice, slow hump. “The branding rack is sort of a good angle for this, actually. Face down, with your ass in the air, I mean. I know you don’t think much of my slavin’ degree at my “shitty community college,” as you delicately put it, but I did pretty well at animal husbandry. When I spurt, all my little swimmers are going to run down into you, nice and deep, with nothing to stop ‘em. You’re going to be the star of the paper I’m writing next week on slave breeding. You get preggers, and I get an “A”.”

Reaching into his pocket, Skeeter took out a trojan and held it in front of my face. “This here is called a rubber. Oh, did you want me to use one of these?” he teased. “I suppose that would be nice, with you bragging about how you don’t need no birth control, because you blue ball all your boyfriends. Well, it sure would come in handy right about now, wouldn’t it, Anna Annie?”

“The heck of it is, in class I learned you don’t bother using these with slave girls, since if they get knocked up, it’s their problem, right? Stupid little sluts, getting’ preggers. Good thing ya’ can sell the pups and make a little money on the side.”

Skeeter tossed the condom on the floor in front of me. “I’m going to drop this little cum catcher right on the floor, so you can look at it. I guess you could buy a rubber, if you had any money. Pretty funny, really. Talking about your JP Morgan Reserve Card and your million dollars, and now you’re going to get big-fat-and-wide because you don’t even have 50 cents to buy a cock sock. I guess that’s what it’s like being poor, huh, not that you’d know. But yer’ gonna find out.”

Skeeter pushed in slowly, taking his time, savoring the sensation. “Oh, you feel good. You’re riding bareback tonight, cowgirl, because this time it’s all about me. I love the way your bare pussy grips my cock. And knowing all my little swimmers are boilin’ and bublin’, just bursting for a chance to swim down your water slide and make your high-priced twat preggers, makes it all the hotter.”

“You might be wondering why I’m so hot on getting you knocked up, besides getting’ an ‘A’ on my paper, I mean. One of the things I learned at my community college that you look down yer’ nose at is that if a girl gets free, and it turns out her master made her pregnant, she gets automatically enslaved again. Ayn’t that the funniest thing? Yeah, it’d be a darn shame if that happened to you, Anna-Annie, especially what with you bein’ so close to mom freein’ ya.”

I whimpered in distress, staring at the condom. I stopped humping back. This couldn’t be happening.

“But that’s not the only reason. Since she had me, you know mom can’t have any more kids. That other night after dinner, when you were dry humpin’ my leg, mom said to dad that if you were ever a slave girl, he hoped that one of us knocked ya’ up, so she could finally have that second child she always wanted.”

“Dad said you’d be a pain-in-the-ass pregnant, but mom said she wasn’t even gonna deal with that, she’d send you to one of those breedin’ barn places where they make all the little slave girl Shamus work the fields, then just take ‘em into the birthin’ barn and let ‘em drop their litter into the straw when they’re ready. I actually visited in on a class trip. Pretty nice place, at least for the folks who run it. Mom said that if they leave you to serve in the dairy for a year after you drop, they don’t even charge nothing for kenneling you and giving you all the nutrients and slave kibble and vet services. Mom said it’s like getting a free surrogate adoption. How sweet is that?”

My eyes bulged, and I groaned in misery as Skeeter quickened his pace. Reading my mind, Skeeter laughed. “Oh, you want that rubber, don’t ya’? No, slave girls don’t get no protection. Slave girls get to bite on a stick while the vet delivers their pup, then muck out their stalls to clean up the mess they made in the straw. Don’t worry, you’ll like the dairy, and I’ll come visit you, and buy some of your milk. Moo-moo!”

“Remember what ya’ said to me? ‘Fear is for girls who don’t have platinum cards. Well, you should be afraid of getting preggers, because slave girls don’t have no platinum cards. You're jist another piece of livestock being put to stud. If you do end up on that breedin’ farm, you and I will have lots more time to play.”

“Oh, I can feel it building, Anna-Annie. Damn, girl you are TIGHT and WET. I gotta tell ya’, I’ve been to Six Flags 200 times, and yer’ the best ride there is. Wish I could put you on the flash pass. We’d call you ‘The Tunnel of Love.’”

“Here it comes, Anna-Annie. Time to make me a little brother!”

There was no dribbling with Skeeter, who exploded into me like a firehose, and just kept coming. Ass in the air, I could feel his seed running into me, with no way to stop it. Besides, it felt so good I didn’t want to stop.

Skeeter groaned loudly as he squeezed out the last drops. “Damn, if that wasn’t the best piece of tail I ever had. I’d thank you, if you weren’t a slave girl. I’d call in my friends in too, the ones you prick teased, only I don’t want them sneakin’ in and stealing your eggs. Your ass belongs to me,” he said, caressing my brand.

“Speaking of which, Professor Atkin’s will be back in a tick to finish you off. In the meantime, let’s give those swimmers a chance to take a little swim, and get you preggers.”

Releasing a latch on the branding rack, Skeeter tilted me forward, so I was staring at the floor, with my torso at a 90-degree angle with the floor. “Professor Atkins thinks of everything, doesn’t he?” Skeeter said. “I can hang you by your ankles without even taking you out of the rack,” he chuckled. “I’m going to leave you, to let my baby batter slosh around in your easy bake oven, but don’t worry. I’ll be back in time to photograph ‘em brand my Skeeter bug on yer’ slave girl ass. Don’t want to miss that!”

With that, Skeeter, walked out the door, leaving me upside-down, with his seed swimming around inside me, my mouth hanging open from the spider gag, the stink of Rosco’s spluge in my nostrils, and the condom I had so desperately wanted inches from my nose.
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Re: Any Chance Auction, Part 18 by Joe Doe

Post by jeepster »

When she said she meant the Big D was unsavory how could she ? Adkins had just gagged her!
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Re: Any Chance Auction, Part 18 by Joe Doe

Post by imreadonly2 »

Even I, her creator, did not realize how articulate Annie was, that she could make her case so eloquently with a spider gag in her mouth. I will fix this, and thank you for catching this. It makes me feel wonderful that the story was engrossing you enough to notice this error.

THANKS!
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Re: Any Chance Auction, Part 18 by Joe Doe

Post by Carl Bradford »

I agree that was a disconcerting failure of continuity, which I should have caught while Beta reading it. Apologies. However, by now all our readers should be aware that Annie has NEVER learned to keep quiet instead of pompously bragging about how great she is--perhaps the branding will finally convince her to shut up and use her mouth for more valuable purposes than talking.
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Re: Any Chance Auction, Part 18 by Joe Doe

Post by timerider »

The prick tease finally, got the horn. :thumbup:

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