My Wife's Hospitality, Part Eight by Joe Doe
Posted: Mon Nov 20, 2023 12:02 am
A special thanks to Carl for his help editing this, and for his recent contributions, which inspired me to start writing again!
MARGOT’S PERSPECTIVE Once again, my submissive desire to play slutty slave girl had put my strong, independent business woman identity into check—in fact, checkmate. My husband Brian was in front of the stocks, but Harvey, the asshole I had fired for sexual harassment at the hotel I managed, was standing slightly behind me to my right. I couldn’t see Harvey clearly, but I could see his phony Rolex as he shook my husband’s hand.
Harvey greeted Brian warmly. “First off, thank you for being a first responder, and for keeping us all safe. I know the police have a tough job, and that all of us owe you a debt of enormous gratitude.”
Harvey excelled at sucking up to people he wanted something from, and my clueless husband was an easy target for his sociopathic manipulation.
“Thank you,” Brian replied, puffing up his chest at the praise. “Not everyone appreciates our work, and public support is a big part of what we do.”
“Well, you certainly have my support my friend,” Harvey said, sucking up to Brian in that unctuous, grating way of his. “Bill Gannon told me you were the finest of Orlando’s finest, and any friend of Bill’s is a friend of mine. Here’s my card, and I wrote my cell number on the back. You call me anytime, 24/7, and I’m there for you, my friend. I really mean that.”
He didn’t mean it, but I watched as Harvey passed Brian his business card, his hand lightly touching my long blonde hair as he raised the business card into Brian’s grasp. Proper business etiquette in such situations requires you to look at the business card for a moment, as if it actually means something, but my blue-collar husband carelessly stuffed it in his pocket.
Bent over with my head locked in the stocks and my mouth immobilized for the slave tattoo, all I could do was drool and feel the burn of the disinfectant Agnes had just sprayed onto the Slave Identification Number tatted onto my upper lip as I watched Harvey work Brian. Agnes had clipped my tongue to my lower lip, so I couldn’t really speak, which was fortunate as I’m sure my Aussie accent would have given my identity away.
“Thank you for your card, Harvey. That’s very kind of you, and very much appreciated.”
“Well, you’re very much appreciated, Brian. In fact, I wanted to ask you a favor. We have the American Medical Association convention here next week, and we have a lot of demand for slave pussy. I know you’re not with the Slave Patrol, but the Mayor and your Chief assured me I could have my pick of officers to help out with making sure the expensive slave pussy we’re rented for our guests is safely guarded, at the convention center and the hotels. I’d like to ask you if you’d lend us a hand?”
Brian demurred. “Harvey, I’d love to, but my wife doesn’t want me working slave patrol.”
“Actually, that’s why I’m asking. Bill had said your wife was getting some training here at Slave Mart for the next few days, so I figured this would be a good time to ask for your help. Slave Patrol pays well. In addition to your salary, I can give you a $5,000 bonus. That’s an extra $5,000, for five days work. I’m sure if you ask your wife, she’ll like the extra money.”
Harvey was standing slightly behind me and to my side, and with hair hanging down over my face he hadn’t really seen me. I was grateful for this, because with tears running down my face and my mouth held open by clips I’m sure I was a mess. Worse, I didn’t want the sleaze whose career I had destroyed to see me slave naked with my fresh slave registration identification number on full display.
“You can ask her yourself,” Brian chuckled. “She’s right here,” he said, pointing at my face.
Every muscle in my body stiffened as my clueless husband betrayed me to my nemesis. My heart raced as I imagined what Harvey would do to my naked, helpless body.
It is often said that “slavery is a curtain behind which free women hide.” I had never understood what the saying meant until that moment, when Harvey, not even bothering to look at my face, turned instead to Agnes, the mean-spirited old biddy who had so gleefully carved my slave identification number into my upper lip.
“She in the system?” Harvey asked.
“You betcha!” Agnes chuckled. “Our little Barbie doll came in with her nose so high it damn near scraped the ceiling. But she’s just another numbered nookie now. No going back from that.”
The truth of Agnes’s grim assessment hurt me more than my burning lip. For years, I had avoided getting a SIN, even though it was safer to be registered than not. I hated the idea of my dentist seeing my number, leering at me as he imagined me naked before him. I hated the idea of having to show the number at passport control or the TSA, or during a traffic stop.
I wasn’t a slave, of course. But I was registered like a slave, part of the sisterhood of the serial numbers, one step away from being goods for sale. As if to emphasize my new status, Harvey stuck his phone in my face. I thought he was taking my picture, but it wasn’t until I head the phone’s satisfied BEEP that I realized that he was scanning the SIN number on my lip.
My face didn’t matter. I was in inventory now. Harvey’s inventory.
“It looks like she’s signed up for a Limitless Training Window, followed by a Tag-Tail Sale,” Harvey observed, reading my specs off his phone. “Excellent. That will give her plenty of time to learn her ABCDs,” he observed. To my shock, Harvey reached behind me, and put his hand up between my legs.
I instinctively clenched my thighs together. Harvey wasn’t having that, and he roughly kicked my legs apart, exposing me fully.
My pussy was wet, and Harvey’s grubby little fingers slid into me easily. “She’s slave hot,” Harvey observed. “Very responsive,” he added, as I groaned and grunted in agreement. “I think whipping her into shape shouldn’t take long. She seems like a natural.”
“Sniffer the slave hound agrees with you,” Brian said. “Bill says the dog could smell her slave heat.”
“He’s right,” Harvey replied, as his fingers casually worked my wetness. “Slave hounds can smell 100,000 times better than humans. They can smell an escaped slave pussy over 10 miles away. It can even be used as evidence in court cases, like drug sniffing dogs. They know slave snatch when they smell it.”
“Well, he certainly liked sticking his nose up there,” Brian chuckled. I whimpered in humiliation, even as my pussy spasmed and clenched Harvey’s fingers. Intellectually, I knew Sniffer was wrong about me. I was a successful professional woman, and this was all just a fantasy. I was just PLAYING slave girl, after all. Still, the idea that Sniffer, with his tiny canine brain, could pass a legally binding assessment of me as a sub-human slave whore was both humiliating and incredibly hot. Upon my release, I would buy Sniffer from Slave Mart, just to have him fixed.
Harvey, seemingly oblivious to my condition even as he groped me freely, continued his sales pitch to recruit Brian.
“Since your wife will be our guest, maybe you can help us out. She can’t object to you serving the community when she’s here, having her fun, can she? In fact, she’d probably enjoy performing as a slave in front of her husband/master.”
Harvey, bastard that he was, moved his thumb over my clit, cause me to grunt and push back against his hand in response. Laughing, Harvey scratched me behind the ear with his free hand, as his other hand worked my clit. “That’s it, sweetie. Show your husband how hot your slave pussy is. You want him to work for me, don’t you? I’ll show him how to handle slave girls like you.”
The phrase “slave girls like you” pushed me over the edge, and I had most the most shameful slave-gasm possible, right in front of Brian, and Harvey, and everyone else around us. Even Agnes, who was already inking another girl in the stocks, turned around as I screamed out.
“Geez, she has a set of lungs on her,” the old shrew noted dryly. “Only numbered for three minutes and she’s already slave-gasmed. I hope they gag her good before they brand her ass.”
Harvey picked up on the suggestion immediately. “So, what sort of brand did you want, Brian? It’ll be on the house. My compliments, as a thank you for your help.”
I was too exhausted from my slave-gasm to even object to the thought of my “free” slave branding, which would be anything but free for me. I was still gasping, trying to get air into my burning lungs.
“I’m still deciding,” Brian said, with the indifferent tone of a man trying to decide which bottled water was his favorite. “I like a lot of them. Maybe something MAGA, or maybe my badge number. My mom might have some good ideas.”
I was sure his mother did. Agnes hated me for stealing her son, and would like nothing more than to burn a gigantic slave girl brand on my ass. If she couldn’t do the branding herself, she would insist on witnessing it.
“You got some time,” Harvey noted. “We can keep her in training for as long as it takes.”
“About that,” Bill said. “I’m not sure I want to leave my wife here indefinitely.”
“You won’t have to, if you let us handle things. You see, Brian, we use something called the ABCD program here. B is “boundaries”, and the biggest boundary for this soggy little pussy is to make sure she understands that her slavery isn’t a game. Understanding that she’s nothing more than another piece of tail-for sale will give her the focus she needs to complete her training, and fetch the highest block price possible.”
“Well, I’m not planning on selling her, Harvey,” Bill explained. “It’s just a role play game.”
“Your wife’s training program will only be successful if she understands that she really might be sold. You signed her up for a Tag Tail sale, right? Are you really sure you wouldn’t sell her regardless of her price? I already got a mighty offer on her.”
I groaned as Harvey tickled my clit at the news.
“Seriously?” Brian said, showing more interest than I would have liked.
“VERY seriously. Apparently, you showed her off to some girl at the Taco joint, and she’s got a rich daddy. He was quite insistent on buying her, and he’s willing to pay way over market.”
“Really? How much?”
How much? I couldn’t believe it. Men are such fuckers! I tried to grunt something in protest, but Harvey, laughing, said, “Want some more?” and worked my clit harder with his thumb, ending my chance to make an intelligible objection.
“How much?” Brian said. Okay, I was curious, too, but what woman doesn’t wonder what she might bring on the block?
Harvey leaned forward, and redirected his full attention to Bill, even as I strained against his hand, trying to bring myself off again. “He offered me a million bucks. I said she wasn’t up for sale… yet.”
The “yet” caused me to shiver under Harvey’s touch, but it was the million-dollar price tag that got my husband’s attention.
Brian let out a slow whistle. “Gosh, that sure is one Taco Tuesday special.” Harvey laughed at his amazing witticism. Men are such fuckers!
Still, I gasped in pleasure. A million dollars? I felt a surge of pride, and a surge in my pussy, almost as if I were a real slave girl. But Brian was still a bastard.
“It’s way above market, that’s for sure,” Harvey said. “Who knows if he’d really pay it. If he’s smart, he’ll insist that we put her on the block, to make sure he doesn’t overpay. In the end, it’s best to let the market decide the price. Regardless, you got yourself one hot little pocket, my friend,” Harvey said, giving my pocket a squeeze as I grunted like a sow in heat.
“Well, I don’t know, Harvey,” I said. “I want to do what’s best for her.”
“So do I,” Harvey lied. “What’s best is that you let me properly train her, and let me teach her the ABCDs, just like a real slave girl. That’s her fantasy, right? If you really love her, you’ll help her get the best grade possible. If you help me out at the convention, I promise I’ll help your wife out, too. It will be a good deal for everyone.”
“That does make sense…” Brian conceded, as I tried to grunt my protest that it wouldn’t necessarily be a good deal for ME.
“Leave her with us tonight, and we’ll work out the details of your work schedule tomorrow,” Harvey said. “Come with me, and I’ll give you a little hiring bonus… in trade, as it were. I’ll show some of the perks of working at a slave market.”
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Harvey put his hand on Bill’s shoulder and lead him away. As their laughing voices faded, I knew Brian was about to have the time of his life, getting his cock sucked by some hot slave girl who’d probably slave-gasm while sucking him off. I hated her without even seeing her, for seducing my husband and for showing me up. If I got nothing else out of this misadventure, I vowed that I would become the best little cocksucker that Slave Mart had ever seen!
It was an odd thought, and I caught myself. Slave girls were competitive, of course, but as a free woman I was miles above the little skank about to swallow my husband’s load. I was just playing a role, right?
Maybe, but it was a role I’d need to play to the hilt. Brian was leaving, and he was taking my clothes and ID with him. My only identification was the slave number tattooed on the inside of my lip, and it would stay that way until I worked my way out of this mess.
Intellectually, I knew that “indefinite” training was a head game. Indeed, I had designed the ABCD’s to work that way. I always assured my employees that they would be “in training, for as often and as long as it takes.” As training was quite rigorous, most employees wanted to get out of it quickly; people don’t want to stay in bootcamp. Making it indefinite encouraged any resistors to get with the program, as the only way out was forward. In my case, the training path forward led straight to the auction block, and the quickest way out of this nightmare was to play along, and make my pussy as salable as possible.
Out of the corner of my eye I looked over at Agnes, who was finishing up on the lip tattoo of a weeping coed. “Don’t worry, sweetie, the boys at college will love your tattoo. But study hard, and don’t fall behind on your loans, or they’ll auction that sweet little pussy of yours right on the Quad, ha-ha!”
Agnes enjoyed her work.
Sensing my gaze, Agnes looked at me. “Don’t worry, Barbie doll, I haven’t forgotten about you. In fact, I have something to occupy your teensy-weensy bimbo brain while you wait your turn.”
Agnes walked over to me and held up a brown stub, about the size of my index finger. “This is ginger, Goldilocks, and I carved it this morning, so it would be all nice and fresh, just in case I met a girl like you. Open wide.”
I didn’t understand what “open wide” meant, as my mouth was already wide open, but Agnes walked behind me. Parting my butt cheeks like she had every right to do so, she slid the long brown ginger root deep into my bottom, using the tattoo pen to stuff it in deep!
“Do you know what figging is, slave girl? You know now. The more you clench, the more it burns. Have fun, and don’t shit it out, or you’ll be sorry. Just stomp your little feet, and enjoy.”
It felt smooth and cold and wet… for a few seconds. Then the fire began. I screamed as best as my blocked-open mouth would allow, clenched my fists, and stamped my bare feet.
Agnes, moved in front of me, bending over so our noses almost touched. “Little prick teasing kangaroo, manipulating all the men, flaunting your body. Well, your ass belongs to me now, Golden Girl. Welcome to Slave Smart.”
MARGOT’S PERSPECTIVE Once again, my submissive desire to play slutty slave girl had put my strong, independent business woman identity into check—in fact, checkmate. My husband Brian was in front of the stocks, but Harvey, the asshole I had fired for sexual harassment at the hotel I managed, was standing slightly behind me to my right. I couldn’t see Harvey clearly, but I could see his phony Rolex as he shook my husband’s hand.
Harvey greeted Brian warmly. “First off, thank you for being a first responder, and for keeping us all safe. I know the police have a tough job, and that all of us owe you a debt of enormous gratitude.”
Harvey excelled at sucking up to people he wanted something from, and my clueless husband was an easy target for his sociopathic manipulation.
“Thank you,” Brian replied, puffing up his chest at the praise. “Not everyone appreciates our work, and public support is a big part of what we do.”
“Well, you certainly have my support my friend,” Harvey said, sucking up to Brian in that unctuous, grating way of his. “Bill Gannon told me you were the finest of Orlando’s finest, and any friend of Bill’s is a friend of mine. Here’s my card, and I wrote my cell number on the back. You call me anytime, 24/7, and I’m there for you, my friend. I really mean that.”
He didn’t mean it, but I watched as Harvey passed Brian his business card, his hand lightly touching my long blonde hair as he raised the business card into Brian’s grasp. Proper business etiquette in such situations requires you to look at the business card for a moment, as if it actually means something, but my blue-collar husband carelessly stuffed it in his pocket.
Bent over with my head locked in the stocks and my mouth immobilized for the slave tattoo, all I could do was drool and feel the burn of the disinfectant Agnes had just sprayed onto the Slave Identification Number tatted onto my upper lip as I watched Harvey work Brian. Agnes had clipped my tongue to my lower lip, so I couldn’t really speak, which was fortunate as I’m sure my Aussie accent would have given my identity away.
“Thank you for your card, Harvey. That’s very kind of you, and very much appreciated.”
“Well, you’re very much appreciated, Brian. In fact, I wanted to ask you a favor. We have the American Medical Association convention here next week, and we have a lot of demand for slave pussy. I know you’re not with the Slave Patrol, but the Mayor and your Chief assured me I could have my pick of officers to help out with making sure the expensive slave pussy we’re rented for our guests is safely guarded, at the convention center and the hotels. I’d like to ask you if you’d lend us a hand?”
Brian demurred. “Harvey, I’d love to, but my wife doesn’t want me working slave patrol.”
“Actually, that’s why I’m asking. Bill had said your wife was getting some training here at Slave Mart for the next few days, so I figured this would be a good time to ask for your help. Slave Patrol pays well. In addition to your salary, I can give you a $5,000 bonus. That’s an extra $5,000, for five days work. I’m sure if you ask your wife, she’ll like the extra money.”
Harvey was standing slightly behind me and to my side, and with hair hanging down over my face he hadn’t really seen me. I was grateful for this, because with tears running down my face and my mouth held open by clips I’m sure I was a mess. Worse, I didn’t want the sleaze whose career I had destroyed to see me slave naked with my fresh slave registration identification number on full display.
“You can ask her yourself,” Brian chuckled. “She’s right here,” he said, pointing at my face.
Every muscle in my body stiffened as my clueless husband betrayed me to my nemesis. My heart raced as I imagined what Harvey would do to my naked, helpless body.
It is often said that “slavery is a curtain behind which free women hide.” I had never understood what the saying meant until that moment, when Harvey, not even bothering to look at my face, turned instead to Agnes, the mean-spirited old biddy who had so gleefully carved my slave identification number into my upper lip.
“She in the system?” Harvey asked.
“You betcha!” Agnes chuckled. “Our little Barbie doll came in with her nose so high it damn near scraped the ceiling. But she’s just another numbered nookie now. No going back from that.”
The truth of Agnes’s grim assessment hurt me more than my burning lip. For years, I had avoided getting a SIN, even though it was safer to be registered than not. I hated the idea of my dentist seeing my number, leering at me as he imagined me naked before him. I hated the idea of having to show the number at passport control or the TSA, or during a traffic stop.
I wasn’t a slave, of course. But I was registered like a slave, part of the sisterhood of the serial numbers, one step away from being goods for sale. As if to emphasize my new status, Harvey stuck his phone in my face. I thought he was taking my picture, but it wasn’t until I head the phone’s satisfied BEEP that I realized that he was scanning the SIN number on my lip.
My face didn’t matter. I was in inventory now. Harvey’s inventory.
“It looks like she’s signed up for a Limitless Training Window, followed by a Tag-Tail Sale,” Harvey observed, reading my specs off his phone. “Excellent. That will give her plenty of time to learn her ABCDs,” he observed. To my shock, Harvey reached behind me, and put his hand up between my legs.
I instinctively clenched my thighs together. Harvey wasn’t having that, and he roughly kicked my legs apart, exposing me fully.
My pussy was wet, and Harvey’s grubby little fingers slid into me easily. “She’s slave hot,” Harvey observed. “Very responsive,” he added, as I groaned and grunted in agreement. “I think whipping her into shape shouldn’t take long. She seems like a natural.”
“Sniffer the slave hound agrees with you,” Brian said. “Bill says the dog could smell her slave heat.”
“He’s right,” Harvey replied, as his fingers casually worked my wetness. “Slave hounds can smell 100,000 times better than humans. They can smell an escaped slave pussy over 10 miles away. It can even be used as evidence in court cases, like drug sniffing dogs. They know slave snatch when they smell it.”
“Well, he certainly liked sticking his nose up there,” Brian chuckled. I whimpered in humiliation, even as my pussy spasmed and clenched Harvey’s fingers. Intellectually, I knew Sniffer was wrong about me. I was a successful professional woman, and this was all just a fantasy. I was just PLAYING slave girl, after all. Still, the idea that Sniffer, with his tiny canine brain, could pass a legally binding assessment of me as a sub-human slave whore was both humiliating and incredibly hot. Upon my release, I would buy Sniffer from Slave Mart, just to have him fixed.
Harvey, seemingly oblivious to my condition even as he groped me freely, continued his sales pitch to recruit Brian.
“Since your wife will be our guest, maybe you can help us out. She can’t object to you serving the community when she’s here, having her fun, can she? In fact, she’d probably enjoy performing as a slave in front of her husband/master.”
Harvey, bastard that he was, moved his thumb over my clit, cause me to grunt and push back against his hand in response. Laughing, Harvey scratched me behind the ear with his free hand, as his other hand worked my clit. “That’s it, sweetie. Show your husband how hot your slave pussy is. You want him to work for me, don’t you? I’ll show him how to handle slave girls like you.”
The phrase “slave girls like you” pushed me over the edge, and I had most the most shameful slave-gasm possible, right in front of Brian, and Harvey, and everyone else around us. Even Agnes, who was already inking another girl in the stocks, turned around as I screamed out.
“Geez, she has a set of lungs on her,” the old shrew noted dryly. “Only numbered for three minutes and she’s already slave-gasmed. I hope they gag her good before they brand her ass.”
Harvey picked up on the suggestion immediately. “So, what sort of brand did you want, Brian? It’ll be on the house. My compliments, as a thank you for your help.”
I was too exhausted from my slave-gasm to even object to the thought of my “free” slave branding, which would be anything but free for me. I was still gasping, trying to get air into my burning lungs.
“I’m still deciding,” Brian said, with the indifferent tone of a man trying to decide which bottled water was his favorite. “I like a lot of them. Maybe something MAGA, or maybe my badge number. My mom might have some good ideas.”
I was sure his mother did. Agnes hated me for stealing her son, and would like nothing more than to burn a gigantic slave girl brand on my ass. If she couldn’t do the branding herself, she would insist on witnessing it.
“You got some time,” Harvey noted. “We can keep her in training for as long as it takes.”
“About that,” Bill said. “I’m not sure I want to leave my wife here indefinitely.”
“You won’t have to, if you let us handle things. You see, Brian, we use something called the ABCD program here. B is “boundaries”, and the biggest boundary for this soggy little pussy is to make sure she understands that her slavery isn’t a game. Understanding that she’s nothing more than another piece of tail-for sale will give her the focus she needs to complete her training, and fetch the highest block price possible.”
“Well, I’m not planning on selling her, Harvey,” Bill explained. “It’s just a role play game.”
“Your wife’s training program will only be successful if she understands that she really might be sold. You signed her up for a Tag Tail sale, right? Are you really sure you wouldn’t sell her regardless of her price? I already got a mighty offer on her.”
I groaned as Harvey tickled my clit at the news.
“Seriously?” Brian said, showing more interest than I would have liked.
“VERY seriously. Apparently, you showed her off to some girl at the Taco joint, and she’s got a rich daddy. He was quite insistent on buying her, and he’s willing to pay way over market.”
“Really? How much?”
How much? I couldn’t believe it. Men are such fuckers! I tried to grunt something in protest, but Harvey, laughing, said, “Want some more?” and worked my clit harder with his thumb, ending my chance to make an intelligible objection.
“How much?” Brian said. Okay, I was curious, too, but what woman doesn’t wonder what she might bring on the block?
Harvey leaned forward, and redirected his full attention to Bill, even as I strained against his hand, trying to bring myself off again. “He offered me a million bucks. I said she wasn’t up for sale… yet.”
The “yet” caused me to shiver under Harvey’s touch, but it was the million-dollar price tag that got my husband’s attention.
Brian let out a slow whistle. “Gosh, that sure is one Taco Tuesday special.” Harvey laughed at his amazing witticism. Men are such fuckers!
Still, I gasped in pleasure. A million dollars? I felt a surge of pride, and a surge in my pussy, almost as if I were a real slave girl. But Brian was still a bastard.
“It’s way above market, that’s for sure,” Harvey said. “Who knows if he’d really pay it. If he’s smart, he’ll insist that we put her on the block, to make sure he doesn’t overpay. In the end, it’s best to let the market decide the price. Regardless, you got yourself one hot little pocket, my friend,” Harvey said, giving my pocket a squeeze as I grunted like a sow in heat.
“Well, I don’t know, Harvey,” I said. “I want to do what’s best for her.”
“So do I,” Harvey lied. “What’s best is that you let me properly train her, and let me teach her the ABCDs, just like a real slave girl. That’s her fantasy, right? If you really love her, you’ll help her get the best grade possible. If you help me out at the convention, I promise I’ll help your wife out, too. It will be a good deal for everyone.”
“That does make sense…” Brian conceded, as I tried to grunt my protest that it wouldn’t necessarily be a good deal for ME.
“Leave her with us tonight, and we’ll work out the details of your work schedule tomorrow,” Harvey said. “Come with me, and I’ll give you a little hiring bonus… in trade, as it were. I’ll show some of the perks of working at a slave market.”
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Harvey put his hand on Bill’s shoulder and lead him away. As their laughing voices faded, I knew Brian was about to have the time of his life, getting his cock sucked by some hot slave girl who’d probably slave-gasm while sucking him off. I hated her without even seeing her, for seducing my husband and for showing me up. If I got nothing else out of this misadventure, I vowed that I would become the best little cocksucker that Slave Mart had ever seen!
It was an odd thought, and I caught myself. Slave girls were competitive, of course, but as a free woman I was miles above the little skank about to swallow my husband’s load. I was just playing a role, right?
Maybe, but it was a role I’d need to play to the hilt. Brian was leaving, and he was taking my clothes and ID with him. My only identification was the slave number tattooed on the inside of my lip, and it would stay that way until I worked my way out of this mess.
Intellectually, I knew that “indefinite” training was a head game. Indeed, I had designed the ABCD’s to work that way. I always assured my employees that they would be “in training, for as often and as long as it takes.” As training was quite rigorous, most employees wanted to get out of it quickly; people don’t want to stay in bootcamp. Making it indefinite encouraged any resistors to get with the program, as the only way out was forward. In my case, the training path forward led straight to the auction block, and the quickest way out of this nightmare was to play along, and make my pussy as salable as possible.
Out of the corner of my eye I looked over at Agnes, who was finishing up on the lip tattoo of a weeping coed. “Don’t worry, sweetie, the boys at college will love your tattoo. But study hard, and don’t fall behind on your loans, or they’ll auction that sweet little pussy of yours right on the Quad, ha-ha!”
Agnes enjoyed her work.
Sensing my gaze, Agnes looked at me. “Don’t worry, Barbie doll, I haven’t forgotten about you. In fact, I have something to occupy your teensy-weensy bimbo brain while you wait your turn.”
Agnes walked over to me and held up a brown stub, about the size of my index finger. “This is ginger, Goldilocks, and I carved it this morning, so it would be all nice and fresh, just in case I met a girl like you. Open wide.”
I didn’t understand what “open wide” meant, as my mouth was already wide open, but Agnes walked behind me. Parting my butt cheeks like she had every right to do so, she slid the long brown ginger root deep into my bottom, using the tattoo pen to stuff it in deep!
“Do you know what figging is, slave girl? You know now. The more you clench, the more it burns. Have fun, and don’t shit it out, or you’ll be sorry. Just stomp your little feet, and enjoy.”
It felt smooth and cold and wet… for a few seconds. Then the fire began. I screamed as best as my blocked-open mouth would allow, clenched my fists, and stamped my bare feet.
Agnes, moved in front of me, bending over so our noses almost touched. “Little prick teasing kangaroo, manipulating all the men, flaunting your body. Well, your ass belongs to me now, Golden Girl. Welcome to Slave Smart.”
