The Christmas Coed Auction
Posted: Thu Dec 26, 2024 2:15 am
Belinda Craig’s POV
“All y’all lather up, git ready to show off your hot little pussies,” yelled a voice in a deep West Texas twang coming from the direction of the auction block.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this!” I thought as I heard the gavel come down off in the distance, quickly followed by the auctioneer’s muffled cry of “Sold!”
The moans and odor of wet pussy permeated the air as the line of naked women crammed together into this dark old cattle chute frantically jilling themselves moved forward towards an uncertain fate. Yeah, I was in the narrow chute leading up to the Broadway auction block at the Big D Slave Market with my entire pledge class of thirty-six smoking hot coeds. Each of us was being sold as Sigma Lambda Tau (SLT) Christmas Coeds as part of our sorority’s philanthropy project during the wildly popular “Block Friday” special auction the day after Thanksgiving.
For eight days from noon on Christmas Eve until noon on New Year’s Day, I would belong to some stranger to do with as they please. Thoughts of all the indecent acts I would likely perform were dancing through my head stoking my arousal, I mean slave heat. Must get into role here which wasn’t hard to do. Being a naked collared slave girl in the Big D Slave Market had a strange intoxicating effect on my out-of-control libido and from the looks of things I wasn’t alone.
From the back, an excited teenage voice cried out, “Lather ‘em up sluts. Y’all be show 'em whatcha got soon. Surf dem slippery slits. Lather up!”
The sounds in the chute reeked of sex between the moans of the girls and the slurping sounds of wet pussy being manipulated by equally moist fingers. My pussy was leaking enough without touching myself, but the handlers kept urging us all to “lather up”. The cattle rattle of the auctioneer droned on in the distance as I gently diddled myself like an obedient slave girl, carefully edging myself so that I would be on the verge of a climax when it was my turn on the block.
I could hear the auctioneer's calls in the background until it was interrupted by a high-pitched piercing wail announcing the onset of one hell of a slave-gasm from the girl strutting her stuff in the auction block sand as she became a true Sandy Foot Girl. That familiar cry sounded like Savannah, having heard her distinctive scream a few times in the sorority house. There was a brief lull before the storm as the bid calling took off at a furious pace. I squeezed my thighs together trapping my finger in the folds of my oozing honey pot trying hard not to cum, saving that for the block while imagining that was me rolling in the sand showing off my “attributes” as my Mama called them.
You’re probably wondering how I got here. Well, I’m Dallas native Belinda Craig, an eighteen-year-old freshman business major at SMU and a pledge in the SLT sorority, the most prestigious sorority with the nicest house on campus. We are known for our elegant beauty, intelligence, poise, and good deportment among other things. Our diverse membership includes girls from prominent families like mine, others on scholarships, student leaders, athletes, and cheerleaders. That’s me, a flyer, the technical term for the cheerleader on top of the pyramid or being held up in the air with one leg often pointing up to the sky. SLT consistently has the highest GPA of any Greek organization on campus and most importantly the highest percentage of Prime graded girls by a wide margin. Today, the entire pledge class was up for sale as Christmas Coeds with the funds going to our many philanthropy projects.
SLT wasn’t like any other sorority on campus. Our pledge period lasted the entire academic year instead of the standard six weeks for all other Greek organizations on campus. We lived in the house and our initiation ceremony was the popular Summer Slut auction after finals in May which we used to fund our lavish lifestyle during the school year. Another distinction is our mastery of the sexual arts with in-house training along the lines of the Broadstone or Venus Academy. We’re not sluts, I mean sluts fuck everyone, with a few exceptions we’re just much more selective with an emphasis on quality over quantity if you know what I mean. I’m rather prim, proper, and discerning, not having met a man that interested me this Fall unlike many of my sisters who are, shall we say, more active. Some of whom even questioned whether I had what it took to be a SLT.
It was only yesterday that I was home sitting around the dining room table for Thanksgiving dinner with my family, best friend Kelsey, and two other pledge sisters who were also from out of state. All four of us had the jitters, nervously picking at our food until Mama started making us eat, telling us we would need our strength for the big day. She even pulled us aside for a girls-only dessert where she regaled us with stories of her experiences wearing the collar including her times as a Christmas Coed. Yeah, my mom was a SLT too.
My sorority has some unusual rules that distinguish it from the others on campus that almost require our members to achieve a Prime grade. They also sell off a few of the pledges each year who didn’t meet the sorority’s high standards. So why do intelligent and attractive girls risk three years of enslavement to join a sorority; to be a SLT? Just like soldiers going to war, everyone believes it will be the other girl otherwise they wouldn’t do it. Then there are restrictions placed on the use of these girls requiring that they be used as personal concubines; no slave porn, commercial use at businesses like Sluts’R’Us, or similar high-volume situations. Girls who are sold are welcomed back into the sorority with open arms if they choose to do so, in some ways they are treated like minor celebrities. Over fifty percent of those sold become consort material spending a year at Broadstone Etiquette Academy or similar institutions.
That’s what happened to Mama and how she met my father, arriving on his doorstep as a naked collared consort, a gift from his parents. Two years later they were married. For me there was the added pressure of wanting to make the cut solely on merit, needing to earn my Prime grade to do so. Did I mention that I was a legacy and declining a legacy was highly frowned upon although some had been sold off at the end of the school year auction? So, I desperately needed that Prime rating.
By the time Mama was done with us, we all better understood that slavery allowed young ladies such as us the freedom to act out of character from our status, permitting us to let loose our inner sluts to do all those delicious things that “good girls” never would. Mama told us to make the most of it and see how many slave-gasms we could have while reminding us that block-gasms are the best. There was just something uniquely intense about climaxing on the auction block while they were selling your pussy, added Mama with a knowing smile. That night I lived through some rather vivid sexual fantasies in my dreams waking up horny and raring to go the next morning.
So far today had been wild, starting with a large audience of male students watching the annual naked SLT walk from the sorority house to the buses parked in front for the short ride to the Big D. We arrived five minutes before opening and being VIPs, we were allowed into the market before the crowd lining up at the three-foot-high bollards that kept vehicles away from the counters for the obligatory painting of the pussy posts. All but the yellow one near the entrance were freshly painted with red and white stripes that made them look like big candy canes.
Those of us here for our first grading lined up at the old yellow bollard, otherwise known as the lucky pussy pole. We all wanted Prime grades and local lore had it that if you climaxed rubbing yourself off onto the skankiest, most used post the better luck you had for your grading. Sure enough, it was the one with the most stains in the market having not seen a fresh coat of paint in years. I found myself on my knees backed up to it frantically rubbing my oozing pussy on a wet spot left by the previous girl where the paint had worn off, squirting all over it in the process before making room for one of my pledge sisters.
My slave heat had ignited while walking off the bus and through the front door. I’d never felt anything quite like it. Just being a naked collared slave girl in the Big D Slave Market had a strange intoxicating effect on my libido. Creaming all over the pussy post had left me in a perpetual slave haze that only became more intense with time. What would it be like when I ran out onto the auction block to be sold? One could only imagine.
I was grouped with the other first-timers after painting the pussy pole. At the counter anal virgins received small butt plugs with bright red lights that could be turned on remotely to identify our virginity; a commodity that had value and could be sold that needed to be protected. A wealthy man would pay more to be my first, and as his slave, I would let him. I was surprised at how few of us there were. The plug prevented an anonymous wrangler, or anyone else from breaking me in before my time. They even vibrated on command, something I was looking forward to. The wrangler plugging me just bent me over before God and country at the counter with everyone watching, lubed it up, and teased me with it for a few moments before tiring of the game and shoving it home. The sudden burning sensation caused me to let out a little squeal much to the delight of those watching the show while further cementing my vulnerability. I was no longer in control of my own body.
We were all signed in at the front counter and then registered, having our data input into the National Slave Registry, and receiving our Slave Identification Number (SIN) tattooed onto our lower lips. Then we proceeded through medical, the slut wash, makeup, and pink shots, and ran through a slave yoga practice session. After getting Devoxed we were put on display and evaluated by professional graders with a preliminary slave grade that could be adjusted up if our sale price was high enough. I was feeling the pressure of having been told that I needed to nail my block routine to secure the coveted Prime status like my Mama.
Since we were Christmas Coeds, we all posed for our Christmas Cards in front of a magnificent Christmas tree all lit up with perfectly wrapped presents everywhere while wearing our distinctive red Christmas collars, and Santa hats and armed with big candy cane dildos as props. That slut Charlene used three of them for a Christmas themed airtight with one up her ass and another in her pussy as she deep-throated the third. I swear you could make out the bulge in her throat! She was another legacy pledge determined to demonstrate that she was a true SLT. Honestly, she was a natural.
Right afterward she slave tipped the photographer, easily inhaling his shaft to the root. That guy was gone in sixty seconds with that slut proudly displaying her slimy reward on her tongue for all of us to witness before swallowing. Before today I’d never let a guy cum in my mouth, let alone considered swallowing that disgusting stuff. The heat between my legs betrayed me. I was jealous; why couldn’t that be me? My pussy throbbed in anticipation of giving my first slave tip. I couldn’t believe that I longed to give some man who just yesterday I wouldn’t have given the time of day a blow job, letting him fill my mouth to the brim with his splooge; and swallow it. But I did, this place was getting into my head and changing me somehow.
Lost in my slave haze absently diddling myself I intently watched Charlene’s every move. I went right after she performed her service with the photographer, leaning against a big teddy bear for support in front of the tree with my legs splayed wide open bent at the knees. My slave heat ablaze I fucked myself silly on a candy cane dildo fantasizing about getting double stuffed by two hung masters, imagining how good it would feel to be dominated by two strong men. In my current state, I had a hair trigger quickly squirting while lost in the throes of my slave-gasm looking right into the camera with a burning lust-filled gaze. I was pleased with the result; I looked so hot that I was sure it would make my Mama proud. Being a true squirter who always got sloppy wet when aroused further bolstered my legacy bona fides. Before becoming a SLT I used to be embarrassed about my excessive pussy juice when aroused, often having to wear panty liners to avoid embarrassment, but no more.
After our feeding, we rested until it was time to get a pep talk from our big sisters who had all done this before. Their slave heat was ablaze; their eagerness to hit the block again infectious. They described being sold on the auction block as one of the most unforgettable sexually exhilarating experiences of their lives. My big sister hugged me reassuringly once more giddily describing her time rolling in the sand on the auction block. The distinctive smell and feel of the sand on her body when she climaxed, adding her essence to the grit on the block proudly earning the much-desired title of Sandy Foot Girl. Grabbing my hand, she rubbed it over her Big D brand on her left buttock reminding me of what was at stake, making me covet that badge of honor even more.
Would it be the same for me I wondered, unable to stop touching myself, lightly running my fingers through my soaking wet labia while listening to the women around me? In my slave haze, I even found myself looking around evaluating the slave wranglers for fuckability like I was a hungry lioness, and they were prey of some kind. Fresh meat maybe? There were some cute college-aged wranglers, but they didn’t pique my interest. Unlike a lioness seeking to cull the weak from the herd my eyes instinctively lingered on the dominant more mature men. Becoming merchandise at the Big D pushed me further towards a more primal state becoming attracted to the older, fitter wranglers. Everywhere mature masculine men carried themselves with confidence, strength, and willingness to take violent action to discipline a misbehaving slave girl. Men that just yesterday I wouldn’t have given the time of day but now this naked slave girl’s pussy throbbed at the thought of submitting to one of them.
I wasn’t surprised by this, I’d been having more Daddy Master fantasies the closer to the auction we got, playing with myself in bed at night wearing my training collar imagining how these more experienced men would put me to use—soaking my sheets in the process. My nostrils flared when I first saw the hefty yet muscular bald wrangler with coal-black skin and a bushy salt-and-pepper beard who carried himself with an air of authority. His name tag identified him as Assistant Manager Darwin Washington and my kitty throbbed while I undressed him in my mind. He caught me checking him out, my eyes lingering way too long on his package. His eyes gave me a hard look when he beckoned me over by snapping his fingers and pointing toward the ground at his feet.
My pussy throbbed out of control as I hurriedly scampered over to him, gracefully moving to my knees with my legs spread wide putting my wet pussy on display, back arched jutting my titties out, hands on my knees palms up while looking at his feet.
I coyly asked, “Yes Master. What can this slave girl do for you?”
Sounding irritated, he growled, “Slave girl, were you undressing me with your eyes like some needy piece of drippy slave snatch hoping to earn herself a slave-gasm?”
I felt myself blushing with embarrassment from my face down to my tits at my transparency while my loins burned hotly. He had seen right through me. Mama had warned me that this could happen when proper young ladies such as myself became naked slave girls in the hyper-sexualized environment of the Big D Slave Market. All day long I’d witnessed women losing their inhibitions and enjoying being used sexually. From the moment I was registered I was constantly touched and fondled by strange men grabbing a handful of my tits and ass, pinching my nipples, and using their fingers as “dipsticks to check my oil,” as one old monger put it.
The sights, sounds, and smells of sex permeating the building were a constant reminder that I was valued for my looks and slave heat, not my intellect. Every time we were marched past a break room there were moaning slave girls bent over a breeding bench getting railed, or even spit roasted. Some wranglers were in too much of a hurry to wait until they got to the break room, bending willing slaves over cages, boxes, and tables going at it. There was a group of five VIPs all standing in the hallway getting orally serviced, and one was a woman! With discretion in the wind, these sluts almost always loudly announced their slave-gasms taunting those less fortunate like myself. The more I saw it the more I wanted to be one of THOSE slave girls, but I was never chosen. That slut Charlene had given three slave tips so far as I watched each time wishing that was me on the receiving end of a hard cock.
Before today I had only taken one penis in my mouth and that was only long enough to get it wet and slippery to titty fuck me. The idea of getting a mouthful of a stranger's jism and then swallowing it was revolting before today. Not anymore, now I wanted, no needed it. What was happening to me?
With my slave heat out of control I giggled hopefully, “Yes Master, how can this slave girl serve you?”
All I could do was hungrily stare at the bulge in his pants while making my boobies jiggle enticingly. Mama always said to play up my assets. I was almost drooling with his large penis at eye level less than two feet from my face, I detected a slight movement like it was alive somehow. I wanted him to unzip his pants and make me give his big cock a slave kiss. I’ve never let a man cum in my mouth and yet right now kneeling at his feet I wanted him to make me suck his big black cock until he filled my mouth to bursting with his manly seed and then order me to lewdly display his slimy gift on my tongue for all to see.
In a tone that questioned whether I was worth his time, he sighed, “Present,” while putting his iPad down on the table next to him
His rejection made me want him even more. Was he playing hard to get? I fluidly rose assuming the present position my legs spread shoulder width with my hands behind my head and arms sticking out to the sides. Frustrated from his neglect, I once more made my big boobies shake a little extra still hoping to entice him.
He didn’t seem to notice, instead ordering, “Open your mouth.”
Master Darwin proceeded to check the condition of my teeth just like a judge would inspect a dog at the Westminster Dog Show. I watched it last year as the judges examined the teeth and then ran their hands over the animals checking for muscle and bone density. When he was done with my mouth, he ran his experienced hands over my neck, shoulders, and arms like he was evaluating my muscle density before running his hands over my torso avoiding my breasts in the process. Then he squatted running his hands up one leg and down the other treating me like a piece of livestock being inspected for deficiencies making my pussy throb even more.
Standing he commented, “You’re fit with some meat on you, unlike many white girls we sell who are too skinny for my taste. Nice ab crack. How do you keep yourself in shape?”
Proudly I replied, “I’m on the SMU poms team as a flyer.”
He grunted appreciatively, “Both my daughters were cheerleaders, the smart one is in her final year at medical school. The other had big tits like yours, they were firm, but not like these.”
Master Darwin hefted both of my breasts from below, one in each hand, giving each a squeeze, adding, “These hooters are natural, they look too firm to be real. Have you ever juiced? That would explain the extraordinary stability.”
Sounding offended I replied with a huff, “Master, I’ve never, … this slave’s never used horny juice. This slave’s breasts are 30 Ds and still growing, … this slave thinks. This slave’s mother’s breasts didn’t stop growing until she was 20 and hers are DDs.”
“Is she in the system,” he gruffly asked, picking up his iPad from the table like he already knew the answer.
“Yes Master, this slave’s mother is Karleen Craig, November 3rd, 1982. She graded Prime and went on to graduate from Broadstone,” I smugly replied, letting him look her up in the National Slave Registry which had her stats and old pink shots on file.
I was proud of my Mama and had an inkling of what Master Darwin would find while he tapped away on his iPad. Mama had shared a lot about her life while pushing me into becoming a SLT at SMU and in many ways, we were becoming closer as I found myself following in her footsteps and learning more about her many accomplishments.
Master Darwin’s eyes popped out in surprise as he exclaimed, “Damn slut, you’re a regular chip off the old hooter. Aren’t you slave girl? Hopefully, you’ll fill out just like she did.”
He laughed deeply at his bad joke reminding me of Santa’s Ho, Ho, Ho’s while I giggled inanely sounding like I was slave stupid. Then he started tapping some more before he explained.
“Some of the professional evaluators may have downgraded your score based on a malicious rumor that you’d been using horny juice to get that impressive rack. I provided a link to your mother’s file including her pink shots and that her knockers were bigger than yours. You just have good genes, hopefully, you’ll continue to develop. That coupled with your clean blood tests should help stabilize your grade where it belongs.”
I was overjoyed at the news, “This slave girl thanks you, Master.”
Grinning, he added, “I haven’t finished my inspection slave girl.”
Putting down his iPad Master Darwin started softly massaging my breasts. He was a magician with his hands causing my titties to heat up, focusing on my silver dollar-sized areolas making gentle circles with the tips of his thumbs while blowing gently on them for added stimulus. I have super sensitive nipples and no man had made me feel this way before. The boys I dated just mauled them not considering my needs.
Not Master Darwin, in no time I had a pair of nipple boners needing more stimulation and he did not disappoint. He started with a light pinch, increasing his grip while gently rubbing, pulling, twisting, and rolling my large gumdrops between his fingers. Gaging my responses, he began introducing more forceful pinches until it felt like he was trying to pop one of them while suckling the other in his mouth. Waves of pleasure coursed through my body down to my pussy. I felt like I might climax from his efforts alone when he suddenly pulled away leaving me breathless, panting with need as a sorrowful whine escaped my lips.
Master Darwin chuckled before turning serious, “No climaxes for this slave girl. You need to save it to maximize your block heat when it matters most.”
Reaching down between my legs he ran a finger through my drippy folds coating it with my fluids and brought it to his mouth. Savoring my flavor, he smacked his lips appreciatively much like a sommelier tasting a fine wine while looking me in the eye. Raising an eyebrow he gave me a disapproving look when I wasn’t looking down like a good obedient slave girl.
“Nothing tastes quite like fresh teenage slave snatch about to hit the block. Your file indicates you were a debutante last Spring. Can you perform a Texas Dip?”
The Texas Dip is a formal curtsy that originated in 1909 and is performed by all Texas debutants when being presented at the ball. The move is expected to take about 20 seconds to perform gracefully in four-inch heels while wearing a formal gown in front of a large gathering of the elite of Dallas society. Even in my aroused state, it was much more manageable naked in bare feet in the practice area.
“Yes Master, I can perform one,” I replied curiously, not sure what he was getting at.
Stepping back, he nodded for me to proceed. Quickly bringing my feet together I moved my arms reaching out in front of me to shoulder height, then extending them out to my sides. From there, I pointed my right toe out to 12 o'clock, slowly tracing it in a circular motion to 7 o'clock, ending with my right foot behind my left. Next, came the hardest part, lowering myself into a "pretzel-like" seated position while keeping my back straight and arms extended out to the side before gracefully bowing forward, maintaining eye contact with the audience, smiling I dropped my head submissively holding the position. I nailed it in under ten seconds.
“Present,” he commanded, and I complied smoothly moving into position.
“Nice, did you know that cheerleaders make excellent show ponygirls? The physical attributes from years of training as a cheerleader transition nicely into the dressage events.”
My heart skipped a beat, and a chill ran down my spine at that revelation. I didn’t want to be a ponygirl. That could be years spent on horny juice being treated like a prized farm animal. Some wore collars that turned human speech into horse sounds all day, every day for years. Most came down with serious cases of slave mind that were hard to reverse.
“Turn around Miss Debutante,” he teased, and I complied, feeling his hands inspecting my body from my shoulders down to my buttocks where they lingered, “You have slender athletic hips and a round firm bootie with a little extra junk in the trunk, a real moneymaker. My youngest daughter was a flyer just like you although a few inches taller with wider hips. She barely graduated from high school and was failing out of community college when I brought her here for her slave grading and a Best Chance auction. Someone placed a bid over the high reserve price, and she was sold for three years. Her new owner offered to double the sale price for an additional two years and I accepted. He named her Black Beauty and shipped her off to Loan Oak for four months of horny juice-induced training. That was a little over four years ago.”
Listening to him a surge of apprehension flowed through me. If I didn’t get a Prime grade I’d likely be sold off this summer. I didn’t want to end up a ponygirl like his daughter. Even if the sex was good.
“Display,” he ordered, and I bent over with my hands on the ground looking back between my spread legs at his feet.
He tapped on my butt plug, my ass clenching around it in response, adding, “This back door’s getting smashed in before the year’s out. Y’all know that. You’re such a slut I suspect you’ll enjoy it once you get past the initial burn.”
God, I hoped he was right. Then I felt two fingers exploring my pussy from the rear, easily penetrating my leaking slit until I reflexively clenched down on them. He wriggled his fingers loosening me up while I moaned happily, even humping back on his digits seeking additional stimulation.
“Damn, slave girl, your cock slot is overflowing with cooter cream,” he exclaimed, holding his thick fingers in place while I slowly rocked myself on them as I moaned happily.
Sounding a lot like a proud father he continued, “Saw Black Beauty compete in the state championship last summer and I’ll be damned if she didn’t win. I watched her bent over the winner’s breeding bench for the VIPs with her blue ribbon hanging from her head harness. She looked content with her life. At least that’s how I interpreted the look on her face or that could have been what four years of horny juice does to a slave girl. Then another VIP took her mouth spit roasting her and it was time to go. My oldest was upset with me until she realized I was using the proceeds to pay for her and her brother’s education.”
Now, I really didn’t want to be sold off as a ponygirl. I needed to ask Mama if I should give up cheerleading. I didn’t think I could; it was part of who I was and how I self-identified. I was proud of my skill level after years of hard work.
Master Darwin pulled his fingers from my overheated cunt with a loud squelch and ordered, “Present, turn around.”
He was still sucking on his finger like a kid with a lollipop when I glanced at him before looking down at his crotch. I swear his bulge was growing. Master Darwin ran a fingertip over my left nipple before taking it between his finger and thumb and squeezing hard. The jolts of pleasure went straight to my engorged clitty as I moaned like a horny pleasure slut once more.
Chuckling to himself, he added, “These big ole hooters would look marvelous with bells hanging from the nips.”
Instinctively I pushed my breast into his hand seeking additional stimulation all to no avail as he released my nipple. He chuckled at my slutty response.
Master Darwin kindly gave me some advice, “Stay hydrated, you don’t want your well running dry on the block. You need to be able to put a nice champagne shower into the sand. No climaxes until you hit the block. Waiting will spike your block heat, raising your value. Let your slave heat take over and never fake a slave-gam. Your collar monitors your block heat and climaxes validating your arousal for the bidders.”
Grinning he reached between running his fingers through my oozing slit collecting more of my fluids. Yes, I desperately tried humping his fingers to no avail and watched as he licked his fingers clean visibly savoring the flavor.
He groaned contently, “I love the taste of fresh teenage slave pussy about to get sold. Nothing beats it.”
Then he turned serious adding, “When you have one foot pointed towards the ceiling and your drippy slave snapper on display. Make a show of running your fingers through your wet cunt and licking them clean. Then announce to the buyers how good your fresh teenage pussy tastes. Trust me, that will fuel a run of bids driving up your price.”
Like an addict, he copped another feel scooping up more of my overabundant nectar of the Gods. Walking away he headed towards the exit licking his fingers leaving me stewing in my juices waiting to go into the chute.
Before disappearing into the bowels of the Big D he ominously called back with a hint of menace, “Little Miss debutante, if you have a slave-gasm before hitting the block I’m gonna whup your ass right after the gavel comes down.”
A little voice in my head, my slave self maybe, giggled that she might like that. Visions of Master Darwin pulling me over his lap and giving me a bare fanny spanking with his hand had me squeezing my thighs together trying to quench the heat in my loins. I’d never wanted to be spanked before, but now I wanted to feel the sting from his hand landing on my derriere. I was so wet, I’m sure I would leak on his lap leaving a stain behind if that happened today. What is wrong with me? Good girls like me don’t act this way.
Groaning in frustration I waited with my sisters while my slave heat smoldered near the boiling point as the smells and sounds of the slave market overwhelmed my senses. I’d also promised Mama that I’d save it for the block, so I didn’t let myself climax like many of the other girls around me. How will this day be seared into this slave cunt's memory I marveled?
Suddenly, crude words used by the slave wranglers like "tits," "cunt," and "ass" seemed natural to describe this former debutante as I waited my turn to enter the chute. Ever since I polished the pussy post this morning in front of my pledge sisters my arousal had been increasing exponentially until now, when I felt that all my sexual energy was ready to explode. I realized at that moment that not only would I climax in the sand while being sold; but I wanted, no needed to climax to fulfill my destiny. I had accepted that slavery in some form was in my future while wondering what had happened to that prim and proper debutante that had been presented to Dallas society just last May. Was something wrong with me? Or was this part of a natural evolution as I transitioned into womanhood becoming a SLT in the process?
Following Master Darwin’s advice I stayed hydrated and when it was time, we limbered up and were herded towards the chute entrance for the 7:00 pm special auction. Seven years ago, the Big D took this charity auction nationally allowing online bids more than tripling the profit per pussy due to the high-quality SLTs put out for bid. The Big D got their fixed percentage by hosting and tons of free publicity. It also speeded up sales with serious bidders putting down big money upfront. Most of us would be on the block for less than ninety seconds before the gavel fell to meet the lot-per-hour rate needed to clear the catalog of eighty-two coeds in two hours. I did say I was a business major and did a paper on the economics of this Christmas Coeds special auction. I got an “A” on it.
Last year, Tiffany, SLT’s only Prime Plus pledge sold in less than fifteen seconds with an opening bid of $250,000, a record and she was doing it again. That was play money for billionaires like Mark and Elon. Raising money for the Make-A-Wish and Wounded Warrior foundations helped justify the expenditures; now they could say they were doing it for the children and veterans. For those men, it was like most of us who get a free coffee mug or T-shirt when donating a couple of hundred dollars to a charity.
The Big D even sold a limited-edition Christmas calendar using our Christmas Card portraits with a certain percentage of the proceeds going to charity. Every one of us hoped to be selected as the cover model winning the coveted title of Miss North Pole. One could only dream. Tiffany won last year. She had that “it” factor; an aura of raw sexuality that oozed from her being without any effort that some women just have. Men fawned over her, attracted to her like bees to honey. With the title comes responsibility, and the obligation to hit the block the following year. That’s why Tiffany was heading to the block once more. Miss North Pole always brings a premium price. What SLT could turn down that opportunity to help the children and wounded veterans?
When it was time our sorority president followed by Tiffany, our officers, and a few volunteers led the way into the chute followed by our bigs. A slave monger went into the chute behind them to push them forward, keeping them jammed together. Once in that chute, there was only one way a SLT was getting out, the auction block.
The pledges were held back until there was room for all of us. Then they scanned our collars at the entrance making sure we were in the correct order with Taylor going first and crammed us into the dark narrow chute like sardines; a seething mass of flesh innocently rubbing up against each other all unaware that the chute would amplify our slave heat in unimaginable ways. I was lot 63 out of 82 so it would be a while before my turn still not believing that each sale took between one to two minutes.
Although it had been a long day, I was on a sexual adrenaline high looking forward to being the best block monkey I could be. My routine had become second nature for me having spent thirty minutes a day practicing a sixty-second routine. It was all muscle memory now; I didn’t even have to think anymore. Still, I ran through it in my head repeatedly while waiting to go through that door while petting my wet kitty. I had a flip with a twist in it for my grand opening. You only get to make a first impression once and I intended to stick the landing.
The gavel came down with a loud clack startling me, breaking the spell, and bringing me back to my current predicament. I heard the auctioneer’s call, “Sold!” over the raucous cheers of the crowd. It dawned upon me that another of my sorority sisters' fate was sealed when with a flash of light, the slave girl's entrance to the auction block swung open once more. Followed by a loud “Slap!” in tandem with a slave wrangler loudly commanding, “Git slut. Time to show whatcha got. The rest of y’all lather up.”
My large torpedo tits pressed into the back of Charlene, the girl in front of me. She was whimpering like a whore jilling herself, having already climaxed twice while waiting in line. Had she no control or pride? What a slut!
Why did I have to follow that condescending Prime Plus graded whore with one of the best block routines I’d ever seen. She was the only Prime Plus in our pledge class and had that same sexual it factor as Tiffany. I swear those girls gave off some strange pheromone that attracted men leaving them thinking with their little heads. Both Tiffany and Charlene were on the Cheer team where all they did was wiggle their asses suggestively for the crowds while I was a flyer on the Poms team, doing flips, spins, and a myriad of poses that required athleticism and flexibility.
Char and I were polar opposites, I was reserved dressing conservatively while she dressed and acted like a total whore. I don’t think she ever wore panties; they’d just get in the way. Slut was an understatement for her; she’d often bragged about a different “conquest” as she called them every Friday and Saturday night, often stealing someone’s boyfriend only to dump them the next day. For her, seducing men was a sporting event, no sex act too degrading, and the powerful rush from dumping them afterward was a reward all in itself. Rumor had it she was even into pegging, yuck. Char at least once stole a girl’s boyfriend, fucked him in his soon-to-be ex’s bed only to dump him later that night to latch onto yet another cuter guy.
That skank was born to wear the collar as someone’s pleasure slut. That whore could effortlessly look back winking her eye and sphincter in sync during her block routine. It had taken me hours of diligent practice in front of a mirror to perfect that move, and now I had a plug up my ass. Life’s not fair! Part of me hoped her asshole would gape open from overuse on the block for all to see her true nature.
My best friend Kelsey was behind me, her firm breasts crushed against my neck, her chin almost on top of my head, and she kept hitting my lower back with her hand as she furiously masturbated. It sounded like she would blow again any moment. She was a lithe 5’11” setter on the volleyball team with supermodel long legs that went on forever ending on top with a nice tight ass. What I wouldn’t give for those glorious legs.
I started gently running my fingers along my wet slit trying to avoid a premature slave-gasm, having almost accidentally climaxed when we first got shoved into the dark chute, somehow holding myself back when I found myself on the brink. Mama told me to be a good girl and save it for the block; if I was anything I was a good girl who listened to her mother. Who was I kidding, it felt like a strong draft blowing on my purring kitty right now could push me over the edge igniting a fiery frenzy.
The door to the block drew the densely packed slave girls towards it like a moth to a flame. What happened on the other side of that door would live with us forever. The older girls described being sold on the auction block as a Christmas Coed as one of the most memorable sexually exhilarating experiences of their lives. Mama bolstered my confidence and graphically described her experience rolling in the sand in a slave daze on the auction block consumed by her block heat. Re-counting the distinctive smell and feel of the sand on her body. Her vivid recollection of her majestic orgasm squirting in the sand while performing her block routine earned the coveted Big D badge that was burned into her left buttock signifying that for all eternity, she was a Sandy Foot Girl.
Would it be the same for me I wondered, as I massaged my soaking wet kitty with one hand while running a fingertip over a nipple? Groaning in frustration I waited sandwiched between two moaning girls while my slave heat smoldered near the boiling point as the smells and sounds overwhelmed my senses. How will this day be seared into this slave cunt's memory I wondered?
The closer I moved up to that damned door, the more my anticipation grew. It became evident why the pledges went last; the long wait provided more time for our sexual arousal to blossom, pushing us further into a deep slave haze stoking our slave heat. Transformed into needy pleasure sluts lost in a deep trance-like state jilling ourselves in the dark fixated solely on achieving our next slave-gasms. We were unstable like nitroglycerin in the heat becoming more and more prone to going off as the sexual tension in the chute intensified our lust; our infectious slave heat fed off one another, our hot sweaty bodies crammed together rubbing up against each other in the close confines of that dark chute overwhelmed by the smell and sounds of arousal. All it would take now was one spark, one girl erupting in a frenzy triggering a chain reaction. We all sensed it.
Only a few bigs were left in the chute when one of the first pledges in line loudly combusted, causing a tsunami-like ripple effect moving down the chute, acting much like a raging firestorm engulfing almost everyone in its path while jumping over others. I bit my lip hard trying not to cum as Charlene and then Kelsey both exploded into slave-gasms leaving me sandwiched between the two sweaty writhing girls. To make matters worse Kelsey somehow in the tight confines of the chute reached around me turning my head to the right while leaning forward for a passionate kiss. I don’t know how I didn’t erupt from the added stimulation of her warm soft lips on mine and her muscular tongue aggressively exploring my mouth as if she owned it. I almost swooned from that kiss!
Next thing I knew I was shuffling up an incline, getting closer to the door with only two girls between me and my destiny when the door swung open, and Angie scampered out onto the block. Looking over Charlene’s shoulder I caught a brief glimpse of my pledge sister Becca all covered in sand, two burly slave wranglers holding her up by her arms, escorting her on wobbly legs off to the side of the auction block before the door slammed shut. Instinctively the herd shuffled forward pushing me along as I moved up the incline towards the door that led to my destiny. The cries of the wranglers to, “Lather up!” rang in my ears.
My pussy was on fire with an unquenched pang of hunger like I’d never experienced before, a soaking wet mess leaking evidence of my arousal down my inner thighs. I was barely edging myself anymore. I was so desperate for relief, holding back, saving myself so I’d climax in the sand while showing off my slave heat to drive up my bid price. I needed that Prime grade; unlike anything I’d ever wanted before.
Only Charlene remained between me and my destiny on the other side of that door. I was next up after her and my inner slut took over ready to put on a show to find a good master that I now wanted to take me home tonight. I needed a hard cock, my Master’s firm shaft in me to climax all over, again and again, all night long to sate my overactive slave heat. The cattle rattle of the auctioneer was somehow hypnotic as small shafts of light from the auction block seeped through the cracks in the door and beckoned to me like a blind dog in a meat market.
Next thing I know I was next up, standing in the dark, gently rubbing my wet cunt to the sounds and smells of the other girls masturbating behind me, fixated on the door in front of me, a naked Kelsey still pushing behind, her large tits in my neck, her hand rubbing against my lower back as she diddles herself. Succumbing to the magnetic pull of what was behind the door I’d forgotten about the slave wranglers manning the entrance.
A gruff voice in a West Texas twang startled me drawling, “Het chack,” in my right ear as he swatted away my hand that I was diddling myself with, replacing it with his calloused mitt. Gathering my abundant seepage, he teasingly circled my engorged nubbin without directly stimulating my pearl leaving me moaning in despair.
The wrangler on my left pawed at my breast, quickly homing in on my erect nipple and roughly squeezing it while I promptly mimicked his actions on my right with my fingers coated with my fluids for added stimulation while moaning like a bitch in heat. My sensitive nipples were so hard with arousal that they almost hurt! I couldn’t help myself lost in a sexual fog as my slave heat overwhelmed my ability to think with any clarity. Hell, I was only eighteen and my frontal cortex wasn’t fully developed yet, my slave heat overwhelming my ability for rational thought.
That young wrangler to my left reached between my legs from behind and slipped a meaty finger into my tight wet vagina.
“Damn Joe, y’all ain’t even had time to push her juice button and her hoo-hah is leak’n cooter cream dat feels silky smooth, just like melted butter,” gushed a younger voice with a Texas twang.
I couldn’t help myself; I started humping his finger because it felt so good hoping he’d slip in another finger or two for added stimulation. One just wasn’t enough. At this point, I didn’t care if I orgasmed right now; all it would take was for wrangler Joe to give my pearl a little polish, which he skillfully avoided. Bastard!
Joe agreed, snickering, “This slave monkey’s hot for the block, she’ll be jetting her juice in the sand in no time. Don't worry your sweet little head slave girl, Skeeter’s gonna find you a good master.”
“Dis slut’s ready to show off her hot little honey pot, ain’t yah slave girl,” knowingly chuckled the younger monger as I humped his finger like a horny pleasure slut happily demonstrating her wares.
I felt him teasing me with his thumb, hoping he’d work it in with his finger to get me off. What was happening to me? Last week this college coed wouldn’t have given either of these two men the time of day. I was untouchable, so out of their league. Now all I wanted was to be bent over a breeding bench and used by both and some of their friends to boot.
“Damn, this slave girl’s fixin’ta blow a gasket the way she be humping my finger. Ain't' yah slave girl,” he laughed, giving the finger in my weeping pussy a little twirl while using his thumb to wiggle the butt plug up my ass for emphasis driving home his point as I inched closer to erupting in a fiery frenzy.
“She’s slave wet, I can hear the squelching,” laughed Joe
All I could do was moan deliriously enjoying the sensation of the beefy finger mining the depths of my vagina while his thumb wiggled the plug. I could feel a massive orgasm bubbling up from my core about to erupt as I gave up holding back in my desperation for release. I’d followed Mama’s orders, making it to the front of the line, saving myself for the block, but could I make it through the door?
Squeezing my erect nipple hard the young monger chimed in, “This slave girl’s got big ol diamond cutter nipples.”
“Hard enough to cut glass?” teased the deep voice of the wrangler on my right.
“Oh yeah,” enthusiastically chuckled the young man, giving my poor battered nipple an extra hard squeeze for emphasis.
Deep in my slave haze, throwing any shred of dignity aside that I still possessed, a guttural moan escaped my lips; I begged, whining with need, “Please Master, I’m slave hot, let me cum. I’m a good slave girl, let me cum.”
In my desperation, I tried moving so that he touched my clitty. This wasn’t his first rodeo; I’m guessing he’d seen this trick before as he deftly moved his finger away from my nubbin, his laughter mocking me for my efforts.
Amused at my predicament the old wrangler added, “This slave girl’s gonna be a lively block monkey, the way she’s bouncing on your finger like it’s a pogo stick like all git out while trying to rub her happy button on my finger.”
“Wiggling the plug up her ass is adding a hitch to her git up,” laughed the younger wrangler before adding, “This slave snatch is drippy wet as all get out; slave girl got a poon monsoon building up in her finger vault.”
“You’re an obedient little slave girl, ready to show off your hot little pussy, and eager to please. Aren’t you slave girl,” snickered Joe.
“Oh yes master, I’m a good slave girl. Please make this slave girl cum,” I gushed hopefully, thinking my desperation wasn’t too obvious.
“Da slave girl’s gonna squizzle in the sand on national TV,” taunted the young wrangler, reminding me this was televised.
I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. Somehow, I’d forgotten that this was televised, and I was going to orgasm on the auction block with everyone watching. Fellow students, professors, and family friends included. Letting loose a champagne shower in the sand as Mama called it. The apprehension about climaxing in the sand of the auction block on national TV dissipated as I found the very public aspect of it highly arousing. Anyone sexually active knows that every orgasm is like a snowflake — each one feels a bit different. While some can feel short and sweet, others can feel so intensely Earth-shattering that they qualify as a seven-plus on the sexual Richter scale — and both are normal. The one building deep in the core of my being was going to break the Richter scale.
“What do yah think Skeeter will do if I ring this slave girl’s devil’s doorbell when the door opens?” chuckled the wrangler named Joe.
“He’ll be as mad as a three-legged dog trying to bury a turd on an icy pond when she stumbles out, making a grand entrance coming out onto the block and blowing a gasket. Then he’ll find a way to use it to jack up her price. Joe, you gotta make her bottle pop,”
The auctioneer's gavel slammed down with a loud “Clank!” I was seconds away now. Mama told me that I'd be blinded by the light. I had ignore it and get out onto the block as quickly as possible and give the audience a great big smile letting them know that I wanted to be someone’s pleasure slut to spur higher bids. Buyers like enthusiastic slave pussy when she’s on the block and I was going to be all that and more, how much more I just didn’t know yet. I was leaning forward towards the door when the finger in my pussy started expertly rubbing my G spot, hitting it just right.
Suddenly Joe’s experienced finger found my neglected clitoris, strumming my engorged nubbin like a maestro. He rang my bell sending me into a sexual hyper-drive chuckling, “You’re slave hot for cock and ready for the block.”
I could feel an incredible orgasm building to the breaking point. A sorrowful moan escaped my lips at the realization I was about to climax. The bright light blinded me as the door in front of me sprung open right when the young wrangler gave my nipple one last squeeze sending jolts of pleasure straight to my clitty while also pulling his finger out of my pussy leaving me with a longing empty feeling.
The wrangler on my left teased, “Git, show em whatcha got slave girl,” while giving me one last parting gift, a forceful spank on my left buttock that propelled me through the door out onto the auction block right when the full force of my orgasm hit me. It exploded from within the depths of my being with a ferocity, unlike anything I had ever experienced. It felt like my core was a volcano erupting, spewing molten lava as I stumbled forward and fell onto my knees squirting into the sand, jilling myself trying to make it better; make it last, longer; I never wanted it to end.
Overwhelmed by my slave heat I had made my grand entrance kneeling in the sand lost in the throes of my slave-gasm, furiously jilling my clitty with one hand while mauling a nipple in the other oblivious to everything around me. Solely focused on my pleasure, I had become a slave stupid pleasure slut putting on a show for the bidders, and oh what a show it was. Suddenly it dawned upon me while I climaxed, squirting in the sand of the Broadway auction block at the Big D Slave Market, I was a real Sandy Foot Girl now, just like my Mama.
To be continued??
“All y’all lather up, git ready to show off your hot little pussies,” yelled a voice in a deep West Texas twang coming from the direction of the auction block.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this!” I thought as I heard the gavel come down off in the distance, quickly followed by the auctioneer’s muffled cry of “Sold!”
The moans and odor of wet pussy permeated the air as the line of naked women crammed together into this dark old cattle chute frantically jilling themselves moved forward towards an uncertain fate. Yeah, I was in the narrow chute leading up to the Broadway auction block at the Big D Slave Market with my entire pledge class of thirty-six smoking hot coeds. Each of us was being sold as Sigma Lambda Tau (SLT) Christmas Coeds as part of our sorority’s philanthropy project during the wildly popular “Block Friday” special auction the day after Thanksgiving.
For eight days from noon on Christmas Eve until noon on New Year’s Day, I would belong to some stranger to do with as they please. Thoughts of all the indecent acts I would likely perform were dancing through my head stoking my arousal, I mean slave heat. Must get into role here which wasn’t hard to do. Being a naked collared slave girl in the Big D Slave Market had a strange intoxicating effect on my out-of-control libido and from the looks of things I wasn’t alone.
From the back, an excited teenage voice cried out, “Lather ‘em up sluts. Y’all be show 'em whatcha got soon. Surf dem slippery slits. Lather up!”
The sounds in the chute reeked of sex between the moans of the girls and the slurping sounds of wet pussy being manipulated by equally moist fingers. My pussy was leaking enough without touching myself, but the handlers kept urging us all to “lather up”. The cattle rattle of the auctioneer droned on in the distance as I gently diddled myself like an obedient slave girl, carefully edging myself so that I would be on the verge of a climax when it was my turn on the block.
I could hear the auctioneer's calls in the background until it was interrupted by a high-pitched piercing wail announcing the onset of one hell of a slave-gasm from the girl strutting her stuff in the auction block sand as she became a true Sandy Foot Girl. That familiar cry sounded like Savannah, having heard her distinctive scream a few times in the sorority house. There was a brief lull before the storm as the bid calling took off at a furious pace. I squeezed my thighs together trapping my finger in the folds of my oozing honey pot trying hard not to cum, saving that for the block while imagining that was me rolling in the sand showing off my “attributes” as my Mama called them.
You’re probably wondering how I got here. Well, I’m Dallas native Belinda Craig, an eighteen-year-old freshman business major at SMU and a pledge in the SLT sorority, the most prestigious sorority with the nicest house on campus. We are known for our elegant beauty, intelligence, poise, and good deportment among other things. Our diverse membership includes girls from prominent families like mine, others on scholarships, student leaders, athletes, and cheerleaders. That’s me, a flyer, the technical term for the cheerleader on top of the pyramid or being held up in the air with one leg often pointing up to the sky. SLT consistently has the highest GPA of any Greek organization on campus and most importantly the highest percentage of Prime graded girls by a wide margin. Today, the entire pledge class was up for sale as Christmas Coeds with the funds going to our many philanthropy projects.
SLT wasn’t like any other sorority on campus. Our pledge period lasted the entire academic year instead of the standard six weeks for all other Greek organizations on campus. We lived in the house and our initiation ceremony was the popular Summer Slut auction after finals in May which we used to fund our lavish lifestyle during the school year. Another distinction is our mastery of the sexual arts with in-house training along the lines of the Broadstone or Venus Academy. We’re not sluts, I mean sluts fuck everyone, with a few exceptions we’re just much more selective with an emphasis on quality over quantity if you know what I mean. I’m rather prim, proper, and discerning, not having met a man that interested me this Fall unlike many of my sisters who are, shall we say, more active. Some of whom even questioned whether I had what it took to be a SLT.
It was only yesterday that I was home sitting around the dining room table for Thanksgiving dinner with my family, best friend Kelsey, and two other pledge sisters who were also from out of state. All four of us had the jitters, nervously picking at our food until Mama started making us eat, telling us we would need our strength for the big day. She even pulled us aside for a girls-only dessert where she regaled us with stories of her experiences wearing the collar including her times as a Christmas Coed. Yeah, my mom was a SLT too.
My sorority has some unusual rules that distinguish it from the others on campus that almost require our members to achieve a Prime grade. They also sell off a few of the pledges each year who didn’t meet the sorority’s high standards. So why do intelligent and attractive girls risk three years of enslavement to join a sorority; to be a SLT? Just like soldiers going to war, everyone believes it will be the other girl otherwise they wouldn’t do it. Then there are restrictions placed on the use of these girls requiring that they be used as personal concubines; no slave porn, commercial use at businesses like Sluts’R’Us, or similar high-volume situations. Girls who are sold are welcomed back into the sorority with open arms if they choose to do so, in some ways they are treated like minor celebrities. Over fifty percent of those sold become consort material spending a year at Broadstone Etiquette Academy or similar institutions.
That’s what happened to Mama and how she met my father, arriving on his doorstep as a naked collared consort, a gift from his parents. Two years later they were married. For me there was the added pressure of wanting to make the cut solely on merit, needing to earn my Prime grade to do so. Did I mention that I was a legacy and declining a legacy was highly frowned upon although some had been sold off at the end of the school year auction? So, I desperately needed that Prime rating.
By the time Mama was done with us, we all better understood that slavery allowed young ladies such as us the freedom to act out of character from our status, permitting us to let loose our inner sluts to do all those delicious things that “good girls” never would. Mama told us to make the most of it and see how many slave-gasms we could have while reminding us that block-gasms are the best. There was just something uniquely intense about climaxing on the auction block while they were selling your pussy, added Mama with a knowing smile. That night I lived through some rather vivid sexual fantasies in my dreams waking up horny and raring to go the next morning.
So far today had been wild, starting with a large audience of male students watching the annual naked SLT walk from the sorority house to the buses parked in front for the short ride to the Big D. We arrived five minutes before opening and being VIPs, we were allowed into the market before the crowd lining up at the three-foot-high bollards that kept vehicles away from the counters for the obligatory painting of the pussy posts. All but the yellow one near the entrance were freshly painted with red and white stripes that made them look like big candy canes.
Those of us here for our first grading lined up at the old yellow bollard, otherwise known as the lucky pussy pole. We all wanted Prime grades and local lore had it that if you climaxed rubbing yourself off onto the skankiest, most used post the better luck you had for your grading. Sure enough, it was the one with the most stains in the market having not seen a fresh coat of paint in years. I found myself on my knees backed up to it frantically rubbing my oozing pussy on a wet spot left by the previous girl where the paint had worn off, squirting all over it in the process before making room for one of my pledge sisters.
My slave heat had ignited while walking off the bus and through the front door. I’d never felt anything quite like it. Just being a naked collared slave girl in the Big D Slave Market had a strange intoxicating effect on my libido. Creaming all over the pussy post had left me in a perpetual slave haze that only became more intense with time. What would it be like when I ran out onto the auction block to be sold? One could only imagine.
I was grouped with the other first-timers after painting the pussy pole. At the counter anal virgins received small butt plugs with bright red lights that could be turned on remotely to identify our virginity; a commodity that had value and could be sold that needed to be protected. A wealthy man would pay more to be my first, and as his slave, I would let him. I was surprised at how few of us there were. The plug prevented an anonymous wrangler, or anyone else from breaking me in before my time. They even vibrated on command, something I was looking forward to. The wrangler plugging me just bent me over before God and country at the counter with everyone watching, lubed it up, and teased me with it for a few moments before tiring of the game and shoving it home. The sudden burning sensation caused me to let out a little squeal much to the delight of those watching the show while further cementing my vulnerability. I was no longer in control of my own body.
We were all signed in at the front counter and then registered, having our data input into the National Slave Registry, and receiving our Slave Identification Number (SIN) tattooed onto our lower lips. Then we proceeded through medical, the slut wash, makeup, and pink shots, and ran through a slave yoga practice session. After getting Devoxed we were put on display and evaluated by professional graders with a preliminary slave grade that could be adjusted up if our sale price was high enough. I was feeling the pressure of having been told that I needed to nail my block routine to secure the coveted Prime status like my Mama.
Since we were Christmas Coeds, we all posed for our Christmas Cards in front of a magnificent Christmas tree all lit up with perfectly wrapped presents everywhere while wearing our distinctive red Christmas collars, and Santa hats and armed with big candy cane dildos as props. That slut Charlene used three of them for a Christmas themed airtight with one up her ass and another in her pussy as she deep-throated the third. I swear you could make out the bulge in her throat! She was another legacy pledge determined to demonstrate that she was a true SLT. Honestly, she was a natural.
Right afterward she slave tipped the photographer, easily inhaling his shaft to the root. That guy was gone in sixty seconds with that slut proudly displaying her slimy reward on her tongue for all of us to witness before swallowing. Before today I’d never let a guy cum in my mouth, let alone considered swallowing that disgusting stuff. The heat between my legs betrayed me. I was jealous; why couldn’t that be me? My pussy throbbed in anticipation of giving my first slave tip. I couldn’t believe that I longed to give some man who just yesterday I wouldn’t have given the time of day a blow job, letting him fill my mouth to the brim with his splooge; and swallow it. But I did, this place was getting into my head and changing me somehow.
Lost in my slave haze absently diddling myself I intently watched Charlene’s every move. I went right after she performed her service with the photographer, leaning against a big teddy bear for support in front of the tree with my legs splayed wide open bent at the knees. My slave heat ablaze I fucked myself silly on a candy cane dildo fantasizing about getting double stuffed by two hung masters, imagining how good it would feel to be dominated by two strong men. In my current state, I had a hair trigger quickly squirting while lost in the throes of my slave-gasm looking right into the camera with a burning lust-filled gaze. I was pleased with the result; I looked so hot that I was sure it would make my Mama proud. Being a true squirter who always got sloppy wet when aroused further bolstered my legacy bona fides. Before becoming a SLT I used to be embarrassed about my excessive pussy juice when aroused, often having to wear panty liners to avoid embarrassment, but no more.
After our feeding, we rested until it was time to get a pep talk from our big sisters who had all done this before. Their slave heat was ablaze; their eagerness to hit the block again infectious. They described being sold on the auction block as one of the most unforgettable sexually exhilarating experiences of their lives. My big sister hugged me reassuringly once more giddily describing her time rolling in the sand on the auction block. The distinctive smell and feel of the sand on her body when she climaxed, adding her essence to the grit on the block proudly earning the much-desired title of Sandy Foot Girl. Grabbing my hand, she rubbed it over her Big D brand on her left buttock reminding me of what was at stake, making me covet that badge of honor even more.
Would it be the same for me I wondered, unable to stop touching myself, lightly running my fingers through my soaking wet labia while listening to the women around me? In my slave haze, I even found myself looking around evaluating the slave wranglers for fuckability like I was a hungry lioness, and they were prey of some kind. Fresh meat maybe? There were some cute college-aged wranglers, but they didn’t pique my interest. Unlike a lioness seeking to cull the weak from the herd my eyes instinctively lingered on the dominant more mature men. Becoming merchandise at the Big D pushed me further towards a more primal state becoming attracted to the older, fitter wranglers. Everywhere mature masculine men carried themselves with confidence, strength, and willingness to take violent action to discipline a misbehaving slave girl. Men that just yesterday I wouldn’t have given the time of day but now this naked slave girl’s pussy throbbed at the thought of submitting to one of them.
I wasn’t surprised by this, I’d been having more Daddy Master fantasies the closer to the auction we got, playing with myself in bed at night wearing my training collar imagining how these more experienced men would put me to use—soaking my sheets in the process. My nostrils flared when I first saw the hefty yet muscular bald wrangler with coal-black skin and a bushy salt-and-pepper beard who carried himself with an air of authority. His name tag identified him as Assistant Manager Darwin Washington and my kitty throbbed while I undressed him in my mind. He caught me checking him out, my eyes lingering way too long on his package. His eyes gave me a hard look when he beckoned me over by snapping his fingers and pointing toward the ground at his feet.
My pussy throbbed out of control as I hurriedly scampered over to him, gracefully moving to my knees with my legs spread wide putting my wet pussy on display, back arched jutting my titties out, hands on my knees palms up while looking at his feet.
I coyly asked, “Yes Master. What can this slave girl do for you?”
Sounding irritated, he growled, “Slave girl, were you undressing me with your eyes like some needy piece of drippy slave snatch hoping to earn herself a slave-gasm?”
I felt myself blushing with embarrassment from my face down to my tits at my transparency while my loins burned hotly. He had seen right through me. Mama had warned me that this could happen when proper young ladies such as myself became naked slave girls in the hyper-sexualized environment of the Big D Slave Market. All day long I’d witnessed women losing their inhibitions and enjoying being used sexually. From the moment I was registered I was constantly touched and fondled by strange men grabbing a handful of my tits and ass, pinching my nipples, and using their fingers as “dipsticks to check my oil,” as one old monger put it.
The sights, sounds, and smells of sex permeating the building were a constant reminder that I was valued for my looks and slave heat, not my intellect. Every time we were marched past a break room there were moaning slave girls bent over a breeding bench getting railed, or even spit roasted. Some wranglers were in too much of a hurry to wait until they got to the break room, bending willing slaves over cages, boxes, and tables going at it. There was a group of five VIPs all standing in the hallway getting orally serviced, and one was a woman! With discretion in the wind, these sluts almost always loudly announced their slave-gasms taunting those less fortunate like myself. The more I saw it the more I wanted to be one of THOSE slave girls, but I was never chosen. That slut Charlene had given three slave tips so far as I watched each time wishing that was me on the receiving end of a hard cock.
Before today I had only taken one penis in my mouth and that was only long enough to get it wet and slippery to titty fuck me. The idea of getting a mouthful of a stranger's jism and then swallowing it was revolting before today. Not anymore, now I wanted, no needed it. What was happening to me?
With my slave heat out of control I giggled hopefully, “Yes Master, how can this slave girl serve you?”
All I could do was hungrily stare at the bulge in his pants while making my boobies jiggle enticingly. Mama always said to play up my assets. I was almost drooling with his large penis at eye level less than two feet from my face, I detected a slight movement like it was alive somehow. I wanted him to unzip his pants and make me give his big cock a slave kiss. I’ve never let a man cum in my mouth and yet right now kneeling at his feet I wanted him to make me suck his big black cock until he filled my mouth to bursting with his manly seed and then order me to lewdly display his slimy gift on my tongue for all to see.
In a tone that questioned whether I was worth his time, he sighed, “Present,” while putting his iPad down on the table next to him
His rejection made me want him even more. Was he playing hard to get? I fluidly rose assuming the present position my legs spread shoulder width with my hands behind my head and arms sticking out to the sides. Frustrated from his neglect, I once more made my big boobies shake a little extra still hoping to entice him.
He didn’t seem to notice, instead ordering, “Open your mouth.”
Master Darwin proceeded to check the condition of my teeth just like a judge would inspect a dog at the Westminster Dog Show. I watched it last year as the judges examined the teeth and then ran their hands over the animals checking for muscle and bone density. When he was done with my mouth, he ran his experienced hands over my neck, shoulders, and arms like he was evaluating my muscle density before running his hands over my torso avoiding my breasts in the process. Then he squatted running his hands up one leg and down the other treating me like a piece of livestock being inspected for deficiencies making my pussy throb even more.
Standing he commented, “You’re fit with some meat on you, unlike many white girls we sell who are too skinny for my taste. Nice ab crack. How do you keep yourself in shape?”
Proudly I replied, “I’m on the SMU poms team as a flyer.”
He grunted appreciatively, “Both my daughters were cheerleaders, the smart one is in her final year at medical school. The other had big tits like yours, they were firm, but not like these.”
Master Darwin hefted both of my breasts from below, one in each hand, giving each a squeeze, adding, “These hooters are natural, they look too firm to be real. Have you ever juiced? That would explain the extraordinary stability.”
Sounding offended I replied with a huff, “Master, I’ve never, … this slave’s never used horny juice. This slave’s breasts are 30 Ds and still growing, … this slave thinks. This slave’s mother’s breasts didn’t stop growing until she was 20 and hers are DDs.”
“Is she in the system,” he gruffly asked, picking up his iPad from the table like he already knew the answer.
“Yes Master, this slave’s mother is Karleen Craig, November 3rd, 1982. She graded Prime and went on to graduate from Broadstone,” I smugly replied, letting him look her up in the National Slave Registry which had her stats and old pink shots on file.
I was proud of my Mama and had an inkling of what Master Darwin would find while he tapped away on his iPad. Mama had shared a lot about her life while pushing me into becoming a SLT at SMU and in many ways, we were becoming closer as I found myself following in her footsteps and learning more about her many accomplishments.
Master Darwin’s eyes popped out in surprise as he exclaimed, “Damn slut, you’re a regular chip off the old hooter. Aren’t you slave girl? Hopefully, you’ll fill out just like she did.”
He laughed deeply at his bad joke reminding me of Santa’s Ho, Ho, Ho’s while I giggled inanely sounding like I was slave stupid. Then he started tapping some more before he explained.
“Some of the professional evaluators may have downgraded your score based on a malicious rumor that you’d been using horny juice to get that impressive rack. I provided a link to your mother’s file including her pink shots and that her knockers were bigger than yours. You just have good genes, hopefully, you’ll continue to develop. That coupled with your clean blood tests should help stabilize your grade where it belongs.”
I was overjoyed at the news, “This slave girl thanks you, Master.”
Grinning, he added, “I haven’t finished my inspection slave girl.”
Putting down his iPad Master Darwin started softly massaging my breasts. He was a magician with his hands causing my titties to heat up, focusing on my silver dollar-sized areolas making gentle circles with the tips of his thumbs while blowing gently on them for added stimulus. I have super sensitive nipples and no man had made me feel this way before. The boys I dated just mauled them not considering my needs.
Not Master Darwin, in no time I had a pair of nipple boners needing more stimulation and he did not disappoint. He started with a light pinch, increasing his grip while gently rubbing, pulling, twisting, and rolling my large gumdrops between his fingers. Gaging my responses, he began introducing more forceful pinches until it felt like he was trying to pop one of them while suckling the other in his mouth. Waves of pleasure coursed through my body down to my pussy. I felt like I might climax from his efforts alone when he suddenly pulled away leaving me breathless, panting with need as a sorrowful whine escaped my lips.
Master Darwin chuckled before turning serious, “No climaxes for this slave girl. You need to save it to maximize your block heat when it matters most.”
Reaching down between my legs he ran a finger through my drippy folds coating it with my fluids and brought it to his mouth. Savoring my flavor, he smacked his lips appreciatively much like a sommelier tasting a fine wine while looking me in the eye. Raising an eyebrow he gave me a disapproving look when I wasn’t looking down like a good obedient slave girl.
“Nothing tastes quite like fresh teenage slave snatch about to hit the block. Your file indicates you were a debutante last Spring. Can you perform a Texas Dip?”
The Texas Dip is a formal curtsy that originated in 1909 and is performed by all Texas debutants when being presented at the ball. The move is expected to take about 20 seconds to perform gracefully in four-inch heels while wearing a formal gown in front of a large gathering of the elite of Dallas society. Even in my aroused state, it was much more manageable naked in bare feet in the practice area.
“Yes Master, I can perform one,” I replied curiously, not sure what he was getting at.
Stepping back, he nodded for me to proceed. Quickly bringing my feet together I moved my arms reaching out in front of me to shoulder height, then extending them out to my sides. From there, I pointed my right toe out to 12 o'clock, slowly tracing it in a circular motion to 7 o'clock, ending with my right foot behind my left. Next, came the hardest part, lowering myself into a "pretzel-like" seated position while keeping my back straight and arms extended out to the side before gracefully bowing forward, maintaining eye contact with the audience, smiling I dropped my head submissively holding the position. I nailed it in under ten seconds.
“Present,” he commanded, and I complied smoothly moving into position.
“Nice, did you know that cheerleaders make excellent show ponygirls? The physical attributes from years of training as a cheerleader transition nicely into the dressage events.”
My heart skipped a beat, and a chill ran down my spine at that revelation. I didn’t want to be a ponygirl. That could be years spent on horny juice being treated like a prized farm animal. Some wore collars that turned human speech into horse sounds all day, every day for years. Most came down with serious cases of slave mind that were hard to reverse.
“Turn around Miss Debutante,” he teased, and I complied, feeling his hands inspecting my body from my shoulders down to my buttocks where they lingered, “You have slender athletic hips and a round firm bootie with a little extra junk in the trunk, a real moneymaker. My youngest daughter was a flyer just like you although a few inches taller with wider hips. She barely graduated from high school and was failing out of community college when I brought her here for her slave grading and a Best Chance auction. Someone placed a bid over the high reserve price, and she was sold for three years. Her new owner offered to double the sale price for an additional two years and I accepted. He named her Black Beauty and shipped her off to Loan Oak for four months of horny juice-induced training. That was a little over four years ago.”
Listening to him a surge of apprehension flowed through me. If I didn’t get a Prime grade I’d likely be sold off this summer. I didn’t want to end up a ponygirl like his daughter. Even if the sex was good.
“Display,” he ordered, and I bent over with my hands on the ground looking back between my spread legs at his feet.
He tapped on my butt plug, my ass clenching around it in response, adding, “This back door’s getting smashed in before the year’s out. Y’all know that. You’re such a slut I suspect you’ll enjoy it once you get past the initial burn.”
God, I hoped he was right. Then I felt two fingers exploring my pussy from the rear, easily penetrating my leaking slit until I reflexively clenched down on them. He wriggled his fingers loosening me up while I moaned happily, even humping back on his digits seeking additional stimulation.
“Damn, slave girl, your cock slot is overflowing with cooter cream,” he exclaimed, holding his thick fingers in place while I slowly rocked myself on them as I moaned happily.
Sounding a lot like a proud father he continued, “Saw Black Beauty compete in the state championship last summer and I’ll be damned if she didn’t win. I watched her bent over the winner’s breeding bench for the VIPs with her blue ribbon hanging from her head harness. She looked content with her life. At least that’s how I interpreted the look on her face or that could have been what four years of horny juice does to a slave girl. Then another VIP took her mouth spit roasting her and it was time to go. My oldest was upset with me until she realized I was using the proceeds to pay for her and her brother’s education.”
Now, I really didn’t want to be sold off as a ponygirl. I needed to ask Mama if I should give up cheerleading. I didn’t think I could; it was part of who I was and how I self-identified. I was proud of my skill level after years of hard work.
Master Darwin pulled his fingers from my overheated cunt with a loud squelch and ordered, “Present, turn around.”
He was still sucking on his finger like a kid with a lollipop when I glanced at him before looking down at his crotch. I swear his bulge was growing. Master Darwin ran a fingertip over my left nipple before taking it between his finger and thumb and squeezing hard. The jolts of pleasure went straight to my engorged clitty as I moaned like a horny pleasure slut once more.
Chuckling to himself, he added, “These big ole hooters would look marvelous with bells hanging from the nips.”
Instinctively I pushed my breast into his hand seeking additional stimulation all to no avail as he released my nipple. He chuckled at my slutty response.
Master Darwin kindly gave me some advice, “Stay hydrated, you don’t want your well running dry on the block. You need to be able to put a nice champagne shower into the sand. No climaxes until you hit the block. Waiting will spike your block heat, raising your value. Let your slave heat take over and never fake a slave-gam. Your collar monitors your block heat and climaxes validating your arousal for the bidders.”
Grinning he reached between running his fingers through my oozing slit collecting more of my fluids. Yes, I desperately tried humping his fingers to no avail and watched as he licked his fingers clean visibly savoring the flavor.
He groaned contently, “I love the taste of fresh teenage slave pussy about to get sold. Nothing beats it.”
Then he turned serious adding, “When you have one foot pointed towards the ceiling and your drippy slave snapper on display. Make a show of running your fingers through your wet cunt and licking them clean. Then announce to the buyers how good your fresh teenage pussy tastes. Trust me, that will fuel a run of bids driving up your price.”
Like an addict, he copped another feel scooping up more of my overabundant nectar of the Gods. Walking away he headed towards the exit licking his fingers leaving me stewing in my juices waiting to go into the chute.
Before disappearing into the bowels of the Big D he ominously called back with a hint of menace, “Little Miss debutante, if you have a slave-gasm before hitting the block I’m gonna whup your ass right after the gavel comes down.”
A little voice in my head, my slave self maybe, giggled that she might like that. Visions of Master Darwin pulling me over his lap and giving me a bare fanny spanking with his hand had me squeezing my thighs together trying to quench the heat in my loins. I’d never wanted to be spanked before, but now I wanted to feel the sting from his hand landing on my derriere. I was so wet, I’m sure I would leak on his lap leaving a stain behind if that happened today. What is wrong with me? Good girls like me don’t act this way.
Groaning in frustration I waited with my sisters while my slave heat smoldered near the boiling point as the smells and sounds of the slave market overwhelmed my senses. I’d also promised Mama that I’d save it for the block, so I didn’t let myself climax like many of the other girls around me. How will this day be seared into this slave cunt's memory I marveled?
Suddenly, crude words used by the slave wranglers like "tits," "cunt," and "ass" seemed natural to describe this former debutante as I waited my turn to enter the chute. Ever since I polished the pussy post this morning in front of my pledge sisters my arousal had been increasing exponentially until now, when I felt that all my sexual energy was ready to explode. I realized at that moment that not only would I climax in the sand while being sold; but I wanted, no needed to climax to fulfill my destiny. I had accepted that slavery in some form was in my future while wondering what had happened to that prim and proper debutante that had been presented to Dallas society just last May. Was something wrong with me? Or was this part of a natural evolution as I transitioned into womanhood becoming a SLT in the process?
Following Master Darwin’s advice I stayed hydrated and when it was time, we limbered up and were herded towards the chute entrance for the 7:00 pm special auction. Seven years ago, the Big D took this charity auction nationally allowing online bids more than tripling the profit per pussy due to the high-quality SLTs put out for bid. The Big D got their fixed percentage by hosting and tons of free publicity. It also speeded up sales with serious bidders putting down big money upfront. Most of us would be on the block for less than ninety seconds before the gavel fell to meet the lot-per-hour rate needed to clear the catalog of eighty-two coeds in two hours. I did say I was a business major and did a paper on the economics of this Christmas Coeds special auction. I got an “A” on it.
Last year, Tiffany, SLT’s only Prime Plus pledge sold in less than fifteen seconds with an opening bid of $250,000, a record and she was doing it again. That was play money for billionaires like Mark and Elon. Raising money for the Make-A-Wish and Wounded Warrior foundations helped justify the expenditures; now they could say they were doing it for the children and veterans. For those men, it was like most of us who get a free coffee mug or T-shirt when donating a couple of hundred dollars to a charity.
The Big D even sold a limited-edition Christmas calendar using our Christmas Card portraits with a certain percentage of the proceeds going to charity. Every one of us hoped to be selected as the cover model winning the coveted title of Miss North Pole. One could only dream. Tiffany won last year. She had that “it” factor; an aura of raw sexuality that oozed from her being without any effort that some women just have. Men fawned over her, attracted to her like bees to honey. With the title comes responsibility, and the obligation to hit the block the following year. That’s why Tiffany was heading to the block once more. Miss North Pole always brings a premium price. What SLT could turn down that opportunity to help the children and wounded veterans?
When it was time our sorority president followed by Tiffany, our officers, and a few volunteers led the way into the chute followed by our bigs. A slave monger went into the chute behind them to push them forward, keeping them jammed together. Once in that chute, there was only one way a SLT was getting out, the auction block.
The pledges were held back until there was room for all of us. Then they scanned our collars at the entrance making sure we were in the correct order with Taylor going first and crammed us into the dark narrow chute like sardines; a seething mass of flesh innocently rubbing up against each other all unaware that the chute would amplify our slave heat in unimaginable ways. I was lot 63 out of 82 so it would be a while before my turn still not believing that each sale took between one to two minutes.
Although it had been a long day, I was on a sexual adrenaline high looking forward to being the best block monkey I could be. My routine had become second nature for me having spent thirty minutes a day practicing a sixty-second routine. It was all muscle memory now; I didn’t even have to think anymore. Still, I ran through it in my head repeatedly while waiting to go through that door while petting my wet kitty. I had a flip with a twist in it for my grand opening. You only get to make a first impression once and I intended to stick the landing.
The gavel came down with a loud clack startling me, breaking the spell, and bringing me back to my current predicament. I heard the auctioneer’s call, “Sold!” over the raucous cheers of the crowd. It dawned upon me that another of my sorority sisters' fate was sealed when with a flash of light, the slave girl's entrance to the auction block swung open once more. Followed by a loud “Slap!” in tandem with a slave wrangler loudly commanding, “Git slut. Time to show whatcha got. The rest of y’all lather up.”
My large torpedo tits pressed into the back of Charlene, the girl in front of me. She was whimpering like a whore jilling herself, having already climaxed twice while waiting in line. Had she no control or pride? What a slut!
Why did I have to follow that condescending Prime Plus graded whore with one of the best block routines I’d ever seen. She was the only Prime Plus in our pledge class and had that same sexual it factor as Tiffany. I swear those girls gave off some strange pheromone that attracted men leaving them thinking with their little heads. Both Tiffany and Charlene were on the Cheer team where all they did was wiggle their asses suggestively for the crowds while I was a flyer on the Poms team, doing flips, spins, and a myriad of poses that required athleticism and flexibility.
Char and I were polar opposites, I was reserved dressing conservatively while she dressed and acted like a total whore. I don’t think she ever wore panties; they’d just get in the way. Slut was an understatement for her; she’d often bragged about a different “conquest” as she called them every Friday and Saturday night, often stealing someone’s boyfriend only to dump them the next day. For her, seducing men was a sporting event, no sex act too degrading, and the powerful rush from dumping them afterward was a reward all in itself. Rumor had it she was even into pegging, yuck. Char at least once stole a girl’s boyfriend, fucked him in his soon-to-be ex’s bed only to dump him later that night to latch onto yet another cuter guy.
That skank was born to wear the collar as someone’s pleasure slut. That whore could effortlessly look back winking her eye and sphincter in sync during her block routine. It had taken me hours of diligent practice in front of a mirror to perfect that move, and now I had a plug up my ass. Life’s not fair! Part of me hoped her asshole would gape open from overuse on the block for all to see her true nature.
My best friend Kelsey was behind me, her firm breasts crushed against my neck, her chin almost on top of my head, and she kept hitting my lower back with her hand as she furiously masturbated. It sounded like she would blow again any moment. She was a lithe 5’11” setter on the volleyball team with supermodel long legs that went on forever ending on top with a nice tight ass. What I wouldn’t give for those glorious legs.
I started gently running my fingers along my wet slit trying to avoid a premature slave-gasm, having almost accidentally climaxed when we first got shoved into the dark chute, somehow holding myself back when I found myself on the brink. Mama told me to be a good girl and save it for the block; if I was anything I was a good girl who listened to her mother. Who was I kidding, it felt like a strong draft blowing on my purring kitty right now could push me over the edge igniting a fiery frenzy.
The door to the block drew the densely packed slave girls towards it like a moth to a flame. What happened on the other side of that door would live with us forever. The older girls described being sold on the auction block as a Christmas Coed as one of the most memorable sexually exhilarating experiences of their lives. Mama bolstered my confidence and graphically described her experience rolling in the sand in a slave daze on the auction block consumed by her block heat. Re-counting the distinctive smell and feel of the sand on her body. Her vivid recollection of her majestic orgasm squirting in the sand while performing her block routine earned the coveted Big D badge that was burned into her left buttock signifying that for all eternity, she was a Sandy Foot Girl.
Would it be the same for me I wondered, as I massaged my soaking wet kitty with one hand while running a fingertip over a nipple? Groaning in frustration I waited sandwiched between two moaning girls while my slave heat smoldered near the boiling point as the smells and sounds overwhelmed my senses. How will this day be seared into this slave cunt's memory I wondered?
The closer I moved up to that damned door, the more my anticipation grew. It became evident why the pledges went last; the long wait provided more time for our sexual arousal to blossom, pushing us further into a deep slave haze stoking our slave heat. Transformed into needy pleasure sluts lost in a deep trance-like state jilling ourselves in the dark fixated solely on achieving our next slave-gasms. We were unstable like nitroglycerin in the heat becoming more and more prone to going off as the sexual tension in the chute intensified our lust; our infectious slave heat fed off one another, our hot sweaty bodies crammed together rubbing up against each other in the close confines of that dark chute overwhelmed by the smell and sounds of arousal. All it would take now was one spark, one girl erupting in a frenzy triggering a chain reaction. We all sensed it.
Only a few bigs were left in the chute when one of the first pledges in line loudly combusted, causing a tsunami-like ripple effect moving down the chute, acting much like a raging firestorm engulfing almost everyone in its path while jumping over others. I bit my lip hard trying not to cum as Charlene and then Kelsey both exploded into slave-gasms leaving me sandwiched between the two sweaty writhing girls. To make matters worse Kelsey somehow in the tight confines of the chute reached around me turning my head to the right while leaning forward for a passionate kiss. I don’t know how I didn’t erupt from the added stimulation of her warm soft lips on mine and her muscular tongue aggressively exploring my mouth as if she owned it. I almost swooned from that kiss!
Next thing I knew I was shuffling up an incline, getting closer to the door with only two girls between me and my destiny when the door swung open, and Angie scampered out onto the block. Looking over Charlene’s shoulder I caught a brief glimpse of my pledge sister Becca all covered in sand, two burly slave wranglers holding her up by her arms, escorting her on wobbly legs off to the side of the auction block before the door slammed shut. Instinctively the herd shuffled forward pushing me along as I moved up the incline towards the door that led to my destiny. The cries of the wranglers to, “Lather up!” rang in my ears.
My pussy was on fire with an unquenched pang of hunger like I’d never experienced before, a soaking wet mess leaking evidence of my arousal down my inner thighs. I was barely edging myself anymore. I was so desperate for relief, holding back, saving myself so I’d climax in the sand while showing off my slave heat to drive up my bid price. I needed that Prime grade; unlike anything I’d ever wanted before.
Only Charlene remained between me and my destiny on the other side of that door. I was next up after her and my inner slut took over ready to put on a show to find a good master that I now wanted to take me home tonight. I needed a hard cock, my Master’s firm shaft in me to climax all over, again and again, all night long to sate my overactive slave heat. The cattle rattle of the auctioneer was somehow hypnotic as small shafts of light from the auction block seeped through the cracks in the door and beckoned to me like a blind dog in a meat market.
Next thing I know I was next up, standing in the dark, gently rubbing my wet cunt to the sounds and smells of the other girls masturbating behind me, fixated on the door in front of me, a naked Kelsey still pushing behind, her large tits in my neck, her hand rubbing against my lower back as she diddles herself. Succumbing to the magnetic pull of what was behind the door I’d forgotten about the slave wranglers manning the entrance.
A gruff voice in a West Texas twang startled me drawling, “Het chack,” in my right ear as he swatted away my hand that I was diddling myself with, replacing it with his calloused mitt. Gathering my abundant seepage, he teasingly circled my engorged nubbin without directly stimulating my pearl leaving me moaning in despair.
The wrangler on my left pawed at my breast, quickly homing in on my erect nipple and roughly squeezing it while I promptly mimicked his actions on my right with my fingers coated with my fluids for added stimulation while moaning like a bitch in heat. My sensitive nipples were so hard with arousal that they almost hurt! I couldn’t help myself lost in a sexual fog as my slave heat overwhelmed my ability to think with any clarity. Hell, I was only eighteen and my frontal cortex wasn’t fully developed yet, my slave heat overwhelming my ability for rational thought.
That young wrangler to my left reached between my legs from behind and slipped a meaty finger into my tight wet vagina.
“Damn Joe, y’all ain’t even had time to push her juice button and her hoo-hah is leak’n cooter cream dat feels silky smooth, just like melted butter,” gushed a younger voice with a Texas twang.
I couldn’t help myself; I started humping his finger because it felt so good hoping he’d slip in another finger or two for added stimulation. One just wasn’t enough. At this point, I didn’t care if I orgasmed right now; all it would take was for wrangler Joe to give my pearl a little polish, which he skillfully avoided. Bastard!
Joe agreed, snickering, “This slave monkey’s hot for the block, she’ll be jetting her juice in the sand in no time. Don't worry your sweet little head slave girl, Skeeter’s gonna find you a good master.”
“Dis slut’s ready to show off her hot little honey pot, ain’t yah slave girl,” knowingly chuckled the younger monger as I humped his finger like a horny pleasure slut happily demonstrating her wares.
I felt him teasing me with his thumb, hoping he’d work it in with his finger to get me off. What was happening to me? Last week this college coed wouldn’t have given either of these two men the time of day. I was untouchable, so out of their league. Now all I wanted was to be bent over a breeding bench and used by both and some of their friends to boot.
“Damn, this slave girl’s fixin’ta blow a gasket the way she be humping my finger. Ain't' yah slave girl,” he laughed, giving the finger in my weeping pussy a little twirl while using his thumb to wiggle the butt plug up my ass for emphasis driving home his point as I inched closer to erupting in a fiery frenzy.
“She’s slave wet, I can hear the squelching,” laughed Joe
All I could do was moan deliriously enjoying the sensation of the beefy finger mining the depths of my vagina while his thumb wiggled the plug. I could feel a massive orgasm bubbling up from my core about to erupt as I gave up holding back in my desperation for release. I’d followed Mama’s orders, making it to the front of the line, saving myself for the block, but could I make it through the door?
Squeezing my erect nipple hard the young monger chimed in, “This slave girl’s got big ol diamond cutter nipples.”
“Hard enough to cut glass?” teased the deep voice of the wrangler on my right.
“Oh yeah,” enthusiastically chuckled the young man, giving my poor battered nipple an extra hard squeeze for emphasis.
Deep in my slave haze, throwing any shred of dignity aside that I still possessed, a guttural moan escaped my lips; I begged, whining with need, “Please Master, I’m slave hot, let me cum. I’m a good slave girl, let me cum.”
In my desperation, I tried moving so that he touched my clitty. This wasn’t his first rodeo; I’m guessing he’d seen this trick before as he deftly moved his finger away from my nubbin, his laughter mocking me for my efforts.
Amused at my predicament the old wrangler added, “This slave girl’s gonna be a lively block monkey, the way she’s bouncing on your finger like it’s a pogo stick like all git out while trying to rub her happy button on my finger.”
“Wiggling the plug up her ass is adding a hitch to her git up,” laughed the younger wrangler before adding, “This slave snatch is drippy wet as all get out; slave girl got a poon monsoon building up in her finger vault.”
“You’re an obedient little slave girl, ready to show off your hot little pussy, and eager to please. Aren’t you slave girl,” snickered Joe.
“Oh yes master, I’m a good slave girl. Please make this slave girl cum,” I gushed hopefully, thinking my desperation wasn’t too obvious.
“Da slave girl’s gonna squizzle in the sand on national TV,” taunted the young wrangler, reminding me this was televised.
I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. Somehow, I’d forgotten that this was televised, and I was going to orgasm on the auction block with everyone watching. Fellow students, professors, and family friends included. Letting loose a champagne shower in the sand as Mama called it. The apprehension about climaxing in the sand of the auction block on national TV dissipated as I found the very public aspect of it highly arousing. Anyone sexually active knows that every orgasm is like a snowflake — each one feels a bit different. While some can feel short and sweet, others can feel so intensely Earth-shattering that they qualify as a seven-plus on the sexual Richter scale — and both are normal. The one building deep in the core of my being was going to break the Richter scale.
“What do yah think Skeeter will do if I ring this slave girl’s devil’s doorbell when the door opens?” chuckled the wrangler named Joe.
“He’ll be as mad as a three-legged dog trying to bury a turd on an icy pond when she stumbles out, making a grand entrance coming out onto the block and blowing a gasket. Then he’ll find a way to use it to jack up her price. Joe, you gotta make her bottle pop,”
The auctioneer's gavel slammed down with a loud “Clank!” I was seconds away now. Mama told me that I'd be blinded by the light. I had ignore it and get out onto the block as quickly as possible and give the audience a great big smile letting them know that I wanted to be someone’s pleasure slut to spur higher bids. Buyers like enthusiastic slave pussy when she’s on the block and I was going to be all that and more, how much more I just didn’t know yet. I was leaning forward towards the door when the finger in my pussy started expertly rubbing my G spot, hitting it just right.
Suddenly Joe’s experienced finger found my neglected clitoris, strumming my engorged nubbin like a maestro. He rang my bell sending me into a sexual hyper-drive chuckling, “You’re slave hot for cock and ready for the block.”
I could feel an incredible orgasm building to the breaking point. A sorrowful moan escaped my lips at the realization I was about to climax. The bright light blinded me as the door in front of me sprung open right when the young wrangler gave my nipple one last squeeze sending jolts of pleasure straight to my clitty while also pulling his finger out of my pussy leaving me with a longing empty feeling.
The wrangler on my left teased, “Git, show em whatcha got slave girl,” while giving me one last parting gift, a forceful spank on my left buttock that propelled me through the door out onto the auction block right when the full force of my orgasm hit me. It exploded from within the depths of my being with a ferocity, unlike anything I had ever experienced. It felt like my core was a volcano erupting, spewing molten lava as I stumbled forward and fell onto my knees squirting into the sand, jilling myself trying to make it better; make it last, longer; I never wanted it to end.
Overwhelmed by my slave heat I had made my grand entrance kneeling in the sand lost in the throes of my slave-gasm, furiously jilling my clitty with one hand while mauling a nipple in the other oblivious to everything around me. Solely focused on my pleasure, I had become a slave stupid pleasure slut putting on a show for the bidders, and oh what a show it was. Suddenly it dawned upon me while I climaxed, squirting in the sand of the Broadway auction block at the Big D Slave Market, I was a real Sandy Foot Girl now, just like my Mama.
To be continued??
