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Any Chance Auction, Part 3, by Joe Doe

Proud, educated, professional women who secretly long for humiliation, discipline, or slavery have their fantasies fulfilled.
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imreadonly2
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Any Chance Auction, Part 3, by Joe Doe

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Rita lived on the Northwest side of the city, so after picking me up at the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport she took me home along the Lyndon B Johnson Freeway, also known as the 635. It was a short drive, but it gave us a chance to talk privately.

Although the holidays were still a few weeks away, I had brought some wrapped Christmas presents I knew everyone would love. The previous Christmas I bought Skeeter some super-fancy $1,500 cowboy boots. Rosco liked them too, so this year I got Rosco boots of his own. Rita agreed it was the perfect gift.

Skeeter had a yellow belt buckle with a Mosquito outline etched into it. He loved it, but it was pretty tarnished, so I got him a new one with a genuine gold finish.

"That's a pretty dog-gone expensive gift for a 21-year-old boy, Anne"

"No problem-o. I can afford it."

"That ayn't what I meant. I don't believe in flaunting money they way you city folks do."

"Dallas isn't Green Acres, Rita, and there's plenty of folks with money around here. Let me spoil him a little. You won't mind so much when you see what I got you."

Rita smiled. "What'cha get me?"

"It's wrapped. And you'll have to wait till Christmas. No peeking!"

Rita frowned as I laughed mischievously. "Really, Annie, you are such a little brat. Bet ya' don't look so sassy when they put ya' in the slave pens on Sunday night. Pleasure Sluts don't get to wear no sassy pants. They don't get to wear no pants at all!"

My smile faded as the power shifted between us. "So we're really going to do this?" I asked tentatively. "I mean.. for real?"

"Sure 'nuff. Got your reservation all setup, all nice and official. I'm fixin' to kennel me some slave pussy, Sunday night, right after supper."

"What did you tell Rosco and Skeeter?"

"I told 'em I'll be ridin' ya' into town and dropping you off at the Ritz Carlton for some meetin' Monday morning. Sorta-kinda true. Just yer hotel's gonna be a might less fancy, ha-ha!"

"Well, I am going to be going in undercover. Should I use my real name?"

"They're gonna check your SIN# on your lip, dummy, so yeah, we gotta use your REAL name. Don't worry, you ayn't that famous. You may be a big wheel in Chicago, but at The Big D, you'll be just more pussy-on-the-shelf."

"Are they going put me on a shelf?"

"I dunno. It's just a sayin'. Don’t make a big deal out of everythin’.”

"Will they recognize you?” I asked. “I mean, Rosco is a manager there."

"They got a lot of newbees and temps on Sundays. Plus, I don't go there much, except for the Christmas party. This is a real slow time, because the Christmas shoppin' at The Big D don't start till about a week before Christmas.”

"Why so late?"

"Because buyers don't wanna pay kennel fees through Christmas, and it's kind of hard to hide a naked slave girl in the closet, dummy. You hit your head on the plane, or what?"

I frowned as she laughed at me again. In Chicago, she was the tenderfoot, but now it was my turn, and she was enjoying every minute of it.

Rita continued. "Sunday's slow, and early December is slow, and Rosco's the Sunday night manager. So it's a good time to check things out. I figure we'll use your credit card, though, so they don't see I got the same last name as the night manager."

"So do you think Rosco's... doing things with the slave girls?"

"Hells-bells, girl, I don't care. I mean, it's kinda nice to know, but truth is, I married a slaver, and slavers dip-their-wick. All part of the job. But I do appreciate you checkin' it out for me. I am kind of curious about what the place is like, and Rosco's tight-as-a-tick. You can get the straight poop. Oh, look, there it is!"

Rita pointed out the window, and I strained to spot The Big D Slave Market in the sea of highway signs.

"I don't see it," I said, struggling to see. "Is it by the McDonald's sign?"

"Nope, further. Closer to Wallmart."

"I don't see it."

"Dang girl! Have you gone slave stupid?"

"Oh, the Big D, made out of rope!" I shouted out. "Next to the BBQ sign, with the smiling pig on it."

"That's it!", Rita said. "Pig Face Bar-b-que! Sometimes Rosco strolls over there on break. Some of the best BBQ in Dallas, and it's right next to The Big D. Joke is, in Dallas we keep all the sows together."

I tensed a little at the ‘sow’ comparison. "Maybe I could try the BBQ when I'm over there."

Rita guffawed at that one. "Shit girl, you did just fall off the turnip truck, didn't ya? SLAVE GIRLS don't get lunch breaks, ha-ha!"

As Rita laughed at my faux pas, I found myself blushing, which amused her all the more.

"Damn, girl, your figeting like a cat in room-a-rockin' chairs. You nervous?"

"Of course, I'm nervous. Aren't you?"

Rita smiled broadly as she stared out at the open highway. "Nope! I'm cool as a cucumber. In fact, I'm kinda lookin' forward to it."

"What do you mean?"

"You're prettier than a peach, and curvier than a coke bottle, and don't you know it! You always were a tease, even growin' up. Wearing your short dresses, and flirtin' with my men. Showing Rosco and Skeeter your gradin' certificate, and Pleasure Slut tattoo on your lip, like ya' didn't know that wouldn’t make their imaginations run WILD."

"I was just having a little fun," I said sheepishly. “Nothing wrong with flirting. It’s fun.”

Rita laughed. "Well, I reckon now it's my turn to have the fun. I'm gonna enjoy seein' you buck naked and collared, jist like a REAL Pleasure Slut! You talked-the-walk, not it's time for you to walk-the-walk. Prime Minus! Time to see if yer' all hat and no cattle. Since I'll be using your credit card to pay the kennel fee, I might even see if they’ll throw in a few extras."

"Extras?" I asked. "What sort of extras?"

"Maybe they could put in one of those little vibrator implants, so I turn on my phone app and make you cum. Or maybe we could butt brand you!"

I shouted at her as she laughed. "Come on, Rita! Nothing permanent. Promise!"

"Okay, I promise. Nothing permanent. But I'm gonna ask about extras, jist to hear what they got."

"Well, okay," I said. "No harm in asking, I guess." Truth is, despite the risks, or perhaps because of them, I was dying to know.

"I am going in undercover, after all. When you check me in, we want it to look realistic."

"Darn-tootin' it's gonna be realistic," she said, the amusement in her voice vanishing. "I'm gonna kennel ya' just like any other Pleasure Slut. I love you, Annie, but yer the biggest smarty pants I know. Always so sure of yerself, thinkin' you know everything! It's kind of fun seein' all fidgety, back on your heels, as yellow as mustard. I'm gonna enjoy takin' you down a peg or two. And if ya’ get lippy, and I gotta whip yer city-girl ass, I won't exactly be hatin' that, neither."

Without even thinking about it, I nervously slid my hands under my bottom as we pulled onto Rita's street. "Well, I did want an authentic experience," I agreed, both wanting it and not wanting it at the same time.

"Well here we are, home, sweet home!"

That night, I treated the family to dinner, taking them to one of the best steakhouses in Dallas, where Skeeter enjoyed a $75 bone-in-fillet and a $60 lobster "appetizer", much to his mother's dismay. But it was almost Christmas, and his favorite Aunt wanted to spoil him.

Maybe to annoy Rita, maybe just for fun, I wore my sexiest, strapless little-black-dress and made sure both Rosco and Skeeter got an eyeful. I even flirted with the waiter, and got our table a LOT more attention as a result. After all, if Rita was going to call me a Pleasure Slut, why not play the part?

Dinner was nice, and Rita brought up the problem Skeeter had at school with being unable to slave-grade Miss Holiday. Apparently, it was a bit of a crisis, because if the grade stuck it would be Skeeter's first "B" in college.

As Rita described what had happened, Skeeter looked at me nervously, worried that I’d spill the beans. But I didn't let on that he had talked to me, and even complimented him for being 'a gentleman' with his former teacher.

"Gentleman my ass," his father shot back. "Once you slip a collar on 'em, they're Pleasure Sluts, plain and simple. If you love cows, don't open a hamburger stand."

I blushed a bit at this, much to Rita's amusement. Not noticing, Rosco continued his tirade. "I know Armstrong, cuz he works at The Big D. Good man. Skeeter screwed up, but Armstrong will give 'em an 'A'... as soon as he earns it."

With that he shot his son a stern glance. Sensing Skeeters pain, I asked Skeeter how he liked his first ever lobster, and his first ever bone-in-fillet. He approved heartily of both, and complimented me on how “hot” I looked, causing his mother to give me a sour look and a near fatal dose of side-eye.

The next morning I slept in, and when I awoke Rita and I went shopping. I wore a really cute belly shirt, short-shorts, and Gucci thong sandals. When Rita saw me, she rolled her eyes.

“Skeeter and Rosco are out, so there is nobody to tease. Geez, you sure do like to show skin. Don’t you know it’s December?”

“I’m from Chicago, and this is summer to me. You want me to change?”

“No, it’s fine. You’ll be wearing even less tonight.”

Rita laughed as I went flush.

The shopping excursion went fantastic. As a treat, I bought Rita a bag that she deemed "way to expensive", two "overpriced designer dresses", and two pairs of shoes she described "as heavenly, but I'd never spend that kind of money!" I paid for it all. It was a fun day, and there was no mention of my evening appointment at The Big D, except for one teasing comment that "You're not gonna buy your way out of this, ya' know!" when I gave her my card to pay for her $750 shoes.

She kept my Platinum card, and said she wanted to practice signin’ my name, “for later”. She laughed as I blushed.

As the afternoon wore on, I felt ever more aflutter every time Rita looked at her watch. Noting my ‘skittishness’, Rita began checking the time more frequently, giving me a big "cat-that-ate-the-canary' grin.

"What time is it, Anne?"

"5 minutes later than the last time you asked me."

"Yup! But I want the EXACT time."

"It's 4:03".

"Okay. We still have a LITTLE time," she said with a rakish grin.

Rita told me she was going to pick where we ate dinner, and insisted that it was 'her treat.' It sounded fine to me, but my nervousness grew as I found myself back on the 635, heading towards The Big D. My pulse quickened as she got off at the exit.

"Is it...time?" I said.

"Ha-ha! Relax, girlfriend! We gonna git us some Pig Faced BBQ! Hand over that cute little purse of yers.”

A bit confused, I handed Rita my purse. I watched as she dropped my $1,750 Valentino clutch purse into the center console of her F-150 truck. She CLICKED the lock into place, and shook it to make sure the console was secured.

“Hey! What’s up!”

“You won’t need it. It’s my treat, remember?”

“Is my purse safe in there?” I asked.

Rita pointed at one of The Big D security carts driving by. “The Big D has cameras everywhere, and they patrol this whole lot, 24/7. Ayn’t no crime around here, Princess.”

I was going to protest, but Rita already exited the car. I followed her, scurrying to catch up and continue my attempts to recover my purse.

“It feels weird without my purse,” I said meekly.

Without even bothering to look back at me she held up the remote and pointing it over her shoulder. I helplessly listened to all the door bolts slide into place on her truck as I followed into Pig Faced BBQ.

Rita enjoyed a beef brisket sandwich, coleslaw, and a baked potato. My appetite was quite a bit more muted, and I picked at my salad. Rita did most of the talking, gabbing about our shopping trip and how good the BBQ was, and how long they used the smoker. Truth is, I was too nervous to say much, but the thought of what was going to happen to me also had me so excited!

“How come The Big D security vans patrol all the way over here?” I asked. “Nobody’s going to park at the BBQ, then hike across 1,000 parking spaces to get all the way back to The Big D. Seems like a lot of wasted space to me.”

“It ayn’t WASTED!” Rita said. “And those security vans are looking for more than car thieves.”

“I don’t get it,” I said.

“I’ll give ya’ a demonstration when we git out of here. Sure you don’t want some of this here beef brisket? It’s Texas good!”

“No, I’m fine.”

Rita pointed at her sandwich. “To make brisket this good, you got to know how much fat to take off, and how much to leave. How hot is too hot. And you gotta know yer wood.”

“Are you REALLY going to do this? Kennel me? Like a real slave girl?”

“You’ll find out soon enough!” she said, giving me a playful wink as she stuffed her mouth with brisket.

I picked up my salad as she bragged about Rosco’s promotions and bonuses, and Skeeter’s straight A’s. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested, but I was distracted. Was she really going to do this? Did I have the guts to go through with it? It wasn’t until she said “Time to git goin!” that I perked up.

“Already? I wanted some pecan pie.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, shaking her head. “Haven’t touched yer’ salad and now you want pie? Quit stalling. It’s high time to git this show on the road!”

To my surprise, when we walked out of the restaurant she didn’t walk to the car, or The Big D, but instead walked in the other direction.

“Aren’t we going to drive over,” I asked.

“No, it’s a nice night. We’ll walk.”

“It’s kind of chilly,” I said, putting my arms around myself.”

“Should have warn a jacket,” she said, opening up her jacket to show me the fleece lining.

She turned and walked away. I followed her, as without a purse I didn’t have much choice.

I followed her across the parking lot to what looked like a little yellow house with a thatched roof, about the size of a tool shed, but looking more like a children’s playhouse. It wasn’t until I walked around to the front of the “house” that I realized its true purpose.

Families In Need
Clothing & Shoes Donation Box
Thank You For Your Support!


Seeing the puzzled look on my face, Rita reached into her bag, and extracted a short leather riding crop with some nasty looking leather tongs on the end.

Waving the whip at me to indicate my clothes, Rita smiled. “Shuck off them duds, slave girl. Every stitch! I reckon it's 'bout time for ya' to make a donation.”
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gary
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Re: Any Chance Auction, Part 3, by Joe Doe

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My spider senses are tingling, I sense trouble ahead!
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Re: Any Chance Auction, Part 3, by Joe Doe

Post by Scman493 »

Let her slave slut side out and let her humiliation and future path be just what a fine educated rich northern women deserves.

lovethissite
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Re: Any Chance Auction, Part 3, by Joe Doe

Post by lovethissite »

Joe: The suspense builds Rita is street smart and Anne is about to find out just how smart.
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Re: Any Chance Auction, Part 3, by Joe Doe

Post by Belinda »

So so glad I am rereading these early segments. I had forgotten how truly wonderful this story is dear.
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