Any Chance Auction - Chapter 9, by Joe Doe

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I rubbed the pussy pole hard, heedless of Rita and Trixie, heedless of the spectators openly discussing my naked body, heedless of everything but my own pleasure. I had used my branding fantasy strategically, to shield myself from the rude comments of the VFW geezers, the frat brothers, and the cruel valley girls.

I was lost in ecstasy, and in another world. It was a trick that I had learned in my early days trading bonds back on LaSalle Street in Chicago; successful people create their own realities.

When my slave-gasm finally came, it was shattering. I wanted to keep rubbing the pole, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. The world around me seemed to disappear as my existence was reduced to the unimaginable waves of pleasure, cascading from my pussy. It wasn’t a multiple orgasm. It was an orgasm that simply didn’t stop, a waterfall of pleasure.

My vision faded as everything turned white, then black. I don’t even remember hitting the floor.

I don’t know how long I was out. I had left The Big D on a cloud of carnal joy. I returned when a Mexican janitor splashed a bucket of water on me.

I sputtered and coughed. The water tasted filthy.

Opening my eyes, the first thing I saw was Rita, grinning down at me.

“Welcome back,” she said slyly.

“What… What happened?” I said.

“You jacked off on the pussy pole so hard ya’ passed out!” Rita said, clearly amused. “Don’t that take the cake. Normally when Skeeter jacks off that hard, all I gotta worry about is getting’ the stain off his bedroom ceiling.”

“It’s actually pretty common,” Trixie said, casually sharing her expertise. “Especially with the Primes. Kind a’ like the way the touch-screen always goes on the fritz on the Ford F150s.”

Trixie sunny, customer-friendly demeanor vanished as she turned to shout at me. “Hey, this ayn’t no slave-cation!” she snapped. “Alejandro needs to mop up ‘yer slop, Pleasure Slut. Expose!”

Despite my hands being cuffed behind my back, I did a graceful roll and came up in perfect “expose” position: on my knees, chin up, with my legs spread wide. Rita, impressed with my flawless presentation, gave me a grin and nod of her head, signaling her approval.

The crowd had dissipated. Alejandro, the Mexican janitor, worked around me, mopping up the water on the floor. Even with my hands zip cuffed behind my back, I maintained perfect “expose” position, with my legs splayed open and my eyes focused forward.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the valley girls, sitting a few feet away. They were eating frozen yogurt, sitting in the plastic chairs setup for customers waiting for a “pickup”.

I couldn’t look at them; I had to keep my eyes focused forward. They, however, were free to ogle me. The regarded my naked body, with a cool, casual contempt.

“They saw me humping the pole,” I thought. “Now they think I’m some sort of out-of-control pleasure slut. I could buy and sell everything their parents owned, or will ever own. If they only knew.”

My head cleared, and I felt a twinge of pleasure as my pussy once again began to tingle.
Paying no attention to Alejandro mopping around me, Rita prattled on.

“You’re right about the F150’s. The entertainment system up-and-died on us twice. If Rosco hadn’t bought the extended warranty, it would have cost us a fortune.”

“We actually offer warranties on the slave girls,” Trixie said. “If something goes wrong, you can exchange them, or send them back for more training.

“Git out here!” Rita said, laughing. “Ya’ telling me I can actually put her pussy under WARRANTY?”

“Absolutely,” Trixie said, in the voice of a girl aiming for the upsell. “We call it our ‘Snapper Service Plan!”

A wave of humiliation washed over me as they valley girls giggled. I wasn’t touching myself, but my pussy, hot off the pole, purred happily as Trixie described the attention it would receive under “Snapper Service.”

“Monthly cleanings and inspections, and we check the oil and grease. If ya’ get one of them zapper implants, that lets you giver ‘er an orgasm with yer phone, that’s covered too, as part of our Honeypot Warranty. You can also drop her off every week for a nice, long ride on the Sybian saddle, if she gets crazy horny, and ya’ need to calm ‘er down. Plus fabric and furniture repair, if she won’t stop humping people’s legs, and the furniture, and stuff.”

“Wow. I could definitely use that!” Rita said. Tell me about that zapper-thing-y. Something about a phone?”

I kept position, eyes front, tits out, even as the first rivulet of panic sweat rolled down my naked back and into my butt crack.

“It’s an implant you put in, right by their love button,” Trixie said. “If they’re a little naughty, you can give ‘em a zap. And I say a little naughty, cuz’ once ya’ zap ‘em, they ayn’t never REAL naughty again, if ya catch my drift.”

Rita and Trixie both laughed. I shuddered.

“But it’s fun, too,” Trixie said. “You can set it up so it just gives their coochie a random buzz every few minutes, or you can put ‘em on a schedule. I think schedules work better, cuz’ slave girls need structure.”

“Yes,” Rita said, reverting to “mom voice”. “Structure’s important.”

“Or ya’ can just pull out your phone app from anywhere ya’ are, and make ‘em come. Plus, there’s an ‘edge’ feature, where you can just keep em’ on the edge, all day long.”

“A phone app? Git out a here! So, if she were up in, say, Chicago, I could just pull out my phone and make her come?”

“Sure’nuff. You can make her come till she falls over. Just a couple a swipes on yer phone, and she’ll be humpin’ the fire hydrant. Or just leave her on slooooooow vibrate, all… night… lonnnnnng!”

Rita and Trixie burst into laughter at the thought.

“We actually plant a tiny microphone in her jaw, and a receiver in her ear, so you can talk to ‘er, and listen to her grunt and groan, and ask ‘er where she is, while she begs you to stop. It’s a real hoot!”

“Skeeter will LOVE that! Ya’ know kids todayl It’s all about the phone apps. Ya’ said it’s an implant. So, do ya’ go to the hospital, or somethin?”

“Naw, since she’s bein’ kenneled tonight, we can just have the vet take care of it in the mornin’ Since she’s only a slave girl it’s not like we need no anesthesia. Just spread her legs, and pop ‘er under the hood. And since it’s The Big D, ya’ know we offer tip-top, bumper-to-bumper customer service. We’ll even tie your warranty in with any of your other home entertainment systems.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I searched Rita’s voice for some hint of irony, some suggestion that she was just politely listening to Trixie’s sales pitch. But it was clear from her tone that Rita was already viewing the zapper not as a want, but as a NEED. She referred to the zapper not as an option Skeeter might love, but as something he WILL love.

Rita was right. Skeeter would love it! The horny little devil had lusted after me forever, and I had enjoyed teasing him. He would be overjoyed to have my little pussy button placed squarely under his thumb.

Rita had warned me that The Big D was dehumanizing, and that slave girls were livestock. It was actually a huge part of the turn-on for me, as I knew that for some girls, it actually turned them into out of control nymphos. But it had simply never occurred to me that my pussy could become an “entertainment system”, which could be put under warranty, like a microwave, or a color TV. My muff was now a muffler.

But even as my dignity was outraged, my pussy, hot and twitching, had other ideas. I imagined Skeeter at the skateboard park with his dweeby friends, laughing as he showed them pictures of his hot aunt, collared and spread. The little rascals would take turns with Skeeters phone app, laughing as they pressed my button, laughing as I begged them to stop, while my pussy exploded with pleasure.

Oh, it would be dreadful!

I felt something spray out of me. As I had been ordered into “expose” position by Trixie, I couldn’t look down, but the Valley Girls spotted it immediately.

“Oh… my… GAWD!” she said. “Is she like, PEEING?”

“She is!” her friend said. “She is peeing right on the floor.”

“No, Ma’am,” Trixie said, addressing the Valley Girl with studied politeness. “It’s jist her pussy squirtin’. It’s pretty common with the Primes.”

Trixie turned to Rita. “If you had our Honeypot Warranty, and she squirted on the rug at home, you’d be totally covered!”

“No kiddin!” Rita said. “Well, I will definitely consider it, and that zapper thing to.”

“HEY, ALEJANRO!” Trixie said, shouting loudly to the janitor, who had moved onto spraying and wiping down counters with a dirty pink sponge. “GOT ME A PUSSY SQUIRTER. NEED A CLEANUP AT THE INFO DESK!”

Several shoppers, alerted to my embarrassing accident by Trixie’s hog call, looked over at me, kneeling in my shameful wet spot on the floor. A few of the frat bros milling about the store moved in for a closer look.

Alejandro trudged over, bucket and sponge in hand. Looking bored, he knelt between my legs, then used the sponge to wipe up the mess I had left on the floor. After squeezing an embarrassing amount of my “squirt” into the bucket, he dunked the sponge in the murky water, giving it a quick rinse.

Rita, watching, winkled her nose. “Could ya’ wipe ‘er down, too? She’s still… drippy.”

Having been forced to remain with my pussy on display during the humiliating warranty discussion, I was definitely ready for some “Snapper Service.” As Alejandro pressed the sponge against my twat, I pushed back, groaning with pleasure as the porous, wet sponge teased my twat in all the right ways.

"Oh...my...GAWD!" the Valley Girls said.

"Is she like... fucking a filthy toilet sponge?"

"I bet he uses it to like... pick up dead rats."

"Yeah, and scrub out urinals."

"Urinals with dead rats."

"Only I wouldn't even use it for the rat urinal, now that she's… like.. SLAVE HUMPING it."

Trixie, watching with an experienced eye, wasn’t satisfied. “She’s still pretty drippy,” she observed. “Better git’ the sponge up there, and clean up the whole grease trap!”

Alejandro gently pushed the sponge forward, with a gentle, practiced touch. I groaned as he slowly pushed his hand inside me, moving the sponge around for the mop-up, even as his thumb played with my clit. He had a nice touch. Clearly, I wasn’t his first grease trap.

"Oh...my...GAWD!"

"She is like... pussy squeezing that Mexican guy’s hand."

"I think like... she's trying to steal his wristwatch."

"And he's like... the janitor. GROSS!"

I didn’t want to come. Really, I didn’t. It just HAPPENED.

Rita smiled, and shook her head derisively as I slave-gasmed on Alejandro’s hand.

“Gracias,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

Alejandro smiled, nodded, then took his bucket and walked away.

"Oh...my...GAWD! Did she just thank the janitor, for FIST-FUCKING her?”

“Why not give him a dollar while you’re at it?”

"Totally. She is like…literally... Skank-enstein!"

The girls laughed as I looked up at Rita, who was once again giving me her best, “Is this what ya’ wanted?” grin.

"I think we're almost done," Trixie said, returning with her iPad and a folder. “Here’s yer claim ticket,” Trixie handed Rita a ticket about the size of a credit card.

“I think we’re, like, DONE,” valley girl said, rising to throw her yogurt in the trash.

“Yeah, they’re just going to kennel her skanky ass.”

The first valley girl, moved directly into my field of vision. With a mock smile, she looked at me, and waved a sarcastic, “bye-bye”, while her friend burst into laughter at the joke of actually treating me like a humor

I was glad to see them go. I knelt on the floor, legs spread wide, eyes fixed, as Rita and Trixie finalized the details of my kenneling.

“Wow, there sure is a lot of writin’ on this thing!” Rita said, examining the claim ticket skeptically. And the print’s so small! Is this the ticket you use for slave girls, too?”

"Yup, same ticket," Trixie said. “Inventory is inventory."

"She's not for sale, though, right?"

"Naw, but, it’s the same legalese. Ya know, if anything happens.”

“Why are there two barcodes?”

“The first one’s ‘er stock number. The second one’s ‘er Slave Identification Number. It’s tied into the national system, so anyone looking up ‘er SIN can see she’s in inventory at The Big D.”

I literally stopped breathing as my brain struggled to process Trixie’s revelation. I had exchanged SIN numbers with my posh, Slave Yoga girlfriends, as part of a game we played where we teased each other with sexy texts:

SIN US-IL54-F8J1
YOU HAVE BEEN ENSLAVED FOR EXCESSIVE VIBRATOR USE
PLEASE REPORT TO YOUR NEAREST SLAVE MARKET FOR IMMEDIATE DISPOSITION

I had told everyone I was staying with my sister, and at the Ritz Carleton in Downtown Dallas. Now I wondered if my friends had tied my SIN number to their phone app, and if they had already received a text message that I was now part of inventory at The Big D.

That fresh hell had barely registered when the next one appeared. “Make sure ya’ claim her within 72 hours of the pickup time, because if ya’ don't we can sell her to cover her kenneling fees. And don't lose that claim receipt. No tickee, no pussy."

"Got it!" Rita said, giving her the thumbs up as she folded the claim receipt and dropped it in her overstuffed bag, along with her wallet, her phone, her makeup, her combs and brushes, the $10 perfume she bought at the gas station, and 20 half-eaten candy bars.

"Okay, just sign here," Trixie said, holding the pad in front of Rita.

"Dont' I need some sort of special pen?" Rita asked.

"No. Ya' can jist use yer' finger. Try n' git it in the box, though."

Rita scrunched up her face, laughing at how bad her signature was. "Close enough for government work," Trixie said, looking at Rita’s scrawl. “That’s it. We’re done.”

I was done. I swallowed, HARD.

Until Rita picked me up tomorrow, I was in the legal custody of The Big D. I looked at Rita’s bag, the one with my claim check. I wondered what was on the claim ticket. I had studied enough contracts to know that it was the fine print that really mattered.

The paper that Rita had dropped into her bag as it were a receipt from the gas pump represented a tangible risk. I was slave hot, and if something went wrong, The Big D might very well put me on the block. If Rita’s cheap perfume bottle opened up and dissolved my claim ticket, my big sister would discover how little Rosco being part of “The Big D Family” really meant.

Rita looked over at me. “Yer’ shaking like a leaf!” she said. “Ya’ scared, girl?”

The fear was mine, but Trixie directed her answer to Rita. “Don’t worry none. If she’s damaged or sold, ya’ get full retail price, and we don’t get nuttin’, and we lose our commission. Ya’ don’t make any money givin’ pussy away.”

Rita gave me a stern, motherly stare. “Funny thing is, last night ya’ said ya’ weren’t never scared.”

I remembered it well. I had just paid the check, and was finishing off yet another positively delicious $750 bottle of wine, while trying to give Skeeter a bit of materteral advice.

“When you graduate, you should forget about Dallas and come up to Chicago, to work for me. I’ll make you my assistant, and you can earn some real money.”

“You retired years ago, Annie,” Rita said. “What’s he going to do, guard your wine cellar?”

“The boy’s got a degree,” Rosco said, “he doesn’t need a job working as your gopher.”

“I’m trying to help him, Rosco. Look, let’s be honest. Skeeter’s bright, but he has a second-rate slave wrangler degree from a 10th rate community ag college. You’re the one who bosses the boy around, Rosco, not me.”

Putting my arm around Skeeter, I pressed myself against him, and gave him a big sloppy kiss. Skeeter loved it, even if his mother did not.

“Skeeter, do what you want, but just know I’m here to help, and that goes for you too, Rosco. The offer is always open.”

“For the zillionth time, we don’t want your money, Anne,” Rosco said. “We’re doing fine.”

Seeing Rosco was hopeless, I made my case with Skeeter. “Your father doesn’t want to take money from me, because ‘he wears the pants!’” I said, mimicking Rosco’s deep voice. “But let me show you something.”

I reached into the check and pulled out my platinum card, holding it between my two fingers.

“Do you see, this, Skeeter? This is a JP Morgan Reserve Card. It’s issued by invitation only, and to get one, you need to have at least 10 million-dollars of liquid assets in your JP Morgan account.”

Skeeter whistled. I smiled.

“You mother and father love you, and they’re scared of losing you. I’m not. I’m not afraid of anything. Fear is for girls who don’t have platinum cards,” I said, wiggling the platinum card between my fingers.

Last night seemed like a million years ago. Now I knelt before Rita, slave naked, my legs spread wide.

Staring at me like a teenager who had come after curfew, Rita’s voice was loving, but firm. “I’ve tried to be patient with you, Anne. Lord knows, I’ve tried. I don’t have your kind of money, so I can’t buy you no mansion in Hawaii or no Leer jet. But I can help you out with this fantasy of yours, in a way that’s safe. And maybe teach ya’ a lesson, too.”

“But… I’m INVENTORY,” I whined. “If something goes wrong… I can’t fix it. Everyone thinks I’m a Pleasure Slut!”

Trixie laughed derisively. “You ARE a Pleasure Slut.”

Ignoring Trixie, Rita held forth. “Well, The Big D is basically a factory, and factories are dangerous places. But what I’m trying’ to show ya’ is, bein’ a slave girl isn’t just about passin’ out from slave-gams. Yer’ the biggest control freak I know, and in yer’ slave girl fantasies, yer’ still runnin’ the show, cuz it’s all in yer’ head. In the real world, slave girls don’t have no control.”

“Yes, but if something goes wrong, and I need to fix—”

Rita, clearly exasperated, snapped. “You anyn’t listenin’. Ya’ wanna fix things?” Rita said. “Fine. Let me show ya’ how a Pleasure Slut fixes things.”

Rita, clearly pissed off, took my rope in one hand, and much to my distress, the pink coiled slave whip in the other. She led me to the wall.

“See that blue standpipe, next to the floor drain?”

I looked down. A blue metal pipe, about 3-foot-tall and about as thick as my arm, jutted out of the floor.

“What’s that for?”

“It’s a waterpipe hookup, brainiac. Probably had a bunch of sinks here, back when the pigs didn’t talk.”

Rita tapped the top of the standpipe with the coil of her whip. “See all them here green scratches? That’s a paint transfer, probably from some crazy idiot driving their golf cart into this pipe like 2 million times. Do ya’ know how to git rid of paint transfers, city girl?”

I had, in fact, taken my Lamborghini to the dealer three months ago when I had scratched the bumper on a white post. It had left an ugly white streak on my bumper that cost me $7,000 to fix. But looking up at Rita’s angry face, I sensed that my JP Morgan Reserve Platinum card wasn’t the answer.

Seeing I had gone “slave dumb”, Rita answered for me.

“When ya’ wanna get rid of a paint transfer, ya’ rub grease on it. And since I ayn’t got no fancy W-1040, yer’ gonna rub yer SLAVE GREASE on it, good-and-hard.”

I stared at the blue pipe in disbelief. “You have to be joking. You want me to rub that pipe?”

“No, I want you to RIDE the pipe. I want you to straddle it, and stick it in yer’ twat, then ride it up-and-down, up-and-down,till the friction and yer slave grease buff’s out them green scratches. You wanna fix things? Well, that’s how slave girls fix things, with their pussy.

“Squat and spread, girl, and get that snappy-snapper to work,” she said, nudging me with the coiled whip for emphasis.

A part of me admired Rita’s inventiveness. I had thought I was beyond humiliation, and that I knew what it was to be a slave slut. But Rita always managed to find a way to up the ante. Or in this case, “up my snapper.”

The pipe was closer to the information desk than the front door. But a young couple had heard Rita, and they were wandering over to watch. They were both wearing SMU sweatshirts, and cowboy hats.

“Come on, git to it,” Rita said, as I delicately positioned myself over the pipe. “Say hello to yer’ new boyfriend.”

My blue-boyfriend came up to about my crotch, so I had to go up onto my toes a bit to get over his shaft. I wish I could say that it was a difficult fit, but my pussy was wet, sloppy, and ready. I groaned with satisfaction as I lowered myself onto the cool, firm shaft.

“Well, ya’ sure do got enough grease!” Rita reached out, and touched my clit with the tip of the coiled whip. Despite my fear of the lash, I moaned with pleasure.

“Git busy. I want that green paint GONE, and if it ayn’t…”

CRACK!

Rita didn’t even have to tell me to get started. At the sound of her whip cutting through the air, I frantically starting riding the blue pipe up-and-down, up-and-down. The height was good, and I could “ride” my blue friend by raising my heels off the floor, and shifting my weight to the balls of my feet. Relaxing, I groaned with pleasure as Blue (as I quicky named my new boyfriend) sank into me.

“That’s good. Get that paint off. I’m going to go double check yer’ paperwork, and git yer’ kennel collar registered. Enjoy yer honeymoon.”

Rita left, and the college couple sauntered over. The woman regarded me cooly. “Look at that,” she said. “It’s actually working. The green paint is coming off.”

“Yeah, it is,” her boyfriend agreed. “But she needs to go a little faster, to get more friction.”

I set the pace, riding the pole up-and-down, up-and-down. I quickly found the perfect rhythm.

My pussy began to spasm. As my pleasure grew, the voice in my head returned.

“Blue is the boyfriend a girl like you needs. Blue will never let you down. He’ll never cheat on you, or snore, or be jealous of your success. Blue will always be there for you, hard and ready.”

“Wow, that slave grease really works! You know, sweetie, I got a little ding on my car door…”

“Don’t even think it!” his girlfriend said, cutting him off.

“We should take a picture!” the girl said brightly. The girl came over to where I was, and put her hand around my waist, like we were sisters. Only one sister was slave naked, and was fucking a blue water pipe.

“Wait, let me put yer’ cowboy hat on her!” she said, again talking about me as I was an inanimate object.

The coed put her boyfriend’s cowboy hat on me. It was large, so she tipped it up, casual-cowgirl style.

“She doesn’t have any bugs, does she?” the boyfriend asked her.

“No, I can smell the delouser on her. She’s clean.”

Behind me, a woman wearing a sleeveless vest with The Big D log stopped to watch. She didn’t seem happy, or unhappy, just a bit perplexed. Quietly, she watched the scene unfold, the girl posing next to me, with a huge grin on her pace, and one foot in the air, waiving her hat. The girl mimicking my squat, with an identical pose. We looked like mirror images, only I had no clothes, and she had no pole.

“It’s come to this,” the voice in my head said. “It’s not bad enough that Rita made you a naked Pleasure Slut. Now you’re a street performer! Maybe she’ll put you on the corner of North Michigan and Chicago Avenue, in front of the Water Tower, and you can squirt your pussy juice in the air, while people laugh and throw pennies at you.”

I pictured my filthy rich, fashionista friends, finishing lunch at Ralph Lauren, and crossing Michigan Avenue for some power shopping. When they saw me chained to the Water Tower, with my legs spread wide, and a huge crowd laughing at me, would they rescue me? Or would they laugh, and join the fun, flicking pennies into my “fountain”?

The manager was talking to someone on her headset, and I wondered if she might be calling security. She looked smart, professional, and in charge. Like me.

Had I done something wrong? Would I be punished? Was there some line of slave girl debauchery, beyond which even The Big D would not pass? Did such a line exist?

Apparently not, for when the couple asked her to take their photo, she put on her Big D customer service smile, and happily complied.

Another employee arrived: obese, 20, with thick glasses. He was wearing a thick black belt stuffed with more gadgets than Batman.

“What broke now, Miss Calico? She gestured for him to be quiet, and waited for the couple to leave.

“Stanley, do you know that cartoon animation we got on the top of our home page, as part of our ‘Riding the Savings!’ promotion.

“The animation of Santa in the sled, being pulled by the 8 naked slave girls? Yeah, Ned did that. It looks like shit.”

“Yeah, it kinda does,” she agreed. “Do you think you could get a film of this slut riding this pipe, and we could use that, instead, for ‘Riding the Savings?’”

Stanley looked around. “Lighting’s good. I can try, Miss Calico.”

Miss Calico walked over, and looking at me critically, brushed my hair draping it over my shoulders. “They’ll want to see your tits,” she said, to no one in particular.

Miss Calico looked around, dissatisfied. She walked over to the tree by the front door, and took a Santa hat decoration off it. She returned, and stuck the Santa hat on my head, to hold my hair in place for my ride.

After checking the view in Stanley’s camera, Miss Calico gave me the order. “Ride. Hard and fast.”

I looked at her. “Did you say this was going to be on the home page?”

Miss Calico didn’t answer, but instead took the slave goad off her belt and flicked it into position.

I started to ride, hard and fast, while Miss Calico went into full Tarantino mode.

“I want a big smile. Wider! Bigger! Brighter! That’s good! A great-big-bimbo smile, like you don’t have a brain in your head. You’re having the time of your life, riding the savings at The Big D. Okay, faster. FASTER! Hump that blue pipe, slave girl. Make those titties bounce! Show them those pearly whites. This is The Big D, so smile big! A lot of people are going to be seeing this.”

I rode the pole for a good 5 minutes, my face plastered with a huge, ridiculous rictus. My pussy growing hotter, and wetter, with every bounce. But in the end, Miss Calico was satisfied.

“This is great stuff,” Stanley said, showing her the playback. “You can even see her pussy juice running down the pole.”

“Yeah, but it will be too small for the ad banner.”

“Well, if they click on it, I can give them the full-sized movie. That way they can get a good look at her face, and see how much fun she’s having.”

Miss Calico laughed. “The guys who expand this video aren’t going to be looking at her face.”

Rita and Trixie returned, with Rita holding a plastic shopping bag with The Big D logo. Miss Calico dispatched IT guy to his lair to edit my video, telling him to page her when it was ready for the site.

“Nice Santa hat,” Trixie said, watching me ride Blue. “Ho…ho…ho.”

“Sorry for the delay,” Rita said. “But Miss Rules said you had to wear this stupid candy cane collar,” she said, pulling a striped collar out of the bag. More like candy ass, if you ask me.”

“It’s the rules,” Trixie said. “Non slave kennel girls git candy cane collars, as part of our Christmas Kennel Club. Computer won’t let me give her no other collar.”

Rita looked at me, straddling the pole. “Don’t worry about it none,” Rita said, holding up the bag. I got you some Christmas gifts.”

“What-did-ya-get-me?” I said, leaning forward so quickly I nearly fell off Blue.

“You’ll have to wait till Christmas she said, wagging her finger like I had done to her in the car. “No peeking.”

Rita looked me up and down. “Girl, yer’ sweating like a HOG! But ya’ sure did a nice job on the pole. Only a few green flecks left…”

Rita gave me an expectant look. “Well?” she said.

With Rita, Trixie, and Miss Calico watching, I once again began to ride the pole.

Miss Calico turned to Rita. “Is this the girl that was greasing the pussy pole over there?”

“Yup!” Rita said.

“She belongs to you?”

“Yup! Well, I’m kenneling her anyway,” Rita said.

“Ya’ gotta power-of-attorney,” Trixie said. “Same thing.”

I had forgotten about the power of attorney. Why did Rita tell Trixie, a minimum-wage, fat, loser sales clerk, that I had given her power of attorney? I wondered if it had something to do with my honeypot warranty, or the zapper implant Rita had been so interested in, and the app Skeeter could use to control my pussy?

“Power of attorney will work just fine,” Miss Calico said, not missing a beat. Her manner was cordial, but smooth and professional. She was crisp, sharp. She reminded me of me.

Miss Calico continued. “I just found out that we have some visitors from Saudia Arabia, and Kuwait, and the UAE coming to see us tonight. They may be thinking of making an investment, and I’d very much like to put some hot slave pussy on the auction block. Are you interested in selling her?”

Rita laughed and shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said.

Miss Calico gave Rita a warm, winning smile. “Good, because ‘I don’t think so’, isn’t really ‘no’, is it? I mean, is there any CHANCE you might sell her?”

Miss Calico paused and smiled, before letting the other shoe drop. “Have you ever heard of an ‘Any Chance Auction’”?

Rita looked at me and smiled. The moment was electric. Rita, obviously enjoying herself, let the question hang in the air.

Rita was almost 15 years older than me, and growing up she had been the wise older sister, the surrogate mom. But when I made my fortune, the game changed, and the power dynamic between us rapidly reversed. I had become the alpha, the golden girl with the money, the looks, the power.

In agreeing to play slave girl, the tables had turned, and now Rita held all the cards. Last night, I had been the sexy, rich girl in the little black dress, teasing her horny son into a frenzy, while flaunting my 10 million-dollar credit card. Now Rita held all the cards, literally: my ID, and all my credit cards, too.

I knew that Rita had been angry with me last night, which made today all the more pleasurable for her. Like she was pulling petals out of a flower, Rita had taken away my money, my clothes, my dignity, and my freedom. In maneuvering me to sign the power of attorney, for “my protection”, she had stripped me of everything I had.

What were Rita’s intentions? She said she was trying to give me the slave experience, to show what being a Pleasure Slut was like, but I could tell she was also savoring her new found power. Rita could have just kenneled me, but she had me dipped and deloused. She had scheduled my branding, and perhaps, taken out a warranty on my pussy, and bought the zapper. She had turned me into a naked slave slut, inventory, humping a water pipe a The Big D slave market, trembling in the shadow of the auction block.

My heart was pounding, my mouth was cotton. My smiling sister was strong, confident, and powerful. Rita was in total control.

I trembled, slave naked, waiting for Rita to decide my fate, mocked by my own words.

“I’m not afraid of anything. Fear is for girls who don’t have platinum cards.”

Turning back to Miss Calico, Rita smiled. “What’s an ‘Any Chance? Auction’? she asked.

COMING SOON: Rita’s Decision, Slave Fork Dining, “Any Chance? Auctions”, and Rosco’s Revenge! Thanks to Orflash for adding The Orange Fork Logo to the gallery!

[bertrumm00057]

Joe, first that was very hot. Love the zapper and the warranty, however, is Rita talking to herself? Rita brings up the warranty and then answers herself.
Anne humping the blue pipe is just repeating the last chapter, it's redundant. Just because everyone liked it, you decide to repeat it?
So explanation of what Any Chance Auction is in the next chapter?
Will Anne be used prior to the Auction? Because so far she's just laying pipe.

[bertrumm00057]

Loved this on and I also appreciate the idea of the warranty and the zapper. There are actually remote control vibrators out there, panties with them in.
https://www.adameve.com/adult-sex-toys/ ... &gclsrc=ds

[Calico_Chimera]

Another very very hot chapter! I like that there was more pole humping. Maybe I'm a bit biased because I really like the idea of 'pole painting' but this just felt like a continuation of the previous scene to me, since she was going almost directly from one pole to another. She's going to get quite good at that! This chapter had so much more to it than that though.

The Zapper was a big turn-on. I found myself hoping while reading that it had a feature to keep a slave on edge and was very pleasantly surprised to find that it did. If she does get that implant then I'd expect her to be 'slave dumb' most of the time as Skeeter endlessly plays with the app, or perhaps Rita. I could see why they may need that furniture upholstering service. She is already willingly humiliating herself while horny and I'd imagine that the implant would make it less likely that she is ever not at least a little bit horny. I think that her pussy should be kept at low buzz at all times if she gets it. Pleasure slaves should always be ready to hump whomever or whatever their owner points to. The app opens up many fun possibilities and the ear piece could be used to whisper slave appropriate mantras in her ear at night or to make her aroused during the day.

I instantly pictured Anne in a board meeting perhaps as a financial donor, since she is retired, which is being webcast for investors. Perhaps Rita is also watching and waits until she comes upfront to accept an award for her contribution. Rita sets the implant device off, at first, at a jarring mid-level to watch Anne's unexpected squeal as she squeaks out her next prepared sentence from an index card while trying to maintain control. Rita turns it down a notch while whispering in her ear, "Pleasure slaves should always be ready to receive a throbbing cock, even when their owner is not there. Is your sloppy pussy dripping and ready slut? Are you going to squirt for me? Skeeter demands it." Anne reflexively pushes her butt out and slumps down a bit on the podium before she even realizes what she is doing, like an obedient slave getting ready to be penetrated from behind. She finishes her speech while barely maintaining control, as Rita or perhaps Skeeter, turn the implant to an increasingly high setting. She ends abruptly by grabbing the hand of the nearest board member and leading him by the hand to a nearby storage closet, while claiming that she has a very important matter to discuss. When there she is quick to let her dress and panties drop to the floor as she turns around and bends over, wiggling her supple ass with a mosquito brand invitingly at him. Rita and Skeeter laugh and call her a slave slut as they listen to her get pounded from behind in a fit of slave heat.

Please excuse that badly formatted text-wall but I wanted share that fantasy and I'm not much of a writer. As you can see, I got so much into the conversation about the Zapper and the warranty and then picturing that device being activated while Anne goes about her business in Chicago, that it hadn't even occurred to me that Anne was listening in on the sales pitch for the Zapper and the warranty. It could have been fun catching her by surprise if they implanted without explanation, but I guess the way things are going it might be a long time before she is back in Chicago. Anyway, it was fun reading her thoughts on the implant and also imagining what all the warranty servicing could entail. It seems to be another one of those things that her sober mind doesn't really want but her horny mind fantasizes about, like mine.

I feel honored that you added a Miss Calico character to this chapter. Thank you and thanks again for writing another great chapter. I look forward to seeing where the story goes next. I promise to try and keep my response shorter next time.

[imreadonly2]

Some responses from Joe:

Orflash: Thanks for the feedback, and the fix was made. Yes, we'll get to what an Any Chance Auction is in the next chapter, which is underway and which I hope to have done by the weekend.

Gary: I love the remote control vibrator, although Joe Doe Industries is registering the patent on the implant hooked to the phone app. And you thought celebrities were upset when their phones were hacked and their pictures were stolen.

Calico: I loved your story idea, and thought it was wonderfully detailed. Please don't feel that comments are long, as if the heroines in my stories are insatiable pleasure sluts, then like most writers, I'm an insatiable comment whore. The more comments I get, the more I feel inspired to continue writing.

I love the idea of Skeeter making Anne so horny that she has to pull a random stranger into a closet, and that he humiliates her while speaking. If I ever get to the postscript, I may very well snarf that.

Again, thank you to everyone for your comments, and feedback!!

[bertrumm00057]

Joe, I know somewhere I brought up the idea for the zapper as you call it, the idea of a remote implant that could trigger Anne's clit my phone app, but I can't find where I wrote that. But I'm glad someone finally put in a story. I've given that suggestion to a few writers but they all said it was unrealistic, the same for my suggestion for a smart collar that shocks, tracks, takes bio readings, can indicate if the slave is being truthful by glowing blue or red. And the blue tooth earrings that sync with the collar so the Master or Mistress can whisper in her ear that no one else can hear, or subliminal whispering suggestions.
I did some checking and my engineer friends said several features are possible.

[Carl Bradford]

Dear Joe:
Like your other commentators, I found episode 9 to be yet another superb contribution to the suspense. By now, you have presented us with such an array of punishments for Anne--from branding to the zapper to auction--that I can hardly contain my impatience and curiosity about the outcome. You've indicated that you will explain an Any Chance Auction in the next episode. After that, I presume, Anne will spend the night in various forms of duress (time for another poodle cage?) while driving herself crazy with the prospect of all the things her sister might do.
As I commented before, I really like the fact that, this time, your arrogant female protagonist has realized just how helpless and vulnerable she is, giving all the power and "cards" to her sister/owner. She's finally being respectful to her long-suffering sister (and I imagine that, somewhere in there, the brother-in-law and/or Skeeter will get to see her humbled and sexually exploited.)
Surely, this is the ultimate lesson she has to learn. Anne has been topping from below, mentally imagining and even begging for an enslavement in which she can still control what happens to her. I suspect that is a common problem for most submissives. Now she faces the terror of helplessness, and I hope that her sister will continue to rub it in (in a constructive, loving manner) while demanding that she act out her submissive horniness.
You have the ability to create and maintain suspense like no other author I know, and I honor you for it. When you finish, wherever Anne end up in terms of branding, implants, and enslavement, I hope you will be able to close out the story by showing a wiser (but presumably still horny) woman in her life after the Big D. Probably sitting on a branded ass and periodically getting zapped/controlled by her relatives!
Carl

[bertrumm00057]

Carl, check out the new "Trying on a Collar" photo album.

[lovethissite]

Joe: Calico and Carl are spot on, and of course this is an outstanding series, I can an have read and read, over and over and I hope it continues. Thank you again.