Any Chance Auction - Chapter 11, by Joe Doe
Posted: Fri Oct 16, 2020 4:20 am
Thanks to Orflash, for posting the picture of the girl leaning against the wall, raising her blue-green dress, that helped inspire this story.
The good news is that at long last my plastic zip cuffs had been cut off. The bad news is I was now kneeling in Rosco’s office in “expose” position, with my hands behind my head, and legs spread wide. The back of my eternity collar was electronically locked to a metal security strip that ran along the wall like a chair rail, effectively bolting me on my knees.
Even for a warehouse, Rosco’s office was a shit hole, with old furniture, scuffed walls, and stains on the floor. It was neat, but functional, and except for a few awards on the wall and one family picture on his desk, masculine, bland and functional.
If I had visited it yesterday, doubtlessly I would have pulled a face when I saw it, and Rosco would have been insulted. Now, naked and kneeling, with my collar bolting me to his wall, I was in no position to comment on his interior decorating.
I was not being guarded; there was no need. The stainless-steel eternity collar was infinitely stronger than my fingers, or my throat. The little white box mounted to the ceiling of Rosco’s office looked like a smoke alarm, but it was one component of a computerized inventory RFID system that constantly monitored the location of stock, like me.
The humiliating blue livestock tag, stapled to my ear, had my barcoded serial number and SIN number on a white sticker on the back, for easy scanning. But the chipped collar, permanently fastened around my throat, also ensured that from now on, everyone would know where this particular pleasure slut was. The Big D’s inventory system would trace me every step of the way, from prep right through to the auction block.
It is inevitable for a slave girl facing the shame, humiliation and sheer terror of the auction block time to entertain fantasies of escape. While I was far from a slave girl, I was no different.
Surely there had to be some way to slip out of my collar without it shocking me into unconsciousness, and without the security system altering everyone? Surely, there had to be a way I could steal appropriate clothes in my size, that just happened to be lying around? Surely, I could hack the computer, then substitute my biometric data for someone else’s, and tie it to an unused keycard that I would somehow magically find.
These absurd antasies played repeatedly in my mind, even though I was smart enough to realize the cruel reality. I couldn’t get off my knees, or move my head away from the wall until one of the slave mongers decided to release me. Why, if I was far, far too intelligent to be a slave girl, did the foolish slave girl fantasies continue to torment my mind?
I debated whether I should pass the time by pleasuring myself. I didn't have permission. I had been ordered into expose position, and had not been given permission to buff my muff.
On the other hand, if I was a Prime Minus slave bound for the block, wasn’t it my duty to keep myself wet-and-ready? To be constantly rubbing yourself was one of the few perks of being a Pleasure Slut, so I might as well take advantage of it.
Closing my eyes, I imagined myself as a sort of action star, escaping from my chains. I remembered Skeeter and his nerdy friends speculating about which super heroines could be sold through The Big D. They were all in college, and I was allowed to hang out with them, since I had paid for lunch, and the group’s tickets to see Wonder Woman. I wasn’t one of the boys, but I was accepted as a sort of mascot, Skeeter’s cool, sexy Aunt.
The group had been impressed with me, since I had actually visited most of the exotic locations in Italy, Greece, and London the film had been shot at. I had actually visited Craco, Italy, and had run on the beach in Palinuro where Wonder Woman and her Amazon sisters had fought.
Of course, boys, being boys, they asked me what I was wearing for my run. I laughed and assured them I exercised in far less clothing than Wonder Woman, which seemed to fire their imagination. They asked me if I ever ran slave naked, and I confessed that was part of the training I had undergone to earn my Prime Minus grade. They were practically drooling onto the table, and I quite enjoyed spoon feeding the little flock of virgins the fuel that I knew would keep them jerking off for weeks.
The topic turned to slave girls and superheroes, and I listened with amusement as the boys shared their horniest fantasies, excited to be the cool girl invited into their little nerdy treehouse. The group agreed that Batgirl and Black Widow would be the easiest to enslave, as karate chops and fancy kicking were no match for a shock collar around your neck. Supergirl would, of course, require a kryptonite collar to rob her of all her powers, but Lex Luthor would doubtlessly oblige, particularly if he were given a front row seat at her auction.
Captain Marvel’s susceptibility to brain washing, her dare devil nature, and desire to be liked would be her undoing. Powerful as she was, it probably wouldn’t even require a fight to collar her.
Wonder Woman might be the most difficult, but she was vulnerable to “piercing” weapons, and the electric prongs in a slave collar certainly qualified as that. In the end it was determined by the group that it was simply a matter of voltage, and with a sufficiently large, tamper proof battery pack built into her customized collar, Wonder Woman's adorable little super heroine costume could be put away once-and-for-all, and she could join Pepper Potts, Harley Quinn, and Lara Croft in the lineup of hot, naked, super sluts for sale at The Big D.
I had mostly just listened, and asked the occasional question, about which heroine was considered to be the hottest (Wonder Woman) and whether or not the male superheroes would attempt a rescue (not if they were enslaved legally, the group agreed, but they would attend the auction, to show their moral support). I listened, nodding sagely at these insights into the male mind.
What intrigued me most was the boy's obvious thrill at seeing powerful women laid low. They were obviously more turned on by transforming Wonder Woman into a slave girl than a Victoria’s Secret model. When I pointed this anomaly out, the conversation took an unexpected turn.
“That’s because enslaving powerful women is HOTTER,” one of them said.
“Yeah, takin’ away all their super powers, and making ‘em roll around, and rub themselves, and makin’ em’ beg to suck your dick.”
“Yeah, it would be way hotter to enslave you, than some bimbo underwear model.”
“Really?” I said, a bit surprised at the esthetic.
“Absolutely!”
“Definitely!”
“100%”
"You more than anyone."
"You especially!"
I felt myself blush, but was also quite pleased. I had gotten 100% of the vote!
“So, which one of you would rescue me, if I were wrongfully enslaved?” I teased.
There was an awkward silence as they all looked away. Seeing their embarrassment, I decided to have some fun.
“Where’s the waitress, anyway?” I rose, ostensibly to look for ‘help’. In reality, it was so I could lean over the empty booth opposite us, and let them see me in my sexy, blue green dress, as I stretched out, pretending to look for help.
Turning back to them, I leaned against the pale green wall of the upscale burger restaurant I had selected for lunch. “And which one of you naughty boys would sneek-a-peek at my auction at The Big D?”
There was another awkward pause, as I felt their beady, teenage eyes roam up and down my body.
Leaning against the booth, I raised my skirt to show them a bit more thigh as I ground against the wall in mock distress. “Oh, it would be so mean of you to come! And SOOOO embarrassing for me, seeing any of you there… watching me… totally naked, and exposed… Rolling around in the sand, showing you everything, while the auctioneer cracked his whip! Would any of you really come to watch, seeing the auctioneer putting me through my paces, seeing EVERYTHING, knowing how it would humiliate me?”
My voice trailed off as the boy’s jaws dropped. I smiled as I noticed my antics had attracted the attention of several other college boys, and dads, too, who were now arguing with their wives.
But who, I pressed, would attend my auction? First one hand went up, then the other. Skeeter, embarrassed, was the last to join in, but I could tell from the way he was ogling me, and the sly smile on his face, that he wanted it most of all.
“Et tu, Skeeter?” I teased.
“I gaa-gaa guess so!” he said.
“Aw, you’re stammering,” I said. “How adorable.” His friends laughed, and he blushed. I always felt like I hit a home run when I could make poor Skeeter stammer.
It had been a fun, sexy tease then. I’d reveled in my sense of power, and control. I felt totally in control, knowing they were all going to home tonight and jerk off, as they dreamed of seeing me on the block, wanting what they could never have. Delicious!
But the boy's lunchtime fantasy had now become my cold, harsh reality. Skeeter’s dream of seeing me naked and on the block was not only possible, it was scheduled. I wondered if he would have time to invite his snotty nosed little friends.
I was still rubbing myself, luxuriating in my power over Skeeter and his friends, when Rosco burst through the door. He came in without knocking. It seemed rude, although it was, I suppose, his office. The problem was, thinking of those poor boys, creaming in their pants at thought of watching my auction, I had juiced myself into a full lather, and my fingers were still waterskiing over my sopping wet pussy when Rosco turned and looked at me.
I felt a surge of panic as he glared at me. I felt like a teenage girl caught buffing her button when her father walks into her bedroom. The irony was rich, for although I was picturing them jerking off, it was me, not the boys, who had been caught by a powerful authority figure in a forbidden act of self-pleasure.
The fact that I could now easily be caught masturbating was humiliating; the fact that I could now be punished for it, all the worse.
I felt a twinge of panic as I imagined Rosco turning me over his knee and paddling my bare bottom with his powerful hand as punishment for my being such a naughty girl. The oddest thing was, I was now in full Pleasure Slut mode, and the image of being punished by an angry “daddy” both terrified and thrilled me.
When I pulled my hand out of my snatch it made an embarrassing SLURPING sound. My juices were all over the floor, and I realized to my embarrassment that I was adding to the floor stains added by all the other sluts who had knelt here before me. In some sense, I’d remain in Rosco’s office forever.
After a brief glance of disgust, Rosco turned away from me. He had bigger fish to fry. Returning his attention to his iPad he strode over to his desk and flopped down into his large office chair.
Without even looking at me he barked, "Okay, Anne, do you want to tell me what the fuck you think you are doing here?"
"Rita is kenneling me here tonight," I explained. "She checked me in after we ate at Pig Faced BBQ."
"I don’t give a flying fuck where you ate dinner," he shot back. "Why are you kneeling slave naked in my office? Why didn’t you and Rita tell me you were going to be here? Why are you are scheduled to be on the auction block within the hour."
Within the hour? It was all happening so fast. My heart fluttered as I tried to process what he had said.
“I’m waiting, Anne!”
"I was going in undercover," I said weekly. "Rita wanted me to report back on what you were doing."
"Undercover?" he said incredulously. "Well, you don't look too undercover to me! Did she tell you to flash poor Skeeter with your tits and pussy, too?"
"No! She never mentioned that he worked here. Maybe she forgot he's working today."
"Bullshit," he shouted. "She packed our GD lunches this morning."
"You never told me he worked here!" I protested.
"Skeeter didn't want to mention it, seeing as how you look down your nose at me, and The Big D. He was embarrassed."
“He has nothing to be embarrassed about, Rosco.”
“I agree with you, but he thought you’d tease him half to death, about being surrounded by hot, slave pussy.”
“Well… maybe I would have teased him… a little,” I conceded.
There was a knock on the door. “Come!” Rosco replied.
I felt myself flush a little as Rosco so casually invited someone else into the office while I was kneeling on his floor, legs splayed open, totally naked. Instinctively, I immediately put my hands back on top of my head, resuming proper “expose” position.
Zach, also carrying an iPad entered.
“I’m having some problems getting ahold of a couple of our Gold Circle Buyers. I was wondering if you could help.”
“Shoot!”
“Lord Kensington isn’t responding to our e-mails. Jack Waller is staying at the Ritz downtown, but he’s not answering his phone.”
I perked up at the sound of the two names. “Lord Alfred Kensington?” I asked. “I had lunch with his daughter Elizabeth, in London, a week ago. Rita’s got my phone, and Elizabeth numbers on there. Give her a call, Elizabeth can always find ‘daddy’. As for Jack Waller, don’t waste time with the front desk, they’ll just screen you. Ask for Juan Reynolds, he’s in charge of personal butlers for the penthouse suite. Explain why you’re calling, and he’ll get you through.”
Rosco looked surprised. Zach, staring at the naked Pleasure Slut kneeling before him, looked gob smacked.
“What’s she doing here?” Zach asked.
Rosco was already texting Rita. “Do what she says. I’ll get the other number from my wife. Get going.”
Zach gave me one more baffled look before leaving. The door closed.
"Could I have some clothes, please, Rosco?"
Up until this point, Rosco had been so busy chewing me out that I don't think he noticed my nakedness. Now, however, he looked at me, kneeling before him. As he looked me over, I instinctively found myself adjusting slightly to perfect my pose: chin up, back straight, legs spread, tits out.
He took his time, walking around me, admiring me, taking a long, appraising look.
Rosco, using a remote control on his belt, released my collar. He went into a credenza, and threw me a blanket. The throw was a little high, and my breasts bobbled as I jumped to catch it. Was it an accident? Perhaps, but he was smiling.
Once I was covered, the conversation resumed.
“It looks like your best friends are my best customers,” Rosco said dryly. “How on earth do you know these people?”
“Rich people travel in the same circles. I was at Lord Kensington’s estate in Dallas for a wedding last summer, when my friend Elizabeth’s brother got married. Lord Kensington is her dad. Very English, old money.”
“I helped float some corporate bonds for Jack Waller a few years ago. He hit on me, as did his wife. But what do they have to do with The Big D?”
Lord Kensington uses his estate for ‘fox hunts’, only he doesn’t use foxes. He buys Prime Pleasure sluts, and paints their faces like foxes, and gives them tails. Then while his hunting party is having breakfast, he lets the girls run free, to give them a good head start. Then he hunts them down.”
“Hunts them?” I said, swallowing.
“Yeah, you like dogs, Annie? Lord Kensington has 20 Great Danes in his pack. Might be great exercise, since you like to run.”
My face went ashen. Elizabeth had mentioned fox hunting, and when I had told her it was cruel, she smiled, and said the point was to “tree them, or chase them to ground”. I said I still felt sorry for the poor foxes, and she laughed and said, “Who said anything about foxes?”
The joke had flown entirely over my head, but now her family “hobby” was all too clear. I imagined myself, my face painted, my tail splashing in the water as I ran barefoot through some icy stream. Behind me would be Elizabeth, her father, and the rest of the wedding party on horseback, laughing as they chased me down, with the Great Danes closing in, drawn to my scent. Strangely, I imagined Buster, now restored, at the head of the pack, leading the charge, eager to teach his former Mistress a lesson.
Rosco, unfazed, continued. “Jack Waller and his wife are into lesbo stuff – like to butter up about 20 girls, and watch ‘em go at it. You know John Drummer?”
“Yes,” I said, “And he knows me. I stuck him with $2 million in South American bonds, right before the market collapsed,” I said, laughing. “He wasn’t very happy with me.”
My smile faded as Rosco continued. “He’s into pony girls. Mostly he likes to take them out on buggy rides, but he races them some, too. Again, I’m glad you like running.”
Running was fine, but feeling John Drummer’s vengeful whip on my bare ass as I dragged a cart up a muddy hill was something entirely different.
“Have you ever been on Skipper Cary’s yacht?” Rosco asked.
“A few times, when I summer at Martha’s Vineyard,” I replied. “Nice guy. He and I serve on the ballet board together.”
“Well, he’s totally gay, but won’t admit it, even to himself. His ‘cabin boys’ are slave girls, with their hair cut short, only he uses them as ‘boys’, if you catch my drift.”
I grimaced. “He cut their HAIR?” I said, nervously running my hands over my own long locks.
“Yes. I think you’d look cute in a nice Pixie cut. Of course, that would be the least of your problems. As part of the old-time seaman thing, he’s pretty fond of using the lash, when his “boys” displease him, which is pretty much all the time. You didn’t notice any of the cabin “boys” were girls, when you were onboard?”
“Well, no. I mean… I didn’t think about it. They were, just servants. Who pays any attention to the help?”
“Obviously, not you. Damn it, Anne, what were you and Rita thinking? Of all the nights to put yourself up for auction, you have to pick Rich Perverts night!”
“Are poor perverts better?” I asked.
“Let’s just say they have less money to be creative. And I don’t think you’ll be yucking it up when they are hooking you up to a milking machine, or you’re dancing in a harem, or you’re a human statue at a party, or you’re tied down over whipping block in some Puritan village, waiting to be punished for witchcraft.”
“They do that?” I asked, surprised.
“They do EVERYTHING. All the crazy shit you can imagine, and a lot you can’t. The richer, the kinkier. Shit, you should know that better than anybody.”
I felt myself flush as the accusation struck home. My flush deepened as I imagined meeting my peers again as a slave girl, totally at their perverted mercies.
“The Any Chance Auction was Miss Calico’s idea, not Rita’s.”
“That’s bullshit,” Rosco said under his breath. “Nobody talks Rita into nothing. Did Calico give her a bunch of freebees?”
I nodded.
“Yeah. Who was conning who? Rita knew what she was doing. She knew that there was no way a Prime Slut was going on Broadway without me looking at her, and she figured I’d stop it.”
“But she didn’t realize how big a deal tonight was,” I observed.
“Obviously. Or maybe she thought I just bullshit my way out of this.”
I nodded. “Well, look, I know this is a big night for you, and I don’t want to add to your stress. If you can get me some clothes, and call me a cab, I can get out of here.”
Rosco looked at me in disbelief. "Do you have shit-for-brains, girl? I can't just go strolling out of here with slave pussy on my arm. Do you know what internal controls are? I can't even get that damn collar off your neck, unless Jake gives me the code.”
"Can't you just override the--"
"No! This whole place is a fucking lockbox! It has 10 levels of security to prevent slave girls from strutting out of here."
"I'm not a slave girl!" I protested.
"That’s not what the computer says," he said. “You're supposed to be on the auction block in 45 minutes. And the crappy part is, you’re not even my biggest problem. I don’t have an auctioneer.”
“What do you mean you don’t have an auctioneer? This is The Big D, isn’t it? Isn’t this what you people DO?”
“A little less attitude might be nice, given your current situation, little sister,” Rosco shot back. “Yes, this is what we do, thank you, but it’s Sunday night. Bill Fritz was supposed to handle tonight, but I can’t put him on Broadway, because he SUCKS. Timmy’s fantastic, but he’s in Mexico, and Jed is in some idiot hog calling contest in Kansas City. They’re due back tomorrow, but that doesn’t do shit for me in the next 50 minutes.”
I swallowed hard. 50 minutes! It wasn’t much time to fix things.
“Have you called around?” I asked.
“What do you think I’ve been doing for the last hour?” he shouted at me. “Are you totally slave stupid?”
“Can you do the auction?” I asked.
“I would, but I let my license expire last year. Fucking stupid of me. This is a high-profile auction, and if we get caught using an unlicensed auctioneer, Jake could lose his license. I am SO screwed.”
“What about Skeeter?”
“What about him?” Rosco mumbled, looking at his iPad.
“Let Skeeter do the auction,” I said.
“Skeeter? Seriously? Is that collar too tight? Are you slave loco?”
“You said Skeeter was the best auctioneer you’d seen. His teacher said the same thing, and only marked him down because he couldn’t auction someone he knew. He has a license, doesn’t he?”
“A trainee license,” Rosco said. “I mean, if Bill Fritz is here, it’d be legal, since he has a full license, but…”
“But nothing. I wanted him to come to work for me in Chicago, Rosco. I see the boy’s potential. Maybe as his father, you can’t see it, but…”
“He’s a kid, Anne,” he protested.
“He looks like a kid, but he’s 21. People underestimated me, too, but I was already a serious trader by the time I was his age.”
“There’s going to be a lot of money on the table, tonight. I don’t want to put the boy under that sort of pressure.”
“Yes, a lot of money you’re going to lose, Rosco, along with your job, if you turn it over to an auctioneer you KNOW is lousy. We’ve had our disagreements over the years, but this is business. I’d rather bet on a promising growth opportunity than a proven loser.”
“You really think he can handle this?”
“I do. He’s tough and smart, just like his mom and dad. But I’m not the one you should be asking. Ask Skeeter.”
Rosco hesitated for a moment, then picked up the phone.
XXX
“Are you sure, Skeeter?” Rosco asked. “Really sure? There’s a lot of money on the table, and I wouldn’t blame you for backing out.”
“The Big D is in trouble tonight, Dad, and it needs my help. Either you’re a professional, or you’re not. Let’s do it.”
“He can do it, Rosco,” I said. “I have total faith in him.”
“You really mean that, Anna-Annie,” Skeeter asked.
“Absolutely,” I said. “I see a lot of myself in you. I kid you a lot, but don’t ever kid yourself: you can be the best. And I totally mean that.”
“That means a lot, especially coming from you.”
Leaning over, I kissed him on the forehead, accidentally hitting him on the side of the face with my blue animal tag.
“Could we snip off this tag, at least?” I said, flicking the tag with my finger.
“We could,” Skeeter allowed, “but I like it,” he added, with a grin.
Rosco refocused us on the business at hand. “Okay, you’re in charge,” Rosco said. “What do you need?”
Like a boss, Skeeter took command. “I want the whole coffle prepped and lined up in 30 minutes, so I can give ‘em the once over. In the meantime, I’ll go over the files on all the Gold Circle Customers, and the girls, and figure out what our customers are looking for, and how we get the best price for each one. And I’ll need some different clothes,” he said, pointing at his coveralls.
“I’ll text your mom,” Rosco said. “And you’ll need this.”
Rosco reached into his bottom desk drawer, and took out an ivory handled slave whip. It was beautiful, but wicked looking, with a long black lash, and a “cracker” on the end that turned into several smaller lashes. My bottom cheeks clenched as I looked at it.
“This was your grandfather’s, and he gave it to me when he started at The Big D. I was going to give it to you when you graduated but… maybe tonight is that night.”
Skeeter was quiet for a moment, then picked up the whip, admiring it. “It’s beautiful, Dad. I won’t let you down. I promise.”
“I know you won’t.”
Rosco wasn’t a big hugger, which is why his hug with Skeeter was so special. I actually wiped away a tear.
The moment ended, too soon, I thought, and Skeeter returned to business. “We’re still screwed though. Without Anna-Annie in the picture, we only got 11 head. And there ayn’t no way to find pussy as fine as her, not in 50 minutes.”
Skeeter turned to me, embarrassed. “No offense, ma’am.”
I smiled. “I take it as a compliment, Sir.”
Rosco frowned. “You’re right. Jakes going to be mad as hell, if he finds out we’re one short because of this shit your mother and your aunt pulled. It will be my ass.”
Skeeter nodded. “You’re right. Jake is going to be pissed. You promise 12 Prime, you deliver 12 Prime. That’s The Big D way.”
“Then auction 12 then,” I said. “I’m game.”
Both of them stared at me in disbelief. “What, you don’t think I can do it? I’m Prime Minus, you know. I look pretty good, under this blanket,” I said, laughing nervously.
“Anne, this is a serious auction. If you step up on that block… we’re going to sell you.”
“It’s an Any Chance auction, Rosco. That means Rita gets to turn down the winning bid.”
“She does. Any Chance auctions are new. If we get some high rollers in, and they slap down the big bucks, well, they could take us to court. They’ll claim it was a scam, or we weren’t auctioning you in good faith, or the auction agreement was drawn up wrong. You know how rich people are with contracts.”
“I’ve been in court before, Rosco. Lawyers don’t scare me.”
“This is Texas, not Chicago. And you wouldn’t be going into a circuit court as a bond trader, you’d be going into a slaving court, as a slave girl. Once you’re slave naked in front of a judge, who’s to say how he’ll rule?”
“Seriously?” I said. “I’d be going to court… naked? They do that here?”
Rosco nodded. “Let’s just say in Texas, slave girls don’t get the benefit of the doubt.”
“I have lawyers, too,” I said, “and even in Texas, money talks. I’m a trader. I live for risk. You need a 12th girl? You’re looking at her. And good luck stopping me.”
“I know better than to fight with you, or with Rita,” Rosco said. “You two are a pair. Thanks, Anne.”
“Thanks, Anna-Annie,” Skeeter said.
Skeeter thought for a moment, then furrowed his brow. “There’s just one more problem… but it’s a doosey! I’m going to be the auctioneer, right?”
Rosco nodded.
“And Annie is going to get auctioned, right?”
“Yeah,” Rosco said.
Skeeter’s face was glum. “The only way that works is, I have to auction Anna-Annie.”
I watched as Skeeter and Rosco deflated in defeat.
I interjected. “Skeeter got a crappy grade because he couldn’t put his former teacher through her paces, right?”
“That’s right. Bill Walsh. He’s actually working tonight, in accounting.”
“Have him come watch the auction,” I said. “He’ll change Skeeters grade PDQ if he sees him auctioning his Aunt. He can’t be more professional than that.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Rosco admitted. “But…”
“But nothing. This is for you, Rosco, and you Skeeter. I’d do anything for you. Don’t you know that, Squirt?”
Walking over to Skeeter I gave him a maternal peck on the cheek. “You mean the world to me, Skeeter. You know that.”
Skeeter blushed. “Thanks Anna-Annie. But… but I don’t… don’t… I don’t think I can do it,” he stammered. “I can’t sell you. Not you.”
“Your brave enough to sell Wonder Woman, but not Anna Annie?”
“You’re a bigger hero to me than she is,” he said. “Hotter too,” he added with a smile.
Now it was my turn to blush. I turned to Rosco, who gave me a “his choice!” shrug. “Up to you to convince him,” he added.
I looked at Skeeter. He was 21 now, but in many ways, he was still the teenager I had teased in the soda shop. But this was the moment of truth. Was I aware of the risks? Absolutely. I was prepared to do whatever necessary to secure his future, and make him the man I knew he could be.
I moved closer to Skeeter, so close that we were almost touching noses. Tucking my hand under his chin, I forced him to look into my eyes. “Listen to me, young man. You need to auction 12 girls, Skeeter, and that means, like it or not, you’re going to have to auction me. You need to put aside your personal feelings, and treat me like any other piece of inventory.”
“I dunno if I can do it, Anna-Annie,” he said.
“You have to do it. Furthermore, you’re going to have to be strict with me. No, not strict, cruel. Merciless. You can’t treat me like I’m your rich Aunt Annie. When I’m barefoot on the block, you need to treat me like I’m the skankiest of Pleasure Sluts.”
Seeing the embarrassed look on his face, I changed tactics. I dropped my voice into my sexiest, most seductive whisper, moving close enough to brush my hair against his face as I painted the mental image in his horny little mind.
“I’ll be scared, Skeeter. Petrified. Slave naked, helpless, and exposed. I’ve never been sold before. You’ll have to dominate me, totally. You’ll have to be the man. You’ll have to take absolute, total control, of my hot… wet… slave pussy.”
Skeeter gasped as I rubbed against him. Even through the blanket he could feel my breasts against his chest, my crotch rubbing his stiffness.
I spoke in my sad, lost, little girl voice. “Some of the men bidding on my body will know me. Maybe a lot of them. I’m friends with their rich, spoiled daughters. Their daddies knew me as the wealthy & elegant girl they wanted, the girl they lusted after. But I was untouchable… until now.”
“Some of them know me as peers. They respected me, or pretended to, even as they fantasized about me. Some of them I cheated at business. Remember how I teased you, you’re your friends, and made you hard, and laughed at you? I did the same to all of them. Maybe they came onto me at a party, not knowing how rich and powerful I was, and I laughed at them and shot them down. They will remember how I scorned them, and they will be angry. No… enraged.”
“Now they will have all the power, and I will be naked at their feet, penniless, and helpless. They will want to see me humbled, humiliated, debased. They will want to see me punished. Give them what they want. Show no mercy, Skeeter. Shamed me, Skeeter, in every way you can. Lay it on with a trawl. The bids will pour in. Never forget: revenge is a dish best served cold.”
I rubbed against his throbbing erection as I whispered in his ear.
“It’ll be your job to make me disgrace myself, in front of men who’ve worked with me, lusted after me, despised me. Make me lather myself up in front of them, and roll in the sand like a bitch in heat, and show them all my secret little cracks and crevices. Oh, dear, how humiliating! How awful! Spare me nothing, then crack the whip on my skanky ass, not because I was disobedient, but just to make them laugh.”
Panting, I rubbed myself against him, pressing hard against him through the blanket. “Can you do it Skeeter? Are you master enough to sell my stinking, tight, slave pussy, and teach me the true meaning of my eternity collar?”
Stepping back, I smiled, and slowly… slowly… slowly… drew open my blanket, exposing myself to his pie-eyed gaze. Playfully, I let the blanket slide off my shoulders and pool at my feet. Skeeter and Rosco both stared, mouth agape, as I revealed my sluttish, naked slave goods to their eager eyes.
I carefully folded the blanket and brought it to Rosco, bowing to him before neatly placing it on the desk. Then I picked up the ivory handled whip, and returned to Skeeter.
I closed my eyes, and ran the handle between my legs, humping it as I groaned with pleasure.
“Oh, yes, master! Let me scent your whip, so you can smell me, even as you sell the other little sluts.”
Taking my hand from between my legs, I rubbed my slave grease beneath his nose. “Smell me, master. Smell my hotness. Smell my desire. I’m a disgusting little slave monkey, who needs to be lashed, and sold. The other sluts you will auction tonight will mean nothing. They are pretenders! I am the horniest, the hottest, the most beautiful. Smell me, even as you sell the other little sluts for whatever coin they might bring.”
Slowly, I sank down into “slave squat” – legs spread wide, tits out, licking my lips with desire as I looked up to him. Slowly, gracefully, sinking onto one knee, I leaned forward. I licked the dirty tip of his boot, showing him the sand and orange slime on my tongue, as I let my blue animal tag flop against his boots.
They were the $1500 custom boots I bought him last Christmas, the ones with his childish mosquito drawing etched into the side. Using my tongue, I licked the brand.
"Your mother ordered your drawing as a branding head. She paid for it with my Platinum card. I won't have to buy you custom boots or bags any more, Skeeter. You can brand them yourself. Right after you brand my ass."
I worked up a slave lather, running the whip between my legs as I imagined the scene. "Could you actually do it, Skeeter? Could you press the hot iron down, and burn the cute little doodle you drew in first grade, the brand I paid for, into my sexy, slave girl ass?"
Closing my eyes, I grunted with pleasure as I diddled myself with the whip.
Skeeter’s calm, but clear voice, stopped me cold. "No," he said, “I prefer pussy brands."
Now it was my turn to look pie-eyed. "But… but… it's a 3-inch brand," I protested. "It's too… too… too big!"
“Aw, you’re stammering again,” Skeeter said, mocking me with my own words. “How adorable.”
I felt myself go ashen as I trembled at his feet. His smirk, echoing his mother’s, spoke volumes. "You’re the one who wanted to play slave girl. Slave girls don't make the decisions. From now on, I’m in charge.”
It was a thought as frightening as it was thrilling. If this really happened, the 21-year-old boy I had held under my thumb for years would be selling my pussy off the auction block.
“Present the whip,” he commanded.
Removing the whip from my pussy, I put it in my mouth. I squatted before him, and waited for his signal, like a dog holding his morning newspaper.
He considered me for a moment, appraising me, letting his eyes roam up and down my naked body, my heaving breasts, my wet, drippy pussy. Then he snapped his fingers twice, and extended his open palm.
Slowly, I extended my neck up, and opened my mouth, dropping the slave whip in his hand.
“Sell me, master!” I pleaded. "Make me roll in the sand, and sell my hot, wet, slave pussy."
Skeeter looked down on me. If there was the slightest trace of a smile on his face, it wasn't from kindness, or amusement, or compassion. It was a smile of accomplishment, of satisfaction, of control.
My pussy twitched with pleasure as he smirked down at me, running the slave lash through his fingers.
The good news is that at long last my plastic zip cuffs had been cut off. The bad news is I was now kneeling in Rosco’s office in “expose” position, with my hands behind my head, and legs spread wide. The back of my eternity collar was electronically locked to a metal security strip that ran along the wall like a chair rail, effectively bolting me on my knees.
Even for a warehouse, Rosco’s office was a shit hole, with old furniture, scuffed walls, and stains on the floor. It was neat, but functional, and except for a few awards on the wall and one family picture on his desk, masculine, bland and functional.
If I had visited it yesterday, doubtlessly I would have pulled a face when I saw it, and Rosco would have been insulted. Now, naked and kneeling, with my collar bolting me to his wall, I was in no position to comment on his interior decorating.
I was not being guarded; there was no need. The stainless-steel eternity collar was infinitely stronger than my fingers, or my throat. The little white box mounted to the ceiling of Rosco’s office looked like a smoke alarm, but it was one component of a computerized inventory RFID system that constantly monitored the location of stock, like me.
The humiliating blue livestock tag, stapled to my ear, had my barcoded serial number and SIN number on a white sticker on the back, for easy scanning. But the chipped collar, permanently fastened around my throat, also ensured that from now on, everyone would know where this particular pleasure slut was. The Big D’s inventory system would trace me every step of the way, from prep right through to the auction block.
It is inevitable for a slave girl facing the shame, humiliation and sheer terror of the auction block time to entertain fantasies of escape. While I was far from a slave girl, I was no different.
Surely there had to be some way to slip out of my collar without it shocking me into unconsciousness, and without the security system altering everyone? Surely, there had to be a way I could steal appropriate clothes in my size, that just happened to be lying around? Surely, I could hack the computer, then substitute my biometric data for someone else’s, and tie it to an unused keycard that I would somehow magically find.
These absurd antasies played repeatedly in my mind, even though I was smart enough to realize the cruel reality. I couldn’t get off my knees, or move my head away from the wall until one of the slave mongers decided to release me. Why, if I was far, far too intelligent to be a slave girl, did the foolish slave girl fantasies continue to torment my mind?
I debated whether I should pass the time by pleasuring myself. I didn't have permission. I had been ordered into expose position, and had not been given permission to buff my muff.
On the other hand, if I was a Prime Minus slave bound for the block, wasn’t it my duty to keep myself wet-and-ready? To be constantly rubbing yourself was one of the few perks of being a Pleasure Slut, so I might as well take advantage of it.
Closing my eyes, I imagined myself as a sort of action star, escaping from my chains. I remembered Skeeter and his nerdy friends speculating about which super heroines could be sold through The Big D. They were all in college, and I was allowed to hang out with them, since I had paid for lunch, and the group’s tickets to see Wonder Woman. I wasn’t one of the boys, but I was accepted as a sort of mascot, Skeeter’s cool, sexy Aunt.
The group had been impressed with me, since I had actually visited most of the exotic locations in Italy, Greece, and London the film had been shot at. I had actually visited Craco, Italy, and had run on the beach in Palinuro where Wonder Woman and her Amazon sisters had fought.
Of course, boys, being boys, they asked me what I was wearing for my run. I laughed and assured them I exercised in far less clothing than Wonder Woman, which seemed to fire their imagination. They asked me if I ever ran slave naked, and I confessed that was part of the training I had undergone to earn my Prime Minus grade. They were practically drooling onto the table, and I quite enjoyed spoon feeding the little flock of virgins the fuel that I knew would keep them jerking off for weeks.
The topic turned to slave girls and superheroes, and I listened with amusement as the boys shared their horniest fantasies, excited to be the cool girl invited into their little nerdy treehouse. The group agreed that Batgirl and Black Widow would be the easiest to enslave, as karate chops and fancy kicking were no match for a shock collar around your neck. Supergirl would, of course, require a kryptonite collar to rob her of all her powers, but Lex Luthor would doubtlessly oblige, particularly if he were given a front row seat at her auction.
Captain Marvel’s susceptibility to brain washing, her dare devil nature, and desire to be liked would be her undoing. Powerful as she was, it probably wouldn’t even require a fight to collar her.
Wonder Woman might be the most difficult, but she was vulnerable to “piercing” weapons, and the electric prongs in a slave collar certainly qualified as that. In the end it was determined by the group that it was simply a matter of voltage, and with a sufficiently large, tamper proof battery pack built into her customized collar, Wonder Woman's adorable little super heroine costume could be put away once-and-for-all, and she could join Pepper Potts, Harley Quinn, and Lara Croft in the lineup of hot, naked, super sluts for sale at The Big D.
I had mostly just listened, and asked the occasional question, about which heroine was considered to be the hottest (Wonder Woman) and whether or not the male superheroes would attempt a rescue (not if they were enslaved legally, the group agreed, but they would attend the auction, to show their moral support). I listened, nodding sagely at these insights into the male mind.
What intrigued me most was the boy's obvious thrill at seeing powerful women laid low. They were obviously more turned on by transforming Wonder Woman into a slave girl than a Victoria’s Secret model. When I pointed this anomaly out, the conversation took an unexpected turn.
“That’s because enslaving powerful women is HOTTER,” one of them said.
“Yeah, takin’ away all their super powers, and making ‘em roll around, and rub themselves, and makin’ em’ beg to suck your dick.”
“Yeah, it would be way hotter to enslave you, than some bimbo underwear model.”
“Really?” I said, a bit surprised at the esthetic.
“Absolutely!”
“Definitely!”
“100%”
"You more than anyone."
"You especially!"
I felt myself blush, but was also quite pleased. I had gotten 100% of the vote!
“So, which one of you would rescue me, if I were wrongfully enslaved?” I teased.
There was an awkward silence as they all looked away. Seeing their embarrassment, I decided to have some fun.
“Where’s the waitress, anyway?” I rose, ostensibly to look for ‘help’. In reality, it was so I could lean over the empty booth opposite us, and let them see me in my sexy, blue green dress, as I stretched out, pretending to look for help.
Turning back to them, I leaned against the pale green wall of the upscale burger restaurant I had selected for lunch. “And which one of you naughty boys would sneek-a-peek at my auction at The Big D?”
There was another awkward pause, as I felt their beady, teenage eyes roam up and down my body.
Leaning against the booth, I raised my skirt to show them a bit more thigh as I ground against the wall in mock distress. “Oh, it would be so mean of you to come! And SOOOO embarrassing for me, seeing any of you there… watching me… totally naked, and exposed… Rolling around in the sand, showing you everything, while the auctioneer cracked his whip! Would any of you really come to watch, seeing the auctioneer putting me through my paces, seeing EVERYTHING, knowing how it would humiliate me?”
My voice trailed off as the boy’s jaws dropped. I smiled as I noticed my antics had attracted the attention of several other college boys, and dads, too, who were now arguing with their wives.
But who, I pressed, would attend my auction? First one hand went up, then the other. Skeeter, embarrassed, was the last to join in, but I could tell from the way he was ogling me, and the sly smile on his face, that he wanted it most of all.
“Et tu, Skeeter?” I teased.
“I gaa-gaa guess so!” he said.
“Aw, you’re stammering,” I said. “How adorable.” His friends laughed, and he blushed. I always felt like I hit a home run when I could make poor Skeeter stammer.
It had been a fun, sexy tease then. I’d reveled in my sense of power, and control. I felt totally in control, knowing they were all going to home tonight and jerk off, as they dreamed of seeing me on the block, wanting what they could never have. Delicious!
But the boy's lunchtime fantasy had now become my cold, harsh reality. Skeeter’s dream of seeing me naked and on the block was not only possible, it was scheduled. I wondered if he would have time to invite his snotty nosed little friends.
I was still rubbing myself, luxuriating in my power over Skeeter and his friends, when Rosco burst through the door. He came in without knocking. It seemed rude, although it was, I suppose, his office. The problem was, thinking of those poor boys, creaming in their pants at thought of watching my auction, I had juiced myself into a full lather, and my fingers were still waterskiing over my sopping wet pussy when Rosco turned and looked at me.
I felt a surge of panic as he glared at me. I felt like a teenage girl caught buffing her button when her father walks into her bedroom. The irony was rich, for although I was picturing them jerking off, it was me, not the boys, who had been caught by a powerful authority figure in a forbidden act of self-pleasure.
The fact that I could now easily be caught masturbating was humiliating; the fact that I could now be punished for it, all the worse.
I felt a twinge of panic as I imagined Rosco turning me over his knee and paddling my bare bottom with his powerful hand as punishment for my being such a naughty girl. The oddest thing was, I was now in full Pleasure Slut mode, and the image of being punished by an angry “daddy” both terrified and thrilled me.
When I pulled my hand out of my snatch it made an embarrassing SLURPING sound. My juices were all over the floor, and I realized to my embarrassment that I was adding to the floor stains added by all the other sluts who had knelt here before me. In some sense, I’d remain in Rosco’s office forever.
After a brief glance of disgust, Rosco turned away from me. He had bigger fish to fry. Returning his attention to his iPad he strode over to his desk and flopped down into his large office chair.
Without even looking at me he barked, "Okay, Anne, do you want to tell me what the fuck you think you are doing here?"
"Rita is kenneling me here tonight," I explained. "She checked me in after we ate at Pig Faced BBQ."
"I don’t give a flying fuck where you ate dinner," he shot back. "Why are you kneeling slave naked in my office? Why didn’t you and Rita tell me you were going to be here? Why are you are scheduled to be on the auction block within the hour."
Within the hour? It was all happening so fast. My heart fluttered as I tried to process what he had said.
“I’m waiting, Anne!”
"I was going in undercover," I said weekly. "Rita wanted me to report back on what you were doing."
"Undercover?" he said incredulously. "Well, you don't look too undercover to me! Did she tell you to flash poor Skeeter with your tits and pussy, too?"
"No! She never mentioned that he worked here. Maybe she forgot he's working today."
"Bullshit," he shouted. "She packed our GD lunches this morning."
"You never told me he worked here!" I protested.
"Skeeter didn't want to mention it, seeing as how you look down your nose at me, and The Big D. He was embarrassed."
“He has nothing to be embarrassed about, Rosco.”
“I agree with you, but he thought you’d tease him half to death, about being surrounded by hot, slave pussy.”
“Well… maybe I would have teased him… a little,” I conceded.
There was a knock on the door. “Come!” Rosco replied.
I felt myself flush a little as Rosco so casually invited someone else into the office while I was kneeling on his floor, legs splayed open, totally naked. Instinctively, I immediately put my hands back on top of my head, resuming proper “expose” position.
Zach, also carrying an iPad entered.
“I’m having some problems getting ahold of a couple of our Gold Circle Buyers. I was wondering if you could help.”
“Shoot!”
“Lord Kensington isn’t responding to our e-mails. Jack Waller is staying at the Ritz downtown, but he’s not answering his phone.”
I perked up at the sound of the two names. “Lord Alfred Kensington?” I asked. “I had lunch with his daughter Elizabeth, in London, a week ago. Rita’s got my phone, and Elizabeth numbers on there. Give her a call, Elizabeth can always find ‘daddy’. As for Jack Waller, don’t waste time with the front desk, they’ll just screen you. Ask for Juan Reynolds, he’s in charge of personal butlers for the penthouse suite. Explain why you’re calling, and he’ll get you through.”
Rosco looked surprised. Zach, staring at the naked Pleasure Slut kneeling before him, looked gob smacked.
“What’s she doing here?” Zach asked.
Rosco was already texting Rita. “Do what she says. I’ll get the other number from my wife. Get going.”
Zach gave me one more baffled look before leaving. The door closed.
"Could I have some clothes, please, Rosco?"
Up until this point, Rosco had been so busy chewing me out that I don't think he noticed my nakedness. Now, however, he looked at me, kneeling before him. As he looked me over, I instinctively found myself adjusting slightly to perfect my pose: chin up, back straight, legs spread, tits out.
He took his time, walking around me, admiring me, taking a long, appraising look.
Rosco, using a remote control on his belt, released my collar. He went into a credenza, and threw me a blanket. The throw was a little high, and my breasts bobbled as I jumped to catch it. Was it an accident? Perhaps, but he was smiling.
Once I was covered, the conversation resumed.
“It looks like your best friends are my best customers,” Rosco said dryly. “How on earth do you know these people?”
“Rich people travel in the same circles. I was at Lord Kensington’s estate in Dallas for a wedding last summer, when my friend Elizabeth’s brother got married. Lord Kensington is her dad. Very English, old money.”
“I helped float some corporate bonds for Jack Waller a few years ago. He hit on me, as did his wife. But what do they have to do with The Big D?”
Lord Kensington uses his estate for ‘fox hunts’, only he doesn’t use foxes. He buys Prime Pleasure sluts, and paints their faces like foxes, and gives them tails. Then while his hunting party is having breakfast, he lets the girls run free, to give them a good head start. Then he hunts them down.”
“Hunts them?” I said, swallowing.
“Yeah, you like dogs, Annie? Lord Kensington has 20 Great Danes in his pack. Might be great exercise, since you like to run.”
My face went ashen. Elizabeth had mentioned fox hunting, and when I had told her it was cruel, she smiled, and said the point was to “tree them, or chase them to ground”. I said I still felt sorry for the poor foxes, and she laughed and said, “Who said anything about foxes?”
The joke had flown entirely over my head, but now her family “hobby” was all too clear. I imagined myself, my face painted, my tail splashing in the water as I ran barefoot through some icy stream. Behind me would be Elizabeth, her father, and the rest of the wedding party on horseback, laughing as they chased me down, with the Great Danes closing in, drawn to my scent. Strangely, I imagined Buster, now restored, at the head of the pack, leading the charge, eager to teach his former Mistress a lesson.
Rosco, unfazed, continued. “Jack Waller and his wife are into lesbo stuff – like to butter up about 20 girls, and watch ‘em go at it. You know John Drummer?”
“Yes,” I said, “And he knows me. I stuck him with $2 million in South American bonds, right before the market collapsed,” I said, laughing. “He wasn’t very happy with me.”
My smile faded as Rosco continued. “He’s into pony girls. Mostly he likes to take them out on buggy rides, but he races them some, too. Again, I’m glad you like running.”
Running was fine, but feeling John Drummer’s vengeful whip on my bare ass as I dragged a cart up a muddy hill was something entirely different.
“Have you ever been on Skipper Cary’s yacht?” Rosco asked.
“A few times, when I summer at Martha’s Vineyard,” I replied. “Nice guy. He and I serve on the ballet board together.”
“Well, he’s totally gay, but won’t admit it, even to himself. His ‘cabin boys’ are slave girls, with their hair cut short, only he uses them as ‘boys’, if you catch my drift.”
I grimaced. “He cut their HAIR?” I said, nervously running my hands over my own long locks.
“Yes. I think you’d look cute in a nice Pixie cut. Of course, that would be the least of your problems. As part of the old-time seaman thing, he’s pretty fond of using the lash, when his “boys” displease him, which is pretty much all the time. You didn’t notice any of the cabin “boys” were girls, when you were onboard?”
“Well, no. I mean… I didn’t think about it. They were, just servants. Who pays any attention to the help?”
“Obviously, not you. Damn it, Anne, what were you and Rita thinking? Of all the nights to put yourself up for auction, you have to pick Rich Perverts night!”
“Are poor perverts better?” I asked.
“Let’s just say they have less money to be creative. And I don’t think you’ll be yucking it up when they are hooking you up to a milking machine, or you’re dancing in a harem, or you’re a human statue at a party, or you’re tied down over whipping block in some Puritan village, waiting to be punished for witchcraft.”
“They do that?” I asked, surprised.
“They do EVERYTHING. All the crazy shit you can imagine, and a lot you can’t. The richer, the kinkier. Shit, you should know that better than anybody.”
I felt myself flush as the accusation struck home. My flush deepened as I imagined meeting my peers again as a slave girl, totally at their perverted mercies.
“The Any Chance Auction was Miss Calico’s idea, not Rita’s.”
“That’s bullshit,” Rosco said under his breath. “Nobody talks Rita into nothing. Did Calico give her a bunch of freebees?”
I nodded.
“Yeah. Who was conning who? Rita knew what she was doing. She knew that there was no way a Prime Slut was going on Broadway without me looking at her, and she figured I’d stop it.”
“But she didn’t realize how big a deal tonight was,” I observed.
“Obviously. Or maybe she thought I just bullshit my way out of this.”
I nodded. “Well, look, I know this is a big night for you, and I don’t want to add to your stress. If you can get me some clothes, and call me a cab, I can get out of here.”
Rosco looked at me in disbelief. "Do you have shit-for-brains, girl? I can't just go strolling out of here with slave pussy on my arm. Do you know what internal controls are? I can't even get that damn collar off your neck, unless Jake gives me the code.”
"Can't you just override the--"
"No! This whole place is a fucking lockbox! It has 10 levels of security to prevent slave girls from strutting out of here."
"I'm not a slave girl!" I protested.
"That’s not what the computer says," he said. “You're supposed to be on the auction block in 45 minutes. And the crappy part is, you’re not even my biggest problem. I don’t have an auctioneer.”
“What do you mean you don’t have an auctioneer? This is The Big D, isn’t it? Isn’t this what you people DO?”
“A little less attitude might be nice, given your current situation, little sister,” Rosco shot back. “Yes, this is what we do, thank you, but it’s Sunday night. Bill Fritz was supposed to handle tonight, but I can’t put him on Broadway, because he SUCKS. Timmy’s fantastic, but he’s in Mexico, and Jed is in some idiot hog calling contest in Kansas City. They’re due back tomorrow, but that doesn’t do shit for me in the next 50 minutes.”
I swallowed hard. 50 minutes! It wasn’t much time to fix things.
“Have you called around?” I asked.
“What do you think I’ve been doing for the last hour?” he shouted at me. “Are you totally slave stupid?”
“Can you do the auction?” I asked.
“I would, but I let my license expire last year. Fucking stupid of me. This is a high-profile auction, and if we get caught using an unlicensed auctioneer, Jake could lose his license. I am SO screwed.”
“What about Skeeter?”
“What about him?” Rosco mumbled, looking at his iPad.
“Let Skeeter do the auction,” I said.
“Skeeter? Seriously? Is that collar too tight? Are you slave loco?”
“You said Skeeter was the best auctioneer you’d seen. His teacher said the same thing, and only marked him down because he couldn’t auction someone he knew. He has a license, doesn’t he?”
“A trainee license,” Rosco said. “I mean, if Bill Fritz is here, it’d be legal, since he has a full license, but…”
“But nothing. I wanted him to come to work for me in Chicago, Rosco. I see the boy’s potential. Maybe as his father, you can’t see it, but…”
“He’s a kid, Anne,” he protested.
“He looks like a kid, but he’s 21. People underestimated me, too, but I was already a serious trader by the time I was his age.”
“There’s going to be a lot of money on the table, tonight. I don’t want to put the boy under that sort of pressure.”
“Yes, a lot of money you’re going to lose, Rosco, along with your job, if you turn it over to an auctioneer you KNOW is lousy. We’ve had our disagreements over the years, but this is business. I’d rather bet on a promising growth opportunity than a proven loser.”
“You really think he can handle this?”
“I do. He’s tough and smart, just like his mom and dad. But I’m not the one you should be asking. Ask Skeeter.”
Rosco hesitated for a moment, then picked up the phone.
XXX
“Are you sure, Skeeter?” Rosco asked. “Really sure? There’s a lot of money on the table, and I wouldn’t blame you for backing out.”
“The Big D is in trouble tonight, Dad, and it needs my help. Either you’re a professional, or you’re not. Let’s do it.”
“He can do it, Rosco,” I said. “I have total faith in him.”
“You really mean that, Anna-Annie,” Skeeter asked.
“Absolutely,” I said. “I see a lot of myself in you. I kid you a lot, but don’t ever kid yourself: you can be the best. And I totally mean that.”
“That means a lot, especially coming from you.”
Leaning over, I kissed him on the forehead, accidentally hitting him on the side of the face with my blue animal tag.
“Could we snip off this tag, at least?” I said, flicking the tag with my finger.
“We could,” Skeeter allowed, “but I like it,” he added, with a grin.
Rosco refocused us on the business at hand. “Okay, you’re in charge,” Rosco said. “What do you need?”
Like a boss, Skeeter took command. “I want the whole coffle prepped and lined up in 30 minutes, so I can give ‘em the once over. In the meantime, I’ll go over the files on all the Gold Circle Customers, and the girls, and figure out what our customers are looking for, and how we get the best price for each one. And I’ll need some different clothes,” he said, pointing at his coveralls.
“I’ll text your mom,” Rosco said. “And you’ll need this.”
Rosco reached into his bottom desk drawer, and took out an ivory handled slave whip. It was beautiful, but wicked looking, with a long black lash, and a “cracker” on the end that turned into several smaller lashes. My bottom cheeks clenched as I looked at it.
“This was your grandfather’s, and he gave it to me when he started at The Big D. I was going to give it to you when you graduated but… maybe tonight is that night.”
Skeeter was quiet for a moment, then picked up the whip, admiring it. “It’s beautiful, Dad. I won’t let you down. I promise.”
“I know you won’t.”
Rosco wasn’t a big hugger, which is why his hug with Skeeter was so special. I actually wiped away a tear.
The moment ended, too soon, I thought, and Skeeter returned to business. “We’re still screwed though. Without Anna-Annie in the picture, we only got 11 head. And there ayn’t no way to find pussy as fine as her, not in 50 minutes.”
Skeeter turned to me, embarrassed. “No offense, ma’am.”
I smiled. “I take it as a compliment, Sir.”
Rosco frowned. “You’re right. Jakes going to be mad as hell, if he finds out we’re one short because of this shit your mother and your aunt pulled. It will be my ass.”
Skeeter nodded. “You’re right. Jake is going to be pissed. You promise 12 Prime, you deliver 12 Prime. That’s The Big D way.”
“Then auction 12 then,” I said. “I’m game.”
Both of them stared at me in disbelief. “What, you don’t think I can do it? I’m Prime Minus, you know. I look pretty good, under this blanket,” I said, laughing nervously.
“Anne, this is a serious auction. If you step up on that block… we’re going to sell you.”
“It’s an Any Chance auction, Rosco. That means Rita gets to turn down the winning bid.”
“She does. Any Chance auctions are new. If we get some high rollers in, and they slap down the big bucks, well, they could take us to court. They’ll claim it was a scam, or we weren’t auctioning you in good faith, or the auction agreement was drawn up wrong. You know how rich people are with contracts.”
“I’ve been in court before, Rosco. Lawyers don’t scare me.”
“This is Texas, not Chicago. And you wouldn’t be going into a circuit court as a bond trader, you’d be going into a slaving court, as a slave girl. Once you’re slave naked in front of a judge, who’s to say how he’ll rule?”
“Seriously?” I said. “I’d be going to court… naked? They do that here?”
Rosco nodded. “Let’s just say in Texas, slave girls don’t get the benefit of the doubt.”
“I have lawyers, too,” I said, “and even in Texas, money talks. I’m a trader. I live for risk. You need a 12th girl? You’re looking at her. And good luck stopping me.”
“I know better than to fight with you, or with Rita,” Rosco said. “You two are a pair. Thanks, Anne.”
“Thanks, Anna-Annie,” Skeeter said.
Skeeter thought for a moment, then furrowed his brow. “There’s just one more problem… but it’s a doosey! I’m going to be the auctioneer, right?”
Rosco nodded.
“And Annie is going to get auctioned, right?”
“Yeah,” Rosco said.
Skeeter’s face was glum. “The only way that works is, I have to auction Anna-Annie.”
I watched as Skeeter and Rosco deflated in defeat.
I interjected. “Skeeter got a crappy grade because he couldn’t put his former teacher through her paces, right?”
“That’s right. Bill Walsh. He’s actually working tonight, in accounting.”
“Have him come watch the auction,” I said. “He’ll change Skeeters grade PDQ if he sees him auctioning his Aunt. He can’t be more professional than that.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Rosco admitted. “But…”
“But nothing. This is for you, Rosco, and you Skeeter. I’d do anything for you. Don’t you know that, Squirt?”
Walking over to Skeeter I gave him a maternal peck on the cheek. “You mean the world to me, Skeeter. You know that.”
Skeeter blushed. “Thanks Anna-Annie. But… but I don’t… don’t… I don’t think I can do it,” he stammered. “I can’t sell you. Not you.”
“Your brave enough to sell Wonder Woman, but not Anna Annie?”
“You’re a bigger hero to me than she is,” he said. “Hotter too,” he added with a smile.
Now it was my turn to blush. I turned to Rosco, who gave me a “his choice!” shrug. “Up to you to convince him,” he added.
I looked at Skeeter. He was 21 now, but in many ways, he was still the teenager I had teased in the soda shop. But this was the moment of truth. Was I aware of the risks? Absolutely. I was prepared to do whatever necessary to secure his future, and make him the man I knew he could be.
I moved closer to Skeeter, so close that we were almost touching noses. Tucking my hand under his chin, I forced him to look into my eyes. “Listen to me, young man. You need to auction 12 girls, Skeeter, and that means, like it or not, you’re going to have to auction me. You need to put aside your personal feelings, and treat me like any other piece of inventory.”
“I dunno if I can do it, Anna-Annie,” he said.
“You have to do it. Furthermore, you’re going to have to be strict with me. No, not strict, cruel. Merciless. You can’t treat me like I’m your rich Aunt Annie. When I’m barefoot on the block, you need to treat me like I’m the skankiest of Pleasure Sluts.”
Seeing the embarrassed look on his face, I changed tactics. I dropped my voice into my sexiest, most seductive whisper, moving close enough to brush my hair against his face as I painted the mental image in his horny little mind.
“I’ll be scared, Skeeter. Petrified. Slave naked, helpless, and exposed. I’ve never been sold before. You’ll have to dominate me, totally. You’ll have to be the man. You’ll have to take absolute, total control, of my hot… wet… slave pussy.”
Skeeter gasped as I rubbed against him. Even through the blanket he could feel my breasts against his chest, my crotch rubbing his stiffness.
I spoke in my sad, lost, little girl voice. “Some of the men bidding on my body will know me. Maybe a lot of them. I’m friends with their rich, spoiled daughters. Their daddies knew me as the wealthy & elegant girl they wanted, the girl they lusted after. But I was untouchable… until now.”
“Some of them know me as peers. They respected me, or pretended to, even as they fantasized about me. Some of them I cheated at business. Remember how I teased you, you’re your friends, and made you hard, and laughed at you? I did the same to all of them. Maybe they came onto me at a party, not knowing how rich and powerful I was, and I laughed at them and shot them down. They will remember how I scorned them, and they will be angry. No… enraged.”
“Now they will have all the power, and I will be naked at their feet, penniless, and helpless. They will want to see me humbled, humiliated, debased. They will want to see me punished. Give them what they want. Show no mercy, Skeeter. Shamed me, Skeeter, in every way you can. Lay it on with a trawl. The bids will pour in. Never forget: revenge is a dish best served cold.”
I rubbed against his throbbing erection as I whispered in his ear.
“It’ll be your job to make me disgrace myself, in front of men who’ve worked with me, lusted after me, despised me. Make me lather myself up in front of them, and roll in the sand like a bitch in heat, and show them all my secret little cracks and crevices. Oh, dear, how humiliating! How awful! Spare me nothing, then crack the whip on my skanky ass, not because I was disobedient, but just to make them laugh.”
Panting, I rubbed myself against him, pressing hard against him through the blanket. “Can you do it Skeeter? Are you master enough to sell my stinking, tight, slave pussy, and teach me the true meaning of my eternity collar?”
Stepping back, I smiled, and slowly… slowly… slowly… drew open my blanket, exposing myself to his pie-eyed gaze. Playfully, I let the blanket slide off my shoulders and pool at my feet. Skeeter and Rosco both stared, mouth agape, as I revealed my sluttish, naked slave goods to their eager eyes.
I carefully folded the blanket and brought it to Rosco, bowing to him before neatly placing it on the desk. Then I picked up the ivory handled whip, and returned to Skeeter.
I closed my eyes, and ran the handle between my legs, humping it as I groaned with pleasure.
“Oh, yes, master! Let me scent your whip, so you can smell me, even as you sell the other little sluts.”
Taking my hand from between my legs, I rubbed my slave grease beneath his nose. “Smell me, master. Smell my hotness. Smell my desire. I’m a disgusting little slave monkey, who needs to be lashed, and sold. The other sluts you will auction tonight will mean nothing. They are pretenders! I am the horniest, the hottest, the most beautiful. Smell me, even as you sell the other little sluts for whatever coin they might bring.”
Slowly, I sank down into “slave squat” – legs spread wide, tits out, licking my lips with desire as I looked up to him. Slowly, gracefully, sinking onto one knee, I leaned forward. I licked the dirty tip of his boot, showing him the sand and orange slime on my tongue, as I let my blue animal tag flop against his boots.
They were the $1500 custom boots I bought him last Christmas, the ones with his childish mosquito drawing etched into the side. Using my tongue, I licked the brand.
"Your mother ordered your drawing as a branding head. She paid for it with my Platinum card. I won't have to buy you custom boots or bags any more, Skeeter. You can brand them yourself. Right after you brand my ass."
I worked up a slave lather, running the whip between my legs as I imagined the scene. "Could you actually do it, Skeeter? Could you press the hot iron down, and burn the cute little doodle you drew in first grade, the brand I paid for, into my sexy, slave girl ass?"
Closing my eyes, I grunted with pleasure as I diddled myself with the whip.
Skeeter’s calm, but clear voice, stopped me cold. "No," he said, “I prefer pussy brands."
Now it was my turn to look pie-eyed. "But… but… it's a 3-inch brand," I protested. "It's too… too… too big!"
“Aw, you’re stammering again,” Skeeter said, mocking me with my own words. “How adorable.”
I felt myself go ashen as I trembled at his feet. His smirk, echoing his mother’s, spoke volumes. "You’re the one who wanted to play slave girl. Slave girls don't make the decisions. From now on, I’m in charge.”
It was a thought as frightening as it was thrilling. If this really happened, the 21-year-old boy I had held under my thumb for years would be selling my pussy off the auction block.
“Present the whip,” he commanded.
Removing the whip from my pussy, I put it in my mouth. I squatted before him, and waited for his signal, like a dog holding his morning newspaper.
He considered me for a moment, appraising me, letting his eyes roam up and down my naked body, my heaving breasts, my wet, drippy pussy. Then he snapped his fingers twice, and extended his open palm.
Slowly, I extended my neck up, and opened my mouth, dropping the slave whip in his hand.
“Sell me, master!” I pleaded. "Make me roll in the sand, and sell my hot, wet, slave pussy."
Skeeter looked down on me. If there was the slightest trace of a smile on his face, it wasn't from kindness, or amusement, or compassion. It was a smile of accomplishment, of satisfaction, of control.
My pussy twitched with pleasure as he smirked down at me, running the slave lash through his fingers.
She would be pleading her case in a collar, likely with a brand showing prominently, and while crouched in an expose position. Perhaps they would even have a slave pedestal of sorts for her to display herself on while she pleads her case or when she takes "the stand". I wonder if she would also be expected to entertain plaintiff's lawyer or the judge when the court is in recess? That would make it a little a harder to prove that she shouldn't be a slave girl, more so if she has the implant actively stimulating her pussy or whispering in her ear. Hopefully, the plaintiff's lawyer wouldn't have gotten his own remote for that little device. 
Trying to sound reasonable while while moaning in pleasure could be very difficult. 
Perhaps after all of that, the judge would sentence her to an even more humiliating fate.