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Any Chance Auction - Postscript Part B, by Joe Doe

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

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As I was only wearing a jacket and panties, it didn’t take me long to strip. The main challenge was unbuttoning the two buttons that were holding my Prada jacket closed with my shaking hands. My Judge, The honorable Rufus T. Parker, did not mind the wait.

“Well, well, well, look who ayn’t wearing a titty holster,” he said as I opened up my jacket and revealed my breasts. “Nice headlights, for a city girl. All round, and firm, and pink-and-pointy.”

I blushed as he licked his lips.

“Y’all just hand your jacket over to the bailiff, girl. A girl like you don’t got no business runnin’ around wearin’ fancy free woman clothes in my court. Shit, that jacket looks like a guy could wear it. Damn, insulting, that’s what it is!”

I noticed that Judge Parker’s Texas drawl was much more pronounced, now that he was not a man hitting on me in the lobby, but the judge overseeing my trial. He was having fun playing up his good-old-boy persona, relishing his opportunity to make a Yankee girl tremble in the presence of Texas justice.

The bailiff approached, holding the cheap brown burlap gunny sack he had already dropped my shoes into. The drawstring that tied off the sack had a paper tag on it, with a barcode and my SIN number.

“Lip!” the Baliff said.

Humiliated, I used my two thumbs to peel back my lip and show him my slave identification number. He quickly verified that my ID matched the bag with my possessions.

There was a pile of the tagged burlap sacks sitting by the bailiff’s chair, and I realized that there was already a tagged bag prepared for every girl who was going to appear in court that afternoon. The pretty little medical student I had chatted up had already been forced to hand over her purse, and I’m sure there was a tag-bag waiting for the rest of her possessions. Innocent or guilty, once she had been stripped naked and collared, she’d look the same as any other slave girl.

My lawyer was right. I had been a fool! As I had enjoyed my Mokara massage and pedicure at my hotel that morning, a tag-bag with my SIN on it was already waiting for me at the courthouse. But the excitement of strutting to victory in a real Texas slave court, and my ego and self-assurance that I would win, as I always did, had led me to straight into this humiliating strip-down.

I folded my expensive jacket and surrendered it to the bailiff. With a slight smile, he rubbed the material, pretending to appreciate the quality. Then he gave me a little wink and stuffed it into the old grain bag. I sensed that although he had seen countless trembling, tearful girls strip naked while standing on the Great Slave Seal of Texas, the sadistic entertainment of stripping an embarrassed girl naked in open court never got old.

The Judge peered down on me from the bench. I stood with my hands at my side, knowing better than to try and cover my breasts.

My panties were high cut on the leg, and thin and lacy, and the Judge let out an appreciative whistle. “Damn, girl, those panties are soaked. No wonder the slave hounds smelled you. Damn if I can’t smell you from here, with the fan blowing it in my face.”

I looked up at the slowly churning circular fan, which, like the rest of the courtroom, was furnished from the set of TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD.

“Those are mighty fancy squirrel covers,” he teased. “How much did those cost?”

“About $500, although I paid in pounds. They’re Bordelle, and I bought them in London.”

“You say, BORDELLO?” he snickered, laughing. “You paid 500 smackers for whore panties? Yankee girls don’t have the brains God gave a pig! Well, hand over them frillies, girl. I gotta get me a whiff of these $500 panties. But first, you need those glasses girl.”

“I can’t read without them, your honor,” I said truthfully.

Rufus Parker laughed. “Maybe you should get yourself a pair of these,” he said, holding up a pair of binoculars. “12 times magnification! Perfect for birdwatching! Ayn’t that something, Anne?”

“Yes Sir,” I said. “That’s umm.. really great,” I said, playing along with the crazy man who had brought bird watching binoculars into his courtroom.

“It sure ‘nuff is. But what do you say you let the men folk do the readin’ today? Judge Rufus will fix things for y’all REAL good. You don’t got to worry your pretty little head about nothin’!”

“Those look like my mighty expensive earrings. You git’ them in London, too?”

“Paris, your Honor. They’re rubies, surrounded by diamonds, set in gold,” I said.

“Sounds expensive. I’d better hang on to those myself. The watch, too. Always wanted a fancy Apple watch.”

As I took off the earrings and my watch, I turned my head slightly. My Texas lawyer was whispering something to my Chicago lawyer, who’s eyes were transfixed on my ass sagging out of my snug panties. Both of my lawyers were smiling, and were clearly enjoying my made-to-order strip show. Bastards!

I handed my $35,000 gold Apple watch and $50,000 earrings to the grinning bailiff, who handed them to the Judge. He took a moment to admire them, before reaching under his robe to pocket them. I wondered if I’d ever see them again. Slave Court generally didn’t pay that well in Texas, but there was a long line of men eager for the job, because of the perks, like whatever they could scam off the girls they were enslaving. In fleecing the girl from Chicago with the fancy pants, Judge Parker had just made a pretty sweet score.

Judge Parker leered down at me, enjoying the suspense as I stood before him, trembling, wearing nothing but my panties. “You’re so slave wet, I’m of a mind to let you keep those little honey catchers on,” he teased pointing his gavel at my panties. “I don’t want you dribbling your slave honey on the symbol of Texas slave justice,” he said, referring to the embossed seal beneath my feet.

I blushed as I recalled my humiliating stint serving up my “slave honey” at The Big D. I wondered if that was somehow in the record, and he was using that term on purpose, or if I was just another girl to him.

“The thing of it is, girls in slave heat, running round with panties on, is an insult to decent women, and Texas justice. Plus a girl strutting into slave court with fancy britches on can get uppity. Do you were uppity out there in the hallway, girl? Be honest, now.”

I was in a bind. I knew he was drawing this out, extracting his vengeance, making me sweat. Of course, I’d have to surrender my panties, too. Oh, he wouldn’t miss that treat! But he wanted me to offer them up, to admit that a girl like me wearing panties was an outrage against public decency. The real torture was the slender chance that maybe, just maybe, my brains would triumph over his raw power, and I might yet talk my way out of this.

“I don’t know, your honor. I didn’t mean to be,” I said evasively, trying to play it out, stalling for time.

“You look at me when I’m talking to you, girl,” he snapped. “Don’t be staring at your fancy painted toenails. You remember what you said when you called me a naughty boy?”

The conversation replayed in my mind. I had leaned in close, and given him my best low, seductive voice.

“Oh, you naughty boy! Would you really do that to me? Strip me buck naked, and parade me around, and make me pose, under the crack of the whip? Would you watch as they humiliated me, and exposed me in every way, and made me bend and spread? You naughty, naughty boy!”

“You remember prick teasing me out in the rotunda, girl? Askin’ if I’d make you bend and spread. Struttin’ around, talking down to me like I was shit on your shoes. You gave me one world class case of blue balls! You like doing that, girl? Make ya’ feel all powerful?”

Miserably, I nodded.

“Speak up, girl! You certainly had a big, sassy mouth on you out in the hall.”

“Yes, your Honor,” I admitted miserably.

“You don’t look so powerful now. Why is that?”

“Because I’m in slave court,” I admitted. “And you took away my shoes, and my expensive jewelry, and my clothes!”

“That’s right. All barefoot and humble, just like a girl should be. But I bet you’d be even more humble if you gave me your little honey catchers. What do you think?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, exhausted by the fight.

“You ever seen your client’s pussy?” the Judge said, addressing my Chicago attorney. “I wouldn’t give your delicate Chicago sensibilities no offense or nothing, would I?”

“Not at all, your honor. If it pleases the court,” my Chicago lawyer said, in a tone that betrayed his enjoyment of my predicament. Fucker. I would fire him, disbar him, then sue him and his firm into serfdom.

Pointing at my crotch, Judge Parker snapped his fingers twice, and the smiling Bailiff came and held open the bag.

With as much grace as I could muster, I dutifully slid my panties down, and stepped out of them. Just for fun, I had given myself a close “slave shave” in Chicago before I had come to Texas. It was a secret thrill, and it excited me to strut into the courthouse, with I alone knowing what was under my jacket. I had thought for a moment that it might also be a wise precaution, as it was much better to get shaved gently in Chicago than roughly at The Big D. But I had dismissed the thought. Surrounded by my loyal, and ridiculously overpaid legal team, I had nothing to fear.

Of course, I had assured myself there was no chance of that! I told myself it was for old times’ sake, a fun remembrance of my adventure at The Big D. I had never dreamed that I would be showing everyone my shaved slave pussy in open court.

I handed my skimpy panties over to smiling bailiff. He fingered the crotch, feigning surprise at my wetness, before again giving me a leering smile.

Fucking rent-a-cop! I’d remember him, and make him pay for that smile, when I got back to Illinois.

The disgusting bailiff passed them up to more disgusting Judge Parker, who held them up to his nose. He snorted loudly, taking a huge whiff. “Wow! That is some sweet slave honey ya got there, girl.”

It was not a compliment.

“If the court is gonna make a ruling’ in this here case, I need to see the merchandise,” Judge Parker said, picking up his pair of black 12X magnification binoculars. I felt myself go flush as he held the glasses to his fat face, and let his eyes wander slowly up my body, taking his time to examine my nakedness tip-to-toe.

I was only a few feet in front of him, and standing on the seal meant the glasses had been focused for his perfect viewing. The glasses were quite large, and I could only image what my nipples and pussy looked like at 12 times magnification.

“Remember when you asked if I’d make you bend and spread?”

“Yes, sir.” I had smiled slightly and almost whispered it. I had thought he was going to cum in his pants.

“Sounds like a right fine idea to me. Do it, girl. Show me them slave holes. Legs straight, palms flat. Hands on the star!”

A less well-trained girl might have been confused at his command, but as a Prime Minus, I knew exactly what was expected. Turning gracefully, I spread my legs wide, bent over, and placed my palms flat on the slave seal embossed onto the floor.

“Open Sesame!” Judge Parker snickered, as my bottom cheeks lifted and separated and my bottom hole and wet pussy raised high for his viewing pleasure. I felt myself go flush as Judge Parker let out a slow, lingering wolf whistle.

“Is that a brand on her ass?” the Judge said, noticing the faint remains of my “Skeeter doodle” on my butt.

“It was a temporary,” my Chicago lawyer explained. “It’s based on a drawing her nephew Skeeter did. He works at The Big D.”

“Skeeter? Small world! I think I know him. He’s the skinny kid with the mosquito drawing on his boots, right?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Well, maybe he can burn on something a bit more permanent, as part of this deal. Slave girls shouldn’t run around without a brand, if you ask me. Like a Mercedes with no hood ornament,” he added with a laugh.

The Judge focused in my ass. “I gotta admit, that is one fine piece of Prime Minus slave tail!” the Judge enthused. “I can see why she brought such a chunk of change at The Big D, although I’m betting that smart Chicago mouth of hers has a lot to do with it. Likes to lip off to her betters. Acts likes she so smart, and so much better than everyone else. You don’t look so smart now, do you girl?”

“No, sir, your honor,” I answered truthfully.

“Now what I don’t understand is why ya’ boys are fighting over money, when there’s a fine piece of slave pussy right here, ripe-and-ready to be banged. Ayn’t you rich folks got no peckers?”

The plaintiff’s lawyer rose to speak. In Chicago, the court ruled that the cancellation of the contract was valid, and that the… young lady is NOT a slave girl. This limited us to a civil suit for monetary damaged on a claim of fraudulent representation.”

“I didn’t ask you to read me no law book, Counselor,” Judge Parker replied. “I said, don’t you people know slave pussy when you see it? Because I do!”

“Display,” he barked.

I rose, turned, and assumed the required position, hands on top of my head, feet spread to shoulder with.

“Wider! Feet on the branches, stupid. We don’t need your dirty, sweaty slave girl feet touching our mighty Texas star.”

I looked down at the slave seal beneath my feet. The seal itself, with the Star of Texas and the slave girl in chains was painted on the floor, but there was a metal rim around it, with embossed branches on either side. It was similar to the Seal of Texas, except the olive and oak branches were tied off to form a birch bundle, suitable for whipping a slave girl’s naughty bottom.

My bottom tightened as I looked down at the birches. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my Chicago lawyer smile as he stared at my clenching butt cheeks.

Reaching the metal “branches” was quite a stretch, but I did it. The metal was even colder than the marble floor. I stood before the judge breasts high, legs splayed widely apart. The freezing cold metal seemed to drain the heat out of me, and I could feel my nipples harden as I shivered before my all-powerful Judge, grinning down at me with the smug confidence only a person in absolute control. It was a feeling I knew well.

“Remember teasing me, girl, asking if I came to court on the bus? Well, now you’re in my court in your slave suit, girl! All, pink, and wet, and naked, and ready for your collar.”

“So ya’ do all of ‘er business for her up in Chicago,” the Judge asked, turning his attention to my lawyer.

“Yes, your Honor, I am her personal attorney. I handle all of her legal, real estate, investment, and tax work. Sometimes I’ll bring in other attorneys, for specialty work, like my colleague from Texas today. But I’m Chief Counsel.”

“Bet that pays a pretty penny. How long have you been working for her?”

“Three years, your honor,” he replied. “She goes through attorneys’ quickly.

“I bet she does. She keep ya’ busy?”

“My client has an extensive set of worldwide holdings, and she is extremely… litigious. She’s always suing someone, for something.”

“Wasting court time, huh? Maybe we can fix that today. So is she as rude, and impertinent with you as she was with me?”

“I was not privy to your conversation, your honor. But Anne is… well can be… that is, she is known in our firm as, a most demanding client.”

“I’ll bet she is. Ya’ ever want to fuck her?”

“She is my client, your honor. That would be a serious breach of legal ethics.”

“I asked if you ever THOUGHT about it,” Judge Parker countered.

“To be candid with you, your Honor, she’s so… difficult, as a client, and shouts at me so much, that I do not find her to be attractive, in anyway.”

Judge Parker laughed. “A real bitch-on-wheels, huh? Well we know how to collar bitches in my court, son, and muzzle ‘em, and brand them, and train ‘em REAL good.”

I was breathing fast now, straining to hold position, with my pussy and winking bottomhole staring straight up at the Judge. Yet the Judge and the lawyer were casually chatting as if I wasn’t even there.”

“Now I sure don’t want to try to reverse no Chicago court ruling, as I respect the slave court rulings in the other states, even when their slave stupid. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know slave pussy when I see it. Now I’m going to ask this young lady to lather up, for my viewing pleasure, and I’m going to give you boys 10 minutes to work out a personal services, out-of-court settlement that will satisfy the plaintiff and allow this young lady to avoid a permanent collar. Trust me, it’s the best deal a girl ever got in my court. You legal eagles understand what I want?”

“Perfectly, your Honor. And, under the circumstances, and given the evidence that our client is presenting to your honor right now, it is an agreeable settlement for us,” my Texas lawyer said.

“Me as well, your honor,” the Plantiff said.

The Judge looked down at me. “On your back, girl. Slave lather!”

I chose “pussy spread” Slave Yoga pose, a variation of the “happy baby” yoga pose for women. On my back, legs spread as if I was in a gynecologist’s stirrups, with the soles of my feet pointing up at the ceiling.

“A little higher, girl! I wanna see that tight little cornhole, too!”

Like a good little Pleasure Slut, I arched my bottom slightly off the floor. I could feel my cheeks lift and separate as my anus unveiled itself for his viewing pleasure.

“That’s it! Now git too it, bitch! I wanna see some hot slave-gasms. Make that pussy meat TWITCH!”

Free women held their feet to maintain this pose, but with my Slave Yoga training I was able to free up one hand to rub my hot, wet, slave pussy. I groaned as I touched myself, amazed at my own excitement.

I gasped as I rubbed myself, twiddling my clit as I finger fucked myself, making sure I kept myself open enough to give him an excellent view of the proceedings.

“Wow! That is one fine slave snatch!” Rufus Parker said, picking up his binoculars. “Time for some judicial oversight, ha-ha!”

One of the additional indignities of slave court is that except for exceedingly rare cases of wrongful enslavement, the girl is routinely charged for her own enslavement. As I was from out of state, and my income and assets classified me as a “excessively compensated” under Texas Slave law, I was paying thousands of dollars to the Judge, the Bailiff, and all the attorneys, including the prosecutor. And so I rubbed my hot, wet, slave pussy to orgasm as, behind me, men wearing expensive suits and shiny shoes I was paying casually bargained over my fate.

I twiddled my clit as a I was forced to listen in. “Lord Kensington charges capping fees for the hunts that are open to the public. He’ll need to make sure he gets his money worth, and he might want to die her hair red, and cut it short, to use it for her fox tail. At least 10 weeks,” the plaintiff’s attorney said.

Ten weeks! I gasped in horror, even as I rubbed my pussy faster at the thought of the dogs and horses pursuing me as I frantically ran naked across the fields.

“Red hair is fine, haircuts are fine. Hair grows back,” my lawyer said, agreeably. “But five weeks, and no permanent marks.”

“Okay, but what about the other plaintiffs? They’ll want the same.”

“Five weeks for each of them, then. A maximum of two weeks for each stint. Mutually agreeable scheduling, with the payment to be complete within the next 24 months.”

“Jamal Willie will want his five weeks all at once,” another male voice said. “He’s going to sell her ass off the block, and the mental conditioning of working in the cotton fields and bed wenchin’ works better if you do it all at once. Plus they may load her on a slave ship, and ship ‘er off to one of the islands for sale. She might spend several weeks chained up in the hold, longer if she gets shipped back to Africa.”

“Geez, how long does THAT take?” my lawyer said.

“On a wooden sailing ship? Forever. But don’t worry. They take ‘em out and dance ‘em, and fuck ‘em, so she won’t get lonely or nothing, between the peckers and flies.”

All the men laughed as I shuddered.

“Okay, time in the hold won’t count toward her five weeks,” my Chicago lawyer said casually, consigning me to relive the Middle Passage with chilling indifference.

In front of me, Judge Parker was adjusting his binoculars and commenting on myself pleasuring. “Wowser! You go girl! Diddle that twat. Show Judge Rufus what a hot piece of slave meat y’all are, and rub that bird real nice. Don’t slow down, or I’ll get my whip!”

My ass hit the cold marble floor as I lost control, and groaned through a mind blowing slave-gasm in front of the laughing Judge Parker and his leering bailiff.

Behind me, the cruel bargaining continued. “Some friendly advice. You probably want to make it 36 months, as there are a lot of plaintiffs, and they’ll be giving your client a real work out, if I don’t miss my guess.”

“36 months it is. If they can’t negotiate scheduling, we’ll send it to a slave arbitrator.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Even she won’t be stupid enough to go to a slave arbitrator, not after this.”

The men all laughed at my stupidity.

“You said no permanent marks,” one of the lawyers said. “Mr. Choo likes to breed his zoo animals. They let a new female into the enclosure, then all the males surround her and bang her, while the guests watch. He likes to sell tickets to watch ‘em get knocked up.”

“That would be a hoot to watch all right,” my Texas lawyer drawled. “But why does she gotta get preggers?”

“Mr. Choo likes to have them come back and give birth in the zoo, out in the dirt, with everyone watching. The vet will be standing by, but she’s gotta bite her own cord, and knot it off. Guests treat it like a party.”

“I’m not sure about that one. Let’s leave that for later,” my Chicago lawyer said. “What about the ass branding? It won’t be permanent, right?”

“Doesn’t have to be. Let the kid do it.”

“Her nephew?”

“Yeah. He drew it, right?” Everyone laughed.

“We’re all gonna have to fuck ‘er, you know,” one of the lawyers said.

“I can’t do that,” my lawyer from Chicago said. “She’s my client.”

“Once that temporary enslavement order is signed, she ayn’t nobody’s client,” my Texas lawyer said. “And Judge Parker always likes to have the lawyers dip their wicks, to finalize the deal.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind fucking her,” the plaintiff’s attorney said, “If she ever stops simonizing the floor with her slave honey, and that big ass of hers.”

All the lawyer’s laughed as I felt a fresh wave of humiliation crash over me. It was true: I was polishing the marble floor of the courtroom with my wetness and slave honey. Worse, I could see there was a faint indentation in the marble, wear from my countless slave sisters who had “simonized” the floor before me. No wonder he didn’t want me on the seal.

Obviously overhearing the men, Judge Parker pointed his slave whip at me. “Get that ass of yers’s in the air, girl! I want that pussy pointing sky high, so I can INSPECT the evidence.”

Behind me the men were laughing. I lifted, spread, and brought myself to a humiliating, uncontrollable slave-gasm as Judge Rufus T Parker, binoculars in hand, enjoyed every twitch of my hot, wet, pink, pussy.

As a side note, the Tarrant County Courthouse is a real place, an old fashioned Texas courthouse still in use. You can look it up if you want to see the locale. They shot Walker, Texas Ranger episodes there, before Joe Doe converted it into a slave court.
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Re: Any Chance Auction - Postscript Part B, by Joe Doe

Post by Carl Bradford »

Thank you for closing out the story with another magnificent image of public humiliation, equal to your slave block scenes. This public stripping and masturbation (followed, I gather, by everyone in the court sampling her now-aroused wares) might even satisfy Annie's hankering for total subjugation, although she seems insatiable and unteachable--as you suggested in a previous comment, her "sister" appeared to be trying to give her all the experience Anne craved.
I'm sure it was intentional on your part, but I can't help wishing that we could have a series of vignettes as Annie satisfies all the frustrated bidders over the next 36 months. Since the judge appears inclined to have the brand reapplied, more permanently, I hope that means Skeeter will have intimate access to his adoptive aunt again as he brands her. Plus, of course, her "sister" checking in by satellite phone to activate her implants at various inconvenient times such as during a fox hunt, while she serves as a "cabin boy," and goes on the slave ship.
Superb. This is a major creative achievement, but I think I speak for all your fans when I hope that you will give us future stories, either independent ones or following up on the various women who were sold at the Big D on the same day. Thanks again!
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Re: Any Chance Auction - Postscript Part B, by Joe Doe

Post by Mr. Smith »

It is nice to know that Skeeter had his brand burned into Anne, even if it was only a temporary one. I suspect I am not alone in hoping for a Postscript Part C.
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Re: Any Chance Auction - Postscript Part B, by Joe Doe

Post by lovethissite »

Glad Any Chance Auction is available on this site along with Sandy Foot Girl epilogue both women should end up with Lord Kennsington in a few fox hunts with lots of friends enjoying both women of course, after Skeeter brands both, and Rosa has her fun decorating both women's bodies. Maybe both can be totally shaved and their hair from their heads died and used as tails for the other fox they both need severe adjustments in their attitudes since neither can learn.

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Re: Any Chance Auction - Postscript Part B, by Joe Doe

Post by lovethissite »

Joe: Thank you I'm almost caught up in my re read. Please continue there are so many questions that need an answer.
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Re: Any Chance Auction - Postscript Part B, by Joe Doe

Post by jeepster »

I like Carl and Mr Smith am hoping for another chapter to this story!
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Re: Any Chance Auction - Postscript Part B, by Joe Doe

Post by lovethissite »

I loved todays posts. I haven't read this story in a long time and almost forgot about it until today. I went back and read Part B and it brought back the whole series which was one of Joe's best. Unfortunately it also brought the need to finish stories. I hope that since it has been awhile since Annie has been heard from, she will reappear since by now her 36 months should have been almost complete would love to know what happened? Thank Joe in advance.
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Re: Any Chance Auction - Postscript Part B, by Joe Doe

Post by surferchick »

There are a lot of nice ideas to play out in our imagination. I also love to read them but as we Al know Joe Doe is a master of teasing us.
The fox hunt and the cotton fields would be very nice playgrounds I would love to read more but I don’t hope for it.
Thanks Joe!!
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Re: Any Chance Auction - Postscript Part B, by Joe Doe

Post by imreadonly2 »

Yes, I know I have like 4 incomplete stories close to finishing. Too bad I can't make this my full time job, and finally catch up. Thank you for the encouragement, as it does bump this one up in the queue! :D
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