Any Chance Auction - Chapter 16A by Joe Doe
Posted: Mon Jun 07, 2021 2:51 pm
My mind was swimming. I had so many problems that It was hard to keep count, or even rank them. I had been sold last night in the “Any Chance?” Auction at The Big D, and even now I was struggling to remember the exact terms of my sale, or how much longer I had before the sale became final. If Rita placed the call I would be released, but she was at Six Flags, and she hadn’t called yet.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock!
Rosco had “seeded” me last night, fucking me like a breeding bitch and then hanging me upside down. I hadn’t been able to shower, or douche, and in my mind I could still feel his little swimmers knocking me up like some slave bitch sow.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock!
I was bound at the Branded Bee, with a ridiculous bee costume covering nothing, and my ass in the air and the legs spread wide. They were harvesting my “slave honey”, and behind me a geek father with a Texas Instrument T-shirt was instructing me on the finer points of home to stick the porous house bread between my legs to soak up my pussy cream. My wet, soggy pussy was displayed on video monitors around the restaurant, and I was close to coming… again. Skippy had already had his fun, and now it was his brother’s turn.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock!
The branding head with Skeeter’s doodle bug was stuck in the fire, and was being heated in preparation for branding my ass. The little bugger had seemed cute and adorable when I had hung Skeeter’s drawings next to the Monet’s and Picasso’s in my mansion in Chicago, but now, staring at the branding head heating in the restaurant’s fire oven, it looked HUGE. Rita had ordered Skeeter to call in the morning, and cancel my branding, but he hadn’t called yet, and the branding head was getting hotter by the second.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock!
With all of the activity in the busy restaurant, and all the perils that I was facing, it might seem odd that I was taking a moment to enjoy the little things in life. The waitress, Veronica, who had been such a class A bitch to me, was being forced to do a striptease as the crowd and her fellow employees clapped and danced along. Veronica was blushing beet red as she reached for the snap of her pants and unzipped her jean shorts for the crowd. Her humiliation was all part of the fun, of course, as it was infinitely more fun to see a smarty pants MIT student being forced to perform her first striptease for the laughing, clapping lunchtime crowd than it would be to watch a pro go through the tired motions. Remembering her cruelty, and her doubts that I was, in fact, a University of Chicago grad, I felt no sympathy for her.
“You’ll see what it’s like when you’re slave naked,” I thought. “Nobody will give a shit about your SAT score then, bitch.”
I’m ashamed to say that my enjoyment of Veronica’s predicament was only heighted when Allister, the teenage mathlete whose father had purchased the right to “hand dip” slave bread into my honey pot, took full advantage of his privilege. I gasped with a mixture of shock and pleasure and his skinny, eager fingers slipped the bread into my pussy.
“Don’t forget to rub her little pink knob, there at the top of her gash,” his father instructed pedantically. “I call it the slave horn, because when you rub it right, they sound off.”
Allister’s inquisitive thumb found my clit, and began rubbing it like a lucky coin. Too much! Too fast!
As the music to SANDY FOOT GIRL throbbed over the speakers, Veronica danced in her underwear, hoping that would be enough to please the crowd.
The bids came fast
As he auctioned off her ass.
Sold her slot for money
Could this be my little honey?
She’d been so sweet
At our first meet.
Not at all shady,
She was a real lady.
Allister’s fingers were probably touching his first-ever pussy, but I was so hot and wet and horny that he was quickly driving me towards the edge. Veronica’s humiliation only spurred me on. Her
boobs were bouncing nicely in the rhythm of the song, but the lunchtime crowd wanted to see the haughty little Miss stripped bare.
“Tits! Tits! Tits!” the crowd began to chant.
“Let’s keep this show movin’, girl” her manager ordered his blushing employee. “Show ‘em yer tits!”
Veronica looked to her fellow female co-workers for assistance, or support, or sympathy, but found none. They were clapping along one, except one, a chippy little redhead with a missing tooth. “Think yer’ better than me, cuz’ yer gow’n to college?” she said, shaking out the lashes of a slave whip. “Show ‘em your titties, slave girl!”
The whip CRACKLED through the air, catching Veronica on the seat of her panties. I felt spasms of pleasure and a quaking slave-gasm begin as Veronica screamed. I screamed too, but in pleasure.
“Don’t stop rubbing, Son,” Dad directed Allister. “Keep tweaking her little slut button. And get another piece of bread up there, so you get all her juices.”
It was then, in the middle of slave-gasm, that I heard Rita’s voice in my head. “You comin’ agin, little sister? Everytime I pop open this phone, yer’ comin’ like gang busters! I’m startin’ to think ya’all really might be a Pleasure Slut.”
With my pussy quivering like jello, I was gasping, “Yes, YES, YES!” although not in answer to Rita’s taunt.
Rita didn’t see it that way. “So you agree with me? Ha-ha! I got a mind to let the auction sail through. Remember, all I got to do is nothin’, and you’ll be sold, easy as shit goin’ through a goose.”
My mind was swimming, and my pussy was quivering as behind me Allister continued to rub. “Don’t stop, Son!” his father urged. “Keep flickin’ her slave horn. Let’s make her sound off again.”
Allister was supposed to dip ONE piece of bread, but with the waitresses and waiters distracted by Veronica’s dance, it was open season on my pussy.
In front of me, Veronica was naked, and dancing, her breast bouncing to the beat of the music. But seeing my own quivering pussy with Allister’s scrawny little fingers up on the Jumbotron screens prevented me from relishing HER humiliation, particularly with Rita’s voice in my ear. “I loved watchin’ Hillary fiddle you this mornin’! Damn, that girl’s, good. She and Skeeter were kinda sorta seein’ each other, ya know.”
I gritted my teeth as I remembered that little blonde bitch in her cutoffs and tap dancing on the wooded board, grinning and laughing the whole time, as I jumped up and down in my chains on the lawn. The humiliation had been intense, but Rita couldn’t stop laughing. “Hot damn, when they cracked that whip near yer’ ass, ya’ sure got yer’ knees up high, little sister! They were damn near coverin’ yer bouncing boobs, ha-ha! I said it was all that Slave Yoga ya’ been practicin’, but Rosco said slave talent like that is born, not made. What ya think, little sister? Are ya’ a born Pleasure Slut, or have ya’ been working on it, real hard?”
I couldn’t respond. Allister’s evil little thumb was workin’ my “slave horn”, as his father urged him to make me “cum like a whore.” In front of me, Veronica’s boobs were bouncing, the branding head was heating, and my quivering, pink pussy was on a monitor so large that it looked like a walk-in attraction. All I could do is grunt and squeal, like a pig in heat, or like the slave whore all the Texas yokels around me thought I was.
“Damn it you ayn’t hotter than a pistol, little sister!” Rita guffawed. “Tell ya’ what. If you can hold yer’ horses, and not come for the next 20 seconds, I’ll tell ‘em to let ya go, right now, and we can fer-git about all this slave girl nonsense. I’ll cancel the sale, and everything. Prove to me ya’ got a brain, and you ayn’t just a piece of slave snatch with a SOLD tag on yer’ ear. Deal?”
I didn’t agree to the deal, but Rita started the countdown anyway.
“One…”
“Two…”
In fairness, it wasn’t a difficult challenge, really. Twenty seconds wasn’t a long time. The stakes were certainly big enough to focus me, as the tinniest bit of restraint on my part would save me from both a lifetime in the collar and the pain of having Skeeter’s doodle bug branded on my ass. The thought of the pain, and the sight of the flames as the branding iron heated, should have been enough to put me off.
But instead, it spurred me on. But why? WHY?
“Please,” I begged the teenager behind me. “Stop. Don’t. Don’t make me cum!”
“Rub faster, Son,” his dad ordered. “Slave girls don’t get to decide when to cum. Show her who’s boss.”
Allister redoubled his efforts, and I was soon gasping with pleasure as Rita’s voice rang in my head.
“Seven…”
“Eight…”
My eyes widened as the little nerd’s thumb pushed me towards the edge. In my ear, Rita tried to coach me. “Hold yer horses, little sister. Yer’ almost half way there. I’m rootin’ fer ya! Nine.”
I didn’t make it to ten. To my shame and humiliation, the monitors around the restaurant – and on Rita’s phone, presumably, showed my grunting, drooling face and quivering pussy as I wiggled through yet another shameful and very public slave-gasm.
I could hear the disappointment in Rita’s voice. “Shit, little sister. Twenty seconds is a pretty low bar, even for a certified, sold, Pleasure Slut. I’d almost think that Skeeter is listening in, pushing your love button gizmo on that phone of his.”
“No, Mom, I’m not listening in, honest,” Skeeter said stupidly.
“Darn, it, Skeeter, this is a private conversation. Where are you, anyway?”
“I’m waiting in line for the Dive Bomber,” Skeeter said.
“The Dive Bomber? Is that the crazy bungee jump one? I told you I didn’t want you to take that one.”
“He’s a man now, Rita,” Rosco’s voice said. “Let the boy take what he wants. He fetched a pretty penny yesterday, selling all that slave pussy. Let him have his fun.”
It was surreal. Allister was pushing pieces of bread in-and-out of my pussy, one after the other, harvesting the fruits of his labors. My entire family was listening in, and watching, as he soaked enough slave honey bread to feed a football team. I gasped and grunted like a farm animal as my slave honey was harvested.
But the worst part was listening to my family discuss some stupid ride at Six Flags as if my fate was a done deal. Rita had said she would free me IF I passed the test, but I had failed it, miserably and publicly. When Rosco referred to “all that slave pussy” that had “fetched a pretty penny”, I was part of the sale. I was the “slave pussy”. Noticeably, Rita had not objected, or attempted to distinguish me from the other Pleasure Sluts.
“Please,” I whimpered, finally regaining my voice as the waitress, finishing her bread basket, finally let my poor pussy rest, “don’t let the brand me.”
“Brand you?” Rita said. “Skeeter, you were supposed to cancel that. Are y’all trying to play some trick on yer’ poor little Anna-Annie? You little scamp!” she chuckled.
“I’d love to see her ass logoed,” Rosco said. “Serve her right for prick teasing poor Skeeter all these years. Besides, he stamps that goofy bug on all his junk. Seems only right he should stamp it on her ass, seein’ as how he’s the one who sold ‘er. It would be good for her. Branding is part of bein’ a Pleasure Slut. It’s what they need.”
“Well, she did want the full experience,” Rita said, obviously mulling it over. “I gave her my word I’d help her.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How was branding me, helping me? “No, not like that! I’m not a Pleasure Slut,” I protested.
“Ayn’t ya? I gotta bill-of-sale in my purse, all nice-and-legal, that says you are,” Rita scolded. “You couldn’t even hold our for 20 seconds! And yer’ coming so much, I’m afraid that pussy of yours is going to short out my phone. I bet the thought of gittin’ Skeeter’s little doodle bug burned into yer’ ass set’s yer’ little peanut of a slave brain off like a rocket.”
I was going to protest, but just then, my pussy started buzzing. Not buzzing…vibrating. Skeeter was using his phone to crank up the internal vibrator planted on my clit!
“Nooooooo! Nooooooo!” I shouted as I rocked through another slave-gasm.
“Shit, I can’t even watch you anymore, Annie. I’m going inside, to watch the Mariachi Band Christmas show. Come on, Rosco.”
“Noooooo! NOOOO!!” I screamed, as I heard the tiny CLICK of the last person who might save me from the branding iron and the collar giving up on me.
As soon as his mom was off the phone, my naughty nephew started giggling. “Sorry, Anna-Annie, but I didn’t want you to spoil all the fun. Don’t worry, I’ll cancel the branding, as soon as I’m done with my ride. But I’m next in line, so I gotta go… and you gotta cum, ha-ha!”
“No, wait!” I heard the audible click in my ear as Skeeter, too, hung up on me.
As if on cue, the blacksmith walked in, accompanied by a small class of students carrying notebooks and pads. My satisfaction at seeing Veronica put into the bee costume for “honey pot duties” was tempered as behind me the blacksmith read out the work order on my ass.
“Okay, folks, we got a piece of Prime ass, freshly sold, that needs branding. Jennifer, cream up her ass. Steven and Peter, lock her down so she can’t wiggle, because this is really going to smart. This is a special order, with multiple brands, so I wanted to show you how it’s done. She’s going to get a Big D logo branded on her inside butt cheek – that’s the easy one. Roger, you can do that burn. Then we’re going to put a bug logo on her ass. You can do that, Juan. But we’re going to have to do each of the legs and the antenna separately, because these are very fine lines. That will give each of you a chance to have a hot iron in your hand, and get the feel of a girl’s ass jerk under a real branding iron.”
Jennifer, a little blonde bitch with a Rachel haircut, gave me a mocking wince of sympathy, followed by a wide grin as she worked the branding cream into my ass cheeks and between. Behind me, the other students were grinning, with the boys not even bothering to try and hide the erections. One bitchy girl whispered something to another, and she laughed.
“This is a mistake. I’m not a Pleasure Slut,” I gasped.
“They, like, all say that,” one of the girls said. “Not even original.”
“Yeah,” her friend giggled. “It’s like… they got shit for brains.”
Everyone was smiling, or looking at me as a curiosity. My ass was the class project, and I had no more sympathy than a frog in a dissection dish.
Steven and Peter quickly immobilized me, using extra metal bars and straps to convert my honeypot harvest station into a branding rack. Peter stripped off the bee stockings and removed the other bee paraphernalia, as Steven but a thick, well chewed, and disgusting leather bit in my mouth.
“Make sure it presses down over her tongue, so she doesn’t bite it off when we drive the iron home. And lace it tight. We’re doing quite a few brands here, and we don’t want the little slut to shake it loose. Peter, put the pee pan between her legs.”
Indeed, we were. The legs and antenna were going to be separate brands. I pictured the doodle bug drawing in my mansion in Chicago. A body with a tale and two wings, six legs, and two antennas. Combined with the humiliating Big D logo branded on the inside of one of my ass cheeks, this means I would have to suffer the indescribable pain and humiliation of being branded not once, but ten times.
“Did Skeeter draw this?” one of the students asked. “It looks like that thing he’s got on his backpack, and his boots.”
“He sure did,” the blacksmith said. “This is his Aunt from Chicago. He sold her last night. Skeeter’s family, so we really want to do a quality job.
The blacksmith pulled back on my hair, lifting my head. “Yank that gag back tight, Steven. No, tighter. Yank it hard. We want to pull her lips back, so she gives us a nice big slave grin, while we brand that big fat ass of hers.”
I thought my mouth was going to split open as he yanked back on the gag and laced it shut, but the forced rictus did give me a forced, idiotic “slave grin”.
Jennifer smiled down at me and tweaked my nose as I looked up at her. “That’s it’s, slut. Give us a big Pleasure Slut smile, while we sizzle The Big D logo right into your slave girl ass. Do you like the taste of your gag? That’s all the slave sluts who have chewed it before you. Now you can add your teeth marks to all the rest. Isn’t that nice?”
Behind me, the blacksmith held class. “Okay, her ass is spread wide enough to see her butt hole, and we’re going to do it right on the inside of her left cheek. It’s pretty sensitive here, and the cream will make it even more so. So that’s why you have to get her locked in real tight. I like to do a pin test before I use the iron.”
I screamed into my gag and tried to jerk away as he stuck a pin right into my ass cheek. Everyone laughed.
“See? She can’t move. That means a clean brand, if you hold it steady. Okay, we’re ready. Let’s get to work, and strike while the iron is hot.”
Roger took the branding head out of the fire. It was bright red, with a little orange, and looked like it was pulsing, like a living thing. At the sight of it, I screamed into my gag, causing Jennifer to lift my chin and smile.
“Ooooh, that does look hot, doesn’t it. Ouch!” the little bitch teased.
Holding it several feet in front of his face, Roger blew on it, causing it to glow. Everyone laughed. I noticed Hillary, the little bitch girlfriend of Skeeter’s who had “fiddled” me that morning, had returned, and had a camera stuck in my face to record my reaction to being branded. No doubt they’d have a good laugh, watching me bite into my gag as the branding iron made its mark.
Catching my eye, she smiled. “Do you remember me, Anna Annie? Skeeter introduced us at the 4th of July party. You were acting like the queen bee, though, so you didn’t pay little old me much mind. You don’t look so fancy now though, do ya? And I sure got your attention when I fiddled yer ass.”
The malice in Hillary’s eyes was even deeper and darker than Jennifer’s. I had always seen Skeeter as some chaste little virgin, too shy for a girl. I had enjoyed teasing him about his virginity. I was wrong of course, and he had stuck his dick in my mouth like a pro.
Now I chewed my disgusting gag, causing the slimy juices to roll around my mouth, as I pictured her and Skeeter laughing and making out in some truck, enjoying the look on my face as the brand burned in my ass.
The preliminaries were over, and I could feel the heat from the iron behind me as Roger moved into position. “Okay, now this is no different than branding that leather we did in class last week, except this piece of meat is gonna make more noise, and try to jerk away,” the blacksmith said. “But don’t worry, she ayn’t going nowhere. Nice and smooth… Press it down hard”
Every muscle in my body jerked as the iron touched my inside bottom cheek. The paperwork in Rita’s bag said I was a Pleasure Slut, and I had been sold like a real Sandy Foot Girl. Now the hot iron was marking me as Pleasure Slut forever.
Forever.
I felt like I was going to burn through the gag. The pain was indescribable.
“Look, she’s pissing like a race horse!” one boy laughed. Was I? All I could feel was the iron.
The laughing faces of Jennifer and Hillary turned to white as the pain sizzled my brain as well as my ass. The only thing that existed was pain.
The instructor’s voice did the slow count. “Two-Alamo. Three-Alamo.” I don’t know what the final count was, as I quickly passed out.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock!
Rosco had “seeded” me last night, fucking me like a breeding bitch and then hanging me upside down. I hadn’t been able to shower, or douche, and in my mind I could still feel his little swimmers knocking me up like some slave bitch sow.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock!
I was bound at the Branded Bee, with a ridiculous bee costume covering nothing, and my ass in the air and the legs spread wide. They were harvesting my “slave honey”, and behind me a geek father with a Texas Instrument T-shirt was instructing me on the finer points of home to stick the porous house bread between my legs to soak up my pussy cream. My wet, soggy pussy was displayed on video monitors around the restaurant, and I was close to coming… again. Skippy had already had his fun, and now it was his brother’s turn.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock!
The branding head with Skeeter’s doodle bug was stuck in the fire, and was being heated in preparation for branding my ass. The little bugger had seemed cute and adorable when I had hung Skeeter’s drawings next to the Monet’s and Picasso’s in my mansion in Chicago, but now, staring at the branding head heating in the restaurant’s fire oven, it looked HUGE. Rita had ordered Skeeter to call in the morning, and cancel my branding, but he hadn’t called yet, and the branding head was getting hotter by the second.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock!
With all of the activity in the busy restaurant, and all the perils that I was facing, it might seem odd that I was taking a moment to enjoy the little things in life. The waitress, Veronica, who had been such a class A bitch to me, was being forced to do a striptease as the crowd and her fellow employees clapped and danced along. Veronica was blushing beet red as she reached for the snap of her pants and unzipped her jean shorts for the crowd. Her humiliation was all part of the fun, of course, as it was infinitely more fun to see a smarty pants MIT student being forced to perform her first striptease for the laughing, clapping lunchtime crowd than it would be to watch a pro go through the tired motions. Remembering her cruelty, and her doubts that I was, in fact, a University of Chicago grad, I felt no sympathy for her.
“You’ll see what it’s like when you’re slave naked,” I thought. “Nobody will give a shit about your SAT score then, bitch.”
I’m ashamed to say that my enjoyment of Veronica’s predicament was only heighted when Allister, the teenage mathlete whose father had purchased the right to “hand dip” slave bread into my honey pot, took full advantage of his privilege. I gasped with a mixture of shock and pleasure and his skinny, eager fingers slipped the bread into my pussy.
“Don’t forget to rub her little pink knob, there at the top of her gash,” his father instructed pedantically. “I call it the slave horn, because when you rub it right, they sound off.”
Allister’s inquisitive thumb found my clit, and began rubbing it like a lucky coin. Too much! Too fast!
As the music to SANDY FOOT GIRL throbbed over the speakers, Veronica danced in her underwear, hoping that would be enough to please the crowd.
The bids came fast
As he auctioned off her ass.
Sold her slot for money
Could this be my little honey?
She’d been so sweet
At our first meet.
Not at all shady,
She was a real lady.
Allister’s fingers were probably touching his first-ever pussy, but I was so hot and wet and horny that he was quickly driving me towards the edge. Veronica’s humiliation only spurred me on. Her
boobs were bouncing nicely in the rhythm of the song, but the lunchtime crowd wanted to see the haughty little Miss stripped bare.
“Tits! Tits! Tits!” the crowd began to chant.
“Let’s keep this show movin’, girl” her manager ordered his blushing employee. “Show ‘em yer tits!”
Veronica looked to her fellow female co-workers for assistance, or support, or sympathy, but found none. They were clapping along one, except one, a chippy little redhead with a missing tooth. “Think yer’ better than me, cuz’ yer gow’n to college?” she said, shaking out the lashes of a slave whip. “Show ‘em your titties, slave girl!”
The whip CRACKLED through the air, catching Veronica on the seat of her panties. I felt spasms of pleasure and a quaking slave-gasm begin as Veronica screamed. I screamed too, but in pleasure.
“Don’t stop rubbing, Son,” Dad directed Allister. “Keep tweaking her little slut button. And get another piece of bread up there, so you get all her juices.”
It was then, in the middle of slave-gasm, that I heard Rita’s voice in my head. “You comin’ agin, little sister? Everytime I pop open this phone, yer’ comin’ like gang busters! I’m startin’ to think ya’all really might be a Pleasure Slut.”
With my pussy quivering like jello, I was gasping, “Yes, YES, YES!” although not in answer to Rita’s taunt.
Rita didn’t see it that way. “So you agree with me? Ha-ha! I got a mind to let the auction sail through. Remember, all I got to do is nothin’, and you’ll be sold, easy as shit goin’ through a goose.”
My mind was swimming, and my pussy was quivering as behind me Allister continued to rub. “Don’t stop, Son!” his father urged. “Keep flickin’ her slave horn. Let’s make her sound off again.”
Allister was supposed to dip ONE piece of bread, but with the waitresses and waiters distracted by Veronica’s dance, it was open season on my pussy.
In front of me, Veronica was naked, and dancing, her breast bouncing to the beat of the music. But seeing my own quivering pussy with Allister’s scrawny little fingers up on the Jumbotron screens prevented me from relishing HER humiliation, particularly with Rita’s voice in my ear. “I loved watchin’ Hillary fiddle you this mornin’! Damn, that girl’s, good. She and Skeeter were kinda sorta seein’ each other, ya know.”
I gritted my teeth as I remembered that little blonde bitch in her cutoffs and tap dancing on the wooded board, grinning and laughing the whole time, as I jumped up and down in my chains on the lawn. The humiliation had been intense, but Rita couldn’t stop laughing. “Hot damn, when they cracked that whip near yer’ ass, ya’ sure got yer’ knees up high, little sister! They were damn near coverin’ yer bouncing boobs, ha-ha! I said it was all that Slave Yoga ya’ been practicin’, but Rosco said slave talent like that is born, not made. What ya think, little sister? Are ya’ a born Pleasure Slut, or have ya’ been working on it, real hard?”
I couldn’t respond. Allister’s evil little thumb was workin’ my “slave horn”, as his father urged him to make me “cum like a whore.” In front of me, Veronica’s boobs were bouncing, the branding head was heating, and my quivering, pink pussy was on a monitor so large that it looked like a walk-in attraction. All I could do is grunt and squeal, like a pig in heat, or like the slave whore all the Texas yokels around me thought I was.
“Damn it you ayn’t hotter than a pistol, little sister!” Rita guffawed. “Tell ya’ what. If you can hold yer’ horses, and not come for the next 20 seconds, I’ll tell ‘em to let ya go, right now, and we can fer-git about all this slave girl nonsense. I’ll cancel the sale, and everything. Prove to me ya’ got a brain, and you ayn’t just a piece of slave snatch with a SOLD tag on yer’ ear. Deal?”
I didn’t agree to the deal, but Rita started the countdown anyway.
“One…”
“Two…”
In fairness, it wasn’t a difficult challenge, really. Twenty seconds wasn’t a long time. The stakes were certainly big enough to focus me, as the tinniest bit of restraint on my part would save me from both a lifetime in the collar and the pain of having Skeeter’s doodle bug branded on my ass. The thought of the pain, and the sight of the flames as the branding iron heated, should have been enough to put me off.
But instead, it spurred me on. But why? WHY?
“Please,” I begged the teenager behind me. “Stop. Don’t. Don’t make me cum!”
“Rub faster, Son,” his dad ordered. “Slave girls don’t get to decide when to cum. Show her who’s boss.”
Allister redoubled his efforts, and I was soon gasping with pleasure as Rita’s voice rang in my head.
“Seven…”
“Eight…”
My eyes widened as the little nerd’s thumb pushed me towards the edge. In my ear, Rita tried to coach me. “Hold yer horses, little sister. Yer’ almost half way there. I’m rootin’ fer ya! Nine.”
I didn’t make it to ten. To my shame and humiliation, the monitors around the restaurant – and on Rita’s phone, presumably, showed my grunting, drooling face and quivering pussy as I wiggled through yet another shameful and very public slave-gasm.
I could hear the disappointment in Rita’s voice. “Shit, little sister. Twenty seconds is a pretty low bar, even for a certified, sold, Pleasure Slut. I’d almost think that Skeeter is listening in, pushing your love button gizmo on that phone of his.”
“No, Mom, I’m not listening in, honest,” Skeeter said stupidly.
“Darn, it, Skeeter, this is a private conversation. Where are you, anyway?”
“I’m waiting in line for the Dive Bomber,” Skeeter said.
“The Dive Bomber? Is that the crazy bungee jump one? I told you I didn’t want you to take that one.”
“He’s a man now, Rita,” Rosco’s voice said. “Let the boy take what he wants. He fetched a pretty penny yesterday, selling all that slave pussy. Let him have his fun.”
It was surreal. Allister was pushing pieces of bread in-and-out of my pussy, one after the other, harvesting the fruits of his labors. My entire family was listening in, and watching, as he soaked enough slave honey bread to feed a football team. I gasped and grunted like a farm animal as my slave honey was harvested.
But the worst part was listening to my family discuss some stupid ride at Six Flags as if my fate was a done deal. Rita had said she would free me IF I passed the test, but I had failed it, miserably and publicly. When Rosco referred to “all that slave pussy” that had “fetched a pretty penny”, I was part of the sale. I was the “slave pussy”. Noticeably, Rita had not objected, or attempted to distinguish me from the other Pleasure Sluts.
“Please,” I whimpered, finally regaining my voice as the waitress, finishing her bread basket, finally let my poor pussy rest, “don’t let the brand me.”
“Brand you?” Rita said. “Skeeter, you were supposed to cancel that. Are y’all trying to play some trick on yer’ poor little Anna-Annie? You little scamp!” she chuckled.
“I’d love to see her ass logoed,” Rosco said. “Serve her right for prick teasing poor Skeeter all these years. Besides, he stamps that goofy bug on all his junk. Seems only right he should stamp it on her ass, seein’ as how he’s the one who sold ‘er. It would be good for her. Branding is part of bein’ a Pleasure Slut. It’s what they need.”
“Well, she did want the full experience,” Rita said, obviously mulling it over. “I gave her my word I’d help her.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How was branding me, helping me? “No, not like that! I’m not a Pleasure Slut,” I protested.
“Ayn’t ya? I gotta bill-of-sale in my purse, all nice-and-legal, that says you are,” Rita scolded. “You couldn’t even hold our for 20 seconds! And yer’ coming so much, I’m afraid that pussy of yours is going to short out my phone. I bet the thought of gittin’ Skeeter’s little doodle bug burned into yer’ ass set’s yer’ little peanut of a slave brain off like a rocket.”
I was going to protest, but just then, my pussy started buzzing. Not buzzing…vibrating. Skeeter was using his phone to crank up the internal vibrator planted on my clit!
“Nooooooo! Nooooooo!” I shouted as I rocked through another slave-gasm.
“Shit, I can’t even watch you anymore, Annie. I’m going inside, to watch the Mariachi Band Christmas show. Come on, Rosco.”
“Noooooo! NOOOO!!” I screamed, as I heard the tiny CLICK of the last person who might save me from the branding iron and the collar giving up on me.
As soon as his mom was off the phone, my naughty nephew started giggling. “Sorry, Anna-Annie, but I didn’t want you to spoil all the fun. Don’t worry, I’ll cancel the branding, as soon as I’m done with my ride. But I’m next in line, so I gotta go… and you gotta cum, ha-ha!”
“No, wait!” I heard the audible click in my ear as Skeeter, too, hung up on me.
As if on cue, the blacksmith walked in, accompanied by a small class of students carrying notebooks and pads. My satisfaction at seeing Veronica put into the bee costume for “honey pot duties” was tempered as behind me the blacksmith read out the work order on my ass.
“Okay, folks, we got a piece of Prime ass, freshly sold, that needs branding. Jennifer, cream up her ass. Steven and Peter, lock her down so she can’t wiggle, because this is really going to smart. This is a special order, with multiple brands, so I wanted to show you how it’s done. She’s going to get a Big D logo branded on her inside butt cheek – that’s the easy one. Roger, you can do that burn. Then we’re going to put a bug logo on her ass. You can do that, Juan. But we’re going to have to do each of the legs and the antenna separately, because these are very fine lines. That will give each of you a chance to have a hot iron in your hand, and get the feel of a girl’s ass jerk under a real branding iron.”
Jennifer, a little blonde bitch with a Rachel haircut, gave me a mocking wince of sympathy, followed by a wide grin as she worked the branding cream into my ass cheeks and between. Behind me, the other students were grinning, with the boys not even bothering to try and hide the erections. One bitchy girl whispered something to another, and she laughed.
“This is a mistake. I’m not a Pleasure Slut,” I gasped.
“They, like, all say that,” one of the girls said. “Not even original.”
“Yeah,” her friend giggled. “It’s like… they got shit for brains.”
Everyone was smiling, or looking at me as a curiosity. My ass was the class project, and I had no more sympathy than a frog in a dissection dish.
Steven and Peter quickly immobilized me, using extra metal bars and straps to convert my honeypot harvest station into a branding rack. Peter stripped off the bee stockings and removed the other bee paraphernalia, as Steven but a thick, well chewed, and disgusting leather bit in my mouth.
“Make sure it presses down over her tongue, so she doesn’t bite it off when we drive the iron home. And lace it tight. We’re doing quite a few brands here, and we don’t want the little slut to shake it loose. Peter, put the pee pan between her legs.”
Indeed, we were. The legs and antenna were going to be separate brands. I pictured the doodle bug drawing in my mansion in Chicago. A body with a tale and two wings, six legs, and two antennas. Combined with the humiliating Big D logo branded on the inside of one of my ass cheeks, this means I would have to suffer the indescribable pain and humiliation of being branded not once, but ten times.
“Did Skeeter draw this?” one of the students asked. “It looks like that thing he’s got on his backpack, and his boots.”
“He sure did,” the blacksmith said. “This is his Aunt from Chicago. He sold her last night. Skeeter’s family, so we really want to do a quality job.
The blacksmith pulled back on my hair, lifting my head. “Yank that gag back tight, Steven. No, tighter. Yank it hard. We want to pull her lips back, so she gives us a nice big slave grin, while we brand that big fat ass of hers.”
I thought my mouth was going to split open as he yanked back on the gag and laced it shut, but the forced rictus did give me a forced, idiotic “slave grin”.
Jennifer smiled down at me and tweaked my nose as I looked up at her. “That’s it’s, slut. Give us a big Pleasure Slut smile, while we sizzle The Big D logo right into your slave girl ass. Do you like the taste of your gag? That’s all the slave sluts who have chewed it before you. Now you can add your teeth marks to all the rest. Isn’t that nice?”
Behind me, the blacksmith held class. “Okay, her ass is spread wide enough to see her butt hole, and we’re going to do it right on the inside of her left cheek. It’s pretty sensitive here, and the cream will make it even more so. So that’s why you have to get her locked in real tight. I like to do a pin test before I use the iron.”
I screamed into my gag and tried to jerk away as he stuck a pin right into my ass cheek. Everyone laughed.
“See? She can’t move. That means a clean brand, if you hold it steady. Okay, we’re ready. Let’s get to work, and strike while the iron is hot.”
Roger took the branding head out of the fire. It was bright red, with a little orange, and looked like it was pulsing, like a living thing. At the sight of it, I screamed into my gag, causing Jennifer to lift my chin and smile.
“Ooooh, that does look hot, doesn’t it. Ouch!” the little bitch teased.
Holding it several feet in front of his face, Roger blew on it, causing it to glow. Everyone laughed. I noticed Hillary, the little bitch girlfriend of Skeeter’s who had “fiddled” me that morning, had returned, and had a camera stuck in my face to record my reaction to being branded. No doubt they’d have a good laugh, watching me bite into my gag as the branding iron made its mark.
Catching my eye, she smiled. “Do you remember me, Anna Annie? Skeeter introduced us at the 4th of July party. You were acting like the queen bee, though, so you didn’t pay little old me much mind. You don’t look so fancy now though, do ya? And I sure got your attention when I fiddled yer ass.”
The malice in Hillary’s eyes was even deeper and darker than Jennifer’s. I had always seen Skeeter as some chaste little virgin, too shy for a girl. I had enjoyed teasing him about his virginity. I was wrong of course, and he had stuck his dick in my mouth like a pro.
Now I chewed my disgusting gag, causing the slimy juices to roll around my mouth, as I pictured her and Skeeter laughing and making out in some truck, enjoying the look on my face as the brand burned in my ass.
The preliminaries were over, and I could feel the heat from the iron behind me as Roger moved into position. “Okay, now this is no different than branding that leather we did in class last week, except this piece of meat is gonna make more noise, and try to jerk away,” the blacksmith said. “But don’t worry, she ayn’t going nowhere. Nice and smooth… Press it down hard”
Every muscle in my body jerked as the iron touched my inside bottom cheek. The paperwork in Rita’s bag said I was a Pleasure Slut, and I had been sold like a real Sandy Foot Girl. Now the hot iron was marking me as Pleasure Slut forever.
Forever.
I felt like I was going to burn through the gag. The pain was indescribable.
“Look, she’s pissing like a race horse!” one boy laughed. Was I? All I could feel was the iron.
The laughing faces of Jennifer and Hillary turned to white as the pain sizzled my brain as well as my ass. The only thing that existed was pain.
The instructor’s voice did the slow count. “Two-Alamo. Three-Alamo.” I don’t know what the final count was, as I quickly passed out.