StripSearch

Sandy Foot Girl, Part 6B, by Joe Doe

I didn’t resist as my wrangler led me toward her destiny. Or to be more specific, I didn’t resist until I realized what my destiny was. My bored wrangler used his keycard to open a metal door, and I was immediately greeted by a blast of hot air and the glow of orange as he flung open the door and yanked me inside. By the time I realized that I was in the blacksmith’s shop, it was too late for me to resist.

The blacksmith’s shop! How had I forgotten my own design? Had my shameful performance on the block robbed me of my intelligence as well as my dignity? “Badging” was my term, the sly slang for branding, to differentiate it from the “branding” of The Big D itself.

“Lexus and BMW are marks of quality, a sign that the owners have the money to buy the best,” I explained to Jake. “I want the Big D’s logo to mean the same thing, only instead of putting the badge on the front of the car, we’ll burn it onto our Prime Pleasure Sluts asses.”

Jake had been skeptical at first, particularly with my idea of branding the girls on the inside of their butt cheek. It made total sense, I explained as it was only visible if shown, and thus opened our grading process up to an audience of professional women who wanted the thrill of playing slave girl but didn’t want to risk having their humiliating butt brand spotted at their ritzy health club, or during their massage. An elegant logo brand inside the cheek was classy, almost demure.

Like all my ideas, it had proven to be a winner. I still remembered the day I took Jake to see the line of Pleasure Sluts. “Bend and spread, ladies,” I said, saying the word “ladies” with as much as sarcasm as I could muster, “time to D-splay!” On cue, all ten Pleasure Sluts spread their legs and bent over, putting their pussies, assholes, and Big“D” brands on display. Jake LOVED it, particularly when I joked that I might get one myself.

“Would you really?” he said, licking his lips as he looked at me.

“Maybe I already have,” I said with a wink, enjoying the tease.

I had not, of course, but I quickly made the brand a focus of our marketing campaigns. Print and digital ads contained a picture of a bent over Pleasure Slut’s branded inner cheek, with various clever tags under the “D” brand.

This Valentine’s Day, put a ring on it.

College is fine, but why not get a grade that will actually make you money?

On your anniversary, remind him why he married you.

A lady in the streets, branded between her cheeks.

Give her something she’ll always be proud to D-splay!

My slang term “d-splay” had actually caught on, and slave girls far beyond the reach of The Big D knew that the order to d-splay meant to bend and spread, WIDE. But only the finest, Big D Prime Pleasure sluts earned the honor of a “D” badge. We had actually won a lawsuit against a place that branded girls with our trademark. Outrageous! Badging was limited to the finest pieces of slave ass. Women paid Jake top dollar for the training needed to become Prime, and worked hard to earn our brand, which they paid for too. But ultimately, like being a Sandy Foot Girl sold off the Broadway block, The Big D brand was never bought, but EARNED. As a bonus, many of the little sluts, succumbing to the conditioning required to become a Prime, ended up getting sold. It was a win for everyone.

My marketing didn’t seem so clever now that Miss Cook was sending me to be “badged.” How could I have forgotten the word that I had coined? Had my collar made me slave stupid? It appeared to be so. As if to prove what a dopey little slave girl I was, I tried to pull back on my leash, like a puppy at the vets. Again, the executive voice in my head kicked in, playfully mocking me.

Silly little airhead! Do you really think you can get away? Girls have been pulling away from the branding irons for eons! Do you think you’re special, B-269? Well, you’re not. Remember, volume, volume, volume! You’re just another Pleasure Slut now. No pain, no gain. Time for you to bend over, and feel the burn!

Undeterred by my foolishness, the two strong wranglers lifted me up under my arms and bent me over the branding bench like I was a ragdoll. There were an insane number of straps and metal bars to keep me in place, but with four strong men working and my arms already cuffed behind my back it only took a few seconds to immobilize me, and raise my ass high in the air.

With my legs spread and my body bent, my butt cheeks parted, widely. I blushed, for I knew I was on full D-splay!

In front of me, as per my cruel design, was the piping hot forge, used to make the shackles that would confine me, and heat the brand that would mark me forever as a slave girl. There were a large number of racks in the room, all lined up in front of the forge, and even as I was being strapped down I had to endure the animal like screams of another gagged girl to my left as the iron honored her with the mark of her master’s ownership.

Staring at the flames and hot coals before me, my mind traveled back to my book, and the design ethos that this room embodied.

A slave girl’s branding should be both routine and careful, methodical in nature but casual in practice. A large number of branding racks placed in front of a blazing forge will allow the girl time to carefully consider what is about to happen, and gather her strength and whatever wits she might still possess to face the iron. She should be made to wait for her brand, and in waiting be made to understand that although her branding is momentous and life changing to her, it is routine to the free people entrusted with marking her. She will be transformed forever, but they will simply thrust the iron back into the fire in preparation for the next pretty slave girl bottom.

I looked into the seemingly row of thick, wooden branding iron handles protruding from the hot coals. There were at least a dozen of them, stuck into the coals in an apparently haphazard, higgledy-piggledy manner. But I knew that this was a ruse, and that the blacksmith knew exactly which brands were located where. This was his artist’s palate, his paint brushes, if you will, and my naked ass, stuck high in the air, was his canvas.

I smelled Judge’s Rufus Parker’s obnoxious cigar before I saw him. He waddled up to one of the assistants with a big smile and the confidence of a man used to lording it over others. His white cowboy hat was covering his ridiculous comb-over, and the short man was now towering over me, but it was him, the same loathsome sideburns, bulging belly hanging over his belt, and ugly goatee.

I clenched my little fists in little balls of helpless anger when I saw he was still hold my book, the one I had autographed for him at the book signing, “Profit Per Pussy: The Art and Science of Slaving.” The irony was palpable. I had literally written the book on what he had done to me, and the bastard had sat in the front row and watched as they auctioned me off like a slave bitch in heat. As if watching my auction wasn’t humiliating enough, he had come backstage to watch the final, definitive, and irreversible part of my transformation from highly paid slave consultant to Pleasure Slut.

Judge Parker walked to the front of the line, and began scanning down the row of girls, searching for me. He seemed troubled, and turned to one of the apprentice forgers, a young man with a bandaged hand.

“Which one is B-269?” he said, identifying me by lot number. The apprentice didn’t even look up, or check his sheet. “Rack 16, 4th from the end, your Honor,” he said.

Slave girls should be made to wait for their brandings. The blacksmith’s time is valuable. Hers is not. If the little bimbo had any brains she wouldn’t be in a branding rack. After her performance on the block she’ll be dazed and confused. Give the little airhead plenty of time to contemplate what’s going to happen to her, and to listen to the other girls screams.

Judge Rufus T. Parker’s beady eyes scanned down the row until our eyes met. With mock curtesy, the man who had signed my enslavement papers tipped his white cowboy to me, as if he were greeting a lady in the street. My bottom flexed as another girl was branded, her gagged screams ringing in my ears. Judge Parker smiled, and winked knowingly at me.

“Judge Parker, what an honor!” a familiar voice said, rounding the corner. “What brings you here today?” It was Jake, striding in like he owned the place, because he did.

“I was in the area, and I thought I might drop by,” Judge Parker said casually, as Jake pumped his hand. Jake greeted the Judge warmly. As a slaving judge, Judge Parker could route business to The Big D.

It had been my idea to give the slaving judges and select government officials backstage passes and reserved parking at The Big D, and “free access” to all the girls. I called it “fact finding missions”, but behind the scenes I called them “bimbo bribes”, a chance to get some more pussy into inventory by giving away a little slave tail. As a result of my cleverness, the bastard who had retaliated against my insults by signing my enslavement papers was going to be able to savor his vengeance by watching my butt branding, at my invitation no less.

As per my directions, Jake buttered the fat Judge up. “Well, it’s always a pleasure to see ya’, yer’ Honor. Let us all know if there’s anything we can do to make yer’ stay more, uh, pleasurable.”

“Well, there is ONE thing,” Judge Parker said, taking off his hat and wiping the sweat off his head as he sauntered into the bribery portion of the conversation. There was an uppity little blue tag girl who insulted me in front of some of my friends at a slaving conference, and she’s getting her ass branded today. I was wondering if I might get her to pay me a little LIP SERVICE before we put the iron to her.”

My fists clenched in helpless balls of anger as I listened to Judge Parker casually request permission to shoot his filthy spluge in my mouth. As if enslaving me, and branding me wasn’t humiliating enough, now I was going to have to suck the dick of the man who had stamped my enslavement forms!

Yet like all disasters, this was also an opportunity. Jake knew who I was. I had turned The Big D into what it was. We had spent hours together, reviewing every facet of his business. Even naked on the branding rack, with my ass in the air, and sand in my hair, and the O gag making me look like a bimbo slut clown, Jake would recognize me. What’s more, Jake OWED me. Every aspect of his business, from the workflow to the placement of the branding racks in front of the forge, had been MY idea.

“Jake! Jake!” I cried out. It came out as “EHHH! EHHH!”

Jake turned and looked at me. “Is that the one?”

“Yup, that’s her!” the Judge responded.

“Looks like she can’t wait fer it!” Jake chuckled. “Wanna come to my office for a drink before ya’ go?” Jake said, returning his attention to the Judge. “Seems like it’s about time I donated to yer re-election, and maybe we can chat about gittin’ some more of those business and farm foreclosure girls routed over to The Big D.”

“Lotsa girls heading to the block, what with their husbands and daddies going bankrupt,” the Judge agreed. “Have the check and yer’ best Bourbon ready, Son,” Judge Parker said, shaking Jake’s hand.

They talked for a minute more, and as I stared at the heating branding irons I had to listen to them talk about whether the Cowboys would make the playoffs this year, and their favorite places for beef brisket. Bastards! As I squirmed, nostrils flaring, listening to them prattle, I heard another girl scream, then another. The work ground on.

Their utterly banal chatter underscored the routine, bureaucratic nature of the process. My brown pucker hole twitched, clenched, and unclenched in frightful anticipation. Once or twice I whimpered loudly, or tried to catch Jake’s eye. He paid me no mind. I was just another drooling, sniveling slave girl, sold goods awaiting her “badging”, unworthy of his managerial attention.

Then Jake turned and walked away, taking my last hope of being saved from the branding iron with him. When he was gone, Judge Parker turned to me and smiled.

“Did you think he’d recognize ya?” he said, laughing derisively. “You did go slave stupid, didn’t ya? Don’t worry, it’s all part of the processing. Yer’ gonna find that yer brains just sorta melt away, like a snow cone on a hot Texas sidewalk. No use fightin’ it. I still remember you up on the stage during the conference, strutting around like you fucking invented slavery. You remember signing my book? He opened it and read it aloud:

To Rufus Paker, the fattest judge in Texas, with love from Sarah, the sassy Yankee who got away!

“Do you remember Sara, insulting me in front of everyone? Teasing me about stroking my gavel in court? Well, I damn near came in my pants when I embossed my seal on your slave papers. But don’t worry none, slave girl, because I saved a nice big load, just for you.”

Judge Parker turned and said something to the apprentice, who immediately pulled one of the irons out of the fire and handed it to the Judge.

I cried in panic and the slobber ran out of my mouth as he held the glowing orange head up in front of my terrified eyes.

“This is the logo of The Big D,” he said, man-splaining the logo I had helped re-design. It’s quite an honor to be auctioned off the block at The Big D, to be a “Sandy Foot Girl”, and to wear this logo. I hope you appreciate it, slave girl, and wear it with PRIDE,” he said, punctuating his comment with an evil chuckle.

“If it were up to me, after seein’ you piss yourself, I’d just brand the word PIG right on your forehead. But don’t worry, we’ll get to your brandin’ in a tick! First, I’m going to let you thank me for putting your sweet little Yankee twat up on the auction block. And we all know how slave girls thank their masters, don’t we?”

Rufus returned my branding iron to the brazier, burying the head deep in the glowing orange coals. “Don’t want to let it get cold, ha-ha!” he cackled, looking like a fat devil in a cheap, white suit.

“But before we get to yer’ slave kiss, I want to try out that tight little winker of yours,” he said, tapping me on the asshole, “especially since you like showing it off so much, both here, and on the block. I’ll finish in your mouth, but I think you need to take it up the ass from me, to teach you respect for yer’ betters, and the law!”

I gasped as Rufus T. Parker reached between my legs and effortlessly slipped two of his pudgy fingers into my hot, wet, pussy. “That is one juicy snatched,” he sneered, enjoying my shame as I wiggled on his fingers. “Prime beaver meat, wet and ready for fuckin’. I knew you’d be slave hot, even now. Don’t be shamed. You can’t change who ya are!”

I gasped as he pulled his fingers out of me. Another few seconds and I would have cum! But he was not interested in my pleasure, as he was fingering my wet twat simply to shame me, and point out what a shameless slut I really was. “Time to git this show on the road,” he said.

I whimpered as I felt the bulbous head of his penis tickling my most private spot. “You were a real tight ass when I met you at the slaving conference,” he said, relishing the suspense as he pressed against my opening. “Now I’m going to put your sweet ass to use.”

I couldn’t see his penis, but I could tell he was tiny, and I cried out as much from the shame as the pain as he forced his unlubricated knob all the way into me with a single brutal thrust. “Oh, that’s nice!” he chortled. “Nice and tight. Remember, this is fer’ you own good, blue state girl. Maybe you won’t be so uppity, when you remember how I stuck my dick up your ass.”

He only spent about a minute fucking me, but it was a rigorous minute indeed. “Gotta pace myself. It’d be easy to blow a load up yer’ pooper, but I want you to taste me seed.”

Judge Parker signaled to one of the slave wranglers, who brought him a director’s foldable chair than he was able to wiggle his fat bottom into. It brought his crotch directly in line with my open mouth. Judge Parker didn’t work for The Big D, but being a judge, he obviously had influence here, and I was just another Pleasure Slut awaiting badging. The staff were delighted to let him fuck me up the ass, and service me with my mouth.

The smoke from his disgusting cigar drifted down into my nostrils. The stench was atrocious. But I soon had a worse stench to deal with as the odious little man as I was forced to suck on his pathetic excuse of an unwashed pecker, fresh from my ass.

It was about ¾ erect, and about 3 inches long. It was surrounded by a thick forest of white kinky hair, and had a bulbous purple head that made it look like a purple balloon on the end of a pencil.

I would have sucked any cock to get off the auction block… any cock except this one. He was wise to have put the gag on me, to prevent me from biting down.

He laughed when I tried to turn my face away, as my head was entirely immobile. Grabbing my hair he laughed as he flicked out a few clumps of sand, then guided his little pecker into my open mouth with ease. The “O” in the gag wasn’t large, and wasn’t designed for oral sex, but he was able to slide his sad little sausage in with no problem whatsoever.

“Oh, what’s a matter, sweetie?” he teased. “Don’t you want to suck the cock of the man who put your northern nookie up on the auction block? Well, that’s too bad, because you’re a slave girl now, and slave girls don’t get to make them choices, do they? Git’ busy, and get that tongue moving! SUCK!”

What choice did I have? His pecker was in my mouth, and it was going to stay there until he was finished. But without the ability to move my head, or even close my lips or mouth around his shaft, all I could do was frantically move my tongue to try to please him. This was going to take some time. Which gave him the chance to talk, and talk he did.

“I’m glad we all got this time for a little tongue wag, B-269. I wanna let ya’ know it was me who arranged fer’ yer’ auction at THE BIG D. When you were braggin’ about how you changed everything down there, and made it all happen like grease lightnin’, I figured this was just the place to send ya, so dumb old Becky Lou and Rosa would still be sitting on their dumb asses when you were sold. Shit, they probably won’t even check their phones till tomorrow.”

And with that, my hopes of rescue were crushed under the heel of Judge Parker’s cowboy boot.

“Kind of a hoot, ya’ being PROCESSED through yer own fancy-pants system. What a stitch! Too bad you and I are the only ones who git the joke. How many girls have had their pussies sold off that auction block? Bet you didn’t feel like such a smarty pants, when YOU were up there, doing yer squats.”

He was right. I felt ashamed, humiliated, broken, and violated. His revenge was sweet, while the taste in my mouth was nothing but bitter.

“That’s it… suck it, blue state girl,” he said, using his finger to playfully flick the blue tag on my ear as he guided my head. “You look me right in the eye while I’ze talking to ya! I wanna see the stupid look on you dumb kisser while you suck on my Texas Longhorn.”

I obediently swirled my tongue as he beamed down on me with his evil, lecherous grin.

“Uppity college girl! Lecturin’ me about slavery! Y’all don’t look so high-and-mighty now that ya’ got my snake in yer’ mouth!”

He was right. I did not. I wanted him to come, so this could be over. But all I could do was swirl my tongue, and look him in the eye, and try to move my head as much as I could to please him.

“Fuckin’ slave expert, my ass! Yer’ just a fuckin’ slave girl dressed up in fancy city-girl clothes. I knew you wuz a big fat fraud from the moment I saw ya’, with your fancy degrees and yer snooty attitude! Standin’ up on that stage, talkin’ down to me! No girl knows as much about slavery lest she’s got a hankerin’ for the collar. I wish I could take credit, but like your book says, ‘REAL Pleasure sluts are born, not made.’ You remember writin’ that, Professor?”

I did, and I bobbled my head to show my acquiescence as I licked his little pecker hard. “That’s it, Professor! Keep yer’ eyes on me while ya’ suck my pecker dry. You wuz born a Pleasure Slut, just like I wuz born to put stuck-up little bitches like you in yer’ place. I wish ya’ could see the red welt on that big ass of yers’, or the look on yer’ face when you creamed yourself in front of the whole damn world! Shit! You were MADE for the collar.”

Tears flowed out of my eyes and down my cheeks. It wasn’t because he was lying about me, but because he was telling the truth. There was no use fighting the conditioning I designed. Numbers don’t lie, the image in the mirror wasn’t a lie, and Judges and court orders don’t lie, either. I was who I was. I realized at that moment how sage and sensible Judge Parker was, and what a stupid, brainless little bimbo I had been all along.

I had told myself I was pretending to be a slave girl on the auction block, to avoid Timmy’s whip. But the truth is, it was my life BEFORE the block that had been the fake, the charade. Judge Rufus Parker, in his infinite, all powerful wisdom, had revealed who I really was, with a stroke of his pen. Realizing my true identity, I sunk deeper into my role.

“That’s it…yeah tickle the little vent with your tongue, slave girl. That’s where the big creamy surprise is comin’. Just like a dreamsicle. Suck on it like it’s your momma’s titty. The milk’s comin’, girl. Yeah, yer’ hungry for my spunk, ayn’t you? All you save sluts are. Wanna taste my POWER. You wanna taste the POWER of the man who signed yer’ dumb ass into slavery, and is gonna stick a red hot brandin’ iron right up between yer’ cheeks. Suck it, slave girl. Suck on my gavel.”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, slut. The iron’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna hurt a LOT. But it’s fer’ yer own good. Y’all gotta trust that Judge Rufus know best. You gotta LEARN yer’ place, Sandy Foot Girl! You gotta stop thinkin’ ya’ll gotta brain, or any reason fer’ existin’ besides sucking dicks and humpin’.”

He was right. I looked up at him like he was a God. I flicked my tongue under the underside of his fat bulbous penis, straining to please my master, focusing on my reason to exist, his cock.

“Now when I shoot my load in yer mouth, I don’t want ya’ swallowing. I want you to spread it round yer’ mouth with your tongue, so ya’ getta REAL good taste. I want that taste in your mouth when I put that red-hot iron on yer’ backside, and mark you as a slave slut FOREVER. Ha-ha-ha.”

Could you believe I could feel my pussy spasm and moisture as he said that? I hated him more than I had ever hated anything, but still I sucked harder, eager for my powerful master’s seed.

“Yer probably wonderin’ who bought ya. Well, truth is, I don’t even give a shit. I didn’t even bother to turn around and look, cuz when it comes to what happens to you, I’m clear out of fucks-to-give. Yer just another slave girl, and your skanky ass is SOLD.”

Judge Parker was right. It didn’t matter who bought me. After all, I was only as slave girl.

He thrust his little wiener deeper into my mouth. It wasn’t big enough to reach my throat, even fully erect, but I gagged anyway.

“Remember what ya’ wrote in my book, slave girl? ‘From Sarah, the sassy Yankee who got away.’ Who got away! There’s a hoot, too! Bet you don’t feel like you got away now, with my pecker in your mouth. Do you, slave girl?”

I swirled my tongue around trying to please him as he wiggled his sausage in my mouth, trying desperately to please him, and bring him to climax. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Don’t you, whore? Yeah, you wanna give yer first ever slave kiss to the man who made all of this possible: Rufus Parker, yer Judge, jury, and executioner, ha-ha!”

I flicked my tongue against the vent, and pressed up on his penis with the floor of my mouth.

That did it! I cried out as the first hot spurt blasted onto my tongue. It was hot, thick, salty, and putrid, just like the man who produced it. Instinctively, I wanted to spit it out, but I did not. I was a only a slave girl, and he was a Judge, the embodiment of the law, and all that was powerful and wise. I was a Pleasure Slut, bought and sold, and I needed to taste what he was giving me.

“That’s it! Like that taste? Suck it up, slave girl! Suck up the scum of the man who collared you. Suck up the jizz of Judge Rufus T. Parker.”

Judge Parker made me open up my mouth, to prove that my tongue was caked in his salty spooge. I did, reveling in the taste of my master’s spunk.

Judge Parker eased himself into a standing position and zipped up his pants, as one of the wranglers pulled the chair out of the way. Reaching into the brazier, he extracted the branding iron by the wooden handle, and held the glowing tip so close that I could feel the heat on my face.

He looked at me and smiled. “You know where this is goin’, don’t ya, girl?”

My heart racing, I nodded.

“It’s quite an honor, being a Sandy Foot Girl, and gettin’ to wear the mark of The Big D. Ya’ understand what a PRIVLEDGE this is, don’t ya?”

Again, I nodded as he fed me the bullshit from the marketing materials I had written.

“You’re gonna feel this for a long time. Right between your cheeks. It won’t decrease yer resale value, but when you bend and spread – and you’ll be doin’ that a LOT - everyone will see yer a Sandy Foot Girl! Whenever y’all take a step, or wipe yourself, of get fucked, and feel that brand, I want you to remember who put the iron up yer’ dumb ass. Think ya’ can remember that, dummy?”

I nodded, signaling his importance in my life as the one man I would never forget.

With his free hand he stroked my cheek as he moved the red hot branding iron in so I could inspect it closely. I was panting, and drooling, and felt like I might pass out. Sensing my terror, he gently stroked my blonde hair, like I was a puppy he was trying to calm.

“Yeah, it’s going to hurt. But pain is how we learn. That’s what you said in your stupid fuckin’ book, isn’t it?” He blew on the tip of the branding head, causing it to glow. “Well, I’m gonna learn you GOOD.”

For a moment, I was back on stage at the Slave Expo, lecturing the crowd. Well dressed with a skirt short enough to provoke interest, I strutted across the stage, enjoying my power.

Should all Pleasure Sluts be branded? Absolutely! No pain, no gain. Remember, pain is the only thing the little bitches understand. Pain and its accompanying twin, shame, are essential to a slave girl’s education, and there is no such thing as too much education.

I know some women out there whine, “Oh, but it hurts! Tough shit. It’s supposed to hurt. Is it cruel? Is it sadistic? No, it’s fun! Enjoy the power you feel from branding their assess, and letting them know you’re in charge. Every Pleasure Slut wants a master who will totally possess her, and nothing shows your control better than a brand on their big, sexy backsides.

As I said “big, sexy backsides”, I turned, and kissing my finger, “branded” my own butt. They stared, mouths agape. I had them eating out of their palm of my hand.

I could see a man in the front row trying to look up my skirt. It would be a real treat for him if he could, because I wasn’t wearing any panties. I moved closer to the front of the stage, and spread my legs a bit, enjoying his slobber and relishing my power over him as started up at me, longing to see more.

And never – and I mean never – use anesthesia! I’ve had more than one little slut tell me that when the iron pressed down, and they could smell the stink of their burning flesh, the pain was so intense they felt certain that they were going to die. But they didn’t, and so they were “born again”, their old lives of wrist watches and reading gone. No more fancy clothes and men fawning over them.

I always enjoyed this part of my lecture, for as I said “reading”, I indicated my own glasses, and as I said “wristwatches”, I showed them my own sold gold apple watch. For fancy clothes I ran my hands over my own sexy body, as I let the horny men in the audience imagine me naked, not on a stage, but an auction block.

“No need to buy them jewelry, or clothes for that matter. A shock collar will suffice.”

If you’re using multiple brands – and I sure hope you do – have some smelling salts handy, because you don’t want the lazy little bitches napping on you after the first couple of brands. Branding is a transformative experience, at least for them, but the little airheads aren’t going to learn if you let them sleep through class. You want them bright eyed, and ready for school!

“Ya’ ready for school?” Judge Parker said, his voice merging in with the voice in my head. “I know I don’t brand most of the girls I enslave,” he noted. “But I wanted to be here to watch ‘em auction off that hot little pussy of yers, and be the first one to shoot my load into yer mouth, and to brand yer sweet little ass.”

I tried to say thank you, which came out like gibberish with my mouth in an “O”. The Judge laughed.

“Don’t try to talk. Talking means thinkin’, and your thinkin’ days are over. Well, let’s git to it, then. Strike while the iron is hot!”

Behind me I felt one of the slave wranglers spread my butt cheeks widely apart as the Judge walked behind me, branding iron in hand. Dazed, my mind flashed to Rebecca Cook. She was sitting in her office, the one I had designed for her, with the view of the naked slave girls coffled together and toiling in the garden. The sweat was rolling off me as the forge blasted it’s heat over me. Rebecca’s office was air conditioned, and she’d be enjoying an ice tea as she looked up my slave tag on her phone and reviewed B-269’s Profit-Per-Pussy.

“This is gonna hurt you more than its gonna hurt me!” Judge Parker chuckled.

At my suggestion, Jake had added a most peculiar product to the accouterments sold at the slave mall attached to my redesigned Big D. It was a self-inking rubber stamp with The Big D’s brand, designed so that a woman playing slave girl could brand herself between the cheeks. It only cost a couple of dollars to make, but I priced it at $39.95, and placed it with the other impulse items at the register.

I had tried it out myself, only for purposes of product testing, of course. It was actually quite a turn-on, and I ended up on all fours in my bedroom, kneeling between my two dressing mirrors with my legs spread wide so I could masturbate while d-splaying my exquisite and beautiful brand.

They fake brands sold like hotcakes, and Jake was pleased. Nonetheless, I had Jake pull the item. After using it several times, I realized it lacked the ridges and scarring of a real brand, and, of course, the pain, which was central to the experience. “We mustn’t cheapen the brand,” I explained. “Our brand is a mark of pride. If a girl wants to wear The Big D’s logo, it should be an authentic experience.”

Here it comes, slave girl. You’re going to have an authentic experience burned right into your sweet little ass. Hold still, because you want it to be beautiful, a brand your master will be proud to D-splay!

The pain was blinding. Every muscle in my body jerked against the metal and leather restraints holding me firmly in place, and I understood why I had been fastened down in such an absurdly secure way. As he pressed the brand home hard, into the inside skin of my butt crack, everything in front of me turned orange. The only senses I had were the smell of my burning skin and the sound of my own screams mixed in with Judge Rufus Parker’s laughter. Time froze, and the pain seemed to last forever, as the voice in my head kicked in.

You are so lucky. Not only are you a real Sandy Foot Girl, but now you’ve been badged. What an honor! Masters will see what a quality piece of tail you are, when they spread your cheeks to fuck you up the ass. The other Pleasure Sluts will be so jealous, when you bend and D-splay!

As I passed out, I knew that from this moment on, the logo for “The Big D” would always be a part of me. No matter who I was pleasuring me, or where I was sold, I would always be on brand.

Thank you! As I commented on Part 6A, it required the personal domination of Judge Parker, using her mouth and ass before branding her, to break through Sarah's academic detachment and convince her of what your readers knew from Part 1--that she really was born to the collar, and all her cock-teasing and gloating was a half-conscious invitation for someone to bring her to this moment of truth.
That said, I'm sure I'm not the only reader looking forward to her being transported, slave-ship style, to some place where she can put her newly-decorated ASS-sets to work earning money to reimburse her purchaser. (And if she ever gets free, I hope it will be on condition that she take periodic "research sabbaticals" back to what she now knows is her true life. Think what great research papers she can write about the re-TAIL end of the slave business.)

I really enjoyed this chapter, thank you. Judge Rufus is back and the branding became reality loved that, now she is a true Sandy Foot Girl. I look forwarded to learning who bought her and where she ends up. I hope she is reunited with past associates and former friends, and is thoroughly used by all. Now that her ass and mouth have been used that only leaves her pussy and also I hope a lot of pain training. Good luck in finishing this series it is very entertaining maybe Any Chance Auction is in your writing future. One can only hope,

Again thank you for continuing this series. I went back to read the first chapter and noticed that Sarah originally enslaved herself. Her self enslavement was taped by Betty Lou in accordance with Texas Law to include forfeiture of her wealth and title, forever. Judge Rufus set up this whole enslavement because he was slighted, but Betty Lou had the initial interview with Sarah and being a lifelong government worker, interested in a fatter retirement, and acting stupid like a fox, outsmarts the Judge. After shipping Sarah out she follows her processing and has set up a proxy to purchase her. Betty Lou intends to use all her savings, if necessary, to secure Sarah, but more importantly her wealth. Betty Lou intends to purchase a ranch and staff it with slaves. Sarah will be her personal pony girl, pain and pleasure slut. She was aware of Judge Rufus initial use of Sarah's mouth ass and branding, Betty Lou loved the irony. Judge used her, Betty Lou owns her and all her wealth, who say public service doesn't pay dividends. Betty Lou has plans to add a ranch brand and other jewelry. Sarah will soon wears a pink shock collar matching wrist and ankle cuffs and pink gold nipple hoops and pussy rings to complete her attire. Betty Lou with the help of a strict diet and constant physical labor and pony cart training transforms Sarah into a almost body fat free pleasure/ pain slut for Betty Lou's amusement and pleasure. With Betty Lou's wealth and connections her ranch if fully staffed with beautiful studs, a couple more pleasure sluts, and of course the now totally broken former Harvard Professor. Sarah is loaned out to former associates as a pleasure and often a pain slut, and pony shows. Sarah is now completely void of hair except for her beautiful blond tail. Sarah helped send so many, sometimes innocent people into lifelong slavery, only for her personnel wealth and fame. Betty Lou feels that she is leveling the field in her own small way. Karma is a bitch and now Betty Lou is mistress bitch. Thanks again and please continue.

I love the rewrite of this story adding in the indignity of Sarah being sodomized while strapped down in the branding bench before having to orraly service the judge. Looking forward to Judge Parker making Sarah hump the brand using the iron that burned the Big D badge into her ass further demonstrating the magnimity of her fall. The only question in my mind is whether she creams all over the handle of the brand or whether the judge takes her to the brink of climax leaving her begging for relief like any other slutty slave girl in a slave haze.

Darn, you're right, Mr. Smith! That WAS a missed opportunity. Thanks for pointing out the needless omission. Here's a bit more from Joe!

Their utterly banal chatter underscored the routine, bureaucratic nature of the process. My brown pucker hole twitched, clenched, and unclenched in frightful anticipation. Once or twice I whimpered loudly, or tried to catch Jake’s eye. He paid me no mind. I was just another drooling, sniveling slave girl, sold goods awaiting her “badging”, unworthy of his managerial attention.

Almost absentmindedly, Judge Parker took one of the wooden handled branding irons out of the fire. I tensed when I saw the glowing orange head bore the logo of The Big D that I had designed. The moment had come! I was going to be branded.

However, to my surprise, he loosened the strap around my waist, then walked behind me. I gasped as he slid the wooden handle between my legs, and it pressed against my desperate for release love button. I was both terrified and turned on. I could feel the heat from the branding head that would soon be burning my ass, but I could also feel the handle rubbing against my clit. What was a girl to do?

I knew that as he chatted up the Judge, out of the corner of his eye Jake was watching me, or at least, he was watching my shapely ass and pussy, as I began to slide up and down the wooden handle. The vintage hickory handle was worn, and might well have been used on the old time cattle drives Dallas was famous for. But even as I rubbed my clit on the venerable old piece of hickory, I blushed with shame, for I knew it had probably never suffered the sort of abuse I was subjecting it to now.

I had wanted to get Jake’s attention, but not this way. Subtlety, he changed positions, to get a better view of my pussy humping the wooden stick, all the while chattering on with the Judge about his BBQ secrets.

“The key to good pork but is THE RUB. You got to really work in the salt and the spices nice and slow, while the meat is all soft and moist.”

I gasped in humiliation as my slavegasm approached, but things got infinite worse when the handle was withdrawn, and the rubbing stopped! I bucked my hips, looking for something to hump while behind me, the laughing Judge blew a smoke ring with his foul cigar.

As I squirmed with shame, he took his cigar out of his mouth, and inserted the “cap” end he had been sucking on into my moist, wet pussy. He rolled it around, using me to flavor his smoke, before removing it and putting it back into his mouth.

As if being used as a human humidor wasn’t humiliating enough, the Judge positioned the rounding wooded branding iron handle against my pussy lips, and ever so slowly began to push forward.

I couldn’t believe it. He was fucking me with the handle of the branding ironI wish I could say that I stopped him, or Jake stopped him, or at the least, I didn’t push back against the stick, driving it deep inside me as I struggled to come! But no. I fucked the stick, and I fucked it hard!

Jake continued. “The key to a good pig roast is time. Put the spit in, and just let them spin. That’s how you smoke their meat. That’s how you get the really tasty pork butt.”

I had gotten Jake’s attention, and he watched me ride the old wooden handle like a bride on her wedding night. I was still trying to come when he bid the Judge well, turned, and walked away, taking my last hope of being saved from the branding iron with him. When he was gone, withdrew the now soaking wet stick from my fuckhole and smiled.

“Wow, you greased this up good, didn’t you? Quite a show you put on for old Jake. Did you think he’d recognize ya?” he said, laughing derisively. “Like he could even see your face, when you were showing him what a randy piece of slave tail you are. You truly did go slave stupid, didn’t ya? Don’t worry, it’s all part of the processing."

Joe: Great addition, hope this means there is more to come. Thanks.

Thank you for this fine continuing story of an educated wealthy professional woman succumbing to her inner deviant desires. Love stories where a closet whore starts out high....the higher the better...and ends up low... and of course the lower the better. Love how you track her slow loss of status and her intelligence as she allows her slutty urges to overcome her former self. Still she experiences incredible shame and humiliation as she is introduced to her new status.
Fantastic and very hot. Here is hoping she is at least sent to a working mans brothel over the border in a slave transport truck while tied to the bald pussy and asshole of a fellow slave so they can practice their oral skills on the hot sweaty ride to their new destiny.

Ok, this is a silly question, but I've spent entirely too much time looking for the answer without finding it.

What exactly does the Big D brand look like? I mean, if I wanted to sketch it out, what would I draw?

Just a big D in Arial font? A D inside a circle? A D with the word "Big" inside it? The word "Big" running across the top of a giant D?

I've discovered the Texas brand registry, and there are some fascinating examples of cowboy artwork there. A good brand has to be simple to be legible, but also complicated enough to distinguish it from other brands. If you follow the guidelines on the site, you'll end up with some sort of text and some sort of modification, like an L lying on its side for "The Lazy L Ranch". But if you skim though the county registries, you'll find all sorts of interesting designs that don't fit that simple description of modified text.

Also, this story talks about the Big D brand only going on Prime girls sold at the Big D, and how the brand only goes on the inside cheek location next to the back entrance. But somewhere, I think I've read a story where the Big D brand signifying "graded Prime at the Big D" is prominently displayed on the center of the left cheek by socialites for bragging rights. Maybe I'm just imagining that, but if anyone knows of a story like that out there...

ElJefe wrote: ↑Mon Sep 13, 2021 4:02 am Ok, this is a silly question, but I've spent entirely too much time looking for the answer without finding it.

What exactly does the Big D brand look like? I mean, if I wanted to sketch it out, what would I draw?

This isn't a silly question at all. I try to picture the locale of the story, and "cast" it, and tie it to a real place, so the story has some sort of internal consistency. This is from the Any Chance Auction folder that Orflash so kindy posted, that contains a lot of the visual inspiration for these stories.



Hope this helps you form a mental picture! Joe

ElJeffe wrote,

I think I've read a story where the Big D brand signifying "graded Prime at the Big D" is prominently displayed on the center of the left cheek by socialites for bragging rights.

I think the location and size of the brand can be determined by the owner of each particular piece of livestock. For the characters I have branded at the Big D, they have been badged on either the left cheek or between the cheeks on the inner left cheek. A brand may be placed on either ofthese locations, the thigh, back, upper arm, mons or vulva. The size of the brand would be deterimined by the location. I would think a two inch Big D brand between the cheeks would work while a 3-4 inch badge on the full buttock is appropriate for that location. Remember, the unique size of the canvas for branding varies based on the attributes of each piece of livestock. I wrote about badge locations in my slave society overview with some free women prancing about their country club pools in thong bikinis showing off their prime credientials as Sandy Foot Girls with the brand fully visible. Others might want it in a more discreet location between the cheeks that becomes more visible when given the "dispaly" command.

Carl Bradford proposed a Longhorn badge that was nine inches long in our email correspondence. I have some characters with multiple brands with five being the max. Claire for example in my latest work has the Big D badge between the cheeks on the left side, her harnes racing school badge on her left cheek, the UT Longhorn badge on the right cheek and the Olympic circles where a tramp stamp would go on the lower back. Dr. Grace Allen has five badges on her body with the Big D on her left cheek. One can get a good feel for the livestock pedigree by looking at the brands and locations. Daphne recieved the Big D badge between the cheeks leaving room for the Lone Oake on her left cheek and a possible Broadstone badge on her right cheek if everything works out for her.

Brand placement can be crucial to retain the value of the livestock. For example if your slave livestock is a prime at the Big D and a graduate of the Venus Academy you will not want the Venus badge (consisting of a "V") on the left buttock and the Big D on the right because you would see "VD" reading left to right. This may be one reason the Big D has historically gone on the left side.

The Bedford family badge comes from the family ranch the Diamond B, which is a "B" in the middle of a diamond. Some owners have family badges they use on their property. The Lone Oak Equestrian Acadey badge is two intertwined horseshooes with three stars over them while the Spinning Wheel ranch is a wagon wheel.

For criminal brands the Circle Star brand of a felon always goes on the right cheek while a smaller 2 inch version goes between the cheeks on the inner right cheek for felony diversion defendants. There are some facial brands for certain criminals that go on the forehead for such crimes as murder ("M"), rape ("R") and chiild molester ("CM").

Brands do not go on the head, neck, clitoris (and hood), inner labia or cock head for males. I am open to prohibiting other locations like the hands and soles of the foot. There must be sufficient tissue so that the bone under the skin is not damaged. I hope this helps.

In my defense, I was proposing a wide brand that would be imprinted diagonally on a buttock.

As always, I enjoy Joe's fine sense of how to humiliate a once-proud woman. For the rest of her life, Professor Sarah will always sit down "on Brand," and probably feel the ridges of that "D" as they rub against her chair, reminding her of how the judge finally got her ass.

Yes, when discussing branding in class, in a boardroom, on a lecture podium, or on television, Professor Hollister will be able to FEEL the subject far more definitively. She will still urge that anesthesia NOT be used, as the pain is part of the lesson a hot iron can teach, "a necessary lesson that all slave girls need to learn." But she'll wince a bit, and bite her lip, as she stresses the word "necessary", as if trying to convince herself. Her new insights, on the long lasting psychological impact of butt brands, are particularly heartfelt, and seem to come from a place deep within her. "The pain is temporary, but the shame is forever," she'll say. Audience members or workers standing near the wings might notice her cheeks clenching together at various points during this part of the presentation, or perhaps her fingers brushing her own bottom as she adjusts her short skirt.

"Free women who have been branded need to take care at the beach, or the health salon, or during a massage, as letting a suit ride up might expose far more than intended. Indeed, there have been cases where butt brands, noticed in a beach or locker room, have led to detainments or even arrests, until the SIN number can be verified. While this can be done with great reliability with anyone with a phone app, some unscrupulous law enforcement officials have been known to detain free women for several days, and use them as slaves, or make them wait naked in the inspection pens, pending a written verification from the National Salve registry. The half hearted, smirking apology the women get before being given their clothes back by the man who's cock they've sucked is paltry compensation for the helplessness and humiliation these women feel. Unfortunately, butt brands can be used as evidence of 'de facto self enslavement' in many jurisdictions, making it impossible for the women to complain, without risking permanent enslavement.."

https://cooldump.net/wp-content/uploads ... mbnail.jpg

Mr. Smith wrote: ↑Sat Sep 18, 2021 8:44 pm
For criminal brands the Circle Star brand of a felon always goes on the right cheek while a smaller 2 inch version goes between the cheeks on the inner right cheek for felony diversion defendants. There are some facial brands for certain criminals that go on the forehead for such crimes as murder ("M"), rape ("R") and chiild molester ("CM").

I hate to be "that guy" who always asks these kinds of questions, but since there might be a story idea associated with this...

A socialite gets a Big D brand on her left cheek and a UT brand on her right cheek. 5 years after graduation, she is involved with a fraud ring and receives a felony conviction, no diversion involved.

What does Texas do?

For that matter, what is the consequence of a Circle Star brand, given that a criminal slave can eventually be manumitted? The only value I can see would be if someone shows up at court, is ordered to strip, and...oh. (Says the judge:) "This changes everything."

In another story I introduced the idea of a "topping brand", meaning, if you put a brand higher than the another brand, that brand took precedent. So if you had 3 owners, the highest brand would be assumed to be the one that ruled.

Also, the brand isn't definitive in terms of identification. That's what the SIN number is for.

ElJefe wrote,

A socialite gets a Big D brand on her left cheek and a UT brand on her right cheek. 5 years after graduation, she is involved with a fraud ring and receives a felony conviction, no diversion involved. What does Texas do? For that matter, what is the consequence of a Circle Star brand, given that a criminal slave can eventually be manumitted? The only value I can see would be if someone shows up at court, is ordered to strip, and...oh. (Says the judge:) "This changes everything."

Brand placement in this situation depends on the amount of canvas available for use. In the pictures above there is not a whole lot of canvas so to speak, although what is available is high quality, so the circle star would need another location which could include the upper back, thigh or hip. Some individuals have bigger cheeks and the grand can be placed on another location on the buttock. In the case of recidivism the second brand could go on one of the locations previously mentioned but in this situation I really like the idea of topping the brand with a second, third or fourth circle star badge burned into the felon. Again, when the judge sees the defendant appearing before him/her who already has a circle star they are likely to impose a much more severe sentence.

My goal in describing the branding practices is to try to explain the why behind it. Joe does an excellent job with the Big D badging of the recently sold slave cementing in her mind her sudden change of status. I see the brands falling in three catagories. The first being ownership which could include some slave markets that like to brand to show where the slave was originally sold. The second being achieveent. In this catagory would be the Big D (prime status), Lone Oak, Venus, Pearson's, and Broadstone as some examples of a slave being trained to meet a certain standard of quality which is earned giving the owner bragging rights while also increasing the value of said slave. The final catagory is criminal. Very few slaves will have more than one or two brands so lack of canvas for placement is rarely an issue. The above is just my perspective and the way I am thinking when writing my stories.

Most slaves are kicking and screaming not wanting to get branded. I like to include a change of pace where the slave girl voluntarily submits to the badge, while explaining why they are different. I did that in Daphne Ch 2.

Yes, The Big D badge is a mark of quality, and there are women who want to go through the grading/auction/sale process in an Any Chance Auction simply for the bragging rights of their badge. While it is possible for women to get branded with anesthesia in a medical setting, The Big D is insistent that their copyrighted brands be applied in the traditional method, coal or wood fired, on property, with the girl secured and no sedative of any form used.

Joe described the Big D's insistence on branding the traditional way, "hickory smoked" and all.
My impression is that Professor Sarah is responsible for much of this--when she was a business consultant, she emphasized the "Brand" name value of traditional enslavement procedures, including searing the new slave's ass. If I read her correctly, even after undergoing this herself--perhaps BECAUSE she has undergone it herself--Sarah is a strong advocate of maintaining the brand in both senses--not only for resale/bragging rights value, but also to ensure that each woman experiences the same kind of abject subjugation that the Judge gave her. Perhaps Joe would confirm or deny that interpretation? Would branding have the same salutary effect on male slaves, if inflicted by their new female owners? (And, knowing Joe, do these female owners secretly hanker to be at the business end of a branding iron themselves?)

Of course, speaking of Branding and business consultants, I still hope that some day Joe will put the now-enslaved professor through a slave bordello so we can read her experiences and thoughts about how to make that more enjoyable for the customers and sluts alike, thereby ensuring frequent revisits by customers as well as keeping the livestock contented. This should be the slave professor's next sabbatical research and publication--do slaves in a bordello specialize as fluffers or as anal servants? Do uncooperative slaves get relegated to less desirable functions? How does the bordello owner impose his/her will on his inventory?

Surely Sarah can maximize Profit Per Pussy at a slave whorehouse. The resulting book would make a great case study at Harvard Business School, ensuring she gets tenure as well as lucrative consulting gigs. I imagine Sarah going undercover as a Sandy Foot Girl at someone's fancy house, giving unique insight into how to improve the business--while again suffering the loss of status as she falls from Harvard Professor to $20 slave whore. If I were the owner, I would check in on my consultant, having her kneel and service me while describing what she's discovered.

Damn Carl! Here's hoping that story get written!

Slave girls don't get branded using anethesia, it defeats the purpose of cementing the enslavement for new slave. At Broadstone they do not use anethsia there for the graduation brand and the slave has to voluntarily place herself over the branding bench to graduate acknowledging her acceptance of her destiny as a consort. I like the mind games associated with the brandings. Whether the new slave girl forceable branded or those that voluntarily place themselves on bench to get their badge burned into their asses. I loved it when Lois and Mary decided to get branded in slave mode. It said a lot about their thought process and how they identified. Then again sex on the branding bench is fun also. I think for the prestigious badges anethesia should be prohibited by those who hold the copyright.

I confess, Carl's story concept has merit.

Carl, I think Sarah did a lot of field interviews and research, so she had a strong view on branding even before she personally experienced. However her personal experience definitely burned those feelings deep into her. Your observation inspired a story fragment imagining what a research interview might be like.

Yes, I think male slaves being branded by female or male owners would have the same mental impact. There might be the added humiliation of a man submitting to a woman, particularly if it is a macho man. Some organizations hire female slave wranglers for just that reason, to teach men that their days of macho bullshit are over, and that whoever owns them has truly got them by the balls.

I like the idea of Sarah helping to redesign the brothel she ends up in, to humiliate herself further and increase the PPP. Maybe she gets an extra can of orange slime as reward. She might as well try to make her master as rich as possible. Other than totally enraging her fellow slave girls, what does she have to lose?

Thanks again for the story imreadonly2.
As always lovely mental pictures to fantasise with.
SmCyber.