Sandy Foot Girl 7C, Home Cumming!
Posted: Mon Dec 27, 2021 3:56 pm
“Um, no…thank you,” I said, feeling strangely nervous under his leering appraisal. “I was wondering if the girl in The Sandy Foot magazine was available for sale?”
“Which one?” he said, taking the magazine out of his back pocket. “Usually they turn inventory pretty fast.”
Inventory! Asshole. I hated his toxic masculinity already, even as I found it incredibly exciting.
Taking the magazine out of his hands, I held it up next to my face. “I’m looking for this girl. The little slut who looks like me.”
The police officer looked slightly baffled as he looked at the magazine cover, then at me, then back at the magazine. “She don’t look nothing like you,” he said, staring at the picture of Miss Sandy Foot. “She’s… beautiful.”
“I’m NOT beautiful?” I said, surprised. Seriously? WTF?
Realizing his unintended insult, the officer quickly backtracked. “Oh, no, that’s not that I meant. Yer’ real pretty, Ma’am,” he said, a bit too respectfully.
“But?” I said, prompting him.
The officer took the magazine from my hands and adjusted the angle for a better look.
“She is Miss Sandy Foot. She is ripe. She is luscious. Miss Sandy Foot is… irresistible.”
“And I’m not?” I challenged him, my annoyance growing. “Why? Because I have a brain?”
The preference of many men for submissive, insatiable Pleasure Sluts who would beg to suck their cocks was well documented. But to be compared to this PARTICULAR slut, B-269, a mere naked animal on the cover of a stroker magazine, and to be found wanting, genuinely pissed me off.
“Pleasure sluts can be smart,” he countered, “although their brains are used to please, and avoid the whip.”
At the mention of the whip, I glanced nervously at the slave whip on his belt, and felt my bottom cheeks clench together, a reflex that only served to remind me of my brand.
He traced his finger along the magazine as he tried to explain. “See how wavy her hair is? How ripe and round her titties are? Look at them pokies! And her snatch is drippin’ right onto the sand. What fella wouldn’t want a slut like this at his boots, beggin’ to pleasure him?”
I’d heard enough. My hair was done carefully, to hide the scar from the hole in my ear from the humiliating blue animal tag. My hair was up, but no so far up as to expose my shameful tagging.
Glaring at him, I undid my hair, and shook it out loosely, so it flowed naturally over my shoulders, like the little slut on the cover. I dropped my $500 blue blazer on the dirty, sandy cement floor, like I’d never need it again. Ditching my glasses, I put them in my purse, then dropped my purse on top of the blazer.
Without my glasses, all of the text in the room, from the overhead signs to the details on the slave catcher’s badge, quickly shifted into a blur. I felt a sudden chill as years of education vanished.
Words did not matter. Imports were popular precisely because ignorant, illiterate slaves were easier to control. B-269 offered the best of all worlds – well spoken, but unable to use reading to either distract herself or as a tool to escape.
My imprisonment in Mexico had been perfect, actually, and I had to admire it, on a purely technical level. Not only couldn’t I read, but most of my customers didn’t speak English. After a very short while, language stopped having meaning to me, and all words were gibberish. I was a collared set of fuck holes, an illiterate foreign bimbo. No, worse, I was livestock, as incapable of understanding what my master’s said as a pig or a goat.
The hunky slave catcher barely looked at me as I stripped away my tasteful and stylish veneer, and instead chose to ogle the frisky cover girl block meat known as Lot B-269. I hated her, or hated myself, for not being able to draw the interest of the handsome man who preferred the fantasy picture to the educated, wealthy, free woman standing before him. I decided to shift tacks.
“I’m looking for the girl because she is my sister,” I said.
“Your sister!” the man said, finally looking up from the magazine in surprise. “Really? I don’t see no family re-zemblance.”
“That’s because the little slut has her head back, and you can’t see her face that well. You’re looking at MY face, and HER stinking wet snatch,” I said, my voice bristling with anger.
He smirked at the truth of the observation. I blushed at his smile, because although I was referring to the wet snatch of B-269, my pussy was now soaking. Without panties, my slave juices were dribbling down my bare legs.
“You can see our nipples are the same, though, when I tease them.”
I put my head back, and closed my eyes, approximating the pose of the disgusting slut on the magazine cover. Reaching up with my right hand, I tweaked my nipples until they were pointy, and the pinkness poked through the front of my sheer, silk blouse.
At this point a few of the men watching the monitors turned their attention to me, the woman in the sheer blouse teasing her nipples. Their attention pleased me. The men weren’t staring at 3rd rate octopussy. They were staring at me. ME!
“Yer drawin’ a crowd, girl,” the officer observed.
“Tough shit,” I said. “Crowds are your fuckin’ problem, mall cop. Tease my other breast.”
The muscular slave cop didn’t need to be asked twice. He reached out and cupped my breast, massaging it through my blouse.
“See? My right breast is just a bit bigger than the other one, just like the girl in the photograph. Like her, my tits are soft, and ripe, and begging for a master’s touch.”
The cop, mesmerized, nodded.
“The little slut is…me…me sister. I hope she wasn’t sold. Do you think we would have gotten a better block price, auctioned as a pair?”
“Yeah, a great pair,” he said, fondling my breast. “I see the resemblance now, even if you ayn’t rubbin’ your snatch on the auction block.”
“True, but my pussy IS wet, and will get even wetter when I rub it.” Brazenly, I lifted my skirt, to just below the goods, and reached my hand in, groaning with pleasure as I wet my fingers.
I held up my wet, glistening, fingers in front of his nose. “I smell wonderful, don’t I? Am I not ripe, and juicy, like the slut on the cover, Master?”
The hulking officer said nothing, but closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, as if he was memorizing my scent.
I pushed on, relishing the tease, relishing my power over him, and the thrill of the hunt. “As for the auction block, this is the famous Big D. You got plenty of blocks, don’t you? Nice, tall sandy ones, for girls like me to prance on?”
Smiling, I massaged the huge muscle on his arm. “Perhaps all this slave girl needs is a big, strong, slave catcher brave enough to strip me buck naked, and put me on the block, so they can turn a quick coin selling off hot, wet slave pussy.”
“Perhaps you should get your ass-assessed,” he said, looking at my body in an extremely professional way.
“Perhaps you should turn in your badge, and get a toy gun instead,” I said contemptuously. I turned up my lip, flashing the slave registration number tattooed onto the inside of my lip. “I’m registered already, Prime Minus, dummy, with everything about me on file.”
“Pictures too?” he said, leering at me with a lascivious smile.
Blushing, I nodded.
“So yer’ slave hot?” he said, “like your little sis?”
“I’m way hotter than my sister,” I said smiling as I teased the bulge in his pants with my hand. “I have a brain. She can’t even read! But we’re twins, so I got a Big D Badge brand when she was branded, as a show of support.”
He laughed. “You lie! Free women don’t get badged, willingly. The pain is too intense.”
I smiled at him. “The only way you’d ever see that is I enslaved you, and I put you on your knees, and I bent over so you could kiss my little boo-boo, and make it feel better, with your tongue.”
“You’d make a slave of me?” he asked, surprised.
“I sure would, cowboy. I’d keep you caged, and naked, except when I took you out to dance for me and my friends. I’d brand my initials on that tight little ass of yours, so everyone could see that you were mine.”
I reached around and ran my finger over his tight ass. “Do you know how butt brandings hurt? Mine was excruciating!”
“I don’t care none,” he said flatly. “It’s supposed to be. A girl should feel her brand.”
“I’ll make sure you feel your, stud. I’ll make you lick me for hours, and lick my feet. Then I’d bend you over and have my way with you, and lock your little weine up in a cage, until you cried and cried and begged for release.”
“I’d never submit to you,” he said.
“You would,” I said. “Or it would be snip-snip!”
I laughed as he winced, enjoying my power over him. Pulling back my hair, I showed him my earrings. “Do you see these earrings? They’re white gold, and encrusted with diamonds. They cost me $45,000. With that sort of money, I could buy your pathetic little sausage a thousand times over.”
I was startled as he grabbed my wrist. “You have a whole in your ear. You’ve been cattle tagged!” he said accusingly.
Shit! I stared at him for a moment, dumbstruck. “Um… yes. I had myself tagged, in support of my sister. Let go of me!”
“Free men don’t take no orders from Pleasure Sluts. I want to check your SRN,” he said. He wasn’t smiling now, he was glaring at me through his cold, dark merciless sunglasses.
“Why?” I said, still smiling.
“Because I said so… runaway.” The last accusing word, runaway, was soft, barely a whisper.
“Do you want to hear the truth?” I said, challenging him.
“Yes. Every word of it.”
“Then let go of my wrist.”
He dropped my wrist and took a step back, retreating to neutral ground to hear my tale. Like Scheherazade in 1,001 Tales of The Arabian Nights, I was spared, so that my story could be told.
I adopted my best breathy Marilyn Monroe / Betty Boop voice as I went into flirty airhead mode. “Well, the truth is hard because slave girls are natural liars, and they tell all sorts of goofy stories!”
I giggled. He did not smile. “I want the truth.”
“But I am a silly slave girl, master, and all I have are silly stories! My earrings DID cost me $45,000, although I got the punch hole in my ear absolutely free! I am actually a wealthy, big shot management consultant, and I consult with slave businesses like The Big D. You must be new here, because otherwise you’d know I MADE this shithole. Now I make a FORTUNE turning the screws on all the poor little slave girls, and on working stiffs like you.”
As I spoke, I giggled, giving him my best girlish laughter. I ran my finger down his muscular chest, right down to the bulge of his crotch. Still, he did not smile. I was his quarry now, and his expression was dead serious, and chilled me to the bone.
Despite the danger, or perhaps because of it, I was still having fun. This was my game, and playing it gave me an intoxicating mix of terror and excitement. After all, there are only so many diamonds a girl can buy before it gets BORING. Being in the muscular, frowning deputies gun-sight was thrilling, and I squeezed my thighs together as I relished the incredible sensation of pure slave heat between my legs.
“Truth is, ditzy as I am, I’m the one who devised all of the great marketing ideas about making The Big D into a livestock market, only for slave girls. Wasn’t that clever of me?” I giggled again, seemingly amazed that I had actually thought of something smart.
Running my hands lasciviously over my curves I said, “Maybe it was because I understood that Pleasure Sluts are nothing but animals, that need to be kept tagged, naked, and caged, like the livestock that they are.”
He licked his lips as I gyrated for him. The gawkers moved closer to listen in, but they didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was my Master and me.
“Of course, I guess I wasn’t as clever as I thought, cuz’ I got myself up-and-enslaved!” I said, rolling my eyes and throwing my hands up, like some blonde bimbo who had locked her key fob in her Tesla.
“Here’s a funny one. Would you believe an auctioneer I trained sold my naked ass right off the auction block on Broadway, the market I designed? And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, Judge Rufus T. Parker, who was the Judge who enslaved me, burned the Big D brand onto the inside of my ass cheek. I’d insulted him at a slave convention, so I guess he didn’t like me very much. Can you believe he did that?”
“Yup,” he said. “You gotta smart mouth, slave girl!”
“Thanks!” I giggled. “Nobody ever calls me smart! Well, anyway, I guess he thought somebody needed to teach me my place, and he sure did! So, anyway, the rich guy who bought me gave me to his son, who had just turned 19. He was a moron, and fucked me a few times, but he was pretty gay, so his dad got angry, and put me to work in this shitty brothel he owned that was right next to his coal mine. Can you guess what they made me do there, being that you’re such a super-duper smarty pants detective, and all?”
“Hunting dogs are used for hunting. You were a Pleasure Slut. They made you a ho-ho.” I smiled. It was another term I had coined.
HO-HO: Pleasures Sluts working in cheap brothels or as street hookers. All Pleasure Sluts are ho’s, but if you are a Pleasure Slut and a street hooker, you’re degradation is doubled, so you are a ho-ho. “Lindsay ayn’t no college professor, she’s just another ho-ho.”
I feigned surprise as I held my hand to my mouth. “Oh, my! How did you guess that the made me a WHORE? You’re so SMART!” I tittered. “You’re right, of course. I thought I was a big shot executive, with a fancy Ivy League education. But NAKED, and collared, on my knees, with my legs spread and my hands behind my head, I looked like just another Pleasure Slut!” I explained, rolling my eyes, and waving my hands in the air. “What a goofy mix up, tee-hee-hee!”
“I don’t think so,” he said, not joining in with my silly bimbo laughter.
I was loving this, even if he was not, so I continued in my breathless, Marilyn voice. “Well, don’t ya’ know, they didn’t think it was a mistake either, and they put my skanky ass TO WORK. I was locked up in this red-light district, that had a huge cement wall, with razor wire, and guard towers, and everything! It was next to this gigantic mine, where thousands and thousands of workers dug coal out of the ground day-and-night. The mine was HUGE, and there was an army of miners! They didn’t pay the filthy little buggers much, but they did give them plastic tokens, that they could use in the company store, and the company brothels. So I didn’t even get fucked for money. I got fucked for these little plastic laundry tokens, that looked like play money. How humiliating!”
“Good,” he said. “You had it coming, slave girl.”
“Golly, that’s what they thought, too! They put me in this nasty old room with about 20 other ho-hos, with these thin, filthy mattresses all over the floor. The workers had these tokens, and they’d drop them in a bucket by my feet. And do you know what those dirty, nasty miners did to me, after they threw a token in my bucket?”
“They fucked you.”
“WOW! You are like a brain-iac! A big shiny badge and a big brain! What else do you have that’s big?” I teased. “After they dropped their token in the bucket, they dropped their load into one of my buckets. The pimps used these little timers, so they only got 10 minutes to fuck me. They were pretty horny, so most of them didn’t take long. But I was REALLY popular, because of my white skin, and blonde hair, and nice tits, so I was usually taking at least two, or sometimes three or even four dicks at a time, if I used my hands. And as soon as one guy would get off me, another would get on. All day long! Boy, my thin mattress got worn down to a rag!” I laughed.
“Good. Pleasure Sluts should be put to use. They got their pesos worth. I bet you were one tasty taco.”
TACO: Slang for a Pleasure Slut put to work as a puta. “Maria thinks she’s going to inherit the company, but she won’t look so high and mighty once we send her over the border, and turn her into taco meat.”
“Oh yeah, they sure did!” I giggled. “My bucket was an old paint can, painted pink, just like my pussy. And they kept filling it with tokens, over and over. I remember thinking I had to swallow two gallons of spluge for every gallon of tokens. And it wasn’t very yummy, let me tell you!”
“What a mix-up! I mean, look at me! Look at how I’m dressed! Can you actually believe they thought I was a whore, like this Miss Sandy Foot Girl.”
He said nothing, but stared at me with mirrored eyes.
“Anyway, they thought I was a whore, and that’s how they treated me. So, I had black people, and the local Indians, and dirty, swarthy Hispanic miners, fucking all my holes, 18 hours a day. They had ZERO respect for my education, or white skin, and used me like I was dirty puta, which I sort of was, I guess!” I admitted, throwing up my hands and laughing.
“I was covered in miner spunk the whole time, and even if I wanted to go out naked in the street and hose myself down, I was usually too exhausted. “Plus, when you used the outdoor shower, they sprayed you with delouser and all the guys catcalled you when you tried to rub the spunk off, so why bother? So mostly I just stank like a dirty condom, but what’s a girl to do?” I said, shrugging it off like the bimbo ditz I was pretending to be. “I thought I’d never get out of there!”
“How did you escape?” he asked.
My tone changed as I stiffened at the memory of my captivity. “Escape? Ha! That’s a laugh. Slave girls don’t ESCAPE, stupid! At least not from a place like that. There was a big high wall around the entire compound, like a prison, and even if I got up on the roof of my hotel-whore-tell, the wall was like 20 yards away, and 30 foot higher than the roof of my miserable little shack. On top of the wall there was razor wire, and guard towers, and soldiers with machine guns. Beyond the wall there was this no-whore zone, which was patrolled by these vicious slave hounds, and then an electric fence beyond that. The pimp used to tell us if we didn’t hump hard enough, they’d feed us to the dogs, and we’d be slave chow. And even if I did get beyond the electric fence, I had no money, and I didn’t speak the language, and I was a naked whore covered in spunk. Where could I go?”
“Nowhere,” he said. “They’d bring ya’ back and whip you, then put ya back on yer mattress, so the miners could fuck ya’ on yer’ freshly whipped ass. So why you here, slave girl? Why ayn’t ya’ there, earnin’ yer’ tokens?”
“Well, that’s the really EMBARRASSING part!” I giggled, switching tones. “I have a personal assistant, John Cinders. He’s quite good looking, and he was a management consultant, too, but when his boss got caught cheating on her taxes, she framed John, and John got sent to prison. Boo-hoo! Poor little Johnny! A pretty boy like him in prison… oh they weren’t very nice to him at all. His dance card was busy every night!”
“Anyway, they found out he was innocent, and he was going to get pardoned. So I made a few phone calls, and arranged to have him paroled on work release for me instead. I made him my personal assistant. I called him “Cindy”, because they made him a bitch in prison, and now he was MY bitch. I worked him very hard, and also made him run personal errands, and fetch me coffee, and give me pedicures, and hand wash my scanties. It was quite a status symbol for me, having a smart, handsome young stud that I could use as my secretary/bitch. And he didn’t dare stand up for himself, because if he did, I’d send him back to that nasty old prison, where he’d have to suck ding dongs, and take it up the ass literally, instead of figuratively.”
I dropped my voice to a low whisper. “Truth is, I sexually harassed him. I used to slap his ass, and once I even blindfolded him, and made him lick me, then I bent him over my desk and pegged him, good. It wasn’t really a sex thing. It was just so he’d know that I was in charge. I think it’s important that men who are underneath you understand what being underneath really means. It’s a lesson I’d love to teach you,” I added, smiling.
Now it was my turn to enjoy watching the burly cop squirm.
“Anyway, it turns out after I’d had been there about a week, my smarty pants assistant figured out what happened, and tracked me down. You can imagine how surprised I was to see him walking into my dirty whore room, wearing his suit and tie, and looking like a million bucks. He walked right by my mattress. He didn’t recognize me at first, because I was naked, and had lost weight, and I was on all fours, and covered in semen. I was sucking off an Indian, while a black guy fucked me from behind.”
“He kept walking around the room, looking totally disgusted, trying to wipe the spluge off his fancy shoes, until eventually one of the pimps pointed out the skinny, skanky whore in the corner taking on all comers, or all cummers.”
I gave the cop my slyest smile. “Let me tell you, Officer Friendly, Mr. John Cinders looked SHOCKED, ha-ha! But then he got a little smirk on his face, and the pimp even got him a chair, so he could watch as the two dirty, stinking beaners had their way with me.”
“So, John freed you?” the Deputy asked. “I wouldn’t have.”
“Well, that’s a story, too!” I giggled. “He actually used my firm’s money to purchase me from the brothel, and he had a First-Class ticket to fly me back to New York, along with my passport. Naturally, I told him I couldn’t go.”
“Why not?” the Deputy said, looking genuinely confused.
“Ha-ha! You silly boy! That’s the same look he got on his face. Because, dumb-dumb, Judge Parker had signed an enslavement order, which meant that I was still a Pleasure Slut. You can’t put a Pleasure Slut in a First-Class seat, and fly her back to Manhattan, and hand her the keys to a million-dollar condo overlooking Central Park. I told him I wasn’t leaving until Judge Parker reversed my enslavement order, and that he should leave me in the brothel, because I was still a Pleasure Slut, and until he fixed it, I was precisely where I belonged.”
“But if ya’ STAYED, that means they made ya’…”
“Suck and fuck dirty brown cocks all day?” I said, giggling. “Yes, unfortunately, that’s EXACTLY what I meant. I hated it. I despised it. But I was a Pleasure Slut, and that’s what Pleasure Sluts do. Them’s the rules! Mr. Cinders didn’t understand, either. So, I crawled over to his chair, unzipped his pants, and gave Mr. John Cinders the most amazing hummer he had ever had in his life!”
“You sucked yer’ gofer’s dick?” the Deputy said, looking genuinely shocked.
“He wasn’t my gofer anymore, you silly-willy! He was an important American management consultant, in an expensive suit, and he had just bought me, and I was nothing but a filthy, cum splattered, whorehouse Pleasure Slut. I looked up at him with AWE as I sucked his dick, and I loved him the way only a slave girl can love her master. After all of the filthy lowlifes I had been sucking off, it was truly an honor to have a great man like Mr. John Cinders put his clean, handsome, white pecker in my filthy, ho-ho mouth.”
“I gave him the world’s best slave kiss, and swished his delicious scum around in my mouth like it was vintage wine. While I was cleaning his shoes with my tongue, I humbly suggested he take a picture of me getting fucked, so that Judge Parker would see how horrible conditions were, and reverse my enslavement. So, he got out his phone, and took pictures of me getting gang-banged by three guys at once, and texted it to Judge Parker, along with a note pleading for him to reverse my enslavement.”
“Did Judge Parker bother to reply?” the Deputy asked.
“Right away. He sent a two-word answer: MORE PICTURES.”
“So like a total ditz I told him that sometimes when there weren’t a lot of customers, they made me go out and troll for business. He talked to my pimp, and before you know it, they dragged me off the mattress, still splattered in jizz. They put me in a pink tube top, and a short skirt, and little pink booties, and turned me out in the street, like a common street hooker. Golly gosh gee! Can you imagine me, dressed like a ho-ho, trolling for business?” I tittered.
His rapid breathing and the bulge in his pants showed that his sunglasses were now a movie screen, as he was picturing me shaking my titties for the swarthy miners.
“Mr. Cinders filmed me calling out to men as they passed by, flashing my pussy, and begging them to fuck me. Then he sent the film of me street hooking to that big meanie Judge Parker. How humiliating!”
“I thought for sure Judge Parker would free me, when he saw how I had to humiliate myself like the lowliest of putas. But he just sent back another text: MORE PICTURES.
“I got TOTALLY flustered, so like a total blonde my bimbo-brain told John that sometimes they made me pose in the big picture window of the brothel, that faced the street, to draw in customers. I said it was too bad he couldn’t get a picture of me like that, because that would SURELY convince Judge Parker to reverse the order.”
“What a goofball I was, giving him ideas like that! Well, I shouldn’t have said that, because he talked to one of the pimps, and quicker than you can say PUTA I was in the big store front window, my face still splattered with spluge, rubbing my pussy as I came over-and-over, while Mr. Cinders filmed it for Judge Parker. Oh, what a stupid airhead I am! It was SO HUMILIATING!”
“After he uploaded the movie to Judge Parker, I sort of let it slip that I spent the first weekend of each month working in the strip club, and that he should try to get me freed before I had to dance again. He said he’d promise to do his best, and said he’d see me soon.”
“So he left ya’ in the BROTHEL?” the Deputy said, astonished by my story. “So what ya’ do?”
“Well, I got fucked, silly!” I tittered. “I spent the next 13 days sucking dirty brown cocks, dirty black cocks, big cocks, small cocks, taking it up the ass, covered in seed. Oh, how I hoped Judge Parker would reverse my enslavement order, and save me from this beastly place!”
“Anyway, when Master John finally returned, I was working in the strip club. He actually brought some of my clothes from Manhattan. He said I could either wear them on the trip home, or, if I wanted, I could put them on first and then strip for him.”
“Can you imagine? How HUMILIATING! To have to put on my elegant, fancy business clothes, just like the ones I’m wearing now…”
I fingered my silk blouse, and let the Deputy form a mental image.
“And then get up on stage, and strip down BARE naked for a roomful of hooting men, including my personal assistant? All my beautiful clothes, in a pile on some plywood “stage”, while I fingered myself for a room of jeering drunks, shouting terrible things at me in a foreign language I didn’t understand. And he filmed it all, to show Judge Parker! Can you imagine how mortifying that was?”
“Sure can,” the Deputy said, scratching his head. Glancing at the head of his penis outline in his pants I knew he wasn’t lying. “So did you go home with him?”
“No, silly! I asked him if he reversed my enslavement. He said he had, and had gotten an appellate court Judge to declare it null, and sign a full reversal. So, I had my college degrees back, and everything! No one would be the wiser. It wasn’t easy, because they almost NEVER do it, especially in Texas. But money talks!”
“So, you went home with him?”
“No, Deputy Dumb-dumb! I still needed Judge Parker to reverse the enslavement. Judge Parker had enslaved me, and I wanted him to sign the reversal.”
“But legally, if an appellate court judge reversed yer’ enslavement…”
“NO! I wanted Judge Parker to admit it. I wanted him to admit I was never a Pleasure Slut. Don’t you see? I had sucked Judge Parker’s cock. He had butt branded me, marking my bottom like I was hog, or a silver chalice. I wanted Judge Parker to admit he was wrong.”
The Deputy looked confused. “I guess. So, what happened?”
“I put on my street clothes, and then got on stage, and stripped down naked in front of Mr. John Cinders. Then I fingered myself, and let him stick a dollar in my twat. He filmed it, and sent the movie to Judge Parker, so he could see me blush, and see the tears in my eyes as I had to strip for the man who had once been my gopher. Then Mr. Cinders took me into a private room, and fucked me like I was just a fuck-hole, a nameless, skanky Pleasure Slut. It was awful! I came, and came! He filmed my face, and sent it to Judge Parker.”
The Deputy offered me his handkerchief as a tear ran down my cheek, and I squeezed my thighs together, at the memory of my shame.
“And that wasn’t even the worse part. Like a total airhead, after he finished fucking me, I told him that the next day I was going to be in … a slave girl sex circus. A circus where I’d have to perform, live on stage, with the other girls! Oh, it was dreadful. I can’t even describe the perverted things they made me do, and did to me, all under the crack of the whip!”
I could tell I had piqued his curiosity. “A Mexican sex circus? What… did they make ya’ do?”
At this point, I whispered in the Deputy’s ear. The hardened, experienced slaver and law enforcement professional looked shocked. Then he laughed. Bastard!
“The worst part was that Mr. John Cinders watched. He watched me perform in the sex circus! And he filmed it, and sent it to that awful Judge Parker. I thought for sure he’d release me then. But he didn’t. What a big, fat meanie!! So, Mr. John Cinders left, taking my fancy clothes with him, and I had to go back to sucking cock, and trolling for customers, and stripping, and… the sex circus!”
I blushed as she said this, as the police officer knew just how demeaning it was.
“It took weeks and weeks and a lot of money to get Judge Parker to reverse the order. I don’t know why it took him SO LONG, especially when Mr. Cinders sent him a video of me crying, and explaining that every second he delayed meant another dirty brown pecker in my mouth, or ass, or hot, wet slave pussy. Tick-tock! Tick-tock! But Judge Parker didn’t seem to be in any hurry at all.”
“Finally, Mr. Cinders bribed him into signing, and John arrived to rescue me, like a knight in shining armor. I loved him so much in that moment. I showered in a proper hotel, and walked into First Class looking PERFECT, like I look now. A true lady always looks her best, don’t you agree? You’d never know I had been a Pleasure Slut…except for Judge Parker’s mark, of course. John proposed to me on the plane, and I accepted.”
“I like happy endings Did you and John get hitched when y’all got back to New York? Did you git’ ‘em paroled?”
“No, silly. Once we landed in New York, I was in charge again. I had him enslaved, and sold, to a gay S&M sex club. He fucked me. ME! Plus he took FAR too long to rescue me, and now he is going to have to pay the price. Forever. I still go to the club, and watch him perform sometimes. Little Johnny puts on quite the little show,” I said, laughing. “Sometimes I peg him, just to show him who wears the pants. Just like I’ll do to you, Officer Macho, when I enslave you. And don’t think I can’t. Money talks, especially in Texas.”
His face hardened. “You’d never enslave me. I’m an officer of the law,” he stated, hooking his fingers into his belt and spreading his legs into a power stance.
“Hold that pose, boy. It’s exactly the pose you’ll make on the block, when all the women are laughing at you, and your little stiffie,” I snickered. “I might even let you wear your macho sunglasses on the block, and pin a toy badge to your nipple.”
He winced a bit at the image, and I smiled. Power exchanges are more fun when both parties have some skin in the game.
“I ayn’t the one what needs collarin’,” he said coldly, looking down at me.
I swallowed hard as he glared down at me. The mirrored sunglasses prevented me from seeing his eyes, and the lenses were huge green orbs. He towered over me, and with his hair face and green eyes he reminded me of a hungry spider coming in for the kill.
I felt my heartbeat quicken. The tension between us was unbearable, and I wanted it to last.
I smiled at him, and reaching down, traced the head of his erect penis through the bulge in his pants. “If I were a runaway, what would you do about it? Knowing what a powerful and successful woman I am, would you really strip me buck naked, and collar me, and turn me back into inventory?”
His lip and cock twitched in unison at the thought.
“Knowing how much better I am than you, would you still enslave me? Do you know how humiliating that would be, for a rich, Harvard educated slaving professional to be enslaved by some working class, rent-a-cop slave hound? Would you really humiliate me that way? Or would humiliating me get you off?”
The bulge in his pants pulsed, and answered my question better than any words could. “Would you and your partner turn me in right away, or would you FUCK me first, as part of your bounty? Would you do that to me? Humiliate me like that? Make me suck your dirty pecker, and then fuck me, before you turned me back into a Pleasure Slut, a ho-ho?”
“Would you let me clean up when you were done, or would you put me on the block with your dirty scum all over my face, and drying on my lips, and leaking out of my freshly fucked pussy? Would you join the bidders, and laugh at me with the others, when the auctioneer cracks his whip and I choke back my tears as I roll in the sand? Then would you go to dinner, and enjoy a nice juicy steak with the money you made selling my wet, sloppy, freshly-fucked slave pussy?”
I moved my finger to the empty spot in the row of badges shown into his shirt, and playfully fingered his nipple through the material. “My capture would be part of the next badge on your shirt. Do you know how humiliating that is, to be a notch on your shitty brag belt, a tiny part of one little insignia in a cluster of insignias on some FUCKING slave catcher’s fruit-salad brag shirt? Do you know how DEGRADING that is? Would you really do that to little-old-me? Do you have the BALLS to be my Master? Because if you don’t, I might just take them away.”
There was a tense standoff as I stared at him, not moving, smiling, enjoying the electricity between us. I tensed as he reached for the cuffs on his belt…
The moment was broken by a booming male voice behind me. “Hot damn, girl, what y’all doing here?”
I turned and squinted to seem the beaming face of Jake Henry, the owner of The Triple D. Jake dressed like an old-time cowboy, complete with hats, boots, and a big Texas sized cowboy mustache. With the pearl handled gun in his holster and the slave whip coiled on his belt, Jake looked like an old-time gunslinger.
“Howdy, Jake,” I said, quickly folding my arms over my breasts after I returned his handshake. “It’s good to see you again, my friend.”
“It’s ALWAYS good to see you too, Sarah,” Jake drawled back. “Though I hope you ayn’t charging me for this visit.”
I laughed along with him, as I quickly put on my jacket and glasses. “No, I was in town on some… other business, so I thought I’d drop by and see how much tail you were moving. Plus, I got a business opportunity I’d like to share.”
“I love those! Shit, just since the last time you took a lookie-lou at our numbers, we’re up another 15%, and our profits more than that! Every visit from you is like a gold bar fallin’ from the sky! In fact, I’m hankering to open up another location in Houston, to lock horns with HCI Can I git’ yer’ help on the deal?”
“Maybe. Call my office and my new assistant will try to set something up. I’m always happy to help.”
“Where y’all headin’?”
“I’m not sure. I was thinking of taking a peek at death row, to watch the little sluts sweat it out, or maybe go tease the girls waiting on their dawdle demons. However, this officer has been bothering me.”
DEATH ROW: The storage area where terrified slaves wait to be auctioned. “Let’s stuff them in the chute a few minutes early. I want Death Row fully loaded, and the trap door ready to go, before 10AM.”
DAWDLE DEMONS: “Owners” who make their wives, daughters, or girlfriends wait hours or even days, sweating it out to the last second to find out if their “Any Chance?” auction will be reversed. “My chemistry teacher, Mrs. Halsey, has been waiting since Saturday to find out if she’s going to be freed or shipped to Dubai. Her husband’s a real dawdle demon!”
Jake’s smile vanished as he turned to the cop. “Is that true? You bothering my friend Sarah?”
The cop looked stricken as his swagger drained away. “Mr. Henry, sir, I think she might be a runaway,” the officer said grimly.
Jake Henry laughed out loud. “Ha-ha! That’s a good one. ‘Fraid yer’ off the scent in this case, officer. Sarah here’s practically my business partner. She’s the reason I can you all that overtime, and yer’ Christmas bonus. Thanks to Sarah, we’re making money hand-over-fist! You owe this young lady an apology.”
I could see that he didn’t want to do it. In fact, he hated doing it, particularly with me grinning at him.
“I’m very sorry to have bothered you, Ma’am” he said, looking down at his shiny shoes. “My sincere apologies.”
He was broken, but I wanted more. “Again, with your glasses off, so I can see your eyes, and louder, so everyone can hear,” I said. My voice was stern, and loud, but I never lost my smug grin.
He took off his glasses, allowing me to enjoy the anger and humiliation in his shattered eyes. I’d relished that look many times on the faces of rivals I had enslaved, and put on the block, and it was sweet indeed to see it on the face of the slave hound cop.
He repeated his humiliating apology, loud enough for the other cops to hear.
“I’m surprised you don’t have better trained personnel, Jake,” I observed.
“So am I,” Jake responded. Looking at the cop with a mixture of anger and disgust he said, “Report to personnel, this is your last day. Have your boss send down another cop, one who knows his shit. I’ll talk to him about you later.”
“But… but… Sir…” he protested.
It was too late, Jake had already put his hand on my shoulder, and was leading me away. Thinking quickly, I reached back, and snatched the SANDY FOOT GIRL magazine out of the broken cop’s hands.
He looked at me, shattered. I licked my finger, and pointed it at him, making a sizzling sound as I pretended to brand my bottom. I was HOT. Feel the burn, baby!
Jake was already droning on about all the money he was making. Looking back over my shoulder at the shattered, recently fired policeman, I relished my sense of power as my Gucci heels clip-clopped across the cement floor. Even in defeat, he was still staring at my butt, and my legs. Men!
I flashed him a final victorious smile as I allowed Jake to drone on about all the money I’d made him.
We walked slowly, as Jake led me deep, deep into the bowels of The Big D. Finally cutting him off, I flashed the old cowboy my sweetest butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth smile. “So, is my old friend Rebecca working today? I think about her all the time. I’d love to talk to her, after I tell you all about my new, million-dollar idea.”
“Which one?” he said, taking the magazine out of his back pocket. “Usually they turn inventory pretty fast.”
Inventory! Asshole. I hated his toxic masculinity already, even as I found it incredibly exciting.
Taking the magazine out of his hands, I held it up next to my face. “I’m looking for this girl. The little slut who looks like me.”
The police officer looked slightly baffled as he looked at the magazine cover, then at me, then back at the magazine. “She don’t look nothing like you,” he said, staring at the picture of Miss Sandy Foot. “She’s… beautiful.”
“I’m NOT beautiful?” I said, surprised. Seriously? WTF?
Realizing his unintended insult, the officer quickly backtracked. “Oh, no, that’s not that I meant. Yer’ real pretty, Ma’am,” he said, a bit too respectfully.
“But?” I said, prompting him.
The officer took the magazine from my hands and adjusted the angle for a better look.
“She is Miss Sandy Foot. She is ripe. She is luscious. Miss Sandy Foot is… irresistible.”
“And I’m not?” I challenged him, my annoyance growing. “Why? Because I have a brain?”
The preference of many men for submissive, insatiable Pleasure Sluts who would beg to suck their cocks was well documented. But to be compared to this PARTICULAR slut, B-269, a mere naked animal on the cover of a stroker magazine, and to be found wanting, genuinely pissed me off.
“Pleasure sluts can be smart,” he countered, “although their brains are used to please, and avoid the whip.”
At the mention of the whip, I glanced nervously at the slave whip on his belt, and felt my bottom cheeks clench together, a reflex that only served to remind me of my brand.
He traced his finger along the magazine as he tried to explain. “See how wavy her hair is? How ripe and round her titties are? Look at them pokies! And her snatch is drippin’ right onto the sand. What fella wouldn’t want a slut like this at his boots, beggin’ to pleasure him?”
I’d heard enough. My hair was done carefully, to hide the scar from the hole in my ear from the humiliating blue animal tag. My hair was up, but no so far up as to expose my shameful tagging.
Glaring at him, I undid my hair, and shook it out loosely, so it flowed naturally over my shoulders, like the little slut on the cover. I dropped my $500 blue blazer on the dirty, sandy cement floor, like I’d never need it again. Ditching my glasses, I put them in my purse, then dropped my purse on top of the blazer.
Without my glasses, all of the text in the room, from the overhead signs to the details on the slave catcher’s badge, quickly shifted into a blur. I felt a sudden chill as years of education vanished.
Words did not matter. Imports were popular precisely because ignorant, illiterate slaves were easier to control. B-269 offered the best of all worlds – well spoken, but unable to use reading to either distract herself or as a tool to escape.
My imprisonment in Mexico had been perfect, actually, and I had to admire it, on a purely technical level. Not only couldn’t I read, but most of my customers didn’t speak English. After a very short while, language stopped having meaning to me, and all words were gibberish. I was a collared set of fuck holes, an illiterate foreign bimbo. No, worse, I was livestock, as incapable of understanding what my master’s said as a pig or a goat.
The hunky slave catcher barely looked at me as I stripped away my tasteful and stylish veneer, and instead chose to ogle the frisky cover girl block meat known as Lot B-269. I hated her, or hated myself, for not being able to draw the interest of the handsome man who preferred the fantasy picture to the educated, wealthy, free woman standing before him. I decided to shift tacks.
“I’m looking for the girl because she is my sister,” I said.
“Your sister!” the man said, finally looking up from the magazine in surprise. “Really? I don’t see no family re-zemblance.”
“That’s because the little slut has her head back, and you can’t see her face that well. You’re looking at MY face, and HER stinking wet snatch,” I said, my voice bristling with anger.
He smirked at the truth of the observation. I blushed at his smile, because although I was referring to the wet snatch of B-269, my pussy was now soaking. Without panties, my slave juices were dribbling down my bare legs.
“You can see our nipples are the same, though, when I tease them.”
I put my head back, and closed my eyes, approximating the pose of the disgusting slut on the magazine cover. Reaching up with my right hand, I tweaked my nipples until they were pointy, and the pinkness poked through the front of my sheer, silk blouse.
At this point a few of the men watching the monitors turned their attention to me, the woman in the sheer blouse teasing her nipples. Their attention pleased me. The men weren’t staring at 3rd rate octopussy. They were staring at me. ME!
“Yer drawin’ a crowd, girl,” the officer observed.
“Tough shit,” I said. “Crowds are your fuckin’ problem, mall cop. Tease my other breast.”
The muscular slave cop didn’t need to be asked twice. He reached out and cupped my breast, massaging it through my blouse.
“See? My right breast is just a bit bigger than the other one, just like the girl in the photograph. Like her, my tits are soft, and ripe, and begging for a master’s touch.”
The cop, mesmerized, nodded.
“The little slut is…me…me sister. I hope she wasn’t sold. Do you think we would have gotten a better block price, auctioned as a pair?”
“Yeah, a great pair,” he said, fondling my breast. “I see the resemblance now, even if you ayn’t rubbin’ your snatch on the auction block.”
“True, but my pussy IS wet, and will get even wetter when I rub it.” Brazenly, I lifted my skirt, to just below the goods, and reached my hand in, groaning with pleasure as I wet my fingers.
I held up my wet, glistening, fingers in front of his nose. “I smell wonderful, don’t I? Am I not ripe, and juicy, like the slut on the cover, Master?”
The hulking officer said nothing, but closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, as if he was memorizing my scent.
I pushed on, relishing the tease, relishing my power over him, and the thrill of the hunt. “As for the auction block, this is the famous Big D. You got plenty of blocks, don’t you? Nice, tall sandy ones, for girls like me to prance on?”
Smiling, I massaged the huge muscle on his arm. “Perhaps all this slave girl needs is a big, strong, slave catcher brave enough to strip me buck naked, and put me on the block, so they can turn a quick coin selling off hot, wet slave pussy.”
“Perhaps you should get your ass-assessed,” he said, looking at my body in an extremely professional way.
“Perhaps you should turn in your badge, and get a toy gun instead,” I said contemptuously. I turned up my lip, flashing the slave registration number tattooed onto the inside of my lip. “I’m registered already, Prime Minus, dummy, with everything about me on file.”
“Pictures too?” he said, leering at me with a lascivious smile.
Blushing, I nodded.
“So yer’ slave hot?” he said, “like your little sis?”
“I’m way hotter than my sister,” I said smiling as I teased the bulge in his pants with my hand. “I have a brain. She can’t even read! But we’re twins, so I got a Big D Badge brand when she was branded, as a show of support.”
He laughed. “You lie! Free women don’t get badged, willingly. The pain is too intense.”
I smiled at him. “The only way you’d ever see that is I enslaved you, and I put you on your knees, and I bent over so you could kiss my little boo-boo, and make it feel better, with your tongue.”
“You’d make a slave of me?” he asked, surprised.
“I sure would, cowboy. I’d keep you caged, and naked, except when I took you out to dance for me and my friends. I’d brand my initials on that tight little ass of yours, so everyone could see that you were mine.”
I reached around and ran my finger over his tight ass. “Do you know how butt brandings hurt? Mine was excruciating!”
“I don’t care none,” he said flatly. “It’s supposed to be. A girl should feel her brand.”
“I’ll make sure you feel your, stud. I’ll make you lick me for hours, and lick my feet. Then I’d bend you over and have my way with you, and lock your little weine up in a cage, until you cried and cried and begged for release.”
“I’d never submit to you,” he said.
“You would,” I said. “Or it would be snip-snip!”
I laughed as he winced, enjoying my power over him. Pulling back my hair, I showed him my earrings. “Do you see these earrings? They’re white gold, and encrusted with diamonds. They cost me $45,000. With that sort of money, I could buy your pathetic little sausage a thousand times over.”
I was startled as he grabbed my wrist. “You have a whole in your ear. You’ve been cattle tagged!” he said accusingly.
Shit! I stared at him for a moment, dumbstruck. “Um… yes. I had myself tagged, in support of my sister. Let go of me!”
“Free men don’t take no orders from Pleasure Sluts. I want to check your SRN,” he said. He wasn’t smiling now, he was glaring at me through his cold, dark merciless sunglasses.
“Why?” I said, still smiling.
“Because I said so… runaway.” The last accusing word, runaway, was soft, barely a whisper.
“Do you want to hear the truth?” I said, challenging him.
“Yes. Every word of it.”
“Then let go of my wrist.”
He dropped my wrist and took a step back, retreating to neutral ground to hear my tale. Like Scheherazade in 1,001 Tales of The Arabian Nights, I was spared, so that my story could be told.
I adopted my best breathy Marilyn Monroe / Betty Boop voice as I went into flirty airhead mode. “Well, the truth is hard because slave girls are natural liars, and they tell all sorts of goofy stories!”
I giggled. He did not smile. “I want the truth.”
“But I am a silly slave girl, master, and all I have are silly stories! My earrings DID cost me $45,000, although I got the punch hole in my ear absolutely free! I am actually a wealthy, big shot management consultant, and I consult with slave businesses like The Big D. You must be new here, because otherwise you’d know I MADE this shithole. Now I make a FORTUNE turning the screws on all the poor little slave girls, and on working stiffs like you.”
As I spoke, I giggled, giving him my best girlish laughter. I ran my finger down his muscular chest, right down to the bulge of his crotch. Still, he did not smile. I was his quarry now, and his expression was dead serious, and chilled me to the bone.
Despite the danger, or perhaps because of it, I was still having fun. This was my game, and playing it gave me an intoxicating mix of terror and excitement. After all, there are only so many diamonds a girl can buy before it gets BORING. Being in the muscular, frowning deputies gun-sight was thrilling, and I squeezed my thighs together as I relished the incredible sensation of pure slave heat between my legs.
“Truth is, ditzy as I am, I’m the one who devised all of the great marketing ideas about making The Big D into a livestock market, only for slave girls. Wasn’t that clever of me?” I giggled again, seemingly amazed that I had actually thought of something smart.
Running my hands lasciviously over my curves I said, “Maybe it was because I understood that Pleasure Sluts are nothing but animals, that need to be kept tagged, naked, and caged, like the livestock that they are.”
He licked his lips as I gyrated for him. The gawkers moved closer to listen in, but they didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was my Master and me.
“Of course, I guess I wasn’t as clever as I thought, cuz’ I got myself up-and-enslaved!” I said, rolling my eyes and throwing my hands up, like some blonde bimbo who had locked her key fob in her Tesla.
“Here’s a funny one. Would you believe an auctioneer I trained sold my naked ass right off the auction block on Broadway, the market I designed? And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, Judge Rufus T. Parker, who was the Judge who enslaved me, burned the Big D brand onto the inside of my ass cheek. I’d insulted him at a slave convention, so I guess he didn’t like me very much. Can you believe he did that?”
“Yup,” he said. “You gotta smart mouth, slave girl!”
“Thanks!” I giggled. “Nobody ever calls me smart! Well, anyway, I guess he thought somebody needed to teach me my place, and he sure did! So, anyway, the rich guy who bought me gave me to his son, who had just turned 19. He was a moron, and fucked me a few times, but he was pretty gay, so his dad got angry, and put me to work in this shitty brothel he owned that was right next to his coal mine. Can you guess what they made me do there, being that you’re such a super-duper smarty pants detective, and all?”
“Hunting dogs are used for hunting. You were a Pleasure Slut. They made you a ho-ho.” I smiled. It was another term I had coined.
HO-HO: Pleasures Sluts working in cheap brothels or as street hookers. All Pleasure Sluts are ho’s, but if you are a Pleasure Slut and a street hooker, you’re degradation is doubled, so you are a ho-ho. “Lindsay ayn’t no college professor, she’s just another ho-ho.”
I feigned surprise as I held my hand to my mouth. “Oh, my! How did you guess that the made me a WHORE? You’re so SMART!” I tittered. “You’re right, of course. I thought I was a big shot executive, with a fancy Ivy League education. But NAKED, and collared, on my knees, with my legs spread and my hands behind my head, I looked like just another Pleasure Slut!” I explained, rolling my eyes, and waving my hands in the air. “What a goofy mix up, tee-hee-hee!”
“I don’t think so,” he said, not joining in with my silly bimbo laughter.
I was loving this, even if he was not, so I continued in my breathless, Marilyn voice. “Well, don’t ya’ know, they didn’t think it was a mistake either, and they put my skanky ass TO WORK. I was locked up in this red-light district, that had a huge cement wall, with razor wire, and guard towers, and everything! It was next to this gigantic mine, where thousands and thousands of workers dug coal out of the ground day-and-night. The mine was HUGE, and there was an army of miners! They didn’t pay the filthy little buggers much, but they did give them plastic tokens, that they could use in the company store, and the company brothels. So I didn’t even get fucked for money. I got fucked for these little plastic laundry tokens, that looked like play money. How humiliating!”
“Good,” he said. “You had it coming, slave girl.”
“Golly, that’s what they thought, too! They put me in this nasty old room with about 20 other ho-hos, with these thin, filthy mattresses all over the floor. The workers had these tokens, and they’d drop them in a bucket by my feet. And do you know what those dirty, nasty miners did to me, after they threw a token in my bucket?”
“They fucked you.”
“WOW! You are like a brain-iac! A big shiny badge and a big brain! What else do you have that’s big?” I teased. “After they dropped their token in the bucket, they dropped their load into one of my buckets. The pimps used these little timers, so they only got 10 minutes to fuck me. They were pretty horny, so most of them didn’t take long. But I was REALLY popular, because of my white skin, and blonde hair, and nice tits, so I was usually taking at least two, or sometimes three or even four dicks at a time, if I used my hands. And as soon as one guy would get off me, another would get on. All day long! Boy, my thin mattress got worn down to a rag!” I laughed.
“Good. Pleasure Sluts should be put to use. They got their pesos worth. I bet you were one tasty taco.”
TACO: Slang for a Pleasure Slut put to work as a puta. “Maria thinks she’s going to inherit the company, but she won’t look so high and mighty once we send her over the border, and turn her into taco meat.”
“Oh yeah, they sure did!” I giggled. “My bucket was an old paint can, painted pink, just like my pussy. And they kept filling it with tokens, over and over. I remember thinking I had to swallow two gallons of spluge for every gallon of tokens. And it wasn’t very yummy, let me tell you!”
“What a mix-up! I mean, look at me! Look at how I’m dressed! Can you actually believe they thought I was a whore, like this Miss Sandy Foot Girl.”
He said nothing, but stared at me with mirrored eyes.
“Anyway, they thought I was a whore, and that’s how they treated me. So, I had black people, and the local Indians, and dirty, swarthy Hispanic miners, fucking all my holes, 18 hours a day. They had ZERO respect for my education, or white skin, and used me like I was dirty puta, which I sort of was, I guess!” I admitted, throwing up my hands and laughing.
“I was covered in miner spunk the whole time, and even if I wanted to go out naked in the street and hose myself down, I was usually too exhausted. “Plus, when you used the outdoor shower, they sprayed you with delouser and all the guys catcalled you when you tried to rub the spunk off, so why bother? So mostly I just stank like a dirty condom, but what’s a girl to do?” I said, shrugging it off like the bimbo ditz I was pretending to be. “I thought I’d never get out of there!”
“How did you escape?” he asked.
My tone changed as I stiffened at the memory of my captivity. “Escape? Ha! That’s a laugh. Slave girls don’t ESCAPE, stupid! At least not from a place like that. There was a big high wall around the entire compound, like a prison, and even if I got up on the roof of my hotel-whore-tell, the wall was like 20 yards away, and 30 foot higher than the roof of my miserable little shack. On top of the wall there was razor wire, and guard towers, and soldiers with machine guns. Beyond the wall there was this no-whore zone, which was patrolled by these vicious slave hounds, and then an electric fence beyond that. The pimp used to tell us if we didn’t hump hard enough, they’d feed us to the dogs, and we’d be slave chow. And even if I did get beyond the electric fence, I had no money, and I didn’t speak the language, and I was a naked whore covered in spunk. Where could I go?”
“Nowhere,” he said. “They’d bring ya’ back and whip you, then put ya back on yer mattress, so the miners could fuck ya’ on yer’ freshly whipped ass. So why you here, slave girl? Why ayn’t ya’ there, earnin’ yer’ tokens?”
“Well, that’s the really EMBARRASSING part!” I giggled, switching tones. “I have a personal assistant, John Cinders. He’s quite good looking, and he was a management consultant, too, but when his boss got caught cheating on her taxes, she framed John, and John got sent to prison. Boo-hoo! Poor little Johnny! A pretty boy like him in prison… oh they weren’t very nice to him at all. His dance card was busy every night!”
“Anyway, they found out he was innocent, and he was going to get pardoned. So I made a few phone calls, and arranged to have him paroled on work release for me instead. I made him my personal assistant. I called him “Cindy”, because they made him a bitch in prison, and now he was MY bitch. I worked him very hard, and also made him run personal errands, and fetch me coffee, and give me pedicures, and hand wash my scanties. It was quite a status symbol for me, having a smart, handsome young stud that I could use as my secretary/bitch. And he didn’t dare stand up for himself, because if he did, I’d send him back to that nasty old prison, where he’d have to suck ding dongs, and take it up the ass literally, instead of figuratively.”
I dropped my voice to a low whisper. “Truth is, I sexually harassed him. I used to slap his ass, and once I even blindfolded him, and made him lick me, then I bent him over my desk and pegged him, good. It wasn’t really a sex thing. It was just so he’d know that I was in charge. I think it’s important that men who are underneath you understand what being underneath really means. It’s a lesson I’d love to teach you,” I added, smiling.
Now it was my turn to enjoy watching the burly cop squirm.
“Anyway, it turns out after I’d had been there about a week, my smarty pants assistant figured out what happened, and tracked me down. You can imagine how surprised I was to see him walking into my dirty whore room, wearing his suit and tie, and looking like a million bucks. He walked right by my mattress. He didn’t recognize me at first, because I was naked, and had lost weight, and I was on all fours, and covered in semen. I was sucking off an Indian, while a black guy fucked me from behind.”
“He kept walking around the room, looking totally disgusted, trying to wipe the spluge off his fancy shoes, until eventually one of the pimps pointed out the skinny, skanky whore in the corner taking on all comers, or all cummers.”
I gave the cop my slyest smile. “Let me tell you, Officer Friendly, Mr. John Cinders looked SHOCKED, ha-ha! But then he got a little smirk on his face, and the pimp even got him a chair, so he could watch as the two dirty, stinking beaners had their way with me.”
“So, John freed you?” the Deputy asked. “I wouldn’t have.”
“Well, that’s a story, too!” I giggled. “He actually used my firm’s money to purchase me from the brothel, and he had a First-Class ticket to fly me back to New York, along with my passport. Naturally, I told him I couldn’t go.”
“Why not?” the Deputy said, looking genuinely confused.
“Ha-ha! You silly boy! That’s the same look he got on his face. Because, dumb-dumb, Judge Parker had signed an enslavement order, which meant that I was still a Pleasure Slut. You can’t put a Pleasure Slut in a First-Class seat, and fly her back to Manhattan, and hand her the keys to a million-dollar condo overlooking Central Park. I told him I wasn’t leaving until Judge Parker reversed my enslavement order, and that he should leave me in the brothel, because I was still a Pleasure Slut, and until he fixed it, I was precisely where I belonged.”
“But if ya’ STAYED, that means they made ya’…”
“Suck and fuck dirty brown cocks all day?” I said, giggling. “Yes, unfortunately, that’s EXACTLY what I meant. I hated it. I despised it. But I was a Pleasure Slut, and that’s what Pleasure Sluts do. Them’s the rules! Mr. Cinders didn’t understand, either. So, I crawled over to his chair, unzipped his pants, and gave Mr. John Cinders the most amazing hummer he had ever had in his life!”
“You sucked yer’ gofer’s dick?” the Deputy said, looking genuinely shocked.
“He wasn’t my gofer anymore, you silly-willy! He was an important American management consultant, in an expensive suit, and he had just bought me, and I was nothing but a filthy, cum splattered, whorehouse Pleasure Slut. I looked up at him with AWE as I sucked his dick, and I loved him the way only a slave girl can love her master. After all of the filthy lowlifes I had been sucking off, it was truly an honor to have a great man like Mr. John Cinders put his clean, handsome, white pecker in my filthy, ho-ho mouth.”
“I gave him the world’s best slave kiss, and swished his delicious scum around in my mouth like it was vintage wine. While I was cleaning his shoes with my tongue, I humbly suggested he take a picture of me getting fucked, so that Judge Parker would see how horrible conditions were, and reverse my enslavement. So, he got out his phone, and took pictures of me getting gang-banged by three guys at once, and texted it to Judge Parker, along with a note pleading for him to reverse my enslavement.”
“Did Judge Parker bother to reply?” the Deputy asked.
“Right away. He sent a two-word answer: MORE PICTURES.”
“So like a total ditz I told him that sometimes when there weren’t a lot of customers, they made me go out and troll for business. He talked to my pimp, and before you know it, they dragged me off the mattress, still splattered in jizz. They put me in a pink tube top, and a short skirt, and little pink booties, and turned me out in the street, like a common street hooker. Golly gosh gee! Can you imagine me, dressed like a ho-ho, trolling for business?” I tittered.
His rapid breathing and the bulge in his pants showed that his sunglasses were now a movie screen, as he was picturing me shaking my titties for the swarthy miners.
“Mr. Cinders filmed me calling out to men as they passed by, flashing my pussy, and begging them to fuck me. Then he sent the film of me street hooking to that big meanie Judge Parker. How humiliating!”
“I thought for sure Judge Parker would free me, when he saw how I had to humiliate myself like the lowliest of putas. But he just sent back another text: MORE PICTURES.
“I got TOTALLY flustered, so like a total blonde my bimbo-brain told John that sometimes they made me pose in the big picture window of the brothel, that faced the street, to draw in customers. I said it was too bad he couldn’t get a picture of me like that, because that would SURELY convince Judge Parker to reverse the order.”
“What a goofball I was, giving him ideas like that! Well, I shouldn’t have said that, because he talked to one of the pimps, and quicker than you can say PUTA I was in the big store front window, my face still splattered with spluge, rubbing my pussy as I came over-and-over, while Mr. Cinders filmed it for Judge Parker. Oh, what a stupid airhead I am! It was SO HUMILIATING!”
“After he uploaded the movie to Judge Parker, I sort of let it slip that I spent the first weekend of each month working in the strip club, and that he should try to get me freed before I had to dance again. He said he’d promise to do his best, and said he’d see me soon.”
“So he left ya’ in the BROTHEL?” the Deputy said, astonished by my story. “So what ya’ do?”
“Well, I got fucked, silly!” I tittered. “I spent the next 13 days sucking dirty brown cocks, dirty black cocks, big cocks, small cocks, taking it up the ass, covered in seed. Oh, how I hoped Judge Parker would reverse my enslavement order, and save me from this beastly place!”
“Anyway, when Master John finally returned, I was working in the strip club. He actually brought some of my clothes from Manhattan. He said I could either wear them on the trip home, or, if I wanted, I could put them on first and then strip for him.”
“Can you imagine? How HUMILIATING! To have to put on my elegant, fancy business clothes, just like the ones I’m wearing now…”
I fingered my silk blouse, and let the Deputy form a mental image.
“And then get up on stage, and strip down BARE naked for a roomful of hooting men, including my personal assistant? All my beautiful clothes, in a pile on some plywood “stage”, while I fingered myself for a room of jeering drunks, shouting terrible things at me in a foreign language I didn’t understand. And he filmed it all, to show Judge Parker! Can you imagine how mortifying that was?”
“Sure can,” the Deputy said, scratching his head. Glancing at the head of his penis outline in his pants I knew he wasn’t lying. “So did you go home with him?”
“No, silly! I asked him if he reversed my enslavement. He said he had, and had gotten an appellate court Judge to declare it null, and sign a full reversal. So, I had my college degrees back, and everything! No one would be the wiser. It wasn’t easy, because they almost NEVER do it, especially in Texas. But money talks!”
“So, you went home with him?”
“No, Deputy Dumb-dumb! I still needed Judge Parker to reverse the enslavement. Judge Parker had enslaved me, and I wanted him to sign the reversal.”
“But legally, if an appellate court judge reversed yer’ enslavement…”
“NO! I wanted Judge Parker to admit it. I wanted him to admit I was never a Pleasure Slut. Don’t you see? I had sucked Judge Parker’s cock. He had butt branded me, marking my bottom like I was hog, or a silver chalice. I wanted Judge Parker to admit he was wrong.”
The Deputy looked confused. “I guess. So, what happened?”
“I put on my street clothes, and then got on stage, and stripped down naked in front of Mr. John Cinders. Then I fingered myself, and let him stick a dollar in my twat. He filmed it, and sent the movie to Judge Parker, so he could see me blush, and see the tears in my eyes as I had to strip for the man who had once been my gopher. Then Mr. Cinders took me into a private room, and fucked me like I was just a fuck-hole, a nameless, skanky Pleasure Slut. It was awful! I came, and came! He filmed my face, and sent it to Judge Parker.”
The Deputy offered me his handkerchief as a tear ran down my cheek, and I squeezed my thighs together, at the memory of my shame.
“And that wasn’t even the worse part. Like a total airhead, after he finished fucking me, I told him that the next day I was going to be in … a slave girl sex circus. A circus where I’d have to perform, live on stage, with the other girls! Oh, it was dreadful. I can’t even describe the perverted things they made me do, and did to me, all under the crack of the whip!”
I could tell I had piqued his curiosity. “A Mexican sex circus? What… did they make ya’ do?”
At this point, I whispered in the Deputy’s ear. The hardened, experienced slaver and law enforcement professional looked shocked. Then he laughed. Bastard!
“The worst part was that Mr. John Cinders watched. He watched me perform in the sex circus! And he filmed it, and sent it to that awful Judge Parker. I thought for sure he’d release me then. But he didn’t. What a big, fat meanie!! So, Mr. John Cinders left, taking my fancy clothes with him, and I had to go back to sucking cock, and trolling for customers, and stripping, and… the sex circus!”
I blushed as she said this, as the police officer knew just how demeaning it was.
“It took weeks and weeks and a lot of money to get Judge Parker to reverse the order. I don’t know why it took him SO LONG, especially when Mr. Cinders sent him a video of me crying, and explaining that every second he delayed meant another dirty brown pecker in my mouth, or ass, or hot, wet slave pussy. Tick-tock! Tick-tock! But Judge Parker didn’t seem to be in any hurry at all.”
“Finally, Mr. Cinders bribed him into signing, and John arrived to rescue me, like a knight in shining armor. I loved him so much in that moment. I showered in a proper hotel, and walked into First Class looking PERFECT, like I look now. A true lady always looks her best, don’t you agree? You’d never know I had been a Pleasure Slut…except for Judge Parker’s mark, of course. John proposed to me on the plane, and I accepted.”
“I like happy endings Did you and John get hitched when y’all got back to New York? Did you git’ ‘em paroled?”
“No, silly. Once we landed in New York, I was in charge again. I had him enslaved, and sold, to a gay S&M sex club. He fucked me. ME! Plus he took FAR too long to rescue me, and now he is going to have to pay the price. Forever. I still go to the club, and watch him perform sometimes. Little Johnny puts on quite the little show,” I said, laughing. “Sometimes I peg him, just to show him who wears the pants. Just like I’ll do to you, Officer Macho, when I enslave you. And don’t think I can’t. Money talks, especially in Texas.”
His face hardened. “You’d never enslave me. I’m an officer of the law,” he stated, hooking his fingers into his belt and spreading his legs into a power stance.
“Hold that pose, boy. It’s exactly the pose you’ll make on the block, when all the women are laughing at you, and your little stiffie,” I snickered. “I might even let you wear your macho sunglasses on the block, and pin a toy badge to your nipple.”
He winced a bit at the image, and I smiled. Power exchanges are more fun when both parties have some skin in the game.
“I ayn’t the one what needs collarin’,” he said coldly, looking down at me.
I swallowed hard as he glared down at me. The mirrored sunglasses prevented me from seeing his eyes, and the lenses were huge green orbs. He towered over me, and with his hair face and green eyes he reminded me of a hungry spider coming in for the kill.
I felt my heartbeat quicken. The tension between us was unbearable, and I wanted it to last.
I smiled at him, and reaching down, traced the head of his erect penis through the bulge in his pants. “If I were a runaway, what would you do about it? Knowing what a powerful and successful woman I am, would you really strip me buck naked, and collar me, and turn me back into inventory?”
His lip and cock twitched in unison at the thought.
“Knowing how much better I am than you, would you still enslave me? Do you know how humiliating that would be, for a rich, Harvard educated slaving professional to be enslaved by some working class, rent-a-cop slave hound? Would you really humiliate me that way? Or would humiliating me get you off?”
The bulge in his pants pulsed, and answered my question better than any words could. “Would you and your partner turn me in right away, or would you FUCK me first, as part of your bounty? Would you do that to me? Humiliate me like that? Make me suck your dirty pecker, and then fuck me, before you turned me back into a Pleasure Slut, a ho-ho?”
“Would you let me clean up when you were done, or would you put me on the block with your dirty scum all over my face, and drying on my lips, and leaking out of my freshly fucked pussy? Would you join the bidders, and laugh at me with the others, when the auctioneer cracks his whip and I choke back my tears as I roll in the sand? Then would you go to dinner, and enjoy a nice juicy steak with the money you made selling my wet, sloppy, freshly-fucked slave pussy?”
I moved my finger to the empty spot in the row of badges shown into his shirt, and playfully fingered his nipple through the material. “My capture would be part of the next badge on your shirt. Do you know how humiliating that is, to be a notch on your shitty brag belt, a tiny part of one little insignia in a cluster of insignias on some FUCKING slave catcher’s fruit-salad brag shirt? Do you know how DEGRADING that is? Would you really do that to little-old-me? Do you have the BALLS to be my Master? Because if you don’t, I might just take them away.”
There was a tense standoff as I stared at him, not moving, smiling, enjoying the electricity between us. I tensed as he reached for the cuffs on his belt…
The moment was broken by a booming male voice behind me. “Hot damn, girl, what y’all doing here?”
I turned and squinted to seem the beaming face of Jake Henry, the owner of The Triple D. Jake dressed like an old-time cowboy, complete with hats, boots, and a big Texas sized cowboy mustache. With the pearl handled gun in his holster and the slave whip coiled on his belt, Jake looked like an old-time gunslinger.
“Howdy, Jake,” I said, quickly folding my arms over my breasts after I returned his handshake. “It’s good to see you again, my friend.”
“It’s ALWAYS good to see you too, Sarah,” Jake drawled back. “Though I hope you ayn’t charging me for this visit.”
I laughed along with him, as I quickly put on my jacket and glasses. “No, I was in town on some… other business, so I thought I’d drop by and see how much tail you were moving. Plus, I got a business opportunity I’d like to share.”
“I love those! Shit, just since the last time you took a lookie-lou at our numbers, we’re up another 15%, and our profits more than that! Every visit from you is like a gold bar fallin’ from the sky! In fact, I’m hankering to open up another location in Houston, to lock horns with HCI Can I git’ yer’ help on the deal?”
“Maybe. Call my office and my new assistant will try to set something up. I’m always happy to help.”
“Where y’all headin’?”
“I’m not sure. I was thinking of taking a peek at death row, to watch the little sluts sweat it out, or maybe go tease the girls waiting on their dawdle demons. However, this officer has been bothering me.”
DEATH ROW: The storage area where terrified slaves wait to be auctioned. “Let’s stuff them in the chute a few minutes early. I want Death Row fully loaded, and the trap door ready to go, before 10AM.”
DAWDLE DEMONS: “Owners” who make their wives, daughters, or girlfriends wait hours or even days, sweating it out to the last second to find out if their “Any Chance?” auction will be reversed. “My chemistry teacher, Mrs. Halsey, has been waiting since Saturday to find out if she’s going to be freed or shipped to Dubai. Her husband’s a real dawdle demon!”
Jake’s smile vanished as he turned to the cop. “Is that true? You bothering my friend Sarah?”
The cop looked stricken as his swagger drained away. “Mr. Henry, sir, I think she might be a runaway,” the officer said grimly.
Jake Henry laughed out loud. “Ha-ha! That’s a good one. ‘Fraid yer’ off the scent in this case, officer. Sarah here’s practically my business partner. She’s the reason I can you all that overtime, and yer’ Christmas bonus. Thanks to Sarah, we’re making money hand-over-fist! You owe this young lady an apology.”
I could see that he didn’t want to do it. In fact, he hated doing it, particularly with me grinning at him.
“I’m very sorry to have bothered you, Ma’am” he said, looking down at his shiny shoes. “My sincere apologies.”
He was broken, but I wanted more. “Again, with your glasses off, so I can see your eyes, and louder, so everyone can hear,” I said. My voice was stern, and loud, but I never lost my smug grin.
He took off his glasses, allowing me to enjoy the anger and humiliation in his shattered eyes. I’d relished that look many times on the faces of rivals I had enslaved, and put on the block, and it was sweet indeed to see it on the face of the slave hound cop.
He repeated his humiliating apology, loud enough for the other cops to hear.
“I’m surprised you don’t have better trained personnel, Jake,” I observed.
“So am I,” Jake responded. Looking at the cop with a mixture of anger and disgust he said, “Report to personnel, this is your last day. Have your boss send down another cop, one who knows his shit. I’ll talk to him about you later.”
“But… but… Sir…” he protested.
It was too late, Jake had already put his hand on my shoulder, and was leading me away. Thinking quickly, I reached back, and snatched the SANDY FOOT GIRL magazine out of the broken cop’s hands.
He looked at me, shattered. I licked my finger, and pointed it at him, making a sizzling sound as I pretended to brand my bottom. I was HOT. Feel the burn, baby!
Jake was already droning on about all the money he was making. Looking back over my shoulder at the shattered, recently fired policeman, I relished my sense of power as my Gucci heels clip-clopped across the cement floor. Even in defeat, he was still staring at my butt, and my legs. Men!
I flashed him a final victorious smile as I allowed Jake to drone on about all the money I’d made him.
We walked slowly, as Jake led me deep, deep into the bowels of The Big D. Finally cutting him off, I flashed the old cowboy my sweetest butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth smile. “So, is my old friend Rebecca working today? I think about her all the time. I’d love to talk to her, after I tell you all about my new, million-dollar idea.”