My Gucci shoes clickity-clacked loudly across the cement entrance as I strode confidently toward the enormous
BIG D LIVESTOCK & SLAVE MARKET
sign over the front door. As per my design, the entrance doors were wide, well lit, and inviting, as any glue trap should be. I smiled as I recalled the term I had coined, which was in the glossary of the new book I was writing:
CAT TRAPS: Slave markets that lure free women in with enticing freebees, in the hopes that they can be transformed into inventory and sold. Like a roach motel, free pussy goes in, but it never comes out. "The Free Grading Offer is just a cat trap."
Jake owned The Big D, but I was the mastermind behind it, and I made sure everyone damn well knew it. It was my business genius that had turned this bankrupt cattle yard into a Harvard Business Case Study promoting my marketing genius. Jake had paid me generously, and as per our arrangement, I shared in copious profits, but it was the acclaim my work had received that was the real high.
I had worked The Big D into my professional brand, and the reputation I had built here allowed me to fetch top dollar and easy money sitting on countless boards of directors. The Cover of Texas Monthly had been nice, but the page one etching of me in The Wall Street Journal, as well as the covers of Forbes, Bloomberg, Fortune, The Economist, Entrepreneur, and the feature story on SIXTY MINUTES had made me a business celebrity.
With my carefully coiffed hair, designer glasses, and my smartly tailored business suit, I didn't blend in to the Texas cattle vibe of The Big D. I didn't care, because in point of fact, I wanted to stand out. I wasn't some local dyke here to cop a free feel, or a High School senior pressured into getting a slave grading for her student loan. I wanted everyone who saw me to realize that I did NOT belong here. I was a powerful woman, rich, and in control. I MADE this world, but I was not OF this world.
I said I strode confidently, but in truth my walk was a little less brisk than usual. Although my wound had healed, the scars had remained, and I could feel The Big "D" brand between my butt cheeks with every step. As Judge Parker had hoped, it was a constant reminder of the day I had become, for a moment at least, a "Sandy Foot Girl."
"A lady in the streets, branded between the cheeks," as the advertisement said. Indeed. When I had written that line, it had merely been a clever turn of phrase, but the ridge of the brand was permanent, and I was reminded of my cleverness every single time I ran, walked, bent, turned, stood up, or sat down.
BADGING: Marking a slave girl with the logo of the auction house she was graded or sold out of. Similar to the automobile industry, it is a mark of quality, like the hood ornament on Ferrari or BMW.
As I walked through the front door, I noticed a delivery truck pulling around back. It was heading toward the loading dock, where I had been unceremoniously shipped in-and-out of the last time I been to the Big D. Watching the truck disappear around the corner of the building I felt a chill down my spine. If I was overdressed now, I was underdressed then.
The last time I had entered The Big D I was absolutely stark naked, without a single solitary stitch of clothing. I told myself it was simply a matter of dressing for the occasion. Now, I was a VERY smartly dressed professional woman, which was entirely appropriate. But my attire had been appropriate then, as well, for only a fool buys a Pleasure Slut with clothes on.
My exit had been even more humiliating. As per Rebecca Cook's direction, I had been placed in a cage tip-to-toe with a Hispanic girl named Isabella, and we had spent 12 hours on our trip to Mexico eating each other pussies. Isabella had been arrested during a political protest over immigration, and since she was an American citizen and couldn't be deported, was enslaved and exported instead. Tough break.
PUSSY PLEAS: Political trend where "tough-on-crime" prosecutors route misdemeanor cases involving attractive women to slave court, where they can be enslaved. "Cindy got wasted at the party on Saturday, and since she's so hot, the police arrested her for being 'Drunk & Disorderly', and routed her case to slave court. She got a two-year indenture, and is going to be auctioned butt naked on the Quad on Sunday."
"I hope you like Mexican food," Isabella had joked. I did, and licked her "taco sauce" for hours, while she marveled at my ability to have orgasm after orgasm.
It was part of the role, of course. Unlike Isabella, who was a natural born puta, I was just playing a part. I explained to Rosie that my enslavement had been a terrible mistake, and that I was actually a multimillionaire consultant and a Professor at Harvard. She laughed at my obvious lie, slapped me on the ass, and told me to "keep your tongue on the taco."
I wondered whatever happened to Isabella. It didn't matter. She was only a slave girl.
I'd thought about Rebecca a lot since my release. I had mentored her, and she had repaid my kindness by mimicking my wardrobe (as best as her salary would allow) in a futile attempt to become a miniature version of me.
Rebecca hadn't recognized me that day in the slave market, and had treated me like I was the skankiest of whores. Now I held the whip hand, and the little bean counter would pay the price for her insolence.
AVENGING VAGINA: Women who take revenge on the people who abused them during their grading or enslavement. "After Tammy's dad put her mom through an Any Chance? Auction, and invited all his drinking buddies to watch, she went all avenging vagina, and literally locked his pecker in a chastity cage for six months."
Rebecca and I had often discussed what it might be like to be processed through The Big D, giggling like schoolgirls at the thrill of it. We had both thought it quite impossible, as we would surely be recognized, but because of my academic insights into slave psychology, I was able to assume a persona far, far different from my own, and successfully impersonate a Pleasure Slut.
Standing slave naked in front of the fully clothed Rebecca Cook, with her eyes freely roaming over my tits and pussy as she commented on my "slave stink" and "quick turn" on the auction block, had been one of the most humiliating moments of my life. But I had also found it strangely exciting, for part of a slave psychology is feeling a special thrill at being humiliated in front of people who had once been your social inferiors. Nearly everyone was my social inferior, but being paraded in front of my formal protégée had been particularly disgraceful. Would it be rude of me, not to return the favor?
I strode through the entrance, the picture of self-confidence. I wasn't here to reminisce; I was here on a mission. It was the 15th, which meant the new magazine should be out.
THROW AWAYS: Promotional leaflets or trinkets that you give away to promote the brand. "The vibrators with The Big D logo we give away on Black Friday don't make money, but we make a fortune in pre-Christmas gradings."
The magazine, called THE SANDY FOOT, had been my idea, of course. It was similar to a supermarket circular, but it featured articles on topics like the pros-and-cons of imported slaves and whether electric, freeze-dried, coal fired, or wood fired brands were best.
For the record, my brand had been coal fired, with an iron branding head. It was a method that stretched back to antiquity, back to Ancient Greece and Rome and beyond. I was glad I had selected coal fire brands for The Big D, as it tied it to the larger tradition, and bonded me with the countless slave girls who had been branded before me. In some sense, they were all my sisters.
Plus, as I had explained to Jake, coal burned hotter, and led to cleaner, deeper brands. And if it led to a deeper scar, so the little sluts would feel it on every step, so much the better. The little bitches should never forget they are slave girls.
And I never would.
The printed sales magazines weren't available online; you could only get them if you visited The Big D. Although I had instituted the magazine, I made it seem as if it were part of an older tradition, I used a font I had found in a Texas newspaper from the 1880s. Despite the color photography and glossy paper, THE SANDY FOOT skillfully invoked an old-time, Western livestock market / rodeo.
THE SANDY FOOT always included a few cartoons. They were simple, hand drawn, single frame affairs, in the ironic spirit of THE FAR SIDE or THE NEW YORKER. For example, a cartoon might depict a man on a horse swinging a lasso over his head to chase down a naked, fleeing slave girl, while behind her another slave girl cheerfully jumps rope. Another depicted a slave girl on her knees in front of a man unzipping his trousers, asking "I'm new at this. I'm guessing I don't get Sundays off?"
Laid out like a glossy supermarket circular, the magazine offered specials that weren't available online. It was usually something to encourage an impulse buy: a free beer at the food court, a discount on slave kibble, or perhaps a free grading for your wife or sweetheart for Valentine's Day.
Recognizing that women were an untapped market, I'd persuaded Jake to paint the tin roof over the front entrance an off pink, to make it more alluring to female customers / potential inventory. The slavery fantasy was popular with many women, and The Big D sold a great deal of merchandise around Valentine's Day. Non-permanent collars and temporary slave brands were big sellers.
