(The story so far,
COURTESY OF JOE DOE
: Natalie is a rich, beautiful, and slightly spoiled/self-absorbed young resident of New York City. She and her friends have engaged in the fashionable pastime of Slave Yoga, having a former slave wrangler from the South ("Master Mark") order them through various suggestive poses while they repeated even more suggestive "mantras." Titillated by the thought of being a naked, helpless slave on display, Natalie asked her husband, a former slave wrangler from Texas named Brad, how much money she would bring if auctioned as a slave at the Big D Slave Market.)
(Brad used his knowledge of slave psychology to tease his wife, offering to put her up for an "Any Chance Auction" to see what price she would bring. By this time, Brad had Natalie so worked up that she was naked and humping the window frame of their New York City penthouse, jilling off while imagining that she were a horny slut rubbing herself against one of the famous yellow bollards at the Big D.)
Gasping from the heady mixture of her excitement and complete exposure in the brightly lit windows, Natalie totally found the zone. Quickening her pace, she rubbed her button faster and faster as her excitement grew.
Satisfied with her progress, Brad continued his cool, dispassionate explanation, "That's a good girl. Rub that slave grease in, good. When men you know come in -- and I really expect that a few will -- you will spread your legs and perform for them, the same as any other Pleasure Slut. If you make a proper job of it, they may not even notice that it's you. After all, they mostly see you at charity balls and galas, and there's no reason to think you'd be slave naked and polishing a pussy pole, stinking like a whore at low tide, slathering in your own juices. It's not like they're going to focus on your face, right?"
Natalie grunted at the cold comfort of being an unrecognizable slave pussy even as she groaned at the hot pleasure emanating from her pussy. The pole was warm and greasy now, and the thought that all Manhattan was watching made her more excited, not less.
"However, there will be one VIP visitor who will be invited," Brad said, smiling. "One visitor, in particular, who will be my very special guest."
"Who?" she gasped, not allowing anything to break her rhythm.
"Why, my mother, of course," Brad said, smiling.
"Your mother! You must be joking. Your mother DESPISES me!"
"Keep rubbing. I didn't give you permission to slow down," he chided. "That pole won't paint itself."
Natalie quickened her pace as she pushed forward toward climax.
"Yes, my mother. I will make sure she has a front row seat."
"But... but... your mother HATES me. She thinks I'm... the little tramp... who stole her precious son," Natalie said, trying to stay focused on the conversation even as her mind swirled with pleasure. "She tells everyone that I'm nothing but a shameless whore."
"Actually, she told my buddy Karl that you're a disgusting slave slut, who should be stripped naked, branded, and put on the auction block. Karl likes you, but I could tell he was intrigued by the image," Brad added, laughing.
"No," Natalie gasped. "Why HER?"
"Because no one else on earth could possibly enjoy seeing you roll in the sand, and spread your legs, and pee when they cracked the whip on your skanky ass, more than my dear, sweet, white-haired old mom. Seeing you disgrace yourself would be her dream come true."
"No...No... You can't do that to me. You can't make me perform like this. Not in front of her!"
"Don't be so selfish. Think of how happy you'd make her. Letting her watch you paint the pussy pole might be the only time you'll ever give her a gift she truly enjoys. I'll sit right beside her and tell her that you wanted to please her like that."
Despite her horror, Natalie quickened her pace. Brad was impressed. He knew the metal stick had to be absurdly uncomfortable, but Natalie adapted to it like a pro, and her pussy lips had become wet enough that it looked like a mouth sucking on the pole. She was doing an amazing job. Brad envisioned a whole building exterior being washed by naked slave girls, suspended by ropes, polishing the exterior columns with their groins.
Compared to straddling the sharp metal pole in front of all of Manhattan, painting a yellow bollard in the lobby of The Big D would be a snap. During his time at The Big D, Brad had seen a lot of Prime Pleasure Sluts. Watching his wife suck the pole with her pussy, he realized that Natalie's hot body and natural wantonness could make up for her lack of training. No doubt about it. Regardless of her enormous wealth, social status, and upper East side sophistication, her steamy wet pussy made her a prime candidate for the block.
"Good girl," Brad said. "Keep it moving. Keep that ass sliding up-and-down the pole. That's it. You'll get a very good price."
"If men I knew bid on me," Natalie said, grunting as she slid up and down, "I'd get a record price."
"Indeed, you would," Brad agreed. "Your friends, and your daddy's friends, have deep pockets, and they'd pay anything to fuck you. That's why I'm going to give you a rapid-fire, slap-ya-on-the-ass through, and get your pussy on the block before anyone even knows you're there. I'll have all your paperwork ready-to-go and give you premium access, right to the front of the chute. I'm going to move you from Bergoff Goodman on Fifth Avenue to the block on the Broadway auction stand, faster than you can get a table at Le Bernardin."
"The Chef can give me a table pretty damn fast," she said, gasping as she slid up and down the pole. "I KNOW people."
"I know people, too, although my slave wrangling associates are less genteel than folks are at Le Bernardin. My Big D buddies will get you bagged-and-tagged, give you a minute to warm up the pole, and then whip your ass right onto the Broadway auction platform. Depending on how hot that little pole polisher is, I can get you from farm-to-table, Gucci-to-gash, in five minutes or less. Even if someone you know is there, it won't matter. They can look. They can sure as hell touch. But I'm going to tell them not to bid on you."
Brad watched as the Pleasure Slut polishing the column and he described his plan for her auction. "But.... But.... If you do that... none of the bidders will know who I am," she whined, struggling to wrap her head around her husband's proposal. "Everyone will think I'm just another Pleasure Slut."
"Because that's what you'll be, Princess. No one will know who you are, except for me, and, of course, my mother. The contrast between who you were and what you'll be is what makes this so delicious. You'll go on the block slave naked. No college degree, no trust fund, no lawyer, no platinum credit cards. You'll give me power-of-attorney. Then I'll put your naked ass on the block wearing nothing but a livestock tag on your ear, a steel collar locked tight around your throat, and a great big toothy smile."
Looking down on her, Brad shook the lash out so it teased her belly. "Smile for me, slave girl. Smile as you rub the pussy pole. Show me how much you LOVE it. Show me those pearly whites." Natalie showed all 32 of her perfect white teeth.
"They're going to clip a livestock tag to my ear?" Natalie said, keeping her huge smile even as she quickened her pace on the pole. "Do they have to?"
"Yes, they have to, and they're not going to clip it to your ear, they're going to STAPLE it THROUGH your ear. Remember, at The Big D you're livestock, no different than a cow, or a goat, or a pig. The auctioneer probably won't like it when you get shuffled into his lineup, so he'll be pretty free with the whip, but that's okay. It will increase the entertainment value and probably drive up your price."
Natalie was close now, and rubbed all the faster, secretly thrilled by the image of herself as anonymous slave meat. "Because...he won't know who... I am."
"No one will know, and more importantly, no one will care. In truth, it won't matter who you are, or who you were. Once you walk up those steps, you'll be just another mange on the stage, and he'll sell your hot little snatch in a Manhattan minute."
Just then, Natalie showed how hot her little Manhattan snatch was by shamelessly orgasming all over the cold, square pole. Afterwards, she lay in a quivering mess on the "auction block", gasping for air.
"Keep going," Brad said, staring down at her impassively. "I didn't give you permission to stop."
