Saturday, September 24, 2016

Two Hands Please

The dress was scandalous, but no one seemed to mind either the fact that I was practically falling out of it, or that much of it was transparent. The other men seated at our table had actually behaved decorously, which had mitigated some of my embarrassment. The conversation was excellent, the food decent, and the murder mystery itself entertaining. And the fact that I had a jeweled plug stuck up my ass, and a very active and rather distracting vibrator pendant clamped to my clitoris, merely meant that I was wet, ready, and practically bursting at the seams, all with a desire to get fucked.

Who done it? I barely remember. I had more wine than was good for me. I distinctly remember us going up to the bar, asking for a Merlot or a Malbec, only to have the bar tender raise the single option of vino and tell me in a distinctly Hispanic accent, that all he had was this. I blinked and stared at the bottle an Oakwood Cabernet Sauvignon? Oh well, at least it was red.

I giggled my way with him back out to the front of the theater... or was it a restaurant? I get confused.

The valet brought the car. I admit, I was impressed. A 2015 Chevrolet Camaro, electric blue, with all the bells and whistles. He helped me in, which was good because I think I was very, very drunk and the five inch stilettos I was wearing weren't exactly cooperating with either my sense of balance, or getting into the low slung muscle car.

He got in and looked at me. "Girls who ride in my car drunk are usually naked," he informed me, a serious look on his face.

"I'm almost naked," I'd assured him with a silly grin.

He shrugged. "Almost isn't," he replied. The car hadn't even moved.

I laughed. "You want me naked? Is that a good idea?" I leaned forward and grabbed the bodice of my dress and pulled downward. "Wouldn't this be a distraction?" Both of my breasts fell out of my dress and the four valets, all of whom were still standing nearby, stared at me through the window, mouths open in delight. 

"To a lesser man," my date assured me. Suddenly the engine roared and I was pressed back into the seat. Even as we sped down the deserted street, I shimmied until the slip of a dress was around my knees. It fell to my ankles and I kicked it aside. I fumbled with the seat, laying it back until I was practically horizontal. Thank God it was an automatic, because his right hand was on me in seconds, caressing my breasts, tweaking my nipples, and fondling me. I moaned, one hand on him, the other rubbing the vibrator pendant, still buzzing mind you, against my clit. The scent of my arousal filled the car.

His hand slid down my body and between my legs and I spread them for him. I was soaked and his finger dipped into me, pushing past the vibrator pendant. "Take that off," he ordered and I pulled the little clamp from my clitty and turned it off. It landed on my dress, right between my red painted toes. Then his finger found my tingling nub and began rubbing in wet, tight circles. I groaned, thrusting my hips up.

The freeway loomed up in front of us and the Camaro sped up to near eighty miles an hour and I can say I matched it. He slid his finger into me, weaving in and out of traffic, dodging slow drivers and obstacles like Mario Andretti. He went back to rubbing just my clit and I put a foot up on the dash, moaning as my body torqued, my own internal rpms cycling. 

I took both hands and cupped my breasts, pushing my nipples toward the roof of the thrumming car. I pinched them hard, twisting the tips, my back arched and he plunged his finger back deep into me. "Oh my God!" I cried out, waves of sweet bliss exploding between my outstretched thighs, flowing through my veins. The engine purred just as I did.

I put my hand on his and he stopped, giving me a glance, just a moment's distraction from the road. "What?" He demanded. "I thought you were a nympho humiliation pain slut? Are you too sensitive?" He almost said it with scorn. I frowned and took my hand away. Was his touch intense? Oh God yes. But... he was right. And so despite the fact my clit was sore and sensitive, I spread my legs, and let him rub me more. And more...

I reached over and put my hand in his lap. "You know," I whispered darkly. "You should use two hands." I imagine me tied to the hood of his car, him leaning over me, thrusting his piston into my cylinder. I wanted more. I needed... more.

He looked over at me, his eyes glimmering. "Two hands, Breanne?" He asked curiously. "But how would I drive?" Then his finger slid back into me and it reminded me of a saying I once heard.

"If everything is under control, then you aren't going fast enough."

Perfect. 


Friday, September 2, 2016

Demolition Day



I pulled my silver Saturn SL up into the parking lot and my jaw dropped open. The candy apple red convertible, driven by my boss, was positioned carefully between two of the white lines. This is and of itself wasn’t exactly why I was surprised. Kari always parked exactly right. Even taking an extra minute to position her vehicle precisely if need be. Unless of course that meant being late. As an individual afflicted with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Kari found peace in strict time and space management. Which is why I was shocked to find her at the office early.

I climbed out of my car and realized that there was another oddity, except this time with me. Normally, arriving for work was a harrowing experience. I’d have to navigate the choppy waters of Houston traffic, and my stomach would be in knots as waves of humiliation swept over me. But this time? Nope. Not a smidgen. No hurried glances around the lot to see if anyone was watching. No desperate attempts to get my skirt lower, or cover up my breasts.

I was completely dressed for a change!

Okay, it’s not like I go to work naked. But if you saw the outfits Kari preferred me in, you’d think I was starring in a porn flick entitled Secretary Sluts IV. How the hell is a girl supposed to deal with shirts that are see through, transparent, or cut in a way that leaves little to the imagination? All my bras are lace, leaving my curves, and usually my nipples too, totally visible. And the skirts? All of them are too short. ALL OF THEM DAMN IT! Pleated, stretchy, whatever. They’re all minis. Do you know how many times my ass has hung out of a skirt, showing off two slivers of bubble butt? Do you know what it’s like to get a compliment on the jeweled anal plug your mistress shoved up your ass that morning? Well I do.

So it was with great pleasure that I stood there on the sidewalk, dressed in denim jeans, boots, and a tee shirt. Underneath I was wearing the usual attire any south Texas farm girl might have on; pink cotton bikini cut panties and a rather utilitarian bra, the kind that Kari objects too for “aesthetic” reasons.  

I know. You’re disappointed. YOU like me being forced to show up to work all embarrassed, with my tits half hanging out and my rear end exposed. And I know how you feel about jeweled anal plugs. The more the better, right? Sigh. But before you get all bent out of shape and toss this book away in disgust, remember that someone agrees with you.

I walked into the office and waved high to Jose, our day porter, who stared at me in astonishment, not to mention as much disappointment as you’re expressing right now. I couldn’t help grinning, just a bit pleased with myself. Do you know what a relief it is NOT to be a sex object? Your whole life changes. I yanked open the glass door of Kari’s little office and there she was, at the end of the hall. She was sitting at her desk and I wasn’t the only one wearing attire more suited for a construction site.

Kari Anders, blond goddess of both interior design and sadistic sexual cruelty, was wearing a pair of blue overalls that certainly looked as if she were ready to go spelunking, but lacked the necessary sturdiness to survive the adventure. Kari was no farm girl and had never been. Even demolition days, Kari usually managed to keep from getting too dirty, though she was happy enough to wade in if something wasn’t being done to her expectation. Her boots were too clean, her overalls too well fitting, as if they’d been tailored. I stopped in at her door, leaned against the wall and crossed my arms expectantly.

“You’re here early,” I said sweetly.

She smiled. “Today is demo day. We need to leave soon and I had to do a few things here at the office.”

I nodded. It was an acceptable explanation. People with OCD can change their schedule. They just don’t like too. And Kari can function without seeming to be too outrageous. She gave me a warm smile.

“So what do you have to do?” I asked curiously. Her desk was clean except for the folder with the day’s demo plan in place. And it was closed.

She looked up at me and grinned, all while her left hand opened the bottom drawer of her desk. She pulled some folded cloth out and tossed it to me. It was denim, the same material as my jeans.

“Getting you appropriately dressed,” she said wickedly.

My stomach immediately tightened up as I unfolded the material. It didn’t take long. There wasn’t much of it. I looked at her little gift and found myself holding a pair of Daisy Duke short shorts that seemed so tight I wasn’t sure that the circulation to my legs wouldn’t get cut off.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said in a surly tone. “Kari, demo days are dirty. If I wear this I’ll be covered in dust and dirt! On my skin!”

She shrugged. “It will make a fetching look,” she said. “Especially with your little toy.” Her eyebrows wiggled with meaning and my eyes narrowed as I gave her an exasperated look. I knew exactly which toy she was referring too. But before I could respond, she opened the top drawer on the right side of her desk, reached in, and pulled out a small, keychain-sized fob with two large buttons, and then two pairs of smaller ones. My eyes widened in alarm as her thumb began moving and suddenly an earthquake erupted inside me, beneath both my jeans and my panties.

One of the requirements of being a nympho humiliation pain slut is Rule #1. Stated simply, a girl like me is required, at all times, to keep either cock, or an object that promotes readiness, inside her pussy. Vibrators, dildos, vibroballs, anything… as long as it keeps her wet and ready. The idea is to make it possible for any dom or domme wanting to shove something inside my pussy, to do so with a single, wanton thrust.

No need for foreplay, Mr. Bond. I’m ready now.

One of Kari’s more recent acquisitions from Q Branch was a toy I referred to as Fat Man and Little Boy. Yes. I know those were the names of the bombs dropped on Nagasaki and Hiroshima, but please understand that this particular toy consists of two vibrating eggs, one small and one large, connected by an eight inch tether. The larger end, which is obviously “Fat Man” is too large to go in any hole other than my pussy. At least comfortably, though I suppose if it were lubed well enough you could successfully jam it up my ass. I wouldn’t be happy with that though. Normally when forced to wear this particular toy I slide it deep into my pussy where it fills me quite nicely.

On the other end of the tether is “Little Boy”.  It’s another vibrator, just as powerful, but only a little larger than my thumb. This one is the problem. For example, right then, as I was standing in Kari’s doorway, Little Boy was jammed in the front of my panties, right above my clit. And now that she’d turned both vibrators on, well… let’s just say that sort of intense sexual stimulation has its rewards.

I gasped and pressed my thighs together, my knees buckling slightly. Kari looked at me with a peculiar expression and then sighed.

“You tucked Little Boy in the front, didn’t you?” She asked with disappointment. I nodded, but really the only thing I could think about at that particular moment was whether I was going to try to remain on my feet, or fall down and curl up into a ball as I exploded wetly.

The vibrations seemed to get even stronger as Kari stood up. “You will go into the conference room and put on the shorts. I shouldn’t even have to say this, but if you are wearing panties or a bra you can remove them. They won’t be needed for the day.” She grabbed my chin and lifted my face so that our eyes met. Waves of pleasure burrowed through my crotch as I panted in her grasp. “And Breanne, you know where Little Boy needs to go.”

Then she pushed my face to the side and I stumbled toward the door. I took two steps and then to my chagrin the vibrations between my legs stopped. Completely. Considering how close I’d been to cumming, the sudden cessation of vibration was distinctly unpleasant. When I got to the conference room I wiped my hand across my face and fought a series of shudders. My fingers trembled as I unbuttoned my jeans and a moment later I pushed them down, revealing the pink cotton panties I was wearing. The small bulge of Little Boy made it look like I was packing some tackle up front, but as I kicked off my boots and then pushed my jeans down, Little Boy slipped a little lower, falling into the very wet slit just a little lower down.

I took the panties off next. Normally I’d go for the top, trying to delay the exposure of my body as long as possible, but except for you, there wasn’t an audience. So I went for expediency. The panties slid down my legs and Little Boy fell, dangling between my inner thighs on the tether, as Fat Man stayed right in position, buried deep within the soft, pink, wet petals of my sex. I kicked off my panties and stood there in just the tee shirt and my tube socks, one hand between my legs, grabbing hold of the small bullet hanging there.

Kari had said to put Little Boy in his appropriate spot and I sighed. It took a chair and a unique position where I had one foot up on the seat, along with a bit of contortionism, before I could grab hold of the stupid little vibrator and haul it backward. I pressed the untethered end of Little Boy against the little brown star on the other side of my perineum and focused on relaxing. I breathed steadily and through my nose, taking deep breaths. Then I applied pressure as I relaxed my sphincter.

I absolutely hate having things in my ass. It’s not a comfort thing really. Not now at least. I’m so used to having someone shove something up my rear end that I’ve grown to accept it. Still, I won’t lie. I don’t like it. And it pisses me off when Kari finds some way to not only get me fucked up the ass, but make it sexually stimulating too. Which is one of the reasons I dislike Little Boy so much. It is small enough to go in easily, buzzes fast and hard, and feels… well… as much as I hate to admit it, I love the way it stimulates me.

It slid into my ass and didn’t go any deeper than a thumbnail. This was due to the tether between Fat Man and Little boy, stretched across my perineum. It also meant that when (not if) Kari reactivated the vibrators, Little Boy was in a position to do maximum torment. Like having someone’s finger going into your ass up to just the first knuckle. Over and over.

Fortunately both vibrators were off so I picked up the jean shorts from where I’d dumped them on the conference table. Holding them up I saw that she’d at least gotten my size. The cut however wasn’t just questionable. It was borderline indecent and when I pulled them up I discovered that the waistband was so low that my tee shirt didn’t come within four inches of it. And it was a normal tee shirt.

Hey, know those shorts Margot Robbie wore in Suicide Squad as Harley Quinn?  Think those, except made of denim.

Half my ass was hanging out of the back and the crotch dug up into my sex deep enough that I could feel the seam rubbing against my clitoris. I spread my legs and checked. There was barely enough material between the leg holes to keep my labia covered. Not good. I finished buttoning the shorts and then peeled off my tee shirt. The bra I’d been wearing went next and I tossed it on the table just as Kari came in.

“Ohhh, perfect timing I see,” she said simply, stopping to look at me. I didn’t cover up or anything. I stood there in the silly looking shorts, bare breasts totally exposed, the gold piercings at each nipple glinting in the light. The padlock marking me as a submissive of the Society of the Golden Rose hung from my right breast. Kari stared hungrily for a moment, then she lifted her hand. My eyes widened as I realized the same remote controller was between her fingers and then the Little Boy vibrator started up. My ass clenched immediately around the little buzzing nodule and I let out a sharp gasp.

“Feel good?” She asked me with a wicked grin.

I bit my lip. “It’s very… distracting,” I told her. I didn’t want to admit that it felt good. She laughed.

“I don’t mind you distracted,” she replied, then came forward. Her other hand dipped into the front pocket of her overalls and she pulled two small objects out. I groaned. Cable clamps. Each one had a loop of thin steel cable which could be expanded out to fit over both my piercings and the padlock, then tightened behind the rest of the hardware adorning my chest. She crossed over to me and I looked away as she threaded my left nipple through the cable clamp.

“Really?” I demanded as she began to tighten it up. I felt the hoop close until it bit into my nipple, tightening uncomfortably around it. It wasn’t pain exactly. Just a distinct pressure.

“Yes. Really,” Kari said, putting the padlock through the second hoop. She put the clamp into place and then pulled the cable through the tightener. I groaned a little as my other nipple was caught tightly in the grip of the clamp. Kari flicked her fingers at my tits and I let out a little yelp. “Now I think you’re ready to put your shirt back on.”

I glared at her for a moment and then grabbed my cotton tee shirt. I pulled it down over my head and as low as it would go. Unfortunately a good portion of my midriff was still exposed and now, without a bra, not only could the outline of the padlock be seen, but so could the very obvious circles of my piercings, as well as the cable clamps. Hell, why bother to cover them all up? Everything was so startlingly obvious. Anyone looking at me would know I was wearing clamps and had my tits pierced. Sheesh.

Just the thought of being seen in public dressed like this was sending ripples of nausea like discomfort through me. People would think I was a slut, a woman of ill repute, a piece of fuckmeat begging to be dragged off into the bushes and used. It was sick. It was…

Then the other side of me got a grip on things as my pussy quivered around Fat Man. The vibrator started up, clearly at Kari’s instigation and I moaned as waves of sweet pleasure swirled around inside me. The bliss of sexual stimulation ate up the humiliation, making the desire I felt twice as strong. I put a hand on the table, swaying, both vibrating bullets inside me shaking like mad. My body quivered and my toes curled inside my socks. I couldn’t take it. I let out a sharp cry and collapsed into a chair, one hand pressed to the front of my shorts, rubbing my clit through the denim material. I exploded wetly and with a shake, all while my mistress watched with a regal smile.

A moment later Fat Man quieted and went silent, while Little Boy slowed to just a tiny tremor. It was still torment, but torment I could handle. I looked up at with a wan smile.

“Thank you?” I asked, still swimming in the euphoria that I lived for. Kari had made me cum. And cum hard.

Kari laughed and came over to me. She kissed the top of my head. “You’re welcome. Now put your boots on and let’s go. We’ve got work to do.” She turned and left and I struggled to summon both the necessary will and coherent thought to put my feet in my cowgirl boots. Finally I managed and stood. I felt… sticky and I ran my fingers along the crotch of the shorts. The denim was incredibly damp. Not soaked yet, but if Kari decided to torment me, or push me into another orgasm, it wouldn’t be long before it looked like I’d peed myself. I sighed and shook my head. Great. Another way to humiliate the shit out of me.

“Breanne! Let’s go!” I heard Kari yell from the other side of the office.

I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Demo day,” I said to myself. “Ogled by the workmen and the homeowner. All with them thinking I’ve pissed my pants.” I shook my head. “Great. Just great.”  And then I went to catch up with Kari Anders.

**

When Kari’s convertible came to a stop I was in dire straits. I sat there, gripping the Oh Shit handle of her car, legs pressed tightly together, while my hips did this herky jerky dance in response to the mega-earthquake I was currently experiencing. No, we hadn’t driven all the way from Houston to Los Angeles, not that my lower half could tell the difference. Inside me Fat Man and Little Boy were rumbling along as if the entire west seaboard was getting ready to fall into the sea. I was in the middle of cursing Richter and his stupid scale when my second orgasm of the day hit me like a tsunami.

Kari watched with amusement as I sat there twitching, oblivious to the fact that the roof was down and I was clearly in the throes of some sort of sexual epiphany, surrounded by eight, fit and very muscular guys, all of whom would have been more than happy to fuck my brains out had I needed it.

As it was, I didn’t. The two stupid vibrating nodules embedded in my pussy and ass took care of everything. I let out a loud groan as I began to melt, relaxing into the seat.

And sticky doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Kari got out of the car and I watched as she rounded the front and met with Enrique Gonzales, our foreman. He kept glancing over at me, clearly amused and happy and I stayed right where I was, not wanting to get out of the car. Kari managed things for a moment and then gestured at me.

“Let’s go Bre!” She said loudly. Both Fat Man and Little Boy shut off, leaving me blissfully quiet. Fucking dominatrixes.

Wonderful. Fucking wonderful.

I took a deep breath and climbed out of the car, trying very hard not to think too hard about the grown damp patch between my legs. The denim shorts were a decent color blue, but there was no hiding the fact that something very wet had soaked the material right between my legs. Every man on Enrique’s crew stared at me, though no one said anything or whistled. I recognized a few of them and couldn’t help smiling. I’d even had sex with a couple before and I knew they were looking forward to a similar experience today. Everyone likes it when I’m along on a demo.

Kari, Enrique, and I walked up the stone pathway to the front of the house. Or should I say mansion? It was a mansion with more bedrooms than I have fingers. The front door was wide enough to drive a tractor through. Kari stepped up to the door and rang the bell.

We were expected and this wasn’t the first time I’d met Mr. Roy Catalan. Mr. Catalan was in his lower fifties and while I had no idea what he did for a living, it evidently required him to live like a king with his house perched on the edge of an eighteen hole golf course with swimming pool, outdoor kitchen, barbecue pit, fiberglass spa, and five car garage.

We should all be so lucky. Sigh.

He actually embraced Kari. Then he shook Enrique’s hand when Kari introduced him. There was a moment of manly appraisal and then Kari stepped aside and gestured at me.
“And you remember my lovely assistant, Breanne?”

Roy Catalan’s eyes fell on me and for a moment it felt like my clothes were being shredded. His mouth curled up into an appreciative smile and his eyes danced brightly. “Of course,” he said. “How could I forget Breanne? Except last time she was wearing a dress.”

Ah yes. That dress. I blushed at the reminder. Kari had brought me here for the initial estimate and I’d been wearing this little black number that had been missing much of one side, making it rather apparent I wasn’t wearing any underwear. Of any kind. Mr. Catalan had spent almost as much time ogling me as he had answering Kari’s questions.

“Is Ms. Catalan at home?” Kari inquired after a moment, obviously letting Mr. Catalan have his moment to stare at my body. He blinked and then looked back over at her.

“What? Oh. No. She is out of town. She wanted to avoid the mess,” he replied with a grin.

“Very well,” Kari replied. “Then we’ll get started.” And that was that.

Enrique went back outside as Kari and I went deeper into the house. We were doing renovations to the den, knocking out one wall and doubling its size. We also had to construct a fireplace and a built-in bookshelf. But that was for later. Right now we had a twenty foot wall made of wood paneling and sheetrock to destroy.

It took Enrique about twenty minutes to prep the room and his crew worked quickly. I jumped in like usual, helping to spread drop cloths and tape down plastic through the hall. We covered up furniture and about an hour after arriving I got handed a sledge hammer.

I stepped up to the wall, lifted the hammer, and just as I was about to swing, the goddamned vibrators started up.

At full fucking power.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m the queen of hiding sexual stimulation, but there was no way I could keep from squealing like a stuck pig, or buckling as my hips began the tell-tale grinding motion of a girl needing a fuck. I managed to turn my head and glare angrily at Kari, who stood at the back of the room, arms crossed, one hand holding the controller, grinning wickedly. Next to her stood Catalan, who was looking curiously at me, totally oblivious to Kari’s dastardly plan. The hammer dropped and I let it go.

“I think,” I stammered. “I’d better let someone… else… oh... handle the… first… blow.” By the end of the sentence I was close to defibrillating and I stumbled out of the way, trying to come to grips. Roy Catalan looked concerned, but when the first hammer nailed the wall behind me it drew his attention. I half expected the stimulation to end, with this just being a way to thoroughly embarrass me, but even as I moved to an out of the way corner, the two vibrating nodules in my ass and pussy continued going as if they intended to shake me to pieces.

Or into another orgasm.

I watched, the rapid pace of the approaching orgasm becoming more and more an issue as I leaned against the wall, my knees shaking. I couldn’t keep my hips still and any casual glance my way made it readily apparent that I was being systematically fucked from the inside out. My nipples were hard as rocks, even caught tightly in the cable clamps. I bit my lip, and when that didn’t work to keep the moans that wanted to escape my throat from coming out, I clenched my teeth together.

Finally there was nothing I could do. A thready, needy whine seemed to seep out of me and I gave in, folding in half, eyes closed, clearly in the throes of rapture. Who cared who saw me? If they didn’t know I was a slut before, then the hell with them. I felt a fresh flow of juice explode from between my legs and I sank to the floor, sitting as the vibes inside me continued to rock and roll.

Fat Man and Little Boy went silent and I let out a quiet sob of frustration. This wasn’t Kari toying with me. This was her using me thoroughly. She let me rest for about five or ten minutes, then came over to me.

“I thought you were here to help?” She asked.

I looked up at her, my brain still soaked in oxytocin, endorphins, and dopamine. I blinked stupidly. “Huh?” I asked idiotically.

“Go,” Kari said, gesturing at the wall being knocked down. “Get a hammer. Go destroy things. This is the part of demo you like!”

Yeah. Right. I climbed to my feet and stumbled forward.

I was busily hammering away, work gloves on my hands, sheetrock dust swirling in the air when Little Boy came back on. I paused momentarily, eyes widening, but Kari left it on low. I went back to tearing down wall. Ten minutes later? Fat Man rumbled to life, swirling in my depth. I thought for a moment he would match time with Little Boy, but then the stupid nodule in my ass picked up speed, tingling in a spot that did not make rational thought easy.

Kari left me like that for the next forty minutes as we tore the wall down and threw the debris into the gondola cart. White dust covered me. Inside I was well on my way to orgasm number four, even though I wasn’t quite there yet. Taking a break I stepped away, only to look down. My jean shorts were covered with powdered sheet rock, streaked and marked. They would need a thorough washing. But the crotch was the worst. The moisture leaking from my pussy had almost turned the dust into a paste, and worse - there were streaks along my thighs where the finely ground gypsum had smeared when combined with my juices. The only good news was that there wasn’t quite enough wetness to make someone thing I’d had an accident. The bad news was that dressed the way I was, acting the way I was acting, the only logical conclusion one could have was that I was having a very, very good time.

In front of everyone. What a slut.

It took another thirty minutes of work resulted in both Little Boy and Fat Man getting turned up again and the fourth orgasm took me hard. I’d barely managed to excuse myself and head for the front door with the gondola to dump in Enrique’s trailer when I reeled and spun and almost crashed into the ground. Instead I fell against the brick wall and closed my eyes, breathing hard as the explosion overwhelmed me.

“Are you okay?” Mr. Catalan asked a moment later. He didn’t look concerned. Not one whit. Instead he was smiling like a Cheshire cat or a little boy after sneaking a few cookies out of the jar. Clearly I had no one fooled. Except maybe myself for thinking I could get away with it. Damn Kari.

“I’m… I’m okay,” I managed to stammer. “I’m just… a little…”

Catalan grinned. “I find it rather delightful. I wish my wife was as willing to experiment as you.”

I swallowed. I didn’t know what to say. Besides, despite cumming, neither of the vibrators had slowed down in the least. More fluids soaked the crotch of my shorts. Catalan patted my arm and then went back into the house, leaving me to wallow in both the afterglow of cumming, and the incessant, still intense buzzing between my legs.

Kari catered lunch, or more accurately, had one of those lunch trucks come to our location and she paid for everyone’s food, including mine. I got a couple of intense and rather odd looks from the truck guys, but no one said anything. I ate with Kari and Enrique and the only concession Kari made to my comfort was to turn down both vibrators so that I would choke on my food.

When we got to work again most of the wall was down and Enrique’s team was mostly doing cleanup. Except for washing my hands I was filthy and I kept my legs tightly closed in order to keep anyone from really noticing just how wet the crotch of my shorts had become. I was seeping copious amounts of sex juice and it wasn’t mixing well with the dust from the demolition.

That’s when Roy Catalan’s constant presence became a nuisance. And not to me. To Kari.

Roy was a nice guy, don’t get me wrong, but most homeowners prefer to get the hell out of the way when we are doing a demolition. Roy on the other hand, watched. He stood there, arms crossed, observing, making comments, asking Kari questions. I wasn’t sure if it was due to my presence, but since he wasn’t staring at me with any sort of intensity, I didn’t think I was the cause. He was just one of those guys who liked to be involved. He wanted to “help”. Kari had fended him off all morning and I could tell it was getting to her. The expression on her face was enough to tell me that she was close to getting frustrated.

That’s when I decided to help her out.

I stripped off the gloves and looked down at myself. I was a mess. My clothes looked like I’d barely survived the apocalypse, my skin, from shoulder down to my bared midriff was covered in sweat streaked reams of dust. My legs were whiter than usual, except where the wet streaks on my thighs had turned the color a creamy tan. I was filthy.

“Mr. Catalan?” I said, going up to the man even as I stuck my chest out, emphasizing all the hardware I had hanging on my nipples. Kari’s eyes widened for a moment, but then she gave me this look of sincere appreciation. Even as he turned and looked at me I felt the vibes in my pussy and ass slow and still. Kari was helping me in turn. I gave Catalan a warm, sultry smile.

“Sir, I know this is a lot to ask, but do you have a bathroom I might use to clean up a bit?”

He blinked, tearing his eyes away from the outline of the cable clamps on my nipples and looked up at my face. “What? Oh! Yes. Of course. Please follow me!” He said, gesturing toward the door.

I smiled at Kari who nodded in appreciation and I went for the door ahead of Roy, swishing my short shorts clad ass from side to side. If he wasn’t staring at my ass by that point there was no help for the man. I paused in the hall and he stepped up next to me and then sort of led me through the house to what was obviously a guest bathroom. A full sized guest bathroom, with a jacuzzi tub big enough to hold three people. Intimately of course.

“Wow!” I said, eyes wide as I took in the exquisitely decorated and well sized bathroom. “This is amazing!” I said, turning to look at him, tugging off my boots and socks in the process. I put them to the side as Roy glanced around and then nodded.

“Yes, I suppose it is. Do you need anything…” He was about to say “anything else,” but I peeled my shirt off and his sentence faded into nothingness.

What can I say? I know how silence a man.

Our eyes met and the smoldering heat in mine must have spoken volumes because Roy’s eyes widened and he swallowed. I stood there, bare breasted, nipples caught in the cable clamps, still covered in dust.

“You know, I’ve never had a bath in a jacuzzi before,” I said quietly, putting every ounce of “come hither” into those words. I put my hands behind my back, which had the effect of pushing my tits even further toward him. Then I twisted coquettishly. “I might need someone to wash my back.”

Roy Catalan grinned, the look of stunned apoplexy sliding from his face. “It so happens I’ve got a jacuzzi,” he said. “And I might even know someone who could help you wash up.” He took a step closer. I grinned.

“Someone to help me out of these shorts?” I asked wistfully. He came another step closer and his hands fell onto my hips, just above the waistband. Then they slid forward along my dust covered belly. His fingers came to the front and I didn’t stop him as they dipped in between my skin and the denim. The button snapped and I felt them loosen. I shook my hips as he pushed and suddenly his mouth was on mine as my shorts fell to the floor around my bare feet. I kicked them away.

When he stopped kissing me I took a step back. I was naked now, except for the clamps, not to mention the little black tether between my pussy and ass. I didn’t think he could see it. I spun for him, sexy and all erotic, moving like a dancer on a pole. I bent over the edge of the tub and started the water, waving my ass at him. I looked back over my shoulder and his shirt was off. He was quickly unbuttoning his trousers. I giggled, a little girl giggle, and then I turned back to him. I helped shuck him of his clothes and grabbed hold of his manhood, rubbing it softly as I pulled him toward the tub. He stiffened in my hand immediately and I couldn’t help myself. I dropped to my knees as his eyes widened yet again, my soft, open mouth surrounding his shaft. He let out a groan as I suckled him, drawing his member deep into my mouth, almost deep throating him as my hand came up and surrounded the base of his shaft.

Between my legs my other hand grabbed hold of the tether and pulled. Little Boy came out first, followed by Fat Man. I tossed them aside, glad that Kari had turned them both off. I bobbed my head eagerly as Roy closed his eyes and hummed in pleasure, the sound of falling water pooling behind me. His breath quickened and I could feel him pulse and then he pulled out, hunger in his eyes. I looked up at him in disappointment and he shook his head.

“I don’t want this to end that quickly.” He smiled. “I want you to be satisfied too.”

I let out a laugh and grabbed his cock once more. “Oh sir, if you cum and I’m not satisfied, I’ll just suck and lick and tease you till you’re hard once more.” I eagerly swallowed him and he groaned. I rubbed and caressed him and then he spurted a thick, white, and creamy load into my mouth. I let it dribble down my face to fall onto my chest.

Roy Catalan sighed in relief, but I held onto him. “Bath time,” I said. “I’ll wash you, if you wash me.” I stood up and stepped into the tub. It was hot and felt amazing. I pulled him in after me and when he’d settled I sat opposite him, legs spread, my hands caressing his cock.

“You have forever to stop doing that,” he moaned. I could only laugh.

“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll stop doing that once you’ve come for me one more time.”

He gave me a warm smile. “This time in the right hole?” He asked.

I laughed and let go of him, lifting my pussy up out of the water for him to see. He reached out and slid two fingers into me, eliciting a soft moan from my lips. He began pumping. “So wet.”

I let myself back down, his hand still between my outstretched legs and I cupped his scrotum, stroking him, our eyes locked on each other as we both tried to work the other into a froth.

“I can make you cum before you make me,” he said with a chuckle.

I lifted an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

He nodded. I couldn’t help laughing. “Fine, do your worst!” I said earnestly. He grinned and reached out with his other hand, even while his two fingers twisted in my pussy. He touched a clamped nipple, then pinched it. I shuddered.

“Not fair!” I whispered and he kept doing it. Doing it over and over until I finally cried out. He pulled his fingers from me, cleaning them in the water. I gave him a mock glare of anger and then smiled.

“Now it’s my turn!” I declared, my hands going to his semi-rigid cock. Soap and bubbles rose from the water. The scent of lilacs and the firm touch of flesh filled my senses. Roy Catalan’s eyes closed as his hips moved up and down in my hands. I lifted him up, cupping his bottom, sucking on him. He turned to granite, pulsing with need and I didn’t even hesitate. I slid forward, rising out of the water like a naiad and I mounted him, sinking down on his shaft without a second thought. Waves lapped at the edge of the jacuzzi and the slow, sweet thrusts of need rocked us both. He arched his back, his hands on my hips, then my breasts. The dust of construction was wiped away and he pushed hard into me, teeth clenched, right on the verge, even as I cried out with satisfaction.

Demolition.  

Breanne Erickson is the author of the amazing series "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut." Get your copies today!