Monday, December 2, 2013
I bit my lip and swallowed. I was just a bit distracted, most of which I could lay at the feet of the vibroballs. Two plastic, oval shaped objects, both stuffed with offset motors, were vibrating on full power deep inside me. I had slipped the diabolical sex toy in that morning, and thanks to some very specific instructions, had endured the nonstop sexual stimulation for practically the entire day. There had been some relief to be had, but there had also been the requirement for three masturbation sessions and that had been non-negotiable.
To be honest, if left to my own devices, I’d have had more than three, but since only one of them was simple, if not quick, things had been a bit more chaotic that morning. Now it was late afternoon, I was desperate, and that post was waiting for me.
No, I wasn’t going to fuck the post. Well, not exactly. I took a deep breath and began rooting in the canvas bag I had brought with me, finding and extracting the massive twelve inch long, black rubber dildo. Called the “Core Driller” this monster phallus was shaped like a four stage rocket ship and would have been fine in a children’s toy store if it was white with a NASA label on the side. No one would have known it was a multipurpose toy for girls.
I also pulled a bottle of lubrication out of my bag. Sure I was wet enough to take the entire Core Driller, but I’d done something bad a week before and Kari had altered the requirements for my third masturbation session slightly. Now instead of just using natural juices, or even some KY Jelly or grapeseed oil, I was told to use something with a bit more heat. I walked over to the post, set the Core Driller down on the metal plate so that it was pointing straight up, and opened the bottle of Stinging O.
Stinging O is a homemade brew combining a number of ingredients in proportions that I like. I start out with a base of grapeseed oil, which I find to be one of the best natural lubrications available. It is then mixed with a little bit of pepper oil, and then depending on my mood, either mint or cinnamon oils. This in effect gives you a feeling of coolness, then with heat. The key is to make sure you don’t overdo the pepper oil, since that stuff can actually give you a bit of a burn. And since pepper oils don’t come in standard strengths, when you buy a bottle you have to test it yourself. Trust me – it’s a chore to make that stuff which is why I’m not bottling and selling it to BDSM couples.
I poured a liberal amount on the tip and watched it spill down over the sides of the Core Driller, wetting it nicely. Then came the fun part. I stripped naked, the cool breeze on my skin, the scent of winter wheat in my nose, the little shiver of excitement that comes from being naked outside. I had to kick off my boots to get my blue jeans off, and I put them right back on once I was bare. The last thing I did was tug the vibroballs out of my sex, groaning and trembling with need as my clit got just a bit of the vibration.
It wasn’t the only post I’d fucked that day. Not four hours earlier, just before lunch, I had driven south into the wilderness of south Texas farm land looking for an appropriate spot. I’d finally settled on a speed limit sign post on the edge of a gravel road, with enough of a view in both directions to give me at least a minute’s warning on the off chance that some country farmer would drive by. I’d shucked out of my blue jeans and tee shirt, this time barefoot and wincing on the rough gravel. I put my duster back on, but it did little to hide the front of my nude body. I ran my hand up and down the steel post. It was rough, pocked from time, though it wasn’t rusty. I grabbed a hand towel and cleaned it quickly, from knee height to waist, and then squirted just enough Stinging O on the side to watch it coat one side of the post.
Next came the clover clamps, two sets. The first were borrowed from Mike the Hardware Guy and sported a chain only six inches long. The other set belonged to me, a gift from Kari, and had a foot long chain. I began clipping on the clamps and in short order I had chains dangling from the left side of my labia, and hanging off my left nipple. I grabbed hold of the post, arched my back, and pressed my swollen, desperate sex against the metal. It was cold and the chemical tingle was harsh, only to be replaced by a burning heat. My fingers fumbled as I held onto the sign post and it took almost half a minute to get the other clover clamp, the one on the short chain, around the pole and attached to the other side of my sex. That left me little too no room and since Mike the Hardware Guy’s clover clamps have ridges etched into the pads, you can imagine that I wouldn’t be pulling free.
I clung to the pole as I exploded, shaking and trembling, fingers white, my sex still open and pressed to the metal. I could feel the coolness of it between my breasts and I struggled to think straight through the mix of endorphins and dopamine and adrenaline that had me floating on my own little pink cloud of delight. Nothing beats an orgasm. Not drugs, not chocolate, not winning a million dollars. It’s all natural, perfectly easy to achieve for most people, and while addictive, not too bad to deal with. I heartily recommend them.
I unclipped the clover clamps, putting them away, gingerly and gently dressing myself, unwilling to check the damage I might have done to myself by humping a road sign. I stuffed the vibroballs back in, putting them on high, knowing that another orgasm would eventually come, and that when it did, I needed to be fucking another post.
My foot slipped and suddenly I was back on that corner fence post, the memory of my earlier pole humping experience blasted away as my entire weight forced me downward. The thick Core Driller was already in most of the way, at least a good eight inches or so, but falling the last bit is generally not how you want to stuff yourself with a monster dildo. I cried out in pain as the tip hit my cervix, literally holding me up for a few moments before it slipped behind the bone. My labia burned, the Stinging O now only a mild irritant as the three and a half inch girth of the phallus stretched my sex wide. My booted feet dug in to the fence post, as if I were riding a pony, trying to push my weight upward. My hands pushed down, but there wasn’t exactly enough room to get a good grip, considering my entire ass was on the post cap as well.
Finally my right foot found purchase and so did one hand. It didn’t do much to alleviate the discomfort of being impaled, but it helped. There was a decent amount of pleasure that came from having my pussy stuffed to the brim, but it wasn’t like I was masturbating either. In fact, the pain that came from the position was much more prevalent than any sexualized sensation I was getting out of it. But that was the point, right?
My brain told my hand and foot to let go, to let my full weight back down on the post and dildo and it took a great effort of will to get my body to go along with the idea. But once I was down again, fully impaled with thick rubber, my foot dangling and my hands at my breasts, tweaking my nipples, I felt I was ready. My right hand slid down the front of my body and found my clit. I was wet, or perhaps that was the Stinging O, but it didn’t matter. I began rubbing myself, my fingertips making slow circles round and round.
Two minutes later and my situation had reversed itself. Sure, I was hurting. My legs were split open and I was bouncing on a thick rubber dildo that had mashed itself a full twelve inches into my gut. But that pain had combined with the desperation I felt, the sexual bliss of pleasure, the lines blurring as I marched myself up the mountain of climax and headed straight for the cliff. I didn’t even pause, the pain more than enough motivation to finish. I jumped off the cliff, exploding wildly, head thrown back, one hand pulling hard on my pierced nipple and the other pinching my clit. My world swam as sexual euphoria hit me and I lost my balance.
Falling off a six foot fence while naked and stuffed with a dildo is one of those experiences I would prefer not to experience a second time. Oddly enough, the Core Driller stayed inside me during the plummet and I have to admit that in all my years of metaphorically describing orgasm as jumping off a cliff, this was the first time I’d ever actually fallen during the process of orgasm. I’ve now come to realize that falling is easy. Landing is hard.
“Owww,” I groaned. The land sloped down to a small gulley and I had rolled a good distance away from the fence. Fortunately there wasn’t a road nearby and it was just a dried up wash for irrigation runoff, but still – it wasn’t a fun trip. I climbed to my feet, still buck naked, and as the Core Driller started to slip out of my incredibly wet slit, I grabbed hold of it and pushed it back in. It felt… it felt good.
I took a few cautious steps, one hand between my legs as I climbed back up to the fence. The motion of the Core Driller set something alight and I felt a fresh rush of need hit me. I reached out with my left hand and gripped a fence rail and leaned forward, my forehead resting on the fence. Then with my other hand I let the Core Driller slip almost all the way out. My sex convulsed, not liking the sensation of being empty, and with deliberate slowness, I pushed the Core Driller back in.
It reminded me of the first masturbation session I’d had that day. I was standing at another metal railed fence, this one just behind our barn, filled with goats that bleated and pattered around after their early morning feeding. Once a horse paddock, the goat pen still had the same gate that I’d had my very first orgasm on.
If you’ve read my book “Coming of Age” you know that I was twelve years old, watching some horses, when serendipity had done something amazing to me. I’d been leaning up against the gate and the metal hasp with the small rounded end had been positioned exactly right to graze my clit right through my blue jeans. Then I hadn’t even known why it felt good and forty five minutes of swinging my hips back and forth had finally resulted in a clitoral orgasm that had me reeling and wondering if I had hurt myself and was bleeding. Relieved to discover just an orgasmic discharge but totally at a loss to understand what was happening, I went back to that gate over and over to send the same thrill through my veins. At least… until privacy concerns forced my masturbation process to evolve. But hey, you can read that in Coming of Age if you want. It’s a good story.
But that gate post was still there and due to the requirements of the day’s masturbation, I had stepped up to that post early that morning, fed the goats, and then unbuttoned my jeans. I left my panties on, but squatting down, I managed to put my clit in just the right spot, the vibroballs buzzing away like mad inside me. Holding onto the fence with both hands, I rubbed my sex against the gate post, feeling the smooth metal bulb press and rotate against my clitoris until I was gasping. The goats didn’t seem to care that I was cumming, jeans slipping down my ass, exposing the pink flower covered panties I was wearing. All I knew was that it felt good.
That’s what went through my mind as I stood there, on the wrong side of the fence, right near the corner post I had sort of fucked a few minutes before. The Core Driller was moving rapidly by then, my thumb grazing my clit on every inward thrust. Images flashed through my mind – being naked at the sign post, wearing only my duster, labia mashed against the metal; grinding my hips against the gate post, rubbing away until I shook. Was I twenty seven? Or twelve? Did it matter? And then I thought about the awesome ache of being spread on the fence post, with a foot’s worth of solid black rubber rammed up through me.
I could feel the release coming. I was cumming. I was so close. It had started. With one hand in between my legs, I tried climbing up the fence one handed. It was so hard. I swung a leg over the top and climbed up higher, grabbing the thick wooden pillar my great-grandfather had set in place over a century before. Just a little higher – I swung my hips forward, my ankles practically crossed as my feet stood on the same rail of the fence, and the bottom of the Core Driller caught on the edge of the fence post. I pushed, feeling the thick phallus go deeper, my body weight pressing downward and I groaned as my hands kept me balanced. I leaned back, then forward again. It was awkward position, but it was enough. For the second time I exploded, this one a bit weaker and not as powerful, but still an explosion -
On a post.
Later I was dressed, the vibroballs still buzzing inside me, out running errands. My clit was tender and sore and I still felt just a tad bit – run through – thanks to the Core Driller, when I saw him. He was middle aged, wearing blue shorts, black socks, black shoes, and a light blue shirt with a patch. As he rolled his dolly behind him, the white plastic box sporting the logo of a blue eagle in flight, I couldn’t help smiling. Today had been a day of posts, and I was ready for another one.
Gate Post. Sign Post. Fence Post.
I’ll let you figure out which one was the best fuck.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
“Here,” Kari said, handing me a small, white envelope. I took it gingerly and looked at it in confusion.
“If you’re tipping me, you don’t have to put it in an envelope,” I said sarcastically. “And normally you’re supposed to wait until after I’ve opened my coat.” My hands found the front edges of the Cashmere coat and made sure the front was securely closed.
She let out a silver laugh that sounded like bells ringing. “It’s not a tip,” she said simply. “It’s a fare.”
“A fare?” I asked suspiciously. “A fare for what?” I took the envelope and tore it open. Inside was a card with the METRO bus logo emblazoned across its face.
“The bus of course,” she replied, plucking my large purse of my shoulder. My eyes widened in alarm.
“The bus? The bus to where?”
“Back to my office. It’s a bit of a trip, with two route changes, but I’m sure you can handle it.” She snapped her fingers as if she had just remembered something. She opened up her own purse and pulled out a small piece of paper. “Your schedule. Just remember to get off at those intersections and those other numbers are for the connecting buses.” I took the paper, my hand trembling, and she reached back down into her purse. I gasped when she brought out a bright blue vibrator that looked as if it were made of ice. It flopped half way over as she handed it to me, my mouth open in shock. My cheeks turned scarlet.
“Kari!” I hissed. We were standing in the entrance way of one of her favorite restaurants and while there wasn’t an immediate audience, the risk of a hostess or another customer coming in or out was astronomically good. My problem was of course more prosaic. I had nowhere to put the damn thing. The coat I was wearing was cashmere and very expensive, but it lacked pockets of any kind. The dress I had been wearing, along with my bra and panties, happened to be in the large purse which Kari had just taken away from me. The only other spot a girl like me might happen to stash a nine inch long ice colored dildo happened to be full; two golf-ball sized spheres were tumbling around in there in time with each step. So as I said, not many options.
I jammed the dildo up into my coat sleeve as a temporary and quite makeshift storage point. At least it got the damn thing out of sight. My coat had slipped again, revealing a bit more than I was comfortable showing, and once against I cinched up the front and tightened the belt. Pockets weren’t the only thing the coat lacked. It didn’t have buttons either. What kind of designer doesn’t put buttons on a coat?
“Kari! This coat is all I’m wearing! How am I to hold all this?” I demanded. She grinned, reached out, and squeezed my arm gently.
“That’s your problem, Breanne. Besides, you also happen to be wearing those wonderful shoes.”
I glanced down at my toes, which were totally visible. She had also happened to buy me a pair of four inch, open toed heels with these delicate straps that left the sides and tops of my foot bare. They were nice shoes, and they matched the dress; the dress I was no longer even wearing. I glared at her. She checked her watch.
“Well now, I suggest you move smartly. The bus will be here in another ten or so minutes. Please make sure you have the vibrator inside you and on before you get on the bus. Don’t turn it off until you get to my office either. I’ll see you later.” She began to turn and I grabbed her arm.
“You can’t leave me like this!” I said, my voice panicked, the cock shaped head of the ice colored gel dildo poking out of my sleeve. Kari blinked and looked at me. Then her eyes narrowed and she leaned in close.
“Yes I can. Have fun.” She pulled away and then left, leaving me a bus pass and a dildo, dressed in nothing but a measly coat held together with a simple belt, a pair of high heels, a set of ben wa balls and a nine inch long dildo. As far as accessories go, this was a bit much. My face flushed and with a thumping heart, I followed her out of the restaurant out into the parking lot. She was already getting into her convertible and she waved at me through the window. She pointed toward the road and I swallowed, my eyes following her gesture. There was a sign there, a bus stop sign. Damn. She was serious!
Then she left. She actually left. With the tip of the dildo resting in my fingers as I kept it slipped up my sleeve I moved forward, the bus pass in my other left hand. The street wasn’t terribly busy, but there were cars going past every few seconds and when I got to the sign I was in a state. How the hell was I supposed to put the vibrator in BEFORE the bus got there? I glanced back at the restaurant. I should have turned around and gone back to the bathroom. Shaking, I turned my back to the street, praying no one in the restaurant happened to be looking out the front windows at the road. I put the bus pass between my teeth and slipped my hand between the front of my coat, right underneath the single belt which was all that was holding the coat together, digging my hand in between my legs. It was slippery, my thighs wet, my petals swollen with need, but I found the simple string that led to the ben wa balls. Normally I pull gently, working the two golf-ball sized spheres out with two steady, but soft tugs. I didn’t have the time. I jerked the sex toy out with a cry. The bus pass fell to the ground. The deep ache wasn’t comfortable as my hand came out clutching the wet ben wa balls and frankly the little burst of pain made my arousal worse.
I shook my right arm and the vibrator fell into my hand out of my coat sleeve. I jammed it in between my legs, not caring who in the restaurant happened to see. In hindsight I was probably far enough away to arouse curiosity, but not calls to the police. I groaned out loud as I pushed the massive vibrator in deep, twisting the base wildly, not caring about the setting. I just wanted it in. My eyes practically popped out of my head though as the vibrations sent ribbons of pleasure through my loins. I must have been much more aroused than I thought because my pussy contracted wildly around the plastic, rumbling phallus and my hips jerked a few times as I bent over and picked up my pass. The squeal of the bus brakes hit my ears and when I straightened and turned the door of the bus was opening, right in front of me.
I climbed in, my entire focus on taking tiny steps that would prevent the vibrator from falling out. It was awful. I could feel it slipping and I had to keep my thighs locked together in order to keep the damn thing in. A women’s sex is designed to be well lubricated. It’s not designed to hold things in unless they are of a certain shape, like ben wa balls or inflatable dildos. This vibrator was a monster in length, but not in width, and it certainly wasn’t bulging at the tip. The climb up the steps was horrendous. I waved my bus pass and the driver stared at me.
“Uh, miss? Your coat?” His eyes trailed down my body and I looked down too. Sure enough, the front edges of the coat had slipped open under the damn belt and I was showing enough skin to make it very clear that I was naked underneath. I wasn’t flashing breasts and my sex was to the side, so all he caught sight of was some thigh and loin, but still…
I slammed my hands together, closing the coat, my face turning even more scarlet, if that’s possible. The ben wa balls rattled in my hand and brushed against my cashmere coat, leaving streaks of girl goo across the material. I swore. Then I swore I was going to let Kari play the cleaning bill. I bit my lop and hurried past the driver and wiggled (since I couldn’t walk very well) down the aisle and to the first seat that wasn’t immediately occupied.
There weren’t that many people on the bus, maybe six or seven. They were also evenly spaced out so I found myself sitting in the middle, with no one around me for two or three seats in any direction. Taking a shuddering breath, I slipped the bus pass into my coat and pushed it down into the sleeve near my forearm. It would stay in place if I didn’t get too crazy. Then my hand went down between my legs, opening the front of the coat. I pushed the vibrator deeper, stifling the accompanying groan. Then, slowly at first, my eyes constantly darting around the bus, I began.
Most women can quietly masturbate and yes, I’m one of them. Under certain circumstances. For example, I can masturbate almost silently when I’m on my bed at home, naked and spread out on the sheets, my hands between my legs, with the only sound coming from the vibrator buried inside me. I’ve masturbated in grocery stores, in parks, on picnic tables, all without making a ruckus. But as I slipped that ice colored, gel filled vibrator in and out, the circumstances and previous arousal did not help. In minutes I was moaning, my lips pressed together to keep it quiet, but my bottom kept rotating, my hips working in and out even as my hand did the same.
One of the passengers, a man, walked right past me, getting a decent glimpse, eyes wide, but then he moved forward to the front of the bus, clearly wanting to get off. I ignored it. I was getting close to orgasm. As the bus stopped and let the man off, his eyes found mine through the window and that was when I orgasmed. It was quiet, thank God, but powerful, and I shuddered and gasped soundlessly as my body did what it does best.
I slumped in my seat, brain fogged through the miracle of sexual release and worked my coat closed. The ben wa balls continued to rattle in my hand, but I ignored it, instead reaching back into my sleeve and pulling out the bus pass. The paper with the directions was wrapped around it and I checked to see what intersection I’d be getting off on. I ignored the buzzing between my legs. I didn’t know what level the vibrator was set at, but it wasn’t terrible. Besides, Kari hadn’t told me I could turn it off.
It took fifteen minutes to get to my stop and at least a hundred yards out I reached between my legs, pushed the vibrator in as much as I could, adjusted my coat, made sure I had my ben wa balls and my bus pass and diretions, and stood. Again, the walk down the aisle was intense, but doable. At least until I got to the stairs. There was someone at my stop, a guy, who watched with interest as I took the large steps down. His shocked but pleased expression made it clear that my coat, which only came down mid-thigh, had certainly done little to conceal certain parts of my anatomy. As I passed him, he grinned.
“Nice panties,” he whispered.
I blinked. I wasn’t wearing panties. In less than half a second my cheeks matched my hair again. Then he climbed onto the bus and I was left standing there, ben wa balls clutched in one hand, the other making sure the front of my coat was closed, while a nine inch long vibrator tried very hard to push me back up the mountain of climax, wanting to see me jump off the cliffs of orgasm a second time. Trust me, it wasn’t having to work that hard to get me there.
Eight minutes later the second bus arrived and I recognized it by the number on the paper Kari had given me. My problem though was the eight minutes. I had stood there, right on the edge of the road, slowly going nuts. My hand kept having to go down between my legs, pushing on the vibrator from outside the coat, working it back up inside me. My sex kept squeezing it, wanting something special, which unfortunately caused the damn thing to be squirted out. Gravity didn’t help either. So I had to stay still, with my thighs pressed tightly together. I’ll bet I looked ridiculous standing there, my hips jerking.
I was trembling with need by the time the bus doors opened and this time I resolved not to flash the driver, which was good because it was a woman. I grasped the edges of my coat and squeezed them close while I struggled to get up the stairs without losing my vibrator. I could feel it slipping out and only barely made it. I had to reach down and push it back in just after getting past the driver, though I still did it through the coat. But as I looked down the aisle, I could see that this bus was much busier than the last one. I’d be sitting near someone no matter what. I took the first seat, my sex informing me that my time was running out. At least I didn’t have to sit WITH someone.
Again I masturbated as quietly as I could, working the vibrator in and out, small tiny thrusts rather than massive, full length movements that would send me into orbit with a brass band playing nearby. It was difficult. Terrible even. And the stress that I felt from the fear of discovery was about twenty times worse than the first orgasm on a bus. I started to laugh, and in a stupid sing song voice, whispered, “the vibrator on the bus goes in and out, in and out, in and out. The vibrator on the bus goes in and out, all through Breanne.”
My explosion turned heads and I’m sure a number of people were wondering what the hell was wrong with that red headed girl up there at the front of the bus. Maybe I shouldn’t have thrown my head back in bliss. Maybe I shouldn’t have gasped and moaned. Maybe I shouldn’t have been wriggling around like I had a nine inch vibrator rammed up between my legs.
Settling down was difficult thanks to the fact that I wasn’t allowed to turn off the vibrator. Things just kept getting tighter and tighter and while I managed to gather some semblance of sensibility around myself, the current just beneath the waters was tough to deal with. I glanced down at the paper in one hand, checking the route. When it was time to get off the bus and make my final switch, I clamped my wet thighs together and waddled down the aisle, ignoring the curious looks until I managed to hop down the steps and get off the bus. The stares were brutal and I kept the hand clutching the ben wa balls at the front of my coat, holding it together. As it was, the vibrator almost slipped out again.
One more bus to go. That was what I just kept telling myself. I could turn the vibrator off when I got to Kari’s office. I stood there on the side of the street, a parking lot to my back, cars driving by, trying desperately to ignore the buzzing between my legs. I still didn’t know what setting the thing was on, but it felt pretty intense. At one point I tried to check, but it meant using both hands and I couldn’t get a grip on the thing with just one. I still ended up flashing one of the passersby and I got a respectable honk in reply.
“Hey? What’s the rate?” I heard a voice ask. I whirled around and noticed a sedan had pulled up behind me. My loins rumbled and I felt this urge to break down. He thought I was a whore, hawking my wares. The vibrator seemed like it was going to slip out any second; or I was going to have another orgasm. Then brilliance hit me.
“A ride,” I said simply, though probably with more tension in my voice than I intended. I was getting close to the edge of explosion again. I could feel it. I’d be popping in less than a minute.
“Excuse me?” the guy said, clearly confused. I went right up to the window and shrugged my shoulders. This had the effect of making the front of my coat slip open beneath the belt. It didn’t exactly expose my breasts, but it showed enough of my cleavage that he could see my chest from belly button to chin. Sure my nipples were covered, but I had certainly made it clear that I wasn’t wearing anything under the coat. His eyes widened. He hadn’t been sure. I felt as if I were suddenly a little more in control. Then I heard the rumbling sound of the bus. It was coming down the road straight at me. Decision time. I whirled back toward the man in the sedan.
“You give me a ride to where I need to go, and I’ll give you a blowjob so amazing that you will tell your friends about it,” I said seductively, smiling. “Plus I’ll open my coat.” In my head, I mentally labeled this guy “Ticket.”
Ticket blinked, thought about it, and at least had the brains to ask where I was heading. Smart man. I gave him the address and in about four seconds he had agreed. I dropped the bus pass on the ground. Maybe someone could use it. Then I hurried around to the other side of his car and climbed in. The coat came open all the way as I sat down, exposing my breasts and the end of the massive vibrator buzzing away between my legs. Ticket’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the toy and I spread my legs wider. I try to be a decent passenger and I considered this part of the cost of getting to where I needed to go.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed. I reached over and took his right hand. The car was an automatic, so it wasn’t like he needed it. I pulled it right into my lap and used his fingers to rub my clit. I was soaked and it felt amazing. In seconds he didn’t need my guidance and began doing things himself. I heard the bus rumble by, but I was lost. In the semi-privacy of Ticket’s car, I arched my back, grabbed hold of my own breasts, dumped the ben wa balls in a cup holder, and gave myself an orgasm that had me crying out in ecstasy. Everything I needed was there. Intensity, humiliation, exposure, stimulation, and since the vibrator had been in so long, just a touch of discomfort. Yum.
Coming back down to earth was hard. We were still in the parking lot, cars zooming around us. My coat was wide open, both breasts bare, my pierced nipple and the small, charm-sized padlock that hung from it in full view. My knees were spread wide, one jammed up against the door, the other against the center console. I was slouching too, leaning back, my hips thrust forward. It was a delicious pose.
“Find a deserted corner of a parking lot,” I whispered to him a minute or two later.
Ticket nodded and pulled his hand away from my crotch. I whimpered and whined and pulled it back, putting his fingers back against my clit. With the vibrator still buzzing, I wanted the touch. Now with both hands free though I reached down and played with the setting on the vibe. I hadn’t realized it, but I had it at least set to medium. I turned it down to low. Better that I heat back up slowly.
The astringent scent and taste of cock hit me, but I’m quite familiar with it. I opened my mouth, tasting him, sucking smoothly, bobbing my head. I pulled on his trousers, tugging them farther down and he complied, lifting up so I could get my hand up to his balls. I felt his arm on my back, his hand grabbing hold of the coat, pulling it upward, exposing my rump and I let him. The feel of his fingers on my bottom was incredible and I ended up kneeling in my seat, the vibrator buzzing between my petals as I paid for my ride.
I swallowed like a good girl when he came, blasting a thick froth of cream up into my throat. I let a bit dribble out for artistry, but picked it up with a finger and licked it off, much to Ticket’s delight. Clearly spent, he put himself away even as I settled back into my seat, one hand going to the vibrator, moving it gently in and out. I twisted the base around, raising the setting, feeling the motor pass medium and finally it high. I could hear the roar of the vibrator, even buried inside me, and I slumped back down in my seat and masturbated wildly, Ticket watching the entire encore performance.
“Shit. Stay down,” Ticket muttered a moment later. I lifted my head even while I was exploding, the waves of perfect ecstasy flooding through me. A car was coming, driving slowly down the parking lot. It looked… it looked familiar. It was red. It was sleek. It was… a convertible. And there was a blonde driving it.
My eyes widened in alarm as Kari turned and looked straight at me. She didn’t stop. She didn’t smile. She turned the corner and drove slowly away. The peak of the orgasm hit me and I let out a cry.
She had followed me. She had pretended to drive off, but instead stayed near, making sure I made it from one bus to another. I felt a mixture of sexual euphoria and absolute fright. What did I do? I disobeyed her! I hadn’t taken the bus! My pussy tightened around the vibrator. I shook, and not from sexual need.
“Well, that was amazing!” Ticket said suddenly. He hadn’t realized I had recognized the driver of the convertible. And since it had kept going, he thought we were in the clear. “What’s your name?”
“Breanne. Breanne Erickson,” I replied, closing my legs, pressing my thighs together. The vibrator was still on high and I could feel the irritation of too much stimulation building.
“Well, Breanne, that was one of the best blowjobs I’ve ever had. I don’t suppose you are free for dinner?”
I laughed, the tension of my situation with Kari making it sound just a bit hysterical. “Dinner? Tonight? Probably not,” I whispered. Tonight, I’d probably be tied down to the iBench in Kari’s dungeon, finding out what a thorough whipping feels like. I could see Ticket’s disappointment, so I turned to him again and put a hand on the light bulge of his flaccid cock.
“But there are other evenings!” I said brightly, trying to put my coming doom out of my mind. I gave him a gentle squeeze. “Give me your phone number and I’ll call you. We can set something up.”
Ticket brightened and since I didn’t have my phone, I ended up giving him MY number. That made him even happier. He pulled out of the lot and we headed toward my final destination. The vibrator was causing all sorts of problems by the time we got to Kari’s office and I climbed from his sedan, closing the coat. I leaned down and thanked him.
“Call me tomorrow, okay? In the morning,” I told him.
Ticket nodded. “Okay.”
I smiled and waved as he drove away. I looked around. My truck was there, parked right in front of the door, but I didn’t have a key to get into it. The good news was that Kari’s convertible was parked right next to it. I clutched my coat closed, held my ben wa balls in my hand, and marched up to the office, a feeling of resolution, of acceptance, mixing with my fear. I knew I had disappointed her. I knew I had disobeyed her. I knew I’d risked my own safety needlessly, stupidly even. I knew I was going to get punished. I paused in the lobby, but only for a moment, then went straight for Kari’s office, ready to accept my fate.
Which is another story. Needless to say, she wasn’t pleased.
My date with Ticket? Well, I suppose I’ll have to write that one up as well.