Daily Assignment 11/21/10 Keeping Abreast of Things

Keeping Abreast of Things

11/21/10

Day two of forced orgasm denial sucked. Not so much in the assignment that was given to me, but the very fact that I'm extremely horny now, desperate to explode, and I'll I've got is two rather firmly embedded phallic shafts stuck up my ass and pussy. They aren't buzzing. They aren't moving. There's no stimulation. I'm just... stuffed. Combine that with some obvious sexual assignments, dressing like a two bit whore, the occasional lubrication with Stinging O (after every bathroom break no less) and two minutes of high powered vibration every two hours, and I'm at a point where I'm starting to think about what to offer Master Barrett in exchange to get out of this damn chastity belt.


Saturday's assignment had me still stuffed to the gills, with another outing in the works. This one was short though. In fact, it was rather simple. Dress in Daisy Duke shorts, high heels, a bikini top, and buy some rubber bands. Specific Rubber Bands. Thick ones. About as big as my wrist, maybe a little smaller. So right after lunch I threw my shorts, bikini and high heels into my bag and headed out the door.


I was in my usual attire when I pulled up on the Farm to Market road behind our farm. Stripping and getting into the new outfit was easy, except for the Daisy Duke shorts. These were a bit tight, especially when put on over the chastity belt and to be honest, the black leather strap between my legs was visible not only as bumps under the denim, but also along the edges of the crotch. Quite uncomfortable. Daisy dukes are not meant to be worn with leather undies. For my top I had selected one of my dark green bikini tops, just two little triangles that did only a legal job of covering my breasts. Nipples actually. The rest of the bikini was just made of some cotton string that tied behind my back and neck. So in front of my truck I finished getting dressed, felt the cool seventy degree breeze on my skin, and then went shopping.


The biggest problem I was facing was where to buy the rubber bands. The kind I needed were a little more intense than what you could find at Wal-Mart, which was good since I didn't want to be running around Wally world wearing short shorts and bikini top. That left either a hardware store (unlikely) or one of the office supply stores in the area. Figuring that the office supply store would be the best choice, I headed to our local OfficeXXXX.


Walking in got me a couple of hard stares, but I managed to get inside and make myself unobtrusive enough that I was left alone. I wandered the aisles for a bit until I found the rubber bands, but was disappointed. Nothing was wide enough (I needed almost an inch), and nothing was small enough. It was disappointing. So I headed out and went to another Office store. Again, I got odd looks as I walked in and this time I was approached by a man wearing a name tag who asked me what I was looking for, all while eyefucking me. I decided since I was already being ogled, to let the man help me, so I explained exactly what I needed. Then I was able to turn right around and leave the store. They didn't have them either.




So next I went to a hardware store, the big one. You know which one I'm talking about. And guess what. They didn't have them either! Well, what the fuck! I was running out of options. Next I drove to Mike’s Hardware shop. Just my luck. Mike wasn’t there and the assistant manager didn’t have anything along those lines either. Of course this was said while he was staring at my breasts. I thanks him and left, wondering where the hell I was going to find thick rubber bands.

In America, when we don’t know where to find something, there is always one last option, one catch all store that has more crap at cheap prices than an Asian outdoor market: Wal-Mart. And so I found myself being one of those fixtures of astonished looks as I made my way into Wal-Mart.

It was packed, and let me tell you, I was feeling it. I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut, and like it. But the looks I was getting… everything from “geeze can I fuck you right here and now” to “you fucking whore, get the hell away from me.” The scrutiny, the stares, the hard glares. It was almost too much. I moved quickly away from the grocery end of the store toward the office supplies.

No luck. They’re selection was even WORSE than the office supply stores I had tried. No one seemed to have thick rubber bands. Dejected I headed back toward the door.

It was pure happenstance that I walked past a lady with a shopping cart full of produce. She was looking at me with this sort of undisguised hostility. Maybe if I had been in flip flops and not high heels I wouldn’t have looked so sluttish, but at that point I didn’t care. Because sitting in her cart was a plastic produce bag containing what looked to be something like Romaine lettuce. And wrapped around it, halfway up, was a thick, blue, rubber band.

And it was exactly the right size.

I turned into the produce section and began scanning, ignoring the looks I was getting. It took me only a few moments to find them and I grabbed two, a look of satisfaction on my face. I turned back toward the front of the store, intending to get in line, but then I remembered: I was supposed to try them on.

Oh God.

I bit my lip and headed toward the back of the store. For a second, I thought about just grabbing any shirt and going to the dressing rooms. Master Barrett didn’t specify that I had to try the bands on in public, but I figured that would get me into more trouble than I could handle. So I went to housewares. This section of Wal-Mart never seems to be that busy. I know. I’ve done assignments at Wally World before. So once down a deserted aisle, I pulled the rubber bands off the whatever-it-was produce, and stretched them over my breasts, right over the bikini top.



Perfect fit. My breasts suddenly bulged like ripe grapefruit, sticking out oddly. My bikini top stretched to cover them. It felt…. Awesome. All I needed now was to be splayed spread-eagled on a table while someone whipped my breasts.

I had a bit of trouble getting the rubber bands off. They were tight. But I managed to get them back on the produce, lettuce, whatever, and head back toward the registers. I went through the express checkout, still getting constantly eye fucked, though no one said anything. I made my purchase: $3.18 and then, with a bag full of lettuce, I went to the ladies bathroom right at the front of the store.

In a stall, I worked off the rubber bands and held them in my hand. This was going to be the worst part. According to Master Barrett, I had to leave the store WEARING them. I started to shake. Before I was just an underdressed girl who looked like a slut. By wearing the rubber bands out, on my breast, I wasn’t just a girl who looked like a slut, I was declaring to everyone that I WAS a kinky, sexually perverted slut of a girl who was probably stuffed to the gills with sex toys.

Truth hurts. Doesn’t it.

So I injected about twenty cc’s of steel into my spine, slipped the rubber bands over each of my tits, gave myself a quick examination in the mirror and headed toward the parking lot at something short of a run but much faster than a stroll. My bag of lettuce was in my hand and my breasts seemed to precede me as I left the store.

The stares I got were now more incredulous, and I saw a couple of people reaching for their iphones. Yeah. I moved a little more quickly. But not quickly enough. One guy reached out as I passed, his fingers snagging the bikini tie at my neck. One pull loosened it and the strings fell.

And my bikini stayed on. The rubber bands around the base of my breasts held the strings trapped, keeping that little triangle of material firmly fixed over my rather hardened nipple. Of course I still reacted with a little cry and clasping my arms to my chest, but it didn’t take me long to realize that it hadn’t mattered. I practically ran to the truck, as fast as my high heels allowed.

I fumbled with the keys but finally managed to get in and I peeled out of the lot with a quick press of the accelerator. Talk about humiliating. I was flushed, scared, embarrassed, distressed, and flustered, all at the same time. My breasts began throbbing. And then I noticed one more thing.

I was desperate. Really desperate. My hips were grinding, trying to make the dildo in my pussy move. Even my ass was clenching around the plug, wanting. I could feel my pussy ripen, juices lubricating me as I squeezed the phallus inside me. I hadn’t cum in a day and a half and it was starting to get to me. I needed a cold shower. I needed peace. I needed cock.

When I got home, I handed the bag of lettuce to my mom who took it with appreciation. Salad for the evening meal, right? She patted my shoulder, through my tee shirt, never noticing that the rubber bands from the lettuce were missing.

Or that my breasts seemed unusually pronounced, bulging forward as if something were constricting around the base, making them swell.

Me? I’m still desperate. Still needy. And probably will be for a while. We’ll see. But for now, my rubber bands are in the toy box. Waiting. Just like me.