I parked the car with just a flutter of nervousness, glancing out at the busy street just to the south of the lot. Cars rushed back and forth, drivers frantic to make their way home, working their way through the late rush hour traffic that marked the end of the work day. Car horns beeped, ambulance and fire sirens sounded in the distance, and everyone but me was rushing back toward dinner and family. The whole idea made me smile, but I had things to do before the comfort of heading to my dinner was an option and I was determined to see things through.
I got out of my Saturn with little fuss, thanks to the fact that I had chosen a lot that had few cars in it. It was after business hours and that made things a little easier. A stately dark brown building stood off to one side, dark tinted windows lining the bottom floor. With a deep breath I smoothed down my skirt, a blue denim number that I’ve worn on a number of assignments, the flared and ruffled hemline only an inch or two below my buttocks. Underneath I was as bare as the day I was born, no panties, and if any interested parties had dipped their head under to take a look, they’d probably have been surprised to see all the wiring.
Or maybe not. After all, my penchant for motorized and battery operated toys seems to be well known.
Before I even took a step my hands went down to the pockets of my skirt and I fished out the two separate and different color controllers. One was black and sleek, the other a disturbing neon pink. I turned both to maximum and spent the next thirty seconds struggling to maintain the cloak of composure that I needed to complete the assignment. One controller, the black one, went to the eight beads that I had previously stuffed in my ass, each of various sizes, each holding a small electric motor, off-balanced, that were now rumbling at full power. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable as much as difficult to deal with. I’m not a fan of anal anything, but I have to admit that those beads created some rather interesting tensions in my body.
The other control went to my Rotating Venus Penis, an interesting device that consisted of a plastic, ridged platform as well as a four inch, vibrating, spinning, plastic cock. That’s right. I said spinning. And yes, that is intense. The RVP is one of those toys that is actually diabolical in nature. The platform the phallus is attached to actually vibrates and is big enough to rub against your clit at the same time it’s stimulating your labia, not to mention shaking the whole cock inside you. Add the spin function and I feel like a martini that’s been shaken AND stirred.
Which would make for a rather crappy martini.
For me on the other hand, it makes me wet. Very wet. And somewhat stupid. Or at least socially dysfunctional since in that mindset I’ll practically fuck anything even vaguely cock shaped. The fact that I hadn’t cum all morning or afternoon, essentially spending over twenty hours orgasm-less made the whole process like throwing gasoline on dry tinder and tossing a match on the thing. Trust me, I needed those thirty seconds just to get myself under control.
I didn’t cum though. I managed to have that much will power, not to say that I didn’t cum a few minutes later. I did. But I’ll get to that.
I reached back into the car and grabbed the small can of vegetable shortening I had picked up at a grocery store before heading out. I remember the clerk giving me a look; the fuck me stripper shoes, the short skirt, the red halter top that barely held my breasts, the heavy makeup, the silly hoop earrings. I looked like a whore and the fact I was buying a can of grease did not make things easier. In hind sight, I should have bought a cucumber too, just for the shock effect.
Taking the can with me I stepped away from the car and looked at the building. Since I couldn’t see into any of the offices, stores, or suites due to the tinting on the windows, I just had to hope that I wasn’t seen. At least not quickly. With careful steps I marched over to the building, walked along the glass wall of windows, and stopped when I felt that no one was watching. There weren’t any doors immediately nearby and I uncapped the can of shortening, then removed the seal that kept it fresh.
For a second I contemplated how I wanted to do this. Experimentally, I lifted my shirt, exposing my left breast and I just pushed my tit into the opening. I could feel the edge of the can around my breast, the cool touch of the grease against my nipple. I twisted once, but when I pulled the can off, only a tiny smidgen of the shortening had transferred to my skin. Sure, my nipple had a dollop on it, but the rest of me only had a light, oily sheen. I was pretty sure that was insufficient. I sighed. I knew this was going to happen.
I bared my other breast, exposing the hoop piercing and small, charm-sized padlock that dangled from it. Then with my right hand I scooped out a quarter sized amount of the grease, and began rubbing it into my breast with what started out as efficient, no-nonsense, timeliness. Unfortunately my pussy had other ideas because the moment I started flicking my nipples and rubbing the shortening all over my bosom, my sex contracted around the RVP and began trying to throttle it while my hips began a lewd dance back and forth that looked suspiciously as if I were fucking a virtual man. I could feel the tension build inside me, greater than before, and the threat of orgasm reared its wonderful head. Trembling I made sure both breasts were thoroughly coated, white cream coating the entire front of my chest. Then, just as the orgasm building inside me hit the damn, bursting it a froth of white flash flooding, I smashed my bare and greased breasts up against the window. My left hand flashed down between my legs, lifting the front of my skirt and leaving a second coating of grease on another portion of my anatomy. It was incredible, powerful, amazing.
The rest of this tale from Breanne Erickson is available in her book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut, Volume 8" available at Amazon.com. Click here to find out what happened next!