Context

The problem was context. I stood there in front of the cash register, my face flushed crimson, my selected items combining with my attire to leave an impression that was, admittedly in this instance, totally accurate.

"Nice shirt," Dorbin commented. That was the clerk's name. His name tag said so.

Me? I blushed even more, the redness creeping down my chest. I'd been told to wear my peasant blouse, which was a bit of a misnomer since it only resembled that particular style of clothing. Sort of like how a Shetland pony resembles a quarter horse. To me my shirt looked more like a set of partially see-thru drapes you hang across the top of a window called a valance and is designed to hide the curtain rack the sheers are hanging from. My shirt, which didn't actually do much to hide my rack, was both deep at the collar and daringly short at the hem. There was just enough material to keep from flashing the world as long as I didn’t move. Raising my arms above my head or bending over would have caused both breasts to swing delicately free of the covering material.

Of course bending over would have been stupid for other reasons as well. The skirt I'd been ordered to pair with the peasant blouse was of a similar cut and material. It hung excruciatingly low on my hips, feeling as if the slightest twitch would send it to the floor, while the hem only came down mid-thigh. Let me amend that statement: upper mid-thigh. The only plus in my book was that it was flared and you couldn't actually see through it, which was good, since I wasn't wearing any panties.

My sex tightened as Dorbin's hand started sliding my purchases across his scanner. I'd chosen the drugstore because it would be less busy than the standard grocery. I'm not sure I'd have been able to bear the humiliation had another customer been standing behind me. How would I explain the bottle of sexual lubricant, or the tube of Icy Hot?

Dorbin held up the motorized, vibrating toothbrush I'd been told to get. "These are very effective," he assured me, the sexual innuendo in his voice rather obvious. I'd have turned even more crimson had I not already been blushing down to the tips my breasts. The box of condoms went next and he smiled knowingly.

I thought I was going to die of extreme mortification. Everything got totaled up and I paid in cash, fumbling with the small clutch I had slung over one shoulder. Then I watched as Dorbin printed my receipt, folded it in half lengthwise, and tossed it out into the middle of the floor with a polite but totally insincere, "oops. I'm sorry." My eyes widened in alarm.

A war broke out in my head, one half of me screaming "FORGET THE RECEIPT!" while my darker, more scrumptious half said, "go ahead. Pick it up. Tempt him. Torment him. Leave him hard and wanting." I froze, not sure which half of myself to listen too. That’s my problem. Half the time I want to run, scared and humiliated. The other half… well… I listen to it too sometimes.

I glanced around. It was just Dorbin and me. I swallowed hard, my bottom lip caught between my teeth, then I turned around. I wanted to close my eyes as I started to bend down, and not by folding my legs and scrunching down. I felt the air against my bottom, the skirt swirling dangerously. Of course the moment I bent over my blouse fell forward too, both breasts dangling bare beneath me, the gold piercing and small padlock hanging from my right nipple. I turned as my fingers snagged the receipt and I came back up with my side presented to him, just so he could see the sides of my breasts before my blouse recovered them.

Dorbin’s eyes were wide in shock and his mouth was half open, though the beginnings of a big smile were already there. He blinked as I stepped back up to the counter and tucked the receipt into the small plastic bag he’d filled with my items. I gave him a little smile, half-pleased with myself and very, very, very wet. The ben wa balls I had inside me rolled as I shifted my hips, the little bells ringing lightly.

“Girl, where have you been my whole life?” Dorbin asked in dismay.

I took a deep breath, fighting down the urge to flee.  “When do you get off from work?” I asked.  It was around one in the afternoon, so I thought I’d ask.  Instead his face fell. “Not till three,” he said somewhat dejected. I sighed.

“Too bad. I need an audience.” The words came out of my mouth in a dark, sultry wave.

He didn’t know what to say.

I reached into the bag and pulled out the toothbrush and popped it out of the plastic and cardboard container it had come in.  Then with a touch of my thumb, I hit the small button along the thick, battery filled handle, and both felt and heard it come to life. I stared straight at Dorbin as I slipped the bristle end up under my blouse, pressing it to my left nipple. I let out a soft gasp, eyes widening, then issued a moan that would have hardened a cooked noodle.

My loins tightened and I admit I wanted to see where this was going to go, but I knew that masturbating at the front counter of a drug store wasn’t exactly brilliant. Besides, I’d already pushed it. The security surveillance footage was going to end up on the internet at some point, showing a barely dressed redhead with sunglasses, a small purse, strutting her stuff while picking up a receipt.

I grabbed my stuff and fled, throwing the vibrating toothbrush into the bag. Out in my truck I clutched the steering wheel and tried to keep from hyperventilating. I could feel the moisture seeping out from between my petals, soaking the back of my skirt as my slit tightened rhythmically around the two golf ball sized spheres rolling around in there. I let out a light moan. God, I was so desperate! I so needed to cum!

I turned on the truck and headed out.

The rest of Breanne's amazing tale is no longer available here on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog. You CAN find out what happens though, by reading Breanne's "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 11," now available from Amazon.com!