The phone rang as I walked down the gravel drive. The bright yellow school bus that I’d just loaded my daughter on was nothing but a dwindling spot on the farm to market road that ran past the southern border of the farm and I felt the cold chill that was only marginally related to the pre-Christmas weather. I looked down at the screen of the smartphone. Kari. Of course. For a second I thought about not answering. Sorry Kari, I was in the bathroom. Or… sorry Kari, I was in the barn masturbating. Or maybe even… sorry Kari, I was trying to explain to my mother why you have me dressing like a professional prostitute instead of a secretary.
I sighed. As if.
“Hello?” I said waspishly into the device. As expected, I heard my best friend, lover, boss, and yes… sadistic mistress, greet me back.
“Good morning, Breanne. Have you already dressed for the day?”
I resisted the urge to say something impolite, but my mouth didn’t get the message until well after I’d already started speaking. “Hardly,” I said contemptuously. “Considering every outfit you bought me makes me look like a tramp, and I don’t want to explain to my mother why I’m heading to your place dressed like a hooker instead of a secretary. I don’t get ‘dressed for the day’ until I’m in the lobby bathroom there at the office.” It may have come out sounding a bit harsh.
“Oh. Excellent,” commented Kari as if I hadn’t just been incredibly rude to her. She sounded relieved, almost pleased. “Then I’d like you to wear your normal ‘farm’ attire to work today. Blue jeans, panties,and one of those nice button-up overshirts you like to wear. You know, something comfortable.”
I blinked. Then my jaw fell off my face, landed in the dust, and I bent over and picked it up. “Really?” I asked, suspicion overwhelming shock as I manage to put my teeth back.
“Really. We’re doing a tear down today and I want you with me.”
Oh. A teardown. A demolition. That I understood. I just hadn’t known we were doing it that Friday. I wondered how this would affect things, how I’d be treated, or even what my role would be. This would be the first tear down I’d gotten to see. Still, it made sense that I’d wear my usual work clothes. I mean, my former work clothes. A tear down meant smashing drywall and cabinetry, tearing out stucco and brick, and just generally being destructive. It sounded like fun actually.
“Um. Okay,” I agreed, still feeling as if there were a truck heading right for me in the darkness, lights off.
“Good. I’ll see you when you get here,” she said brightly. And that was that.
The good thing was that I didn’t even have to change. I was already dressed in tube socks, boots, blue jeans, a pair of simple panties, not to mention a rather utilitarian bra, a tee shirt, and one of my patented button-up, long sleeve shirts. My duster was wrapped around my torso keeping me warm and I’d even bought a cowgirl hat to keep my crimson locks in order. The idea of being able to work around Kari, dressed conservatively for a change, meant a great deal.
Of course, I’d still have to deal with the “toy of the day,” but I could handle that, right?
Beneath the button of my jeans, tucked under my panties, and strapped to my waist, was a small, purple plastic butterfly. Nestled above my clit, it lay in silence, waiting for someone (probably me under orders) to flip the tiny switch which would activate a mini electric motor, setting the entire device fluttering. Those vibrations would translate directly into the soft and sensitive nub of my clitoris, which would in turn send me into spirals of sexual pleasure until I was cumming in wild abandon. My butterfly stimulator was one of those toys that had a tendency to overload me if used to extremes.
And I’m all about extremes. Especially when I haven’t come in four days.
The rest of Breanne's amazing tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog. But don't despair! It can be found in her novel "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 13"! Check it out now at Amazon.com!