Demolition Day

I pulled my silver Saturn SL up into the parking lot and my jaw dropped open. The candy apple red convertible, driven by my boss, was positioned carefully between two of the white lines. This is and of itself wasn’t exactly why I was surprised. Kari always parked exactly right. Even taking an extra minute to position her vehicle precisely if need be. Unless of course that meant being late. As an individual afflicted with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Kari found peace in strict time and space management. Which is why I was shocked to find her at the office early.

I climbed out of my car and realized that there was another oddity, except this time with me. Normally, arriving for work was a harrowing experience. I’d have to navigate the choppy waters of Houston traffic, and my stomach would be in knots as waves of humiliation swept over me. But this time? Nope. Not a smidgen. No hurried glances around the lot to see if anyone was watching. No desperate attempts to get my skirt lower, or cover up my breasts.

I was completely dressed for a change!

Okay, it’s not like I go to work naked. But if you saw the outfits Kari preferred me in, you’d think I was starring in a porn flick entitled Secretary Sluts IV. How the hell is a girl supposed to deal with shirts that are see through, transparent, or cut in a way that leaves little to the imagination? All my bras are lace, leaving my curves, and usually my nipples too, totally visible. And the skirts? All of them are too short. ALL OF THEM DAMN IT! Pleated, stretchy, whatever. They’re all minis. Do you know how many times my ass has hung out of a skirt, showing off two slivers of bubble butt? Do you know what it’s like to get a compliment on the jeweled anal plug your mistress shoved up your ass that morning? Well I do.

So it was with great pleasure that I stood there on the sidewalk, dressed in denim jeans, boots, and a tee shirt. Underneath I was wearing the usual attire any south Texas farm girl might have on; pink cotton bikini cut panties and a rather utilitarian bra, the kind that Kari objects too for “aesthetic” reasons.  

I know. You’re disappointed. YOU like me being forced to show up to work all embarrassed, with my tits half hanging out and my rear end exposed. And I know how you feel about jeweled anal plugs. The more the better, right? Sigh. But before you get all bent out of shape and toss this book away in disgust, remember that someone agrees with you.

I walked into the office and waved high to Jose, our day porter, who stared at me in astonishment, not to mention as much disappointment as you’re expressing right now. I couldn’t help grinning, just a bit pleased with myself. Do you know what a relief it is NOT to be a sex object? Your whole life changes. I yanked open the glass door of Kari’s little office and there she was, at the end of the hall. She was sitting at her desk and I wasn’t the only one wearing attire more suited for a construction site.

Kari Anders, blond goddess of both interior design and sadistic sexual cruelty, was wearing a pair of blue overalls that certainly looked as if she were ready to go spelunking, but lacked the necessary sturdiness to survive the adventure. Kari was no farm girl and had never been. Even demolition days, Kari usually managed to keep from getting too dirty, though she was happy enough to wade in if something wasn’t being done to her expectation. Her boots were too clean, her overalls too well fitting, as if they’d been tailored. I stopped in at her door, leaned against the wall and crossed my arms expectantly.

“You’re here early,” I said sweetly.

She smiled. “Today is demo day. We need to leave soon and I had to do a few things here at the office.”

I nodded. It was an acceptable explanation. People with OCD can change their schedule. They just don’t like too. And Kari can function without seeming to be too outrageous. She gave me a warm smile.

“So what do you have to do?” I asked curiously. Her desk was clean except for the folder with the day’s demo plan in place. And it was closed.

She looked up at me and grinned, all while her left hand opened the bottom drawer of her desk. She pulled some folded cloth out and tossed it to me. It was denim, the same material as my jeans.

“Getting you appropriately dressed,” she said wickedly.

My stomach immediately tightened up as I unfolded the material. It didn’t take long. There wasn’t much of it. I looked at her little gift and found myself holding a pair of Daisy Duke short shorts that seemed so tight I wasn’t sure that the circulation to my legs wouldn’t get cut off.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said in a surly tone. “Kari, demo days are dirty. If I wear this I’ll be covered in dust and dirt! On my skin!”

She shrugged. “It will make a fetching look,” she said. “Especially with your little toy.” Her eyebrows wiggled with meaning and my eyes narrowed as I gave her an exasperated look. I knew exactly which toy she was referring too. But before I could respond, she opened the top drawer on the right side of her desk, reached in, and pulled out a small, keychain-sized fob with two large buttons, and then two pairs of smaller ones. My eyes widened in alarm as her thumb began moving and suddenly an earthquake erupted inside me, beneath both my jeans and my panties.

One of the requirements of being a nympho humiliation pain slut is Rule #1. Stated simply, a girl like me is required, at all times, to keep either cock, or an object that promotes readiness, inside her pussy. Vibrators, dildos, vibroballs, anything… as long as it keeps her wet and ready. The idea is to make it possible for any dom or domme wanting to shove something inside my pussy, to do so with a single, wanton thrust.

No need for foreplay, Mr. Bond. I’m ready now.

One of Kari’s more recent acquisitions from Q Branch was a toy I referred to as Fat Man and Little Boy. Yes. I know those were the names of the bombs dropped on Nagasaki and Hiroshima, but please understand that this particular toy consists of two vibrating eggs, one small and one large, connected by an eight inch tether. The larger end, which is obviously “Fat Man” is too large to go in any hole other than my pussy. At least comfortably, though I suppose if it were lubed well enough you could successfully jam it up my ass. I wouldn’t be happy with that though. Normally when forced to wear this particular toy I slide it deep into my pussy where it fills me quite nicely.

On the other end of the tether is “Little Boy”.  It’s another vibrator, just as powerful, but only a little larger than my thumb. This one is the problem. For example, right then, as I was standing in Kari’s doorway, Little Boy was jammed in the front of my panties, right above my clit. And now that she’d turned both vibrators on, well… let’s just say that sort of intense sexual stimulation has its rewards.

I gasped and pressed my thighs together, my knees buckling slightly. Kari looked at me with a peculiar expression and then sighed.

“You tucked Little Boy in the front, didn’t you?” She asked with disappointment. I nodded, but really the only thing I could think about at that particular moment was whether I was going to try to remain on my feet, or fall down and curl up into a ball as I exploded wetly.

The vibrations seemed to get even stronger as Kari stood up. “You will go into the conference room and put on the shorts. I shouldn’t even have to say this, but if you are wearing panties or a bra you can remove them. They won’t be needed for the day.” She grabbed my chin and lifted my face so that our eyes met. Waves of pleasure burrowed through my crotch as I panted in her grasp. “And Breanne, you know where Little Boy needs to go.”

Then she pushed my face to the side and I stumbled toward the door. I took two steps and then to my chagrin the vibrations between my legs stopped. Completely. Considering how close I’d been to cumming, the sudden cessation of vibration was distinctly unpleasant. When I got to the conference room I wiped my hand across my face and fought a series of shudders. My fingers trembled as I unbuttoned my jeans and a moment later I pushed them down, revealing the pink cotton panties I was wearing. The small bulge of Little Boy made it look like I was packing some tackle up front, but as I kicked off my boots and then pushed my jeans down, Little Boy slipped a little lower, falling into the very wet slit just a little lower down.

I took the panties off next. Normally I’d go for the top, trying to delay the exposure of my body as long as possible, but except for you, there wasn’t an audience. So I went for expediency. The panties slid down my legs and Little Boy fell, dangling between my inner thighs on the tether, as Fat Man stayed right in position, buried deep within the soft, pink, wet petals of my sex. I kicked off my panties and stood there in just the tee shirt and my tube socks, one hand between my legs, grabbing hold of the small bullet hanging there.

Kari had said to put Little Boy in his appropriate spot and I sighed. It took a chair and a unique position where I had one foot up on the seat, along with a bit of contortionism, before I could grab hold of the stupid little vibrator and haul it backward. I pressed the untethered end of Little Boy against the little brown star on the other side of my perineum and focused on relaxing. I breathed steadily and through my nose, taking deep breaths. Then I applied pressure as I relaxed my sphincter.

I absolutely hate having things in my ass. It’s not a comfort thing really. Not now at least. I’m so used to having someone shove something up my rear end that I’ve grown to accept it. Still, I won’t lie. I don’t like it. And it pisses me off when Kari finds some way to not only get me fucked up the ass, but make it sexually stimulating too. Which is one of the reasons I dislike Little Boy so much. It is small enough to go in easily, buzzes fast and hard, and feels… well… as much as I hate to admit it, I love the way it stimulates me.

It slid into my ass and didn’t go any deeper than a thumbnail. This was due to the tether between Fat Man and Little boy, stretched across my perineum. It also meant that when (not if) Kari reactivated the vibrators, Little Boy was in a position to do maximum torment. Like having someone’s finger going into your ass up to just the first knuckle. Over and over.

 Curious to know what happened next? We totally understand! We wanted to know too! Fortunately, the rest of this amazing tale is available for purchase at Amazon.com! Check out Breanne's "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 15!"