Try Again

“Try not to cum,” Kari whispered to me out of the side of her mouth. I blinked at her in confusion, my mouth opening to protest, but Karen Oswald was already approaching, her high heels clicking on the marble floor, and the last thing I needed to do was stand there, gaping like a fish. The lobby of the building was two stories and fortunately empty except for a grizzled security officer who seemed to be napping at his desk, one hand propping up his head. I glared at Kari, who stood there looking impeccably perfect in her crimson colored suit, gold jewelry glittering at her ears and wrists. She pushed her elbow into my side, forcing my attention back to the front and I snapped my jaw closed just as a gorgeous woman, in her late thirties, approached us. Tall and with a wealth of brown hair with copper highlights, she was dressed in an expensive, dark blue business suit that emphasized her curves and her shoes were sharp tipped and high enough to look good, but low enough to be sensible. Blue sapphires glittered at her ears and her throat held a matching stone that helped the conservative, yet still feminine neckline of her blouse.

Me? Well, I was the stray daisy planted in a bed of roses.

“Kari, it’s so good to see you again,” Oswald said, holding out both arms and giving Kari one of those non-hug hugs. I’ve never understood that practice, not that it makes me uncomfortable, but then, I’d never met Karen Oswald before. The two women practically touched cheeks and then broke apart smiling. I stood there, feeling quite out of place. Karen Oswald then turned slightly toward me.

“And who is this delightful young lady?” Oswald asked, her eyes glittering with interest. Kari chuckled and gestured toward me.

“Karen, this is my assistant, Breanne. I brought her along with me today in order to take notes and measurements.”

Karen Oswald gave me a long look and I couldn’t help feeling just a little unsettled. Her eyes were just a little too blue and there was a depth in them that touched me just a bit to intimately. There was something predatory in her examination and it caused me a momentary imbalance. But then her smile deepened. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Breanne.” She held out her hand.

Nervously I took her hand with a light grip, hoping my palm wasn’t sweaty. The business executive held my fingers and then, much to my surprise, I got a caress, her fingers swirling across my palm in a very unprofessional manner. The palm of the hand is often overlooked by folks as an erogenous zone, but there are tons of nerve endings in there. Don’t believe me? Try a light caress in the center of your palm. It can drive you crazy. My eyes widened and I couldn’t help gulping. I’m not always the most astute of people, but I honestly felt like Karen Oswald was paying a hell of a lot more attention to me than to Kari.

“You’re dress is adorable. You wear it well,” Karen said, eyes sparkling, her smile huge. She still hadn’t let go of my hand.

I swallowed. “Uh … thank you,” I replied in a voice better suited for an audition at Disney World - as a cartoon character. I still felt seriously out of my depth. With my one free hand I smoothed down the dress Karen liked, an apricot-colored, party dress Kari had bought me. It had a plunging neckline that dipped well below the bottoms of both breasts, sequined designs swirling up from the hem, which in and of itself was positioned somewhere between intriguingly daring and dangerously obscene. The top of the dress barely contained my breasts and leaning over more than twenty degrees in any direction would either leave me exposed, or actually cause my bosom to fall out. Worse, there was no way to wear a bra, so my nipples were both acutely on display, pierced with enough hardware to set off a TSA metal detector.

A shiver shot through me as Karen stroked the center of my palm. Goosebumps rose on my forearm as the excited tingle flash up the underside of my arm, only to rotate to my shoulder. Then it shot across my breasts and my nipples tightened, making the front of my dress even more of a display. That rush then shot down through me, straight to one certain area, under the black lace panties I wore, and entire lower half tightened around the thick, twelve inch rod buried deep in my sex. I resisted the urge to thrust my hips forward. I felt a burst of wetness and thanked God that the Monster Vibe wasn’t on.


The rest of this story is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but is available for purchase, contained in Breanne Erickson's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 16."  Get it now at Amazon.com!