plaything (3 page)

How did I
know Randy's name? Because over the years he had given everyone in town his
business card at least ten times apiece. The man seemed to possess no memory
whatsoever. Instead he just went through life meeting everyone he knew, again
and again. How he afforded all those business cards, I will never understand.

At any rate,
on that particular day, all I knew was that he was not the man I was looking
for. I did a complete sweep of the room to find nothing but regulars. Boring,
pathetic people reading books, researching school subjects and surfing the web
while their cocks and pussies lay in coma.

I told
myself that it would be okay. After all it was only two minutes past the
agreed upon time, and besides he could afford to be as late as he wanted. He
had all the control; a fact that was as delightful as it was unfamiliar to me.

I decided to
simply order my usual, find a table, and wait. What else could a pantyless
girl do? But as Ryan passed my order over the pick-up counter he blurted,
"Oh, hey, I almost forgot!"

"What's
that?" I asked.

He reached
under the counter, produced a four-inch, silver colored box, and slid it across
to me. A white satin ribbon was tied around it, holding the top in place.

"Some
guy said to give you this."

"What
guy?" I asked, feeling my face flush with excitement.

"I
don't know, didn't leave a name," Ryan said, "He kind of acted like
you were expecting it."

Oh, I was
expecting it all right. I just didn't know what IT was.

Thanking
him, I took the box and tucked it safely under my arm, picked up the cappuccino
and said, "Hey, by the way, has anyone ever mentioned that you look like a
young Errol Flynn?"

"I
don't know who that is," he answered.

"He was
an old black and white movie actor."

"Oh,
well that explains it," he said, "I hate black and white
movies."

"Why?"
I asked.

"Because
they aren't in color," he explained in all seriousness.

And to think
that just over a day ago I'd had a little crush on him!

I smiled
politely and found the nearest unoccupied table. Surveying the room one last
time, I slowly pulled the end of the ribbon, lifted the box top and peered
inside.

Something
purple. Sparkly.

Whatever it
was I couldn't risk revealing it in public. I took a long sip of my coffee
drink--wishing it was something stronger--closed the box and made for the
restroom. The door to the restroom had no lock so I commandeered the only
stall and latched it shut. I took a deep breath, reached into the box and
removed a stunning thong panty, covered with lavender rhinestones. A small
card was attached emblazoned with strong, male handwriting:
"Wear these
for the remainder of the day."

Not a
"please." Not a "thank you." Just a shockingly arrogant
command.

Discarding
the box, I immediately did as I was told. However, as I stepped into the
unusual gift, I noticed something particularly odd. A soft, silicone nubbin
was strategically placed such that it would likely nestle itself just beneath
my clit. I finished sliding them on and, sure enough, felt the bonus feature
gently part my lips.

As I exited
the stall and walked to the sink, the nubbin stirred my saucepan, bringing it
to an immediate simmer. I placed my hands on the vanity, caught my breath, and
looked into the mirror.

Really,
Lauren? Is that all it takes? For twenty-eight years you make the few men
you've ever been with work tirelessly to earn your affection and now you're
powerless to resist an Armani suit and a nice pair of eyes? And great
cheekbones with a tall trim body? That's the winning formula? Just because he
most likely has a beautiful, angry cock capable of fucking your tight, wet
pussy until your twin brother screams? Next, you'll be begging him to pull
your hair and bite your neck as his nuts come to a rapid boil and…oh, good God,
what is
happening
to you!?

I turned on
the faucet and held some cool water to my flushed face, quieting my thoughts.
I told myself that whatever happens, happens. There wasn't a damn thing I
could do to influence the outcome anyway. All of the control was his to
exercise as he saw fit. No, the thing to do was to put one delicious step in
front of the other until further notice.

And that's
exactly what I did, feeling myself get panty-fucked as I walked right past my
still warm cappuccino and out of the shop.

The open
house went amazingly well, if I do say so myself. The house itself was in a
popular price range, so turnout was consistent for most of the afternoon. And
I'm certain my sales pitch had an extra "glow" about it, thanks to
the fact that I was being repeatedly jilled-off with every trip down the
hallway, through the master bedroom and out to the spacious wrap-around deck.

Unfortunately,
as I was locking up, a family of four appeared in a mini-van.

"We
drove in all the way from Creston just to see it," said the wife,
"Are you sure you couldn't give us the
quick
tour?"

The husband
secretly rolled his eyes in apology.

"Oh,
you know, sure. Why not," I said, putting the keys back in my purse.

I invited
them in and gave the kids the last of the cookies, then took them all on the
deluxe tour. By the time we got to the spacious downstairs utility room, complete
with Whirlpool side-loading washer and dryer, it was obvious the husband was
flirting with me. Each time his wife looked away he'd throw me a subtle wink
or a slight smile, just enough to send the message.

As the tour
continued, he got more and more brave, asking me whether I lived in the area,
what I did for fun around here, that sort of thing. He seemed like an ex-jock
who had married the second cutest cheerleader. She was my height with about
thirty extra pounds that she carried awkwardly, as if they were new. But I
could tell she was not as oblivious to her husband's antics as he seemed to
believe.

She caught
him looking at my tits as I reached up to pull down the attic hatch. We both
noticed the way he jockeyed for the position directly behind me as we ascended
the basement steps. I wished I could assure her that she had nothing to worry
about--at least from me--because this cad she had married was not even close to
my type.

Still, with
just a year and a half of job experience under my belt, I was already well
familiar with the concept of the "skirt sale." It was the one
advantage I had over much more seasoned realtors like Norm Larson, and in light
of the recently depressed housing market I was happy to have it. So when hubby
asked if I could show them the master bedroom just one last time, I agreed.

That's
when it happened. I was showing off the walk-in cedar-lined closet, when
suddenly my pussy started to vibrate. I mean literally.

I reached
for the garment rod to steady myself, trying not to let on as the little
fuck-nubbin actually came to life and began massaging my hot little twat.

"Are
you okay?" asked the wife.

"Yes,
I'm fine," I said, caught somewhere between ecstasy, alarm and
professional impropriety. Suddenly the vibrations stopped.

"I'm
sorry, I've had a little headache coming on," I explained, "If I
could just step out and get some air."

"Of
course," said the wife, "Honey, let her by," she told hubby.

He purposely
hesitated a moment, then made just enough space so that my left hip would have
to graze him in order to move past.

As I stepped
out to the master bedroom I instantly sensed that I was still not alone. I
scanned the room and sure enough, standing at the foot of the bed was a tall,
beautiful man.
The
Man, in fact.

His green
eyes pinned me to the wall from eight feet away.

"Beg
for more," he quietly ordered.

"More?"
I asked.

Suddenly my
pussy re-ignited as the nubbin grabbed me by the throat and fucked me against
the wall, my hips writhing without my consent.

"Please,"
I quietly pleaded, "I've got clients."

He stood
motionless, the smallest hint of a smile on his face.

"I
don't understand," I confessed as the panties took as much of me as they
wanted.

Suddenly the
family emerged from the closet and I heard the wife say, "Oh, looks like
you've got another customer."

The nubbin
stopped fucking me, saving itself for another round. I did my best to stand up
straight and brush the hair back from my face.

"Yes,"
I managed, "It seems that way."

"You
don't look so good," her hubby declared, stepping forward as if to help
me.

"She'll
be fine," The Man said, stopping him in his tracks.

The two men
stared each other down for what seemed like an agonizingly long time before the
wife suggested, "Maybe we should leave."

"Yes,"
The Man confirmed, "That might be best."

"Let's
go kids," the wife suggested, gathering both of them by the hand and
exiting down the hallway.

Her husband
stood there, stupid and confused.

"What's
going on here?" he dared to ask.

"Paul,
let's go!" his wife demanded from the other end of the hall.

The Man
quietly reached inside his jacket pocket and produced a small electronic device
with a single red button. He pressed and held the button causing the nubbin to
initiate another round.

"Oh,
fuck!" I let myself say aloud, "Don't stop!"

The Man
walked over to me, placed a hand on my shoulder and slowly pushed me to my
knees. Unzipping his trousers, he freed his rock hard cock and drove it
straight down my throat, muffling my uncontrollable moans.

As I began
dutifully sucking him off, he turned to hubby and said, "Close the door on
your way out, you little fuck."

There was a
slight delay, then the door clicked shut as a delightful wave of girl-cum
spoiled my favorite skirt.

Once the
muffled sound of the family minivan faded into the distance, the room was
suspended in almost eerie silence as all but the last inch of his cock enjoyed
my warm, wet throat.

Without
removing it, I dared to look up and into his eyes, which appeared to be
surprisingly grateful. His hand lightly stroked my hair as a smile slowly
appeared on his face. He reached down and handed me the remote button without
a word. I pushed it two or three times, jumpstarting my pussy again. After bathing
his cock in gentle moans, my lips and tongue reached for the base, then
retreated slowly to kiss the swollen head.

It was an
impressive piece of machinery. Long and straight with a slight upward curve
that would, no doubt, come in handy later. The head was swollen and shiny, red
but trying to become purple. On the extreme opposite end of the ergonomically
designed shaft was a smooth, hairless pouch stretched tight around precious
cargo. I extended my tongue and tasted his nuts, letting the cock itself lay
pink and wet against my face.

"Did
anyone ever tell you what a pretty little cocksucker you are?" he asked.

Of course
nobody had. But frankly the assumption that he could just talk to me that way
was the sexiest thing I'd ever heard of. What woman in her right mind would
agree to suck this magnificent fuck-tool at a moment's notice, let alone be
degraded in the process? Maybe he was under the impression that I had a hard
time attracting male attention. For his information, guys hit on me all the
time. Hell, just last week at the gym I'd overheard two college boys quietly
arguing over the treadmill right behind mine.

"Dude,
c'mon, I saw her first," one whined.

"Get
your own machine," the other answered, "Besides, you wouldn’t even know
what to do with that ass."

"Fuck,
whatever" came the reply, "I'd eat that thing for breakfast, lunch
and dinner, biatch."

"Yeah,
well you go think about that from the next machine over. I'll be right here,
looking straight down Broadway."

And with that,
I decided to cut my workout twelve minutes short. After all, I wasn't just
some plaything, put on this earth to entertain every swinging dick that comes
along. Still, here I was with the left nut of a man whose hand I had yet to
shake rolling around on my tongue.

"Can I
at least ask your name?" I requested after a long, slurpy lick.

"You
can," he said, "but it seems like a waste of a perfectly good set of
lips."

"Maybe
it's time to take my lips and go home?" I teased.

"Not
likely," he said, ridiculously sure of himself.

I gave the
swollen head a playful little smooch.

"And
why is that?" I asked.

Smiling, he
reached down and took my hand from his love muscle, running it up under his
silky suit jacket. My fingers bounced along his shockingly defined abs as they
were led in darkness to something even harder than the cock still pointing at
my face. There was leather at first, then the cool sting of machined metal.

“Show me,” I
begged.

Tightening
the grip on my wrist, he reached inside with his other hand, removed the gun
from a shoulder harness and aligned it with the shaft of his cock. Together
they made quite an arsenal.

I stared
down both barrels, frozen on an image I knew I would take to my grave whether I
lived another minute or another seventy years.

I swallowed
hard and looked up into a whole new set of eyes. Yes, they were still green,
but the light was gone from them now. Their cool matte finish told me
everything I needed to know. This was a man who was capable of anything. Playing
cute was off the table.

I did my
best to manufacture a smile, then extended my tongue and licked the ends of
both barrels. Seeing his face unchanged, I closed my own eyes and slowly
deepthroated the steel shaft, allowing the meat version to smudge the make-up
along my trembling cheekbone. I'd shot enough guns with my father and brothers
to know that I was now tasting gunpowder residue. This .44-calibre cock wasn't
just for show.