Sarah

It cost me a small fortune, but that wasn't the half of it. I had to give the whole, tool and die making team, a blow-job once a week, all six of them, (four male, and two female), and the owner of the company wanted to fuck me in my ass-hole twice a month. That was the deal, take it or leave it. What else could I do? I've never swallowed so much come in all my life! I thought to myself.

"...God! Don't these bastards EVER! fuck their wives...?" I thought to myself.

Every Wednesday, like the clock, their balls would be bulging full of cumm, just waiting for me to suck it out for them: The fucking cunts!

And those two bitches had me licking every fucking hole they owned, for fucking hours, mind you. The skanky looking whores!

Everyone was German in the work-shop, and the two frauleins tasted similar; kind of like vanilla-cream taffy, but with slight vinegary after-taste, not unpleasant, but a bit too much on the tart side, for my liking. I was used to Sarah, and Mary Jane. Two delectable dishes, ready to eat at a moment's notice--satisfaction guaranteed in every bite--the epitome of fast-food pussy, served hot, and steamy--24hrs a day--Yummy!

Chapter 21.

At first I would do everyone separately, in a private office with the blinds closed, and the door shut. But it took all afternoon! and I would be exhausted, especially with those two Bitches, you would swear they had never had their slits licked before, because, baby, those two whores used and abused me, holding back their orgasms, to the very last moment, taking unscheduled breaks, even going to the trouble to have a couple of blocks of ice delivered, so that if they got too close to orgasm, before they thought they had gotten their pound-of-fucking-flesh, out of me, then they would sit on the ice, and cool-off their hairy cunts, and start all over again from scratch.

The fucking crafty little German trollops had me hog-tied, and at the mercy of their logical, Aryan, pragmatism, and clockwork view of the world. To them, I was just another love-puppet, existing for their use and enjoyment, and nothing else.

Chapter 22.

After a few weeks of this, I decided to re-read my contract, and by the merest stroke of luck, I had inadvertently included in an obscure clause, hidden in an unassuming little footnote, at the bottom of a rather, uninteresting page, that stated, I, and I alone, had absolute, and final say over the artistic content of the weekly - proceedings.

Of course, this meant that I could design, or choreograph, the whole goings-on during our weekly sordid afternoon meets.

Chapter 23.

I got so excited that had to go take a huge Royal shit to celebrate, apparently on the underlying presumption that I had, inadvertently, gained the upper-hand in this, complicated, affair.

Oh, Yes! I just do love, being Queen. It suits me to a tee, I must agree...

The very next Wednesday, after a clarification of the terms of the agreement with the owner, the New Order was unveiled.

I would have the two frauleins, stripped, and washed--especially around the clout area, and bung-hole region.

I would then have them, luxuriating upon a large comforter laid out in the middle of the main office floor; and the other four: Yes, the other fucking four, alright: Why, I would have them standing around the corners of the comforter, with their pants off and their balls hanging-out, swinging-in-the-wind!

I, of course, had on full-regalia.

Sarah had picked out most of the outfit for me, and it was frighteningly provocative, to say the least!

Now and again I would catch a fleeting sight - sometimes - of my alter-ego in the full-length mirror of my bedroom closet. I would strip-off immediately, turn off the light, and hide under the blankets.

Often, I would, frantically, call Sarah and insist she come over. She would let herself in. I had given her the key.

Invariably, Sarah would find me shivering in the dark; hiding, frightened, under the blankets.

She would comfort me, by lighting scented candles, and fucking me in the ass, with one of my own strap-on dildos.

It would calm me down alright, but Sarah didn't possess the attributes, nor panache of a giver: Sarah is a perfect taker.

I would generally end up ripping the strappy from her and donning it myself, instructing her in the finer details and subtle nuances of its use.

It seems to be a knack of the privileged, that when they come-up short, on the practical employment of any type of skill, or dexterity, then others around them, seem to want to rush-in...not in the attempt to fill-in the void of their obvious inadequacy, but simply, it seems, to maintain, above all cost, the relative status quo, between the "Idea" of those [produced out] of [that] class: Those, who would, rather than demand, simply, rather, expect, this - degree - of service as a given. I, on the other hand, instead of all of that have an innate quality of the ability - to love.

The crafty little Bitch, though...! I always fell into doing all the work with Sarah. I suppose, her upbringing, was too ingrained in her to be able to give freely, if at all, for long.

Sarah hated work.

Sweat in her opinion, ought to be "caused", and not "earned".

If Sarah sweated, by doing something, then in her world, she had failed!

Perspiration, according to Sarah, was something that she had to endure, as a negative consequence in the unfortunate course of actions that others needed to inflict upon her body, so that she could experience [her] up-and-comings, rather than the other way around!

This is why I beat her ass so often, and with so much pent-up vehemence. The fucking little cock-sucking little fucking Bitch! Whore, Bitch, Bastard, Cow, mother-Fucking, Strumpet Bitch...! ...Cunt! OoOoOoOW! Humph!

Thigh high! Full-regalia! Yes, Sarah knew how to intimidate, alright, and she dressed me in the ultimate get-up, that met her needs, psychologically.

I guess I am just a pawn in Sarah's complicated life-game, of self-realization. But what she didn't bargain on was an active mind, inside her puppet-creation...or did she?

Aside our, basic, connection, that of mutual sexual satisfaction, or even deeper than that, delving into the buried graves of inner introspection, Sarah only loved herself, and nothing else - but she had a way of making me like that.

Sarah never got - really - upset...

It was, sort of...beneath her - the cunt!

Sarah and I, I suppose, both jailer, and jailed trapped, as it were, in the pragmatism of a modern world's burgeoning insistent order - devoid of feeling. Impinging-upon an established class-constant: We both, understood and intrinsically, misunderstood, each other, so much so, approaching the perfect degree, to which such class misinterpretations reach, and seem to explain themselves, silently, in a non-linear, non-partisan way.

It was almost as if, we were connected, outside, of our teachings and beliefs.

It is probably not right.

It is probably not, wholly, correct. But baby, it feels so good.

A shared a proportion.

Chapter 24.

The owner was no problem for me, though. He had a small cock, and would come in about 20 seconds in my ass, grunting and complaining that I did him too quick.

It wasn't my fault. Sometimes he shot his load standing right there behind me, before he got it in, even.

I would kneel down on the top of his desk, fully clothed, but with my tits hanging out and swinging. I would rest the side of my face on the desk, to balance with, and reach around to hike-up my tight mini skirt, over my bulbous, firm buttocks. He would be standing there with his pants and jockey shorts around his ankles, holding his 5 inch stiff cock.

I would open my thighs wide, and slowly peel-off my skimpy panties, pulling them down to mid thigh. Grabbing my buttocks with both hands I would pull them apart; around toward my front of me, using a lot of force.

This would completely expose my red-brown colored puckered rose-bud to the world. Then I would open my bung-hole wide.

I have done this in mirrors at home: Only to see what it looks like, from the outsider's view.

It is very impressive.

Usually I "come myself", on the barest glint of a reflection-looking-into myself in disbelief, and resident of the consolation, afforded amid the prize. A prize rejected on the basis of integrity---itself.

Integrity is valuable, but people sell it for inflated prices.

The cheapest integrity, is always bought for the highest price.

Chapter 25.

I think it is too much of a visual, for most people, though!

When my rose-bud opens up about to about 2 inches in diameter, and the sight of the blood-red interior, surrounding the huge gaping, mysterious, black hole in the center confronts their senses and burns its image deep into the most pre-historic, animal, region of their brain; the very picture of it seems to bring up a combination of highly erotic yearnings coupled with the fear and anxiety of entering such forbidden lands. One would think that I had snakes, or spiders up there inside my ass, or carnivorous, little rodents just waiting to munch on the head of a cock pushed inside. I don't understand it? There's nothing up there, except a few sweet fragrant logs, that's all. I have been told that they have the distinct aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans, burnt toast, and a shovel-full of wet clay from the garden. Not at all what one would imagine--I imagine?

The psyche just can't handle the sheer naughtiness of it, let alone the guilt, fear and anxiety of the thought of the impending act itself.

It never mattered that much to me?

Chapter 26.

On occasion, if I didn't feel up to the owner shooting his saved-up load into my pooh-hole that day--and it wasn't that I "wasn't up to it": Hell I could take his 5 inches, and finish him off, lickety-split, whilst peeling an orange, and doing the crossword at the same time! But it was the drive home, that got me.

I would have to stuff my panties with a bunch of paper towels for the drive, otherwise his "come" would liquefy, and leak out of my ass-hole, seeping straight through my panties and out onto my mini skirt! All I had to do to save my clothes, or avoid an uncomfortable drive home, was to open and close my bung-hole like a carp's mouth in a feeding frenzy.

I would look back and see his contorted face, teeth hanging out to dry, grunting and squirming like a stuck hog, and load after load of come spewing out from the end of his rigid cock's eye, onto the floor, and into his pants. Try explaining that to the wife, buddy!

I would put everything back into my clothing: pouring my tits into their cups, shoe-horning my ass back into their lingerie-containers, and heaving my cunt into its gusset-hammock.

Once all of my "equipment" was loaded back onto my torso, and everything was in the right place again, balanced and symmetrical--I just hate it when one cheek of my ass, falls out of my panties, I can see men, in the reflection of shop windows, walking behind me, listing to one side, as if trying to compensate for the observed incongruity--and so, with perfect equilibrium, and a smidgeon of poise, I would just walk out; my ass dry as a bone, inside and out--waving arrivedecci, nonchalantly behind me, into the air; as he tried to follow my rotund, rotating, buttocks, fueled by my unhurried stride; The distance between us lengthening with each and every baby step he took, almost tearing his pants in two down there, handcuffed around his ankles.

I would wave, and say.

"See you all next week, babes..." The prick!

(To be continued...)

The instant Sarah ripped her sticky panty-gusset over to one side, her huge vulva dropping out from beneath her; between her open thighs, that is.

Like oxygen masks dropping from overhead passenger-racks of a distressed jet-plane, as the cabin-pressure suddenly drops within the scope of the relative emergency.

Mayday, Mayday, Mayday! Going down...!

Chapter 27.

Sarah took over holding my legs back for Tom.

She started to descend, over my head.

Her love-tunnel was wide open and huge, and her desire-cream was driveling onto my lips and into my mouth and eyes. I couldn't see straight, but I could smell her approach! She hadn't washed her pussy today, again! The little bitch!

Sarah's under-carriage docked securely onto my head, and I accepted it--as usual--washed or not!

Her lips: So big and wide that they wrapped around my entire face, and I almost suffocated.

I was breathing lungful upon lungful of spent air into her huge love-tunnel; creating a positive pressure inside her uterus.

As I gasped for air, the back-pressure forced the pussy-scented air back into my lungs, like an anesthesiologist's breathing balloon. I had to bite her clitoris for her to allow me to breath every now and then between her frantic grinding! Tom was grunting, and snorting like a crazed hog, sniffing and licking the bottle from my ass.

Tom repositioned himself, between my legs, still strangling his cock in utter desperation, trying to save his come-shooting orgasm for my pooh-hole.

Sarah's stinking cunt was fully secured on me, and she was grinding her hips; rotating her slippery-hole over my entire face, like Tom Jones on steroids, and she was screaming at Tom to:-

"Get it into her dirt-hole...now! "

Sarah, is a pig, and Tom is a hog. I rest my case!

I felt Tom's huge cock touch the entrance of my dirt-hole.

As he let go the choke-hold around his swollen shaft, I felt hot spurts of creamy-come shoot up into my ass; followed by the entire length of his throbbing spewing cock-head.

Chapter 28.

Spurt after spurt of white, hot, come shot from the end of his huge, throbbing, magenta helmet.

...As he, relentlessly, drove his 4 inch diameter cock-head all the way up into my anal canal in thrust after, after thrust, after, almighty, thrust!

Again and again...and again, thundering in, and out, and in and out; faster, harder; faster, even faster again, and again, and harder and harder, faster, harder, faster--harder... Oh! Mercy me! Mercy please, Oh please... Yes!, Oh fucking yes, Oh! Please Mercy me...!

Yes, Yes, Yes! ...No! ...Oh, Fucking Yes!

Chapter 29.

I came.

Blushing a second time.

Squirting onto his chest and belly with my piss. It was all I had to try and fight back at him with; the beast!

...Tom was screaming and howling, and yelping, and sniffing the end of the bottle, with deep, gurgling, growling sorts of noises, interspersed, between deep inhalations.

Shuddering and quaking: He shot every last iota of his load into my shit, and mixed it in good and proper, with his thick, rigid, battering ram of a cock. It was a good brew.

Sarah, was screaming all sorts of obscenities into the ether, and grinding her cunt around my face with a vengeance.

I could see from underneath Sarah, the beginning her come-run.

Her tight little puckered brown-eye, starting to wink, and spasm chaotically; as if it were trying to send out a visual Morse-Coded message, through waves of orgasmic pleasure: Pricking at her sphincter muscle.

In her coming, she blasted her squirts into my face, at such short range, that it stung me as it hit the back of my throat, totally soaking my entire head, and almost drowning me.

When it was all over, we woke-up in a soaking heap on the floor; Tom with my mud all over his face.

In the heat of passion, he had succumbed to gorging himself on the pack of mud in the dimple at the bottom of the Chardonnay bottle, and licking the body of the container in total. It was licked perfectly clean!

Tom was embarrassed, He had gobbled a fair load of my pooh, greedily, and eagerly, and to think he hardly even knew me; but I was impressed, and felt-somewhat-honored. I started to warm toward Tom and teased that if he was around just think of all the money I could save on toilet tissue, Tom blushed. ...I had one on him, and he knew it!

Come was running out of my ass like a river, as I stood in the doorway waving them good-by.

Usually I would insist that Sarah lick me clean, but tonight I was exhausted, and my nose was filled with Sarah's creamy love juice. I smelled like Sarah's pussy, all over. I needed to sleep, and staggered into the bedroom, flopping face down into my comforter. I would rise early tomorrow; take a shower and clean-up, then. I was way too tired to bother tonight, I thought, "I will dream of Tom eating my pooh, all night long." I had to get to sleep quickly. I was stinking, and I loved it.

It had been a good party.

Chapter 30.

I wasn't more than two days later when Sarah and Tom came a-knocking on my door again. Apparently Tom couldn't get my ass out of his mind. Instead of curing Tom of his anal urges, the impromptu party, and Sarah's plan, had backfired on her--in a big way! All Tom was interested in, now, was pooh-hole! And predominately---mine!

But, Sarah had another idea...?

Sarah called me at lunch and ran her plan through.

"Hell", I thought, "What have I got to lose?"

So I agreed.

Chapter 31.

Sarah's big idea to win back her beau was based on her own assessment that she can give a better blow-job than I can. I can't argue with that, being that she has sucked miles and miles of cock, as opposed to my couple of hundred yards worth!

The plan was to get Tom back to my apartment, and get him worked-up, and stripped. Hard and stiff, ready for the sucking.

I was supposed to get on his stiff rod, as best I could, only to be replaced by Sarah, "The' Expert" cock-sucker! who would, deftly, finish him off, lickety-split, thereby showing-me-up, as an incompetent cock-sucker.

According to plan, Tom would realize what he has in Sarah, and forget about my ass altogether. Whatever! ...Its her plan, not mine? ...Scheeesh!

Chapter 32.

Half an hour before they arrived for the second phase of the plan, I raked a handful of my skankiest panties out of the dirty laundry basket and turned them inside out; exposing the crusty gussets to the full critique of the world.

I dipped them into a bowl of lukewarm water, until the crispy flakes on the cunt-hammock reconstituted back into thick pussy cream.

I laid them over the space-heater grill, and turned it on half power, with full blower-fan. Within minutes the whole apartment smelled like a French whore-house, especially the bedroom, so much so that my nipples were sticking out for fine weather and my pussy got soaking wet.

I figured that Sarah and Tom were about to arrive soon, so I lit a bank of scented candles that would serve to camouflage the more acrid constituent stink of my vulva's gusset cream aroma.

I turned off the space heater fan, and threw my skanky panties back in the laundry basket, where they belonged. I slipped on some light background music, threw myself on the bed and flicked myself off in two minutes flat! OoOoOoOW! The perfume from my skanky panties always does that to me. It was a small orgasm, and I only squirted a few times into the bedroom closet mirror. I cleaned it up immediately!

The amalgamated fragrance issued forth by the gusset of my panties, always turns me, and many others on, too!

Recipe.

Fragrant cream:

Discharge of pussy:

Intermixed with dried-droplets of urine soaked up out of weeping urethra:

Couple with the merest hint of powdered skid-mark:

Mined;

From the depths of the bung-hole:

Baked between upper thighs--all day long:

In a blanket of sweated jungle bush pubic-hair:

Caught, unceremoniously, in cunt-hammock of knicker.

Oh! Yes.

Yes, indeed: For if this--concoction--were wafted over Lazarus himself, something would have risen? If not the entire body, then at least [a]--functional--part of it! JC possibly had knicker breath when he bade Lazarus to rise. Well, wouldn't you! I would.