“Costly Credit, or No Charge at All?”

Whoever had named the iron town of Cool, Ohio had clearly been deranged. The heat was bad enough in summer, but the humidity trapped in the creek valley was what really made things miserable. And all that before the iron furnace and charcoal pit began to fire each day.

Louisa wiped the sweat from her brow before it could slide into her eyes, taking in the busy scene of the furnace compound. The smelting furnace was fifty feet of granite blocks and looked like one of the Egyptian pyramids that had its top third sliced off. The smaller, sandstone furnace they used to burn the local forest into charcoal to fire the smelting furnace seemed almost an afterthought—but Louisa knew from George that without charcoal no pig iron would ever be shipped by the men of the Cool Iron Company.

Louisa smiled, focusing on those men scurrying around the structures. Well-built and sculpted from years of hard work they made a fine sight, stripped to the waist and coated in a sheen of sweat. She would never admit it, but Louisa took every opportunity to come down from her post at the company store and watch the men shovel, chop, and otherwise strain at their duties. Seeing the men artlessly practicing their craft—yes, even brute force could be a craft—always made her think delicious, carnal things.

George was the foreman of the charcoal operation, second only to the furnace master himself. Catching sight of him strutting toward her, Louisa pushed her musings aside. She took in the ash marks on his face and arms, as well as what appeared to be a fresh burn on his left bicep. “George Phillips! Are you unaware that you have laborers to pull the charcoal out by hand?”

George shrugged, failing to suppress the grin that started when he first saw Louisa on the site. “It was a laborer who put too much on his cart. It tipped, and someone had to dig the poor lad out before he roasted.” He cut his eyes to a young man, maybe fourteen years old, dabbing at far worse burns with a rag.

A moment of silence, before George asked, “And to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from the store mistress?”

“Bad news, I’m afraid. The script for this month has arrived in full, but sadly we’re a little short on the coin.” Script was similar to the paper note currency issued by the government and some local banks, but this far into the hills of southern Ohio it was really only accepted at the Cool Iron Company Store. It was convenient for the men, and even more convenient for the company—very hard to pick up stakes for greener pastures if your month’s pay became worthless 5 miles from camp. The more important men—foremen like George, for instance—were paid in coin minted by the Treasury.

“Again? Usually they’re much better at accounting in Cincinnati.” George seemed almost excited at this news, something that warmed Louisa. “How much?”

“Well let me put it this way—either the furnace master will be shorted, or you’ll be getting nothing.” Louisa leaned forward, pulling on the front of her dress to smooth it as she did. “Of course, I know your reputation. A man like you shouldn’t have trouble getting credit in my store.”

Even through the ash and sunburn, Louisa could see the flush creeping up from his neck as George realized just how low her neckline had suddenly dipped. A smile danced across Louisa’s lips as she noticed the change in his breathing when George finally replied. “But two months in debt to the store, on my salary…”

Abruptly Louisa straightened. She needed him distracted, not frantic. “Well Mr. Phillips, that’s the situation. If you’re obliged, please stop by whenever you’re able to discuss terms further.”

***

Later that night, with the soft glow of the banked furnace just visible through the cracks in Louisa’s wallboards, she played with George’s hair as he rested his head against her thigh. Taking a moment to catch her breath, Louisa idly played her toes over George’s erection. “I think that just earned you enough credit for two days’ worth of beans, darling.”

George groaned, burying his face into her slick lips. “That’s beans only for a fortnight now, my love—do I not please you?”

Louisa shivered at the pressure and practically purred. “Oh, you please me very much, Mr. Phillips. You please me even more by abiding by our agreement.”

“But Louisa, love,” George pleaded, playing his fingertips over her belly and breasts lightly. “Beans grow tiresome, especially when I see and smell the meat and stews around town—“

Louisa cut him off with a sharp nudge to the testes with her foot—he gasped more from the shock than any pain. “George Phillips, do you have the coin or script to pay for meat, and potatoes, and carrot, and onions?”

George’s mind went back to earlier in the evening, when Louisa had dutifully counted out all the minted coin she had received from the Home Office in Cincinnati—exactly short George’s allotment. A moment of fear—surely Louisa wouldn’t actually steal the money from him, but in a month of asking her and searching he’d yet to find where the money had been stashed. Part of him cursing his playful observation that he’d be even more under Louisa’s sway then the men using script were his pay to not arrive, part of him hardening with excitement. George had agreed to her terms of credit.

“No, Louisa—you know that.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to take what I can spare on credit, now won’t you?” Louisa slid down the bed, putting her mouth in reach of his still-hard cock. “After all, I have to make sure you don’t forget I own you.”

If George objected it was lost in groans as Louisa set her tongue to soothing his erection.

          Walking away from her phone, Leslie toyed with the idea of just sending a text. Toyed with it a good long while, knowing the safety in hiding behind words that could be sat on. The seductive comfort of sending the ball into the other person’s court and being able to wait was almost overpowering. Ultimately, the risk of an unintended meaning being projected onto expressionless words pushed Leslie into making the call.

          Marching with purpose, Leslie snatched her phone off the end table and dialed Skratt before she talked herself out of it.

          “Hey, Leslie—did Ryan leave his phone off again?” Skratt had a soft, high voice that made Leslie close her eyes.

          “No, I’m actually calling for you. I would like to take you to dinner, if you’re interested.” Leslie bit her lip, forcing herself to not babble mindlessly and actually let Skratt consider the offer.

          A shorter pause than Leslie expected, and a subtle shift in Skratt’s voice—lower and slower, making Leslie think of maple syrup dripping down the side of a waffle. “Is my boyfriend’s boss asking me out on a date, Leslie?”

          Heart picking up a beat or two a minute, Leslie caught herself nodding. “Well, yeah. I guess you could say that, sure.”

          A long, long pause, then, “Hmmmmm. You don’t seem the homewrecker type, Les. Unless you and Ryan have been having inappropriate work conversations?”

          Ryan had, in fact, disclosed the non-monogamous nature of his and Skratt’s relationship during one boring Sunday shift. During the same afternoon he had spilled the beans about Skratt’s affection for girls. “He might have told me something about non-traditional rules, yes. Because no, I don’t think I’m a homewrecker, usually.”

          “But you didn’t seem to have a problem taking away one of my favorite toys without asking.” Skratt’s tone was light, but Leslie definitely felt the frost that had blown in.

          “That’s—“ Leslie swallowed hard. “That’s part of what I’d like to talk about. Tomorrow night, at Olive Garden?”

          Another pause. “Ryan said he’s got tomorrow night off…are you going to be THAT boss, Leslie?”

          Leslie couldn’t tell if there was more sadistic glee or disapproval in Skratt’s voice, but decided to play on her sadism. “Of course. He’s being punished, didn’t he tell you?”

***

          “What do you mean, I have to come in tomorrow?” Ryan was pissed, and doing a very poor job containing it. “You’re on the schedule, Les, this is bullshit.”

          “I told you, something came up. What isn’t your business—“

          “Skratt already told me ‘what came up,’ Les. You know it’s not fair.” Between the constant discomfort of the cock cage, the frustration of not being able to orgasm, and a series of long nights was fraying Ryan’s nerves nearly to the breaking point.

          Leslie sighed. “Look, you know I wouldn’t schedule myself a hard shift. Tiffany is in to close—we just need a salary here till the dining room closes, and you can leave.”

          Ryan clenched his teeth, thinking this new twist over. He hadn’t realized Tiffany would be actually running the shift, but in some ways that would be worse. Tiffany was hot as hell.

          Leslie saw the gears starting to turn in Ryan’s mind, and offered the alternative. “You can always take it up with Jenny, you know that. But once she starts digging around the goings-on in this store…”

          Ryan’s temper flared again at the blackmail. “You’re such a bitch, Les.”

          Leslie positively cackled, and picked up her jacket. She patted Ryan’s cheek as she walked by him out of the office. “And you know, I think you sort of like it. I’ll let Tiffany know you’ll be in.” She leaned in close, a hand on his hip and the other still on his cheek. “And just for that ‘bitch’ comment, I may have to tell her you’re being punished.”

          Ryan didn’t get his mouth working before Leslie had wiggled her fingers and left the store.

***

          The next day Ryan came walking into the store to work his 2-10pm shift. The opener was the junior assistant manager, a kid barely out of high school named Jason.

          “Dude, what did you do to piss of Leslie? I can’t remember the last time she made anyone work like this.” Jason was impatiently shifting in the doorway to the office as Ryan knelt down to count the contents of the safe.

          “I wish I knew, man. But at least I get tomorrow off. I could use a break from this place.” Ryan verified the amount of cash and signed for the safe. Almost before the pen left the paper, Jason was walking away.

          “Everything is in pretty good shape—been pretty slow. No worries on prep, or salads, see ya!”

          Ryan shook his head, watching the younger man’s back. One of the high schoolers was leaning against a wall near the drive thru window, and Ryan gestured as the other manager. “Is he always this flighty?”

          The girl shrugged. “Just when he thinks he’s getting laid. Sorta gets his mind all haywire.”

          The cage biting him at the mere thought of hypothetical sex, Ryan nodded. “Yeah, I can understand that.” He stood there a moment or two, reflecting on the last four nights of lock down.

          Skratt had her usual appetite, fueled by a play date with one of her more dominant friends. True to her word, Skratt had made full use of her toy box as well as Ryan’s tongue and fingers—then she’d giggled at Ryan’s frustration. The next night, Skratt had made Ryan watch as she took care of herself. Last night she’d banished him from the bedroom for a lil private time on the phone with her dominant playmate. Ryan had slept on the couch, hating the plastic tube around his cock and puzzled at how he was not as pissed at Skratt as he would’ve imagined.

          Shaking his head to clear it, Ryan pointed at the tub of dishes. “Jen, better get on those or you won’t get out of here on time.”

          Tiffany wasn’t scheduled in until five, so Ryan kept busy with little projects—pulling all the half-open sleeves of cups and lids to the front of the store to be used, filing all the invoices for the week, prepping as much week-end paperwork as possible. When he ran out of things to keep himself busy, Ryan went around and started disassembling this appliance or that storage assembly and assigning someone to clean it and put it back together.

          Once she did arrive, everyone felt Tiffany’s presence. She wasn’t the type of girl you could picture on a magazine cover—she had long black hair typically pulled up into a messy bun, pale blue eyes, a soft pretty face, and the type of curves Goofy used to draw with his hands while whistling. It wasn’t her looks, really, that set Tiffany apart. It was her energy.

          Tiffany made it clear fast food wasn’t her career. She was doing quite well in her international business classes, thank you, and wasn’t afraid to tell Leslie she failed some task or other because of homework. Tiffany could be sweet as candy but tolerated very little foolishness. And woe unto the person who took appreciating her curves a little too far.

          “Ryan! Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. How glad I am you’re closing with me tonight.” Ryan might have developed a touch of paranoia, but he thought he detected a cruel twist to Tiffany’s smile.

          “Oh no no. I’m out at ten, Tiff. I’ve worked every day this week.” Ryan reached out and patted her on the arm. “I’m sure you’ve got this under control, so I might even leave a little early.”

          “That’s not what Leslie told me,” Tiffany’s voice took on a high, sickeningly sweet tone. “She told me to just not sign for the safe until I was ready to let you go.”

          Ryan’s heart started racing. “You know she’s just messing with us.”

          “That’s what I thought!” Tiffany sat on the desk, kicking her feet. “But when I told her to fuck off, Leslie said she was very serious. Something about your development, getting you ready for the weeks when a store is short staffed.”

          Ryan groaned out loud. Leslie hadn’t filled Tiffany in, but had done just as much damage. “She is such a bitch sometimes.”

          Mock serious Tiffany declared, “I’m telling,” before bursting with laughter at Ryan’s look. “Oh you’re a lot of fun when you’re helpless. This is going to be my best Saturday night in a while!”

***

          Leslie arrived promptly to pick up Skratt, who scampered down the apartment stairway all dolled up in a short wool dress and leggings. Leslie had some decidedly dirty thoughts about the shiny short boots Skratt had selected, but put them away as quickly as she could in order to keep from babbling like a moron. Leslie rolled down the window. “Looking good, lady!”

          Skratt smiled and did a quick curtsy. “Gee thanks!” She gave Leslie a once-over as she got in the car, liking the casual-yet-sharp combo of Leslie’s slacks and cleavage top. “You’d cause a few accidents yourself, you know.”

          Leslie felt the blush coming on and giggled like an idiot, cursing herself the whole time. “I’m glad you like.”

          Skratt, who had made up her mind to use the full-court press tonight, leaned in and pointedly flicked her eyes at Leslie’s chest. “Oh yes. I like a lot.”

          Leslie sat frozen for a moment or two, before clearing her throat and putting the car in gear. “So uh, Olive Garden still sound good?”

          “Yup!” Skratt sat back and tucked one leg under herself, enjoying Leslie’s discomfort and the warm fuzzies from being wanted.

          It was a short drive to Olive Garden, filled with idle chitchat. Leslie was too nervous to get into the meat and potatoes of anything, and Skratt too wily to ease the tension with her own banter. Once seated and drinks in front of them, however…

          Skratt reached across the table and tapped Leslie’s hand. “So what’s the deal with you and Ryan? This has got to be the weirdest corrective action I’ve ever seen at a major company. I’d even venture to say it’s a little bit illegal…”

          Leslie froze, eyes flitting to Skratt’s face. No obvious signs there as Skratt checked the legs on the glass of wine. “Well…sure, if you go by the letter of certain laws.”

          Skratt smiled slowly, but there was a chill to it. “Oh, like extortion, sexual harassment, salary abuse—that’s a thing in this state now, did you know that?”

          Leslie started squirming in her seat, eyes down on her Irish coffee that didn’t seem to tempting anymore. Leslie didn’t know it, but she looked the picture perfect part of a child caught in the act of doing something she knows is wrong. Skratt felt a wave of relief, thinking her plan might just work after all.

          Lightening her tone and leaning back, Skratt went on. “I’m surprised Ryan is standing for this, to be honest with you. He’s normally so righteous.” She leaned in, and traced a finger along the low edge of Leslie’s collar. “I’m willing to blame the sweater puppies for scrambling his senses.”

          Leslie blushed bright red and giggled, outclassed and knowing it. She found it exhilarating, but also terrifying. Leslie had bills to pay and a desire to stay out of jail as much as the next girl. “So, um. Where does that leave us?”

          Skratt pulled back and bounced up straight. “You guessing my favorite appetizer and ordering it for me! But I have to warn you, wrong guesses have consequences.”

          Things progressed well, despite an incorrect appetizer choice. Around ten, Leslie’s phone interrupts her story about a self-bondage game gone wrong. “It’s Ryan…do you mind?”

          Skratt waved her on, hunting for another forkful of tiramisu on the plate they’d been sharing.

          “What’s wrong?” Leslie hardened her voice, forcing herself back into boss-mode.

          “Well…” Ryan paused, embarrassed. “Tiffany isn’t letting me leave. She won’t sign for the safe.”

          Leslie almost burst into laughter, but managed to choke it back at the last second. “Well…ok. And?”

          “You said I was off at ten. You know how long a week it’s been!” Ryan heard the pouty, whining tone in his own voice and cringed.

          “Hold on.” Leslie muted her phone and brought Skratt up to speed.

          “Oh god, he really does give off this vibe,” Skratt laughed. “Well, you’re still getting punished…so unless you want him around for that…”

          Leslie blushed and unmuted the phone. “Ryan, considering your position right now I think you’d better deal with Tiffany directly on this. I’m sure she can be persuaded.”

          Leslie hung up to find Skratt had polished off the rest of the dessert. The small girl smiled sweetly. “Ready for the check?”

***

          Back at Skratt and Ryan’s apartment, Leslie sat on the couch rubbing her bare feet together. Skratt had slipped off to change after pointing at the center cushion of the couch and commanding, “Stay.” Several times during dinner Skratt had given orders. She’d done it casually and confidently, as if it hadn’t occurred to her Leslie might not stop eating until Skratt returned from the bathroom. Or that Leslie might order something beside the plain salad Skratt suggested.

          It certainly hadn’t occurred to Leslie to disobey.

          Skratt reappeared in a pair of loose sweat pants and a t-shirt. She had traded in her boots for cliché bunny slippers, white with floppy ears. Leslie couldn’t help but point and giggle.

          “Oh, so my slippers are funny, huh?” Skratt pounced on Leslie, straddling her on the couch. “Do you think they’ll distract you from our…business tonight?”

          Leslie moaned, but just a lil. She leaned in for a kiss, but after they’d just made contact Skratt pulled away with a grin and put a finger over Leslie’s lips. “Maybe later. How long till you think Tiffany lets Ryan out?”

          With effort, Leslie made herself look at the clock. “Oh. If he’s not out by now, she’s keeping him all night. I wonder what the deal is.”

          Skratt hummed to herself. “So I have you to myself for another two hours…I think you need to get those clothes off.”

          Leslie hesitated, a blush creeping. Skratt slid off Leslie’s lap and stood up, crossing her arms. “Leslie. I said strip.”

          Eyes down, Leslie hopped up and quickly disrobed. Skratt watched each garment come off impassively, except for the fact she bit and held her lower lip. Once naked, Leslie stood there at a loss until Skratt pointed at the unruly pile of clothing on the floor next to her.

          “Fold it neatly, on top of your shoes by the door.” Skratt sat down on the couch in almost the same spot Leslie had vacated. Skratt relished each bend Leslie had to make to pull an item off the floor, and the subtle sway of her breasts as Leslie folded them.

          Sensing (and enjoying) Leslie’s discomfort that seemed to be verging on turn-off territory, Skratt asked softly, “So how long has it been since you were naked with someone and knew it was getting them wet?”

          Leslie almost stumbled on the way to the door and froze a moment to process. “Uh. A long time.” After placing her clothing on her shoes as instructed, Leslie turned back to Skratt. Leslie was biting her lip, and already looking more comfortable.

          “A long time? College dorm fun?” Skratt teased. “’cause you’re not gay, oh no.”

          Leslie giggled. “Come on. No, after dropping out of college, and after the first marriage blew up. I had a very…supportive roommate.”

          Skratt nodded, dangling a slipper from her toes. “So. You’re not just curious? You won’t freeze up and back out on me when I try to sit on your face?”

          Shifting from foot to foot, Leslie swallowed hard. “Will you? Please?”

          With a huge grin, Skratt sat up and leaned forward. “No.”

          Crestfallen and feeling silly for asking, Leslie looked down and hung her head. Skratt moaned and when Leslie looked up, saw the younger girl had a hand in her sweatpants. Skratt was biting her lip again, eyes closed, breathing just a lil harder.

          Almost to herself, Skratt started talking. “You deserve to know I can be a real bitch, Les. I’m a tease, I’m bossy, I’m sadistic. The boys hated me in high school because I was suck a prick tease. I started playing with girls because…boobs.” A soft moan, Skratt opened her eyes and drank in Leslie’s breasts.

          Leslie’s hands started to go to her chest and Skratt almost snapped at her. “Hands behind your head.”

          When Leslie obeyed, Skratt came for the first time. “Oh you’re too cute.” Catching her breath, Skratt leaned back. “I like being in charge, and making you do things. I like when you hate having to do them, or hate not being allowed to do them.” Skratt’s hand started working again. “Do you know I haven’t let Ryan touch my ass in six months? Just because he loves my ass, and can’t get enough of it. So I hold it over him. I tell him how I let other guys spank me, rim me, whatever. Just to see the jealousy, the want.”

          Skratt was breathing hard, words rushing together, hand pumping like a piston. Leslie could feel herself getting wetter and wetter, desperate to play with her clit just like Skratt. But she kept her hands behind her head.

          Skratt finished herself off a second time and flopped back in a huff, panting. “So. Are you sure you want to play with me? Because I’ve already figured out that you might be able to boss Ryan around, but you’re totally sub to me.”

          Leslie struggled to think clearly, knowing Skratt was trying to elicit consent and wanting to be honest, but…

          Laughing, almost cackling, Skratt crossed her arms. “See? See how unfair I am? Like you can make a well-thought out decision in your state. You’re putty in my hands, and you better pray I take care of my toys.”

          Leslie started to feel fear, shifting uncomfortably. Seeing it, Skratt softened. “That’s why I’m not demanding an answer tonight. Tonight, I’m just going to spank you and send you on your way. You did guess wrong—fried calamari is my favorite appetizer.”

          Leslie relaxed, seeing the evil Skratt reigned in so easily. At the same time, Leslie felt a pang of regret that Skratt wasn’t going to let her be quite so reckless.

          Skratt motioned to her own lap. “Get over here. Across my lap, but use the couch for support.” Skratt fluttered her eyelashes. “I do happen to be small and delicate.”

          Once in position, Leslie couldn’t help an involuntary wiggle against Skratt’s legs. Skratt, picking up a slipper she’d slipped off at some point earlier, giggled. “Oh you’re too cute. Here we go…”

          The spanking was brief, but fierce. The rubber sole of the slipper was brutal without any warm up, and the head of the bunny added enough oomph to make the sting linger. Ten solid minutes of whapping on both of Leslie’s cheeks and the older woman was yelping, squealing, and promising to never forget calamari. Just as the tears were about to start, Skratt stopped and started to rub Leslie soothingly.

          “Now, the corner.” Skratt pointed out a conspicuously-empty corner in the room. “It’s the same one Ryan gets sent to.” Skratt smirked, amused at the juxtaposition.

          Leslie shuffled across to the corner, rubbing her backside. Skratt watched her go, rubbing a third orgasm out with a squealing moan. After a pause to seriously consider a brief nap, Skratt looked at the clock on the cable box. It was about time to get the bosslady gone before a pissed off, frustrated Ryan got home.

          Putting her slipper back on, Skratt skipped to Leslie’s pile of clothing. She rummaged to make sure nothing important was left in them, and discovered Leslie’s wallet, keys, and phones resting in the shoes. “You left your purse in the car, didn’t you?”

          A muffled, “Yes, ma’am” floated back.

          “Address me as ‘princess,’ Leslie,” Skratt smiled, glancing over at her guest’s well-pinked bottom. “Now come here.”

          “Yes, princess.” Leslie stumbled over, a little shaky and clearly in a haze.

          Skratt pushed Leslie’s phone, wallet, and keys into her hands. “I’ll keep your clothes and shoes here, pet. You’re going home naked so I have something to think about later.”

          Leslie actually moaned, eyes wide. “You’re not serious?”

          In answer, Skratt stood up and opened the front door, pointing out. She was watching carefully for signs of Leslie buckling—she wanted to push Leslie, not break her completely.

          Leslie, calculating her route home and the probability of cops, moaned again. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

          “You’re letting my heat out, Leslie. Either grab your clothes or leave them, but get out.” Skratt said it with a smile and a wink.

          Leslie groaned and stepped past Skratt out the door in a rush of spirit, and turned to thank Skratt just as the door shut and locked. Scared now, Leslie hurried down the stairs to her car, terrified at the idea of someone coming out from every shadow.

          Glancing at her phone before driving off (slinking as low as possible in the drivers seat), Leslie saw a text from Skratt.

          <<Sexy Skratt: good girl! go home and get off as much as you want well talk later>>

]]> https://cageslut.wordpress.com/2014/03/10/be-careful-what-you-wish-for-or-when-a-date-spirals-out-of-control/feed/ 0 550 cageslut https://cageslut.wordpress.com/2013/12/08/you-pays-your-money-and-takes-your-chances/ https://cageslut.wordpress.com/2013/12/08/you-pays-your-money-and-takes-your-chances/#respond Sun, 08 Dec 2013 19:19:59 +0000 http://cageslut.wordpress.com/?p=547 It didn’t take Ryan long to regret accepting Skratt’s dare. He had just enough time to clasp the ring behind his cock and balls, slide the tube up his shaft, and lock it in place before a school bus with a track team on board showed up. As he hustled back and forth fetching fries and sandwiches Ryan was painfully aware of the device—it pinched, tugged, got caught on his underwear seemingly with every step. Every time Ryan saw a customer cute enough to trigger a reaction in his pants the hard plastic bit him.

A few times Ryan thought he might be able to slip off to the bathroom to try and adjust the damn thing. Each time, however, saw one of the crew bringing some problem to his attention that just couldn’t wait.

“Ryan, the cash drawer isn’t opening—did Leslie fuck with the key settings again?” Phil, the sixteen year old kid taking cash at the drive thru, had started working at the store at the start of the school year. Eight months later knew about as much about the business as Ryan did. It was the sort of story that made Ryan question his career choices.

“I thought we talked about F-bombs while on the clock. Didn’t we talk about F-bombs on the clock?” Ryan fixed the drawer (Leslie had in fact turned the lock the wrong way disabling the register control), made a break for the bathroom—only to see a large family come walking in the door.

Twenty minutes of non-stop scrotum pinching later, Ryan again starts to move around the counter. He doesn’t need someone to tell him what’s wrong this time because the pressure fryer starts screaming in a most unholy way. “Did someone forget to release the pressure fryer? What are you doing back there, Julio?”

One spill kit later, and Ryan hasn’t even considered making a run for it yet when he notices a terrible smell coming from the oven next to the fryer. Narrowing his eyes, Ryan points at the oven. “Julio, do you smell that? What’s the date on those potatoes?”

Julio just shrugs, muttering something about not having time to run a grill and look at dates. Ryan’s heart sinks a little, now just about certain there were rotten potatoes in the oven. “Fucking gross.”

Ryan swings open the oven door and makes a face. “Yep, bad potatoes. Dammit.” He starts to reach in to dig them out, but then pulls out to grab the oven mitt. He’d already gotten burned once this month free styling after some potatoes and wasn’t about to make that mistake again. Gagging as the smell strengthens, Ryan fishes out all the offending taters and tosses them directly into a trash bin.

“Rick, can you take this straight to the dumpster please?”

Without waiting for another crisis Ryan fled for the bathroom.

***

          Once in the bathroom it became clear to Ryan he’d forgotten something: there was no way he could use the urinal without making a gigantic mess. Once in the stall, Ryan pulled and tugged his skin until the contraption was as comfortable as he could make it.

“A little bit of lube would go a long way here,” Ryan muttered as he sat down. Taking the opportunity to check his phone Ryan saw a couple messages, from Skratt and Leslie.

<<Skratt: hows that cage going?? lol>>

<<Skratt: not gonna lie its kinda hot knowing ur stuck not getting off…>>

Ryan shook his head, not surprised at Skratt’s sadism. Maybe if it wasn’t pinching him so bad he could get into it a bit more.

<<Me: whatever. its pinching and grabbing and hurts bad. if you love me youll bring me some lube… :-D>>

Wondering what stupid thing Leslie forgot to tell him before she left, Ryan opened her message.

<<Bosslady: Forgot to tell you—gonna be back in later. Forgot to do the dry stock order for next truck. Have it organized plz :-)>>

<<Me: i can do the truck order if you want. no big deal. & it IS organized thanks>>

There was a long running disagreement between them on how best to organize the cups, lids, utensils, and bags. Ryan was a fan of making it easier to restock the line—higher use items in the easier to reach places. Leslie preferred being able to see what needed reordering at a glance, which involved spreading everything out and putting some items out of the way. As Ryan was buckling his belt he felt the phone buzz.

<<Bosslady: I’m out anyway, store’s on my way home. You focus on making the drystock how I like it>>

Ryan felt the cock cage bite him. He’d never admit it to her, but Ryan adored when Leslie got all commanding.

<<Me: what if i dont O:-)>>

The answer came back so fast Ryan wondered if Leslie hadn’t been sitting there with it pre-typed, waiting on his sass.

<<Bosslady: Then I’ll make you do it while I watch then make you scrub behind the fryers with a toothbrush :-p See you in a few hours, get back to work>>

Ryan hissed in pain, his mind flashing images of Leslie towering over him, pointing out spots on the wall that needed to be cleaned again. “When the hell did manual labor become so sexy?” He wondered out loud, pocketing the phone and heading back to the kitchen.

***

          The night didn’t slow down from there, with nearly non-stop drive thru traffic. When Skratt mercifully arrived with the lube, Ryan managed to find some time to sneak away.

“So you DO love me!” Ryan grinned, pocketing the small bottle she offered.

“Maybe a little,” Skratt allowed, leaning against the wall and sliding one foot out of the sandals it was still a little cool to be wearing. Ryan felt the cage bite him, hard.

“Not nice, missy.” Ryan was frustrated by the realization he wouldn’t be able to have her tonight, and also by the fact Skratt had already figured that out.

“Some guys pay a lot of money to have their little kinks indulged, you know. You should be grateful.” Skratt smirked, stretching her arms wide enough to open the top of her windbreaker—revealing small, pert breasts and nothing else.

Ryan bit back a moan, shifting his weight to try and relieve the unwelcome pressure in the cage. “You’re fucking evil.”

Grinning now, Skratt leaned in and pecked his lips. The view into the windbreaker made Ryan hiss and moan, softly. “I should have thought about this myself. You’re too much fun when you can’t do anything about that little monster in your pants.”

“Oh come on. You know you like sex…” Ryan wasn’t sure he could deal with Skratt being on board with something like this.

She patted his cheek and flashed a most angelic smile. “Between our toys, and that well-trained tongue of yours, I’m pretty sure we’ll still get plenty of sex in.” Skratt pulled out her phone. “I need to get going though, so you can deal with all the people who pulled in behind me.”

Ryan’s face must have shown genuine alarm, because Skratt softened. “Let me know if the lube does the trick. If not, we’ll figure something out. Poor baby!”

With that, Skratt turned and waved over her should. Ryan reflected that there was no way she had anything on under those yoga pants…and those pants had to be a size too small. Convinced the cage would be biting him all night, Ryan hurried to the bathroom to lube the worst points in order to get some kind of relief before the night was through.

***

          Late night sales were heavier than usual. After the dining room closed, Ryan lost two crew members (to account for “lower” volume) and even a modest flow of traffic makes it almost impossible to do side work. The factories must have been working over time, because the flow was nearly constant the entire time. This meant the dry stock wasn’t organized when Leslie showed up.

“Les, look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow you off—run the sales report! We’ve been busting our asses.” Ryan was genuinely sorry he hadn’t gotten to the assigned task, but was convinced the high sales would calm her down. Ryan needed her to calm down. Although Leslie was nearly a head shorter than him, the way she was glaring daggers up at him made Ryan want to hide.

He was right, after a fashion. Leslie left Ryan alone and went to a register to run the report. Ryan kept glancing over to her between handing bags out the window—like most redheads he’d met, Leslie had a temper. Ryan kept eying her ample cleavage, thinking she must have been out on a date given how much was on display and how short her skirt was. Idly Ryan considered Leslie’s form—a few extra pounds, sure, but rounding out her shape rather nicely.

After reading over the receipt printout, and running a second printout, Leslie sashayed over to Ryan, clearly mollified. She boosted herself on her toes to get close to Ryan’s ear, and murmured, “Fine, I accept you weren’t deliberately blowing me off. But the consequences still stand.”

Ryan almost stamped his foot like a child, partly in frustration and partly at the sudden bite in his cage. “But Leslie, there’s no way I’m going to be able to break away to organize that!”

Leslie smiled sweetly. “Oh, I know. You’re also not going to have time to scrub behind the fryers, either. You’ll just have to do it all after close.”

Ryan did stamp his foot at that. “You’re not serious. You can’t be.”

Leslie patted his cheek, eerily like did Skratt earlier, then pointed at the drive thru timer. “Better get moving.”

Aside from Leslie in the office (Ryan noticed her shoes were off, and had to restrain himself from finding a reason to go back there for a better look) the night ran more or less routinely. Not having the privacy to sneak back for texting also meant Ryan was less behind than usual. Leslie encouraged the crew to leave as soon as they were done, as “I’m here, so Ryan is safe.” As Ryan wrapped up the cash drops, he wondered just how accurate that was.

“Alright, Les, I’m done. Do you want to show me exactly what you’re looking for your asinine set up?” Ryan felt sassy, hoping there was still a chance she could back off and let him leave.

Instead, Leslie took him by the elbow and walked him back to the wire shelving. All business and clearly holding back irritation, Leslie pulled sample product from their current homes and set them where she wanted everything moved to. Ryan noticed with growing discomfort Leslie was not respecting personal space. He found his eyes glued to Leslie’s chest as she slipped by him time and again, brushing her breasts against his arm or chest no matter how he shifted position. It dawned on Ryan that with his feeble attempts at an erection making the cage stick out, Leslie could easily—

Then she bumped it, catching it with her hip hard enough to make Ryan hiss and back away. Leslie was nonplussed for just a moment, then turned to Ryan with a raised eyebrow. “You think you can take it from here, assistant manager?”

Feeling his ears turning red, Ryan nodded and mumbled, “Yeah, sure thing.”

Leslie walked away, and Ryan got to work. It really wasn’t that difficult or time consuming—everything in dry stock was light, and fit together pretty well. The biggest frustration was peeking through the shelving after emptying one of the spaces, and seeing Leslie had yet again slipped off her shoes while sitting in the office.

Once finished, Ryan reported to the office, feeling like a kid in trouble. Leslie turned, still in her stocking feet, and handed him a toothbrush.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me!” Ryan burst out.

Leslie calmly raised her eyebrows. “I was very clear about the consequences. And I didn’t hear any objections then. Am I wrong?”

The cage was biting again. “No, boss. You’re not wrong.”

Leslie’s calm face split into a grin. “Good. Now, strip. But leave those shoes on—you’ll need the non-stick soles for the grease.”

Ryan felt his entire face start warming, from the collarbone on up. “Uh, what—“

“It’s a messy job, Ryan. Just like mopping. You didn’t seem to have a problem stripping for that job, did you?”

Suddenly terrified for his job, Ryan moaned and slumped against the doorjam, hand over his face. Leslie’s grin crumbled and she rolled her chair forward, laying a hand on his hip. “Oh no no, none of that. It happened in my store, so I’m in charge of disciplining you. No need for anyone at the office to ever see the tape.”

Despite the ice in his gut and his racing heart, Ryan felt the cage bite again. “Blackmail? You’re blackmailing me into…sex games?”

Leslie smirked and shook her head. “Oh no, insurance. Like any punishment, you’ll be tempted to not go through with it at some point. I have to have a way of making sure you do. So. Unless you’d like to discuss this with Wade…?” Wade was the HR manager, and had recently fired a manager for mooning a car full of friends out the drive thru window.

Ryan didn’t answer, just pulled his shirt over his head. Leslie held out her hand, still smirking, and as each item was passed over she deposited it into the safe. “Keys, phone, and wallet too, kiddo.”

Ryan pointed at the cock cage. “So I guess this was you, too, huh?”

Leslie giggled, a noise Ryan hadn’t heard from her before. “Since it seemed like your dick got you into this, it only seemed fair to make sure it was punished too.”

Mortified, Ryan took the toothbrush and a bottle of degreaser spray and went toward the fryers. Despite being careful while moving the three-bay machine, Ryan splashed a bit. Had he been wearing pants, he probably never would have noticed.

“AH! Shit!” A drop of oil hit him on the waist, almost where his ass started. Wiping it off quickly with a paper towel, he knew from experience it’d raise a small blister but be no more serious. “Shit that STINGS.”

Leslie looked out through the office window with concern, but stayed put and smiled when Ryan got back to work. She enjoyed the sight of his naked body, bending and twisting to get the toothbrush to just the right spot. Leslie noticed how uncomfortable Ryan was being naked in front of her, how he still hadn’t wrapped his head around his predicament.

She had also noticed how his cock had strained inside the plastic tube.

A little bored, Leslie started to flip through Ryan’s phone. Drawn to the text conversation with Skratt, she finally learned just why in the hell he’d been mopping naked in the first place. Leslie also loved the fat it was Skratt who’d gotten him to lock himself up, unwittingly making sure the whole plan could move forward. Feeling a little dirty, Leslie found the naughty pictures Skratt had sent Ryan. Skratt was just as luscious as Leslie had imagined.

It took Ryan nearly two hours to finish the job, by which time he was truly miserable. Leslie inspected his work, and patted him on the head. “Very nice!” She smirked when Ryan blushed, and his cock tried to grow. Leslie handed him his stuff in a bundle, and pointed toward the door. “You may dress next to your car, as long as Skratt hasn’t dared you to do something else.”

Ryan actually groaned, looking at his phone on top of the bundle of clothes and realizing it was open to his conversation with Skratt yesterday. Leslie waved goodbye with her fingers, dismissing him. Leslie watched Ryan obediently wait till he was under the street light next to his car before covering in any way.

This looked like it would be the most fun Leslie would have disciplining an employee in a long, long time.

Keeping the floors nice and clean, in the proper attire.

Ryan refused to stop serving customers while there was still a line, which led to the actual closing coming almost fifteen minutes after the posted time. This didn’t slow the crew down nearly as much as it did Ryan—while cars waited on fries to cook, and burgers to be flipped, the team was able to wash dishes and turn off appliances not in use. They weren’t concerned with building sales, hitting the bonus threshold, or the budget. They just wanted to go home as fast as possible after a long night.

So by the time the signs were shut off, the drive thru windows locked, the grill and fryer finally cooling, the only stuff left to do was manager work—counting the cash, running the reports, recording key business items. It was a common problem for Ryan to get stuck late in his drive to improve sales. It hadn’t quite sunk in that “perfect” would always be the enemy of “good.” So, like many nights before, Ryan refused offers from the crew to hangout with him and locked the door behind them.

Pulling out his phone, Ryan shot a text to his girlfriend. Skratt was off the next day, and had hoped to go out tonight. He smirked as usual when he pulled up her name in the contact list—a curvy blonde with striking looks, the name seemed too harsh for such a lovely creature. He’d brought it up once, but she just shrugged and vaguely blamed her Swedish parents.

<<Me: sorry babe did it again. Wont be out in time to go out L>>

Ryan started working through his routine, not particularly rushing. The place was closed, and he could only speed things up so much by racing. Better not make mistakes and have to redo anything. The slow and steady style is one of the reasons Ryan looked at his phone when it buzzed, instead of just ignoring it.

<<Skratt: you work too hard :-p i think we should play a game…>>

Despite himself, Ryan felt his heart rate pick up a little bit. He forced himself to carefully finish closing the register before answering. Ryan had an idea what Skratt had in mind.

<<Me: and what sort of game should we play huh?? you want me driving home with my clothes in the trunk again? ;-)>>

Ryan cursed himself, realizing he forgot to count the walk-in freezer before close. The one thing he could have done earlier…and no cell reception. He flew through the bags of chicken and cases of beef, and after stepping back out of the metal box a text was waiting for him.

<<Skratt: thats a good idea too J but first you should mop the floors naked :-D>>

Ryan bit his lip, and had to adjust his fly. Skratt was pretty ruthless at exploiting his exhibitionist kink.

<<Me: at work??? no way you know theres cameras :-p and julio already mopped>>

Ryan had most of the reports run out onto the receipt tape by the time Skratt texted back. He almost dropped the phone in his haste to flip it open and read it.

<<Skratt: you told me no one ever checks those without a reason and you know the floors could stand to get done twice :-p>>

In the middle of typing another protest, Ryan’s phone buzzes again.

<<Skratt: i DARE you to mop those floors naked>>

“That is NOT fair!” Ryan actually stamped his foot. Skratt had figured out early on Ryan couldn’t refuse a dare, no matter how foolish. As far as trump cards go, it’s a pretty hefty liability. He hurried back to the office, hoping to get the last of the manager work squared away before Skratt started having other ideas.

<<Me: fine. ill mop the floors naked. lemme finish paperwork…>>

<<Skratt: clothes folded neatly in the office way out of reach. i want a pic of them start in back work to the dining room>>

<<Me: ugh that means stuck naked in front of windows till everything dries!>>

<<Skratt: if your cock isnt rock hard right now ill let you off the hook…>>

Ryan cursed again. He was pitching a circus tent in his khakis. He briefly considered lying, but decided to send her a pic of it instead.

<<Skratt: i know you. now strip and get to work ;-)>>

Sighing, wishing he could just stop and jerk off instead of seeing the fantasy through, Ryan peeled off his uniform and undershirt. He sat down and untied his shoes, rolling his socks off and tucking them into the shoes. Ryan paused a moment to consider his lime green toenails—the product of another dare Skratt gave him. Somehow showing off the polish job at work made the situation seem absurd, even more than being bare-assed in the kitchen.

Once he was naked and everything folded neatly on the desk, Ryan snapped a picture of the pile and went to fill the mop bucket. He checked the phone one more time before getting to it—Ryan obviously had no way to carry the phone once he started mopping.

<<Skratt: good boy!! dont take too long or the opener is gonna catch you :-p>>

Grumbling to himself, Ryan got to work, mimicking the same pattern the crew would take on mopping, working from the breakroom corner outward. Being naked in the kitchen, and mopping with his privates flopping around making him feel ridiculous well before reaching the front counter—where anyone driving by would be able to see him.

Stopping to stroke himself a few times for courage, Ryan rolled a fresh mop bucket past the counter. Nervously he glanced out the windows, but didn’t see anyone the parking lot or near enough on the street to worry about. A glutton for punishment, Ryan followed the normal procedure—start with the bathrooms, work out. It made sure the escape route back to Ryan’s clothes was wet as long as possible, something he was sure Skratt would approve of.

There was only one moment while waiting on the floor to dry Ryan had to dive for cover—a car swung through the lot, no doubt hoping dining room lights mean the place was still open. Ryan thought it slowed down, but since he was hiding couldn’t be sure. He shook it off, and gratefully realized the floor had dried. When he made it back to the office, Ryan saw a text.

<<Skratt: just carry your clothes out and toss them in the trunk if you can avoid cops long enough to get home you wont need them>>

***

Ryan was closing the next night, and it was with some nervousness he approach the general manager who had opened. Ryan hadn’t set the alarm code till close to 330 that morning, but Leslie didn’t seem too worried about that.

“This better not be drugs, jackass.” She tossed a small cardboard box to Ryan with a smirk, knowing Ryan could never cut it as a drug dealer. “Don’t make a habit of having stuff delivered here, ok?”

“Yeah, definitely, sorry. Rare case, I promise.” Ryan shook it curiously—either empty or well packed—then set it down on the desk.

A quick turnover—pertinent supply details (low on large cups till truck gets in), verifying the safe, and Leslie was ready to go. An attractive, no-nonsense woman, Ryan may have had unpure thoughts about receiving “corrective action” from Leslie from time to time. Being around her too long brought on nervousness, and Ryan waited somewhat impatiently for her to go home.

“By the way, Ryan, I don’t know what you said to Julio—but the floors looked amazing today. Even Jenny said something.” Jenny was the district manager, notorious for never being satisfied with a store’s floor.

Ryan felt sure his face turned red, and he laughed nervously. “I don’t even remember. Probably felt sorry for me trying to explain “DM is visiting tomorrow” in Spanish.”

Leslie held Ryan’s gaze, then smiled. “Who knows. But good work. I’ll see you Sunday—I traded with Rick for tomorrow.”

Ryan nodded and said his goodbyes, wondering if this morning was the morning Leslie spot-checked the security tapes. That would be his luck…

Noting the restaurant was calm for the moment, Ryan cut open the box, sure Skratt had left some gag gift to remind him of the dare. Inside, however, was a plastic tube and a folding ring—Ryan knew from the internet he was looking at a chastity device.

Heart racing, Ryan moved the packing material around. He found a tiny, open padlock and a folded note. He opened the note, curious, knowing he and Skratt had talked about things like this…

“I noticed last night everything kept swinging out of control, and you had to keep playing with yourself. This should help keep you focused tonight—lock it on before dinner rush.” It was typed, and unsigned. Ryan found himself needing to adjust again, then pulled out his phone.

<<Me: chastity device? delivered to work? youre pushing the line, now, missy>>

<<Skratt: wtf are you talking about? sounds like a not so subtle hint to me>>

<<Me: come on the box you left at work with the cock cage and the key? dont play>>

<<Skratt: …you quit playing. i didnt drop anything at your work and you know i like sex too much to lock it away>>

A little scared now, Ryan sent Skratt a picture of the device and the note.

<<Skratt: OMG. i dont know if thats awesome or fucked up. someone knows what you did last night :-p>>

<<Me: so what do i do now?? this is how horror movies start>>

<<Skratt: LMAO whatever. i bet its leslie fucking with you.>>

Ryan thought about that, about how awkward Leslie was before leaving. And how she traded shifts…if she was off tomorrow instead of opening, Leslie could easily try to catch him in the act of…whatever she saw on the video. It was almost a sexy thought, if you could ignore how many reasons Leslie now had to fire him.

<<Skratt: i dare you to lock it on O:-)>>

Erin’s obnoxious, know-it-all ways. How she always had to have the last word. The fact no one could tell her something she didn’t already know. It was enough to make you chew the drywall like a new puppy. So when you saw a chance to take her down a few pegs, you took it.

Everyone was sitting around the living room, watching an episode of NCIS. They were about to zero in on the murderer, it looked pretty obvious…but you were pretty sure you’d seen this episode before. It was the base commander who did it, not the yeoman like the evidence seemed to point at.

“Hey, Erin. Wanna make a bet on who dunnit?”

Erin turned towards you slightly, her cleavage coming into view as she squared off with you. She looked down over her glasses, and crossed her arms. “I already know who did it.”

You smirked. “Then you shouldn’t mind setting some stakes on it.”

Erin turned away without a word, making you think she wasn’t interested. Then you noticed her legs kicking, giving away her consideration. Her legs distract you for a long moment–Erin may be on the short side, but her legs are quite a sight. She knows it too, judging by the amount of time Erin spends in booty shorts.

“Fine, you wanna bet on this? My apartment is a mess from all the overtime I’ve been working. If I’m right, you clean my apartment. And you gotta follow any rules I set to keep your lazy ass in line!” She laughed, and it seemed like she already had a rule or two picked out. “Deal?”

You hesitate at her confidence–Erin hadn’t even bothered to negotiate the stakes if she lost. “Deal–same penalty if I’m right?”

Erin shrugged, already turning back to the TV. “Sure, whatever. It’s the yeoman dude. He got pissed off at failing a test and blew her away.”

Sure enough, over the next fifteen minutes the thought twist you had mis-remembered never appeared. They played that episode straight.

As soon as it was clear, Erin bounced up and grinned at you. “Toldja! You’re in for it now, my place is a wreck. Don’t worry though, I’ll keep things nice and interesting!” She patted your hand, still grinning from ear to ear. “What’s your number?

You gave up your phone number quickly, the loss still not fully registered in your mind. “When are we doing this?”

Erin’s grin twisted into an angelic smile. “When you get the text telling you to come over. It could happen at any time, so you better leave your schedule open for me.”

Your mind kept chasing its own tail the rest of the afternoon. Possibilities presented themselves, then others, actual situations mixing with fantasies until you prayed no one saw the bulge in your shorts.  At long last it was time for everyone to leave. On the way out, Erin beckoned you closer, then closer again.

“Don’t think I can’t see how much you liked losing,” Erin said almost-quietly. You blushed and played dumb, but she pointed directly at your crotch. “Rule number one: no touching the little head until my apartment is spotless. I’m not gonna have you whacking off so much you don’t show up when I tell you.”

Wishing the floor would have swallowed you up, your face on fire, you just nodded and tried to slip away.

“Say it.” No grin, no smile. Erin was just a boss wanting to know her instructions had been understood.

“I won’t play with myself until your apartment is clean.” How she heard you while your mouth felt full of cotton, you’ll never know.

“Good.” The grin came back. “You are TOO easy, even for a guy!”

As in most cases where something really has no practical purpose other than to be gratuitously mean, Katie didn’t really have much interest in having me clean things with a toothbrush. I mean, we’d discussed it. She’d explained how hot she found the idea. But really, when it comes to our kinky play (especially when it overlaps with actual housekeeping) Katie prefers to keep things practical, reasonable, and better-safe-than-sorry on the mean scale.

So when I say, “I had the chance,” I actually volunteered to pick up extra toothbrushes and use them on the bathroom while in a particularly pent up state.

It worked out well enough–I had a small area to clean around the toilet and along the baseboards, so if I found out I was in over my head I could still complete the assigned cleaning without too much issue. However, the toothbrush and scrub water routine worked very well…though it was definitely NOT my favorite activity ever. Took freaking forever, and it’ll prolly be a long time before I crave that particular activity again.

Head on down below the cut to see some naked-boy-scrubbing-a-toilet pictures.

There is no way to pull away from tickling fingers…

We tried it out the very night we got it. Katie ordered Chinese, and tied me down while we waited. I found out just how screwed I was as she tickled, taunted, pinched, stroked, and flashed me while all I could do was whine and wiggle.

Just enough play to remind me there’s not enough play.

Katie does love to tickle (partly because I love to be tickled) but it takes on a new element when I can’t struggle or get away…it’s gonna take a bit of getting used to!

There’s a bit more below the cut, because I didn’t want to spring gratuitous cock shots on anyone (that’s what Tumblr is for!). You’re been warned…

Probably the most frustrating part is the fact I can’t get any stimulation to my cock that isn’t given to me. As you can see from the half-hard state, it’s rather maddening.

Katie’s last shot while documenting this momentous occasion.

Once I was let up, Katie finished me off with a bit of a spanking. Which led to not being finished off. As I write this, 22 days with no orgasms and she wasn’t about to mess that up just yet. Not simply because we found time to have a bit of a scene, anyway.

We’re out of practice. That affects Katie’s hand more than my bottom. Note to self, stage the implements closer to the bed…

And one last shot that captured Katie’s view as she puttered around, sprucing up the apartment. She apparently really likes having me bound and stuck waiting on her, with no distractions. This could be a problematic purchase for me…

How To find (and catch) a Male Submissive

It’s written pretty much as I would have. Go read, and start seeing some of the obstacles you don’t realize are there.

In fact, let’s start over.  That is one train wreck of a paragraph, and totally off topic from what I want to post about.  This photo is what I want to post about.

It’s true–penises start looking pretty damn good after a few days of not getting off.  It’s one of those really weird reactions, because I don’t really consider myself gay. Which is, in turn, kinda weird because I’ve dedicated some serious spank-bank space to scenes of guys being kinda mean to me, while I do naughty things to their cocks. That DM conversation with Rob is case in point–there are a couple guys on Twitter I will routinely talk dirty with, and I enjoy it quite a bit.

But to date, that’s all it’s been–talk. Fantasies. Would I suck a cock given the opportunity? I’d like to think I’d give it a shot. But given how much effort it takes to get sexual with a woman–a creature I’ve been trained since childhood to want to be naughty with–I have a hard time picturing a real-world scenario where it comes to pass.  I’m also really fucking challenged to keep work, school, my fiance, and platonic relationships under control. Adding something as intense as this isn’t at the top of my to-do list, as much as Katie would to see it.

This is turning into sort of a loaded topic threatening to run on and on. So allow me to wrap up at this point with a quick summary: Yes, the desire to suck cock is real. It’s tied into being frustrated and wanting a sexual outlet…but I don’t think it’s as simple as that. It’s not something I’ve tried, or been in a position to try (that I’m aware of). So “curious” is the best way to put it.

And despite the byplay between @seekingaboss and myself it’s not something I’m ashamed of, or want to hide. I think THAT subject is for another blog post…