Tanked (4)

She yawned as she walked out to her car. Two orgasms in the tank, as well as all the cleaning and set up she’d had to do had kept her here at the house much later than her usual shift. She was glad for the work, especially since Mr. Withers had said she’d be earning a bonus for helping to set up chairs on every tank-viewing level. Apparently, he was having some sort of fancy viewing party tomorrow; she’d set up 20 chairs on each of 3 levels. Since the tank was round, the levels spiraled all around it. By evening, she had likely set up 250 chairs. This was going to be one big party. Caterers had been busy on the lower level, and she made her way between vans offloading glasses, flowers, and trays of who-knew-what.

She opened her door, threw her purse across to the other seat, and slid in. For a moment, she closed her eyes, head lolled back on the seat. She’d had an orgasm…two orgasms…from the slippery, suckered tentacles of an octopus.  She should be grossed out. She should be thrown into some sort of perv jail or something. She’d not said a word to Mr. Withers, nor to either of his sons. And gosh, she should be ashamed…but instead, she reveled in the quietly insistent throb between her legs. As soon as she got home, she was going to pull out her biggest vibe and feed her empty, aching pussy some nice silicone ‘meat’.


“She left about 5 minutes ago. Saw her talking to the florist for a minute.”

“You’re certain that…”

“Dad.” Wyeth rolled his eyes skyward. “I took care of it, okay? I know how to disable a car, you know.”

“And he’s so proud of you, too.” William chided his younger brother. “Though I think you’re more proficient at stealing them then stalling them…” Wyeth reached over and punched William in the shoulder. Rather than punching him back, William laughed, knowing that would piss his ‘baby” brother off even more.  The little putz.

“Boys. That’s enough. There’s a bigger picture here. A lifetime of –”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve spent your whole life waiting to get a girl fucked by a squid.” William tried to hide the bulge in his pants, standing behind the wing chair.  He thought of the girl in the tank today, her head thrown back, her legs locked around one thick tentacle as it rubbed against her pussy. Her nipples had been round and fat; he could barely wait to taste them himself.

“You’re as crude as your mother,” Wyeth spoke, noting the bulge in the front of his brothers trousers.

“Yeah, I know. You’re jealous. Has your cock ever gotten a stiffy? Maybe when you see a particularly sweet… piglet, farm boy?”

Their thin veneer of civility was peeling away. Mr. Withers tapped the top of his desk with his hand.

“Enough! You are my sons, not merely the progeny of your mothers. I’ve raised you better than this…” he broke of with a thick, rasping cough. “For me, my boys.” He coughed again, clearing his throat.  “My will still leaves the estate in doubt. I’m sure the Nature Club will be thrilled by the bequest…”

The men glared at each other. William rubbed his crotch surreptitiously, still twitting his half-sibling. Fucking idiot. He wondered if the little pansy had fucked anything with two legs.  As for him, he had his own little two-legs to nail.

There was the click of heels on the floor outside the den, then a knock on the door.

“And so it begins,” spoke their father before he bid William to open the door.


She’d gotten through dinner, Gods knew how. Up to this point, she’d had little prolonged interaction with the three men. While it was obvious that Mr. Withers valued his children, she doubted that there was any love lost between them all. She hoped it would be a long while before she had to sit through another of those type of meals. Hopefully, breakfast would be more casual, and less caustic.

Still, it had been nice of Mr. W. to let her stay overnight. It was too late for a garage to come out to retrieve, let alone repair her car. And  how would she get back out here tomorrow, carless? Mr. Withers had insisted that she stay overnight. He had several guest bedrooms, on the other wing of the house.

His house had wings.

She wondered what it was like to have that much money.  To have a fucking zillion-gallon fish tank in the middle of your house. To have wings on your house. She was thinking about how to stretch her budget to get a new pair of sexy pumps for the holidays, and he was throwing a viewing party for close to 250 people at the drop of a hat? ONE flower arrangement was over $400 bucks!! That was the cost of pumps AND the matching purse for gosh sakes.

She slid between the sheets. The bed was comfortable, the sheets slick and smooth. And she was so horny! She smiled in the darkness, thinking about the look on Mr. Withers face should she have inquired about a dildo for the night. Then frowned imagining William’s smug face, knowing he’d offer to ‘stand in’ for a silicone boyfriend.

She was not curious about the cock behind that bulge in his pants.

She rolled over to her side with a huff of disgruntlement. She needed to sleep, not think about Williams big thick cock. Oh, for gawds sake! She flopped onto her back, giving into the urge to touch. The yawn caught her with her fingers working her needy button. Must be the wine, she wasn’t used to having alcohol with a meal.  And certainly not of …


Sheets peeled back in the dim light.

Legs lifted, and a protective pad laid beneath her raised bottom. Legs bent at the knees, spread wide, raised almost to her chin. Open, accessible.

A fat syringe pressing against her lower lips, pressing slowly until those lips parted, accepting the thickness into her sex tunnel.

Soft moan as the head of the syringe pressed against the tender flesh of her cervix, and the sudden pressure as the toggle was depressed, filling her open, ready belly.


She woke feeling sluggish. She’d had strange dreams, of swimming in hot waters, like  a hot tub. And she was just as horny as when she went to bed. Maybe hornier.

Sliding off the bed, she noted the wet spot where her bottom had been. Whoops! She must have oozed pussy honey in her sleep. Well, fuck. How embarrassing that would be. Still, it wasn’t like William or his brother or father did their own laundry. The maid would find it, and take care of it. Besides, she imagined she’d seen a fair amount of ejaculate if she washed William’s sheets.

She slid into the shower, avoiding getting her hair wet. No point in dripping at breakfast. She dressed in her clothing from yesterday, skipping the undies. No point, as she needed to go into the tank early to get it cleaned before the party. She glanced over at the bed one last time before she left the room. Then crossed back to throw the covers up to hide the wet spot. She opened her door to find, of all people, William just about to knock.

“I’m coming,” she said briskly.

“Mmmm, I like the sound of that,” he said, looking down to where her tits rose from the top of her dress.

“Perv. Absolutely a fucking perv.”

He pressed her against the door, only that. Her tits pressed against his chest, his rutting cock a thick bulge against her belly. His hips pressed forward, suggestive of fucking.

“Still cumming?” His breath wisped warm against her cheek as he spoke softly to her left ear. She hated that her nipples pressed back at him. She hated that her clit rose and throbbed. She hated that her mouth filled with spit and desire.

He stepped away, taking her arm. He didn’t say another word as he escorted her to the breakfast room. He didn’t have to; his expression said it all.

A Wee Break in Fantasy…

I wish I had part 4 of Tanked here today. It’s near to burning a hole in my head trying to get out.


If you talked to SFP, you’d find out that we were chatting last night.

At 2 a.m.  nilla-time.

She was, to say the least, shocked that I was up. She just about ordered me to bed, but I had to confess that I was in the grips of a roiling insomnia attack. I hate that, just really hate it. We talked a bit, and then signed off.   I finally went to bed around 2:15 or 2:30…and fell asleep…thanks for talking to me, SFP…I won’t say it was YOU who put me to sleep coz that wouldn’t come out how I mean it.

 I’m so. Fucking. Tired.

I haven’t been this tired in a long while. Three hours of sleep, followed by an hours commute to work, and a nine-hour shift makes nilla a washout as far as creativity goes. And I love my little story too much to fuck it up now coz I’m not logical and sensible and sensual about it. My family is out and about later Sunday morning, so check back at some point because I’m hoping to post the next part during that time.

These last few Saturday’s after I get out of work, I’ve met Master briefly; today was no exception. It’s a nice little hook-up. We talk, I get a bit of kissy-huggy, and He gets to pinch me, pull my hair, and make me squeal.

We won’t talk about the incredible tickling He can do in 5 minutes. That leave me all snot-nosed and mussed. *rolls eyes* Why do They do that,  how do they do it so damned fast? All I know is my insides turn to goo, and my pussy gets wet, and in that dark, dragon-infested cave inside me, something just glows, all hot and red and nurtured.

We had a phrase for it back in the day… “stoked” (as in, “oh maan….I just won tickets to the concert…I’m so stoked!).  He stokes me both ways…makes me excited and happy which carries me through midweek, and fills me with that dash of “what-I-need”, in that partnership that is D/s…a dash of pain, of being humbled and handled in a semi-public setting, and being fully controlled by His mood, His wants, His desires, whatever they may be. Poking nilla in the back? Tickling her neck? Pulling her half into the car at an awkward angle by her ponytail and pinching her belly?

Yeah. That’s what He wanted.

And that’s just what I needed.