Alone

The roar of her vacuum was surpassed by the song pouring into her earbuds. Singing along to her favorite oldies, she swayed and hip-bumped her way around the classroom. Friday night, and the kids must have had some extra fun today, as there was glitter everywhere. It felt like she’d never get all the sparkles out of the carpet; she knew her boss didn’t expect perfection, but she did. At long last the bulk of the rug was clean if not totally sparkle-free. Unplugging the machine, she wound the cord, still singing to the music pulsing in her ears. The long corridor leading back to the maintenance closet was semi-dark. She had turned off every other light on her way in; she didn’t mind working in the half-light. She did popped the lights on to see while she worked in an area, then popped them off again when done. The principal like that she was saving energy.

Next on her agenda was washing the floors. Three bathrooms and a classroom needed a good scrub, then she would be done for the night.

She didn’t need the light on in here,  in what she privately thought of as her ‘office’.  She knew exactly where every one of her tools went. Stepping into the room, she shut the door. Right next to the wall studs, she slotted the machine into its proper place, then turned to head to the closet across the hall, where her wash bucket was.

The arms came around her before she could open the door, one hand covering her mouth. Fingers tugged a bud out of her ear.

“Sssshhh. It’ll be fast. Hard, deep, rough…but fast.” The voice was guttural, rough.

In one ear blasted the tune where someone was rocking the night away, in the other, the sibilant whisper that sent whimpers through her nose.

“Open your mouth.”

She shook her head, but he held her nose until she gasped for breath. Something was stuffed into her mouth, wedged deep so she couldn’t spit it out.

“My undies make a nice gag. I had beans for lunch so I farted in them a lot, and there might be a skid or two there, but you know how it is. Gags are expensive and undies…are handy. Especially since I won’t need to wear them while I’m fucking you.”

Shaking her head didn’t dislodge them. She felt bile rising, and by sheer dint of will, pushed it down.

“This will hold you.”

She heard a funny sound, a thunk, and realized that he’d slid her extra long vacuum cord off its hook. In the moment or two it had taken to figure it out, she shook herself. ‘Run, you moron!’ she shouted to herself in her head. A step, two, to the door. Fumbling for the door, the handle slid out of her fingers, then pulled open. A step into the corridor and moments from the stairs, his arms came around her again, tugging her back into her closet.

“Naughty girl.”

The cord was wound around her hands, half-way to her elbows, then looped over a nail behind the door, where her broom usually hung.  His hands worked quickly at her jeans. The cool breeze of the room on her ass was shocking. She was hot, burning with fear-fever. The first swat of something on her thigh made her knees give out, but the cord held her.

“Bad girls get a beating.”

It was unclear what he was hitting her with but it hurt like hell. In her minds eye, she pictured her closet. It had to be the thin dowel she used on the high windows for catching cobwebs. Her thighs bore the brunt of the blows. She would have screamed, may have screamed as he beat his way up and down the back of each leg. The last few blows fell where her ass and legs met, an especially tender spot. For a moment, there was nothing. She breathed hard through her nose, trying to slow her erratically pounding heart. Hurt. Hurt so fucking much. Maybe he would go now, though a quiet corner of her mind wondered why he’d only hit her legs.

He stepped close, she felt the heat of him behind her. As if he could read her mind, he spoke.

“I’m saving your ass for something special.”

She felt his dick probing her. His hands on her hips, tugging her back, impaling her on his shaft. It was rough, his entry into her cunt, yet she felt her moisture slicking his strokes. Her clit trembled.

Hands snaked up from her hips, up under the plain white tee she favored for work. Her bra was tugged up, her breasts falling free. Fingers grabbed, pawing at the bouncing flesh, pinching her tender nipples.

She came hard, her cunt clamping down on his probing cock.

His hips moved fast, piston-quick, boring into her deepest belly with quick, hard thrusts. His fingers coiled tight on her tits as he paused, hip-thrusted deep, as deep as he could fill her, as he exploded.

Shockwaves echoed through her as he pulled out, the sound wet and sucking.

He moved to the side, one arm looping around her waist. Fingers probed at her pussy, scooping wetness and pushing it into her ass. Her mumbled words were incoherent, but obviously was not a beg for more of the dark caress. Yet his fingers continued to work around her puckered butthole.

Something cold and hard pressed steadily into her bottom. It grew wider, wider, stretching her ass and making her squeal behind the gag. He pushed until she felt something tickling her ass cheeks.

“You look like a little bunny, with your dust wiper shove up your shithole. You keep that in there now.”

His laugh was dark, mean. As if she could shit out the long length of the handle. A handle that fit nicely in her hand, but was far less than comfortable in her ass. He tugged something over her head. One of her heavy-duty black trash bags. She panicked, but he didn’t tighten it, just left it there.

“That bag won’t impede your breathing if you don’t struggle too much. Now I’m going to spank you.”

He stepped away.  She heard the snap of the light switch, saw her jeans gathered around her feet, saw the floor, but that was all. No one would see him. There were no windows in here, no one left at school to notice that she hadn’t washed the floors. She’d told her family to expect her late tonight as Fridays always took extra cleaning time.

The bag muffled sounds, distorted them with the crinkle of plastic. The one earbud blared out a rock anthem from the 70’s. The first swat of a belt on her bare bottom came as a shock. Her body jolted. It was apparent that he was holding nothing back.

Burning.

Aching.

Fire. Her ass was on fire. Her asshole throbbed. She’d cum several times, her juices leaking down her thighs. There was no sense of how long he had beat her ass.  She was dizzy from an inadequate air supply, from cumming so hard. He’d turned her once, pressing against the plastic and kissing her through it, making each breath she attempted to draw an agony of fear.

And he’d fucked her again. Hard, with the dusting wand  still buried deeply in her ass.  She’d cum then, too.

“Fucking whore,” he’d said.

“Needy greedy sluthole” he called her.

He’d uncoiled the cord from her hands, wrapped it around her throat, holding her breath hostage.

Her heart pounded in her ear, the one not listening to ‘oh what a night it was’.  Beyond, was that the slam of the outer door? She grabbed for the cord, pulling and tugging it from around her, tearing at the bag to get it off her head before she blacked out. OUT came the horrid underwear he’d gagged her with.

Carefully, she pulled the duster from her backside, and threw that in the trash. The handle was flecked with shit, the fluffy side was wet with cum. She’d never look at one again without remembering this.

She ran to her closet, filled her mouth with water, rinsing, rinsing, clearing the taste of his poo, the salty tang of his pee-speckled underwear from her tongue. Saw her mop bucket ready. Resigned, she filled it with hot soapy water.  Still shaking, she mopped the floors. Responsibility was too ingrained to just leave them undone. People counted on her to make sure the building was clean and sparkling for classes on Monday. The throbbing in her bottom moved in time to the scrub-scrub-scrub of her mop.

**************************************

Her kids kissed her and hugged her goodnight as her husband shepherded them into bed. She was bone weary, on the verge of tears. She wanted a shower. Stripping off her clothing as she closed the door to their bedroom, she moved into their bathroom and flicked on the water. Hot. She needed the heat to quell the shivers that seemed to come from her pussy, making her tremble. Dumping her soiled jeans, her tee-shirt, her underwear into the hamper, she stepped quickly into the hot stream. It poured over her, through her hair, over her face, down her aching tits, over her welted bottom.

“I’m coming in!”

Before she could stop him, her husband stepped in behind her.

“Babe?”

She turned, blinking water, and perhaps some secret tears,  away.

“I thought you might need a new one. But for now, I can use it to scrub your back. Or your front. Or….fuck you with it….”

He held up the twin to her school duster, waving it back and forth in front of her face, before turning it shaft up and making a “shoving it up” gesture. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened in a O before “bastard!” spurted from her lips.

He laughed as she tried to punch him.

 

About vanillamom

For over 8 years--(EIGHT?!) nilla and M have been a D/s couple. I'm the "small s" side of that designation, as he often reminds me. I'm silly and prone to giggling at inopportune times. He's a wicked Sadist, who feeds me my drug of choice--pain. My brain is always spinning dirty and dark little fantasies, which I sometimes share with the world. Welcome to the nilla-verse. It's wet and slippery here...with a dragon or two lurking.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to Alone

  1. Michelle says:

    You make being a janitor sounds so fun?

    • vanillamom says:

      🙂

      There is sexah in every job. (in every job that must be done—there is an element of fun–you find the fun and *snap* the jobs a game….)

      nilla, grinning

  2. Kayla Lords says:

    OMG! I was turned on but on the verge of tears with her! What a twist!

  3. Wordwytch says:

    Damn Woman! You know, it’s amazing you get any work done with your mind running like that. Remopping floors to get all of the ‘drips’ and everything else. Be glad the building isn’t haunted.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s