Mechanic, working it out

Warning!   This is not for the faint of heart…the links will take you back to the story chapter by chapter to refresh you…Here be Dragons of epic proportions!  ~nilla~

 

He strolled around the house. Last night had ended well…for him at least. The two sluts that he’d taken possession of the day before had slept on the floor at the foot of his bed. Once during the night he’d awoken, gotten up to piss. Returning, he pulled one of them up by the hair and told it to lick his cock dry. The struggle was brief; his hold on the hair, likely the boyfuck’s hair, had been impervious to wriggling. His cock had been licked dry, and then he relaxed his grip and gotten back to bed.

When he rose, they were gone, and he wondered if they’d fled.

But when he’d come into the kitchen there they were, making breakfast and coffee. The kitchen floor had been scrubbed, and gleamed in the morning light. The scent of coffee began percolating through the room, and he noticed the counters were tidy and clean, the appliances sparkled, and the loose knob on the back door had been tightened.

He nodded, taking the mug of coffee offered to him.

“You need names. I can’t call you slut and slut. Too fucking confusing. So you,” he pointed with the mug towards Jim, “you’re a pussy.” He sneered the word out, admiring the cringe on the soft man’s face.

“Yeah. Pussy. And you…” he took a sip, looking over the rim of the mug at Angela, who had dared to raid the laundry hamper and was wearing one of his own shirts. Sexy. Impudent. Punishable. But….after she finished cooking breakfast, which looked to be the lightest pancakes he’d ever seen.

“You’re a tiger…got some sass in you, some fight…That’s okay, I don’t mind pushing you back down into your place. Makes it all the more fun for me, really.  Pussy, Tiger. ” He laughed, a hard, almost mean laugh, and took another sip of the coffee.

“Pussy, come sit under the table and suck my dick. Not hard, just keep it warm and harden it up for me. After breakfast I’m gonna put Tiger on the table and fuck her hard up her asshole.”

He loved the sudden clenching of her shoulders, the ultra rigid stance.

“no.” It was quiet and defiant.

In a heartbeat, he was up and behind her, his fist in her hair, bending her back. “You don’t get a fuckin’ vote here, cunt. You work for my work in return. And you better not burn those pancakes because they look fuckin’ delicious. And if you fuck them up, I’ll whallop the shit out of you before I fuck your ass.  Got it?”

He punctuated the last few words with a hard shake of her head with his fistful of hair. He watched the tear flow from the eye closest to him. It made his dick throb.

“Yes Sir,” she whispered.

 

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She lay on the table, her head in the plate with the detritus of His breakfast. She could smell the syrup, and imagined the bits of leftover pancake and bacon stuck in her hair.  She, who was so fastidious, was a fucking mess. He was smacking her pussy, her legs splayed open. She dared not move them, though the pain was stinging and made her want to run screaming from this fucking house of horror.

Yet for some reason, she had stayed. She could have left last night, or this morning. Yet, she came down, cleaned, scrubbed, and prepared breakfast for Him. Soon her boyfriend had joined her, helping with the cleaning, and in some light fixing. He was a dork, but he could use a screwdriver.

“You might think you hate this, Tiger, but you’re so wet my hand is splashing. This could cause a fucking tidal wave!” He laughed. She hated when he made fun of her. She was so fucking embarrassed by being so turned on by what he kept doing to her, to Jim…Pussy. She better not fuck up and call him by his regular name or she’d be caned for it. This pussy smacking was His punishment for taking his shirt, AND for daring to wear it when he’d told them yesterday they had to be naked. She hated him. Hated him. Her cunt gushed with  His final smack.

“Pussy, get the fuck over here and lick her asshole. That’s right, yes, nice and wet and deep…stick that tongue in there. Right…lap it…lap it…come on you fucktard…wet. Your spit is the only lube this cunt is gonna get…if her ass hurts, you’re gonna hear about it, so fucking prepare her ass for my cock!”

She writhed and moaned. She hated it…she loved it. So fucking humiliating…she could feel the wetness coming from her pussy….and Ji…Pussy lapping at her…ohhhh…his tongue thrust in an out of her asshole, a soft, wet, hot precursor to something much more intense.

“Move outta my way, I got an ass to fuck.” He shoved Pussy out of the way, and pulled her down off the table.

“Turn over.  Put your hands behind and open your butt cheeks for me, that’s it, at least one of you can follow directions…yeah…oh…yeah…tight…nice…oh…shut the fuck up cunt…oooohhh, nice and hot and tight. Wait. Let’s do that again.”

He pulled his cockhead out of her ass, then pressed it against the entrance again. She whimpered, wanting to fight.

“It hurts…” she moaned as he pulled out and popped in again.

“Oh, Tiger, it is so much more fun for me when it does…” Without warning he shoved his hips forward, nearly burying his length inside her rectum. She reared up a bit, squealing and moaning.

“Pussy, reach under her there and grab her nipples. Good. pull them back down to the table, will you? Good. Don’t let them go. You hold them nice and tight.”

He pulled out, slapping her hip, then thrust deeply. She felt the scrunchy curls at the base of his shaft pressing against the skin of  her soft round ass. Her nipples ached, as for once her pussy of a boyfriend did exactly as he was told. The pain in her ass was mirrored in her tits, the ache an echo of her heartbeat. She was beyond tears, beyond screaming, just a slow and steady wail as he fucked her butt relentlessly.

His cock pulsed and jetted streams of cum up her asspipe. He paused, breathing hard, legs trembling. All this fucking took a toll after a while. Pushing off the limp slut on the table, he pointed his finger at the Pussy.

“You go over there and clean up that hole. It’s full of cum…and I want it sparkling, clean and dry when I get back from my shower. Then I’ll have chores for the two of you to get to…got my boys comin’ over for poker tonight…and we’re gonna have one hell of a partay!”

Rubbing his balls, he headed for the bathroom, as the Pussy buried his face in the wet crack of his girlfriend.

It was turning out to be a fucking fine morning!

The Boss

Such a good little housewife she was, she thought as she sorted through his clothing. She hated this particular chore, taking his suits to the cleaners. Drop off on Thursday, pick up on Monday. Week in, week out. He was very fastidious, always cleaning out his pockets, always folding the pants over the hangers, the jackets lined up just so.  Sometimes it made her nuts.

Couldn’t he for once just drop his pants over the back of the chair like other men did?

She sighed, annoyed with herself. Hell, she remembered how messy things got when her brothers were home. She did NOT want to go back to those days, but Greg was just so anal about some things.  Out of habit, she swept through his pockets. Something crinkled against her fingers.

A receipt from the 5-Star hotel downtown, luncheon for two. She blinked at the cost. Hell of a client meal, she thought. Oysters on the half-shell, veal scallopini,  my goodness, a lovely Cabernet to boot. She tossed it on his desk, where it landed with a flutter,  upside down. A dash of pink on the back caught her eye. It was the edge of a kiss in pink lipstick.

Thanks B, V

The writing was very feminine. She knew his secretary, Vivienne called him Boss. He wouldn’t have taken Viv out for a luncheon like this unless something was going on there. She’d suspected for months. That fucking bastard.

That fucking bastard!

Fuming, she threw his jacket in a crumpled heap on the bed. She saw red for a moment. Viv was at least 10 years younger than her, with an impressive body. She was petite, which only accentuated her curves.

That cunt.

That fucking cunt.

She found herself downstairs, purse and keys in hand without clearly remembering how she’d gotten there. In a moment she was in her car, and it felt like seconds later that she arrived at his office.

She was too upset to wait for the notoriously slow elevator, so she dashed up the stairs. In her adrenaline -heightened state even this seemed effortless.

She stepped into his outer office. Vivienne’s desk was vacant, but the sound of her voice came from behind his closed door. She whipped it open, expecting to see him fucking her.

Her pent-up energy threw her into the room. What she saw had her stopping as if running into a brick wall. She’d expected sex. She’d expected a half-naked secretary bent over Greg’s desk, expected a view of her bounteous tits as she hurtled herself into the room.

She did not expect to see Vivienne slapping Greg’s bound cock with a clear stick that she recognized with horror as coming from the Venetian blinds. His lavender silk tie bound his wrists behind his back, and his eyes were squeezed tight in pain.

Vivienne cocked her head at Stacy.

“Open your eyes, fucktoy, and greet your lovely wife,” she ordered, her voice crisp.

“Stacy, come in and close the door now.”

Somehow she obeyed. She noted that Viv had long black satin gloves on, the only deviation from her normal clothing. Her soft pink blouse was tucked into her black pencil skirt, her sensible black heels were not too high, nor too flat. Her hair was coiled neatly upon the crown of her hair in a loose chignon, and her make up was demure. Yet, there was no mistaking who was in charge here.

She swallowed, hard. Her husbands prick was hard and oozing precum. She could see it throbbing, bobbing a bit. There was a glazed look in his eye.

“Hi honey,” he said, his voice devoid of embarrassment. His attention returned immediately to Vivienne. “Thank you Mistress.”

She whacked his dick again, making him moan. Stacy gasped. She had never seen a man get his cock whacked before.

“Why…?” she stuttered.

“Because we like it, don’t we boy?” she spoke with a slightly mocking tone to both of them. He nodded his head.

“Tell me boy, will you fuck your wife in front of me if I tell you to?”

He nodded again.

“And if she fights, will you hold her down and fuck her anyway, because I told you to?”

He nodded. There was a flash of what could have been eagerness on his face for a moment, and then it was gone, replaced by the slavish look of adoration as he looked at Vivienne.

She took a step back, wishing for all the world that she’d never come here. Never found this  out. She was shocked to her core. She was also deeply embarrassed to feel her pussy clenching with a sudden tingle of pleasure. It was like one of those strange and kinky websites she’d seen on occasion, only this was live. And it was happening to her.

“Oh, no, little one, don’t go. I think we’ll all have a lovely little time together this afternoon, won’t we? In fact, I think we should close the office for the rest of the day and head over to your house and all get better acquainted, don’t you, boy?”

At his eager nod, she laughed a throaty laugh. It was unabashedly sexual.

“I will take little wifeypoo home in her car, and you take your car home.  She can fix us a nibble to eat, and then, well, we’ll just have to see what develops between us, won’t we?”