It goes without saying, in order to look the part so as to snare the apple of one’s eye or radiate appeal, one needs to purchase the right attire. Money here, money there and while one doesn’t have to be a millionaire, one does need a decent pair of shoes, nice lingerie and these things, feature their own price tags.
As I pondered these things, the fluorescent lights illuminated the afternoon batch of homemakers making their way into the manchester aisle. K-Mart, a fun workplace most times, provided a modest income and a great conversation starter and my cousin Joanne‘s kitchen tea. Barry Manilow confessed that he couldn’t smile without me over the speakers and the shoppers continued. I walked through the aisles, picked up towels that toddlers discarded on the floor, tidied up sheets and kept an eye out for potential shoplifters.
Mild, helpful and quiet. These three words summed me up and passersby, each shopper, regarded me with the same nonchalance they offered the checkout operators.
‘How are you today,’ said the operator for the billionth time, possibly resurrecting the juicy details of the previous night’s shenanigans - if there were any.
‘Good, you?’ replied the shopper, with a monotonous tone that translated to, ‘Just scan this shit, I want to go and grab a coffee at Starbucks before the kids finish school.’
The shift gradually ends and I change into my civvies.
Three hours are spent sweating in the gym, then it’s home to say hello to the housemates, take a bath and possibly get reacquainted with myself.
The day job satisfied my friends, many of whom shared the journey through elementary and high school. They didn’t mind the job, I didn’t mind it either but it became a stickling point whenever I turned up at blind dates.
‘Oh he’s a lawyer, a doctor, an engineer…’ my friends exclaimed.
I’d attend these dates, mere smudges in time and place, and ultimately return, alone, to my comfortable surroundings.
‘What do you do?’ they’d purr, in their masculine voices.
‘I work in K-Mart,’ I’d say, and it presents a facet of truth - one facet among many in the iced fiery stone that is me.
A perverted bitch, I got a kick out of their shock and it’s always so much sweeter after they’ve placed the food order with the waiter. It gets pricey in five star restaurants. Each date nods and smiles, their eyes glimmer with frustration. I can picture my friend Cynthia telling them I work in a boutique or as a store representative prior and their infernal ire once the truth emerges.
‘Perplexed, she struggles to comprehend why each blind date fails to get to third base with me. I’m such a prize, healthy and exercised. According to Cynthia, they’re all fruit loops when the reality is that they cannot stomach the idea of being with someone beneath them unless it’s beneath their supposedly manly chest and throbbing cock for the night.
~~
‘You will write it one hundred times on the blackboard Joseph…’
‘Yes Miss…’
He slowly walks toward the blackboard, in his grey shorts and white short sleeved shirt. His bald pate is covered with a straw hat and white knee high socks adorn his muscled calves.
‘I will not speak out of turn. One hundred times Joseph, do it!’
His hand slowly reaches out and his thumb and index finger grip a piece of yellow chalk like pincers. He presses the end of the chalk against the blackboard and it snaps in two.
Whoop-Whoop.
He grits his teeth, I know his arse is smarting, and this also flicks my vulval switch. My clit throbs upon each thwacking motion of my crop, his buttocks redden but his moans continue.
‘I’m sorry Miss,’ he says, with a small voice, after catching his breath.
‘Once more. If it breaks again I’ll have to discipline you some more…’
He writes each line in near perfect cursive. Turning, he smiles, beaming at me with boyish pride but my eyes notice the yellow chalk stains on his shorts.
‘What’s that?’ I ask, scowling at his shorts as the riding crop traces the bulge that’s beginning to rise at his crotch.
‘Chalk…’
‘Sit…’
He eyes my leather clad buttocks, his glance travels upward and his green eyes stop at my cinched waist and jutting cleavage.
I part my legs, stand over him as he balances on the small stool, his bulge blooms to a full erection.
‘I see you have something for me Joseph…’
He nods, blushes and covers his erection with his hands.
‘How did that appear? What did you think about?’
‘You Miss. Me and You…’ he shyly says. This is the moment, the pivotal part of my performance. I don’t know how I manage it but as he kneels over my lap, as my hand spanks his forty-five year old arse, I sense his shuddering orgasm the moment his lower body wriggles.
It’s only five o’clock, Joseph has to return to the office to attend a satellite linked conference with his Japanese and American counterparts before fulfilling his role as a CEO announcing annual profits.
‘Same time next week?’
‘You bet! I liked that, you’ve never spanked me before…’
‘Variation…It’s all good,’ I reply.
~~
‘She was writhing like a goddess from the Trojan War…’ I mentally sing, to the tune of Human League’s Don’t You Want Me Baby as I lay back on the bed and watch Carla undress. Bouncy boobs, ample cleavage, tanned skin and a ripe, curved arse. We danced at the Cauldron, eyed each other up and thought ‘taxi cab’ the moment her hand brushed my inner thigh at the bar. Her hands glide her little black dress over her head to reveal a matching red bra and thong.
Crawling toward me, and into my open legs her lips crash against mine. Our warm fleshy breasts tickle each other while her tongue swirls against mine. Her hand strokes my damp crotch, her fingers seek the lava pit that throbs as they dance between my moist labia.
Urgency escapes her mouth in the form of deep moans as we simultaneously explore each other’s simmering sex. Her fingers, deep within me as mine swim within her, fervently explore my slick vagina as my breast feels the firm pinch of her free hand, whose fingers squeeze my areole until it pleasurably stings.
Our vocal sex soaked arias fill the room as her viscous nectar runs down my fingers.
We’re both greedy but Carla gets in first.
My legs wrap around her neck as the tip of her warm tongue feathers my clitoris, roams south toward my labial apex and begins its lingual assault.
I like it, love it, lay back, bite my lips and my pulse races while her tongue teases my slick red vulval carpet before diving in and out of me.
She quickly looks up, stops and raises her head. Her hand races down between her legs and she moans, plunging her fingers inside herself.
It’s implicit.
Over me, legs parted, as her lips find my thighs she laps me as I sample her in turn and I must say ‘tis difficult to perfect the rhythm or merge into a simultaneously stimulating sixty-nine. I may have attention deficit disorder. This is possible but we eventually find our way to the end of the slippery tunnel. Carla allows me to ascend, splinter into fragments and catch my breath before she, by way of a hardy pair of fingers, leaps over the ragged cliff of her innate lust.
~~
His hands slowly caress my naked buttocks. Standing perfectly still, between his parted clothed thighs, I feel his finger lightly trace the cleft of my arse. My knees tremble slightly and I hear his deep laugh.
‘You didn’t answer my call,’ he says, parting my buttocks.
‘I-I was busy,’ I stutter. I was busy playing with Carla, it’s the game we play.
‘Busy?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, with cold precision.
‘A seat on Daddy’s lap will fix your disobedience,’ he says.
Hands grip my hips, pulling me down. His hands expertly mould my body, pushing me this way and that, until I find myself in the same predicament Joseph found himself in.
Each echoing slap brings tears to my eyes as heat radiates under my skin, traveling to my inner thighs, evoking clitoral pulsations.
‘That’s a good girl,’ he says, rubbing my raw throbbing nettled nates before his fingers delve into my hot eager pussy.
I want him to sink his cock into me, deep and hard. It’s a cock, certainly, but it’s also a shiny rigid baton that pummels my interior, relaying his vigorous need.
He makes me wait it out another three hours with a whirring vibrator lodged between my legs. He’s kind enough to alter the setting from time to time, from high to low and back again as my juices form a gushing cataract that moisten my proximal inner thighs. Only when he’s satisfied will he plunge inside.
‘Are you wet enough?’ he teases. His fingers lightly part my sex to check.
It’s a pretty pussy, he says.
A nice kitty.
A hot cunt.
Wet, moist and warm enough to fuck, according to him. It’s hard to make a comeback when his first two digits curve into a hook inside my wanton tunnel and reel me in as they repeatedly butt against its anterior lush wall.
Each jolting thrust brings me a step closer to the edge and then, after he plunders me, I jump into oblivion and feel the warm gush of blood through every vein. Each microscopic capillary network in my cheeks, within each petal of my flushed sex, and under my tongue cozies up against him.
‘I like it when you fuck me like that,’ I say, after a lengthy silence.
‘I like fucking you…’
We like fucking each other, it goes without saying, but if we push more buttons the novelty will wane or so he says, or I may briefly think. It’s what society may say, sometimes offers or uses to sell another publication, television show or another pair of jeans. What do I care? I get my fill.
~~
Bleep-bleep-bleep, my techno-alarm guides me to consciousness.
‘You’ll be late for work!’ my housemate's voice blasts through my bedroom and vibrates against my semi-squashed auricle.
I mumbled something about Monday sucking and pushed myself out of bed. My feet landed on the polished timber floor, and I stood, facing the window. My buttocks stung like a delicious reminder or, a perverted Post-It note - the type you don’t buy in K-Mart.
Stretching, I came to terms with Monday morning and the usual array of Martha Stewart hopefuls that will cruise their way down the home appliance aisle. It’s a dirty job that gives convenient shelter, until the moon waxes full and I enter the amorous blackness that is night, twirling to the tune of manifold songs and dances.
