One Minute, Thirty-Five Seconds
by Singularity ©
Preparations

The smell of coffee wafting in from the kitchen awakened Anne before the 
alarm clock could squawk its daily greeting at her. She swatted the alarm 
button to keep it silent, and rolled onto her back to stretch and slowly 
rouse herself; one body part at a time, the way civilization intended.

"Mmmm, today is the day," she told the zigzag crack on the ceiling while 
she raised her arms above her head to clasp the vertical bars on the oak 
headboard and pointed her toes at the bedposts at the foot of the bed. 

"At last, today."

She had been trying to imagine what this day would be like for weeks. It 
had dominated her dreams each night, and had monopolized more and more of 
her daytime hours as well, as the circled date on the kitchen calendar 
drew nearer. 

Anne knew with absolute certainty that everyone at work was aware that she 
was preoccupied and that something was going on inside her head; and that 
they were hazarding guesses and speculating about it behind her back. But 
she also knew that no one – absolutely no one – had the even slightest 
idea what the truth of the matter was. And that made it even more special, 
and more precious.

And now the waiting and the anticipation were over. Today. This very day, 
with the sun streaming in through the lace-curtained window and the smell 
of fresh coffee tantalizing her nose and the insatiable itch that radiated 
from her fingertips to her toes. 

Today. The red circle around the number 19 under the picture of an ancient 
forest aflame with color in its autumn splendor. September 19. 

It was finally here, and it was time to begin.

Anne swung her feet to the floor and arose, to look at the morning sky 
outside her lace-draped bedroom window. Clear, and as brilliant a blue as 
she could remember, with only a few powder-puff dots of white scattered 
across the sky. The chill, gusty wind and the rain had ended overnight, 
and her garden basked in the fast-warming autumn sun. 

Such a beautiful day for a... For a what? What did one call this? An 
adventure? An assignment? An act of unabashed deviance? Utter insanity? 
What???

Her flowers waved back at her in the morning breeze; scrubbed clean and 
fresh and ready to be admired, and ready to be taken and sacrificed in the 
vase on her kitchen table. It was either that; or slowly succumb to the 
ravages of the darker, colder days ahead foreshadowed by the mild taste of 
the future that the past few chilly days represented.

But there was no time for picking flowers this morning of mornings.

Anne cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples and pressed them against 
the cold glass. Her breath made a series of fast-disappearing, translucent 
ovals on the chilled surface, while her tits traced small circles on the 
windowpanes. 

The probability that one of her neighbors would see her here, masturbating 
and rubbing her cunt against the bottom of the window frame while she 
pressed her body against the glass and smudging it with the evidence of 
her arousal, was remote. But the danger that this small shard of 
probability represented made it an infinitely more satisfying place to 
deliver her morning orgasm compared to doing it in bed or standing in 
front of her mirror.

She moved faster, more urgently, splaying her labia against the painted 
windowsill as she slicked it with her wetness. But a glance at the stern, 
reproachful face of her bedside clock forced Anne to leave her morning 
ritual at the window before she had orgasmed and to hurry into the 
bathroom. There was still so much to do, to get ready.

Once she was in the bathroom, Anne moved with a quick economy of motion 
that spoke of regular practice and the efficiency that comes from constant 
repetition. First the bath was drawn, and the shaving cream and razor laid 
on the side of the tub. Next, her towel was positioned so it was within 
easy reach; and finally she opened the bottom drawer of her vanity and 
took out what had become one of her dearest friends and her now-daily 
companion.

Anne knelt on the floor and began again to masturbate while the water 
level in the tub slowly rose toward the top of the whirlpool jets. Once 
she had three fingers thrusting in and out of her now-sopping wet pussy 
and her breathing was again rapid and shallow, she aimed her index finger 
at her asshole and worked it in, twisting and turning it as she forced it 
inside her.

"Oh gawd, yes," Anne moaned as she breached herself with a second finger. 

"Fuck me, please fuck me," she panted when she pinched her clit and forced 
a third finger into her ass. Then she scrabbled about on the floor with 
her clit-hand for the large tapered anal plug alongside her leg. When she 
found it, she coated it with her cunt juices to lubricate it before she 
aimed it at her asshole and began to work it inside to replace the triplet 
of fingers that had stretched and opened her enough to permit the smooth 
flesh-colored monster's massive girth to fit within her ass.

Her scream of pain and victory when she forced the plug all the way home 
with its flared base nestled between her ass cheeks was perfectly timed. 
As soon as it was in, her wet sticky fingers were twirling the handles to 
shut off the water.

It always felt so good to submerge beneath the scented water right after 
ramming the plug into her ass. Anne lay there, motionless, while the 
soothing heat of the water soaked into her flesh. Then, again mindful of 
the time, she quickly bathed and then sat on the edge of the tub with her 
feet in the water to shave.

The mere act of sitting brought a groan of pleasure as the tapered rubber 
cone in her ass worked its way deeper inside her. He had instructed her to 
get the plug and to wear it daily. And like everything else about him, 
going about her day with this massive thing in her ass was now as natural 
as if she had been doing it all her life. And those few, rare days when 
biology forced her to leave it in the drawer always left her feeling as if 
part of her body had been amputated.

After the initial sensation radiating from her ass had flooded her senses, 
Anne turned her attention to her other pleasure hole. Her pussy – no, her 
cunt – had been bare for more than two years now; and Anne could no longer 
imagine it being groomed and kept any other way. It had felt so sinful and 
unnatural when she had first done it, but the sensual opportunities it had 
opened up to her had been so compelling that there was no going back. 

He had demanded that, too.

She made quick work of the prior day's feeble attempt at growing it back; 
her hand moving with a sureness and confidence that finished the job 
without ever a nick or a drop of blood. Her wetness flowed anew as she 
worked the razor over and around her labia and when she dragged the blade 
across the arch of flesh above her clit.

When she was done, she slid back into the tub for a few more minutes of 
heaven while she kneaded and rubbed her freshly smooth cuntflesh with her 
fingers. Then it was time to get dressed and get herself out the door.

Today's dress hung on the hanger on the back of her bedroom door, ready 
and waiting. It was a simple frock; black, with small white dots to give 
it a refined, elegant look; and with white piping at the neck and hem and 
on the short sleeves. The modest dress's neckline only hinted of her 
cleavage, and it's hemline was equally unremarkable, showing her knees and 
a generous amount of thigh, but still demure by today's standards.

But it was the buttons that made this dress special. The twenty-one small, 
round, while buttons that ran in a straight line down the front of the 
dress, from the circle of white at the neckline to the matching white 
demarcation along the hemline. Anne had gotten the dress especially for 
this day. She had admired and studied it hanging on the back of her door 
for the past month, and had practiced with the buttons until she could 
open and close them effortlessly, one after the other; and starting from 
the top or from the bottom.

She had practiced every one of the past thirty days, until her fingers 
knew each and every button by touch, and they could do all twenty-one of 
them with the speed and confidence that a Marine recruit demonstrates when 
field-stripping and reassembling a rifle for his drill instructor. 

She could do it now without a single downward glance or fumble. 
Flawlessly. Perfectly. She was ready.

But first, there were the accessories. She opened her dresser drawer and 
took out the bra she had purchased the same day she had found this 
most-perfect dress. It, too, was black, and pure sin to the touch – all 
satin and gleaming wickedly in the sunlight. Anne snuggled the tiny cups 
up under her breasts and hooked it closed and lifted the straps over her 
shoulders. 

Her nipples stood out hard and proud, and the deeply tanned flesh of her 
tit mounded up enticingly above the shallow quarter-cups of the indecent 
little shelf bra. Definitely not normal and proper business under-attire; 
but today was special. 

Anne smiled as she remembered the blushing look of the shopgirl who had 
sold her the bra at the lingerie boutique. She had asked if Anne wanted 
the matching panty or thong, and Anne had replied, simply "No, thank you. 
I don't wear knickers any more."

She unfolded the stockings from their boutique-wrapped tissue paper. They 
were equally indecent, and breathtakingly extravagant. Smokey black and 
incredibly silky to the touch; the sensation of pulling them over her en 
pointe toes and up her legs was pure sin. The delicate swath of black lace 
that clung to her thighs felt like pairs of hands caressing her skin.

A small shiver ran down her back as Anne stood up and stepped into the 
gleaming black spike-heeled slingback sandals that had been patiently 
waiting in their box at the back of her closet for this day to arrive.

The bra and the shoes and the stockings had been his choices, as well.

And now it was time for the dress. 

Anne silently counted the buttons as she opened the dress and took it down 
from the padded hanger on the back of her door. Standing in front of her 
mirror, she lifted it up and slid her arms into the sleeves and pulled it 
closed over her breasts. The sensation of the sheer light cotton against 
her exposed titflesh and nipples almost had her fingers back in her pussy 
in search of the immediate gratification she craved.

But she resisted the urge and instead she fastened the buttons, one by 
one, from neck to hem, this time counting them aloud. "One, two, three..." 
Each new integer advanced the rehearsal tape in her mind one more frame; 
to show, step by step, what she was to do. When she counted "twenty-one" 
and saw the finishing point, she could feel the wetness trickling down the 
inside of her thighs. 

It was going to be so very difficult at work today.

Anne turned to go, and she was almost out the door when she remembered the 
pearls. He had been quite specific about the pearls. 

Looking again at her wristwatch, she dashed back inside and draped the 
long strand of gleaming white pearls that had been waiting patiently on 
the dresser for her to remember them around her neck. She adjusted them so 
the double loop swayed back and forth like a pair of pendulums between her 
cantilevered-up, bare tits. And then the matching pearl bracelets. Now, 
she was complete.

Prelude

Ten minutes later, Anne was immersed in the morning traffic, rehearsing 
again each time she sat at a red light, nervously fingering the buttons 
from the hem to the neck and back down again. 

Each time there were twenty-one of them. And each time the rehearsal movie 
began with the same opening, and progressed unerringly to the finish. Only 
the endings differed. Each one represented a very real possibility – based 
in part upon things she might control, and on others she would have 
absolutely no influence over.

By the time she turned into the parking lot across the street from the 
featureless and relentlessly ordinary office building she spent so much of 
her life in, Anne could hardly keep her hands out of her lap. The tingling 
and the moist heat between her legs were almost irresistible, their 
Siren's-call virtually impossible to ignore. 

Only the fact that she was almost late again for the third day in a row 
saved her from the forbidden act of touching herself. His instructions had 
been quite explicit on this point. Once she had locked the back door of 
her house behind her, she was not to masturbate or touch her tits or pussy 
until – well, until it was time.

Anne grabbed the little cotton eyelet sweater from the back seat of her 
car before she prepared to dash across the four lanes of traffic to the 
front entrance. She wore the sweater often during the summer when the air 
conditioning made the cubicle warren she inhabited too chilly. Today, 
though, she simply had to cover her tits to make it through the morning 
without causing a very inappropriate display in front of her coworkers.

The simple fact was that her nipples were already throbbing at a 
fever-pitch, and the combination of the little satin shelf bra and the 
thin cotton fabric of her dress wouldn't present much of a curtain to 
screen what was going on beneath the little black dress with the white 
polka-dots and buttons from the casual onlooker; much less the boisterous 
tit-men who surrounded her in the mostly male office.

Even as she clutched the lapels of the sweater jacket close around her 
body like a shield, Anne felt as though she was striding down the aisle to 
her desk completely naked. Nipples aching, clit throbbing, moisture 
sheening the tops of her thighs – they all combined to leave her nearly 
breathless by the time she eased her ass onto the worn fabric cushion on 
her chair and pulled it forward under her desk to hide the lacy tops of 
her stockings that were suddenly peeking out from beneath the white-lined 
hem of her dress.

Her relief at being able to hide her legs under her desk from the passing 
voyeurs was tempered by the way her anal plug speared deeper into her ass 
when she sat down on the chair. She only barely managed to strangle her 
moan before it escaped her throat.



Oh, fuck; this is going to be so hard... Damn him, he meant it to be like 
this.

It was going to be like that every time she moved, and each time she got 
up and sat down again. She was sure that by the time her appointed time 
arrived, her cunt juices would be streaming down her legs and making 
obscenely big, visible, wet stains on her lovely stockings.

A dripping, wet mess. That's going to be me in a few hours...

Anne looked around hurriedly to see if anyone was watching her, before she 
lifted her ass up and furtively and frantically tugged her skirt down 
while keeping as much of herself hidden under the desk as possible.

Damn, it's even shorter than I imagined! Everyone will notice – they'll 
see the stockings - and know I'm not wearing pantyhose. And – oh, gawd – 
if they can see the tops of the stockings instead of the usual pantyhose, 
will they also guess that I'm not wearing any knickers?

When her computer monitor glowed to life and her appointment calendar on 
her email home page sprang into view, it sent a tremor spasming through 
her body. 

Oh, shit...

She had forgotten about the hour-long meeting she was going to have to 
attend in a few minutes, in her boss's office. He was going to be seated 
behind the altar of his desk, while she and the three other men who would 
be there would be clustered around the ridiculously small round conference 
table right in front of Mr. Preston's desk. There would be no hiding of 
legs and stockings and hard nipples in that lion's den.

They're going to be able to fucking smell me, in there; I'll be so close 
to them.

"Anne! Come on. We can't keep Preston waiting all day. Get your ass in 
gear."

Keith Jensen trotted past with an untidy stack of papers in his arms, 
slowing only long enough to tilt his head in the direction of David 
Preston's office at the end of the aisle. But when he saw Anne push her 
chair back from her desk and stand up, he decelerated to a rapid stop.

"Wow, look at you!" he exclaimed. "Will I get in trouble with HR if I tell 
you that I love the new dress?" he asked. His smile radiated a sudden new 
interest in his female co-worker. Keith's eyes raked her from her lips to 
her ankles, braking and slowing to go carefully around the curves of her 
breasts and along the fence of lace that separated the white-lined hem of 
her dress from the iridescent coal-black sheen of her stockings before 
accelerating down her thighs to squeal to a stop at the sight of her 
ankles and nearly-bare feet perched on top of her spike heeled shoes.

The return trip back up her body was made at a much more careful and 
deliberate speed.

"It's very...nice," he said lamely as he struggled to find socially 
acceptable words for what he really wanted to say.

Anne lowered her head to avoid his gaze and tried to reach her notes for 
the meeting from where they were neatly piled next to the monitor without 
bending over her desk to expose even more of her stockings. She knew she 
was blushing a nervous pink, but the thrill of what he had just done to 
her was already taking its toll on her clit and her nipples. It was like 
someone was alternating touching them with a hot candle's breath and an 
icy rock of frozen water. 

The pulsing surge of electricity that raced through her synapses with each 
beat of her heart was nearly unbearable.

Keith Jensen usually reserved his attentions for the younger women who 
were fresh and firm of body and at their peak of desirability. He took 
advantage of their vulnerability and their eagerness to please and the 
fact that they welcomed and encouraged the attention of the handsome, 
successful man he was. The fact that he was twenty years their senior and 
married didn't deter them – or him – in the least, either.

And now here he was, captivated by her. It was like being carded in a bar 
when you were past the watershed age of thirty. It felt good. It felt very 
goddamn good.

"Thank you, Keith. I just felt like dressing up a bit today. Nothing 
special, just something different," she lied; while her clenching and 
spasming asshole and her wet slit and the hard, throbbing nipples on her 
mounded-up tits poking so impudently through the thin black fabric of her 
dress spoke the real truth.

Not really, Keith, darling. I shaved my pussy this morning and I have this 
huge rubber cock in my ass right now and I'm not wearing any knickers 
today. What do you think about that, Keith? And do you like my tits like 
this – all pushed up and hanging out and my nipples all hard and pointy 
like a shameless slut's? I am so fucking wet and horny right now - your 
cock would glide all the way in on the first stroke.... Do you want to 
take me in the empty office down the hall and bend me over the desk and 
pull up my skirt and fuck me right there, like you do with Clare and 
Victoria? Mmmm, of course you do. I can see that. And I wouldn't object... 
except for... today I can't. I'm, um, shall we say, not available. But 
trust me, if I could, I'd be in there with my legs spread wide apart and 
holding my cunt lips open for you, Keith. For that big cock I can see 
outlined against the front of your pants right now."

"You should do 'different' more often, Anne. 'Different' becomes you. 
Maybe we can go over to that new pub down the street for lunch today. How 
about it?"

"Umm, I can't today. I have some important errands to run. Tomorrow, 
maybe?" she offered.

"Tomorrow will be fine," Keith beamed. "Let's get going now, shall we?"

Anne hesitated a few heartbeats, waiting for Keith to lead the way to 
David Preston's office. When she saw that he was going to outwait her, 
Anne blushed a small smile and eased her way past him, while letting her 
sweater swing open so he could get a better view of her tits.

You like what you see, don't you Keith? You want to put your hands right 
there – right on them, don't you? You want to roll those rock-hard nips 
between your fingers while you squeeze my titflesh... I know what you want 
– and I would love to give it to you. I love that look in your eyes. It's 
so, so, so primal.

"I hope Preston likes what the plan we put together," she said, as she 
summoned her most business-like voice and strode down the aisle at a slow, 
measured, catwalk pace.

Keith Jensen trailed behind in close formation. He didn't say anything, 
but Anne knew he was conducting an intimate and detailed topographic 
survey of her ass and her legs. She could almost feel his hands reaching 
up between her stocking-covered thighs to find the perspiration and 
cunt-sheened band of bare flesh above her stockings, and then raising a 
finger like a guided missile being lifted into attack position on its 
launcher to confirm that her pussy was indeed both smooth and bare, and 
uncovered.

Anne's ass clenched and flexed as she imagined him pressing her face to 
the wall and twisting her arm behind her back to hold her there while she 
struggled just a little bit; and then lifting her skirt up to stroke her 
very wet slit and slide that finger into her pussy. 

She turned and looked back at him over her shoulder, catching him 
dead-to-rights, staring at her ass. Forgiving him with a triple-play 
smile, wink, and air-kiss, she continued to stride down the aisle. 

This is fun!

And it was getting so damn hard to concentrate, too.

Anne clutched her stack of papers to her chest, mentally pleading with her 
nipples to behave for just a little while as she neared her boss's office. 
But just when she and her closely tethered companion arrived at Mr. 
Preston's door, her plug slipped a fraction of an inch out of her asshole 
from the effects of her spasming muscles and the seemingly infinite number 
of steps between her desk and their destination.

"You go in first. I'll be just a second," she said as she came to a stop 
along the wall, next to the door.

"OK," Keith replied, his happy grin showing how much he had enjoyed the 
walk. "Bob and Carl are here already. Don't take too long."

"Nope, I just need to make sure I've got everything," she lied again, as 
she made a show of flipping through the pages she held in front of her now 
as a shield.

After Keith had finally torn his eyes off her and gone inside to start the 
inevitable male morning banter about baseball and basketball and hockey 
with the other men, Anne looked each way up and down the aisle and waited 
until the coast was clear. Then she reached behind her and pressed her 
plug back up into her asshole.

"Oh gawd," she moaned softly. While the act of sitting down on the hard 
wooden seat of the conference table chair that awaited her would be 
difficult enough, she knew that if her plug had to stretch and open her 
back up that last inch when she sat down she would not be able to stifle 
the moan and the shudder it would trigger. There was no way she would 
survive that. Not with them all there, scrutinizing her every move. 

Fuck, they were probably going to be able to smell the perfume radiating 
from between her legs.

"Good morning, Mr. Preston. I hope I'm not late," Anne said as she entered 
the now-silent office with a burst of bravado and false courage. 

He waved at her while he listened intently to someone on the telephone. 
But the fact that he was concentrating on the words being spoken into his 
ear did not prevent his eyebrows from arching up and the corners of his 
mouth turning up in an unexpected little smile when she made her entrance.

Anne's heart skipped a beat when she saw that the only empty chair at the 
tiny conference table was positioned so that Mr. Preston would have a 
perfect quarter-turn front and side view of the full length of her legs 
beneath the table and an excellent angle to see up her skirt every time 
she crossed or uncrossed her legs or did anything other than remain as 
still as a statue.

This is going to be so fucking hard.

Anne could not decide whether to put her sheaf of papers on the table or 
to keep them on her lap to help hide the tops of her stockings - and the 
bare skin that topped the lace and that so very much wanted to see the 
light of day.

She chose her lap – and then instantly regretted it.

She was looking at her boss, trying to assess the meaning behind the 
raised eyebrows and the smile, when Carl touched her on the arm. The 
unexpected touch of his fingers on her skin made her nearly jump out of 
her chair.

"Anne, I'm so sorry!" Carl exclaimed. "I didn't mean to startle you. I 
just wanted you to look at this new spreadsheet." He gestured 
apologetically to the printout he held in his other hand.

But the damage was done. The neatly stacked papers that had been on her 
lap were strewn all over the floor.

"Here, let me get them," Carl offered, as both he and Bob dived under the 
table to collect the errant pages. 

Anne started to bend down to pick up some of the sheets but immediately 
retreated. Instead, she held on to the hem of her dress, and eased her ass 
back down onto the hard seat of the chair. There was no way she was going 
to be able to squat down – not in this dress, especially without 
pantyhose, and definitely not with the giant thing pulsing inside her ass 
like it was alive. She would never get back up – not without the remaining 
scraps of her dignity shredded to wet, soggy pieces.

"Thank you. I'm sorry I'm so jumpy. It's so not like me," she said weakly.

Keith Jensen merely sat in his chair, watching her, and grinning.

He's really enjoying this. He knows what this is all about, and he's 
stroking his cock under the table. I know it.

A moment later, Anne turned back and there was Carl Thompson, kneeling a 
mere handful of inches in front of her knees, holding her papers in his 
outstretched hands. "Here, Anne," he said to drag her attention away from 
Keith. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Anne looked down to see the black text on the top page swimming into 
focus, framed by his large, strong fingers and hovering a hands-breadth 
above a sliver of swirling black lace peering out from beneath the hem of 
her dress.

Anne's hands visibly trembled as she took the sheaf of paper from Carl, 
and their conjoined stares rose up in lockstep from her lap to see the 
awkward and aroused expressions on the other's face.

"Thank you, Carl. It's me. I'm just being clumsy today."

"No problem," Carl answered as he stood up, his head tilting down as he 
rose; his eyes unable to leave her thighs and her tits even as she tried 
to tug her skirt down to hide the tops of her stockings. If anything, his 
appraisal of her body was even more frank and more brutally efficient than 
Keith's had been. Carl's eyes had Anne stripped naked in a heartbeat.

Anne's body responded like a violin being fingered by a first-chair 
musician. Every cell in her body was vibrating in unison, in perfect pitch 
and harmony. If only, goddamn, if only she could orgasm right now.

Do you want to fuck me too, Carl? Keith wants me. How about you? Maybe the 
two of you together, I've never had two men at the same time, you know. 
Would you like to break me in – you and Keith? Do you want my pussy or do 
you want to shove your cock into my ass? I know before you choose I want 
that big thing in my mouth...

David Preston interrupted the pheromone-fueled flirting that was traveling 
in circles around the table. "Let's get started. Anne, lay out the options 
for how we go do this."

Anne gaped and fumbled for an infinity of seconds before she was able to 
compose herself enough to begin. Her brain struggled to turn off the 
slow-motion movie image of David Preston walking over to the door of his 
office and locking it and then beginning to take off his tie while the 
other three men stood up and pushed the chairs back and cleared off the 
top of the table.

"Well, David, here's the problem as I see it..."

When she finished, she could not recall a single word she had said. She 
fidgeted with her papers, now safely on the table top, while she waited 
silently for her crucifixion. She dared not even look at her boss.

David Preston sat back in his chair and folded his hands in front of him 
on the polished surface of his desk.

"Thank you, Anne. That's an interesting take on the situation. Now, Carl, 
what does your analysis say we should do?"

Anne cringed, and died a little bit inside.

Carl quickly seized his opportunity and launched into a coherent and 
spirited presentation, with Bob and Keith both adding their observations 
and suggestions every few minutes. Each observation and suggestion, one 
after the other, she knew, was digging her professional grave a little bit 
deeper.

But Anne barely heard a word of it. From that point on, it was as if she 
wasn't even there. The ideas and dialog flowed around her like the 
currents in a river parting and eddying and swirling around a mute lump of 
granite resting inert in the middle of the stream. Time passed so slowly 
that Anne felt like she was in a state of suspended animation.

Then the shrill ring of David Preston's telephone shattered the glass 
walls of Anne's isolation, sending the jagged shards of her private hell 
crashing noisily to the floor.

"It's for you. Anne. Anne! The telephone. The call. It's for you."

Mr. Preston held out the handset, aiming it at her breasts.

Anne lurched back into the awful reality of the moment. "Sorry, OK. Do you 
want me to take it outside? I have no idea who would be calling me here, 
now."

"No," he said, gesturing impatiently with the sleek black instrument. 
"Take it here, now. But then we have to get back to business."

"Yes, Sir. I'm so sorry, Mr. Preston."

Anne stood up and walked over to her boss's desk. As she did so, the 
satanic instrument in her ass slid at least an inch and a half out of her 
hole.

When she arrived at her destination an eon of time later, she leaned on 
the desk with one hand to steady herself.

David Preston held the phone in his hand, on his side of the desk and just 
out of reach of her extended hand. He was feasting his eyes on her tits 
and the outlines of her nipples bursting through the black cotton on 
either side of the vertical row of white buttons. 

She was going to have to lean over the desk to reach it.

Behind her, the idle conversation at the conference table petered out. 
Three pairs of eyes were staring at her ass. Mentally undressing her and 
extending the outline of her stocking-clad legs up under her skirt, and 
drawing lewd mind-pictures of what lurked beneath the snug, smooth expanse 
of white-edged black that barely concealed what they wanted to see and 
touch and taste – and fuck.

Anne bent forward from the waist and reached for the telephone in David 
Preston's outstretched palm.

Her face flushed pink as she bent forward. Her boss now had an unimpeded 
view down the front of her dress. And she could feel the hem of her dress 
rising in the back, millimeter by millimeter. Farther, farther...

She was almost hyperventilating when her fingers grasped the handset. She 
knew with absolute certainty that Keith and Bob and Carl had a completely 
unobstructed view of her thighs. The cool air licking at her skin told her 
that not only was she displaying the lace tops of her stockings to the 
men, she was exhibiting at least an inch of flesh as well.

Oh gawd, please let it not be shiny and wet.

The hard rubber spear protruding from her ass must have been visible 
beneath the taut cotton that hugged the curves of her ass.

And then her eyes met those of her boss. 

David Preston was mesmerized by the sight of her bare, lifted-up tits and 
her hard, pencil eraser nipples swaying lewdly back and forth in front of 
him. He couldn't see everything, but he could see enough to know that Anne 
was not wearing modest, businesswoman lingerie beneath her dress.

As soon as she had the telephone safely in her hand, Anne stood up and 
tugged at the side of her skirt in an instinctive yet fruitless attempt to 
reclaim her modesty.

"Yes, this is Anne. Who is this?" she said into the mouthpiece while she 
struggled to calm herself.

In front of her, David Preston feigned disinterest, yet he was keenly 
studying the swell of her hips and the curve of her breasts from the 
corner of his eye.

"You know who it is, Anne," the voice said, calmly. "I had the 
receptionist track you down. I said it was urgent."

"Yes, yes I do. I know," Anne said. She spoke slowly, trying to find the 
right words to respond to him, while pretending to the man leering at her 
tits that this was a professional call. "What is it?"

"I was just checking on you. Are you properly prepared? Are you ready to 
follow your instructions?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. Everything is in order..."

"You are wearing the dress and the bra and you have the plug in your ass, 
right now, Anne? This very minute?" the voice challenged.

"Uh huh," Anne breathed. "It's all there. Ready to go. The complete 
package."

"And you are dripping wet right now, aren't you, Anne?" His voice sounded 
very, very confident.

"Yes, very much so. I'm, I mean, everything is going as planned."

"I knew it," he said, triumphantly. "You're standing in front of your 
boss, dripping wet and with your nipples so hard they feel like they're 
going to break off and you can't think of anything but your clit and your 
cunt and that monster in your ass, and you want to touch your hard, wet 
clit and come for me, right fucking now. Don't you, Anne?"

"Yes," she said in a small voice.

"He's staring at your tits right now, isn't he?"

"Yes, he... I mean, that's right."

"Good. I like that. Two more hours, and then it will be time to begin. But 
it has already begun, hasn't it, Anne?"

And then the connection went dead.

"Thank you, I'll get right on that. I'll have it ready for the afternoon," 
Anne said to the dial tone in her ear.

She handed the telephone handset back to Mr. Preston. "Sorry for the 
interruption, Sir."

He smiled at her quizzically. "Who was that?"

"Someone from accounting. Some question about some journal entries I had 
to get cleared up."

"I see." David Preston sounded unconvinced. "I think we've covered enough 
for now. We'll review the status again tomorrow. Here, in my office again, 
at ten."

Anne fled back to her cubicle without waiting to engage in any of the 
usual post-meeting banter and chitchat with her coworkers. She dumped her 
stack of paper onto her desk and fled to the safety and privacy of the 
restroom. After colliding with one of Keith Jensen's winsome little 
hardbodies on her way into the small white-tiled sanctuary and almost 
body-checking the very surprised Size-2 bit of blonde fluff to the floor, 
Anne raced to the first stall and slammed the door closed behind her.

Breathe, girl. Slow... Slow... Remember, you have to work with these guys 
for the next few years.

The video camera behind her eyelids replayed the scene in David Preston's 
office while she leaned against the wall. The plug in her ass felt bigger 
and more evil with every jackhammer-hard heartbeat in her chest. It was 
like she was a snake having just shed its skin for the first time in 
there. Being the center of attention like that, and having men so 
blatantly undress her with their eyes was a profound revelation. The word 
'surreal' stuck in her head. 

Surreal and exhilarating and terrifying and addicting and ... Her 
vocabulary of adjectives ran dry long before her heart rate returned to 
something resembling normalcy.

This is what an out-of-body experience must be like. Seeing yourself 
there, unable to stop or alter the flow of events, and being so amazed at 
what you are capable of doing and at how those around you react.

Anne popped open the five buttons on the dress between her pussy and the 
hemline and pulled the dress up over her ass. Her fingers dove into her 
pussy while her thumb pushed down hard on her clit like an impatient 
person stabs at a recalcitrant elevator button. She was so close – so 
fucking close. The hard, cool tiles pressing against her moisture-sheened 
ass cheeks made for a sinful counterpoint to the steam-heated passion 
radiating from her clit.

She was listening to the soft, wet, liquid sounds between her legs when 
the restroom door opened and someone with a pair of sensible flat shoes 
entered and began to splash around at the lavatory. Anne wiped her fingers 
on the inside of the door and tugged her bunched-up dress down over her 
ass again, and fingered the buttons closed again, one by one.

She would have to wait. She had to wait until – until it was time. 

Anne glanced at her watch. Only an hour to go. He would be amused at her – 
at how hard it was for her to wait, and to keep her hands off herself. He 
would tease her about it later that evening, when she confessed it all to 
him in excruciatingly intimate detail. But he wouldn't be angry about it – 
not really. She might have to pay a price for her exuberance and for 
letting her imagination and her libido lead her into temptation, but it 
would be a price well worth paying. 

Gawd, he knows me so well. It's as if he can paint my portrait in a dark 
room. He probably knows what I'm doing right now, in here.

Sensible Shoes finished washing her hands and left, leaving Anne with only 
the soft rush of air from the ceiling vent to complement the sound of her 
breathing. 

She forced the plug back into her ass again, this time with only a small 
gasp escaping her lips. After leaving the refuge of her stall, Anne 
rearranged her hair and symbolically kissed her fingers in front of the 
mirror. Then she emerged back into the corridor to make her way back to 
her desk.

The telephone rang the instant she lowered her ass onto her chair.

"Yes, this is Anne. How may I..."

"You know what you may do. No, what you WILL do, don't you Anne?" He 
chuckled at the involuntary inrush of air into her lungs.

"I'm ready. But it is so hard to wait. I'm..."

He cut her off. "No, don't tell me about how hard it is. All I want to 
hear is that you are ready, you are dripping wet, and that you are going 
to do exactly as you were told."

"Yes. Oh god yes, I'm ready. I can't think about anything else. Not for 
the last three days. My cunt is so fucking wet."

"Of course it is. This is who you are, Anne. What you are going to do 
forty-seven minutes from now is what you have been leading up to your 
entire life. Admit it – this is your Rubicon. Your threshold. Once you 
cross this boundary, there is no going back."

"You're right. You're always right, of course."

Anne looked up at a noise behind her, and saw Keith Jensen leaning against 
the partition-wall of her office, an interested smile on his face.

Oh fuck! How much of that did he hear?

"I have to go now," she said, the quietness in her voice betraying her 
nervousness.

"Wait – before you go, just listen. You will spend the remaining time 
seated on the edge of your chair, feet flat on the floor, and with the 
palms of your hands flat on the desk in front of you. Keep your eyes open 
and regulate your breathing. Rehearse it all in your mind –every detail. 
Nothing else is between you - and what is to be. Nothing."

"Yes. I understand," Anne managed to say before gently laying the phone 
back in its cradle. She swiveled to face her eavesdropper. "Did you need 
something, Keith?"

"No, not really. I can see you're busy," he said, while his eyes darted 
between her face and the twin melons of her tits and the stripe of lace 
and flesh laid bare across her immodestly covered lap.

"I'm sorry," she apologized again. "I'll come see you after lunch about 
the project."

"OK," he said with a final leer. "Don't forget about me." And then, 
thankfully, he was gone.

You like what you see, don't you Keith? You want to put your hands right 
there – right on them, don't you? You want to roll those rock-hard nips 
between your fingers while you squeeze my titflesh... I know what you want 
– and I would love to give it to you. I love that look in your eyes. It's 
so, so, so primal.

"I hope Preston likes what the plan we put together," she said, as she 
summoned her most business-like voice and strode down the aisle at a slow, 
measured, catwalk pace.

Keith Jensen trailed behind in close formation. He didn't say anything, 
but Anne knew he was conducting an intimate and detailed topographic 
survey of her ass and her legs. She could almost feel his hands reaching 
up between her stocking-covered thighs to find the perspiration and 
cunt-sheened band of bare flesh above her stockings, and then raising a 
finger like a guided missile being lifted into attack position on its 
launcher to confirm that her pussy was indeed both smooth and bare, and 
uncovered.

Anne's ass clenched and flexed as she imagined him pressing her face to 
the wall and twisting her arm behind her back to hold her there while she 
struggled just a little bit; and then lifting her skirt up to stroke her 
very wet slit and slide that finger into her pussy. 

She turned and looked back at him over her shoulder, catching him 
dead-to-rights, staring at her ass. Forgiving him with a triple-play 
smile, wink, and air-kiss, she continued to stride down the aisle. 

This is fun!

Anne snugged her chair in as close to the desk as she could and faced her 
computer monitor. She opened an Excel spreadsheet that was dense with 
numbers and formulas, and stared at it, uncomprehendingly. It might as 
well as have been hieroglyphics.

Feet on the floor, ass on the edge of the chair – oh fuck, that's cruel! 
Hands flat on the desk. Sit up straight, girl. Now.... breathe. Breathe. 
Again.

The sight of her less than an hour from now filled the inside of her head. 
She watched her every move, critiquing it like a judge at an Olympic 
event. Every now and again, she would back up the scene and redo it, 
making it a little bit different – and hopefully, better. Even though she 
was there, and not here, she could hear the thump of her heart in her 
chest and the roar of the pressurized blood in her veins pulsing through 
her body.

The erect points of her nipples rasped against the unlined inner surface 
of her dress with each breath she took. And the wetness between her legs – 
she could feel it trickling down her slit to gather at the obscene rubber 
thing sticking out of her ass, and rain down onto the worn nubby fabric 
covering the hard underframe of her seat.

It's a good thing this dress is black. The back of it is going to be very 
fucking wet, when I get up.

The idea of having to actually stand up and move, and to begin to 
transform the movie in her head into a live stage play brought her eyes 
back into focus. The reproachful numerals on the clock on the stupid 
company "you survived the latest insanely executed company project" Lucite 
tombstone on her desk told her that the time for rehearsals had ended.

It was time to act.

The Point of No Return

Airplane pilots all know that when they begin a long, over-ocean flight, 
that there is a 'point of no return' – the unmarked "X" on the map where 
it will cost them more fuel than they have left to return to their 
starting point; and from where they must fly forward towards their 
destination, no matter what obstacles or dangers may lie in their path.

The moment that Anne stood up and tugged her skirt down over her ass and 
began to make her way towards the front entrance was exactly that. Her 
"Point X". She had already turned the corner and started down the stairs 
when she remembered that she had left her little white sweater draped on 
the back of her chair.

No more hiding the lewd cones of her breasts and her shamelessly hard 
nipples or the slightly darker wet spot on the back of her dress. No going 
back. There was no 'back' any more. Not now.

Each stair step she counted towards the first floor was like another nail 
in her coffin. The thing in her ass seemed to have come alive, the way it 
moved within her. The goggle-eyed stare of the new guy in Finance who 
happened to be bounding up the stairs while Anne was slowly masturbating 
her way down only confirmed the inevitability of her mission.

Her mental picture of the man who had scripted all of this leaped into her 
mind.

He was right – like he always was. She was never going to be the same 
after today. For better or worse, she was different now, and she would be 
changed and transformed within the next sixty minutes more than any other 
time in her middling average life.

The hubbub of the noontime traffic on the street and the glare of the sun 
on her face was like a jolt of electricity when she staggered through the 
front entrance. 

Anne darted across the street to the parking lot and slid gratefully into 
the driver's seat of her car. The soft, supple leather of the seat felt 
like the caress of a young woman's skin against her goosebumped flesh. It 
seemed like every cell and neuron in her body was alive and aroused and 
masturbating at the protoplasmic level. At this rate, she wasn't sure she 
would even make it to the starting gate before she collapsed in an 
orgiastic meltdown. 

Please, let me make it through this. Lead me into temptation, even though 
I am afraid. Yea, though I walk through the valley of sin, I embrace my 
fear and use it to strengthen me.

The fact that those twisted and perverted words sprang from the dim 
memories of her long-ago childhood Sunday school classes only added to the 
wicked thrill that coursed through her veins. The adjectives piled up in 
her head.

Deviant. Wicked. Perverted. Indecent. Lewd. And, of course, Sinful.

The act of stabbing her key into the ignition switch and twisting it to 
bring her little black coupe to life was the final knife thrust through 
her fears. 

A minute later, she accelerated out into traffic and headed west. Twenty 
blocks to go. She lowered the dark-tinted side windows to let the sunlight 
and crisp, fresh air into the overheated interior of the car.

Anne slowed to a stop at the corner, to wait for the light to turn green. 
While she waited with her right foot standing on the brake pedal, Anne 
looked around at the other cars that surrounded her. The man in the 
vintage red Mustang to her left was looking at her.

It was time to begin.

Anne fingered the bottom three buttons open on her dress with her left 
hand and slid her fingertips along the bare wet skin above her stockings 
while she moved her right hand from the steering wheel to cup her left 
breast. The heat of her skin soaked through the thin black cotton as if 
she was already naked. 

Look at me. I am such a slut – dripping wet and doing myself in broad 
daylight like this. And with an absolute stranger watching me. Such an 
exhibitionist little tramp whore. And I can't stop. Uh-uh. Not any more. 
This must be like what a heroin addict feels when she shoots up – that 
sudden rush of ecstasy. Knowing that it is so wrong and yet it feels so 
fucking good and nothing else in the entire world matters...

She sneaked a peek to her left to see whether he was still watching her 
holding her breast and stroking it with her fingertips.

He was.

Anne pinched and twisted her left nipple as hard as she could, her mouth 
flying open for a second at the pain and the sheer lewdness of what she 
was doing. Still holding herself in a vice-like grip, she turned her head 
to look directly at the man along side her. She boldly met his gaze, while 
she held her tit up by the nipple she held in the sharp talons of her 
fingernails.

Mesmerized by the shameless display in the little black car to his right, 
the man stared until the person waiting behind him leaned on his horn to 
declare his irritation that the light had been green for nearly half a 
minute and their joined-at-the-door-handles red and black cars were still 
sitting there, oblivious to the fact that the cars in front of them were 
already a block ahead of them.

Flashing a goodbye smile at her voyeur, Anne stamped on the gas pedal and 
squealed her tires on the pavement as she raced towards the light that was 
already turning yellow at the next intersection.

Another first. Burning rubber like that. I'm learning how to do a lot of 
new things today, it seems.

By the time she jerked the car to a halt at the next light, Anne had 
another button undone at the bottom of her dress and the first three at 
the top. Her left hand had not left her thigh the entire drag race to the 
second light, and now it was teasing the very wet flesh at the top of her 
leg. She looked around for the red Mustang, but it was gone.

She took her wet, fragrant fingertips from under the gaping open V of her 
mostly unbuttoned skirt and lifted them to her nose while she flipped down 
the visor so she could watch herself. Anne licked her lips with the pink 
tip of her tongue and then drew her fingertips over them, both to feel the 
two wet surfaces meet and commingle their molecules of fluids, and to 
taste the heady flavor of herself.

Anne sucked her fingers into her mouth like she was an impoverished child 
tasting candy for the first time in her life. Then she slid her ass 
forward on the seat, sending more shock waves through her body, and 
widened her legs to give her fingers unimpeded access to her pussy. Her 
fingers located their target and she moaned when two of them found their 
way home into the honey-slicked entrance to her cunt.

Then with her fingertips freshly anointed, Anne watched herself in the 
mirror as she applied the best gloss in the world to her lips.

Kiss me now. Taste me. Know that I am your cunt – your slut. Kiss me. 
Ravish me. Ravage me. Rape me and sodomize me. Make me your whore. Your 
dirty little whore.

At the same time, not wanting to be left out, her other hand had found its 
way inside her dress to caress the soft, mounded-up flesh of her breast 
and to roll the fat eraser-tip nipple that decorated it so wonderfully 
back and forth between her thumb and forefinger.

Oh gawd, oh fuck me right now. I can't stop... I can't stop...

Again, the car horns blared, this time from the line of impatient drivers 
behind her. Anne put both of her hands on the steering wheel as she 
lurched forward from the light.

Concentrate. On your driving. Driving and fucking. I have to do one, and 
can't stop doing the other.

Thankfully, the next light was green, and Anne was able to navigate around 
the corner to aim her lust-driven vehicle towards its destination. Only a 
few more blocks to go.

A few more green lights and then another crimson one. And two more buttons 
undone at the top of the dress and another two at the bottom. Eleven gone, 
and only ten small bone-white discs between her and complete nakedness. 
She glanced down at her lap. Only one more button and her bare pussy would 
be completely visible. And her cantilevered tits were almost bursting out 
of her dress. The button over her breastbone was just managing to keep her 
nipples hidden behind the gaping-open top of her dress.

Amazing...<

Reality was pacing the script, with near perfection.

And then she was there – her fingers thrusting in and out of her cunt as 
she spun the wheel and lunged towards the driveway. A car horn blared and 
brakes shrieked as she veered across the centerline to come to a spasming 
halt behind another car in the approach lane. A red Mustang. 

The near accident behind his chrome-plated bumper caused the Mustang's 
driver to twist around to see who had nearly rear-ended his cherry-red 
toy. It was him. His look of anger melted into a leering smile when he 
recognized her. That and the sight of her almost-bare breasts displayed 
for his piercing stare.

How did I get here so fast?

Countdown

"Do you want the Super-Kiss?" the rangy, somewhat gothic-looking young man 
called out, before he suddenly blushed, goggle-eyed, at the blatant 
display of aroused female flesh sprawled on the black leather seat behind 
the windshield in front of him. 

Anne stretched her arms back over her head and smiled Cheshire cat grin at 
her latest conquest, while her nipples toyed with the pulled-open bodice 
of her dress like a stripper at a vaudeville show teased her audience with 
the curtain as her only attire.

"Why, yes, I believe I do," Anne purred. "I love being Kissed. But first, 
explain it all to me. I want to know all about it." As she spoke, she 
leaned over to open the glove box. The boy's eyes followed her tits as 
they slipped completely out of her dress when she stretched.

"Oops! Silly me. I forgot to button up," Anne cooed as she straightened 
back up. "I hope you won't tell anyone. Can it be just our little secret, 
Jesse?" she asked, reading his name off the tag on his shirt. "I mean, 
just look at me." She opened her palms and spread them wide over her lap 
in a gesture of futility. "I simply forgot to cover up again. I am such a 
naughty lady, aren't I, Jesse? But you're not going to tell on me, are 
you?"

"Um, yeah, I mean, no, well, sure. Of course not." He blushed furiously at 
his unaccustomed verbal ineptness, while sticking his hands into his pants 
pockets for safekeeping. "Why would I?" he added.

"You're a true gentleman, Jesse. I thank you. Now then, about that 
Super-Kiss?" she asked again while performing another stretch, this time 
watching his eyes stare laser beams into her pussy as it slid into view 
beneath the open V of her skirt. "Do you wipe down the wetness and clean 
up the leftover drops after you've soaped me up and scrubbed me all shiny 
and clean?"

Anne covered her mouth and giggled. "Just listen to me!" she exaggerated. 
"I'm such a bad girl, saying things all wrong. I mean do you wipe down my 
car?"

"Yeah, we do. And put dressing on the rubber. On the tires, I mean."

"Oh, good. I do need to be dressed better – on my tires."

"That'll be nine dollars then. For the Super-Kiss, with the dressing," he 
said, his composure stiffening along with the cock Anne could see outlined 
in his pants. "You get to come back – free – for a week, for a rewash, in 
case it gets dirty again."

"I like that. I do get dirty, and frequently too. That sounds like a fine 
offer. Here's a ten, Jesse. Keep the change. I am so ready to be kissed." 
Anne rolled up the ten-dollar bill and held it in her teeth while she 
leaned out the window. She cupped her breast with one hand and massaged 
her clit with the other while shielding her pussy from his craning 
attempts to see her nakedness in its full glory.

Jesse took the money, and stroked the side of her cheek while he stared 
down at the almost undressed vision of feminine debauchery that had 
invaded his little slice of minimum-wage reality and turned it into a 
masturbatory fantasy.

"In there. In that long, wet tunnel?" Anne asked while she pointed with 
her very wet finger. When he nodded, she smiled at him again. "Thank you, 
Jesse. You are quite the gentleman. Maybe I'll see you again next time." 

And then she eased the car forward, to snuggle up behind the Mustang as 
the entrance attendant gestured the Mustang's driver forward onto the rail 
that guided and pulled the cars into the Alice In Wonderland interior of 
the state-of-the-art Super Kiss car wash.

Anne alternated between watching Jesse furtively playing pocket-pool in 
his pants in her rear view mirror, and looking forward to see if Mr. 
Mustang or the attendant had yet seen her shameless state of undress as 
she made her approach.

When she was a few feet from the cacophony and the thunderstorm of water 
spraying in all directions, and the man in the blue rain suit was waving 
her a bit to the left to get properly lined up, Anne reached her hand into 
the open glove box and took out what she had placed there days before. She 
had left it there untouched. She had been mortally afraid to open the 
little door since she had put it in there, knowing that her willpower was 
no match for her curiosity and her insatiable appetite for toys.

The vibrator felt huge and obscenely fat in her trembling hand. Shiny 
chrome-silver in color, with a rounded parabola of a tip that reminded her 
of the warhead on a missile. It was immense, and heavy and felt lethally 
wicked with her fingers wrapped around its immense girth.

It was far bigger – in both length and diameter – than her regular 
daily-fuck vibrator, and it had never yet invaded her cunt. This was going 
to be its maiden voyage. Here. Now. In the fucking carwash.

He had bought it for her and had it delivered to her house, gift-wrapped 
and brought to her by a special courier in a natty uniform. She had nearly 
fainted when she opened the box and first held the monstrosity cradled in 
her hands. She had tried putting the tip of it into her mouth and had 
instantly quaked at what her stretched lips told her about what it would 
be like to ram that fucker into her cunt.

And now she was going to do it. Right here, right now. As soon as the 
sweaty roar of the machine drew her into its maw and the torrent of soapy 
raindrops coated the windows and curtained her off from the eyes of those 
watching her. That was her signal, and her starting gun.

Anne nestled the silver spear between her legs, with its rounded warhead 
tip resting gently in the wet, slippery entrance to her cunt. She squeezed 
her legs together to warm the plastic and metal cylinder as she drew 
alongside the rain-suited man staring at her tits. Her hands found another 
three buttons to undo. She was completely exposed from the waist up now, 
her little shelf bra lifting her boobs up and shoving them out the front 
of her dress.

The curly-haired young man in the blue plastic suit knew exactly what she 
was going to do in there.

She air-kissed a reply to the man's open-mouthed stare, while she rubbed 
the palms of her hands over her nipples.

And at the very last second, she raised the dark-tinted side windows of 
her little Ford fuckmobile to render her nearly invisible to the envious 
pair of eyes standing alongside her door, while she half-reclined her seat 
back.

The attendant walked a few steps alongside her car, his hand pressed 
against the window as if he wanted to tell her that he was honored by her 
exhibitionism and was saluting her courage for what she was about to do 
for that other man whose presence was no less real for being invisible to 
the naked eye. 

Or perhaps, simply to touch and fondle her nakedness through the glass.

Anne placed her own hand on the window, her fingers aligned with his, 
while she aimed her silver spear at her cunt with the other. She began to 
push, lifting her ass up off the seat while she began to open herself up 
to the merciless invader she held in her hand.

And two more buttons were freed from their restraints, top and bottom. A 
mere three were left, low on her belly to leave her with only an illusory 
fig leaf of modesty. Doing it like this, with the three little white 
buttons holding her dress together and with her tiny bra shoving her naked 
tits out of the gaping-open V of black cotton made her feel even more 
naked and wicked than if she were completely nude.

She cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples, sending small sparks of 
pain jumping down her spine.

She saw the man in the Mustang twisted around staring through his rear 
window, all pretense of peeking at her through the rear view mirror gone. 

Look at me! I want you to watch... I want everyone to watch.

And then he disappeared in the maelstrom of jetting water, his car dragged 
into the belly of the machine.

The conveyor grabbed the wheels on her car and jerked her forward as the 
man withdrew his outstretched hand. And then she, too, was pulled forward 
into the tunnel.

Time: Zero

One minute, thirty-five seconds to go. To sunlight. And to victory, or 
failure. Such an infinitesimally short and infinitely long duration of 
time. Her life, her existence. Balanced so finely, on the razor-edge of 
fate. 

Ninety-five seconds, less than two hundred heartbeats. Beginning now. 

Anne speared the vibrator into her cunt, as she lifted her wet, 
come-smeared ass high off the seat to give her more leverage to force the 
giant shaft into her straining, spasming cunt. Her body fought the 
invader, as she tried to muscle it inside her. It was as if the plug in 
her ass had come awake and was fighting with this new visitor for control 
over her fuckflesh.

Come on, come on. Now, whore. Do it now.

Soapy jets of water spurted creamy-white ribbons over the exterior of the 
car.

Bukkake...

The image of a phalanx of giants standing on either side of her black 
metal cocoon masturbating and shooting bursts of come over her leaped into 
her mind. 

She was lying there, spread-eagled on top of her car, her back arched, her 
twin holes filled with cock, fucking like a shameless whore, with 
slow-moving rivers of hot come dripping down her face, and running down 
the valley between her tits. The steaming white river pooling behind the 
small dam of her semen-stained little shove-up bra and then spilling over 
the top to sluice down her belly and cascade to the floor through the 
narrow passage between her legs, where it puddled and congealed on the 
lust-slicked floor.

The huge fucktool in her hand breached the entrance to her cunt. Anne dug 
her red-painted fingernails into her clit and screamed, her pain-spasm 
tricking her cunt to surrender a little bit more.

Deeper. Now. Oh gawd, all the way in. Hurt me. Fuck me. Now...

The curtain of white cream covering the windows morphed into dark, 
menacing swirls as the scrubbers' giant flogger-like tendrils thudded and 
thumped against the paint and glass that surrounded her. Each blow that 
slapped against her shiny black skin felt like the heavy thud of his 
long-tailed leather flogger smacking against her tits and ass, the 
square-cut tips curving around her body to kiss and sting her 
sweat-sheened flesh.

The image of her kneeling body cowering and twisting under the relentless 
assault of the flogger was enough. Her hand found the strength and courage 
to jam the pointed tip of the vibrator against her cervix with a quick 
rapier thrust; leaving a mere four inches of silver protruding from her 
cunt. Anne's shriek of triumph reverberated inside her head as her body 
vaulted up and her fingernails dragged long parallel grooves in the gray 
felt of the headliner above her face.

And then she twisted the base of the vibrator to turn it on. She clawed at 
her labia and her clit when the evil tool buzz-sawed its way into her 
belly. It made her spine and her entire skeleton vibrate and shake while 
it turned her flesh into jelly. She raked her breasts with her other hand, 
furrowing her chest with ragged red parallel lines.

Oh, god. Oh, god. So good... So fucking good...

Now all she had to do was bring herself to orgasm. That wouldn't be hard, 
of course, but she only had thirty-seven seconds left.

Time: Fifty-Eight Seconds

The sudden deluge of clear water hammering on the roof close above her 
head told her that she was as close to the exit as she was to orgasm.

Anne lifted her cunt up level with the window frame and spanked herself 
hard, her hand slapping wetly against the gentle mound of flesh and 
glancing off the base of the lewdly buzzing weapon that had almost ripped 
her insides open.

One, two, three...a dozen times in rapid succession.

Her hands gripped the slippery metal spear and withdrew it part way and 
then rammed it home again. And again, and a third time. Each time she 
pulled the vibrator from her cunt, a fresh torrent of wetness seeped out 
of her hole and soaked into the leather beneath her ass.

And each time she shoved the giant metal cock back into her cunt, it 
glided in faster and easier. Her body and her mind had both been stretched 
so far that instead of feeling like her flesh was tearing and ripping 
apart, she now felt empty and meaningless without the comfort of the 
immense shaft inside her.

Faster, faster, faster. Oh god, now, now. Yes, fuck me, yes, please god, 
now.

The sudden scream of the giant vacuum tubes above and on each side of her 
made the entire car quiver on its suspension as it sucked the water drops 
right up into the air off the now shiny-clean surfaces of her fuckmobile. 
She could see the rapidly approaching rectangle of daylight ahead of her, 
and the blinking tail lights of the Mustang as its driver put it into gear 
to ease it forward off the rail to one of the wipedown lanes.

Time: One Minute, Nineteen Seconds

The ear-pounding jet engine roar of the vacuum machine seemed to suck her 
orgasm right out of her.

Anne's hands were everywhere - aiming and guiding the vibrator as it 
rammed again and again into her cunt, spanking and pinching and stabbing 
her clit. Raking her nipples, jamming her fingers down her throat.

But as her orgasm crested, her hands returned to her twin fuck holes, one 
twisting and shoving the vibrator in and out of her pussy while the other 
did the same with the plug in her ass.

Oh, yeah. Yeah, fuck, fuck, again, yes again, more, more. Can't stop. 
More. Again. Fuck, yes. Oh, gawd...

Anne winced at the sudden glare of sunlight on the windshield. The signal 
light alongside her window turned from red to green. And her car, still in 
neutral, coasted down the small downslope at the end of the conveyor 
towards – towards Jesse.

The tall rangy boy looked older now and more poised and assertive. He had 
had the same minute and a half that she did, and he had made the most of 
it, getting ready for Anne to reappear. It was his turn now, to play the 
game, and keep her off-balance.

He was standing there, with a towel in one hand while his other stroked 
the outline of his cock behind the gray-brown square of cloth. Grinning, 
he pointed towards the farthermost lane, to the right of where the Mustang 
was being polished to a gleaming cherry-red shine.

Time Out: The Finish Line

Anne tapped the gas pedal and aimed the car where Jesse pointed. She came 
to a stop with him standing inches from the little medallion on the hood 
of her car. He leaned forward and placed both his hands flat on the black 
metal surface halfway between the bumper and the windshield. He licked his 
lips and began to wipe down the hood with his towel.

Anne sat there, mesmerized, her dress still held together by the three 
remaining buttons and the vibrator still purring in her pussy. Her 
come-drenched hands were on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, gripping 
it as tightly as if her fingers were entwined with the lacings that held 
the leather in place.

Anne's gaze skipped back and forth between Jesse's strong young hands 
massaging the curved black metal of the hood and the fenders and his 
now-dark eyes, as they bored holes through the windshield with his 
unblinking focus on her face and on her tits with her dark-red 
finger-scratches now marring her previously unblemished curves.

He began to work his way around the car, moving down the passenger side 
first. When he drew even with the passenger-side window, Anne could no 
longer see his face. Instead, she stared at his erect cock tenting the 
front of his pants as he dried the water from the roof.

And only then did she finally turn off the vibrator in her cunt. It was 
still buried inside her, but somehow making the buzzing stop made it seem 
like she had taken that first small step back towards modesty.

When he started muscling the remaining water drops off the trunk, Anne 
raised her seatback to an upright position again, so she could watch her 
long-haired admirer in her rear view mirror.

He saw her do it, and caught her eyes suddenly turning away from his face. 
He leered at her, daring her to continue to watch him. 

She looked back again quickly, to see him stroking his erection with one 
hand while his other massaged the tail lights to dryness. She averted her 
eyes once again and found herself drawn to a flash of motion to her left. 
The man from the Mustang was standing there, leaning against the passenger 
door of his car, his arms folded over his chest. He nodded his head, 
acknowledging her, and registering his appreciation for what she had done.

And then, suddenly, Jesse was standing right alongside her door, his erect 
penis bulging in the front of his pants inches from the dark-tinted glass. 
He was working on the roof, finishing the last of his work. The sound of 
his towel above her head, sliding back and forth, made it seem like he was 
caressing her hair.

Anne's heart pounded in her chest. The five-dollar bill she held in her 
hand as her usual tip was quickly wadded into a sweaty, crumpled ball of 
paper. The idea of having to confront her audience so directly left her 
nearly unable to think.

Oh my god. What do I say to him? What is he going to say to me?

She was almost ready to put the car in gear and speed out into the street, 
but another car blocked her exit. And when she turned her eyes back to 
Jesse's crotch, she gasped when she saw that he had unzipped himself and 
was stroking it, and rubbing his cock head against the freshly polished 
glass.

The smear of his pre-come on the window shone with an obscene halo of 
light in the mid-day sun.

It was so big, so hard, so close...

Anne shuddered and felt herself spasm at the unexpected aftershocks from 
her perfectly-timed and executed performance. She reached between her legs 
and turned the vibrator back on.

With one hand on her clit, Anne pressed the button on the armrest to lower 
the window. The motor whirred and the dark-tinted glass disappeared down 
into the door, while Jesse's cock left a wet, vertical stripe on the 
window.

When the barrier of the glass was gone, Jesse leaned forward, his penis 
invading the interior of the car. Using his hand, he aimed his rigid young 
cock at Anne's face while he continued to slowly make circles on the roof 
with his towel. Though she could only see his hand and his cock, his 
intent was quite clear and utterly unambiguous.

The only sounds she could hear were the vibrator in her cunt, the soft 
scrape of Jesse's towel on the roof, and the blood roaring in her ears.

Anne turned her head and placed her quivering lips on the tip of his 
penis, giving him what would be a very sisterly and chaste little kiss on 
any other part of a man's anatomy. She was afraid to do anything else, 
torn between wanting to take him down her throat like her aroused flesh 
wanted to her to do, and fleeing to the relative safety of the clogged 
city street a few hundred feet away.

Jesse pulled himself up on his toes and pressed his cock forward, stabbing 
her in the cheek with the tip.

His sudden, aggressive move caught her by surprise. But that was all it 
took to push her off her inflection point of indecision. Anne placed her 
hand over his and swallowed his cock in one lewd gulp.

His body reacted like he had been given the keys to the kingdom. He 
grabbed a fistful of hair and forced her face back onto his cock when she 
pulled back to snatch a breath of air.

Anne raked her teeth up and down the taut, smooth skin of his erection 
while she massaged his balls and stroked his cock; and while her other 
hand serviced her pussy and clit with the vibrator that already had her 
teetering at the brink of another orgasm. She took the five-dollar bill 
and wrapped it around the base of his cock and held it there, gluing it to 
his penis with her own wetness.

She could hear Jesse grunting now, his lunging pelvis telling her in lewd, 
graphic terms that he was ready to come. Anne swirled her tongue around 
the tip of his cock and pulled back.

"Do it on the car, Jesse. Shoot it all over the window and the paint. I 
want to see it. Come for me, Jesse. Give it to me now."

She gave his cock a final butterfly kiss and started to raise the window. 
The edge of the glass lifted his cock up towards the sky, and just as the 
window snugged shut in its frame, Jesse's cock shot a geyser of come 
against the smoke-dark glass and dripped down the window and onto the 
glossy black metal of the door.

Anne rubbed her clit furiously as she summoned another orgasm. She pressed 
her tongue against the inside of the glass to follow the slow-moving 
ribbon of come down the thin, transparent curtain between them.

The blare of a car horn startled her and Jesse quickly tucked his penis 
back into his pants.

Anne hurriedly put the car in gear and stomped on the accelerator. She 
veered around a frozen-on-place pedestrian and pulled out into traffic, 
the squeal of her tires a fitting coda to what she had just accomplished.

Only then, did she turn off the vibrator.

It took seven stoplights and twenty minutes for her to put the vibrator 
back into the glove box and to redo the eighteen buttons on her dress. And 
once she was safely back in the parking lot across from her office, she 
spent another fifteen minutes trying to make herself presentable enough to 
make it through the front door and into the first floor restroom so she 
could mask enough of the after-effects of her adventure to make it through 
the rest of the day.

But before she opened her door and planted her feet on the asphalt of the 
parking lot, Anne propped up the Super-Kiss receipt on the dashboard. She 
knew that she would have to return again tomorrow, to get rid of that 
awful stain on her window and door. 

After all, it was free; and who knows – maybe Jesse would be there again.