Yet another cautionary tale on workplace romance–or perhaps merely workplace D/s.
“Costly Credit, or No Charge at All?”
Whoever had named the iron town of Cool, Ohio had clearly been deranged. The heat was bad enough in summer, but the humidity trapped in the creek valley was what really made things miserable. And all that before the iron furnace and charcoal pit began to fire each day.
Leslie needed to make the call but was having a hard time making herself. The usual self-remonstrating hadn’t taken hold—no matter how many times Leslie reminded herself it was absurd for a woman of her age to be so nervous. To be fair, the last time she spent so much time agonizing over a phone call was middle school…but Leslie was too high strung just now to cut herself any slack.
Walking away from her phone, Leslie toyed with the idea of just sending a text. Toyed with it a good long while, knowing the safety in hiding behind words that could be sat on. The seductive comfort of sending the ball into the other person’s court and being able to wait was almost overpowering. Ultimately, the risk of an unintended meaning being projected onto expressionless words pushed Leslie into making the call.
Marching with purpose, Leslie snatched her phone off the end table and dialed Skratt before she talked herself out of it.
It didn’t take Ryan long to regret accepting Skratt’s dare. He had just enough time to clasp the ring behind his cock and balls, slide the tube up his shaft, and lock it in place before a school bus with a track team on board showed up. As he hustled back and forth fetching fries and sandwiches Ryan was painfully aware of the device—it pinched, tugged, got caught on his underwear seemingly with every step. Every time Ryan saw a customer cute enough to trigger a reaction in his pants the hard plastic bit him.
A few times Ryan thought he might be able to slip off to the bathroom to try and adjust the damn thing. Each time, however, saw one of the crew bringing some problem to his attention that just couldn’t wait.
Keeping the floors nice and clean, in the proper attire.
It was going to be another late night. Thanks to a last minute rush, and a refusal to start key shut down processes early, Ryan was running way behind closing down store. The only problem with Quickburger’s “Eat Late” promotions was it worked—plenty of people raced from the local factories on their 3rd shift lunch to get their fast food fix before it closed.
Ryan refused to stop serving customers while there was still a line, which led to the actual closing coming almost fifteen minutes after the posted time. This didn’t slow the crew down nearly as much as it did Ryan—while cars waited on fries to cook, and burgers to be flipped, the team was able to wash dishes and turn off appliances not in use. They weren’t concerned with building sales, hitting the bonus threshold, or the budget. They just wanted to go home as fast as possible after a long night.
So by the time the signs were shut off, the drive thru windows locked, the grill and fryer finally cooling, the only stuff left to do was manager work—counting the cash, running the reports, recording key business items. It was a common problem for Ryan to get stuck late in his drive to improve sales. It hadn’t quite sunk in that “perfect” would always be the enemy of “good.” So, like many nights before, Ryan refused offers from the crew to hangout with him and locked the door behind them.
Pulling out his phone, Ryan shot a text to his girlfriend. Skratt was off the next day, and had hoped to go out tonight. He smirked as usual when he pulled up her name in the contact list—a curvy blonde with striking looks, the name seemed too harsh for such a lovely creature. He’d brought it up once, but she just shrugged and vaguely blamed her Swedish parents.
<<Me: sorry babe did it again. Wont be out in time to go out L>>
Ryan started working through his routine, not particularly rushing. The place was closed, and he could only speed things up so much by racing. Better not make mistakes and have to redo anything. The slow and steady style is one of the reasons Ryan looked at his phone when it buzzed, instead of just ignoring it.
<<Skratt: you work too hard :-p i think we should play a game…>>
Despite himself, Ryan felt his heart rate pick up a little bit. He forced himself to carefully finish closing the register before answering. Ryan had an idea what Skratt had in mind.
<<Me: and what sort of game should we play huh?? you want me driving home with my clothes in the trunk again? ;-)>>
Ryan cursed himself, realizing he forgot to count the walk-in freezer before close. The one thing he could have done earlier…and no cell reception. He flew through the bags of chicken and cases of beef, and after stepping back out of the metal box a text was waiting for him.
<<Skratt: thats a good idea too J but first you should mop the floors naked :-D>>
Ryan bit his lip, and had to adjust his fly. Skratt was pretty ruthless at exploiting his exhibitionist kink.
<<Me: at work??? no way you know theres cameras :-p and julio already mopped>>
Ryan had most of the reports run out onto the receipt tape by the time Skratt texted back. He almost dropped the phone in his haste to flip it open and read it.
<<Skratt: you told me no one ever checks those without a reason and you know the floors could stand to get done twice :-p>>
In the middle of typing another protest, Ryan’s phone buzzes again.
<<Skratt: i DARE you to mop those floors naked>>
“That is NOT fair!” Ryan actually stamped his foot. Skratt had figured out early on Ryan couldn’t refuse a dare, no matter how foolish. As far as trump cards go, it’s a pretty hefty liability. He hurried back to the office, hoping to get the last of the manager work squared away before Skratt started having other ideas.
<<Me: fine. ill mop the floors naked. lemme finish paperwork…>>
<<Skratt: clothes folded neatly in the office way out of reach. i want a pic of them 🙂 start in back work to the dining room>>
<<Me: ugh that means stuck naked in front of windows till everything dries!>>
<<Skratt: if your cock isnt rock hard right now ill let you off the hook…>>
Ryan cursed again. He was pitching a circus tent in his khakis. He briefly considered lying, but decided to send her a pic of it instead.
<<Skratt: 😀 😀 😀 i know you. now strip and get to work ;-)>>
Sighing, wishing he could just stop and jerk off instead of seeing the fantasy through, Ryan peeled off his uniform and undershirt. He sat down and untied his shoes, rolling his socks off and tucking them into the shoes. Ryan paused a moment to consider his lime green toenails—the product of another dare Skratt gave him. Somehow showing off the polish job at work made the situation seem absurd, even more than being bare-assed in the kitchen.
Once he was naked and everything folded neatly on the desk, Ryan snapped a picture of the pile and went to fill the mop bucket. He checked the phone one more time before getting to it—Ryan obviously had no way to carry the phone once he started mopping.
<<Skratt: good boy!! 😉 dont take too long or the opener is gonna catch you :-p>>
Grumbling to himself, Ryan got to work, mimicking the same pattern the crew would take on mopping, working from the breakroom corner outward. Being naked in the kitchen, and mopping with his privates flopping around making him feel ridiculous well before reaching the front counter—where anyone driving by would be able to see him.
Stopping to stroke himself a few times for courage, Ryan rolled a fresh mop bucket past the counter. Nervously he glanced out the windows, but didn’t see anyone the parking lot or near enough on the street to worry about. A glutton for punishment, Ryan followed the normal procedure—start with the bathrooms, work out. It made sure the escape route back to Ryan’s clothes was wet as long as possible, something he was sure Skratt would approve of.
There was only one moment while waiting on the floor to dry Ryan had to dive for cover—a car swung through the lot, no doubt hoping dining room lights mean the place was still open. Ryan thought it slowed down, but since he was hiding couldn’t be sure. He shook it off, and gratefully realized the floor had dried. When he made it back to the office, Ryan saw a text.
<<Skratt: just carry your clothes out and toss them in the trunk 😉 if you can avoid cops long enough to get home you wont need them>>
***
Ryan was closing the next night, and it was with some nervousness he approach the general manager who had opened. Ryan hadn’t set the alarm code till close to 330 that morning, but Leslie didn’t seem too worried about that.
“This better not be drugs, jackass.” She tossed a small cardboard box to Ryan with a smirk, knowing Ryan could never cut it as a drug dealer. “Don’t make a habit of having stuff delivered here, ok?”
“Yeah, definitely, sorry. Rare case, I promise.” Ryan shook it curiously—either empty or well packed—then set it down on the desk.
A quick turnover—pertinent supply details (low on large cups till truck gets in), verifying the safe, and Leslie was ready to go. An attractive, no-nonsense woman, Ryan may have had unpure thoughts about receiving “corrective action” from Leslie from time to time. Being around her too long brought on nervousness, and Ryan waited somewhat impatiently for her to go home.
“By the way, Ryan, I don’t know what you said to Julio—but the floors looked amazing today. Even Jenny said something.” Jenny was the district manager, notorious for never being satisfied with a store’s floor.
Ryan felt sure his face turned red, and he laughed nervously. “I don’t even remember. Probably felt sorry for me trying to explain “DM is visiting tomorrow” in Spanish.”
Leslie held Ryan’s gaze, then smiled. “Who knows. But good work. I’ll see you Sunday—I traded with Rick for tomorrow.”
Ryan nodded and said his goodbyes, wondering if this morning was the morning Leslie spot-checked the security tapes. That would be his luck…
Noting the restaurant was calm for the moment, Ryan cut open the box, sure Skratt had left some gag gift to remind him of the dare. Inside, however, was a plastic tube and a folding ring—Ryan knew from the internet he was looking at a chastity device.
Heart racing, Ryan moved the packing material around. He found a tiny, open padlock and a folded note. He opened the note, curious, knowing he and Skratt had talked about things like this…
“I noticed last night everything kept swinging out of control, and you had to keep playing with yourself. This should help keep you focused tonight—lock it on before dinner rush.” It was typed, and unsigned. Ryan found himself needing to adjust again, then pulled out his phone.
<<Me: chastity device? delivered to work? youre pushing the line, now, missy>>
<<Skratt: wtf are you talking about? sounds like a not so subtle hint to me>>
<<Me: come on the box you left at work with the cock cage and the key? dont play>>
<<Skratt: …you quit playing. i didnt drop anything at your work and you know i like sex too much to lock it away>>
A little scared now, Ryan sent Skratt a picture of the device and the note.
<<Skratt: OMG. i dont know if thats awesome or fucked up. someone knows what you did last night :-p>>
<<Me: so what do i do now?? this is how horror movies start>>
<<Skratt: LMAO whatever. i bet its leslie fucking with you.>>
Ryan thought about that, about how awkward Leslie was before leaving. And how she traded shifts…if she was off tomorrow instead of opening, Leslie could easily try to catch him in the act of…whatever she saw on the video. It was almost a sexy thought, if you could ignore how many reasons Leslie now had to fire him.
<<Skratt: i dare you to lock it on O:-)>>
You couldn’t stand it anymore.
Erin’s obnoxious, know-it-all ways. How she always had to have the last word. The fact no one could tell her something she didn’t already know. It was enough to make you chew the drywall like a new puppy. So when you saw a chance to take her down a few pegs, you took it.
Everyone was sitting around the living room, watching an episode of NCIS. They were about to zero in on the murderer, it looked pretty obvious…but you were pretty sure you’d seen this episode before. It was the base commander who did it, not the yeoman like the evidence seemed to point at.
“Hey, Erin. Wanna make a bet on who dunnit?”
Erin turned towards you slightly, her cleavage coming into view as she squared off with you. She looked down over her glasses, and crossed her arms. “I already know who did it.”
You smirked. “Then you shouldn’t mind setting some stakes on it.”
Erin turned away without a word, making you think she wasn’t interested. Then you noticed her legs kicking, giving away her consideration. Her legs distract you for a long moment–Erin may be on the short side, but her legs are quite a sight. She knows it too, judging by the amount of time Erin spends in booty shorts.
“Fine, you wanna bet on this? My apartment is a mess from all the overtime I’ve been working. If I’m right, you clean my apartment. And you gotta follow any rules I set to keep your lazy ass in line!” She laughed, and it seemed like she already had a rule or two picked out. “Deal?”
You hesitate at her confidence–Erin hadn’t even bothered to negotiate the stakes if she lost. “Deal–same penalty if I’m right?”
Erin shrugged, already turning back to the TV. “Sure, whatever. It’s the yeoman dude. He got pissed off at failing a test and blew her away.”
Sure enough, over the next fifteen minutes the thought twist you had mis-remembered never appeared. They played that episode straight.
As soon as it was clear, Erin bounced up and grinned at you. “Toldja! You’re in for it now, my place is a wreck. Don’t worry though, I’ll keep things nice and interesting!” She patted your hand, still grinning from ear to ear. “What’s your number?
You gave up your phone number quickly, the loss still not fully registered in your mind. “When are we doing this?”
Erin’s grin twisted into an angelic smile. “When you get the text telling you to come over. It could happen at any time, so you better leave your schedule open for me.”
Your mind kept chasing its own tail the rest of the afternoon. Possibilities presented themselves, then others, actual situations mixing with fantasies until you prayed no one saw the bulge in your shorts. At long last it was time for everyone to leave. On the way out, Erin beckoned you closer, then closer again.
“Don’t think I can’t see how much you liked losing,” Erin said almost-quietly. You blushed and played dumb, but she pointed directly at your crotch. “Rule number one: no touching the little head until my apartment is spotless. I’m not gonna have you whacking off so much you don’t show up when I tell you.”
Wishing the floor would have swallowed you up, your face on fire, you just nodded and tried to slip away.
“Say it.” No grin, no smile. Erin was just a boss wanting to know her instructions had been understood.
“I won’t play with myself until your apartment is clean.” How she heard you while your mouth felt full of cotton, you’ll never know.
“Good.” The grin came back. “You are TOO easy, even for a guy!”
Recently, I had the chance to clean the bathroom with a toothbrush.
As in most cases where something really has no practical purpose other than to be gratuitously mean, Katie didn’t really have much interest in having me clean things with a toothbrush. I mean, we’d discussed it. She’d explained how hot she found the idea. But really, when it comes to our kinky play (especially when it overlaps with actual housekeeping) Katie prefers to keep things practical, reasonable, and better-safe-than-sorry on the mean scale.
So when I say, “I had the chance,” I actually volunteered to pick up extra toothbrushes and use them on the bathroom while in a particularly pent up state.
It worked out well enough–I had a small area to clean around the toilet and along the baseboards, so if I found out I was in over my head I could still complete the assigned cleaning without too much issue. However, the toothbrush and scrub water routine worked very well…though it was definitely NOT my favorite activity ever. Took freaking forever, and it’ll prolly be a long time before I crave that particular activity again.
Head on down below the cut to see some naked-boy-scrubbing-a-toilet pictures.
…and a new under-the-bed bondage system to go with it. I’m happy to say, it works perfect. I’m also somewhat unhappy to say 😉
There is no way to pull away from tickling fingers…
We tried it out the very night we got it. Katie ordered Chinese, and tied me down while we waited. I found out just how screwed I was as she tickled, taunted, pinched, stroked, and flashed me while all I could do was whine and wiggle.
Just enough play to remind me there’s not enough play.
Katie does love to tickle (partly because I love to be tickled) but it takes on a new element when I can’t struggle or get away…it’s gonna take a bit of getting used to!
There’s a bit more below the cut, because I didn’t want to spring gratuitous cock shots on anyone (that’s what Tumblr is for!). You’re been warned…
If you’re reading this blog, and wishing you had a kinky sub boy–or a kinky domme lady–you should probably read this awesome post. It resonated very well with me, and I’ve been through the wringer of trying to find a partner who’s also a dominant woman…
It’s written pretty much as I would have. Go read, and start seeing some of the obstacles you don’t realize are there.
So I hear the phrase “bi-curious” and all I can think about is Meatwad in his garage, hanging sheet rock, around an engine he’s rebuilding. That’s my own personal failing, because Aqua Teen is about as close to a religion as my house will ever have. But let’s move past that for a moment, because this is starting to look like a dangerous left turn. “No, Pastor Jones–I’m already safe from the gay, because in Shake I trust.”
In fact, let’s start over. That is one train wreck of a paragraph, and totally off topic from what I want to post about. This photo is what I want to post about.
It’s true–penises start looking pretty damn good after a few days of not getting off. It’s one of those really weird reactions, because I don’t really consider myself gay. Which is, in turn, kinda weird because I’ve dedicated some serious spank-bank space to scenes of guys being kinda mean to me, while I do naughty things to their cocks. That DM conversation with Rob is case in point–there are a couple guys on Twitter I will routinely talk dirty with, and I enjoy it quite a bit.
But to date, that’s all it’s been–talk. Fantasies. Would I suck a cock given the opportunity? I’d like to think I’d give it a shot. But given how much effort it takes to get sexual with a woman–a creature I’ve been trained since childhood to want to be naughty with–I have a hard time picturing a real-world scenario where it comes to pass. I’m also really fucking challenged to keep work, school, my fiance, and platonic relationships under control. Adding something as intense as this isn’t at the top of my to-do list, as much as Katie would to see it.
This is turning into sort of a loaded topic threatening to run on and on. So allow me to wrap up at this point with a quick summary: Yes, the desire to suck cock is real. It’s tied into being frustrated and wanting a sexual outlet…but I don’t think it’s as simple as that. It’s not something I’ve tried, or been in a position to try (that I’m aware of). So “curious” is the best way to put it.
And despite the byplay between @seekingaboss and myself it’s not something I’m ashamed of, or want to hide. I think THAT subject is for another blog post…
Cageslut's Blog 