by Deborah ©
("Tornado Warning!" is yet another true episode in the sexual story of my life. I am purging my soul. Telling of my past "sins" is part of my repentance.)
I am deathly afraid of tornadoes. For good reason. I am not afraid of a little blowing, but get real! Tornadoes are just too damn frightening.
A few years back, on one afternoon in May, twelve people were killed by a tornado in the little community where I grew up. I knew two of the people who died quite well. One was a young boy I had babysat on occasion. The other was a girlfriend. The tornado tossed her car several hundred feet into the air. A car is the worst place to be in a tornado. A septic tank is the best place to be.
Houses were reduced to total rubble and it took the National Guard a month to open the town. I happened to be away at college when the tornado struck but I rushed home when I heard the news. We lived several miles south of the center of the town and our home was spared.
Later that summer there were numerous tornado "watches" and "warnings." There had been very little advance warning of the killer tornado and now everyone was overly cautious.
On a hot and humid day in mid-July that summer my father asked that I stay home and await the arrival of the septic man. My father wanted the tank cleaned, for reasons of preventative maintenance, and someone had to be home.
"Honey, all you have to do is show the guy where the septic tank is," my father instructed. "And pay him when he's finished."
"OK, daddy dearest, but he better not take all day. I want to go water skiing on the lake with my friends."
"The weather report says severe storms later today, Honey. I don't want you going out on the lake if it looks nasty."
"I hear you, daddy dearest."
We had a pool and I was skimming the surface with the net because I don't like to share the water with bugs. I wanted to float on a raft and read my book. I heard the big truck pull into the driveway. It had a big "SSS" on it and as I got closer I could see the wording underneath, "Shorty's Septic Service."
The guy who got out of the truck was huge. I like to watch wrestling, it's just so much more exciting than other sports, and this guy reminded me of a particular wrestler. Except this dude was clean-shaven and he was so strikingly handsome, he was almost pretty like a woman.
"Hi. My father asked me to show you where the septic tank is. What's your name? No, let me guess. I bet your name is Shorty."
"Yes, ma'am, that it is. How did you know? Have you heard about me?"
"No, I haven't heard about you, whatever that means. Just a woman's intuition. What are you, about six-seven?"
"Actually, ma'am, I'm six foot, eight and one-quarter inch. And eleven and one-eighth inch."
"Huh? Well, why do they call you Shorty then?"
"OK, young lady, I forgive you. You're blond. It's a long, very long, story. Never mind. You don't want to know, really. I'm just a septic tank cleaner. What are you, a model or something?"
"Yeah, right. I'm starting to like you already. No, I'm not a model. I'm the brainy blonde type. You know, like Sharon Stone. So she forgot her panties once. All us blondes have temporary memory lapses. I suppose you cleaned Sharon Stone's septic tank. She used to live just down the road."
"Yes, I surely did clean Sharon's tank," he said with a wink and a smirk. "Now, where's yours? But first, can I use your bathroom?"
"Sure," I responded and took him inside and pointed the way.
When he was finished I went in the bathroom to wash my hands. Shorty got grease or something on my hand when we shook.
"Hey, dipshit, you left the toilet seat up," I screamed at Shorty. "Do you know how the septic tank cleaner broke his back? He was getting a drink of water and a girl slammed the toilet seat on his head. Get the message, dude?"
"Oh, yeah, sorry. It won't happen again."
"Damn right it won't happen again. You can take a piss outside if you have to go again."
I took Shorty to the backyard and pointed to the spot my father had marked.
"Young lady," Shorty growled, "You have to dig."
"Dig? Dig what?"
"You have to dig around the top. The top is probably six inches under the ground and has to come off. That's how I get the big hose in. Get it?"
"Yeah, I get it. The top comes off. Like this?" I was wearing jean cut-offs and a blue racerback bra that looks like a bikini top so I didn't bother with something over it. I undid the front close.
"You like these?" I asked sarcastically as I exposed my breasts. "Now you fucking dig? I mean, you fucking dig, dude. The shovel is over there. You dig if you want to see any more of these," I snarled.
"Young lady, do you know what's worse than a hurricane?"
"Say what? OK, I'll bite. What's worse than a hurricane? Probably a fucking tornado."
Shorty reached out with his left hand and gave my right nipple a mini-massage with his thumb and forefinger and answered his own question with, "A titty twister."
I stopped his giggling with a hard slap in the face. "You mother-fucking pervert!" I screamed at him as I fastened my top.
"OK, OK, young lady, I'm sorry but you asked for it, flashing your tits like that. OK, OK, I'll fucking dig."
"Are you a virgin?" he asked of me innocently as he began to work with the shovel.
"Say what? What the fuck kind of question is that?"
"I just wondered, young lady. You talk so dirty. I was just curious."
"Yeah, well you talk dirty, too. Are you a virgin?"
"No. I lost mine quite young. My older sister, who was about your age at the time, caught me jerking off in the bathroom. She soon wanted some of what she said was the biggest cock she ever saw next to our father's, and she had seen more than a few according to the rumors. And my mother never could figure out why she kept wearing out the knees on her jeans."
"You know, Shorty, I think you are full of shit and I'm not referring to cleaning septic tanks here."
"Well, if you don't believe me, there is a picture of my manhood posted on an erotic web-site. The picture is captioned, 'Shorty Junior, all eleven inches and then some' so go look if you don't believe me."
"On that note I'm going inside the house and make a few phone calls. I'll be back out in awhile to check your progress."
I fell asleep for an hour on the couch in the den where the best air conditioner was. It was so damn hot and muggy outside. The thunder woke me. I looked outside. Snap, crackle and pop but there was no rain yet. I flipped on the TV. Tornado warnings flashed across the bottom of the screen on the local station.
Shorty appeared to be just about finished when I went back outside. I looked down inside the septic tank and I couldn't believe how clean it looked.
"Like brand spanking new," I complimented Shorty although I didn't know squat about septic tanks. "How did you get it so fucking clean?"
Shorty began to give me a lecture on the scum layer, liquid effluent and sludge. "This is an awesome septic tank, young lady. Very large, 2500-gallon capacity, and one of the best money can buy. It was rather easy to get it looking like brand spanking new." He went on to tell me some of his rather disgusting anecdotes pertaining to cleaning septic tanks.
I needed to change the subject because I thought I might vomit because of his shit talk so I asked him if he was thirsty. "Would you like a glass of water or something?"
"I would prefer a beer, ma'am."
"Beer? You drink while you're working?" I shook my head in disgust but went in the house and brought out a six pack, popped one open, took a long swig and handed the rest to Shorty.
"Are you old enough to drink, young lady?"
"I'm old enough to do any damn thing I want, dude. Just don't tell my father."
"Holy shit, look at those storm clouds!" Shorty exclaimed.
"Yeah, there is a tornado warning. Saw it on TV when I was in the house."
"I hate to alarm you, young lady, but that sure looks like a funnel cloud to me over there in the southwestern sky."
"What should we do? Do you want to go inside and down into the basement?"
"No, actually, the safest place is right down there in the septic tank. The chemicals eliminated all the toxic gases and bacteria. You know of course that the boy who died in the killer tornado was in the basement."
Now, that last statement brought back some horrid memories. I reluctantly let Shorty lower me into the tank and then he followed. He closed the manhole cover but for a few inches for air and had a large flashlight so we could see.
"What are we going to do now? It's creepy down here. Although I must say you did a mighty fine job of cleaning this septic tank. I can't smell shit at all."
"Creepy, but very safe. I know what we can do. Have you ever been spanked?"
"Have you ever been spanked? You know, smacked on the ass."
"Well, uh, no, not that I remember. My father would never ... and my mother just yells and swears when she's pissed at me."
"Well, that must be where you got that dirty-talking mouth, from your mother. You are a rather snotty bitch; a warped and twisted little girl. I'm going to punish you. Take those skimpy shorts off."
"I will not!"
"Why? Aren't you wearing clean underwear?"
"I am so. I'm wearing little white cotton panties fresh out of the dryer. Here, look." I unsnapped the skimpy cut-offs and let them fall.
"Excuse me. Those aren't little white cotton panties. You are wearing an adult diaper, young lady. I really question whether you are an adult, at least mentally."
"Oh shit, I forgot about the diaper. It's a bad time of month. Very, very bad time of month."
"Well, lucky fucking you. That diaper will give you a little extra padding for the ass-whipping you are about to receive."
Squatting on the floor with his back up against the wall, Shorty pulled me across his lap. I didn't struggle. He was too strong. Besides, there isn't much else to do in a septic tank to pass away the time.
Shorty spanked me softly at first; too softly. I could barely feel it over the diaper. But then he put his hand down the back and stuck his finger up my bum. I think he was testing the water.
"Yeow!" I squealed. "I didn't expect that but it felt pretty good."
"I just wanted to see if I could get a reaction out of you. This diaper has to go," he insisted.
"You might get a little, you know, on you."
"Not to worry. Hey, I play in septic tanks all day."
Shorty spanked my bare ass harder and harder until I cried out each time he hit me but I didn't say stop. I knew he would stop before I begged him because he was becoming aroused.
I never would have believed I could have an orgasm without direct clitoral stimulation but I came three times while Shorty was punishing my buns with his huge paws. Well, I was rubbing up against his crotch as best I could as I lay draped across his lap. He slowly began to have an erection. I felt like I was a car being jacked up.
"OK, bitch, now you have been properly punished," he stated matter-of-factly when he saw my ass was quite scorched. "It's time for your reward. Time to meet Shorty Junior up close and personal. You got a Polaroid camera? You can take a picture of my one-eyed monster cumming all over your face if you like. Most of my lady friends like to take pics of them sucking me off and they send them to that erotic web-site."
"Uh, thanks, but I don't think so. About the picture I mean. If my father ever found out he'd send me to a convent. I don't relish the thought of old wrinkled penguins licking my pussy. Oh my God! That thing is big! Have you actually put it inside any girls who have lived to tell about it afterwards?"
"Well, my mother said, 'Is that all you got, son?' and started calling me 'Needledick the Bug Fucker' in front of my friends. I was traumatized for years. Talk about parental abuse. Yeah, and if you think mine is big, you should have seen my father's. He didn't whip us with a strap. That big old boner of his got stuck right up our asses. My sister liked it but I sure didn't."
"So, Shorty, I take it you want me to give you a blow job?"
"Well, yes ma'am, if you don't mind I think I would like that. Did you ever suck cock before?"
"I've been giving head for years. Long before I started screwing. Although I just recently started swallowing. I don't think I can deepthroat you, however, and I'll have to use at least one hand, probably both, in addition to my mouth to do this right. If I deepthroat you I know it will make me gag quicker than your dissertation on cleaning septic tanks."
Ten minutes later Shorty Junior was squirting all over the place. "Geez, mawn, talk about your volcanic eruptions, this is definitely worse than a hurricane," I joked as I choked his pulsating monster dick with both hands while attempting to lick and swallow up as much cum as I could.
"You know, young lady, I like you much better when you are not talking. Talk about a tornado! You give some blow job yourself. Now, is there anything I can do for you, sweety? I have my red wings. I don't mind a little blood, on my tongue or on Shorty Junior."
"Give me another titty twister, Shorty! But let's make it in a few days from now when, you know, things aren't so red."
Shorty slid the manhole cover off the top of the septic tank and poked his head outside. The sky had cleared.
Tornado warnings now bring back both sad and fond memories for me. Shorty died the day after our escapade. He drowned in a septic tank he neglected to empty before he jumped in. His monster penis was removed and stuffed by the taxidermist who doubles as the local funeral director. Shorty Junior is now mounted on the wall of "Dick's Place" which is the one bar that survived the killer tornado. The "Blow Me" sign on the lady's room door must have been a good luck charm. Junior hangs there on the wall with the deer and bear heads.
The morals I learned from this true story are that the best septic tank is an empty one, look before you leap, the best twister is a titty twister, if you are going to get the shit spanked out of you, wear an adult diaper instead of little white cotton panties, and a helluva blow job just might not be a tornado.
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