The Best Erotic Stories.

Yet Another Little Quirk
by RD

I was in trouble now, at full stretch. Might as well have been on the rack. Even exhausted, slumping back in the chair, bathed in sweat and rubbing my burning eyes, I realized that much. But it was just so flippin' frustrating. All day, at every critical juncture, every flippin' time I seemed about to get well, I'd come up one card short. One card! Bloody infuriating! And how long had this debacle been going on?

The on-line time read 04:28. With 30 or so minutes for lunch, and three, no, four hours earlier -- well, let's say 8 hours total. Thereabouts. No flippin wonder I was burnt out. And the money! Jesus. I reached out and switched off the computer, not wanting to look at the flashing message -- "Further Credit Denied", "Further Credit Denied"... Should've stopped myself, of course. Fool! Heaving myself out of the chair, I peeled off the outsized teeshirt.

I crossed to the full-length mirror and stood there, clad solely in my panties, conducting as objective a survey as possible. The legs were too short, of course -- always had been. And too heavy, both the calves and the bloody thighs. Too broad in the hips, to thick in the waist. I slapped the former and pinched the latter. To no avail. But the tits were good. Full, firm. Turning sideways I lifted my arms above my head. Nice little uptilt to the nipples. Always been my best asset, my tits. First girl in my class to need a bra, and the truth was I could still go without one, usually did in fact. Facing the mirror once more, I used the damp teeshirt as a towel, scissoring it first up and down, then back and forth across my back, before balling it up and mopping at my throat, between my breasts, over my stomach. Not that the flippin' thing was much use. It was probably doing more harm than good. So I tossed the sodden mass aside casually, realized that my panties were just a wet. Peeling those down and off revealed another trauma.

Hairy?! Apes have nothing on this girl. Not your lush silken curls, mind. Oh no. We're talking your tangled matted black mass here. Like a wool sweater accidentally added to the hot rinse cycle, then shoved in the dryer. In short, a flippin' mess. Utterly and completely out of control.

But there was nothing for it. I could delay all day, and it would still come down to what he had to say. Straightening up, I inhaled then exhaled -- then turned and started across the plush white carpet to the descending staircase. Prostrate yourself, kid...Offer to lick his feet, and about 30" up the inseam. Maybe you'll get off with another warning...

He was a dapper little guy in his 50s, and he was precisely where he'd been all day: settled comfortably in the black leather armchair, the only piece of furniture other than the sidetable in entirely white room. Classical music continued to play softly from the unseen speakers.

Just inside the archway, I struck a pose -- albeit a discreet one -- right hand on my hip, left hand combing slowly through my hair. Only to be ignored. Not a good sign that. So I brought my left hand down to my other hip and cleared my throat, still smiling. He glanced over, casually, for about a nanosecond, then returned to the papers he was reading. Definitely not good. Nor was the fact he kept me waiting for several minutes, which seemed like much much longer, before slipping the papers into the briefcase resting atop the sidetable, shot his cuffs -- and casually gestured for me to move across directly in front of him.


But he cut me off with a silent shake of the head, his face impassive. And proceeded to look me over -- I do mean over -- not to mention up, down and sideways: his steady grey eyes drying my mouth...Even as, I must admit, the intensity of his gaze moistened my pussy! And tightened my nipples. Which he noticed, a faint smile flitting across his face -- blink and you'd have missed it, mind -- then he raised one manicured finger, gesturing for me to turn around. I did, curling my toes into the plush white carpet, and tightening the muscles in my ass: that being one of my better features as well.

And decided to try again. 'I was wondering...'

'Be quiet, please,' he said, his soft voice cutting through the music -- and through me, to be honest.

Then he was moving. Rising from the chair. To do what?! I started to tremble, simply couldn't prevent it...Was that the briefcase I heard? What did he have in there?-besides papers, of course? Oh god! What have I done? Ceding my ass -- my ass?! the lot, more like -- to this...

Click-whirr. What! A camera? Glancing over my shoulder -- click-whirr...Sure enough, it was a camera! Click-whirr. Then he was right up behind me, his breath warm against the nape of my neck, one second, two -- moving off...The thump of his palm between my shoulderblades surprising me, catching me off-guard. So that I lost my balance and dropped to my knees. Click-whirr. Down on all fours, still shocked...Click-whirr...Looking over to find his polished patent leather shoes to my left, I tucked my hair behind one ear...Click-whirr...The shoes moving across in front...Not stopping, arcing around to the other side...Click-whirr...Then he moved in and kicked me -- not hard, more sharp than anything -- just under my ribs.

Instinctively, I sat up, or rather back, onto my heels, one hand rubbing at my ribs ruefully: head down to check I wasn't hurt. Which of course I wasn't. Click-whirr...From the side...Click-whirr...From behind...Click-whirr...From the other side...Little bastard was everywhere! Directly in front now...Click-whirr. Well, bugger him! So I looked up at him, craning my neck, using both hands to push up my hair: tightening my tits in the process... Click-whirr, click-whirr.

And I realized I was enjoying this! The revelation was so unexpected I went from keyed-up to outright horny, nipples burning, pussy hot and swollen -- and wet. Click-whirr. I smiled, my most seductive smile. Click-whirr, click-whirr. He was smiling as well now, faintly at least, stretching out his leg -- tapping the toe of his polished shoe against my chest, between my tits.

So I did it. I dropped onto my back, started to settle in, the nap of the carpet itching my exposed back and butt and legs... Was in the process of exhaling, relaxing, when he gestured: "No-no, roll over."

Front down now, the itch against my tits and belly and thighs, seeming to catch on my thick pubic thatch...Wriggling, trying not to giggle...Click-whirr...A poke on the inner ankle...Parting my thighs, butt still clenched...Click-whirr...Carpet tickling my clit!? No, couldn't be...Click-whirr...In front of me now...Click-whirr...The creased pantlegs disappearing, going up -- onto the chair: forcing me to arch, grinding my pussy into the carpet, elbows braced...A nice little bulge in his slacks now. That was good -- that I might be able to use...Click-whirr, click-whirr...Arching still more, the strain increasing in my lower back: finally able to see his wry smile...Click-whirr.

'Now masturbate.'

His voice was a shock, after such a prolonged silence -- or what had seemed a prolonged silence. Despite the smile however, it was order not a request: one he clearly expected to be obeyed. Swallowing, hard, I tried to work out the logistics, so to speak.

Hard work this. A tremendous strain on my toes and knees, not to mention the left shoulder, all of which were supporting my weight while I arched my ass up into the air...And the little bastard was stretched out on the carpet to my right -- click-whirr, click-whirr. But it was easy to get caught up in, the feel of my own finger inside my wet aching pussy: probing, coaxing, enticing. I particularly relish a sort of corkscrew motion...Once had a lover who could do that with his hot thick cock -- and just recalling it had me salivating, from both ends...

Sweating now, and quivering, my pussy muscles making those grabs at the finger -- really straining...Click-whirr...Where the hell was he? Behind. Getting close-ups of my finger going in-and-out, in-and-out, in-and-out, between the clenched round globes of my ass...probably getting the juice on my finger, I shouldn't wonder. The first true spasm caused me to arch up harder, tighter.

And then it happened. Burning agony. The toes of my right foot going into cramp! I screamed and collapsed forward onto both shoulders, head twisted awkwardly: frustrated and in pain!

'Continue,' he said simply.

I couldn't -- not like that. I had to adjust, crab forward on my knees, thrusting my ass still further in the air. Fortunately, this eased the cramp, and was able to squirm into a slightly more comfortable position.

'Continue,' he repeated.

Okay-okay, je-sus! But it was like starting all over, way down the hill from the peak...And I suddenly saw myself as the camera would. A slut with her ass in the air, so frantic to reach nirvana...Click-whirr...I had to swallow the bile, hard.

My own fault! Jesus, kid -- actually betting your ass! How low can you get?! And not for the first time, so there's no excuse -- none whatever!

But the sensation passed as quickly as it had come. Soon caught up once more...Feeling my oozing pussy begin to grab, to clutch, desperate to hang onto the source of it's pleasure...HMMM!...Close now! The spasms growing in intensity -- the soft classical music seemingly inside my head...Only to have a foot descend on my trembling ass-- followed by a push hard enough to throw me off-balance.

I collapsed.

And lay there. Finger still in my pussy, so my shoulder was twisted awkwardly -- the fragile building wave having crashed...Frustrated beyond measure, angry with him -- most of all humiliated! My stomach upset almost to the point of vomiting, the bile clutching at my throat.

His voice penetrated the haze. 'I ran out of film.'

But I knew that wasn't it at all. Even as I rolled onto one side, watching him open the briefcase -- finger still in my pussy: because I dared not move it -- I knew he was going to torment me, and go on tormenting me.

'What is it you really want?' I asked, quietly, still panting.

'I don't understand the question, my dear,' he replied, his smile so benign it sent shivers through me. 'Once I've replaced the film, we'll continue.'

And on and on and on it would go. He was a patient little bastard, had waited all day for me to hang myself. Now he could keep me twisting and twitching on the end of the rope all night. He would quite simply please himself... entirely at my expense!!!


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