Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
The message appeared on his phone from an unrecognized number. Within seconds, he replied “who’s this?”
“It’s me puta”
He would call her. Then he changed his mind and just texted her.
“Excuse me miss may I ask a question please?” – he followed protocol because it would have stood out too much if he hadn’t, and this way was smoother. Fortunately this was text, so she wouldn’t see that he was impatient and unhappy.
“Yep,” she replied.
“Did you give him my phone number?,” he asked
“Yes I told him to talk directly to you,” she replied
“About what????,” he asked, incredulous as to what possible reasonable motive could exist for such a thing.
“It’s some shit about the shirts, they messed up something, ask him, I’m busy now,” she instructed.
A long pause followed.
“Are you still busy maam?,” he inquired, still not satisfied but not wanting to anger her.
“Actually yes. I’m with Sarah we’re shopping,” she answered several long minutes later.
He dared not bother her again for the time being. She had already stated twice that she was busy. He tried to distract himself. His attention kept going back to the time. He would give her 2 hours, he decided. The hardest part was the last half hour, and the last five minutes were even harder. Then he wrote again.
He did not want to offend her but he had to resolve this situation.
“Are you still busy now?,” he finally asked.
The app indicated that she had seen that message, but no answer arrived.
So he continued. “Did he say what they messed up?”
“He didn’t tell you?” she now replied and asked.
“I haven’t answered yet” he confessed.
“What’s the problem now you asked to do something for him,” she asked adding an angry emoji
Actually he always ended up having to ask to do whatever she really wanted him to do, so that it would be ‘his idea’.
“I did pick up his shirts and I’m sorry if there was a problem but can you tell me what to do please, can they be fixed? Can he give them to you when you go to class and I can take them back to the shop?,” he proposed, seeking an out.
“First of all if you did everything perfect I would not give your number right?” she pointed out, placing the blame on him.
He felt the need to explain why he had taken the clothes to a dry cleaner, rather than wash and iron them himself.
“I took them to a place because I am not good at ironing and I didn’t want to do crap…,” he defended himself, hoping his good intentions would be exculpatory.
She didn’t answer for a few minutes.
“Hello?” he prompted her.
“Ok but I don’t like when you are lazy,” she scolded him.
The burden continued to be on him to deal with the situation.
“Fix your mistake and don’t bother me until then. I’m turning off my phone,” she said merciless, ending the conversation.
Hiding never worked with her. Sensing that the decision was final and any attempt at stalling or objecting would be unsuccessful, and may possibly lead to more distancing and rejection, he decided to suck it up.
He barely felt the chastity device anymore, except when he sat down or stood up. He sat down on the bed causing that slightly unpleasant sensation of a hard object pushing and rubbing against his upper thighs.
To circumvent the embarrassment, he decided to keep this very dry and professional.
“Oh hello… was there a problem with the dry cleaning?,” he mustered some courage and finally wrote back to Edwardo.
Soon after he received an image attachment, which had in it the photo of a brown stain on the sleeve of a white shirt.
I say “in it” because the image was not the photo itself, but rather the screenshot of a conversation in which the photo was contained. The conversation was with Samantha.
After that was the photo of the stain, sent by him.
“OMG what is that,” Samantha had answered.
“Puta fucked up my shirt what else does it look like to you,” he replied.
“I’m so sorry… I’m sure he’ll get it fixed or he will buy a new one for you,” Sam continued.
“Got this in Lima it’s Alvarez Calderon,” he explained, most likely implying that replacing it would not be possible.
On the top of that chat screenshot, likely from a previous day, the bottom half of Samantha’s last message was still visible. Though he could not read it, there were two heart emojis at the end.
They seemed to be getting along fine and all of a sudden he flipped out at her for some stupid stain. Men really are pigs as she says, he thought. Then he thought of the other perspective. They seemed to be getting along fine until he fucked it up. He felt guilty.
So he reiterated Samantha’s apology, which should have come from him instead.
“I’m sorry, perhaps I can take it back to the shop, it may be something that can be removed easily,” he offered, now in his conscientious problem-solving mode, almost forgetting he was talking to the chad escort ataşehir that was banging his girlfriend. The chad that could talk to her any way he wanted, and make her horny in the process, whereas she expected from him a platonic, reverent, obsequious demeanor.
That difference, coupled with his mental image of the clean, smooth, hyper-muscular idol that had come from Peru on a modeling job and had become quite popular, even ending up on local TV featured as the ‘star coach’ at Yoga & Yoghurt, a large gym franchise catering prevalently to women, caused him to experience the beginning of an erection, which he stopped, disgusted with himself. He knew prolonged chastity did that all the time, and it had nothing to do with anything current.
“I’ll take care of it. Next time you fuck up no more errands for you,” Edwardo replied.
This caused mixed reactions. First of all what kind of a threat was that? He would have been more than happy to avoid the added humiliation of having to do ‘tasks’ or ‘errands’ for the guy who was already banging his queen, particularly since the two activities had at times been synchronous, with the predictable effect of making him feel rejected, fortunately only temporarily. ‘Making love’, he corrected himself, realizing he had been thinking of her disrespectfully.
However the threat was not empty. Sam had consistently been happy when he carried out little tasks for her coach and lover. This yielded kisses on his forehead or cheek every single time. In contrast, even completing one of her long to-do lists, did not earn him nearly the same praise, as it was nothing out of the ordinary.
What if his attitude or errors caused Edwardo to refuse any further help? What if she interpreted this as rebellion against her, or a failure. Scratch that, there was no “what if”. She would surely be disppointed. He did not want her to be disappointed.
He had to fix things.
“Thank you but I really feel I should fix it for you because I chose the cleaning shop so it was partly my fault, and I don’t want Sam to be upset… would it be possible to pick it up and see if I can handle this?,” he asked.
But admitting he feared Sam’s reaction was perhaps not such a good idea, because it made her hypermuscular and statuesque male idol feel more aggressive, something easily attributed to both the ‘cocky’ attitude that Sam was attracted to, and almost surely in part to the ‘enhancers’ he must have been taking, in order to obtain his power.
“Ok, if you can fix it, I will put in a good word LOL,” he replied, considering he had plenty of other things to do, and dates he could no longer postpone. But it felt more like blackmail or mockery, than kindness.
And also it felt as if the male on the other side, such a different type of male, almost of a different species, had understood now (albeit quite late) what the situation between Kurt and Sam was. The black haired, curvy girl from yoga class was nothing special to him. She had stared as if hypnotized at his dark impudent muscles and bulge like thousands of other girls, and was seduced by his deep voice, confident demeanor and exotic accent equally fast.
He would use her as something to thrust himself into, endure her talking just enough to take her home from class, then be distracted by something else, usually multiple other girls who texted with increasing impatience. He didn’t care to answer them, but was wise enough to realize he would need them the next time his large hyperactive scrotum needed salubrious emptying.
Sometimes he had no time to take Sam home with him, or had other things to do after class – in such cases he had her take care of things in the restroom at the gym. She would never oppose any resistance, but simply get on her knees, and hurry to extract the imposing dark, shaven cobra, more like a baguette really. It was so large that he could have knighted her with it, by resting it on her shoulder. And it produced a remarkable amount of semen, even on days in which he had told her jokingly or let her surmise that she had not been the first. She hated that that type of cockiness made her wet. And that men who gets lots of sex from different women were so much more attractive.
Letting her know she was nothing special, and that it was sucking time, implying that whether she wanted it or not was irrelevant – all this made her terribly wet. As did the fact that had she refused, he could have just picked another girl, even someone from her class, and she would have ended up on the other end, hearing his moans from outside the stall, and the lucky one’s effortful breaths as she endeavored to be worthy of the opportunity, and perhaps steal her place permanently. She could not allow it.
She hated when her tight black yoga leggings revealed all of her embarrassing mess and arousal, causing him to acknowledge it. He didn’t even bother to reciprocate in the restroom, he would just leave when his needs were taken care of, like a stallion that had been milked and had to return to the races. Instead, kadıköy escort she was left to satisfy herself, with his aftertaste all over her, drenched with semen and humiliation, but still furiously using her hand to try to get past it all and return to normalcy. At times this took longer than she had imagined, distracted by Kurt’s messages making her phone buzz, or the annoying awareness that he was downstairs waiting in the car, making her feel the passage of time.
She hated Edwardo, she hated all men – and made sure to compensate for this at home by being extra-vigilant about any ‘piggish’ behavior.
To Kurt, clearly, this slut was something special – Edwardo reasoned – and she had not just totally pussy whipped him, even forcing him to do tasks for a guy who was clearly banging her. She had made him afraid of her.
“Great, can you give the shirt to Sam on Wednesday?” Kurt asked, eager to finalize and end this uncomfortable conversation.
However, Edwardo was now emboldened, so he wanted to decide the terms:
“I will leave it with Martha, I want it fixed by tomorrow”.
Kurt did not expect and was not happy to be talked to like that – doing tasks for him out of kindness, and to allow him to have free time to meet Sam was one thing, taking responsibility for botching them as he was doing now, probably was also in a similar category – after all he was just finishing something he had voluntarily started – but being bossed around after all he was putting up with was quite another thing. Nevertheless it was simple enough to go to the gym and pick it up from Martha, the receptionist, and this would avoid the worst, namely having to meet him. And he had decided to be professional in all this to make the interaction as impersonal as possible. Still he wasn’t happy.
“Yes sir,” he typed, intending to go along with it but add a bit of sarcasm to let him know that the tone was not ok.
Then he realized that he had been criminally stupid – he would have surely been misunderstood, because Sam had basically forced him to text Edwardo calling him sir once before (to express ‘politeness’), and there was no doubt that the circumstances had been out of the ordinary and Kurt had come off as absolutely pathetic.
But he was under duress then, and only complied to make Sam happy. This guy was an abstraction and nothing more. All she had demanded back then was to write a single line.
The thought of a guy – no matter how beautifully masculine – was still repulsive to him. At least the face was. And the legs and feet. Now, he feared, Edwardo might assume incorrectly that giving him orders was ok and that he would turn into a little bitch and gladly go along with it. This was totally not the case. He had failed with this communication.
He thought of a way to clarify his intentions but there wasn’t one that wouldn’t get even more personal or cause him to write something long, and he wanted to end the conversation very badly now. As he was still thinking about it, the reply arrived:
“Good puta. LOL”
This confirmed his worst suspicions, that his attempt at irony had been interpreted the wrong way, and now it would have been even harder to try to explain. He decided it was better to not answer and leave the ending as ambiguous as possible. There was still plausible deniability and in the best case there would not be any further contact.
Edwardo didn’t give a damn if Sam had a boyfriend or not. He had slept with tons of good looking girls, and they often had boyfriends, or husbands, or both.
If anything, knowing that this particular bitch had a beta boyfriend, who wouldn’t stalk him down with a knife (something which had happened more than once in Lima), was a good thing.
Edwardo thought about the strange situation which Sam had secretly put in place, by making them communicate. He knew she was a sadist to her boyfriend, and kept him sexless and pussy whipped, and that he went along with it. Clean pussy that had no other dicks in it was a good thing. He didn’t want to know more, he just had no interest and had no intention to get involved in whatever games they were up to.
All he was after was physical pleasure. Even the idea of screwing someone’s girlfriend did nothing for him as it was nothing now. At times he accepted this or that other favor because it was convenient and he had no time to do it himself. That is how Kurt became a minor figure that he was aware of – Sam’s bitch boyfriend, aka puta, someone who would do this or that other task if necessary, like giving Sam a ride, or taking his clothes to the dry cleaners.
As a dominant male, acts of submission always made him horny. But never with men. But this situation was particular because Kurt was so feminine. Sam had shown him only one picture, when he had asked out of curiosity, because she kept praising him and telling him how different he looked from her boyfriend. To drive her point home she had shown him the most effeminate picture she could find. In that picture, maltepe escort bayan a largely exposed Kurt with shoulder length straight hair, a largely smooth fit but gracile body, and milky skin, was wearing a corset, black opaque stockings, black elbow length gloves and a semi-transparent sexy waist-apron, which revealed more cleanly shaven milky skin and a black round enclosure which she explained was a chastity device.
Kurt had been blessed so far, to ignore that such an intimate and shameful attire, from when Sam had dressed him up to teach him what it’s like to be a woman, had been photographed, even shared, and with her bossy yoga teacher of all people. She had wanted him to know how a woman feels, defenseless and exposed, and to understand why men must always be chivalrous and not stare. He had no memory of a picture being taken; then again this was a while ago and they had been drinking that night. He had done most of the drinking. Come to think of it, she had encouraged it with a fair bit of insistence.
When Edwardo lazily pulled that mental image of ‘maid’ puta out of his memory – perhaps in response to his submissive demeanor, which reminded him so many women he had satisfied before, by pulling their hair, calling their names, giving it to them hard, and more, he found something strange. He had had trannies before, of course. Not too many, but enough to say he had the experience. Nothing too great, but he did get off. But a regular male? He was confused because he found his untiring and burdensome sex organs erect again, despite them having been serviced only a few hours prior by some random slut whose name or even face he could not recall.
He reckoned that he could well have bossed him around and gotten the same satisfaction that bossing around a bitch generally gave him. Just being dominant doesn’t mean being gay, he thought. Puta was feminine. She didn’t appear to have a beard in that picture. Her chest appeared flat, more so than some asian bitch, but soft and exquisitely white.
He concluded that there was nothing gay in bossing this beta around like his girlfriend already was doing. That it might be fun. And there was nothing sexual about it. Though after thinking this, he felt the need to relieve himself. He had other things to do and had no time to call any of the girls who would have surely arrived, but then stayed longer than necessary. So he started stroking himself, and then harder, and then fast, with no subject in mind other than getting it over with so he could think clearly. Yet the image of sexy, emasculated puta kept coming back to him. It was exciting enough to continue but not enough to finish.
So he picked up the phone again and typed:
“You look good in stockings LOL”
The purpose was not to compliment him – he liked thick, juicy legs, not skinny bitch boy legs, however feminine. At best he was like a barely legal chick. Yes, seen from this perspective he could be into it. But that thought came after. He had only mentioned it to humiliate him.
And that was enough to get him off, which was fortunate because a reply never came. Not for lack of an effect but surely because of an oversized one, which must have left puta speechless. Sam, Edwardo knew, would never have told puta that she had shared his picture with a stranger. He must have felt terribly exposed, and shamed, particularly now that he was taking orders like an errand boy, from the stallion that had made Sam lose interest in all the other guys on her facebook and in her phone – that is, the stallion to whom his girlfriend was now sexually exclusive.
To get past the finish line he used that act of domination, of stripping away puta’s pride, like tearing off a dress. This was not unusual for him, he had torn off hundreds of night dresses, skirts, bras, sometimes delicately, sometimes damaging them on purpose, depending on his reading of the girl, with the predictable effect of obtaining arousal. More unusually though, as he continued to stimulate himself, he found that his arousal was magnified by imagining a cute response appear on his phone, such as “thank you Sir”.
He remembered the barely visible milky skin under the semi-transparent waist apron, identical to a girl’s shaved crotch except for the shameful exposure of puta’s caged, submissive parts. And he imagined how small puta must feel, knowing that his girlfriend, who never allowed puta anything sexual, now had a steady lover, one puta should obey to, to avoid pissing her off. It would definitely be sexy to see puta, now shamed and stripped of dignity, blush and bow – to rest his large trunk-like appendage right on her head, as he had done with Sam many times. “Thank you Sir,” would say the feminine puta in this unique and novel fantasy – a fair bit shorter and so much smaller than him.
She would thank him for complimenting her photograph and emasculated look, and perhaps her denied boy-clit would be leaking from inside the chastity cage, leak from shame and overstimulation and from being in the presence of a larger, muscular male. His dark overactive sex organ would rest on her head in an act of domination. He would demand that she kiss his balls to demonstrate that her gratitude was genuine. And milky white sexy puta, on her knees the whole time, would do so, while he stood next to Sam, kissing her.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32