I have always wondered how intense my cravings for sex could be, how long that blaze would last before it would begin to ebb. Surely, my body can be pulled that tight for very long before snapping. And I never imagined that the cravings would actually be painful. It feels as if my whole body is wrapped in barbed wire. When I began my shift yesterday, knowing that I would be closing with Clint, I was floating on cloud nine. Daisy was tap tap tapping impatiently, waiting for him to touch, grab, and caress me in those oh so familiar ways. After an hour and not the least bit of flirtation, I decided to turn it up a notch. I had packed an outfit that Daisy was fond of: a jean miniskirt, a short white tank, and 5 inch heels that I wear for bedroom use only. I was going to surprise Clint with the outfit at the end of the night, but decided to tell him about it first. He immediately wanted to see it and forced me to put it on in the backroom while he watched, the door cracked just enough to allow him to poke his head in. The store was, again, virtually empty. He watched me walk around for a bit and I could hear his teeth grinding, his fists clenching. And that was about the same time he decided to tell me, “I can’t stay late tonight…” I spun around, the heels grinding across the cold concrete and spat out questions, demanding reasons, why he would be so bold as to say that yet he’s been playing with me all week. “It’s not that I don’t want to, I’m meeting my mom tonight,” and at the time it sounded like the worst excuse ever. I vowed I would make this night a living hell for him. I dropped to my knees, a long drop with the added five inches, and kneeled infront of him, hands clasped infront of me, “just a blow job…please? Pretty please? I can be fast,” He bit his lip, shook his head and apologized. Daisy was already up in arms, she rarely ever gets rejected. When she can’t win, she takes it out on mybody. It has been years since I felt the wrath of Daisy.
Clint wasn’t helping the predicament at all as he would still flirt, knowing I was doing my very best to ignore him. Everytime I gave him a cold shoulder, he would do something cruel like tug my hair back or pinch my sides. I tried to sing that Patty Loveless song, “I Try to Think About Elvis,” over and over in my head, but Daisy would not allow me to think about anything else other than his long, hard shaft pressed inbetween my thighs. After a couple hours, the pain was extreme and felt like a bowl of boiling water being poured down a funnel directly into my uterus. It was hard to stand up straight or focus on anything but relieving that pain. Clint was grinning everytime I looked up at him and casually suggested that I go into the backroom and help myself. For the first few times I was appalled he would even suggest such a thing. Daisy, of course, jumped at the idea. I could feel those imaginary fingers working their way across my most sensitive areas, stroking relentlessly. I dropped to a bench in the kids section and tried to catch my breath, my wrists burning now with the long forgotten urge to slice that delicate flesh. I would never return to that…after years of battling the x-acto, I promised myself I would never, ever do that to myself again. And here I was remembering how tender those moments were, locked in the bathroom with the razor against my skin. Lost in my own morbid thoughts I hardly noticed Clint approaching. He was asking me what I was doing, if I wanted it that bad then I should just go in the back. Without noticed what shoe it was I casually pointed at a box that didn’t match the others surrounding it. Clint picked it up and read the name of the shoe, “mm…’Daisy’, where does this one go?” I bit back a smile as a I heard Daisy giggling behind my ears and took that as a firm sign. Without another word I stood up and walked quickly to the back as Clint watched. My hands were busy unfastening and unzipping before I even reached the back door. I could hear Clint, that low gruff laugh, before the door shut completely.
I was sitting in one chair with my feet propped up on another, one hand buried between my thighs, when Clint walked in. He stood at the door with that huge idiotic grin across his lips. Daisy was giving it all she had, ignoring my soft cries inbetween panting. She coaxed me off the chair and my knees hit the concrete with a faint crack. She forced me to bend over the chair, my ass hovering above the floor. Her fingers dug deep, prodding the g-spot relentlessly, as Clint paced back behind me. I jumped as his hands lowered across my bare rear, his fingers kneading the tension from my posterior muscles. He spanked me a few times to elicit a sharp wail, muffled by the chair. As he stood once again infront of me I saw his hard on pressed firmly against the inside of his pants. Oh…Daisy, we’ve succeeded. And I was expecting her to stop as the pain had been absolved…but she continued her efforts. I knew I wasn’t going to come…but she wouldn’t stop until Clint thought that I had relieved myself thoroughly. What a bitch! I faked an orgasm: my body shuddering from exhausted muscles, not a flood of electricity; the sharp cry that crossed my lips paled in comparison to the real deal. But it worked…and he was horny and hard as a rock, which pleased Daisy for the time being.
A little later Clint promised me that when he returned from vacation next week he would be thirsty and would lap up every last drop before fucking me senseless. “That is, ” he said, “if I don’t see you before then…I might try and make plans to meet you up here either Friday or Saturday.”
I won’t hold my breath, Clint. For now I’ll be okay.
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