Random Rim Jobs

[Continued from "Prague, Israel (Part 3)."]

After the incident with the neighbor I felt very uncomfortable in and around the apartment building; I did not want to run into the guy who was clearly “interested” in me in a very intimate way.  Israel told me he’d talk to the neighbor.

A few days later when I came home from work Israel told me he had talked to the neighbor.  He told me he had smoked a joint with the neighbor.  Uh, my boyfriend thought it was ok to smoke a joint this guy who said he wanted to “get with me”?  Let me remind my dear readers that I was 19.  I had certain ideas about how a boyfriend should be.  And I still have the idea that a guy who claims to be my boyfriend should have understood that if I’m upset at someone the best thing to do is not to smoke a joint with that someone, but rather to defend my honor.

Well, over that joint Israel got to the bottom of why the neighbor held out his wallet to me and said he’d pay to get with me.  Apparently, my evasiveness regarding where I worked at night, by saying I worked “down the street,” had sounded to the neighbor like, “I work on the street.”  He thought I was a streetwalker.  And my boyfriend thought that it was funny.

That was probably the turning point in our relationship.

He traveled to visit an ex-girlfriend and despite repeated assurances that he would not have sex with her, he did.  I cheated on him with a regular Q’s customer.  When we were alone we drank a lot.  I still couldn’t buy alcohol, but Israel could.  He bought me Irish cream – of various brands – which I drank over ice.

But we didn’t spend much time alone together since we were both working a lot and I went to school as well.  On Superbowl Sunday both Israel and I worked waiting shifts.  As I’ve mentioned, I was not a good waitress.  It stressed me out to no end.  On Superbowl Sunday Q’s was packed with people watching the game, drinking, and eating.

For the Superbowl there were food specials.  Only exactly what the food specials were was not communicated to us, the waitstaff.  The management and the kitchen staff had different ideas of the specials.  Those of us who were trying to earn tips didn’t know what the fuck to tell the customers.  After being told one thing by my boss and another by the cook, I was pissed.  My boss caught me just outside the kitchen.

I was mad, he was my boss.  There were words, of the loud and disrespectful nature.  He fired me.  On Superbowl Sunday.  I was actually relieved.  I was doing a shitty job waiting and probably wouldn’t have been tipped all that well anyway.  I handed my open tickets over to another waiter and walked home.

For the next few days I went to school and worried about my next job.  Unbeknown to me, Israel was working on his boss – my former boss.  He asked him to hire me back – because he was tired of having me around our apartment all the time.  Nice.  I went back to work, but no longer took any waiting shifts.

Israel announced one day that he had been to the local sex shop.  Back then the local sex shop was nothing like my local sex shop, Good Vibrations.  Back then the sex shops were dirty and sleazy and of the sort many people would only enter on a lark on drunk.  He showed me his purchases, some skin magazines of the extremely large-breasted variety, and a strap-on harness with a dildo.

I wasn’t even sure what the harness contraption was.  He told me he wanted me to put it on and to fuck his ass.  I was a naive flower at the time.  I’m pretty sure I wasn’t so naive as to think that him wanting something in his ass made him gay, however, I’m definitely didn’t fully comprehend dominance and submission/top and bottom dynamics.  I had already participated in some BDSM activities up to that point (though not with Israel), but I didn’t get much other than I liked being teased a lot.

Well, I tried.  I put the harness on.  I had a cock.  For about two minutes.  I tried, I really did.  I felt fucking ridiculous.  And silly.  I laughed more than anything and I didn’t even get close to fucking him.  Which may have been for the best as I don’t recall him having brought home lube from the porn store.

The strap-on purchase was a last-ditch effort to make our relationship work.  Another gesture that I considered downright ridiculous and silly was him asking me to marry him.  I was all of twenty.  He wasn’t much older.  No matter what, no matter how young and naive I was, I knew that a relationship of six months in which we’d both cheated on each other was most definitely not a solid foundation for a marriage.

He seemed to think differently because he married the girlfriend after me.  I never met her, but he and I continued to be friendly so I learned that she was older than him.  I figured that by age alone she was more ready to be married.  Many years later I know that there is a shit ton more to being married than “maturity.”

I swear.  True story.

It’s sexy because it’s wrong.  She’s hot.  She’s thin.  She’s wearing a collar.  Her shirt is a belt.  A belt with skulls and crossbones on it.  She’s got leather wrist restraints on.  She’s holding guns.  Guns.

So.  Fucking.  Hot.

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "Slave Auditions, Part 3."]

It was a long, exhausting day of slave tryouts.  It was also a lot of fun.  So much fun that after Cutey left there was more fucking.

We conducted all of our slave “business” through my email.  During the week I received several emails from potential slaves to whom we’d sent the “You Lose” emails, as well as emails from those who did actually show up who wanted to come back for more.  Most of them did.

Glasses told us he had driven all the way from Petaluma.  Nineteen told us he was fine with us filming him.  Cutey said – in German – that she wanted to be our pet.  All around very flattering, and hot.

In addition, I received several emails from potential slaves whom had not been scheduled for our initial auditions.  I decided to add another set of auditions the following Saturday.  Once again I told them what time to be at my place.  I had five scheduled until one asked, “After I clean, can the three of us fuck?”  Uh, no, and our original ad made it clear that the potential slaves would not be able to fuck us.  So we had four half-hour auditions scheduled.

Once again the Viking made a delicious brunch of scrambled eggs and crêpes.  It was delicious.  As there were only four potential slaves scheduled, and the previous week proved the flake factor was quite high, I figured no one would show up.  But we had a nice brunch, it’s always nice to see Sugar, and Saturdays are good, lazy days.

We ate.  We waited.  The first potential slave flaked.  Not much of a surprise.  Then the phone rang, signaling someone at the front door.  Yay!  Sugar and I were ready.

I opened my front door and saw a very young guy coming down the hall.  Very young.  So young that I asked for his identification.  He had recently turned 21.  So adorable.  He was a little guy – probably 5′5″ and cute as a button.

Right away I put him to work cleaning my downstairs bathroom’s tub.  I used that shower/tub regularly when I had the former roommates and I still hadn’t cleaned it proper since I started using the upstairs bathroom for personal hygiene.  I brought him cleaning supplies.  Sugar told him to take off his pants.  Then, every few minutes, Sugar went in the bathroom and spanked him with my riding crop.  She’s so cute when she gets toppy.

We dubbed him 21.  When he was done in the bathroom we had him do some dishes.  He kept leaving the water running longer than he should have, and he seemed to think that his hands were an effective cleaning tool even though there were dish scrubbies.  And though I pointed out the compost bucket to him multiple times he didn’t seem to grasp the concept of compost.  Even though he lived in Berkeley.

But we were having fun, he was cute, and no other potential slaves were showing up to relieve him.  He stayed and I continued to give him tasks to do around the kitchen.

We ran out of wine.  I wanted vodka.  I was about to leave for the store when Sugar suggested we have the Viking go to leave us alone with 21.  The Viking left.  In his absence we asked 21 to show us his cock.  He did.  I certainly hope he was a grower.

The Viking returned with vodka and several mangoes.  He then juiced the mangoes in his fancy, super-powerful juicer, mixed the juice with the vodka, and served it over ice.  Yum!  Mango juice and vodka is one of my favorite drinks, ever.

We asked 21 how many girls – because he thinks of women as girls at his tender age – he’d had relations with.  Two.  TWO!  So fucking cute!  Sugar pointed out that if he fucked us that he could double his number immediately.  Sugar is a dirty girl who wants to corrupt young, sweet 21-year-old boys.  Which just makes me want to fuck her more.

I suppose 21 forgot that the ad that brought him to my place indicated that one of the potential rewards for doing a good job was to hear Sugar and I fuck each other because at one point he asked, “Do you two sex each other?”  What?  We each determined the other was a woman on our first meeting; continuing to sex each other is not necessary.  We most definitely have sex with each other, and we informed him of such.  Silly boy.

We eventually allowed 21 to have some of the yummy vodka concoction, and we finally sent him on his way.  I saw him to the door and told him we’d let him know if we wanted him back.  He did a pretty shitty job of cleaning.

No other potential slaves showed up – we were one for four for that day.

Sugar and I then watched Jon Stewart being interviewed on the O’Reilly Factor.  We were both turned on by how fucking smart John Stewart is and how lame Bill O’Reilley is.  We barely got through the interview; we had to stop it a couple of times to make out.  Kissing Sugar is so much fun.

Then we went up to the bedroom.  The bedroom I share with the Viking.  The Viking, however, had work to do so he stayed downstairs.  Downstairs in a loft apartment where the bedroom has no door or fourth wall.  When she and I began fucking he assured us he did not mind.  She and I have good sex.  Good, loud, hot, dirty sex.

Then, after Sugar left, the Viking fucked me.  I’m certainly lucky.

Out of six total potential slaves, we’re definitely having two of them back, 19 and Cutey.  We may invite Glasses back since he was the best cleaner.

I swear.  True story.

I bruise easily.  Rather, I don’t think my bruising capability is that much more than the average person, but I do think that I am pale and therefore show the bruises I do get easily.

I like getting bruised.  That means I’ve withstood something.  Hopefully something to which I’ve consented and desired.  All of the bruises visible in the photo here are of that variety.  I keep getting more, and I like ‘em for the most part.

I do, however, have a bruise on my forehead the origin of which I do not know.  While I don’t think I didn’t consent to the bump and bruise I have on my forehead, I don’t remember where or how I got it either.  Thankfully I don’t need to use my forehead for a lot of activities so it’ll fade into oblivion.

Yes, those are bruises on my chest.  I have a lot more, too.

I swear.  True story.

[Continued from "Slave Auditions, Part 2."]

The next potential slave to arrive was young and sweet.  And had an incredible head of hair.  He was very young – just 19 years old.  Sugar claimed she liked older men almost exclusively but she was definitely taken by his apparent innocence.

And it may have been only apparent.  He told us he had been to Power Exchange several times.  Wow, and at such a tender age.  I suppose people are figuring out much younger what they’re into and how to make it happen.  Back when I was 17 I knew I was interested in being tied up and spanked but other than the Society of Janus, which I could not join since I was not yet of age, I had no way of connecting with similarly inclined people.  By the time I was 18 I lost interest in the idea of socializing with the intent to find someone to spank me, and I’m still not too keen on the whole munch thing.

We dubbed our young potential slave Nineteen.  Our nicknames certainly didn’t have to be creative or original, only easy for us to remember.  Nineteen cleaned pretty well and and followed directions well.  By this time Sugar and I had had plenty of mimosas and wine and were certainly embracing the spirit of the day.

We had Nineteen show us his penis.  He was uncircumcised, just the way I like ‘em.  But we didn’t do anything with his dick other than look at it.

Soon thereafter Glasses arrived.  We dubbed him Glasses because he wore very thick ones.  He was very quiet and mousy and out of everyone the best cleaner.  He also took very well to direction.  Sugar and I were well into mistress mode when he arrived.  We had no problem telling him what to do and we had him clean sans pants.

When Glasses was here my neighbor Ruby stopped by to help us assess.  It was a raucous good time.  Ruby didn’t stay long, and we soon dismissed Glasses.

Then Sugar, the Viking, and I went upstairs where the Viking was nice enough to tie up Sugar’s lovely breasts.  She looked quite nice.  The three of us were having a very nice naked time complete with hemp rope when the phone rang.

Ooops!  We forgot we had more potential slaves scheduled.  I threw on my clothes and answered the door while Sugar and the Viking got dressed themselves.

I opened the front door to a vision of loveliness.  Her makeup was perfect.  She wore a bustier with shorty shorts and fishnets.  She carried a large purse.  She was demure, as is appropriate for a lady come to clean.

She started cleaning right away.  She was adorable.  She had a foreign accent and told us she was from Austria.  She was so sweet and cute.  Sugar dubbed her Cutey.  We loved Cutey immediately.  She was very obedient.  She was fun!

I called Ruby and told her to come back, that she would absolutely love our latest potential slave.  Ruby is a drag queen at heart – she barely needs an excuse to get dressed up, and she makes it a point to go to costumed events – she is very theatrical.  I knew she would love Cutey.  In addition, Ruby speaks German, and I thought it’d be fun to listen to Ruby and Cutey talk to each other in Cutey’s native tongue.

The whole time Cutey was cleaning she was also like our girlfriend; it’d be a blast to go to dance clubs with her.  She knew how to put herself together.  She had a great ass.  She was most definitely a girl.

Only of course she was not a biological girl, so when the Viking – who identifies as a straight man – whispered to Ruby that he was conflicted Ruby couldn’t help but chuckle.  Ahh, San Francisco, how we love you for making us question our ideas of gender and sex and sexuality.

Cutey stayed longer than her allotted half hour because the next potential slave flaked.  We were glad since we were having so much fun with her.  We let her have some wine with us and had her sit down and chit-chat; the service portion of the interview was over.  She pulled out her purse, in which she brought some things that she thought might be of use for the tryout.  She had rope – fun! – and she had various anal toys – also fun – and she had a CB-3000.

I would not have known what a CB-3000 was if I hadn’t seen a video of Eve Minax (whom I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and …) on Carnal Nation discussing male chastity devices.  [The video seems to have disappeared from Carnal Nation, but if you can find it, please let me know the link – shazamsf@sbcglobal.net.]  They are fascinating.

Cutey showed us how the CB-3000 worked, but not on her penis.  She wasn’t yet comfortable showing that side of herself.  However, by the time I walked her to the door she certainly didn’t seem to mind when I copped a feel.  We made out a bit and I rubbed up against her cock, which was not very girlie.

Out of fourteen scheduled potential slaves only five showed up.  That means I won the bet I had with the Viking.  The wager?  I got to gloat.  We hadn’t bet anything of substance because we both knew there were few things I would want that he wouldn’t already have done for me if I asked.  But I won.  Ha!

I swear.  True story.

[True story that is not yet done.  The next week we continued our slave auditions.]

[Continued from "Slave Auditions, Part 1."]

The next potential slave showed up with a bouquet of mixed flowers, also obviously from a grocery store, and a bottle of wine. I like wine. Good boy.

Potential slave number two we dubbed Too Tan because, well, he was. He went to work washing dishes and pointed out some of Baseball Bat’s sloppiness. I thanked him, though maybe I should have given him some shit for being a tattle tale.

He asked for some of the wine he brought. I denied him. After all, even when the person bringing the wine is not a potential house slave the gift is a hostess gift and should not be expected by the guest. That he asked as he was trying out to be a slave made it an even ruder request.

I had him take out the trash, recycling, and compost.  He took a little longer than he should have, but during his absence Sugar suggested we have some wine for him as a reward.  She really is a much nicer mistress than am I.  Also, I don’t think she had gotten into the spirit of our exercise.

But then after Too Tan left Sugar said she wasn’t into him as a slave.  She had no interest in seeing his dick, and didn’t really care enough to bother to try to humiliate him, since ostensibly that is exactly what he wanted.

The Viking pointed out that we were two for three, and that at that rate he’d surely win the bet.  I agreed that if the potential slaves continued to show up that rate he would definitely win the bet, but I wasn’t calling it before the end of the day.

Which was good, because the next five potential slaves flaked.  During the time when they were supposed to be here my friend Mr. Zip arrived.  We had told a few people to stop by so they could help us humiliate the potential slaves.  We figured the less intimate it was, and the more shit we talked about the peons who were cleaning, the better.

As I didn’t know what time Mr. Zip would arrive, when the phone rang I used the same stern tone I had with the service supplicants and told him not to take the elevator.  He made it clear that he would not be told what to do.  Oh, sorry!

Mr. Zip and Sugar met for the first time.  He and I have had a few threesomes together, and I could tell right away that the possibility of another one occurred to him as soon as he met Sugar.  Sugar is a hottie, and she and I have some very fun and sexy chemistry – who wouldn’t want to join in?

Mr. Zip focused on Sugar and even went so far as to ask if she liked chocolate.  While that doesn’t seem all that crazy, I knew exactly what it meant.  Mr. Zip goes to the Winter Fancy Food Show every year.  This year I went with him.  Hundreds of food manufacturers – including many chocolatiers – give out samples.  Mr. Zip doles out his chocolate samples to the various ladies in his life, and is especially generous to those he’s not yet bedded.

I pointed out my own stash of chocolates from the Fancy Food Show and told Mr. Zip that Sugar could have as much as she wanted from me, that his little samples weren’t likely to impress her.  I have no problem if Sugar and Mr. Zip fuck – whether with me or not – but I felt I had to call him on his silly shit.

None of the potential slaves showed up when Mr. Zip was present.  To each of those who flaked, I sent an email with lovely face photos of Sugar and I attached to show that we’re both reasonably decent looking (she much more than I) and wrote that they missed out.  I did not hear back from any of them.

We thought maybe no one else would show up when the phone again rang.

I swear.  True story.

[To be continued, of course.  Stay tuned for the results of the bet between the Viking and myself.  Find out if we saw any more cock, girthy or otherwise.]

[Continued from "Ask for a Slave, Get a …."]

Saturday came.  The Viking agreed to make brunch for Sugar and I.  He ate too; after all he’s not a slave.  He also agreed not to clean up a damn thing, as that was the duty of the slaves.  Along with brunch dishes there were also dishes left over from my involved butternut squash lasagna-making the day before; the kitchen was a mess.

I had already decided that the potential slaves would not have the benefit of the dishwasher.  After all, they were to be the dishwashers.

Brunch was delicious.  Sugar said she was nervous about the interviews.  The mimosas (with fresh-squeezed satsuma mandarin juice) helped allay Sugar’s nervousness.

The Viking and I had a little side bet going.  Having extensive Craig’s List experience I know the flake factor is very high so the Viking was a bit of a fool for betting that at least seven of the fourteen potential slaves would show.  I bet there would be fewer than seven, and I guessed there would be many fewer.

Actually, I guessed that the day would be spent having brunch, drinking mimosas, and hanging out with Sugar and the Viking.  Then the three of us would end up doing our own damn dishes.  As I had told the potential slaves to be on time, when 1:30pm came and went I already started gloating to the Viking, telling him that I’d win our bet for sure.

At precisely 2:00pm the phone rang, signaling someone at the front door to the building.  I said exactly what I want to say to every first-time visitor to the building, “It’s on the second floor, take the stairs, do not take the elevator.”  Really, people need to take the elevator to the second floor?  That’s just damn lazy.

A middle-aged man with a bouquet of pink and white, cellophane-wrapped, grocery store carnations was at the door.  I put him to work while I trimmed the flowers and placed them in a vase.  He started washing dishes.

We did not ask his name; we didn’t care.  Sugar and I had already decided they’d get nicknames or numbers, or both, based on our impressions.  This guy, because of things I knew about him previously, we’ll call Baseball Bat.  He was fast, and we found out later that he worked quickly – and sloppily.  The dishes he did weren’t all that clean.

While he cleaned I looked at my OkCupid messages and Sugar and I talked about various things, including ass fucking and fisting.  The Viking went about his business.

Sugar was still a bit nervous.  She asked a few times, all under her breath, if she could see Baseball Bat’s dick.  He kept not pulling it out, but it was completely understandable that he didn’t know what she really wanted.  Finally, with some encouragement to her to make it clear what she wanted, he brandished his cock.  Sweet Sugar said, “Hmm, girthy.”

So fucking cute.  And completely unnecessary.  He put it away and I told him to leave.  I had each of the potential slaves scheduled for no longer than a half hour, and while I didn’t mind if they saw each other in the hall, I really didn’t want to bother to introduce them.  I thanked him for his service and showed him to the door.

I teased Sugar for saying what she did when she saw the guy’s dick.  She was so fucking cute; she said she felt that since he was nice enough to show us his cock that she should say something nice about it.  Uh, slaves don’t need something nice said about them, silly girl; they want to be humiliated.  She didn’t know that Baseball Bat literally wanted a baseball bat shoved up his ass, which, wrong or right, probably didn’t go along with the need to be told he had a thick dick.

The Viking thought there was a possibility that he’d win the bet at that point considering we were one for two.  We still hadn’t discussed what were the terms of said bet ….

[More to come.  Not even close to done, folks.]

I swear.  True story.