CHP 3 — IN WHICH MICKY CONCOCTS A PLAN TO GET ROSY INTO AND OUT OF SOME CLOTHES.
I felt depressed; in a funk with no groove. The rain had been falling as though the earth had doubled its mass.
But, through the low dark clouds, Carla Regaliza’s most cute fuckable form, like a beaming smile made of pure Andalucían sunlight, continued to pour down upon my aching soul — the angelic quality of her dirty underwear like a proof of her higher divinity. Some might say that I had placed this essentially unknown Spanish woman on a bit of a pedestal.
I didn’t know it then, but this was to be my last day as a nocturnal protector of inedible human dog treats.
Wandering about the darkened factory, a familiar beige sludge clinging to the soles of my hateful work boots’, intermittently I slid my hand down the front of my trousers’ and teased the soft white cotton of Rosy’s panties – which I was wearing as protection against doom — before tugging them hard upwards and imagining that instead of the by-now crusty gusset crushing against my shaggy old ball’s it was actually freshly stretched across Rosy’s divine tight little area — a discernable wet patch growing in smutty anticipation of the inevitable deluge to cum. Luckily it was part of my job to achieve a learned awareness of all the places within the property where CCTV coverage was lacking; thus averting the horrors of a hapless colleague, tasked with reviewing the footage, becoming unwell at the sight of me undertaking my unorthodox patrol.
In the half-light of the reception hall, I walked into the waiting area and found Rosy lying bound, gagged and blindfolded on a reclining plastic chair — I’d recently watched ‘The Spy Who Loved Me’, and Barbara Bach must’ve stuck in my mind — a spotlight shining down on her, highlighting the white of her panties beneath the black of her tights; her otherwise naked body glistening with a fine coating of anxious sweat.
Twisted up and held together, her tiny sweaty feet, with toes all ready to curl, strained against their leather strapped bonds. Arms at her sides; fingers nervously tapping; a steady stream of silvery saliva dripping from her chin onto her chest and down her tensing body, pooling in her belly button, being drawn into the fabric of the waistband of her delicious tights’.
I knelt beside her, watching her sun-kissed abdomen rise and fall with a slightly panicked rhythm transmitting a fine jiggle to her increasingly sweaty, dribbled on tit’s. Reaching silently out I purposefully slid a rigid finger beneath the soggy waistband of Rosy’s tights, making her jump and emit a single silent squeal, moving quickly into her knickers, down her pudenda until my fingertip found her clit, where I set up a command post — Rosy’s whole body held fast, as, with but the slightest of cynical motions, I caused her to convulse and cramp; her head turning violently to the right, as the sinew’s of her neck tightened and strained against my unrelenting ministration’s. As Rosy came in my hand I released the bow at the back of her head fastening her blindfold and gazed into her deep green orgasming eyes as she further took in the helplessness of her situation. At which moment I thrust two fingers into her ready cunt and made them as creamy as I could before pulling them out and smearing her ball-gagged face with them — I was pleasantly surprised to see Rosy strain against her restraint’s and cum again; the muscles of her sublime belly convulsing in waves of unexpected pleasure as she moaned through her gag, spitting drool and cum in panicked exhalations of wild excitement as I ran my hand over her heaving tit’s and back down into her increasingly messed up knicker’s.
Several edgings later, untying Rosy’s knees, I pushed them apart and re-secured them, causing her feet to move up towards her butt, and a pleasant odour of sweaty cunt to rise from her steaming crotch.
Once in place, I pulled her tights down just enough to be able to freely manipulate her pussy with my whole hand and then went to town on her, dragging her knicker’s up and down her slit from cunt to arsehole, pressing into her and around her until she spattered the whole world in creamy discharge; bucking and gasping for air as she tensed up in evermore powerful orgiastic agony . . .
Later that night, snoozing on a conveyor belt in the packing hall, safely ensconced behind a stack of enthusiastically out-of-date Bourbon Creams, out of sight of the cameras, I pondered my situation — Rosy’s Knicker’s and tights’ making their presence pleasantly felt; holding me together, focusing my mind beyond the darkness of my grey lonely existence; and intermittently causing me to shift in my uncomfortable biscuit based bower, letting loose a deep lusty breath of craven pent-up desire for sweet Carla Regaliza — that whispered name to be forever on my sinner’s lips (indeed, I’d been saying it so often I think my cat thought it was her new name).
As I snoozed, I dreamed a strange dream — not even a dream really, more like a fleeting vision: I saw myself bound naked to a stone altar in the torch-lit depths of an Egyptian temple, with a beautiful falcon-headed goddess hanging over me, bearing down on my paralysed form, a bright white light streaming from her dark piercing eye’s into my stricken face. Suddenly I awakened, exclaiming ‘Fucking hell!’, knowing exactly what I had to do.
Unheeding of the timed requirement to investigate the boiler room — one of a thousand pointless nightly rituals that had never been anything to me other than a tick in a box — I settled down to ponder the course of my filthy aim’s; gazing at Rosy’s perfect peachy arse on my little screen; all the while imagining myself deep inside her, filling her tight little Malagan cunt with a powerful surge of unstoppable white hot spunk.
Out of the biscuity gloom my crazy half-baked plan became clear. I decided I would approach Rosy with an offer to pose in a short series of self-taken wet pussy themed image sets, which I would watermark and put on the internet, as a way of inducing people to visit my website — a website selling a novel I’d published six months previously; a novel which had regrettably sunk without a trace in the dead zone of the first lockdown. It seemed like the perfect idea, my name on Rosy’s arse; a genius inducement to move up a place on the best-seller list — and furthermore, who knew, maybe even a potential fuck! (well, who knew?). I mean, at the very least I’d acquire a set of mind blowing images that would never go out of style and forever keep my filthy balls in spirit raising delight. As the old saying goes, ‘There’s always hope for a man with a good dirty mind.’
Had I known where this lewd and lascivious marketing campaign would eventually lead, I still would have leapt at it. It seemed to me that a conjunction of smutty stars had aligned specifically to draw me towards this devastating seductress; the combined light from which was burning away my retina’s and replacing them with nothing but images of her divine face and slutty little cunt; not to mention that pretty little highly teaseable butthole.
Presuming Rosy to be willing, and presuming a price could be agreed that wouldn’t shame either of us, I truly thought it possible that such a campaign might yield the kind of fruit, the juice from which would drip from my stupid chin forever.
The final nail in my wanton coffin came when I realised (how I hadn’t realised before, I know not) like a slap on a firm young butt cheek, that Rosy was identical in age and appearance to a character in the self-same novel I was hoping to promote! Almost as if by writing the words that described her, I’d literally conjured her up; written her into existence. There seemed more than a little madness in this notion, but it seemed all the more interesting for that.
My mind was racing, scorching through my skull to such a degree I could almost smell smoke, ‘Rosy has an eye for an image. She is clearly not averse to a little bit of kink. And she needs the money. If the images — which do not need to be overly numerous — are of sufficient impact, and in consequence are shared widely across a variety of sites, and are watermarked in such a way as to make the removal of such a mark impractical, then they will hopefully float around the world for many years to cum, thus advertising the book completely free of charge.’ How could it fail?
Essentially I wanted ownership of some of another human being’s data, to aid in the sale of some data of my own; forever connecting us — even without the presumption of a successful campaign. What was that worth? Not much, or everything?
Checking my email, I remembered that Rosy had mentioned she was going to be in Spain for the half term. Doing a quick calendar based calculation I worked out that she should be returning to the UK on Monday — at which point she would probably be required to go into quarantine for a couple weeks; giving me just enough time to work out the photographic details and hopefully negotiate the heavenly deal to the point of acceptance.
I recalled a phrase from an earlier email, ‘I can do anything but pussy and nipples in my pictures. The rest, whatever you want . . .’ Now, I have imagining’s deep and hard to master, and these words were like a ready canvas all over my smut-caked soul. My heart and cock skipped a beat as I mused all over the filthy possibilities, quickly moving on to a more freestyle approach.
Looking down from the conveyor belt I imagined Rosy on all fours on a small stack of empty wooden pallets, totally naked with her legs far enough apart that her clearly soaking wet pussy could be seen to glisten and wink. Proudly she stared ahead, awaiting the tumult that was about to be visited upon her helpless little form. As in an out of body experience, I glided insubstantially towards my prey.
Arriving at myself, already there, reaching down I spread wide her trembling cheeks and wiped my hands all over her cunt and arsehole, commanding her to stay still, ‘Don’t move. Get that arse in the air. I’m gonna fuck you until you piss all over my balls, you slutty little Spanish whore.’ Then, standing behind her — the pallets being just high enough that her cunt was arranged exactly at cock height — I took my cast iron rod in my hand and circled my eager helmet roughly around her filthy lips; rudely opening her up and forcing myself into her as deeply as she could take. It was a surprise to me, given how tight her pussy was, and how sizable my member was, that she took so much with that first hardly tentative stroke — letting out a groan that contorted the exquisite prettiness of her face into an aching expression of tortured lust. Gripping her shoulders I then fucked her hard and deep, with every thrust lifting her knee’s from the pallet, making her perfect young tits shudder and tremble, as she screamed and growled and petitioned the lord.
Releasing her shoulders, I pulled her head hard back by the hair with one hand, whilst sliding two fingers of my other hand into her arsehole, tormenting her anus as I continued to mercilessly pound her pussy with my furious cock; until after an agonised shriek of wild shuddering realisation, as I pumped her full of cum, Rosy lost control of herself all over my throbbing balls — her glorious bum hole gripping my fingers as she came and pissed at the same time. Whipping my still twitching cock from her pussy, I forced it into her mouth and commanded her to clean it up — her cummy piss dripping from my balls onto her flushed tits. Looking down into her beautiful jade eyes as she struggled to swallow me whole, I held fast the back of her head, causing her to gag and choke; whilst between her legs a cascade of our combined cum poured down, dripping onto the pallet and splashing Rosy’s thigh’s with a sparkling firmament of shining milky stars . . .
That was when I realised that the fire alarm was sounding! What the fuck? Quickly trousering my wicked thought’s I tumbled from the conveyor belt and moved from my place of concealment, instantly noticing an unusual fiery glow coming from the stairwell that led down to the boiler room.
As the sun rose that wonderful fateful morning, all that was left of the biscuit factory was a pile of smouldering crumbs. And as far as my job went, that was thankfully that. After a few hours of angry questions and high pitched shouting — my boss’s rancid pyjama’s clearly visible beneath his soot speckled beige suit — I handed over my keys and strolled off into a world refreshed, ruthlessly keeping a lid on my jubilation until I was back home — the warming glow of Rosy’s pert young freshly fucked body never leaving my mind for even a second.
The consequences of my inattentive patrolling were numerous and awful, but fuck that shit; I really didn’t care. I had more to think about than a job that no longer existed.
Only Rosy was on my mind. All over it in fact. I wanted to lick every millimetre of her. So, back to the plan.
There were questions. Firstly, would Rosy even return to the UK? Spain was by now considered to be a virus hotspot, with travel to and from being medically and politically frowned upon; and Manchester was fairing no better. And even if she did return, there was no guarantee she would immediately resume her cock jolting trade in 21st century sexual ephemera; perhaps a half-term trip back home would have a straightening effect on her exquisite naughtiness? And secondly, presuming the naughty Spanish teen to still be naughty, who was to say she wouldn’t just tell me to fuck off? After all, when all was said and done, I was just a standard pathetic middle-aged man in the midst of a standard pathetic mid-life crisis, desperately trying to get a teenage girl’s cloths off — yes please!
And finally, somewhat weirdly, I thought she might be some kind of spy — sent by some fiendish controller of unknown actors to fatally muddy my personal waters with her beguiling aroma in order to . . . what? Seems I was slightly losing it by this point.
Putting such nonsense away, I fed the cat and had a shower; tossing Rosy’s still smoking tights and knickers into the laundry basket with a sly smile. Then I lay down naked on my bed and pondered further the increasingly overwhelming feelings I was developing for this stunning little Spanish vixen who I really had no knowledge of — wishing that I had another pair of her filthy knicker’s to aid me in my breathing.
As I lay there, idly stroking my cock and juggling my balls, without a creak the door slowly opened, and backed by a wall of flame, in walked Rosy — naked but for a tight electric blue thong delineating the line of her vulva and compacting her labia into a tiny sweaty pile of juicy wonderment.
Grinning with practised shame, without a word she crossed the floor and stepped up onto the bed — her effervescent tits bouncing in time with her lithe little footsteps as she skipped across the springy mattress — until she was standing right above me; her sweaty cotton sheathed fuck hole perfectly in line with my beaming face. Then she lowered herself down so that her tasty little kitty was pressed right against my mouth, with her tiny smelly clit pushing against my nose. Opening my mouth I gently took hold of her and tongued and sucked her stanky crotch, staring up, watching her grinding down on my face as she crushed and squeezed her tits with abandoned excitement, until she was perilously near to cumming. At which point I reached up under her arms and lifted her into the air, standing as I did so, kissing her deeply, before throwing her down onto the bed and spreading her legs wide. ‘Don’t you fucking move,’ I commanded as I dropped to my knees.
Ignoring her desperate ruined whimpers, I then immediately yanked aside her sopping wet thong and dived into her pussy with my tongue, licking every fold of her, seeking out each exquisite little secret place and working her into a squealing frothing mess. As I busily lapped at her red hot cunt, spreading her open with my dirty wet finger’s, Rosy continued playing with her tits, pinching and pulling at her nipples, fighting against the building pressure deep inside. Knowing the time to be right, flicking the tip of my tongue across her aching clit, I slid my thumb into her arse and held her in place, whilst with my other hand I pressed down on her bladder; all the while enflaming her burning soul to the point of near expiration.
It wasn’t long before Rosy’s cunt exploded all over my face — her own deliciously cute face, with gritted teeth bared, exhaling wave after wave of noisy unendurable climax — releasing a deluge of tasty cum and piss, to splash across my elated tongue for just a moment, before I grabbed the back of her knees and pushed her legs back, manoeuvring her gushing open hole so that the tip of my blazing fuck-prod was exactly positioned ready to enter her in a single thrust; even as she soaked herself with her own outpouring’s.
Now, with the back of her ankles resting on my shoulders, I pushed down with all my might, fucking her without restraint, doing her completely, until she passed out in a breathless pile of shuddering orgasm — an orgasm that seemed destined to travel through every atom of her spent repose; leaving her quivering on the bed with her sodden thong doing nothing to cover her most shamefully dripping pussy hole; her arsehole refusing to stop winking as she dissolved into the panting ether of my happily deranging mind . . .
Hopefully — given I was no longer going to be in receipt of a living wage – I would still be able to afford to further my smutty aims in the next few weeks. Which should, I plotted, give me just enough time to work out how honest to be with sweet Rosy Glow about the even sweeter Carla Regaliza Vargas.