by Joanna Angel
I saw a fitting room in the back of the store. I found this odd—it didn’t seem to be the type of establishment where you showed someone your garments, and a bored employee handed you a bigger size. As far as I could tell, there was only one employee who worked here, sitting near the register with headphones on, and they didn’t seem to want to be bothered. Rob managed to locate all the pieces of the mannequin’s outfit in the store in a matter of seconds—truly, it was impressive how quickly he found it all, and I found myself wondering again whether Rob might secretly be a stripper.
I walked back toward the dressing room, but it was locked. I had no choice but to disrupt the employee with headphones and ask him to do work.
“Excuse me, can you unlock the room for me? I have some things I need to try on,” I said.
He angrily shifted his headphones behind his ears. “I don’t care what you do in there, but you pay for it and it unlocks itself.” And then his headphones went back on his ears. I didn’t understand. What kind of shady fitting room hustle were they running over there? But I suppose you can’t expect the same customer service that you’d get at Bloomingdales in a store whose featured film on their shelf was titled I Creampied my Stepmom.
I glanced back toward the fitting room, and Rob was there giggling, putting dollar bills into a machine right next to the fitting room door, still holding a handful of PVC clothing.
“Come on! Get in here!” Rob motioned me toward him. I walked back over to the unethical fitting room, where Rob rushed me in and shut the door. The room was small and weirdly dark, with nothing but a large red leather chair and no mirror at all. There was a television screen playing what I believed was their featured film. It was the same stepmom and son combo I’d seen on the box cover . . . though we weren’t at the creampie part quite yet. The mother was currently consoling the son, who’d apparently had a bad day, with a sloppy, passionate blow job. Suddenly, everything made sense. I mean, the mother giving her stepson a blow job didn’t make a lot of sense, but it suddenly clicked that we were not in a fitting room, we were in a jerk-off booth. Rob gave me a sinister smile, and he sat in the red leather chair. “Put the outfit on. Lemme see it on you!”
“Don’t worry, mommy will make everything better,” said a blonde, busty woman on the TV, as she stroked the younger man’s cock. I turned the sound off. This particular selection of pornography did not match with my outfit at all.
I quickly removed my summer dress and my flats. I put on the PVC skirt and its matching top. I stepped into the high-heeled boots. I was now eight inches taller than I normally was, and I will admit, it felt powerful.
I stood in front of the TV, hoping the porn would serve as a backlight and illuminate me. I stood there, tall and proud, with a fierce expression on my face. Rob was in the chair directly across from me, doing what was intended to be done in this booth. He took his cock out of his pants and stroked it while he watched me.
“You like it?” I said. It was a redundant question because it was pretty obvious that he liked the outfit. Unless this boner was inspired by the stepmom. If that was the case, then we simply were not meant to be.
“Yeah, you look fucking hot,” he said as he continued to stroke his big beautiful cock. He squirted a glob of complimentary lube on his cock, which was conveniently placed right next to the couch. Maybe this room wasn’t so unethical after all. His cock glistened as he stroked it slowly. I stood there and moved my hands down the PVC outfit, which felt slick and smooth against my skin.
“Mistress, am I allowed to cum?” he said.
To see what happens if Naomi doesn’t allow Rob to cum, turn to page 268.
To see what happens if Naomi allows Rob to cum, but only if he changes the movie, turn to page 272.
Oh wow . . . holy shit. I didn’t know that’s where this was going, but I was quite happy to be there. I’d never been anyone’s mistress in any sense of the word. I had never had sex with someone who was married, and I had never stood in front of anyone jerking off while dressed in leather and PVC. I had no idea how to embrace this moment of unexpected empowerment, but I had to think quickly. We were paying by the minute here, and we’d only purchased ten minutes.
“No, you may not cum. You haven’t earned it,” I ordered.
“What can I do to deserve it?” he begged. Hmm. That was a very good question, and the answer definitely needed to involve me getting an orgasm. How could I achieve this? If he bent me over and fucked me, I wouldn’t really be in charge anymore. Also, there was nothing to really bend over in here. I took a moment, and instead of overanalyzing the situation, I thought to myself, I am your superior. Your cock is there to please me. You do as I say. I became the character I’d invented, and it felt fucking good.
“Take your hands off your cock, and I will use it like the sex toy that it is,” I said sternly. He obediently took his hands off his cock and it stood there, rock hard and tall. I deliberately walked over to his chair, unzipped my skirt and threw it on the ground, and faced away from him in the reverse cowgirl position. I slowly lowered myself onto him, my vagina stretching around his large, hard shaft, and I felt a sense of power inside my full pussy. I rode up and down on it like it was my own personal dildo. His curvy cock hit my G-spot almost instantly from this angle, but I didn’t want to let him know how fucking good it felt. I could hear him breathing heavily, and I could feel his cock throbbing inside of me. I rode him harder, heard the sound of skin against skin, felt his legs trembling under my hands.
“That’s a good boy,” I said.
“How can I please you, Mistress?” he asked. While his cock alone was doing a damn good job of pleasing me, I figured I’d indulge in the moment and make him do a little extra work. I grabbed his hand and put it on my clit.
“Rub my clit while I use your cock to cum,” I said, and he did exactly as I instructed. I was surprised at how well I could balance myself on his cock in these giant heels, but it was safe to assume that these shoes were not made for walking, but for fucking. He licked his fingers and rubbed my clit while I rode his cock, rubbing it at the perfect pace, not too fast but not too slow. He had already proven himself to be quite knowledgeable when it came to clit rubbing. What a good sex slave!
“Am I pleasing you properly?” he asked. I smacked his hand away and pulled my pussy off his cock, even though I didn’t want to. I was committed to this character, and she didn’t tolerate forgetfulness. “How do you address me when you speak to me?” I shouted at him. I hope he knew the answer, because I was close to cumming and I wanted to jump back on his cock immediately.
“Am I pleasing you properly . . . Mistress!?” he said. Thank fucking god.
“That’s right. Yes. Now continue!” I replied, and I slid my wet pussy back onto his lubed-up cock. He went right back to what he’d been doing so perfectly. I could feel the inside and outside of my pussy tensing up. I rode his dick fiercely, and his hand obediently kept up with my pace. I changed my stroke to a grind, pushing my pussy all the way down his length, pushing it as far inside me as it could go. He still managed to find just enough clit to rub from this angle. I was about to explode.
My body started shaking. I was cumming so hard, cumming from the inside of my pussy and the outside of my clit. It was like a two-for-one special, an inner and outer orgasm double. I kept his giant cock deep inside me until I couldn’t possibly cum any more. I wanted to lie back against him, but I remembered I was still his Mistress. So I got up and stood in front of him, looked him right in the eyes, and said, “Now, you may cum.”
I watched him stroke himself, while grunting and moaning. It didn’t take long, and after just a few strokes, beautiful white icing came out of him and covered his entire hand and cock. It was such a big, juicy load, just dying to get out. He smiled and sat there, covered in his own cum, adoring his Mistress. The lights started flashing in the room, which I guessed was a courtesy reminder to get the fuck out.
Rob reached down for the box of tissues on the floo
r and noticed it was empty. My anger for this room returned. Why was there only one box of tissues in here, and why the fuck was it empty? That’s bare minimum maintenance for a jerk-off room. Sheesh! Did he really want people purchasing things at the register with jizz filled hands?
I took it upon myself to turn lemons into lemonade here, and by lemons I really mean “ejaculate.” I crouched down and licked up all the jizz on Rob’s hand and cock. It broke my character because this wasn’t really a dominant move, but this Mistress logistically needed to drink Rob’s cum.
“Oh fuck yeah,” he said as I slurped up his cum. “You’re such a dirty girl.” I smiled and continued to search for any last drop of cum I could find on his chiseled stomach.
Rob truly brought the slut out of me. I might make a good stripper after all.
To go back and see what happens if Naomi allows Rob to cum, turn to page 272.
To continue with Naomi in this fantasy, turn to page 277.
“Not yet,” I said.
I watched him stroke his cock, and he even started tugging on his own balls. I made a mental note of that—I would remember to pay more attention to his balls next time he was in my mouth. He stared at me, his mouth open, saying, “Please Mistress, I want to cum so bad,” and I could really see it on his face. He was suffering from severe pain, and my permission was the only antidote. I reveled in this powerful moment.
“Son, I love you so much, I want you to put a baby in me!” I heard from the TV behind me. I cringed, and while I tried to remain focused on Rob’s throbbing cock, I couldn’t help but snap out of character. In the past twenty-four hours I’d discovered parts of my own sexuality that I never knew existed, but nowhere in that new sexuality did stepsons impregnating their mothers excite me.
“Change the channel, then . . . maybe you can cum,” I said.
“Are you serious?” Rob replied. I couldn’t believe this early on in our relationship we were already arguing over what to watch on TV.
“Yes! Change the fucking channel!” I said. I was on the verge of going from “sexy dominatrix pissed” to “actual pissed.” Rob continued to stroke his cock with his left hand while he frantically pushed buttons on a remote with his right. The first one made the volume louder, and I was starting to feel ill. And then, thankfully, a different button switched to a sexier, and much more relatable fantasy for me, and this was all about pleasing me anyway, right?
“Hey! I’m the neighbor next door, and I need you guys to keep it down, I’m trying to study,” said a petite, skinny brunette in jean shorts and a red crop top to three incredibly buff men. She was standing in the doorway of what appeared to be a mansion. I mean, I hear my neighbors all the time, but we share a wall so that’s to be expected. I thought that in these alternate universes where neighbors had yards between their walls, you could yell as loudly as you wanted. Apparently, not in this neighborhood.
“But there’s a game on! And, my friends are here! Come on. Why don’t you just come in and watch it with us, and study later?”
The girl hesitated for about half a second and then shrugged her shoulders and said, “Okay! Sure!” She walked into the mansion, past various modern art sculptures and paintings scattered throughout the living room. I could only assume that the homeowner spent all his budget on art and skimped on proper wall insulation.
The girl had flawless skin, dark brown hair, and a perfectly contoured face, with all the bronzers and highlighters in the right places. I mean who puts bronzer on to study! Clearly she had other motives here.
Rob continued to stroke his cock and whimper at me in despair. I was caught up in the, um, plot here, and my eyes were glued to the TV. But I walked back toward his corner of the room, took his hand off his own cock, and started stroking it. There’s something so innocent about giving a guy a hand job when you’re watching a movie . . . even if the movie is about three burly, handsome men running train on a college student who is supposed to be studying with bronzer on.
I squirted some more lube on his cock, and I enjoyed the slippery gushing sounds my hand made as I jerked his cock off. “Fuck yeah,” Rob muttered. I moved up and down his penis slowly, feeling every part of his shaft. I knew it wanted so badly to explode, but I just wasn’t going to let that happen until I saw how these three large men would fit inside this incredibly petite woman.
Fortunately for Rob (and me), we wouldn’t have to wait that long. The brunette started masturbating after giving the game about a forty-second chance and stating it was “boring.” She had a tight, compact clamshell pussy, which her French-manicured fingers spread open and rubbed in reaction to the boring game. Her jeans skirt was hiked up to her stomach. The three men looked at each other and shrugged, and moments later she was on her knees with three giant cocks swarming around her face. She took turns vigorously sucking them, her tiny mouth barely able to fit around the heads of their cocks, keeping one dick in her mouth and two in her hands.
Her eyes opened wider, and suddenly her horny superpowers kicked in and somehow . . . she deep-throated an entire cock that looked bigger than her head. It went from barely in her mouth to all the way down her throat in one solid gulp. Her eyes watered. She pulled back, and long strings of saliva dripped out of her mouth and onto the beautiful cock she’d just devoured. The other two guys cheered them on with an equal amount of excitement for both the neighbor and their friend getting his dick swallowed. I have to admit, I got wet watching this.
I continued to stroke Rob’s cock, and it was clear, his eyes were on me. Neither a studying student nor an impregnated stepmom could take him away from me, and that certainly was a devotion I never thought I’d have, in a jerk-off booth nonetheless.
I leaned against the wall and I pulled up my PVC skirt. “Come here. Fuck me,” I said, and he complied, sliding his cock inside of me, pushing himself into me, furiously grabbing onto my breasts. With just one little snap I undid my top, and . . . it was good to know this thing was, in fact, easy to take off! He held onto my breasts, pulling against them to get his cock further inside of me. I felt so full of his cock.
And speaking of feeling full, the petite girl was now completely full of cock herself. She had one giant handsome man underneath her, in her ass, one guy in her pussy, and one guy balancing himself on the couch and plunging his cock in her mouth. She handled all three cocks beautifully. They slid in and out of her, and she seemed hungry for more. Her pussy somehow still looked like a barely opened coin slot. She was like a vaginal unicorn of sorts. I loved the way this girl handled all these men with such elegance, and such filth. I would definitely have to channel her energy while I was on stage.
Rob continued to fuck me. I wanted to go to work with his sperm tucked deep inside me, in some secret compartment of my pussy that only belonged to him. And . . . I guess one of these guys on the screen, if they ever wanted to be invited. I glanced back over to the TV, and the girl was now taking turns on all the guys, who sat side by side on the couch, politely and patiently waiting for their turn with their neighbor’s pussy. She rode each cock—a few good pumps on each one, then onto the next. She started moaning loudly, and so did I. I was sure the entire store could hear me, and I was sure her whole neighborhood could hear her, because apparently that house had terrible acoustics.
“Mistress, can I please cum NOW?!” Rob asked, in between deep plunges into me. I had to say yes. I wanted his cum more than anything. I was his Mistress and his little cum dumpster mixed into one. He pushed me hard against the wall, and I felt a warm gush of goodness in me. He clenched, his fingers dug deep into my shoulders, and he shook inside me. And then suddenly the TV went off, and some lights started blinking. I assumed this meant our time was up, and while I would have loved to see how the rest of the story panned out, I think I had a pretty good idea of how it ended.
It was now time for my own adventure to begin. And with the power of proper clothing and Rob’s jizz, I knew I could do anything. Club 42, here I come!
To go back
and see what happens if Naomi doesn’t allow Rob to cum, turn to page 268.
To continue with Naomi in this fantasy, turn to page 277.
“I can’t believe you’re really leaving tomorrow,” I said to Rob. It was 8:00 a.m., and Rob and I just had a hot session of morning sex. The sunlight blasted through my window, illuminating his muscles and the load of jizz on my stomach that was slowly starting to disintegrate into my skin. Rob was leaving for a three-month tour tomorrow, and I was legitimately upset about it. The downside of dating a rock star is that, inevitably, they had to at some point go be a rock star. He had to go and entertain people in arenas across the country, and this would mean he wouldn’t be able to entertain my pussy the way he’d successfully been doing for the past month.
And speaking of my pussy, that had also done a fair amount of entertaining this month. Spilling coffee on someone was the greatest mistake I ever made. I enjoyed my job, and coming home and hanging out with Rob with a purse full of cash, telling him about how much I turned everyone on all day, was truly the fairytale romance I never knew could actually exist. I’d practice my routines for him, and he’d occasionally surprise me with sparkly, stringy thongs that I’d wear to work, so it felt like a piece of him was close to my pussy all day.
I know I wasn’t a seasoned professional, but I had come a long way from the girl who wore her street clothes on stage. I had a handful of “customers” who came in to see me regularly, I had a small collection of different stripper outfits, and these outfits coordinated with different songs and routines that I came up with. And oh yes! I had a stripper name. I called myself “Indica,” after . . . okay, after the strain of marijuana that Rob smoked and I’d occasionally indulge in. I always thought this was an elegant name for something that inevitably led you to giggle and eat entire bags of potato chips.
