Her Wimpy Lord and Master

MISTRESS DAKOTA

Why had Dakota married Claymore? He was such a nebbish, homely while she was beautiful, and very average-mind wise. And he said the stupidest things.

Dakota met Claymore when he was a clerk at her father's car-rental franchise.

Unlike the rich men and playboys who picked hot little "Koti" up in their sports cars, Claymore was a lifer as Dad's counter clerk. He wasn't qualified to do anything else.

Why hadn't he gone to college?

"I'm a libertarian."

Huh?

Clay told Koti he wouldn't go to Buttermilk State because it was a public college, and since taxation was theft.

Buttermilk U. was state supported, getting a break on the tuition, as a libertarian would be "receiving stolen goods".

He constantly said stupid shit, and she let him take her out so she could hear what dumb-ass thing he'd say next, and before she knew it, they were married.

So dull. She couldn't even remember what Claymore's first name was. It was so forgettable. It had come up at the wedding, but...

Think, now she was Dakota "Koti" Claymore!

And yet, he was a strangely calming influence in her life.

All Dakota's life, she'd been catered to, and sometimes it annoyed her, and made her a bit high-strung.

And Clay knew how to distract her from all that!

Now, Koti was tied spread eagled to the bed, and Clay rolled a small marble up and down her inner thigh. Uuuuup and dooown.

"Please, closer to my clit, Clay." Koti moaned.

"In my own time, dear." Clay said primly, adjusting his pince-nez spectacles.

Claymore pushed the marble just a bit nearer to Dakota's love box rubbing it just outside her soaking bush.

"Please, you're driving me--"

Clay dropped the marble and slapped the inside of Dakota's thigh sharply.

"I said in my own time."

"Yes, sir." Dakota said humbly.

She looked up at his little jowl.

Clay was five foot six to her five eleven, and much too persnickety. His opinions and behaviors made them the laughingstock of their progressive social group, and yet...

Clay reached into his shirt pocket and took out a nice Number Two yellow pencil, the sort that you used to take the SATs, if you weren't a Fox News watching clerkish libertarian.

"Oh no." she murmured. What Claymore could do with a pencil was...

He poked the inside of her vaginal hood with the eraser end, rubbing it up and down, and in and out, and Dakota attempted to push her hips to achieve more friction.

But of course Clay had tied her much too tightly for that.

Immobile, she decided to pretend the pencil tease wasn't bothering her. But she was almost biting her tongue. It was so enthralling. His coordination was exquisite.

She'd tried to impress Claymore with her superb cocksucking skills.

Sometimes during these teasing sessions, he'd stop touching her entirely and just stick his little dick in her mouth.

And he didn't moan when he came. It was more of a "Mmmm-hmm" when she was done, and he'd just pull out and walk off.

Other men had praised Koti and thanked God for her, but her husband wasn't lavish with his compliments

And there was no quid pro quo for this guy.

Clay could cum five or six times--fucking Koti's face, her twat, sometimes turning her over and giving her a pounding up her Hershey highway.

But that didn't mean he would treat her to a rare but shuddering orgasm.

When Clay did take mercy on Koti, it certainly was a glorious experience!

And Dakota was calmer now. She didn't smoke anymore, and was no longer in therapy, and she'd been going since she was seven.

She jogged regularly, Claymore often accompanying her in his ancient Honda.

He refused to drive her Lamborghini, insisting that driving stick-shift agitated his heart murmur issues.

Apparently, Dakota wasn't the only woman that Clay controlled, or who he had this peculiar affect on.

He had a chesty, possessive ex, Seirra, and before Dakota had taken out a restraining order, Seirra was a constant presence in the car rental office.

Seirra had once been seen crawling out from under Dempsey's desk, wiping her mouth as Dakota's plodding little husband got up to use (of course) the pencil sharpener.

"You have much too much hair down here, Dakota." Claymore observed succinctly. "I am going to get the tweezers unless you promise to get a bikini wax this week."

"I-I promise." Dakota's arms were starting to feel a little numb, stretched out as they were.

Clay stuck a chubby finger into Koti's slit, and ran it up and down and all around, and her hips, trammeled as they were, began shaking.

Dakota closed her eyes. Ooooh. Closer...closer....

But then Clay withdrew his fingers.

"Please, oh, please Clay." Dakota murmured. "Please fuck me, or at least let me diddle myself, I'll do it kneeling on the floor while sucking your--"

Clay slapped Koti's jaw, not too hard.

"Please don't be vulgar, Dakota." He playfully made his fingers do the walking, Yellow-Pages style, over her bare breasts, just grazing her right nipple.

Back across her taut stomach and descending into the Bermuda Triangle.

Claymore gently took the edge of Koti's clitoral lips with thumb and forefinger, and tweaked it a bit.

With his right hand, he went into his pocket and brought out a clothespin, and he attached it to her inner thigh, and began twisting it.

"How do you feel now?"

"P-please finish me off, Clay." She was so frustrated, but she begged for these marathon sessions.

The doorbell rang, and giving the clothespin one last twist, Clay left the room, and of course Koti felt like screaming.

He often did this, leaving her at the edge, tied miserably, to play on the Internet or watch football.

Sometimes she'd be near tears when he returned.

Now he came back in with a grotesque redhead.

"You remember Shailine, don't you, Dakota?"

Koti couldn't believe he'd brought this stranger...in here!

She was naked for God's sake!

Shailine giggled and popped her gum.

She was clad in a striped tube top from about 1981, and Koti realized she was a student at the hairdressing academy across the street.

"Shay and I are going to make whoopee--" So Seventies! "in the other room. But first I want you to heat her up with your tongue."

Shailine giggled and began unbuttoning her tight jeans.

"N-no, absolutely not. Get her out of here. When I get untied, I'll call the police."

"You sure about that?" Claymore smirked. "I'll untie you now, and take Shay to a motel."

"No, but what about my orgasm--Oooomph!" Shailine had plopped on Koti's face and she wasn't an aficionado of aerobics, to say the least.

"Give Shay five orgasms, and you might get one."

Dakota's delicate little mouth almost drowned in Shailene's huge, distended vagina.

But she was so aroused by this--this humiliation, this oral assault by the proletariat!

Claymore sat back down on the edge of the bed and resumed operations with the pencil, the marble and the clothespin.

It was going to be a long afternoon.