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Lucy1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Nasty Lucy's Lament
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I can't explain it. Her I am, at forty two year old, a
modest woman by all accounts that I can think of, and
suddenly obsessed with to things that are nasty.
I remember exactly when it started. Not more than a few
months ago anyway. I found that putting myself in what were
to me, compromising situations to be an addicting turn on.
I guess exhibitionism is truly masochistic it you're
extremely modest. And the joys of masochistic pleasure are
almost impossible to explain to those that haven't shared
them. Still, I've started this journal because I think it's
absolutely wicked to not only do the things I find myself
doing, but to commit them to writing, in case at some point
in the future, I will want to share this record with others
for my own submissive pleasure.
My name is Lucy, I'm single, and work in a bank as a
secretary.
I'm plain, 5' 2", thin and small breasted,
I liked younger boys as a teenager and even into my early
twenties because they were so obsessed with their stiff
little pricks there was hardly a reason to be self conscious
about my own naughty hungers. Sex with me was always a
consuming act. While usually staying fairly within the
lines of conventional sex, I was consumed by fantasies of
the most outrageous behavior. The few times I crossed the
line were extremely shameful to me, leaving me with
tremendous guilt feelings and at the same time, fueled the
fantasies that I masturbated to sleep by.
My mid and late twenties were almost without sex,
Suddenly in my thirties, my sexuality resurfaced, hitting me
like a sack of flour. It was like I looked in the mirror
one morning and saw my tits for the first time. I remember,
my nipples were so stiff they hurt, and my cunt was lubing
like I was sixteen all over again. Only now, I was at an
age where I could behave in any outrageous manner I choose
without the fears of a teenager.
I remember that I got dressed that day the same way as
always, panties, bra, pantyhose, full slip, blouse and
conservative dress and jacket. When I left the apartment
that mourning, my panties were already getting sticky from
the lube I was pouring into them.
I could actually smell a faint odor of myself as I drove to
work that mourning. I remember being grateful for not
wearing a light colored dress for fear that my moisture
would drip down and form a noticeable puddle while I drove,
leaving what would be a visible stain. For no reason at all
I was beginning to feel, well, dirty in some way for being
so wet. And the simple truth is, that feeling dirty turned
me on. Even more than whatever was making me wet, the
feeling dirty was what was getting to me, and I could see it
just as plain as day.
So, Lucy, I thought to myself, after thirty two years of
fairly straight living, why not see where this takes you.
Why not be "dirty" or "nasty" or whatever was stuck far in
the back of my mind making me want to drink in the feeling.
The reason I'm fairly clear on all of this is that this day
marked a very clear turn around in my day to day living and
philosophy. I truly went from one end of the spectrum to
another, and still don't know why. But, I can report, I am
one nasty little lady that would not want to go back.
On that day I started thinking of myself in the third person
as Nasty Lucy. And even now, the word nasty is like an
appetizer that makes me hungry for something nasty or
nastier.
I stopped at CVS on Washington St. A young girl at the
sales counter asked what she could get me, I pointed behind
her and asked for a half dozen Trojans. The girl seemed a
little surprised but recovered well. She opened a paper bag
and put the condoms in directly to minimize my embarrassment
should any other customers approach to counter before I
finished paying her.
She handed me the bag. I shocked her by taking them out of
the bag and handled the two boxes openly as she rung up the
sale. "They don't feel that bad but I really hate the way
these things taste afterwards." I confided to her. Her
cheeks turned bright crimson. Mine too. As cunt juice
dripped into my panties, I was fully aware that I would
relive this moment all day, thrilled and embarrassed by my
own behavior.
The sales girl, was thrown through a loop. My behavior
obviously didn't go with my somewhat conservative, proper
appearance. In fact, she may have seen my prior mousy self
in the store some times in the past. In any event, it was
clear she was embarrassed "for" me and wanted to end our
transaction before another customer came to the counter.
I paid for the condoms and put the boxes in my purse,
picturing in my mind peeling one of them off of a softening
prick and sticking my tongue deep into its spermy wetness.
I remembered as a teen, my boyfriend calling them "scum
bags". I loved that phrase. I could almost smell the acrid
ammonia smell of sperm and stretched rubber whenever I
though of that word.
I walked the next block to the office with burning red
cheeks as if everyone on the street was aware of my nasty
thoughts.
I said good mourning to the girls in the office just like
any other mourning, but in my minds eye, I saw myself
sticking a condom covered tongue out to them for them to
look at while I gagged on the sperm soaked rubber rolled all
the way down my tongue like some thin pick little prick.
The need to behave outrageously was overpowering. It was
all I could do to hold it in check through the morning. As
I sat typing, I would squeeze my thighs together and release
them constantly trying to build friction on my clit.
I imagined myself at one point pulling my skirt and slip up
around my waist and sitting down flat on the floor and
dragging my crotch against the carpet like a little bitch
dog dragging its itchy asshole across the floor. I had a
tremendous urge to piss in my panties, just the slightest
squirt, but I wasn't quite ready to go that far yet. For
now the thought of it was enough to satisfy.
At 11:30 I left for lunch going directly to the elevator and
going down and out of the building without talking to
anyone.
It's funny, I wanted so much to do something outrageously
nasty and degrading, and my mind, unused to such things as
it was at the time couldn't seem to come up with anything.
Just the desire alone to do something nasty wasn't
satisfying me, I wanted to do something. I wanted to go
back to the office totally ashamed of something.
Crossing Washington Street, my nasty plan formed in my mind
like a flash. As though on auto pilot, I approached the
street vendor, ordered a plan hot dog and wrapping the a
napkin around it put it in my purse. Exited as I was with
my little plan, I had the presence of mind to keep my purse
open while paying to boy, so he could see the condom
packages, his surprised, embarrassed look make my checks
redden delightfully. I lubed as I walk across the street to
Omni.
Entering the hotel, I went up the escalator to the main
floor and found the ladies room, then down to the last
stall. I places my jacket on the hook making sure it
covered the crack between the door and the frame, pulled my
dress and slip up and pushed my panties down to my knees
then let them fall to my ankles.
Sitting on the toilet, I spread my legs as far as they would
go and unwrapped my sandwich. I took the hot-dog from the
roll and put the roll between my legs, rubbing it or
sponging to be more accurate against my wet cunt. When I
say wet I mean I was lubing enough to make the top half of
the roll very soggy.
With all my resolve I brought my now creamy roll to my lips
and sucked the wet half of the roll into my mouth. I didn't
chew it, I just let it dissolve tasting my own disgusting
juices mixed with the gritty texture of wet bread dough. Oh
yes, this was nasty. But I was already finding I was a
natural at inventing nasty things to do, and was on my way
to much greater nastiness. I rubbed the remaining half of
the roll against my ashore, just to be dirty, and let it
drop into the commode. Then totally fascinated with my
venture, I took one of the condoms from my purse, opened
it's foil wrapper, and pushing the tip of the hot-dog
against the flat center of the condom rolled it down the
length of the warm meat. The condoms lubrication was cool,
which for some reason made the use of it more nastier in my
mind than if it had been naturally warm.
I then took my condom covered hot dog and pushed it into my
sloppy wet cunt. I fucked myself sitting there on the
toilet for a good two or three minutes. Nasty as the act
was, I couldn't cum this way, but I was looking more for
self debasement than orgasm anyway so I didn't mind.
I finally stopped fucking myself and brought the condom
covered meat to my mouth and licked some of my cunt juice
from the outside of my fake prick. Then unrolling the
condom, I stuck out my tongue and rolled the condom over it,
tasting the saltiness of the meat on my tongue and the
pungent flavor of my cunt on the roof of my mouth. Now I
was getting aroused, I was fingering my cunt and rubbing my
clit with my right hand while I held the hot dog in my
left.
Then feeling absolutely wicked, I raised up of the toilet
seat as much as I could while keeping my legs spread at the
knees. I put the hot dog down between my legs and pushed
the tip of it against the tight little ring of my moist
asshole. This gave me a truly deliciously wicked feeling.
Rolling my eyes, fingering my cunt and tongue fucking my
condom, I pushed the hot dog a good three inches up my
ass. I could feel when it passed the ring of my shithole
and at least two inches of it was actually in my rectum,
being heated by it's foul contents.
Without allowing myself time to think or rationalize, I
pushed my worked the condom off my tongue with my lips and
spit it onto the floor, and it one quick motion pulled my
now nasty hot-dog out of my ass and brought it to my mouth
and bit off the end that had been deepest up my bowels. It
wasn't grossly covered, but I could clearly taste where it
had been. At this point I was masturbating furiously, and
as I chewed my filthy lunch, I came, producing enough
juices to soak my for fingers and the palm of my hand which
I rubbed around my cunt like a sponge.
Dropping the unsoiled half of the hot dog into the toilet, I
brought by now slimy hand to my mouth and sucked it clean
making faint mewing sounds just for the pleasure of hearing
myself.
I stood, turned facing the commode and bent at the hips to
reach down to grip and pull up my panties. I got a pleasant
sense of wickedness from this as it brought my face right
into the rim of the toilet bowl, allowing me to inhale the
feted odors that gather in such places.
Standing there, I was surprised that the watery looking
remnants of the hot dog roll and the half eaten greasy hot
dog looked nastier floating in the toilet then a turd and
soiled paper. I picked to condom up off the floor and
dropped it into the commode finishing the artwork I would
leave floating to greet the next person to use the toilet.
I considered waiting until the outer door opened and someone
else entered so that person could see me leave and then see
the evidence of my nastiness, but I had to be back to work.
Still, the prospect of someone connecting the contents of
the toilet with the memory of me leaving somewhat red faced
was delicious.
As the glow of orgasm faded I was starting to feel the
welcomed overwhelming shame of my little act. Like someone
angry and wanting to keep the feeling, I sucked on my tongue
for any forbidden remnants while staring into the toilet and
straightening my clothes.
As I descended the escalator back to street level I wanted
to stick my tongue out so the people on the up escalator
across from me could see the imaginary stains of my act. I
imagined sticking it out further and further, gagging, while
all of them looked in revulsion at my nasty tongue.
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