The Dominant Male

herself, you’ve no shame, shutting yourself in this feral-smelling little shithouse just to get off, you wanton little whore. She slid off her flattie shoes and felt the cold, hard floor on the soles of her feet, the hard lip of the toilet lid digging into the soft globes of her ass. Reaching into her bag, she brought out the stationery she had squirrelled away before lying back until she felt the hard edge of the cistern beneath her shoulder blades.
    Undoing the upper buttons of her shirt, she pulled it away from her breasts and kneaded them through the silky fabric of her bra. She liked to see her nipples harden underneath some soft film, betraying her horniness beneath the propriety of their cover, and she flicked at them and began to pinch them cruelly before moving her arms wider to give herself tender little pinches all over her belly and sides. Then, returning to her tits, she peeled the bra cups down and pulled them out and over them. Taking two large paperclips, she bent the open ends gently to see that they would give. Then, cupping the underside of her left breast, she slid one of them over the dark bumpy skin of her areola and along her nipple, releasing it gingerly until it hung free. Its bite made her wince and she felt the muscles throughout her body tense as she bore the pain for the moments it took to turn to pleasure. She was bearing it, and with that thought the sensation became a tingling numbness, a slow-burning but relentless one-way street - it was not allowed to come off until she had climaxed.
    She gave her right breast treatment to match her left, and a couple of slaps for good measure, before slipping down the rasping zip at the side of her skirt and raising her hips to slide it down her legs and onto the floor, leaving her belt in place. With the shafts of tingling pain from her tits and the pulsing between her legs, she was growing impatient now, and she shoved the fat highlighter pen down the top of her tights but couldn’t get anything like a satisfying angle. She teased her clit, drawing back its hood repeatedly with the side of the pen, its plastic quickly slick, but knew with frustration that she would have to stop again before she could continue. She could carry on and, at length, come like this, but she craved it deeper, harder and quicker. Withdrawing the pen, she reached into her bag again and removed some nail scissors from her small collection of make-up.
    Tenting her tights in front of her knickers with the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, which still held the small bunch of elastic bands, she snipped at the mesh with the scissors in her right until a small hole appeared. Inserting her fingers, she ripped it wider with alacrity, the loud renting sound punctuating the silence-of the toilets in testament to her depravity. Perhaps she should have gone to the trouble of removing them with her skirt, but the profligacy too was part of the thrill.
    Easing her white cotton knickers to one side, she began to flick her distended clit fumblingly with an elastic band, sending out little shafts of pain that joined with those from her tormented nipples, before glancing down and stretching the rubber band vertically from the hood of her clit to her perineum until it banded her folds like the string on a joint of meat on a butcher’s counter. Becky rubbed her sliver of flesh against the elastic band, holding the rubber still, making it dig painfully into her strengthening clit.
    But her inventiveness had begun to flow further. She took the highlighter pen and three other elastic bands and wound them tightly around the plastic cylinder, leaving the others around her wrists, and creating three separate sets of firm ridges along the pen for her juicy quim to grip. Placing the device at the mouth of her pussy, she pushed about an inch of it gingerly up her, including the first ridge, enough for her to contract around and hold there while she gave her nipples further playful, painful twists, taking hold of the paperclips and rotating them sharply.
    The pen looked so obscene sticking out of her, and her fanny looked so humiliatingly displayed, pulsing greedily around the pen, that she could hold back no longer, and she began to frig the pen in and out, gently at first and then with increasing punishment, and the tiled room filled with steady slicking sounds. Holding the cap firmly in her palm, she pushed the pen inside until her hand was flat against her quim, and arched her back still