America’s Next Top Slut

Sometimes i find myself in situations that truly astound me.   How does a thirty-six year old soccer mom with a couple of college degrees end up with a feather duster shoved up her ass? 

i blame America’s Next Top Model.  Have you ever watched that show? It’s like televised crack.  There i was minding my own business, getting ready to do my chores, when i flipped on the TV searching for music to listen to when i stumbled across a Top Model marathon.  It sucks you right in because you look at those girls without their make-up and you think, ‘hey! i’m just as pretty as they are.  Why if i could only grow a foot or two  i could totally be on this show!’  And before you know it you’ve watched five episodes and then you look at the clock and realise that your Master is going to be home in less than an hour.  That’s when you start doing the mad dance that i like to call the scared slave shuffle.

 Sweep.  Mop.  Dishes.  Tub.  Toilets.  Sink.  Beds.  Vacuum.

i worked hard and fast.  When he walked in the door there were only two things on my chore list that weren’t completed…dusting and windows.  As i knelt by the door waiting on him to acknowledge me i mentally crossed my fingers and hoped he wouldn’t notice.  Really i don’t think he did notice, but unfortunately he asked me flat out if i had completed all the chores he’d assigned and i had to be honest and admit that i didn’t get the windows and the dusting done.  Then he asked me an even harder question.  Why? 

What to do…what to do.  Would he believe me if i told him that an angry swarm of midgets broke into the house and demanded tiny pedicures?  Probably not.  i decided to just tell him the truth and admit i’d wasted most of my day watching  television.  When i told him he stood up and left the room without saying a word. 

He returned shortly with a condom and a feather duster.  The feather duster had hot pink feathers and a white handle.  He handed them both to me and told me to put the condom on the duster. 

Condoms embarrass me.  They always have.  i hate having to open them or unroll them onto a cock.  It makes me feel all awkward and clumsy and i always feel like i am doing it all wrong.  It was even more awkward putting one on a feather duster.  The duster handle wasn’t big enough to really stretch the condom out.  i rolled it onto the handle as best i could, but it just seemed to hang there all loose and weird looking. 

After i finished i looked up at him, blushing, and awaited further instructions.  i didn’t have to wait long before he gave the terse command, “ass up.”   i may have hesitated a split second as the reality of what he was going to do sank in because he made me jump when he practically shouted, “NOW!”

i scrambled around and put my face on the floor and my ass in the air.  i held my breath as the humiliation of the situation washed over me.  Thankfully the condom was pre-lubed because i doubt he’d have bothered doing it himself.  He was none too gentle when he slid the handle of the duster into my tight hole.  After he finished he told me to stand up.  i climbed awkwardly to my feet and stood before him with my head bowed low. 

“Turn around,”  he said, his tone just as terse as before.  i turned around and presented my feather filled bottom to him.  “Shake your ass,” he ordered and as i obeyed i could feel heat flushing my cheeks with an even deeper shade of red.

“Now ask nicely for permission to finish dusting,”  he said.  Ugh.  Humiliation is hard enough without having to beg for it.  “Please Master, may your girl finish the dusting?”  The plea sounded robotic even to my own ears.  “BEG,” he ordered, leaning back in his chair and watching me closely.  “Please, Master, please…please may your girl dust for you?”  

He continued to make me beg for a few minutes and then granted me permission to dust.  Talk about embarrassing.  This was probably one of the most humiliating things he’d ever put me through, and that is saying a lot.  He loved humiliating me.  

He never left the living room as he watched me try to shake my ass and make the feathers dust off the furniture.  Most of the time i had to squat down and then shake my ass, which isn’t as easy as it sounds.  It is hard to look graceful in a squat, especially with a chicken hanging out of your butt. 

Finally, he allowed me to stop dusting even though we both knew i was not being very effective.  i waited not so patiently for the order to remove the duster.  You’d think i’d have grown used to having it there and that the embarrassment would have slowly faded, but no, it was still there making me miserable.   i didn’t think it could get any worse.

i was wrong.

Next he sent me to put on a white tank top and to get out the Windex.  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where he was going with this.  i soon found myself spraying the big picture window in his living room with Windex and using my tits to wipe it off.  My white tank top was soon transparent and as i pressed myself to the glass i prayed that nobody walked by and saw me with my feather duster tail, washing windows. 

This was a very ineffective way to clean a window, but it was an extremely effective way to teach me a lesson.  i was mortified beyond belief and wanted very much to stop.  i dared not ask though because i knew i had brought this punishment on myself. 

Finally he ordered me to drop to all fours and to crawl to him.  i did so, ever conscious of the feathers in my rear, until i was on all fours between his legs.  He didn’t say a word or give any more orders, he simply unzipped his pants and freed his cock.  Now this i could do.  This didn’t embarrass me.  This felt like home.  Soon i was in my happy place, sucking the cock i adored.  This made all the humiliation more than worthwhile. 

Soon i felt the handle of the duster sliding in and out of my ass and i responded eagerly…probably too eagerly, by pushing back against the handle as he slid it in and out…keeping pace with his cock as it slid in and out of my mouth.  My tank top clung to me and the cleaner was starting to irritate my skin, but i barely noticed.  i loved the way he was using my mouth and my ass at the same time.  It was unbelievably hot following the humiliation he’d just piled on me and all too soon i needed to cum.  Bad.  Really, really bad.

And he didn’t let me.  He just left me squirming. What was even worse was that he pulled out of my mouth before he started to cum and instead shot it across my face, ordering me to leave it there to dry without allowing me to taste a drop.

Talk about torture.  i adore his cum.  i crave it.  Not being able to taste it was agony.  Instead i got to redo the dusting (with polish and a rag this time) and redo all the windows (with paper towels) in my wet tank top, a feather duster in my ass, and his cum drying on my face.

Dang you America’s Next Top Model, you owe me some cum.