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Title: The Doodad
Author: Tullius &lt;tullius@cantshootfs.cjb.net&gt;
Summary: Mysterious objects start showing up in our hero's life, with sexy results.
Part: 3 of 7
Keywords: MF Fdom mc



                                   The Doodad

   Tullius
   &lt;tullius@cantshootfs.cjb.net&gt;

   Author's Note
   This story was inspired by the MC Forum's Arena event for February
   2011, for which the theme was Object Domination. As always, feedback is
   love, concrit is how I learn and flames are garbage.

   Copyright
   Copyright in this work lies with the author, who can be contacted at
   the email address above. This story is licensed under a [1]Creative
   Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

   *

   You know how sometimes, when you're looking for something, you'll find
   the thing you were looking for last time? I guess it happens to
   everyone, but once upon a time it happened to me every day for a week,
   and it was the strangest week of my life...
     __________________________________________________________________

Wednesday

   On this particular morning, I didn't mind waking up alone quite so
   much, since in all honesty I wasn't entirely sure I hadn't dreamt or
   hallucinated the entire previous night. I actually giggled when I saw
   that some puckish guardian angel of mine had apparently decided to
   reassure me that it had been real, by making Tammy cast off her strapon
   in gay abandon and completely forget to take it with her, since it was
   lying in the corner of the room. Dazedly, I put it in a bag ready to
   take to work with me, and went about the rest of my morning routine
   with what I'm sure was an immensely stupid grin on my face.

   An hour or two of office routine will cure most anybody of a
   threesome-inspired stupor, I think. I know that it was about
   mid-morning when I started to think seriously about the fact that I was
   going to have to call Jenny at lunchtime, explain what had happened
   and, and this was the sticking point, ask for Tammy's number. There
   wasn't anybody in the office I felt I could ask about the etiquette
   involved in this situation: how exactly do you approach one party to a
   recent threesome with a view to getting in touch with the other? I got
   the distinct impression that Emily Post wasn't going to be much help to
   me either.

   I found comfort in the familiar, putting my feet on autopilot at
   lunchtime and letting them take me to Hatton Plaza like they always
   did. After I'd eaten, I dithered for a while before coming to the only
   conclusion I ever could: there was nothing for it but to be honest. I
   called Jenny.

   "Oh, hi Tony."

   She sounded distracted, distant. Not a good sign, I thought.

   "Hi, Jenny," I said, trying to sound even vaguely normal. "Umm, I think
   Tammy left... something at my place last night."

   "Something?"

   "Yeah," I said, and began seriously regretting making this call in
   public. I looked around to make sure nobody was in earshot, and
   whispered clarification: "the, uh... strap-on."

   "What?"

   Now she sounded amused, which, as signs went, was equivocal at best.

   "Look, nice try and everything, but I happen to know for a fact that
   Tammy did not leave her dildo at your place last night."

   "What do you mean?" I was genuinely perplexed at this point, and I
   looked down into the shopping bag at my feet. "I'm looking at it right
   now."

   "OK, here's a hint: so am I."

   I paused briefly to ponder that statement, and associated mental
   images, and she carried on.

   "You're barking up the wrong tree anyway, you know. Tammy... gets very
   into roleplay, but most of the time she's as gay as a tree full of
   parrots. Now, neither of us regrets anything that happened last night,
   but, well, don't go expecting a repeat performance, OK?"

   I'd like to be able to tell you, dear reader, that I listened carefully
   to that little speech and responded with becoming dignity and grace,
   but I was kind of thrown off my stride by the fact that halfway through
   it, a sharply dressed woman sat down next to me, took one look in the
   bag and said "Oh my god, is that what I think it is?"

   Disconcerting, I think you'll agree. Faced with two question marks, I
   dismissed the easiest one.

   "OK," I said into the phone.

   "OK." Jenny affirmed. "I'll see you at the office sometime, then."

   "Sure, 'bye."

   "'Bye!" she said, as cheerfully as ever, and hung up.

   I turned to face the interloper. She looked to be in her mid-forties,
   black haired and olive-complexioned, Ashkenazi or maybe Greek, I would
   have guessed. She wore a navy-blue suit with some serious shoulder-pads
   going on, and a cream-colored blouse which showed off a fairly liberal
   amount of cleavage that, in the circumstances, I did my very best not
   to get sucked into.

   "It's not mine." What else could I say?

   "Right," she grinned. "Somebody just left their bag here, right?"

   "The bag is mine," I squirmed. "The... item is not. I was just trying
   to return it."

   "No luck?" She was still grinning.

   I just shook my head, having long since run out of social formulae for
   the situations I'd been getting myself into. She twitched her nose in
   amusement and stood up.

   "Come on," she said.

   I looked up at her from the bench, and I guess my confusion was evident
   on my face.

   "Where are we going?"

   "My hotel room," she responded, and declined to elaborate further.

   I stared at her for a moment, while she continued to grin. I was
   already halfway off the bench when it occurred to me to wonder what
   time it was, whereupon an ice-cold splash of real life hit me. I turned
   my move to follow her without question into a decisive step away,
   grateful that I had something sensible to say at last:

   "I have to get back to work."

   She pouted in a way that seemed indefinably mocking, and reached into
   her pocket.

   "I'm at the Hotel Connor, checking out tomorrow. Come join me after
   work. Room 1121."

   So saying, she handed me a keycard, then promptly turned on her heel
   and walked off in the direction of the hotel, which I could just about
   see a little way down one of the streets leading off the plaza. I
   followed her with my eyes, feeling the same befuddled, slightly drunk
   gestalt that had come over me while I was staring up at her, trying to
   come up with some non-preposterous response to being peremptorily
   ordered to her hotel room. Her rear, I decided, was shapely, even if it
   was a tad bit over-ample for my taste.

   I shook myself out of it and headed back to the office.

   *

   On the way back to work, I told myself I would get all of my thinking
   done, about the prospect of paying my new friend the visit she'd
   demanded, before I got there, and so try to make up for the fairly
   useless track record I was setting in afternoons. Naturally, I failed,
   and the specific reason why was that at about two p.m. I realized that
   I hadn't thought in terms of "should I go?" at any stage. It was always
   "what will happen when I go?" I also remembered the embarrassing way
   the encounter had started, and looked down to check that the strap-on
   wasn't visible in the bottom of my shopping bag, and discovered that
   indeed it wasn't, for the simple if startling reason that it wasn't
   there any longer.

   It was at exactly that point that I started to suspect that something
   was up. Finding two items I'd thought I'd lost in as many days had been
   something I'd naturally put down as coincidence, and at the time I
   hadn't made the connection between the watch and Jenny, or the
   sunglasses and Jenny and Tammy. Well, you wouldn't, would you? On the
   other hand, I was still distinctly inclined to believe that sweet,
   good-natured Jenny just wasn't the sort to lie: her implication that I
   absolutely had to be inventing the tale of the forgotten sex toy to
   contrive a reason to see Tammy again rang so true that I couldn't help
   wondering if I hadn't made some silly mistake. But what? If there
   hadn't been a strap-on dildo in my bag, I wouldn't now have a keycard
   from the Hotel Connor and an assignation with a peremptory cougar. Then
   again, if there had been, where was it now? Where, for that matter,
   were the watch I'd worn on Monday and the sunglasses I'd worn the day
   before?

   Anything I could contrive to explain the situation seemed sillier than
   the facts, so in the end I decided I was obviously missing something.
   Maybe the missing piece would present itself, and all would make sense,
   but until then, and if not, I wouldn't think about it. Then again,
   wondering what would happen after work was making everything in my
   abdomen feel like it was doing backflips, so I decided that, on
   balance, thinking about that too much was a bad idea as well.

   Autopilot, then, was what brought me to the door of room 1121 of the
   Hotel Connor, still in my work clothes and heedless of the fact that my
   car might well end up locked in the parking garage. It got me to the
   door, but I did think a little bit about what happened next. The
   situation was almost comically similar to the night before, but at the
   same time the shoe was very much on the other foot. This wasn't my
   apartment I was about to barge into, but the hotel room of somebody
   whose name I didn't even know. Under the heading of "he who hesitates
   is lost", however, and thinking she wouldn't have given me the key if
   she didn't expect me to just walk in, now would she?, I did just that.

   At that point I was invited to reappraise the rump I'd critiqued
   earlier on the basis of new information, since it was there before me
   clad only in a leather thong. It was definitely shapely.

   As I shut the door my host for the evening turned around, and I saw two
   things. Firstly, and least importantly, the black leather thong was
   matched by a bra, and each of them had zippers in strategic places.
   Secondly, the thong was supporting an intimidatingly large black dildo,
   which I couldn't help staring at.

   "Ah," she said, "there you are. Somebody's eager! Come here."

   Instead of saying any of the things I could and possibly should have
   said at that point: you know, "I think you've got the wrong idea about
   me", "nice outfit", or even "hey, at least you're not dressed as
   Batman", I just did as I was told, staggering forwards like a
   Romero-vintage zombie. Pretty soon we were as close together as
   possible given the circumstances, and I was still staring at the dildo.

   "You know where this is going, don't you?" She said. I nodded.

   "Touch it."

   I reached out and laid my right hand on the black plastic. It was
   warmer than I had expected, and I found myself starting to run my hand
   up and down it. She gave a nasal little snicker, and placed a bottle in
   my free hand.

   "Better get it ready, don't you think?"

   I took the lubricant and started applying it to the preposessing
   phallus. Before long I moved behind her in order to get a more familiar
   grip, and found I was basically giving a handjob to a woman I'd just
   met. She giggled throatily.

   "OK, that'll do. Bend over the bed."

   At this point the hamster running in its wheel to keep my higher
   reasoning faculties going felt a need to at least try and put the
   brakes on the situation. I felt myself able to say "You know, I've
   never done this before."

   "Oh, really?" she queried, in tones that suggested she didn't believe a
   word of it.

   "Really!" I protested, then faltered a bit at the thought of confessing
   my debaucheries of the previous night to a stranger, before screwing my
   courage to the sticking place: "the... thing you saw earlier belongs to
   a woman I know."

   "And you just happened to end up with it? Lucky guy! Bend over."

   The hamster protested that she hadn't acknowledged what I'd said or
   promised to go easy on me, but based on the fact that while I'd been
   speaking she'd moved in and stripped me of my jacket, and that as I
   moved to obey her I found that I was hard as a rock, it decided that
   there just wasn't any point arguing with the rest of me and went on
   strike. I set my feet about shoulder-width apart and planted my hands
   on the bed.

   She moved in behind me and undid my belt, before dropping my pants and
   underwear to the floor in a swift and, in its way, violent motion. She
   stood back up and her dildo struck my inner thigh as I heard her squirt
   some lube into her hand.

   She started with two fingers and made me jerk forward, my knees hitting
   the mattress of the high hotel bed. The pain gradually subsided as she
   stayed shallow, working the lube in and gradually relaxing my
   ringpiece. She seemed to know exactly when to push the envelope,
   working her fingers in deeper every time began to think that the depth
   she had been working out was manageable.

   Soon we were past the fingers stage, and I felt her put her hands on my
   hips in, I couldn't help thinking, exactly the way I'd grabbed Jenny
   the night before. Let's hope she doesn't decide that a good slave
   always cleans up, the hamster popped briefly back in to say. Her right
   hand left again, and I soon realized she was using it to steady the
   dildo as I felt it first tease and then gradually enter my asshole.

   She proceeded as she had with her fingers, waiting until I was just
   about comfortable, then taking it to the next level, until it felt like
   I must have had a yard of black synthetic dong back there, but she
   still hadn't bottomed out. Mercifully, she didn't go any deeper, but
   just kept up a steady rhythm. I was getting fucked.

   Through the storm of sensation I became aware of my extremely erect
   dick slapping against me as it swung back and forth. I felt her hand
   slip off my hip, and she grabbed and started giving me a reach-around.
   Flapping around untouched, partaking of the novel experience of me
   getting fucked without it having anything in particular to do, the
   feeling of her hand on my penis, with the remains of the lube she'd
   used on my butthole still on it, was incredibly intense. Between that
   and the direct stimulation my prostate was getting, it wasn't long
   before she had me shooting a load all over the sheets. She snickered
   again, put her hand back on my hip, and kept going.

   I guess her strapon must have had one of those clit-stimulating doodads
   on it, because after a while she started getting a bit vociferous, and
   pounding me rather harder than I'd have liked, before she shuddered and
   let herself fall forward onto my back. She extricated herself and had
   me lie down, then gave me an object lesson in how dildos always have
   their second wind by holding my legs up in the air and taking my ass
   again. My head was propped up on the pillows, so I could see that what
   felt like about a yard inside me was actually no more than a third of
   the dildo's total length. After she was done with me I remember falling
   asleep wondering vaguely if I'd be able to sit down the next day, or
   ever for that matter.
     __________________________________________________________________

References

   1. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/