This work is copyright© 2006 by Phoenix Arrow. You may download and keep copies for your personal use as long as the author's byline and e-mail address and this paragraph remain on the copies. Please do not post this story to any web site without permission from the author. All other rights reserved. No alteration of the contents is permitted.
The car rolls slowly along, my heart fluttering like crazy. I know I must do this, but I still tremble beside him. I clench my coat tighter to my nude body, preparing for when we both must part.
There it is, I can see it. The orange shiny pylon standing like a beckon by the side of the road. Traffic driving by on one side, people walking merrily on the other.
I hold his hand, making me feel warmer as it squeezes mine back. He knows this is difficult for me. All those people watching, all those who'll be laughing or gawking in shock. But he has commanded it, he has spoken. Yes, when my Master speaks, I obey.
The car stops and the door latches pop. He brings a hand to my cheek and caresses it, before kissing my forehead. I lean to kiss his lips, but he holds me back. I have not earned the right to kiss my Master.
I smile, knowing it's my time and push the coat off my shoulders. I open the door and great the world, my nude body instantly gaining attention. With a numb mind I march with a purpose to the orange phallus. It seems so unassuming, so random.
Master could have pulled up right along side of it. He could have made it easier for me. But I am meant to entertain him. To instead allow him to take joy out of my walk of exhibitionist shame. Fifteen yards of my tits swaying freely, of my black hair flowing in the wind, of my ass in full view, and my dutiful trimmed pubic mound.
Despite the scalding hot asphalt, my mind ignores my feet, instead pushing on, carrying me ever closer to my goal.
Women are hissing, and men are gawking as more and more notice the spectacle only just beginning. "What is that crazy woman thinking?", they musty be asking.
Only three yards away now. I am almost there. So close to the beginning of my task.
My Master always told me how beautiful my body was, but a slave like me does not think so. I am not beautiful for others, only for him. My charms, my body is beautiful for him alone.
I try my best to ignore the approving glee of boys and men tracking my progress with enlarged eyes. To me they are nothing. Trash. He's the only man on earth, my life.
Yet the women are a totally other ordeal. The scorn, the shaking heads, the whispering.
Finally I am here, my target, the reason for this walk of nudist shame. The traffic cone. A beacon of orange colored phallus so conveniently heightened to just below my hips.
Suddenly I can't help it, I have a look around. Dozens and dozens of people just staring. Do they know why I am here? Do they have ANY idea what it is I am about to do?
I look back towards the car, at the tinted dark windows. He is in there, watching, waiting, smiling. I lift my hand to my lips and blow him a kiss. I would walk off a cliff for him, my Master.
I lift my leg and swing it on the other side, straddling the narrow tip and nestling it softly against my self lubricated sex.
Shrieks and gasps erupt from the disapproving women and girls as I lower my hips further and further onto my new lover. Inch by inch my giant orange cock disappears inside me. The whole time I stare at the black limo, hoping I am pleasing my Master, enjoying my degrading performance.
In moments I'm rising back up and plunging back down. Yes, I'm fucking a traffic cone in public, but I don't care. I'm doing this for him, and that's all that matters.
People are moving closer, no doubt entranced by my now slick shiny body bouncing comically on this cone. My tits bouncing for all to see, my pussy lips stretching and wrapping around the orange tool.
I begin to moan, any woman would. The pleasure too much to keep hidden in shame. I begin to cry, a cry of happiness. I am a good slave, doing exactly as my Master commands. No orgasm can come faster, stronger than knowing I am pleasing him.
The tension is building. I cannot stop it. I need to erupt. That is my task, that is my goal. I grab my tits and squeeze, just the way he likes me to. I wallow in the stares and hisses. Women my age and older, shaming this skank, this whore. They try uselessly to guide their husbands and boyfriends away. But I am too much of an attraction for them to resist.
Young girls and boys can be the worst. The way they giggle and point at my spreading milking sex as it rises up and down. I can only imagine how I must appear in all their eyes.