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Hard Steel

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“Be a good girl and stay here,” said Daddy. “I really need a presence here, just a security factor, you know darling.”

“But Daddy, there’s nothing to do and how long are you going to be?” I whined petulantly, smoothing my brown curly locks and admiring my superbly manicured nails.

He fiddled with his briefcase and shaking his head turned to a filing cabinet. I sulkily crossed my legs, highlighting the sheen of my lightly oiled thighs. The sofa in his palatial office was certainly comfortable and now the factory had closed for the weekend, it was peaceful. But it was merely the plush office of the CEO and millionaire owner, my Daddy.

Down below us, the small tight complex of high volume, quality novelty manufacturing now slumbered having made several more thousands of cash for our family to enjoy. Daddy didn’t believe in weekend working, the whole place ticked over nice and efficiently and he vowed that the twenty or so workers could always enjoy their weekends.

“Look Louisa,” explained Daddy. “You know the alarm system is down and the engineer will come tonight and I’ll stay with him once I’m back, but it’s going to be a couple of hours yet and I must get to this meeting at the Marriott with Kamahachi Corp. You know what the Japs are like for punctuality.”

I looked at him with a pained expression.

“Please? You told me you had nothing planned this evening. Just till the engineer arrives. You are locked in, you have your mobile and there are no windows downstairs and the sun will be up till about eight at least tonight . Its quite sunny up here isn’t it?”

I reluctantly agreed, nodding at the bright shafts streaming through the partly blinded windows and after he reminded me I could get online and surf and he knew how much I enjoyed that, I saw him off and took his kiss on the cheek and his usual pat on my butt

He showed me the manual locking system for the door, it certainly looked formidable and left me to it. Just because my MG coupe had broken down and he was giving me lift home later, I was here. Otherwise I would have left the office at the usual time of three thirty like all the staff. So I didn’t have anything planned – true. But I could have phoned a whole host of friends and sorted something, as often as I do on loose ends.

I trotted back through the factory, my four inch black patent leather stilettos clacketting on the hard floor then echoing weirdly as I mounted the steel stairs to the first floor suite of offices. I needed a pee and on making my way down the passage to the girl’s restroom, it suddenly seemed a bit of a laugh to look into the men’s restroom.

This was the staff toilet and not the workforce of course, so I knew it would be clean although the factory is not a greasy grimy place. Even knowing it was deserted, for some reason I crept in on tiptoes and peered round the compact room. The cleaner had already been in at four thirty and it was immaculate. I thought I might find a stock of men’s magazines, but no – not a pinup in the room or in the two cubicles. Not even a condom machine. We didn’t have one in the girl’s room either.

The flush suddenly sluiced down the long stainless steel urinal wall and trough and made my pee urge greater. A crazy idea entered my head. I wondered if I could pee into the urinal standing up. Just like the men.

I glanced round stupidly, as if to check if anyone was watching, then on impulse, hoisted my mid thigh skirt, pulled my silk panties down and then off, hanging them on the bracket of the flush down pipe, reasoning it would be easier to perform with no hindrance. I stood close to the trough and bent my legs, thrusting my crotch forward. I was helped by the natural angle my body was tilted by my high heels. Just in time I remembered it would be prudent to sort out my cunt lips. They are rather long and often get sort of knitted together during the exertions of the day. Its not a problem when you perch on the toilet seat, letting pee splash anywhere, but I remember hiking with my last boyfriend and squatting to pee in some bushes and forgot the knitting. My pee burst out at an angle and wet my thigh, knee and boot. It could have been embarrassing but I got round it somehow.

I splayed my cunt flaps like two pink wings and let go. God! The relief is incredible when you really need it and I was pretty damned good at aiming, making noisy splashes into the sparkling steel trough. Steam rose and I could smell the strong asparagus odour that always taints your pee, from the nice lunch I had with a sales guy. I chuckled to myself at the image the sales guy would have of me and here I was, the twenty six- year old busty, curvy brunette daughter of the boss. The female procurement manager of Sagar Products, pissing into a man’s toilet.

My flow stopped and then I did have a problem. Men don’t have paper handy at the urinals, preferring to shake their cocks and get rid of drips. I glanced around, still holding my pussy open and then spotted my panties. Oh well, I was going straight home later and it wasn’t the first tuzla escort time I’d gone anywhere without knickers. I swiped through my crotch and when satisfied I was dry, I stuffed the damp garment into some paper towel, washed my hands and left the men’s toilet. The touch at my genitals although matter of fact was comforting and I giggled recalling how my labia had waggled grotesquely when I wiped them with the expensive undies. They are so pendulous and how I managed to get them I don’t know. My older sister Laura hasn’t got labia like mine and she’s seen Mummy’s and apparently hers aren’t dangly either.

Back in Daddy’s suite I shoved the paper clad knickers into my handbag and logged on and surfed for a while, visiting a sexy chat room I liked when feeling naughty. I haven’t a clue why I felt that way now, maybe it was boredom or sort of ‘so there’ Daddy. Oddly enough the chat room was boring and then got fucked up, but I had managed to see a few raunchy pictures before leaving the chat room. There were several threesomes of blondes and a guy and then the other way and many with girls getting it in the arse. That seems to be the thing these days especially with porno and I’m going to try it one day, with the right man of course.

I logged off and felt damp in my crotch, so in the privacy of the deserted office suite I lifted my skirt and saw that I had a decidedly juicy fanny. Luckily the lining of my Versace skirt would hide any outer stain and it would be dry cleaned tomorrow so I dismissed worrying about it. It doesn’t take much to get me juicy and in most circumstances I would normally go for my vibrator, but the fucking batteries had run out on my pocket job and that’s all I had in my handbag, not getting a chance during the day to get out and get refills. I must admit I’d searched the office in vain for the right size at after lunch, feeling a touch randy after a few nice wines and flattery.

Daddy’s paper knife caught my eye, resting on a works machinery catalogue. It had a nice bone handle which was about four inches long and curved. I sat on his leather, Chesterfield, CEO chair, hoisted my skirt yet again, opened my legs and delved the handle into my cunt, pressing it on my clit and idly rubbing as I leafed absently through the catalogue. I wriggled my skirt higher so that my butt was on the leather seat and made it squeak as I rocked gently. The catalogue had attracted my attention as it pandered as usual to the male buyer and featured two comely female models in bib and brace posing by various machines and appliances. I fantasised on what their pussies would look like and turned the paper knife round liking the cold sharp edge of the steel blade on my inflamed clitty.

One of the machines illustrated seemed familiar and I realised we had two just like it in the factory. One posing model who looked to be of mixed race was pictured holding a fairly provocative pose, her hand not quite caressing the parts of the stretcher and stitcher, used for soft materials. But it was mildly arousing especially in my state. I glanced round Daddy’s office again and saw his golf umbrella. The handle was big, round and chunky.

Discarding the paper knife I went to the corner of the room and grabbed the umbrella. Back on the chair I leaned way back and shoved the handle of the Golf souvenir into my sluicing quim. I managed to jam it against the desk, so I could let go of it and just rock and ram down on the bulbous handle. Six inches of polished, ebony coloured plastic slid easily in and out of my hungry twat, yet I was already looking around for something else, craving more obscure objects to titillate my sexual high.

Through the open door into Clarissa’s, my Daddy’s secretary’s room, I could see the parts of an office chair, waiting to be sent for repair. What caught my attention was a long round object, amongst the pile of parts. I squeezed my cunt muscles making the umbrella handle plop out of my cunt and got up to investigate. The round object was the leather clad, padded part which would envelope the tubular steel chair arm and was about twelve inches long and two inches in diameter and slightly curved. It was well worn and maybe a little grimy, but it looked phallic and menacing. I gave it a cursory wipe with a tissue from her desk.

There in the old girl’s office I stood and rammed it upwards into my crotch. I imagined what crusty but efficient Clarissa, with her blue rinsed hair, her calf length tartan skirts and sensible shoes would have said if she’d seen me as I poked the end of the object blindly at my greasy snatch. Luckily it had rounded ends, with some sewn joints and as I stood awkwardly, legs splayed lewdly, thrusting the thing deep into my hungry pussy I had to support myself on the window sill looking down onto the factory floor.

I gasped loudly at the pleasure and as my head swung in ecstasy, I caught a glimpse of the stretcher stitcher machine down on the work area. It occurred to me that when I’d started working for Daddy, the one thing he made me do as with my brother Erik who was now sales pendik escort manager, was to make me work in the factory.

OK it was light and clean although a pain in the butt, but for six weeks it was also fun, with the repartee amongst the guys. I had started work on the stretcher stitcher, known as Wendel after the manufacturers. There was Wendel and Wendel 2 side by side and my mischievous and highly erotic state of mind, although being happily fed by the broken chair arm up my cunt shouted WENDEL! He, yes Wendel had to be a he, had some rather interesting protrusions and I decided to experiment with them.

As I trotted down the stairs, the heel clattering noise seemingly more echoing now, I eyed the two machines only feet from the stair bottom. My skirt was round my hips and my fanny was dripping my juices down my leg as I approached Wendel . I must have looked peculiar as I bent to switch the power on. Bare butt, exceedingly good quality skirt in a mess of folds crumpled round my waist and very slimy thighs. Wendel hummed quietly into action as I isolated the stretcher, not needing the stitcher. I slithered onto the flat, steel, cold bed holding the cable linked control pod. Patiently and god knows how I managed to be so patient, I pressed the relevant buttons for the different stretchers, letting them emerge from the bed, working out my approach. There were three of each size. They could all arise simultaneously, or one or two at a time. The holes they emerged from were about an inch apart and the machine control allowed the operator to choose how many of each size.

The way I was feeling, it just had to be the large one. The shiny, mirrored finish prong rose from the bed some nine inches high and three inches in diameter. It had the exact shape of a dildo and caused great mirth on the shop floor, especially with new staff and of course I’d been one of them. I gazed at the smooth round tip with unbridled lust, testing my prowess on the speed control, finding I still had the knack and then I stopped its motion as it sunk down flush with the machine bed. The next bit took some thought, but I managed to swing the overhanging section of the machine away and ungracefully waddle on bent legs to get my butt over the prong aperture. I made the prong rise an inch or two and by squatting, positioned my cunt on it, feeling once again the thrilling sensation of cold steel on my over heated labia. My high heels made it difficult to get low enough so I cast them off, loving the cold plate on my bare feet.

I pressed the button and the prong rose slowly into my pussy. It stretched my willing orifice more than it had ever been stretched, but not fully in. I stopped the prong again at its highest point and then shifted my legs and slowly sat down on the great invader. The sense of fullness was wonderful and I wriggled gently, finding that I could flatten my buttocks to let more of the steel tool pierce me.

I rested on it – on Wendel , wallowing in the feeling of a powerful machine under my control and filling my fanny. With a deep breath I activated Wendel and felt him slide smoothly from me and then in deliciously timed moments he rose, erection assured, up into my craving cunt. I arched my back, altering the angle of my vagina, finding yet again, Wendel managed to penetrate even deeper with each upward stroke. It was sensational.

I thought of the thin sheets of leather and vinyls that would normally pass over Wendel’s prong, to be formed into the varying shapes housed in the formers in the upper part of the machine. They would be stretched to almost condom thickness before being gathered and stitched. I couldn’t even contemplate the stitching element within my machine lover, not wanting my juicy quim to be painfully sewn up and never penetrated again.

Comfortably seated I increased the speed and Wendel started to plunge up into my sex, parting my flappy labia easily with the all powerful machine mind that he was. He could make no allowances for human frailty, knowing only the two directions, up and down. Speed was in my hands and for several minutes I played with the varying gears below the steel bed, via the control pod in my hand. Wendel could go very fast, but I wanted good solid sex, not a quick climax, so the rhythm was important. I found the right beat and placed the pod beside me, lifting my body in slightly different angles, feeling for alternate sensations within. I rolled my buttocks letting Wendel sear one side of my vaginal membranes and then the other. Now and then a ploppy sound would break the constant hum, my cunt juices spurting from me in the vacuum that the huge mechanical dildo formed

Letting my climax form slowly, I simply varied Wendel’s pace and played with the amount of protrusion with which he would emerge, erect from the machine bed. The moment arrived and I built the speed to the fastest I’d dared. Wendel slammed into me, hard, solid and reliable, my soggy cunt allowing complete freedom for his piercing to hit home.

My orgasms are always quiet. I don’t scream or shout. My aydınlı escort audible signs of climax are guttural, but my inner muscles contract tightly and now as the climax raged within my brain, I was seeing stars, my mouth hung open and Wendel was rippling against the clenching walls of my cunt. I slowed him gradually to a stop, his tip flush with the machine bed and I sat trembling for some moments catching breath and wallowing in the waves of pleasure coursing through my body.

On sliding away, guiltily I saw the pool of my cum on the machine bed. Easing gently down to the floor, I grabbed the ready supply of rags and wiped the bed clean, raising Wendel ‘s cock and wiping him carefully too. I grinned at the experiment I’d just embarked upon. With a little kiss blown in his direction I left Wendel , picked up my shoes, but instead of retiring upstairs to rest, I walked on through the factory.

I was on a high of innovation. A conveyor belt took my eye. The Freddidge Polishing Deck was about thirty-six feet long and was actually two beds that traversed side by side at a controlled speed. Fred as it was known, was the final polishing section of a range of novelties and as they travelled on the belt, various wheels rotated in the gap between the twin belts. The wheels were surfaced with grades of what I can only describe as sort of carpet coverings from rough to smooth, ending in fluffy. I knew the operator could control the speed of the belts, the wheels and the height the wheels stayed above the belt level. I gazed at the machine and its formidable length and complexity.

Did I dare use it to stimulate my clitoris to new heights? You bet I fucking did. Oh yes the Procurement Manager can swear like the shop floor operatives I blustered as I excitedly found the cable linked control pod. This was much more complicated, but hell! I’d worked on it. I slammed the mains power switch over and a noisier rumble than Wendel permeated the quiet almost dusty factory air. I set Fred’s wheels at half an inch high and slow to fast over the entire length of the rubberised belt. I set the belts at minimum speed and climbed aboard, my feet straddling the belts until I was ready to commit to my new machine lover.

If there’d been someone at the far end, they would have seen the most lewd sight up my skirt which was now like a roll round my waist. I had decided not to remove it just in case. In case of what? If I was disturbed now, it would make no difference whether I was wearing a Versace skirt. I had earlier noticed a slight oil smear on my cream blouse, but I did need to keep that on. Leaving a trail of clothing round the place was not sensible, but oddly I was not in a sensible mode right now. Anyway the sight of my sloppy dangling labia, hanging open, surrounded by my thick matted pubic hair would have looked strange in the context of the shop floor.

Lowering my butt, the belts chafed my skin until I resigned myself to the adventure and settled fully onto the conveyor. I took off, closed my legs out in front of me and waited. The first wheel rolled between my legs, hitting and missing flesh until it reached my thighs. I slowed it, worried that it would rip my clitty off as that was the purpose of this exercise. Pure clitoral stimulation. Just in time the gearing cut in and it whisked round and round as it passed under my cunt. I jolted as it contacted my cherry loving the fissures of desire it created. I approached the next wheel and again it was a momentary jolt until it slithered through my labia. I stopped Fred and adjusted the height upwards and off I went again

Wow! The smoother wheel hit my clit with more pressure and then sliced my cunt flaps like butter, but the extra bonus was that it flicked over my arse hole and it seemed quite a nice sensation. I stopped Fred again and raised the wheels again and off I went. The clitoral and anal stimulation was a wonderful combination and I let Fred ride and tickle me for the full passage of the belts.

Greedily I slammed the reverse gear in and rolled back to my start point, the anal first then clit tickles giving a very different sensation. At the top of the machine I stopped Fred and raised the wheels and speeded them up a touch and let the ride complete before reversing once more. By now my cherry was burning, my arsehole tingled and my desire for more machine love was at a height. I rode Fred twice more before I spotted another opportunity to experiment.

We had two benches with vertically mounted buffer wheels, purely for the odd time that hand buffing was needed. They were rarely used and my eye was drawn to the wheels, with brand new fluffy sheepskin covers protected under dust shrouds. I slid off Fred and banged his power off, not bothering about the wheels or their slimy appearance. There was no need for mechanical adjustment as I unveiled the nearest buffer wheel. All I had to do was get a box, stand on it, bend double so that I could press my butt onto the revolving wheel after switching it on and lo and behold I was in raptures as the soft fronds of the sheepskin caressed my clitty, cunt lips and arsehole all at the same time. It was heaven and I could lean back or forward varying the pressure. The wheel had a standard speed so I had to rely on my movement to achieve maximum sensations.

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