the life and musings of a kinky slut


As soon as I saw him, I thought Shit, here we go again.

He fit a type I like: tall, broad shoulders, attractive face, and funny. He was to be my crew chief for the day and this was a ten hour call.

Still, there were many distractions. First, and most prominently, there was the Sun, which beat down on us all day. The few times we were granted reprieve included under the couple of trees shading our resting area, when the stage canopy was still up (it was gone before lunch), and the passing moments when clouds magically appeared to aid us or an errant breeze kissed our skins.

Then there was the work itself. Highly physical, sweaty work. Lift this. Move that. Push this. Disassemble that. All day. The danger of falling off the stage after we’d removed the decks. The multiple fork lifts criss-crossing the area. The rental trucks from other companies coming to pick up their gear. There was a lot going on.

But still, I knew it would happen. I started stealing glances at him, and I smiled to myself, and BAM! another crush was born.

Many hours later, it dulled. I saw how he was with other women, two other women. I saw the familiar nature, the flirting. And it dawned on me: I wasn’t his type.

But there was a moment that stuck with me.

With about ten minutes left on our fifteen minute break, I sat on the grass and leaned my back up against a tree. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was enough. I closed my eyes. I breathed in deep. I let myself drift, my mind floating to the voices I heard around me.

And then, for some unknown reason, I opened my eyes. He sat not five feet in front of me on the bench of a picnic table. He had been quiet the entire time. I never knew he was there.

I smiled a little, and then closed my eyes again.

I imagined him grabbing my hair, pulling me over, and resting my head on his knee. I knew this would never ever happen, but it was a great day dream.

Soon we were back to work. He flirted with other women, but never me. I did my job well. And, many hours later, I was cut and went home.

We never engaged in a full conversation. I never learned his real name; he was always referred to by a nickname. I don’t know where he lives, or if I’ll ever work with or see him again.

But I still remember his face, his frame. I still remember that day dream. And I glimpsed that he wore a tongue ring…

Categorised as: D/s | Work

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