Happiness Is A Prop Gun


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Glass In The Ass Chapter 02

Glass In The Ass Chapter 01

Heather's Honeymoon Chapter 03

Helen






>ELECTRIC CHAIRS ACROSS AMERICA: OUR BLOG

>July 17th

>Well, we made it to Nebraska. It's probably about as exciting as you could expect in mid-July.

>Expecting a big crowd tonight, though.

>Death row seems to play well for audiences of gun owners...

"Oh yeah, baby, that's it, keep going, you big gorgeous hunk of man meat, give me more..."

>Now if Jason and company would just pipe down long enough to let me write...


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Carrie Pershing blinked, reread her last sentence, and quickly deleted it, shaking her head at the pitfalls of stream-of-consciousness blogging. Almost without thinking, she removed her sandal and pitched it at the wall in the direction of the sound. In the pause that followed the loud *thunk*, she yelled, "Keep it down, you three, you'll have the whole hotel up here complaining!"

She couldn't be sure, but was that a muffled "Kiss my ass" from the other room?

Carrie smirked, kicked off her other sandal, and returned to her tour blog, but her train of thought had long since departed. She stared out the window for inspiration, but the sight of yet another cornfield in yet another heat wave was perhaps not the source of inspiration she was looking for. In the midday heat, there was really no point in wandering around the city, so she and all fifteen of her traveling companions had stayed in the hotel since their arrival this morning. There were a couple of movies being shown, at least one video game battle in progress, and a few liaisons of a different nature...like the three boys in the room next door.

Sometimes, Carrie silently regretted being in charge of this group. The play had been a hit at the university when she'd first put it on (as a freshman, turning eighteen two weeks before opening night). And when the National Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty had offered to sponsor a fifty-state tour the following summer, who could have refused? Certainly not a Political Science major with stage-struck dreams. So she'd gathered her old cast, hired a few replacements for those who had graduated, and handed out plane tickets for Seattle and bus tickets thereafter.

Occasionally, though, it would be nice to duck responsibility and just enjoy the ride, she reflected. As part of the difficulty of keeping ten men and eight (now down to six, after two family emergencies) women sane over the summer, she'd established a free-and-easy attitude toward sleeping arrangements. As long as nobody got knocked up or diseased, she frankly didn't give a damn about who slept with whom. Hence the arrangement involving her stage manager, her assistant director, and a charming actor in the room next door. (Come to think of it, the stage manager had to have been the mouthy one. She filed that under 'potential blackmail material' with a grin.)

As it stood, though, being in charge meant no making the first move. Sure, she'd slept with most of the men and at least one of the women, but it was always up to them rather than her. And it looked like they were all busy, so Carrie turned to Bob to relieve the tension that had begun building between her legs as she listened to the boys. She saved the draft blog post, shut her laptop, stowed it on the bedside table, and found her purse. From a well-concealed pocket, she extracted a five-inch, plain black marbled vibrator. This was Bob, short for Battery-Operated Boyfriend.

"Hey there, baby," she whispered to herself as she fondled the silicon length. "Wait here while I slip into something more comfortable..." With a quick rummage in her suitcase, she exchanged her black Pittsburgh Steelers T-shirt for a black nylon camisole, with built-in bra. The jeans went back into the suitcase and were replaced by a long red wrap skirt, product of some long-forgotten Celtic festival. The casual blue panties joined the jeans, without a replacement. Her hair, her one vanity, was released from its ponytail to hang to her waist, shining and straight, the color of the corn in the fields nearby.

Much more comfortable, she lay back on the hotel bed and switched the vibe on. One hand drifted up to massage her breast as the other guided Bob to tease her clit, moving in small, gentle circles. A small sigh escaped her as her natural lube began to flow, and she pinched her left nipple hard as she moved the small buzzing cock down towards its goal. Carrie's moans grew slightly louder as Bob slipped inside her and nestled at full length, buzzing happily, teasing Carrie into biting her lip to keep quiet. Wouldn't want the boys next door to think her a hypocrite...

In a fabulous example of inopportune timing, someone knocked on the door. Carrie, startled, caught her breath and called out, "Who is it?"

"Uh, it's Mark. Can I come in?"

Carrie switched off Bob and sighed. Of all the people to catch her masturbating, the gorgeous brown-eyed Texan was probably not ideal. "Yeah, just gimme two seconds." Unceremoniously, she wiped the toy off on her skirt and stashed it somewhere in the sheets.

Mark St. Pierre waited about five seconds, then opened the door and shoved a suitcase in before him. "Mind if I room with you today? I don't think I can take another minute of those three by myself." He jerked his head in the direction of the room next door, tossing his well-groomed brown hair.

"Were you on the other side?" Carrie giggled.

"Got it in one. Man, what a racket." Mark kicked off his loafers, dropped without preamble onto the unoccupied bed, then raised himself up on one elbow to face his companion. "So is that what you're wearing tonight?"

Carrie blushed slightly, keeping the real reason she'd changed a secret. "Quite possibly. Not this top, but the skirt would work for a hippie character, don't you think?"

"Definitely. Wear that top, though, and even if they don't like the play, your figure will earn us a standing ovation!"

"Mark!" She threw a pillow at him, mostly to hide her blushing. He caught the pillow, rose, returned it to its rightful place on the bed, and tackled her, pinning her to the bed without warning. Gently, he clasped both her wrists above her head with one hand, brushing her hair out of her face with the other. He leaned down and kissed her lips ever so gently, placing one hand on the bed for balance...and finding something hard and round beneath the sheets. "My, my...what have we here?"

Carrie's face turned as red as her skirt. "Uh. I don't suppose you could forget you ever saw that?" She moved to release one hand and take the toy, but Mark's grip was too strong. He held it well out of her reach, inspecting it with interest. "Only five inches? Man, your expectations are low."

"Hey, that was what Spencer's had that could fit in my purse," she retorted. "Now, can I *please* have it back?"

"Au contraire. I think we can have a little fun with this." Mark grinned, then expertly unbuckled his belt one-handed and removed it. Slightly less expertly, he used it to bind her hands. "Now, wait there like a good girl while I go look for something." He crossed the room to his suitcase, unzipped an outer pocket, and produced one of their props: a less-than-realistic plastic blank-firing handgun, with a wide, smooth barrel.

"Mark, what is that doing out of the prop bag?"

"Jason's too afraid of the props being stolen, so he handed them out and told us each to keep one. Lucky me." Mark twirled the gun on one finger, stalling for time as he studied his director's body. He picked up her vibrator from the bed again and inhaled. "Man. This is still fresh. Did I catch you in the middle of something?"

Carrie's response was a challenging grin, totally unsuited to one with her hands tied. "Why don't you come find out for yourself?"

The bulge that had been growing in Mark's jeans nearly snapped into full hardness when he heard that. He slipped his hands under the hem of Carrie's camisole and drew it upward, leaving it tangled around her hands with his belt. The girl's bare, 34C breasts were a tantalizing sight, nipples half-hard and the size of a silver dollar. With a wicked grin, Mark turned on the vibrator and rubbed it gently over her nipples, coating them with her juices as he watched them harden before his eyes. Carrie gasped and nearly bit through her lip to stifle a cry of pleasure.

This display was just too enjoyable for him to remain a spectator. Mark stripped off his white T-shirt, tossed it on the opposite bed, and nearly fell to his knees in his eagerness. He slipped one hard, slick nipple into his mouth as he continued to tease the other with the buzzing toy. With his free hand, he worked her skirt free of the wrapping and let it fall to the floor. Without taking his mouth from her breast, he slid his free hand down over her torso, letting his fingers just brush against her damp, swollen pussy lips. Her deep moan told him he'd better stop if he had intentions of further play.

Abruptly, he withdrew his hands and his lips, standing up and grinning down at the naked girl sprawled on the bed. "Mind indulging me in a little fantasy?"

"Do I have a choice?" she shot back. "I'm naked with my hands firmly tied. Isn't that, like, the beginning to *every* fantasy?"

"Nah, not quite. Some of them involve Megan Fox, and some of them involve Megan Fox and Audrey Hepburn. But most of them."

"TMI, dear. So, I take it you start."

Mark unwound the belt from her wrists, but he planted a knee on her stomach as a warning against getting up. This time, he fastened the belt to one wrist and tied it clumsily around the bedpost. He then borrowed two of Carrie's collection of garish nylon sashes and bound her ankles to the bottom posts. As a final touch, he laid her vibrator by her side, then picked up the gun and pointed it at her. "Now, you are going to do EXACTLY as I say, you hear me?"

"What do you want with me?" she shot back, playing scared.

"I want you, and everything you have to offer. Now, I left you one free hand for a reason. Pick up that toy, you horny little slut."

Carrie didn't move.

Mark kept his face carefully neutral as he traced the prop gun down her body, starting at her jaws, moving in a straight line down her neck, teasing each of her still-hard nipples, dragging it lightly down her stomach, until he came to her shaved and soaking wet mound. Pointing the barrel of the gun where Bob had been just a few minutes ago, he murmured in a low voice, "Maybe THIS will make you behave." And he shoved the barrel of the gun deep into her pussy.

Carrie jerked. "You really, really don't want to do that."

Mark laughed. "I disagree. Now, be a good little fucktoy, and nothing will happen. Capisce?"

Carrie let her head fall back in a resigned posture and picked up her vibe, secretly thrilling at the domination. Mark was just rough enough to be exciting, while still being respectful of the girl's wishes. Absolutely dreamy, thought Carrie, opening her eyes...

Mark, meanwhile, had stripped to his briefs, pausing until he met Carrie's eyes to drop those. His cock made Carrie's vibe look inadequate indeed, they both thought. "You, my dear, are going to tease your nipples with that vibe, while you suck my cock. Understood?" He didn't expect a reply, and the only one he got was Carrie's lifted head and waiting mouth. Mark's seven-and-a-half inches eased into Carrie's mouth almost all the way; she had yet to master the deep-throat technique, but she managed to swallow a good six inches, and she sucked at it with a will. The vibrator teased her nipples into full hardness as she licked and sucked hard at Mark's cock, conscious of the stimulus in her pussy all the while.

Mark pulled out when he felt the first twinges of his orgasm, reluctant to cum quite yet, and still teasing Carrie. "Mmm, you've been such a good little slut...shall I finish you off?"

She whispered, "Please?" She had tried to fuck her tits with the vibrator, which is not as easy as it sounds with one hand, and had since returned to teasing her nipples.

Mark slowly began to slide the barrel of the prop gun in and out of her pussy. "Awfully dangerous to toy with these things, you know." In. "But really..." Out. "Isn't danger fun?" In.

"Mark, damn you, don't hold me like this, you fucking tease..." Carrie murmured, squirming, desperate to cum, nearly passing out with the sensory overload.

Ever the gentleman, Mark complied, increasing the tempo of his back-and-forth motion, hearing the sloshing sounds of a girl very near the breaking point. At the same time, he jerked his cock over her pale torso, straining to hold back until she came.

All thoughts of the boys next door were washed from Carrie's mind as her orgasm finally broke, leaving her shuddering on the bed for a good thirty seconds with a prop handgun between her legs. Mark finally gave in and shot his load over her torso, thick white lines of cum coating her breasts and her stomach, just barely missing her hair. When it was over, she lay panting, still bound, and he had to steady himself against the bedpost.

Mark untied her leisurely, kissed her warmly, and collected their toys. He went into the bathroom to grab a washcloth for Carrie, tossed it out to her, and washed off the vibrator and the gun, taking special care with the prop lest Jason have his head on a platter. He returned with clean and dry toys and a towel around his waist to find Carrie tying on a robe, with a very crumpled washcloth beside her.

Carrie held out her hand for the toys, and Mark passed them over. Bob returned to his place in Carrie's purse. The gun she held up for inspection, though. "The Beatles had it right," she commented to Mark. "Happiness really is a warm gun."