Surveys are Fun

Bdsm

I work for a politician. I know! Right away that makes me suspect, but career wise it’s a good move for me. One of the things I have to do is surveys. That doesn’t mean I go from door to door asking people questions. Not if I can bloody help it. Ending your working day footsore, abused and unthanked is not for me, thank you very much.

No, I write the things. It takes quite a bit of skill to slant the questions to get the right answers. You have to remember, when we go out with these questionnaires we’re not looking for your opinion. We want you to agree with our opinion so we can document it and present it as grass roots support.

Now being a conscientious type, I feel that before I send the worker ants trudging around from door to door I need to get out there and knock on a few doors myself, just to see how the voters really react to the questions and what the current hostility level is.

So this bright sunny day I’d reluctantly hit the road to start off the new survey. I knocked on a few doors, getting the standard refusals to answer the door, the slamming of the door in my face, hysterical laughter, hysterical crying, threats, etc…

Occasionally, I’d find a civic minded citizen who was willing to sit down for half an hour and go through the list as I presented the questions.

By lunchtime I’d had several responses and filled in some questionnaires, all of them saying, depressingly, that we were idiots and shouldn’t be allowed to run a kindergarten, let alone a country. I could see that I was going to have to rephrase the questions, possibly along the lines of how hopeless the other mob were rather than how good we were.

I decided I’d get myself one more sucker to answer and then head back to the office and consult with the boss.

I knock on a door and redheaded breasts answered. That was my first impression, bright red hair and wonderful breasts that were really straining the buttons on her blouse.

Managing to widen the focus of my vision, it rather quickly registered that I was actually facing a young woman of about twenty five, lovely face, the aforesaid bright red hair, breasts that were somehow jammed into a blouse two sizes too small and daisy dukes that had to have been sewn on.

I trod firmly on my first inclination, swallowed my second and moved onto my spiel.

“Good morning,” I said smoothly and warmly, smiling politely. “I’m Ronald and I’m conducting a survey on our political parties. Would you have time to go through the questionnaire with me?”

The young lady smiled at me and said “Certainly. I’m Beth. If you’ll just show me some ID?”

That was a tick for her. I gave her my card and showed my driver’s license. I told her she could ring the office and they would vouch for me. Also, if she cared to check the phone book, she’d see that the number I gave her did actually belong to a politician’s office.

She just grinned, picked up a smart phone, shot me with it and messaged it to someone. She says that’s an easy way to keep tabs on visitors.

We kartal escort sat on a couch in the front room and started on the questionnaire, and she had fun giving me answers that she knew I wouldn’t like. She could see through the spin on the questions and was able to come up with some pretty devastating comments, all of which I noted down. They’d give the boss something to consider.

She was also having a pretty devastating effect on my libido. She was actively flirting with me and giving me the come-on, but I soldiered on and got to the last page on the questionnaire. Then I asked her if she might have time for a few supplementary questions.

She was having fun with her teasing and agreed, so now it was my time to have some fun. I told her the first question was about the clothing industry. We had received complaints from a number of people about manufacturing standards. Apparently, the thrust of the complaints seem to be weak cottons, with buttons and seams bursting at inopportune moments.

As I said this I flicked the top button of her blouse with my pen, smiling as I did it. The results were spectacular. The button popped undone, and there was an immediate cascade effect, with those lovely breasts bursting forth as all the buttons yielded to the strain.

Did I mention that I had suspected she was braless? It was now blatantly obvious that my suspicions were correct. We both sort of sat back startled, and Beth may an attempt to bring the sides of her blouse together. Not a concerted effort, more like a feeble grab that sort of held the edges together while not hiding anything.

“I’ll put that down as you’ve noticed some problems, will I?” I suggested, receiving an amused nod.

“Another question that has been concerned is whether breast implants should be covered my medical insurance. There is some argument as to whether they are purely cosmetic or if there is a psychological component to their use.”

Beth shook her head. “It’s not something that has ever concerned me,” she said. “You may have noticed that I have been reasonably well treated by nature in that area.”

I gave a flickering glance at her breasts and a dubious nod. Beth laughed at me.

“Really, Ron, if you want to check you should just ask. Not give me doubtful looks.” She released her hold on her blouse and let her puppies swing free. “Feel them,” she insisted. “You can tell that they’re all natural.”

With her insisting, I’d look timid if I refused, which is something a surveyor can’t afford. Act timid and the interviewees will walk all over you. Act confident in all things. That’s the shot.

So, at her insistence I careful checked out her breasts, and I had to admit that they were all her. Every luscious mouthful.

Don’t get the wrong idea from that. I did not test her breasts by biting them. I just felt them very carefully, palpitating to ensure that there were no implants, and I didn’t even notice that her nipples twitched and stood erect.

“OK,” I said, “I’ll put maltepe escort bayan you down as no opinion for that question.”

I paused, considering. “I had another question about hair dyes, but if that’s your natural colour it would be a waste of time.” I lifted an eyebrow inquiringly.

Beth laughed. “It’s my natural colour,” she admitted. “It’s a bit startling I admit, and I’ve no real way to prove it.”

“I assume by that remark you mean you shave, but it would have been most unprofessional of me to ask to check. I think I’ll accept your answer as is.”

“Now, my last question is about the prevalence of tattoos in society. Do you have any?”

“If I say yes, will you have to see it?” Beth asked, innocence oozing out of her voice. That was OK. I could play innocence with the best of them.

“Actually, if you answer this question I’m supposed to verify that you’ve answered it correctly,” I told her, “So I would need to check, but I must emphasise that you can pass on this question and that will be the end of the interview.”

“That’s all right. I don’t mind answering. I do have a small tattoo, but it’s on my bottom. I don’t mind showing you. If you’ll excuse me for a second…”

Her voice trailed off and she stood up and turned around. I heard the snap of her shorts stud and the zip, and then she tugged down the back of her shorts to show a small butterfly on her right buttock.

“Very good,” I said. “I’ve noted that. Now I just need to check the rest of your body to ensure there are no others.”

There was silence at that one. Beth turned and looked at me, a funny look on her face. Then she nodded.

“You got me fair and square,” she said. “I started it so I can’t complain if I get caught.”

Laughing she slipped down her shorts and panties and then dropped her blouse to the floor. A low pirouette, hands held out so that I could inspect her body carefully which, I assure you, I did.

She stopped the pirouette facing me, not trying to cover up, and asked if that was the end of the interview.

“Not quite,” I said smiling. “There is one last question. Just pick one of the three options. Do you want to bend over the arm of the couch, lie on the couch or run and hide until I’ve gone?”

Beth spent a few moments looking at me, considering her options. They were really two, will she or won’t she? Then she glided over to the end of the couch and bent over the arm. Her hands braced her against the seat of the couch and her breasts dangled below her swaying gently.

She looked at me, a smirk on her face, daring me to follow through on my challenge.

Would I dare? It would have taken an angry husband with a shotgun to deter me, and I’m not even sure that that would work.

I moved around to stand behind her. She didn’t turn to look, just stared straight ahead, waiting. As a teaser, I bent and kissed that little tattoo on her butt, then sent my hands wandering.

I was in no hurry. My hands glided up and around to feel those dangling escort pendik globes, cupping and squeezing, enjoying the soft weight of them in my hands. I probably shouldn’t have shaken her slightly from side to side, but the thought of seeing her breasts swaying was too much.

Drawing my hands back down and over her bottom, rubbing across her pussy, just lightly touching it, feeling her subtly try to push back into my hands, wanting a stronger touch without actually saying so. I could feel the heat coming from her and knew that I wouldn’t need a lot of foreplay. She was ready right then.

I spread her lips slightly and leaned my cock gently against them. Then I started pressing in, moving slowly. When I say slowly, I mean excruciatingly slowly. My cock simply crept into her, fraction by fraction, and I heartlessly negated every effort she made to speed things up. When she tried to thrust back to meet my creeping cock, I just swayed back with her motion, preventing her from getting even a millimetre that I didn’t want to give her.

She was hissing slightly as I progressed. I think her teeth were clamped tightly together and she was gasping through them. When I finally lanced home that last inch she gave a gasp of relief, and waited for the main show to start.

And waited.

And waited some more, as I just stood there, enjoying the feel of being inside her.

Beth started twisting, gyrating her hips, trying to get me moving. When she tried to pull forward and away from me, I held her hips firmly in place so that all she could do was squirm on the spot.

I don’t know what her twisting, gyrating and squirming were doing to her feelings, but they were sure doing a number on me.

She was panting now, her frustration building with each second that passed. She started swearing at me, asking what I’m waiting for, telling me to move.

Still holding still, I pointed out that she hadn’t said the magic word.

She almost exploded on the spot.

“Alright, please, fuck you,” she screamed at me. “Please. Now move.”

So I did. Withdrawing, I paused a second and then slammed full length back into her, drawing a scream of delight from her. Then I went to work in earnest, repeatedly slamming my full length into her while Beth responded with frantic upthrusts and a lot of noise.

Her bottom was bobbing up and down frantically, eager to catch my every thrust, her little butterfly tattoo looking as though it had taken flight.

Soon we going at it faster and faster, and Beth was screaming in time to my pounding. I had to cup my hand over her mouth to muffle the noise a bit, not wanting neighbours coming to investigate the noise.

Finally I was coming, and I happily vent myself inside her, and Beth was coming and trying to scream louder than ever and changing the scream to a hard bite when the climax really hit her. I’m lucky she didn’t draw blood.

When everything had died down and we were motionless again, Beth sighed. She pulled away from me slightly and I let her go, too exhausted to think of trying for a second round. She dressed and I straightened my clothes, then she offered me a drink and we relaxed happily, glasses in hand.

“You’re definitely a politician,” she observed. “Who else knows how to screw the public so well.”

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