Lost Cell Phone: Monday

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My Monday was not going well. Somewhere over the weekend, I lost my cell phone. I had been calling it from my second emergency line, but there was no answer. I decided to check with every bar I could remember hopping through with my girlfriends, but so far, no luck. That’s me: Shelly the irresponsible. I am 24 years old and in my prime bar hopping years.

My boyfriend Matt hates this, and he almost never goes out with us. We’ve been together for 2 years and I love him, but when I have liquor in me, he should really be around. I am borderline uncontrollable with very few morals. A size 6 with DD breasts and a sexy smile shouldn’t be without her boyfriend in bars. Luckily, my friends have a strict policy about keeping our shenanigans to ourselves.

The emergency line rang, and my heart sank when it wasn’t my phone calling. It was my friend, Jessie, who had been out with us on the weekend.

“No, I haven’t found my phone yet. I think I’m just going to report it lost and get a new one at lunch.” I was walking to work and she was hard to hear over the traffic.

“I hope someone turns it in. You really don’t want those pics and videos in anyone else’s hands.”

I stopped dead in my tracks on the sidewalk. “Videos?”

“The ones from this weekend … At that after party we went to?”

My heart was pounding. I hate it when you block things out and then they come flooding back. Especially when you’re in a relationship and … Oh no. We’d played strip poker with a bunch of guys and … Afterward there were definitely some videos that Matt just could NOT see.

I shouted into the phone, “I gotta go!” and ran the rest of the way to work.

When I got to the office, I rushed to my desk for some pre-work internet time and checked all of my social media accounts. Nothing. They hadn’t been posted. And how would whoever found my phone know who Matt was and that these videos were … Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

The message indicator on the emergency phone went off and I checked it. It was from my phone! Oh hallelujah, someone had found it!! All the message said was,

“Shelly” -Hello.-

I was starting to panic a little, but I decided to play along.

“E-Phone” -I thought I had lost my phone! I’m so glad you found it. Where can I meet you?-

“Shelly” -What would be the fun in that?-

“E-Phone” -Umm, I would get my phone back?-

“Shelly” -These videos are hard to part with.-

“E-Phone” -Please! I need that phone back!-

There was no response. I tried calling, but I got no answer for the next two hours. When I checked my personal email on my break, there was a message from myself, however.

Hello Shelly,

I will return your phone in one week’s time. Between now and then, I have a game for you. I will text or email you with instructions, you will obey. Each time you question me, I will send a photo from this phone to Matt. I gather from your text history that he is your live-in boyfriend? I’m sure he wouldn’t approve of this behavior. You won’t know which photo I send until he receives it. If you refuse to obey any instructions, I’ll send a video to your precious boyfriend.

It will be fun, I promise. 😉

You will address me as ‘Sir’ this week. My favorite response from beautiful girls is, ‘Yes, Sir.’ Any other response could make the game a little more painful. You decide.

A package will be delivered to you soon. Go to the bathroom and put it on.


I closed the email, my jaw hanging wide open. Who did this jackass think he was!? I could call the police, Escort Bayan they could trace the phone …

There was a voice behind me and I turned to see a police officer standing in the doorway to my cubicle. “Excuse me, but are you Shelly?”

“Yes, Officer…?” I should tell him. Right now.

“I was asked to deliver this package to you by a close friend. I was in the area, so here it is.” He smiled politely and turned to leave.

So much for involving the police.

My ‘package’ was a bulging manila envelope. I reluctantly stomped to the bathroom to survey the contents.

Inside was a black bra, the tag read, “Shelf Bra”. According to the picture, all this bra would do was lift my breasts from the underside, leaving it bare against my shirt. I took the tags off, put it on and put my own bra into the envelope. There was a small suction bulb and a package of tiny rubber bands with a note.

“Put two rubber bands around the suction end of the bulb. Once your nipple is suctioned into the tube, roll the rubber bands down around the base of your nipple and let the suction go. Do this to both nipples and go back to work. I will text you when you can remove them.”

Was this man insane!? My text alert went off…

“Shelly” -I have a photo ready to send…-

“E-phone” -I’m putting them on now-

I was being blackmailed and for what? I looked down at my bare breasts, size DD sitting proudly on top of the satin fabric. I had no choice. Matt couldn’t find out about that night.

I put two rubber bands on the tube and suctioned my nipple. It stung, but felt good at the same time. I rolled the rubber bands down and they pinched around my nipple. When I let the suction go, the rubber bands squeezed my nipple and it stood out obscenely. The pain was a little intense, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

I quickly did the other nipple and got my shirt back on. When everything was in the envelope, I checked myself in the mirror before leaving and my mouth fell open.

I had worn a button-up shirt to work, and now I was glad it was blue and not white. The shirt hugged my breasts so I could see their natural roundness, my nipples jutting out proudly. I had to walk back to my desk like this!? No way.

A text came through:

“Shelly” -Send me a picture of your bare nipple, banded and a picture of your breasts with your shirt on.-

Who was this sick bastard?

I took the pictures and sent them and braced myself to leave the bathroom.

My hands were shaking and my heart was racing. I could feel my nipples burning. As I walked past the rows of cubicles, not many people looked up and I was thankful. Oh, why hadn’t I brought a sweater? Just before I reached my cubicle, my boss came down the aisle with contracts for me to type.

He strode toward me and I ducked into my cubicle, hoping that I could discuss this with my back to him as I sat at the computer.

“Shelly!” I turned in my chair to face him, my cheeks on fire.

“Good Morning, Mr. Starr.” Mr. Starr was tall and tan and gorgeous. I won’t say I’d never had a fantasy about the man.

“I need these contracts in ten minutes.” As he outlined the specifics and gave me the files, I noticed that his eyes glanced downward at my breasts more than once. When he left, I laid my head down on my desk. Mortifying.

As I typed, my nipples began to sting and burn even more. I couldn’t focus, I kept making spelling errors and my fingers were shaking. Time was ticking by so slowly that I thought I would explode.

When the Bayan Escort contracts were finished and sent to the printer, I realized that I had to walk them to Mr. Starr’s office. Fuck. I wanted to punch something.

I rushed to the printer and grabbed the contracts and headed toward Mr. Starr’s door. There was a group of guys at the water cooler outside his office door. Fabulous.

“Hey, Shelly! Wild weekend?” These guys had seen me out at the bars, they knew more than they should.

“Yeah, as usual.” I smiled and winked and pretended everything was normal. All I could think about was how much pain I was in. Four sets of eyes were glued to my tits.

Mr. Starr was sitting at his desk when I walked in. I handed him the contracts and waited for his approval before I returned to my desk. He didn’t invite me to sit and my breasts were at his eye level.

“There’s a slight spelling error here. These are perfect, just correct that error and get back to me. I’m leaving in five.” He handed me the contract and stole a glance at my nipples.

Shit! I ran back to my cubicle, my tits bouncing and my nipples rubbing painfully on my shirt. This time, I caught everyone’s attention in their cubicles.

A text came through on my phone,

“Shelly” -Remove the rubber bands now.-

You asshole, I can’t! I have to finish a contract. Dammit.

When the spelling error was fixed, I ran back to the printer, three male co-workers craning their necks to watch my tits bounce past. Arriving at Mr. Starr’s desk, breathless with my chest heaving and my nipples hard as rocks wasn’t helping my case. FUCK they hurt.

“Wonderful, thank you, Shelly.” I turned to leave, “Shelly?”

“Yes, Mr. Starr?” I turned and tried not to appear impatient.

“Is everything okay? You seem a little distracted?” He stared at my breasts.

“Everything’s great! Really.” Can I fucking go now? My nipples are on fire and they feel like nails are driven through them.

“Okay, I’ll see you this afternoon then.” He grabbed his jacket and was on his way out.

All I wanted to do was get the fucking rubber bands off. But of course, every male employee between Mr. Starr’s office and my desk suddenly had a question for me. I tried to remain professional, but it was clear that the only thing on their minds was staring at my breasts and obscene nipples.

I felt cheap and dirty and pissed off. I rushed to the bathroom and pried the bands off with my fingernails. They hurt worse coming off and I whimpered in pain. Once they were off, the pain didn’t stop. In fact, it intensified as the blood rushed back into them.

“Shelly” -Send me a photo of those sore nipples of yours-

My hands were shaking, but I obliged the psycho and sent a picture.

“Shelly” -Good girl. Touch your pussy for me. Are you wet?-

What a sick fuck. I had to deal with this shit for a week? But out of curiosity, or maybe to prove him wrong, I reached down my pants and felt a silky wetness. What? I was wet!? That was the most painful and embarrassing event of my life and my pussy liked it!?

“E-Phone” -Yes-

I hope he was happy.

“Shelly” -What is my favorite answer, slut?-

Slut? Who was I kidding? Whoever he was, he’d seen the videos. Oh for fuck’s sake.

“E-Phone” -Yes, Sir.-

For the rest of the (very long) day, I received texts about every hour to rubber band my nipples again. Focusing on my work was spotty and impossible. My mouth went dry, my appetite was gone and all I could think about was the disturbing fact Escort that this excruciating pain was actually turning me on.

Every time I went in to take the rubber bands off and stifle screams of pain, I had to wipe my pussy dry for fear of leaving a puddle in my chair.

When it was 5:00 I breathed a sigh of relief and gathered my things for home. But a text came through to do the fucking rubber bands again.

“Shelly” -I hope it’s a quick commute home-

It was a 20-minute walk!! And now, a 20-minute walk with my round, barely supported breasts bouncing with rock hard nipples for everyone to see. I wanted to cry.

I was right, the walk felt longer than usual. I tried to hurry, but hurrying only made my tits bounce and brought more attention my way. The pain was unbearable and my pussy was wet. How would I explain abused nipples to my boyfriend? Maybe it would be an early night and he wouldn’t want to have sex.

When I walked in the door, I threw my things down and ran for the bathroom. Matt was in the kitchen cooking and yelled his ‘hello’ to me through the apartment.

I tried to act normal as Matt poured me a glass of wine and finished dinner. Small talk about our days was a welcome distraction as the blood rushed back to my nipples and they felt like they were swelling. He kept looking at my breasts with curiosity.

When he was finished cooking, he plated our food and set the table. Then he cornered me in the kitchen and felt me up. When he didn’t feel a bra, he unbuttoned my shirt.

“New bra?” He groped my breasts and kissed me, and I hoped he wouldn’t notice me wincing in pain as his hands rubbed across my tender nipples.

“Just for you.” I lied.

“I like it.” He gave me a wicked smile and headed for the dinner table. He saw the manila envelope on the table by the door with my bra hanging out. He pulled out the nipple pump and rubber bands. “Feeling kinky, are we?” His eyes brightened.


He went straight for my nipples with the suction and before I knew it, I was drowning in pain again. This time, I had a man stripping me naked and admiring my dripping wet pussy like a hungry lion.

Matt went down on me with a vengeance, sucking my juices, tasting everything I gave him and sucking on my clit until the pain and the pleasure were too much and I came on his face.

“Wow!” Matt looked up with shock all over his face.


“You’ve never squirted before. That was fucking hot.” He flicked my angry nipples with his tongue and I felt his rock hard cock push into me. He felt about an inch longer than usual and was fucking me with more enthusiasm than he had in months.

When he flipped me over and fucked me doggy style, the blood rushed to my tits and I whimpered. The angle of entry this way was so perfect and rubbed everything so right, it always made me come. But this time, the pain prolonged it for me. I teetered on the edge of an orgasm for what felt like ages. The pain was so awful but my pussy felt so good. The balance was enough to drive me wild.

Somehow I found a way to work past the pain and focus on my orgasm. I felt myself contract around Matt’s cock just as he pushed into me and I felt his hot semen soak my insides. It was the longest, most intense orgasm of my life.

He turned me over and kissed me with a passion I hadn’t even realized I missed. Then he took the rubber bands off and kissed my nipples gently.

“We should do that more often.” His smile was mischievous.

“Yeah, definitely.” In about six months when my nipples heal, I thought to myself.

I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror at my naked body. My nipples were red and sore and standing at attention. I lightly brushed one with my finger and felt a tingle in my clit.

Maybe there was something to this …

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