

The following work of fiction contains sexual activities between
consenting adults. If you are too young, too uptight, or your
local government is too oppressive, you should stop reading now.



This story is in the public domain. While you are legally free
to do anything you like with it, out of courtesy to the author,
I humbly request that you leave my name and contact information
with this story.


Celeste's WD-40
By Poison Ivan



By Poison Ivan

_Warning! The following story contains writing 
of extreme stupidity.  Read it at your own risk._

I am just a blue and yellow can of WD-40, the small,
convenient sample size.  I have a thin red plastic straw
held against me by a rubber band.  I love my little red
straw, and she is everything to me; her close contact keeps
me in a constant state of arousal.  I love to feel her
smooth, cool surface pressed against my steely body.

Mine is an extraordinarily pleasant existence.

It is a day not unlike any other.  I lie in darkness, and
the click-clack sound of Celeste's computer keys fills the
drawer with its pleasant rhythm.

I listen patiently, and there are muffled voices, of
Celeste and her husband, then more typing, and then the
phone rings.  The voices continue.

But there is something different about this day.  I can
sense it in the tone, in the electricity in the air.  I am
alert.  I am ready.  Something is going to happen.

And all of a sudden, my drawer flies open and I am bathed
in light.  I am grabbed, with desperate, trembling fingers,
and an electric current blasts through me.  For an instant,
I can see the scene, and Celeste holds my body and stares at
my cylindrical form, her eyes full of lust.  I know she
admires my body, my perfect 4-4-4 figure.  Her eyes sparkle
and dance.

And I am unceremoniously tossed away.

I roll along the floor, around and around, and finally
settle to a stop.  And I can not see a thing.

I have been rejected before, but I hold no grudges.  I
know Celeste needs me.  More than anything else, I know she
needs her WD-40.

But it sounds like Celeste is having a fine old time.
Lots of grunting and cussing and farting.

It is over surprisingly quickly.  Words are exchanged,
kisses, and the thudding of feet.  The clack of computer
keys begins anew.

A few minutes later, the computer is shut down, and the
room is suddenly quiet.  A chair slides against the floor.
I hear the shuffling of pencils and papers, and then a
jarring grate of metal.

"Fucking drawer!" Celeste mutters.  "Sticking again."

My attention perks.  These are the love whispers I long
to hear!

I hear her approach, her bare feet on the floor, and I
can sense her searching for me, for only I can satisfy her
now!  Her husband?  No! KY?  Hardly!  Her computer?  I
laugh!

It is I!  It is I who holds the key to her ultimate
gratification!

"There you are," she says.

I am lifted into her warm, damp hands.  My entire being
tingles with arousal!

Her soft, slender fingers curl around my turgid cylinder.
Gently, every so gently she peels off my flaming red cap,
and now my nozzle is exposed, bare, trembling with
expectation.  Her soft finger touches my hard head, and the
pressure from within me forces a glistening drip of ooze
from my pin-point duct.  I am so excited, I almost come
right there, right on the spot!

She points my expectant nozzle into the warm, dark nether
regions of the drawer works.  The graceful track wheels and
shiny sliders beckon me forward, and Celeste guides me down,
inwards, until my poised one-eyed knob is inches away from
the reluctantly sliding channel.

Her fingers caress my head, lightly, along my wrinkled
top surface.  Slowly, with a smooth, practiced motion, she
presses down.

Oh!  The ecstasy!  The huge, gushing release of my
precious fluid!  I spurt forcefully, once, and she presses
down again, and I shoot forth another joyous burst!  The
gasses and fluids inside me swirl as the rapture rocks my
entire being!

"Shit," Celeste says.

I am delirious with joy, the orgasmic shock still
reverberates in my hollow body.  I don't remember it ever
being this good before!

And then my little red plastic straw, my soul mate, is
removed from my side, and my arousal moves on towards an
even higher plateau.  Celeste guides the beautiful, round
red form into the tiny circle in my head.  It is as if my
indentation were designed for holding my little red straw,
she fits so snugly inside me, and my freshly wet duct stares
excitedly down the barrel of her long, silky, inner core.

Back towards the dark drawer we go, Celeste's fingers
again stroking my poised head.  The end of my lover's
scarlet shaft settles into the dark crevice between wheel
and slide.  And Celeste presses down--oh!  That sets me off
again, and a huge release of my juice gushes into the tight
tight tunnel of my beloved straw.  The flaming red passage
carries my precious liquid down, down and out, down into the
inner workings of the drawer.  And Celeste taps again, and
again I explode.

And then her finger presses and holds, and I deliriously
spew forth a constant stream of my lubricating nectar.  Out
it comes, continuously, the force rocking my trembling
cylinder, tapping me, tapping me, draining me, taking
everything out of me that is me.

I sputter and falter.  I am utterly spent.  Celeste's
finger moves off my sensitive head.  I feel like an empty
shell.  And I have never felt more content.

"Damn," Celeste says.  She shakes my drained body next to
her ear.  "It's empty."

And she drops me, and I tumble, down, down, into the
trash bin, cradled softly by crumpled papers and tissues.  I
feel warm and exhausted and fulfilled.

I hear the smooth glide of metal on metal, and a soft
clunk as the drawer slides shut.  Celeste purrs.

And the lights go out.




              

Comments? Good or bad, I'd love to hear them. Email me at
poisoniv1@hotmail.com. Or you can find mor estories like this on
my website, http://bounce.to/poisoniv1.

