Commercial Interruption

You smile broadly at your stepsister from your raised podium, twirling a strand of long honey-blond hair in time with the rhythmic smacking of cotton candy gum you have no recollection of ever having placed in your mouth. While the still male part of you is genuinely impressed with Sarah's sportsmanship and willingness to abide by the bizarre rules she herself created, the increasingly catty feminine thoughts and mannerisms you suddenly find yourself cursed with can't help but eagerly anticipate the comeuppance of the spiteful bitch.

"Like, 'BITCHIN!", you squeal, proudly thrusting your impressive breasts forward to noticeably strain the thin cotton t-shirt doing a poor job of containing your now mammoth tits. Although the last punishment bestowed you with feminine attributes any woman would consider a blessing, it seems your male clothes, unfortunately, were not adjusted accordingly. Every subtle movement sends your unfettered bra-less mounds to jiggling in the now too-tight t-shirt adorning your chest. From the flirtatious flick of your wrist to punctuate your sickeningly saccharine dialect to the gentle swell of chest flesh from each inhaled breath; any movement appears as if an unintended cock-courting ritual.

"Yer' like TOTALLY in for it now, fer SHUR!", you continue towards Sarah, idly plucking at the thin cotton outlining your large firm areolas, quite visible as half-dollar sized darkened flesh beneath the thin white material of your t-shirt. You flick your wrist for emphasis and cock your head reflexively to brush an errant flaxen lock from before your crystal blue eyes.

As you patiently wait for Sarah to choose her punishment, you briefly loose focus in assessing your current attire. Your thoughts suddenly drift to the too-cute pale blue blouse and totally awesome matching mini skirt ensemble your favorite celebrity diva was wearing at the awards show slumber party you hosted at Daddy's house last weekend. "I'm like, 10 times the Betty that bitch could EVER be!", you smile smugly to yourself, tweaking your stiffening nipples to attention with a quick flick of thumb and forefinger to prove your point.

"Wait, like what?", you pause in your daydream, realizing something's not quite right. You stare ahead wide eyed, your fingers halting in the act of running through your heavy silken tresses to loose tangles in your luxurious wheat tinted mane.

"I've like, so SERIOUSLY got to, like, WIN", You mumble to yourself. You struggle to wrestle control of your body from the possessed valley girl haunting your flesh in time to notice the large timer signifying Sarah's time limit above the choices on the video screen rapidly approaching zero.

You briefly notice Sarah standing at the podium opposite you, shifting uncomfortably in the skin-tight leotard bestowed upon her as penalty from an earlier challenge. You notice her gaze pleadingly at the rapidly descending digitized counter while taking nervous nibbles of plump bottom lip; as if her begging eyes could somehow gain the favor of the mechanical device and slow the relentless count down.

Three spotlights suddenly appear impossibly from above to train on Sarah's writhing body in time with synthesized clapping erupting from everywhere and no where at all in response to a hovering 'applause' sign you had not noticed before. You identify a potential opportunity in Sarah's **** predicament and quickly balance both well manicured hands slightly above eye level to peer into the phantom audience for any clue as to where you might be, or possibly a potential escape.

A slow, exasperated groan seeps through your parted lips as your vision slides over an entire audience filled with Sarah's.

"I'm, like, Tre DEAD!", You shudder in time with a loud buzzer signifying Sarah's allotted time has expired.

You notice Sarah stand bolt upright, her limbs stiffening as if some external power were guiding her actions. With squinted eyes and jaw clenched shut, she continues to struggle against her unseen assailant until you notice her mouth slowly part as if by compulsion. Still struggling, her jaw splits as if being forcibly preyed open and she awkwardly croaks her response.

"Blondes have mo….",

AND NOW, A WORD FROM OUR SPONSORS -

"Like, what the Fu…..", your last thought flutters from your head as the world goes white around you.

"Like, SHIT!", you pant in vexation, lifting your left arm to check the time on the delicate female watch gracing your left wrist. "I'm like, SO going to be, like, late, AGAIN!", you pout in a lilting alto that sounds more like a hungry moan through your freshly painted lips.

You continue to gracefully navigating the seemingly maze like partitions of beige cubicles in your designer heels while clutching a thick, worn leather satchel to your sizable chest as if in desperation. Your needy diamond like nipples immediately respond to the attention, pressing proudly through the thin material of the fitted white collared blouse caressing your frame.

"Like, if only I didn't have to jill off ONE MORE TIME!" you scold yourself, thinking back to the not-unpleasant experience of your thumb, index, and middle finger plunging mercilessly through the blood gorged folds of your aching pussy not moments ago. You could have sworn your climax was synched with the woman in the adjacent stall. Barbara, you thought you'd seen her before, the petit brunette tressed accountant from the 14th floor. Judging by the thrashing of flailing limbs on the stall dividers and the audible splash of obvious female arousal on the tile floor below, you thought she must be a fairly new employee.

"Like, rookie", You smirk to yourself thinking that the veteran staff, such as yourself, knew the techniques of stifling the most powerful of orgasms.

Continuing your aggressive pace, your erotic thoughts remind you that you were unfortunately not quite able to finish yourself properly due to your meeting-imposed haste. With a light sigh and painted on smile, you casually gaze about you at the occupied cubicles in your wake to gage if anyone had yet to notice your faux-pa. Assuming your error had gone undetected, you quickly release the still lady-cum slick digits of your left hand from clutching your leather-bound nipple deflector to slowly draw beneath your elegantly arched nose. You leak a low, heavy moan in synch with a miss-timed heeled step as an orgasmic aftershock surges through your over-sexed womanly body; stimulated by the pungent odor of your own arousal. Smiling awkwardly at a cute bob-haired red head who MIGHT have winked knowingly at your predicament, you proceed to greedily deposit your pussy slick digits between drooling lips to thoroughly clean with eager pink tongue. You release the now spit-coated fingers from the sauna of your mouth with an audible 'pop' before casually swiping the saliva slick digits along the hem of your tasteful high-waist charcoal pencil skirt.

Pausing only to reach behind to align the skirt zip to center between your luscious wool clad ass globes and straighten the silver plated buckle of your slim black leather belt, you brush the remaining arousal tainted moisture from your fingers along your plump skirted ass before once again resuming your purposeful strides.

"Like, I need to, like GET a GRIP", You audibly sigh as you continue toward your destination at marathon pace. You have a fleeting thought that your words sound odd, almost as if scripted. Lost in thought, you barely notice a shapely blonde and well stacked brunette chatting beside a water cooler. You smile politely in greeting as you pass your gossiping workmates, grimacing slightly as you swear you could have heard something sounding like a television jingle emanating from somewhere just out of reach. Shrugging your shoulders dismissively, you strut on, uninterrupted on your way to your destination. As your tight skirted derrière sashes away down the corridor, you fail to notice both women simultaneously position their ceramic mugs beneath their colleagues A-line black leather skirt and mid-thigh length pleated fire-red skirt simultaneously to gather the steady torrent of moisture streaming from both womanly mounds.

Had you been paying attention, you would have noticed the large spreading swath of fabric staining their designer skirts above each woman's nether-lips matched that of your own.

You abruptly halt before a solid wood door with frosted glass lites flanking each side, marking the large conference room serving as your destination. You take a moment to compose yourself, breathing a deep languid breath to enhance your prominent eraser sized nubs poking stiffly to tent your thin white blouse. Your hands reflexively straighten creases on your crisp starched blouse and brush lint from your grey business skirt before lightly pressing over the damp saturated fabric concealing your womanhood.

"Like, my dry-cleaning bill this month is gonna be, like, grody fer sher….", you hear yourself say while sighing in resignation. Taking one last steeled breath, you turn the latch and enter the room before you.

Five pairs of identical ice blue eyes beneath identical balding heads above identical tailored suits train on your over-sexed womanly body as you enter the room. Clearing your throat, you stumble forward towards the large opaque conference table positioned in the center of the room, to find yourself tripping on your towering heels as the torrent of lady moisture streaming down your inner thighs causes you to miss-time your delicate steps. Wide eyed and arms flailing, you tumble forward and brace for impact on the table before you. You fall daintily to your arousal slick knees, causing you to release your leather satchel to abruptly deposit your meeting documents, along with several racy pairs of fresh replacement panties in all manners of vibrant colors and exotic fabrics to spill about the table.

Blinking slightly beneath a curtain of styled golden tresses, you wonder if you didn't just hear the 'sad trombone' sound from somewhere in the distance.

Blushing furiously, you tentatively gaze up from your kneeling position through the mass of disarrayed blonde locks to see Sarah positioning herself beside you with a surprising look of sympathy on her tastefully painted lips appearing quite awkward beneath eyes wide with confusion. She rests a well manicured hand capped with blood red lacquered nails matching her sleeveless silk shell reassuringly on your shoulder as she crouches beside your kneeling body. You shake your head in disbelief as you notice the sodden fabric of your tainted skirt slowly expand as it continues to absorb your leaking lady juice.

"Like, omigawd!", you scream internally, forcing yourself to look up at the executives seated around the table before you where you had abruptly deposited your most intimate of possessions. "I'm like SO fired!", you groan beneath the gaze of each executive sitting glumly, stern faced and arms folded with tight lipped scowl below pretty panty hats gracing bald heads.

As Sarah continues to soothingly caress your shoulder at your side, you can't help but notice that her black wool business skirt appears as if directly off the laundered rack. Come to think of it, Sarah never has the telltale signs of slick thighs and swamp skirt that every woman in the office seems plagued with. You again suddenly feel as if thoughts are being implanted directly in your brain.

"Like, I TOTALLY wonder what's her secret?" You find yourself asking aloud. Sarah winks knowingly as she gently grasps your slender hand to raise you from the floor and lead you to sit in one of the stretch fabric chairs ringing the glass conference table. The five executives having witnessed your panty presentation had vacated the room at some point during your atonement, leaving your feminine undergarments as a colorful pile of silk and lace at the center of the table.

with an expression of pure shock in her wide eyes contrasting the comforting smile on her pretty face, Sarah briskly runs both hands to smooth the fabric of her knee length wool skirt in back before primly seating her toned derrière in your sodden skirted lap. You notice her face contort as if she's fighting an invisible **** before draping her slender left arm at your shoulder to flirtatiously twirl a strand of your honey-blonde hair at the nape of your neck.

"It's alright sweetie", Sarah soothes while pressing a slender digit to your red-painted lips. "Most women don't quite get the HELP they need", You notice Sarah continues to struggle, quite clearly attempting to resist the mysterious screenplay seemingly guiding her actions.

"like, what HELP?", you husk, before running your nimble pink tongue to moisten large pillowy lips. Your breathy response sounds as if spoken by someone else.

Sarah again gently shushes you with outstretched finger before smiling encouragingly. You can see the deep rooted struggle rage within her as she gazes longingly into your eyes while continuing to coyly wrap your silken locks around her slender fingers. Without breaking eye contact, she reaches toward the conference table with her right hand to rotate a laptop computer to face you both. With a quick tap of blood red lacquered nail, the Inc. Co. logo is replaced with a crude graphic of an obviously well endowed woman with stick figure limbs, large circular breasts, and oversized stylized tear drops cascading from it's crotch.

"All women have Hyper Ectopic Lubricating Pussy syndrome, or H.E.L.P. as it is more commonly known". You hear a clinical female voice announce from around you. You notice the words appear on the laptop next to the exaggerated single lined woman now with a small pool of arousal beneath her parted legs.

"This condition is most evident in women between the ages of 18 and 50, occurring in cycles typically at the end of each month", The authoritative voice continues. You notice the cartoonishly digitized woman going about various daily routines as numbers on a calendar peel from the screen. As each day passes, the pool of liquid beneath the woman increases in size until the final day of the month, where it resets to only a slight dripping below her.

You notice Sarah is now watching the demonstration with pretty blonde head nuzzled at your shoulder as she gently cradles your trembling hand within her own over your sodden crotch.

"We at Inc. Co. understand how frustrating this can be", The female practitioner voice continues, illustrated by large animated thunderclouds and bolts of yellow lightning above the stick figure woman. Her drawn hands are clenched in circular balls as she repeatedly jumps up and down over the growing puddle of arousal beneath her.

"Attempting to get through your days with thoughts occupied only by increasing sexual stimulation and how best to relieve your condition". You notice red color fill the woman's circular face as thought bubbles pour from her head, each more obscene than the next in depicting self satisfying acts of sexual release. The droplets beneath her increase to a steady stream, finally erupting in a continuous torrent of liquid arousal emanating from her single line crotch.

"That's why we've invented, the PUSSY PLUG!", Your well plucked eyebrows arch considerably and a slight squeal escapes your lush parted lips as the image of a pacifier like device appears adjacent to the now dower looking woman on screen. A raising sun appears above the female depiction as her features noticeably brighten and the accumulated puddle beneath her instantly evaporates.

You notice Sarah's shaking hands gently guide your own to rest above the tender heaving mound of her sex below her tasteful black business skirt to slowly run your fingers over the soft wool material. You hear the unmistakable tap of hard plastic beneath as she taps a well manicured nail above the surface of her womanhood, dutifully protected by her own Pussy Plug.

"Like, o… my… GAWD!", you exclaim, finally realizing how Sarah always appears so confident and composed while you and every other women in the office are constantly fighting the urge to jill one off in the restrooms, or failing to conceal the constant torrents of liquid streaming down fleshy thighs and staining designer skirts.

Sarah smiles softly in recognition. She continues to guide your limp digits to trace delicate circles over her rapidly heating crotch before once again shushing you with slim red capped finger to direct your attention back to the screen.

"Utilizing the patented Pussy Plug in conjunction with Cunnie Cream is guaranteed to keep you dry and secure for twenty four hour protection". Miss stick figure quickly unwraps the packaging and maneuvers the plastic device towards her still leaking mound. She then retrieves a small tube of Cunnie Cream from the packaging and precedes to liberally apply the paste like substance around the plastic rimmed hilt below the retractable handle. You watch with rapt attention as the view switches to an enlarged close up of what you assume to be an animated representation of Miss stick's vaginal cavity, currently shown as overflowing with liquid. Excess droplets pour continuously from the opening at the bottom until the Pussy Plug is inserted in the gap.

"Upon contact with female lubrication, Cunnie Cream chemically reacts to form an impenetrable, ladycum-resistant barrier". The on-screen graphic again switches to illustrate the Pussy Plug in place, showing blue directional arrows facing downward and then reflecting upward as if deflected by a barrier. You casually raise your dainty hand to remove traces of drool from your gaping mouth as you watch the Cunnie Cream change colors in simulation of the chemical bond forming the liquid-tight barrier.

"Once securely in place, the ergonomic Sponge Stick works it's magic to siphon the remaining liquid now trapped in your vag-cav and is able to expand to over TEN TIMES it's original size to keep you comfortably dry and pleasantly sated throughout your day!". The computer simulation now illustrates the blue arrows all directed towards a tall cylindrical tube extending from the hilt of the pussy plug. Your eyes widen gleefully and you loose a girlish giggle as the arrows continuously collide with the slender shaft. The shaft grows in width with each arrow absorbed as you notice the illustrated liquid level diminish in synch with the increased diameter of the spongy Pussy Plug shaft.

"Safe, dependable, and most importantly, discreet, you can FINALLY go about your day with CONFIDENCE that the Pussy Plug and Cunnie Cream are working as hard as YOU do!" The digitized display again shifts to Miss Stick, now sensually strutting through her office. An animated sun shines brightly over her rounded head as colleagues and co-workers gaze on with genuine admiration.

You turn to face Sarah and feel her hot ragged breaths inches from your flushed blushing cheek. She breaths heavy at your neck, with head tilted slightly, half lidded eyes, and luscious lips parted slightly as if in anticipation of your soft, wet lips.

"First one's on me", Sarah husks in your ear, placing a small package in your right hand and gently pressing your fingers to curl around it. You feel her warm, wet tongue trace the lobe of your ear as the world around you is swallowed in intense white light.

"Congratulations, you've got the account". Five balding business men announce at once as they rise from their seats to a chorus of rousing applause.

You notice Sarah to your right, and hear an echoing 'ding' accompanied by a flashing light from toothy grin as she gives an exaggerated wink. As the businessmen quickly file from the room with continued clapping at your complete success, Sarah approaches and graces you with a sisterly hug.

You both suddenly turn awkwardly to simultaneously face the conference room table and place your hands on hips with elbows bent and breast thrust forward. Confusion mars both your pretty faces as you begin to alternate high legged kicks while standing in place as best as your form-fitting knee length business skirts will allow.

You both then start to sing:

When you're pussy's awfully leak-y!

And she's acting down right weep-y!

Don't bother with procedures, operations or ****!

Get yourself some Cunnie Cream and the Pussy Plug!

You both suddenly stop your bizarre gesticulations to proudly hold packages of Pussy Plugs beside your beaming faces.

"In Regular, for light days!", You enthusiastically announce, licking your painted lips for added affect.

"Sensual Swamp, for mid-month!", Sarah announces at your side, giggling lightly with a slight bounce of her smallish breasts for punctuation.

"And don't forget Titilating Typhoon, for the heavy days!" you both say in unison. You both simultaneously turn to face each other, synchronized in slowly lifting right high heel capped legs while slowly leaning forward with lidded eyes and puckered lips as the world once again evaporates around you.

"And now, BACK TO OUR SHOW!"

Thunderous clapping is heard from all around as you once again find yourself standing at the podium on the set of Sarah's warped game show.

"...What the hell was that?" you ask, head reeling.

Your sister giggles. "Your challenge, dummy!"

"But... what was it for? Like, did I win?"

She shrugs. "Who knows? It was fun though!"

Oh, you get it. You notice that your sister's hair is a far brighter shade of blonde than it was before. "Blondes Have More Fun" definitely had more than one effect.

"As for whether you won or not..." A huge smile sits on Sarah's face as she thinks.