By The Second
I woke up just a few minutes before my alarm went off in my usual state of desperate wetness. The darkness outside my window reminded me that dawn was still an hour or two away, and that I was lying in my bed, alone, wearing a tee shirt and panties, stuffed to the brim with my twelve inch long “Monster” Vibrator, a plastic sex toy containing a powerful motor that was, regretfully, completely silent at that particular moment. It was operated via a bluetoothBluetooth application on my smart phone and I was desperately horny, so I twisted in the sheets, groping for my phone. My fingers found it and I was just about to start it up, sending waves of sexual relief through my wanton loins, when I noticed something.
I had an email. From Master Fred. I sighed, not in exasperation, but in disappointment. I’d really wanted to fall into the abyss of sexual euphoria and I sincerely doubted that Master Fred’s email held anything I’d immediately enjoy. In fact, I doubted I’d even be allowed a morning orgasm. I shifted my hips, resisting the urge to reach down with wanton fingers and instead opened up the message. Nothing sucks more than denial and finding out that I’d been right.
Breanne - now, let's get back to just having some fun! Let's have some fantasies.
To quote a famous movie, "Do you want to play a game?"
Tell me how you want to play today! For starters, if you're game,
spread your legs, pull back your clit hood and hold a vibrator directly
on your clit until you're just about ready to cum. Then start your day
and I'll let you know what you must do to be able to cum.
For a second I considered deliberately misunderstanding him. He never said edge. He never said “stop”. All he said was “hold the vibrator directly on your clit until you’re ready to cum.” Well hell. I could do that. Easily enough right? All I needed to do was pull back just as I was about to pop and just let myself go. Or maybe use a finger. He never said I couldn’t touch myself. Did he? Still, I knew what Master Fred meant and me taking advantage of his good natured, but open-ended instructions wasn’t in my nature.
I reached down between my legs and worked the panties I was wearing downward, past my knees and then on toward my ankles. The Monster vibe slipped out, but that wasn’t much of a problem considering what I’d been instructed to do. With one hand on my phone and the other holding the vibe I turned on the toy to medium and then reached back down to my slit. My left hand found my clit easily enough, pinching it slightly and pulling back the clitoral hood, exposing the delicate little nub. My hips were already rolling as I pressed the tip of the purring vibrator to myself, revelling in the sexual intensity of the arousal, the very pressure of wanton discourse. The minutes passed and everything from my blood pressure to the beat of my heart increased as I pulled up my shirt, exposing my bare breasts. I longed to jam the full length of the twelve inch vibrator back into my slit, burying it with frantic thrusts and I realized, only just in time, that I was right there, ready to pop! I pulled the vibrator away with a groan and rolled over, turning off the toy and struggling to regain control.
It sure as hell wasn’t easy. When a semblance of coherent thought was able to get from one side of my brain to the other I realized I had to email him, Master Fred, and hope he would grant me permission to explode. My fingers flew across the phone’s screen as I typed.
OK... Naked in bed, and I'm do ready to pop right now that you'd be surprised at what I'd be willing to do for relief. Toy of the day is supposed to be the vibroballs, but Julie said that if you tell me something different your orders will supersede hers. So yeah. Let's play a game! What do I have to do to cum?? - Bre
My entire body was thrumming with urgency, though the fire in my veins was banked for the immediate moment. Julie had sent me her note about selecting my vibroballs as my toy of the day, the necessary component for following NHPS Rule #1. But Julie had also given Master Fred permission to superscede her orders. My brain seemed to convulse around the idea just as much as my pussy had around the Monster vibe. What would Master Fred choose? I half expected a single word response: “Suffer.” Fortunately I didn’t have to wait long. His email came in seconds.
Not yet! You need to be wanting for a bit. Vibroballs are fine, but on low. No cumming yet. That reward will come later. How long can you last with them on low? - Master Fred
How long? Was he kidding me? I sighed as I lifted myself up from the bed and headed to the closet for the toy box. On low I could probably last hours. Perhaps the whole day, provided nothing else stimulated me into an orgasm. I shambled over to the closet and got out the vibroballs. I chucked them on the bed as I pulled my phone back out and fired off another email to Master Fred. I didn’t want to get punished for delaying the conversation, did I?
Normally a couple of hours, but I only came twice yesterday so I’m a little bothered. I can handle it though, just as long as both bullets are inside me, instead of one just being tucked in my panties against my clit. OK. Getting dressed! - Bre
Lately Julie had been tormenting me by requiring one of the bullets of the vibroballs to nestle against my clit instead of rattling around inside me with its twin. That made for some rather desperate sensations and usually left me ready to pop in minutes rather than hours. I peeled off my shirt and then began sliding the vibroballs into my slit, reigniting the passion I’d felt just a few minutes before. I groaned, eyes closing as the two bullets went in deep. A shiver of desire seemed to blast up through my spine, straight to the pleasure centers of my brain. I was just about to turn them on and climb into my blue jeans when another email arrived. Again from Master Fred. He had poignant things to say about my vibroballs.
OK, leave them on low, but turn them up every half hour until you are ready to pop again. Turn them off when you are close and let me know and we'll go to phase two. The longer you last, the sooner I'll let you cum. I want you to endure a full half hour on high if you can! And just to make it more interesting, after they are on medium, send me a short paragraph describing what you're assignment/stipulation was last Tuesday, a week ago. The one that was mine, but you weren't going to do a write up about! Just to make you think about something erotic. If you can't remember, well that will be to bad for you... - Master Fred
Last Tuesday? I wracked my brains. I had a vague recollection of what he was talking about. Julie had emailed me that morning, requiring me to stuff myself with the vibroballs on high, place my butterfly vibrator over my clit on low, and stuff my ass with the Thrusting Anal Vibe (TAV) if I was dumb enough to have an orgasm.
Yeah. That’s me. Ms. Stupid. I hadn’t really written about it because even though I had suspected the idea for the torment had come from Master Fred, instead of just Julie, it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing that was going to make for good reading. I mean, really. I was just laying around, moaning and clutching at my crotch, trying hard not explode as each orgasm was rewarded by turning up the torment in my ass.
I’m not… I’m not fond of things being put in my bottom. It’s a personal thing. I just don’t care for it. I shook my head and finished dressing, jamming my feet into a pair of white tube socks, putting on a work appropriate bra and shirt, and then pulling on my duster before heading outside. I checked my watch. By then it was time. Master Fred wanted me tormented every thirty minutes? Fine. If that’s what he wanted, I was sort of required to do it. I grabbed the small remote, thumbed the bloody vibroballs to medium, and tried to focus on my chores. It sure as hell wasn’t easy. About ten minutes later I was panting, my pussy aching, and found myself once more right on the edge. I tugged out my phone and began typing.
Eleven minutes twenty four seconds. Then I had to turn it down. I'd be happy to tell you about last Tuesday, but not while typing on the phone. Too much. When I get back to the house and computer. It was the butterfly, vibroballs, and TAV. SO... back to low.... Driving me crazy.
And that was that. I turned down the vibroballs, settled myself and tried very hard to think of something other than the softly purring bullets buried in my slit. Of course, I wasn’t the only one working away...
Breanne, okay, being driven crazy is a good thing! I don't know how well this will work if you don't have the clamps with you (and typing on your phone is also a problem), but here's what I had next (adjust as your situation dictates): Put clamps on your nipples. They can be removed by satisfying one of the following two options:
After you get your nipple clamps off, hold a vibrator directly on your clit until you are ready to cum again.
I actually didn’t get the email until after nine, when I was heading back to my room. I’d spent the time before breakfast getting Rachel ready for school and then riding her out on Star to road so she could catch the bus. On low for most of it, through a pair of jeans, no one heard the churning state of my sex, much less the vibroballs rumbling around in there. Still, every thirty minutes I cranked up the power to medium and stumbled and strained, trying to keep from cumming, pushing myself through a number of unremarkable but intense edges. I managed, but only barely. And that brought me back to my room. I checked my mail account and I couldn’t help grinning as I read Master Fred’s email. Clamps. Yes. And evidently he was as impatient as I was for my poor little nubs to get crushed. He hadn’t even waited for me to actually do it. He’d just assumed I actually had gotten his email and gone straight to it. I felt sort of bad as I got out my toybox again.
Breanne, Wow, your nipples must really like being clamped! They should have been clamped for two and a half hours, would weights give you more incentive? Or have you not made it back to your room to get them yet, I bet the vibroballs are driving you crazy. You must need it real bad by now. Maybe I'll have to delay your orgasm a little, since you seem to be enjoying the need too much.
I've already got your next task ready and, trust me, you're going to like it, maybe even love it! - Master Fred
But as I read the email I noticed something. Master Fred didn’t specify which clamps I was supposed to put on. And I have got options! Clothespins? Binder clamps? Alligators? Duck bill? Clover? I mean which ones should I put on? And that’s also when I noticed the bonus questions attached to the second email.
Breanne, just a few questions:
I couldn’t help laughing at that. I mean, what kind of a dominant master asks his submissive how many orgasms she’d like? As if it were MY decision? I shook my head and went and got out my chosen clamps and set them on the desk. I took a deep breath, my plan already fully formed. If Master Fred wanted something immediate, intense, and a little fun. I could play that game! I jumped down in front of my computer, fingers flying.
Master Fred, sorry. I just got back to my room. After I took care of the critters I had to get Rachel fed and out to the school bus and so I'm just now getting free time. Sorry about that. I DID however, vibrate myself on medium each thirty minutes. No orgasms though. Times were variable. Longest was eleven minutes before I had to shut it off. Shortest was six which was also the one I did about twenty minutes ago.
Alright... so... it looks like I'm supposed to put on some clamps. Since you didn't specify, I guess I get to choose, so I chose my tweezer clamps! It means no bra for the rest of the morning, but I guess I can handle that. Give me a sec…
I yanked off my shirt and bra and tossed them in the corner. My nipples were already very hard and I lifted up each of the little tweezer clamps and set them on the tips of my breasts. Honestly it was a disobedient choice. I knew Master Fred wanted me hurting and the little tweezer clamps were about as far away from what was expected as asking for an ice water and getting a bucket of antifreeze. Yes. It’s wet. And fluid. Next?
Okay. There. Tee shirt. No bra. And the tweezer clamps of course. Thank God the little bells were taken off for the weighted clover clamps. Makes my life easier. Anyway I think I can "tolerate" these quite awhile, even with the forced edging. So I'll just spare myself the alligator clamp or going back to count orgasms in an assignment I had ages ago, which I can barely remember as it is. So... questions. Right?
How many do I want? Technically? As many as I can handle. But the reality is I'm at home, with my parents around, trying to write. Which means I need to limit it to something reasonable. So how about instead of going for quantity we go for quality. You know what makes me tick and what's nitro for my libido, right? So how about this? Why don't you think up ways to sexually tease me, hurt me, and torment me and when you FINALLY let me pop, I'll rate the orgasm on a scale of 1 to 10. If you get an 8 or better, I'll give you a nice reward. But if you DON'T get 8 or better then you have to do something for me!
I think this will be up to you. Won't it? Especially if we're playing for keeps! Oh look. It's about time to turn the vibroballs back up to medium. I'll start the timer. Maybe I'll just keep them on till you email me back? Unless... of course... I'm about to cum. Edging, right? Love, Bre
I pulled out the remote control for the vibroballs and slid the dial up toward medium. In seconds my hips were pumping, the tiny pinching sensation at the tips of each breast making it that much harder to focus and concentrate. God I wanted to cum! I sat at my desk, wearing just my jeans, panties, and socks, naked from the waist up, cupping my own breasts as my loins tightened around the purring, buzzing bullets inside me. I was getting close to another explosion when I received a response from Master Fred.
Breanne, oh, you're making this interesting! So I've got to change my plans. I've got to have you so on edge that you just burst once I do let you. I'm up for it, if you are! (Grinning.) Yeah, go back up to medium and I need to rethink your next task and I'll have it to you shortly, don't read it until you need to turn down the vibroballs. If you can manage 12 minutes you can take off the clamps, if not, you need to change them out with weighted ones. One question. What happens if you cum before you are given permission? This is going to be fun for me and I hope I can keep you boiling over!
Crap. What would happen if I had an unauthorized orgasm? Could I handle that? What sort of punishment would I really, really, not want to happen? I grit my teeth, counting out the minutes, but I was a bit short. I had to turn down the vibroballs as my body once more approached the edge. I so wanted to cum it was like this driving need. I held off, shaking, trembling, desperate. I didn’t know what to say or do. So I quickly wrote out another email.
Master Fred - Um... I didn't make it twelve minutes. Only eight. Sorry. I HAVEN'T CUM all morning! It's driving me just a little crazy. So I've switched out the tweezer clamps for the clovers, which are heavy, tight, and making my nipples throb. So thank you very much. And let's discuss early cumming. Obviously it has to be something I really, really don't want to do.
I hesitated. The list of things I really, really didn’t want to do wasn’t exactly long. However, there were somethings that Julie had been pushing as of late, that while I was resistant too, weren’t the kind of things that violated my limits. So grimacing, dreading all of them and most importantly my own weak will, I made a few horrible suggestions.
So if I cum accidentally, you can choose from these three things:
1. I'll spend a day at the Kennel. Yes. All of it.
2. I'll do an assignment with any person you specify. ANY PERSON. (except Rachel obviously.)
3. I will voluntarily go in for another nipple piercing. Julie's been badgering me about it anyway.
You choose. I don't want to do any of them. Some more than others though.
I hit “send,” and instantly regretted it. What if I fucked up? A day at the kennel? My God! Why would I agree to that humiliation and degradation? Or agreeing to do an assignment with ANY PERSON? That was just plain nuts! And another nipple piercing? I HATE needles! Was I crazy? I shook my head, trying to get the images out of my mind, ignoring the fact that each little fantasy was turning me on horribly. Still, it could have been worse. That’s when I noticed that Master Fred had written me another email. I opened it eagerly, but it wasn’t about punishments. It was something else entirely. Another task.
Breanne, I still can't believe that you can handle 12 inches of dildo. I don't think most women could. So indulge my disbelief. Take out the vibroballs and take your 12 inch Core Driller dildo. Slowly insert it completely into your pussy, feeling your pussy expand around it. Slowly pump the dildo completely in and out. Make sure that it's slow enough to drive you crazy, but fast enough to make you cum, eventually. No cheating, use only the slow pumping dildo until you almost cum, but try pump as long as possible. I'm going to win this bet!
My eyes widened. Yeah. So much for a steady, slow rise to orgasmic ecstasy. This was just getting cruel. And Master Fred, in his eagerness, had even fantasized how it was going to happen.
Breanne heads back upstairs and shakes off her jeans to get ready for her self-fucking. She pulls out her vibroballs and sets them down on a towel on her nightstand. Just for good measure she pulls her top over her breasts to let the clamps free, pausing for a moment to fondle her magnificent tits and tweak the clamps.
Well that was faintly ridiculous. I was already upstairs, sitting at the computer, half-naked, ostensibly working on one of my “tales” between trying really hard not to cum. I shook my head, comparing reality to the fantasy Master Fred had written out. I didn’t want him thinking I didn’t care, so while his fantasy me moved on to the next part, I started to hammer out a reply. On the keyboard.
Master Fred - I'm IN my room and this isn't getting "Spanked" typed up any faster, that's for sure. Okay. Hold on. Got to take my jeans off.
I stood up stripping off my socks. I hopped around just a bit, pulling down my jeans, the remote to the vibroballs falling onto the floor as I peeled off the panties I was wearing. Naked, with just the buzzing vibroballs inside me, I went back to the computer. Another sentence.
And... out comes the vibroballs. I'm going to lick them clean. Hope you appreciate that.
I silenced the vibroballs, turning them completely off before I pulled them out. They were covered in goo. My goo and the scent of my arousal permeated the room. Once, a long time ago, I was told by another master that a good slut cleans her toys when she’s done with them. So I held up the two bullets by the wire, as if I were a Roman about to eat my grapes, and stuck my tongue out.
Salty. Tangy. Musky. Delicious. I dabbed my tongue at the two bullets and even went so far as to pop them each into my mouth, sucking them clean of anything that might have come from my sodden swamp. The act of it was degrading, even a touch humiliating. Maybe someday an assignment will have me doing something like that at mall. Could you imagine me having to walk around with sex toys purring in me, and the moment I cum I have to pull it out and lick it clean, right there in front of everyone? I set the vibroballs aside and grabbed my Core Driller, a massive rubber dildo that measured a full twelve inches long and resembled NASA’s Saturn V rocket. For a second I almost just shoved it in. But then I remembered my audience. I went back to the computer for just a second.
There. And... Core Driller. Got it. Don't need any lubrication because I'm so wet it's going to slide right in. So... I'm going to send off this email, get on the bed, spread my legs, and pump with slow, steady, excruciatingly deep thrusts, until my toes are curling and I'm ready to beg for orgasm, which, considering my current mental and physical state, should be about thirty seconds. Give or take a minute. Which punishment did you decide on if I pop? Okay... enjoy the idea of 12 inches of rubber. Sigh.
I grabbed my phone and keyed up Master Fred’s email and my eyes followed along as his fictional version moved.
She picks up the heavy dildo and spreads her legs wide enough for her lips to part. She doesn't need any lubrication, her pussy is already leaking her own natural juices, but she rubs the tip against her lips for a moment to get the dildo wet.
Well, Master Fred was right. I didn’t need any lubrication. I laid down on the bed, spreading my legs wide enough that my feet hung off the edges, a ripple of tension forming in each outstretched thigh. I love that feeling, being so completely open. And I certainly was leaking my own natural juices. I placed the tip of the Core Driller against my sex and began rubbing it up and down. I felt a flutter of panic and desire, my tummy trembling as my body eagerly demanded satisfaction and my brain tried to warn my pussy that there was a foot of firm rubber ready and waiting.
She centers the dildo over her hole and slowly starts pushing, her pussy at first easily accommodating the phallus. But as it continues going in deeper, she can feel her internals being shifted to make room for the huge toy and her pussy stretches around it until Breanne has it completely inserted deep inside her pussy.
I don’t think I was quite as slow as Master Fred’s fictional me, but I tried to hold back, to go gently. I wanted to ram it in hard, fast, push and pull, the desire in me from the edges I’d already endured an underlying pressure demanding release. One inch became two and then four and then six and finally I was thrusting up with my hips, driving the entire length of the massive dildo into my depths. I could feel myself spreading, opening up, and even though my hand didn’t move, my loins began this series of rolling thrusts, as if my pussy was calling the shots.
She closes her eyes as she pulls the dildo out, her pussy contracting around the vacated space, her need slowly building. She thinks of Master Fred, wishing that she was feeling the heat from his body on top of hers, his cock thrusting in her instead, but Breanne's arm must control the dildo and soon she has the dildo sliding back into her pussy.
I drew the Core Driller almost all the way out and the sensation of being emptied created almost as much sexual tension as the feeling of a thick dildo being slid in. I was tempted to just say “fuck it!” and accept the punishment, whichever one he chose, but I bit my lip, fighting for control. Slow, agonizing thrusts followed, one by one, over and over and I deliberately hesitated, trying to make each one last as long as possible. The seconds crept by as the Core Driller slid in and out by quarter inches, turtle sex.
She is desperate and must concentrate on her slow pumping, just to prevent her hand from going to her clit. Each pump is like a step, and slow step towards release. She desperately wishes she could pump fast and hard, but she must go for the slow build up, knowing that she must deny herself this time, her reward will come later. The moisture glistens on the dildo, her pussy juices flowing, virtually eliminating all resistance as her hand keeps the dildo going in and out of her hungry pussy, her slit almost sucking the dildo back in with each thrust. Breanne's legs are quivering from her need to cum, but she holds to her pace and her orgasm continues to slowly build.
If orgasm is a mountain, with the release a calculated jump into an abyss, than I danced on the edge of that cliff, trembling with overwhelming desire. My nipples tingled, my body ached and every fiber of my being screamed “do it! Cum! Who gives a fuck if you’re sent to the kennel to get bred to a dog! FUCKING DO IT!” I let out a soft whine, every muscle in my body tense. I rammed the Core Driller in as hard as I could, pain coursing up through my pussy and into my brain. It hurt just enough and I held the dildo there, deep as possible, scared to move it as my chest heaved and my loins churned. I could feel my toes curling.
Breanne finally lets out a gasp, her hand finishing it with a final push, holding the dildo fully in her pussy. Her pussy contracting around the huge intruder, wanting more, her clit aching with need, but she holds off her orgasm.
Slowly I relaxed and it wasn’t easy. Slow, steady, shallow breaths. I groaned as I pulled the Core Driller out of my dripping, wanton, clenching sex and I brought it up to my mouth, licking it like a first grader with a popsicle. Slowly I sat up, stumbling over to the desk. What was next? He said, didn’t he? I picked up my phone and read through the email again.
After she's calmed down enough, Breanne pulls out the dildo, but not too fast, and replaces it with the vibroballs again on low. She looks at the time to see when she needs to turn them back up to medium again. She texts Master Fred back that she is done and adds "Give me your best shot." Trying to antagonize him to push her harder, wondering what is next.
The vibroballs. Back in. I plopped down in the chair, feeling like taffy that had been pulled and stretched. I picked my vibroballs back up, slipping them in. I could barely feel them, especially after the Core Driller. At least until I turned them on. I groaned, eyes closing, feeling the low level vibrations. It just reignited the fire. I still needed to cum. How long could I possibly last? But… there was another email. Great. Just great. What could be worse than the vibroballs on low after a thorough edging with the bloody Core Driller? What exactly, was “his best shot?”
Breanne, out of your punishment options I pick number 4. You do all three! On the condition that I don't set you up to fail.
Well. Yeah. That was worse.
Breanne, this afternoon you get to go get your ass fucked downstairs in the living room. And you can get your pussy sapped properly too, don't forget to say stop in time! Plus I want 30 strokes of the cane to your tits and fifty to your bottom with a paddle. I assume lunch is around noon, which is should be about an hour away. I'll be easy on you, perform one edge between now and lunch, your choice of method.
This will be your afternoon. Two more edges, I'll come up with something fun for you. Then for the last item, make one walk down your knotted rope, out in the barn. You can cum after your get off the rope. I'll tell you how you may cum when it gets closer. - Master Fred
I took a deep breath and tried to hold onto everything in my left hand as I padded quietly down the stairs. The cane, ping pong paddle, and leather sap were quite a lot to hold, but my right hand was busy with the vibroballs remote, which was set at medium, the two plastic encased motors going nuts in my slit. The wire bounced against my bare hip with each step and I could hear the television set going down below.
Normally I’m not one to parade around the house naked. I can think of at least two family members who would take either umbrage, or express complete shock at the idea. But those two individuals weren’t home. My mother was out with church friends having lunch and had just left not ten minutes before, while my daughter was at school getting brainwashed to believe she was one of the countless masses of worker bees out there. The last member of my family I knew wouldn’t object however, to me walking around in the buff. Not in the least. And so with butterflies in my stomach and a growing excitement between my legs that only had a tentative connection to the vibroballs purring between my legs, I stepped down off the stairs and rounded the sofa, to set eyes on my grinning father.
“Well now, this is certainly a nice surprise,” he said from his chair, his eyes catching sight of the objects in my hand, not to mention the clover clamps clinging to my nipples. “Am I to presume that a certain, naughty young lady needs some chastisement?”
I swallowed. “Yes sir,” I said, approaching him demurely, looking down. I placed all three implements on the side table next to him. “The cane is for my breasts, the paddle is for my bottom, and the sap…”
“Is obviously for your cunt,” he said amiably. “And what have you done to deserve this kind of punishment?
A thousand answers rushed through my head but it was the honest one that I said. “Because I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut sir who deserves to be hurt and tormented for others enjoyment.”
He nodded and picked up the cane. “I see. And how many strokes are you to receive?”
I licked my lips. “Thirty, sir. To my breasts.”
He nodded. “And that delectable ass which I’m hoping you intend to offer to me in exchange for me beating on you?”
My mouth went dry. “Fifty sir.”
“Or till it’s red?” He pressed.
“And what about your cunt? How many strokes am I to deliver to your clit?”
I bit my lip. “Until I’m about to cum sir. It’s an edge.”
“Really?” That seemed to intrigue him.
I nodded again.
He took a deep breath. “Well then, Breanne. To begin with, you’ll need to remove those clamps. You can put them back on after I’ve handled your breasts.”
I swallowed hard. I should have expected that. Slowly I reached up and with delicate fingers took off the clover clamps. The weights and bells dangled, a light ringing noise filling the room as the blood rushed back into the crushed tips of my breasts. I let out a soft groan as I put the clamps on the table. Then I moved back in front of him, my eyes down but locked on the growing bulge in his pants.
“I think you should kneel, perpendicular to me, facing to my right, hands behind your head, breasts out, so that every time I hit you I’ll catch both tits. Don’t you think that will be appropriate?” He spoke lightly, as if we were discussing the weather instead of him caning my breasts.
I didn’t answer. Instead I just sank down. I turned sideways so that my right hip was facing him and I spread my legs, my knees going wide. I felt the same, strangely erotic sensation in my thighs that I get everytime I’m forced to open up and I took a deep breath as I interlaced my fingers behind my head. I held my head straight and didn’t look at him, even when he picked up the thin, whippy switch, no thicker than a kabob skewer. I tried to control my breathing, concentrating on the low tremor of the vibroballs in my pussy as he leaned forward and gently pressed the length of the switch against my nipples. My sex tightened around the bullets tightly with anticipation. I still hadn’t cum and what I was really afraid of was that the caning, or the spanking, or even the whipping of my clit with the leather sap would drive me over the edge. The thin little branch felt cold on my nipples and then his wrist jerked.
I was totally unready for it. It just happened too fast. Maybe eight inches of movement? The switch struck me straight on, a sharp, hot line of stinging fire that flashed across my bosom. I let out a startled gasp, jerking slightly, almost letting go of the back of my neck. A quick tremor flashed through me, from my shoulders down, ending in a rolling thrust of my hips as my pussy tried to crush the vibrating bullets inside me.
He snapped his wrist again and this time the cane struck me just above the tips of my breasts, still on the areola. It hurt just as much and I let out a tiny whimper. The third stroke went just beneath the hardened points and as I began to pant, my sex pumping back and forth, he returned to his original target, aiming for my pierced nipple and it’s unholed twin on the other side.
Six strokes fell like this and then he switched targets. Not to my bottom, but to the tops of my breasts. I was forced to grit my teeth as a fine red line was drawn just where my boobs swell out from my chest and he laid a series straight down until once more the switch was striking my nipples. Tears sprang to my eyes, the heat and sting swelling, overwhelming the sexual need that had built between my legs.
“Grab your nipples and pull your tits up as hard and far as possible,” He ordered me. “And do it right. I better not see your fingers slip.” I sniffed back a tear and let go of my neck, bringing my hands forward. I grabbed both nipples with hard, solid pinches. I wasn’t worried about my right breast, not with the piercing and padlock giving me a good grip. But the left wasn’t going to be easy. I squeezed harder, wincing as the pain shot through my breast. I pulled upward, whimpering as he swung again, this time laying line after line along the bottoms of both tits.
When my dad was finished with the cane my bosom was an almost solid stripe of red starting at my sternum and going down until you got to the middle of my rib cage. He’d been excruciatingly perfect in his aim. My breasts, and only my breasts, had been struck and to be honest, it didn’t look or feel any worse, or better for that matter, than how I felt after Julie had one of her “hello” breast spanking sessions with me. Actually, I was sort of impressed with his skill. My nipples throbbed from the lines he’d repeatedly drawn across them and a few fallen tears streaked my cheeks.
“Now, let’s do your bottom,” my dad said sternly. I struggled to my feet, expecting him to want me to lay across his lap, but instead he grabbed my hips as he maneuvered me in front of him. I wasn’t sure what he wanted until he forced me to turn around, putting my back to him.
“Bend over, as if you’re touching your toes.”
I folded at the middle and just to be contrary, actually did touch my toes. I had to spread my legs a bit to do it, but not much. I have to admit, that even at my age, being a nympho humiliation pain slut is good for keeping yourself limber.
I put my hands on my knees, the blood rushing to my head, but then his hand thrust between my legs and came dangerously close to my face, holding something metal.
“Here. Put these on.”
I realized he was holding my clover clamps, complete with metal weights, springs, and bells. A thousand protests went through my head, but I took the clamps and without a word pinched them both open and let them close on my nipples. Agony rippled through my bosom, insult to injury, and then I again grabbed my ankles, bracing myself.
I’ve been spanked with a zillion different things. Once I even got butt whacked with a prickly pear cactus pad. (Don’t worry. It had been roasted in a fire. It was on a campout in high school and Kari was doing it for effect considering our audience. None of them knew the spines had all be removed. They just saw Kari wielding it with a glove on, whacking my bare bottom!) I’ve been spanked with wooden paddles, belts, strops, plastic baseball bats, stir sticks, wicker rug beaters, floggers. Hell, you name it I’ve probably had it slammed against my derriere. But one of the worst things to get smacked with is a ping pong paddle.
It’s small, easy to control, and delivers a whopper of a blow, and can be used to seriously redden a girl’s bottom. My father wielded it straight on, leaning forward, with sharp, hard blows, coming at my ass from different angles on each stroke. In seconds I was having trouble standing, my knees buckling as the heat built and built. But despite what he was doing to my rump, each blow had one thing in common. It made the clamps on my tits swing wildly back and forth, the spring tightening and loosening, the weight tugging hard, all while the bells rang and rang with each little movement.
At fifteen strokes my bottom was hot. By twenty I was positive it was blistered. At thirty I couldn’t stand still for a single stroke and at forty I was bouncing up and down on my feet. This didn’t help with the clamps either and I could feel the clover clamps tightening even more. He paused when he realized I couldn’t actually stand any longer and instead he picked me up with his strong, powerful arms, draped me across his lap, and finished me off with my tits hanging down off the side of his chair, the weights trying to pull my nipples to the ground.
In retrospect, I don’t think he actually was hitting me all that hard. At least, not as hard as some have. I think instead he was going for quantity. You smack a girl’s bottom often enough you’ll sensitize her, turning the skin scarlett, making even the softest of blows seem like heavy-handed smacks. He pushed me to the ground and I fell in a soft, whimpering heap.
“Now, before I sap your clit, you’ll will give me a blowjob. And when I’m ready to cum, you will offer yourself.”
I looked up at him, sniffing. I dragged my wrist across my nose and tried wiping away the tears. The only thing that hurt worse than my breasts was my bottom and I realized that even the vibroballs weren’t adding anything to the experience at that point. I straightened up, got on my knees, and even as he pulled out his perfectly functioning manhood, I moved forward, grateful for the respite that cocksucking would give my poor, abused body.
I grabbed hold of him like a lifeline and seconds later my mouth was wrapped around his member, sucking and slurping, my entire focus zeroed in on making this man cum. He leaned back with a sigh as I ran my tongue up and down his shaft. The minutes ticked by but it wasn’t that long before I felt him throbbing, his hips rising up to meet me, his fingers twining through my hair.
“Bre,” he croaked. “Now. Please.”
I rose up, turning. My hands came down on the armrests as I bent, his hands guiding me. The vibroballs purred within my slit as I lowered myself down onto his slick cock. He grabbed hold of himself, aiming as I struggled to drop down. I felt the tip of him against my ass, my buttocks still seeming to sting, hot and scalded. I groaned as his shaft forced its way into my bottom and I closed my eyes, bouncing gently, letting his hands guide me until a moment later, as he went deep, I felt the tell tale throbbing, the granite hardness, followed by the gooey wetness of release.
I sat in his lap, his hands on my breasts, his fingers squeezing and playing with the clover clamps, until he went soft and could no longer plug my bottom. His cum leaked out of my hole and I grabbed a tissue from the box on the table nearby as he let me go, wiping myself off. We stared at each other for a moment, my blotchy, tear streaked face looking at his limp dick. Then to my surprise he pushed himself off the chair. I let out a little yelp and darted forward, but he caught himself on his good leg, the one that still had most of its mobility. Using his arms, he lowered himself to the ground in front of his chair, turning around so that his back was to me.
“Now Bre, it’s my turn. Sit down in my chair.”
I licked my lips. The sap. This was it. There was no specified number of strokes. I was to be tortured until I was on edge, ready to cum. And I still wasn’t allowed to actually HAVE that orgasm. Or at least I shouldn’t if I didn’t want to find myself doing something (or someone) I really didn’t want to. I sat down, his hands on my knees and he pushed my legs, opening me up until my feet dangled to either side of the chair, the armrests at the back of my knees. He reached behind me and pulled me forward, spread my sex just inches from his nose. My bottom still stung, still ached, and my nipples throbbed between the pincers of the clover clamps. I took a shuddering breath and to my shock he put his head between my legs…
… and licked.
His tongue danced across my clit, the vibroballs still buzzing inside me, the wire down low. I stiffened, suddenly lost in the single softest, most pleasurable thing that had been done to me for hours. My brain, so accustomed to pain at that point, didn’t know what to make of it and all of the previous hurts became muddied. He didn’t stop either, sucking the tender tip into his mouth. I groaned, hips pumping.
“Please… daddy! Hit me!” I begged, realizing that I was so close to popping that if we were actually going to get any sapping in, we’d have to do it now.
He pulled back, supporting himself with one hand and his good leg, reached over and grabbed the sap, then without a word slammed it into the soft, wet patch between my outstretched thighs.
I cried out, my bottom coming up off the chair. Oh my fucking GOD! Pain seemed to shear my clitoris from my body and then he pushed his face back into the same exact spot, sucking and licking as he forced me back down into the chair. I let out a pain wracked cry but then didn’t know how to handle the sudden shift to exquisite pleasure. My brain basically hiccupped and when he pulled back to strike me again every line between agony and ecstasy blurred, then disappeared.
The wet smacking sound of the little leather paddle slapping my pussy filled my ears and I pumped my hips. Then the wet warmth of his tongue seemed to wrap around my clit, sucking the very essence out of me. Another stroke of hot, sharp sensation, and again dipped back down into sweet bliss. My chest heaved as my toes curled and my hips churned and then, after another stroke of the sap, a moment of clarity came and I screamed out the words that stopped him.
“No! No more! Please! I’m going to cum!”
He pulled back and looked up at me, his lips wet with my excretions as I panted, trembling. I looked down. My pussy was pink, inflamed and glistening. My clit was hard and extended, like a finger pointing at my attacker. It seemed to quiver on its own. I closed my legs slowly, achingly, every nerve in my body stating without any doubt that something was amiss. I craved satisfaction. He backed up, grabbed the metal frame of his walker, and pulled himself up as I tried to put my mental house in order. My first thought was “close your legs.” But my thighs didn’t seem to want to cooperate. A second later I realized what I had to do and I put my hand between my legs, fingers slipping along my petals, scrambling for the wire. I yanked on it and the vibroballs remote shot up off the floor and hit me in the chest. I didn’t care. I thumbed the dial downward and the rumbling between my legs ended, not with a bang but with a whimper. I sagged down, trying to wrap my mind around what I’d just done. All of it. But there was just one thought that I couldn’t get past.
I wanted to cum. Badly.
I spent some time making lunch for my father and I did it naked while he sat at the kitchen table and watched me with still hungry eyes. I’d put the vibroballs back in but left them off in order to follow NHPS Rule #1 yet still have over an hour to recuperate before I headed back upstairs to check my email. I had so much to tell Master Fred! I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, the cane, paddle, and sap in my hands, as well as the silent and quiet remote. My father had requested that I keep the clover clamps on during our meal and I’d indulged him, but the moment I dumped everything on my bed I took them off, groaning as the blood rushed back into the crushed and bruised tips. I turned to look in the closet mirror, gently cupping both boobs. My breasts were still a decent shade of bright pink but the coloring was already fading around the edges. You could see the lines, but my fingertips could tell that my father really hadn’t hit me all that hard. These were for sexual pleasure, not to hurt me. I sighed as I hunted for even one welt, disappointed when I couldn’t find one.
I twisted around and looked over my shoulder, my flank reflected in the mirror. My bottom was also a nice shade of dark rose, with two or three blotches where he’d really clocked me. But again, I could tell that he’d taken it easy on my ass. I’ve had worse spankings, even from just him before. I sighed. Well, at least my pussy had been given some nice strokes. I hadn’t been counting, but I’m pretty sure he sapped me at least ten times before I begged for him to stop. Having my legs spread like that, with him kneeling before me, his mouth on my clit, licking between every stroke? Pure bliss. I could do that again. With anyone. Frequently.
I sat down at my desk gingerly and pulled up my email. Evidently Master Fred had expected me back much earlier since there were a couple of messages waiting for me in my inbox. He’d mentioned at least two or three more edges before I had to head out to the barn and do the last really bad torment; the knotted rope walk, so I began reading, shifting in my chair as the vibroballs rolled inside me. I kept them off. I’d have to turn them on soon enough.
Breanne, after your lunch time task, put the alligator clamp on your clit and the butterfly vibe over that. Keep the vibe on low. Oh, I forgot, you can turn off the vibe if you need to, but it needs to be back on within ten minutes. I'm not trying to setup you to fail! Choose the timing for when you want to do your first edge. Remember, you've got another edge after this and a rope walk to complete, so keep that in mind when planning out your timing. Use your fingers on your clit, through the clamp, for your first edge. Let me know when you finish and I'll send your next instructions. - Master Fred
My mouth fell open. An alligator clamp and the butterfly? And how about that line “I’m not trying to set you up to fail!” Of course he was trying to set me up! How the hell could I possibly withstand all that and NOT CUM, especially after being fucked up the ass, caned across the breasts, had my rump paddled and my clit sapped and licked? Hell, I was lucky I hadn’t already cum! I shook my head as I stood up and went back to the toybox sitting on my bed. I shoved my hand in, digging around with mixed feelings. Part of me liked the idea of more torment. Part of me knew that I was doomed. It was sort of like being really hot, while standing on a pirate ship being forced to walk the plank. You know that jumping in the ocean will cool you off nicely. But the fact that your hands and feet are bound with rope also means you’ll sink like a stone. The butterfly clitoral vibrator was easy enough to find. It was just a pink plastic toy that I had to strap around my waist. The vibrator part sat right on top of my clit. Easy peezy. Of course, if I also had to put on my jumbo alligator clamp…
I went back to the desk and sat down. With the vibroballs still inside me I knew that there would be more than enough motion, both inside my sex and along the outside, to drive me to the moon. I picked up the alligator clamp and studied it for a moment. Reasonably, the alligator clamps I own look worse than they feel and honestly the clover clamps can hurt a lot more. The issue is pressure and while my alligator clamps have dulled teeth and look monstrous, the actual bite of each one has been lessened thanks to a pair of pliers and a some concerted attention by Mike the Hardware guy. That meant that I could handle the alligator clamps much easier than most people think. They look vicious, but aren’t bad enough to actually break skin and they don’t really hurt more than a clothespin.
Unless of course they’re attached to or under a vibrator. Then it feels like someone is trying to chew off my clitoris.
I pulled the butterfly away from my loins and looked down. My clit looked like raw meat and was just a tad bit swollen. Delicately I pushed my right hand down between my legs, the jumbo alligator clamp pinched open between my fingers. A frightened little shiver raced up my spine as the cold metal grazed my clit, but then I slowly let my fingers lighten the load and those tiny little teeth bit into the most sensitive, terribly soft, sexual point on my body. I gasped, my bottom tightening as my pussy contracted around the vibroballs. I bit my bottom lip and let the butterfly settle, this time on top of the metallic stem attached to my clit.
I was buck naked from top to bottom, stuffed with vibrating bullets, legs obscenely spread, my clit clamped between the metal jaws of a vicious little shark, while a tiny earthquake was positioned over the whole thing. And despite the hour long break, I was still somewhere on that mountain, closer to the cliffs than I really wanted to be if the goal was to not go running as fast as I could toward the precipice. It wouldn’t take much to push me frantically over the edge. Considering that orgasmic release would mean me heading off to the Kennel, or getting my other nipple pierced, or worse, I had just one thought in my head as I turned on the butterfly and let it settle on the jumbo alligator clamp.
They say you should never underestimate yourself. My problem was the opposite. I overestimated. I thought that there had been enough time between my earlier torment and what I was doing now. I thought I could control it, pace myself. Turn off the vibrators and calm down. But what I didn’t realize was that I hadn’t even come close to putting out the earlier fire. I hadn’t even banked it. Those were coals, hot and red, not just smoking and smoldering, but ready to instantly incinerate any combustible material one happened to throw on it. The clamp? Wood. And the vibrators were like throwing balloons filled with gasoline. The resulting explosion was… well… to say the least… dramatic. I made enough noise my dad called up and wanted to know what the hell I was doing!
As I cried out my hand moved toward the butterfly, thinking to turn off the vibrations in order to avoid the actual orgasm. But then I changed my mind and went for the vibroballs remote. My brain, fried as it was, couldn’t decide which to turn off first and in the one moment of indecision the line was crossed and the freight train barreling toward me was unstoppable. For a second I thought about fighting it, the punishments I’d agreed to welling up in the back of my mind. I imagined myself on all fours, in the kennel, a furry tail plugged into my ass, wet cold noses sniffing around me. Or ordered to seduce the mailman, or my church’s priest. Or was I going to end up buck naked in a tattoo and piercing parlor while a man put another needle through my left nipple while Julie pounded my pussy with my Core Driller dildo?
Imagining those things wasn’t any good for my libido either. Everything came together in one fiery moment and I exploded like a firecracker thrown into a hot barbecue pit. It took me ten minutes to calm down. Finally I was coherent enough to type.
Yes. Okay. Well… Oops. Note to Master Fred. An alligator clamp on your clit, followed by intense stimulation with the butterfly, after having had your breasts, bottom and pussy all caned, spanked, or sapped, punctuated by a brutal ass fucking, results in one magnificent, totally unauthorized, completely insane, totally crazy orgasm. I'm sorry. Really. Totally and completely sorry. I tried. Really. But by that point it was just much. Guess I've earned myself a punishment... big time. On the flip side, it was definitely a ten! Love, Bre.
I didn’t wait immediately for a response. I took off the alligator clamp and groaned as my sore clit seemed to want to retract back into its hood and hide for the rest of the day. I left the butterfly on though and collapsed into my seat. I pressed a few buttons and brought up the next email from Master Fred in the queue.
Breanne, for your next edge put your weighted nipple clamps on; the clover clamps with the weights. Take off the clamp on our clit. Replace it with two chopsticks held tightly together by rubber bands wrapped around them. Be sure to pull back the hood so that your exposed clit is poking through the chopsticks. Again butterfly vibe on low. Turn it off if needed, but back on low within ten minutes. Then for your second edge add a weight to each nipple clamp. Insert your Titanmen Vibrating Inflatable Butt Plug, pump it up till you are very uncomfortable, and then turn it on high. Put your butterfly and vibroballs on low. If you need too you can turn off the vibrators, but they need to go back on within five minutes.
Yay. And let me tell you that there was certainly no enthusiastic yay there. I was tired. Exhausted. Strained. Pulled even. But part of my purpose is to be the sexual plaything of others and I was certainly Master Fred’s toy. He wanted me with frayed nerves, trembling and shaking, every fiber of my being either overwhelmed or wanting sex. One or the other. And that wasn’t it. Oh no. Master Fred had even sent along the requirements for the rope walk. I skimmed them, my throat tightening as I imagined what my afternoon was going to feel like. Then his response to my email, letting him know I’d exploded, arrived with a little electronic chirp.
Breanne, I'm sorry you came, but I'm glad you did. So a ten! And a punishment! I'm impressed. I have so wanted to get you back to the kennel, but you already knew that. Aren't your orgasms about a 15 when you're there? You up for another one? God, you are amazing! - Master Fred
It’s always nice to be appreciated and the light vibrations of the vibroballs seemed to emphasize what Master Fred was saying. Another orgasm? The Kennel? A second punishment? I grabbed the vibroballs remote and turned them on to medium and felt the two little motors roar to life inside me. I needed that… motivation to go through what was coming.
I'm... a little strained right now. That was very tough.
But I knew I was going to do it anyway. I got up off the chair and went back to my toybox, the vibroballs remote in my hand, only partially relieved that I wasn’t getting the alligator clamp back out. Instead I grabbed the clover clamps (again… sigh) and then a pair of ivory chopsticks I’d bought at an Asian store one day. They were wrapped at both ends with rubber bands. I took it all back to my desk, my eye on the clock. It was already almost two in the afternoon and I didn’t have a lot of time before I had to go and pick up a certain seven year old girl at the end of the driveway. I didn’t want her to have to walk the half mile up to the house. Besides, it meant a ride on my horse, Star.
I've got the vibroballs buzzing right now and in another fifteen minutes I'll jack them up to medium. and that will be the first edge. Then I'll do the second. Then, to wrap things up... the rope walk in the barn. And then I get to ask Julie to set up a day for me to go to the fucking kennel. Yay. Sigh… - Bre
I went back to my chair and sat down. The first issue was the chopsticks. I pulled the butterfly free, letting it dangle in front of my wet, slippery pussy and pulled the rubber band off of one end of my very Chinese-centric clamp. My clit felt sore and tender as I pressed the squared off ivory sticks to either side of my clit and my fingers felt thick as I pressed the hood back. It took me almost four or five minutes to get just my clit sticking out through the chopsticks and it looked ridiculous and felt… well… okay. Honestly it felt good. I didn’t have it too terribly tight and the ivory sticks went down all the way through my sex. It was hard and there were angles. Then, with just the tiny little nub of my clitoris peeking out through the gap between the two ivory chopsticks, I set the butterfly back over my clit. I didn’t turn it on though. I wanted to wait until I put the clover clamps back on too.
Two minutes later I took inventory. Nipples throbbing from heavy clamps dangling from my tits? Check. Two plastic bullets stuffed up in my pussy, rumbling away at the lowest setting? Check. The butterfly clitoral stimulator buzzing atop a clamped and extended clitoris? Check. Writing pornographic erotica on the computer while trying very hard not to let myself get carried away and have another orgasm? Check.
I lasted fourteen minutes and twenty three seconds before I couldn’t take the vibrations and turned them all off. I sagged in my seat, everything from the waist down tense and tight, while my nipples throbbed with every beat of my heart. Heck, even after I turned off the vibrators my hips churned and pumped for almost three or four minutes, making it that much harder to turn it all back on six minutes later. I didn’t even make it to ten minutes for the second edge and when I turned off the vibrators that second time I knew that a third edge was going to do me in. So I stopped. Cold turkey you might say, I sagged down in my seat and gently pried the butterfly off my clamped, raw, and swollen clit, followed by taking off the chopstick clamp. Just doing that helped. Then I followed suit with my nipples and put everything away, leaving me naked, aching, hurting, wanting, and just stuffed with what I started with; the vibroballs.
The vibroballs were off but after about twenty minutes of recuperation I felt confident about starting them up again, at least on the lowest setting. I got dressed in my blue jeans and tee shirt, slipped on my boots and headed out to the barn. My hips rolled with quiet satisfaction as I saddled up Star and then climbed up, heading out to the road to pick up my daughter. Another orgasm? Well… that was going to have to wait.
“Everything alright?” My father asked me as I walked through the living room, past him and my mother. They were watching their usual evening television shows and admittedly it was my bedtime, so seeing me fully dressed and going out the door either meant a trip to Julie’s place or…
“No. Just wanted to check on Star,” I said with a grim smile. My parents had decided to sell the farm and I hadn’t yet figured out if (or how) I could keep her. It meant renting stable space, paying for feed, and the veterinary bills for a horse could really be astronomical. Kari was giving me a job, but the salary wasn’t exactly enough to pay for everything I wish it would.
My mother gave me a sympathetic smile. She knew what was going on. In my heart.
In my pussy was something else.
I’d skipped out on Master Fred’s “edges” that afternoon, not to mention the final indignity he wanted inflicted upon my person. I’d gotten busy with Rachel and despite the low and quiet rumble of the vibroballs purring inside me for a few tense minutes each half hour, I’d not only avoided another orgasm, but any serious torment as well. That was about to change. Master Fred’s instructions had been clear as day though.
Then for your next edge add a weight to each nipple clamp. Insert your Titanmen Vibrating Inflatable Butt Plug, pump it up till you are very uncomfortable, and then turn it on high. Put your butterfly and vibroballs on low. If you need too you can turn off the vibrators, but they need to go back on within five minutes.
Besides the vibroballs I’d also stuffed the Titanmen Vibrating Inflatable Anal Plug into my rear and given it six good pumps. That put me in the “quite uncomfortable” but “still able to walk” range which I thought was a decent compromise, at least until I made it out to the barn. My butterfly clitoral vibrator was also back on, but I’d left it off, the remote tucked into my back pocket next to the vibroballs controller. Under my sweatshirt I wasn’t wearing anything, unless you counted the two clover clamps, complete with springs, weights, and bells that I had clinging to the tips of each breast. I kept one arm across my stomach to keep them from making a sound.
My dad stared resolutely ahead at the television, obviously knowing the truth but keeping it to himself. I smiled at my parents, then quickly traversed the kitchen and headed out into the courtyard. I’d made it halfway across the drive when a thin, narrow shadow detached itself from the wall of barn and scared the living crap out of me.
“Evening princess,” Julie said, her voice low and husky. I gasped, jumped about six feet into the air, and felt my heart suddenly miss about five beats before galloping off into the sunset.
“Shit! I exclaimed. “Damn Jules! Don’t do that to me!” I hissed. Then I looked around. “Where’s your car?”
Julie sauntered over toward me. She was wearing skinny jeans, black boots, a “Misfits” black tee shirt, and a denim jacket. Her brown hair was tied back giving her a severe look. I prefer her hair loose. She shrugged. “Parked up by the road. Didn’t want your mom or dad to know I’m here,” she said thoughtfully.
I took a deep breath. “So… come to see me walk?” I asked cautiously.
Julie grinned. “Yeah. I mean I’ve never seen you do it. Not once. Color me curious.”
I bit my lip. “I still have to edge.”
Her eyes rolled. “Ohhh, like that’s a problem.” She ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip, eyes bright with mischief. “So, can I torment you while you edge? Or should I make you pleasure me while you suffer?”
I swallowed. I wasn’t sure how to answer that. Instead I hauled opened the barn door, let my mistress in, and closed it behind us. The inside of the barn was huge and seemed even bigger now that the tractor had been sold. The pigs were gone too and only our four horses, including my beloved Star, were in their stalls. The main line down the center was empty and Julie went over to the workbench, leaned back against it and watched.
“So… the edge?”
I nodded. “I need to give the butt plug at least two more pumps.”
Julie considered that. “Three.”
“Three what?” I asked.
I blinked. “But I’m at six already.”
She shrugged. “We know that eight is distinctly uncomfortable for you, right?”
I nodded, my mouth going dry.
“So let’s push the envelope. Do nine so you can actually hurt.”
I just stood there and she let out a sigh and marched right over to me. Before I could say anything she grabbed my sweatshirt and yanked it up. I had no choice but to lift my arms as she began stripping me.
“Ah…” she muttered, tossing my sweatshirt away, leaving me bare chested except for the clamps clinging to my tits. “Here’s the bulb,” she exclaimed, pulling it free from my waistband. She gave it three hard, fast squeezes and I felt the plug in my bottom increase dramatically in size. It began hurting, a deep, penetrative ache that felt like I was being fucked by an elephant’s cock. Then her fingers moved and it began vibrating. And not on low either. She had it at least set to medium. The butterfly joined in a moment later, dancing on top of my clitoris. Every toy on me or in me was now shaking wildly. Julie moved around me, back to my front, hands raised, fingers gliding up and around my heavy breasts.
“I’m afraid we have to take off the nipple clamps,” she said with mocking sadness. “But don’t worry. We’ll put them back on in a moment.”
Oh. Oh shit.
She reached up and squeezed both clover clamps open and the blood rushed back into the compacted tips of my bosom. I groaned as she hung the clamps on the belt loops of my jeans.
“Hands behind your head, Bre. Time to say hello.”
I whimpered as I brought up my arms and then her hand flashed, swinging from my left to right, slapping my breasts with a sharp, tight impact that would have spun me had I not been properly braced. Heat exploded along my left side and then before I could really react, she whacked me on the other side, using her backhand. She smacked me again, this time shallowly, just barely catching my left nipple, then she landed a solid blow to the meat of my boob on the right, making the padlock hanging from the tip bounce.
For about five minutes she spanked my breasts and my chest suddenly seemed like a court where two legendary greats were smacking a pair of tennis balls back and forth in unceasing violence. The sting and heat built and built and I didn’t even realize that combined with the vibroballs, butterfly, and vibrating plug, that I was getting dangerously close to orgasm.
Julie stopped eventually, unclipped the first clover clamp from my belt loop, and put it on my left nipple. I gasped, eyes widening as my pussy tried to crush the toys buried in my wetness. Then she did the same to the right side, pulling on the padlock and setting the plier-like clamp deep into my boob. A sharp ache seemed to explode from both tips and it spiraled down to my pussy with a bomb-like shriek. I gasped, eyes widening and I reached out and grabbed her.
“Julie!” I whispered, my teeth clenched.
“Oh? Are you about to explode?” She asked mildly, as if we were discussing the weather. I nodded frantically. “Well, please. Don’t let me stop you,” she said eagerly. “Did Master Fred set punishments for cumming early? For your sake I hope he did.” She leaned forward and grabbed my hips, pulling me against her. “Because if he didn’t, I get to.”
I blinked. “I think…” I stammered. “The rope walk…”
Julie shrugged. “Is enough? Do you really think it is?” Her eyes narrowed. “How close are you?”
The tension was boiling up inside me. “Close!” I squealed as she reached up and swatted her hand across the weights dangling from the clover clamps. Pain shot up through both jugs as the silver bells rang.
Julie licked her lips. “See if you can handle the countdown,” she said. A whole two seconds passed as I stared at her, the approaching orgasm coming on like a freight train. I could feel the tracks rumbling.
“Ten,” she whispered, her hands coming up under my breasts and squeezing.
“Nine.” She jiggled my boobs so that the weights on the clamps bobbed up and down.
“Eight.” I trembled as Julie sank down, sliding her hands down my body to the button on the front of my jeans.
“Seven,” she said, unsnapping the front of my pants. I wasn’t wearing a belt and I heard the sound my zipper as she called out “six!”
Her thumbs dug into the waistband, pulling it down to my knees as the sound of the motors inside me and atop my clit intensified, no longer muffled by my clothing. My hips were churning and I was metaphorically standing in a tunnel, a bright, white light getting bigger and bigger, heading straight for me.
“Five!” She said, going after my boots. I let her tug them off. It didn’t help.
“Four.” She pulled one pant leg completely off.
“Three,” The other leg of my jeans was tugged free and I stood there, naked except for my socks, not to mention the clamps, butterfly, plug, and vibroballs tormenting me. The train was there. So close!
“Two,” she whispered as she pulled my right sock off, leaving my little foot bare. She lifted it up to her mouth and kissed the instep, sending a desperate shiver through me. Then she let it down on the concrete, picked up my other foot, and pulled the stocking away.
“One,” she said finally. I cried out, my fingers clenched into fists but she reached around me and grabbed hold of the remotes to both the anal plug and the vibroballs. As she pulled them toward the front her right hand shot up and switched off the butterfly in a single snap. It went silent and then both her hands were silencing the vibroballs and the lastly, the anal plug. The tremendous earthquake I’d been enduring for ten minutes subsided and if I’d really been standing in that train tunnel the squeal of brakes and metal against metal would have filled my ears. The massive train would have only barely come to a halt just an inch in front of me. It was, without a doubt, the closest, most daring edge I’d ever had.
I burst out sobbing.
Julie was quick to comfort me, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me in. I held her, trembling and crying as the sensations overwhelmed me and the intense disappointment of my body hit me like a brick. Her hands deftly removed the butterfly, letting it fall to the floor and then she pulled the vibroballs out of my wetness and I watched her lift them to her mouth. Her little pink tongue came out and licked one and she grinned up at me.
“I can taste how bad you want it.” She put the vibroballs down and then she put her face between my legs. I gasped as her tongue darted against my clit as her hands moved to my bottom. As the fire within me was suddenly refueled, she pulled on the Titanmen plug. It didn’t come out because it was still the size of a corn dog. I groaned, my hips moving, and then she hit the air release valve and the whole thing shrank down with a hiss. I whimpered, almost losing my balance as she continued to nibble on my clit. Another pull and the Titanmen plug came free and she cast it aside as she pulled her face away from my sex, her mouth and chin wet.
“Now, let’s do your walk,” she said quietly as she came up off her knees. “Please get out the rope.”
I nodded, strained and tense and wanting to cum so bad that I actually considered, just for a moment, throwing myself on the girl in front of me and literally ravishing her. The hell with consequences and punishments and rope walks. I just wanted to pounce on her, tear her clothes off, get into a sixty nine position with her sex on my mouth and her fingers inside me and her tongue on my clit and…
Focus, Bre. Focus. I took a deep breath and nodded. Rope. Right. With bare feet I padded over to the plywood box my dad had built almost twenty years before. The top was of the same material, two brown colored but well oiled steel hinges on the top. I opened it. There were several piles of rope, but one at the back was very different than the others. While most of the contents of my rope locker were heavy nylon or even tightly woven hemp, the one at the back was thicker, frayed beyond reasonable use, stained a multitude of colors (from various questionable sources) and sported a series of single loop knots positioned every eight to ten inches for almost the entire length. I reached in and pulled it out. It was heavy, easily twenty or thirty pounds and over forty feet long, even with the knots. I swung it over my shoulder. It scratched me horribly, like running your hand up and down pampas grass or running naked through bullweed. I took it back to Julie who held out her hand, clearly wanting it.
“Wow!” She said, clearly impressed. “This is the rope you’ve been walking all this time?” She asked, her curiosity overwhelming her arousal. Her hand paused at one knot that had a reddish hue and she looked at me curiously.
“Tabasco sauce,” I admitted. She laughed and moved down another knot to one that had a dark bluish stain on it.
I cringed. “Icy Hot.”
She held out another spot on the rope. I blushed. “Lemon juice.”
Julie pursed her lips. “And this one?” She asked, pointing to another tightly wound clump of hemp. It was really dark and it almost appeared that the rope itself was starting to rot.
“Stinging O,” I said. “And… uh… I sort of humped that one and came on it,” I confessed, totally humiliated.
That made Julie blink. “We’re going to need a new rope after this,” she said, mostly to herself. She looked up at me. “Well? Get it strung up. The sooner you suffer the sooner you can cum.”
I nodded and took the rope, then headed back over to the tool bench. On the bottom shelf were a pair of ratcheting straps. I took them booth and headed over toward the far wall. I’d mounted a hook against one of the support beams between the doors ages ago and in seconds I had hung the strap, then hooked it on a single loop at the end of the rope that I’d tied there the first time I’d done something this stupid. I didn’t tighten the strap, not at that point. Instead I played out the rope, backing up across the barn with slow steps, the clamps on my nipples still tugging downward painfully. Finally I got close to the other wall and I hung the other ratcheting strap, hooked the rope, and then before the slack in the middle could touch the floor, I began tightening the strap.
I think I should also mention that I used the higher hooks, the ones positioned just above my belly button, instead of the one perpendicular to my clit. This meant that when I finally straddled the bloody thing, it would be digging up into my sex with much greater pressure.
I cranked the ratchet until the rope was taut between the walls and I watched as Julie reached out and strummed it. It literally vibrated. I licked my lips. I seemed to ache everywhere.
“Well?” Julie demanded. “You need more weight on your tits. Then you can start.”
Weight. Right. Master Fred had wanted extra weight on my nipples. I took a deep breath and went back to the work bench. I’d put together a few steel bolts with extra nuts on them ages ago and I fished out two single pound weights, took them back to Julie, and put my hands back behind my head. She clearly liked that because she reached between my legs, slipped a single finger into my slit, and then hung the first weight on my right breast.
“Oohhh,” she cooed. “I like this.” I grimaced as the additional steel hanging from my nipple stretched out my areola even more. It hurt like the dickens. But her finger wiggling inside me was more than enough to keep me humming and when my hips were pumping, rapidly fucking her hand, she hung the second weight. I whimpered emphatically but then she withdrew her hand, licking the finger clean, moving aside and gesturing toward the rope.
“Now Breanne. Show me how you walk this,” she said, pointing at the hemp line stretched forty feet across my barn.
I went to the end and with both hands pushed down on the rope. It could have held my weight easily. I swung a leg over so that I was facing the opposite wall, a line of knots ahead of me. I’d never counted them, but if they were spaced at intervals of ten to eighteen inches, there had to be at least forty of them. Probably more. Maybe even fifty. I felt the rope dig up into my sex and I went up on tiptoe. It made no difference. The rope still dug up sharply between my legs. Julie bent down, put some weight on the rope, and then I felt her fingers on my petals.
“Here. Let me spread your labia,” she said helpfully.
Holy fuck. I felt the scratchy pressure as the hemp came back up, biting into the soft, pink abused flesh of my sex. My nipples throbbed painfully.
“I wish we had some On4Her,” Julie said in disappointment, talking about my chemical irritant that I use to heat things up. I bit my lip. Should I tell her?
“Um… Mistress?” I whined. “There is an old bottle of Stinging O in the bottom drawer of the wooden tool set. On the bench.”
Julie’s eyes brightened. “Really?” She marched right over, tugged out the bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle the size of a TicTac candy container. “Mmmmmm… I mean, if this is going to be the very last rope walk you do in here, we need to make it special. Right?” I nodded, pretending to agree with her. She moved in front of me. There was a knot positioned not five inches away from my clit and she liberally doused it with the Stinging O. I practically expected the drops that fell to the barn floor to start smoking. Or for the rope itself to combust.
Stinging O oil was a concoction of my own that I’ve discontinued to make due to variables I couldn’t control. Nothing more than a combination of mint or cinnamon oil, grapeseed and pepper oils, blended properly it provided massive amounts of lubrication while at the same time imitating the sensation of having your very flesh set on fire. This was upping the torment dramatically.
Julie straightened, a dark smile on her face. “There now! I think you’re all ready!” I didn’t move. Julie’s eyebrow went up. “Well? Go on!”
My bottom lip trembled. “I’m scared,” I whispered. I’d crossed this rope a half dozen times in the last four years, always by myself. I’d never had an audience. I don’t know why I was filled with anxiety. My hips shifted back and forth and I could feel the rough hemp line move through the soft and wet cleft between my legs. It was not a pleasant sensation.
Julie sighed and began looking around. A second later she shook her head and her hand went to her belt buckle. I watched in alarm as she pulled her belt from her waist and folded it in half. She came close and held it up.
“Well, clearly you need some motivation. So here’s how this will work. I’m going to count to ten. If you aren’t rubbing your clit on the next knot by the time I get there I’m going to spank that nice, already blotchy ass of yours, and continue hitting until you’re over the knot and on your way to the next. Of course, I’ll start counting again. So this might just be the fastest you’ll ever get to the other side.
I gasped. “Julie! I might tear!”
Julie let out a sharp breath. “Yeah, well don’t do that. If you think you’re going to get hurt, ask for a medical. I’ll check you. Promise.” She smiled, then said, “one.”
I squirmed forward. The first few inches wasn’t that bad but there was no way to avoid the sawing sensation of the coarse and abrasive hemp rope from peeling off an entire layer of epithelial cells right from my labia. Worse the petals got caught and pulled under, which felt even worse. But I made it to the knot by the time she hit the number six and I jammed my clit right onto the knot.
“Seven,” she said softly.
Walking the rope like this, isn’t what you might imagine. If one is already aroused then it quickly becomes a sexual lesson in agonizing frustration with a healthy dose of excruciating pain on the side. The slide down the line is like getting a rug burn. In slow motion. On your privates. You really, really don’t want to move fast. Over the years I’ve developed this sort of heel toe shuffle, trying to get as much of myself up as possible, so that as little weight as I can manage is pushing down on the line, meaning it isn’t digging as hard into my pussy. It takes forever. But no matter what I do, getting over the knot involves the violent thrust of my hips, forcing the hemp bulge to dig into my clitoris. Then as I go over the top, the knot catches on my hood and nub, dragging it down and under, pinching me much like riding the wooden horse does. Then my clit gets pulled beneath my body, along the rope, before finally snapping free, back up along the hemp. The knot then tears its way through the rest of my labia, forcing my petals open wide, leaving these fine, long, red scratches. There is a momentary and soft impact as the knot actually slips into the entrance of my vaginal area, a sort of almost fucking, before grinding its horrible way up and over my perineum, tearing at the delicate flesh with tiny furrows too small to be seen with the naked eye. Then there comes another impact as the knot burrows up into my ass, dipping into the tender hole just a bit, forcing your entire lower half to contract as your instinctive reaction is to close up, keeping the knot out of your ass. Then you move past it and a moment later, repeat the process as you get to the next knot.
Unless of course, the knot is coated in Stinging O. Then you grind your clit on it, smearing the oil over your nub, down your petals, and through your slit, the heat building exponentially. It’s worse right at the most sensitive part and your clit feels like someone is holding a blowtorch to it. My first instinctive reaction is to pull back. Except the heat comes with you. So you thrust your hips forward again, except this time the knot goes between your petals after scratching and burning your clit. The heat spreads easily through your pussy, turning your entire sex into a lava pit. Then the knot scores against your perineum, and your bottom, leaving everything from front to back, abraded and burning.
“Eight. Very nice. How does that feel?” Julie asked as my hips rocked, forcing myself over the oil coated knot. The heat seemed to sear me and I whimpered as I came down on the other side. I was unsure if the pain between my legs came from the biting, frayed edges of the rope tearing at my pussy and ass, or from the Stinging O. I took a few more baby steps, gasping as the heat made me twitch.
Twitching while straddling a two inch thick strand of rasping hemp is not really pleasant. Unless you are insanely horny. In which case that twitch resembles a thrust, and in effect you are actually humping the rope. Which I was. I tore my way further along to the next knot. Julie’s steady voice was beside me, counting upward again from one. She got to seven before I managed to drag myself over the next knot.
“I like the little noises of discomfort you’re making,” she whispered to me. I felt her hand on my side, her fingertips light and fluttering. She wasn’t trying to tickle me. She was caressing me. I moaned as they went down to my bottom. I inched forward again, dragging myself down the line, slowly sawing myself in half. I made it three quarters of the way before her counting got to ten. There was no warning. She just swatted me with her belt.
“Aaahh!” I gasped, my entire body jerking forward sharply, which had the added effect of getting over the knot I’d paused on. My clit felt like I’d sanded it with a cactus and my ass was still burning. I gave a frightened glance to my mistress, who stood there grinning, belt in hand.
“What? I told you I was going to help motivate you.” Then she swung the belt again. That sort of made me angry. I didn’t need a second swat, especially since both had been plenty hard. Still, I moved much quicker, the grating exterior of the rope dragging along the insides of my slit. I made it to the next knot before she even got to six. Then she moved in front of me, about four knots down, even as I was mashing my clit into the heavy hemp bump in front of me.
“I have to admit, I really like this,” Julie said as she pulled out the small bottle of Stinging O for a second time. My eyes widened as she began to pour more of it on the knot she was standing by. It was far enough away that I knew the fresh anointing would revitalize the chemical burn that had faded as I’d pushed myself down the line. “You should really see yourself,” she said. “You have been up on tiptoe the entire time and I can see the arches of your feet, which you know I love. And the bobbing of the clamps on your chest. I love the little springs. And the bells ring every time you jerk forward, or rise up to get over a knot!” She finished soaking the knot and capped the bottle again. Her eyes were bright, her mouth open slightly in excitement, and I could tell she was quivering with need. Her left hand kept going to jeans, pressing slightly to her crotch.
“You should… should… take off… off your clothes,” I panted, trying to ignore the anticipation of heat, the need of desire, and the pain of sensitivity. I moved down and forced myself over another knot.
Julie’s eyes widened and she gave both me and the rope a long look. But then she began to strip, peeling off her jacket and tee shirt. She was braless, her small breasts mere bumps on her chest. Her hands pushed down on her jeans even as she bent down and unzipped her boots. Even before I made it to the next knot she was naked, beautifully, gloriously naked, her thin, long legs coltish and perfectly sculpted.
I know. She isn’t the classic traditional beauty. She’s too thin. Angular. If she wanted to be Popeye’s Olive Oil for Halloween she could probably pull it off, except she isn’t much taller than five eight. Still, she could do it. I still had a third of the rope, the oil covered knot just two more in front of me. Then to my utter shock and amazement, she went down to the far end of the rope. A easy dozen knots between us, lifted her leg, and straddled the rope.
Oh My Fucking God.
Julie is taller than me and I had no doubt that the difference translated into a very different amount of pressure between our legs. At least comparatively. Her legs are long and she has a short torso, where I’m exactly the opposite. I’ve got short legs and a long torso. So I have no doubt I was still bearing the brunt of things. Her eyes widened though, in wonder, as she felt the rope go up between her petals. She was on tiptoe as well and her hips pushed forward. A look of astonishment crossed her face.
“Oh my God, Breanne!” She whispered. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Tinged with hysteria and utter disbelief, I tittered with the pain and hurt and need and all of it. I shoved myself forward, letting the next knot tear at my sex, gasping as it struck my clit. Julie’s eyes met mine and she waddled forward up to the last knot on my rope. Her chest seemed to rise as her clit touched the knot for the first time. She let out a gasp and then a little cry as she pulled herself over it. I could see the pain on her face. And then she was past it, her cute little boney hips jerking as she pushed herself along the hemp.
I began to move forward and she shook her head. “No. Wait there!” She gasped and I watched with growing alarm as she hit the next knot.
I’m pretty pale when it comes to parts of my body that aren’t daily exposed to the sun. But Julie is this amazing cream color. All over. And in seconds I could see the growing flush spreading across her petals. Even her pubes were turning pink as she forced herself closer to me, hitting knot after knot, the agony of it filling her eyes with tears and making her grit her teeth. Finally there was just one knot between us and I reached out and took her hands. They were soft.
“Just… just the one… more,” she panted, unconsciously echoing my own breaking voice. I’d three times the distance she had, but I was used to it. Sort of. Actually no. You don’t really get used to walking the knotted rope. Not ever. It’s why in four years I’d only done it a handful of times.
“It’s the one you coated with Stinging O,” I whispered. She nodded.
“I know. We’ll fuck it together.”
I frowned. “Julie! It will burn you!” I almost cried.
Her fingers tightened on my wrists and I felt her pull me forward. The hemp line slid through my pussy and at the same time she too moved forward. Her hands let go of my arms and wrapped around me, pulling me into a hug. I felt her body against mine even as the oil wet knot pressed up against my clit, and on the other side of the gnarled hemp was her sex, jammed dripping against the same tangle. Our faces were inches from each other and I saw the sudden heat burn her, the frightened disbelief as the pain flashed upward. Julie let out a cry that filled the barn and she clung to me, her hips suddenly churning so fast and so hard that her loins pounded against me. I pressed my mouth to hers, kissing her hard, changing her cries of agony into lust and she wriggled against me, both of us thrusting hard, fucking each other with the knot between us.
I’m ashamed to admit this, but I don’t know if Julie came. I know I sure as hell did, grinding my pussy against hers, the oil soaked heat pressed against our clits. I lost focus, so wrapped up in the sensation of wet, hot, agonizing sex, of holding this girl-child in my arms, our eyes closed, lips pressed together, the clover clamps tight between our chests, the knot scouring our clits...
That’s when I heard the unmistakeable sound of a camera.
I blinked and jerked. My head came up and I looked back toward the source of the sound. There, standing in one of the empty horse stalls, behind the open entry leading out into the meadow, was my father. His cane was to his side and he was looking down at the screen of a cellphone. That disturbed me. He didn’t own a cell phone. Then I realized… it was mine.
Julie noticed my reaction and she looked over my shoulder, then squealed, covering up her breasts and springing off the rope. She fell. No one dismounts a knotted rope easily and she scrambled to her clothes, anger flashing across her face as she grabbed her jacket and pressed it to her front.
My father smiled, then set the camera down on the edge of the stall. “Thought you girls might care for a moemento of that,” he said with a grin. “I know you don’t care for photos, Breanne. But this one? This one might be worth it.” Then without another word he turned around, grabbed his walker and quietly went back out into the night.
“What the fuck was that?” Demanded Julie, turning to look at me. “How long was he there?”
I took a deep breath and shrugged. “I have no idea.” I pushed down on the line and swung my leg over. My pussy looked like I’d burned it. There were tiny red lines all through my petals and my clit was swollen, hot, and raw.
Julie was pulling on her clothes. “My clit feels like I’ve given it the worst sunburn of my life,” she said, still a bit put off by the appearance of my father. I nodded, but didn’t comment.
“I didn’t realize it hurt that much,” she admitted. “The rope. Not the Stinging O. I knew about that.” She amended quickly.
I gave her a curious look. “Really?”
Julie snorted. “Hell yeah. The first day you gave me a bottle for my place I took a vibrator, dipped it in, and masturbated with it. I wanted to know exactly what I was doing to you. It hurt, but wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t tolerate it. Still, I haven’t put Stinging O back on until now. Three years?” She sighed. “Still stings.” She took a deep breath and walked over to the stall where my phone was waiting. She pressed the screen a few times and studied the image that came up.
“You know, he’s right. this one is pretty damn amazing,” Julie opined as I went over to my pile of clothes. The vibroballs, Titanmen Inflatable Vibrating Butt Plug, and the butterfly clitoral vibrator all sitting on top. She came over and held out the phone. I looked at the picture. You know… she was right. I took the phone and stared at it while Julie threaded her belt through her pants. “Well that was well done. Need me to help you with taking the rope down?” She asked, glancing over at the line.
I shook my head. “Nah. I can handle it. Have before. But…” I hesitated. I wasn’t sure I wanted to mention it.
Julie’s eyebrow went up. “But what?”
I look chagrined. “Master Fred wanted me to have two orgasms after the rope walk.”
“You’re kidding,” Julie said, her voice quiet and emotionless.
I cringed. “I’m… I’m not even allowed to remove the clover clamps until I’ve had the second orgasm.”
Julie’s mouth twisted into a frown. “I’m not sure you’re capable of even having another orgasm, Bre. I mean crap! Look what we did to our pussies!” Her hand motioned down toward my bare loins. I glanced down too. My petals looked like I’d put them through a meat grinder. Julie’s didn’t look any better. My clit was twice as large as it should have been if I’d let it alone all day and my petals were sore, red, and covered in what looked like tiny scarlet lines. I couldn’t see my perineum or bottom, but from the way it felt I’m pretty sure that the word “abraded” applied. Jules let out an explosive grunt and put her hands on her hips. “How?”
I blinked “How what?”
“How are you supposed to cum? Again?” She shouted at me. I could almost hear the words “you dumb bitch!” at the end of the sentence.
I swallowed. “Um... well the first one is by snapping a rubber band against my clit.” I admitted quietly. “I’m supposed to put the butterfly back on and put it to high for the second. On high.”
Julie shook her head. “You are fucking crazy,” she declared. She turned and went over to her boots, then started pulling them on over her bare feet. “Totally fucking crazy.” She seemed very agitated. “Banana fucking nuts crazy!”
I stood there, just a little bewildered. She finished putting everything on and then turned and looked at me.
“Are you going to do it?” She asked.
I swallowed. I had to take stock. She was basically asking if I wanted a medical out. And honestly, my pussy felt like a I’d given myself rug burn while humping a roll of carpet. I bit my lip. Give in?
“Do you even have a rubber band out here?” She asked skeptically.
My mouth fell open. I looked around. Then shook my head.
She shook her head and sighed. To my dismay she headed straight for the barn door, shoving it open. I stood there, still naked, the clover clamps hanging from my breasts. She got about five feet out into the courtyard and stopped, only to turn back and look at me from over her shoulder.
“Well, if you really want, I happen to have a few in the car,” she declared. “But it will mean me snapping the soles of your feet too. And when I’m finished you’ll be walking back here stuffed with the vibroballs, with the vibrator on, and your ass plugged with the Titanmen. The last orgasm is your problem.” Then she turned on her heel and strolled off into the darkness.
I stood there gaping. Rubber bands! The butterfly! The Titanmen Plug again! More orgasms? My poor clit?
I bent down and grabbed my clothes, scooping everything up into my arms. The cool air of the night swirled around me as I ran barefoot and buck naked into the yard. She was just twenty feet away, waiting for me. I hurried forward, making sure I didn’t drop the butterfly, or the vibroballs , or the anal plug. The gravel hurt my feet and I caught up to her.
“How did you know?” I asked as we headed down the drive toward her car.
Julie gave me a wicked smile and a sideways glance. “Because Bre, you’re a nympho humiliation pain slut. MY nympho humiliation pain slut.”
Ow. Yes. Ohhhhhhhhhhh.
About the Author:
Breanne Erickson is a south Texas farm girl with a penchant for confessional erotica of the most amazing and detailed kind. Called the “goddess of dark erotica” by Afterdark Online, Breanne is the author of over a dozen novels/anthologies, a sort of cornucopia of erotica goodies detailing the mesmerizing sexual escapades she finds herself in. Her “tales” are full of wit, humor, and self-depreciating honesty as she wars with her own “mixed up” psyche; while one part of her wants it, the other hates it. If you’d like to explore more and read up on the devilish antics of everyone’s favorite sexy cowgirl, visit www.michaelalexanderstories.com or read up on her blog posts at www.michaelalexanderstories.blogspot.com! Who knows? It might be you sending in her next assignment!
Or we suppose you could just google “Breanne Erickson NHPS”!
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