The truck was in gear before I even dialed the number, the back wheels of my Ford F-150 spitting gravel as my foot pressed down on the accelerator. The tension I felt was palpable, a literal force that tore at both my body and my psyche, demanding action. Fortunately the man I was calling was on speed dial for just this sort of emergency. My knuckles were white upon the steering wheel as the connection was made and I heard his voice, cheerful and pleased that I had called.
“Hello Bre!” Zach said into the phone.
I didn’t mince words when I told him what I needed. Not at that point. I slammed the wheel to the right and took off down the farm to market road, racing toward I-10 with an intensity and speed that would have alarmed my parents, disturbed Kari, and interested the police. But I didn’t care. I knew what I needed.
“I’m coming over,” I had told Zach. That was all I said. It was all that I needed to say. There was a momentary silence as Zach dealt with my pronouncement. He had seen my tweets for the last few days and no doubt had a pretty good idea what was going on. Five days of denial does some rather strange things to me and it wasn’t good.
“Do I need to run up the flag?” He asked. I snorted into the phone. Zach was grasping at straws, hoping I was coming over to see him, or talk to him about an upcoming assignment.
“Hell yes, run up the flag.”
Zack’s tone was answer enough. “Sweet or spicy?”
I pushed the pedal to the metal. “Five alarm chili, Zach. With pepper spray.” I paused. “But I’ll need to be able to walk out. Kari wants to take me out on Sunday.”
He let out a sigh. “All right. I’ll see you when you get here.”
And that was that.
I pulled up in front of the fraternity house thirty minutes later, shocked that I’d managed the drive from Katy all the way to the university without attracting the attention of the police. It was around seven in the evening and as I climbed out of my truck I felt the Husky dildo, a nine inch rubber shaft that was stuffed up inside my sex, shift diabolically. I was wearing a skirt and panties, a combination that wasn’t optimal for keeping large rubber sex toys embedded in wet, slippery holes. And that was the point. Every time I’d stand up five or so inches of that phallus would slip out of my box, kept from falling to the ground by my stretched out panties. And then, every time I sat down, I’d get the full length slammed back into me. And that was it. I wasn’t allowed to masturbate except by standing and sitting, and I hadn’t cum all day. My nerves were on fire with need, every part of me demanding attention.
Of course the day before that I’d been told to endure the shifting, rolling, ringing swirl of my ben wa balls, two golf-ball sized spheres that did little to drive me over the edge into orgasm, and lots to drive me up a fucking wall. And on Wednesday? Wednesday I’d been stuffed to the brim with my twelve inch CoreDriller dildo, a massive rocket-ship looking toy that had been held in tightly with jeans, leaving me wet, aching, and desperate. And Tuesday? Tuesday was the damn ben wa balls… AGAIN! Monday was just as bad. I’d had the vibroballs in there on Monday, purring away on low, tormenting me. No orgasms. Just denial. For days. At one point I actually made the claim that I was horny enough to fuck a cactus.
I don’t handle denial very well.
I marched up to the front door with dark thoughts and needs swirling inside me, my sex trying to tighten around the Husky dildo constantly, but only succeeding in pushing it a bit further out before it slipped back in. It was maddening - by centimeters. I pounded my fist against the door and glanced down at myself. Short but respectable skirt, flip flops, tee shirt. I was even wearing a rather plain bra and panties. I was hardly dressed as a slut and could have been any redheaded college co-ed looking for a party.
Zach opened the door and I stepped in. There was a crowd waiting in the hall. Well, maybe not a crowd. Ten? A dozen? I didn’t stop and count. I glanced to the left, into the common room and couldn’t help grinning. There against the far wall was a red flag flying near the ceiling. I knew what the crimson cloth symbolized, as had everyone who had seen it. Breanne was cumming.
That was not a pun.
Even before the front door closed behind me I began. The shirt came first but I kicked off the flip flops at almost the same time. Eyes bored into me as I unclasped my bra, baring my breasts and I could see the arousal on some of the guys’ faces and yes, possibly in a few large lumps at the front of a few trousers. I felt it too; a tangible need that was forcing me to move. I pushed the skirt down over my rump, baring my panty clad bottom and the real problem; the dildo. The gold piercing at my right nipple flashed as I bent down, stepping out of the skirt, and grabbing hold of both panty and Husky dildo. I pulled both downward, groaning as the thick phallus was finally extracted from my grasping, wanting, desperately soaked sex. My panties reeked of my juices, and I kicked aside the cloth as I brought the dildo up to my mouth and with one swift movement, drove the entire thing down my throat as if I were giving the synthetic dildo the best blowjob in the world.
Yes. I am not above using jealousy as a motivator. I didn’t lick that damn thing clean. I blowjobbed it clean. I sucked on it, bobbing my head, jamming it down my gullet until my lips touched the synthetic half balls the designers had seen fit to add. There were murmurs of appreciation and then I pulled the thing out, wet with saliva, and tossed it to one of the guys. He caught it and put it on the nearby side table with a grin. For a long moment no one moved. I stood there naked, one leg cocked so that the arch of my foot was exposed and I pushed my breasts forward. The silence stretched on and then Zach nodded.
Several of the guys moved with a speed that shocked me. I was roughly grabbed and manhandled into the common room, dragged forward so that my toes literally scrambled along the wood floor. It was violent and forceful. I loved it. I was thrown down upon one of the couches and the swarm of fraternity guys moved in. My wrists and ankles were caught and I was pulled open, my wet sex on display. One of the guys shoved a number of throw pillows behind my back, bending me in half. Zach moved behind the couch and I looked up so I could see him. His hand went high, then flashed downward.
It caught my breast with a stinging slap that made me gasp. And he didn’t stop. Using both hands, back and forth, fast and hard, he delivered a beating to my boobs that left them bright pink, hot, and heavy. My nipples were rock hard and I was groaning. Of course part of that might have been the fact that one of the other fraternity guys was kneeling between my outstretched legs, licking and biting at my clit with a frenzy of movement. As soon as Zach seemed done with my breasts, the guy on his knees moved and another young man stepped into his place. This one however stood, wielding the leather belt extracted from his jeans. It was doubled up and he gripped it about ten inches back from the fold. His first stroke landed wetly on my slit, biting into my clit and I cried out, my rump coming up off the couch as my body rose to meet the impact. Had they not been holding my legs I would have kicked wildly.
The belt stung and as the heat built as it landed again, a little farther to the right. Red lines appeared on my inner thighs, but faded slightly as my tormentor moved back inward, landing several more blistering strokes against my swelling labia. I gritted my teeth, the pressure inside me building in ways that a simple fucking could never handle and I couldn’t help myself.
“Oh God! Yes! Hurt me!” I cried out. They liked that.
Zach moved away from my breasts and someone else stepped up to the plate and suddenly I was getting both halves nailed at the same time. Another belt was produced, the last five or six inches used to slap my nipples, back and forth, while the doubled leather strap bit into the crevasse between my thighs. I began to thrash and it took the concerted effort of the men holding me down to keep me from closing my legs, or bringing my hands in to cover my breasts. My chest heaved and my toes curled and then, crazily, the fire inside me exploded brightly and I lost myself in the wave of pain-induced orgasm that any normal girl would never have experienced. My vision swam and went red, the beating continuing between my legs and at my breasts, totally regardless of my orgasmic ecstasy. I shuddered, eyes closed, mouth open in a wail that filled the massive room. I’m not sure when Zach stopped them, but he did and I was only barely cognizant of his commanding voice, telling them to take me upstairs.
I have my own room at the fraternity house. I know because the name plate says “Breanne.” Most of the rooms in that corridor are decorated exactly as you would expect from a collection of horny college men. But my room? My room looked like Barbie had puked on Hello Kitty, followed by some serious bestiality sex. It was pink, with white furniture, a simple white desk and chair in which a massive pink teddy bear sat. The lamp had a pink shade. It was… disgusting actually. But what was neat was the bed. It was a full, rather than a twin, and this one came with all sorts of interesting accessories. They’d gone to the trouble of using fraternity funds to outfit the place and they’d even bought white leather cuffs. I’d walked up the stairs willingly, held upright by two of the fraternity guys, one who liked to cop a feel of my breast as we climbed.
“Which way?” Zach asked me as I looked down at the bed.
“On my back,” I said, knowing that I’d just doubled the available target areas. He nodded and the three of them quickly laid me down and began securing me spread-eagled to the mattress. I wasn’t exactly pulled tight, but the bondage cuffs allowed little enough movement. Zach produced a giant glass vase, filled with little white folded papers, and set it on the desk. The single pillar candle, red in color, was lit. I lifted my head. The line in the hall was already forming. He looked at me, shook his head, and walked out of the room, tapping the first in line on the shoulder.
I didn’t even know his name and he looked young. He walked in and reached into the glass container and extracted a piece of paper. He unfolded it, nodded and then let me read it. I said it aloud, knowing that there would be an audience at the doorway.
“Zipline,” I whispered, shuddering at the thought.
He opened the top drawer of the bureau. Most girls keep their panties and socks there. But in this room, that was just one drawer filled with naughty things. He drew out the collection of clothespins, a full dozen of them, each connected with a string. It didn’t take him long and I yelped as he began putting the clothespins on. He started at my right nipple, then circled around my breast, only to move to my left side. I winced and whimpered as two more clothespins pinched flesh along my abdomen and then he placed a clothespin on my clit. The last three went on my labia and I groaned, twisting with the pain.
“Three, two, one.” His words were hardly preparation, or even warning, and then he yanked the pull string. I screamed. Actually screamed as the clothespins went flying, leaving my vulnerable skin and body thrumming with pain. Sexualized pain mind you. And before I was done he was on top of me, his condom clad cock probing at my pulsing pussy. I was so wet, so ready, that he slipped in on the first thrust, driving deep to the hilt as his mouth came down to my hardened nipples, biting at me. I lifted my hips, grinding into him and he let out a low groan. We pumped energetically. I felt his shaft turn to granite, then pulse. He collapsed on me, leaving me wanting.
The first became the second and another slip of paper was drawn from the vase. I read it aloud as it was held in front of me.
“Clover clamps,” I said loudly.
The second guy produced a pair of steel clover clamps and placed them on my breasts. Then, giving them a series of stiff pulls, he climbed up between my legs, gripped his penis at the base, and then slammed it home between my thighs. We worked ourselves into a frantic rhythm, the chain between the clamps caught between his teeth, pulling on my nipples with every thrust. Again, I was dangerously close to a second orgasm when he popped, leaving me breathless and still needy.
The parade continued as the line moved forward. Each of the guys in the hall came in one at a time, picked a piece of paper from the vase, tormented me and screwed me. Ten strokes of the leather sap to my clit and a thorough fucking. A light caning of my breasts followed by a deep and intense screwing. Hot wax on my clit, whipped off with a flogger, then a gentle but maddening slow coitus. A vibrator shoved up my ass so that both holes were filled when he took me. A pussy spanking that left me tense and breathless before he slid his shaft in. Rubber bands on my boobs, my nipples tweaked between thrusts of his manhood. My thighs were whipped and I was plowed. The soles of my feet were beaten until my toes curled, followed by a thick cock sliding through my petals. Some things were repeated with different amounts or times of torture. And after each five or six minutes of agony, there was the fucking, the non-stop fucking, that just went on and on.
I saw Zach checking in on me occasionally. I asked to be let up somewhere around ten o’clock, but it was just to use the bathroom, take a quick shower to sluice the perspiration and sweet musk of arousal from my skin, before allowing them to take me back, paraded naked through the house, to my bedroom. This time I was laid face down and Zach replaced the vase with a different container with pink slips of paper and it was my ass that was now the main target. Spanks, butt plugs, a caning, hot wax, getting screwed in both holes, a vibrator pushed underneath me, against my clit. All sorts of things. And I came again and again, though not as often as each of the fresh faced fraternity guys who took me.
It was around one o’clock in the morning when Zach came in. I was barely awake, despite the fact that certain parts of me were still hurting. He slipped two fingers into my sex and pushed on my shoulder. I’m not sure which woke me.
“Breanne?” he said simply, shaking me with both hands. I let out a low moan of pleasure.
“Breanne? It’s one o’clock in the morning,” he said, knowing that I’m an early riser and probably had critters to take care of back on the farm.
I groaned, loving what his hand was doing between my legs. “Is there still a line?” I mumbled.
Zach laughed. “As long as you are here there will be a line on the off chance you’re taking cock. Granted, right now there’s only three out there but you should see the hall. There are little yellow sticky notes with names for thirty feet. In fact, some of them were bright enough to put their names up twice. But I figured you needed to know the time. Should I let you up?”
I shook my head, though it came out as more of a long roll. “Called Jake before coming over,” I said sleepily.
Zach grinned. “So you have nowhere to be tomorrow morning?”
“Thasss right…” my mush-mouthed tiredness managed to mangle.
“So you want me to leave you here? Tied up and fucked?”
“No,” I said, feeling a fresh surge of arousal from his hand. “I want you to do something else for me.”
“Flip me over. I’m done on this side.”
Zach laughed and began releasing my arms and legs. Finally I was able to roll over and he whistled as he caught sight of my breasts, thighs, and loins. Even as he began cuffing me again he shook his head.
“Do you have any idea how you look?”
“Scrumptious?” I asked tiredly.
He laughed. “Well used,” he said.
I nodded. “Good.” I glanced over at the vase with the paper slips in it. “How many slips are left?” I asked.
Zach looked. “Maybe twenty or so? “
“What?” The shock and surprise in his voice was perfect.
“I will stay right here until every single slip of paper is gone,” I told him. “Though I may sleep through some of it.”
“Breanne, there are over fifty torments, over a dozen of which you’ve already done. It will take you the rest of the day. And I mean today, Saturday. Not Friday.”
I looked up at him, arms above my head, bound to the bed, my legs spread, my body laid out like a buffet. “Then you better get started,” I said with a grin. “Pick a piece of paper,” I told him.
Zach laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “You are fucking amazing,” he said, turning to the bureau and grabbing out a slip of paper. He held it out to me after reading it. I saw the words: clamps on her nipples, and I read it aloud, but then I added something.
“And hold a vibrator to her clit until she’s so sensitive and tender she’s screaming as she cums.” I said. Zach’s eyebrow went up and I just kept going. “And then, after she’s done cumming, put your dick into her and pump until you’re satisfied.”
He leaned down and gave me a soft kiss. “Sounds good to me.”
It was better than a cactus.
Breanne Erickson is the goddess of dark erotica and author of the wildly popular "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" series! Check out her amazing work at Michael Alexander Stories!