Saturday, September 16, 2017

Faith In Humanity


“Are you ready?” Paul asked me, giving me an uncomfortable, somewhat skeptical look. His sandy brown hair was cut short and he’d put on some muscle since the last time I’d seen him. Now, in his early twenties, he was much more man and less teenager, and I liked the change in him. I reached out and patted his arm, though I admit I wasn’t exactly feeling calm about things either.

Ready, in my case, is highly subjective.

I gave Paul a shrug. “I suppose so, though I admit that I’m a little nervous about this.”

He looked up at me. “Well, you don’t have to do this,” he said, gesturing at the box and the double wrapped set of wires running from it.

I took a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah. I sort of do.” I gave him an appreciative glance. “Thanks for being willing to help.”

Paul smiled. “Well, it’s always worth it to spend time with you. This morning was great, by the way.”

I grinned, remembering. Paul had tied me down spread-eagled to his bed right after I’d arrived and I’ve rarely has such a memorable torture session when my tormentor used nothing but a paint brush. He’d made me beg, multiple times, before finally allowing me to cum. Now it was payback time though and the assignment presented by Master Lukas bordered on evil.

We stood on the campus of Paul’s college, which was already a week into the fall semester. Hurricane Harvey hadn’t quite managed to flood this part of Houston and as a result, the campus was bustling. A ton of underclassmen were wandering around, and the only thing that kept me from being a spectacle was the fact that for once, I was completely dressed.

Yeah. Gasp.

I was wearing a solid blue blouse that did a very nice job of accentuating my curves without making a display of it. The collar made it clear I had a bit of cleavage to be proud of, and even the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra wasn’t a big deal. The white skirt was almost knee-length and playful, without being indecent. Any college coed would be wearing them. My feet? Flats. Sandals. Comfortable and pretty without screaming “slut.” In fact, the only weird thing about my entire ensemble was the heavy canvas bag I had over one shoulder, the wires leading from the bag under my clothes, not to mention, the cable that ran to the handmade, metal button box held by Paul.

“Do you want to test it?” Paul said, holding up the box. My face went white.

“God no,” I replied, eyes widening as we began walking slowly along the path.

“Are you sure?” He asked, somewhat confused.

I sighed. “Look. I can see that it’s all on. I don’t want to have to deal with more than I absolutely have to. If it doesn’t work, we go back to Mike and declare a technological failure. I don’t get punished and I don’t have to put my ass on the line for science.”

Paul snorted. “I’m not sure you can call this science,” he assured me. He pointed to a building in front of us. “There. That’s the dorm.”

I bit my lip. “Alright. Let’s get going.”

It didn’t take us long to get in, thanks to Paul’s school ID and a little wheedling, and we made our way up to one of the hallways. After that it became a waiting game, and we didn’t have to wait very long. In just two or three minutes a young man, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen years of age, came strolling down the hallway.

“Hi,” I said brightly. “Excuse me. I was wondering if you had a moment.”

He slowed, curious. And perhaps interested. I mean, why would a pretty girl have wires running up under her clothes, going to and from a box with two big buttons?

“Hey, thanks for helping,” Paul said with a grin. “We’re conducting a simple experiment on social interactions. What’s your name?”

“Jim,” the young man replied.

“Hi Jim,” I said warmly, smiling. I wanted, very much, to make this young man like me.

He grinned back at me.

“Okay, Jim. This is pretty simple. See this box?” Paul held up the control box with the two buttons. “There are a pair of buttons here and what we’d like you to do is push one.”

Jim looked a bit skeptical. “That’s it? What do they do?”

Paul grinned. “Well, this green one turns on a vibrator in Breanne’s pussy,” Paul replied. “Here. Watch.”  Paul pressed the green button and I gasped as the RVP in my slit went into overdrive. My hands went down to the dip at the front of my skirt and the sound, which was very audible, changed. Vibrations and the corkscrewing sensation of the four inch long probe churning in my depths made me sway and I blushed prettily. For the next thirty seconds I quivered in front of both guys, clearly reacting to the sexual stimulation.

“Freaking awesome!” Jim exclaimed, laughing. “What does the red one do?

Paul gave Jim an uncomfortable look. “Well, that’s a different story,” he said “The red button isn’t very nice. It will hurt.”

“Me?” Jim asked.

“What?” Paul asked. “Of course not. Her!” He said pointing at me.

I blinked as Jim gave me a curious look. Paul sighed. Then he reached out, and grabbed my shirt, yanking it up.

I did let out a little squeal as Jim’s eyeballs seemed to pop out of his skull. Of course that meant he got a good look at my tits, the gold piercings through both nipples, the silly, charm-sized padlock dangling from the right hoop, and most of all, the white, wired, electrostim tabs stuck to either side of each nipple.

“Holy shit,” Jim observed, eyes wide.

Paul tugged my shirt back down. “Exactly. There’s one over her clit too, so remember she gets shocked down there as well. We also have to sweeten the deal. If you press the red button, she gets zapped for a full thirty seconds. But when she’s done frying, she will get down on her knees and suck your cock until you cum.

Jim blinked. “You’re kidding me.” He glanced at me and I nodded, my face scarlet.

Paul nodded. “Of course, in order to get her mouth wrapped around your cock, you’ve got to shock her. She’s got a TENS Unit in the bag and she’s already wired up. Press that red button and to her, it will feel like having hot needles shoved through her tits.”

Jim looked at me with uncertainty. “I don’t understand. If I hurt you, why would you be willing to suck my cock?”

I took a deep breath. “It’s an experiment I agreed to. Honestly, I’d rather not be hurt at all. You could press the green button. You don’t get the blowjob, but for thirty seconds the vibrator is going to make me feel amazing. I might even cum,” I said softly, almost sadly. Hopeful even.

Paul held out the box. “Press a button. Decide. Does she fry so you can get your cock sucked? Or are you going to spare her and maybe even make her cum?”

Jim took the box, indecision writ large upon his face. He looked back and forth, considering his options, and I stared at him, my eyes expressive, silently pleading with him. Then his mouth formed a straight line and he lifted his hand to the control box. I watched, holding my breath, as he made his choice, and pressed a button.

***

“Well, that was informative,” Paul said as we walked slowly back toward the car. I was clinging to him, leaning on him, not just for moral support, but because I was exhausted. My knees and jaw hurt, and despite the fact that I wasn’t, at that very moment, getting zapped with excruciating pain at the tips of both breasts and across my clit, didn’t mean I wasn’t still feeling the residual agony of it. My back was hurting.

“It was?” I asked wearily.

He nodded, taking shortened steps to match my stride. “Who would have thought?”

“That guys are jerks?” I asked sourly.

Paul laughed. “Come on, Breanne. They were offered a blowjob. That’s tough to turn down, even knowing that the girl who is going to suck you is going to get fried first.” He shrugged. I could feel it. “Besides, four of them just gave you pleasure.”

I gave him a slightly incredulous look. “And eleven didn’t!” I exclaimed. “Eleven shocks!” I protested, almost tripping over my own feet and stumbling. Paul caught me.

“Careful. And think of it as eleven cocks sucked,” he said gently. “I’m impressed you swallowed all that spunk.” He paused. “Guess you aren’t hungry now.”

I groaned. “I could use something to eat. Sperm isn’t exactly filling, even after, as you said, eleven shots of the stuff.”

He laughed. “Well the car is right up there. Come on.”

Together we walked arm in arm. All the equipment was still wired to me and I looked forward to getting to the privacy of Paul’s sedan so I could start taking most of it off.

“So how did Mike do this anyway?” He asked, pointing down at my bag. I glanced down. The handmade box with the two buttons lay atop the RVP and the TENS unit.

I shrugged. “Basically it’s just an intercept. He cut the wires and when you press the button it activates a relay switch that shuts off after thirty seconds.”

“Clever. Could you change the amount of time the RVP is on?”

I shrugged. “Beats me. Ask Mike. Why?”

Paul smiled. “Just thinking about inflicting lots more pleasure on you.”

I chuckled. It was a nice thought. I thought back to the four guys who’d opted to pleasure me, instead of frying my girl parts. Then I looked at Paul with genuine affection.

“Hey, thank you for using the pleasure button as a demonstration,” I said softly as we reached the car. “If I count those, I got vibrated nineteen times. Not four.”

Paul smiled and unlocked his car. “Of course. Besides, it convinced some of those guys to participate. Here,” he said, holding out his hand. “Climb in.”

He helped me sit down and I sighed in relief, closing my eyes. He shut the door and hurried around to the opposite side. He slid in and the engine started.

“Sorry. Give the AC a moment to cool us down,” he said.

I nodded, the heat making me sleepy. A trickle of cool air escaped the vent, which was good. I was perspiring.

“So,” Paul began. “You know, it occurs to me, that I sort of got stiffed.”

I opened my eyes and looked at him. “What do you mean?” I asked curiously. “I let you tie me to your bed before we came out here. You freaking used a flogger on my pussy and tits before fucking my brains out. You came.” I paused. “I came.”

Paul shrugged. “Yes. I know. And after we get some food, I’m going to do it to you again. But honestly, I never got to choose a button.”

I barked out a laugh. “What? That’s ridiculous! Besides, what would be the point? You understood the whole hypothesis. Hobbes vs. Locke.”

Paul waves his hand. “Yes, yes. Is man inherently evil or good. I get it.” He rolled his eyes. “Though I’m not sure that your little ‘test’ was a fair exploration of that philosophical nugget.” He shook his head. “The point I’m making, is that you don’t know what button I’d press.” He gave me a smirk. “Do you?”

I looked at him and shook my head. “I don’t think it matters. Your data point is worthless because you understand the point of the test.” I paused. “Besides, it’s eleven to six. Men are inherently evil,” I muttered. “One extra point against isn’t going to change the fact that most of the guys we sampled were more than willing to see me in agony in order to get a blowjob.”

“Nevertheless, I want a chance to choose. I want to press the button.”

I rolled my eyes and yanked the box out of the bag and put it down in his lap. “Well, fine. Go ahead. Better do it now before I take all this off.”

He lifted his hand, but then hesitated. “I figured you’d keep the RVP in. Right? Rule number one and all?”

I sighed. “Yeah. Probably.”

“Are you horny?”

I turned my head and stared at him.

He coughed, looking sheepish. “Right. Sorry. Always horny.” He held his hand over the two buttons. “Do you want to guess which one I’m going to press?”

I shook my head. “No. Because that might affect your choice. You might decide to be contrary. Besides, your choice already isn’t accurate because you understand the point of the test. So it doesn’t matter,” I retorted.

He gave me a steady look. “Really? It doesn’t matter?” He asked.

A sinking, crawling sensation sort of slid over my skin and I looked at him. His eyes were smoldering, glittering and there was a look on his face that made me want to either run and hide or lay on my back with my feet up in the air, knees pulled up, my legs spread, knowing that something intense, agonizing, and sexual exquisite was about to happen to me.

“Paul?” I said softly. “Go ahead. Choose,” I whispered.

He suddenly smiled, eyes bright. His thumb moved from between the two buttons, red and green, and hovered over just the green. “Know what makes me different from those other guys?” He asked me softly.

I was just about to shake my head, but he pressed the green button. Inside me the Rotating Venus Penis began moving; shaking and churning. My clit tingled and the wetness gushed. The four-inch long probe, sticking out of the back of the RVP’s butterfly shaped base, began twisting, stirring inside me, sending waves of sweet bliss through my lower half. I gasped, stretching out, toes curling. I’d been tormented all afternoon. Over and over. In thirty second hits. I needed to cum. God, I wanted to cum! I whimpered, knowing it was about to be over. My back arched and I closed my eyes, moaning as my hips thrust rapidly against the RVP’s movements.

“What makes me different,” Paul said casually. “Is that I know that I can press both buttons.”

Pain erupted between my legs. And at the tips of both breasts. It was fire and ice, hot pins and crushing teeth. I cried out, the pain combining with the lust, the need, the pleasure. My hands shot up to my breasts, jammed beneath each of them, cupping them and squeezing, even as the electricity crossed each delicate tip, frying the densely packed nerves. Lower, the same pulsing, kneading shocks were tearing at my clitoris, already sensitive from the vibrations. Inside me the silicon and plastic cock corkscrewed, ignoring my gyrations, my raucous cries, and the pain.

Then the RVP went silent and the pain enfolded me. But only for a moment. Then Paul touched the green button and the vibrations, the stirring churn in my pussy, all started up again. Pain and pleasure. Agony and ecstasy. I shuddered violently.

Paul hummed softly, watching me tremble and jerk, my hips dancing, my hands running up and down my body, desire and desperation. Then… then the pain stopped. Five seconds later the RVP went still. Panting, I turned my face and stared at him, longing and fear and pain and bliss all running through me, all at once.

“And you know what?” He asked me, even as I sat there twitching. “I know one more thing.”

I was panting, hyperventilating, sensations and vibrations running up my spine. My brain couldn’t tell the difference anymore. I didn’t know if it hurt or felt good. Paul held up the box.

“I know that that I can keep pressing the buttons until you cum,” Paul said. “Over and over.”

I reached out my hand…

Oh. Oh My. Oh my God.

Hobbes was right.

Men are evil pigs.


 Breanne Erickson is the author of the BDSM confessional erotica series “Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut,” With over twenty novel-length works, Breanne is best known as the “goddess of dark erotica,” a moniker bestowed upon her by Afterdark Online. Her witty repartee, honest narratives, and self-deprecating humor makes each “tale” seem like an entry into her personal diary - the long, thick, and hard “ins and outs” of a girl who can’t ever seem to get enough when it comes to deviant sex. A prolific blogger on Michael Alexander’s BDSM Blog , Breanne continued to charm both sexes, serving as the prime example of what a Nympho Humiliation Pain slut can be when she puts her heart, soul, and sex into achieving her goals.

Sunday, August 27, 2017

Splattered

“What could you possibly want to show me out here?” I shouted over the downpour. Heavy raindrops didn’t just fall from the sky, they poured, as if the heavens had opened up and every fucking angle was sobbing their heart out. I walked barefoot next to him, already soaked from my bare little feet up to my waist, which wasn’t a good thing considering all that I was wearing was a simple, white, summer dress. The water had turned it opaque from my belly button down and the only saving grace was the fact that no one else was braving a fucking hurricane like the two of us.

Idiots.

We were halfway out into the middle of the park meadow behind Julie’s apartment complex, something of a mix between sports field and open green area. It also happened to be about two feet below the level of the complex itself, which was good, because it was rapidly filling up. I followed along, totally bewildered, stepping carefully as my bare feet splashed down into the sodden field.

Mike had selected something a little more appropriate for a torrential downpour than my own attire. Of course, he’d known where we were going. Sports sandals graced both feet and he had actually put on a pair of swim trunks. I moved closer to him, just a little chilled, trying to stay under both Mike’s hulking mass, as well as the umbrella. He wrapped one arm around me, but that really didn’t mean much. It was a hurricane for God’s sake! The cut grass tickled my toes as we headed for the one possible bit of shelter in the middle of the meadow - a somewhat stunted, live oak that seemed to have shrunk under the torrential rain.

Oddly, there wasn’t a terrible amount of wind, just lots and lots of water. Hurricane Harvey had sort of petered out after striking the central coast of Texas, dropping from a Category 4 hurricane to an abysmal Category 1, even before turning toward Houston. And while it had brought about a zillion buckets of the Gulf of Mexico with it, all which Harvey intended to dump on South Texas, that Saturday morning, the winds weren’t anything more than blustery. We’d survived two or three major rainbands.

Of course, Mike was holding onto the umbrella with both hands, so what the fuck do I know?

We sloshed through ankle deep water, which is par for the course in Houston during this kind of weather and after another minute of skin soaking splatter, we made it to the relative shelter of the tree. Mike looked up, made a frowny face and then closed the umbrella.

“Your fans,” he shouted at me, “sometimes suck!”

I blinked. I hadn’t been told anything. What the hell was he talking about? Then I remembered the tweets. One in particular.

“You mean we’re out here because of me?” I demanded. Rain poured down off the top of my head, taking my red locks into my eyes. I wiped a hand across my face, rain flinging off my fingers. My vision stayed clear for about half a second. Then more rain hit me.

“Yeah!” Mike yelled. “Strip!”

“What? Are you fucking nuts?” I shouted back at him. “In a hurricane?”

He nodded. Then he reached behind his back and lifted his shirt. Tucked into the waistband was one of Julie’s rubber floggers, a skein of nylon rope, and a short hafted crop.

“You mean you dragged me out here, in a hurricane, to strip me naked, tie me to a tree, and whip me?” I demanded, stamping my foot. “They were joking!” The splash hit him, but he didn’t notice. He was soaked to the skin, just like I was.


In fact, stripping wouldn’t have been a problem anyway, because my dress was literally stuck to my flesh like paint and what once had been white cotton was now skin colored tissue, showing every curve, freckle, and pink circle I had.

“Yep!” He shouted, grinning at me. “So strip!” He gestured at my dress, while untying the rope.

“I am not going to let you whip me in a hurricane!” I spluttered, a bit in outrage, but more from the fact that my mouth was filling with water. “This is insane!”

Mike dropped the crop, and the flogger and gave me a look as he unraveled the rope. “Do I have to take your dress off myself?”

I stuck my tongue out at him. “I’d like to see you try!” I shouted back at him through the storm.

The rope fell from his hands and before I could move, he grabbed the front of my dress. I cried out in alarm as he simply tore it, shredding the front straight down from collar to hem, leaving my bare skin exposed. I wasn’t wearing a bra or panties and my pink slit was soaked with not just water. My nipple stood out, chilled and wet, and I gasped, eyes wide as he reached back to tear the rest off me.

“Hey!” I yelled, angry now. “That was mine!”


“I’ll buy you a new one. Strip or I’ll spank you too!”

Furious, I tore the ruined dress off and threw it to the ground. In seconds it disappeared, soaking up the rain and mud and sinking. “You realize I now have absolutely nothing to wear back to the apartment?” I yelled at him.

Mike shrugged. “You should have thought of that before arguing with me!”

I spluttered again.

He bent down and picked up the rope. “Wrists!” he hollered. I rolled my eyes but obediently held out my wrists, mostly to prevent getting spanked or something, crossing them in front of him. He looped the rope and in less than a minute both of my hands had been tied, tightly too. He tossed the other end of the rope upward and managed to get it over a tree branch just above his head. He pulled and I squawked as I was pulled up on tiptoe, arms pointed upward, the maelstrom lashing my body with water. He tied the excess off on the trunk. I whimpered as Mike found the flogger, the bright pink tips easy to see.

“Count the strokes!” He shouted, and before I could respond, he swung the flogger at my breasts, catching them both perfectly. I gasped, which was stupid, because I immediately choked on all the precipitation that went right into my mouth. I choked and swung away from him, only to feel my toes drag through the water as I was brought back. He hit me again, same spot, and with more than enough force that the stinging sensation of the multi-headed flogger was easily discernible against the backdrop of rain.

It took him five strikes before the sting managed to successfully turn into heat and I had learned a new way to scream - through clenched teeth and partially drawn back lips. The plus was that I was no longer drowning. My nipples, both hardened from the wind and cold rain, began to warm up, but Mike couldn’t tell. Instead he swung again, and then again, working against the rain, whipping my tits.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw my head back, eyes shut against the sheets of rain, and screamed. No one would hear me. We were alone, in a field, at a nearby park, and I couldn’t even see the fucking street from where I was tied. The flogger bit over and over into my breasts and I twisted away from him. The second I did, he aimed for my ass, hitting me even harder. It became a game of reaction. If I was facing him, my boobs got lashed. If I turned away, he scored my rump. Soon skin turned red and my nipples and ass throbbed with heat. I let out a choked sob.

“Forty-two,” I managed to whimper against the rain.

“What?” Mike demanded. He swung the whip hard again, catching me across the chest. I squealed, gurgled, burbled, and spat out water. “What was that?”

“Forty-three!” I shouted at him, making the yell more about the pain than the information.

“Good!” He yelled back at me. “Just seven more to go!” He lifted the whip, and as I wheeled away to save my tits, he swung hard, striking me across the buttocks.

Fuck. Oww. Forty-four.

The next minute was brutal as Mike finished flogging me. My chest was a steamy, hot, scarlet mass of reddened flesh and I was pretty damn sure that my ass looked the same way. Mike put away the flogger and picked up the small crop.

“Now, spread your legs!”

Oh fuck. No. I shook my head, my wet hair streaming down, water filling my eyes. I could barely see.

“Spread your fucking legs or I will tie them open!” Mike shouted at me, waving the crop.  

Slowly, knowing I had no choice, I spread my legs. Or tried too. Remember? He’d tied me on my tiptoes? I had no purchase. I kicked a little and he went behind me, then loosened the rope. I dropped five inches and stood there, panting, legs wide apart, as he resecured the hemp line.

“Now, I’m going to beat your pussy. How close are you to cumming?” He demanded through the storm.

“Cumming? Are you crazy? I don’t feel like cumming!” I shouted. “I’m cold, wet, and hurting!”

Mike grinned at me. Then, he surged up, wrapped both arms around me, and kissed me. I felt his heat right through his shirt as my sore breasts were pressed against him. His hand grabbed me by the ass, squeezing and kneading the freshly whipped flesh. I groaned and wriggled in his grasp, our mouths pressed together. Then he slid to the side and brought his hand up between my legs, his fingers digging at my petals, touching my clit, rubbing me roughly as the hurricane surged around us.

And time slowed.

Need swelled inside me as each drop of rain held its place. Wetness, and not of mother nature’s doing, burst within me as Mike’s fingers swirled and danced, his thumb pressing hard against my clitoris. I gasped and stiffened, my nipples aching as I threw my head back, ignoring the roar of the storm, the pelting rain, the chill of the wind. I pressed my face against my arm, pulling on the tree branch above me.

And now, now I felt like cumming.

Mike let me go, took a step back, and brought the crop up. He tapped it once on my left breast, just enough to get my attention. I looked at him, blinking the water out of my eyes, and I spread my legs wide. Then wider. My toes pointed outward, buried in muddy, streaming water as the rain sluiced down my body. Mike grinned, mopping a sodden hand across his face. Was it rain? Or my juice? Then he squinted through the monsoon, found his target, and brought the crop up with an underhand blow that would have made softball pitchers around the world proud.

The wet, black, leather tip of the crop found my labia and sent a splatter of both girl goo and rain upward against my stomach, even as the strength of the blow created a sting so strong that I was barely able to hold the position. I squealed and pulled myself upward on the rope, the branch I was hanging from dipping down. Mike laughed crazily and swung the crop at my left tit, striking it with similar heat, leaving me both screaming and swinging. My legs swung wildly as I kicked and bounced. Then he reached down, grabbed a flailing foot, and hauled it upward, forcing me to stand on one leg, still on tiptoe, hanging from the branch to keep me from falling forward. Then he slashed at my exposed gash with the crop, leaving a scorching burn from my perineum to my clit.

“Oh fuck!” I shrieked into the wind. Mike hit me again, still holding my leg, preventing me from twisting away or kicking. The crop tasted my sweet bits once more, except this time biting deep, flattening my petals and leaving a sting so sharp, so cutting, that I screamed out loud, thrusting my hips. Mike let go of my foot and I swung away from him, sobbing, unseen tears mixing with the pelting storm and he grabbed my foot from behind. He pulled me against him, reaching around my hip with his small crop, and with fast, hard blows, he spanked my clit. Over and over until I saw lightning. Until I heard thunder. Until my heart throbbed and my body quivered and there was no choice, no alternative. I wailed into the teeth of the storm, rain streaming down over me, wetting me in every way, in every spot, as the crop slapped and smacked and struck my most sensitive spot into paste. The orgasm overwhelmed me and I shuddered to a halt, shutting down, going limp against Mike. He let two or three more strokes land between my legs before realizing my state, feeling me jerk, but no more. His hand dropped my leg and I felt my knees buckle, all my weight on my arms.

I felt him untie me and I collapsed into the sodden field, a wet, whipped and cropped fuck bunny and I smelt the earth. My body was splattered with mud. Then Mike flipped me onto my back and I kept my eyes shut as the rain pelted my face. Something covered me and I heard the impact of the rain on the umbrella. Mike had opened it and set it over my head like a little lean to. Then he stood above me, kicked off his sandals, and for the first time in my memory, I watched him strip in public.

His cock was rigid and straight and he dropped to his knees, roughly shoving my legs open. I was still hurting, despite the orgasm, and I cried out, grimacing as he shoved himself deep into my sex. He stuck his head close to mine, taking a tiny bit of shelter as the torrents of water still struck us from the neck down. He fucked me down into the wet field, water running around my sides and feet and I could feel the mud sucking at me. But then he groaned, a gutteral cry escaped his lips and I could feel the throb of his cock, the heat and force of his thrust, and I reached up and wrapped my arms around him.

“Yes,” I bubbled, “Take me. Fuck me. Use me,” I said to him, not knowing if he could hear me above the pounding rain. And then he burst, like the raincloud itself, his own special volley of moisture filling me. Mike groaned and sagged against me, my breasts tender from where he’d whipped me, his pubic hair rough against my abraded and cropped sex. Finally he pulled his lip cock from my slit and he knelt above me, grinning. He wiped the water out of his face.

“We’re both a mess!” He declared, reaching out one hand to help me up, even as the other grabbed the umbrella. I let out a weak laugh, then shivered.

“I’m cold!” I shouted at him. “Did this satisfy you?”

He shrugged. “Me personally?” He asked as he picked his swim trunks up out of the water. “Yes!”

“Can we go in now?” I begged. “I’m cold!”

He stuck his feet into the trunks, then found his sandals. I watched, huddling under the umbrella, shivering.

“Okay! Let’s go back to the apartment!”

I frowned. “You’re going to have to get me some clothes!” I yelled. “I can’t go up naked!”

He laughed. “I know. But you’ll look great walking back there!” He ducked under the umbrella with me, the rain even louder as it struck the reinforced plastic. Still, I could hear him just a bit better. “You look fantastic naked, in the rain.”

I sighed. But then my teeth started chattering. Mike shook his head. “Time to go!” And he wrapped an arm around me and together we hurried through the hurricane, across the field, and out of the rain.

Hurricanes? They aren’t so bad.


Breanne Erickson is the author of Coming of Age: A BDSM Romance, as well as the amazing series "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut. Check our her amazing work at Amazon.com




Saturday, August 19, 2017

Oil Slick

When I opened the door leading into the atrium, the blast of cold air felt good upon my skin. It was early, too early actually, and the building was still quiet, drifting out of the sleepy emptiness of night. The other office on the ground floor was dark, as was the small lobby belonging to the interior design firm that catered to the ultra elite and idiotically rich of the city's wealthier denizens.

The decor for the atrium looked like it was stuck in the 1980’s, though I admit that I really liked it. The tile was dark, a rich brown color that looked like glazed pottery. Cut through the center, from one corner to the other, was a faux riverbed, complete with tropical plants, a real, flowing creek with actual water, some goldfish, and a small, wooden bridge that was more ornamental than functional. After all, you could have hopped over the creek itself.

I moved easily through the atrium, toward the interior design firm tucked away into the back right hand corner. My purse was slung over my right shoulder, while a brown sack with rope handles dangled heavily from my left hand. The slapping sound of my flip flops striking the bottoms of my feet seemed to echo through the chamber, just barely louder than the babbling of the tiny brook.

I looked around, surprised that I was unobserved. I was ridiculously early, but for the first time in quite awhile, Jose, our day porter, didn’t happen to be loitering around to watch me come into work. I wondered if I had beaten him in, an uneasy feeling starting in my stomach. I reached the door of Kari’s offices, bent down to unlock it, and was then scared out of my wits when Jose appeared out of nowhere, grinning down at me, cooing at me in his sing song voice.

“Breaaaaannneeee! Look you!!” He sang, gesturing down at me with wild and unbelieving eyes. He gestured at my clothes again, a look of astonishment on his face and I let out a relieved chuckle. I knew what he was trying to imply. I was dressed. Or at least nothing sexual was hanging out. I finished unlocking the door and stood up, giving him a smile. I crooked a finger.

“Necesito tu ayuda,” I said softly, glancing around, giving him a little eyebrow wiggle that clearly meant “follow me and have something tasty.” No one else was in the atrium. I watched as Jose’s eyes widened with excitement and he bobbed his head eagerly. This wasn’t the first time I’d been alone with the man so there weren’t any questions asked, in English or Spanish. I opened the door and gestured for him to go in and he did. He stepped to the side the moment he got into the lobby, and I grabbed his hand and pulled him in deeper. I didn’t bother locking the door back up. No one would come in until Kari arrived an hour later, and that left me with plenty of time to abuse Jose’s good nature.

I didn’t turn on the lights and instead pulled Jose down the hall and to the right. It wasn’t until we got to the conference room that I snapped a switch and let the white luminescence bathe me. Jose stopped and waited, a hungry look on his face and I didn’t want to disappoint him. I slipped off my shoes as I set the paper sack down on the conference table. Then I turned toward him, our eyes meeting, and I unbuttoned the white blouse.

When you aren’t wearing a bra, breasts have a tendency to flop out when released from the tight cotton weft of a shirt. I’m a C cup, which translates into two “grapefruit” sized melons on my chest. My nipples, both of them pierced with gold hoops, danced in front of Jose’s face, and the little padlock which dangled from my right tit wiggled enticingly as each breath just made me look all that much more desireable. I shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it to the side where it hung on one of Kari’s leather conference room chairs.

Jose didn’t say a word as my thumbs went down to the shorts. I unbuttoned them quickly, pushing them down at the same time, and the fact that I wasn’t wearing panties either only turned the heat up. Naked, I kicked off the clothing. Jose stared, still unmoving, waiting for me. So I reached into the bag, pulled out the anal beads and bottle of baby oil. And since I was already facing the right way, toward the table, I laid my top half down on the table and stuck my ass out.

Some things do not need words. Much less translation.

Jose was a practical man and he needed no urging or explanation. He grabbed the anal beads and bottle of oil. The beads themselves were black and there were eight of them, starting with one the size of a marble and getting bigger until the very last one would feel like a walnut had been shoved in my butt. Worse, and I’m not sure if Jose knew this, but they vibrated. There was a black cord leading to a controller with an overpowered battery.

I heard the snap of the bottle cap and I closed my eyes as cool, wet drops began falling on my tailbone, right above the crack of my ass. Jose didn’t go easy on the oil either. I reached back for him, grabbing my butt cheeks and pulling them open even as I spread my legs. I’m sure the gaping wetness of my pussy, which was uncharacteristically empty at that particular moment, was undoubtedly inviting, but Jose is not a man who takes. He’s a man who gives. And right at that moment, he knew that what I needed was my ass filled.

And preferably well lubricated.

He used his finger, which drove me absolutely nuts, because he basically gave me the hand massage equivalent of a rimjob, gently caressing my anus with his finger. I groaned, quivering like mad. Jose slipped a digit into my ass, just up to the first knuckle and I gasped, eyes widening. It wasn’t supposed to feel good. But it did. I shook my head, trying to grasp the reality I found myself in. Getting turned on by anal play isn’t really my thing.

Jose fucked my ass with his fingers and I struggled not to clamp down or tighten up. He did this for almost thirty seconds, then twisted his hand and pushed his thumb into my pussy. He sat down in a chair behind me and, ignoring the beads, began using his other hand to rub my clit. I trembled violently, waves of sweet, exquisite bliss shooting up from between my legs and I couldn’t help it. The pressure became too great and I found myself crying out in rapture, the heat and pleasure of his gentle, but thorough ministrations took me to the cliff and tossed me over the edge.

He didn’t pull his fingers out of me until I sighed in relief, sagging onto the table, my breasts mashed outward as the euphoria of climax left me blissfully sublime. Jose let out a chuckle as I hummed. Then he pulled his fingers out of me, wiped them on a towel he pulled from his back pocket, and grabbed the anal beads.

I’d let out a disappointed groan when he’d pulled his hand out of me, but that sound disappeared when I felt the first silicon covered bead get pressed against the brown button of my bottom. It went in easily, though Jose applied a little more oil and pressed the second sphere up against my sphincter. The third bead got pushed in next, then the fourth. I moaned as my bottom took more and more of the round balls until finally the last bead was a constant pressure against my bottom. I felt too full, my bottom achingly stuffed, but Jose managed to get the last, walnut size object into my ass. I looked back at him and nodded, eyes bright.

“Ahora, por favor. Úsame.” I reached over to the bag and tipped it over. A number of things spilled out - the alligator clamps (three of them), my vibroballs, and a box of condoms. I grabbed the prophylactics and handed one to Jose who took it with a grin. He knew what I was doing; granting permission. He applied it himself right after I heard the zipper of his pants. Then, with exquisite grace and accuracy, he pressed himself against my bottom and I felt his long, thick cock slide deep into my pussy.

Yessssssssss.

There is something right about getting fucked by a man. Don’t get me wrong - I’m bi-sexual and I can have a sweet, steamy time with any girl. But men come naturally with the right equipment. There’s no buckles or straps. They feel amazing inside me, and while I can understand the psychological reasons some women become homosexual, being able to have the best of both worlds means a lot to me. I wasn’t planning on marrying Jose. In fact, I think he is married. But clearly our relationship was a physical one only. I was using him. In fact, I wasn’t done using him.

Jose worked himself into a tizzy in relatively short order, though I admit if he’d managed to hold off for another minute or two, I’d have been joining him on the “I just had a fucking oragasm” porch. Instead, with me quivering in renewed excitement, he stiffened, hardened, trembled, and popped, squirting a cumload of cream into the tip of the condom. He sighed in relief, pulling out slowly, his cock softening.

I groaned too, straightening up as my pussy complained about the sudden emptiness. I turned to face him, being careful of the anal beads and the wire and controller. I faced him with a grin. Then I grabbed the bottle of oil and held it out, even as I gestured with my other hand at my chest.

“¿Por favor? ¿En todos lados?” I asked him meekly. “Lots of it.”

His eyes brightened and he nodded. He stood up and tucked away his sausage, straightening his pants easily. Then he took the bottle and poured a small amount of baby oil on my sternum, right between my breasts.

“Mas’ I said as he brought a hand up, catching the trickling oil and spreading it over my breast.

His eyes widened and I nodded. “More please,” I said, this time in English. Jose tipped more and caught it again in his free hand, letting go of my bosom. He set the bottle down, but I grabbed it. Our eyes met and I nodded smiling. I poured more oil right onto my left tit and he had no choice but to bring his hand up, catching the over flow, and begin spreading it around.

In seconds my breasts glistened, as did Jose’s hands, and I poured a bit more baby oil onto my chest, high up by the hollow of my throat. Jose took the hint and left my boobs, oiling my chest, a look of concern on his face as I kept putting on more oil.

“Lower please?” I asked him, then said, “Bajo?”

Jose glanced up at me sharply, but then nodded, dropping to one knee, even as I poured another trickle into my cleavage. This time it slid downward, through my slick breasts, over my tummy and into my belly button. Jose caught it, spreading it around, rubbing it into my skin until I turned shiny. And I poured more. He had no choice but to move lower and I tilted my hips, pushing my sweet pussy out for his hand.

“Me piernas, tambien, por favor,” I whispered. Jose nodded and I poured oil onto my right thigh. His hands touched me everywhere and my skin glistened as if I’d just been glazed. It felt so good and he moved down to my foot.

“Todo,” I said, arching my foot. I felt his fingers on my sole, then slipping across the top and down to my toes.

“Le otro pierna?” I asked. He switched as I poured the oil and rubbed my other leg.

Then it was time for the other side of me. As he looked up I turned around, sticking my ass right into his face. I put a hand on the table to brace myself and literally upended the bottle onto my back. Jose quickly rose.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” He said, his “t’s” dropping. “Un momento!” He grabbed the bottle from me and set it down, his hands slipping and then going to my skin. He spread the film across my shoulders and down my arms, then rubbed my spine. Eventually he got to my bottom and he poured more oil into his hand.

“Mas, por favor,” I said. “I have to glisten.”

“Glisten?” He asked.

I thought hard, straining my Spanish. “Resplandescer?” I asked.

He gave me a confused look. “Brillante?”

Jose shook his head. Then his eyes brightened. “Con brillo?”

“Shiny,” I repeated, pointing at my arm where the oil was thick. He nodded, grabbed the bottle again, and put more oil on me. I could feel it dripping down my back and along my legs.

“Too much,” he said in his heavily accented English, clearly worried. But I knew what I was doing. Sort of.

“Mas,” I said. “It has to be almost dripping off me. I have to be wet,” I assured him. “Mucho mojado.”

He nodded, working hard, his fingers digging into my buttocks, massaging me. I think he was enjoying himself. Then he went down my legs, at least the backs, a second time. He finished at my ankles and then stood up, clearly thinking he was done. I turned around and straightened up, then carefully grabbed the vibroballs and held them out to him.

“Please?” I said, spreading my legs and presenting. He nodded with a smile and pushed them into my pussy so easily that you’d have thought I’d just been fucked and oiled. There was no resistance. I groaned as his hand slid along the wire, found the little knob, and turned them on.

Just too low though.

My pussy instantly tightened, or at least, tried to. There was enough oil inside me that it wasn’t exactly easy to get a good grip on the vibroballs and they kept sliding around within me as they buzzed. Jose pointed at the other items on the table and I shook my head. I wasn’t supposed to pop after the toys were put in. No one said anything about doing it before I was being tormented. So I put the alligator clamps back into the bag. Then I reached for my shirt, but Jose picked it up.

“No,” he shook his head. “Tu camisa se arruinará!” He protested, pulling it away from me.

I laughed. “I know. It’s okay. Kari will buy me a new one.” I held out my hand. Distrustfully, he slowly gave my shirt back and watched me as I slipped first one arm, then the other into it. Instantly the oil that hadn’t been absorbed by my skin (and trust me, there was tons of it) soaked into the white cotton, turning it translucent. White became a creamy ivory color and you could see my freckles through the material. I pulled it closed across my chest and began buttoning it up even as the excessive oil on my breasts was instantly sucked into the shirt front. Jose’s eyes widened, first in surprise, then understanding, and he grinned like a Cheshire cat, giving me a thumbs-up as my pink nipples and their golden jewelry became perfectly visible.

From the way the shirt clung to my back, I knew that the opposite side of the blouse wasn’t any better off than the front. But there’s nothing on my back as embarrassing as having both breasts in full view, wearing what was essentially a wet shirt. Jose nodded at me and I pointed at my shorts, which he retrieved easily, bending down to help me put them on. I pushed one oily foot through the leg hole, then the other, and Jose pulled them up until I could grab the tight, white shorts myself. I pulled them into place, the pink wire of the vibroballs coming up out of the waistband. I knew the black wire for the vibrating anal beads was doing the same.

I glanced down. It took a little longer than the shirt, but in less than thirty seconds the crotch of my shorts looked like a pane of glass and my bright pink, stuffed and trembling cunt, was perfectly visible. If I didn’t keep my thighs tightly pressed together I’d basically be showing off everything. I bit my lip, wondering what my ass looked like. Imagine wearing wet tissue to a party and you might have an idea of what I was going through.

Jose was loving it and I could see why. I looked… tempting. My tits, pussy, and ass were in full view, but not in view and once more I was breaking taboos. He reached over to the table, picked up the black controller, and turned on the vibrating anal beads. I gasped and my eyes rolled into the back of my head as my bottom clenched even tighter around the shaking little balls in it. My world seemed to tip and the orgasm I’d avoid during Jose’s strident cock wetting, seemed to suddenly rear its head and demand an accounting.

“Oh God,” I whispered. “I think I’m going to cum!”

“Cum! Cum. Good. Good!” Jose chanted. “Breanne muy bonita,” he said, grinning.

I licked my lips, shuddering, trying to get a grip, and I slipped (get it? Slipped?) my oily feet back into the flip flops. I slid on the foam, but managed a step, then another. My hips rolled, thrusting against all the balls and spheres and beads and strings inside me and I’m not sure what fluttered more - my pussy or my ass.

“Breanne, okay?” Jose said cautiously as I headed toward the door.

I smiled. “Si,” I replied. “Gracias. Estoy bien,” I said. He nodded and bowed.

“Mucho trabajo,” he told me, shrugging apologetically. I grinned, laughing.

“Go. I know!” I waved him off. “I’m fine. And thank you, Jose.”

He gave me a final thumbs-up, and then hurried away, turning to the left and heading toward the atrium before I even made it past Kari’s art room.

I took shuffling steps, partly because I was afraid I was going to slip out of the flip flops, but also because I could feel the various balls rolling around inside my sex and ass, driving me right toward the fucking cliff. The problem was that now I wasn’t allowed to cum, and if I did, I’d be marching right back toward the conference room to collect those alligator clamps.

I made it to my desk without exploding like an offshore oil rig and sat down. The oil seeping out of every part of my outfit, not to mention the slickness of my skin, turned the leather chair into a slip and slide and I had to tilt it back just to keep from falling out of it. I wrapped my arm across my chest and suffered, staring at the clock. Kari would be in at nine. Just forty-six more minutes. If I could just make it till nine…

***

Kari opened the door and looked down at me as I dropped my arm. The bottle of oil was on my desk and I set the empty cap down. The golden haired goddess I worship, and sacrifice myself to, stared down at me, her eyes bright and amused.

“Did you just pour that capful of oil onto your tit?” She asked wickedly.

I bit my lip and nodded.

“The other one looks fresh as well,” she said.

“It is Kari,” I replied, my voice a whimper.

“And your clit?” She asked.

There was no point in lying. “I was… I was just about to do it,” I replied, my voice trembling..

She hummed a little. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

I closed my eyes. No one was in the atrium, thank God, but that could change in a split second. I tried not to think about that, or the glass wall in front of me, or the light glistening off of every inch of my body. Instead I spread my legs, exposing the pink, stuffed slit underneath the white, almost invisible material. The zipper was the only dark spot, and it went down across my clitoris. My fingers found the button, then the zipper, and opened up the front of my shorts until my clit was in perfect view - oiled, swollen, red, and tightly clamped, the jumbo alligator clamp chewing on it with serrated teeth. With a trembling hand, I reached out, poured another capful of oil, and then picked up the cap, holding it like a cup, right over the metal maw biting me.

“Do it,” Kari breathed. “Pour it.”

My hand shook as the oil spilt out, splashing onto the bright, wanting, crushed, pink nub. More oil soaked into the cloth and my petals gleamed in the light.

“Now, if I’m not mistaken, this is the punishment for cumming once,” Kari said, her hand in my hair, her lips near my ear. “I can see the clamps on your nipples too. It must ache under that shirt. I know you want to free yourself from them. So now is a good time to edge, to bring yourself right to the line. Suffer for me. And when you cum, as I know you’ll eventually do, you can spend the rest of the day begging strangers to help you.” She smiled at me, reaching down and flicking her finger hard at my clamped nipple. Pain, or should I say more pain, exploded through my chest. I jumped, my body trembling, but I pushed a hand into my pants.

“I wonder,” Kari breathed, “Just how long you’ll take?”

I panted, gasping, eyes wide as I stared at her. My body felt like it were writhing in fire. My fingers dug at my pussy, twisting the metal clamp on my clit, sending wave after wave of agonizing bliss through me. Kari watched, a smug smile on her face.

“Now,” she whispered. “Do it. Disobey my orders. I know what you’ll have to do if you cum again,” she said. “You little fuckslut.”

I threw my head back and cried out as I exploded like an off shore oil rig. Fire raged in my veins and I spread my legs, not caring if anyone in the atrium saw me, or if my oil slicked outfit was improper. All I saw were the colors and shapes and strikes of white hot lightning that shook me to the core and Kari sighed in satisfaction as her finger continued to rub my right nipple through my soaked shirt, ignoring the gold piercing, the padlock, and even the steel alligator clamps chewing on my breast.

“Very nice,” she said a moment later, lifting her hand from my chest. “Now, I’ll see you at lunch.” She walked away, down the hall. “Until then…”

I shuddered. Right. The punishment… for cumming. Wearily, I climbed to my feet, slipping in the flip flops. My shorts were wide open and in the glass I could see my reflection. My skin glistened, my shirt and shorts were nothing more than gauze, and you could see the wires leading to the vibroballs and the anal beads. The pink, clamped, tips of my breasts, and my poor clit were like beacons, crying out for attention.

I took a deep breath and grabbed my purse. I was done here. Dressed in white, oiled, fucked, still buzzing from the toys in my ass and sex, clamped and desperate, I headed for the door, one arm wrapped across my chest, the other holding my purse between the translucent cleft of my shorts.

More to do.









Breanne, your assignment today starts when you arrive at work. You will bring with you a large, industrial sized bottle of baby oil. Find someone to help you put on a thick, wet layer all over your naked body. Everything must be oiled - your ears, face, in between your toes, the bottoms of your feet - but especially your ass (in and out), your pussy, and your breasts. You shouldn’t just be glistening. You should be dripping with oil.

And that will be when you dress. I would like you to wear a white, tight, button up shirt and a thin, white pair of short shorts. But underneath, you should have your ass stuffed with your vibrating anal beads, and your pussy should be filled with your vibroballs. Both toys should be on medium power. You should resist cumming. Should you yield to the vibrational pressure urging you into orgasmic bliss you will add alligator clamps to your nipples and clit. A second orgasm will result in you being required to go out in public, find someone to remove each clamp (individually, so you will need three someones) as well as someone to remove the vibrating anal beads. Reward your saviors fully.

In addition, every top of the hour it will be time to refresh the oil. Take one capful of oil for each breast, your ass, and your pussy, and pour the contents onto the appropriate locations.  

Enjoy your day. - Brandon


Breanne Erickson is the author of the BDSM Confessional Erotica series "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut. With over twenty novel-length works, Breanne is best known as the “goddess of dark erotica” a moniker bestowed upon her by Afterdark Online. Her witty repartee, honest narrative, and self-deprecating humor makes each “tale” seem like an entry into her personal diary, the ins and outs of a girl who can’t ever seem to get enough when it comes to sex. A prolific blogger on Michael Alexander’s BDSM Blog, Breanne continues to charm both men and women and serves as the prime example of what a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut can be when she puts her heart and soul into achieving her goals. Breanne's novels are available from Amazon.com, where we hope you will express your appreciation of her writing by buying and reviewing and even spreading the word about this amazing young lady!