Sunday, April 19, 2015

Denial & Consequences - Day Five

There is cruel, and then there is crueler.  Breanne hasn't been allowed to cum for days and although she's already blown it several times with unauthorized orgasms, she's still trying to obey her mistress.  If you need to get caught up, you can by reading  Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, 1st Punishment. and Day 4.

Day Five

They say that time heals all things and despite the hemp thong of the previous day’s torment keeping my clit delicate bits sensitive and tender, I felt tremendously better when I woke up on Easter Sunday. I stretched, feeling the thick Core Driller shift inside me.  I’d cast aside the thong when I’d gone to bed so the dildo was only being held in by a pair of tight blue and white striped panties, which was all I was wearing.  I resisted the urge to masturbate and instead climbed out of the sheets and found my phone.  Again there was a new text message from Julie and a dark chill spread through me as I read it.

“Bre - today’s toy is the Rotating Venus Penis, but you only have to turn it on while you’re edging.  Again, no cumming or I will punish you, so please cum.  I want you to cum!  Now you will need to edge seven times today and I want three of them to be done while you have cock in your mouth, with your breasts bared.  I want the men you suck to ask about your tits and why they look like that. Hoping to see you tonight. - Julie”

My mouth went dry.  The Rotating Venus Penis?  She couldn’t be serious!  That thing drove me nuts on a good day!  There was no way I’d be able to withstand seven edges with the RVP purring inside me!  It didn’t just vibrate! It ROTATED, like a finger swirling around inside a peanut butter jar, getting the last bits of tasty goodness out.  Was she nuts?

Then I realized I was being set up.  She knew what this would do to me.  The memory of the brutal whipping I’d endured was more than enough to chill me however.  I trembled, hugged myself, climbed out of bed, and removed my panties and the Core Driller.  My pussy tightened with needy spasms, reporting to my brain that yes I really did need sex.  There was this urge, this desperation that had formed from the torment of the day before and I began to wonder if the next punishment would really be that bad.   I mean, it wasn’t like I couldn’t handle another whipping, right?

Thank God we don’t remember pain very well.

I cleaned the Core Driller with the simple expediency of putting it in my mouth, licking it up and down before wiping it down with alcohol.  Keep your toys clean ladies.  You know that!  Then I plucked the RVP from my toybox, slipped the four inch rubber cock into my dripping slit, settled it all in place with the straps, and then stood in front of the mirror hanging on the door of my closet.  I stared at myself. My breasts were black and blue with shades of sick green marring the curved flesh.  My sex was mostly hidden by the base of the RVP, but I’d seen the red and swollen flesh, the petals all engorged and sensitive.  I braced myself, focusing on the piercing and padlock on my right nipple, and turned on the RVP.

To low.

Just the vibe.

I gasped as my hips swung forward violently, my body reacting to the stimulation without even a mental component.  My brain realized I was actually fucking a moment later as my butt bobbed and weaved like a prize fighter in a box match.  My eyes widened as I realized, almost too late, that even enduring the single function, set to low, was going to push me over edge faster than I’d thought.  I let out a low moan and bit my lip as one hand found my bare nipple and began pinching.  Sometimes I’m not very bright.

I almost came. It was close and I turned off the RVP and just pinched as hard as I could, gasping as the pain finally overwhelmed the need to explode.  It was enough.  I held off, but I began to understand just what I was in for.  I’d need to be careful.  Horribly, terribly careful or I’d be spending the evening with Julie. Again.


“Mommy? Can we get donuts?” Rachel asked.  I looked down at her and smiled.  One thing I have to admire about seven year olds is how dedicated they are to the concept of dessert.  Or sugar.  My own mother was something of a sugar tyrant when I was growing up and I remember going over to Kari’s place one evening for a sleepover only to discover that most parents considered three Oreo cookies to be a “serving.”  I’d been traumatized. For years my mother had only let me have one.

I shouldn’t really complain since I’d stayed lithe and trim and looking good all through my school age years well into college and it wasn’t until my junior year at UH that the freedom from my mother’s gastronomic control got to me.  I put on thirty pounds.  It wasn’t pretty. Add pregnancy and I remember walking across the stage to get my diploma wearing a pair of jeans that would have doubled as a parachute had I fallen off the raised platform.

But that was about six years ago and one thing I have to say about being a cowgirl and rancher is that hard work and manual labor is a trimming force to be reckoned with.  That and eating my mother’s cooking for the entire time had quickly and easily put me back to my pre-college days of around a hundred and seventeen pounds soaking wet.  So donuts?  Sure. Why not.

My parents were hobnobbing anyway, a social activity that happened every Sunday without fail. I’m not personally much of a church-goer, but it was Easter and my mother would have blown a fuse if I’d chosen not to go.  So I’d put on a really nice and prim Easter dress that left my legs bare from the knees down, put on some makeup, got my hair braided and off we went.

I’m Catholic in case you weren’t aware of it and I think the pomp and pageantry of the whole thing is both awe inspiring and insanely boring.  Our priest, a saintly old man who had resisted every single one of my attempts to seduce him, was the most boring speaker on the planet and only the fact that my daughter was sitting next to me kept my RVP from being accidentally switched to “tumble and spin”.  So instead I was a good girl and tried not to fall asleep.

After mass came the obligatory breakfast and social gathering, which was the part my daughter preferred.  Donuts, every Sunday, along with juice and as she settled down with a couple of friends from Sunday School I found myself leaning against a nearby wall, arms crossed over my still bruised bosom, watching the crowd.  And that was when Bill Mays found me.

“Hi Breanne,” he said, sliding up next to me with a coffee in his hand.  Bill and I had known each other for years since he’d been one of the regular boys Kari had allowed to screw my brains out on a regular basis.  We’d gotten together a few times since, for quickies, but for the most part he wasn’t my type.

“What’s up?” he asked wickedly.  His hand went around my waist, behind my back and since we were still against the wall, I felt him slide his palm downward over my ass.  His fingers began tugging on the back of my dress, pulling the hem up.  “Anything fun?” he asked.

I gave him an exasperated look. “RVP,” I said shortly and brushed my hand behind me.  It knocked the material of my dress out of his fingers.

“RVP?” he repeated, clearly not recognizing the acronym.  

“Rotating Venus Penis,” I replied with a wicked, teasing smile.

“Sounds like fun,” he whispered in my ear. “Is it on?”

I laughed and shook my head.  “Hardly, or I’d be panting,” I assured him.

“I’d love to see that,” he replied, his eyes bright.

I gave him a shocked look. “Bill! It’s Easter! And we’re at church!”

His fingers tightened around my buttock again and gave me a squeeze.  “What can I say? I’ve missed having you.  Are you still a pain slut?”

And then I realized I had a golden opportunity.  I gave him a seductive smile. “Want to see?  Meet me at the AV closet in the upper hall,” I said, then walked away.  My daughter would be busy the next few minutes and my parents would be easy to find.  So I threaded my way through the masses and wormed my way through the church.  The back classrooms were easy to navigate and I found my way to this one little spot I’d discovered when I was still a sophomore in high school.

The AV closet.  Or Audio/Visual.  It’s where the church Sunday school classes stored their televisions and tape players and stuff like that.  But on Easter? No classes.  So no one would be dropping off their equipment or getting new stuff.  Bill was only a few steps behind, admiring my ass as I opened the door and snipped on the light.  It was crowded in there, but not bad.  There was room for two.  Bill joined me with a bright look on his face and I turned and faced him.

“No sex,” I said to him simply.  “But I will give you a blowjob.”

I wasn’t sure if the look that crossed his face was disappointment or satisfaction, but then his eyes widened as I began to take off my sun dress.  I was wearing a bra but the only thing I had wrapped around my lower half was the Rotating Venus Penis.  As I tossed my dress over a nearby television, he grinned with appreciation.  

“I like a girl who knows how to enjoy church,” he said tritely.  I laughed and then took off my bra.

“Holy shit!” Bill gasped.  “What the hell happened to your tits?”

I looked down.  They weren’t pretty, that’s for sure.  Blue and green marbling made my boobs like like a granite countertop, with bruise colored veins.  Actually it was sort of impressive if you think about it.  I waved a hand in the air and gave him a rather exasperated glance.

“Bill, it’s me,” I said, putting a hand to my chest.

He blinked but then shrugged. To be honest, even back in high school I was sort of known to be a deviant pain slut.  It was sort of my stock and trade.  Look, I don’t have time here to go into it all.  Besides, that story is already told.  Just read “Coming of Age” if you want the gory details of my high school and college sex lives.

So with breasts bared and my RVP exposed I sank to my knees and began unbuttoning Bill’s trousers.  He was already at half mast it wasn’t that difficult to bring him up the rest of the way.  I’m actually pretty good at sucking cock so within a minute of my heading bobbing up and down on his shaft he was hard as a rock.

My hand moved down to my hip and found the spot where I’d secured the control box for the RVP.  There were two dials, one which handled the vibrations centered in the base of the device, which then translated up through the four inch long plastic cock, and the other which controlled the rotation function, basically churning that phallic probe so that it swirled inside me like a stick in a butter churn.  I’ve never been able to handle that sensation very well, having that stirring feeling.  I cum in minutes. Really.  The vibrations I can handle.  

So I turned everything on to low.  The vibe came to life, sending a ripple of exquisite pleasure humming through my clitoris and petals while the phallus began it’s own dance.  Combine the vibrations and the rotation and you’ve got a recipe for sexual overload.  Think of a bomb.  The timer was set and frankly, unless something was done, I was going to explode.

I like sucking cock. I admit it.  I could very happily spend most of my day with cock in various holes and my mouth is always one I would gladly open.  There is just something so sexy and delicious about having a man that way.  I know I’m submissive, but for just a moment, for that time period, unless you’re bound and being skull-fucked, he is yours.  You control when he’s going to cum, how fast he moves, what happens to him.  You can worship him for hours or make him pop in minutes.  You can practice to become more skilled too.  

Bill was putty in my hands to be honest.  And has his eyes closed and he clearly became more and more entranced with what my mouth and tongue were doing, I was slowly losing control of my own needs.  I felt the orgasm inside me blossom, filling me up with waves of mindless pleasure that just sort of took a life of their own. I had no idea how it happened.  I might have stopped, turned off the RVP or something, but just at that moment I had to deal with two tablespoons worth of cum shooting down my throat as Bill erupted wildly and during the oral commotion my loins exploded on their own.

See? It wasn’t actually my fault.

Crud. I’m so going to get punished.

Breanne Erickson is the author of twelve novels of sexual mayhem.  Dip your toe in the amazingly dark world of Breanne's extreme BDSM fetish and ride along as her witty banter, self-depreciating style, and often humorous narrative takes you on a wild trip with plenty of stops along the way!

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Denial & Consequences - Day Four

Breanne was ordered not to cum. For days.  Find out how the previous days went by reading D C Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, and 1st Punishment.

Day Four

I woke up the next morning with Julie shaking me awake.  I hadn’t slept enough and groaned.  A quick glance at the clock made it clear she was trying to be nice though.  I still had a twenty minute drive across town.  Sometimes being a farmer absolutely sucks. I struggled into my skirt and blouse from the night before, grabbed a banana from the kitchen (no I did not fuck it first y’all,) and then shambled out to my truck.

I ached everywhere. Honestly, I wanted a spa treatment.  The throbbing of my breasts had sort of evened out, but my sex was still hurting.  Deeply.  Julie had asked me to text her when I got home so I pulled out my phone and did so.  At first I thought it was because she was worried about me.  The response made it clear that Julie’s real reason was just more torture.

And denial.

“Breanne, since you’re sore today, I think stuffing yourself with your Core Driller dildo would be perfect.  Tie it in with that old hemp thong you have, the one with the scratchy knot right above your clit.  Oh. And don’t forget you will need to edge six times. Make sure each thrust of that dildo is fast, hard, and deep. I want it to hurt.”

I think I let out a snarl, or a groan, but I went up into the house and upstairs to my bedroom.  I stripped naked and stood staring at myself in the closet mirror.  There were bruises forming everywhere.  Around my sex, on my labia and my boobs.  Good lord.  If I were to flash folks the goods the first thing they’d think was that I was the victim of domestic violence.  It looked like someone had beaten me half to death.  I cupped my bosom and winced.  Still, my nipples were hard.  I took a deep breath, grabbed hold of my toy box and carried it to the bed. It didn’t take me long to find the toy Julie wanted me stuffed with since it was the biggest damn thing in the box. I pulled out my Core Driller dildo and held it up.  

Originally called a “Colt Driller” I’d accidentally renamed it ages ago after I first got it as a present from Kari, my former mistress.  She’d wanted something a little thicker and bigger to go in me and while I’d been resistant to the idea, over the last few years I’ve come to really enjoy that massive dildo.  It stood literally a foot off the ground from base to tip and changed width in three not-so-easy stages.  To be honest it looked like a Saturn V rocket and I’ve said it before, but if it were white you could technically slap a NASA logo on the side and sell it in a kid’s toy store. No one would know the difference.

It also had a key ring on the bottom which was good because holding the Core Driller in was no easy task. Still, that wasn’t an issue because I laid back on my bed, spread my legs, and gently, very, very gently, began rubbing the tip back and forth across my sex.  I surprised myself.  I thought that after what Julie had done to me, masturbating would have been the furthest thing from possible.  But I was wet in seconds.  Seconds mind you.  And not just damp.  I’m usually “damp”.  It’s my natural state.  Me equals horny.  But I was wet. Soaked even, and the tip of the Core Driller slid in easily, pressing my bruised petals apart in ever widening stages.

I didn’t bother holding it in, or tying it in, or getting dressed. I was there, oddly aroused (considering what I’d gone through the previous evening) and it was just simpler to draw the Core Driller back out and then thrust it back in.  I started off with a set of slow and easy penetrations, not even putting in the full length, at least until I remembered what Julie had actually asked for.  So as I tightened up around the thick dildo I picked up the pace and depth and worked myself into a froth.

I edged. It hurt.  It was close.  I was scared of falling off and stopped early, but it didn’t matter. I was going at such speed, or maybe it was my sensitivity because I narrowly avoided the orgasm.  It would have been terrible had I been forced to go back to Julie’s for round two.  There was just no way I was going to allow that and so with my sex tingling and my breasts aching, I stopped with the thick rod inside me, struggled up off the bed, and plucked the hemp thong from my toy box.  Made a few years ago, my rope panties were nothing more than a circle that went around my waist made of thin nylon cord, while an inch thick piece of scratchy, dry, abrasive and unpleasant rope was connected at the back and front.  I slipped the crotch piece through the ring at the bottom of the Core Driller and then tied the slip knot at the front.  As designed, the heavy bump sat right over my abused clit.  Gingerly I got a pair of jeans and pulled it up, feeling the denim push against the knot.  I took a step, then another, feeling the excoriating action as the rope rubbed on my clit.

Oh my God. Five more edges?  The hell with that. Just walking was going to be a challenge.


My bottom lip trembled as I stripped.  I was in my bedroom and I was scared my clitoris would look like raw meat.  I pulled the jeans away and cringed.  Sure enough, my sex was bright red, the petals chaffed from the constant wetness and the hemp sliding through with every step.  I sat down, spreading my legs, feeling the thick Core Driller go just a bit deeper. I leaned back, sighing and reached down to untie the knot for the umpteenth time.  Pain radiated out and I decided that I didn’t like this.  Denial sucks and I’d spent the entire fucking day walking as if I were on eggshells.  Alternate that with the deep, fast, brutal masturbatory edges I’d been required to do, each of which kept me constantly wet, all while achingly filled with the biggest dildo I owned, and you can imagine where I was mentally, if not physically.

Not good.

I was frustrated. Beyond frustrated.  I needed orgasm.  Five times.  I’d already done it five times.  Out in the barn.  Out in a field on the tractor.  In my bedroom twice.  And once in the bathroom.  And here I was again, naked and laid out like a buffet on my own bed, legs spread, wetness leaking down, the thick rubber post sliding in and out, my own wrist working the action.  

Hard. Deep. Fast.  I’m gonna die.  I feel the urge to cum, the sudden and immediate pressure.  I’ve edged so much that now I can get from the bottom of the metaphorical mountain of orgasm to the cliffs in seconds.  It’s too fast and I force myself to a skidding stop as I dangle perilously over the edge, almost falling.  Tears form in my eyes as I struggle. I want to cum. I need to cum. Not fun…oh no.  Not fun at all.
Breanne Erickson is the author of the amazing series "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut."  If you are loving Breanne's antics, make sure you pick up her latest volume and keep an eye out for her next collection of mind blowing sexcapades! 

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Denial & Consequences - 1st Punishment

The challenge was simple.  Breanne was told not to cum, but to edge, over and over.  But she screwed it up.  To catch up you'll need to read Day One, Day Two, and Day Three.  

The First Punishment

I finished up just a tad bit breathless, soaked, desperate, wanting, and...  late.  It was only five or so minutes, but I knew it was just going to add insult to injury.  I’d actually been sitting in Julie’s apartment complex parking lot for the previous five minutes, frantically pumping a nine inch dildo in and out of my pussy, working myself into a visible froth as I danced along the edge of the metaphorical orgasmic cliffs. The TENS Unit was on as well, zapping the tips of my breasts and my well fried clit, leaving me only the tiniest bit of room between safety and the dizzying drop.  My sex was beyond soaked and the two orgasms I’d had that morning were long forgotten in the soup of sexual pressure that I’d rebuilt over the last ten or so hours.  I tossed the slimy dildo on the seat next to me just as I was forced to grit my teeth and strain, tightening up every muscle just to keep myself from earning another stupid punishment.  I sucked in a sharp breath and pushed my skirt down, covering up my slick and shaved slit and climbed out of my truck.

Climbing the stairs to Julie’s place left me pleasantly winded, especially since I’d been climbing two or three steps at a time.  I knocked hurriedly, as if doing so might spare me.  It seemed to take forever before the door opened and Julie Uterro stood there looking at me with an expression that was one part corybantic excitement, one part irrational irritation, and one part “you’re going to pay for that.”

“Hi Julie,” I said cringing at her demeanor.  She wasn’t happy.  “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad.”  I know I shouldn’t have lied, but it didn’t matter.  She seemed to know.  Maybe she’d been watching out the window or something.  Instead her eyes narrowed into slits and she took a step back to let me in.

She was wearing a black leather skirt that was shorter than mine and looked like it had been painted on.  A matching onyx colored band was wrapped around her miniscule bosom and it showed off her shoulders and belly.  Of course it would have helped if Julie actually had breasts.  If ever a girl needed a boob job it was Julie.  Except she didn’t want one.  She’d told me often enough that breasts were only meant for one thing, so she didn’t mind not having a rack big enough.  I took a breath as she put her hands on her hips and nodded toward my skirt.

“Strip Bre,” she said softly.

I plucked the remote for the TENS unit out of my waistband and took off my skirt, letting it fall to the floor.  Then I slipped out of the flip flops, kicking them off to the side.  If she noticed the swollen and saturated state of my sex she didn’t mention it, her eyes following my hands as I lifted my shirt and pulled it up over my head.  It wasn’t easy, what with the remote to the TENS unit in one hand.  But finally I managed it.

“Are those on?” Julie asked, nodding toward the small clamps on my breasts.  I nodded. Of course they were. I could feel the kneading pulse of the electricity.

“Turn them off and take the clamps off your tits,” Julie ordered.

I took a deep breath. It didn’t take much imagination to know where this was going.  One of the things Julie has always been known for is her forceful greetings.  I turned off the electricity and then gently pinched open the clamps, gasping as the blood rushed back into the smashed nubs.  Carefully I put everything on the floor, leaving just my clitoris still latched to the inactive TENS unit.

“Hands behind your head,” Julie warned me. I complied immediately, my chest already heaving, my pussy tightening in expectation. I knew what was coming.  I bit my lip, then thought better of it and clenched my teeth as Julie’s hand came up.  The slap she delivered to my breasts sent both heavy globes smashing to the side and only my widened stance kept me from falling over.  I cried out as my left boob tried very hard to move over to the right side of my chest all while forcing its partner off the patio entirely.  Then, before I could even really recover from that stinging blow, Julie delivered another one smashing everything back the other direction.  My body turned with the punch.  I let out a pained whimper and Julie began beating my breasts harder than she’s ever done before.  Usually I suffer through maybe a dozen strokes, usually open hand slaps.  This time she clenched her fists and punched my breasts as I stood there like a good little nympho humiliation pain slut and grimaced.  A couple of times I lost my grip, my body’s natural reaction to cover myself and protect the soft flesh of my front.  But even as that happened Julie glared at me, reached out and grabbed hold of both nipples, twisting and pinching until my knees buckled. “Hands back up!” she snarled, twisting until I complied.  Then the moment I was back in position the buffeting of my breasts continued.

I’m not sure how long it was before she finished with my boobs but both were darkly scarlet and burned with a scarlet heat tinged with blue fire.  I was going to have bruises; interesting ones.  I knew it right down to my soles.  Tears streamed down my cheeks and it seemed a struggle to suck in air.  Then Julie grabbed the TENS unit, turned it on to full power and speed, set the bloody thing to “knead” and as it began to do things to my clit, she turned and began pulling me to the dungeon.

Julie’s new apartment is much bigger than the old hole in the wall she used to live in, but admittedly it was much nicer.  The living room was twice as big, with a fireplace.  The dining room was bigger too.  But what was really unique was that Julie decided to go with a two bedroom place.  Granted, she could afford it.  But I didn’t live there with her. No one did.  The second room was dedicated to her hobby.  Torturing me sexually.

There was a rather unique and interesting wooden horse along one wall, complete with a crank shaft so it could be lowered and raised by one little girl.  A metal stool lacking a seat but sporting two wicked looking rubber dildoes sat in one corner, waiting for someone desperate or stupid enough to sit.  Along the opposite wall was a pillar surrounded by a leather kneeling pad.  I hadn’t even been introduced to that thing yet and I wondered if this was the night.  And last but not least there was a beaten up old coffee table, the one item of furniture transplanted from her old place to the new.  I’d been screwed on and to that table a number of times and it was to this old standby I was led again.

“Lay down. On your back,” Julie ordered.

I swallowed and did as told, my arms cradling my wounded bosom.  I sat down.  The table was solid oak and heavy enough that it had taken three burly guys to get it up there and in place. Slowly I lay back and Julie kindly placed a folded towel and pad under my head.  

“Wrists,” she said. I held up my arms, my breasts falling free.  Julie wrapped a pair of dark leather cuffs around each limb.  These were then pulled above my head and a moment later secured to the table itself. I’m not sure how. I just knew that nothing I did enabled my elbows to come down.  Forget covering my breasts.  If she wanted to take a cane to my boobs there would be absolutely nothing I could do to stop her.  So I stared up at the ceiling.  There were eye hooks everywhere.  Mike the Hardware Guy had come in and attached over a dozen different fasteners to the studs.

Julie began bringing a panoply of things out of the closet, lining them up on the floor down by my feet. She plugged a power strip into the wall and I saw her set the Hitachi massager down next to her violet wand. There was the scent of cinnamon as she lit a tall, red pillar candle and a bottle of mineral oil was placed within reach. A bowl full of clamps and clothespins rattled as it was tossed to the floor and last but not least, Julie produced a leather flogger I'd never seen before.

My breasts seemed to throb in time with the TENS unit still electrically pinching my clit and I studied this new weapon as she draped it over her shoulders. It seemed handmade, the leather straps cut in inch wide strips. It was long too, over two feet, and very supple. The handle was unusually thick as well, wrapped in the same leather straps.

Julie began by binding my legs open. Two leather slings were placed behind my knees and cordage run to eyehooks off to the ceiling above and to the sides. She drew each leg up and out separately, spreading me open and making it very clear where her intended target lay. The pillow under my head have me an excellent view of my own exposed sex, my clit visibly twitching between the pads of the electroclamp. My bare feet dangled loosely as Julie brought out another thin cord and wrapped it judiciously around my waist and then thighs, securing my lower half to the coffee table without blocking access to my petals. Finally she was ready. She pulled the whip from off her shoulders, shook out the dozen supple straps, and then swung it hard.

The stroke snapped the TENS unit clamp right off my clitoris and a loud, scary sounding crack filled the little room. A bright sting sensation suddenly bathed my entire crotch and instantly I tensed, toes curling. I gasped two, my hands pulling on the ropes holding them above my head but I wasn't going anywhere. Julie had done a perfect job binding me.

The sting became heat but then Julie swung again. My hips tried to thrust upward as my petals were again smashed flat. This time the sting felt worse, as if she'd poured acid over my flower. I bit my lip, twisting as the heat blossomed and she struck again. And then again. And again.

She didn't stop until I was crying out, my loins on fire, the flesh from inner thigh to my belly button flushed red. You could see the rectangular marks of the flogger on my skin bug as far as I was concerned it merely felt like she'd poured boiling water on me. My feet kicked wildly and then she dropped to her knees, picked up the Hitachi massager, turned it on high, and pressed it against my throbbing, burning, beaten clit.

The human brain is wired to provide analysis of sensory information in order to protect the body. It's why we jerk away from hot things, or flinch from an incoming blow. My own brain was still focused on trying to protect my sex from the flogger, so the sudden introduction of a powerful vibrator held against the super sensitive fold of flesh at the top of my slit made absolutely no sense on a visceral level. It confused the lower brain functions as the endorphins released by the pain mixed with the dopamine and oxytocin of pleasure. In essence, my mind was blurring and confusing the lines between agony and ecstasy. I found myself so painfully aroused that my clit swelled and I began panting. My hips rolled as I tried to push my pubis harder against the massager head, but Julie wouldn't let me. Frustration built quickly.

"You've been a very bad girl," Julie said as she worked me. "I told you not to cum and you disobeyed me."

I gasped. "You set me up," I moaned, shaking with need as the incredibly familiar sensation of extreme arousal blossomed between my legs.

Julie yanked the massager away and slapped my pussy hard. I yelped, again jerking wildly, but she pushed the rubber head right back into place, rubbing my clit. I began panting, my muscles tightening as I felt the orgasm approaching.

"That's my prerogative, slut. Oh my. Are you close to cumming? Look at your cute little toes curl." She pulled the massager away and again I cried out. This was the worst fucking edge ever! She flicked the Hitachi off. Stood up. And then to my horror swung the flogger at my pussy.

Pain exploded between my legs and some of the straps actually began soaking up some of the wetness. She beat me for at least two or three minutes non-stop and it wasn't until I was actually screaming that she stopped. I didn't even realize the flogger was no longer striking my petals. The scalding inferno between my legs held my attention, at least until she dragged the violet wand through my sex.

That made me jerk.  Generally I don’t find the violet wand to be that problematic.  In fact, I actually like the tingling sensation.  But then?  At that particular moment?  It wasn’t exactly painful, but it wasn’t pleasure either.  My confused brain didn’t know what to make of it, at least until she turned the flogger around and jammed the handle so deep into my sex that it struck my cervix.  Now  that I could comprehend.  Julie began playing me at that point, pumping the thick, uncomfortable, amazing, please fuck me more handle through my tormented depths as she ran the violet wand along my legs.  She got this sick delight out of shocking the bottoms of my feet, running the wand along my calf and up to my thigh, down to my clitoris and then back across to the other side.  It was insane.  I blubbered.  I sobbed.  I begged. I pleaded.  I thrust back against the handle of her damned flogger and she just kept it up.  I have no idea how or when it happened, but suddenly I was there again, right at the fucking edge of the cliff, staring down as the orgasm rushed straight at me.  I clenched my teeth tightly together, not wanting Julie to know. I didn’t want her to stop it.

She yanked the flogger out of my sex, dropped the violet wand and then once more began to whip me between the legs.  The cry that escaped my lips was more about the frustration of not cumming than the hurt, at least for the first ten or so strokes.  She didn’t let up either.  The sting and heat of the flogger spread across my loins like fire in dry grass.  My petals, swollen and red jumped and danced as the leather strips lashed at them.  I squealed, keening out my distress and Julie stopped a moment later, leaving me struggling to breath, my entire body tense with pain.  

She tweaked my nose and shoved a rubber ball gag in my mouth.  It took her only a few seconds to get it buckled despite my twisting head and now muffled protestations. When I was satisfactorily silenced, she picked up the flogger and went right back to mining my discomfort.

I lost it.  My vision darkened, pain filled my senses, and I had no idea when it was going to end.  I wasn’t even kicking by that point as exhaustion overwhelmed me.  Finally it stopped and the throbbing of my clit matched the pulse of heat in my temples.  The only other thing besides the pain that I could really concentrate on was my breathing.  My chest heaved constantly.  I’d totally lost sight of what Julie was doing. I didn’t care.  Then I felt something cool land on my chest and I forced my eyes to focus.

“That whipping was your punishment for cumming this morning with Mike,” Julie said simply.  “Now I’m going to punish you for the second orgasm.”

I stared at her.  I was done.  Really.  There wasn’t really much more she could do.  My pussy felt like someone had used it as a baseball in a major league game.  I couldn’t take any more.  I shook my head, eyes widening as she began to rub the oil into my breasts.  She tweaked my nipples and then with her other hand moved it down between my legs, spread more oil.  I stiffened as her fingers found my sex and even though she was gentle, it still smarted.  Julie began working her fingers into my actual depths, slowly fingering me, her other hand still playing with the tips of my breasts until I groaned.  I couldn’t believe it. Not again.  Oh God please NOT AGAIN!

Five minutes, then ten, then fifteen and I finally felt the surge.  It combined with the deep setting ache left by the flogging and I marched, quite unwillingly let me assure you, back up the mountain, shoved along by the vicious and cruel dominatrix who was using me.  Two fingers had become three, then becoming four and eventually Julie slipped her entire hand into my pussy, making fists inside me while rapidly pumping.  I made all sorts of noise, from squeals of protest to groaning moans indicating that I was beyond resisting.  Julie played me like a master pianist tickles his ivories.  And then, right when I was there, peering over the metaphorical edge, my chest heaving with need, my pussy tight around her fist, she drew her hand out, wiped the good on my inner thigh, and picked up the God damned candle.

Wax, melted wax, fell down upon my open slit and the first two or three drops splashed onto my labia.  I’m almost positive I heard a hissing noise but it might have been my imagination.  My toes curled, my back arched and had it been possible, I probably would have jumped up screaming.  A long undulating wail escaped from my throat to be blocked by that damned rubber ball gag and then her aim improved and the next sizzling droplet of liquid paraffin found my clitoris.  I’m no stranger to being waxed and she had oiled me up nicely before.  Still, the sensitivity of my sex, the swollen beaten petals, my clit, which remember had been repeatedly and almost constantly shocked for hours, was just too sensitive.  It felt like she’d rested a hot iron on me.  The eyehooks Mike fastened to the ceiling?  Amazing.  Who would have thunk that they’d support the wild thrashing of a nympho humiliation pain slut in agony?

As soon as my labia and clit were completely coated she went for my breasts.  The heat surged into the tips of my nipples, coating the piercing and padlock on my right side.  I tried to thrash, but with my hands tied above my head so tight there wasn’t anywhere I could go.  I had maybe three or four inches of wiggle room.  And trust me, I used it.  That sent wax everywhere. On my belly, my sides, my collarbone.  Julie punished me for that by making sure she dripped hot wax on the undersides of arms, along that soft and sensitive line from elbow to pit.  Vicious. Mean. Horrible.  Or so I thought.  Because after she put the candle down and allowed my breathing to return to normal, she did the really vicious mean horrible thing.  She picked up the flogger.

Whack.  She brought it down across my boobs with enough strength to make it feel like I’d rolled around in a bed of nettles.  Paraffin went flying in little chips all over the place and my nipples sprung up so hard you could have used them to tee a golf ball.  There’s an idea… right?  It scares the hell out of me but wow…

“Now,” Julie said between strokes. “I hope,” stroke. “That you,” stroke. “Understand,” stroke. “That I,” stroke. “Have little,” stroke. “Patience,” stroke. “For your,” stroke.  “Antics.” Stroke.  “The reality Breanne, is that you aren’t supposed to cum.  I can sort of accept the situation with Mike, and yes, it was a test, or set up if you prefer.  But the second orgasm? Oh no.  That was just you being you.”  

My breasts felt as if they were on fire.  I was trembling terribly.  Pain washed over me.  Even the fact that it was being done to my sexual bits made no difference now.  She seemed to realize it and moved downward, the flogger flicking a few errant drops of wax off my abdomen.  And that’s when she hit me between the legs.

I know I should have been expecting it.  I should have.  I mean she’d left about a half a cup’s worth of wax covering my cunt.  But I wasn’t.  My brain had stopped working about an hour before and I was basically at the point where I was merely reacting to stimuli.  Talk about toast.  The flogger came up and then those strips of leather slashed down, smashing apart the appallingly thin covering of wax, and scoured my petals.  I screamed.  No. Really. I screamed.  As in please stop killing me screaming.  The ball gag caught most of it thank God, or think someone would have summoned the police despite my little torture chamber being on the outside wall of the apartment on the end.  I have no clue how many time Julie hit me between the legs, but then suddenly it was over.  I was sobbing and she was unbuckling the gag and holding my head. I felt my face pressed to her chest with her saying “sssshss” over and over, stroking my sweat soaked hair.

She untied my wrists first and I just wrapped my arms around myself.  My breasts hurt so much, but even that was nothing compared to my pussy.  My God.  I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much pain.  The leg slings went next and my feet flopped to the ground. Julie helped me up. I could barely stand.  Slowly we went to the bathroom and set me down on the toilet while she started the water.  I was so far gone that I actually peed with her standing there, something I’ve never done before.  Then she stripped herself, grabbed hold of me, got me into the hot water, and slowly, patiently, carefully checked every beginning bruise and mark on my body.

And I was marked.  The flogger had certainly left it’s mark.  Red lines were everywhere and while she never, not once, had broken skin, there was plenty of damage.  It would be at least a week before it really began to heal.  I hissed in pain as she washed me, though I admit when she did my hair I just sort of sunk into a half stupor.  I was half asleep when she pulled me out, dried me off, and took me too her bed, both of us naked.

I had just enough presence of mind to grab my phone…

Breanne Erickson has been called "the Goddess of Dark Erotica" by Afterdark Online and continues to attracts thousands of readers for whom her amazing narratives hold special meaning.  Her self-depreciating outlook and sense of general humor lift her erotica into a different sphere.  If you enjoyed this check out her amazing novel "Coming of Age - A BDSM Romance."  You'll laugh,  you'll cry, and most importantly, you'll cum again and again. Now available for just $2.99 at!