Wednesday, February 21, 2018

I Need You

“Breanne! I need you!”

My head snapped up from my computer at her words. It wasn’t a cry for help. No, the tone wasn’t right. It sounded relaxed, as if Kari merely needed me to render judgement on her latest design, or comment on the color of a particular textile. It didn’t sound sexual either. There was no lust or seduction in her plea, merely a simple command.

I need you.

Carefully I stood up. This was partly because I’d been hunched behind my open laptop computer in a desperate, but ultimately useless attempt to conceal my attire from anyone walking through the building’s atrium. My desk was positioned in the small lobby of Kari’s interior design firm, just a few short feet from her office door, but in full view of the building’s central core. A glass wall separated me from the other denizens of the office complex and I’d become something of a well known commodity at the building; the personal assistant who looked and dressed like the star of Secretary Sluts III.

Kari had bought the latest outfit, a gauze mesh blouse that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. My bare breasts were completely visible through the material, leaving only a black haze to mute the whiteness of my skin, or the dark pink tips of my breasts. If you looked closely enough, you could see the fading welts of a caning I’d received a week before.

The skirt wasn’t much better. Kari had eschewed the tight, Spandex like minis she usually liked to dress me in, and instead had purchased a black, pleated number that barely covered my ass while standing and did nothing of the sort while sitting. This left me in quite the state since the front of my desk lacked a solid partition to keep passersby from getting a glimpse of my thighs. And since Kari’s defacto rule was that I should never let my knees touch, my only remedy was keeping my stuffed slit in shadow.

And stuffed it was, which was why I rose carefully.

The feel of the well-oiled, rubber dildo almost made me swoon, but that’s the kind of girl I am. Thick, nine inches long, and buried deep in my sex, the “toy of the day” neither vibrated or corkscrewed, instead spurring me toward desires of bouncing delight. Constantly wet and wanting, do you have any idea what it’s like, sitting there at a desk, knowing that people are walking by to see your body, your sexual antics, all while you’re torn between the desire to run and hide and to give in and just bounce your way to orgasm?

It’s torture.

My knees touched as I stood, wrapping one arm across my bosom. There was no help for it. The dildo would have slid out, falling wetly to the carpeted floor. I blushed, just thinking about such a thing. The atrium was empty, but the thought of being seen mortified me. With small steps, I hurried down the hall, my feet encased in six inch stilettos, and looked into Kari’s office.

It was empty.

The dildo seemed to move inside me, wriggling as I took a few more steps and glanced into the kitchenette. The coffee machine was quiet and my boss was nowhere to be found. I looked to my left, into her art room. Her drawing desk was empty, her pens and papers and texture books all set in place, ordered and quiet. I gulped. There were just two more doors; the conference room and the punishment closet. A fifty - fifty chance. Not that it made a difference. Kari could punish me in either room.

She had done it before.

With more hesitation, wondering if I were about to be forced onto the kneeler, a thick angled rod pressing up into my pussy, strapped down so she could beat out her frustrations on my breasts, bottom, and feet, I caught the scent of cinnamon. I love the flavor, the taste of cinnamon and I followed it to the conference room, where Kari stood, waiting patiently.

She was blonde, tall, gorgeous, and queenly. Her very poise screamed confidence and her sparkling blue eyes took me in, burrowing into my soul, exposing once more, the dark secret inside me. I am a masochist, a sexual hedonist, a quivering soul whose body is addicted to the rush of orgasm, to the chemical imbalance of arousal. I’m damaged, psychologically, both hating and loving the inflicted torments, the sexual abuses, the constant forced cumming. Each climax, in my mind, is a game, enhanced by the humiliation, the discomfort, the bawdry usage of my body. And I am Kari’s toy.

Dressed in scarlet, she stood next to the mahogany table, the leather chairs along the near side pushed away toward the wall. My eyes darted to a flicker of light, an open flame, the source of the cinnamon musk. It was a thick pillar candle and I smelled the flavor of candied red hots.

“You needed me?” I asked meekly.

Kari nodded, businesslike and brisk. “Yes please,” she said, gesturing me closer. “Come here.”

I waddled over, my pussy quivering around the rubber shaft. God… I wanted to sit down and masturbate. Or better yet, beg her to do it to me.

“Stand here,” she said, pointing right near the edge of the table. I did, looking at her expectantly. What did she need me for? She lifted a hand and set it on my chest, between my breasts, and pushed.

I had nowhere to go, my ass the fulcrum. I tipped back with a gasp, falling backward as I was forced up onto the mahogany surface. I felt the smooth wood against the back of my legs and then she was pushing me across the table, centering me. I shot a glance at the candle, worried about catching the gauze of my blouse on fire, but it was far enough away. Kari was watching out for me.

“Um... “ I stammered as her hands came up to my throat. Her long fingers, tipped with blue sparkling nails, found the first button of the shirt and unfastened it. “So… um… what did you need me for?” I asked, excited and terrified. Was she going to use me? Was I going to get to cum at last? My body quivered with tension, my pussy throttling the dildo. It threatened to slip out and I squeezed my thighs even tighter together.

Kari worked her way down my torso in silence, unbuttoning my shirt and baring my already visible breasts. She smiled as she parted the blouse and cupped my bosom. Her fingers tweaked my pierced nipples, playing with the gold rings and even the small, charm-sized padlock that dangled down from the right breast. I moaned with pleasure, shaking with need. Oh yes. Oh god yes!

For several long seconds I wondered what she’d do next. Would she bring her mouth down upon my flesh, leaving hot, wet kisses? Would she slip her hand between my legs, prying my thighs open to take the dildo in hand, thrusting it in and with slow, torturous thrusts? Would she tease my clit with her nail until I cried out, squirming in desperation?

She picked up the candle.

I wasn’t expecting it. Under normal circumstances, Kari would have oiled my skin before allowing the hot wax to fall. It adds resiliency to the flesh, and makes removal easy. And red wax, especially scented, is not a good choice for sexual play. The crimson colored dye changes the melting temperature, raising it so that in order to liquify, the paraffin must be hot, hotter than any other color. Add in the cinnamon scent? You could literally burn someone.

She held the candle several feet above me and my eyes widened. I gasped in alarm as she tipped it, and a splash of scorching fury fell from the burning candle down to my right breast. Her aim, as in all things, was perfect, striking the very center of my nipple, coating the raised tip perfectly. Lines of melt splashed outward, radiating down the slopes. I let out a choked scream, the pain of it rushing through my chest, the heat of it searing my soul. My pussy tightened around the rubber dildo, trying to crush it. My fingers balled into fists and all I could do was fight the urge to roll away, to curl up. My chest heaved, panted breaths fighting to escape my lungs, and one, then two, then three hot spots struck my sternum. I opened my eyes, not even realizing that I’d closed them, just in time to see her pour again, this time aiming for my left breast. I flinched, and the splash of paraffin struck the upper slope of my bosom, runs circling down around the underside as I whimpered in agony.

“Oh my. That was disappointing,” she said mechanically. “Hold still.”

She moved the candle and tipped it again. This time I froze and felt the smoldering heat engulf my nipple. My teeth clenched tightly as I screeched, eyes shut, tears streaming from the corner of my eyes. In my head, alarm klaxons were screaming and I braced myself for more. More pain. More torment. And maybe, if I was lucky, an orgasm.

But that was all. Kari put down the candle. As I panted and struggled to hold still, she took hold of my shirt and brought it together, over my wax doused bosom. With my skin unoiled, the paraffin clung, hot and heavy, darkening my areolas, hardening around my raised nipples. She buttoned the shirt back up, carefully. I looked down. My breathing was insufficient to crack the melts, the wax coating, and the color only intensified and emphasized my nudity beneath the shirt. I whimpered, appalled at the garishness of her decor. How could I hide myself now? Every eye would be drawn toward the scarlet spots that adorned my bosom.

Kari straightened up, a smirk on her face. She nodded in satisfaction. “There. I needed that,” she said simply, as if I were some project completed. I lay there, twitching, the dildo inside me still torturing me with need.

“Kari?” I whispered. “Can I please cum? Please?” Our eyes met and she saw my need.

She paused deliciously, tormenting me with just the illusion of her indecision. It was her needs that had to be satisfied. Her needs that must be met. Her needs that required fulfillment. “Maybe,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders. “After we go to lunch. And only if you keep your hands down at your sides.” She smiled. “I want people to see your waxing.”

I trembled, closing my eyes. A knot in my stomach came from nowhere as I imagined me paraded in public, my tits hanging out, under the shirt, the wax drawing stares. I bit my lip. Oh god, I didn’t want that! I didn’t want to be humiliated like that! Why? Why did she want to do this to me? Then she leaned over me, her mouth kissing me wetly, and I felt her hand between my legs. I gasped and stiffened as she grabbed hold of the dildo, drawing it halfway out of my pussy as I hurriedly spread my legs.

“Would you be willing to spread yourself open for me?” She asked cruelly, even as she teased me. “Even knowing that I still had that candle? Knowing where I was going to drip the hot wax next?” She asked, drawing the dildo almost out of me once more. I groaned, nodding mindlessly, lust and heat flowing through me. With excruciating slowness, she pushed it back in. “Good,” she whispered, her tongue dancing along my lips. “I like your willingness to suffer for me.”

Then she let the dildo go, straightened up, looking down at me with loving, vicious eyes.

“After all, I might need you again.”

If you enjoyed this erotic tale, then you might consider supporting Breanne’s endeavors, by purchasing her books! Available in e-book format from, Breanne Erickson’s “Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut” series is one of the most highly rated extreme BDSM erotica collections. Check out her amazing work at

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

No Right To Shoes - A Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Story

During the fall of last year, Breanne was challenged to a very special assignment. Five days of non-stop torment, during which she would have a choice - which set of shoes to wear.  Each pair came with stipulations focusing on an aspect of her personality - or more accurately - her base, carnal desires. With the stripper shoes came humiliation. The stilettos - pain. The flip-flops focused on her nymphomania, while the final choice was to go barefoot. For weeks, fans were delighted with the in-depth story, featured right here at Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog. But then... after eight parts... Breanne went silent.

Now the tale is finished. Complete from beginning to end. Over 85 thousand words, hundreds of pages long, it is a tale of seduction, of longing, of sexual torment, and of a girl who reels from one sexual escapade to another like a drunk between bars. Breanne is the perfect girl, loving her own objectification, yet privately mortified at the sexual persona she has become.

If you have enjoyed "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut," then you will LOVE Breanne Erickson's No Right to Shoes.

Now available in e-book format!

Saturday, December 30, 2017

A NHPS Christmas - Part Two

“Here Bre,” my mother said to me with a smile. I sat amid the debris of Christmas morning, paper, ribbons, and bows scattered around the family room. We were at my apartment and my daughter was lying on her stomach, playing her new video game thingy, surrounded by more toys than any ten year old girl really needed. My parents had been unusually generous, perhaps feeling guilty they didn’t spend as much time with her as they used too. But they weren’t the only ones. The video game thingy had been a gift from Kari. Julie had bought her several games to go with it. Mike the Hardware Guy had gotten her a compact, but totally functional tool set, along with several wooden “project kits”. Alex had gotten her a chemistry set. Savannah and Kylie gave her two new dresses, and Sara and Alex had given her an exquisite jewelry box that was well beyond what I’d been able to afford.

I’d been fortunate too, not that you could tell. I’d pretty much hidden everything away the moment it was unwrapped. There had been several boxes of new clothes from Kari, none of which I could really bring out and show off, since my mother thought I was a personal assistant and not a stripper. Why disillusion her? There were three pairs of new shoes, none of which were appropriate for wearing anywhere other than a fancy bedroom, laying horizontal on a mattress. Though I admit, I did sort of like the black, leather knee high boots. Even though the heel was a little extreme. There was a box of lotions, oils, and yes - lubricants, which I’d been forced to sort of set aside, lest my mother wonder.

But as Christmas was winding down, egg nog in hand, and my favorite Christmas tunes playing in the background, my mother handed me an envelope. The paper was thick and creamy, and my name was scrawled in elegant penmanship on the front. Kari’s handwriting. I tore it open.

“Dearest Bre,

I have one more present for you today, but you’ll need to pick it up. Please go to the following address at one o’clock. You’ll need about thirty minutes to get there. Your parents have agreed to watch Rachel for me. I know it’s cold outside, so you may wear your coat, but nothing else, except one of the new pairs of shoes I bought you. And now that I think of it, Julie’s gift would be appropriate too. I love you. Thank you for being part of my life. Merry Christmas.”

There was a small piece of paper with directions and an address. I glanced up at my mother, who smiled knowingly at me. “Go,” she said. “Kari loves you.” She said it knowingly. Across the way my dad nodded. I stood up, grabbed the boots, and headed back to the bedroom. I didn’t have a lot of time. Of course, I didn't need to get dressed. Quite the opposite in fact.

Twenty minutes later I climbed into my old, silver, Saturn SL sedan, the knee high leather boots feeling smooth and warm against my calves. My heavy winter coat was more than enough to block out the fifty degree weather, even with nothing else between it and my skin. I squirmed slightly, feeling the uncomfortable bulge of Julie's gift, filling up my ass. As for the toy of the day, well… Kari had told me to go without. An unusual occurrence to be sure, but I’d chalked it up to both her and Julie wanting me to be relaxed for my family Christmas. Tough to open presents in front of your daughter and parents when you’re on the verge of cumming.

The Saturn coughed as I turned the key. It hadn’t weathered Hurricane Harvey very well, since it had been sitting in Julie’s apartment complex parking lot, which had flooded. It had taken several trips to the repair shop and still sounded like a ninety year old farmer puffing and coughing on a pipe. Water had seeped into the cabin too, and despite multiple washings, a carpet shampoo, and a ton of Febreeze, I really hadn’t been able to get the smell of bayou out. It was sixteen years old, and I’d joked several times that the car was old enough to get a license and drive itself.

The engine chumped and chuttered as I used my phone to navigate to the address. My confusion got deeper as I found myself in a pretty nice area of west Houston. I took the frontage road off of I-10, nostalgia and dismay mixing as I traveled the road back toward Katy, my hometown. So much development, so much change! Yet there was familiarity too. Then my phone chirped again, letting me know that I’d arrived at my destination.

Except, that couldn’t be right. It was a car dealership. It would be closed on Christmas. I kept going along the road and to my surprise, the gate leading in was open, with a very nice Jeep Grand Cherokee parked haphazardly nearby. The moment I pulled in, a man jumped out of the car and ran over toward me. I rolled down the window, just a little perplexed as he waved at me.

“Good afternoon Breanne!” He said brightly, grinning, obviously knowing either my dilapidated car or my face on sight. Might have been the hair too. “Ms. Anders asked me to meet with you. If you’ll just pull up, I’ll close the gate. Then you can follow me.”

I blinked, still totally clueless, but I nodded. My coat was closed tightly about me, but I was just a little self-conscious about my nudity just beneath. I pressed the tip of my black, knee high boot against the pedal and eased forward as he went behind my Saturn and shut the gate, effectively locking me in.

Oh boy.

He waved at me and ran back to his Cherokee, climbing in and shutting the door. His car moved and I followed it, down rows of similar vehicles, all brand new. He drove around the main building, and then back into a parking area near several others. He parked in one open spot, leaving a second one for me. I turned off my car as he got out and came over. He opened my car door for me and even offered me a hand. If my strange “flasher” attire phased him, he didn’t say a word. I double checked to make sure all the buttons were still.done up.

“You are absolutely going to love this,” he assured me.

“Love what?” I asked. Sometimes I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

He opened the door of the building and led me in. We walked through a small lobby, through a second set of doors, and out onto what appeared to be an old showroom floor. It was dark, but there were a few cars parked inside. He flipped a switch on the wall, and a single, bright light flashed on, illuminating a single, white, Jeep Wrangler Sport.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, grinning.

Then I got it.

My mouth dropped open as I stared at the jeep. It was beautiful. It was a soft top, the kind where you could remove the roof and let the wind blow through your hair. The windows were heavily tinted, but the doors were the kind you could remove with a just a pull of the pin. The wheels seemed huge, but the jeep wasn't oversized. Instead it seemed very… me. The car salesman took my elbow and pulled me forward. It was awkward. The boots had high, high heels and they clicked loudly on the tile. I was just too stunned.

“By the way, my name is Anthony,” he said as we got closer. “Ms. Anders asked me to be here and make sure the paperwork was handled appropriately.”

“Paperwork,” I repeated dumbly. My god. She’d bought me a car.

He laughed. “Oh, it’s all paid for of course. Wouldn’t be much of a Christmas present if it weren’t!” We got to the jeep and he patted the hood affectionately. “Last year’s model of course. It was on sale, but Ms. Anders got a good deal on it. It’s got all the features too. Sirius XM radio, the Garmin navigator, the four thirty N radio, with the 6.5 inch touchscreen.” He smiled fondly at the jeep. “Yep. Got it all. Even an Alpine All-Weather premium sound system.” He opened the driver’s door and plucked a blue cardboard folder from the front seat.

“I’ve got the paperwork here. Again, everything is paid for, so you don’t have to worry about anything. But you do need to sign the title paperwork, and the warranty.” He laid out a few pieces of paper and plucked a pen from his pocket. He handed it to me and pointed out a few lines where I was supposed to sign. I did it, not even bothering to read. I was just too flummoxed. She bought me a car. A fucking car!

Anthony took the paperwork and neatened it, then put it back into the folder. Then he fished out another envelope, as well as a set of keys. He cleared his throat and gave me a slightly uncomfortable look.

“Um… Ms. Anders had some other, more specific, instructions,” he said politely, holding up the envelope. I could see it was already open. “Evidently, as part of the gift, you are required to agree to what she called ‘stipulations’. There is a list of them here.” He fished a piece of paper out of the envelope and handed it to me. I took it, noticing only then that my hand was shaking.

Suddenly the impact of Kari’s gift seemed more real. I felt better. There was a catch. I knew there would be. I tore my eyes away from my new jeep and looked down at the paper.

“Dearest Bre,

Know first of all that I love you. You are precious to me in ways I sometimes have trouble articulating. You are more than just a sex object, despite your desire to be treated as such, and my desire to use, abuse, torment, and pleasure you.

The jeep is a gift. It is registered in your name. But in respect to the dominatrix who gave it to you, I ask that you abide by the following ‘stipulations’ while driving it.

1.    If the weather allows, and you are alone in the vehicle, or with someone who knows you are a fuckslut, you will drive sans clothing, wearing only shoes, bondage gear, and your choice of nIpple clamps. I left a pair I felt suitable.
2.    If the weather is not appropriate, and you are alone, or again with someone who knows, or can find out about your slutty nature, you at least must drive with your breasts bared and clamped.
3.    Every oil change or maintenance visit must be accompanied with a blowjob and nipple clamps.
4.    At every stop light you should edge yourself as close to orgasm as possible in the allotted time, either using your toy of the day, or the new vibrator that I put in your glove box.
5.    Lastly, once per month at a minimum, you must be thoroughly fucked and spanked, in or on top of, your new jeep. It's your responsibility to make sure this happens.

I love you. Enjoy driving. - Kari”

I gulped a little and lowered the paper. Anthony gave me an expectant look. “You don’t seem surprised.”

I shook my head. “Hardly. It all makes sense. She’s using this as another way to torment me. Pleasure and pain.” I took a deep breath. “Anything else?”

He gave me a more hopeful look. “She also told me that I shouldn’t give you the keys until the vehicle has been properly ‘baptized’ with your cum. She’d like you to masturbate in it once, before you go.” He grinned. “I’ve been told to watch, in order to verify that you did it.”

The silence was palpable, but after a moment I nodded. I could see Anthony wondering if it were all a joke. I wondered how much Kari had paid him to be here, on Christmas Day, with these oddball instructions. I bit my lip and reached out, opening the door to take a look at the interior. The inside was black and beautiful, but something glinted on the steering wheel. Threaded through it, and wrapped once, was a pair of silver clover clamps on a chain. I checked the pads. Filed into ridges. Of course.

I took a deep breath and slid into the jeep. It felt good, but it didn’t smell like a new car. It smelled like strawberries and vanilla, no doubt another personalized touch from my dominatrix boss. Those were her favorite scents on me. Kari has always felt that submissive girls should smell and taste like fruit. She wears lavender. I wriggled around slightly. The steel pear, the cap of which was sticking out of my ass, dug in deep and I couldn’t help letting out a small groan. Anthony hurried around the open door.

“Are you okay?” He asked in concern. I nodded just sitting there, feeling it all. I glanced over at him.

“I guess you’re wondering what kind of a fucked up girl I am,” I said, my cheeks reddening. My right hand went down to my lap, falling on the lowest button of my coat. Anthony blushed too.

“Well, I mean…” he fumbled. “There are always…” He shook his head, then shrugged. “Rich people.”  

I laughed because I knew exactly what he meant. I was surrounded by rich people all the time, most of them clients who had the strangest ideas of what they wanted in their homes. Kari was constantly having to raise an eyebrow at outlandish requests. “I need a wall that looks like a faceted diamond.” Or “Please make the dining room look like something from an African forest.” Then there were the ones ordering me around, using me, taking me, punishing me, making me do things. Granted, it was all consensual, but the weird shit people with more money than brains come up with. Like that one guy who wanted me to take a bubble bath with him - and then brought out kid’s bath markers and drew all over me.  Or how about that one lady, who tried to hire me full time, away from Kari, to be living, naked furniture in her home. That was a strange one. No sex. No BDSM stuff. Just me… as a lamp. Or a table.

I moved my hand a second time, leaving the button above my sex unfastened, though the coat was still closed. Anthony didn’t seem to notice, since he was still staring at my face. I looked at the steering wheel where the clover clamps waited and with my free hand, reached up, touching them. Anthony’s gaze followed as I unthreaded them from the wheel, which is why he missed the third button.

But he didn’t miss the fourth. He noticed as I brought the clamps up. His eyes widened as I undid the last of the fasteners, then reached down between my legs. “How do I scoot the seat back?” I asked him, bending over. The coat gaped and his eyes widened in astonishment as he caught sight of my pierced and padlocked breasts. He darted forward, his hand grazing my leg, pressing the button on the side of the seat. Electronic. The motor rolled the seat back and I accidentally on purpose made sure the coat opened with every inch, leaving me naked and exposed from the knee up. Then I lifted my right leg and propped one booted foot up on the dash. I held out the clover clamps as an offering.

“I probably should be wearing these,” I told the car salesman.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

I shook them. “Do you need an engraved invitation? A contract?” I asked sweetly.

Anthony swallowed and took the clamps from my hand. “Really?” He asked again, still uncertain.

I nodded and cupped my breasts, then had a better idea. I put my left hand down by the side of the seat and found the button that would let me tilt myself back. In seconds I was almost lying down.

“Behind the piercings please,” I told him.

He moved close, pinching open the clover clamp, and as he bored in on my left nipple, I reached out and put my hand on the bulge at the front of his pants. He jumped slightly, surprised, but then grinned as I began rubbing and stroking him. Then the clamp closed tightly on my nipple and I hissed, a pained look crossing my face.

“I’m sorry! Does it hurt?” He asked worriedly, reaching up to it. I grabbed his hand.

“It does,” I panted. “But it’s supposed to,” I told him. “Do the other nipple now.”

“But if it hurts…” he stammered.

I looked him in the eye. “I’m Breanne Erickson. I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut. That means the pain turns me on. It’s why Kari wants me to get a spanking.”

Anthony licked his lips. “Really?”

I nodded. “Really.”

He grabbed the other clamp, the chain between them light but strong, and clamped my other breast. Acute discomfort shot through my bosom and I moaned, then slid my hand down between my legs. I was empty, and now I regretted it. I’d wondered why I was spared from following NHPS Rule number one and maybe I was wrong about why they’d spared me. Maybe it was to make it possible for something to happen. Maybe it was for this.

“You know, why stop at just a masturbation?” I told Anthony, slipping my fingers through my slit. My petals were already wet and the circumstances were arousing me into full throttle anyway. I moaned loudly, teasing myself. “I think I need some cock.”

He blinked, his eyes still glued to my sex. “Oh yes,” he agreed. “Absolutely!”

“Know what I think would be a better way to christen this car?” I asked, my voice getting deeper, rougher, more sultry.

Anthony grinned. He’d read Kari’s letter too. “To get thoroughly spanked and fucked in it?”

I pulled my hand out from between my legs, sat up, and brought my foot down. I rotated out of the seat, shrugging out of the coat. I slid out of the jeep naked and clamped, my ass stuffed with the spread, steel pear, and I violated Anthony’s personal space, my hand on his cock, rubbing him through his trousers.

“On it,” I whispered, jerking my head toward the hood. “But first,” I said roughly. “I want your cock in my mouth.” Anthony groaned as I yanked my coat out of the jeep, dumped it on the floor, and went to my knees. I rotated him around until he was leaning against the left front wheel and hood and in seconds his cock was out, hard and supple, all at the same time. I loved the texture of his skin, the feel of his shaft, the heat of his need, and I took it all in my mouth with soft wetness. I bobbed my head, licked him in circles, and worked his trousers and boxers down lower so I could get to his scrotum. I used both hands and if ever a porn starlet did a job better than the one I did, I’ve not seen it. Except I stopped before the glorious ending.

Anthony was panting, hard and trembling, and I stood up, tugging him forward with one hand as I moved to the front of the jeep. It brought back memories of me stripping in front of my dad’s Ford F-150 on the farm to market road by our old ranch home. Of being humiliated in Kari’s convertible, legs spread, breasts bared, as truckers leered down at me. Of the time I was tied open, completely naked, in the bed of Mike’s pickup, covered in clothespins. Or the ride in that one limousine, where I stood naked, my top half up through the open sun roof, while the girls tormented me below.

“Turn my ass red,” I said softly. “Then fuck me hard.”

Anthony nodded, just a bit unsure, but as I bent over and braced myself, he slapped my bottom with enough strength to leave a little sting. I gasped.

“Oh god, yes!” I said. “Harder!”

He spanked me harder. I wriggled my cute little ass, practically kissing the hood of the jeep, and let Anthony put maybe a dozen more spanks on my derriere. It wasn’t enough to bring me to tears, or even put real heat in me, but I wanted him to fuck me.

“Now. Please!” I begged, probably way sooner than Kari would have approved of. “Fuck me hard!”

Anthony didn’t waste time. He kicked off his shoes, pants, and boxers, and even without me touching him, slid his still rock hard dick into my dripping cunt like a fuel pump going into the gas tank aperture. I gasped, thrilled, as he took my hips and began driving himself in with abandon. I bounced on the hood of the jeep, my breasts pressed to it, the rattle of the steel clamps on my nipples loud.

I felt him shudder, then gasp, and I realized that he was about to cum. I pulled away from him and squatted down in front of my new car, grabbing his cock, getting on my knees, and pumped him the last few inches until a stream of white jism shot out of his hose, splattered me across the face, into my open, waiting mouth, and dripped down my chin onto my bare breasts. Anthony let out a quiet groan as I took it. Then I sucked on him hard, drawing every last bit of cream from him until he softened in my mouth.

When he was done, he pulled out, despite my every intent to continue pleasuring him into another erection. I still hadn’t cum. I wiped my face and ended up with a handful of his spunk. I looked down at my hand, then turned and smeared it across the hood of the car. He looked shocked.

“What are you doing?” He asked incredulously. “Don’t do that.”

I shrugged. “It’s just cum. And this car is going to get bathed in it,” I said quietly. I glanced at my reflection in the window. My tits were pretty well sluiced too. I sighed. How appropriate. I grabbed my coat, threw it into the jeep and climbed in. I couldn’t wear it. Not like this. I needed a fucking shower, or at least time to let the spunk dry. Thank God the seats were vinyl. Kari knew me so well. Anthony finished getting dressed as I leaned over and opened the glove box. Inside was a brand new vibrator - white, to match the jeep. I raised the seat so I could sit upright, propped my right foot up on the dash, and brought the shaking tip of the toy to my pussy.

“What are you doing?” Anthony asked, coming around the door. “Wait? You didn’t cum?”

I let out a soft groan, my hips rolling. “No,” I said softly. “Besides, you said I had to masturbate in it,” I told him. Then, unwilling to wait, I pushed the phallus into me. It felt amazing. Anthony suddenly pulled out his phone.

“Can I take a picture?” He asked me softly.

I bit my lip, then nodded. “Yes. But only for you.” He stepped back as I posed and snapped the shot. I pumped the vibrator in and out and a few minutes later shuddered in sweet, sexual glory. A spray of girl goo came from my sex and soaked the seat and splattered the rain mat. I turned off the vibrator, but left it in, sighing in satisfaction.

Anthony smiled and before I knew it, he was dangling the keys in front of my nose. I took them, my hand wet. There was a key tag on it, a custom one, and on it, I saw Kari’s “Car Rules.”

  1. Drive naked if it’s warm.
  2. Drive bare breasted if it’s cold.
  3. Wear the clamps.
  4. Blowjob and clamps every maintenance visit.
  5. Edge at every stoplight.
  6. Once per month get fucked and spanked in or on top.

No way to forget them. I sighed, imagining my daughter reading the keychain. Great. Wonderful conversation that will be. I took them from Anthony.

“Thanks,” I said wryly. I stuck the key into the ignition and Anthony walked me through the startup. He had me unroll the window, adjust my mirrors, and then even showed me all the controls.

“Salute!” I said with a giggle as I made the windshield wipers swish back and forth once.

Anthony sighed. “I think you’re ready.” He shook his head. “This has been the most amazing car sale I’ve ever made.” Then he bit his lip. “You’re really going to drive like that?”

I shrugged and looked at him. “It’s in the rules. She’ll punish me if I’m not following them.”

He winced. “Bad?”

I laughed. “No. I like it. In fact, I imagine I’ll break those ‘car rules’ of hers often enough.” I winked. “It will give her a good reason to punish me.”

He smiled. “Good.” Then he stuck out his hand, obviously wanting to shake. I did.

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “What about my Saturn?” I grabbed my coat and got my old keys out.

“Leave it here for today. You can come by tomorrow and pick it up.” Then he grinned. “Or you can give me the key and I’ll bring it to.”

My eyebrow went up. “Yeah? And what will that cost me?” I asked with a sensuous, teasing smile. “Another spanking and a tryst on the hood?”

This time he laughed. “You are utterly amazing, Breanne Erickson. I wish more women were like you.”

I shrugged, my bare breasts dangling like ripe fruit in front of his eyes. My nipples were only an inch or two from the steering wheel. “Then I wouldn’t be as special,” I replied. Then I unclipped one of the clover clamps. He stared, curious, as I threaded it through the steering wheel, looping the chain twice.

“Um...” he observed. “When you turn the wheel...” he pointed out, making pulling gestures and pointing at my breasts.

“Exactly,” I said. I pulled the key to my Saturn off the ring and handed it to him.

He pulled a business card out of his pocket and held it out. “Call me when you’d like me to bring over the car.”

“Do you need my address?”

“It’s on the paperwork,” he assured me. Then he tapped the hood. “Be careful,” he said softly, with admiration. “The world needs people like you.”

I put a hand on his cheek. He stepped back and I rolled up the window. I was encapsulated, warm, stuffed, wet, and very happy. He walked to the far wall, pressed a button, and a large garage door opened. I turned the key and the engine hummed perfectly. Then I put my new jeep into gear and drove.

I took the long way. There were fourteen traffic lights and I edged at each one.

Forty minutes later I parked the new jeep in front of a beautiful condo. I was mad with sexual need, my pussy was brimming with sensation, and the vinyl seat was wet. I pulled the vibrator out and turned it off, then quickly sucked it clean before tossing it into the center console box. Then I unclipped my breasts from the steering wheel. Two, dark, imprints were crushed into the sides of each areola and I groaned as the blood rushed back into the tips of my breasts. I grabbed my coat, but didn’t put it on. Then I jumped from my new jeep, hurried up to the front door, my coat clutched to my front, with my naked, pear plugged ass wiggling behind me. I knocked hard and fast, shivering in the cold, and the door opened a moment later with Kari standing there. Her eyes widened and she grabbed me.

“Get in here before you freeze! Imbecile.”

She wrapped her arms around me, warming me up as I let the coat fall, bearing my breasts and sex to her. For a long moment she held me, but then pulled back enough to see my face. Tears streamed down my cheeks and she frowned. “Hey! Don’t cry!” Kari admonished me. “I’ll have to punish you!” She joked.

My lower lip quivered. “You are…” I tried to say, now crying for real. “The most amazing…” but that was about as far as I could go. Kari hugged me again. I shuddered against her, the scent of her intoxicating.

“Breanne, you are precious to me,” I heard her whisper into my ear. “You are a light in my life. Don’t ever leave.” Then she tipped my chin up and she kissed me passionately. It left me breathless and light headed. Then her hand came up between my legs, finding me wet, open, and wanting.

“Was Anthony not enough?” She asked with a chuckle, her finger slipping into my depths, swirling and teasing, leaving me trembling, and not from the cold. I shook my head, spreading my legs wider as I put my hands back behind my head, pushing my breasts forward.

“He isn’t you,” I said softly. “Thank you Kari, for everything. You let me be me.”

She shook her head. “Letting you be you, let’s me be me.” She pulled her finger out of my slit and stuck it in her mouth, humming. “Now, let’s go get you stretched out, tied up, and begging for release.” She put a soft kiss on my cheek. “And then I’ll whip that cute little pussy of yours.”

I nodded. “Yes please,” I moaned. She pushed me toward the hall and I hurried forward, expectantly, wantonly, happily. Even merrily.

Merry Christmas.

If you enjoyed this erotic tale, then you might consider supporting Breanne’s endeavors, by purchasing her books! Available in e-book format from, Breanne Erickson’s “Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut” series is one of the most highly rated extreme BDSM erotica collections. Check out her amazing work at