Tuesday, September 1, 2015

A Telling Yarn - Part Five



A Telling Yarn - Part Five

I'm shocked. Really. I shouldn't have to tell you guys this, but if you haven't read Parts One, Two, Three, or Four before now, then there really isn't much I can do for you. That's like siting down to watch The Return of the King without seeing the other two movies. Silly. - Bre

Paul Peters looked at me as I climbed gingerly out of his car, the tension exerted on my nipples and clit more than enough to leave a girl like me wincing. I watched as he turned the engine off and came around, closing the distance between us. He glanced around the gravel parking lot and then looked back at me, studying my attire.
“Are you absolutely sure this is where you want me to leave you?”
I grinned. “Yes. I’m good.”
“I’m just trying to figure out what you’re going to be doing at a hardware store.”
The gravel lot we were standing in was the same one I’d parked my truck in that morning and Mike’s pickup was still there, off to my left. The hardware store itself seemed half-baked in the hot August sunlight and I could understand how Paul Peters was mildly concerned about leaving a barely dressed, redhead nympho humiliation pain slut in such a wayward locale. I shrugged. “Who knows? All sorts of opportunities in a place like this.” I leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “You know there are all sorts of long, hard, thick objects in here to get screwed with.”
Paul Peters gave me an exasperated look. “Breanne, you know what I mean.”
I straightened a bit. “I do. Really. I’m fine.”
He let out a heavy sigh, but then shrugged his shoulders. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I had a good time.”
I grinned and looked at him. “I did too.” His head dipped down and he kissed me, his hand running along my bare side. I felt a shiver that felt a little too good since his touch was combining with the light buzz of the G-spot vibrator and I pulled back, eyes flashing bright.
He gave me another once over with his eyes, the blue orbs lingering on my breasts. Then he cringed a little.” I still can’t believe you asked me to do that,” he said, nodding toward my bosom. I knew his eyes were locked onto the pair of alligator clamps that were once again chewing on the tips of my breasts, visible under the light blue material of my halter top, not to mention the dark red yarn that had pulled my bosom into a tight little package, creating a cleavage you could ski down.
I took a deep breath. “Well, it was the price for cumming,” I explained.
“Yes. You mentioned that,” he said, somewhat mollified. “Still, I’ve never put alligator clamps on a girl’s breasts before, much less spanked a girl’s there.”
I laughed. “And you’ve spanked a girl’s ass?”
His eyes went up and to the right. “Well, technically I have, though it wasn’t much of a spanking. More like a few playful swats.”
“Well next time we can try a more serious spanking,” I assured him. “Maybe even English spanking.”
“English spanking? Is that where you lay across my lap and I smack you while we watch Doctor Who or Monty Python and the Holy Grail?”
I giggled. “And there was great rejoicing. Yay.” I intoned solemnly. “Not quite. See, when I’m laying across your lap you’re supposed to be inside me, all the way. That way every stroke of your hand drives me down on your cock. It’s called English Spanking.”
“I see. Sounds intriguing. Still, I think we’re a little past spankings. Those clamps look like they hurt. Especially the one on your clit. And tying them up like that? With the yarn? I’m shocked you’re not screaming.” His hand went to the crimson line that emerged from the bottom of my midriff baring halter top and disappeared into the waistband of my skirt. It was very, very taut.
“Whoa… don’t touch,” I said, backing up a step.
He pulled his hand back. I wasn’t about to admit him that I wanted to scream. Even right at that moment the little snips of pain shooting through my clit and nipples were intense. And they were combining with the trembling intensity of the G-Spot vibrator, which was again being held deep inside me with the elastic and leather harness under the skirt. So instead I shrugged. “I’ll see you on Friday evening. Okay?”
“Yes. I’m not likely to forget, am I?” He moved back around to his car and started to get in. I followed and he rolled down his window. I leaned on it. It was actually a much more comfortable position since the only pull now on my nipples was the shortened distance between the two points.
I stuck my hand out. “It was a pleasure to fuck you Mr. Paul Peters.”
He laughed and took my hand, shaking it. But then he brought it up to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “Likewise, Ms. Breanne. Though I admit it was a hell of a first date.”
My eyebrows wiggled. “We haven’t dated yet. Trust me.”
“What’s a date like with you?”
“Publicly embarrassing and personally painful for me. Sexually intense for you.”
He shrugged. “I know what I’m going to dream about for the next three days. That’s for damn sure.” He shook his head. “Alligator clamps.”
I turned on the truck’s engine. “Lots of guys say that to me.”
“Alligator clamps?”
“No. That they dream about me.”
“So why would I be any different?” He asked honestly.
I gave him a quiet, dark, intense look. For a moment neither of us said a thing. Then I smiled. “Because I’m coming back for seconds. And that makes you different.”
He smiled, obviously pleased as I backed away. Then he started his car and a moment later was driving off, no doubt heading back to Julie’s former apartment complex. I still had trouble believing I was going to have to navigate that fucking parking lot again. I thrust that thought out of my mind and looked around. It was getting late in the afternoon and my smart phone reported the time as just before five pm. The sun was baking the gravel lot and the hardware store beckoned.
I realized that I’d pretty much come full circle. The two alligator clamps that were connected with a steel chain had once more been placed upon my bosom, the nipples pulled painfully inward where the crimson colored yarn had shortened the chain into something a few inches long. Paul Peters had been shocked when I’d asked him to run it down to the alligator clamp on my clitoris and he’d tied it off with a half-hitch, giving me the ability to tighten it or loosen it as needed. Talk about a regular boy scout.
I was wearing the halter top and skirt again, and both feet were in the high heels I’d taken off at Paul Peter’s place. Admittedly my steps were tinged with a certain amount of discomfort, thanks to the bands of bright red welting the arches. I tried to take a deep breath and was stopped up short by shards of pain coming from the three most delicate parts of my body. With the G-spot vibrator already sending waves of pleasure up my spinal cord, I realized I was completely ready, just as Master Phil had specified. Clamped, tormented, horny, and aching.
In retrospect, I’m not sure if this was my most successful assignment or my worst. I mean, after all, I’d had unauthorized orgasm after unauthorized orgasm. Hell, if we wanted to get right down to it, I’d had another unauthorized orgasm with Paul Peters, and there hadn’t even been a punishment specified for that. Did it mean I’d already blown it for the last part of this little torment session? Or did it mean that I needed to repeat the whole breast slapping, foot snapping thing a second time? To be honest, I didn’t think I could handle another twenty snaps to each sole.
I went into the hardware store.

The cashier was busy and didn’t notice me as I walked by, turning to my right and going up and down the aisles. Like usual I was looking for something in particular.
“Oh. Oh! Hi.”
I turned and smiled. It was Alex. The young man who had interrupted my little soiree with Mike that morning. My mouth broke open into a wide grin.
“Hi Alex. You’re here late.”
He blinked and glanced at his watch. “Actually I’m about to get off,” he said. “I was just doing some last minute stuff for Mike and…”
I put my hand on his wrist. “I don’t really care. Actually, this is good timing. I’m in a bit of a straight. Are you free to help a girl out?”
He paused, his eyes lingering on my clamped nipples. I’m betting he wished he was Superman and had X-ray vision. “What do you need?” He asked politely, with perfect customer service I might add.
“I left my truck in a parking lot down on the other side of the tollway. I was wondering if you’d drive me down to pick it up.”
“That’s it?” He asked, as if hoping for more.
I gave him a warm smile. “No. Definitely not. I’d also like you to take me somewhere very public for dinner where my attire and the vibrator I’ve got stuffed up inside me can do a decent job of embarrassing me, followed by taking me someplace private where you can fuck my brains out. Then you can take me to my truck.
His eyes widened and he blushed. He actually blushed. I laughed. I loved it! But then he cocked his head to the right, over-thinking it. “I’m not sure Mike would be okay with that.”
“Mike’s not here.”
“Actually he is here…” He said, looking over his shoulder.
“I meant standing here next to us.”
“I don’t think he’d approve.”
“Of us going to dinner?” I asked suspiciously.
“Of you and me doing anything together,” he said.
I took a step closer. “And why is that,” I asked curiously.
His eyes found my cleavage and traced the piece of yarn. He swallowed. “Well, you’re his… his…”
“No I’m not. We’re friends. Just friends. With benefits.”
Alex blinked. “It doesn’t seem like that.”
I sighed and stepped closer to Alex. Then I put my hand on his arm, took it and sidled up next to him. He stiffened in surprise, then relaxed.
“Alex, I’m going to tell you something that you might have already guessed at. I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut. That means I like to be sexually and publicly humiliated, that I’m actually turned on by a little bit of pain, especially if applied to prurient portions of my anatomy, and that I’m willing to fuck just about anyone in order to get what is almost certainly a psychologically induced addiction.”
Alex’s mouth fell open.
“You’re sleeping with other people, behind Mike’s back?” He asked.
I stared at him with a look of disbelieving consternation. Finally I shook my head. “No you idiot. He’s just one of the many people who I’ve encountered and I liked him enough that I keep coming back. I’ve already fucked three different guys today, including Mike, and I’d like to make you number four. So are you going to take me to dinner and then get laid, or are you going to make excuses.”
He blinked. “Uh. Take you to dinner.”
I nodded, glad that was settled. “Good. So go clock out or whatever you need to do.”
“Did you know Mike’s here?” he asked timidly.
I shrugged. “Who cares? I’m not here for him. I’m here for you.”
Finally he started to smile. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
“Good.”
He whirled and left me. Three minutes later I was on his arm, heading out behind the store to his truck.
“Where would you like to eat?”
I would have laughed, but my tits were hurting too much. “I don’t really care. I’d prefer fast food at this point. These alligator clamps are making my nipples and clit throb and the sooner I can get them off the happier I’ll be.”
He froze and stared at me. “There’s one on your clit too?”
I lifted the hem of my skirt. It wasn’t like anyone was behind the store. I showed him the harness, the base of the G-Spot vibrator, and of course, my alligator clamped clit and the red yarn leading up from it.
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
I opened the door of the truck and climbed in. “Of course it does. That’s the point. I’m a sexual masochist. I want it to hurt. I like when it hurts. To a point. It makes my orgasms like ten times more powerful than if I were sitting in an armchair at home, my legs up and spread, masturbating with just my hairbrush.”
“I’d love to see that,” Alex said, climbing into the truck.
I snorted. “If that’s the limit of your imagination you’re about to have some issues. You’re taking a nympho humiliation pain slut out to dinner, Alex. Think bigger.”
He turned the key. “I just wasn’t prepared for this.”
I nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. I’d mention there is a primer for this, but it’s a little late now. Maybe for next time.”
“A primer?”
I turned and looked at him. “You really don’t know?”
He shook his head as we pulled out of the lot. “No. Know what?”
“What I am? What I do?”
“Sex?”
I sighed. “Alex. I’m an erotica author. Folks send me these BDSM sex assignments and I do them. Then I write about it.”
He blinked. “Sex assignments?”
“For example, right now I’m supposed to spend at least thirty minutes in a public place, turning my vibrator up incrementally, until I’m so keyed up that I’m ready to fuck someone. And I’m to do this dressed like a tart, with these alligator clamps on my nipples and clit, done up in such a way that I draw immediate and damning attention to myself. Then I’m to find someone, who will be you by the way, and offer to have sex with them. Except I’m not actually allowed to cum before you. After you I’m good. Before you however I earn a punishment.”
“What sort of punishment?” Alex asked as we turned down the road.
“The last one was getting my breasts spanked and twenty snaps of a rubber band against the soles of my feet,” I said, slipping a foot out of a shoe and putting it up on the dashboard. I turned the insole toward him so he could see my delicate arch. My bright red, welted, quite painful arch.
“Oh my God,” he said, his eyes going back and forth between my foot and the road. “Put your foot down.”
I laughed and wiggled my toes. The nails were painted the same color as my hair. And oh… they matched they welts. “Why? Is it turning you on? Distracting you?”
“No. If we get in an accident the airbag will deploy and drive your foot and ankle upward through the windshield cutting them and breaking your leg. Then your knees will get knocked back into your face, possibly breaking your nose, giving you a concussion, or worse.”
I stared at him. Then took my foot off his dashboard. “You are one - seriously - fucked-up dude,” I said to him.
He nodded. “I know.”
That’s what you were thinking? That I’d end up with a concussion and a broken nose?”
Alex grimaced. “Not exactly. At least not all.”
I let out a grunt. “Well thank God for small miracles.”
“So I don’t understand what you meant by writing out these assignments. Where do you write them?”
“A BDSM blog. And some get made into books.” I paused. “Okay, they all get made into books. But some I post early. And a little raw.”
“You mean I’m going to be in one of these stories you write?” His eyes widened in alarm.
“Don’t worry. I change names and circumstances and even places sometimes,” I said mischievously. “It protects the innocent. And the guilty.”
He swallowed. “So you won’t use my name?”
“Nope. I’ve already changed it. You’ll be Bob.”
“Oh God. Not Bob. Please.”
I laughed. “Okay. Not Bob. Now can we please get something to eat? I’m starving.
Alex, with only a little encouragement from me, headed down toward Fry Street and my favorite Italian restaurant. In short order we were sitting in a corner booth, me with my back to the wall, munching on breadsticks while I was basically interrogated about my sex life, my books, the blog, assignments, my toy of the day, the NHPS Rules. All of it. Alex even got on his phone and freaking bought every single book. I thanked him by flashing a boob. His eyes widened and he glanced around behind him.
“Shouldn’t you be looking at me?” I asked, covering back up. “I was making sure no one else was looking.”
He swallowed. We were just about done and were mopping up marinara with bread. “What level are you on?” He asked.
“Medium still. I’m feeling it, that’s for sure. Is it time to turn the vibrator up?” I asked.
Alex grinned. “From what you’ve told me, it’s always time to turn the vibrator up.”
“Ha ha,” I retorted. “I’m being serious.”
He checked his watch. “Another two minutes.” Then he gave me a speculative look. “That vibrator was on when I first saw you at the hardware store. How long have you had it on?”
I thought for a moment. “I guess an hour now. Most of it was on low obviously.”
“So you can tolerate that sort of stimulation for long periods of time?”
I shrugged. “Depends on the stimulation and for what you mean by long periods. The G-Spot vibe I can handle on low for half a day. Medium and high makes things tough. Like right now I’m having to consciously keep my hips from rolling with these full pelvic thrusts. Because that’s what my lower half wants to do. Except I know that if I give in I will also orgasm in short order.”
“Which nets you a punishment. You never did tell me what will happen if you have an orgasm before me.”
I leaned forward. “Master Phil, the gentleman who assigned this particular assignment, would like me to sleep with clover clamps chewing on my nipples, after I’ve dabbed them with Icy Hot. My clit is to get the same treatment, as is my G-Spot vibrator, which is to be turned on, left at the low setting, and stuffed right back into my cunt. To hold it in I am to wear a particular thong I made for myself using thick, scratchy rope, which will spread my petals and rub painfully at my clit as I move in my sleep.”
“Holy shit!” Alex commented. “Are you fucking insane?”
I nodded. “I know. Tough to tell right? I guess I sound like a lunatic.”
He shook his head. “No! That sounds amazing! I’d love to see you do it!”
I gave him a blank stare. For a full minute. “Do you have any idea what it’s like trying to sleep in that condition? All sexually aroused, tormented, and given no peace?”
His smile sort of faltered. “Uh. Oh. No. I didn’t think about that.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t think so. Historically I’ve only managed to fall asleep with a vibrator on once.” Then I shifted position and pushed my hand down between my legs. I let the expression on my face reflect exactly what was going on and Alex stared. Then the sound of the vibrator got just a bit louder, the thrumming hum moving along at a more rapid pace.
“You just turned it up.”
I nodded. Now I was feeling the tension. “Ten minutes. Then you’ve got to take me somewhere and fuck me before I cum.”
Alex studied me. “Does Mike hurt you?”
I licked my lips. I was having trouble holding it together. I could feel the wetness seeping out from around the vibrator. “This morning, when you knocked on the door? You did hear a cry. That was me. I was laying on his desk, my legs spread wide, so that he could spank my clit with a paint stick.”
Alex gaped. “He hit your clit? With a paint stick?”
I nodded. “It was… it was the punishment for fucking up the morning edges. I wasn’t supposed to cum and I did.”
“How many times have you cum today?” He asked.
I let out a soft, but slightly insane giggle. “I haven’t kept track. Three this morning? Then another with Mike. One at the library, then one with Paul. So… six? Seven maybe?”
He leaned forward. “Your face is flushed. You’re about to have another one, here. Aren’t you?”
I swallowed. “I might be able to hold off.”
“But my place is fifteen minutes from here. Do we turn the vibrator down or off?”
I shook my head. “Not allowed to.”
“So basically the assignment is designed to help you fail.”
I nodded, not wanting to risk opening my mouth. My hips were starting to churn.
“If you cum here, does it start over? Would we have to turn the vibrator back down? Or off?”
“No,” I whispered. “Unless I need a medical out. That happens, but I don’t think it will this time.”
“So until I take the vibrator out of you and fuck you, it stays in, on high?” Alex pressed.
“Yes,” I said, a little more heatedly. “Where are you going with this?”
He suddenly grinned. “What if you don’t have one unauthorized orgasm, but two?”
My eyes met his and the tension between us was palpable.
“Master Phil didn’t specify,” I said softly. “Besides, technically I’ve already had a second unauthorized orgasm.”
That made Alex blink. “What? You’ve already earned the bedtime punishment?”
I shrugged. “That’s one way to interpret it. Or an extra punishment.”
Alex considered this. “The paint stick.”
That was all he said.
“The paint stick what?” I asked. I was in even more trouble now. I was going to cum. I could sense it. My heart rate had picked up, my pussy was trembling around the semi-violent shaking of the G-spot vibrator, and I was leaking copious amount of juices. It was now about timing. Was I going to cum there in the booth, or out in the parking lot?
“I can use the paint stick, like Mike did, to punish you for the unauthorized orgasms.”
I whimpered, tightening up. “I can’t take forty strokes to my clit,” I hissed.
Alex thought about it. “Well, after we fuck, I can do twenty to your clit, and twenty to your breasts. You said that your last punishment you got spanking on your tits.”
My eyes narrowed. “For someone who doesn’t seem to be very dominant, or conversed in BDSM, you’ve gotten pretty damn sadistic.”
Suddenly the insecure Alex was back. He opened his mouth like a fish, his eyes wild. “Oh. God. I’m sorry! I was just trying… you know… to play into... I didn’t mean… it was just… you were….”

I blinked as his brain short circuited. Then the orgasm hit me from behind. I let out a tiny wail that drew a few looks from other patrons and I shook in my seat, teeth clenched, hips jerking as the pulses of orgasmic bliss took me into lala land. It also shut Alex up and he watched in both horror and delight as I clearly experienced an orgasmic event. I may not have made much noise, but anyone watching would clearly have known exactly what happened to the petite, scantily dressed redhead with the nipple clamps.
Finally I shuddered, a wave of exhaustion running over me. The adrenaline boost faded and I was left with the wash of euphoria that accompanies powerful orgasm. The vibrator continued to rumble inside me and I resisted the urge to turn it down. I wanted to though. Badly.
“Breanne,” Alex said with a grin. “That was fucking awesome.”
I looked up, a wan smile on my face. “Can we go now and do some awesome fucking?”
He laughed and nodded. “Sure. Let’s go.”  He stood up, shielding my body from casual observation as I climbed out of the booth seat. Then he took my arm and walked me out of the restaurant. There were stares. They didn’t seem to bother Alex.
Back in his truck he flipped up my skirt and put his hand on the base of the vibrator. I gave him a curious look.
“Just wanted to make sure it was still in there and on high. Will it make you horny again?”
I shrugged. “Eventually. If it were a different sort of stimulation I’d probably just cascade in orgasm. I’m multi-orgasmic. But this is vaginal, and the vibrator isn’t moving much. So it’s just a low level sensation now.”
He glanced back at my exposed sex. Then he reached down again, grabbed the vibrator, pulled it out about six inches, then let the bungee cord of the harness push it back in. I let out a groan.
“How did that feel?” Alex asked.
“On my God,” I whispered.
“Good. Keep your eyes on the clock. Every time the minute changes you will pull the vibrator almost all the way out and then let it snap back in.”
I whimpered, but locked my eyes on the clock. Time. It’s the fire in which we burn.
And I burned. The minute changed and I pulled the vibrator almost all the way out, then let the elastic cord running through my crotch force it hard into my depths. Alex nodded in appreciation. Then I did it again a minute later. And once more. The tires spun as my world burned and the vibrations and the single, horrible, cruel thrusts were more than enough to drive me right back to the edge. I stood there, looking down at the abyss of orgasmic delight.
“Alex,” I begged. “Are we there yet?”
He shrugged. “Just another minute,” he promised. “Why? Are you close?”
“This… this… isn’t easy to endure.”
“I’m thinking I should punish you for your last unauthorized orgasm before we fuck. Then do the other one afterward. What do you think?”
I moaned. He wasn’t helping me with this sort of talk, damn it.
Then the truck pulled up in front of a tiny bungalow house. He turned off the engine, climbed out, came around to get me, and then to my astonishment, literally picked me up and carried me to the front door. I clung to him, shuddering. He set me on my feet and got out his key. A moment later we were in his living room. I didn’t wait. I began stripping and he turned to stare at me, his eyes wide. I tossed my canvas bag down, followed by my halter top and the skirt. Then I reached between my legs, my eyes smoldering with heat and need. I twisted the vibrator off, then ripped it out. The harness came undone and I just let the whole thing fall.
“Fuck me Alex,” I begged.
His eyes traced the yarn. “But what about the clamps?” He asked, pointing at the front of my body.
“They stay on until you cum,” I said. Then I attacked him.
He wasn’t really prepared for my voraciousness. I was on him in seconds, my hands going to his jeans, fingers flying against the buttons of his shirt. I think I tore some clothes. Oops. But our mouths kept meeting and my nipples and clit throbbed with agony. His shaft was already hard and I only scrambled for a moment to get a condom from my bag. Then I shoved him down on the couch, took him in my mouth, and began sucking on him.
“Oh God! Breanne!” he exclaimed.
I didn’t have the patience to do a really good job. Instead I just put the condom on, climbed up his body, threw a leg over his hip, and drove myself down. His hands started on my hips, but I moved one to the yarn. It was stretched tight enough to hum if plucked and my clit and nipples were throbbing in agony.
“Pull on it,” I begged him as I bounced, his thick shaft spearing me deep. Alex nodded, his face flushed, his pulse beating hard in his neck. His fingers twined on the crimson string and he pulled. It was like light and dark, alpha and omega. I cried out in agony, letting the frustration and pain and want and pure bliss all come pouring out of me. He jerked beneath me and then I felt his own spasms, the thrusting granite of his cock inside me. Alex let out a sharp grunt, his eyes wide, his hips thrusting upward in coital eruption. I could see the look of utter relief on his face as he pumped his cream into me.
Then he slumped.
And I came. Again.