The bright, late-spring, morning sunlight illuminated me completely as I sat on the bench, my wrist frantically pumping the seven-inch-long, purple-colored vibrator through my very pink, very wet slit. My head was swiveling back and forth like a weather vane in a tornado, checking down each side of the concrete path, my eyes questing for the next approaching jogger. Doing two things at once, like rubbing your tummy and patting your head, is never easy. For me, keeping an eye on the path, even as I tried desperately to make myself cum, was a challenge easier said than done.
It would have been nice to have help. Across from me, leaning against a tree, was Julie. She stood there with her arms folded over her chest, a thin branch clutched lightly in her hand, her eyes staring at me. She was dressed more conservatively than I was, in tight, Lycra running shorts and a halter top. Still, her bone thin form was hardly something most men would find attractive. With most women, you might be able to compare their breasts with some recognizable fruit. My mistress, unfortunately, was more like a fine Italian ravioli, a small, flattened pillow of something tasty.
“Keep your legs spread,” she reminded me pleasantly, despite the fact that the twinkle in her eye matched the little twitch of her switch. I gave her a somewhat desperate look.
“Julie, I’ve already had two orgasms,” I whimpered. “Do we really need any more?” It came out in a pleading, whining voice.
Her eyes widened and her arms unfolded. “Do you mean to tell me, that Breanne Erickson, cum slut extraordinaire, is actually asking to be spared additional orgasms? I thought that’s what you lived for.”
I kept the vibrator moving and nodded. “I’m satisfied now. Thank you.”
Julie laughed, shaking her head. “Oh no. I don’t think so. Master Brandon said four orgasms, so four we will do.” She shook the thin stick at me. “And keep those legs open or I’ll give you another welt.”
I bit my lip as I moved my feet another few inches apart. I was already sitting in a very undignified and unladylike fashion on the bench, and while my skirt was certainly long enough for decorum’s sake, plunging a purple colored dildo into my pussy wasn’t exactly something I could hide. By necessity the material was bunched up around my waist. And it was just at that moment I spotted movement down the far side of the path.
Julie spotted the runner right after I did and she turned her gaze back to me, a wide and silly grin on her face.
“Uh oh,” she said wickedly. “Are you going to manage this time?” It was a taunt, plain and simple.
I clenched my teeth as my blood pressure increased and I felt my heartbeat pick up speed. I had about fifteen seconds to make an awful decision and my wrist faltered, the vibrator in my pussy slowed it’s in and out movement as my arm stopped. I felt a shudder work its way from my shoulders down to my ass, where my buttocks clenched tightly around the jeweled anal plug and then I couldn’t take it. I gave Julie a pleading look even as my hand moved. She shook her head in disappointment as I let go of the vibrator, pushing it in deep. A half second later I swung my knees back together, just to hold in the sex toy. The other hand smoothed down the material of my skirt and I brought my left arm up across my chest, doing a better job of concealing my bosom than the hated “peasant blouse” Julie had forced me to wear that morning. I hissed with discomfort, but didn’t dare remove my arm pressing against my poor breasts. The jogger, a nice looking guy in his thirties, ran by with only a curious glance at the two of us. I gave him a winsome, if suffering smile. Thankfully, he didn’t seem all that intrigued by the daringly and slutty dressed girl sitting on the bench.
I watched him go off into the distance and looked back the way he’d come. I was hoping, praying even, for another runner. Because it wasn’t the number of joggers, or hikers, or even cyclists, that came by. It was my choice that was the problem. I glanced back up at Julie, my bottom lip caught between my teeth. She was already crossing the concrete path.
“Too bad, princess,” she declared, knowing I hated the cutesy nickname. “Bare them.” The switch she was holding flicked through the air and managed to flick a bit of the exposed shirt. Whimpering, I dropped my left arm, and then with both hands, grabbed hold of the peasant blouse, and lifted up the seven or so inches of transparent, pleated material, and exposed both of my breasts.
The gold padlock that dangled from the hoop piercing on my right nipple caught the sunlight and sparkled. Even the other circle of gold going through the other tip of my breast gleamed. But while the jewelry caught the eye, a number of very fresh, very thin, wicked looking, crimson lines crossed my bosom. There were more than I could have conveniently counted quickly, even with a mirror and privacy.
I clenched my teeth, closed my eyes, and looked away.
Julie didn’t spare me this time either and the switch slashed across my breasts with a sharp, scalding pain. She went below my nipples, catching the underside of my boobs, leaving another welt in a spot that had been mostly pain free. I squealed right through my locked jaw and folded immediately, my hands letting the stupid, overly-revealing blouse fall back over my tits, even as I put my head down between my knees.
For one long, horrible moment, pain was pretty much the only thing I felt. My tits felt hot and swollen and while the pain slowly faded to a vicious sting, which then melted into a harsh heat, I knew that I’d have some impressive bruises to go along with the scarlet stripes. Julie hummed to herself and whirled back across the concrete path to her position by the tree.
“As soon as you’re ready,” she said graciously, as if she were giving me a gift. I glanced up at her, tears welling in my eyes.
“This is awful,” I sniveled.
Julie shrugged,” Yes, well, we have to train you to be more accepting. Eventually, the fear of getting your tits whacked will be enough for you to overcome certain, annoying tendencies; like covering up.” Her eyes hardened. “Now, are you going to masturbate or not?”
For a moment I considered saying “not.” I didn’t want to cum again. My breasts hurt too much. I didn’t like being displayed in public. Especially dressed in a short, pleated blue skirt and a blouse that was more window valance than cover. I was hot too. And thirsty. My bottom ached around the jeweled anal plug.
I glanced back down the trail, both directions. Empty. I spread my legs. The hem of my skirt couldn’t handle the movement and suddenly my pussy was in full view. I was wearing flip flops and I went up on tiptoe, knees as far apart as I could make them. I grabbed the vibrator, which was still going, and caught it before it went slipping out of my pussy. With a trembling whimper, I began pumping it, slowly and surely, in and out of my sex, trying to work myself into a froth
“When was your last bastinado and foot job session with Alex?” Julie asked, making small talk. “The bottoms of your feet look too pretty.”
I looked up at her. “Two weeks ago,” I said softly, as if trying to avoid attention. My hand moved the vibrator, trying to get back to where I was a minute or two before. “He got busy this week.”
Julie shook her head in disappointment. “Hmmm. That’s not good. Maybe I need to lay a few across those little arches of yours,” she said, wiggling her stick. “You can kneel right there on the bench and I’ll leave a few little, red stripes across your soles.”
The vibrator was starting to feel good again and the feel of it slipping in and out of my sex was making the pain fade. Or at least, I was able to ignore more of it. Still, I couldn’t keep my head still. I kept looking down the trail.
“Thanks,” I said breathily. “But I’d like to be able to walk out of here.” It came out sort of sarcastic, but that didn’t faze Julie.
“Oh, you’d walk,” she said easily. “But with a noticeable limp. People would stop and ask you if you were okay and you’d have to tell them that you were a naughty nympho humiliation pain slut who just had the soles of her feet switched.”
The idea of that little scenario happening had different effects on different parts of me. My pussy loved the idea and the idea of a third orgasm wasn’t so much wishful thinking now. Of course, the more conservative side of my psyche, the part checking the trail every few seconds, had a totally different reaction.
“That doesn’t sound that appealing,” I muttered, even as my pussy betrayed how my other half felt to Julie. She let out a laugh.
“You should see how wet your cunt is. I know you love the idea. Besides, you need to get more accustomed to being seen. To being open.” She sighed. “Do you have any idea how popular you’d be if you would just let me videotape…”
“No!” I said more forcefully.
Julie sighed. “You are NOT ugly,” she said, for like the thousandth time.
I gave her a stern glare. My pussy was starting to quiver around the vibrator.
“Okay. I get it. Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. Then her head snapped to the right. “Uh oh,” she said, her mouth curling up into another smile. “Decision time again!”
I twisted my head and my mouth went dry. Another fucking runner! Damn it! And a woman! I closed my eyes and bit my lip. For a second I hesitated. I could feel the pressure building inside me. I wasn’t close, obviously, but if I let it go, I might not get it back. I twisted internally, indecision wracking me. It didn’t help that the risk of exposure was making my pussy even wetter. The vibrator moved twice more and then … then I couldn’t help it.
I let out a tiny, frustrated cry and jerked my hand out from between my legs. My knees snapped shut and I brought up my arm, once more covering my shirt, scared that the ruby colored welts Julie had left across my breasts would be visible right through the translucent material. Julie snickered, her hand already swinging the thin branch in anticipation. I gave her another pleading look and she shook her head as the jogger pounded by. The woman didn’t even look at us.
Julie was moving the moment the woman passed us and she got into position next to me with an expectant grin.
“Please! Not again!” I begged her. “Please don’t switch my breasts again!” My arms, both of them now, were wrapped around my bosom. It made my chest ache.
“Should have considered that thirty seconds ago,” Julie said happily. “Now I get to leave another line. Do you think I should do another one on the top? Or just aim directly for those sweet nipples of yours again?” She tapped my arm with the switch.
“Please!” I whined. “I’m trying!”
She snorted. “No you aren’t. You’ve covered up for every runner. Even the men. Now, I’m not going to ask you again. Bare your breasts or I’ll take your shirt away from you.”
My eyes widened. “You can’t!”
Julie sneered and waved her switch around. “Hello? Public place? There are no laws saying a woman cannot go bare breasted in public. Besides, there are no kids around.”
I gave her a frightened look. “But … but people would see what you’ve done to me!” I finally lowered an arm enough to gesture at my material covered breasts.
Julie rolled her eyes. “Oh my! Arrested for sexually abusing you!” She leaned forward and poked the stick into my breast. “The trial will sure be interesting when my defense attorney introduces ‘tales of a nympho humiliation pain slut, volumes one through fifteen’.” Julie winked. “I’ll make sure he asks you to read a few ‘choice’ scenes to the jury.”
If my boobs were red, my face was redder.
“Now,” she said amiably. “Are you going to show me your tits or am I going to have to take your shirt?”
I lowered my arms with a choked sob. Then lifted the blouse. Julie aimed for my nipples.
The screech that came from my mouth seemed to echo off the trees and I once more I hunched over, my arms pressed to my bosom, the pain erupting from the tips of both breasts like a fire in a dry patch of grass. It was agonizing and it took me over a minute to get control. Of course, the vibrator was still there, inside me, and I realized that I hadn’t quite lost the ground that I’d managed to take. I let out a shuddering breath and then, without Julie even having to urge me to it, I spread myself open again, grabbed the vibrator, and began pumping.
This time I worked it fast and hard, thrusting my hips, trying very hard to make myself cum before the next runner appeared. My body shook. Sweat dripped down from my brow. But the vibrator didn’t care. It slid in and out and through me as my breathing became more and more rasping.
My lower half tightened around the plastic shaft trembling in both my hand and my sex and now I moaned, not with pain, but with need. I could feel it, a dark and clutching pressure and my feet curled up again, toes extended, arches exposed, as I closed my eyes. My hand moved faster and then I couldn’t help it, I put one foot up on the bench with me, thrusting wildly, groaning as I sensed the orgasm at the top of the mountain. Speed and need sustained me and my other hand went under my peasant blouse, lifting the material, exposing a breast, my fingers pinching at the welted nipple.
And of course, you can guess what happened. “Oh look. Another runner,” Julie said idly.
My eyes snapped open and I twisted my head to see a man still a hundred feet away. There was no way he hadn’t already seen what I was doing. My leg was up on the bench for God’s sake. How could he miss it? But I was already moving, my foot swinging back down, the skirt sliding back into place, my arms …
Oh. Oh shit.
He pounded past and I looked over at Julie. Her eyes were dark, smoldering and she shook her head.
“When the fuck are you going to learn?” She asked softly. She stalked across the trail toward me, her weapon raised. My pussy quivered in time with my heart.
“Wait!” I gasped. “Wait!”
Her eyebrow went up as I dropped my arms from my chest. Our eyes met and I spread my legs again, my right hand going down to grasp the vibrator. I began pumping it immediately, the orgasm close. Then with my left hand, I lifted the front of the blouse, exposing my breasts.
“I’m … I’m ready,” I whispered, dreading but wanting the blow. My pussy was tight, so tight around the vibrator.
Julie frowned. “This is supposed to be punishment,” she said darkly.
“Please punish me, Mistress.” My voice was high pitched with tension. I was close. So close to cumming. Finally. I just needed her to push me over the edge.
Julie shook her head. “No. You’re using this to get yourself off.”
“I covered up, Mistress. Please punish me!” I begged loudly. The vibrator slapped loudly against my pussy and I could feel it. The orgasm was there. It was starting.
Julie’s face turned into a snarl. She swung the switch across my chest with a swing that would have made a softball player proud. The stick, less than two millimeters thick, bit into my bosom just above my nipples, digging deep. I cried out as my pussy clamped down hard on the vibrator and I exploded, hard and wet, squirting cum out onto the paved path in front of me.
My Mistress watched me with fury in her eyes and she twisted, putting her back to me, tapping her fingers. Time seemed to slow as I sighed, the sexual euphoria giving me the fix I needed, the soporific effect that I was addicted too. Say what you will about chemical dependencies; the all-natural, sex soaked state my brain desired was absolutely beautiful. What can society really say about a girl who wants to cum over and over again and will do absolutely anything to have the most spectacular, powerful, sexual climaxes possible?
I took a deep breath and smiled.
“That’s it,” Julie declared. She whirled back around, the switch pointing at me. “On your knees. Kneel on the bench.”
I blinked. For a moment I didn’t move. I just sat there with the vibrator in one hand, looking confused.
Julie hit my bare thigh with the switch and I let out a yelp. “Don’t just sit there!” She hissed. “On your knees! On the bench!”
It took another stroke of the switch for enough pain to make it through the haze of dopamine and oxytocin my brain had just dumped into my bloodstream a moment before. But then I moved, sluggishly I suppose, climbing up onto the bench. My skirt fell down, covering my ass and my flip flops hung in the air, the soles coming away from the bottoms of my feet. The peasant blouse covered my breasts once more and I held the vibrator in my hand, still trying to figure out what Julie was doing.
“Pull your skirt up,” Julie ordered.
I bit my lip. Not good. I didn’t want to pull my skirt up. I knew what she was going to do. Or at least I thought I knew. Feeling the familiar shudder inside me, I reached back with my empty hand and grabbed the back of my skirt. I pulled it up, baring my ass and the jeweled plug. I glanced back down the trail, readying myself to jump up and cover myself.
The switch whistled through the air and a fresh line of scarlet heat blossomed against my flesh, but this time, it was my ass on the receiving end. I barked out a shocked yelp, the hand holding the vibrator going to my buttocks. God it stung! But then I felt a twitch at my foot and both of my flip flops were flicked off. My brain immediately made the mental connection, but not before I could do anything about it. Julie’s switch flew fast and the narrow cane fell upon the tender, delicate arches of both feet.
And that, my friends, fucking hurt.
I managed to stay in position, but only barely. Julie nailed me once more across the ass, and then, just for good measure, slashed once more at the bottoms of my feet. This time I kicked wildly and fell over, bursting into tears as I put my feet down on the hot pavement, arms wrapped around myself protectively as I cried.
Julie looked down at me. “I will not be used in such a way,” she said softly, only to bend down and kiss my cheek. I felt her tongue on my skin and realized she was licking at my tears.
“Yum,” she murmured. She backed up and checked the path. Then waited patiently. After a minute I sat up and looked at her. She gave me a little wave, her fingers wiggling lightly. “One more orgasm!” She announced. “I’d start now, before someone else comes.”
Slowly I settled back into the bench and this time I winced as my freshly welted ass met the seat of the bench. I gave Julie a dark and desperate look as I slowly opened my legs once more, my hand going through my thighs to catch hold of the vibrator. It was still on, still on high, and I began pumping it.
I wasn’t aroused. Not at that point. Instead I hurt. My feet hurt. My bottom hurt. And oh my God, my breasts hurt. My breasts most of all. I didn’t want to cum again. I gave Julie a beseeching look and she ignored it, watching instead, the steady pistoning movement of the vibrator between my legs.
“You’re a fuck slut,” she suddenly declared. “You know that, right?”
I nodded cautiously. A little tiny part of me disagreed, venomously, but the rest of me was on board with that assessment - as proved by the fact that I was sitting on a park bench, wearing a short skirt and see through shirt, both of which were either not covering the appropriate prurient body part, or not doing a good job of covering it. Add to that the purple vibrator, my clearly caned breasts, the fresh lines of scarlet on my ass, not to mention the soles of my feet, and it was hard to dissent.
“I wouldn’t be caught dead, much less fucking myself with a vibrator in a park,” Julie continued, conversationally. “But you? Except for a little squeamishness about being seen with a synthetic cock up your cute, little cunt, you don’t seem to mind. Do you?”
I swallowed hard. The vibrator felt … intense.
Julie gestured around. “I can’t even imagine what it feels like to be able to do what you’re doing. You are opening yourself up to nature, to the world. Giving in to your basest instincts.” She tapped the switch against her leg. “So what the fuck is your problem with showing off your stuff?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have an answer. I slowed the thrust of the vibrator and tilted my hips, making each thrust deep, full, and very sensual. Julie’s eyebrow went up as I once more lifted my leg, spreading myself wider and more open than I’d done before. The skirt wasn’t covering a damn thing.
Our eyes met and I took a deep breath. Julie grinned. “Really?” She asked. “Are you going to do it? Can you?” I didn’t answer. Instead the vibrator slid through my pussy as I my loins tightened in rhythmic pulses. Julie’s smile widened. “The nympho humiliation pain slut emerges. Cum for me.”
I pushed my hand up my body and exposed my left breast, but then to Julie’s astonishment, I began pulling on the material. I managed to get some of it off and her eyes widened. Then, frustrated and still using just one hand (since the other was busy with the vibrator) I gave her a pleading look and said, “Help?”
She moved fast, crossing the concrete, her fingers dropping the switch on the pavement, her fingers tugging at my shirt. In seconds she had it off my body, forcing me to switch hands for a moment when it came to the toy, but then I was free, half-naked. My bare breasts were red, with bruises already beginning to form and Julie stepped behind the bench, draping her hands over my shoulders, her fingers rubbing at my sore nipples. I gasped, my entire body trembling with pleasure. I wanted to cum now. I needed to cum. I slid the vibrator through my folds at a quicker pace, my breathing matched to the new tempo.
“Oh fuck,” said Julie. It was the way she said it that made me freeze and open my eyes. I glanced to the right and saw the jogger. He had silver hair and was eating up the distance at a rapid pace.
For a second I froze. This was it. This was what Julie asked of me. What she wanted. My shirt was gone, her hands on my breasts, fingers flicking at my sore tips. There was no hiding now. And all I had to do was keep pumping the vibrator. In and out. Wet and warm. All I had to do was cum.
Julie sucked in a sharp breath and I could feel the tension in her hands, her fingers still twisting and pinching my nipples. I felt a sharp tremble begin inside me and then it was too much. I let out a tiny cry of chagrin, of utter humiliation, and closed up. My leg swung down off the bench, my knees knocked together hard, and the vibrator’s hum was muffled by my thighs, trapping it between my legs, buried deep. My arms came up, wrapped around my bare chest, Julie’s hands trapped beneath my forearms, her fingers still playing with me.
I looked at the jogger, my cheeks burning with shame and for one moment I thought he was going to stop, or say something, or use me and take me for himself. My entire body, except for my pussy, locked up, unable to move, as heat and pressure blasted through me. His foot trod on the fallen switch, making it jump but not breaking it. But then he was past us, the rhythm of his steps not even slowing for the sight of two lesbians making fools of themselves in public. I let out a breath of relief, my entire body slowly relaxing.
“Let me go, Bre. I have to cane your tits again.” She pulled her hands off my chest and walked around the bench, only to pick up the stick that lay on the concourse. I sat, legs still closed, arms still crossed over my bosom. I looked up at her, just a little astonished.
“I … I came,” I stammered.
Julie’s mouth dropped open. “You what?”
“I came,” I said again. “I exploded while he ran by me. That’s four!”
She paused, trying to mentally digest what I was telling her. “It was the pinches, wasn’t it?” she finally said, just a little disgusted. “Figures,” she spat. Then she straightened, swung the switch like a sword, and pointed it at my throat. “Which still leaves us with your punishment.”
I looked up at her, eyes widening. “You can’t honestly mean that. I did it. I came. Four times!” I protested.
“But not the way I wanted you to. You cheated. You used me as a stimulant. And you still didn’t do what I needed you to do. Which means another stroke to those beautiful, amazing tits of yours.”
I bit my lip. I didn’t want another stroke.
“Or …” Julie said, the wicked gleam of excitement reappearing in her eye.
“Or?” I asked.
“I’ll forgive this violation on one condition - another orgasm, same risks as before,” she said, then lunged with the switch. I flinched, expecting her to hit me, but the tip darted downward and under the bench, flicking into the fallen white lace and cotton of my peasant blouse. It was flung back toward Julie, who caught it with her foot and lifted it up. “Sans shirt.”
My mouth fell open. “You want me to risk getting even more strokes of the cane, half-naked, for a fifth orgasm, where the likelihood of failure is dramatically worse, all to avoid just one stroke?”
Julie nodded. “Of course, you could just stay open for the next runner too. Avoid the stroke completely.”
I bit my lip and Julie laughed. “Come on. I know you want to do it,” she said. “And who’s here to see it? Just me!” Her eyes twinkled. “Agree Bre. You know you want it.”
For a long moment I just sat there. Then, slowly, I opened my knees. My hand caught the vibrator, but I didn’t pull it out.
Julie grinned. “How many minutes do you think it will take for you to pop again? Five orgasms? In under an hour and a half? Do you even have the energy?”
I let out a soft whimper as I began sliding the vibrator in and out. Again.
She whirled once, the switch hissing through the air. “And how many joggers, or walkers will come by? How many will see you?” She hummed with pleasure and then gave me a dark look. “And will you close up once more, giving me the right to strike those perfect breasts of yours again? Or will you stay open, displaying your charms?”
I took a deep breath, pulled the vibrator completely out, and then without looking away from Julie, drove it right back in, deep. Then I heard my voice over the motor, tense, courageous, and willing.
“Let’s find out.”
Breanne Erickson is the author of "Tales of a Humiliation Pain Slut" series. Check out her tantalizing work at Amazon.com!