Saturday, September 13, 2014

Deliberate Torture

I looked down at it critically, my eyes tracing the finely cut lines, the firm mounting, the excellent craftsmanship.  Then I looked up at Mike the Hardware Guy, who was standing a few feet away, a wicked grin on his face as he looked at me critically, his eyes tracing my soft, lush lines, the firm height of my breasts, and the excellent craftsmanship of whomever put the series of welts across my bottom.  What can I say?  Great minds think alike.

“It’s not quite what I envisioned, or what Master Shadow described,” I pointed out, walking around it.  We were in the middle of Mike’s indoor workshop, the converted master bedroom that now sported a faux wood laminate floor and walls lined with a series of workbenches, covered with half-finished projects.  Leather, metal crafting, electronics, hydraulics; you name it.  Mike worked on all of it.  He was a craftsman.  Me?  I was material as well.

Mike ran his hand lovingly across his little creation.  It was approximately five feet long and looked disturbingly like a wooden pony, complete with a slightly dulled but still angular edge pointing straight up.  The legs were simple wooden braces that stuck out at forty degree angles from the crossbar, but looked astonishingly sturdy.  The spine of the pony was clearly two pieces of wood, both of which I suspect began life as two by fours, but had been planed and cut down into something a little more like two by threes.  Of course the top piece had been formed to create the edge, but the interesting thing was the holes.  There were five differently sized holes, mostly spread evenly over the entire length of the pony.  Only two of them were unusually close together.  I glanced down into the first hole and saw it went down all the way through the top piece and well into the bottom.  A pair of bolts with wingnuts and washers held the two pieces of wood together.  Mike grinned and began unbolting the pony, disassembling it.

I watched him, my hands on my hips.  Mike is a pretty amazing guy. He’s funny, creative, handy, and makes me purr sexually.  A widower, I’m surprised he hasn’t been snatched up by some cute little bunny who can give him what he really needs - a girl to cuddle and children to hold.  Every now and then I worry I’ve ruined him.  He likes the BDSM aspects of sexual interaction too much to make a vanilla girl attractive to him.  He says he’s going to wait for me to come to my senses. The problem is that I can’t really be what he needs either. I’m too messed up.

Ah… what a crappy world we live in, right?

I shifted slightly, feeling the ben wa balls inside me roll slightly, keeping me wet, ready, and aroused. I seem to be constantly in that state, though whether a reaction to following Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Rule #1 or that I’m just naturally a horny nymphomaniac who adores humiliation and pain I have no idea.  What I did know was that it had been two days since I’d had anything long, thick, and cock like inside me.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my ben wa balls, and the vibroballs.  They’re fun toys and great for keeping me in a state of constant sexual need, which is how practically everyone I know wants me.  But there is nothing like a thick, pulsing, thrusting phallus, preferably a live one attached to a guy, to get a girl really going.  And so you can understand I was understandably eager, since Mike had borrowed four of my regular dick-like toys for this little adventure and I’d be getting all of them back.

Mike opened a medium sized box that was sitting on one of the workbenches and pulled out my Husky dildo.  At nine inches long, it was easily a handful to deal with and was one of my favorites. It was very realistic, but it was the texture that made it worth my time.  Nine inches was long enough to make me comfortably full, and the slightly curved, firm length was just the sort of thing I loved having inside me.  Mike knew and flashed me a grin as he fit the base of the Husky into the first hole.  It almost seemed as if it were made for the Husky dildo, which it probably had been.  

The Husky dildo was followed by my other “all natural” looking synthetic cock, except this one was a mutant.  There were two dicks, one long and narrow, the other a little shorter but much thicker.  Both curved in the same direction and there wasn’t much doubt that the double dildo was intended to penetrate a girl in two different places at the same time.  I’m not a fan of anal sex, though I’m subjected to it often enough that it doesn’t bother me.  Still, I could have done without the knowledge that eventually I’d have my ass stuffed full as well as my pussy.

My new Monster Vibrator came next, a motorized foot long plastic sheath that was controlled via a phone application and a Bluetooth or internet connection.  The number of people who had access to the controls was limited, but it still created all sorts of issues when I had the Monster Dildo stuffed inside me, especially if I were doing something innocuous, like grocery shopping.  Do you know what it’s like to be in the middle of squeezing a tomato, uncomfortably stuffed, but quiet and silent, when suddenly the damn thing activates and goes to full power in the space of about two seconds?  Everyone can hear it start up, as if your phone’s vibrator function just went haywire, and if you aren’t trembling in sexual overdrive in seconds, you’re squealing and twisting as the orgasm begins. Talk about embarrassing.

The fourth dildo (or fifth if you’re counting the double dildo as two) was my Core Driller, a twelve inch long rocket ship with tiny bumps and four stages of widening thickness.  The foot long rod of rubber was one of my favorites, since it stuffed me to the point where I was comfortably uncomfortable, the tip smashing against my cervix and putting all sorts of exquisitely proportioned strain on my insides.

“There,” he said in satisfaction as he fit the edged half of the wooden pony device down over the dildos.  “I really appreciate you loaning me the toys.  It made putting this together easier.”

I shrugged. “It gave me a break.  Besides, no one seemed to mind or care since I was still stuffed with other things.”

Mike laughed. “Well this was rather easy to make,” he said.  “Ready to get on?”

I bit my lip.  “I have a question,” I said, just a bit sullenly.

Mike blinked. “Yes?”

“Why does it look like a wooden horse?” I asked.  “It’s supposed to be a mini gauntlet.”  I was of course, referring to the row of dildos I’d been asked to “ride” during my initiation into the Society of the Golden Rose.  There had been maybe a dozen or more probes, some benign, but most either annoyingly large, ridged, spiked, made of ice, hot, or electrified.  There were also a few too close together to be anything other than penetrative in two holes at once.  Still, the gauntlet had been mounted on a flat board.  Sure, I’d been forced to lift my feet up to prove the penetration, but this… what Mike had created… it looked painful.

“It’s not a horse. It’s a pony,” he said simply.  “You get on.  Flat footed you’ll be fully penetrated and your clit and ass will be smashed painfully against the ridge.  Go up and you’ll still be impaled.  Bounce and we’ll both be happy.”

I gave him a dark look. “This isn’t what Master Shadow asked for,” I said.

He shrugged. “Kari approved of the changes to the design,” he said simply.

And that was that.  Kari approved.  Time to pony up.

I let out an exasperated breath and marched up to the end of the dildoed wooden pony with some serious doubts.  In order for something to be a wooden horse or pony, the weight of the girl riding has to be on the ridge, preferably with her clit mashed between the wooden spine of the horse and her pubis.  Of course on a pony, she’d be able to touch the ground, barely.  That was the point and how the “ride” happened.  Up she’d spare her clit and sex the bruising agony of her weight bearing down on her slit, all at the expense of her burning calves and toes.  Down she could rest her legs and feet, but had to endure the full weight of her body on one little spot.  Talk about cruel.  It’s why they call it “riding” the wooden pony, because you bounce up and down on it.  

For clarity’s sake, this is very different from riding a wooden horse, which is too tall for the girl to touch the ground.  The wooden horse is rode very differently, with a rocking maneuver back and forth as the rider tries to find a different spot to rest her weight.  Not to use a poorly worded pun, but this is a horse of a… height.  Yeah. Height.

Mike moved a wide footstool over to the side of his little device and gave me an expectant look.  I sighed and then reached down between my legs, my fingers finding the slippery string that led to the pair of ben wa balls inside me.  I tugged on it, pulling first one and then the other ball free, groaning lightly as they came out.  My hips rolled once or twice as my body made its objection to being empty known and I quickly brought the gooey sex toy up to my mouth.  Sucking the ben wa balls clean is sort of a prerequisite and I savored the tangy musk that made up my own personal flavor.  Setting the dripping spheres aside I stepped up onto the stool and swung my leg over the dildo covered pony.

Wait. We’ve got to figure out something to call this thing.  It wasn’t a pony, not with all those things sticking out of it along the back.  Let’s call it a… uh… um… a porcupine.  Riding the wooden porcupine!  Any pony or crossbar with dildoes on it, of any kind, is riding a porcupine. There.  Silly, I know. But better than “dildoed pony,” which just sounds ridiculous.  

Mike helped me get the Husky dildo positioned correctly and then I slid down, bending my knees.  I stepped off the stool and felt the thick rubber rod go deep, all the way in until my petals and clit were pressed tightly against the canted edge off the pony.  I wasn’t even flat-footed!  I groaned and went up on tiptoe.  That spared my clitoris and I rose up as far as I could go - a full four inches.  Then I settled back down, wincing as the edge of the porcupine’s spine bit into me.

“All right.  Ready to start?” he asked, pulling out a set of metal handcuffs.  I nodded and put my hands behind my back, the sound of the locking mechanism sounding very final as I realized that I wouldn’t be able to get myself off the silly thing without throwing myself to the side and falling painfully.

Mike held up a timer and I started to bounce on tip toe, taking the thickness of the Husky dildo through my open flower.  I was a bit enthusiastic as well, since every time I came back down I let the wooden edge dig into my clit a bit.   Mike stepped back and crossed his arms.

“Oh, Kari wanted me to let you know that you needed to orgasm on all five of the dildoes.”

I blinked, just a little distracted. I was trying very hard to “cum” on the Husky Dildo and Mike’s revelation sort of bounced off me for a moment until I digested it.

“What?” I gasped, just a tad bit distracted.  Did I hear him right?  Five orgasms?  “Master Shadow said four orgasms in an hour,” I protested.

Mike nodded. “Yes, but that was when you only had four dildoes. You have five.”  He pointed at the double dildo in front of me.  

I gave him a hard look. “That one is for double stuffing,” I objected.

Mike shrugged. “According to Kari you have to fuck, with your pussy, both cocks.  Obviously when you do the farther one, the first one will be in your ass.  But hey, I don’t make the rules here,” he asserted.

“Just enforce them,” I complained. “And probably suggested too, if I know you.”

Mike grinned and I looked away, now feeling a different kind of pressure.  “Do I have extra time?” I demanded.

His eyes widened.  “Oh!  Yes.  Fifteen minutes per dildo.  So you’ve got an hour and fifteen minutes to finish. I recommend you definitely finish within the time frame.  I’ll encourage it in fact.”

Well, that wasn’t that far off from what Master Shadow had suggested.  It just added another orgasm to the mix.  Besides, if I couldn’t manage four orgasms in an hour, no hands, just from bouncing, there was no way I was going to handle five anyway.  And if I DID manage four, then how hard would a fifth be?

“Guess I better get started then, right?” I said sarcastically and began deliberately working myself up and down.  I was relatively bothered already since I hadn’t been allowed to orgasm that morning.  But I’d also not been teased beyond the gentle rolling of the ben wa balls, so it meant I had to work for that first orgasm.  I dipped and lifted on my toes, literally fucking myself on the porcupine’s back, unable to get the sort of movement I’m used to when getting screwed with long, hard, thick objects.  It was more than a bit frustrating and it wasn’t until I realized that I could actually use the wooden spine of the porcupine to help that I began to make progress.  The unfortunate part of that progress was that in order to stimulate myself into the orgasmic climax I needed, I had to stimulate my clit.  That meant rocking forward a bit and basically jamming myself down on the edge, mashing my clit against the porcupine’s spine.  My hips churned and I continued bouncing, becoming more and more frantic as the orgasm built bit by bit until it burned inside me.  Finally it crested, rushing toward shore to break with violent foam against the soft sands, washing me away.

“Eleven minutes, twenty three seconds,” Mike said from the chair he was sitting in.  He was fiddling with something metal and shiny in his hands, but I was just a little out of it to care.  I did give him an exasperated look though.

“Please,” I whimpered. “Please don’t give me the timeline.” I protested.

Mike laughed. “Why?  It’s important and fun for the readers.  Look! I’m even taking notes, just like I did for your ‘Thirty Minute’ assignment.”  He slid down from his chair and dumped what looked like a steel chain on his workbench.  “But we need to move you forward, don’t we?”  He marched up to the pony and kicked the stool back toward me, this time right between my current spot of impalement and the narrow dildo of the next.  He gave me a hand too, and helped me to get settled on the next cock.  

Which was terribly frustrating, especially after Mike took the stool away.  Remember, the second dildo was actually the back half of the double dildo, meaning it was seven inches long and very narrow.  Certainly not one of the more satisfying pieces I’ve had up inside me.  The length meant that I still didn’t get a lot of movement inside of myself and the slender girth made the penetration unimpressive.  And I was supposed to make myself cum by riding this thing?

Mike watched me flounder along for a few minutes, his hands again fiddling with the chain, only to pop back up with a grin as he announced “Fifteen minutes!” he called out.  It sort of surprised me too, since I was concentrating on trying to bounce sufficiently high and forcefully to get myself back into a state of desperate arousal.  It wasn’t working.  Mike came right up to me and pulled the chain taught right in front of me.  It was only then that I realized that both ends of the chain were capped with clover clamps, the pressure pads both filed into plier-like ridges.  

“Hey!” I said, taking exception as I twisted away.  “What are you doing?”

“Motivation,” he said simply.  “There has to be a reason for you to want to cum five times in seventy-five minutes.  So every fifteen minutes I’m going to hurt you.”  And then, since I had no way to escape, he just grabbed my arm and attached the first clamp to my left nipple.  I cried out as the pain bit into my tit and while I was grimacing and twisting he managed to snag the other side of my bosom in a similar bite.  The chain dangled down by my belly button, my now clamped breasts holding the weight of the silver chain.  But even as I shook, I suddenly realized that Mike had done me a favor.  I was aroused again, the idea of being punished, the cruel crushing of my nipples, and the weight of the chain on my breasts, it had gotten me wet.  And so I began bouncing more enthusiastically as Mike pulled away, his eyes lingering on my adorned breasts.

“Twenty-eight thirty seven,” Mike announced when I finally managed to cum a second time.  It had been a combination of rubbing my clit against the porcupine’s spine, grinding the little nub into mincemeat, all while enduring the steady swing, pull, and bite of the clamps.  I’d like to say the dildo helped, but it didn’t. It was just something to bounce on and Mike came up as soon as I was done panting to put the stool back by my foot and help me lift up.  I only moved two inches forward and then lowered myself back down, the narrow cock I’d just thoroughly lubricated with my own cum now pressed up against my bottom and I worked my hips until it slid in.  Then I felt the tapered end of the next dildo against my slick petals and a moment later my pussy was flush with the porcupine spine, the ridge digging up into my crotch as both my sex and my bottom wrapped tightly around the “spines” of the porcupine.  

Bouncing while penetrated with two cocks was not easy, nor did it get any simpler when Mike turned back around, announcing that I’d hit the thirty minute mark.  My legs were getting tired from going up and down.  Mike lifted a long rod with a forked end, two metal caps sticking out dangerously.  I looked at him, my eyes wary as he came closer, lifting it up.  I flinched backward as it became apparent he planned on pressing it up against my breast.

“Wait!” I gasped. “Please!  I don’t need the motivation!” I exclaimed, a surge of frightened adrenaline giving me a bit more moxie to do some additional energetic bouncing.

“It’s not about need, Breanne.  It’s about making sure you understand the consequences of not doing this as fast as you can.  If you know that I’m going to hurt you every fifteen minutes, then you’ll be more likely to go faster.”  

I gave him a wild look, rocking back and forth, my clit mashed on the wooden edge for half a second before I rose back up.

“But… but I’m fucking it!” I declared, panting with exertion.  “Look! I’m going full tilt!”

Mike shrugged. “It’s not about going fast or with gusto.  It’s about assurance.  If you know, in your heart, that I’m going to torture you, then you’ll be more inclined to try.”

I practically yelled. “I AM TRYING, DAMN IT!”

Mike responded by jabbing the electric prod into my breast and pulling the trigger.  I’m not an expert on electricity, but I honestly think the only way you could replicate the pain I felt in my left boob would be to get a sharpened steel spike, as thick and as long as knitting needle, jam it into the side of my breast, push it all the way through, and then use my perforated tit as a punching bag.  My eyes widened at the pain and I began frantically bouncing, half trying to get away from Mike’s cattle prod and half trying to work myself into orgasm.  

Evidently I didn’t work fast enough because Mike pressed the tip of his shocker rod against my right nipple next and sent another blast of current through my chest, this one sucking the breath out of my lungs and leaving my breasts aching horribly.  My piercing and the little golden padlock that hung from it bounced wildly. On the flip side, I was much more motivated to do whatever I needed to do in order to cum, including grinding my poor little clitty on the wooden spine of the porcupine in order to achieve climax.  I bounced. I rocked. I tilted. I tightened. I relaxed. I bent in half.  And guess what?  It worked.  I cummed.

“Forty-three, forty-seven,” Mike intoned with a nod of satisfaction as I stood there panting, impaled in both my pussy and ass, dripping with perspiration, my hair falling forward and hiding my eyes.  My nipples throbbed and Mike once more pushed the stool over, helping me with his hands, lifting me off the two rubber dildos and moving me another eight inches forward.  Two more dildos.  Well, one vibrator and one dildo, both twelve inches long, though admittedly an inch, possibly two were beneath the angled edge of the pony.  I settled down on the massive vibrator and groaned, my tender clit once more mashed against the wood as Mike moved the stool out of reach, leaving me to either stand on tip toe or go down all the way and not only deal with the full length of the impaling phallus, but the biting edge of the porcupine’s spine.

The moment I was appropriately settled he pulled his phone out of his pocket and a second later I felt the vibrator roar to life.  I groaned as the vibrations rushed through me and I realized that Mike had turned the selector to high.  There were these amazing pulsing sensations and he put his phone down.  

“Forty-five minutes. I have to hurt you now,” he said matter-of-factly, as if he were saying good morning.  I didn’t reply.  I knew whatever he was planning on doing to me was going to hurt even more than the electric prod, so I wriggled my little ass pleadingly.  To be honest, the vibrator was amazing.  It was doing more to rejuvenate my arousal levels better than anything else and despite the fact that I’d already had three orgasms, I felt like a fourth was a definite possibility.  The vibrator was running at full blast and I just had to get past whatever Mike was planning on doing to me.

He started by getting a long piece of string and running it through one of the twenty or so eyebolts he had screwed into the ceiling.  One end was then attached to the chain that connected my nipple clamps together, and on the other he hung a small plastic bucket.

Filled with nails.

I’m guessing about four or five pounds to be honest, but all I really remember was that the clover clamps tightened terribly, and my breasts were pulled up at a degrading and painful angle, by the tips. But that wasn’t all. Oh no.  When Mike said he had to hurt me, he really meant it.  Which is why he also brought out a thin plastic rod that looked like it had been scavenged from an old set of window blinds.  He held it under my breasts, making sure his aim was good. When he was satisfied with the angle and aim, he pulled back about a foot, and then whipped the cane against the undersides of my boobs with a flick of his wrist.


Well, that certainly wasn’t helping and I sort of sputtered to a painful halt on the orgasm rollercoaster I was riding.  Five solid strokes that actually made the bucket of nails on the other end jiggle left me feeling just a tad bit sensitive.  Tears streamed down my face and it wasn’t until he walked away and I tried to bounce my way back to the same level of arousal I’d been at before he started whacking away at my tits.  Unfortunately, something wasn’t right.  The settings on the Monster Vibrator had changed, decreased just a bit.  I jerked my hips, trying to figure out what had happened.  Was I in the trough of a pulse?  I rode the toy for another minute, still slowly working my way back up toward a fourth orgasm, but then the vibrator slowed even more.  I plateaued, groaning miserably   Waves of exhaustion flowed through me and eventually the growing burn in my legs made it impossible to do more than superficial rises to tiptoe.  I struggled to get myself to orgasm, but that forward movement to the edge of the cliff was so miniscule I might as well have been standing still instead of on tip toe with a wooden prism between my legs, jammed tightly with a vibrator that was slowing down, with my breasts support a five pound bucket of nails, while my nipples burned with a throbbing heat.  I thought time had crawled to a stop as I struggled to climax, undulating frantically but with little success.  Then I realized that my perception of time was just a little askew.

“One hour, Breanne. I have to hurt you again,” Mike said, almost apologetically.  It came as something of a shock. I was behind!  I wasn’t close to cumming for the fourth time and I still had a fifth orgasm to attempt as well!  I stared at him in shock and he held up a small bottle and a cotton swab.  As I bucked frantically on the porcupine’s dildo, repeatedly crushing my clit against the wooden spine, he twisted off the bottle cap, swirled the swab through the contents, and raised the soaked Q-tip to my right nipple.

The scent was the first thing to hit me and to be honest, I sighed in relief.  I didn’t know what he was putting on me at first and the aroma of cinnamon relieved my fears.  It was Stinging O, the homemade mixture of grapeseed, cinnamon and pepper oils that I occasionally mix up for myself.  To be honest, there’s a commercial version now called On4Her, which does a fairly decent job of approximating the burn of Stinging O, so I may stop making my own.  Still, there were six or seven bottles of Stinging O available in a few interesting places, and I had left one bottle with Mike the Hardware Guy.

Almost immediately I felt the cool tingle as the cinnamon oil reacted with my pores.  As Mike moved to my other nipple clamped tip, I began to feel the heat and in moments both crushed caps of my bosom were tingling with heat.  My chest began heaving and I realized that Mike was actually helping me.  The Plateau was gone and I was on my way up again.  I took a deep breath as Mike began drawing on my torso with the damp cotton swab, occasionally going back to the bottle for a fresh coating of Stinging O.  He worked his way down across my tummy, through my belly button, and down to my clit.  Admittedly, I’d never had Stinging O put on places that weren’t specifically sexual and while I felt the tingle and even a bit of heat, my nerves were just not sensitive enough to feel more than a warm sensations, which was a direct contrast to the puckered burn at my nipples. In seconds my clitoris joined the chorus and Mike even daubed fresh oil on the pony itself, coating the ridge my clit was being repeatedly jammed against, at least right in front of the Monster dildo.

And that made me realize that the vibrations of the Monster dildo had been further reduced and that I could barely feel them.  It was just wrong and I began to bounce crazily on my toes, not caring how high or how low I went.  Gravity helped a lot as well and every time I went up, I came back down with a pelvis jarring blow that felt like I was getting kicked in the crotch.  What scares me is that it helped.  Within two or three more minutes I was just at the cusp of orgasm when the Monster dildo went silent.

I let out a whimper and twisted my hips.  My brain did this little mental hiccup and I swear I actually tried to turn the Monster Vibrator back on using the power of my mind.  Unfortunately, I’m neither a Star Wars Jedi, nor sufficiently advanced in my mental powers to do more than grunt animalistically and do some more bouncing.  

“Come on, Breanne.  You can do it!” Mike said with encouragement.  I bit my lip and closed my eyes, summoning up erotic images, dark memories, and forbidden fantasies.  

I am bound on my back, legs and arms spread, immobilized by leather straps that go up and down my legs, across my torso, but positioned so that my breasts and loins are uncovered.  She looks down at me, a dark shadow highlighted by bright lights and I can see so little.  In one hand she holds something; a needle.  She knows it is against my limits, but she doesn’t care, and strangely, neither do I.  She puts the sharp tip against my nipple and pushes, piercing me, but only millimeters deep.  She pulls the needle out again and moves it just a bit, repeating the penetration.  With methodical cruelty and sharp flashes of pain, she pierces me, over and over, maybe a dozen jabs with the pin all over my areola and nipple.  She doesn’t even draw blood.  Then she moves to the other side and does the same thing on my other breast, her own body warm and heavy against my own.  She moves down between my legs and I cry out as she pricks my clit and folds, over and over and over until I can scarcely breath.  Then a bottle of milky white fluid appears in her hand and as she pours I can smell the citrus scent.  Her voice is breathy.  “I have to hurt you now,” she whispers...

Flashes of light hit me and then I was there, finally, at the peak, looking down over the edge of the cliffs of orgasm, ready to jump. My clit and nipples burned, as did my sore legs, especially my toes and calves.  I rose up as far as I could, squeezing my sex as tight as possible, and then just let go, sliding back down at a frightening pace.  I hit rock bottom with a bone jarring thud and was glad I hadn’t accidentally bitten my tongue.  Pain shot up through my loins, but it also knocked me over the edge and I exploded with a squealing cry that left me shaking.

“One hour, seven minutes,” Mike announced quietly from my side as my head rolled and my vision blurred.  I felt his hands on me. “Your foot, Bre.  You need to step on the stool.”  I lifted my right foot, but I barely had the energy to do it.  Talk about tiring.  Four orgasms?  In an hour and seven minutes?  All hands free?  Let me see another girl do that!

I felt myself being lifted off the Monster dildo and took a single step forward.  The bucket full of nails jumped and dipped, sending waves of pain through my breasts.  Again Mike lifted me up and with his assistance I impaled myself on the last dildo, the massively huge, multi-stage rocket looking, Core Driller.  Almost a foot of solid, non-vibrating rubber penetrated deeply into my body and Mike took away the stool.  My entire weight was on both the dildo and the porcupine’s spine, my clit once again sharply mashed between my pubis and the edged wood.  I groaned, then whimpered. I took a deep, shuddering breath, while the clover clamps on my nipples ached abominably.  I went up on my toes, realizing that I wasn’t going to be able to do it.  I lacked the energy, the moxie, even the need to cum again.  My first bounce was half-hearted at best.  

Mostly I stood there, my body shuddering lightly, the pinching of my clit and the crushing bite of the nipple clamps overwhelming everything else.  That’s the problem with the multi-orgasmic assignments.  Once you cum, unless you’re being rolled (you know… one right after another with no chance to down?) you lose the edge, the need to keep going.  You just want it to stop. The human body isn’t built to handle this kind of torment.  Even mine.

“Breanne?  One hour and fifteen minutes,” Mike said softly. “I have to hurt you now.”

I blinked, coming out of my pain induced revere, my eyes widening.  Mike stood there, staring at me with this blank look.  

“You don’t have to hurt me,” I croaked.  “I’m in plenty of pain already.”  Ah, honesty. It does wonder, right?  He shook his head, almost regretfully.

“That’s not how it works. You need to work yourself to orgasm.  I have to motivate you.  That’s what Kari said.”

“Kari isn’t HERE!” I whimpered, an edge of panic in my voice.

He paused. “Do you want a medical out?” he asked.

That rocked me.  After what happened two weeks ago with “Between” and then what Kari did to me for using a medical out on that assignment, the last thing I wanted to do was risk getting another punishment like the one she had last given me.  I shook my head, feeling defeated.

“Am I breaking any of your limits?” He asked earnestly.

Again I shook my head, but my mouth moved on it’s own.  “Not my limits, but me definitely,” I muttered.

Mike smiled.  “Let me help you to cum,” he said. Then he moved over to one of his other work benches and pulled two triangular looking devices off the table top.  These had wires leading from them and there was an awful lot of exposed copper metal.  

“Go up on tip toe, just for a moment,” he said, patting my calf.  I rose up, gritting my teeth, and he slid both objects under my feet.  “They’re switches.  You can go back down,” he said.

I lowered myself gingerly, expecting nails to penetrate my arches or some other horrible, diabolic torment, but nothing happened. I bounced experimentally, enjoying the sensation of the Core Driller slipping inside me, but not the subsequent jiggling of the pail of nails, which still hung precariously in front of me a few feet away, using my nipples as an anchor.  Then he produced some electrical tape and asked me to go up again.

I did, briefly, but it was enough time for him to tape a strand of copper along the edge of the porcupine’s spine, right up to the Core Driller dildo.  This frightened me, since the copper was positioned perfectly to make contact with my clit every time I dropped down.  My calves trembled and my legs gave out and I sank back down, the switches under both heels depressing.  Once more I braced myself for an electric shock, but nothing happened.  I squeezed the Core Driller tightly as Mike moved back to his worktable, grabbing a white device I recognized as a portable TENS Unit.

It wasn’t as powerful as the one Kari has at her place, but it would be strong enough to make me jump.  Mike plugged in a few wires and then told me to go back up. I did and he flicked a switch.  There was this sensation that wasn’t pain, but felt… strange.  Then my calves began to burn and I only had one way to go.  I dropped back down, my heels depressing the triangular switches beneath my feet, while my clit was pressed tightly to the copper strand on the porcupine’s back.

Then the electricity hit me.

At first I wasn’t sure where it was coming from, which might say something about my state of mind.  My body responded predictably, jerking away from the source of the pain, which is why I found myself on tiptoe and with my clit at least three inches away from the copper strand Mike had taped to the spine of the porcupine. Unfortunately my legs were not really capable of an extended stay at the top floor and slowly but surely I dropped back down.  Oddly enough it was my feet that got the first shock.  My heels depressed the switches and there was a sensation of someone both slicing a razor across my arches, as well as snapping me at the same spot with a rubber band.  I went back up without feeling any electrical jolts to my clit and I’m ashamed to say that this strange turn of events didn’t even make me twitch.  I was beyond thinking about cause and effect. I was still thinking about the pins and needles sensation crawling across the arches of both feet.

Again I stayed up as long as my burning calves would allow and this time I went down fast and hard.  Once more I felt the shock across the arches of my feet, burning along my soles, but then I was given the added fun of getting a strong zap right to my clit and a portion of my labia.  I cried out and practically jumped up.  The problem with springing upward like that was the nail bucket.  With my elevator impersonation, the metal pail dipped and swung and did all sorts of Newtonian things in response to my body’s gyrations.  This in turn was translated back to me in the form of some rather impressive tugs, yanks, and pulls on the clover clamps, each which in turn was firmly attached to my nipples.

I was beyond thinking.  Now it was all about response.  Up and down and bursts of pain in my feet, my clit, and my breasts all took their turn in affecting me.  Waves of exhaustion, agony, and yes - even pleasure swept over me like flames in dry tinder.  The duration of the electrical torment increased to the point where I’d settle for two or three seconds before finding the strength to rise again.  The good news was that Mike didn’t really have the TENS Unit set to maximum.  The electrical charge was like a good pinch.  If it hadn’t been for the fact that I was already tired and on edge I probably could have handled it better.

Of course the constant up and down had one other positive effect and it completely involved the twelve inch rubber rocket ship that was repeatedly being launched into the equivalent of low Breanne orbit.  Every time I sank down that thick dildo went blasting upward and the soft tissues of my sex would split apart as the thicker stages widened.  Then the rocket’s upward momentum would come to a rapid and abrupt end, hold in place for a moment, until suddenly I would rise up, making the Core Driller slip from my depths, falling back to earth.  In essence though, what I was really doing was fucking myself stupid.

And that was what I needed.  A few minutes of this constant, shocking up and down, low intensity pain, the thick dildo spearing me, was all that I needed to feel the sweet sensorial necessity of orgasmic release. I wanted it.  Suddenly I wasn’t quite so tired.  My movements became more energetic, more incessant, more delightfully decadent.  I ground my pussy on the copper strand, the power sizzling through me, super charging the need.  My chest heaved, which set the nail bucket swinging even more and it all began to snowball, building up to a crescendo that while not quite matching my previous explosions, was at least going to be satisfying.

“One hour, thirty minutes,” Mike said as I panted with desperation.  “I’m sorry Breanne, but I have to hurt you now.”

I barely heard him.  That’s how close I was.  Some little part of my brain acknowledged his words, trying to imagine what the hell else he could possibly do to me.  He’d caned me, clamped me, shocked me (repeatedly), chemically burned me, forced me to ride the wooden pony (porcupine! LOL!), impaled me repeatedly, including once up the ass, shocked the arches of my feet, strained my legs and toes, and tied my breasts to a five pound bucket of nails.  What more could Mike the Hardware Guy do to me?

He picked up his cane again, except this time instead of swatting the undersides of my breasts, he began at my bottom.  And just for giggles he didn’t hit me with a lot of force. Instead he did these medium strength, rapid strokes, whacking repeatedly in the same spot.  In seconds my buttocks had tightened, which made everything else tighten, and despite me still going up and down he didn’t miss a single stroke.  He moved along my flank and down my leg, striking the back of my leg along the thigh, hard little whacks that ached.  Had I not already been on tiptoe I’d have been tensing just from the blows.  

Mike moved downward and delivered about a dozen short, sharp strokes to my left calf.  I bucked like mad, the added pain of the caning making me go even crazier.  Then he went back up my leg, this time hitting my shin and then thigh.  He snapped the cane a few times across my mound, coming dangerously close to my clit, before moving around to the other side of the porcupine.  Then he went down my right leg, leaving me aching in spots that I didn’t know I had.  Finally he made the complete circuit until he was leaving another batch of marks on my opposite buttock.  I was jumping like a fish, gasping and trembling, teetering on the edge of climax light a tightrope walker above a three ring circus.  

Mike moved the cane back to my front, except above my breasts this time, resting the thin piece of plastic on my bosom.  I whimpered, bracing myself and he began tapping, lightly at first, but then with more power, making my entire chest shake, tremble, and bounce.  The bucket danced on the end of the line and my nipples burned and throbbed in agony.  I threw my head back as my vision went white, then red, and the cane fell and fell and fell.  I was flat footed, the soles of my feet tingling hotly, my clit crushed against the wood and frying against the copper strand.

I exploded.

My tormentor moved like lightning.  The cane was tossed away, the clover clamps released and the nail bucket crashed to the floor with a clatter, nails scattering.  I let out a scream that sounded like someone was cutting off my ankle with a dull hacksaw. Mike grabbed me with one arm, lifting me clear of the porcupine and completely off the Core Driller dildo.  I wasn’t even finished with the orgasm and he cradled me, carrying me from the workshop and into what passed as his personal bedroom, just across the hall.  There was a queen sized bed that took up most of the space and he laid me down on the sheets, wrapping his arms around me tightly.  I trembled and shuddered, tears streaming down my cheeks until I finally calmed down.  

It was almost thirty minutes later when I rolled and looked at him.  I still hurt, mostly my nipples, but my legs were cramped and my calves ached horribly.  His eyes were clear and bright and his hand came up to cup my breast, though he stayed away from the nipple.  

“How long was I on?” I asked, my voice thin and thready.

He shrugged. “I didn’t get the time for the last orgasm, but I think it happened just after the last motivational punishment.”

I bit my lip.  “That was pretty intense,” I said. “Who came up with those ‘motivational punishments’?”

Mike had the decency to look embarrassed.  “It was a joint effort between me and Kari,” he admitted.

I took a deep breath.  God my nipples ached….  then a thought occurred to me.

“What would have happened had I taken another fifteen minutes do to the last explosion?” I asked, suddenly curious.

Mike’s eyebrow went up.   “What makes you think I had something planned for that eventuality?”

I grinned. “Because you’re you.  So what would have happened?” I pressed.

Mike’s finger moved down to my nipple and he lightly tweaked it, which garnered a pretty impressive gasp from me.  I was tender and sore, so it wasn’t unexpected.  Finally Mike replied.

“If you want to know what I would have done to you all you have to do is ride the pony again.”  He gave me a tight hug.  “And deliberately take longer next time.”

I twisted in his arms.  “You want me to deliberately let you torture me?” I asked incredulously.

He gave me a queer look.  “Breanne, you always deliberately let me torture you.  I thought that was the point?”

I blinked. “Oh.  Right.”  I settled down in his arms, quiet and warm.  We stayed like that for a while longer until he finally moved his hand down and I felt him cup my sex.  I opened my legs, surprised to find myself wet as he slipped a finger into my slit.  I half rolled and his mouth found mine as he gently, softly caressed me.  

“So,” he asked me between kisses. “Are you going to try again?”

I let out a soft moan, my back arching as he touched me.  A number of responses flitted through my brain, and you may be disappointed to hear this from me, a genuine nympho humiliation pain slut, a girl who gets off on all sorts of psychotic, deviant, dastardly things being done to her.  At that moment, all I wanted was what the porcupine couldn’t provide.

I reached down and felt Mike’s hard cock and I began stroking it, squeezing him gently.  “Not today,” I whispered.  “I want you instead.”

Mike grinned and in seconds he was pushing me into the mattress, the tip of his hardening cock against my slick petals.  Just as he was about to slide into me, I put my hands on his chest and looked him in the eye.

“But I’m free tomorrow,” I said wickedly, the surprised look on his face delightful. “And you can deliberately torture me then.”

Breanne Erickson is the author of "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut," the wildly popular series of sexual escapades and misadventures by the woman called "The Goddess of Dark Erotica!"  Check out her amazing tales!