I have to admit, it was a very different sensation. Oh, the usual tingle was there, a soft buzzing between my legs that had begun the moment I parked my truck in the smooth, concrete lot below. But everything else felt strange. My body had been spared the bone rattling experience of driving through the parking area of Julie's old apartment complex; a pothole ridden minefield capable of breaking axles and ankles with equal agility. Then I'd been able to walk to the front door of her new apartment without having to jump mud slurries, another definite improvement. I climbed six flights of stairs to the third floor, and while still fully dressed, fished my new key to Julie's place out of my purse. It slid perfectly into the lock, an almost sexual experience, and it turned easily, no wrestling or jiggling needed. Talk about a change of pace! Unlocking Julie's old apartment was a thirty second adventure in frustration with a side order of patience.
I opened the door and stepped in, calling out. "Julie, it’s just me," I said loudly. I was expected but in Texas this is a common courtesy and a way to prevent getting shot. I heard a muffled giggle coming from her bedroom and then she called out to me.
"You know the drill," she said, sounding a bit breathless. I blinked but shrugged. I did know the drill. Julie's living room was beautiful and I admired the touches of color as I began peeling out of my clothes. It was readily apparent that my former mistress and still best friend Kari had gone shopping with Julie for decor. I admired the elegant touches here and there while taking things off. It didn't take me long to divest myself of boots, socks, blue jeans, and tee shirt, not to mention the bra and damp panties. This left me naked except for the remote control to the vibroballs, two plastic ovoid objects buried in my wet slit that were responsible for the buzzing I mentioned earlier. I put my clothes and shoes in a basket under the end table by the couch and gingerly opened a decorative wooden box that sat on the tabletop next to the television remote. Inside were four different pairs of nipple clamps, each diabolical in their own right.
Julie had made it clear that if I were ever in her apartment I'd be naked and clamped. That really isn't much of a surprise. Most of the mistresses of the Society of the Golden Rose treat their submissives like that. Clothing is an easy way to offset dominant from submissive and when you are physically naked there is a perceived vulnerability. Julie's other big issue were nipple clamps. She was focused a little intensely on my breasts and had made it clear to me that the tips of my breasts were to always be in at least a little discomfort. To that end she'd bought a set of Japanese Clover Clamps and asked Mike the Hardware Guy to alter them with ridges to prevent slippage. Then she had added her very own set of alligator clamps, again adjusted by Mike to the specifications of sexual use; lightening the tension and dulling the teeth slightly. There were three clothespins in the box as well, along with these amazing vice clamps that could be tightened with a screw.
The point was simple; I got to choose the clamp based on my mood and desires. If I wanted a long, drawn out session of sexual torment, with hours of denial, then Julie said I should select the Clover clamps. If I was in desperate straits, mad with desire, needing intensity and pain, I was to pick the alligator clamps. If I needed her to go easy on me, then I was to wear the clothespins, the direction of application itself a sign. Straight on meant she could basically do whatever she wanted to my breasts, while placed from the bottom meant the opposite. Up meant she could go to town. Lastly the vice clamp meant that she could do to me as she pleased.
I wish I could have worn more than one set of clamps. I'd been buzzing off and on all morning and since I'd been instructed to edge with no relief, I was mad for some carnal attention. So my fingers dipped toward the alligator clamps, the silver chain holding them together flashing in the soft light. But I also wanted a long, drawn out session, tormented for hours in her arms, cumming over and over again. Clover clamps. But I also wanted her to know I was hers to do with as she pleased, so that meant the vice clamps. Sigh... So many choices.
Finally I compromised. I plucked the clover clamps out of the box and attached one of the pair on my right nipple. I left the chain and second clamp dangling down along my belly. Then the alligator clamps came out. This time I did the opposite, attaching one to my left nipple, leaving the second hanging. With two very different sensations being reported by the tender nerve endings along my bosom, I headed toward the bedroom with a grin at my mischievous cleverness. I intended to make an entrance too. The door was open and as I got closer I heard Julie's heavy breath even more acutely. I stepped into the room and my jaw fell open.
Julie was having sex.
Delicately thin, with small breasts, angular hips, and petite everything, Julie is hardly what I would call a "looker". Hell, even my overblown proportions and girl next door cute face make Julie look... well... that's not quite accurate. Julie IS pretty in her own way. Her long locks are chocolate colored, her hazel colored eyes are sweet and big, and even the slight upturn of her nose makes her look adorable. She has freckled skin and when I saw her she was kneeling on her own bed, impaled fully on rigid cock, riding Mike the Hardware Guy like there was no tomorrow.
I felt a sudden surge of jealousy and immediately felt bad about it. Especially since I was sure of whom or what I was jealous. Was I jealous of Julie for having sex with Mike? He and I had sort of made a go at a relationship and I was the problem and brought it back down to "friends with benefits". Or was I jealous of Mike for already having sex with my bi-sexual mistress? Or was I jealous of both of them for getting it on with each other while I'd only had the maddening torment of the vibroballs buzzing inside me all morning?
Julie saw me and smiled, motioning for me to climb up on the bed. Well I certainly liked that idea and since Mike's mouth seemed to be unoccupied I quickly climbed up and settled down with my knees to either side of his head. Mike let go of his grip on Julie's hips and wrapped his thick arms around me instead. I felt the hard pull as he forced me open even further and then there was the lightning like bliss of his tongue slipping through my folds.
I was still stuffed with the vibroballs and I rocked my hips on Mike's face as Julie reached out, her eyes bright and needing. Our mouths met and her tongue pressed against my lips. For a second I had the same thing happening above as I did below. Then she broke the kiss and began to pull back, rocking violently on Mike’s rock hard shaft. Her hand darted out toward me and I felt her nails graze my ribs as she plucked both of the unused clamps, still dangling by their chains and swinging from my nipples, lifting them up. I gasped as she pulled on the chains, twinges of exquisite pain shooting down through my body. But then to my shock, she lifted the free clover clamp, pinched it open, and set it upon her own nipple, connecting the two of us. Then I became even more shocked when she put the alligator clamp on her right breast, the sharp teeth biting down on the hard little bump. Julie gasped, eyes widening as she grit her teeth.
Then she took a shuddering breath and leaned back. The shards of agony that had been blooming in my bosom ruptured into a thousand fragments of molten iron, piercing me to the core. Our congenital rocking made each movement that much more vicious and even as I cupped my own breasts, trying to deal with the pain, Julie cried out in a sound that was so familiar. Her head was thrown back, her sharp body taut and trembling. Her shaved slit was dark pink as her loins frantically pumped on Mike. Then she shuddered hard, her own hands under the small curves of her bosom, pinching until she whimpered.
Her fingers struggled with the clamps and then my own agony was halved as she managed to free herself. She collapsed downward, then over to the side, leaving Mike groaning in need. I didn’t even hesitate. As she curled up to the side I crawled downward, Mike letting my legs go so that I could answer the call. In seconds, facing away from his face, I lowered my wetness down. Then I realized the vibroballs were still in there, so I reached out, grabbed hold of the wire and tossed them away, gasping as the two vibrating sex toys were unceremoniously yanked from my depths. Then I finished impaling myself on the already granite like pillar beneath me.
It went in smoothly and Mike immediately began pumping again, putting his hands on my rump and holding onto my hips. Waves of pleasure ran through me, the ache in my nipples from the still attached and swinging clamps only providing spice to the sweetness of it all. Julie lay next to us on the bed, one hand on my thigh, fingers idly caressing my skin as Mike finally grunted in animalistic delight and exploded.
Which left me the one and only person unsatisfied.
Mike tried. I have to give him credit. But evidently his release had been pretty complete and his shaft softened almost immediately. I lay on his other side, stress flowing through my body. I wanted to cum. Oh my GOD I SO WANTED TO CUM! I stripped the condom off his shaft and immediately began trying to rub him back into hardness. He groaned and put his hand on mine, stopping me.
“Mike,” I whimpered. “Please. I didn’t get satisfaction.”
I expected him to smile and accede to my demands, but it was Julie who spoke.
“Neither have we, Breanne. And what we want is for you to suffer.” She sat up and looked at me directly. “Are you ready to see my dungeon?”
My eyes widened. I mean sure, I knew, suspected, that the second bedroom would be used for that purpose, especially since the coffee table of her old apartment had been placed in that room by the movers. But I hadn’t been in there. That first night she’d tied me to the new bed. The back room had remained mostly empty.
Slowly Julie rose, her hand outstretched. I took it and she pulled me off the bed, away from Mike even as she put her feet on the carpeted floor. The two of us, both naked, with me clamped and still desperate, walked down the hall, past the kitchen, through the dining room and up to the back bedroom door. It was closed and Julie paused. She waited a moment and then Mike appeared. He too was buck naked, his cock limp and clearly sated. He stood behind us with this massive grin on his face.
“I hope you like it, Bre,” he said. I cocked an eyebrow upward and then Julie opened the door.
The lighting was dim, all of it indirect, but almost immediately the only thing I could do was gasp. The room itself was just as big as I remembered it, essentially a second master bedroom. The walls had been painted a dark brown in the week since I’d last been there and now there was furniture, but not the kind you would find in a Better Homes & Garden’s magazine, that’s for sure. I stepped into the room.
The first thing I noticed was the pony. A real wooden pony. Julie had been given a makeshift model a few months before for a party, but that particular one was gone. In its place stood something that shocked me. A single, square metal post, at least four inches by four inches, bearing a hand crank, stood in the center of the room. At the top was a metal bracket in which a wooden block had been mounted. It wasn’t any longer than a foot and a half from front to back, the solid oak, oiled and inviting. The edges had been sanded as well, but hadn’t really been reduced and were still discernible, cutting lines. All in all, it was a piece of art. The big thing was that Julie could use the hand crank and raise and lower the bloody thing at a whim.
Julie took my arm and with gentle pressure pushed me forward. My eyes were locked on the wooden pony, ignoring the other items in the room and both Mike and Julie moved me into position. The pony itself was low, so low in fact that it only came up mid-thigh, which wasn’t a bad thing at all. I still had to spread my feet wide though, since the horse was cut at a solid forty-five degree angle. I could feel the wooden edges digging into my thighs!
Mike spent some time securing a pair of black leather bondage cuffs onto my wrists and then secured them to one of the eye hooks embedded in the ceiling with a snap link chain. At the same time Julie knelt down, moved under the pony, and began cranking the metal handle. I felt the wooden prism under me begin to rise and I shifted uncomfortably, even going up on tip toe as the spine of the pony rose beneath me. For a moment I thought she was going to keep cranking changing the very definition of the torture device beneath me, but instead she stopped, leaving me struggling to stay off the edge of the pony, my toes already beginning to ache from the strain.
Julie rose, her smallish breasts still bearing the marks from where my nipple clamps had been attached. She reached out, grabbing hold of the chain dangling from my left breast, the alligator clamp, and she followed it up with her hand. She opened the toothed vice and I gasped as the blood rushed back into the crushed and chewed up tip. She tossed the clamp away and then lifted the dangling clover clamp that still swung from the other breast. Again, with a light tug, she followed the chain upward until she removed that clamp as well.
Her eyes glimmered. “We didn’t say hello,” Julie whispered.
She began spanking my breasts, slapping my boobs back and forth with sharp hard slaps. By the fifth stroke I was gasping, turning slightly, unable to do more that prance on the pony. The sting and heat infusing my bosom merely accented the burning ache in my calves as my body struggled to remain suspended above the cutting edge of the horse. I was slightly bent forward too, thanks to the way Mike had secured my hands to the ceiling, so both breasts dangled delicious in front of Julie like ripe grapefruit, ready to be swatted from the branch. And swat she did.
My legs gave out before Julie’s hand or arm and I lowered myself down onto the spine of her brand new pony even as she was batting my bosom back and forth from one side to the other like a tennis ball at Wimbledon. The skin of my chest was turning a rosy shade of pink and I began to focus less on the sting and pain of her spanks and more on the fact that something agonizingly sharp was now digging into the soft petals of my sex, spreading the folds outward. My weight mashed the thin lips between my torso and the wood and I tried to rock to alleviate the hurt. This did nothing more than move the pain, sending a ripple of discomfort along my perineum and anus before I managed to move back forward. Then I managed to recover my strength and after that brief, eight second rest, rose back up so that my pussy was no longer pressed tightly to the edge of the pony’s spine.
Julie stepped back, taking a moment in the dim light to examine the delicate colors of my now smarting bosom. My toes ached as my legs trembled and I looked at her with wanton need, fluids dripping down my thighs to stain the wooden block beneath me. She reached out and began running her nails down my already sensitive chest, ending each movement with a pincers nail pinch at the tip of each breast. Each time she did it I gasped and that movement only exacerbated the new burning in my calves. Once more I dropped down, going flat-footed and grinding my wet, needing pussy into the edge of the pony.
My hips rocked as my legs rested and my sex slid along the sharp spine. My petals spread wide to either side of the wood and I could practically feel the bruises forming as my weight crushed my pretty flower. Every second made my hips twitch more and more and I found myself practically humping the pony’s spine, grinding my clit into the sharp edge. I moaned as Julie continued to torment my bosom, teasing my nipples while whispering little reminders of my servitude.
“Oh I love doing this to you,” she would hiss in my ear, nails scratching at my skin until she could find a nipple to pinch sharply. I rocked and shifted, my own body the means of torment. I felt fingers along my ankles and realized that Mike was beneath me, putting another set of leather bondage cuffs on, this time around my lower limbs. I danced in place, trying to keep myself up off the hurting edge of the pony even as part of me wanted to mash my clit against it.
Julie put her hand on my chin and forced me to look over to the side. There was a wooden post there, approximately three and a half feet high, at least six inches thick and squared off. At the top was a metal frame that looked like a set of stocks, but with five holes instead of three. I could easily see where my neck would go, but why extra holes for another set of arms? The pillar itself was also interesting. There were a number of metal rings embedded at various points and then down near the bottom, maybe a foot and a half up, were six holes about the width of my thumb, drilled deep into the center. These baffled me.
There was also an old friend, or enemy if you prefer. The Full Bore machine from Kari’s dungeon, easily recognizable from its old stool type frame, the actual seat missing, was sitting in a corner, already plugged in and ready. Underneath the missing seat were two massive dildos, both of them sticking up through the frame. In turn those dildos were mounted to a powerful motor. Why call it the Full Bore? Because when you turn that motor up to maximum, getting full bored in both holes is what happens. Guess Kari didn’t feel like she needed it anymore. And there was the coffee table; the scared old wooden tabletop, with gouges and scratches and screw holes still left in the marred surface. That was there too. I knew Julie was only getting started on her “dungeon”, but to be honest, I was already impressed.
“She’s ready,” Mike said, standing up to my side. Julie grinned at him and then winked at me. I took a sharp breath, wondering what I was ready for. I was ready to get down. I was ready to get fucked. I was ready for hard cock, or maybe a whipping. The sap even. I was ready to cum. But evidently I was ready to go from riding a wooden pony to riding the horse.
In case you don’t know the difference, the wooden pony is a torture device in which the young lady mounted is forced to stand on tip toe in order to prevent the sharp edge from digging into her sex. There is a burning ache in your calves and toes as you struggle to stay raised, followed by these moments of excruciating agony where you are forced to lower yourself deliberately down, letting the wood split your sex open. You move up and down, slowly at first, but eventually in this wild ride that makes it look as if you’re cantering a pony, bouncing viciously in the saddle.
The horse is an entirely different kind of thing. When you’re riding the wooden horse there is no burning in your legs, no ache in your toes, no shifting from left to right trying to fight the strain and exhaustion building in your calves. When you’re riding a wooden horse your toes don’t touch the ground, all of your weight is on your crotch, and you rock back and forth trying to find a spot between your tailbone and your clit that hasn’t already been pinched and bruised and hurt. Oddly enough it looks like you’re humping the spine of the horse, rubbing your sex along the ridge. If you’re lucky you can press down with your thighs, keeping some of your body’s weight off the edge. If you are unlucky, they’ve bound your legs open, or worse: weighted them. Julie cranked my ride upward and I felt the wooden edge bury itself hard into my sex, my toes straining to touch the ground until even that little mercy was gone.
I groaned. It hurt. And the up and down movement I’d been practicing moved immediately into a back and forth rocking motion that ground my clit and bottom against the edge. I might as well been fucking a sharp rock for all that it mattered to me. I was buzzing and burning with need but the pain rose and fell in waves, crashing upon my body.
“There,” Julie said, rising up to watch me writhe upon the horse. “It’s your first,” she explained. “First pony ride in my place. First wooden horse too.” She bent down and picked up the clover clamps, the plier like pincers opening. Slowly, tenderly, she let them close upon my nipples and I let out a harsh whimper. She held out her hand and Mike handed her a small vibrator which she pressed against my clit. The sudden intensity, the change from agony to ecstasy was too much for me and I cried out, rocking forward. I felt hands on me, holding me, touching me, caressing me and Julie did things…
I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want to stop it. I felt it roaring inside of me, the heat and hurt and sting and pain nothing but fuel for the burning. I threw my head back, panting like a wild beast, my chest throbbing in the bite of the steel pincers. My clit surged and then my vision blurred and went through a series of flashes, all color and heat and lightning. My entire body went rigid as I the orgasm blasted through me, taking advantage of the torment and tease these two dominants had inflicted upon me. Harder and faster than anything I could have accomplished on my own, I exploded with an intensity that was almost frightening.
And then I was off. Mike was lifting me up, freeing my hands, carrying me twitching out of the dungeon and back to Julie’s bedroom. I cuddled up into his arms as I was laid into the bed, still lost in the mixture of euphoria and relief. Julie slid in behind me and I was sandwiched between the two of them.
Twenty minutes later I felt Julie’s hand slipping down my body, probing lightly between my legs. I still ached, but I rolled slightly and spread myself, my left leg draped across hers while my right went over Mike. I took a deep breath and smiled as I saw them looking at each other across my breasts.
“I think she handled it quite well,” Julie said softly, but not to me. Mike the Hardware Guy laughed and nodded.
“I agree. But it will take many more rides to be sure.”
“Absolutely,” Julie admitted, her fingers finding my wet spot and with light circles pressing in. I groaned. “But as far as firsts go, it was pretty good,” she said.
Mike smiled, obviously in agreement. I let out a soft whimper as Julie’s finger slid in deep and that tiny noise changed into a gasp.
“Well Breanne? Was that a nice first?” she asked, eliciting another groan from my body as my hips began to pump. I pressed upward, feeling her enter me all the way to the knuckle. I put my right hand down on Mike, finding his cock, pleased to find it firm already.
“Please?” I whispered. “Please?” I begged.
“Please what?” Julie said, moving almost on top of me, her hand picking up the pace as she thrust a second finger into the sopping wet slit between my legs.
My eyes moved to hers.
“I want seconds…”
BREANNE ERICKSON is known as the "goddess of dark erotica"! Check out her amazing books at Amazon.com!