Monday, June 22, 2015

10 Strokes





“What?” Julie said with exasperated disbelief. “Already?” She turned and looked at me, one eyebrow arched in that Spockish sort of way that I liked. I wanted to smile, to grin at her, but I was just a little bit focused on maintaining my poise. My face was steel and the rest of me was almost as firmly tense. She sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Christ, Breanne. It’s only been ten minutes,” she said, grabbing my hand and looking around. I nodded, my throat tight as I tried to focus on my breathing, which was steadily becoming more labored. My hips suddenly thrust forward and I let out a little whimper as Julie spotted an appropriate clothing store and hauled me in.

We moved past the counter rapidly, Julie’s commanding look more than enough to satisfy the clerks. That was a girl who knew where she was going. What she wanted. And she dressed like it too. Gold earrings and necklace, combined with a stunning black blouse with some intriguing black lace panels, with a pair of those chino type pants that flared and hung loosely around the calves. High heeled open toed sandals to match, with purple painted toe nails.  All in all a definite possibility for a quick sale.

The girl with her? The redhead? Um… yeah. Not so much. Cute, definitely. Especially with the shoulder length red hair.  But that halter top! It looked like it had been through the wash one to many times, faded and thin. And you could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra either. You could practically see her nipple! And speaking of nipple, did you see what was hanging off her right tit? A padlock! An actual padlock! Granted, it was a small one, but what kind of girl has a lock hanging off her nipple?  The skirt? Blue denim, flared and pleated. How old fashioned. Definitely needs a new one. It was too short too. I’ll bet if she were sitting down it wouldn’t cover her bottom! Shoes? Flip flops you mean. How… base. Couldn’t she at least afford some nice beach sandals? At least her toe nails were painted a crimson to match her hair…

Julie snatched a blouse off a rack and pushed me toward the changing rooms. I was breaking down, too close and Julie glanced around. “Hush!” she whispered, then opened the small door and took us inside.  The changing room was nothing more than a closet with a mirror, though there was a small bench. Julie hung the shirt up on a hook and then nodded at me. I groaned and put one leg up on the seat while Julie pushed her hands up underneath my skirt. Her deft fingers followed the Velcro straps upward to my hip, finding the small controller and with a simple swipe of her thumb she turned the Rotating Venus Penis off.

I crumpled, whimpering as the four inch plastic cock inside me went silent. It also stopped moving. The “rotation” function of the “ROTATING Venus Penis” makes the little cock churn inside me like a wooden spoon stirring a pot of soup. It drives me crazy.

“They were only on medium!” Julie said in disgust as she ripped the first of the straps off. I trembled, unwilling to answer her. She pulled on the other side and the front of the RVP loosened. Her hands tugged and a moment later the entire thing came away from my sex, the soaked petals glistening. My clit was peeking out, desperate for release as well. The RVP, silent but wet, hung down from beneath me, half the straps still connected, or I was sitting on them. Julie opened her purse, pulled out the sap and gave me an expectant look.

I took a deep breath and spread my legs, pulling my feet out of my flip flops and setting them on the bench. It was an awkward position and my knees were forced wide apart, almost to the walls. I braced myself, clenching my teeth as Julie dropped down to get a better angle. She knelt right in front of me, then bent down and kissed my clit. It was a wet kiss, with lots of tongue, and this just brought me right back to the edge of the cliff, desperate for release. Then she pulled back, her lips wet with my juice, raised the sap, and smashed my clit into paste.

The only reason I didn’t scream was because I was ready for it, clenching my teeth. Still, I let out a whine that filled the little room. My legs jerked as my bottom came up off the little bench. Oh my God did that hurt! My pussy felt like it was on fire! Julie let me tremble and shake, adjusting to the sensations, and only when it looked like I was recovered did she come back down for the second “kiss.”

I gasped, her tongue swirling around my clit, then up and down through my petals. Pain was suddenly replaced by exquisite pleasure and I my hips really did begin to move. Julie pulled back again.

“Hey. No cumming. You know what will happen,” she warned. I knew. I just didn’t care. But then she lifted the sap a second time and whipped it down on the flared and wet folds of my flower. I squealed, my legs jerking half closed before I caught them and my entire ass came up off the bench. The RVP fell to the floor with a light clatter. Neither of us cared. Then Julie’s mouth was on my again, sucking and licking, devouring me. It was too much. I let out a single, muted wail through my teeth, hips bucking and grinding against her. I was cumming. No hope for it. She wanted me to anyway. It just gave her the excuse she needed to punish me. To hurt me more. To make the next orgasm that much more intense. I was a construct, with larger and bigger levels to come. The moment she felt the climax start she pulled back and hit me again. A third time. I really didn’t care. That burn just melted into the explosion, making it bigger.

I was lost in a daze, blown away, a limp noodle. I could feel the wetness trickling out of my pussy, onto the bench. The clerk had been right. Sitting down the skirt didn’t cover my bottom. Julie bent down and ran her tongue through me, sending a fresh set of shivers rushing up through my spine.

“Yum,” she whispered, smacking her lips. This went on for a minute, maybe two, then she lifted the sap again and hit me, right between the legs. I yelped, my legs closing almost the entire way, but her head was already there, mouth pressed up against my clitoris, sucking the little swollen nub in. My heels thudded once, then twice more against the sides of the changing room. It was hard to be silent as waves and waves of the most amazing bliss spurted up through me from my clitoris.

The arousal blossomed within me and she just kept at it until my chest was again heaving. I grabbed hold of the bottom of the halter top, hauling it up, my hands cupping my breasts, squeezing the nipples. The padlock danced and when I moaned again Julie hit me a fourth time.  A ragged gasp exploded from me and I began to buck, the blow only stimulating me more and Julie paused between that fourth stroke and the fifth only long enough for one terrible, wonderful lick. Then the sap licked at my sex, the wet leather stinging and burning as I thrust up to meet the impact.

Julie bent down again and stabbed at my clit with her tongue, sending me into paroxysms of delight, shifting and wriggling as it seemed she were trying to push the exposed nub back into the hood. I shuddered and she responded by pulling back and hitting me a sixth time, the sap landing with a moist crack against my entire sex, the flexible tip curling up and over my pubic mound. This time I let out a little cry and Julie glared at me, pressing her thumb against my clit. She pushed, and rubbed, watching as my body was jacked right back up to the edge of climax. She pulled her hand away and landed the seventh stroke against my clit and our eyes met.

“PLEASE!” I hissed, irises wild. She nodded and this time she swung the sap, hitting me with the eighth, ninth, and tenth strokes with rapid swings. My pussy exploded with agony and my arms went out, fingers splayed, knuckles white as I pushed against the walls of the changing room. It was too much. Too close. I could feel it… just there… outside the limits.

Julie stood, putting away the sap, staring down at me. She wiped a hand across her face, removing the film of wetness I’d left there. Then she reached down, grabbed hold of the RVP, and deftly slid it back into my depths. I shuddered and let out another moan. It took her only a minute or so to secure it back in place, while I twitched and tried to get my brain working. Finally she stepped back and pulled me to my feet. I let her tug my shirt back down and swipe a hand over my ass to brush my skirt back into place.

“There. You look adorable,” she said softly. I nodded. I could feel the cock of the RVP inside me. I was squeezing it to death, my pussy contracting with spasms of need around it. But it was off. Julie nodded, then lifted the side of my skirt, found the controller and gave me a look that was wicked, deviant, and all mischief.  “You know the rules. If you cum....” she left it trailing and I braced myself. Her thumb slid along the controller. I felt the rumble, the vibrations start in the base, pressed against my petals, my clit, translating into the plastic phallus inside me. And then it moved, swirling inside me, churning away like I was cream being turned to butter. I gasped, shuddering, eyes closed as my hips began to move again. So intense…

Julie pulled me out of the changing room, holding my hand as we quietly left. Each step for me was hard and she was having to pull me along. My entire focus, my being, was centered between my legs, dealing with the sensations of the Rotating Venus Penis, trying not to give in. The pressure built and built as we moved out into the mall. Julie held my hand tight, moving slowly, letting me set the pace as I shuffled forward, scared of swinging my hips and starting the cascade again.
Two stores, then three. I felt myself tighten and knew I was close. My throat locked up and I pulled Julie to a stop, our eyes meeting.

“Julie, please,” I whispered. “I can’t help it.”  She gave me this beaming smile.

“Oh I know. That’s the point. But don’t worry. After three or four orgasms you’ll be able to handle things for longer. And if you manage not to cum between now and the time I finish your ten strokes, you know we can start the RVP off at low,” she reminded me.

I let out a stressed whine. “Julie! I’ve got to…” I broke off, biting my lip, another wave rushing against me. “I’m going to…”

She laughed and grabbed my hand, dragging me into another clothing store. We hurried to the back, again no one stopping us. We were the perfect couple. Just some girlfriends shopping. Julie spent ten seconds selecting an item, a gauze shirt in blue with print flowers, meant to be worn over another undergarment and then pushed me into the changing room. I hurried, sitting down, spreading my legs, opening up, propping my feet up on the bench. This closet sized room was bigger than our last, but there still wasn’t that much space. Julie found the controls and again turned off the RVP just before I was about to gnaw on my own knuckles.

The Velcro ripped and then she pulled the toy free. My pussy, bright red as well as wet, was perfectly exposed. My breath caught in my throat as I pulled up my shirt, watching as she kneeled. Her tongue darted out, caressing my clit and I trembled violently, almost spurting. Then, sensing how close I was, she pulled away. I hadn’t even see her take the sap out of her bag but I did when it licked my petals, the sting and heat spreading them open. I clenched my teeth, letting out a soft whimper as Julie came down again, her mouth opening to suckle my entire clitoris into her mouth. My bottom kept tightening rising from the bench seat.

Stroke after stroke was laid on my open, sensitive, trembling sex, interspaced with the darting licks and sucking kisses of a bisexual dominatrix intent on taking me to the edge. It was so hard. I didn’t know if I should cry or scream, but I knew I wanted to cum. Some moments with her mouth between my legs lasted a whole minute. Some were just a mere swirl of her tongue. But each slap of the sap against my flower was hard, biting, and left me aching. I didn’t know how to handle it. My body ramped up.

But I didn’t cum. I guess the last one was just too close. The final stroke of the sap didn’t drive me over the edge and she let me calm down just a bit before sliding the Rotating Venus Penis back into me.

“We’ll start it on low,” she whispered as the sliders on the control moved with her thumb. And at low I felt the slight vibration, the gentle swirl. I knew that she’d gotten what she wanted: the pain of the sapping held off the orgasm. I grabbed her arm, swaying as the RVP moved inside me, the phallus agitating my insides. The tiny motor that caused the vibrations in the base seemed pressed against my clitoris and for a moment I thought I was going to have to tell her to hit me again. She opened the door, saw the look on my face and paused.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

I shook my head, on the verge of crying. The sexual tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. “No. I’m… I’m…” I stammered. Then it was too late. I felt it. I gave her a panicked look and she grinned.

“Well, this is nice,” she said softly. Then she put the blouse she’d plucked off a nearby rack on the restocking cart. A second shirt seemed to leap into her hand and as I stood there, juice trickling down my thigh, shaking like a leaf in the wind, trying to control the climax. Then as I lost it she pushed me back into the changing room.

“Let’s try this one on,” she said clearly. The door snicked closed behind her and I felt her hands pushing me down. She helped me out of my flip flops, then lifted my right leg, bracing my heel on the seat. My skirt flipped up as my sex continued to flutter around the lightly purring phallus inside me as well as its base pressed to my folds. Julie took hold of my other ankle and pushed, opening me up. Her fingers tugged at the Velcro and for the third time exposed my sex, pulling the wriggling, buzzing probe out of my sopping wet slit.

“Oh. Oh my. Look at your little pussy!” she gushed in this cute little voice. “You’re all red and wet!” Then she dropped down, pulled her sap out and then ran her tongue through my folds up to my clitoris. I sighed, groaning, lifting my hips, my toes curling with pleasure and then she pulled back, her face from nose to chin wet.

“Let’s make it redder!” Then she flicked her wrist and the sap flattened my petals, spreading them open. I cried out  but then bit down and tried to stay quiet as she immediately went back down and began suckling my clitoris. It rolled around in her mouth, like a lemon drop, driving the stinging pain back with floods of pleasure. I whimpered and moaned, my body beginning to tremble. I’d just had another orgasm. I wasn’t close to cumming again, but I could feel it. I was so sensitive. And then she hit me again.

Light and dark. Soft and Hard. Wet and.. well.. wet. The stinging heat of the sap against the soft swirling bliss of her tongue. Julie teased and tormented me, slapping my pussy over and over between each tender moment of sweet seduction. By the time I took the tenth stroke I was horny again, wanting another orgasm. She slid the Rotating Venus Penis back into me, then strapped it in as my hips churned with involuntary need. I was pulled to my feet as she reached for the controller.

“Too bad you came. That means it has to be on full power,” she whispered, sliding her thumb across the controls. I felt the RVP move inside me, the phallus taking a slow, deep turn through my depths. The vibrations spiraled through my flower, into my clit, then to my spinal cord, shooting up to my brain. I was starting to get sensitive, my clit tingling, not from the sapping now, but from over-stimulation. Julie could tell and she loved it. She helped me with my attire, then pulled me back out into the mall, one step at a time, holding my hand. I must have looked like her mentally handicapped kid sister, or older sister. Or something. One step in front of the other, hips rocking back and forth, shuddering. Eyes closed. Mouth open. Tough to breath. Must not… cum.. and.. oh.  Oh God. I can feel… Oh… Uhhhhh…. Ohhh.

“Julie?”

She smiled. “Yes dearheart. I know. Another ten strokes.”


Breanne Erickson is the author of "Coming of Age - A BDSM Romance", an autobiographical tale that explains just how a girl like Breanne came to be the nympho humiliation pain slut we all know and adore. Check our her amazing works at Amazon.com!

Thursday, June 18, 2015

Rain & Orchids



It had been a tough week, mostly because I was wet.  Under normal circumstances, that particular adjective merely means that I’m the kind of girl most men want to meet on a city street because I’m dressed provocatively, act like I’m a sex starved slut willing to fuck anything vaguely cock shaped, and am so moist you almost need a boat to traverse the sodden swamp between my legs.  But this wasn’t normal circumstances. I was wet because it was raining, and by rain I mean RAINING.



Like tropical storm RAINING.



It had almost been a hurricane but had missed out by about fifteen miles an hour.  I’m not really scared of hurricanes, despite living just a few miles to the west of Houston. Tornados? Those I’m scared of. But hurricanes? Lots of wind and water, but it’s too diffuse for me to get really concerned about. I’m so far from the coast that it’s not like a storm surge is going to wipe out my digs, and Katy is far enough away from the Brazos that more water isn’t really a dangerous threat for me.  And that’s a good thing.



But I was still wet. Even down to my socks, buried in my boots. I was wet everywhere, from my head to my feet. The rain slicker was pointless. The wind was whipping it around and even tore it open, which soaked the button up, red and white checkered shirt to my skin. You could see the rather plain, unassuming and rather utilitarian bra I had on underneath, and it didn’t take long for my blue jeans to start darkening either. I struggled in the rain with a shovel, trying to widen a collapsed drainage opening. My soy beans were under water.



The problem wasn’t really the tropical storm. It was the two months of rain we’d had prior to the tropical storm. The ground was saturated. Usually at this time of year I’m out here, still wet and muddy, but mostly from wrestling with an irrigator, spraying expensive water on plants baking in the south Texas heat. We grow cotton, soy beans, and wheat on my farm and frankly I think I should have planted rice.



It was ten o’clock before I slogged my way back into the barn, dripping as if I’d just climbed out of the shower and I wrung out my hair and toweled off. I thought about stripping, but then decided that the best thing to do would be to just run back into the house, risk the wrath of my mother’s tongue as I left muddy footprints on the linoleum floor of the kitchen, and then lay down a trail of water all the way to the stairs and up to my bedroom.



But before I did that, I checked my phone.  I hadn’t taken it out with me. Not in that kind of weather. I noticed two emails, one from Master Matt, the other from Julie. Matt was responding to a sarcastic tweet I’d sent out earlier that morning, one where I said I might as well eschew my jeans and shirt in favor of a bikini. It was a joke! A flippancy! Commentary about the weather! And of course that made it an assignment.



I read through Matt’s instructions, a dark, sinking feeling in my stomach and an increasing wetness between my legs. Matt wanted me in a crotch rope and bobby pins, stripped naked and cumming, along with having my swimsuit - all of it - out of immediate reach.  All sorts of fun. So I opened Julie’s email.



Oh. Oh boy. The sinking feeling became butterflies. Sarcasm became reality. the bobbypins Matt wanted on my nipples were exchanged for orchid clamps (damn! those hurt worse than bobbypins! And Kittish! Argggh! I still blame you for those damn things!)  The crotch rope became the vibrating egg she used on me during Denial & Consequences and I was instructed to cum at least once. From there her demands just got more unsettling.



I took a deep breath. The green bikini. She’d bought it for me and I’d only worn it once. I’d like to say that I looked good in it, but that wouldn’t be the truth. I looked amazing in it. Bun floss bottoms and a top so skimpy that it almost qualified as a micro bikini. Almost. I wore it once to a pool party Julie and I had been invited too and let’s just say that the attention I garnered was quite flattering.



Going out in it? And only the bikini? Insane.



It also meant another trip into the house regardless.  So I covered my phone, headed for the barn door, and ran for it.  Sure enough my mother made some angry quips about my footprints, and my dad eyed the wet trail I made to the door. My daughter laughed at my wet, bedraggled look, and I grabbed a towel from the downstairs laundry room closet and tried to soak up the water. Eventually I made it back to my room, stripped off my wet stuff, and got dressed.



In the green bikini.



For a moment I admired the look in the mirror. I’m not exactly a model. Parts of me are too bony. And my boobs are too big, especially compared to my bottom. My legs are slightly curved, probably from riding horses for a good portion of my formative years. I have a bit of a farmer’s tan, though I’ve worked hard to just stay covered, leaving my skin pasty white with a smattering of freckles. A couple of stretch marks mar the flesh just above my hips and I have a face that ranks pretty high on the cuteness scale, but only about a four on the pretty slider. Add in the red hair and I’m adorable, but if I were back in my natural “mousy” brown, you’re eyes would rest on me for about half a second before looking for someone just a bit prettier. Well, actually… anyone prettier. I’m not depressed about it or anything, but I’m aware of it. Even Julie, who I’ve got beat in the body department, is prettier in the face than me.  It’s just nature. Genetics. What I was given.  Besides, I know that if you show a lot of leg and give a great big smile, with possibly a plunging neckline while pulling a big vibrator out of your wet pussy, men will think you’re gorgeous.



I pulled aside the little green triangle of material covering my sex and I pulled the ben wa balls I’d been wearing all morning out. These I tossed aside onto a hand towel and then I began pushing the heavier, more bulky, vibrating egg through the light pink petals. I groaned, my entire body wanting something a lot more intense than just the egg. I wanted to cum. I needed it.  My mind thought ahead a couple of hours. What would it be like at noon, standing out in the middle of a park, rain pouring down on me, masturbating?



Well, thinking like that while still in my bedroom wasn’t very helpful, so I put on a fresh pair of jeans over my bikini bottoms, a new tee shirt over the top, and then went down for breakfast. the rest of the morning passed easily and no one commented on my attire, because the only difference was beneath. Granted, there were a couple of tense moments with the egg. It wasn’t vibrating, but it was still bigger than the ben wa balls and I caught my daughter looking at me peculiarly when at one point I was thrusting my hips forward, shaking the thing inside me. She’s not old enough for that sort of stuff yet so I blushed and looked away.



Then, right after lunch, it was time. I announced I was going out on an errand and about five minutes later, after traversing the walk from the house to my truck with an umbrella, I was safely ensconced in my Ford F-150, driving through heavy rain. The problem was that I wasn’t really allowed to go far. So the moment I hit the main road to the south of my ranch I pulled over.



There’s tradition, and then there’s insane. I decided against both and eschewed stripping out of my blue jeans and tee shirt at the front of the truck, mostly because Tropical Storm Bill had picked up sixty billion gallons of the Gulf of Mexico and was in the process of dumping it on my head. The point, I’d like to remind everyone, of stripping in front of the truck, on a public roadway, was to increase the risk of me being seen and set me scrambling to cover up enough to prevent myself from going to jail. This in turn would arouse me, because somewhere deep inside my psyche is a messed up little button that gets seriously turned on when I’m humiliated.



So I sat in the air conditioned and somewhat dry interior of my truck, and stripped. Less than three minutes later I had to turn the air almost off since I was just wearing the skimpy bikini. I tossed my boots over onto the floorboard and slipped my bare feet into the flip flops I’d brought. I settled back and then realized I’d forgotten the orchid clamps. And I don’t mean I’d forgotten to put them on. I’d totally forgotten them!  I considered for a moment going back to the house, but that meant getting back into my clothes and everything. I bit my lip. Well, I was going out anyway, right?



Twenty minutes later (it took longer than I’d thought thanks to the rain) I pulled into the gravel lot of the garden center. The building itself wasn’t very impressive, just a simple one story structure that fronted the massive green house and garden center behind it. The nice thing was that there wasn’t a lot of customers braving the weather. It was windy, gusty, but most of that had already passed us by. Now we were just dealing with a downpour. And I do mean a downpour. Some people like to say “it’s raining cats and dogs” when it’s a heavy rain. For us? Elephants and Hippos.



I got out of the truck and was instantly and completely inundated. Everything. It was like I’d just jumped into a pool. My hair was slicked back in seconds and the rain almost tore my bikini off. That’s how heavy the rain was. It was totally nuts. I took a step and found myself standing in a five inch deep puddle, the water up to my ankle. I wiped water out of my eyes and slogged forward, heading for the shop. I pushed in through the glass doors, and stepped dripping into shelter. One hand wiped at my eyes and when I’d cleared enough of the rain out my face, I saw the shocked and surprised look on the cashier’s face.



She was a pretty, middle aged woman who could have easily been my mother and the shock of seeing me changed into disapproval rather quickly. I took a deep breath. God, my life would be so much easier if men were everywhere. I gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged my shoulders.



“It seemed easier,” I told her.  Then I brushed as much of the water off as I could. There was a rain mat under me after all, and then I hurried away into the little aisles, my little flip flops making squishing noises on the tile floor beneath me.



I found the alligator clamps in about a minute, right where they’d been last time I’d been in to get some. They weren’t expensive and I grabbed the pack and headed back up to the counter with a chagrined look on my face.



“Orchid clamps?” the cashier said suspiciously, scanning my purchase. I dug a few waterlogged bills out of my bikini top where I’d stashed them before coming in. They were wet and I might have accidentally flashed the cashier too.



I nodded. “Yep. Needed a pair.”



“A pair,” she repeated, unrolling the paper bills and waving them back and forth.



I smiled, but it was full of chagrin, with just a touch of embarrassment.



“Do you grow orchids?” she asked, opening the cash register.



I blinked. Uh… “Oh yeah! Tons! Love em!” I said cheerfully. “That’s why I needed the clamps.” I didn’t realize I was blushing until I felt the heat on my cheeks.



“Really? What kind?” she asked. She started to make change.



“Kinds? Oh… all kinds. I really don’t do specific orchids. Just the average, everyday sort,” I stammered, knowing I was bullshitting, and doing it badly. She turned back and looked at me. “Here’s your change. Please leave now.”



My brow went down. Well that wasn’t very nice. I gave her a dark look. “You don’t want my business?” I asked petulantly. She shook her head.



“You are dressed inappropriately, even for the weather, and I don’t know what you’re going to use those for, but you aren’t growing orchids.”



My eyes narrowed. I plucked the card full of orchid clamps up out of the bag as she handed me my change.  I held the little, green plastic vice up, staring at the little spines. “Do you really want to know what I’m going to do with this?” I asked wickedly, leaning forward.



“No,” she said adamantly. “I really don’t care. Don’t come back in here unless you’re appropriately dressed, like last time.”



That made me blink. “Last time?”



She rolled her eyes. “You think I wouldn’t remember a girl with fire engine red hair buying orchid clamps? Last time you were in blue jeans and a tee shirt and I thought you were respectable.”



“Oh,” I replied, somewhat deflated.



“You’re a grown woman and should know better than to be traipsing around dressed in just a swimsuit, and especially in a swimsuit like that.”



“Umm… right.”



“Does your mother know?” She asked me.



Well, this conversation wasn’t going the way I really wanted so I grabbed the rest of my purchase, gave the cashier a nice grin, and said “bye!”  Then I went out into Noah’s Second Flood and tried to drown on my way back to the truck. Eventually I made it and climbed back into the increasingly went interior of my vehicle. I had a towel and I used it, but I was still wet. The money went back in my purse and that left me with the orchid clamps. I didn’t have to worry about prying eyes. Who could see me through the inundation? Water poured down from the heavens.



I pulled my bikini top down exposing both breasts. The gold padlock that dangled lightly from the hoop piercing my right nipple was beaded with water. I ignored that. It was gold and wasn’t likely to rust. So I took the orchid clamp I’d already pulled out of the package and positioned it delicately over my right nipple. Then I let it close.



Orchid clamps are unique. Unlike clothespins or my clover clamps, the orchids have these tines that your nipple gets caught in. They’re small, so they can’t sit far back on your breast. That means the really sensitive tip is caught right in the worst sort of way. It aches when you first put them on. And unlike clothespins or duck bill clamps, you don’t numb up. It just keeps hurting because the tines are too small to impede much blood flow. And that hurt just keeps getting worse, throbbing in time with your steps and your heartbeat. So talk about a painful and rather intense sensation - wearing orchid clamps is an experience.



Wincing, I put the second one on my left nipple and then looked down at the package. I bit my lip. Bonus points maybe? What would Julie say? Crazily, I plucked a third clamp off the package cardboard and pushed at my bikini bottoms, exposing my clit. Gingerly, and maybe just a bit fearfully, I placed the orchid clamp over my clit. I’d never done that before.



Oh wow.  Oh God. That… hurt. But in a freakingly fantastic way. In seconds my hips were rolling. I fished the egg vibrator remote out of my purse and turned it on and my entire body rolled as my hips began thrusting. The pain was delicious, exquisite and perfect and I loved every precious second of it. One hand went up to my right breast, cupping it, squeezing the curves, even jiggling the clamp and the piercing and the padlock. Shocks of sex laced agony shot through me even as my left hand began lightly flicking the little orchid clamp chewing on the pink nub of my clit. Orgasm was there! Right there! Just seconds away!



I tore the bikini off, my fingers frantic. One flip flop went flying. I didn’t care. In seconds I was nude, wearing only the dark green of the orchid clamps. My fingers scrabbled for the door latch, feeling the oncoming explosion building between my legs, the sparks at the tips of my breast and on my clit the incineration point. My blood seemed to boil and I slammed the door shut, running out into the rain. I looked up at the sky as the water fell, standing naked in the front lot of the garden center, my nipples and clit tingling, the buzzing egg inside me violently shaking. I couldn’t stop myself.



It felt amazing. The rain slammed into me, washing me away as I screamed out in agonized pleasure. My entire body trembled and I just let it happen. It was perfection. I felt clean and refreshed and whole and totally at one with nature herself, in all her glory. Then as the hormonal induced euphoria began to fade I swiped a hand across my face and saw the cashier standing there in the doorway, looking out through the half open glass. I flushed and immediately looked back at my truck, twenty feet or so away. The rain began to lighten and I saw the expression on her face. For a moment, I didn’t know what to say or do.  How embarrassing! How humiliating! To be caught like this? But then… then I had to smile. I was wet, in the rain, naked. I cupped my breasts, holding them up like gifts. I knew exactly what to say.



“How do you like my orchids?” I shouted.



The glass door shut and I let go of my breasts, then hurried back to my truck. For a second I thought I’d locked myself out, the keys inside, but then the door opened and my panic subsided. I scrambled in, water streaming from my naked body and I didn’t even bother trying to dry off. I just found my keys, jammed them into the ignition and drove, water splashing up from my heavy tires. I drove away fast, but safely, and didn’t stop until I’d put a few miles behind my bumper.  then I squirmed and found my swimsuit. It was cold and hard to put on, all twisted up and wet, but I managed, covering up my orchids. The egg buzzed inside me, but I was sated. Happy. Wet and happy.



I went home. I was done with my manufactured errand and I’d done what Julie, and hopefully Master Matt wanted. I didn’t go back to the house either. I went out in the soybean field, still dressed in the skimpy green bikini, under the crying sky, and splashed mud all over myself, trying to clear another blocked water drain.



Oh. Right. The clamps. How long did I leave them on?  LOL… well I finished up around two that afternoon, went back to the barn, got dressed after stripping off the bikini, and went back inside to my room to write this whole thing up. And know where those little green clamps are right now?



How do you like that orchid?

Breanne Erickson is author of Denial & Consequences as well as over fourteen amazing collections of erotica!  Check out her work at Michael Alexander Stories!