Saturday, November 18, 2017

No Right To Shoes - Part Seven

This is Part Seven of a multi-part series. If you haven't already read  Part One, Part Two, Part ThreePart FourPart Five, and Part Six, please so so.  

Part Seven
I managed to keep the flip flops on through the next hour, though it got dicey for a bit. The vibrator pendant was arousing me to the point where I was seriously wondering if I was going to have to sneak out for another orgasm, or just go and confess my sins and accept the punishment. To make matters worse, Kari had turned on the vibroballs, just to low, but the combination of vibrations inside and outside my sex left me feeling as if I were edging on thin ice, waiting for the crust to break and drop me into the cold water.

That happened long before the cum in my thongs dried and I’m sure I looked quite fetching, sitting there in my chair, legs spread wide enough so that the stupid, little, white skirt rolled up my thighs, showing off the slick, hot, pink folds of my sex, the clamped and throbbing clit, not to mention how I brought both hands up, cupping my breasts, squeezing them even as the clover clamps chewed on my nipples. My ass tightened around the jeweled anal plug and I bit my bottom lip, closed my eyes, and shuddered through explosion number two.

Of course Kari heard me.

“You were instructed not to explode,” she said in heated satisfaction a moment later, standing beside me and looking down at the wet, sodden mess I’d made of myself.

“Sorry,” I replied breathlessly, feeling really, really good and not worried even a little about what she might do to me. At that point, I figured she’d leave my feet alone. She would hardly want to work through the disgusting mess I was technically standing in. She lifted a small key fob looking controller and I groaned as the vibroballs inside me suddenly increased speed. I looked up at her in concern, well aware that she was basically just tormenting me into breaking the rules again.

“That’s my punishment?” I asked, resisting the need to tremble in response to the increased stimulation.

She smirked. “Hardly.” Then she opened the top drawer of my desk. I watched, first with calm coolness, then with alarm, as she plucked two, black one inch binder clamps out of a little tray there. And not the kind that I’d deliberately damaged so that the pincer ends wouldn’t quite close. She set the pair on the desk right in front of me. “I think these would do quite well attached to your labia.”

I swallowed. Gulped really. Sure, I’ve had my pussy clamped like that, but I knew what it was going to feel like.

Painful.

Kari stood there, waiting patiently, so I spread my legs even wider. Had there been anyone standing out in the atrium they’d certainly have gotten an amazing, well lit show. I reached for the clamps, and only then noticed my fingers were trembling. Oh God the vibrators felt good!

Kari didn’t say a word as picked up the first clamp and then pushed my fingers of the other hand through my slit. I gasped, hips thrusting a bit, as I pressed on the vibrator pendant. It tugged on my clit and with the vibroballs roaring, felt amazing. I pinched open the first binder clip and tried to get my outer pubic lips between the metal. From experience, I knew that the most important part would be opening the thing up as much as possible. When it closed, it caught a good portion of my labia, squeezing it, but with a tolerable pinch instead of something that hurt.

Well… something that didn’t hurt as much. I put the other clamp on shuddered.

“That appears satisfactory,” Kari declared. “Again, no cumming.” Then she turned and started down the hall.

“Kari!” I called out after her. She paused. “How am I supposed to not cum when you’ve turned up the vibroballs?” I asked. “I’m already dealing with the vibrating pendant on my clit.”

She shrugged. “It’s part of the punishment. You know that.” She started walking again as I muttered under my breath.

Right. I forgot. Part of the punishment for cumming is setting me up to cum again, even more frequently, so I’m in this neverending cycle of torment. Yay me.

So I sat, shuddered, struggled with the sensation, and felt the cum in my flip flops drying. I didn’t want to change into another outfit, especially the black dress and stilettoes, since my ass was still smarting from the spankings I’d gotten the other day, and despite an entire night of no abuse, the bottoms of my feet were still quite tender. At about nine forty, I stood up, smoothed my skirt back down, ignored the wetness of my thighs and the fact that the binder clamps were digging into my legs with each step, and made my way upstairs to blow that tax attorney up on the second floor. It wasn’t a bad thing at all, though he did give me a skeptical and somewhat disgusted look when I grabbed his cock and aimed it at my upraised shoe. As I expected, he didn’t really give me enough, so I went and found Jose, who was more than willing to give me an opportunity to suck him dry again, all while I shuddered, moaned, and then creamed myself to the vibrations of Kari’s punishment. Then, still grinning stupidly from the third unauthorized orgasm of the day, already feeling the next one building thanks to the vibroballs and vibrator pendant, I squished and slid myself back downstairs, entered the tiny lobby of Kari’s office, and found my boss standing in the hall, arms crossed.

“It’s ten after,” she said crossly. “Your shoes better be filled with cum.” Her look was dangerous, but I smiled anyway.

“Totally,” I told her, giving her a smug grin. I wiggled my toes and the sound of the cum squishing around my little piggies was loud enough.

Kari frowned and grunted. “And how close are you to cumming?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Perhaps it was the flushed color of my cheeks, or the brightness of my eyes, or the lack of any immediate desperation when I should have been going nuts with the desire to cum. Maybe she noticed that my hips weren’t thrusting lewdly. Or maybe the blush on my face deepened.

Kari crossed the small space and brought her hand up between my legs, grabbing hold of my pussy, mashing the pendant vibrator into my slit. My eyes widened in surprise, even as I was pushed back against the glass, my skirt riding up. I felt her fingers dig into my slit, pressing wetly through my folds and I sucked in a sharp breath as she cupped my pussy.

“Kari!” I gasped.

“You seem awfully wet,” Kari hissed, her fingers churning around inside me. Her fingernails found the vibroballs, still rumbling away, pushing them deeper. A fresh surge of immediate lust overwhelmed me and all I wanted was to strip off the silly tube top and the white skirt and let Kari use me.

“I… I… don’t know what you mean,” I whispered, barely able to think. Now my hips were pumping. Her palm had captured the vibrator pendant and the clamp was tugging on my clit. Her whole hand was shaking and in hindsight, I’m fairly sure she was trying to make me explode. Her breasts touched mine and her left hand came up, grabbed the front of my tube top, and yanked it downward. My boobs sprung free, hanging like ripe fruit in front of my mistress, and her fingers found my right nipple. She grabbed the padlock and twisted it, sending a shard of pain down through me, right to my pussy. I squeezed her fingers tight in response even as my knees began to buckle.

“Want to cum?” She asked me, still fucking with me.

I nodded frantically.

“Then cum. You have five seconds,” she said.

Five seconds? I wasn’t quite that ready. My eyes widened and I frantically pumped my ass against her hand. The idea that anyone in the atrium would be getting quite a show, especially since I was feeling the cool, smooth surface of the glass against my bare butt, only heightened things. Except… I’d just cum. Not five minutes before!

“Four,” she said softly, her finger swirling. I groaned, rocked my hips, and shuddered.

“Three,” came Kari’s voice as I brought my hands up and cupped my tits. She still had a hold on my right nipple, but I pinched my own left breast, even as my fingers kneaded the heavy globes. It felt amazing.

“Two.” It filled my ears and I realized that it was just too much. I wasn’t going to make it. She’d done it deliberately, knowing that if I’d just popped, I might not be able to do it again so soon. Worse, it would leave me in such a state…

“One,” she said finally, yanking her hand out from between my legs. She let go of my breast and stepped back, letting me slump forward, barely catching myself on my own desk. I stood there shaking like a leaf in the wind, the vibroballs, the pendant, and my own hips dancing. For almost half a minute I panted, and then the vibroballs slowed and went silent, my evil mistress looking at me with a grin as she held up the controller.

“You came,” she said with total conviction. “Didn’t you?”

I nodded, a look of almost apoplectic apology on my face. “When I was blowing Jose. It just happened! I couldn’t handle the vibroballs!”

Kari sighed. “Straighten your skirt, slut. You’re mooning the atrium.”

I glanced over my shoulder, horrified that someone might be out there, but the atrium was still empty. Still, I ran my hands down my ass, pushing the skirt back into place. It certainly didn’t cover much. Bent over my desk I had little doubt that the wet, pink petals of my sexual flower were still very much in view. I straightened, hoping that would help.

“Punishment Closet,” she said strictly. “And leave the tube top and the skirt here.” She turned away and headed down the hall. So she didn’t see my mouth gaping open in shock.

“You just told me to stop flashing everyone!” I said loudly in protest, glaring at her retreating form angrily.

“Just do it, Bre.” Then she rounded the corner.

I turned toward the glass, furious. The atrium was, thankfully, empty. So I peeled off the tube top complete, dumped it on my desk, and then followed it with the skirt. Naked, except for my flip flops and vibrator pendant, I hurried after Kari. It wasn’t easy. With fresh cum in my shoes, I had to place every foot carefully to keep from literally slipping in my own shoes. It wasn’t easy!

Kari was in her art room, so I gave her a dirty look and went past, all the way to the end of the hall. I opened the punishment closet and stared down at the new toy, the kneeler, and wondered just how Kari intended to punish me this time. The angled, rubber coated prism was still on it, right in the center, and relatively high up.

“Straddle it, legs apart to either side, facing the door please,” she said from right behind me. I jumped, startled, but then nodded. I stepped into the closet, turned my back to the kneeler. Looking down, I could see about four inches of the rubber mount.

“Lean back and put our hands on the top of the support,” Kari said, moving beside me, helping me get in position. Since the thing was so high anyway, with the kneeling pad at my knees as I spread my legs wide, my arms folded and I found myself leaning back against it. Mike must have weighted it down with three or four hundred pounds, because my slight frame didn’t even rock the thing. Kari grabbed a leather thong from one of the hooks in the wall, and next thing I knew, my wrists and forearms were being tied down. So I stood there, leaning backward, my hips thrust forward, legs spread, boobs pushed outward.

And once secured, I heard the crank behind me. The rubber coated prism rose between my legs, first touching, then pressing, then biting. I groaned and went up on tiptoe to soften the pressure, thrusting my pussy and boobs out even more. Kari circled back around to my front, reached down, and removed the vibrator pendant. I gasped, relieved of the sensation for the first time in hours.

Kari clipped it to one of the shelves as she turned it off. Then she brought down a short crop with a wide, leather head. I gulped as she lifted it toward me, only to tap it gently against my left breast with several taps. I tried to shift, but the cum in my flip flops just made me slip harder down upon the edge between my legs. I felt the rubber straps straining against my feet and I had no choice but to widen my stance even more. More of my weight rested on the hard, biting edge digging up into my crotch. I whimpered loudly.

“You have been a bad, little girl, haven’t you?” Kari asked, increasing the force of her taps. Her voice changed from stern to seductive, teasing even. Each little whack of the leather crop’s head made me jerk a little. My pierced nipple danced and I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth.

“Yes, ma’am,” I whined. “I’ve been bad. I’m sorry.”

Kari’s eyes flashed with amusement. “And how should a bad little cum slut like you be punished?” She flicked the crop against my other breast now, a little sharper. I squirmed and slid in my cum soaked shoes as the ridge dug up into my perineum and pussy. I could feel my petals spreading and the only way to relieve the pressure was to rock my hips, thrusting my pussy outward.

“My pussy,” I gasped. “Punish my pussy?”

Kari laughed and the crop flicked down and this time struck my pudenda, slapping the wet bump above my swollen clit with enough force to make a nice sounding cracking noise. I squealed, hips twisting, and bucked hard as she left two or three more swats on my clitoris itself. Panting, I worked myself to a strange brink.

“You do realize that you are literally standing in cum?” Kari asked, the crop coming back up to my breasts. She began striking them, first one, then the other, and the hardware jiggled. I grit my teeth and closed my eyes as the pain began to grow into something beyond discomfort. “It's rather appropriate, don’t you think? Your shoes filled with spunk?” She hit me harder, switching back and forth between each breast, and I let out yelp.

“You are definitely a cumslut,” Kari announced. “And for cumming when you weren’t permitted, I’ll be taking it out on your perfect, little twat.” With that announcement, the crop dipped down and the leather bit into the soft parts right above the stupid rubber ridge I was riding. I closed my eyes tight, gritting my teeth as I squealed and tried to rise up on tiptoe, only to have my feet slide out. I felt the actually baseboards of the closet walls against my feet and while it gave me purchase, they were to far apart to give me any kind of leverage to lift my pussy off the ridge.

And Kari spanked me. Aiming for my clit.

I didn’t count, but if the redness afterward was any indication, I’m thinking maybe fifteen or twenty sharp, hard, little strokes. I know it stung like the dickens. The vibroballs inside me made little difference. It was punishment. I didn’t even come close to orgasm. Not one bit. And I couldn’t figure out, at least at first, why she did it. And when I was close to crying, she hung the crop back up on its hook, hugged me, then bent down and sucked my left nipple into her mouth. I gasped as her hand came up between my legs and she found my clit, rubbing me roughly. Sexual energy surged through me and some of the pain was forgotten.

Kari smiled as she pulled back. Then she began freeing me and a moment later I groaned as I lifted myself off the rubber coated edge. My pussy felt bruised.

“God, that hurt!” I exclaimed roughly, stepping away from the kneeler I’d been straddling. I could still feel the goo in my flip flops and I slipped a bit, only to have Kari catch my arm.

“Steady,” she warned me. “Are you sure you want to continue this foolishness with the flip flops?”

I gave her a wry grin. “Prefer to beat my feet?” I asked.

Kari shrugged. “Your feet, or your ass. I know you’ll still cum when you aren’t supposed to, thus giving me the opportunity to punish you in any way I like.”

I snorted and stepped out into the hall. “Because half of your punishment is always taking me back to the edge so I’ll cum again.”
Kari laughed. I gave her a sour look. Then she glanced down at her watch. “It’s only fifteen till eleven. We will be going out to lunch today, so if you want to continue wearing the tube top and skirt, then you will need to reapply your…” her voice trailed off and she looked down at my feet. “Your foot lotion.” She reached out, patted my rump, and then pushed past me, heading toward her office.

“I’m looking forward to spanking you at lunch,” she called out. Then she turned, disappearing through the doorway. A moment later, the vibroballs inside my pussy went still, leaving me with a wet, wanton, aching slit.

For several long moments I just stood there, then I went into the conference room. My flip flops were actually drying out and I could feel the remnants of cum still slimy between my toes. I checked the clock. Kari had been right. It was a quarter till eleven. I wasn’t even sure I had time to get the necessary blowjobs. There was only so much I could suck out of Jose. The poor man. Besides, it took two blowjobs to fill my flip flops and while I hadn’t exactly depleted the supply of men in the building, it generally took between fifteen and twenty-five minutes to give a blowjob. Privacy and opportunity were both issues.

That meant it was time to change.

For a long moment I thought about going barefoot. There were some definite pros to that idea. It meant I could wear whatever I wanted, but it also meant that I’d be subject to Kari’s punishment of my soles. And she’d have no hesitation about doing it in a public place, in the most demeaning way possible. Besides, my feet still hurt from the previous day. Of course, the worst part of it was that all I had was a pair of gym shorts and a tee shirt. That’s what I’d worn this morning. Stupidly, I hadn’t planned ahead. Kari would not be happy going to lunch with me dressed like I was at home. She has style.

Then I considered wearing the black dress, but after the spankings Kari had given me the other day, the thought of subjecting my ass to that kind of abuse, especially in public again, just made me tremble. No way. The thought of me leaning over something, baring my alligator clamped breasts, her lifting up the back of the dress, exposing my alligator clamped clit, all while spanking the bejezus out of me? In front of a crowd? No thank you!

That’s when I realized, that what I really wanted, for just a little bit, was not to be hurt. I know. It’s odd coming from me, right? But seriously. I just wanted some time where the bottoms of my feet and my nipples and my ass and my pussy weren’t being spanked or abused. For just a little.

And that meant the stripper shoes.



Wild, witty, and totally sexy, Breanne Erickson is the author of “Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut,” series. Known as the “goddess of dark erotica”, her humorous outlook on life, her incredible urges, and sexual escapades are the stuff of legend. Each tale is like an entry into her personal diary - the long, thick, and hard “ins and outs” of a girl who can’t ever seem to get enough deviant sex. Check out her amazing work at Amazon.com.

Friday, November 17, 2017

Whipped

Author's Note - This is NOT part of "No Right To Shoes", but I couldn't help myself. I hope you like it. - Bre

Yesterday morning, it was quick and unsubtle. I was wearing what I'd been told too - the short blue skirt, the one with pleats. It was tad bit too short, just enough that sitting meant pressing bare skin to the leather chair at my desk. The blouse? A pretty, tie-dyed thing, with a plunging V neck, crisscrossed with black bars. It actually covered me better than some of the shirts Kari has given me in the past. Of course I was following NHPS Rule #1 as well - one of Kari's favorites; a vibrating egg toy. Thick, large, and controlled remotely, I felt it start up even before she'd made an appearance. I gasped, stiffening at my desk, my pussy tightening in rhythmic pulses around the now buzzing and buried object.

She glided past the glass to the door, all golds and reds. Her suit was incredible, a dark, wine colored burgundy. Her hair was curled today, like rings of gold, resting on her shoulders. It matched her ears and neck and finger, twenty-four carats glittering. The only other color, besides the pale beauty of her perfect, alabaster skin and the cardinal glistening of her lips, were her piercing, sparkling blue eyes, which locked onto me with a fury of emotion. She opened the door and looked at me trembling in my seat. I gulped.

"Good morning, fuckslut." The words that came from her mouth were sweet, despite the vulgarity of her vocabulary. It was meant to demean me, to remind me of the truth of my existence. I AM a fuckslut, a sexual object, a walking, breathing literal fuck doll whose sole purpose is to provide others with an opportunity to sate their base desires.

"Go to the conference room and strip," she continued, eyeing me hungrily. "Everything but the shoes."

For a second I sat there immobile, just a tad bit surprised, my mind wondering what torment she intended to inflict upon me. Would it be sweet or sour? Would I be forced to lay upon the mahogany table again, my breasts pressed to the spiked, plastic mat, pinpoints of discomfort digging into my bosom as she spanked me? Would I be told to take a seat, legs spread with my knees bent over the arm rests, my exposed sex presented as a target for her sap, my swollen clit and dripping petals hungry for anything she was willing to give? Or was this just a convenient stopping point before she dragged me to the punishment closet and her new favorite toy - the kneeler, a padded bench that served as both restraint and torture device, a wooden ridge jacked up between my legs, the edge digging hard into my sex...

I nodded and rose. I was wearing my black stilettos, not because I liked them, but because she did. I went quietly down the hall, knowing she was behind me, staring at my ass. I turned the corner, passing her office, our little kitchenette, then her art room, turning once more to enter the largest room of our suite. It was a conference room, like most, with white walls, a television mounted on one wall, a small bar, and a massive table. Six leather chairs were positioned around it. But none of this mattered. I stopped, grabbed the bottom of my shirt, and pulled it upward, exposing my breasts. Two piercings went through the nipples, one on each side. They were gold, and because they'd been given to me by the woman who had just come into the room behind me, were also twenty-four carat. But while hers were meant to adorn and bring glitter to beauty, mine were meant to increase my sexual appeal, to demean me. My piercings were those of an object. A slut.

A nympho humiliation pain slut.

Besides the gold hoops, there was also a padlock. A small one to be sure, more of a charm than an actual functioning device. It dangled from my right tit like a tag, the black emblazoned rose over more gold, glittering. It swung with each breath.

I pushed the skirt down over my hips and it fell to the floor. I was bare beneath it, neither panty nor shorts covering my tush. My sex was ripe and slippery and I couldn't help the flood of expectation, of satisfaction, that might be coming. The egg inside me was vibrating too.

Naked, I turned to face her and my eyes caught sight of the two objects she was holding. The first, and most obvious, was a whip. It was black, and made of wood and leather, with a narrow handle and about twenty, thick straps. A flogger. Between her fingers was also a clothespin, a wooden one.

"Spread your legs wide apart," Kari said, her face dark and wonderful. "And put your hands behind your head."

I took a deep, shuddering breath. I lifted my hands, my lips pressed together in a fine line. She brought the clothespin up to my breast, pinching it open. I sucked in a gasp as she positioned it over the hot tip of my bosom, but then only let it close for half a second, just enough to send a shard of pain through me, before opening it, lifting it, and bringing it over to my padlocked nipple. Again, she teased me, rubbing my now raised nub higher. She let the clothespin pinch it, lightly, momentarily. Then she removed it. My eyes widened as I understood, her hand moving downward, between my breasts, over my belly. She pressed it into my navel, then drew it down my tummy, over my mound, until she held it, still open and ready to bite, over my clit.

I swallowed in anticipation and she did not disappoint. The wooden maw closed hard, crushing the most sensitive and delicate spot on my body. Pain pushed up through my arousal and want, making me grimace.

But while Kari Anders is a sadist, I am her foil. Yin to her yang. I am a masochist and sexualized pain explodes within me, sending me into ecstatic loops of satisfaction. The clothespin hurt, but the vibrating egg added its own impetus to the mix, and my poor brain couldn't properly sort the signals. In seconds I was panting, yes - because it hurt - but also because now, more than ever, I wanted to cum. I needed to cum. I had to cum. I whimpered softly, letting her know.

She stepped back from me, on my right, and raised the flogger. With my fingers interlaced behind my head, I braced myself. She swung the whip, not too hard, nor too soft. The leather slashed the air and stopped upon impact, flattening against my soft, curved breasts, pressing into them. I grit my teeth, a stinging sensation crossing from one nipple to the other and before that feeling had turned to warmth, she struck me again.

The sound of the flogger striking me became rhythmic, stroke after stroke. It was a steady beating, the drummer pounding on her instrument in time to some metronome I couldn't hear. Instead, I listened to the oscillations of the vibrator, the crack of the leather striking my breasts, the increasingly ragged pants of breath, and the rapid beat of my heart. My chest felt hot and heavy, as if each breast were swollen and like ripe fruit, hanging from a tree branch. My nipples tingled and at one point I turned away, tears building in my eyes.

We must have both been counting because when I said the number "fifty" in the silence of my head, punctuated with another soft gasp, Kari changed the movement of the flogger. Now she spun it in a circle in front of me, going clockwise, only to let the tips of each leather strand strike my right breast from beneath, grazing my ribs, smashing into my bosom and lifting it up. I cried out, teeth clenched, face full of the pain. I didn't even realize that my hips were pumping wildly and the clothespin on my clit jiggled and danced as I trembled.

She struck the other breast too, like one of those spinning brushes in a car wash. I withstood that, enduring the fast, sharp, stinging heat until I turned my head away, eyes closed tight, flinching. The flickering strands biting at my breast fell away and then, just as I breathed a sigh of relief, she swung hard again, this time aiming at my bottom.

I jumped slightly, yelping as the flogger crossed my rear. Both buttocks were caught by the straps, leaving me a new sensation to endure. A trickle of moisture seeped down my thigh as I endured the heat of the whipping, my breasts throbbing with their own pain, my clit throbbing between the pincers of the clothespin, my pussy shaking as the vibrating egg danced and jiggled inside me. The lash cut into my bottom, not enough to tear me, or make me bleed, but with enough force to leave my skin red and even raised. The force of Kari's blows were enough to push me forward, forced to take a step in the heels, just to keep from falling over.

I took twenty to the ass.

"Now," Kari said, her face flushed with excitement. "Face the table. Bend over it. And spread your legs as wide as you can."

Slowly, achingly, wantonly, I turned around. I bent over the conference table, knowing better than to pressed my simmering breasts against the cool surface. She wouldn't like it if I scratched her table with my piercings or lock. It was why she'd bought the spiked mat in the first place. To protect her table. So I used my elbows to prop me up, bending over. I spread my legs wide, three, almost four feet. Was she going to whip my poor bottom more?

I should have seen it coming. Instead she stood behind me. I heard the swish of the flogger. Then I felt the first impact. It struck me, not across the bottom, but between my legs, an underhand stroke that landed on my pussy. The straps licked at my petals, pressing and smashing them and Kari wasted no time. The whip spun and crashed against me as I went up on tip toe, desperately trying to get away, all while trying to fuck it all the same. The flogger opened me, spreading my labia, digging into my pink wetness, until she got closer, and the straps encircled me, flying higher up my sex, until they caught the clothespin.

I squirmed and panted, pain and pleasure rushing through me. Heat and power pounded through my veins as sensations of violence and sex ate at me, like acid. The pressure I'd been feeling doubled, then did so again, until like a boiler, I was steaming with heat, my sex grasping wetly at the flogger.

"Please! Please!" I begged, the words coming from my mouth in a whiny, little voice. "Oh please fuck me!" I cried.

The flogger struck harder and I spread my legs even farther.

"Kari! PLEASE!" I begged.

Then her hand came up. She grabbed me around the waist, the flogger twisting in her hand. The narrow, leather wrapped handle rose and she aimed it at my quivering, sodden depths, and thrust it in deep, penetrating me with a passion and fury that could only come from a woman who wanted to both hurt and pleasure me.

The fact that it was only a little thicker than my thumb meant nothing. It was hard and long and she began thrusting it viciously through my sex as I went quietly and completely nuts. I thrust my sore, welted bottom back against it and together we moved, me impaled upon her tool, moaning until my eyes seemed to roll back into my head, the approaching climax overwhelming. I couldn't hold back.

"Please Kari! Can I cum?" I whimpered in a pleading tone. Her hand pounded at my cunt, the whip handle driving me into oblivion. I felt her hand against my skin and it was like a caress. Her lips were near my ear and I heard every, little bit of it.

"Cum for me, dearheart. Cum hard."

And with that moment's permission, I shuddered. I whimpered. I moaned. Then a burst of heat and light and wetness seemed to explode, both within me, and from me. Stars seemed to shatter and for a glorious moment I was inundated with the drug I need the most, an addiction so powerful, so startling, that I would endure anything for it.

I came.

Kari slowly pulled the whip handle from my pussy, giving my sex a loving, little, final thrust. I shuddered. Then she laid it on the table, the handle wet with my own juices.

"I'll leave you to clean up," she said softly. "When you're done, you may dress. We have clients to visit today." She patted me on the rump as I lay exhausted on her table, thighs wet with my own cream. She turned and started to leave, but stopped when she heard me whisper her name.

"Kari?"


She turned and looked at me. I looked at her through the euphoria of orgasm, a stupid smile on my face, eyes glazed. "What about the vibrating egg?" I asked slowly, stupidly. "And the clothespin?"

Kari laughed. "I think we'll leave those on. And when you've recovered from this last beating, I'll have you sit in one of the chairs, your legs spread, and I'll spank your pussy with the leather sap until you're begging me to cum." She smiled and turned back to the door. She took three steps and almost managed to get to the hall when I called out her name, stopping her.

"Kari!" I said eagerly. She turned and looked.

I was sitting in one of the leather chairs, my legs spread wide, draped over the arm rests. My feet dangled, the high heels wide and sexy, showing of the arches of my feet. But most importantly, my hot, wet sex was in full view, the clothespin jutting out from my clit.

"I'm ready," I whispered. "I'm recovered."

And Kari grinned. Her eyes brightened and I saw the manic, hungry, sadistic look coming up from the depths of her soul. I knew what she needed, what she wanted. I am, after all, a fuck slut. Her fuck slut. And this time, it was her voice that was thick with need, and tight with passion. She looked at me with longing as she licked her lips once in contemplation.

"I'll go get the sap."


If you enjoyed this erotic tale, then you might consider supporting Breanne’s endeavors, by purchasing her books! Available in e-book format from Amazon.com, Breanne Erickson’s “Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut” series is one of the most highly rated extreme BDSM erotica collections. Check out her amazing work at Amazon.com.

Saturday, November 11, 2017

No Right To Shoes - Part Six


This is Part Six of a multi-part series. If you haven't already read  Part One, Part Two, Part ThreePart Four,  and Part Five, please so so. 

Part Six
The next morning I marched into the office atrium as if I owned it. Well, marched might have been too strong a term. I limped mostly. I was also a bit early. It’s amazing how much time you save when you don’t have to spend thirty minutes agonizing over what slutty outfit to humiliate yourself in. Me? I’d gone with a simple set of gym shorts, a tee shirt, bra, and panties. Each step was accompanied by the jingle of the slave anklet and the soft slap of my still tender soles against the ceramic tile.
The faux “creek” that ran kitty corner through the atrium had been ruined in the flooding from Hurricane Harvey and was dry. All the plants had been stripped away and I’d heard management was considering just filling the trench in and putting some new tile down. I could understand that. Even approve. It was a 1980’s feature that could have used some updating.
Besides, it would mean people would be walking further away from my glass door, making it harder to see me. That was a good thing.
It was just a few minutes before eight and instead of heading toward Kari’s little nook, I padded across the atrium toward the restrooms. I’d learned some valuable lessons the previous day. The first was that the bottoms of my feet couldn’t handle the punishments Kari was inflicting upon them. Kari had beaten my feet, shocked them, and caned them. She’d basically forced me to wear the black stilletoes, which hadn’t felt very good after what had been done to me that morning. Add in the spankings, the alligator clamps, and the Thrusting Anal Vibrator jammed up my ass, I’m sure you can understand how I was vacillating between options. Then Julie had done additional damage to me that evening, leaving me with a band of delicate, tender, redness across the middle of each foot.
My plan for day two was simple. I’d do what I could to mitigate the punishments Kari planned on inflicting on me. If I needed a break, I’d switch into one of the other pairs of shoes. And to start off, I knew exactly what I needed to do.
Find Jose the Day Porter.
Jose and I had been, um… intimate, several times before and I knew that he’d never object to a quickie. As expected, I found him over at the restrooms, giving them a quick once over. To my surprise thought, his cart was blocking the women’s restroom and I pushed my way past it with a grin. Brilliant. No woman would go in - not when a male custodian was cleaning, and no man would come in because it was a women’s restroom. Why had I never thought of this before?
“Closed! Closed!” I heard Jose say from one of the stalls. I laughed.
“Jose? It’s me. Breanne.”
His head popped out. He was holding a cleaning rag. “Bre?” His eyes were bright and he smiled. I dropped my bag down on the counter and gave him a smoldering look. I pointed down at his crotch.
“I need some cum,” I admitted. I’m not sure he understood my English, and to be honest, my Spanish didn’t exactly include the words for “please squirt your cum on my flip flops.” So I did what any nympho humiliation pain slut would do in my position. I arched an eyebrow, gave him a dark, seductive look, made sure my flip flops were immediately accessible from the bag, and then pulled off my top, exposing my bra. Jose’s grin got bigger and when my pierced nipples came into view, he was nodding in eager anticipation.
I curled a finger and gestured him closer and when he dropped his rag and approached, I grabbed both of his hands, set them on my breasts, and moaned.
Jose didn’t waste any time. He kneaded my bosom, his fingers finding the tips and tweaking them. Then his head came down, suckling my nipple into his mouth. I gasped, then moaned again. Half of sex is the soundtrack, let me assure you.
Please notice that I left my shorts on. I didn’t want him getting the wrong idea. Sure, I’d have fucked him silly, but I needed his cum in a certain spot, and for some reason, I felt that emptying a condom out seemed sort of wrong. I mean, afterall, this was about humiliating me. Right?
So Jose got to stick his dick in my mouth.
One thing I regretted about using the women’s restroom for the blowjob was that the small, blue pad Jose kept in the men’s handicap stall wasn’t around. Still, I’m used to kneeling on hard surfaces, so I ignored the discomfort and wrapped my lips around Jose’s throbbing cock. I slurped, sucked, blew, and pumped him, working hard to get him to cum in as little time as possible and about eight minutes after I started he groaned. I groped blindly for my flip flop, and just as he was about to cum, I snatched it off the floor next to me with my  left hand, grabbed his spurting cock, and directed his thick, white pudding down into the sole of my shoe.
Jose looked at me in surprise, but also in relief and I smiled up at him, only to go back down on his already softening member. I’m that sort of girl. I like making sure that the men I service are already on their way back to wanting me again. Jose moaned, but then pulled away, shaking his head. I shrugged and smiled, then stood up. The pool of spunk was right in the middle of the shoe, right where the ball of my left foot would rest. I carefully put the shoe down on the ground, then got to my feet. I pushed my shorts and panties down, much to Jose’s confusion and he watched with curiosity as I opened my bag. The white stretchy skirt that went with the shoes came out and I pulled it up over my rump. It was too short, but at least it really wasn’t see-through.
I tugged out the clover clamps and held them out to Jose. He took them skeptically, but when I cupped my tits, he grinned again and quickly set the clamps on my nipples, deep behind the piercings. The gold padlock dangling from my right breast jiggled as I breathed. Then I put the tube top on, wincing as the tight material wrapped my bosom, pressing the steel clamps deep into my breasts. You could see everything. Clamp, pinched nipple, the chain. All of it.
Next came the anal plug. It was jeweled, and I slipped it into my pussy once, barely needing to pull up the hem. Jose watched with interest and when I turned around and bent over the counter, reaching behind, he seemed to know exactly what to do. He took the now glistening plug from me, pressed it tightly against my ass, and then pushed. I groaned, trying to relax as the jeweled toy went in my back door. It took some serious mental power too. When Jose finished, I got out the vibrator pendant, clipped it to my clit, and turned it on. A wave of intense, powerful, highly arousing vibrations streamed up from my clitoris. For a moment, I wished that the vibroballs inside me were on, but I didn’t have control of those. Only Kari did. Still, the pendant was more than enough. I wanted to cum. I wanted to suck Jose back into stiffness and fuck his brains out. I pushed my skirt back down, smoothing the material, trying not to tremble.
Jose stared.
I looked him straight in the eye, smiled, and slid my foot into the slime covered flipflop.
Deep breath.
Don’t get me wrong. I am certainly not squeamish about cum. I’ve swallowed it, spit it, bathed in it, drank it, and smeared it all over my body. One day I did an assignment called “Cum Slut” where I had to suck off a dozen or so guys, each one squirting their load onto my body in a different spot. Do you know what it’s like having someone cum in your ear? I do. Both of them. Shudder to think. I had cum in my hair. Cum between my tits. Cum coating both breasts. Cum on my back. Cum in my ass. And cum in my shoes.
Just like this. I never learn.
I felt the squishiness of it first as my foot pushed the thick froth down into my arch and out between my toes. It made the flip flop slippery as well, with my foot sliding around inside the damn thing. I put on the other shoe as Jose looked on in bewilderment. But then he shrugged. Yep. The crazy fuck slut redhead girl is just muy loco.
I gave him a little wave, stuffed my previous outfit back into the bag, and carefully slipped and slid my foot forward as I walked out of the bathroom, literally walking in cum. I pushed past his cart and turned right, staring out across the atrium. What I needed now, was another man.
Before the cum in my flipflop dried.
I checked the time. Kari wasn’t due for another thirty-five minutes, so I still had some time. I leaned against the wall, crossed my arms to hide the obvious outlines of the clover clamps, and did my very best to ignore the incessant sexual stimulation coming from the vibrator pendant. It was a cruel toy, one designed to set me off. There was only one setting and I’ve never been able to handle the vibrations wells. I waited, looking for another ambulatory penis, my hips rolling and shifting, moving the silent vibroballs inside me. Jose emerged from behind me, rolling his cart, his smile huge as he headed across the atrium toward the elevator. I gave him a little wave, but didn’t say anything, not wanting to reveal my own immediate need.
That’s when Jonathan Wilcox came through the front door of the lobby.
Tall, gangly, with a bald head and a ring of silver strands just above his ears, Jon was a tax guy that worked in the office opposite mine. Granted, we rarely saw each other because the entrance to his suite came before you got to my glass door, but he’d been to the restroom often enough to see the redhead secretary slut who frequently flashed her pantiless state out to anyone willing or wanting to look.
And I might, just maybe, have a reputation. Possibly.
His eyes widened when he saw me, and whether the fact I was wearing flip flops instead of my usual do-me heels, seemed to make little difference. Granted, the white skirt was so fucking short that I suspected the bottom of the vibrator pendant was hanging below the hem. I unfolded my arms and he stopped in his tracks, his eyes locked on my clamped tits.
Oh yeah.
I gave him a little wave and a come hither look. Then, when he hesitated and glanced toward his suite door, I made it look a little more pleading. He gave me a questioning look and I nodded, then cocked my head, making it clear where I needed him to go. My hips rocked diabolically and I decided a little panting might make things better. I ran my tongue across my lips and that was all it took.
Men. They will follow a half-naked woman anywhere.
Jonathan headed my direction and I maintained eye contact with him even as I backed up. I felt the wall fall away as I hit the corridor leading to the bathrooms. Jonathan followed.
“Hi,” I breathed as he got close.
“Morning,” he said with a little grin. “You look…” his words seemed to falter as he stared down at me.
“Needy,” I said firmly, my hips grinding back and forth lewdly. “I want to suck your cock,” I said softly, reaching out to take his hand. His eyes widened at my bluntness, but he let me lead him right into the men’s restroom.
I tugged him to the handicap stall where my little foam pad was waiting. I slipped off the flip flop that wasn’t soaked with cum, and as I fell to my knees, I got everything into position. Jonathan was against the wall. I was in front of him, my fingers already undoing his pants, the shoe next to my knee. Then I wrapped my lips around him.
There is something powerful about giving a man a blowjob. I’ve said it before, but it is one of the few times that I am personally in control. When I have cock in my mouth, and I’m the one making the bobbing movements, swirling my tongue in circles around his head, licking and blowing and sucking, all while applying pressure to the base of his shaft, pumping my hand so his entire length feels as if it is encased with warm wetness, that’s when I am at my best. I am in control. I have power. I can make him cum with the barest touch of my painted fingernails to his scrotum, or I can drag it out, raising his blood pressure to a point where he’s putty in my hands. I can feel the wild pump of his hips, the throbbing pulse in my mouth, and then…
… then I lifted my clean flipflop up, tilted to the side, and let the white eruption shoot down onto the foam sole of my shoe.
Jonathan groaned, but then looked down at me, panting softly. “Dare I ask?” He asked.
I looked up at him, my face flushing. I was about a minute from cumming myself. “Please don’t,” I told him. I started to stand up, but he grabbed my arm and helped. I bent back down, put the flip flop on the floor, and slid my foot into the gooey, cum-covered shoe.
“You’re right,” Jonathan said. “I don’t want to know.” He sighed. “Another perverted adventure?”
I nodded, biting my lip. Have I mentioned that I have a reputation? Practically everyone in the building knows I’m a fucked up fuck slut. There are even books about me.
“You look like you’re going to cum,” he said suddenly, peering at me. I swallowed hard.
“I’m not supposed to,” I said breathlessly, the sensations now worse since I was standing, and not focusing. I put a hand to my groin and pressed, which didn’t help. The vibrator pendant dug into my petals. “But I don’t think I can hold off,” I admitted.
“What happens if you cum?” He asked me.
I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I whispered, my voice tight. “I don’t…”
Jonathan’s hands came up to my tube top and he pulled the whole thing downward, exposing my clamped breasts. I gasped as he grabbed the chain and the light, insistent tug sent me, eyes wide, right into the maw of the beast. Orgasm swallowed me whole and I grabbed hold of Jon, pressing my chest into his arm, squealing and humping his leg as I hit my climax. I felt fluids spurt out from my pussy, soaking my thighs and the vibrator pendant and even some of the skirt. I shook and Jon held me.
“There now,” he said, as I let out a long, shallow gasp, settling back down somewhat. “Don’t you feel better?”
I looked up at him with a weak smile and nodded. “Yes.”
“This is how I like you,” he admitted.
“Mmmmmm,” I hummed, still reeling from the flush of endorphins floating through my bloodstream.
“Well, I need to get to work. And I think Ms.Anders will be arriving soon, if I’m not mistaken.”
I blinked. “What? Oh. Oh right!” I blurted out. I tugged my tube top back into place, smoothed my skirt down, and pushed the kneeling pad back behind the commode. My feet were still sliding in the flipflops, except now in both of them. Jonathan put his pants back the way they were supposed to be and he opened the door.
“So… let me know what your punishment is?” He asked me.
I laughed. “Read about it. Like everyone else,” I replied glibly. He rolled his eyes. I shooed him out. “We should walk out of the men’s restroom together,” I said seriously.
“If you can walk like that,” he muttered, nodding at my shoes.
I took a deep breath. “I’ll do my best.”
He leaned over, gave me a kiss on my cheek, and off he went.

Five minutes later, after cleaning up a little, I slid and slipped my cum-soaked way across the atrium, and beat my boss by two minutes to the glass door. I was already seated when she came in, and she looked down at my attire with an appraising eye.
“Show me,” she said in lieu of a greeting and I lifted both feet and brought them out from under the desk. I slipped my shoes off and showed her the wet soles.
“Hmmm,” she hummed. “Who assisted you this morning?”
“Jose and Jonathan Wilcox from across the way,” I replied softly, putting my toes back into the squishy flipflops.
Kari nodded. “If you elect to remain in the flipflops, I expect them to be wet and will check promptly at ten. If you change shoes, you will need to wash.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course,” I declared disdainfully. “I’m not a heathen, Kari.”
She sighed. Maybe she was disappointed. Who knew? I watched her walk back toward her office and sighed myself. In relief.
She hadn’t asked if I’d cum.

Want more? Well, be patient. It's cumming.

Wild, witty, and totally sexy, Breanne Erickson is the author of “Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut,” series. Known as the “goddess of dark erotica”, her humorous outlook on life, her incredible urges, and sexual escapades are the stuff of legend. Each tale is like an entry into her personal diary - the long, thick, and hard “ins and outs” of a girl who can’t ever seem to get enough deviant sex. Check out her amazing work at Amazon.com.