Tuesday, October 28, 2014


The truck was in gear before I even dialed the number, the back wheels of my Ford F-150 spitting gravel as my foot pressed down on the accelerator.  The tension I felt was palpable, a literal force that tore at both my body and my psyche, demanding action.  Fortunately the man I was calling was on speed dial for just this sort of emergency.  My knuckles were white upon the steering wheel as the connection was made and I heard his voice, cheerful and pleased that I had called.

“Hello Bre!” Zach said into the phone.

I didn’t mince words when I told him what I needed.  Not at that point.  I slammed the wheel to the right and took off down the farm to market road, racing toward I-10 with an intensity and speed that would have alarmed my parents, disturbed Kari, and interested the police.  But I didn’t care.  I knew what I needed.

“I’m coming over,” I had told Zach. That was all I said.  It was all that I needed to say.  There was a momentary silence as Zach dealt with my pronouncement.  He had seen my tweets for the last few days and no doubt had a pretty good idea what was going on. Five days of denial does some rather strange things to me and it wasn’t good.

“Do I need to run up the flag?” He asked.  I snorted into the phone.  Zach was grasping at straws, hoping I was coming over to see him, or talk to him about an upcoming assignment.  

“Hell yes, run up the flag.”  

Zack’s tone was answer enough.  “Sweet or spicy?”

I pushed the pedal to the metal.  “Five alarm chili, Zach.  With pepper spray.” I paused. “But I’ll need to be able to walk out.  Kari wants to take me out on Sunday.”

He let out a sigh.  “All right.  I’ll see you when you get here.”

And that was that.


I pulled up in front of the fraternity house thirty minutes later, shocked that I’d managed the drive from Katy all the way to the university without attracting the attention of the police.  It was around seven in the evening and as I climbed out of my truck I felt the Husky dildo, a nine inch rubber shaft that was stuffed up inside my sex, shift diabolically.  I was wearing a skirt and panties, a combination that wasn’t optimal for keeping large rubber sex toys embedded in wet, slippery holes.  And that was the point.  Every time I’d stand up five or so inches of that phallus would slip out of my box, kept from falling to the ground by my stretched out panties.  And then, every time I sat down, I’d get the full length slammed back into me.  And that was it.  I wasn’t allowed to masturbate except by standing and sitting, and I hadn’t cum all day.  My nerves were on fire with need, every part of me demanding attention.

Of course the day before that I’d been told to endure the shifting, rolling, ringing swirl of my ben wa balls, two golf-ball sized spheres that did little to drive me over the edge into orgasm, and lots to drive me up a fucking wall.  And on Wednesday?  Wednesday I’d been stuffed to the brim with my twelve inch CoreDriller dildo, a massive rocket-ship looking toy that had been held in tightly with jeans, leaving me wet, aching, and desperate.  And Tuesday?  Tuesday was the damn ben wa balls… AGAIN!  Monday was just as bad.  I’d had the vibroballs in there on Monday, purring away on low, tormenting me.  No orgasms.  Just denial. For days.  At one point I actually made the claim that I was horny enough to fuck a cactus.

I don’t handle denial very well.

I marched up to the front door with dark thoughts and needs swirling inside me, my sex trying to tighten around the Husky dildo constantly, but only succeeding in pushing it a bit further out before it slipped back in.  It was maddening - by centimeters.  I pounded my fist against the door and glanced down at myself.  Short but respectable skirt, flip flops, tee shirt.  I was even wearing a rather plain bra and panties.  I was hardly dressed as a slut and could have been any redheaded college co-ed looking for a party.

Zach opened the door and I stepped in.  There was a crowd waiting in the hall.  Well, maybe not a crowd.  Ten?  A dozen? I didn’t stop and count.  I glanced to the left, into the common room and couldn’t help grinning.  There against the far wall was a red flag flying near the ceiling.  I knew what the crimson cloth symbolized, as had everyone who had seen it.  Breanne was cumming.

That was not a pun.

Even before the front door closed behind me I began.  The shirt came first but I kicked off the flip flops at almost the same time.  Eyes bored into me as I unclasped my bra, baring my breasts and I could see the arousal on some of the guys’ faces and yes, possibly in a few large lumps at the front of a few trousers.  I felt it too; a tangible need that was forcing me to move.  I pushed the skirt down over my rump, baring my panty clad bottom and the real problem; the dildo.  The gold piercing at my right nipple flashed as I bent down, stepping out of the skirt, and grabbing hold of both panty and Husky dildo.  I pulled both downward, groaning as the thick phallus was finally extracted from my grasping, wanting, desperately soaked sex.  My panties reeked of my juices, and I kicked aside the cloth as I brought the dildo up to my mouth and with one swift movement, drove the entire thing down my throat as if I were giving the synthetic dildo the best blowjob in the world.

Yes. I am not above using jealousy as a motivator.  I didn’t lick that damn thing clean.  I blowjobbed it clean. I sucked on it, bobbing my head, jamming it down my gullet until my lips touched the synthetic half balls the designers had seen fit to add.  There were murmurs of appreciation and then I pulled the thing out, wet with saliva, and tossed it to one of the guys.  He caught it and put it on the nearby side table with a grin.  For a long moment no one moved. I stood there naked, one leg cocked so that the arch of my foot was exposed and I pushed my breasts forward.  The silence stretched on and then Zach nodded.

Several of the guys moved with a speed that shocked me.  I was roughly grabbed and manhandled into the common room, dragged forward so that my toes literally scrambled along the wood floor. It was violent and forceful. I loved it. I was thrown down upon one of the couches and the swarm of fraternity guys moved in.  My wrists and ankles were caught and I was pulled open, my wet sex on display.  One of the guys shoved a number of throw pillows behind my back, bending me in half.  Zach moved behind the couch and I looked up so I could see him.  His hand went high, then flashed downward.

It caught my breast with a stinging slap that made me gasp.  And he didn’t stop.  Using both hands, back and forth, fast and hard, he delivered a beating to my boobs that left them bright pink, hot, and heavy.  My nipples were rock hard and I was groaning.  Of course part of that might have been the fact that one of the other fraternity guys was kneeling between my outstretched legs, licking and biting at my clit with a frenzy of movement.  As soon as Zach seemed done with my breasts, the guy on his knees moved and another young man stepped into his place.  This one however stood, wielding the leather belt extracted from his jeans.  It was doubled up and he gripped it about ten inches back from the fold.  His first stroke landed wetly on my slit, biting into my clit and I cried out, my rump coming up off the couch as my body rose to meet the impact.  Had they not been holding my legs I would have kicked wildly.

The belt stung and as the heat built as it landed again, a little farther to the right.  Red lines appeared on my inner thighs, but faded slightly as my tormentor moved back inward, landing several more blistering strokes against my swelling labia.  I gritted my teeth, the pressure inside me building in ways that a simple fucking could never handle and I couldn’t help myself.

“Oh God! Yes! Hurt me!” I cried out.  They liked that.

Zach moved away from my breasts and someone else stepped up to the plate and suddenly I was getting both halves nailed at the same time.  Another belt was produced, the last five or six inches used to slap my nipples, back and forth, while the doubled leather strap bit into the crevasse between my thighs. I began to thrash and it took the concerted effort of the men holding me down to keep me from closing my legs, or bringing my hands in to cover my breasts. My chest heaved and my toes curled and then, crazily, the fire inside me exploded brightly and I lost myself in the wave of pain-induced orgasm that any normal girl would never have experienced.  My vision swam and went red, the beating continuing between my legs and at my breasts, totally regardless of my orgasmic ecstasy.  I shuddered, eyes closed, mouth open in a wail that filled the massive room.  I’m not sure when Zach stopped them, but he did and I was only barely cognizant of his commanding voice, telling them to take me upstairs.

I have my own room at the fraternity house. I know because the name plate says “Breanne.”  Most of the rooms in that corridor are decorated exactly as you would expect from a collection of horny college men.  But my room?  My room looked like Barbie had puked on Hello Kitty, followed by some serious bestiality sex.  It was pink, with white furniture, a simple white desk and chair in which a massive pink teddy bear sat.  The lamp had a pink shade.  It was… disgusting actually.  But what was neat was the bed.  It was a full, rather than a twin, and this one came with all sorts of interesting accessories.  They’d gone to the trouble of using fraternity funds to outfit the place and they’d even bought white leather cuffs.  I’d walked up the stairs willingly, held upright by two of the fraternity guys, one who liked to cop a feel of my breast as we climbed.

“Which way?” Zach asked me as I looked down at the bed.

“On my back,” I said, knowing that I’d just doubled the available target areas.  He nodded and the three of them quickly laid me down and began securing me spread-eagled to the mattress.  I wasn’t exactly pulled tight, but the bondage cuffs allowed little enough movement.  Zach produced a giant glass vase, filled with little white folded papers, and set it on the desk.  The single pillar candle, red in color, was lit.  I lifted my head.  The line in the hall was already forming.  He looked at me, shook his head, and walked out of the room, tapping the first in line on the shoulder.

I didn’t even know his name and he looked young.  He walked in and reached into the glass container and extracted a piece of paper. He unfolded it, nodded and then let me read it.  I said it aloud, knowing that there would be an audience at the doorway.

“Zipline,” I whispered, shuddering at the thought.

He opened the top drawer of the bureau.  Most girls keep their panties and socks there.  But in this room, that was just one drawer filled with naughty things.  He drew out the collection of clothespins, a full dozen of them, each connected with a string.  It didn’t take him long and I yelped as he began putting the clothespins on.  He started at my right nipple, then circled around my breast, only to move to my left side.  I winced and whimpered as two more clothespins pinched flesh along my abdomen and then he placed a clothespin on my clit.  The last three went on my labia and I groaned, twisting with the pain.

“Three, two, one.”  His words were hardly preparation, or even warning, and then he yanked the pull string.  I screamed.  Actually screamed as the clothespins went flying, leaving my vulnerable skin and body thrumming with pain.  Sexualized pain mind you.  And before I was done he was on top of me, his condom clad cock probing at my pulsing pussy.  I was so wet, so ready, that he slipped in on the first thrust, driving deep to the hilt as his mouth came down to my hardened nipples, biting at me.  I lifted my hips, grinding into him and he let out a low groan. We pumped energetically. I felt his shaft turn to granite, then pulse.  He collapsed on me, leaving me wanting.

The first became the second and another slip of paper was drawn from the vase. I read it aloud as it was held in front of me.

“Clover clamps,” I said loudly.

The second guy produced a pair of steel clover clamps and placed them on my breasts.  Then, giving them a series of stiff pulls, he climbed up between my legs, gripped his penis at the base, and then slammed it home between my thighs.  We worked ourselves into a frantic rhythm, the chain between the clamps caught between his teeth, pulling on my nipples with every thrust.  Again, I was dangerously close to a second orgasm when he popped, leaving me breathless and still needy.

The parade continued as the line moved forward.  Each of the guys in the hall came in one at a time, picked a piece of paper from the vase, tormented me and screwed me.  Ten strokes of the leather sap to my clit and a thorough fucking.  A light caning of my breasts followed by a deep and intense screwing.  Hot wax on my clit, whipped off with a flogger, then a gentle but maddening slow coitus.  A vibrator shoved up my ass so that both holes were filled when he took me.  A pussy spanking that left me tense and breathless before he slid his shaft in.  Rubber bands on my boobs, my nipples tweaked between thrusts of his manhood.  My thighs were whipped and I was plowed.  The soles of my feet were beaten until my toes curled, followed by a thick cock sliding through my petals.  Some things were repeated with different amounts or times of torture.  And after each five or six minutes of agony, there was the fucking, the non-stop fucking, that just went on and on.

I saw Zach checking in on me occasionally.  I asked to be let up somewhere around ten o’clock, but it was just to use the bathroom, take a quick shower to sluice the perspiration and sweet musk of arousal from my skin, before allowing them to take me back, paraded naked through the house, to my bedroom.  This time I was laid face down and Zach replaced the vase with a different container with pink slips of paper and it was my ass that was now the main target.  Spanks, butt plugs, a caning, hot wax, getting screwed in both holes, a vibrator pushed underneath me, against my clit.  All sorts of things. And I came again and again, though not as often as each of the fresh faced fraternity guys who took me.

It was around one o’clock in the morning when Zach came in.  I was barely awake, despite the fact that certain parts of me were still hurting.  He slipped two fingers into my sex and pushed on my shoulder. I’m not sure which woke me.

“Breanne?” he said simply, shaking me with both hands.  I let out a low moan of pleasure.

“Breanne?  It’s one o’clock in the morning,” he said, knowing that I’m an early riser and probably had critters to take care of back on the farm.

I groaned, loving what his hand was doing between my legs.  “Is there still a line?” I mumbled.

Zach laughed. “As long as you are here there will be a line on the off chance you’re taking cock.  Granted, right now there’s only three out there but you should see the hall.  There are little yellow sticky notes with names for thirty feet.  In fact, some of them were bright enough to put their names up twice. But I figured you needed to know the time.  Should I let you up?”

I shook my head, though it came out as more of a long roll. “Called Jake before coming over,” I said sleepily.  

Zach grinned. “So you have nowhere to be tomorrow morning?”

“Thasss right…” my mush-mouthed tiredness managed to mangle.  

“So you want me to leave you here? Tied up and fucked?”

“No,” I said, feeling a fresh surge of arousal from his hand.  “I want you to do something else for me.”


“Flip me over.  I’m done on this side.”

Zach laughed and began releasing my arms and legs.  Finally I was able to roll over and he whistled as he caught sight of my breasts, thighs, and loins.  Even as he began cuffing me again he shook his head.

“Do you have any idea how you look?”

“Scrumptious?” I asked tiredly.

He laughed. “Well used,” he said.

I nodded. “Good.”  I glanced over at the vase with the paper slips in it. “How many slips are left?” I asked.

Zach looked. “Maybe twenty or so? “

“Refill it.”

“What?”  The shock and surprise in his voice was perfect.

“I will stay right here until every single slip of paper is gone,” I told him.  “Though I may sleep through some of it.”

“Breanne, there are over fifty torments, over a dozen of which you’ve already done.  It will take you the rest of the day. And I mean today, Saturday.  Not Friday.”

I looked up at him, arms above my head, bound to the bed, my legs spread, my body laid out like a buffet.  “Then you better get started,” I said with a grin. “Pick a piece of paper,” I told him.

Zach laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “You are fucking amazing,” he said, turning to the bureau and grabbing out a slip of paper. He held it out to me after reading it.  I saw the words: clamps on her nipples, and I read it aloud, but then I added something.

“And hold a vibrator to her clit until she’s so sensitive and tender she’s screaming as she cums.” I said.  Zach’s eyebrow went up and I just kept going.  “And then, after she’s done cumming, put your dick into her and pump until you’re satisfied.”

He leaned down and gave me a soft kiss.  “Sounds good to me.”

It was better than a cactus.

Breanne Erickson is the goddess of dark erotica and author of the wildly popular "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" series!  Check out her amazing work at Michael Alexander Stories!

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Resistance (Part Three)

If you haven't read Part One or Part Two, you really should do that first. Don't ya think?

I tried to shut the door quietly, but Ford F-150’s aren’t the kind of vehicle you can do anything quietly in.  I looked up at the farm house.  The place was dark and quiet and I could sense that everyone inside was asleep.  That was a good thing.  It was already eleven o’clock and it meant that no one would be waiting up.  Even the living room window was dark, meaning my dad wasn’t in his easy chair with the television on.
Gingerly I stepped over to the barn. I wasn’t wearing any clothes, nor did I have any in the barn or truck.  Isobel, in a fit of pique at my response to her request that I provide her a rimjob had kindly ordered me to leave naked and drive home unattired.  Kari hadn’t objected, mostly because I think she was embarrassed at the way I refused Isobel’s order, rather than the order itself.  In any event, wearing only the RVP (which I’d just turned on again), wrist cuffs, and my high heels, I stepped over to the barn door and went in.
Turning on the lights, I surveyed my surroundings.  The barn was about sixty feet long, two levels in some places, and housed stalls for about fifteen horses (though only four were occupied), a half pen for pigs, and a sort of workshop/tractor housing in the back right hand corner.  It’s also where we kept the rope locker.
I wrapped my arms around my welted breasts, wincing as the lingering pain of Sara’s caning seeped up through me.  I’d be sporting the marks for days, each one set in place with a thin, wooden rod she’d brought.  My ass was also vibrating, stuffed thoroughly with my Titanmen Vibrating Inflatable Wonder Plug, a massive toy that was not combining well with the RVP.  Or should I say, it was combining too well? I was on the verge of another orgasm, which meant I needed to get a move on.
I winced as I walked across the floor.  My breasts weren’t the only parts of me caned.  Over the reddish soreness of the rubber band snaps were twenty more darker lines, placed there by Isobel with Sara’s cane.  As if heels weren’t hard enough, or painful enough to walk in, now the soles of my feet felt like I’d had them branded.
I made it to the rope locker and dug around for a few minutes.  Eventually I found the knotted rope and pulled it out.  It was almost a half inch thick line, the knots heavy and spaced every eight to twelve inches. I also grabbed the strap winch and hook and then hobbled to the back wall.  It didn’t take me long to get the rope attached, level with my belly button, dragging it heavily across the barn.  I made it to the other end and hooked it in place, only then starting the heavy cranking needed to force the rope into a taut line.

There wasn’t much play in the rope and for the second time that evening I took off the RVP.  The relief of having the tumbling, twirling, terrible torment stop was almost worth what I was about to do to my clit.  Of course the first time I’d removed the RVP that evening, I’d been lying naked on the floor of Kari’s living room, my legs spread and held open by Alissa and Madeline, while Kari straddled my chest, her fingers gripping the small leather sap.  I’d been tingling already, so close to orgasm that my petals glistened with moisture.  Kari laid the soft leather down on my folds and I jumped, only to feel her pull back and leave a sharp stroke on the wet and tender bits of my sex.  My clitoris, swollen and red, felt scaled by the blow and I cried out, bucking, my bottom coming up off the floor.  Kari hit me again and Alissa had to shift her grip on my foot.  I started shuddering as the hammer like blows fell, my sex flattening, mashed into a soaked pulp.  My hips rolled, meeting the sap, kissing it with desperation and Kari counted out loud, working me into a froth.
It was hard not to remember that moment as the hemp line bit into my sex, rubbing its way through my folds and cutting into my clitoris.  The first knot was only inches away and I plucked the two alligator clamps from off the wrist cuffs, where I’d attached them earlier.  Taking a deep breath, I set both metal vices at the tips of my breasts, letting them bite down as I gasped in pain.  Then it was only a matter of two simple clips to secure my wrists to the opposite clamp.  It meant I could still free myself, but it also prevented me from moving my arms too much, since any kind of pull resulted in shards of agony thanks to the nipple clamps.  And it was also something of a timer.  My arms would get heavy and not being able to drop them or swing them meant I needed to move fast across the rope or suffer the consequences.
I took the first step, already up on tiptoe, the soles of my caned and bare feet aching.  The thick rope slid through my slit like a saw through wood, the scratchy and abrasive material scouring me.  I hit the first knot, feeling the impact on my clit like another blow of the sap.  Already my nipples were hurting, the weight of my arms tugging on the toothed monstrosities chewing on the tips of my breasts.  I rocked my hips, the Titanmen Vibrating Inflatable Wonder Plug still providing a tenuous sexual connotation to my actions.  I felt the knot against my clitoris, dragging along it, and then with a soft cry I was able to surmount it, feeling it scratch its way through my folds and pop into the opening of my sex, settling deep.  Another forward step forced the knot outward and along my perineum, only to strike the bottom of the Titanmen Plug instead of chaffing my bottom. First time in my life I’ve ever been grateful to have a butt plug in my ass. Then I was past it.  Another step, and another knot.  The heat built up between my legs as I moved, step by agonizing step, my folds swelling, ripening, lubrication building up, trying to protect the delicate flesh.  A line of perspiration crossed my brow and I felt the temperature of my loins rise as the burning started.
And suddenly I was back in Kari’s living room, the hot wax of the candle being dripped down on my sex, covering and coating me with a soft white glow.  It stung of course, especially since I’d only recently taken the twenty strokes of the sap.  Sure, the clover clamps and the NHPS jumping jacks spaced out the two torments, but it didn’t matter. I was being scorched and I knew it. Isobel stood nearby, her hand tightly gripping the flogger, since she had won the right to whip the melted paraffin from my loins.  I cried out, twisting, but the two girls holding my legs were ready for it and kept me from moving out from under the burning shower.  Up my torso the red drops fell upon my oiled skin until they found my breasts.  Had Robert not been holding my arms I would have covered my nipples.

“That’s right, Breanne.  Burn,” whispered Kari, holding the candle above me.  The heat scalded me to the bone and then Kari stepped back and I looked down. Both breasts were dark red, but only from the covering of hot wax that Kari had poured upon my curves.  Both nipples were completely covered, nothing but turgid bumps under a smooth and melted covering.  The heat was incredible and I looked past my “wax bra” down my torso, I could see the line of paraffin splatter, ending in another mass of melted wax.  My entire crotch was coated, hot and heavy, and I could tell that paraffin had actually seeped into my pussy.  Isobel moved up between my outstretched knees and with a hungry expression of pure delight, she began swinging the whip.  None of the strokes hit me until she snapped her arm forward and the full force of her blow impacted upon the wax covered sweetness of my sex.
The rope between my legs burned and I found another knot.  My feet ached, far beyond what they should considering I’d barely made it a quarter of the way across my barn.  In the back of my mind I knew that walking on tiptoe, straining both my calves and my soles, especially in the state they were in, was stupid.  There was no way for me to lighten the pressure of my body against the rope.  I could only endure it.  But still my instincts said “rise up,” and I did, though it mattered not.  I pushed forward, crying out, my hips bucking as I forced my way up and over the knot.  It tore at my clit, scratching the skin and then burning its way through my slit.  I let out a choked sob, my arms trembling from my piss poor attempt to keep the weight off my nipple clamps.  Shards of pain exploded at the tips of my breasts as I couldn’t hold my hands up any longer and let the cruel teeth of the alligator clamps bite deeper and stronger, pulling on me.  Each breast was already swollen and red, with dark lines stretching across them, some directly above the nipples.  I could feel the welts, those heavy marks marring my skin.
“Stand still,” Sara warned me.  I stood in Kari’s living room, my legs spread, up on tiptoe, my hands behind my neck, both breasts exposed and ready. Tears were already wetting my cheeks, and she hadn’t even hit me yet.  The clover clamps, with their heavy weights and terrible bells lay on the floor by my feet, having been removed after I’d laboriously, and painfully, jumped ten times.  My nipples were beyond tender.  They ached horribly and the last thing I wanted was for some cruel sadist to take a thin birch branch and lay two dozen or so thin lines of fire across those turgid points.  
It didn’t help that Alissa, in all her naked glory, her own breasts heavily marked with cane welts, knelt between my outstretched legs, her hands on my knees, her head tilted back, her tongue pressed to my clit, licking madly.  Her shoulder length brunette hair, with blond highlights, dipped and swung as she tried desperately to work me into another orgasm.  The RVP, which I’d been wearing before I’d been laid out, legs spread, for twenty strokes of my sap, was in Kari’s lap, getting a fresh set of batteries. Kari was taking her time and I was trembling with pain.
The cane flashed forward, striking my right breast, just beneath my pierced nipple.  The bite marks of the clamps I’d been wearing just minutes before were still visible. The padlock, sporting the black enameled golden rose of the Society, bounced and jittered as the impact wave forced my breast to ripple.  I gasped, pain flooding through my bosom, but Sara didn’t give me the time to deal with it. Instead she hit me again, this time on the left side.  It was so hard to hold myself in position, but I had to. I knew it.  The punishment for breaking position would be twice as worse.  
“Oh, how I love caning your tits,” Sara whispered, letting the narrow tip of her branch slide over my left nipple, teasing it.  My chest heaved with the stress of it and that only made what Alissa was doing to my clit that much more difficult to bear.  As much as I couldn’t break positions, cumming would be worse.  So much worse.  They’d make me lay down, spread my legs, holding me open.  And then the red candle burning on the coffee table would be held above me, pouring down onto my…
Focus Breanne. The cane.
It struck again, biting into both breasts this time, drawing a line of excoriating agony from right to left.  I sucked in a hard breath, rocking from the blow and Sara once again rubbed the tip of the cane against a nipple.  Then she began tapping, lightly at first, but with increasingly harder snaps of the wrist, using just the tip of the birch branch to strike the tip of my breast.  I whimpered.  Then I moaned.  Then I flinched, unable to take the sharp staccato taps to my nipple.  Finally I couldn’t bear it and twisted.  Sara pulled back the cane and aimed a full throttle stroke at my right breast.  The birch branch landed, cutting deep and I cried out, my hands coming off my head as my body screamed “cover yourself!”

A burning line of fire appeared across my ass and my hands flew backward, which is what Sara wanted.  The moment I was no longer covering my breasts the cane smashed back into them.  Alissa reached up, grabbing hold of my buttocks, pulling them wide as she forced her face into my sex.  I trembled under the strain.
“Hold very still, Breanne.”  Sara took hold of my wrist and pulled my hands away from my bottom, bringing them back up to my neck.  “Alissa, pull her buttocks apart,”   I felt Alissa’s grip shift even more and suddenly she was tugging my cheeks outward, exposing the delicate little button in back.  Sara moved around behind me and poked me with the tip of the cane, right in the delicate spot.  I didn’t like it, but I didn’t dare move.  Besides, do you have any idea how close I was to cumming?
Sara waited, continuing the maddening torment while Alissa pushed me to the edge. Then, just as I was about to jump into sexual nirvana, exploding with wild abandon, Sara’s cane snapped down with a lighting strike, blistering a single finger length’s worth of flesh.  My mouth opened as I screamed and this time I couldn’t hold still, dancing away, the scarlet fire burning through my buttocks as the welt appeared through my crack, instead of across it, centering on the tiny button of my bottom.
I blinked, my vision swimming.  I was halfway across the rope.  My nipples were throbbing with ungracious heat and you could see the red indentations of the teeth digging into the tips of my breasts.  My arms ached horribly from trying to hold them up, but it was my clitoris and labia that hurt the worst, burning as the rope scored the sides of my sex, tearing at the soft flesh.  With each knot I surmounted I felt my clit catch, dragged down and under me, a perversion of the wooden horse, except so much more terrible in its own way.   I struggled forward, tearing myself even more on the rope, glancing back, half sure I was bleeding.  But no, only the wet smear of my own sexual lubrication darkened the hemp behind me. I found the next knot and when my clit pressed against it I felt the surge of arousal, the need to actually hump the little terrible bulge.  What the hell is wrong with me?  Why would I want this torment?  Could I stand more?  Rows of knots were there before me, almost twenty of them, if not more.  No. I couldn’t press myself here. Not now.  I had to use the arousal to get to the end.  So I rose up on tip toe and dragged myself once more over the twisted rope.
Inch by laborious inch I moved down the line and I found myself rocking my hips.  Each knot was no longer this horrible thing I had to surmount, but a lifeline of sensation, the caress my clit needed.  I’d hit it, pull back, and then strike it again, then again, surprised when I’d accidentally manage to work my way over it.  The knot would force my petals apart, scouring the sides of my slit before literally popping into my vaginal entrance with force.  I’d have to rock my hips once more to get the bump out of my well, and then it would tear its way through my bottom, gliding over the anal plug base.  I began to want it, each knot like a tiny cock hitting my clitoris, sliding through me and into me.  I wanted it so bad I could taste it.
Robert pulled his shaft out of Alissa, its full length wet with her cum and she lay in a daze on the carpet, her legs spread wide, her petals swollen and wet.  From the smile on her face you could tell she’d enjoyed her second fuck of the night.  The first had been in her bottom, a floor show while I’d struggled to do the jumping jacks.  Now I had the RVP back inside me, the vibrations on low but the rotation function at its highest setting.  Desperate, I moved over to Robert’s rigid member and put my mouth on him.
He tasted like Alissa.
Laying back, he let me swallow him, bobbing my head as Kari moved down and plucked the controller from where I’d tucked it in the strap of the RVP.  Suddenly the vibrations picked up strength as well, everything set to maximum as I swallowed, licked, and sucked every little bit of Alissa left on Robert’s shaft.  Then I tried to go deeper, sucking every last drop of fluid from Robert himself.  I knew it would be difficult to get him to explode. He’d already been relieved of his fluids several times that evening, with various partners and it was a healthy dose of drugs that had him hard and ready again.  But while Viagra and Cialis might make a man hard, it won’t always make him ready to cum.  And so I bobbed and licked and sucked until my jaw was hurting.  Of course that didn’t change the fact that the RVP was doing things to my sex that had me bucking and whimpering in excited revelation.  I could feel the vibrations on my clit, inside me, and down the full length of my slit.  And don’t even get me started on the swirling fingertip stirring my insides.  On full power there was no way to resist it. I was going to cum. Again.  Resist.  Resist. Resist.  
I couldn’t resist. I was going to cum.  The rope was too intense, cutting against my clit and I began jerking my hips wildly, multiple knots still ahead of me, rocking myself on the thick hemp line digging its way through my loins.  The pain of the rope merged with my arousal, ramping up into a full throated orgasm as I stared forward.  Five more knots.  Just five.  Don’t cum. Resist. Resist. Resist! It was a mantra I repeated over and over as I managed to get over the knot, desperate and on fire.  Everything hurt and everything felt wonderful.  My nipples throbbed, my ass clenched tightly around the vibrating plug in my ass.  My feet burned. My calves trembled and all I could think about was the next knot, cumming and cumming and cumming.
“Oh, you came again?  Naughty girl!” exclaimed Sara as I twisted, moaning and groaning, my head impaled on Robert’s still granite like cock.  She grabbed my right foot and held it out, lifting the birch branch. I was still bent over, my lips wrapped around Robert’s shaft when she struck my sole, making me jerk as my teeth grazed his solid rod.  Robert winced and I tried to let out a knowing cry, but Robert thrust just at that moment as well and all that came out was mangled sob.  Sara, still gripping my ankle, swung the switch again, adding a second red welt to my arch.  Fire burned along my soul and even though I kicked involuntarily, she was ready for it.  Then my other foot was locked in a vice like grip and I knew someone else had moved up to help Sara.  With both feet in the air, perched on just my knees, my head still face down in Robert’s lap, sucking cock.  Sara laid another stroke down, this time managing to catch both feet.  I’d have jumped if I could and instead reached back with my hands, unable to tolerate the torment.
They caught my hands immediately and I suddenly found myself supported on only three points.  Leaning me forward, the only thing that kept me from falling was Robert’s dick.  The pressure of the torment, the RVP still spinning and rumbling inside me and along my sex, combined with the fiery pain of the bastinado, forced me to translate the excess energy and I began bobbing and sucking in hyper-mode, going crazy on Robert’s cock.  My brain, fried with arousal and orgasm and pain, somehow believed that if I made Robert explode, they’d stop hurting my feet.
Another welt, another red line.  My toes curled and my ankles wildly twisted despite their iron-like grips.  It didn’t matter.  Sara’s skill with the cane was legendary and she hit me perfectly, over and over until the bottoms of my feet burned with a heat that matched my welted and caned breasts.  It would be days before I’d be able to tolerate high heels.  And God help me if I had to rise up on tiptoe!  Suddenly Robert grabbed my head, skull-fucking me with abandon and I gagged as he thrust his shaft deep into my body.  My vision swam as oxygen was cut off and it was just at that moment that Sara let loose with a rapid collection of strikes against my feet that left every muscle tense, my pussy locked tight around the RVP’s rumble and tumble.  I was frozen in place, held by the feet and wrists, bent over, with a cock blocking my air, and there was nothing I could.  Pain blossomed in the soles of my feet and then Robert’s shaft pulsed.  There was a shake and then he began erupting, squirting fresh loads of cum down my throat.  I caught a single breath of air as he pulled out and thrust again, more cum deposited in my mouth and all I could think about as I swallowed was the lancing burn of my soles.
My God my feet hurt!  Standing on tip toe, even with the edge of orgasm right there, the rope cutting through my slit, my clit rubbing frantically against the last knot, I could feel the fresh agony of the welts as I stretched upward, my body trying to decrease the pressure on my sex.  To no avail I might add.  I bucked, waves of exquisite agony slipping through my slit.  My arms felt leaden, weighed down, each pulling hard on the nipple clamps and making it all hurt even more.  The metal teeth tore into my nipples and my head felt as if wrapped in cotton.  I was so tired, so aroused, and hurting so much!  How could I?  But my hips rocked of their own accord and I felt it, finally, and as I burst I lifted myself over the knot and slid it painfully through my slit, letting it pop into the little opening of my depths.  I came.
“That’s unfortunate,” Kari said, looking at me with a wicked grin. “You came from a punishment for cumming. You just can’t learn, can you?” she asked.  I lay breathless on the ground, my legs spread, my sex brightly colored from the strokes of the sap she’d just used to beat my clitoris into a paper-thin wafer.  The petals were wet and glistening and my chest heaved, ample evidence of my orgasmic climax.  Kari clicked her tongue *tisk tisk* and then I was pulled to my feet.  I swayed for a moment until I managed to get my brains rearranged so that the neurons could fire correctly.  
“Time for some exercise if I’m correct,” said Kari.  “Right Breanne?”
I blinked. I had no idea what she was talking about, or what punishment was coming next.  That was on the list.  In my defense, I was sort of out of it, ricocheting from one torment to another, cumming and wanting and hurting and needing at speeds that made coherent thought something of a luxury.  What can I say?  I’m the ultimate physical hedonist.  So it was wide eyes that I watched Kari approaching with my weighted clover bell clamps.
The brainchild of Master Phil, it was Mike the Hardware Guy who created the two monstrous clamps.  Starting with a pair of vanilla clover clamps (as if those things could possibly be considered vanilla!) he added plier-like ridges to the smooth pincers.  Fastenings, a small spring, a four ounce lead weight, and a silver bell finished the row of hardware, leaving me with approximately a third of a pound of weight hanging from my nipples, using clamps unlikely to slip and that were designed to tighten the more you pulled on them.  And just for fun, they rang like a church bell, two clear tones with every breath, step, or spank I received.  

I remembered the punishment and Kari stepped right up to me as I tried not to flinch and step back.  The urge to run was strong.
“Hands behind your head, Breanne.”  I did as Kari asked, my chest heaving more from the anticipation than anything else.  My sex still throbbed from the heat of the sapping I’d received, practically the moment Kari had gotten home.  And now, now it was my breasts turn to take the torment.  Her hands came up and with delicate finesse she attached the clover clamps, letting them bite deeply into my bosom, way behind the nipples.  My piercing and padlock on the right side stuck out at an odd angle thanks to the pressure and I clenched my teeth, trying to deal with the pain.
“Ten NHPS jumping jacks,” Kari said simply, though the only difference between regular jumping jacks and the NHPS kind was the hardware dangling from my breasts.  I braced myself, took a deep breath and then got into the opening position, preparing to leap high into the air and clamp my hands.  Trembling with trepidation, I leapt high, my legs and arms closing.  I felt a massive weight on my nipples, followed by a brief tug in the opposite direction as I reached the apex of my jump and began coming down.  Landing jolted me and the weights on my breasts pulled so hard I almost bent in half, crying out in agony. The bells rang madly. The spring jumped, sending sharp little tugs and I stopped right there, crying.
“Jump!” Kari scolded me.  Her hand slammed into my ass, shocking me and I jumped again.  The hardware struck my rips, hurting me in a very different way even as my nipple tried to tell my brain that they were being ripped off.  I landed again, once more experiencing the agony at the tips of my breasts.
“Jump,” Isobel whispered.  Another slap on my ass came from Kari and I jumped again, this one only half as high, my legs buckling, everything hurting.  I tried again, barely getting air.  Kari’s hand caressed my bottom and then struck me once more.  
“You don’t want to have to wear those all night do you?” Kari asked, running her hands over my body.  Then she slipped her fingers between my legs.  “Do I need to put the RVP back in right now?”  I shook my head as her fingers found my clit, rubbing and pinching. I was too sensitive to tolerate that RVP.  I knew that.  
“Then jump, Bre.”
I jumped again, and then again. Tears streaming down my cheeks. And then, on the ninth jump, the unthinkable happened.  The clamp on my left nipple slipped off.  It shouldn’t have been able to, what with the tightness and the ridges, but it did.  Everyone stopped and stared and I let go of my neck, unable to control myself as I cupped my breasts, crying out as the blood rushed back into the crushed nub.  Kari stared at the weight for a moment.
“Pick it up, Breanne.”  Her voice was heavy.  I looked at her, wincing. “Pick it up and put it back on.”  My nipples throbbed and I looked up at her.  
“Please!  Kari!  Anything but that!”
Her eyes narrowed.  “If you don’t put that clamp back on and do your final jump, Sara’s caning of your breasts will be next.”
I swallowed.  One type of breast pain in exchange for another?  Fine.  I just wanted my nipples to stop hurting!  I straightened up, looking Kari defiantly in the eye.  Then with my lips pressed tightly together, I jumped. One last jack.  
When I came to my senses I was on the floor.  There was a throbbing burn in my left nipple and I looked down to see a trickle of blood seeping from the tip of my breast.  My left arm was still attached to the nipple clamp, which was dangling downward from my wrist.  Fortunately my right arm hadn’t pulled the other clamp free.  I sat up and unclipped the other alligator clamp, whimpering as the pain shot through me.  I looked down.  My loins were raw and scratched, sporting tiny red lines along my thighs, my slit, and even over my clitoris, which was swollen to twice the size.
Gingerly I climbed to my feet, wincing.  The bottoms of my feet felt as if I were walking on crushed glass and I limped toward the barn door.  For a moment I thought about taking down the rope, but I was too exhausted, too hurting to do it then. I’d handle it in the morning.  I bit my lip, wishing I had my clothes, but they were still at Kari’s place.  So naked I began the humiliating and painful crossing of the gravel circle between the barn and the house.  I made it to the door without crying and slowly turned the lock.  Everything was dark, the kitchen, even the entryway to the living room, and I padded in, barefoot and buck naked.  I made it halfway across the living room when the small table lamp next to my father’s easy chair snapped on.

I jumped in shock as my father’s face was illuminated and I froze, wrapping one arm across my breasts, the other draped down between my legs.
“Getting in a little late, aren’t you?” he asked.
I glanced at the clock.  It was one o’clock in the morning. I nodded.
“How many times today?”
I blinked. “Time what?”
I did the math in my head.  “Twelve, I think.”
He grinned.  “And you were properly punished for each one?”
I nodded.  “Yes sir.” I sighed wearily.
“Good.  You look exhausted.”
“I am.”
He didn’t say anything and I took that as a dismissal and started for the stairs.  Then I heard his voice.
“Breanne?  Would you care for one more?”
My foot froze, poised above the first step, my mind a flurry.  I was tired, sore, psychologically and physically hurt.  There was no way I could tolerate another orgasm, with or without punishment.  Right?  I thought about it, NHPS rules, of always being ready and available. Did I really have grounds for refusal?  If it were Zach, or Mike, or John, or Kari, or Isobel, or Sara, would I refuse?  I closed my eyes, the conflict raging with in me.  Resistance. Don’t cum.  Resist.  Hold off.  Always aroused.
I looked back at him. “I’m supposed to resist,” I said.
“You can only resist, if you have something opposing you.”
“Come on. You know you want it,” he said. “And if you can keep from cumming, then there won’t be a need to punish you.”
Resistance. The word echoed in the empty chambers of my mind and my foot came back down, a twinge of pain as it settled on the floor instead of the stairs.  I turned and looked at him, my arms dropping as he pulled out the tiny bottle of oil he kept in the table drawer.  

Your assignment today is about resistance.  The assignment starts the moment you wake up. You will dress in whatever clothing you would like.  Your toy of the day will be the RVP (Rotating Venus Penis).  I am aware that there are two functions: a rotation action with three settings, and a vibration function, also with three settings.  At no point during the day will either function be turned off.  For fifteen minutes of every hour one of the functions must be turned to high.  For the remainder of the time you may adjust the settings as you see fit, provided both functions not be turned off.  I suspect you will cum frequently and often.  Waves count.
However there are repercussions for orgasm.  With a thirty minute time period, with a different person each time, with no repeats, you will seek and accept the following punishments. Some will require you to remove the RVP, which should be immediately put back in once you’ve been suitably chastised.  If the punishment does not require the removal, the RVP stays in – and on.  Should you fail to   complete the required punishment, you will complete a single knotted rope walk, stretched at the height of your naval, across your barn, wearing your alligator nipple clamps, with your wrist cuffs connected crosswise to the clamps across your chest.  Have fun. - Brandon
First Orgasm – Twenty spanks to your bare bottom.
Second Orgasm – Hard breast slapping
Third Orgasm – Twenty rubber band snaps to each sole
Fourth Orgasm – Alligator clamps, applied by someone else, on your nipples, worn till your next orgasm.
Fifth Orgasm – Fucked up the ass
Sixth Orgasm – Twenty strokes of the sap to your clitoris.
Seventh Orgasm – Weighted Bell Clover Clamps, applied by someone else, worn till you complete a dozen NHPS Jumping Jacks
Eighth Orgasm – Clit and pussy hot waxed, removed via flogger.
Ninth Orgasm – Your Titanmen Inflatable Vibrating Wonderplug, lubricated with Stinging O, stuffed up your bottom, turned to maximum, and left there for the remainder of the day.
Tenth Orgasm – Both functions of the RVP turned to high for twenty minutes while giving a blowjob.
Eleventh Orgasm - Have someone cane the bottoms of your feet.
Any additional orgasms can be punished as Kari sees fit.