Thursday, November 1, 2018


A while back, a friend on tumblr sent me a fantastic computer animation for my tumblr blog: Riding the Wooden Horse. He had asked me to post it there, but tumblr being tumblr, I was unable to do so. Worse, I misplaced the video file. Tonight I found it. So enjoy. And check out 3DPonyGirls as well!

Saturday, October 27, 2018

Inappropriate Attire

I stumbled, the high heeled boots encasing my feet skidding on the ceramic tile, only to be caught by the steel grip of Kari’s hand. That morning, a blast of cold weather had sent both of us scurrying for the darker corners of our closets, and I had pulled out a pair of blue jeans, a tee shirt, and a warm, long sleeved flannel button up. Kari had dressed normally, still looking like a million bucks, but in a warmer suit.

Damn the consequences! Full speed ahead!

Granted, we were mismatched. I looked like a ranch hand, fresh from mucking out stalls, while Kari appeared to be a successful business executive. It's hard to believe that the reality of our relationship wasn't as benign as it appeared. Indeed, it was something much more diabolical: Kari was actually a cruel, sexual tormentor, inflicting her sadistic will on the nearest submissive female willing to stupidly accept whatever abuses came her way.

And… that would be me.

Her hard edged beauty and dynamic confidence were so defined that mousy me darted in its shadow. I couldn't help feeling as if I were just another orbiting body reflecting her light.

“Are you okay?” Kari asked mildly, keeping me upright. There was a distinct lack of concern in her tone, as if I hadn't just almost fell on my face.

I looked at her, cheeks red, a riot of sensation making coherent thought, much less speech, difficult. I resisted the urge to jam my hands between my jean covered thighs and grit my teeth. I was panting as well, each breath fighting the tight constriction of my breasts. I felt my loins flutter around the phallus in my slit, and a fresh prickling sensation spread across my labia and clitoris as everything seemed to move in the wrong directions. This discomfort blended well with the incessant vibrations of the Rotating Venus Penis, which was driving me up a wall. My bottom tightened as well, stuffed with a jeweled, four inch long plug that made me feel like I needed to go to the bathroom.

My lack of a response, or at least a verbal one, to Kari’s assistance, didn't seem to faze my mistress and she continued to propel me down the mall’s common area. Her ability to multitask was impressive, since she managed to keep me moving, walking straight and upright, and carry three shopping bags, all at the same time.

“Bre, do you need another break?” She asked in a concerned tone. My eyes widened in alarm as the color drained from my face. I wasn't fooled in the least. I shook my head with a frightened gasp.

“No! Please! I'm fine!” I blurted out. She nodded sympathetically.

“Of course you are,” she said in a comforting tone. “But I don't want to make things so difficult for you that there isn't a chance. If you need to sit down, I'm fine with that.” She sounded all helpful, and concerned, but the push on my arm didn't change. I was forced to take a few more steps, the four inch long, plastic phallus twirling non-stop through my slit. The pinpricks of the spikes rubbing at my clit, petals, and perineum seemed to intensify and I wondered how the hell I had ended up in this mess. Then Kari glanced down at her watch.

“Oh. My. It's time again,” she said in a dispirited tone, as if commiserating with me. “Pick a wall.”

I whimpered. I had no idea what interval she was using, but I didn't want to do it. But if I didn't, she could certainly punish me. I turned away from her, stepping into the nearest store. She followed, her lips curled into a slight smile, and watched as I stepped up to a support pillar, one ouf of sight from the cashier's desk. It was covered in mirror, but that didn't matter. I took a shuddering breath, clasped my hands behind my back, and leaned forward.

The front of my flannel shirt had not coped well with the forced expansion of my bosom, so only the tee shirt covered my breasts. Had anyone really been looking, they might have noticed that my boobs seemed unusually pronounced, especially for a girl of my build. But the flannel shirt had hid things sufficiently,  keeping passersby from realizing that each of my breasts were tightly wrapped at the base with black electrical tape.

This in itself was uncomfortable, but the true torment came from the 4 inch wide circles of plastic foam, cut from a carpet yoga mat, which had been secured (also with electrical tape), over each nipple. To make matters worse, the tiny quarter inch long spikes on the yoga matt material, intended to keep the plastic from shifting on a shag rug, were pointed, and not in a good way. Each sharp little tip dug at the tender, soft, sensitive tips of each breast. As I leaned against the pillar, suffering for Kari’s pleasure, my swollen, tight breasts pressed tightly against the vertical surface, sending a decidedly uncomfortable sensation through my bosom and up to my brain. It matched the one between my legs.

Kari seemed to relish it.

For several moments I stood there, enduring what amounted to a sensory overload. Between my legs, the RVP spun and shook, further confusing my ability to distinguish the difference between pain and pleasure. I moaned, whimpering as my butt tightened around the jeweled plug and my sex throttled the grinding, shaking, motorized cock. Kari watched for a moment, then laid a hand on my back, pushing. My breasts, already bound tight enough to make them firm, taut spheres, were no longer pliant, soft, and impressionable. It was sort of like squeezing a pair of overripe grapes between your fingers, waiting for that moment when they burst.

“That's it,” she said softly, as if she were trying to avoid attention. “Press them hard. Push.” She placed more pressure on my back, doubling the force pressing the spikes into my nipples. I winced, whimpering, but the fresh blast of hurt coming from my breasts only emphasized the sensations coming from other spots. In seconds I knew I was doomed. And maybe she knew it to. After all, I am a pain loving fuck slut.

“Kari?” I pleaded softly, whimpering, my front still pressed against the mirror. My breasts seemed to throb, my nipples practical pierced. My hips churned with need. “Please? Please can I cum?”

The phallic probe of the Rotating Venus Penis had been thrust through a strip of the same material as the discs prickling my nipples. The yoga matt piece was roughly nine inches long and resembled the shape of an hourglass. The sex toy vibrating against my pussy held the spiked plastic foam in place, as did the anal plug in my ass. But honestly, the vibrations shaking those little spikes were maddening. The riot of sensation was just too much. In fact, it really didn't matter if she gave me permission, because I was going to pop anyway.

“Of course not,” Kari replied. “Cumming? Absolutely not. And rest assured such behavior will be punished. Severely.” She gave me a hungry look. “But by all means, do what you have to do,” she continued, “Just be aware that there are consequences.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, her words reverberating in my ears, even as a riot of sensorial overload hit me. The consequences for the last explosion had been the electrical tape around each breast and the two inch spiked circles on my tits. And the first orgasm had resulted in the pinning of the strip of yoga matt between my legs, using the four inch phallus of the RVP swirling in my pussy and the anal plug to keep it in place.

So knowing that another orgasm would undoubtedly result in worse torment, there was only one viable way I could respond to Kari’s declaration. I repressed the shudder that threatened to rattle my teeth, and with quiet, yet unbridled passion, declared my status as an unrepentant violator of instruction. I gulped, closed my eyes, resisted for just a moment longer, then said in a loud and clear voice:

“Oh God. I'm cumming.”

Beneath my jeans my fluttering pussy gushed wetly as the plastic probe twisted in circles. The vibrations shook everything, the synthetic cock, the spiked strip, even the anal plug. Waves of sensation, which I couldn't correctly call pleasurable or painful, but an amalgam of both, rushed up my spine and proceeded to make mincemeat of my emotional and physical selves. I gasped, eyes opening with astonishment as I rippled in climax, bouncing on my breasts as I leaned against the pillar.

“Ah,” Kari breathed in satisfaction, only then letting up on the pressure applied to my back. Her hand came down, grabbed my right buttock and squeezed through my jeans. That hurt, since it drove some of the plastic spikes into my butt. “Now we can deal with your antics more appropriately,” Kari declared, obviously pleased that I had, for the third time, disobeyed her. I slumped against the mirrored column, no longer pressing my breasts flush to the surface, but with a shoulder propping me up. Kari rubbed my back, pretending to be supportive and caring, when in reality, I knew she was relishing every additional sexual stress I suffered. And did she turn the motors of the Rotating Venus Penis down? Mitigate the vibrations or slow the wiggling finger inside me? Of course not. I was left to suffer the continuing depredations without recourse or cessation.

She took my hand and pulled me from the store, a rich, elegant woman with her cowgirl, cornbread, country cunt trailing behind like a whipped dog. I couldn't help wondering if people suspected, that underneath my respectable and warm clothes I was a fuck slut to the core, sexually suffering for trying to hide my true nature. Would they see me stumble only to wonder if maybe I had tripped? Or would they realize that my pussy and ass were both stuffed to the brim and my trouble walking came from the spikes digging sharply into my labia, clit, ass, and breasts?

Kari pulled me along for almost five minutes, threading our way through shoppers and kiosks, evidently with a specific destination in mind. I had no idea where we were heading, and frankly didn't care, at least until she turned me and I found myself wobbling into one of the more upscale department stores. Shoes, luggage, clothing, even jewelry, all with price tags higher than I could afford, were displayed in lavish elegance. Eventually we wound up in the women's apparel section and the clerk at the counter not only straightened up noticeably, but even smiled at Kari. Then, much to my disgust, addressed her by name.

Seriously? I rolled my eyes. Hopefully Kari didn’t see that.

“Good afternoon, Ms.Anders. Everything is ready as you requested. Can I be of any further assistance?” the young lady asked, practically fawning over my mistress. I felt a sudden surge of jealousy, as if I should be the only one allowed to simper and swoon at Kari’s pretty feet. I gave the cute little blonde my “Kermit the Frog” frown, ignoring the fact that she was thinner, and prettier, and better dressed than me.

Kari smiled at her warmly. “Not today, Jessica. I'm merely assisting my protégé find attire more suitable for her class and station.” She gestured at my clothing and I resisted the urge to strike some sort of modeling pose. Mostly because my breasts were still throbbing and the RVP was spinning crazily in my pussy.

Jessica eyed me, and if I were displaying any signs of my past, or admittedly incipient arousal, she didn't let it show. I suppose the buzz of the vibrator and the sound of the churning motor cranking the phallus around in circles didn't carry across the counter.

“I can certainly understand that,” Jessica declared judgmentally, clearly agreeing with Kari.  

I looked away. “Yeah, but can you cum with your boobs tied up and used as pincushions?” I muttered under my breath.

“I will pick out some appropriate items and take them to Bre to try on,” Kari added.

Jessica bobbed her head like a good little doggie. “If there is anything I can help you with, please let me know.”

Her obsequious tone made me want to puke. But then Kari pushed me toward the back of the section. She paused at one rack, eyeing a cute but dangerous looking romper, then nodded at me.

“Go to the dressing room and remove your shirts,” she said with distaste, eyeing the flannel and tee shirt combo I had on. “When I join you, I expect your breasts to be mashed against the wall.”

I glanced back at Jessica. Had she heard that? She was walking away, toward the dressing rooms. Fuck. I glanced back at Kari and nodded. There was no point in whining about it, but I wanted to.

Kari began looking through the various outfits and I gave her a dirty look. I was actually surprised, since none of the blouses she was rifling through looked like something Kari would want me dressed in. I made it to the changing room, only to find pretty miss suckup waiting there for me. I hesitated for a moment, but it was pretty clear she wanted to talk to me.

“Please use the private dressing room,” she said. “It's the back door.”

I blinked. “What private dressing room?” I asked quizzically. I'd been in these changing rooms a few times and while better than stalls, there wasn't a…

“This one,” she said, going to a door marked “authorized entry only”. She opened it easily and stepped aside to let me in.

It was twice the size of the other fitting rooms, which was good, because there was a metal clothing rack standing in the middle of the room. It looked awkward, and somewhat out of place. A bench was positioned along one wall, and mirrors were everywhere. Hooks were positioned in various places. There were fresh cut flowers in a vase, on a small, eight by eight inch table in the corner. And mints. Mints!

What the fuck?

There are times that my inclusion in the world of the rich irritates the fuck out of me. This was a department store for God's sake, and while no, I'd never shopped here because everything was stupidly overpriced, I was damn sure a girl like me wouldn't have been offered this changing room unless I was a top customer, accustomed to spending shit loads of money here. Of course, I stood there gaping while Jessica watched me.

Probably to see if I'd steal a mint or something.

“I believe Ms.Anders told you to remove your shirts?” Jessica said, her voice a combination of “what a clodhopper!” and “if Ms.Anders instructed me to strip in the food court I'd probably wet myself at the pleasure.” I snapped out of my wealth and privilege ruminations and began pulling off the flannel shirt. Then, as I noticed her still standing there, I gave her an expectant look.

“Well? Privacy?”

Jessica remained right where she was. “Ms.Anders insisted I collect them.”

I blinked. “She what?”

Jessica took a step closer. “You should be grateful Ms.Anders has taken such an interest in your welfare. You certainly need the help.”

Now my jaw dropped. “Excuse me?” I demanded, totally shocked. “Uh… customer service?”

She had the gall to smile. “I need your shirts.”

For a split second I almost went off on her, despite the vibrations, the prickling bits of yoga mat taped to my body, the butt plug, and the corkscrewing movements of the RVP’s little cock. But suddenly I figured disabusing her of the notion that Kari was some sort of benevolent goddess was a better idea. Angry, I peeled off the flannel, crumpled it into a ball, then threw it at her. She caught it, then looked at me expectantly.

So I faced her, grabbed the bottom of my tee shirt and took it off, showing her my grossly swollen, tied up, tortured and pin pricked boobs.

For a moment she didn't say anything. I could tell it surprised her. The sound of the motors vibrating me and twisting the phallus in my pussy seemed loud now. Very loud.

Then her eyes narrowed. “Oh. You're one of those. No wonder she's trying to fix you.”

Then, before I could say anything, she snatched the tee shirt out of my hand and whirled, letting the door close behind her. I stood there gaping, before finally sagging in defeat. Was she wrong, about me at least? I was “one of those” kinds of girls. Wasn't I? Slowly I moved to the mirror, put my hands behind my back, and leaned against the wall, mashing my breasts.

I suffered in that position for what felt like twenty minutes, but was probably only five. The worst part was that Kari had the remote to the Rotating Venus Penis and she was playing with it. The vibrations changed intensity almost constantly and the phallus twisting in my pussy picked up speed. My hips jerked in response, which caused the spikes to rub at my labia, my perineum, and my clit. And of course my breasts ached and stung from the bindings, the pressure, and the spikes. So when Kari came in, I was practically twerking with sexual energy.

“See?” Kari asked. “I told you.” Behind her, Jessica was looking right at me judgmentally. In her hand was the fucking RVP remote, which she was still manipulating. Great. The clerk was the one who had been torturing me? I let out a whine as Jessica cranked everything to max.

Over Kari’s arm were a number of articles of clothing. I couldn't get a feel for them, but there was already too much gauze for my taste. Kari moved to the bench and sat down, skirting the short, metal clothes rack in the middle of the room. Even more disturbing was the fact that Jessica stayed, letting the door close behind her. But since my tits were still getting smushed between a wall and my body, and the RVP was now going ballistic between my legs, I had greater concerns.

“Turn around,” Kari ordered. I pushed of from the wall, breathing a sigh of relief that came out like a guttural moan. I turned, deliberately not looking at the obnoxious little blonde twit watching my humiliation, instead focusing on Kari. Of course I was no longer really in control of my loins. The RVP was going banana crackers. It made me snap and I whirled on Jessica.

“Please stop. Okay?” I blurted out in frustration. “You're driving me crazy.”

Jessica, unperturbed, gave me a small smile. “Ms.Anders instructed me to assist her in training you.” She looked down at my jeans. “It's not my fault you can't follow instructions.”

I blinked. “Instructions?”

Now Kari sighed. “Breanne, what is nympho humiliation pain slut rule number four?”

I felt a heat spreading to my cheeks. “A nympho humiliation pain slut should always dress provocatively, and in attire that makes it clear that her purpose is to be used sexually,” I said softly. I got it now. The punishment, the torments, the humiliation- this was all because I had shown up at work dressed… inappropriately. The jeans. The tee shirt. The flannel. It had been a challenge to her authority. Kari was making it clear that if I dressed conservatively there were going consequences.

If my degradation or recitation surprised Jessica,  she didn't show it. I stood there, my hips still working, my pussy wet and clenching. Kari leaned forward, tapped the metal stand between us and looked up at me. “Straddle it.”

I blinked. “What?” I said, dumbfounded.

“Swing your leg over the stand and press your vibrating and stuffed cunt down on the metal,” Kari ordered, but in a much sterner voice. I was about to comply when Jessica decided to weigh in.

“Do it, you stupid cunt,” she said sternly..

Ok. No one talks to me like that. I whirled on her, starting to bring up a fist, but the little bitch grabbed me by the breast, twisting and squeezing the nipple hard. I cried out, opting to grab her wrist instead of hitting her, and for a second, we were locked in a death struggle.

“Breanne!” Kari said sternly. “Rule number two?”

As the words penetrated the haze in my head I felt my anger disappear. I let go of Jessica's wrist, whimpering with the pain. She slowly released her deathgrip on my nipple as I felt tears well up. It was like she sensed my defeat.

“A nympho humiliation pain slut has to be prepared to endure a painful torment from anyone, at anytime, provided it is within her limits.” The words came out of my mouth slowly, passionless.

Kari nodded. “Straddle it. Now.” She pointed at the clothes rack.

I swung a leg over and Jessica took my arm as she saw me almost lose my balance. I rose up on tip toe, but the rounded bar at the top was already driving into my crotch as I settled. I bit my lip as the anal plug, the spiked strip, and the RVP were all mashed against my groin. It was not comfortable.

But it also created some very interesting, very intense pressures.

Jessica stepped back and stood in front of the door, as if she expected me to bolt. Kari pulled the first blouse off her arm and held it up. It was a camisole, and not exactly suited for warm weather. Granted, it was nice, but it had a plunging neckline and was clearly meant to worn over something else, since the arm holes dipped down low. In other words, if that were the only thing I was wearing up top, I'd be constantly flashing my breasts, presuming they’d even stay in there.

I shifted uncomfortably, the spikes digging into my soft bits as I struggled to keep my weight off of Kari’s improvised horse. It wasn't easy. My calves were already starting to tingle and even raised up I was putting pressure on my groin. The RVP actually seemed much louder as my straining crotch came in contact with the clothes rack. Jessica continued to play with the RVP settings and my pussy was quietly going as the little dildo inside me spun and shook, moving in sudden spurts and stopping at unexpected moments. I let out a whimper and started to rock back and forth. This just changed where the little yoga mat spikes were digging into me. Oh. And it pushed the RVP into my labia and clit.

I started to pant.

Kari tossed the camisole aside. Then came a red Michael Kors halter top. I liked it. I really did, except I knew what Kari would do to me while wearing it. And exposure was the least of it. Access to my breasts would be simple enough - just pull it up. I gave her a grim little look as I began to hump the clothes rack. Pain radiated up from my calves, mingled with the discomfort between my legs, merged with the pleasure in my pussy, then shot up to my brain. There was no chance of being able to distinguish difference of intensity, or even specifics of source.

Kari held up the third item. This was a body suit, though it was clearly meant to be worn underneath other items. It was black mesh, see through, and only had a few solid swirly things blocking the more delicate areas. “What about this?” Kari teased. With the feelings of sinfully aroused pain burning between my legs, all I could do was shake my head. Kari sighed, as if I were being terribly unhelpful, and held up the next one.

It was even worse. It was that romper, and admittedly cute, but I saw the problem with it right away. There was a zipper running down the front, all the way to just an inch or two above the panty line. A black leather belt was included, but I just knew that such a long and poorly placed entry point would create all sorts of mischief. I wanted it, but didn’t. Instead I looked down. My calves were burning and I realized that my strength was about to give out. I tried to figure out where, in the seven or so inches between my clit and ass, would be a good point to actually try to rest the vast majority of my weight, but really, there weren't any good options. Not with the fucking spikes. The best I could would be to tilt forward, rest as much of my weight on the base of the Rotating Venus Penis, and spread it out across my entire pussy. Of course, this meant that my labia, already suffering from the yoga mat strip, would end up looking like a piece of tenderized meat as the plastic spikes dug into my folds. My clit would get it too, the swollen little nub pressed against the pointed, sharp pin.

And of course, pressing the RVP deeper into my pussy would just make me want to cum all the faster.

As Kari put the romper aside, I settled. There was no choice. I let out a choked whimper and sat, leaning forward so much that I had to bring my hands forward and prop myself up. Still, I lifted my feet from the ground, to make it obvious to both Kari and her stupid little blonde enforcer, that I was actually sitting on the clothes rack. It groaned too, the metal biting into my crotch straining under the weight of an actual person. The hard bar pushed up on the base of the RVP, right through my blue jeans, and pressed the entire piece right up into my sex. Jessica was still jacking with the controls too, which meant the little cock digging into my slit was oscillating in wild and unsettling ways, while the vibrations from the base shook me up like a California high rise during an earthquake.

“Well, I have a final option for you,” Kari said, watching my antics on the metal horse. She held up a beautiful, warm looking blouse. It was tunic length, just an inch or two too short to be called a dress. The base of it was a ivory colored shirt, and attached to it was this poncho like outer layer, except it was cut into artful strips, twisted, and then sewn back together at the bottom. I loved it. Instantly. It was the only warm, concealing, decent looking thing she had selected.

“That one!” I gasped. Kari smiled, placed the blouse with the other outfits, and turned toward the salesclerk. “Jessica, this next part might be a bit squeamish. Breanne needs to be punished. If you will give me the remote, we will be out to make our purchase in a few minutes.”

“Please Ms.Anders,” Jessica said breathlessly. “I'd like to stay, if you don't mind.”

I was just a little too far gone to put in my two bits, but I know I would have told her to get the hell out. However, I was too busy bouncing up and down, dealing with a choice between having plastic spikes mashed into my pussy or having my calves burn and give out.

And underneath, goddamn it, I was getting close to another orgasm. The prickling and squishing of my clit was send paroxysms of agony and ecstasy up through my loins. That made grinding even more necessary.

Kari nodded at Jessica. “Very well. Please turn off both functions of the RVP.”

Jessica eyed me and nodded, her thumb pushing down the controls. The vibrations inside me stopped suddenly, just as the churning curl of the phallus ceased. I was suddenly left in a horrible, wanton state, aching desperately. I lifted my feet, my ass wriggling to make it clear I was riding the metal clothes rack.

“Now Bre, dismount and remove your jeans.”

Yeah, like I wanted to do that. I stood there, suffering and pumping, not really even acknowledging Kari’s orders. I could sense Kari about to repeat herself, but Jessica stepped up, grabbed my right breast in her hand, wrapped her arms around me, and pulled me forcibly off the metal, makeshift horse.

I didn't fight her, but I twisted out of her grip as fast as I could. And of course the two inch wide circle of spiked plastic covering my right nipple came loose with the tape as she lost her hand hold. My breasts, still bound tight, seemed to throb, but as Jessica looked down, her eyebrows went up in surprise.

“What the…?” She exclaimed, running a thumb across the sharp little spikes. The she looked at my now exposed breast. The nipple, pierced and even padlocked, was now exposed to the light. There was a two inch circle of dark, reddish indentations where the pins had dug deep into my flesh. My nipple, already misshapen from my piercing, now looked even stranger.

Her eyes widened as I steadied myself, already feeling the loss of the vibrations. My pussy was clenching and quivering, furious at being denied the sensations it craved. I gave Jessica a hard, desperate look, then reached down and yanked off a boot.

Taking your shoes off is rarely erotic or graceful, especially when your crotch is lined with plastic spikes and your ass has a four inch long steel bulb in it. Or when your breasts are all tightly bound up and swollen. But if the next thirty seconds of my whimpering, groaning, stretching gyrations as I removed both boots, socks and then jeans, didn't dissuade anyone from leaving me alone, nothing would. I threw my jeans aside and stood there in mostly naked glory. Jessica didn't say anything. She just stared, still holding the spiked circle in her hand.

“Hands behind your back,” Kari said. “Jessica, please remove the tape binding Breanne's breasts.”

From innocent observer to active participant, Jessica didn't even hesitate. She circled round the clothes rack, her fingers outstretched. The spiked, foam circle was extended, the loose ends of the tape curled slightly. Much to my consternation, Jessica positioned the circle back on my nipple, and to add insult to injury, pinched it and made sure it was stuck back on solidly. I winced, the arousal I'd been feeling just a minute earlier disappearing fast. Then, with both hands now free, Jessica began picking at the tape wrapped around the base of each breast.

Admittedly, it did feel good when the tape finally came loose. I gasped and groaned as the tension that had been keeping my breasts swollen like two water filled balloons relaxed. Two, dark, red circles were left, testament to my discomfort, but as I brought my hands up and massaged the skin, the relief was palpable. Jessica stepped back, the electrical tape dangling from her fingers.

“Breanne,” Kari said both softly and sternly. “Remove the spiked strip and the items holding it in place.”

My eyes widened slightly and I glanced over at Jessica, who seemed both entranced and a little shocked. But in for the penny, right? The Rotating Venus Penis was held in place with a number of simple straps and I undid them quickly and efficiently.  As the base of it fell, the yoga mat strip came with it, as did the small phallic probe that was pushed through it. I let out a small moan. But then, as the spikes came free of my labia, then my perineum, the anal plug held it all up, dangling between my thighs like some sort of sick, perverted tail. I reached back, and with a grimace, pulled the anal plug out of my ass.

You should have seen the look on Jessica's face!

I dropped it all on the floor of the changing room and Kari stood up. She still had the entire collection of outfits draped over an arm, but it didn't seem to weigh her down. She nodded back toward the clothing rack.

“You will straddle the bar until my return.” She said it simply, as a statement of fact. I looked at the clothes rack. Without my jeans, or the RVP, or even the foam strip, the metal rod would sit deep within my slit. Even standing on tiptoe really wouldn't help that much. For a moment I considered arguing with her, but I knew how that would end. Wincing, I went back to the makeshift horse, swung a leg over it, and still on tip toe, slid myself into the center. The metal was cold and it parted my labia, pressing hard.

“Come Jessica,” Kari said judiciously. “I know which of these she wants.”

I hadn't said a word, but Kari knew me. The last one, with the white base and twisted, colored strips. I watched as they both left, leaving me to my own devices.

Well, the one device; the metal pony I was riding.

The first thing then went through my mind was to get off. Afterall, they'd just left. The chances of them coming back in to check on me were pretty slim. I could have spared myself a lot of discomfort. But Kari trusted me. And I wanted to keep that trust. So if she told me to stand there naked, straddling a metal clothes rack, rubbing my pussy along the slick steel, standing on tip toe, then that's what she needed to get from me. I felt the burn in my calves return, then grow deeper and sharper. I gave up, letting my weight down, listening to the creaking of the metal bar now biting hard up into my pussy. It hurt. Ten seconds worth. Just enough to give my legs a rest, then back up on tip toe.

For the first two or three minutes, not to mention the four or five “rides” I endured, I was good and kept my hands behind my back. But each time my legs gave out and I was forced to support my weight on my sore sex, that “ride” lengthened. Eventually, gritting my teeth, I brought my hands down on the bar in front of me, leaned forward, and took a good portion of my weight on my arms. It helped. Not much, but it gave me a mental, as well as a physical boost. I needed that. Then I felt recovered enough to go back on tiptoe.

I have no idea how long I was in the dressing room by myself, riding that damn clothes rack. It was more than 5 minutes, that I know. But I do not think that it was 10. I had just settled back down onto the metal clothes rack when the door opened and in came Jessica.

Just Jessica. She was carrying the shirt I'd liked, the one with the white base and the colorful strips going vertically down the front, sides, and back. She looked at me, her eyes darting down to where my pussy was spread apart, the metal bar digging in deep. She nodded.

“Kari...Ms.Anders… says you can get off the horse and dress.” She tossed me the shirt. I didn't hesitate. I pushed off the rack with a whimpering groan, ignoring the long smear of wetness on the metal. My pussy ached, mostly from being smashed by my own weight on the bar, but it could have been worse. So after a moment I just shook out the shirt, only to have my attention diverted by Jessica, who had picked up my jeans and begun folding them.

“Uh… you don't have to do that,” I said, gesturing at the jeans. “I'm going to have to put those back on.”

Jessica gave me an odd look and continued folding up my jeans. “You should dress, as Ms.Anders instructed.” She tucked my jeans under her arm.

I frowned at her, flipped the shirt I was holding around, and felt a hard knot of steel form in my tummy as I noticed something wrong.

“What the…?” I muttered as my fingers worked the material. “What did you do to it?” The white cotton base had been mutilated. The sleeves, shoulders, and collar were intact, but someone had taken a pair of scissors to the front, and while leaving the vertical strips intact, cut out the entire undershirt. A five inch wide strip remained at the bottom, so the colored material strips would have something to attach too, but the damn thing was now a ventilated series of narrow drapes. My mouth gaped in shock and I gave Jessica an accusatory glare.

“Ms.Anders made the alterations,” she said quickly, actually backing up to the door. I watched as she deliberately put the clothes rack I'd been humping between us. “You are to dress and put the Rotating Venus Penis and the plug back in, but don't need to wear the spiked strip.”

I wanted to be angry, but having been told it was Kari’s doing took the wind out of my sails. Of course she'd cut out the undershirt. Why had I assumed she wouldn't? The one decent shirt? Of course she had a plan to alter it into something she deemed appropriate. Defeated, I let my shoulders slump and I pulled the shirt over me head. The material fell and I slipped my arm into the sleeves. Then, as the tunic settled into place, I looked down.

Both bare breasts, still covered with the foam, spiked pasties taped to my nipples, stuck out between the colored strips. I closed my eyes, trying to figure out how I was going to keep the ladies from jutting out.

“Oh,” Jessica said, sounding slightly alarmed. “I didn't realize it would be quite that... revealing.”

I reached up and repositioned some of the strips, covering my breasts. This worked for about six breaths, then my boobs began to emerge from hiding again. Well, fuck.

I let out an exasperated sigh and pointed at Jessica. “My jeans please?”

Her eyes widened and now her face turned pink as she blushed. “Um… Ms.Anders told me to bring them to her. I think she wants you to wear just the tunic.”

I blinked, my eyes darting to the mirror. Yes, the shirt was long enough to mostly cover my ass, but mostly isn't completely. And the front hem danced just an inch below my dripping, bruised slit. But come on! There was no way I could walk around the mall like this! Besides, I'd freeze the moment we went outside!

“Jessica,” I whispered, giving the girl an almost tearful, look. “Please give me my jeans?”

For a moment I thought she was going to, but then that customer service shit kicked in and I wasn't the customer. She shook her head.

“You should discuss it with Ms.Anders,” she said earnestly. “I'll mention your… uh… difficulty with the cut.” She pointed at my breasts, which had once again fallen out between the strips of colored material. Then she opened the door and left me on my own.

Frustrated, I bent down and picked up the RVP. The anal plug was still connected to it via the hourglass shaped strap, threaded over both phallic probes. I tugged the plug free, put a bare little foot up on the bench, and worked it back into my ass. It was uncomfortable and I ignored the feeling of needing to take a shit until it settled properly. Then I began strapping on the Rotating Venus Penis.

I was just about done when the four inch long phallus began moving, set somewhere around medium. And since it was already inside me, I gasped, my moist pussy ripening to flutter and spasm around it. I fixed the tunic again, smoothing it down to cover my bottom and sex, but that only made my tits pop back out. I stared at the mirror, frustrated, aroused, humiliated, and dreading the walk of shame I was about to endure.

Finally accepting defeat, I picked the spiked foam strip off the floor, straightened, tucked my breasts back in behind the vertical slats of material, and sat down to put on my boots. I was just lacing them up, my pussy quivering with need, when the vibration function began.

Well, fuck. Kari was trying to make me cum again.

So she could punish me.

I put my boobs back in the shirt, stood with the spiked foam strip, and went to the door. No one was around in the fitting room hallway, so I moved to the entrance and glanced out. Kari and Jessica were near the register and Kari had added another large bag to her collection. Jessica spotted me and nodded, which made Kari turn around. My mistress looked at me with hungry, delighted eyes.

“Well, step out here so we can see it on you properly,” Kari said, pointing at a clear space in front of her. I checked around to see just how many people might be around. The women's apparel section seemed quiet. Thank God. So then I checked to make sure I wasn't hanging out of the shirt.


I tucked myself back in and with very small, very even steps, vibrated and swirled my stuffed and tormented pussy out to wher Kari wanted me. Her eyes took in every line, every curve, and lingered around my bare, upper thighs.

“Lift your arms above your head and turn around,” Kari ordered. I did a pirouette and when I completed the full rotation, I saw that Jessica's eyes were wide and she had covered her mouth. She took her hand away.

“Ms.Anders,” she breathed hurriedly. “I'm not jure that outfit is…”

“Perfect,” Kari said in satisfaction. “You may lower your arms, Bre.”

I dropped my arms and crossed them over my chest, because I knew both of my breasts had once more emerged from between the colored material. Both women looked at me and Jessica coughed lightly, then pointed downward at my loins. I looked down. The fucking shirt had ridden up and gotten caught on the front of the RVP, showing off the vibrating base. I flicked a hand downward, freeing the hem. I could feel the heat on my cheeks as I blushed crimson.

I fixed a hard stare at Kari. “I want my jeans back,” I said.

“And your tee shirt no doubt,” Kari agreed. “But I want to make it perfectly clear, that without my approval, wearing such an outfit that is totally inappropriate for someone of your demeanor and station will result in punishment.”

“You've punished me almost from the moment we got here!”

Kari shook her head in disagreement. “Hardly. Inflicting the RVP on you was simply testing your ability to resist sexual stimulation when you knew you were not permitted to cum. And yet you did it anyway, thus earning the punishment of the spike pasties and the strip,” she pointed to the spiked, foam hourglass strip I was still holding. “And even straddling the rack.”

She took a step forward, grabbed my arm, and pushed it down, away from my breasts. “Your punishment for dressing improperly, is to be dressed properly.

“Kari!” I hissed, yanking my arm free of her grip and pushing my bosom back beneath the shirts slits. “I fall out of this shirt! It's too short! And my ass is showing!” I turned again, catching my tits as they surged forward, erupting out of the slits in the shirt, even as I thrust my jewel stuffed rump upward. I looked at her over my shoulder, one arm across my chest again, as Kari and Jessica looked down at my plugged ass.

“Well, it's sort of difficult to see…” Jessica stammered. Kari smiled.

“I find it suitable. You are not in violation of the law,” she observed.

“Just every standard of acceptable behavior,” I shot back, turning to face her again.

Kari crossed her arm. “Breanne, what is nympho humiliation pain slut rule one?”

I winced. Fuck. I looked away, already knowing where this was about to go.

“A nympho humiliation pain slut is required to have cock in her at all times, or if not available, a suitable toy that will keep her wet and ready for use.” It may not have been the exact wording, but it was close enough.

Kari nodded. “And the second rule?”

I glanced at Jessica. She was staring intently at me. I checked to make sure my breasts hadn't wriggled their way out of rhe front of my shirt. Once assured they were still tucked away, I took a breath. “A nympho humiliation pain slut must be ready to submit to sexual torment and torture at any time, for any reason, to anyone.”

The stunned look on Jessica's face was almost worth it. But then I could see the machinations.

“Rule number three?” Kari continued.

“A nympho humiliation pain slut is not allowed to refuse to perform a required sexual act, or fail to submit herself for use, unless the act or use violates her limits,” I explained.

Kari tapped her fingers on the register counter. “Excellent. Please explain the fourth rule.”

My heart quivered, right along with my pussy. This was where she was heading. The recitation of the first four rules was merely the mantra to remind me of my place: at Kari’s knees, a subservient fuck slut. I gulped, my cheeks burning with shame as Jessica listened and watched, intrigued and titillated. My voice came out as a squeaky whisper, almost, but not quite too soft.

“A nympho humiliation pain slut should always dress provocatively so that she can be easily identified by her betters as a sexual object.”

That was gist of it. There's a bit more with an exception, but I knew what Kari wanted to hear,  and what she wanted me to remember. Even as the words fell from my lips I knew I'd made a mistake that morning. I had to find another way to stay warm, or to protest my nature. Kari had made it very clear that further attempts to circumvent Rule Four would result in increasingly cruel and difficult torments. It just wasn't worth it.

So, without looking around, I dropped to my knees. The tunic lifted up, exposing my rounded buttocks and the base of the vibrating, churning RVP, and both breasts slid out from between the colored strips of shirt. I kept my eyes lowered and spread my legs wide, adopting the position of acceptance. With palms up, my prurient bits exposed, I apologized.

“I'm sorry, Kari. Thank you for reminding me of my place.” I made an effort to resist the urge to cover up, to wince, to hide, even to run. The the RVP suddenly went crazy between my legs, both functions turned to maximum. My pussy tightened violently around the RVP’s corkscrewing cock and I looked up, shocked and on the verge.

“I'm glad you’ve come to your senses,” Kari said. She picked up her shopping bags. “Now come along. We've taken up enough of Jessica's time.” She gave me a wicked smile. “If you cum before we get to the car, I will put a set of clover clamps on your tits.”

I stood up and as Kari turned away, I adjusted the tunic to cover up as much as I could. Jessica hurried out from.around the counter, another shopping bag in her hand.

“Here's your clothes,” she said softly.

I took it and met her eyes. “Thank you,” I replied. I couldn't be mad at her. We were both just pawns in the queen's game. Jessica smiled at me.

“Anyone, anywhere, at anytime?” She suddenly asked, almost embarrassed. Her cheeks were punk.

I nodded. Suddenly she reached out with both hands, her fingers slipping between the colored strips. I stiffened and then gasped as she found my breasts, only to grab them both, kneading them roughly. The spikes on the inside of each foam circle dug deep into my nipples.

“My number is in the bag,” Jessica whispered. “Call me.” Then her fingernails scratched at the sides of my breasts. She pulled both spiked circles off my nipples, dropping them in the bag too. I let out a whimper.

“I hope you cum,” she said sincerely, knowing I’d get punished for it, then went back to the register. I looked down. The tips of each breast were exposed, peeking out from between the vertical slats of the shirt, gold piercings glinting in the light, the skin of my areolas dark and spotted with deep, red indentations. I couldn't help it. I smiled back at her.

“Oh,” I said with a smile. “I plan on it.” The swirling maelstrom between my legs suddenly seemed supercharged and I gave Jessica a little wave, then took my bag and hurried after Kari. My tunic failed to cooperate, and as I caught up with my mistress, just feet from a main thoroughfare, my breasts preceded the rest of me, poking out. Kari glanced at me, looking down with a smile.

“Now that is appropriate for a nympho humiliation pain slut.”

I reached up and tucked my tits back in, just as another shopper walked by, giving me a disgusted and imperious look. I licked my lips then gave Kari a direct look.

“Kari, I think I need to be punished,” I whispered. My voice was practically shaken with tension. Or vibrations. One or the other. Or both.

“Really? So soon after having to wear that outfit in public? After being humiliated and forced to straddle that metal bar? After having those spikes pressing into your breasts and sex?”

I nodded frantically, the waves rising up inside me. “I need to be punished.” I gasped.

Kari’s eyebrow went up. “Why? What have you done that makes you deserve punishment?” I couldn't tell if she was truly clueless, or just being coy. So I grabbed her arm, which knocked my right breast back into view.

“Because…” I breathed, shaking now. Another person walked past us. A man. His eyes were wide in shock as he looked at my bare breast.

“Because?” Kari asked.

I trembled. Too late. I felt the Rotating Venus Penis swirl inside me, the vibrations shaking me to the core. The humiliation, the torment, the punishment, Jessica's fascination, all of it, came together in a tempest, with me in the middle. I took a deep breath. The other breast came out from between the strips of colored shirt.

“Because I'm cumming,” I blurted out. The orgasm hit me and I felt a spurt of wetness around the base of the RVP. Kari took my arm as I shuddered.

“And done while dressed as what you are,” she breathed in satisfaction, feeling the spasms rock me. “A nympho humiliation pain slut.” She waited until the surge left me dazed and I felt the RVP slow, then go quiet. I stood there, feeling amazing,  not even caring that my breasts were sticking out, or that we were attracting a lot of attention. Kari put her hand on my chest, and to my surprise, tucked my bosom back behind the material.

“Come now, let's find someplace quiet and private,” she said, forcing me to take a step.

“Okay,” I agreed, still wrapped in the bliss of climax. “Why?”

Kari laughed. “Because I know someone who has earned another punishment.”

I looked at her, then laughed. I squared my shoulders, knowing damn well what would happen. Kari’s eyes widened.

“I want to be dressed appropriately,” I said softly.

Kari kissed me. “You are,” she said. “You most certainly are.”

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