Thursday, August 28, 2014

Thirty Minutes



The living room was a wreck and it wasn’t my fault.  At least, not directly.  Sure, I suppose that most of it could be laid directly at my feet vicariously, but to be honest, I’m not the one who got out all the rope.  Or the spreader bars.  Or the duct tape, much less the metal stand.  I was positioned, helpless in the middle of the creative destruction while Mike the Hardware Guy gently eased the massive, nine inch long dildo into my very wet, quite oiled slit, making me groan.  To further quantify my innocence, at least as far as the messy living room was concerned, my hands were bound firmly behind my back, my legs were spread about three feet apart, and there was a post impaling me.  



Oh. And I was naked.  See?  No way could I be responsible for the mess.



Mike was concentrating and I wish I could say he was concentrating on my clit, but that wouldn’t have been true.  Instead he was futzing around with the center pole, an adjustable bar mounted to a thick metal plate, which he’s used on me several times before when circumstances required me to be mounted on something pointed and penetrative.  At the top of the pole he’d attached a long, nine inch rubber dildo, the kind that fills a girl to the brim and makes them swoon.  I didn’t mind. It felt good, though I admit that flat footed there wasn’t much room for movement.  My legs were each cuffed with a black leather anklet, both of which were attached via eighteen inch spreader bars to the main pillar.  It kept my legs spread a discrete distance and allowed me a range of movement I’ve rarely been given in bondage situations.  



“How does that feel?” he asked me, studying the spread petals of my sex.  The massive dildo was relatively thick and felt like one of my girlfriends had pushed their hand inside me.



“It’s fine,” I assured him.  And it was. I was flat footed, all the way down, and quite stuffed.  Admittedly, I wanted to bounce, but I figured that would just mess things up for him.  



“Okay, go up on tip toe,” he told me.  I did, rising up a full three or four inches.  It was tough to tell.  I wasn’t exactly in a position where I could make marks on the dildo just to see how high I was managing to get.



“That’s good, Bre.  Thanks,” Mike said. “You can go back down.”



I let out a breath and lowered myself down, letting out another moan as the thick dildo split me. Oh man… I so wanted to bounce!  Mike got up and gave me a smile.  



“It’s perfect. Are you ready to do this?”



Of course I was ready!  Are you kidding me?  I nodded and grinned. “Do me, lover boy,” I said wickedly and Mike turned around, picked up the Hitachi Magic Wand and a roll of duct tape.  Positioning the Magic Wand so that the bulbous head was pressed tightly against my clitoris, right along the side of the dildo, he flicked my clit lightly.  That made me squeal a bit and rise up by about half an inch. Mike secured it in place with a long strip of adhesive and I came back down, the soles of both feet on the ground.  To my surprise, it now felt as if I were sitting on the massager, some of my weight mashing the little nub hard into the rounded head. I groaned again, wanting him to turn it on.




My wish was granted a half second later and Mike flipped on the Hitachi massager, setting the selector to high.  Instantly a sensational vibration began between my legs, rippling up through my clit and petals, penetrating deep, and leaving me breathless.  It was quite intense and you might be surprised to find that I found it just a bit overpowering.  But that was the point.  I trembled and went up slightly on tiptoe.  That made everything better, and worse, especially because I went back down just half a second later.  Now the in and out sensation of the thick dildo sliding in and out of my slit was combined with the intensity of the massager head messing around with my clitoris.  I went back up, relieving the intensity of the vibrations, feeling them now through the stand and the dildo inside me, only to drop back down deliberately, even before my arches tired.



Mike held up the stopwatch.  Clearly he was timing me.  “How long can you tolerate it before you have to raise up?” he asked as I began bouncing enthusiastically.  It didn’t matter if I was up or down, it felt amazing!



I blinked, waves of exquisite pleasure bursting up from my loins. “What? I thought I only had to bounce for thirty minutes?” I asked, my chest heaving as the pressure built inside me fast.  Can anyone say “freight train?” Cause the lights were blinking and the railroad crossing gates were coming down rapidly.



Mike sat down on the couch opposite me with a silly grin on his face.  “Well, we’ll see. Kari left it to me on how long you’d be riding.”  He looked a little chagrined.  “I think the idea was that you go up and stay there,” he said with disappointment.



I dropped back down with a forceful groan, a thrill of vibrational ecstasy going through me as the Magic Wand was once again jammed tightly against my clit.  “Why,” I said, gasping slightly, “would I,” another gasp, “want to do,” then a groan as I rose back up, feeling the dildo slip half way out of me, “that?” I finished and dropped back down, this time letting my knees buckle.  It meant practically resting my entire body weight on the dildo/massager combo, but who cared?  I was in sexual nirvana there.  It was fucking awesome!



Mike didn’t reply and instead watched.   I bounced. I moaned. I groaned. I whimpered.  My hips rolled. My breasts rose and fell.  And then I cried out in sexual release as my entire body shuddered and I exploded so powerfully and so long, riding that silly Magic Wand, that juice literally gushed out of me, streaming down my leg and no doubt soaking the metal bar wedged up between my legs.



“Four minutes, twenty-eight seconds,” Mike said, jotting down the time on a little pad of paper.  I groaned, just a little out of it, and then realized that the Magic Wand was still vibrating like mad, and that my clit was just a tad bit sensitive.  Even more surprising, I was up on tiptoe, an involuntary response my body took while my brain was still lost in the wash of oxytocin and endorphins.  What can I say?  Sex is the best drug ever.  And I’m an addict.



I’m ashamed to admit it, but my brain ended up agreeing with my legs and clit, and I stayed up.  I could still feel the vibrations, but instead of them going straight into my clitoris and translating up into my core, the earthshaking movements of the massager had to travel into the metal stand beneath me, then up into a gel like, rubber dildo, and only then made it into my body.  I could feel it, but it wasn’t the kind of intense contact that would drive you banana crackers in seconds.  I could tolerate it.



As long as my calves and arches didn’t give out.



My toes began to ache and I tensed each leg in turn, trying to relieve the tension in my calves, but we both know that my stamina, at least from the knee down, is measured in minutes, rather than hours.  Finally I needed to rest and despite the fact that I was still horny due to the dildo and the low level vibration flowing up through it, I lowered myself back down.  The massager head pressed up against my clit and my internal seismograph suddenly went nuts, going from a low level trembler to a full on Los Angeles leveler.  I gasped, jerked my hips for a moment, and then suddenly found the strength to go back up.



“Six minutes, forty seven seconds,” Mike said, making another note. “You know, I’m sort of surprised. I thought you had this phenomenal endurance.   I would have thought that you’d just stay mashed down on the massager permanently, cumming your head off.”



My heart pounded in my chest as my body strained.  A slight sheen of perspiration had broken out on my skin and I glistened. “It’s not as easy,” I gasped. “As you might think.”  My arches ached and I went back down, my clit once more coming in direct contact with the Hitachi Magic Wand.  My head went backward as I let out a deep seated groan, my clit caught between the mortar and pestle experience.  I swung my hips around in a circle, as much as the penetrating dildo would allow.  I could feel another orgasm building up inside me, but this one was laced with a sincere discomfort, a sort of sexual irritation that grated upon my nerves.  I went back up on tip toe to slow things down.



“I have to admit, I like the scenery,” Mike mused.  “I’m thinking this should be a permanent fixture.  What do you say, Breanne?  Four hours a week?  Maybe during football games?  I could put you in the corner next to the television.”



Damn him, the very idea of it was an aphrodisiac as my overactive imagination immediately pictured myself doing exactly what he described.  Forget the fact that I was barely tolerating the damn thing now, after less than ten minutes.  What would four hours do to me?  And would he invite some friends over to watch the game with him?  Holy crap… I was going to cum! I was flat-footed, grinding myself on the stupid massager!



I cried out relief, my face flushed as my torso did this intriguing wiggle, while my pussy tried to pulverize my clit against the side of the Magic Wand.  Waves of sensual pleasure shot through me, flooding through my veins as if I’d just been forced to drink a dozen Mountain Dews, a gallon of over sugared Kool-aid, while fucking the business end of a firehose - doing its business.  My toes would have curled if my weight hadn’t been on them and I was hopping up and down like a toddler in a bounce house.  Mike watched with wide eyes, clearly enjoying the show and when I finally calmed down again, settling on the soles of my feet, the vibrator again pressed tightly to my clit, trying to find some meager spark of energy, all so I could go back up and get the damn massager away from my sex, he actually clapped.



“Twelve minutes, thirty two seconds,” he told me with a grin.  “Almost to the halfway point, Bre.”



I blinked. Half-way?  My knees buckled, which put even more weight on both the massive dildo jammed up inside me and the undulating torture device that was trying very hard to shake my clit off.  I let out a slightly manic whimper and I began glancing around, searching for some way to save myself.  I know. It was totally weird.  Psychological maybe.  I jerked myself to the side in an effort to get away from the chafing grind of the massager head, only to discover that the metal stand my impalement was being conducted on was heavier than me.  There was no way I was going to be tipping over.



“Sorry Bre, but that stand weighs close to eighty pounds, and you also happen to be standing on it.  There is no way it will tip over,” Mike assured me, “not without help or a much lower point of balance. And since you can’t get any lower,” he said, gesturing at my loins with a grin.



My mind switched gears. “Please Mike?  Please let me off?  I’ll fuck you,” I said, begging and pleading.  Mike grinned.



“You know I love to hear you say that, but the reality is that we’ll be fucking in a few minutes anyway, and I don’t have to let you off in order to stick myself in any hole you have.  The reality is that…” his voice trailed off and he glanced down at the stop watch as I lifted myself off the Magic Wand, my chest heaving. “Wow.  Fourteen fifty-eight.”



I tried to stay up, the seconds ticking and it was at least a minute before my legs gave out and I had to mash my clit back up against the massager.  The oscillations tore into me and my body decided that rubbing myself frantically, with as much forward and back movement as possible, was the best way to handle the stress of the pulsing waves.  My buttocks tightened and I began undulating back and forth at the waist, the entire stand rocking slightly.  My sex felt like it was being shocked, and yes - just in case you’re wondering, I have been zapped between the legs before with electricity.  It wasn’t as bad as that one time with the taser, but it was just as intense as any of the transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation unit pulses, that’s for sure.  There was this edge to the stimulation that’s tough to describe.



Overload?



I’m not sure but my clitoris was reporting that someone had pressed a high speed electric sander to it and was trying to deliver fifty years of natural erosion in the space of a few minutes.  The problem was that I was getting mixed signals, or more likely, my fucked up brain was mistranslating a message that normal people merely read as “wow, this is not a good feeling. I should stop now.”  See?  This is my problem.  It’s why I’m a sexual masochist.  It’s why I love being hurt like this.  It’s because my clit was reporting sensorial overload and possible physical damage, and my brain was interpreting most of that message as “ooohhh…. sex!  Wow!  Keep going!”  



I went back up and stood there with a look of relief on my face that turned to desperation a half minute later. I could still feel the reverberation through the dildo, but it was my burning calves that ached the most.  Finally I couldn’t take it and went back down, crying out as the massager once more pressed tightly against my clit.



“Nineteen minutes, eleven seconds,” Mike informed me solemnly.  My vision blurred and I tried to think through the math. I couldn’t. I had no idea how many more minutes I had to go.  



“I’m wondering whether or not it was a good idea to do this already sensitized.  How many edges did you do this morning?” he asked.  “Eight?”



I nodded.  Kari had wanted me appropriately sensitive for my afternoon session with Mike.  As usual I’d been required to keep a sex toy inside myself - nympho humiliation pain slut rule #1.  Kari had been specific.  Ben wa balls to keep me wet, and my clitoral butterfly vibe to push me to the edge.  The problem had been that every time I was close, I was supposed to turn off the butterfly, which had been on the highest setting by the way, and attach a clothespin to my clit for no longer than twenty minutes.  Do you have any idea what it’s like to be sexually charged, ready to cum, so close that you can taste it, only to have it all crushed between the tips of a wooden peg?  



Eight times?  Thank God I didn’t fuck it up, because Kari had said that if I did cum, I would be using the jumbo alligator clamp instead of a clothespin.  



Which hopefully explains, when set on the stupid Hitachi Magic Wand, and vibrated into orgasmic bliss, why I was so sensitive and easy to set off.  




“Twenty two thirteen,” Mike told me. I was beyond caring.  I could feel another wave of orgasm inside me, slowly churning and burning.  It was going to be a doozy. I could tell.  I twitched and rolled my hips, pounding my clit against the massager.  I started to bounce, this time just a little bit, tiny up and down movements that made me look like I was riding a horse. I bobbed in place, the thick dildo splitting me up the middle, the massager agitating me into another spiral of sexual combustion.  Yet this one was accompanied by the equivalent nerve scorching sensation of overload, of nails on a chalkboard, of carpet burn and that tingly numbness of being electrocuted.  Of a terrible sunburn left untreated. Lemon juice on a paper cut.



I exploded at twenty five seventeen according to Mike’s notes and I wasn’t done until twenty seven eight.  For exactly one hundred and eleven seconds, I was a gibbering, brainless, cumming slut, stuffed with nine inches of synthetic cock, milling my clitoris against the endless quivering of a heartless, soulless machine.  There wasn’t a thought in my pretty little head for that entire one minute and fifty-one seconds, unless you count the orgasm itself, which basically made me mewl like a kitten, shake like a stripper dancing, and burn like I was a torch.  That last orgasm sucked every bit of energy out of me and when I was done, I was flat-footed, breathless, just a little light-headed, and unable to lift myself up from the still jittering massager, my clit crying out for mercy.  



Mike got up from the couch and wrapped his arms around me as I burst into tears, unable to do anything else but endure.  He held me as I cried, the pain between my legs tangible and incessant.  It wasn’t a deep pain. That I could have handled.  It was the pain of sensitivity, the kind you get from walking through bladed grass, or burning yourself with a splash of oil.  It was the kind of agony that comes from having too much of a good thing.  I shuddered, my entire weight on the dildo and the massager.



“I’ve got you,” Mike said to me, rubbing my back and squeezing me tightly, lending me his strength.  Time seemed to crawl as I blubbered and shook, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.  My sex felt like a shriveled prune, sensitive and sweet and oh so wet and juicy.  I heard a beeping sound and then Mike let me go, just long enough to turn off the massager.  I would have collapsed if the stand and the dildo had let me, so instead I just stood there, my hands still bound behind my back, concentrating on breathing.  I heard the rattle of metal clips and then Mike was behind me releasing my hands.  The moment I was free he lifted me up, my weight nothing to him.  I groaned as the dildo slid out and then Mike was carrying me in his arms, cuddled and warm, to his bedroom.



The sheets were already turned down and he laid me on the mattress gently.  Dazed and still barely coherent, I mumbled something incomprehensible and then Mike climbed atop of me.  His pants and shirt were gone, his cock hard and pulsing.  The tip probed at my sex and I cried out, my back arching as he grazed my clitoris.  My eyes snapped open and found him staring at me.



“Breanne,” he said firmly. “Spread your legs.”



And I did.  His cock dealt my clit another glancing blow and my entire body jumped, but I stayed open and he slid down through my petals and pushed up inside me.  I groaned as he thrust, his pubic hair rubbing against my clit.  Long, slow strokes, but each so powerful, speared me and I wrapped my arms and legs around him until he pushed my knees inward, straddling me, his weight holding me down.  His mouth came down and kissed me, biting at my neck and then my breasts, suckling the nipples as he moved my hands up above my head, grabbing my wrists with a single hand, pinning me to the bed. I bucked beneath him, half in pain, half in pleasure and I think that had Mike been patient, I might even have cum again.



Mike sighed and rolled off of me, his spent cock softening as he pulled off the condom, tossing it on the nightstand.  I curled up into a ball, wrapping my arms around him, savoring his warmth, his scent, his strength.  I fell asleep.



When I woke I was alone and there was a delicious aroma in the air.  I climbed out of bed and checked myself. My clit was tender, and still a little sore, but relatively fine.  The rest of me was too and after a quick stop at the restroom to freshen up and run a brush through my hair, I padded out into the living room.  The place was picked up, all of Mike’s tools and supplies put away.  Even the stand was gone.  Mike was in the kitchen, dressed in khaki shorts and a polo shirt, stirring up chicken and vegetables in a cast iron skillet.  I stepped up to the bar, rested my boobs and elbows on the countertop, and gave him a wicked smile.



“You cleaned up,” I said to him.  Mike laughed and nodded.  



“How long before we can eat?” I asked.



Mike shrugged, and added a can of broccoli cheese soup to the skillet. “About thirty minutes or so,” he said, his attention on the skillet.  “Once this is cooked I’ve got to put it in the bread and bake it.”



My eyes narrowed and I thought I’d tease him a little.  “Gosh.  Thirty minutes.  Too bad you put away the stand, isn’t it?”



He turned and looked at me, his eyes dark and curious.  “Turn around,” he said finally.  Blinking I did.  And there it was, right where he said it would be; in the corner, next to the television set.  The massager was even already plugged in, waiting for some fool to turn it on. I looked back at him, our eyes meeting, the silence lengthening.



I sighed and bit my lip.  I’d lost. I knew it.  Slowly I turned around and walked across the living room.  I reached out and touched the dildo.  It was freshly oiled, as if someone had prepared it already.  I took a deep breath and then stepped up on the bottom shelf of Mike’s television stand.  I knew it could hold my simple weight.  It gave me the height I needed and I grabbed the dildo and bent it toward my sex.  I lowered myself down and a moment later I was fully impaled, my clitoris jammed tightly up against the silent massager.



Mike put down his skillet and came up to me holding a pair of cuffs.  These he locked on my wrists, but in front of me.  Then he put the ankle cuffs back on me, securing me to the stand.  Finally, he pulled out a pair of clover clamps from his pockets, wrapped the chain through my cuffs, and then secured the clamps to my nipples.  Now I had to hold my hands up or I my nipples throbbed painfully. I bounced a few times, testing my muscles and enjoying the sensation of the massive dildo sliding through my folds.  Then Mike reached down and turned the massager on.



“Thirty minutes, Bre.  Then we’ll have dinner,” Mike said, but I was already in the zone, half lost in the sexual ooze of events outside of my control, the overwhelming wash of exquisite agony and ecstasy that makes me who I am, a nympho humiliation pain slut.  I went down flat footed, rubbing myself against the massager, fucking myself on the dildo, my body already responding, the need and desire and tenderness and soreness all combining.  I trembled, my chest heaving, the clamps digging into my tender nipples.  I let out a half-choked cry as I started to cum…



And hurt. And cum. And hurt. And cum again…



Thirty minutes.



Hello Breanne, this one is fairly simple, because I don’t know you. I am going to start off simple and if you try and like this assignment, I can get more complicated with higher stakes. I honestly love to talk ideas.  You will need a spread bar that will spread your legs wide, but you will also need to be able to keep your balance and be comfortable standing.  You will need a stick or a rod that is tied in the middle of the spread bar, facing up, with a dildo secured to the top of it.  It is very important that when you are standing flat footed the dildo will be all the way inside you so that you should feel full.  Then have someone tape or secure a very powerful egg vibrator or massager to the bottom of the dildo so that when you are flat footed the vibrator is pushing on your clit.  Your hands should be cuffed behind your back. The vibrator should be turned on and you start the “dance”.  Thirty minutes sounds appropriate. – Master Shadow


Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Nipple Clamps - A Primer

Hey guys, let's talk tits for a moment. Specifically, how to clamp them.  See, there is a right way to do this, and a wrong way to do it.  If you do it the wrong way, you're going to cause your submissive (or yourself) a lot more pain and tenderness than is healthy for them, so we need to go over a few important rules.

First of all, these are breasts:



Breasts come in all shapes and sizes, but we're going to focus on the nipples, which are those two little bumps that are so sensitive and fun.  Look at them.  Don't they just beg for you to lick, suck, pinch and clamp them?  Yep. I thought so.

Now let's talk clamps.  There are lots of kinds.  For example:


 
Japanese Clover Clamps.  They tighten when you pull on them.
Chopstick clamps.
Clothespins
Rubberband clamps
Binder Clamps!
Duck Bill Clamps.
So you can see, there are lots of options.  But I want you to notice something, and here's the big thing.  Most of these clamps are on pretty far back.  You don't want to actually compress just the little pink tip.  Why?  Because that hurts so bad that I don't know a single girl that really stand that for any length of time.  It hurts like holy hell and leaves her so tender that she's not going to want to put a clamp on again for DAYS.  So how do we function with clamps?  Put them on farther back.  Then we can tolerate the throbbing ache the way you want us to. Okay?

Oh. I forgot to post a picture of an alligator clamp.


Love ya!