There is cruel, and then there is crueler. Breanne hasn't been allowed to cum for days and although she's already blown it several times with unauthorized orgasms, she's still trying to obey her mistress. If you need to get caught up, you can by reading Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, 1st Punishment. and Day 4.
They say that time heals all things and despite the hemp thong of the previous day’s torment keeping my clit delicate bits sensitive and tender, I felt tremendously better when I woke up on Easter Sunday. I stretched, feeling the thick Core Driller shift inside me. I’d cast aside the thong when I’d gone to bed so the dildo was only being held in by a pair of tight blue and white striped panties, which was all I was wearing. I resisted the urge to masturbate and instead climbed out of the sheets and found my phone. Again there was a new text message from Julie and a dark chill spread through me as I read it.
“Bre - today’s toy is the Rotating Venus Penis, but you only have to turn it on while you’re edging. Again, no cumming or I will punish you, so please cum. I want you to cum! Now you will need to edge seven times today and I want three of them to be done while you have cock in your mouth, with your breasts bared. I want the men you suck to ask about your tits and why they look like that. Hoping to see you tonight. - Julie”
My mouth went dry. The Rotating Venus Penis? She couldn’t be serious! That thing drove me nuts on a good day! There was no way I’d be able to withstand seven edges with the RVP purring inside me! It didn’t just vibrate! It ROTATED, like a finger swirling around inside a peanut butter jar, getting the last bits of tasty goodness out. Was she nuts?
Then I realized I was being set up. She knew what this would do to me. The memory of the brutal whipping I’d endured was more than enough to chill me however. I trembled, hugged myself, climbed out of bed, and removed my panties and the Core Driller. My pussy tightened with needy spasms, reporting to my brain that yes I really did need sex. There was this urge, this desperation that had formed from the torment of the day before and I began to wonder if the next punishment would really be that bad. I mean, it wasn’t like I couldn’t handle another whipping, right?
Thank God we don’t remember pain very well.
I cleaned the Core Driller with the simple expediency of putting it in my mouth, licking it up and down before wiping it down with alcohol. Keep your toys clean ladies. You know that! Then I plucked the RVP from my toybox, slipped the four inch rubber cock into my dripping slit, settled it all in place with the straps, and then stood in front of the mirror hanging on the door of my closet. I stared at myself. My breasts were black and blue with shades of sick green marring the curved flesh. My sex was mostly hidden by the base of the RVP, but I’d seen the red and swollen flesh, the petals all engorged and sensitive. I braced myself, focusing on the piercing and padlock on my right nipple, and turned on the RVP.
Just the vibe.
I gasped as my hips swung forward violently, my body reacting to the stimulation without even a mental component. My brain realized I was actually fucking a moment later as my butt bobbed and weaved like a prize fighter in a box match. My eyes widened as I realized, almost too late, that even enduring the single function, set to low, was going to push me over edge faster than I’d thought. I let out a low moan and bit my lip as one hand found my bare nipple and began pinching. Sometimes I’m not very bright.
I almost came. It was close and I turned off the RVP and just pinched as hard as I could, gasping as the pain finally overwhelmed the need to explode. It was enough. I held off, but I began to understand just what I was in for. I’d need to be careful. Horribly, terribly careful or I’d be spending the evening with Julie. Again.
“Mommy? Can we get donuts?” Rachel asked. I looked down at her and smiled. One thing I have to admire about seven year olds is how dedicated they are to the concept of dessert. Or sugar. My own mother was something of a sugar tyrant when I was growing up and I remember going over to Kari’s place one evening for a sleepover only to discover that most parents considered three Oreo cookies to be a “serving.” I’d been traumatized. For years my mother had only let me have one.
I shouldn’t really complain since I’d stayed lithe and trim and looking good all through my school age years well into college and it wasn’t until my junior year at UH that the freedom from my mother’s gastronomic control got to me. I put on thirty pounds. It wasn’t pretty. Add pregnancy and I remember walking across the stage to get my diploma wearing a pair of jeans that would have doubled as a parachute had I fallen off the raised platform.
But that was about six years ago and one thing I have to say about being a cowgirl and rancher is that hard work and manual labor is a trimming force to be reckoned with. That and eating my mother’s cooking for the entire time had quickly and easily put me back to my pre-college days of around a hundred and seventeen pounds soaking wet. So donuts? Sure. Why not.
My parents were hobnobbing anyway, a social activity that happened every Sunday without fail. I’m not personally much of a church-goer, but it was Easter and my mother would have blown a fuse if I’d chosen not to go. So I’d put on a really nice and prim Easter dress that left my legs bare from the knees down, put on some makeup, got my hair braided and off we went.
I’m Catholic in case you weren’t aware of it and I think the pomp and pageantry of the whole thing is both awe inspiring and insanely boring. Our priest, a saintly old man who had resisted every single one of my attempts to seduce him, was the most boring speaker on the planet and only the fact that my daughter was sitting next to me kept my RVP from being accidentally switched to “tumble and spin”. So instead I was a good girl and tried not to fall asleep.
After mass came the obligatory breakfast and social gathering, which was the part my daughter preferred. Donuts, every Sunday, along with juice and as she settled down with a couple of friends from Sunday School I found myself leaning against a nearby wall, arms crossed over my still bruised bosom, watching the crowd. And that was when Bill Mays found me.
“Hi Breanne,” he said, sliding up next to me with a coffee in his hand. Bill and I had known each other for years since he’d been one of the regular boys Kari had allowed to screw my brains out on a regular basis. We’d gotten together a few times since, for quickies, but for the most part he wasn’t my type.
“What’s up?” he asked wickedly. His hand went around my waist, behind my back and since we were still against the wall, I felt him slide his palm downward over my ass. His fingers began tugging on the back of my dress, pulling the hem up. “Anything fun?” he asked.
I gave him an exasperated look. “RVP,” I said shortly and brushed my hand behind me. It knocked the material of my dress out of his fingers.
“RVP?” he repeated, clearly not recognizing the acronym.
“Rotating Venus Penis,” I replied with a wicked, teasing smile.
“Sounds like fun,” he whispered in my ear. “Is it on?”
I laughed and shook my head. “Hardly, or I’d be panting,” I assured him.
“I’d love to see that,” he replied, his eyes bright.
I gave him a shocked look. “Bill! It’s Easter! And we’re at church!”
His fingers tightened around my buttock again and gave me a squeeze. “What can I say? I’ve missed having you. Are you still a pain slut?”
And then I realized I had a golden opportunity. I gave him a seductive smile. “Want to see? Meet me at the AV closet in the upper hall,” I said, then walked away. My daughter would be busy the next few minutes and my parents would be easy to find. So I threaded my way through the masses and wormed my way through the church. The back classrooms were easy to navigate and I found my way to this one little spot I’d discovered when I was still a sophomore in high school.
The AV closet. Or Audio/Visual. It’s where the church Sunday school classes stored their televisions and tape players and stuff like that. But on Easter? No classes. So no one would be dropping off their equipment or getting new stuff. Bill was only a few steps behind, admiring my ass as I opened the door and snipped on the light. It was crowded in there, but not bad. There was room for two. Bill joined me with a bright look on his face and I turned and faced him.
“No sex,” I said to him simply. “But I will give you a blowjob.”
I wasn’t sure if the look that crossed his face was disappointment or satisfaction, but then his eyes widened as I began to take off my sun dress. I was wearing a bra but the only thing I had wrapped around my lower half was the Rotating Venus Penis. As I tossed my dress over a nearby television, he grinned with appreciation.
“I like a girl who knows how to enjoy church,” he said tritely. I laughed and then took off my bra.
“Holy shit!” Bill gasped. “What the hell happened to your tits?”
I looked down. They weren’t pretty, that’s for sure. Blue and green marbling made my boobs like like a granite countertop, with bruise colored veins. Actually it was sort of impressive if you think about it. I waved a hand in the air and gave him a rather exasperated glance.
“Bill, it’s me,” I said, putting a hand to my chest.
He blinked but then shrugged. To be honest, even back in high school I was sort of known to be a deviant pain slut. It was sort of my stock and trade. Look, I don’t have time here to go into it all. Besides, that story is already told. Just read “Coming of Age” if you want the gory details of my high school and college sex lives.
So with breasts bared and my RVP exposed I sank to my knees and began unbuttoning Bill’s trousers. He was already at half mast it wasn’t that difficult to bring him up the rest of the way. I’m actually pretty good at sucking cock so within a minute of my heading bobbing up and down on his shaft he was hard as a rock.
My hand moved down to my hip and found the spot where I’d secured the control box for the RVP. There were two dials, one which handled the vibrations centered in the base of the device, which then translated up through the four inch long plastic cock, and the other which controlled the rotation function, basically churning that phallic probe so that it swirled inside me like a stick in a butter churn. I’ve never been able to handle that sensation very well, having that stirring feeling. I cum in minutes. Really. The vibrations I can handle.
So I turned everything on to low. The vibe came to life, sending a ripple of exquisite pleasure humming through my clitoris and petals while the phallus began it’s own dance. Combine the vibrations and the rotation and you’ve got a recipe for sexual overload. Think of a bomb. The timer was set and frankly, unless something was done, I was going to explode.
I like sucking cock. I admit it. I could very happily spend most of my day with cock in various holes and my mouth is always one I would gladly open. There is just something so sexy and delicious about having a man that way. I know I’m submissive, but for just a moment, for that time period, unless you’re bound and being skull-fucked, he is yours. You control when he’s going to cum, how fast he moves, what happens to him. You can worship him for hours or make him pop in minutes. You can practice to become more skilled too.
Bill was putty in my hands to be honest. And has his eyes closed and he clearly became more and more entranced with what my mouth and tongue were doing, I was slowly losing control of my own needs. I felt the orgasm inside me blossom, filling me up with waves of mindless pleasure that just sort of took a life of their own. I had no idea how it happened. I might have stopped, turned off the RVP or something, but just at that moment I had to deal with two tablespoons worth of cum shooting down my throat as Bill erupted wildly and during the oral commotion my loins exploded on their own.
See? It wasn’t actually my fault.
Crud. I’m so going to get punished.
Breanne Erickson is the author of twelve novels of sexual mayhem. Dip your toe in the amazingly dark world of Breanne's extreme BDSM fetish and ride along as her witty banter, self-depreciating style, and often humorous narrative takes you on a wild trip with plenty of stops along the way!