Saturday, May 28, 2016


I stood in the doorway, the hem of my soft robe fluttering around my calves as my daughter danced her way through the falling rain. She had an umbrella of course, and a rain slicker; pink with little white hearts on it. Not to mention a pair of match boots that went up almost to her knees. My dad would have called them galoshes while my mother would have said “overshoes”, regardless of what they were called they did a good job of keep the water off my daughter’s toes. Except she was stomping in every puddle she could find. How does a parent keep their kid dry when they insisted on splashing in every fucking pond they see? Sigh…

The moment she was out of earshot I opened the front of my robe. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath, but even standing on the stoop of my apartment, looking out across the parking lot, I knew that the brief exposure of my body wasn’t going to create a stir. The rain was steady, if not torrential and no one in their right mind was loitering around to see if the resident nympho humiliation pain slut was doing one of her routine flashes.

Except that wasn’t what I was doing. Okay, sure… it might have been a by-product. But as I slipped my right hand down the inside of the robe I found the small pocket and pushed my fingers past the wires and down toward the rectangular, battery filled, box that waited. On the side of that box was a knob and my thumb found it with ease, pushing it in a clockwise direction until it clicked once. Deep inside, a switch moved a fraction of an inch, connecting one little piece of metal to another. Electrons began to flow out of a pair of double A batteries, through a wire, past the switch and into a small little device called a potentiometer. The “pot” (as electrical people like to call it” was set to low and so a small trickle of electrons continued down through the circuit, to a splitter the top of the small battery pack, and then randomly shot down one of three copper lines. For a while all three of those lines went along the same path; across my hip, over my mons, down against my leg, and eventually up toward a warm, wet, pink crevasse found between my soft inner thighs. Here one of the wires became divergent, heading not upward, but back, over my perineum, only to dive into a darker, more deviant cavern located to the rear of that particular landscape.

Inside, the electrons found their targets; three independent and separate coils of copper. As the electricity spun around each coil, the electrons created a rotating magnetic field which spun up metal core suspended in the middle of the coil. Faster and faster this core turned, even as the electrons rushed back up the wires toward the battery back, completing the circuit and disappearing into the positive ends of the double A batteries.

The core however was where all the action was. Had you been able to see it, you would have noticed it held in position with a number of lubricated ball bearings, allowing the far end of this spinning post to emerge outside of the coil. Connected to the top was a weight, and it wasn’t centered, allowing the metal core to spin evenly. No, it was lopsided, making the entire apparatus shake and tremble as the weight constantly tried to pull the tiny electric motor to the side. I can’t even imagine what this would have felt like had the whole thing not been encapsulated inside a plastic shell, about the size of my thumb.

But I sure could feel it. Slowly I closed the door, my hips already swinging with strain. I was coming down off a long, dry spell, forced upon me by the treacherous disobedience of a girl named Eve, and/or Mother Nature herself. Thank God man’s ingenuity had created medicines to deal with menstrual symptoms and frankly, as I get older, I’m beginning to think that menopausal hot and cold flashes aren’t really so bad after all. I just have to wait another fifteen or twenty years. Sheesh.

But that Monday morning? I stood in the hall reveling in the sensation, the perfect purr buzzing between my legs. Two vibroballs in my pussy meant an exquisite tightening, not to mention a sort of vaginal massage that came from the two spheres constantly clattering against each other, moving inside me. Talk about arousing! It didn’t help that I pushed that little dial higher, the potentiometer at the back end of the knob allowing more voltage to shoot up into my body, making the motors spin even faster.

Of course I suppose I should mention the last vibroball, the poor “third” wheel. When Julie had emailed me that morning she’d been rather specific. “Triple” vibroballs, not the usual “double” ones. And where was the last of the trio to go? In my ass. And that’s where it was; buried a few inches up my rear end, coated with grapeseed oil and shaking violently in tandem with its lost cousins just a few inches forward, separated by only the interior wall of my colon and sex. To my astonishment, it was the vibroball buzzing in my ass that was driving me toward the edge.

I closed the door, leaving my robe open as I padded back to my bedroom. I had to get dressed for work and had about twenty minutes to do it. My hair and makeup was mostly done already, so all I needed to do was pick out an outfit. This was the least pleasant part of my day, unless Kari had it in her head to take me out and humiliate the living crap out of me by parading me half-naked (or completely naked) in front of some client or supplier. I hated getting dressed. Not because I preferred to be naked, but because my options were less than appealing to a girl who is generally a prude and thinks that a tee shirt and blue jeans is revealing too much.

Add in the buzzing vibroballs and cycling through the mental process of deciding which humiliating, overly revealing, eye-catching, fuckslut apparel I should wear, well… you can just imagine how I stood there, robe open, one bare, pierced and padlocked tit hanging out, with a bunch of wires running up to my exposed slit and tight ass. Honestly, I wasn’t thinking so much about what to wear, as how to complete the requirement Julie had tasked me with. See, the vibroballs were there to do one thing: drive me into orgasm.

Worse, orgasm came at a cost.

I was about five minutes away from finally making a choice about my clothing and two minutes away from falling backward on my bed in the throes of orgasmic bliss when my phone rang. I took a few steps to the bureau and picked it up. Julie. Right. Wonderful. With a sense of foreboding and some serious but involuntary thrusts of my hips, I hit the answer button and held the phone up to my ear.

“Hey, princess. Cum yet?” Julie asked. From the sound of the rain in the background I figured she was in her car. I sighed in frustration.

“No,” I managed to mutter between clenched teeth. “But it won’t be long. I’m going nuts,” I told her.

She laughed. “Thought you went out last night looking to be some cowboy’s filly?” She asked in a naughty tone. I sighed.

“Well, that was the plan, but the problem with being spontaneously sexual is finding a babysitter.”

That just got me another squeal of laughter. “Oh, poor Bre. Wanting a fuck and stuck at home. Did you dildo?”

My eyebrow went up. “Did I what?” I asked. “You do realize that ‘dildo’ is a noun, not a verb, right?” I asked.

“Thank you, wordsmith,” Julie retorted. “But I ask again. ‘Did you dildo?”

I thought back to the previous evening, stuck at home. Rachel had been in a good mood and so we’d played Nertz together for an hour or so. Then after she’d gone to bed I’d retired to my bedroom, grabbed my Core Driller dildo and decided I really didn’t need any lubrication I couldn’t provide for myself. That particular synthetic cock was my largest and thickest and I’d enjoyed the very slow and methodical masturbation over a twenty minute period as I worked naked self into a froth, splayed open on the bed.

“Did I diddle aye?” I asked, being a smartass. “I did dildo and was diddled dildoed filled and doed.”  I paused, then said “do-ed”.  Which came out sounding like “dude.”  But hey, I’m not a poet. I’m an erotica writer.

Want a challenge? Say the first two sentences of the last paragraph ten times fast.

Julie laughed. “So since you relieved yourself last night, how close are you?”

I bit my lip. Did I really want to admit to her that I woke up so horny that I’d grabbed the Core Driller and completely repeated the previous evening’s process once while lying in my bed that morning? And did I want to admit that while I’d not been even remotely aroused when I’d read her email and stuffed myself with the vibroballs, that I was now totally and completely horny again? What did that say about me? Why is it I can’t go longer than an hour or two without wanting to jam something into my pussy and push myself over the edge, or better yet - let someone else do it?

I decided to leave the gooey details out. “I’m about a minute or two from coming,” I admitted, shrugging out of my robe and letting it fall to the floor. I pulled the battery pack from the inside pocket and drew it up to my hand. The vibroballs kept buzzing, sending waves and waves of sweet bliss through my pussy and bottom.

“Ooohh… phone sex!” Julie cooed. “Wonderful. So, how are you going to make it hurt?” She asked. “Clamps on your clit and nipples? Flicking them? Rubber band shots across your feet as you cum?

That was the crux of my situation. Unlimited, wonderful orgasms. But according to Julie, and undoubtedly my boss Kari as well, each one had to be laced with the excruciating additive of agony.

I uttered something completely idiotic like “…” and then when with Julie first suggestion out of a complete lack of anything better to suggest.

“I...uh… have some clothespins?” I said, glancing toward the top drawer of my desk. There were a number of things in that drawer that were perhaps suspicious in their placement, but had common, everyday uses so that prying eyes and fingers wouldn’t wonder.

“Clothespins,” Julie said in disappointment. “I hope the rest of the orgasms you have today will show some more inventiveness or I’ll call Kari and ask her to help you.”

I swallowed hard, gulping. Asking Kari to “help” with hurting me during each and every orgasm was sort of like asking Paula Dean to help make butter cookies. “Here, sweetie. Have some MORE BUTTER.”  Kari would turn up the heat to levels I could barely handle. Which… actually sounded really good right at that moment. Still, my hand was on the move toward the drawer and I fished out three clothespins with nary a sound.

“I’ve got them,” I said into the phone.

“Good. Now put them on your tits and clit,” Julie said sternly. “And then you can lay down and flick them until you cum.” There was a meaningful pause. “And Bre - I better hear the pain in your voice or your day is going to be a hell of a lot harder to handle.”

I whimpered as I laid down, my left hand already coming up to my breasts. It didn’t take me longer than a few seconds to attach the clothespins to my nipples, both from the bottom, behind the piercing and in the case of my right breast, behind the padlock as well. My clitoris was a bit harder because there was a wire in the way and I was slippery, but with a groan I managed to get that part of my body tightly nipped between the two wooden jaws of the peg.

“I’m clamped,” I whispered into the phone, my hips thrusting and wiggling as the three vibroballs, two up front and one up my ass, danced inside me.

“Good. Feel it,” Julie urged me. “Want it. Imagine me standing over you, getting ready to whip those gorgeous tits of yours.”

I didn’t need to picture her doing it and I wasn’t surprised that I sort of wished she were there, ready to flog me. I put the phone on “speaker” and dropped it, letting my hands run up the sides of my body, over my ribs and right up to my breasts. I moaned, squeezing my bosom even as the clothespin on my clit wiggled and dipped. Then I let my fingers find the pegs sticking out from my nipples and I began fiddling with them. Pulling and squeezing, twisting and bending, sending all sorts of sharp little pains through both tight nubs. If I’d been trying to hold off this would have been the absolute worst way to do it.

Of course one problem with being required to “hurt yourself” is that most people are chicken, me included, to do the really hardcore stuff. It takes a committed masochist to move beyond twisting a pair of clothespins on your tits to say… jamming needles into them. Me personally? If I’m going to endure pain, I really would rather have some do it to me, rather than be forced to do it myself. Still, as the shards of icy glass shot through my jugs I pushed my right hand down between my legs, found the clip hanging onto my clit, and twisted. There. Pain requirement met.

I gasped and groaned and wheezed as the orgasm blew through me like a refreshing breeze and when I let go I started to calm down. The vibroballs were still buzzing inside me though and I reached for the remote lying beside me on the bed.

“Bre?” Julie asked. “You better not be trying to turn down those vibroballs.”

My eyes snapped open as the first rays of post-orgasmic reality punched through the sweet bliss of completion. I groaned and rolled over, which was a mistake because that just made the clothespins on me bend to the side and I let out a little guttural yelp

“Oh? Going for round two already? Very well then,” Julie said primly.

I pushed myself up from the bed, trying to ignore both the receding pain and the still oscillating vibroballs. “Ugh… no. I mean. Eventually. I’m not ready for round two,” I protested.

“You still better have the vibroballs on medium,” she stated again. “That’s today’s requirement. On medium. The entire day.”

I climbed to my feet. “I know! I know!” I said down at the phone. My pussy and bottom tightened up around the buzzing toys. I looked down at myself. My thighs were sticky with cum, there was a wet spot on the bed, and I reeked of sexual satisfaction. “Sheesh,” I muttered. “I need another shower.”

Julie laughed. “No. I want you smelling like sex. The riper the better. It turns me on,” she said.
I glared down at the phone. “Aren’t you at work yet?”

Julie laughed again. “Trying to get rid of me?” She asked, her voice sounding a bit more electronic thanks to the phone and the weather.

“No. I’m just…” I sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Good. Now have you picked out an outfit?” She asked.

Oh. Shit. “Yes,” I lied quickly. I took two steps to my closet and threw the door open. There wasn’t much to choose from, but at least all my laundry was clean. So I picked the most respectable flared skirt and a white button up blouse that was only a little too tight across my bosom.

“Yep, got it right here!” I said urgently, waving the clothing around.

“I don’t like it,” Julie said.

I blinked. “You can’t even see it. We’re on the phone!” I declared.

“You picked the black flared skirt and one of the white button-up blouses,” the wicked witch of the east said.

I glanced down at my clothing. “Well, fuck.”

“Put those back. I’d rather have you wear the lace crop top and that new lace up the side mini,” Julie told me.

I blanched. The lace crop top was basically a fancy bra and would leave me bare shouldered except for some thin spaghetti straps, sleeveless, and most importantly exposed across the midriff. The black leather mini-skirt Julie was talking was this new number she’d given me. It only came in once size; super small, and the designers had dealt with hips on a girl like me by making sure that one entire seam was actually nothing more than a series of shoelace holes and a leather thong. I’d worn it once before and you could forget panties. They’d be seen right through. And on me, that hole in the side? Think four inches. That’s more than enough for an awkward step to push the entire front flap far enough forward to show off everything underneath.

But there wasn’t anything to say. If I’d ignored Julie she’d find out through Kari. I’m a masochist, and the thought of being “punished” never really phases me. But there is punishment and then there is PUNISHMENT. Julie was the sort of person to lock me in a chastity belt for a week with no orgasms and just constant nipple abuse.

Wait. Shut up, Bre. Don’t give the woman ideas.

So I put the flared skirt and the white blouse back. The crop top was in the bureau drawer as was the leather skirt. I fished both out and wrapped the leather bottom across my lower half. Julie demanded a narrative while I did it so she knew what was going on even as I began pulling the cordage tight across my right hip.

“Wait. Move it.”

I looked up to where the phone was lying on the bed. The vibroballs were still driving me crazy and I could feel the fluids dripping down my leg. I glanced at the clock. If I didn’t get a hurry on I was going to be late!

“Move it?” I demanded of the crazy woman on the phone line. “What the hell? Move it where?”

Julie chuckled. “Move the open part. Twist the skirt so that the opening is at the two o’clock position.”

I blinked. “No, Julie. That will expose me.”

“Yeah, I know!” She hummed.

Just to double check, I tugged on the skirt until the opening was no longer down my right hip but at the front of my leg. What before was the risk of flashing became almost a certainty.

“No. I can NOT wear this skirt like this!” I declared.

There was a brief pause. “Breanne, do I have to punish you?”

I froze. I’d heard that tone of voice before. “No mistress,” I said softly, pulling the laces tight on my skirt.

“Are you sure?” Julie asked again. “Because it sure sounds to me like you need me to punish you.”

I finished tying the knot, inwardly cringing at how the skirt now had a four inch wide strip of skin going from my exposed belly all the way down to my bare feet. I picked up the vibroballs remote, the potentiometer still sending electrons down to the motors in my bottom and pussy, and stuffed the battery pack into the waistband of the skirt. The purple wires were bright against the black background of the skirt and the white color of my skin. I gave my hips a little wiggle, just to make sure I wasn’t granted a surprise wardrobe malfunction along with a very bare bottom. Of course that made the vibroballs inside me roll, at least the ones up front. The shaking ball in my butt just seemed to do its own thing, purring like a kitten. Despite the two morning orgasms, can you believe I was already feeling enough longing to think that a third explosion wasn’t such a bad idea?

With my loins girded, at least partially, I opened another drawer of my dresser and grabbed the lace crop top. Originally it had come with a pair of flesh toned pads but those had been cut out by my Mistress Seamstress, who thought that my bare nipples would fare better when pressed directly against the semi-see-thru lace. Admittedly the crop top cupped my curves adequately, lifting up my bosom and making me look like I was sixteen again. But I longed to put on a shirt over it. Finally I finished securing it behind my back and I picked up the phone.

“There. I’m dressed,” I said scorchingly. “I hope you’re satisfied.”

Julie laughed and then the tone of her voice darkened. “Remember Breanne. Every orgasm you have for the rest of the day needs to be accompanied by something excruciating. Okay?”

I sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll remember,” I said, but Julie had already hung up on me. I tossed the phone back down and went into the bathroom, studying the girl in the mirror. Fire-engine red hair, a black see-thru top exposing my nipples, the bare waist, the stupid skirt with the front of my right leg, from bikini line to thigh open and visible. You could see the gold glinting at the tip of my breasts, right through the lace and the padlock… the damn padlock hanging from my right tit… well, that was very visible. I gripped the edge of the vanity, my hips swinging back and forth, grinding through the palpitations of the three motors. I was ready, except for the black strap heels I had to put on, the ones that practically left my feet cold and bare except for the thick leather band around my ankle. It looked disturbingly like a bondage cuff…

Electrons. Focus Bre. Electrons. They flow out of the battery and past the switch, regulated by the potentiometer before shooting up the wire between my legs. They spin and swirl, a magnetic field responding, turning and churning the steel pin. Bearings roll and the lubricant gushes and the offset weight creates the tremors. Deep inside me the electrons curl and flow, back down the wires, heading toward their final resting place - the depleted pool of positive energy, leaving me breathless, wanting, and wet.

Now, who wants to learn electronics from little ole me?

Breanne Erickson, everyone's favorite south Texas nympho humiliation pain slut NEEDS your support. If you enjoyed this tale and the others on this blog, show how much you love both her witty humor and incredible sexcapades by getting your very own copy of her amazing books! Check out her page at and walk, cry, and love along with Bre as she recounts her incredible "tales".

Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Forgotten Tweets

Friday, May 6th, 2016

“Get up,” she said as she walked into the small lobby. I glanced up in surprise, just a little shocked at the abruptness of her greeting. Usually Kari is one for small talk. “Hello, how are you kitten? Are you nice and wet today?” I blinked at the imperious look on her face. It matched the ivory cream colored suit she wore, right down to the gold and silver thread in the blouse. I stopped typing immediately and stood up. Kari let the door close behind her though she left it unlocked. Then she came over and studied me. I felt like a bug under a microscope.

“What made you select this outfit for the day?” She asked, reaching out to touch the smooth silk of the white shirt I was wearing. I felt her finger slide beneath the translucent material against my collarbone and the buttons, already strained to the breaking point across my bosom, seemed ready to let go. I gave her a slightly incredulous look.

“Because you bought it for me?” I asked, unsure of the answer she was looking for.

“And the skirt?” Her hand slid down to my ass and literally just grabbed me, squeezing my buttock.

I wracked my brains. Why had I selected this skirt? Honestly it was because when I sat down it didn’t flare out leaving my panti-clad bottom sticking to the seat. But I didn’t think “coverage” was an appropriate answer for Kari. Besides, maybe she was starting to suspect that I actually selected each day’s outfit on a “least inappropriate scale.” Mondays are relatively benign, with me just looking like an over-sexed secretary. But as the week progresses I run out of the few “barely” acceptable shirts and skirts I own. By Wednesday I’m pretty much looking like a street hooker.

You should see what I wear on Fridays.

Her hand went up the back of my skirt, touching my bottom and she found the thong that was wedged up deep into the crack of my ass. Her probing fingers slid forward as she bent over slightly, finding the circle imprint of the vibrator that was currently filling my depths. She pushed on it slightly, eliciting a small gasp from me.

“I was just checking,” Kari said primly, drawing her hand out from underneath my skirt.

I blinked. “Checking?” I asked in bewilderment.

She smiled. “You forgot to post your toy of day.”

My mouth fell open. She was right. I had forgotten. I glanced back at her. “Oh.”

The smile that suddenly crossed Kari’s face was one part cruelty, one part wicked, and one part hunger. “You have something to ask me. Don’t you?”

I bit my lip. I knew exactly what she was talking about. I’d practically doomed myself. I took a deep breath. My voice came out soft, high-pitched, and just a tad bit worried. “Kari? Would you please put me in the punishment frame?”

Kari’s eyes glimmered in delight. “What? So early?” She asked sarcastically.

I looked away, my face flushing with heat. “Yes Mistress,” I replied.

“You must like getting punished,” Kari said, evidently remembering her line perfectly. “Go on. And you better be naked before you get to the closet.”

I immediately turned and headed down the hall. Before I even made the corner the buttons on the front of my shirt were undone, exposing the dark blue lace bra underneath. Kari liked me wearing dark lingerie with transparent, light colored blouses. But then I shrugged out of the shirt and it fell to the carpeted hall. My bra followed a half second later, my bare breasts, still sporting a few half-healed bruises and a number of dark marks that had been welts, jiggled in the florescent light. I pushed at my skirt even before my bra hit the floor and it slid down over my hips, sliding downward over my bare legs. I stepped out of it, my black strap heels kicking it away. Finally came the panties, which I pulled out of the crack of my ass with a little moan, only to be forced to reach between my legs and catch the vibrator as it slid out of my body. It was on, but only set to the lowest setting and the oscillations didn’t seem intense now that the thing was in my hand. I looked up, realizing I was at the supply closet door. Glancing back, I saw the trail of my clothing along the hall. It looked disturbingly erotic, a clue laden track to the sweet honeypot of my sex. Kari was walking behind me, ten feet back, admiring the view of my well-shaped bottom and the delicious curves my killer heels forced my butt and back to adhere too.

“Well? Go in,” she demanded. With the vibrator in one hand I opened the supply closet door and stepped in.

The room itself was small, only ten or so feet deep and a measly eight or so feet wide. A single can light illuminated the space, revealing a metal… thing... which sat at the back. The punishment frame was made of welded steel, most of it with hard lines and squarish forms, while two short pipes, circular and covered with padding, stuck out at a forty degree angle like some sort of queer, double barreled cock. I turned my back to the frame and took a step away from Kari. I felt the padded tubes against the back of my thighs and I spread my legs just enough to let them emerge from between my legs. It looked, sort of, like I’d sprouted my own granite pillar, aroused at what I knew was coming.

“Lick it clean,” Kari said, nodding at the vibrator. I give her an exasperated look, but stuck the still gooey probe in my mouth. Kari watched me slurp on the thing for over a minute before nodding her approval. “Give it here.”

I handed her the toy and she set it down on the tiny circle table wedged into the corner. Above it hung the leather bondage cuffs and she pulled them down. I didn’t even need her to order me to lift my hands and I held my arms out, letting her quickly and professionally wrap the padded leather around each wrist.

“Arms up,” she said after cuffing me. I gave her a little smile and raised my hands above my head. It lifted my breasts high and Kari, who is much taller than me, had no problem latching the cuffs to the top of the punishment frame. It wasn’t uncomfortable despite the fact that I was relatively taut, with even my ribs well-defined. Then Kari pushed a foot between my heels, found the silver pedal on the right, and began pumping it.

I went up. I felt my weight transfer from my feet to my arms and I groaned as I first stood on tiptoe then found myself dangling from the punishment frame. Kari stopped a moment later, evidently pleased with my altitude, which put both my nipples at almost chest height on her. She moved her foot to the left and began using the other pedal. The padded tubes between my thighs were still basically in the same place since they had risen with me, but as she pumped the second pedal they began to spread, opening up. I felt the pressure against my legs and as the tubes continued to distances themselves from each other I was forced to spread my limbs, exposing the soft pink petals of my sex. Six inches became twelve, which became two feet, then three. Finally the tubes were lodged against the back of my knees, holding my legs open and half my weight suspended from my wrists, the rest on those two little padded pipes. It wasn’t exactly comfortable.

Kari cupped my sex.

It felt amazing. I will be the first to admit that. The warmth of her hand covering my entire pussy, the skin to skin contact, and then when her middle finger bent and slid into me, thrusting deeply while her palm made little circular motions. I mewled in need as she teased me, her mouth coming down on my left nipple, ignoring the little gold hoop piercing it and taking the whole thing into her mouth. Her tongue tugged at the jewelry and I gasped, the twin sensation of being fingered combined with the warmth and pleasure of her mouth almost enough to drive me into paroxysms of orgasm. But just as I began to tremble she pulled her hand away and wiped it on my outstretched leg. Then she bend down, picked up the black bag, and began pulling things out.

I knew what was in that bag and I resisted the urge to shout for help, or to squirm and squeal. She removed the black control box and set it down on the table next to the vibrator. A special rubber tipped clamp, sporting a copper metal bar and trailing insulated wires came into the light. She held it up and without a word attached it to my left nipple behind the piercing. I groaned as the clamp tightened, but it didn’t actually hurt. Kari did the same to my right nipple and then plugged both long sets of wires into the TENS Unit box on the table.

Then she retrieved an item I did NOT like. The red rubber ball gag seemed to appear in her hand as if by magic and my eyes widened.

“Kari. Please! No. You know I don’t like being gagged!” I protested as she brought the ball up to my mouth.”

She sighed and pressed it against my closed lips. I shook my head. “Breanne,” she said with exasperation. “I’m not gagging you because I want to. I’m gagging you because it needs to be done. What I’m about to do to you is going to hurt and I don’t want your screams upsetting the building.”

My heart thudded painfully in my chest at her words. I knew she was going to hurt me. At least, I knew that the sex was going to hurt. Slowly I opened my mouth, wishing there was another way. The ball gag went in, jammed deep and Kari buckled it around my head. Instantly I started salivating and trying to swallow it before it began leaking in a stream down my chin.

Kari turned back to the TENS Unit on the table and turned just one side of it on. Immediately I felt a sensation at the tips of my breasts, the lightest taps of someone’s fingers against each nipple. As Kari turned up the juice that tap became a cruel flick, then a mean pinch. I gasped into the gag as it suddenly felt as if someone had grabbed hold of my tits and twisted the points ninety degrees, then a hundred and eighty. Electricity shot across both my nipples in sharp, sudden bursts, leaving me squealing into the gag.

I was too focused on the pain to notice that Kari had picked up another one of the clamps, extracting it from the bag. She plugged the wires into the other side of the TENS Unit and set the clamp on my clit, squeezing the forceps closed to pinch me hard. I cried out, becoming immediately aware of this new sensation and I rolled my hips as Kari came up with a satisfied look on her face. She went over to the TENS Unit and then an entirely new pain exploded between my legs. Power surged through and over my clitoris and it felt like a needle made of dry ice had been superheated and then forced through the tiny nub of flesh. My entire body went rigid and my eyes widened as the pain made my toes curl, right inside the high heeled sandals still strapped to my feet. I kicked a moment later as a loud keening wail came out muted around the ball gag.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Kari asked, leaning back and crossing her arms. I nodded frantically, my nipples burning as the electricity twisted them, flayed them, and pierced them. My clit throbbed, and not from my heartbeat, but with the beat of the electricity pinching my clit in steel fingers. Kari’s hips twitched and as I suffered I also watched as she suddenly pulled up her skirt and pushed her panties down. She was wet. I could tell. Her shaved pussy was glistening and she plucked my vibrator off the little table and turned it on, twisting the base and pressing it against her clit as I jerked and shuddered and hurt. Kari eyes bored into mine and a minute later her expression became one of intolerable pain and she gasped, pulling the vibrator away from her tender little nub. It was wet with her secretions and she shuddered as the remnants of her orgasm seemed to slip from her. It took another minute of me twitching, desperate whimpers emanating from around the gag, my feet kicking as the shocks continued before she set the vibrator back down. Her eyes came up to mine and she took a deep breath, hugging herself tightly.

“Oh yes. It hurts,” she whispered, reaching out to run a hand down from my throat to my bare stomach. “And now you’re going to hurt.” She grabbed hold of a set of vibroballs hanging from a hook above the table and she began pushing them into my sex. I could barely feel it, at least until she turned them on.

“Must have a toy of the day, right?” She said, patting my petals as she turned them up to maximum. My eyes widened even more and my protest was lost in the gag. She smiled wickedly. “Don’t cum,” she said, pinching my labia with her fingers, the wetness overflowing. She brought her hand up to her mouth and sucked my juices off her skin and then turned, leaving me alone in the supply closet.


When Kari came back I was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration that had mixed with a river of drool that had seeped down my chin and onto my chest. My legs were practically vibrating from the continuous jolts that seared my clit and pierced each nipple. The vibroballs inside me buzzed and hummed, rattling through my insides and churning my pussy into a seething froth of need. I’d cum of course, not once or even twice, but three times in the hour she left me hanging there, shrieking into the ball gag, begging for release, begging for pleasure, begging for the pain. She turned off the electricity and then the balls, pulling the latter from my depths before carefully. She set them down without even wiping them off and then unbuckled the gag from around my head. I groaned and coughed as it came out.

“K-K-Kari,” I spluttered. Kari stepped closer, putting both hands on my face.

“Ssshhh. Yes kitten. I know.” She kissed me softly, then leaned back. “You came.”

I blinked. It wasn’t what I was going to say…

She freed my right nipple and then my left and I sagged with relief as the clamps were removed. The pain of that was nothing compared to what I’d endured and I merely felt a dozen tiny spasms rock through me. Then she let out the pressure out of the hydraulic press that held my legs open. The pipes closed together and for the first time in over an hour my legs came together. Then she lowered me to the floor. She freed my wrists from the top of the punishment frame and helped me as I sagged, keeping me from falling to the floor as my legs gave way.

“There now,” she said softly. She reached along the wall and pulled one of the small towels there out and handed it to me. “Get cleaned up. We have a lunch appointment,”

I looked up, feeling utterly exhausted. “A lunch appointment?” I asked stupidly. She nodded. “And don’t forget to put your vibrator back in,” she reminded me. She turned to go and I reached out and touched her leg. She paused and looked back at me, sitting naked on the carpeted floor of the supply closet.

“Are you going to punish me for cumming?” I asked plaintively, sounding like a girl who was frightened of the answer.

Kari smiled and knelt down, pushing a bit of my red hair out of my face. “Oh darling, of course I’m going to punish you,” she said softly, her fingers caressing me as I started to cry. “The moment we are done with lunch and back here, I’m going to hang you back on the punishment frame and we’re going to have another session of ‘Remind Breanne Why She Needs To Remember to Post Her Toy of the Day’.”

My eyes widened.

“And after you’re strung up I’ll turn on the TENS Unit, plug your cute little pussy with something uncomfortably large and see if you’re still inclined to cum when I set the TENS Unit one level higher.” She slowly stood up. “Now get dressed, slut.” She gave me an imperious look. “And don’t forget to put in your vibrator. And then let everyone know how bad you’ve been.”

Breanne Erickson is the author of the amazing, vivacious, and compelling erotica series "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut." For over five years this amazing woman has been confessing her sexual antics to millions of readers who have laughed, cried, and cum with her sexcapades. Now you to can join in. Check out Breanne's latest novel, "Tales of a Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 13" now available in e-book format at!