Daily Assignment 04-28-10

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Today’s Assignment: Proceed to your stripping spot with your bottom plug, a halter top, mini-skirt, and high heels. Change into the halter, mini-skirt, and heels. No panties or bra. You will then lubricate and insert the plug into your bottom. You will then find three different guys (individually) who you have never met before, and explain to them that you are a bad girl and need to be punished. Ask each of them to give you ten spanks on your bottom. You can barter sexual services in exchange for spankings. Also, remember Michael’s rule about being bare breasted when spanked.

Yesterday’s Assignment: (Assigned by Master Brandon) Self-Inflicted Pony. Go to your barn. Get two pieces of rope, two clothespins, a broom or shovel handle, and a weight. Tie one end of the stick to the wall at belly button height. Take the other piece of rope and tie it to the other end of the stick, and toss the rope over a beam in your barn. Tie the weight to it so that the stick points upward. Strip naked. Attach the clothespins to your nipples. Straddle the stick and move down to the end away from the wall. Your pussy should push the stick downward and lift the weight off the ground. You may use your hands to get into proper position. Once there stay in position for twenty minutes. Keep your hands clasped behind your head or behind your back.

Twenty minutes can seem like a really really long time. Especially when you’re stark naked and there is a thick wooden dowel between your legs.

It was about two o’clock yesterday when I gathered up all the supplied I would need for my assignment. Fortunately most of it was out in the barn. I added just one thing: a kitchen timer. It made sense since I wasn’t sure I was going to be able keep the time in my head. I moved everything I needed into the back right hand corner of the barn under the loft and proceeded to tie the shovel handle I scavenged to the back wall at just the right height. Actually, I tied it just a bit lower than belly button height and the reason was because I knew the whole thing would be better that way. It’s a question about angles. See, for this to work right, the shovel handle would need to be angled up towards me. That way the contact point would be farther forward.

Anyway, I got the rope tied to both ends of the shovel handle and then got out one of my dad’s old twenty five pound weights. I tied it on and in moments I had a very nice little self rigged wooden pony. To be honest, it looked awesome. As much as I crave riding these things you would have thought I would have done something like this before. Without me on it, the shovel handle was pointing upward at the cross beam at almost a forty five degree angle. The weight swayed slightly a feet above the ground. My heart was trembling in excitement and I was already very wet as I took off my clothes, leaving my pile of boots, socks, blue jeans, panties, shirt and bra on a bale of hay. Next I picked up my two clothespins, positioned them carefully on my breasts, and let them close. Ooohh…I love clothespins! I grabbed the timer and set it to twenty three minutes (a few extra to get on and settled!).

I stepped up to the pony and pushed down on it, watching as the weight rose up to almost my height. Gingerly I mounted it, just like I do with my horses, my hands pushing down on the shovel handle. Then, once I was in the correct position, I slowly decreased the pressure I was putting on the handle. I watched the weight drop a bit and then I felt the handle between my legs. Like I suspected, tilting the shovel handle moved the pressure point a bit further forward so that the wooden dowel pressed up right on my perineum. I shifted a little because with the angle, it also slipped just a bit into my pussy and I reached down and spread the petals.

Can you say soaked? I was wet and slippery almost from the moment I started. At first, I just felt the pressure. But after maybe a minute or two I started to feel a bit of discomfort. I’ve ridden real wooden ponies before and enough makeshift ones to know right off where I stand. I knew almost immediately that this one was only going to be uncomfortable. It wasn’t going to hurt. Not really. I think the problem was the nature of the beast. See, because one end was weighted and applying pressure upward, it didn’t matter if I was on tip toe or not. That meant that while I might be able to change the pressure point, I wasn’t going to be able to relieve the pressure. It’s the up and down movement of your slave’s body that makes “riding” the pony so much fun to watch. As her calves tremble in exhaustion, she has no option but to lower herself back down on the point, letting it dig into her pussy. Eventually she can’t even lift herself up and so she settles down, but begins to pump her hips, rocking back and forward in an effort to change the pressure point. This is why it’s called “riding” the pony. Frankly, it looks a lot like riding a real horse.

So I stood there and even found myself going up and down on tip toe a few times. It changed the pressure point. Juices began leaking downward along the shovel handle and it wasn’t long before I was sliding slightly. Whenever I rose up on point, the wooden dowel would slip deeper into my pussy and I would thrust my hips forward, desperate. It was tough to keep my hands behind my back. I kept looking down past the two clothespins dangling and jiggling from my tits and had to seriously ignore the desire to reach around to my clit and do a little frantic rubbing.

At about ten minutes I was starting to get sore. My crotch was aching and I was literally humping the pony in a desperate and pointless attempt to orgasm. I wish I had brought my cuffs with me, and maybe my collar. I could have attached my wrists to my neck and prevented what happened next. I couldn’t help myself. I brought my hands around. My left went to my breasts and started playing with the clothespins. The right went down to my crotch, found my clit, and began doing what really needed doing.

I think a minute or two later I was done. I cried out in orgasm, thrusting back and forth on the shovel handle. The weight on the end of the rope was jiggling and bouncing like crazy, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the massive explosion I was experiencing. It was really awesome. It was very wet, very intense, and wild. All at the same time.

The pony didn’t really bother me that much during the last couple of minutes. The pressure was uncomfortable, yes. But due to the rush of adrenaline and endorphins flooding my brain, it was a mild discomfort. Maybe if the pony had been solidly mounted it would have been worse. In fact I know it would have been. When the timer dinged I pushed down on the wood, and stepped off. True, I was glad to be off the thing, but it wasn’t so bad.

In retrospect, I should have just tied the other end straight to the beam with none of this weight crap. Then it would have been a “true” wooden pony.

But hey, we learn from our mistakes, don’t we? And I still had a phenomenal orgasm, so I guess everything worked out for the best, right?

LOL. Somehow I have a feeling I’ll be doing this one again, but with a few key differences. Talk to ya tomorrow!

Website Redesign

Well, the latest version of the website, incorporating all the crap I've learned recently, is now up and running. I've even managed to get "Sigma Epsilon Xi" up and running on the Free Story Archive, so now all that's missing is "The Silver Locke". That's my next project. I'm still a little unhappy with some of the link colors and I'll work on that shortly. Please feel free to let me know what you think of the whole thing. I love constructive criticism.

Story Review: Divorced Into Slavery

Divorced Into Slavery, by “ivory girl”, is a new story posted at the BDSM Library. It’s kind of hard to know where to begin but I suppose that the first thing I have to say is that it’s very very hard to read this story.

Oh, not because the writing is bad. It isn’t. It’s the formatting. Evidently whatever word processing program Ivory Girl used to write “Divorced Into Slavery” didn’t handle the translation into HTML very well. As a result there are no paragraph breaks or indentations indicating a cessation of paragraph or to delineate a piece of dialog. This makes the reader go through a lot of effort in order to read the piece. I’ve had the same problem when posting to fanfiction.net, which also has some rather odd HTML interpreting issues. So frankly I don’t really blame the author, though I do recommend fixing the issue as soon as possible. Just go back through your original editor and hit the enter bar at every tab space you’ve got. It’s a pain in the ass, but I guarantee it will make your story more readable.

My next major misgiving came after I read the first sentence.

Carla could find no comfortable position in the dark, dank cell in which she’d found herself alone, her hands cuffed behind her back and bound to her cuffed feet and both attached to a chain imbedded middle ways up in the wall.

This is called a run on sentence and the story is chock full of them. It’s like the words are having a race. I’m all about compound sentences, but if you have to use the word “and” several times in a sentence, it is pretty fair indication that this is a run on. Nice descriptions by the way, but grammatically awful. I guess I should also mention the misuse of commas, since the opening sentence does a pretty good job of skewering the comma rules of the English Language, but I don’t always get those right myself. Comma use is hard to get right. So what’s the subject of this sentence? Carla? Cell? Hands? Feet? Chain? Or Wall? With all this going on I’m amazed that I kept going. But going I did. I wish I hadn't.

So let’s take a look at the story. Divorced Into Slavery is a rather long winded narrative exploring the repercussions of Carla Diane Beechum’s decision to proceed with divorce proceedings against her rich but philandering husband. In what seems like a glaring plot hole in the first page or so of the story, we discover that the laws of the United States have changed and that a woman who files divorce now is immediately incarcerated and turned into a sex slave.

Yeah, especially when your ex becomes a sex slave and you get the furniture anyway.

Huh? What? Yeah. Carla says the same thing. When the hell did this happen? How did it happen? What the fuck? The laws changed and they didn’t tell anyone? Carla finds out her lawyer is in on the whole scheme and she is immediately remanded into custody and transported to a preparatory facility. The judge actually spends quite a bit of time explaining the whole thing. Ha ha. Got ya! Oh yeah, and your husband is in on it too.

Now while I was still chewing on the gristle of this very strange legal hashup, so was the author, because in just a few more paragraphs the author decides that the whole “we changed the laws of the United States secretly” plot no longer works. Suddenly, Carla is told that there is actually a secret cabal of misogynist men who are have a nationwide conspiracy to quietly remove willful or disobedient women from public view and have them trained and auctioned off as sex sluts.

See? We were going to Syracuse, but we ended up in Tallahassee. Talk about a major plot change. Did the author even think this one out?

If this story was illustrated this picture would be included.

So Carla is taken to a processing facility where two things are supposed to happen. One, she is supposed to sign (of her own free will) a document granting all of her possessions to her former husband. Two, get stripped naked. Yeah. Okay. First of all, I realize that the document is for public use, but why would she voluntarily sign it? If they are going to have to force her to sign it anyway, why not just forge her name? It’s not like she will be released from sexual slavery in order to contest its legality. Why go through the hassle? Worse, the captain in charge of the facility spends an undue amount of time explaining all this to Carla. Why? Who cares? Why not just hood her, strip her, abuse her a bit, and then send her on? It’s what the reader and the captain (and presumably the author) wants! Is this explanation for the reader’s benefit? If so, then the only reason I can think of for a long winded explanation of WHY this is happening is because the author figures the reader is confused because of two competing plot lines.

When Carla refuses to sign and strip naked, Captain Harris has his two goons jump her. A fight ensues in which Carla does a pretty good job but eventually is overwhelmed, forcibly stripped, and hung by the wrists from a bar. Her feet dangle off the floor. Captain Harris spends some time ogling her, but then LEAVES FOR TWO HOURS in order to soften her up. And during that whole time the two goons do nothing to her. No touchies, no strokes, no finger fucks, no spankings, no nothing. Are they fucking eunuchs? (Oh wait, bad adjective. You can't actually HAVE "fucking" eunuchs, can you?) If I wanted to soften her up I would have had these two guys rape her, smack her around, call her names, and maybe even get out a few toys. THEN I would have come back, pretend to be her savior and get her to sign the damn document that I should have forged her name on to begin with. THIS is torture?

Then, despite the fact that there are already three perfectly good men capable of bringing this whole scene up a notch, Captain Harris introduces ANOTHER character.

"This is Yuri." Harris said as his eyes locked with Carla’s once again. "I’d tell you his full name but it’s longer than your leg and you won’t remember it anyway. Yuri is all you need to know. As you can see, Yuri is of Chinese decent and I can tell you first hand that because of that fact alone, he’s very good at what he does."

What? Yuri? Chinese? Um…what.? Yuri is a Russian name! Like have you ever heard of Yuri Gagarin? First man in space? Oh. Maybe in this story Russia has invaded and conquered China and now all ethnic Chinese names are banned and if you were going to name your kid “Ying” you now have to name him “Yuri”. Or maybe Ivan? Okay, I concede that Yuri also happens to be a female Korean name, but if I have to choose between Russia conquering China and Yuri actually being a cross-dressing Korean immigrant who moved to China, I'm going with the Russian thing. Oh and by the way, is this some sort of racism toward Chinese people? What is the author implying here? That Chinese people are better at torturing people than any other ethnicity? Or just hand with long whippy sticks? Anyway, Captain Harris evidently has no balls for torture and instead has an ethnic Chinese Russian come into the torture room.

I would like to point out that several times during the previous scenes the author accidentally switches from past tense to present tense. So now we’re also time traveling during all this. Is the flux capacitor working properly Doc?

Wait a minute, Doc. Ah... Are you telling me that you built a time machine... out of a DeLorean?

Yuri brings with him a small green flexible plastic cane and wields it against Carla’s body. Evidently Captain Harris can’t swing a stick compared to this man. We are treated to a private mental monologue of how awesome Yuri is and what an expert he is. Evidently a lifetime of training in the art of “where to hit pretty women with a plastic stick” makes one an asset in the new world order of sadism. Through the whole whipping Captain Harris gets harder and harder watching. Who knows what the two eunuchs think, because the author doesn’t mention them again

I presume Yuri did a better job than this picture demonstrates.

Captain Harris decided to try to get her to sign the papers again. He threatens her with having the skin flayed right off her ass by Yuri and then, even more horribly, sucks on her nipple. Carla is defiant, despite the breast sucking.

Um…question here. If this is just a processing facility, and later Carla is to be sold at auction, wouldn’t having whipping scars all over her back and ass be a detriment? But it doesn’t actually matter because the threat of Yuri whipping her rear end off is a bluff. Instead Harris pulls out a plastic coat hanger he stole from Wal-Mart, the kind with clips on it, and proceeds to attach it to Carla’s breasts. I like it. Finally we are getting into something a little juicier. But then Harris leaves! Yuri and the two goons are ignored as Harris leaves the room and moves somewhere else but still watches what is going on. Carla spends some time hanging there, trying to dislodge the clamp hanger, but fails. After an unspecified amount of time, Harris comes back and sends one of the goons for ANOTHER person!

"Let me introduce you to Helga." Captain Harris said without getting up from behind his desk. "Helga is kind of our jack of all trades. She does the laundry, helps out in the kitchen, and does most of the grooming of the slaves that pass through here. That little bush you’ve got sweetheart," Motioning with his eyes between Carla’s legs, "is lovely, but it has to go."

Helga had a previous position before this story. Interesting movie by the way.

Oh. Is this part of the torture? They’re going to WAX her? Why not use a laser, or damn, just pluck out each hair with a pair of pliers? Or even a lighter? Oh, well I’ve heard that waxing hurts so maybe this is just a continuation of the torture as well as a necessary step for processing. Why not kill two birds with one stone right? But why is Carla embarrassed? She’s hanging naked in front of four guys and she only blushes at the thought of being waxed bare? And this is of course after being caned? I’m beginning to think Captain Harris is an idiot. Strip her, THEN wax her. The embarrassment will soften her up so much better than the caning.

We are then treated to a little insight into Captain Harris, who is no doubt channeling Carla’s ex-husband’s mental process.

This ought to make the bitch sit up and take notice. She’ll understand once and for all this ain’t no game and I ain’t that pussy-whipped husband of hers. She may be used to getting her way in most things, but this is Frank Harris she’s facing now, not that gutless wonder she’d been married to. I’m the man around here and the sooner she gets that shit through her head the better.

Is this a story or a diatribe? What a long winded bastard! I could have had her signing the paper in about an hour. All I can conclude is that Captain Harris is a fucking incompetent. Oh yeah, and now the two goons, Yuri, and Captain Harris are watching. Pretty soon we’ll have the whole department in there with them.

The author does a pretty good job describing Helga’s treatment and Carla’s reaction. As I have never personally been waxed (thank God) nor have seen it done, I will presume that the reactions are reasonably accurate. In the end Carla is as bare as a newborn baby.

Now this process has taken about an hour. Yuri took about ten or twenty minutes, and Captain Harris has left the room twice, once for a two hour period. In all this time Carla has been left HANGING BY HER ARMS! Anatomy 101: Hanging a person by the arms for extend periods of time will cause irreparable damage to her shoulders, will probably dislocate her shoulder joints, and tear ligaments and muscles in her back. Well done Captain. She can no longer give a decent hand job. You’ve just made her worthless as a sex slave. Moron.

But it’s okay, because Carla is super-human. She has endured all of this and is still pissed off and mad. Finally Harris s the clamps and finger fucks Carla, demanding to know what got her sexually aroused. She responds with a flippant remark about Harris’ masculinity. Damn! You go girl! Why not just ask them to ram a two by four up your ass?

Harris is spitting mad and orders the two goons to put Carla on all fours. Soon she is bound, arms up and behind her and Harris whips out his cock and butt fucks her. Yeah. After all that she’s been through this is going to be the straw that breaks the camels back.

Oh wait. It does. This breaks her. A dry anal rape, which seriously can’t be much more fun for Frank Harris than it is for her. I mean, seriously…dry? Ouch. But he rams her repeatedly, putting his weight on her and forcing her arms back and upward. Considering the amount of damage he probably has already caused to her shoulders and arms, this would be like taking a bowl of smashed glass and running it through a grinder before trying to sell it as a vase. Carla breaks emotionally and physically with the brutal rape and Harris gets off inside her rear end. He orders one of the goons to take his place while he moves around to her mouth for a cleaning.

Yuck. A2M. What the hell is up with this? Sigh. All right. Whatever. I suppose people don’t like everything I put in a story either. I’ll just ignore the A2M and pretend it didn’t happen. That’s my right. I am in awe of Harris’ courage. For FOUR hours plus this woman had defied him, and now he’s going to stick his cock in her mouth? Is he THAT SURE SHE IS BROKEN? Wow. I’m impressed. If I could read people that well I’d go in for high stake poker games.

So both goons get to do Carla after she’s done “cleaning” Captain Harris. Two MORE guys are brought in, bring the total number of people in the room to eight including Carla. Hey wait, does Yuri get a chance to fuck her as well? And what about Helga? Does she want some action too?

Finally the characters the author hasn’t forgotten about get a piece of Carla’s ass and she is dumped in a corner. But evidently Captain Harris is all about work, and instead of making her sign the damn paper now, he instructs the goons to bring in another girl. What? After all that trouble? Why not make her sign the paper and THEN string her back up? Moron! Idiot!

Now we are introduced to the ninth person to come into the room: Barbara Kelsey. I applaud the author for naming everyone, but I can’t even remember the names of the two goons. But I’m a sucker for a girl’s name, and oh…she’s a red head. Too bad she’s over-weight and forty two. I’m not complaining about the age, but did you have to damage my sense of the imagination? When I think of a red-head, I think this:



But just when I thought maybe the author was going to treat us to some different torments applied on a different girl, Barbara signs the papers and is removed. Evidently if you sign the papers immediately nudity isn’t required. On the flip side, if Harris’ goal is to get papers signed, using Carla as an example is pretty swift. This time someone who has come into the room is actually taken out of it. Unfortunately a new girl is brought in. She is even more unappetizing from a physical stand point and we now discover why Yuri has been left in the room for three hours. He gives the new girl TWO HUNDRED strokes of the cane. Yep. Right. Sure. Time passess.....

Girl number three is brought in and now the author grants us a little favor of her being attractive.

She was tall, five feet nine if an inch, blonde, blue-eyed, and blessed with a set of tits guaranteed to give every man within a hundred mile radius a hard on the size of Mount Rushmore.

Yeah, sort of like this. Maybe. But I can dream, right?

Last time I checked, Mount Rushmore is not on the list of well known phallic symbols. It’s a low squat hill made of granite with four giant faces carved into it. There isn't even a president named "Dick" on the mountain! How about the Washington Monument? Or the Grand Tetons? Or the Sears Tower? Or a mighty sequoia? But Mount Rushmore? You’ve got to be kidding me! Maybe if the four faces included Ron Jeremy and John Holmes I’d be inclined to swing that way, but Mount Rushmore?

I don't see a dick here...oh wait. Okay. Now I do.

So what happens? Nothing. Except for the fact that Harris suddenly goes back to Carla after girl #3 pulls a similar stunt and refuses to sign the paper. Carla, who has already been broken thanks to an anal rape suddenly finds her spine and tells Harris to go to hell. Harris, livid, orders the goons to take Carla to Room B. This tells me two things. First of all, there are no more than 26 rooms here at the facility, and that we are probably in Room A. I can see this. Girl #3 happens to be tied up in this room and why go through the trouble of taking her down in order to string Carla back up. But then, inexplicably, Harris tells the goons to have the two extra goons to come back and take Girl #3 to Room C. When did the other goons leave? Did they take Yuri with them? Where the fuck is Helga? Is she going to wax Girl #3 now? And Harris makes the observation that usually they process twenty or so girls a DAY! If every waxing takes an hour how does Helga do it all? I’m a little confused.

Evidently Room B, which Carla has been dragged too, comes equipped with a something different: a hook. The goons take Carla to Room B and we follow along, leaving Harris with Girl #3. Carla is still bound with her hands behind her back and the two goons hang her on the hook by the arms. Okay, I’m no longer believing this. This position would rip Carla’s arms out of her sockets, which apparently the author is aware of, since the goons laughingly joke about it to Carla. They leave her there while Harris has a cup of coffee and Yuri is asked to come back and cane girl #3 on the soles of the feet. Disappointingly, we don’t get to witness his, which I would have really enjoyed.

It's just you Harris. You wuss. Be a man and whip her yourself!

Harris eventually decides to go back to Carla and after a little bit of coat hanger play has the two goons tie bags of sand to Carla’s feet, just to add more weight to her arms. But it’s okay because Carla’s arms and shoulders are actually made of a titanium alloy that can withstand massive amounts of pressure. What? You didn’t read about that? Well it was right there with the part about Russia invading and conquering China.

More weight is added and then Harris shows Carla the same kind of foot locks that Girl #3 is being bastinadoed in. Harris orders the goons to open the doors to both Cell B and C and we actually get the best line in the entire story:

Another scream rent the air followed by, "You fucking little gook motherfucker!"

Sweet. That should be immortalized as an epithet on a tombstone. Really sweet, except gook technically refers to a Korean. Oh well. Then Harris adds another forty pounds to Carla’s arms, which finally snap, the shoulder coming out of the socket. Somehow, amazingly, her tendons and muscles don’t rip to shreds, but she does pass out. A bucket of water is thrown on her and she’s still hung by her arms, but now Harris has the goons roll a cart over with what appears to be some sort of Tens Unit on it. A metal phallic probe is inserted into Carla’s pussy and she is shocked into oblivion. This causes her to jerk and jump around and finally she breaks. Again. She agrees to sign the papers and Harris makes the same fucking mistake he made earlier. Instead of going and getting the papers and making her sign them, he orders her left bound! Oh my GOD! Doesn’t he realize that next morning she is going to object again! Holy FUCK! What a jackass!

And thus ends the story, but not this review. We still have a lot to talk about. To be honest, this story was like a wandering path in a field full of cows. There’s plenty of real beef but you keep stepping in cow shit. The plot which actually was Carla’s torture was the real point of the story and we could have saved a lot of time with just getting on with it. Generally you don’t have to make things make sense in stories like this. I mean seriously, the whole “laws” thing and “you are now a sex slave” thing could have been explained with “they thunked her over the head and she woke up in a cell.” There. Done. That cut about three hundred pointless words of this story. Keep it simple.

So far I’ve skewered this story pretty hard, so let’s talk about what it has going for it. Number One thing: Description. This story is described out the wazzoo. It’s awesome. Everything is described. The scenes, the characters, their feelings, even sometime their internal thoughts. A single cane stroke takes several sentences because we get the action and then the reaction. It’s incredible. You can almost taste the tension in the air. You can FEEL the blows. You want to help. (or for some of you take Carla’s place.) The author does a FANTASTIC job with descriptions.

Number Two: Um…uh…well…uh. Oh. Yeah. It DID get me hard.

But the story was so long and so drawn out, with all these little fucking coffee breaks that just when I was getting going, Captain Harris went out for a cup of joe. So like this story, I had no climax.

Grammatically, besides the comma problem and the run on sentences, things aren’t bad. They’re not perfect, but then who is. The last thing I need is some English Lit guy block quoting my review with all the poor grammar highlighted. But that said there are limits. If the common reader like me can recognize problems, then practically everyone can.

At the end of the story is a disclaimer from RPP Stories, which stands for Rape, Pillage, and Plunder, a private site run by Alebeard. I have no experience with this site and am not a member, so I can’t really comment on it, but I’m worried that this story might have been posted at the BDSM Library without permission. It seems an odd addition to the posting, so we’ll see where it goes.

So where does this story rank? I’m going to give it a five, and it would probably have been higher had the formatting been acceptable. That means this story is Okay, and has some promise, but needs some serious work. Should you read it? Yes, but only if you want unbelievable characters, acting stupidly, in unbelievable situations, being tortured in unbelievable ways, all for no particularly good reason.

Daily Assignment 04-27-10

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Today’s Assignment: (Assigned by Master Brandon) Self-Inflicted Pony. Go to your barn. Get two pieces of rope, two clothespins, a broom or shovel handle, and a weight. Tie one end of the stick to the wall at belly button height. Take the other piece of rope and tie it to the other end of the stick, and toss the rope over a beam in your barn. Tie the weight to it so that the stick points upward. Strip naked. Attach the clothespins to your nipples. Straddle the stick and move down to the end away from the wall. Your pussy should push the stick downward and lift the weight off the ground. You may use your hands to get into proper position. Once there stay in position for twenty minutes. Keep your hands clasped behind your head or behind your back.

Yesterday’s Assignment: (Assigned by Master Brandon) Breanne on the Rocks. Make a tray of bottle ice cylinders (the kind of ice cubes that can fit in a sports drink bottle). Every hour starting at noon, retrieve an ice cylinder, go someplace private, and insert it into your pussy. Once inserted, you will masturbate. If you orgasm before the ice is completely melted, you must put dabs of your Hot and Icy cream on your nipples and clit at the beginning of the next session. Do this every hour from noon until eight pm.



When I decided I was ready to start the daily assignments back up, I admit I was excited. You try going a whole week without an orgasm. It sucks. Even during my time of the month I at least THINK about sex. So despite the fading pain in my mouth from my wisdom teeth extraction, I was ready. Seriously ready. I was wet. I was hot. I was horny. I was a nympho pain humiliation slut.

I didn’t have to make the ice. We keep about four trays of those little water bottle ice cylinders. Geeze, I don’t know what else to call them. Bottle ice? Ice cylinders? Ice tubes? Ice dildos? I’ve actually fucked an ice dildo before. One of those long thin balloons fills up quite nicely and then you just stick it in the freezer. I tried condoms once, but evidently they weren’t designed to handle the pressure and temperature of my freezer. I was chipping ice out of the bottom.

I had quite a bit to do yesterday and it was a beautiful day. Noon however is right around lunch time for me, so I decided to start just a little early, like around 11:30. That way I wouldn’t be interrupting a meal. It’s tough when you suddenly get up, leaving a plate full of half eaten sandwich and announce you have to go upstairs and masturbate with an ice dildo.

So I stopped off at the fridge, grabbed my little tube of ice, and headed upstairs. One of our beach towels was filched from the hall closet and I dropped the ice into a glass on my desk and proceeded to strip.

I like being naked. Yep. I know, you’re shocked aren’t you? I guess I could have just taken off my blue jeans and panties, but there is a mental component to masturbation too. For me, I like being naked. I need to have the ability to touch myself everywhere. Position is important too. I like to be laying down, or at least be sitting, usually with my legs open and propped up on either the bed or my desk. I remember once a long time ago when I was doing a little session on webcam with a friend. I shocked the hell out of him when I brought all the ingredients necessary for a banana split right to my computer, stripped naked, propped my feet up on the desk with the camera pointed right between my legs. Then I pushed in a banana. Then added a spoonful of ice cream. Then poured hot fudge on my clit. Then I literally stuck the nozzle of a can of whip cream into my pussy and with just a little bit of manipulation, managed to get it to go off. I’m not sure who got creamed first. Oh…wait…yep. Pretty sure it was me.

Photo Credit: My Favorite Life Blog

So at the desk I pulled up one of my favorite Michael Alexander stories: Heart of Ice. I thought it was appropriate and frankly it stars me anyway. I don’t want to tell you what the story is about, since I don’t want to ruin it for you if you haven’t read it, but it exactly suited my sexual urges that morning, not to mention what I was about to do.

I read a bit until I got to the right part, where my character is about to endure her first icy torment. I was already playing with myself, wet fingers gliding in and out and through. Especially the through part. I like it when my clit is stimulated. Wet and ready, I took hold of the ice cylinder. It was dripping like crazy and just as wet and slick as me. I moved it down, feeling cold little drops sprinkle my stomach and then I pressed it to my clit, searing my most tender spot. I know I gasped. I know I moaned. And then I pushed it into my pussy, tightening around it in spasms of freezing delight. With my right hand I moved it in and out while my left hand found my clit and went crazy. I think I managed five or six thrusts before the ice disappeared into my pussy, slipping from my fingers. I went after it, sticking a few wet cold digits into myself, swirling the pot, but only managing to move the ice around inside me. It was an incredible feeling. Hot and cold all at the same time. I felt the rush, the surge of orgasmic bliss and then I popped, long before the cylinder melted.

Mmmm…that first time was awesome. Slowly I calmed down, slowed my breathing, wiped my hands on the edge of the towel (which I was sitting on) and squirmed just a little as the last vestige of ice disappeared from inside me, to slowly leak out onto the towel. Oohhh. Watered down pussy juice. All in all I think I was done in about twenty minutes, which left me plenty of time to clean up, get dressed, and move my frozen loins downstairs for lunch.

One o’clock found me in the barn with a little portable cooler. I had hoped to make it back out to the tractor (which I had left in one of the south fields) but lunch took longer than I expected. So instead I had to deal with my daily assignment a little closer to home. This time I just tugged my jeans and panties down to my ankles, rubbed myself a bit to get things going, and then squatted down over a hay bale. The little cylinder of ice went in and I sat down. Then I started rocking my hips back and forth, feeling the little prickles of hay against my bottom and pussy. My hand found my clit again and voila, almost instant orgasm. No need for the icyhot! I left a massive wet spot on the hay, toweled myself dry, put my clothes back into place, and headed out to get some more plowing done.

What? Did you think I was the only thing that got plowed on a farm?

Two o’clock came and I almost forgot to do my assignment. I decided to strip for this one. It was pretty warm, around eighty degrees and I was sweating a bit. I stopped the tractor, dismounted, and then stripped. Climbing back up into the seat I reached for my cooler, pulled out a piece of ice and just stuck it in without any sex prep. I admit I was hot, but the instant and immediate application of a shard of ice into an internal cavity didn’t do much to lower my overall body temperature. In fact, my pussy clamped down on it and my abdomen developed a cramp. So while I was dealing with that the ice cylinder melted, all the way. By the time I was ready for some serious sexual playtime, the ice was gone. Oopps. My seat was soaked so I just tossed my jeans and panties into the hamper behind me and went about my plowing.

Driving a tractor while naked from the waist down is a liberating experience. First of all, tractor driving is easier than driving a car. Seriously. You go in a straight line for about half a mile, turn, and then go in a straight line for half a mile. It’s boring. It’s monotonous. It’s much more fun if you aren’t wearing anything from the waist down. I admit my left hand spent a good deal of time between my legs. By the time three o’clock rolled around the seat was still wet, but most of it wasn’t from a melted ice cylinder. I stopped the tractor, reached into the hamper and pulled out my hot and icy cream.

I peeled off my shirt and bra first, enjoying the sensation of being totally nude and outside. Maybe I should become a nudist. I love being naked outside. Oh wait…I have a sexual reaction to being naked outside. That’s probably not very nudist like. I mean seriously, it’s tough to carry on a conversation with other naked people if you are constantly touching yourself, right? Or would they care? Or would I? Is there an embarrassment factor there? Ah…what would Sigmund Freud tell me? “You have a repressed sexual urge centered around your feelings for your mother. Please suck my dick now.”

Yeah, right.

So once totally naked I uncapped my tube of hot and icy and squeezed a generous dollop onto my finger. Then I took my time slowly rubbing it into my nipples. Almost immediately I could feel the cold, and by the time I was ready to cream my clit, my nipples were tingling. I guess I should admit the fact that hot and icy on my nipples makes me go sexually crazy. The very first time I put this stuff on I discovered it was almost like instant go juice. Adding a bit to my clit is like pouring gasoline on a lit fire.

I grabbed an ice cylinder, my fingers slipping just a bit, and then brought it down between my legs. I spread my legs as wide as the cab would let me and even put one foot up on the door joist. Then it went in. And out. And in. And out. It’s too bad I didn’t have a voice recorder with me. It must have sounded incredible.

PhotoCredit: www.melissamidwest.com

I guess it’s not hard to imagine what happened. I came of course. And I rammed the half-melted ice cylinder deep and followed it up with almost my entire hand as my pussy convulsed. I shuddered in the seat, feeling the cold seep through my loins, my muscles contracting. If there had been a cock inside me it would have been perfect.

Four o’clock went almost exactly the same way. So did five o’clock. And know what? I put hot and icy on my nipples and clit both times, despite the fact that I managed to orgasm before the ice melted on both previous occasions. Why did I do it? Because it was awesome. That’s why.

I did get the whole south field plowed though, and you know what else got plowed, repeatedly? Yep. Me. And it was good. Very good.

At ten minutes to six I was back home wondering how I was going to handle the next one. Six o’clock is dinner time. Note to Master Brandon: let’s make these assignments due at the BOTTOM of the hour next time. Not the top. It will make my life much easier.

I didn’t manage to get to my six o’clock masturbation session until almost six fifty, which seemed kind of stupid, not to mention late. I grabbed a fresh ice dildo from the freezer and headed upstairs to the bathroom. I was pretty dusty and dirty from working and masturbating all day, so the shower was a perfect place to do this. I climbed into the shower, turned on the water, sat down on our little safety stool, and propped my legs up on the sides of the tub. I especially like this position because with just a twist to the showerhead, you can change the stream from a wide soft spray to a hard jet, which just happens to be pointed at a certain delicate spot if you sit on the stool.

With seventy five pounds of pressure per square inch striking my clit, I pushed the ice between the wet hot streaming folds of my sex. The dichotomy of cold and hot, all located between my legs, was incredible. I was pretty vocal, moaning my pleasure, biting my lip to keep from crying out as the heat caused the ice to disappear quicker than any other ice session. I didn’t cum until it was gone, and frankly I think my orgasm was caused more by the streaming jet of hot water pointed at my clit.

After cumming, I stood, soaped, cleaned everything, dried off, and got into my pajamas, which consisted of a small pair of cotton shorts, a pair of panties, and a soft tee shirt. It was around seven thirty. So I went downstairs, grabbed a glass, put an ice shard into it, and headed back upstairs to my computer. It was time to finish reading “Heart of Ice”.

I was a little tender, not to mention a little sexed out. I know, strange huh? But come on, I had experienced seven orgasms at this point, each one with liberal amounts of chemical and frictional assistance. I was tender. Give me a break. It took me ten minutes to find my grove, and I’m not talking about my actual grove. I knew where THAT was. I’m talking my mental grove. I had to read almost a full quarter of the story before Michael’s little tale turned me on. And that’s unusual since I get wet pretty much just looking at the title of a Michael Alexander Story. (I swear, I’m not trying to get a raise here Boss, unless it’s a physical one: your cock!)

Right around the part where Shika ends up on the ice herself, legs spread, so that Ms. Poole’s guests can throw snowballs at her tender parts, is where I put in the ice. I love interactive stories. And let me be the first to say that “Heart of Ice” is a lot more interesting when you’re masturbating with an ice dildo. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on your perspective) I didn’t cum until well after my ice had melted. That’s the whole problem with these stupid little bottle ice cylinders. They’re like screwing a tiny dick that only gets smaller with every thrust. Next time I need to have like ten real ice dildos made, the kind that’s easily two inches thick and eight inches long. Try masturbating with one of those!

When I finally came it was eight o’clock. Perhaps I should have gone straight back downstairs and grabbed more ice, but I thought that I should warm up just a bit first. So I moved to the bed, grabbed the hot and icy cream, and immediately applied it liberally to my nipples and clit. Then, just for fun, I smeared my vibrator with a bit, spread my legs, turned it to high, and plowed away.

I stopped right before cumming. Aren’t you proud of me? I was soaked again. And I was hot. It was almost eight thirty. I pulled out my vibe, cleaned it off, patted myself dry, got my pajamas, and went to the kitchen.

The rest of the family were in the living room watching television so I managed to sneak my last ice of the day and hurry upstairs with it. I held it in my teeth as I shoved and pushed my pajama bottoms and panties down. Then, standing up right in the middle of my room, I spread my pussy lips with my left hand, my clit burning, and slipped the ice right on in.

I squatted down, my hips churning as I used one finger to drive it in and out. Gravity and lots of lubrication and melting water dripped onto the towel on the floor, but I managed to rapidly piston the little cylinder in and out, wishing it was bigger, wishing it was longer, wishing I was tied spread-eagled to a bed while a crazy woman fucked me stupid with a high density low melting point ice dildo. (Heart of Ice reference there!)

When the ice was gone I grabbed my vibrator, resumed my position, and went to work. Eventually I ended up on my ass, sitting on my wet towel, legs splayed, leaning back against my bed. Ten minutes later I was gasping like a wet fish, tingling all over as my last orgasm of the day washed through me.

When I was ready, I stood up, gathered the wet towel and tossed it into the laundry hamper. A trip to the bathroom and a quick cleanup followed, along with getting dressed again. And there you have it. Eight icy orgasms. So what did I learn from this?

Bottle ice is NOT good for Breanne sex. LOL. I need ice DILDOS!

See ya tomorrow! Have an “ice” day!

Daily Assignment 04-16-10

Monday, April 26, 2010

Hi everybody! I’m back! Well, kind of. First of all, thanks to everyone who sent me all the get well notes. I really appreciate it. The whole “getting your wisdom teeth out” thing really sucked. In fact, I still hurt a little bit. I feel like someone punched me in the face and the immediate pain of the blow is gone but the bruise and ache is still there. But on the flip side I’m eating regular food now, rather than bowls of pudding, soup, and yogurt, so I’m pleased.

It took about five or six days for my libido to return as well. I know. I’m surprised. It was weird not wanting to think about or want sex for so long. It makes me wonder if I’m really qualified to call myself a nympho. But by Saturday I was starting to feel the old urges coming back, settled back on my bed late that evening, and had a nice little masturbation session with a vibrator, some clothespins, and my tube of icy hot. Sunday wasn’t much different.

So I’m back and ready for more! Last week was supposed to be a week concentrating on punishments, rather than embarrassing moments, and to be honest, I’m okay with doing that this week. My jaw is still sore and I’m not sure I’m going to be up for giving blowjobs for at least a few more days. We’ll see when Blowjob Friday rolls around. Michael said that if I need a bit more time to recuperate, I can have it.

Oh, and by the way! Thanks to everyone who voted in the poll! Five of you are very nice and sweet and considerate. Four of you are cruel and evil. I’m still in negotiations with Master Brandon on that one. He’s especially pleased with the outcome of the poll and is pushing for me to follow it exactly. Since that will be Thursday’s Assignment, I’m still trying to get a bit of a break on it.

Anyway, let’s get this week thing going! What’s on the menu for today? Will it hurt? Will I be allowed to cum a lot? Let’s see! Oohhh…

Today’s Assignment: (Assigned by Master Brandon) Breanne on the Rocks. Make a tray of bottle ice cylinders (the kind of ice cubes that can fit in a sports drink bottle). Every hour starting at noon, retrieve an ice cylinder, go someplace private, and insert it into your pussy. Once inserted, you will masturbate. If you orgasm before the ice is completely melted, you must put dabs of your IcyHot cream on your nipples and clit at the beginning of the next session. Do this every hour from noon until eight pm.

Story Review: Naked In School Punishment Programme

Recently, while browsing the BDSM Library looking for some new material, I came across a story written by "obohobo" entitled "NIS PP 5 Rob & Jill", which seemed more like a catalog number tha a story title. After clicking on it, I discovered that it was part 5 of a series, the "Naked In School Punishment Programme: New Laws", and I decided that if I were going to read and review anything, I should start with that. Obohobo is certainly a prolific writer. With over 81 stories, relatively good ratings, and stories ranging from short to novel length, Obohobo has me beat by far. Thank goodness our writing style is so different as is our sexual interests.

The first story of the Naked In School Punishment Series introduces us to Laura Matthews, a 16 year old British subject who runs afoul of a series of new government laws. Enacted by a misogynist regime called the junta that runs a bloodless coup on the government, a female dominated society is turned upside down. All women are reduced to positions of servitude and sexual slavery, and men are given almost unlimited power to punish and enforce the new laws concerning female behavior.

Wow. Can I live there? It makes being a British Subject actually look appealing.

Laura, as a mediocre student is brutally whipped in front of the school, naked of course, in a scene that is somewhat parallel to my own story "Corporal Punishment." Of course, the scenes move very differently and we are introduced to two other students who are whipped as well.

Writing in first person, obohobo takes on the persona of Laura, treating the entire story as a diary, giving us extracts of Laura's opinion and observations on the world around her. This in and of itself demonstrates obohobo's writing skill. It takes a lot of talent in order to pull of a first person narrative, since the nature of the writing limits you to describing things from the perspective of only one character. It discourages describing scenery, or the environment, all in favor of focusing on action and dialog. However, obohobo does a decent job in filling in the necessary details to provide suitable settings. The fact that the majority of the scenes take place in either a school or bedroom certainly help.

NIS Programme Punishment is a whipping fest, and that's pretty much all there is. If you like the idea of girls getting whipped with a little bit of fast screwing and anal sex on the side, then this story is for you. If whipping is of no interest, don't bother to read this story because there is absolutely nothing else there. In fact, the NIS Punishment Programme is fairly uncreative (the programme in the story, not the story itself) since punishment seems limited to strapping, flogging, spanking, and caning. How about a decent hot waxing? Or some nipple clamps? Or being bound and pussy whipped? There are a zillion other awesome punishments you can do to wayward women.

One of the other characters in the story, Mitzi Colburne, is brutally abused to the point of near death and Laura tells of Mitzi torment from a clinical standpoint with a bit of sympathy. Mitzi is beaten, not just whipped, but the author never lets us observe or see Mitzi's punishment, only giving us glimpses of the aftermath, her dazed looks, her bruised body, her eventual collapse and coma. So even the more extreme punishments are hidden from the reader (which frankly I didn't want to read anyway. There are limits.)

obohobo puts a lot of effort into creating a realistic world that tries its best to maintain a fictional reality to it, but still falls just a bit short under objective scrutiny. Going much farther than the old English common law of "rule of thumb", NIS Programme Punishment is an attempt to put women in what the junta feels is their rightful place. The laws are vague, difficult to enforce, and woefully out of step with what could be realistically imposed. But hey, this is fiction, right?

To be honest, there isn't much to complain about. The story was well written, with no noticeable errors or gaffes, and while the paragraph formatting wasn't standard due to the way dialog was delivered, it wasn't unduly difficult to read. And considering it was written in a diary like form, certain stylistic oddities can be overlooked.



But in the end, I also have to say that this story was like a really long slow fuck that is interrupted by a toddler before either of the participants even feel a sexual surge. Sure, I got hard. But it also didn't go anywhere. The climax of the story arch was Mitzi getting beaten half to death and collapsing in front of Laura. There certainly was no sexual climax and I got to the end of the story with almost the same amount of sexual tension that I started with. What's the point of writing erotica if you don't create sexual tension for the reader to "climax" with?

That said I get the feeling that obohobo really likes whippings. It wouldn't be that hard for me to imagine him feeling the sexual tension during every described whipping scene, and he even inserts whippings that have actually no point to the overall story arch and are merely added as an opportunity to sap another bottom. At one point obohobo even has a fifty year old woman who is slightly overweight get stripped naked, bound, strapped, and even caned. Um... huh?

So with that said I'm kind of stuck. How do I rate this story? Sure, from a technical perspective it's not bad. In fact, it's kind of good, especially when compared to a lot of the garbage that is frequently posted on the BDSM Library. But giving a story a high rating because it's better than its peers is a cop out. I don't do it. In the end, I'm going to go with an eight, which means it's very good in terms of internet fiction and even recommendable. But without a compelling story arch and such a limited sexual scene progression, I'm not able to give it a higher rating.

To be honest, I'm looking forward to the next story in the series: NIS PP2 Mitzi, which hopefully chronicles Mitzi's punishment and rehabilitation. We'll see. I'm at least encouraged to read it.

Breanne: Update

I chatted with Breanne this morning for just a little bit. She's doing fine and recovering from her oral surgery. Evidently she's been sleeping a lot due to the pain medication and isn't really doing anything else.

Breanne had her two bottom wisdom teeth extracted due to infection and a cavity, so hopefully she will be back up and running on full steam by Friday. However, as her boss, I have officially told her that she could hold off on the Blowjob Friday assignment in favor of something less orally intrusive. Let's not push her to far.

Yours Faithfully,

Michael Alexander

Story Review: Amber & Sinndy Make It Hurt

It's rare for me to start a story review this way, but I really can't help it.

WTF?

This morning I read a totally fucked up tale entitled "Amber & Sinndy Make It Hurt" by Amber, the Evyl Princess. Yes. The Author is not just royalty, but a self-declared villain, or just someone with a massive ego and strange view of subjective morality. Wouldn't you just love to see this girl's Facebook page? This story was originally posted at White Shadow's BDSM Library back in 2001, so its a re-post and I suspect Nic Romanschek might have been involved because he's in the process of moving the old White Shadow archive to the BDSM Library. Kudos, Nic. That said, I never had the opportunity to read it back then, so I did it this morning and am discovering a whole new world of punk rocker mania that makes me glad I listen to classical music and pop rock.

I have to preface this with informing everyone that I am traditionally a Dominant, and much prefer to be the one holding the whip. However, there are rare occasions when I can get my mind set into a suitably submissive role that I can at least enjoy a F/m story. I've even written one: "He Soon To Thee Shall Sacrifice". It's rare for me to read them, but obviously I did this morning.

Let's get started. "Amber & Sinndy Make It Hurt" is an interesting tale told in third person omniscient past tense about two punk rocker girls who seduce and kidnap a punk rocker boy at a TSOL concert.

Yeah. This Shit Only Loses.

Evidently getting stoned, crushed in the mosh pit, and having a bad meth trip isn't enough to keep kids at home these days, and we now have to add kidnapping and rape to the list. But hey, guys liked to be raped by hot punk rocker chicks, right?

That Skull was her last boyfriend that she picked up at a TSOL concert.

So Amber and Sinndy target a blonde grunge boy toy named Eric, provide him with some decent grinding in the mosh pit, give him a handjob (which is orgasm #1 in the story), and then put him in the back of their Suburban, and sexually tease him while they drive him to his house. I know that's a run on sentence, but it seemed appropriate for this story because its a decent metaphor for the entire plot. The author goes into a bit of detail about how Amber and Sinndy got Eric's address and then takes him there in their suburban, but then decides that the classic question of your place or mine needs to be answered with mine. In Eric's driveway, they handcuff him and Sinndy does a bit of stroking of cock, just as Amber drives away, heading for their "cabin in the woods."

What the hell? Why go to Eric's house at all? And why did Amber suddenly decide that Eric's place wasn't what they needed? Weren't they planning this from the start? This is the first of many plot holes that has this story looking like Swiss cheese.

Yeah, the plot of this story looks just like this.

So handcuffed, Eric, Sinndy, and Amber drive out into the mountains where the two punk rocker girls turn the tide on poor Eric. The best little toy is right at the beginning. A slap bracelet studded with sharp little spikes is removed from Sinndy's arm and inverted, then wrapped around Eric's cock. Awesome. Leather tresses give her the ability to tighten or loosen it, giving her the ability to lead Eric like an animal. Then the girls put a pair of ankle chains on the guy, hobbling him effectively. Unfortunately, the author does a poor job of describing the anklets, calling the handcuffs, or cuffs, repeatedly and making it damn difficult to understand how Eric walks into the cabin on his own.

Once inside we get the most confused handcuffing action ever to take place in a story. It was like watching one of those skilled charlatans trying to get you to guess were the pebble is under one of the three cups. It was really difficult to tell when Eric was cuffed, or how he was cuffed, or if his ankles were free or if his hands were free. It made it even more odd when he got ordered to masturbate...but with cuffs on. Have you ever worn handcuffs? Real ones aren't made for sex games. They're made for restraining people. Trust me, masturbating while cuffed, even in the front, is a no-go unless you're double jointed and have a high dexterity rating.

Things get a bit more sadistic when Eric is whipped with a razor studded whip. Earth to Amber, I know you like blood, but you can make people bleed with just leather. Adding the razors is like asking for trouble. You hit the wrong spot and suddenly you have a dead guy instead of a bloody one.

Then we are treated to a back and forth interplay of lesbian sex followed by boy torment, followed by more lesbian sex. It's like the author had a checklist of perversions. Forced Masturbation: check. Cunnilingus: check. Fellatio: check. Fisting: check. Rimjob: Check. Anal penetration: check. And the list goes on. Once everything is checked off on the list the girls have Eric up against the wall and are taunting and threatening him, only to have him headbutt Amber in the face, breaking her nose.

This could possibly have happened because her only weapon is a beer bottle, which for some strange drug caused reason she called her "gun" earlier in the story. Maybe she was so stoned she couldn't tell the difference between a gun and a beer bottle.

Can you spot the difference? Evidently its difficult when you're stoned.

So with a broken nose Amber gets a demonic grin on her face and proceeds to anally ram Eric with the largest butt plug on the planet. Then she proceeds to suck his cock, put on a strap on dildo, and create one of the weirdest sex sandwiches in the world while fucking him silly while penetrating Sinndy. All while ignoring a broken nose? Um...masochistic too?

Things go along this vein for a little while when suddenly the strangest thing happens. The door bursts open and a strange blue man comes into the cabin! Amber and Sinndy bolt naked, run out the door, hop in the Suburban, and run for the lives.

Yeah, I'd run for my life too.

Then the weirdness factor just goes way off the chart. The blue man comments that Eric finally lost is virginity. Eric nods, says "yes, the curse can now be fulfilled" and then

Eric's legs folded, and so did his arms. He bent backwards and sucked himself into his own asshole, shoving himself into his anus until he disappeared. Whatwas left was his anus, and the little man picked it up, dipped it in a cummy puddle, and ate it like a donut. He scampered out into the snow.

How's that for an ending? WTF, right? It's like Amber the Evyl Princess was just too fucking tired to write a real ending so she borrowed one from an acid soaked trip. Talk about drug induced creativity. Holy crap. This was a surprise.

Yep. That's exactly what this was. A Surprise, and not even a decent one.

But wait! We haven't even talked about the writing! Plot holes and weird endings aside, Amber the Evyl Princess does have the ability to correctly spell words. I was also impressed by some of the descriptions. There was some good detail there. The real problem was paragraph construction. Paragraphs are all about putting linked thoughts together. Unfortunately, Amber didn't bother with linking like thoughts together. While there are paragraphs, I got the impression they were placed like gasps of air from a drowning man, rather than as breaks in linear thought. This made the story incredibly hard to follow and had us frequently floundering in confusion as we tried to make sense of who was doing what, when, to whom, and why.

To be honest, it was difficult to make it through to the end, and frankly, I wish I hadn't. So where does this leave us? Well, I have to rate this is as a five (Kinda Ok, but the author could do some serious improvement.) Overall, the story had some promise, but the writing style, the strange plot development, not to mention Papa Smurf eating Eric who turned into a small asshole, kind of ruined the whole thing. In this particular case, I think you should probably hold off reading this story. In some cases, I read stories so you don't have to. And trust me, you REALLY don't have too!

Story Review: The Instructions

Photo Credit: Dead Slow

I've never given a ten before, and to be honest, I had to ask myself why "The Instructions" by Pamela, DIDN'T deserve a ten when I was in the process of selecting nine. Obviously, I couldn't come up with an answer. Yes. It was that good. The story is a short vignette that takes us briefly into a terror and pain filled sexual moment of one slave girl's life. She trembles as she enters a cold heartless room, with just a table and a chair and a set of handcuffs. There on the table is a list, a list of instructions. We find out what each one is before she does it, which sets up our expectations and gets us going. Then we get the follow through as we are treated to her misery, humiliation, and pain. Awesome. In fact, everyone who has reviewed this story so far also thought that. But there were some differences:

I have to respectfully disagree with JimmyJump (another reviewer), who said

Agonizing start, in the sense that the reader --yours truly in this case-- runs out of chair after just a paragraph, because of shuffling forward right to its edge... because the build-up is perfect, as is the tone and creation of the atmosphere, although not much is happening, no names or backgrounds have been reveiled. Yet this opening speaks volumes nevertheless.
I just hope Pamela doesn't leave us with this teasing "One..." and that the neatly typed page goes on til at least "99..." or some-such...

Nonsense. This story is EXACTLY the correct length and needs a "part II" like most of us need our leg amputated for the fun of it. This was a vignette, a short glimpse into a perfect world.

Normally I complain about lack of description, and to be honest the author doesn't give us all that much to work with, but like the shortness of the story, the descriptions in this case work with it. Everything of key importance is described, and then you are left with your imagination and expectations. Incredible. This story was short, intense, and very sweet.

My only complaint is the unrealistic bondage set up. If the author had substituted leather cuffs, I would have been perfectly on board. Handcuffs are actually pretty dangerous, and doing what was done in the story would cut off circulation to the girl's hands, permanently damaging them depending on how long she was hanging there. That said, the handcuffs were an important symbolic part of the story that I think replacing with "leather cuffs" would have damaged. In the end, I was able to set aside my knowledge of reality in favor of the scene the author was creating.

So I'm hoping for a whole series of "Instructions" Each one different, each one short, each one a stand alone story, yet with a common theme and element in each one. I'd buy a book full of these if the author keeps the thematic and auras of the stories similar.

No matter what, The Instructions is definitely worth reading!

Daily Assignment...oops

Monday, April 19, 2010

I have a confession to make. Oh, don’t worry, it’s not like I’m about to confess that I killed the last guy I slept with, or that I like to actually bite off the cocks I suck. I’m no black widow or something like that. Nope, I have to confess that I’m a little scared of today, not to mention the fact that I won’t be able to do an assignment.

You see, last Friday my teeth started hurting. Yeah, I know, life’s a bitch ain’t it? I went to the dentist because it was so bad and he took one look and said to me “you’ve got to get your wisdom teeth out. Quick. You’ve got an infection.” So I went to an oral surgeon last Friday afternoon and got scheduled for a double extraction this morning at 8:30am. I’m not looking forward to it.

I’ve been told that I will be on my back for maybe a day or two, with varying degrees of discomfort. Okay, I'm used to being on my back in various degrees of discomfort. I’m okay with pain, just not in my jaw. I prefer it centered on my clit, or on my nipples. Or maybe even in my ass. But my teeth? That’s not even close to the kind of pain that turns me on. And trust me, after last Friday I can tell you that wisdom tooth hurt isn’t a sexual aphrodisiac.

Which also means that I didn’t complete last Friday’s assignment either. Tough to give blow jobs when it hurts to even open your mouth. I realize that this is going to earn me a TON of punishments, but since the assignments this week tended toward that, I have a feeling that when I’m back up on my feet I’ll be enduring just as much pain as I’m in now, just in some different spots.

Master Brandon already sent me a long list of some up and coming torments, from ice dildos to another walk along my knotted rope. Which is a bit of a knotty problem. Master Brandon wants me to put lemon juice and hot sauce on several of the knots. This isn’t the problem. The problem is whether or not I should use the ratchet tightener and whether I should keep the rope at belly button height. It was agony the last time I did it and I stupidly tightened the rope with a ratchet strap. There was no give in the rope so it practically sawed me in two. Anyway, I put up a poll. Let’s see what you guys think.

So back to my current problem: me wisdom teeth. I am totally expecting not to be able to think straight, much less do any assignments. If I’m feeling up to typing, I may get on and tell an old story, or maybe finally write that essay on the proper way to suck cock, who knows? But the main thing is I’m going to be out for a few days. Sorry.

When Breanne does her rope walk, should she...

Daily Assignment 04-16-10

Friday, April 16, 2010

Today’s Assignment: (Assigned by Master Mark) Blowjob Friday. You will wear a halter top and skirt, no bra or panties. During the day you will find two different guys, strangers, and ask them if they would be willing to deliver twenty spanks to your bare bottom in exchange for a blowjob. If they accept, present your bottom, endure the spanking, and then give them their blowjob until the cum. If they refuse, find a different guy and make the same offer.

*Update* - Breanne: Please remember my rules on public spankings. If the bottom is bare, then the breasts need to be as well. Thanks! Yours Faithfully, Michael.

Yesterday’s Assignment:

(Assigned by Master Mark) When it is raining, you will go to the mall and find a place to change into a new outfit. You will wear your high heels, a thin white skirt (any length), and a thin white shirt. No bra or panties. Bring a shopping bag for your regular clothes. Once you have changed, take your regular clothes back out to your car, put them inside, and walk slowly back to the mall. Make sure you are drenched. Walk at least two sections of the mall, then return to your car.

After stinging nettles two days ago, I was kind of pleased to be returning to the classic “let’s humiliate Breanne” model. This is especially true since I’ve seen next week’s assignments and it’s completely opposite. Next week is mostly about pain and punishment. I admit, I’m ready for it. I’m wet for it. But I’m dreading it all the same. That is the paradox of a nympho humiliation pain slut’s world. We hate what’s being done to us, but it makes us cum, so we want it.

Yesterday was no different for me. I packed my supplies in a small canvas bag and hopped into the truck for the drive to the mall. It was pouring rain and I admit I brought one of my collapsible umbrellas. I parked by the regular mall entrance near the sportsman’s store, you know, the one with the big fish tank inside it? Anyway, I had everything I needed: high heels, a knee length white skirt, a white button up blouse, and one little addition I felt would be fun. But more on that later.

I grabbed my umbrella and hopped out with my supplies. To be honest, I still got pretty wet. Between the wind and the puddles on the ground my jeans were pretty damp. But I managed to get inside without too much trouble. The mall was pretty dead. I mean there were a few shoppers, but I was willing to bet that sales people outnumbered shoppers by at least two or three to one. I made me way to the nearest bathroom, found a stall, and began stripping.

This was the first time I’ve ever stripped and changed in such a private place! It was a weird experience for me. I took everything off and then pulled on my shirt, letting the smooth material caress my breasts. My nipples were already hard, mostly from the lingering chill of wet rain, but I’m pretty sure some of it was my impending walk in transparent clothing. I was wet too, and not just from the rain, but between my legs and right after I slipped my skirt up over my legs, I lifted the hem and put in my little surprise.

Yep. I brought my ben wa balls. Two round little spheres, connected with a wax piece of string, each covered in latex surrounding a metal ball. Inside, two tiny clappers rolled and struck, ringing and vibrating and rolling with every step. It is the consummate torture device for a girl. It stimulates with each move of the hip, slowly turning even the most prude and unsexed woman into a desperate sex slut begging for release. Kari used to make me walk laps around the mall with these in, just to see how long I could go before begging for a fuck.

I sucked the juice right off my fingers and then lifted a let to put on my first heel. Already I felt the ben wa balls moving inside me. I felt a little tingle rush up my leg and I managed to get my shoe buckled and then go to the next one. By the time I was done my sexual need level had risen to a three.

Oh…have you never heard of the nympho humiliation pain slut sex scale? This is a simple scale where a nympho humiliation pain slut (geeze, I need a fucking acronymn NHPS…pronounced nips?) can rate her own sexual turn on. A really good NHPS will never go below one. She ALWAYS needs to be turned on just a little. This is actually pretty easy to test. If you have a NHPS, or think you are one, then just check her pussy at random times of the day. If you can push a finger up inside her without warning and she is at least a little wet, then she’s a nympho. To be honest, I frequently am at level two most of the day because not only could I take cock immediately, but I’m MENTALLY ready for it. I think about sex a lot.

Could you tell?

I stuffed everything back in the bag, starting with my umbrella. Then I stepped out back into the mall, dressed in white, even my heels. I’m sure I looked gorgeous, except for my hair which is still cut a bit too short to pull off a look like this. Of course, I’ve dyed it red again, so I guess even that is working out too! I know it was probably very apparent I wasn’t wearing a bra, because the tips of my nipples were very hard and very visible through the sheer white cloth. I know I attracted attention because of the number of eye fuckings I got just walking down the corridor!

Outside it was pouring, and I don’t mean like pouring as in “make a mad dash to your car and be sort of wet” pouring. I mean like if you step outside for one single second you will have effectively dumped five to six gallons of water on your head pouring. I think I stood there for a minute or two just wishing it would lighten up. Oh I know…I was supposed to get wet. That was the point. But I don’t remember the assignment indicating I was supposed to try and drown myself either. Well I finally summoned up the courage to do the unthinkable and stepped out into the rain. I had my keys in my hand and after four steps (you can’t run in high heels, at least not safely) I was as wet as I possibly could be. Everything stuck to me. It was at that moment I decided NOT to walk back out to my car. I turned right around and went right back into the mall. I figured Master Mark wouldn’t mind me not breaking an ankle.



As soon as I wiped a few gallons of water out of my eyes and slicked back my hair I took stock of my outfit. I remember, clear as day (ouch…bad metaphor for this), my mother patiently explaining that my eight-year-old self couldn’t wear the white dress. It was raining. My mom said that girls aren’t supposed to wear white on stormy days.

Well gosh, look at that. I figured out why! My entire blouse was now almost completely transparent, with the exception of a few wrinkles that caused the material to fold over on itself. My breasts might as well been totally bare, since they looked as if they only were covered by the thinnest slice of gauze you could imagine. Worse, my nipples were still rock hard, making the material conform to my skin like spandex. My skirt was only marginally better. You couldn’t really see my pussy, but my rear end was spectacularly on display, making it very apparent that I wasn’t wearing panties. Like my breasts, my buttocks did a nice job filling out the wet material, turning opaque and letting the soft pink skin show through.

I glanced at my reflection in the glass door. I looked like a drowned kitten. My hair hung straight down, dripping. Thank god I didn’t wear any makeup for this! I clutched my bag, wrapped one arm across my breasts, and began my walk. Two sections. Oh god.

The stares I received the first time were nothing like the ones I received the second time. With every step my thighs were perfectly highlighted against the wet cloth of my skirt. The sides of my breasts were totally exposed. Worse, the ben wa balls were churning me into a froth, keeping my nipples hard and I began to leak, adding my own drippings to the almighty rain gods.

The looks I was getting, the surprised stares, the embarrassed shock, and even a few comical laughs made me realize that while I was experiencing sexual arousal, most of the people who saw me were laughing at me. Look at that stupid girl! She wore all white and got soaked and is now showing her body to the world! That’s what you get for doing something so stupid!

As this thought percolated through my brain I flushed red with embarrassment, lowering my head in shame. My footsteps quickened, as did my sexual tension, and I moved quickly to try to finish my two section round. Of course, after finishing two sections, I realized that I would have to walk back through them or actually loop half the mall just to get back to where I parked. I was humiliated. I was embarrassed. I was so horny that just saying the word “cock” to me would probably have made me pop right there.

I was startled out of own little patch of humiliation when one of the kiosk venders, rather than encouraging me to try a sample or look at his wares greeted me with “Nice tits, sweetheart.” Now that’s what I call customer service. I gave him a horrified look and moved on, ignoring the surge from the ben wa balls as I practically broke into a run. A little further down the mall I ducked into a bathroom, locked myself into a stall, and wildly masturbated until I came in a wet downpour that threatened to replicate the one I had drenched myself in earlier.

After exploding in a rather unromantic and sterile location, I faced my next decision. I had ALL of my regular clothes in the bag with me. Maybe this was why Master Mark wanted me to put it in my car, so that I wouldn’t have an option? I wrestled with this choice for about ten minutes, actually it was long enough for my clothes to actually start drying. I was still pretty damp, but I wasn’t as see thru now. Transparency had turned to a delicate frosting. I decided that I needed to stay in the spirit of the assignment, so I stepped out of the stall, ran a comb through my hair, and stepped back into the main mall area. I headed for the exit.

To be honest, I still got looks, I mean seriously, who wouldn’t look at a semi-wet girl wearing nothing but white, especially when it was obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra or panties? This time I didn’t cover my breasts, giving the various men I passed a better glimpse of my breasts, while they weren’t quite as prominently displayed as before. I even got a wolf whistle. This was much better.

But I was still a little bit embarrassed. That plus the ben wa balls had me going again pretty quick, and when I paused at the main exit, staring out into the still pouring rain, I steeled myself with the thought that once I got to my truck I could masturbate again. I took a step out, letting the water pour down on me, and then I walked, yes walked, to my truck.

I fished out my keys in the pouring rain, feeling the wet water cascade down my body. Suddenly I felt incredible, as if I was one with nature. I opened the car door and tossed my bag and keys in, and then , right there in the lot, peeled off my shirt. It’s not like it mattered really. My shirt was so wet that you could see right through it! I tossed it in after my bag and then pushed/pulled my soaked skirt off as well. Standing naked next to my truck I held out my arms and just felt the rain on my body. It was almost a religious experience.

Then I got in the truck. I don’t want to get arrested for public lewdness. I found my keys as the windows steamed up and I wiped the water from my eyes and my hair and got the heater going. It wasn’t that cold outside, but I was a bit chilled. I reached down between my legs, found my clit, and slowly rubbed myself into climax. It was incredible. It was awesome. It was relief.

I drove away like that, stuffed with ben wa balls, sexually relieved, still very wet both externally and internally, and naked as the day I was born.

I think I’ll wear white every time it rains.