Happy Birthday America! It's Independence Day! Okay...it WAS Independence Day. Two days ago…and I hope everyone celebrated to the best of their ability. I know I did. As everyone probably knows, Michael asked me to solicit a variety of possible assignments to commemorate the founding of our great country. I solicited...oh yes I did, and the suggestions varied from OMG to OMG NO WAY! On Sunday morning at 8am, I opened Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog and checked out the poll on the right hand side. It seems like two of the assignments were the most popular. Winning the pole was Master Brandon's assignment of 13 masturbations with a side order of 50 strokes with a sap on a delicate spot. Master Barrett's assignment of the 13 gun bukkake salute was a close second. All of the assignments were actually pretty cool....except for the fucking firecrackers one. That wasn't so awesome. Interesting, yes. Dangerous, yes. Awesome? Not so much.
Last Thursday, in expectation of eventually having to do Master Brandon's assignment, I took a trip back to my favorite bdsm toystore in north Houston and picked up a leather sap. Don't worry, I wasn't naked this time, but I admit I was tempted. Especially since the clerk recognized me. With my clothes on even. Wow. Impressive. Maybe I SHOULD have stripped naked! Oh well. Opportunities lost are never smart to dwell on. With my new sap I felt ready and prepared for Brandon's rather penetrating and painful Independence Day Assignment!
Breanne: On Independence Day you will masturbate 13 times with a sex toy of your choice, lubricated each time with IcyHot. This is to remember the 13 colonies. At some point during the day you will find a man willing to use a belt or leather sap on your bare pussy for a full 50 strokes. This will symbolize the current fifty states of the union.
I was already up and had done my morning chores by the time 8am rolled around. I can tell you that I was already wet, very stimulated, and rather excited about the whole prospect. Not knowing what I was going to be doing for several hours made it even more intense. It was everything I could do to resist masturbating early. I mean seriously, what if Master Barrett’s selection won! I even checked the poll around 5am, right when I woke up and it was tied! I was worried I’d have to do both!
At eight o'clock, I went upstairs to my room, sat down at my desk, and checked the blog poll. My heart jumped into my throat and I realized that I would be having a very very intense, orgasm filled day. Oh yeah. It would hurt too. I knew I'd be seeing fireworks. Lots of them.
The very first thing I did however, was move to my bed. I was barefoot, wearing denim shorts, white bikini style panties, an American flag tee shirt, and a white 36b bra. I squirmed out of my shorts and panties, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Then I followed this disrobing adventure by grabbing hold of my seven inch curved tip vibrator. It was in the night stand drawer rather than my toy box. I'd rather not say why. My tube of muscle cream however, WAS in my toybox and I grabbed that too and then settled down in the middle of the sheets to do my very first session of the assignment. It’s not hard to coat a vibrator with IcyHot. The only question is what to do with the little bit left over on your finger.
I wiped it on my clit.
Then I turned on my vibe, pressed it deftly to my cleft, and allowed the pent up sexual need of the entire morning, of not knowing how I would be tortured, of the various possibilities that had run through my mind, to motivate a fast and confidant entry. It happened. In fact, I hadn’t needed the muscle cream at all. The vibrator would have slid in quickly and unimpeded with just my natural lubrication. But the assignment wasn’t just about fast impalement. It was about the tingle that comes with using the cream.
I guess I need to put my customary warning here. DON’T USE REAL ICY HOT FOR THIS! ICY HOT IS BAD TO USE INSIDE YOURSELF! I use a very different tube of stuff. First of all, its water based so it dissolves away really fast, and second, it doesn’t use a chemical called methyl salicylate, which is what the real IcyHot cream uses. Methyl salicylate is actually poisonous and I’d prefer not to die. In fact, there is a very similar product to the generic stuff I use called Liquid O that is designed to tingle, but not hurt you. Go get that. Geeze. Be smart boys and girls.
The cold tingle had already started by the time the vibe was half way in and my entire pussy was tightening in sensual overload by the end of my first strong and deep thrust. My legs were splayed wide apart, my knees bent outward, my inner thighs exposed, and my right hand was frantically working the vibrator in and out while my left hand played with my clit. I think I came in a two or three minutes. How disappointing, right? I thought so too, so I started up again. I pulled the vibrator out, wiped it off with a towel, and put a fresh coating of muscle cream on it.
Then, very very slowly, I pushed it in, making sure to tighten around it, thus scraping all as much of the cream onto the petals of my pussy. My entire crotch tingled, going cold. Then when the vibrator finally penetrated me as deeply as I could manage, the tingling cold turning to steaming heat. I repeated the process, several times, inflicting a super slow insertion followed by a minute or so of my pussy contracting and tightening around the vibrator. Then I went crazy and pummeled myself, thrusting like mad in and out.
When I was done with my second orgasm my pussy was a bit red, a bit swollen, and more than a bit tender. Plus I was messy. So I cleaned off my vibrator, set it aside in the nightstand drawer, right along with my tube of cream. Then I went and showered.
By nine o’clock I was out of the shower and was in the process of getting dressed. I had decided that one of my short denim skirts and an American flag tee shirt would be appropriate for the day, but as I was getting dressed, a thought kept occurring to me over and over. Can you guess what it was? Yep. I’d like to say that I yielded to temptation, but the truth is that I was ORDERED to fuck myself silly. Thirteen times for the whole day! So my panties came off, my husky dildo came out, and then I grabbed my tube of muscle cream.
This time I was at the computer desk with one leg propped up on the desk, and the other on the bed. Talk about a perverted scene. I mean obscene. Yeah. Coating the husky dildo was a bit more time intensive that doing the vibrator, but putting it in had pretty much the same effect. Except this time, instead of the shuddering tremors of a seven inch vibe, I got to experience my contracting and swelling pussy wrapping around a nine inch long four inch thick rubber cock, complete with balls. I shifted in my chair and began bouncing slightly even as the tingling fire raced around my groin and seemed to burn my clit to tender sensitivity. I got online and had a very short private message session with Michael, who tremendously enjoyed knowing that I was sitting with my legs spread, mounted on a nine inch fake cock, lubricated with muscle cream.
It was like old times, he said. Yeah. I remember.
He asked me to put clothespins on my nipples so I obliged him. I keep a couple in the desk drawer for emergencies and pulling up my shirts and bra wasn’t a big issue. Of course, the sensation of the clothespins drove me right over the edge, which is what I suspect Michael of trying to do to me. When I was done orgasming, he congratulated me and told me to take it easy before doing the next one. Yeah. Totally. Three orgasms in the first hour and twenty minutes? I could afford to take it easy.
Plus Master Brandon never set a time limit, so technically I until Midnight to get them all in. That a left me a little over fourteen hours to get it all done. Not bad. I stayed in my chair, still impaled, still wriggling slightly, as I fired off an email to an old friend.
John, I’m in a bit of a quandary and I was wondering if you could help me out. If you’ve been keeping up with the blog, I’ve been assigned a special July fourth assignment. I need some help with one part of it. Are you available to give me a hand this afternoon? I’m sitting her stuffed with my husky dildo coated with muscle cream, so let me know ASAP! Love, Bre
I met John several months before when he was walking his dog at the park by the gazebo. I had several encounters with him, including one where we ended up at his house and he tied me to the bed prior to using a belt on my breasts and pussy and fucking me silly with the entire contents of his refrigerator. I figured he would be my best bet for a no-cost pussy whipping.
I got my answer while I was starting to bounce again, my pussy still contracting around the dildo. John was available, and I was too come by at one o’clock. Cool.
It was almost ten and I was already feeling the resurgence of sexual excitement thanks to my wriggling, bouncing, spankable butt going up and down. I have no idea why I STAYED on the husky dildo, except to say that I’m one of those girls who like being stuffed. With anything. Yep. I like it when guys stay inside me after exploding until they’re soft. I like having hard things shoved up inside me. So is it so weird that I would do my computing naked as a jay bird, stuffed with a nine inch long four inch wide rubber cock?
I don’t think so.
The problem however was that if I were going to experience my fourth orgasm of the day, I needed to re-lubricate my husky dildo. Not easy to do when the damn thing is already soaked. So I lifted my hips, extracted the rubber monstrosity, and then used a towel to not only clean it, but wipe it dry. Then my tube of muscle cream came back out and I smeared the tip and then the entire length with enough white goop to send my pussy back into the virtual frying pan. Then I rammed it home.
It’s tough to describe being penetrated by a nine inch dildo covered in a cream that will make your flesh tingle and then heat up. First, there is the sensation of being parted, crammed full, speared, impaled, transfixed, pierced, skewered, packed, and jammed. Then the stretched lips of your pussy begin to tingle. Not like when you fuck an ice dildo, but like that sensation in your mouth when you eat a breath mint. It’s not cold per se, but more a numbness or altered state of your nerves. This goes on despite the monstrous intruder buried inside you. After that, you feel that coldness slither into your pussy AROUND the husky dildo. It tingles, it freezes you and you can’t help contracting around the dildo. You feel heat between your legs, on your pussy, as if someone is directing a blow drier between your outstretched legs. The heat seeps down into your sex, heating you up as you grab the base of the dildo, drawing it out, readying yourself for another gut slamming thrust that will hopefully drive you over the edge and take your mind off the burning heat cooking your entire sexual being.
You know, on second thought, it’s not that hard to describe being penetrated by a nine inch long four inch wide rubber dildo covered in muscle cream.
When I was done with my fourth orgasm of the day I knew I needed to take a break. I got cleaned up and packed my small bag with my vibrator and my tube of muscle cream. Then, just for kicks, and because I wasn’t wearing any panties, I grabbed my ben wa balls and stuffed them inside myself.
Why? Beats me. I was still puckering a bit from the muscle cream. Sure, I was still wet, still a little horny, but I think the real reason was because I wanted to stay that way. I wanted to be able to yank out my vibrator, cover it with cream, and have it up inside me in an instant.
Or maybe I wanted to build up enough sexual need and tension that I wasn’t going to care about the burning icy skin puckering torture that came with masturbation. Your guess is as good as mine.
Despite having the ben wa balls rolling around inside me for the rest of the morning, I didn’t masturbate. I ate lunch with my family, patently ignoring the rolling, ringing, moisture inducing toys rolling around inside me. It had been a semi-early lunch, around eleven thirty, so afterward I bid everyone goodbye, grabbed my keys and bag, and got in my truck.
I’m glad I wasn’t driving my stick-shift Saturn. It would have been practically impossible to deal with the ben wa balls. As it was the bare vinyl seats under my bare ass and the fact that I had my skirt up around my waist was enough to get my hormones roaring again. I drove across town until I found myself at Thomas Park. It was empty and I pulled my truck up into the parking lot and grabbed my stuff.
John lived on the other side of the park, and while I could have driven right up to his front doorstep, I would have been just a tad bit early. Like forty minutes early. So instead, I walked over to the gazebo, remembering my strip tease after passing out those damn “wanna see me cum” fliers! I remembered John tormenting me after I sunned myself naked in the grass. Ah…the memories of that gazebo. How many times did I strip there naked?
I suddenly decided to make another memory. I opened my bag, got out my vibrator and cream, and stood in the center of the gazebo with my legs parted wide. I tugged my ben wa balls out, holding them up to my lips for a quick lick before resting them on the gazebo railing. My denim skirt came down mid thigh but that didn’t stop me as I liberally lubed the plastic machine dildo, swirling the white cream around the tip before turning it on maximum and pushing it up under my skirt until the tip banged against my clit.
It’s one thing to masturbate in the safety and security of your own bedroom, knowing that a locked door keeps prying eyes from glimpsing your innermost secrets. It’s another when you’re doing it in a public place, your skirt yanked up, with you leaning against the rail.
Yes, it tingled. Yes, it burned. Yes I came. Number five complete, and done in public too! Granted, no one saw me, but does that really matter? It was the CHANCE someone would have seen me. That’s what was important. I stood there in the gazebo, catching my breath, still looking around. I pulled the vibrator out of cunt and discovered I had forgotten a very important item. Something to clean my toy off with.
Now normally I have no problem with opening my mouth and sucking a vibrator clean. But not when my juices have been mixed with a topical applicant designed to numb nerves. So I got to walk back to my truck holding a vibrator in my bare hand where everyone could see. I flushed with embarrassment. What if someone came down the trail? What would they think? Here’s this cute girl with a fucking vibrator in her hand!
Needless to say, I made it back to the truck, grabbed some paper towels, cleaned the toy off, and got it back in my bag, all without anyone showing up. Sometimes I’m such a pansy. The nice thing however, is that John’s house was a short ten minute walk away, and I would be right on time.
I debated stripping before knocking, but then decided that maybe John wouldn’t want his neighbors to accidentally see a young girl standing naked on his front doorstep. He never said he wanted me naked while knocking, so instead I rang the doorbell and knocked a few times. He answered within seconds and I was admitted for the third time, into his domicile.
John’s not a neat freak, but he isn’t sloppy either. It’s a nice house. A little country western on the style, but that doesn’t faze me. I mean, seriously, I wear cowboy boots half the time! I ride horses! I can take a few country style pieces of furniture that look like they belong on a ranch instead of a bungalow. He was sweet. He offered me a drink, which I accepted. No alcohol mind you. When you’re about to do a BDSM session, the last thing you want is to be inebriated. Both of us had agreed on that in our email exchange. So I chugged down my diet coke and then stood looking at him while standing in the middle of the living room.
“Don’t you need to take off your clothes?” He asked me. Ah. Right. Clothing. I immediately peeled off my tee shirt and bra, revealing my 36b breasts. Then I slipped my skirt down so I was standing in nothing but my birthday suit and my high heels. John looked at me intently and then opened a drawer on the side table. He pulled out a soft nylon rope.
“I think you should probably be tied down when we do the fifty strokes. It might hurt a bit.”
Hurt a bit? It was going to hurt a lot! I knew that. Master Brandon knew that. Fifty strokes with a sap is like pouring gasoline on your arm and lighting it with a match! I nodded and John came around the coffee table, took my arm, and then pushed me down onto the heavy wooden surface.
I’ve been tied to countless coffee tables. What is it about coffee tables that every Dom and Domme on the planet feel the need to have me tied down, splayed, and spread on coffee tables? Why not a counter top, or the kitchen table for a change? I ended up trussed like a turkey, my legs spread to the sides of the table, knees around the edge, with my ankles tied together under the table. Total exposure. My arms weren’t in better shape, tugged up over my head and tied above me so that I was stretched tightly. John also ran a piece of rope around my waist. I suppose he didn’t want me moving too much.
I was totally immobile, unable to move, and more than a little nervous about the forthcoming punishment. Yes, I was still horny, but the idea of facing fifty strokes directly applied to my clit was…daunting. John opened my bag where the sap I had purchased was sitting next to my used vibrator and the tube of cream. Rather than grabbing the sap, he picked up the vibrator. And the tube.
A small dollop went on the tip of the vibe and he touched it to my clit. Mercy. Then the vibrator’s motor engaged as he twisted the base and the revving became a high pitched whine as he twisted the settings to maximum. As you can imagine, I went crazy. My hips bucked and I thrust upward as the direct stimulation to my clit was like several natural disasters all rolled into one. I admit, right now, I’m thinking of Robert Frost’s poem, Fire and Ice.
Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.
Let me be very clear about this. Some say orgasm begins with fire. Some say with ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire. But if I had to climax twice, I think I know enough of lust, to say that for ecstasy, ice is also great, and would suffice.
But I didn’t cum. John stopped right before I did. And then, after fire and ice, he picked up my sap, tossed the vibrator aside, and then hit me as hard as he could right on the clit. I screamed, my hips jerking, my legs pulling, but the rope held me and there was nothing I could do to stop the next stroke from landing in almost exactly the same place. Pain exploded between my legs, renewing the heat of the muscle cream. My ankles pulled at the rope holding them, as did my wrists. I was so focused on escape that I never prepared myself for John’s second stroke.
It was worse than the first. Agony blossomed in my sexual flower, driving all thoughts of sexual epiphany from my mind. It hurt too much to orgasm. The next stroke was a bit lower, striking my labia as well as clipping my clit and I started trembling, my throat seizing up as my cries fell on uncaring ears.
John was really cruel about the whipping too. He could have gone fast, gotten it over in seconds, a minute really. Fifty fast wallops that would leave me bruised, stinging, hurting, aching, and ready for another fucking. But instead he took his time, letting me FEEL every stroke, waiting, sometimes as much as thirty seconds for me to calm back down. After the twenty fifth blow, he grabbed my muscle cream and squeezed out a little squirt onto his finger. This he rubbed into my nipples, eliciting a new squeal of torment from me. He wiped his finger on my pussy, actually dipping in and finger fucking me with it, spreading the excess cream around. I could barely feel the tingling sensation, so tender and sore that even the throbbing of my pussy seemed to pound in my ears.
Then, without even a moment’s apology or warning, he picked up the sap and hit me again.
And again. And again. Over and over.
Slowly, never fast, never quickly, never to just get it over with. Every painful stroke, every wet smack, every excruciating spank delivered with just enough force and time to maximize my agony. I burned. I froze. I screamed. I shook. I didn’t bother to count. My mind was too wrapped up in the sensations brimming from between my legs and my nipples. The beating went on and on.
And then I heard him drop the sap and my tube of muscle cream was in his hand. I lifted my head as he squirted a huge serving of cream right onto his cock. My eyes widened in alarm as he quickly smeared the white cream along his length and over the tip of his shaft. And then, before I could even say anything, he plunged himself into my swollen hypersensitive pussy with a vengeance.
John wasn’t as big as my husky dildo, but he was firmer. He wasn’t as hard as my vibrator, but his cock reached more spots, curving to fit inside me. I felt myself instantly back to the maximum level of sexual need, hidden before under the brutal sapping I received, it came back in a roar of lust. I thrust my hips upward, trying to match his penetration, but the rope held me down. I tugged, pulling against my restraints but found them just as tight as I did while enduring the fifty strokes of the sap. I moaned and his mouth found mine and then I was exploding, gasping as he filled me, the friction of our bodies instantly turning the tingle of the muscle cream into a sex induced heat. John came moments later, filling me with his own cream to mingle with the nerve tingling jism that lubricated our union.
I’m not sure how long I laid there, eyes closed, my body in a state of utter relaxation. Sure, I still felt a tingle between my legs even as John softened inside me and then his weight was gone. I just laid there, content to be the table decoration as John left the room to get cleaned up. I was still barely cognizant of my surroundings when he came back, using a soft warm wet towel to wipe the excess fluids from my thighs and the table beneath me. Then I felt the ropes loosen and I was free for the first time in over an hour.
John was a gentleman of course, and helped me up, which ended with both of us falling onto the couch, entangled again. I enjoyed the feel of his bare skin against me and snuggled up into his arms as he comforted me, whispering into my ear about how good I was, how beautiful I looked, and how courageous I was to take such a horrible punishment. I took it all, the words of praise, the heat of his body, the softness of his skin, and made it mine.
After thirty minutes I finally moved and John watched me as I struggled into my clothes. It wasn’t long before I was again covered by my denim skirt and tee shirt, with just a bra underneath. John commented several times about how much he approved of my shaven and bare cunt totally exposed underneath the concealing material of the skirt. For me, it was getting late, almost three o’clock and while I had finished a good portion of my daily assignment celebrating July 4th, I knew that I still had eight more orgasms to endure before midnight.
John offered to walk me back to my truck and I agreed. We even held hands on our way! How sweet! Of course, every once in a while he would let go, letting his hand slide over my rear end to lift up the back of my skirt and fondle my bare ass. But who am I to object to such a caress? We were passing the gazebo when I saw two small round spheres connected by a small string sitting on the rail. Oh crap. My ben wa balls! I must have left them on the rail before heading to John’s place when I was masturbating.
I grabbed them in embarrassment and quickly stuffed them into my pack while John laughed at my little explanation. With a grin, he tugged me into the gazebo.
“I think you should be punished for that!” He said with a delighted grin. I gave him a disconcerted look.
“Haven’t I been punished enough today?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “If I had the time, you’d already be back on the coffee table, receiving another fifty strokes with that sap.”
My heart thumped painfully and my pussy contracted almost instantly. I guess it remembered the pain.
“You want to whip me again?” I asked, just a tad breathless. In retrospect, I think I was hoping he would say yes, take me back to his house, put me back onto the table and sap my pussy another fifty times.
“I want to, but I don’t have the time. I’ve got other plans this evening” he said. “But I think I can come up with something suitable for leaving your sex toys out and not cleaning up after yourself.”
He reached over to my small bag and took out the ben wa balls I had just stuffed back in, as well as the tube of muscle cream. I shook, realizing what was about to happen and he held up one finger, motioning with it for me to turn around. I felt a pressure on my back and I bent over, breasts touching the rail as I lifted my rear.
Then my skirt was up and I heard the cap popping off the tube of muscle cream. Then I felt the first sphere touching my slit. Instantly the cream began tingling again, though I admit not with the same intensity. Perhaps I was getting used to it. For a second, I wished I was being sapped again. Then the ben wa ball was inside me, followed by the second sphere and John gave me a gentle slap on the rear and I was done, stuffed and creamed.
“Now you can walk the trail once. If you pass anyone, the moment you get past them pull the rear of your skirt up so if they look back they will see your bare ass. When you get back here to the gazebo, get out your vibrator and apply it to your clit until you cum. Then you can go. Okay?”
I nodded. We both stepped out of the gazebo after another familiar pat on my rear and we walked together until we got to the fork in the path. Taking the left path would lead you back toward John’s house. The right path was a loop that would bring me right back to the gazebo and the direct application of my vibrator to my sore clitty. John gave me a little kiss and then he was gone.
I spent just a moment, my pussy tingling from the cream and the rolling ben wa balls and I wondered if I went after him and begged him to use the sap to give me another fifty strokes, he would capitulate. Instead, I took my own road, rounding the park in solitude until I found myself back at the gazebo, my mind filled with fantasies of being bound and pussy whipped.
I grabbed my vibrator and pressed it hard against my clit, eliciting a loud moan and a rush of sensation that was just a little more intense than it should have been. Okay, it was a lot more intense. I came in like two minutes, my body quivering like gelatin in the middle of the park, protected from observation by absolutely nothing. At that point I was grateful I was alone. Now, two days later, I’m wishing that I had been observed, confronted, used, and maybe even whipped again.
I’m a glutton for punishment. That’s what NHPS are like.
With my sixth orgasm finished, I smoothed down my skirt and headed back to my truck, still stuffed with the ben wa balls. I was sore. I ached. My pussy burned.
And I was still horny. God help me, I was still horny.
I’m beginning to think there must be something wrong with me. Physically I mean. It’s not normal for me to be aroused all the time but the truth is that I am frequently like that, even after orgasm. I am constantly wet, constantly wanting, constantly needing something inside me. Other girls don’t have this problem. Even after getting tortured I wanted more. Maybe I’m broke. Mentally I mean. Does this mean I’m crazy? Deviant? Weird? Perverted? Psycho? All I know is that if someone had offered to strap me to the hood of my truck and use his belt on my pussy and breasts, I would have PAID him to do it.
There’s a word to describe thoughts like that, not to mention behavior like that: Sick.
I didn’t make it home because of those thoughts and the wetness building up inside me again. Instead I decided to drive by the mall to see if Julie was working at the jewelry store. I kept the ben wa balls in my pussy as I parked the car and headed into the mall. The place was packed. I picked up the pace, which did nothing to help the churning cauldron of lust between my legs. For a second I realized how stupid I was. Dressed like a nympho humiliation pain slut, in high heels, holding a bag that contained my driver’s license, my keys, a seven inch vibrator, a leather sap, and a tube of muscle cream. Winding my way through the crowd I found the jewelry shop and stepped in.
Julie was there, but so was her boss, and her gentle shake of the head told me that she couldn’t really talk to me or see me. Frowning in frustration and suddenly worried about fluid leaking down my thighs, I dipped into the next clothing store, grabbed the first thing I saw off the rack, and disappeared into the changing room. I tugged out my vibrator, stuck it up under my clit and quickly brought myself to orgasm.
Which didn’t count because I forgot to lube the ben wa balls or the vibrator. Idiot.
Frustrated with myself, though sexual relieved, I headed back out to the truck and headed home.
I’m not going to bore you with the details of orgasms seven through twelve. Each in and of themselves was a nice little sexual escapade, taking place in interesting locations, like the bathroom, the barn, my bedroom, the truck, out in a field. Places like that. I went through a whole tube of muscle cream. It also took a lot of time. The most memorable was sitting out on the wood bin, my legs parted while I drove the husky dildo in and out, covered with cream while the fireworks went off. It was a beautiful sight.
It also took a long time. I was still one masturbation session short when 11:30 rolled around and I literally had just finished my twelfth orgasm not minutes before. My pussy was sore; my clit so sensitive that even touching it brought tears to my eyes. I couldn’t even imagine thrusting something back into my pussy, coated with muscle cream or not. All I wanted was to curl up into ball, go to sleep, and rest.
But I knew my duty. I remembered that five signers of the Declaration of Independence were captured by the British and horribly tortured before they died. Twelve had their homes ransacked and burned while two lost their sons who were serving in the Revolutionary Army. Two other sons were captured. Nine of the fifty-six signers died from wounds and hardships received and endured during the war. What kind of torture did the wife of Francis Lewis endure when she was jailed as a result of her husband’s insurrection against the crown? By what right did I, the beneficiary of their sacrifice, have to complain about how many fucking orgasms I had to endure on one day? Or whether I was smacked fifty or a hundred times?
I grabbed my vibrator, squirted the last of my cream across it, dabbed it on my nipples, and then twisted the base to its maximum setting. As it roared to life I placed it at the entrance of my opening, braced myself, and shoved it in. White cream spurted as I drove it in. I ignored the tingle, the ache, the tension, the hurt and pounded away. My right hand found the two clothespins on the nightstand and those came up to my breasts, biting away as I tortured myself in honor of America’s independence.
Somewhere, outside my window, there was a rattling explosion and I looked out even as I crested the wave of orgasm. Out in the darkness I could see rockets bursting over at one of our neighbor’s house. Red light spilled from the scattering burning stars and illuminated their flag, still perched high atop a white metal pole, fluttering in the slight breeze. And then, just like the fireworks, I exploded, in red, white, and blue.