Wednesday, August 25, 2010
During my second year of college, my best friend, lover, roommate, and Mistress Kari developed something of a fetish. Both of us, despite being bi-sexual, were both VERY interested in guys. Don’t get me wrong. I love doing soft. But guys are... well… really good. They come with the right packaging, strong, forceful, and don’t seem to have a problem when I say I want to be spanked. It makes a difference. Kari had always invited boys over to join our little twosome, which probably created some of the more unique longings in me. At first, boys came thinking they were going to fuck her. Then they discovered that they were going to get to fuck her and her little sex slave. Finally, we overwhelmed them when the realized that they were going to fuck both of us AND sexually torture me too. Lots of fun.
But in the first semester of our sophomore year, Kari discovered a new passion, one that I enthusiastically assisted with… at least at first. Have you ever heard of milking? It was a very simple process. Kari would locate a nice, innocent, nerdy boy, (usually a freshman) and process him a Saturday he would NEVER forget. She also left out the details of what was going to happen to him other than a few promises of sexual nirvana. I was actually present once at the Student Union when she just approached this guy. You could tell he was a total nerd: laptop computer, glasses, dark hair, but he was cute, in a bookwormish sort of way. She was literally dripping with sexual tension when she made up to him, touching him, and then giving him our address and an invitation to show up Saturday morning at eight. She even insinuated that her roommate might want to join in the fun and pointed at me. Since I happened to be wearing high heels, short skirt, and a tee shirt that said “Kinky As A Cheap Garden Hose”. It didn’t help that I wasn’t wearing a bra either. In fact, if I recall, I wasn’t wearing panties either, just my pair of ben wa balls. But that was life with Kari. I had a whole closet full of tee shirts she bought me like that.
But back to milking. Kari’s intended target would usually show up right on time or even a tad bit early. I would of course be naked, since Kari didn’t allow me clothing, and then I’d open the door and let our astonished boytoy in to our apartment. Kari would join us wearing something sexy and revealing, in marked contrast to my nudity. We’d get him undressed, take turns sucking on him, and then after he had cum once, take him to Kari’s bedroom. There he would willing allow himself to be cuffed to the bed spread-eagled and we’d begin.
To milk a guy, all you have to do is make him cum. Repeatedly. Over and over. The first few times we did it, Kari and I weren’t all that good. Eventually we created a pattern of tag teaming the boys. I’d go in to the room, do my thing, and then as soon as our victim had gushed I’d call out for Kari to replace me. Occasionally Kari would keep me in the room and do a few naughty things to me in order to encourage a hard on, but in the end we discovered that grapeseed oil, a firm and steady hand, and repeated sucking and fucking were the absolute best ways to get a guy hard.
Usually we didn’t have a problem getting the first three or four orgasms out of our boytoys. It usually took about an hour and a half. I want you to really imagine this. Imagine being strapped down, given an incredible blow job until you cum, and then the other girl comes in, grabs your cock, oils it, and rubs it gently and completely until you’re hard again. Then she straddles you, fucks your brains out until you cum, and then the first girl comes back into the room and immediately takes your cock in her mouth. This starts the whole process over again.
Now imagine that continuing for ten to fourteen HOURS.
No doubt you’re wondering why I’m reminiscing. Simple. I’ve always wondered what those last few hours were like for our victims. I remember bright red super sensitive cocks that were so sore and tender that even touching them lightly elicited jaw clenching squeals of pain. And don’t get me wrong, we weren’t TRYING to hurt them. We were just trying to make them cum. We were VERY gentle. It’s just nonstop stimulation, friction, even with lubrication, is not the easiest thing to handle. Trust me, I know. Or at least I think I do now.
On Monday I spent the day trying not to cum. I failed miserably. Unfortunately for me, the punishment proscribed for my spectacular failure at self control was a little intense. Okay, it was A LOT intense. Worse, I also completely forgot to do one whole part of the assignment! I was supposed to be putting the cream on my nipples too! How could I have forgotten that? I can’t believe I screwed things up this bad!
As soon as I woke up on Tuesday morning (around five a.m.) I grabbed my butt plug, worked it into my ass, took out my largest vibrator (the seven inch one with the curved tip) and impaled myself on it, and my butterfly clitoral stimulator, which settled nicely into place directly over my still tender nub.
This of course was not only punishment, but fulfillment of one of the Rules for Nympho Humiliation Pain Sluts. Rule #1 precisely, which states that every NHPS needs to be permanently stuffed. Gingerly I pulled up my panties and jeans, and right before getting everything place, I reached down, twisted the base of the vibrator to maximum, and switched on the butterfly to a similar setting. Then I yanked my jeans up and headed out the door.
I made it to the barn before I came, but it was a tough walk. I felt as if my loins were pressed up to a revving engine and I stumbled through my morning tasks in a wave of intense orgasmic bliss. Within an hour I had finished the proscribed five orgasms required by the punishment, and I tugged my small tube of Icy Hot substitute out of my back pocket and unbuttoned my jeans. A tiny dab of the white cream was enough to turn my clit into hot coals and I was almost immediately back to the whole sexual “my god I’ve gotta cum now” role.
At one point I remember leaning against a wall, my forehead pressed against the wood as I tried to deal with the never-ending vibrations. The human body, especially a girl’s body, was not intended to be subjected to these kinds of torment. I can’t even begin to describe all of the sensations. There were tremors, spasms, waves of lust, shoots of pain, tenderness, agony, ecstasy, orgasm. By the time breakfast rolled around my clit felt as if someone had been rubbing at it with sandpaper and my pussy was so tightly clenched around the vibrator that I thought I’d need help getting the vibrator out. I had my fourth orgasm, of my second set, right before breakfast at seven and I gratefully turned off my vibrational torment in order to have a meal with my family.
Breakfast lasted longer than usual, mostly because part of me was dreading the almost instantaneous torment I’d have to inflict upon myself upon leaving the table. But after an hour, more slices of bacon than is good for me, an extra piece of toast, not to mention the eggs over easy, slice of ham, and some cheddar cheese, I sort of ran out of excuses. I stood up, told my parents I’d see them for lunch, and winced and waddled my way out the door.
Once I was at the barn I unzipped my jeans, reached down, and discovered I was soaked. My panties, which were holding my vibrator in, were so wet that I could have wrung them out and gotten juice. My jeans, fortunately dark colored, were almost as bad. With a sigh of reluctance, I turned on the vibrator, twisting the base all the way around, and immediately began the involuntary contractions that normally come with being stuffed by a large seven inch hard phallus that vibrates like a motorcycle engine. The butterfly came next and in moments I was reduced to a quivering, cumming, barely erect female who could barely stand straight. Since it was my fifth orgasm of the second set, I once again found my cream. A fingertip’s worth got worked into my tender clit, right under the butterfly and I began shaking. My hand mashed up against the clitoral stimulator, which increased the stimulation slightly. Have you ever increased the pain of a wound or irritation, in order to help you master it? Like running your tongue over a canker sore, or pressing hard on a small cut? Well that’s what this was. Of course, what happened was another orgasm. It took ten minutes or so, but it came. All while I was jamming my palm against the butterfly and rubbing it back and forth frantically.
After I exploded, I got up on the tractor. I wasn’t done mowing. There were still two more fields to do. But after driving maybe three quarters of a mile I realized that there was just no way. It wasn’t going to happen. At least not on full power. I couldn’t hold a straight line. Worse, my clit was on fire, and not from the muscle cream. It was just too much sensation. So I turned the butterfly off.
I left the vibrator on of course. While terribly distracting and still intense, I could handle that, at least for awhile. Now there are two modes of thought here. The first is that I wisely used my limits clause to stop a particular punishment that was too intense and potentially damaging. On the other hand, some will say that I violated the rules of punishment that I agreed too. Maybe we should also add in the fact that I didn’t actually complete the assignment properly too? Hmmm… maybe time for another poll?
Tell you what. Vote in the poll. I talked to Michael and a few other of my online doms about this and we came up with a few options. It’s a simple question: What should I do now that everything has sort of gone wrong?
1. Breanne should redo the original assignment, from start to finish, except this time it should be a longer time period.
2. Breanne should go to Kari and have her former Mistress tie her down, set the vibrators, and leave her there for twelve hours, with the vibrator, the plug, AND the clitoral vibrator all on maximum.
3. Breanne should do four more days of punishment, just not go mowing when she does it.
4. Master Barrett should be allowed to come up with something suitable as a consequence for Breanne screwing up both the original assignment and the punishment. How much can one girl fuck up?
As you can tell, I didn’t exactly come up with this myself. You can vote at the end or just click here.
The orgasms were still coming, and so was I, though they were beginning to come much more spaced out. Without the direct stimulation of the butterfly, I was feeling orgasmic waves every thirty or forty minutes. And I do mean waves, rather than the full fledged toe-curling orgasms I had been experiencing that first hour. I was in the middle of my second set when I headed back to the house for lunch.
Lunch was another long affair, mostly because I was resting my pussy. I also went upstairs to change my clothes. New jeans and panties, along with some other feminine hygiene products made things a lot better. For some reason however, I didn’t remove the butterfly.
Once I was back outside, I once again turned the vibrator to maximum. This time however, I also turned on the butterfly, just to a lower setting. It really didn’t matter though. Before I even made it back to the field I had been mowing I was ready to orgasm. I slammed my foot on the tractor brake and just sat there, shaking, as the orgasm exploded through me. Then when I was done, despite the fact that the buzzing toys were still doing there thing, I put the tractor back in gear and went on.
That was so hard.
Around two thirty, and just as I finished my third set of five, when the batteries in my vibe failed. I could tell because the vibrations had slackened off and I when I noticed I wasn’t feeling them anymore I stopped the tractor, pushed down my jeans, extracted my vibe, and replaced the batteries. I had a couple of spare AA’s in my bag because I figured this would happen. More Icy Hot followed and I was shortly back to the hot horny place that allowed no rest and was beginning to irritate more than just my libido. I was starting to chafe. I could feel the heat rash forming. Too much moisture. Too much heat. Too much vibration. I lasted only another hour before I was in agony, and not the sexual kind. I wont go in to too much detail here, but let’s just say that my punishment for the day was over.
I have to admit, that I’m a little disappointed with how things turned out. Of course, I’m sitting here in loose gym shorts and no panties, covered in baby powder and ointment. I’m drinking my cranberry juice too, so don’t worry. Hopefully the heat rash will go away soon. New rule: no vibration punishments while mowing in the Texas Summer Heat.
Of course I’m stuffed. The inside of me wasn’t damaged, so I’ve got the ben wa balls in and they are keeping me entertained. In the end, I came (sort of) eighteen times. Granted, they weren’t the same kind of orgasms I had at Kari’s when I broke my record, but they sufficed.
Remember me telling you about that nerd that Kari and I picked up? At ten pm that night we finally let him up. He had been begging us to stop for about five hours. We got sixteen orgasms out of him, though the last three took nearly an hour each. Kari and I were exhausted. His cock was an interesting shade of red, almost crimson, and you could actually see abrasions around the edge of his head. I think that was Kari. She liked concentrating on the tip when she rubbed. I did the whole length. What I do know is that we told him he could spend the night, but he immediately got dressed. You should have seen his face when he had to tuck his cock into his boxers. You’d think I had burned his rod or something.
We saw him a few more times during the year, but he always seemed to have to go somewhere and he turned down the one repeat invitation Kari managed to give him. But that was okay, there were lots of boys… and they all got milked.
I know what it feels like now.