Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Daily Assignment 11/10/10 Stripper Shoes
Early this morning I opened my toybox and extracted a small plastic device from the depths of sexual deviance. Four straps angle off it, two going around my waist while one goes around each thigh. A four inch long rod strands straight out from the device and that rod is simply inserted into the available pussy. While not very thick or long, it’s deep enough to ensure a filled sensation. Above the rod is a small bumpy noodle which rests lightly against my clit. Under the rod is another protrusion which seems to touch my bottom. With the straps pulled tight any movement I make is immaterial. Everything stays in contact with what it was intended to touch.
A thick wire runs out of the device and leads up to a small pink semi-rectangular box. This control box has two sliders on it, both also pink, and they are responsible for two rather unique functions. One of them turns the rod into a vibrator, with the slide controlling the intensity of the movement. The other control causes the rod to actually spin, rotating inside me. While I can handle the vibrator, even on high, for thirty or forty minutes at a time, the rotating function drives me banana crackers. I can’t handle it, even for five minutes before I’m a gasping, whimpering, cum soaked girl who can’t even stand straight. Maybe with practice I’ll get better. Who knows?
It’s called the Rotating Venus Penis, or RVP for short and I put it in early that morning before getting dressed, got the straps snapped and pulled tight, and tucked the remote into the back pocket of my jeans. Then I went downstairs and out to the barn to do my chores.
It was an interesting morning. I ran a couple of errands with my dad, rode out to the one of the south fields (and let me tell you that riding a horse while wearing a RVP is not the most comfortable things imaginable), and even had lunch with my family. But afterward I climbed into my Saturn coupe and drove off, heading toward Houston.
My first stop however, was the Farm to Market Road that runs directly south of our property. We own about four hundred acres of ranch/farmland in that area and I pulled over along our barbed wire fence and got out of the Saturn. No one was on the road and I could see down the straight asphalt lane for about half a mile. Granted, there was a hill the other direction, the way my back was turned, but that road is rarely traveled. Which made it a more or less perfect place to strip.
My boots, socks, jeans, shirt, and bra all found their way onto the hood of my car, carefully folded. Then I grabbed my bag and tugged out a single piece of material. It was a dress, rather slinky, very tight, very short at the hem and very low at the collar. It hugged my breasts nicely and cupped my bottom like a man’s hands. It was a dark forest green, which I thought went nicely with my dark brown hair and red highlights. I might not be a red-head anymore, but I’m not that far away. Lastly I put on my black strap high heels, the ones with the three inch spike. Not a soul passed me and I got back in the car with no one the wiser.
I drove toward Houston. Master Barrett’s assignment for the day had instructed me to purchase a new pair of shoes, the kind you can’t pick up at DSW or Payless. Let’s face it. Stripper shoes are not the sort of thing you can just go out and buy. In fact, before today I have never owned any. Both Kari and I sort of agreed that owning a pair, much less wearing them, was an invitation to a broken neck. But evidently I’ll be wearing them in the future, for assignments no doubt, where my status as a nympho humiliation pain slut will need to be very visible. I pulled off the freeway and took 610 south.
There is a store, which will remain nameless, just off 610 near the Galleria Mall. It sells exactly the kind of shoe I was looking for and I parked in the lot. I suppose I was appropriately dressed, especially considering that had I bent over there was a good chance my ass would be displayed nicely, and my breasts were practically hanging out of the dress. Oh. Yeah, I forgot. That dress is the kind that you can tug right off your body. Thank God I didn’t snag it on anything yesterday.
The remote to my RVP was tucked in the waist strap holding the little toy on. With a deep breath, I lifted my dress, totally ignoring the fact that there was a busy frontage road and highway just off to my left. I didn’t hear and squealing tires or brakes, so I’m guessing either no one saw me, or the pink blob keeping my pussy from being seen was enough to arouse curiosity, but not cock. I thumbed the sliders upward to maximum and was instantly rewarded with an intense vibration. It felt good, but not overwhelming. But then the shaft inside my pussy started to rotate. OMG. That wasn’t just good. It was overwhelming. Struggling to maintain my composure I dropped my dress and stumbled forward in my regular high heels.
Unlike ben wa balls, my RVP doesn’t increase my sexual urgings while I’m walking. But that doesn’t really matter if I’m already being tormented to the point where I’m close to cumming. I made it into the store, nodded at the lady behind the counter, and immediately headed over to the shoes. I’m a seven, and Master Barrett was pretty clear about what he wanted me to buy, so it wasn’t hard to find what I needed. A clear plastic strap to go around my ankle and toes, a four inch thick sole, and a stiletto heel that must of measure near nine inches, though technically the lift was only around five. I grabbed the shoes to try them on and sat down.
Thank God. That’s when I couldn’t take it anymore and came.
Sure, I kept my mouth closed and tried not to make any noise, but there was already a dull roar coming from the RVP and I’m pretty sure I made some whimpering sounds. Maybe a moan or two, because the clerk was eyeing me pretty suspiciously when I finally sat up straight. Despite the very serious and deep vaginal orgasm I had just experienced, my pussy was still reacting to the spinning vibrating toy inside me, pulsing against the faux cock.
I bent down and took of my own shoes, which seemed to take longer than usual. I’m guessing it had something to do with the major distraction taking place between my legs. I managed, then slipped the stripper shoes on my feet. They fit and I stood up. At first I wobbled a bit. I’m not used to being five foot eleven. Flat footed I stand at five four and in my regular heels I don’t get up past five seven or eight at the most. So with my head in the clouds I took a few steps. Oddly, I didn’t have much trouble. The soles of the shoes seemed to have a good grip, good traction as it were, the heel didn’t slip and the arch wasn’t that uncomfortable. Sure, my boots felt better to wear, and I wouldn’t want to walk more than a few hundred feet in these, but I could handle them.
Of course shoes like these take a bit of extra attention, which was going to be a problem, since all of my extra attention was going to my pussy. I wasn’t keeping an eye on the clock as I was trying on the fuck me shoes, so I’m not sure how much time passed, but I was quickly approaching the O Zone d’ Erotica (lol play on words!) and as I walked the breadth of the store, I put out a hand as I stumbled, my mind occupied with the second sudden rush of endorphins.
I think I’m addicted to sex. To orgasm actually. That might explain a lot. I get cranky and moody when I haven’t cum lately, and for someone who usually masturbated four or five times a day, is constantly stuffed with a rotating selection of vibrating, rotating, over sized, and just down right sexually awesome toys, I think it explains a lot. This time, with my hand against the wall, my body shaking, little cries of “oh god yes” escaping from my lips, the clerk DID come over to check on me.
“Are you okay?” she asked as I came down from the mountain top I had just climbed and mounted. I nodded.
“Yeah. Sorry,” I said. “It’s tough to explain.” I mumbled.
She snorted. “You’ve got a vibrator in you.”
“You think I don’t see that often enough?”
Oh. Well. Uh… Wow. I guess I’m not the only Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut out there.
“I’d like to buy these,” I said. “And wear them out.”
She shrugged and headed back to the cunter. Oops. I mean counter.
I shoved my own highheels back in the box and took it to the register where the clerk calmly rang me up.
Speaking of that. Master Barrett? You owe me the sexual equivalent of $43.99 plus tax.
My box and former shoes were bagged and I smiled and left the store. My pussy was already starting down the path toward orgasmic bliss for a third time, though it was taking a little longer. Either I was getting somewhat used to having a spinning shaft inside me (yeah, right) or my pussy was already stimulated to the point where quantity was no longer an issue. In either case, I knew another orgasm would be cumming almost as certainly as the sun rose, but I figured I had a good ten to twenty minutes before my overworked, incredibly wet pussy put out.
Which left me just a few minutes to find an available guy, suck him off, suck him hard, and then let him butt fuck me.
So I did what any good Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut would do. I went to the mall. Hell, it was right there. I didn’t even need to drive! Just walk… oh. Yeah. Walk. While wearing stripper heels. Wobbling along at five eleven. While stuffed with a vibrating rotating cock that was not only buzzing inside me, but doing a pretty good number on my clit as well.
Yeah. Good plan, Bre.
I stumbled my way across the lot after depositing my other pair of shoes in my car. Then I proceeded into the mall. I bypassed Dillards, because technically it’s not part of the Galleria, and instead found myself in Neiman Marcus. I don’t shop there, though Kari does. It’s not about taste. It’s about funds. Okay, maybe it is a little about taste. I shop L.L. Bean and Canveders and Bass Pro Shops. Kari is the upscale one. Oh well.
To say that I attracted attention is putting it mildly. I looked like a whore. An expensive whore mind you, but a whore none-the-less. Men openly stared at me. Women gave me dirty looks, even the pretty ones looked down at me like some sort of fungus. It was… humiliating. Which is exactly what I suspect Master Barrett wanted. I felt overly conspicuous. Though I admit I would have felt awkward just wearing this particular dress. It just screamed “DO ME!” Adding the stripper shoes was like icing on the cake.
I could feel the tension building inside me and I was staring to walk funny. I mean funnier than I was already walking. There is a certain movement that is required when you wear heels. Women know this. Men intuit it. The bad thing is that EVERYONE can tell when a woman is in shoes she’s not used to, or can’t handle. It takes a bit of practice to get the hip movement right when you’re canted at an angle.
The good news is that I am an expert at walking in heels. When I was in college, Kari kept me in them whenever I was out and about, unless they didn’t match my outfit. Kari would have me practice too. I’d be stripped naked, nipple clamps with chain swinging from my breasts, stuffed with ben wa balls, and forced to walk back and forth across the living room of the apartment while wearing five inch heels. Add Kari’s paddle to keep me moving, and that’s a lot of incentive to learn to walk right.
So despite the fact that I was in almost the same situation there at the mall, it wasn’t quite so bad. At least I knew how to walk without being a laughing stock. That would have been worse than just being considered a slut. I’m turned on by being humiliated sexually. Being a laughing stock… that would totally suck. I made my way out of the department store and started looking for a target.
I hate calling it that. A target. Makes me sound like some sort of sexual predator. But I guess in essence that is exactly what I am. I was looking for the right guy. Physically attractive, slightly malleable, nicely dressed, washed, intelligent eyes, a decent smile, and that look that said “geeze, I want to fuck you.”
Okay, that last requirement is the easiest to find. Hell, practically every guy I walked past had THAT one nailed. I made my way through the mall, every step just a little closer to having another orgasm. I turned right toward the Westin. This was where it was going to get dicey. I didn’t want to be ejected from the premises due to my attire, so I quickly marched through the lobby, hit the elevator button, and went up.
Why? Duh. And it took only thirty minutes and one additional orgasm to find it. Mr. Perfect, coming up to his hotel room. He was dressed in a polo shirt, black trousers, talking on a cell phone and rolling his luggage and a laptop case behind him. Even better: no ring.
Yes. Girls check out stuff like that. Didn’t you know? Not that it would have stopped me of course, but no ring made things more likely.
We saw each other and my pulse quickened. I stepped out into the middle of the hallway, effectively blocking his path and he looked at me. There was a pause.
“Hey, George, let me call you back.” Then he closed the phone. “Can I help you?” he asked, eye-fucking me.
I nodded emphatically. “First of all, I’m not a prostitute.” I said. I have no idea why. “Second, I want to give you the blow job of your life. Third, I want to get you hard again so you can fuck me up the ass.”
This all came out of in a gush and the look of shock on the James’ face was priceless. Oh. That was his name. James. Sorry. We sort of introduced ourselves a little later.
He blinked. “I think that is the most direct come on I’ve ever heard.”
I blushed furiously. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s tough to explain, but please, I would really really really like to suck your cock.” I bent a little. The RVP was spinning up another tornado inside me and it wasn’t going to be long before I had another orgasm attack.
“Are you okay?”
I laughed, a little hysterically maybe. “Yeah, I’m just stuffed with a rotating venus penis right now and I can’t turn it off until you’ve fucked me in the ass. And I can’t do that till you’ve cum in my mouth once.”
This was not going the way I planned. I was flustered. He took pity on me I guess. James smiled and then motioned with his hand. “My room is this way.”
I followed along obediently as we went to his room. Wow. Talk about nice. And a king sized bed! Sweet! And there was a liquor cabinet and all these towels and … sorry. Got distracted.
James unpacked for a few moments while I sat on the bed. Then he turned around, smiled, and asked “how do you want me?”
I just smiled and replied, “lay down on the bed.”
Okay, I’m kind of going to skip over this part. Suffice it to say, I unbuckled his pants, got his trousers off, pulled his boxers down, found a nice hard cock, and gave him a stunning incredible blow job. My boobs fell out of my dress too. Oh yeah. And I came. The RVP did its’ job very well. James erupted, cumming into my mouth and I let just a trickle cum out as I swallowed.
He gasped, relaxed into the pillows, and sighed. I straightened up, grabbed the hem of my dress, and pulled it up over my head. Then I was naked except for my stripper shoes and the RVP still buzzing away. He looked on in admiration.
“You really can’t take that off?” James asked.
I shook my head. “Not until you fuck my ass.”
“What if I want to fuck your pussy instead?”
I laughed. “Do that afterward.” Then I bent down and took his limp cock in my mouth.
I sucked. I nibbled. I stroked. I turned my body around so he could play with my breasts and then even with the RVP. He took the remote and amused himself with the sliders, changing the various settings to see how I would react. This was sort of good for me, since it wasn’t as intense, but on the flip side, the changes in the vibration and speed of rotation were almost as troubling as the just pure full power settings. But my moaning and twisting and little cries had the effect of making him hard again. Or maybe it was my mouth. Who knows. But he got there and I made sure he was well slicked up.
When he was ready I begged him to fuck me in the ass. He consented and I found myself on all fours with him behind me. He pressed his cock up to my rear and pushed. I’m not a fan of anal sex, but at that moment, with the RVP on full power, his cock slipping inside me, and so sexually charged that I was willing to do anything and everything. The perfect slut.
I’m going to share a little secret. If you KNOW you’re going to be ass fucked, there are a few minor preparations you can take before hand in order to make sure it goes smoothly. First of all, make sure you clean yourself real well, and that you’ve already gone to the bathroom. Then, keep on hand a bottle of mineral oil. I like citrus personally. Before you go out, you need to actually butt fuck yourself with something, preferably a finger or narrow dildo. Pour a liberal amount of oil on your crack and work as much of it in as possible. Slick yourself up really good. Work the oil in as deep as possible and get as much in there as you can. Another alternative is petroleum jelly if you don’t have oil. Just don’t use a sex lubricant like KY. Anything water based will break down too easily and leave you high and dry when it comes time to take it up the ass.
James however fit nicely. The oil I had applied after lunch did exactly what I wanted it to do. Ease the way. And so James rocked, slipping in and out of my rear end like a well oiled machine. And he came. And I did too. And as we rolled over in orgasmic bliss, he patted me on the rear and told me I was an awesome fuck.
Technically that ended my assignment. But there was a little more to it. James turned off the RVP, helped me out of it, and then we showered. That was almost as sexually intense, especially when he had me prop my leg up on the edge of the tub and he got down on his knees and licked my clit until I was almost ready to pop again. He cleaned me too, every part, even working his fingers into my ass again. It was amazing. Soft and sweet.
Then he asked if I was hungry. I was, so he invited me to dinner. I agreed and slipped back into my dress and shoes. He changed into fresh clothes, including a sports jacket. Before we left however, he handed me my RVP and told me to wear it! He very kindly set the sliders to low however as we went downstairs. We ate at the Oceanaire! The food was incredible and James and I talked and talked. I told him all about the blog, being a nympho humiliation pain slut, and everything. He was surprised. At one point he asked if I would do anything he ordered. I nodded.
“Expose your left breast,” he suddenly said.
I pulled down my dress. He glanced around and then smiled. “Okay, you can cover up now.”
And that’s sort of how the evening progressed. After dinner we walked through the mall to the Cheesecake Factory for dessert. I was constantly being ordered to do certain things. Expose myself, walk a certain way. Kiss him. Spread my legs. Bend over. He just loved giving me orders. After tuxedo cheesecake we headed back to his hotel room where I was stripped, the RVP removed, and screwed silly. Passionately.
I have another date with James coming up on Friday. I won’t be writing about it. It’s personal. Not an assignment. He wants me to bring my toybox. Especially the clamps. I think he’s keen to try those. I’m meeting him around four and staying the entire night.
And he asked me to do one more thing.
Wear the stripper shoes.