Daily Assignment 11/16/10 It's Like A Twisted Knee

It’s Like A Twisted Knee

11/16/10

I am in so much trouble today. And I was in trouble yesterday too. Things just have not been going my way.

Yesterday morning I was dressed in my nightgown; a plain white tee shirt that actually comes down almost too my knees. Underneath I was naked, which worked out nicely because I was wearing my ben wa balls. It had been a tough day for me. If you follow me on twitter, you might be aware that I had spent Sunday with my RVP in, but I was only allowed to cum. Once. Right at the beginning of the day. So I then spent the rest of the day wanting and wanting and wanting.

Which then continued into day two. I’m not built for denial. My brain starts thinking constantly about sex. Where I could get it. How it could happen. It really doesn’t help either when you are stuffed with a five inch dildo that you know vibrates, plus a plug up your ass that ALSO vibrates. Then there is the little knob that presses against your clit which can shake, rattle, and roll with the best of them. That’s a lot of temptation.

So after I woke up Monday morning I checked the computer. Sure enough, Master Barrett had emailed me, but with bad news! He twisted his knee while running. Of course, like any good master, he felt that my compassion was insufficient, and that if he was miserable, I should be as well. I felt that not exploding and constantly thinking of sex, not to mention being stuffed with a set of sex toys designed either to make me a raging sexual lunatic or PREVENT me from having sex at all was misery enough. Oh no. He ALSO made me stuff my bra with two small, curved, cup sized, tack filled mats that I had made a few weeks ago with Mike at the hardware shop. I never mentioned them because they were extras. But the whole duct tape and bra thing didn’t work.

So while chatting with Master Barrett yesterday morning I got dressed. The tacks didn’t really hurt, and while my rear end protested the thick intrusion of the butt plug, I was handling things okay. Sure, I was thinking an awful lot about sex, but I could function. Barely.

Master Barrett didn’t like the fact that my tack bra felt like pins pressing against my skin, but rated pretty low on the pain scale. He wanted it to hurt. His solution? A NHPS pushup. What’s a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut pushup? It’s pretty simple. First, you find a NHPS. For me, that’s not hard because I am one. Second, you either stuff her bra full of sharp little tacks, or you have a mat covered with them, points up. I have both. So I’ve got the mobile version and the transportable larger version. To be honest, I like the transportable version better. The tacks stick out the same as the bra cup inserts, but more of my breasts get pin pricked.



So after you have the NHPS and the tack mat or inserts, the NHPS gets on her hands and knees, which is always a great position for a NHPS. Especially if she’s naked. But it’s not a requirement. Then, the NHPS drops down in a push up until her breasts are touching the floor. Then she lies flat on her stomach and breasts, takes her weight off her hands, and puts them behind her back for two second count. Then she lifts herself up again. Obviously, the goal here is to put as much of her upper body weight on her tacked breasts.

So I did one right there in my room, at Master Barrett’s request. Did it hurt? Yes. How much? Not much. Sure, it wasn’t pleasant. I could feel tacks digging into my skin. They didn’t penetrate, but wow I sure felt them. But on a scale of 1 to 10, with excruciating pain being at 10, that barely rated a 3. Master Barrett was disappointed.

So then I got told to make sure I lubricated my breasts once an hour for the entire day with my icy hot muscle cream. Since this wasn’t internal, I was able to use my water soluble version that lacks the chemical that isn’t good for you in regular muscle cream. But not only was I too lube my breasts with something designed to NOT FEEL GOOD, but Master Barrett wanted a full twenty NHPS pushups. I grabbed my tube of lube, twittered what was going on, and then headed down to the barn.

Every morning I go and feed the animals. We’ve got about forty or so goats, five horses, about fifteen cows. I forget how many pigs. There always seems to be more, even after we take them to auction. Some chickens, a few alpacas, and there is even a herd…. Uh… flock... whatever… of emus running around somewhere but I don’t have to feed them in the morning.

Most of this takes place near or in the barn. The goat paddock and the horses are right near by and the cows can wander close as well. The pigs though are in a sty right next to the barn as are the chickens. We keep the alpacas in with the horses.

Anyway, so I got my chores done. I admit I was a bit distracted. Most of the time I was thinking about how awesome it would be to turn on the vibrators, especially the clitoral one, and just let myself go in this awesome orgasmic explosion. Hell, after awhile, even having just the anal plug vibrator buzzing inside me sounded good. But I resisted. It was tough, but I managed.

After I got my chores done I knew it was time. I moved to the center of the barn, a concrete slab with plenty of space. Swallowing a little fear, I crossed my ankles, got on all fours, and then lowered myself down.

If you have a cheap hairbrush, the kind that doesn’t have those little blobs of plastic on the end of each bristle, I’d like you to get it out for a second. If you don’t, just imagine it. Now take the brush and hold it up with your left hand. Lift your shirt, and press the brush to exposed skin. Keep applying pressure until the bristles bend. Feel that? Not even close. Now instead of pressing it up against your chest or leg or whatever, wrap your right hand around the bristles and squeeze so that the pressure is evenly applied around the brush. Now you’re getting close to what my tits were feeling. Except each pin prick wasn’t going to bend away if there was too much pressure. Look at your hand. There should be a bunch of little red dots. Are there? Then you were doing it right. That’s what my breasts looked like when I was done, except with much deeper, brighter red dots.

With all my weight on my chest I reached behind me, touched my hands together, which arched my back and forced more pressure onto my breasts. I held it for two seconds, whispering one one thousand two one thousand under my breath and then brought my arms back under me to take the pressure off my breasts.

Then I did it again.

And again.

And again.

Until I had managed to do it twenty times and my breasts felt as if they were on fire. I unbuttoned my shirt and pulled the bra away from my skin and saw my breasts. It looked like I had been bitten about a zillion times, my skin was flushed, peppered with small harsh looking red dots. Shaking with a combination of pain and desire I pulled the tube of ice heat cream from my pocket, pulled my bra up, and then squeezed out a liberal amount of that white gunk onto my hand. I smeared it around a bit with my thumb, coating my palm, and then cupped my left breast.

That’s when the guy with the flamethrower jumped into the barn, pointed his weapon at me, and fired. A horrible burning sensation, easily a seven on that 1 to 10 scale from earlier, exploded through me even as my hand kneaded in the cream. Shaking, gasping, my pussy tightening around the dildo even as my ass became hardened around the plug, I moved my hand to my right breast and spread the flames. Now, I know you’re thinking “wait a moment.” It’s supposed to be cold first, right? And it was. A cold fire. A stinging. It was like being bare breasted on a cold winter morning, tied down on a barrel, while a wind whipped sleet comes hammering down on you. That’s what it felt like. I think I screamed.

But I wasn’t done yet. Oh no. Because then the ice turned to heat and suddenly I was too close to the fire, heat spreading through my breasts and down my stomach as the chemicals artificially excited my skin. It felt like heated needles being stuffed into my breasts and I grabbed hold of my bosom even as my other hand went down between my legs and pushed hard on the little bump covering my clit.

It took about ten minutes to recover enough to put my bra and shirt back in place. Even then I was feeling the lingering effects. And those lingering effects reignited every hour too. It wasn’t as bad the second time, or third time, or sixteenth time though. Mostly because I think my nerves were being overloaded, but also because even though I was wearing the tack bra, I wasn’t making any additional pin pricks for the gel to seep in to. I suppose had Master Barrett been really cruel, or had thought about it, rather than twenty in the morning, it would have been five before every application. That would have REALLY hurt, and kept me hurting all day.

Of course when I logged on to check my email right before eleven o’clock, there was a message from Master Barrett: “Drop and do ten”, and so right before I needed to reapply the coldhot gel I was once again putting most of my body weight on my breasts, pinprickling my way through ten NHPS pushups.

Master Barrett sent me an instant message, asking me how I was doing. After my breasts were reporting the repeated perforation the tacks had just given them, I confessed that I was more than a bit horny, but still kicking. Master Barrett was sympathetic to my needs and asked me what I offered in exchange for permission to cum.

I was totally unprepared for that. My mind churned and it took me a while to think of something. Options ran through my head. I needed something bad enough that Master Barrett would let me do it, but just on the edge of the range of what I was willing to do.

We negotiated a bit back and forth. I thought my offer relatively decent, but Master Barrett knew how badly I needed to cum. In the end he laid out a counterproposal:

Breanne – in order to purchase an orgasm, you will agree to complete ten NHPS pushups an hour, right before you lube your breasts. In addition, you will take your tack mat outside behind the barn, lay it across the top rung of the metal fence, strip everything off from the waist down, and sit on it for thirty minutes. Only THEN are you allowed to cum.

OMG. Thirty minutes? That was insane! I couldn’t think. I hesitated. Master Barrett started counting down. As the numbers ticked from twenty toward one my mind screamed in frustration. Accept or not? I watched as he it fifteen, then ten, then five. The offer was about to expire! Accept or not! ARRRGGGGGGHHHH.

After I signed off with Master Barrett, I headed downstairs. I had my duster in my arms, though I really didn’t need it. I said hi to my mom, and then went out the door. Our barn is approximately two hundred yards away from the house. I went in the open main door, walked directly through it, then exited out the pack right next to the goat pen. With the barn blocking direct view from the house, I tossed my duster down on some barrels, opened it up, and extracted my rubber tack mat.

It’s about a foot and a half wide by two feet long. Or vice versa. I can never get that straight. Frankly, it’s about the size of a door mat with about five or six hundred little tacks whose points stick up about a single millimeter up out of the rubber. They’re sealed in with a second quarter inch piece of black rubber as well. I picked up the mat, walked over to the goat pen fence, and laid it across the top rail.

The fence is a steel one, with powdered rails and posts. Three rails, and it comes up to just under my breasts. Trembling, I stripped off my pants. The ben wa ball inside me was keeping things wet and troublesome. I was horny. Very horny. But before I got up on the fence, I needed to handle something else.

Naked from the waist down I got on my hands and knees in the dust. Then I had second thoughts, jumped up, grabbed my duster, laid it out, and THEN resumed the position. With my duster beneath me I slowly lowered myself down until I felt the now familiar pin prickling on my chest. I put all my weight on my tits, my hands behind my back. Then I lifted back up.

Then I did it again. And again. Ten times. By the time I was done I thought that I had put about a zillion holes in my tits. It felt like that. My nipples especially were an issue. The tacks seemed to have been really hard on them. I lifted my shirt and pulled my bra outward to look down. Both breasts were covered in little dots, bright red and to my chagrin, my left nipple had a tiny puncture wound that was oozing a little bit of blood. Ooops.

I pulled my bra down and got my tube of coldhot gel. A serious squirt on the upper slope of my left breast immediately started a chain reaction of icy tingling that only got worse as I rubbed it around. My nipple puckered instantly, the nerves at my little cut screaming in freezing agony. I grit my teeth, took it and then moved my gel smeared hand to the other breast. The problem with lubing breasts like this is invariably the first one turns hot while the other one is still cold. It’s very disconcerting. I love it. I felt like one half of me was lying in snow and the other half was suffering a sunburn, exposed to the Texas Summer sun. Hmmm… wouldn’t THAT be fun? I’ll have to try that sometime. Lying on a blanket naked, out in a field, a huge cooler beside me filled with shaved ice. Let the sun cook me really good, with sun screen all over me EXCEPT my breasts. Then, after ten or fifteen minutes, reach over to the cooler, open it up, grab a bucket full of the shaved ice…

Whoa. Sorry. Got distracted! LOL. You’ll probably read about that eventually anyway…

So with puckered and burning nipples, and the tack filled bra back in place, I moved over to the fence and climbed up. The rail was uncomfortable on my bare feet, the two inch pipe digging into my arches. I straddled the top rail, the cold steel touching my things, and with my ankles turned outward, toes supporting my weight, I bowed my legs, squatted down, and slid the tack mat between my legs.



The first thing I noticed was that my thighs were enduring a lot of painful scratching, just from moving the mat underneath me. I tried to shift position as I lowered myself, but ended up putting this long row of little red lines across both thighs. But I managed to get in position and then sat down.

The first place I felt the tacks were on my bottom. The pressed against the bony part of my butt cheeks as my ass pushed the matt downward so that it curved and pressed up against the pipe. But as my weight began moving from my feet to my crotch, I felt the tiny tacks start digging up into my butt crack, penetrating my perineum, and then, as I rocked forward, they pressed against my labia. It felt…awesome.

Then my feet slipped. The edges of the mat had been digging into my thighs and I had tried to reposition my toes, a delicate balance of weight between my crotch and my legs. But in the space of a heart beat, all one hundred and seventeen pounds of me came down on the mat, right between my legs. And I was suddenly riding a steel pony with a spiked saddle. The only thing missing was a spreader bar to keep my feet from finding the rail beneath me, clamps on my breasts, and my hands bound.

And ride it I did. It wasn’t even three minutes before I was rocking back and forth, my legs pistoning up and down, putting pressure on my pussy and then taking it off. I rolled, making the pins dig into my inner labia, scoring me, then even so high as to feel it on my clitoris. I was making pitiful noises, the ben wa balls rolling inside me, exciting me even more. I was stuffed, hurting, and loving it. My watch said I had fifteen minutes to go, but I knew I wasn’t going to make it. I gasped, grabbed my still burning breasts, squeezed them tight, and pushed the tacks into my nipples.

Then I came. Hard. Sharp. Long. Powerful. I rode that saddle like I was a jockey at the Kentucky Derby, driving the little pins into my clit over and over. I moaned. I cried out. I screamed. I attracted the attention of the goats.

And then it was over. My pussy felt like I had been fucking a cheese grater. My breasts hurt and burned, my clit was super sensitive, my nipples tender and my ass felt like I was sitting on a bed of nails, which I kind of was. I glanced down at my watch. Oh shit. Ten minutes or so to go.

So I sat there. Technically I wasn’t supposed to cum until AFTER I rode the tack mat. I was having trouble keeping my feet at the right angle without seriously gouging furrows in my thighs, which kept me dropping down repeatedly, driving the little millimeter long pins back into my labia. By the time my thirty minutes were up, I was hunched over, my hands gripping the fence rail in front of me, trying desperately to keep my wait off my pussy. My watch beeped and I dismounted. The damage was superficial. Lots of scratches, a few very deep red puncture wounds here and there, but mostly tiny pin pricks of dark pink, scattered like stars or a really bad case of zits, all over my thighs, pussy, and rear end.

But the relief I felt from FINALLY cumming overwhelmed whatever pain I was feeling. I went back to my clothes, put my panties and jeans back on, and then cleaned off the mat with the hose. (It was kinda sticky.)

The day was much simpler from that point. Every hour I did my ten NHPS pushups, my breasts repeatedly telling me that what I was doing was inhumane and cruel. The ben wa balls tormented me with every step. And by the time I was ready for bed I just wanted it all to stop.

And to cum again.

I slept in my bra. It was at Master Barrett’s instruction. I’m a stomach sleeper, so it didn’t matter that much, but my breasts are now very tender after a day of pins, and quite red. And things have only gotten worse.

I accidentally overslept this morning, and so rather than waking up at five like usual, it was at the bottom of the hour when my eyes popped open and I realized I was running late. I scampered out of bed, ignored the need between my legs, not to mention the ben wa balls, and scrambled into clothes. My breasts were still encased in my tacky bra, but I didn’t let that bother me until I was done. A little after six I made it back up to my room. Everyone in the house was still asleep.

And my morning email with my daily task was waiting for me. I opened it up, read it, and realized…

I was in serious trouble.

But that’s tomorrow’s tale.