Yesterday I sat down at my computer with just a little bit of giddy excitement. Who knew what Master Barrett had in store for me! I had already finished my morning chores and had come back inside, still dressed in my typical work outfit: tube socks (the boots were downstairs), blue jeans, white cotton bikini style panties, a warm long sleeve button down shirt, and a white 36b bra.
Oh yeah, and a set of vibroballs.
I had turned them on almost immediately after getting dressed that morning, tucking the little remote into my pocket, the wires sticking up through the waistband of my pants, no doubt alluring to the interesting little toy inside me. They were on low of course. I’m getting better at handling high power, but it still makes me cum, and I’ve gotten to the point where I’m no longer masturbating at whim. I can’t say that I’m getting USED to denial, but I can say that I UNDERSTAND why it can be a good thing. So vibroballs on low meant that I’d be wet, ready, and wanting when it came.
Accessing my email is easy. It just takes a few clicks and I licked my lips, waiting for that moment. And there it was! The whole “you’ve got mail!” signal and my eyes widened as I saw the subject line “Felt the need to make you suffer” and I clicked it open.
Good Morning Bre
Firstly if you have already cum this morning get your belt and give yourself twenty hard swats to the pussy. I did tell you to check your mail first thing every morning didn't I? Ok now that unpleasantness is out of the way now get three binder clamps from your toy box. Yes right now, move slut! Good now put one on each of your nipples and the third of course goes on your clit; put them on. Hurts so good right? Now you can take them off when you have gone out to your barn and cum twice from fucking two different things you have never fucked before.
Enjoy your morning Fuck Doll!
I swallowed hard. Then I stood up. I had been given direct orders and they had to be followed, immediately, or there would be repercussions. At least I hadn’t cum that morning, though I admit, it had been close. I couldn’t imagine starting things off by pulling down my jeans and smacking myself with my plastic ruler twenty times first. Thank God I hadn’t earned the pussy spanking just for not checking my email first!
I opened my toybox, shoving aside dildos and vibrators and anal beads and rubber bands, and all the other crap I use to either make myself hurt and/or cum. I actually have several binder clips; the big black huge clamps designed to hold large amounts of paper together. I deliberately set aside the two four inch binder clamps. They’re designed for holding reams of paper together and I use them to clamp my entire breasts, not just the nipples. For more detailed work, like what Master Barrett was asking for, I needed the two small ones, designed for a sheaf of paper no thicker than my pinkie. I grabbed those, plus the slightly larger one I use for my clit.
I started with my shirt. Not sure why. Unbuttoning it was suddenly difficult. My fingers trembled. Finally I got in there, lifted my bra up and delicately pinched open both small clamps. I clenched my teeth. I had worn these before I knew how much it was going to hurt putting them on. I let the pincers close on my nipples, biting me cruelly. Pain shot up through both tits as if I had just dipped my breasts into a vat of boiling water. I grimaced, stifling the cry threatening to escape my lips. I gripped the back of my chair hard as I shook, the pain only slowly receding into this desperate throbbing ache.
I tried to distract myself by unbuckling my jeans, but my hands were still trembling. It took me a minute or two to get them down. The vibroballs remote tumbled to the floor, but I ignored it, tugging down the front of my panties to expose my already rather wet, needy, and soon to be hurting pussy.
The binder clamp I used for my clit is actually a tad bit larger than the two I use on my nipples. It’s also been slightly modified so that I don’t actually damage myself. I bent it out a little. It still hurts like hell, but doesn’t clamp down so hard that I worry about gangrene. That would really suck. So, still shaking, still hurting from both nipples, I picked up the clit clamp, positioned it, pinched it open, and then let out an explosive breath as it bit down.
I could barely stand. Pain laced up from between my legs. It was like fire and ice, applied at exactly the same time. It reignited the pain in my tits and I just stood there, slightly bent over, trying to breath and think and focus.
Master Barrett was online, so I instant messaged him. My typing was horrible. I’m surprised I wasn’t punished more just for all the misspellings. But I told him I had put on the clamps and was heading out to the barn. He wished me luck, told me he wanted to know what I had fucked myself with, and told me to get to it.
So I did.
I pulled up my jeans, which sent a fresh surge of lightning like pain through my loins. The vibroballs remote got tucked back into my waist band, though I admit I thumbed it to its highest level. As the vibrations combined with the pain I felt the surges of sexual urgency ignite. I shuddered and then told myself to move it. I rushed downstairs.
I grabbed my cowboy boots and jammed my feet into them. Each step was another burst of pain, though now it was being seriously mutated into something sexual by the emphatic vibrations of the little spheres buried in my pussy. My nipples had settled down into this deep burning series of throbs that seemed to pulse in time with the vibroballs.
It was chilly outside, but not terribly so. I grabbed my duster, but I didn’t bother to put it on. Instead I sort of run skipped to the barn, trying to marshal my thoughts into some sort of coherence. I needed to pick something to fuck.
I am a serious object fucker. If you haven’t seen my list, it’s posted in my section of the VIP Lounge. Actually, I need to update it. I’m missing a few things on it, and after yesterday, I’ve got two MORE things to add to it. But to say the least I’ve fucked a lot of things. From machine screws, to shovel handles, to rubber hoses (both on and off), to baseball bats (both ends), to screwdrivers (both ends).
When my dad got hurt in the car accident three years ago, I sort of became the defacto fix it girl around the farm. I do everything, which can be a drag, but it does come with some perks. One is my dad’s tool bench. I’m not positive, because I don’t really understand it, but evidently guys have this sort of “urge” or “instinct” that makes most of them “collect” tools. My grandpa did it and passed the assorted crap down to my dad. My dad does it. Would you believe that my dad actually has FOUR fucking hammers? What the fuck do you need four hammers for? And they’re all different too. I asked once. Evidently one is for hammering stone. Another is for nails. I forget about the other two. Who cares? It’s just stupid. A Hammer is a hammer, right?
Well it is when I use it. I can tell you that all four hammers seemed pretty much the same to me. Of course I was fucking the handle of each one, but hey, that’s “using the tool”, right? And that’s the main perk of my dad’s inherited work bench. He got a shit load of tools.
I got a shit load of new things to fuck myself silly with.
To be honest, I have been doing it since I was fifteen, but I never willowed my way through the different pieces of equipment like I do now. Privacy helps. Also knowing my dad isn’t going to come out looking for a wrench only to find it in my socket helps more.
By this time I was desperate. I could feel the climax rising inside me thanks to the push of the vibroballs. I shucked out of my jeans, accidentally tugging painfully on the clamp crushing my clit. I screamed out load this time, falling to the hay covered floor as I kicked my boots off. I shoved my jeans down, struggling out of them, then yanked my panties off, spreading my legs.
The tip of my clit was exposed, pressured into a disturbing swell of clamped flesh. I got up, waddled spread legged over to the bench, the vibroballs remote in my hand, still set on maximum. I grabbed the first item I knew I hadn’t fucked myself with: a socket wrench. Why hadn’t I screwed myself with such an obviously Craftsman like phallus? Simple. I was worried I’d ruin the mechanism. You don’t just shove a thirty dollar socket wrench up your pussy, fuck yourself stupid, and then hope for the best. Could you imagine me taking it back under the lifetime warranty and having to explain what happened to it?
But at the time, I wasn’t thinking of all that. Instead I just grabbed it, moved to the nearest hay bale, sat down, yanked the vibroballs out, turning them off and chunking them to the side, and then ramming the business end of the ratchet into my hole.
It was… a unique feeling. To be honest, I was too close to cumming to really care that there were some rather uncomfortable edges scraping my insides. I jammed it back and forth, wiggling it around as I thrust my hips. I accidentally hit the clit clamp and that’s when I came, screaming out loud in pure ecstasy.
I didn’t pass out, but I came close. I blinked a few times, pulled the ratchet out from between my legs, and did my best to wipe off the goo. My clit hurt, badly, as did my nipples, and I stumbled back to my feet, looking around for new item number two.
I had pretty much fucked everything possible to fuck on the work bench, and so I moved down the wall past some of our more esoteric and farming implements. I hadn’t gone farther than two or three feet when my eyes fell upon the perfect item. With a small groan and sigh, I reached up and took the lopper down from its hook.
What’s a lopper? Well, it’s sort of like bolt cutters, except designed for small saplings. You could trim hedges with it too, but it would take forever. There is a set of sharp snips on one end and the other is two large rubber covered handles, that when closed are only four or five inches apart.
I took the lopper back over to the hay bale and unabashedly jammed one handle into my pussy. It felt awesome. Sure, I was still hurting, but the wrench hadn’t been thick enough to really do me a decent screwing. The lopper handle did. I worked it in and out several times, just enjoying the sensation as the sexual energy built back up to the exploding point.
But there was a problem. The second handle of the lopper kept jabbing me in the thigh. It made for some rather distracting and uncomfortable movements. I kept twisting the tool around, trying to keep it balance upward. Then it dawned on me.
I stood up, pulling out the sopping wet handle I had just fucked. I placed the shears straight down, setting the tip on a bit of hay. Then I turned it so that the lubricated handle pressed against my ass. The fresh, un-lubricated side began slipping into my pussy. I groaned. I wriggled. I squatted. And then I lowered myself down, impaling both my ass and my sex on the lopper handles.
I’m going to admit right now that I was trying to earn brownie points with Master Barrett. I know how much he likes stuff up my ass. I’m not a fan of it, despite the fact I’m writing this whole thing with my anal beads stuffed up my rear, on high. But yesterday morning, I was also motivated by the need to cum, and after humping myself up and down on that lopper, I managed to explode about fifteen minutes later.
I collapsed on the hay bale and my fingers immediately went to the clit clamp, even before extracting the still embedded lopper handles. I bit my lip as the pain surged between my legs. Taking off a clit clamp can be brutal. I shuddered, tears coming to my eyes. Then I pulled out the lopper, tossed it aside, and tried to gently remove the nipple clamps. Yeah. No good there either. I screamed again, rolling in agony, half naked, with only my shirt and a pulled up bra covering my nakedness. My breasts felt like someone had driven stakes through them.
I’m guessing three or four minutes later I managed to get up, grab my panties and jeans, and settle back into the routine. I grabbed the vibroballs, dusted the stray bits of straw off them, and then with a bit of a wince, slipped them back in. I pulled my panties up, and then my jeans, and tucked the remote back into the waistband. I set it on low.
I cleaned tools then. I’m a responsible girl. Besides, you never know when I’ll be the one who needs to use them again… in whatever way.
And that’s just about it. Oh yeah, sure. I went back into the house and told Master Barrett what I had fucked, but it was almost seven, and so I had to sign off. But it all worked out.
So there you have it. Stuffed, clamped, screwed, and double penetrated.
Maybe I should have checked twitter first that morning. Master Barrett had tweeted a simple message.
Woke up this morning with the urge to make a masochist suffer, hmmm.
I hope he wakes up like that more often.