Tuesday, December 27, 2011

An Interview With William Price of The Silver Locke


Interview With William Price, Entertainment Manager of the Silver Locke, By John Chaplan (Reporter)

            Getting there is no mean feat, and it takes nearly forty minutes on some uncertain roads to find the Silver Locke.  Located on a precipice at the outskirts of a minor Native American Reservation in California, the Silver Locke inhabits a curious niche: an upscale, private BDSM club that isn’t so much above the law, as outside it.  Attracting the powerful and rich from around the world, the Silver Locke sets new heights for the art of sexual gratification.  Catering toward practically all tastes, the Silver Locke has some of the most beautiful men and women on its payroll, and there is practically nothing they won’t do.  I met with William Price, the Entertainment Manager of the worlds’ most exclusive and reclusive BDSM brothel/club to get a feel for this amazing world.  On arrival I made it through the gate and drove up toward a nearly empty parking lot.  Evidently sex isn’t as popular at ten in the morning as it is during the evening.  I parked my car and was greeted at the door by a stunning auburn haired girl dressed in a revealing dress that exuded sexual attraction.  She told me her name was Breanne and she led me to Mr. Price’s office.  Price is a tall man, gaunt with an appearance that reminds me of Fred Astaire in his younger years.  Dressed in a navy blazer and white shirt, no tie, Price took some time to sit with me in his office.  After shaking his hand, he turned to Breanne and asked her to make me comfortable.  To my surprise, she slipped out of her dress, baring the most amazing body.  She wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing and she stepped forward, took my hand, and led me to seat opposite Price’s desk.  I sat down and was surprised to find her moving across my lap, wrapping one arm around my shoulders.  It was quiet distracting.
                                               
Thank you for meeting with me.  This wasn’t exactly the sort of greeting I was expecting

(Laughter) Well, I like to make sure that we get started on the right foot.  After all, this is marketing.  Breanne here will make sure that we stay on topic.

I turned and looked at the naked beauty who was sitting in my lap.  Her bare breasts were all of four inches away from my mouth and it took every ounce of my journalistic integrity to keep from sucking on her right then and there.  Instead, with one hand, I fished my tablet computer out of my bag, along with my digital voice recorder, and began the interview.

How did the Locke get started?

That’s actually an interesting story, John.  The Silver Locke was started by a man named Joshua Keel who felt there was a niche for a private upscale BDSM club.  After trying to get things started maybe half a dozen times, he managed to find himself the perfect location here in the United States, rather than a foreign country or deserted isle in the Caribbean.  After the initial investment, Keel took on a few partners.  They planned, outlined what they intended, and on a rather large scale as well, and then started building.  And here we are!

What kind of services do you provide?

Well, the Locke has a lot to offer clients.  We are a five start rated restaurant with only the freshest ingredients, as well as a classically trained French Chef who is experienced with lots of different entrees from around the world.  Our facility sports a full sized Olympic swimming pool, spa, massage parlor, and gym.  Our main attraction however is our stage hall where we provide guests with a chance to interact with some of the most beautiful and willing girls in the BDSM world. Lastly, should a guest wish to bid for one of our young ladies at auction, we have a dozen private rooms on the upper level for clients, should they choose to purchase our ultimate service: their fantasy come to life.

At this point Breanne slid off my lap and onto the floor.  Her fingers found the bulge of my cock through my trousers and began rubbing it.  It was difficult to stay focused.

I’ve heard about those fantasies.  Is it true you can provide anything?

To an extent.   If a client is very particular and provides sufficient information in advance to their visit, we do the utmost to create an environment suitable to their needs.  We’ve done some pretty amazing sets before.  Our private rooms are upstairs, ten of which are permanently decorated with the most common scenes our clients appreciate.  There are two full scale medieval dungeons with all of the appropriate historical devices in place, a pink laced “little girl’s” room, and a classroom setting complete with several desks, a chalkboard and yard stick.  We also have a modern interrogation room, a prison cell, a doctor’s office complete with gynecologist’s chair, a master suite hotel room, and the last rooms we keep in a neutral setting for special requests.

Breanne’s rubbing increased and I hadn’t even noticed that she was actually unbuckling me.  I blinked when my zipper went down and she reached into my pants.  I squirmed slightly, trying to read out the next question.

Do the girls ever have a problem with what is sometimes asked of them?

Rarely.  Each girl is allowed to set her own limitations.  Those are announced at the beginning of each auction and our guests are required to stand by those limits.  We monitor the sessions to make sure no one goes over board.  It rarely happens.  There are hefty fines when guests go over their allotted time or if they hurt one of the girls.  Of course, most of the girls choose to go along with our “house limits”, meaning that the only things that can’t be done are the activities that the Locke doesn’t allow.

As Price replied, Breanne tugged my cock out of my pants and began sucking on it with gusto.  This practically set me off and I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the extreme pleasure coming from my groin.



T-t-that’s amazing. (Gasp) What are the limits to what your guests can do?

(Laughter) Well, we don’t allow the girls to be seriously harmed.  Welts and bruises they can handle.  We don’t allow cutting or any other serious injury.  And obviously we don’t cater to the snuff crowd.  That would be illegal, even here on the reservation, not to mention seriously sick.  We also don’t allow scat or pee play.  There are health considerations with those activities that we just don’t want to mess with.  No pun intended.  In essence, we think of our entertainment employees as assets to be cherished.  Those are pretty much the only “House Rules” for behavior with our entertainers.

Breanne began bobbing her head, clearly deep throating me and I could feel the tightness in my balls as the sensation caused all sorts of interesting internal knots to loosen and unfold.  I gripped the chair and my tablet.

What are some of the most popular (oohhh-uuugnh) activities here at the Locke?

Well, clearly the main dance floor is the most popular.  Nothing beats waiting for some sexy beauty to strut her stuff up on stage.  Between the regular dances, we hold auctions for private sessions.  Each dancer is required to be sold on auction at least once per night.  Bidding can be fierce since there are always more guests than we have girls.  Some girls are willing to be auctioned more than once as well, which makes things easier for the guests.  We also have our massage parlor.  There isn’t any BDSM activities in there, but our masseuses are trained in the oriental arts of massage and we find that many of our guests who aren’t interested in winning an auction for time with an entertainer find their way in there for relief. We also have an arena where occasionally we host wrestling matches between various girls.  Nothing is sexier than two girls wrestling in baby oil, trying to shove large rubber dildos into their opponent’s body.  We also offer special “girl dinners” where your meal can be served on top of the entertainer of your choice.  Lastly, we have an exercise gym that is equipped with special equipment.  You can purchase time with one of our entertainers to provide “training support”, a sort of encouragement for you to do your best while exercising.

I wasn’t going to be able to hold off much longer.  I knew it.  I could feel it building inside me.  It would only be a moment before I squirted my entire load down this girl’s throat.

S-s-so much to do!    I’ve heard that getting a club membership can be difficult.

Well, it’s not terribly easy.  There are certain requirements before even being allowed to apply.  There’s a certain financial requirement, including a hefty deposit.  We also require up to date medical information, and new members are required to sign non-disclosure agreements along with some other documentation that protects not only the club, but them as well.  But if you really want to find out what goes on here at the Silver Locke, there’s any easier way than just getting an application.

Really?  And how is that?




I-I- (uungggh) see.  I’m sorry. I’m having a little trouble dealing with this.

(Laughter)  I can tell, but I believe that in order to successfully write about something, one should experience it.  Breanne, if you’ll stop for a moment and then take Mr. Chaplan on a tour?

The stunning redhead between my legs finally let my cock loose, just as I was about to pop.  The she-devil must have done it deliberately!  She looked at me with a mischievous eye and then stood, looking over at Price.

Make sure to show Mr. Chaplan everything, especially the private rooms.

Breanne nodded with a slow grin, then reached down and took my hand.  I clutched at my trousers, tucking my saliva soaked and throbbing shaft away, struggling to get myself decent in front of Price.

“Come along, Mr. Chaplan.  I have so much to show you!”  Breanne said.  Price told me to have a good time and I was pulled from the office by the stunning and still very naked girl.


Friday, December 23, 2011

Merry Christmas!



Michael Alexander and Breanne Erickson wish you the very best tidings this Christmas Season!  May you and yours be blessed.  Enjoy the carols...



Deck the Halls


Deck the halls with a strung up slave girl
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
'Stuffed with dildos that shake and swirl
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
See how long she can stand the torment
Fa-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la.
And all the orgasms the torture can foment
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.

Set the presented ass a blazing
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
With a steady hand a’ raising
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Follow through with a blistering stroke
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
In just moments give her a poke
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

Fast away the old welts passes.
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Give her some new ones with lots of lashes
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Nothing sounds better than leather on flesh
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Stripes and welts are always better fresh
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.



 And on the Twelfth Day of Christmas...
 
On the twelfth day of Christmas,
my true love gave to me
Twelve whips a’ lashing,
Eleven cane strokes falling,
Ten clothespins pinning,
Nine candles waxing,
Eight clitoral sappings,
Seven spanks a’ landing,
Six nipple flickings,
Five ORGASMS,
Four bondage cuffs,
Three alligator clamps,
Two vibroballs,
And an ass plug that filled me with glee!

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Ice And Butterflies



Yes, that's me.  So stop complaining.


I didn’t even bother taking them out.  Two days of vibroballs?  Except this time instead of only turning them on for thirty minutes out of every hour, on low no less, this time I was required to leave them on full time.  Yes, on low, but do you have any concept what that does to me?  It’s like putting me out on a ledge.  Or a cliff.  The Orgasm Cliff you might call it.  And I stand there teetering, wondering when (not if) I will fall off.  My hips churned back and forth as I stood there at five in the morning, in the middle of my room.


But that wasn’t everything.  Oh no.  I also had to wear the butterfly.  It’s nothing more than a plastic butterfly shaped vibrator that straps on right over my clitoris.  It drives me even more crazy than the vibroballs.  Worse, Kari’s instructions for the day specified that if I were alone, the damn thing had to be on, and at the highest level.  Kari knows I can’t handle that very well.


I finished strapping the purple and pink plastic torture device around my loins and once it was nestled gently at the top of my slit, I flicked the little switch upward.  It clicked to low and I pushed harder.  Already the little plastic insect had started to buzz, tickling my clit and sending waves of exquisite pleasure through me.  It’s absolute torture.  But then I moved the switch to high and the butterfly went into hyperdrive.  If I were a flower, this monarch would have had it’s proboscis into my stigma, stimulating me into reproduction, trust me.  I’d have been trembling.  As it was I let out a quiet groan and struggled to pull my panties and khaki shorts up over my bare butt and the stupid butterfly.



A bra and tee shirt went on next and getting dressed helped get my mind off the minor non-stop earthquake between my legs.  I walked downstairs and grabbed my little cooler.  This was where things got very difficult.  Kari had said I was allowed to cum.  Not only that, but she had basically INSURED that I would be cumming today, frequently.  She knows that with the vibroballs AND the butterfly, especially with my clit being vibrated at the highest level, my ability to hold back would be dramatically reduced to about zero.  It’s basically like she was standing behind me at the cliff.


And pushed.



I keep several trays of bottle ice available in the freezer at all times.  My parents think its because I like putting them in bottles.  Okay… I do.  But there are other reasons I like bottle ice.  Those thin finger long ice cylinders have a much more diabolical purpose when your Mistress is one like Kari.  See, I was ALLOWED to cum.  But cumming also meant punishment.  A vicious cycle of sex and torment for the entire day.  So knowing that I was never going to make it through my chores without cumming at least once, I put four or five pieces of bottle ice into my little cooler, grabbed a jacket, and went out to the barn.




Unfortunately, the rest of the tale is no longer available on our blog. But it is available in Breanne Erickson's "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 5" available in e-book format from fine booksellers. Also be sure to check out the BreanneApedia to get the full low down on everything Breanne!


Breanne Erickson is the author of "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut", her amazing collection of "Daily Assignments" like the one above!  If you enjoyed it check out "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume One!" 

Monday, December 12, 2011

The Skeleton Closet



Breanne looked at Michael as he stuffed the body into the dark shadows at the very back.

"Do you think anyone will find it?" she asked timidly, eyes darting left and right.

Michael closed the door thoughtfully. "Do you WANT someone to find it?" he asked.

She shivered, goosebumps rising on her arms as her long red hair shifted down across her eyes. "I'm not sure. Those manuscripts..."

Michael nodded. "Yeah. Exactly. What were you thinking, Breanne?" he asked as they turned away.

"I wasn't actually. They're fantasies. Really. That's all," she responded quickly. Her hand brushed his and then squeezed. He turned to look at her, reaching up to cup her face. He kissed her gently.

"And if I offered to tie you up that way and then..." he left it hanging. Her eyes widened, her breath sharp. She seemed to melt in front of him.

"Oh God, yes. Yes..." she whimpered. Then he laughed and broke the spell.

"Come on, we have writing to do."

Breanne blinked. "Um... yes. Right. Writing."

"And you need to be tortured of course," Michael continued as they walked down the hall.

She reached out and grabbed his hand. "Michael! Seriously. No one is going to find the Skeleton closet, right?" she asked. "I'm not sure I can handle people finding out about those three stories."

Michael grinned. "Well a lot of people already know about "The Hanging", but I have to admit that "Drawn and Quartered" was pretty extreme. But that latest one you penned, "Writhing In Sexual Agony", well that one is incredible. Love it." He reached out and squeezed her arm. "No one will find the closet, Breanne. Unless I was stupid enough not to pack the skull in with the rest of the bones." He laughed and she bit her lip.

"Right. The skull..." she said, her voice trailing off.

"No one will find it, Bre. Trust me...."


Michael Alexander Stories has a skeleton closet with two never released stories from Breanne Erickson, and two stories only previously available in the now defunct VIP Lounge. Can you find the skull that leads to "The Skeleton Closet?" Good luck and good hunting!

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Sigma Epsilon Xi



Michael Alexander is pleased to announce his release of Sigma Epsilon Xi (A Samantha Mayfield Novel) in e-book format via both Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble. Samantha Mayfield (from "The Waxers") is tapped to join a secret sorority with a dark but noble purpose. Created to promote strong willed and dominant women, Sigma Epsilon Xi starts with the principle that in order to rule, one must first serve. Samantha's burgeoning sexuality is perfectly suited for the extreme BDSM bi-sexual organization and Sam finds herself surviving pledge week, stuffed, whipped, and abused.

Revised and edited, this new version cleans up the original posted at the BDSM Library and also includes He Soon To Thee Shall Sacrifice. Get your copy today! 99 cents!

Update! Sheograph very kindly took pity on me and did some original artwork for the new and improved cover! Check out her gallery at DeviantArt.com

Kikkus


If you haven't yet read Kikkus (which was first posted at Afterdark Online,) it has now been posted in the Free Story Archive of Michael Alexander Stories! Enjoy!

Click here to read Kikkus!

We've also updated our side column, providing direct links to all of our Free Archive stories as well as links to our "For Sale" sample pages!

Friday, December 2, 2011

Here We Come A Caroling!



12/1/11

I shut the door of my truck and groaned.  It had been a tough day already and having to turn the vibroballs up to maximum the moment I turned off the engine, letting the Christmas carols I had been listening too die, had been just a bit much.  Already I was soaked and I could feel the wetness streaming down a thigh, nothing but a bare expanse of skin between my swollen, abused, and desperate sex and the crystal plastic sole of my eight inch tall platform stripper fuck me hard shoes.  It also meant I didn’t move fast.
           
Not that it mattered.  I was still wearing my coat, thank god.  My long duster may have been unbuttoned, letting in a frigid fifty degree blast hit me from my neck all the way down, but I was still partially warm from the heater of the truck.  That made the thirty feet from the curb to Kari’s front door easier to bear.  What wasn’t so easy was shucking out of my denim duster, spreading my legs, and ringing the doorbell.  I felt my teeth starting to chatter as I mentally urged Kari to hurry up and answer the fucking door.  A rather expensive looking wreath, complete with pine cones, berries, leaves, and a ribbon stared down at me as if it were studying my nudity.

            I wasn’t worried about being seen of course.  Kari’s condo has a rather well hidden front entrance that sits right behind this massive oleander bush.  But it does jack shit when it comes to keeping either cold, or blasts of arctic wind, from raising about a zillion goose bumps over my entire body.

            The door opened almost immediately and I groaned in relief as Robert, also naked in all his glory, motioned me in.  I stumbled inside and he grabbed me in a bear hug.  Our bodies touched and for the first time in my life I found myself in this man’s arms and NOT thinking about how nice it would be to fuck him.

            Hey.  He was WARM.  Sometimes, that’s enough. 

            Of course it only took about a minute for the chill to leave me and for his rock hard prick to begin poking me in the stomach, right around my belly button.  Definitely NOT the hole I was hoping for.  I pulled my cheek away from his chest and looked around.  The condo was quiet.

            “Where is she?” I asked.

            Robert smiled.  “Out with a client.  She said she’d be back to torture you this evening.”

            I frowned.  “Then why the hell did she want me out here at two in the afternoon?” I demanded, somewhat annoyed.  In general, I enjoyed being Kari’s sex slave, but occasionally her demands were just a little bit of a hassle.  Robert smiled ruefully and spread his hands outward.  I felt a momentary loss as he no longer touched me with those fingertips.

            “She wants me to soften you up.”

            I cocked my head and gave him a flirty smile.  “Oh?  Really?” I asked.
            He nodded apologetically.

            I reached down and touched his shaft, squeezing the tip lightly.  “And while I have the privilege of getting this inside me?”  His face colored slightly and he nodded.
           “Mmmmm, so let’s start softening,” I said, twisting in his arms until his cock rested between the cheeks of my bottom.  I moved his hands back down to my chest, letting his fingers cup my breasts.  One thumb teased the golden hoop on my right nipple, along with the tiny charm padlock dangling from it.

            “All right, let’s go soften you up,” he agreed.

            He took my hand and led me through the living room, past the kitchen entrance, and into the back hallway.  This led eventually to the master bedroom, but only after passing the guest restroom, the utility closet, and of course our destination, the second bedroom.  Which had been decorated as only Kari can do into a modern interpretation of a medieval dungeon and torture chamber.

            I’ve written about this room before, but in case you missed all the OTHER times I’ve been in here, the contents are rather impressive.  The wooden horse is there, waiting for me to have another ride.  Sure, I’ve done it a few more times since that one massive six hour torment, but never that long.  There is a pair of wooden stocks, the old fashioned kind made of dark stained mahogany, three circles for a head and both wrists.  Next to it stood an actual St. Andrew’s Cross, covered in black leather and sporting enough metal attachments to tie, bind, and secure your victim in practically any way.  It also rotated, meaning you could flip your slave upside down if you really wanted to.  And lastly, there was the I bench.  It was the largest object in the room and took up the most space. 

            At its simplest, the I bench was nothing more than a four foot long thick beam with leather removable pads running down its length.  At both the top and bottom of the makeshift bench was a long cross beam, basically forming the top and bottom of the letter “I”.  These in turn were capped at the ends my uprights, each sporting a pulley, through which a strong steel flexible cable was strung, leading to a dangling D type carabineer, perfect for attaching to a the leather bondage cuffs Kari was so fond of.  In the center of both the top and bottom crossbeams, a mounted spool, complete with crank, allowed the torturer to literally increase the tension on whomever was lying on the bench.

            And it was to this bench I was led.  Now I didn’t object, because frankly, I like this bench. I LIKE being cuffed and drawn out so wide and stretched.  I like it when my thighs and arms ache from being drawn apart like this.  It sensitizes me in ways that you might not even understand.  Of course, depending on where I’m positioned on the center bench (let’s face it, I AM rather short) it’s possible to actually draw my legs out in a perfect split.  Hell, you could put a broom stick across me from ankle to ankle and it would lie flat.  It hurts, sure.  It’s uncomfortable, yes.  But who am I to complain?
            I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut.

            Robert took his time attaching the leather bondage cuffs.  These were the real deal, complete with inner fur lining to prevent chaffing, thick leather to hold the various metal hoops, and a buckle strong enough to keep Santa’s belly in check.  Both wrists were soon engulfed, followed almost immediately by my ankles.  Robert didn’t bother removing the fuck me shoes, which hinted that I was going to get fucked.  He likes them.  He hasn’t SAID he likes them, but I can tell.  Any man willing to get gouged with the heels from a shoe like that is either a masochist, or finds them really sexy.

            Or I guess he could be like Robert and be both.

            In any event he pushed me backward, letting me lie on the bench looking up at the ceiling.  My rump was right at the bottom edge and when he walked around to the top in order to secure my hands to the frame, he only drew the steel cable up enough to stretch my arms outward and up.  That left my torso low and I knew, just knew, that in moments my legs would be literally perpendicular to the rest of me.  Sure enough he attached the steel cables to my legs and began cranking the spool beneath my ass, his nose only inches away from my dripping pussy.  I hoped he’d take a lick or something, but instead he concentrated on getting my legs open.

            Holy shit did they open!  I groaned in a bit of discomfort as he practically tightened me up to the point where I wasn’t able to move my rump more than half an inch either direction. Even up wasn’t much of an option.  With the exception of a meager roll of my hips, I was pretty much secured.  Then Robert left the room for a moment, leaving me to stew and adjust.

           He wasn’t gone long thank goodness.  I had an itch on my right side and when he returned I begged him to scratch it.  When he did, I told him I had another itch and directed his hand down between my legs.  When his fingers grazed my clitoris, I moaned and said “yes!  Oh yes! Right there!”  Robert just laughed, tweaked me, and then plugged in the small radio he had brought with him into the wall socket.

            Then he got a few things out of the closet.  The first I recognized immediately.  It was a leather sap, actually a very small, flexible paddle, and one I was intimately familiar with.  Kari had been pussy whipping me with it for years.  I can’t even begin to count how much of my juice had been absorbed into that black treated leather, but let me tell you, it shined for it, with a luster that would have put Santa’s black leather boots to shame.

            The other item sent a tingle through me, and it wasn’t even on!  The violet wand Robert pulled out had a thin glass rod at the tip and I knew what it was for.  He plugged it in next to the radio and then left the room once again.  When he returned, it was with a black folding chair.  He set it up between my spread legs, only an inch or so from my open and exposed pudenda and then ran a solitary tormenting finger through my wet slit, from clit down to my perineum and then to my bottom.  I gasped. 

            “Do you like Christmas carols?” Robert asked me politely, fiddling with the radio.
            I groaned, still desperately wanting his finger, his tongue, but mostly his cock.  “What kind of question is that?”

            “Well we have to listen for thirty minutes before I can fuck you,” Robert explained.  I moaned in response.

            “What’s the catch?” I asked as the radio came to life and I heard the power chord melodies of the end of Transiberian Orchestra’s “Christmas Eve – Sarajevo” stream through the room.

            Robert put down the radio and picked up the violet wand and the sap, turning the first tool on so the tip glowed.  “Every time we hear the word ‘Christmas’ I hit you with the sap.  You get the wand for the word ‘holidays’.”

            My eyes widened in alarm but then the music ended and a new song began even before I could object.  It was Feliz Navidad.  I struggled during the Spanish intro but then at “I want to wish you a merry Christmas” section Robert swung the sap down on my pussy with a stinging stroke.  Another one followed almost immediately and then another.  In seconds I was gasping.  A full six strokes landed before we went back to the Spanish second.  Then I got another six strokes.  My mind was already frayed by the time we did the second verse repeat.  Then I got ANOTHER six strokes.  My pussy burned, pain radiating upward through me and please remember that I still had the vibroballs buzzing inside me like mad.

            The song ended and my chest was heaving as the heat from my loins just spread through me. We went through a chatter section in which the radio host said the word “holiday’ twice.  Robert immediately brought the glowing tip of the violet wand down upon my clit and shocked me stupid.  I cried out, hips rolling, my entire body jerking in response to the stimulation.  Then someone mentioned Christmas cookies.  That got me another stroke of the sap.  And oh look let’s talk about Christmas shipping!  Each mention resulted in another blow to my tenderized and swollen clit.

            I very quickly stopped listening to the radio, only barely registering the occasional word.  What mostly got to me was the frequent use of the word “holiday”, each which resulted in a sharp rather painful zap to my clit.  Next we listened to some unknown Christmas song which must have used the bloody word at least half a dozen times.  I was having some serious issues by this time.  Then came Amy Grant’s “Night Before Christmas” and Robert slammed the sap down between my legs. 

            I cried out as another one impacted wetly on my slit and I couldn’t stop from cumming. I jerked wildly and Robert didn’t even care that I was in the middle of an orgasm and once more slapped my clitoris hard as the song’s lyrics once more triggered my “softening up.”

            Of course, after cumming, direct blows of a sap to one’s clit aren’t as pleasant as they are BEFORE you explode. Now they really started to hurt, especially since it felt as if Robert was hitting harder.  He wasn’t of course, but I began blubbering as the words “Christmas” and “Holiday” spun in my head. 

            Between strokes Robert started to rub my clit with his finger, only moving his hand out of the way when it was necessary to shock or smack my pussy.  I couldn’t handle it of course and immediately ripened and once again the shocks and the impact of the sap only heightened my sexual arousal.  I endured another unknown carol with frequent mentions of Christmas and I began meeting the blows with my twisting hips.  My thighs strained and I began gasping, my buttocks clenching.  Robert stuck a finger into me and then began pushing it against my ass.  He was still holding the violet wand and I could feel the warm hum against my thigh.

            Then came Andy William’s “Happy Holiday” and my Robert practically held the damn violent wand against my clit, tapping the reddish nub of nerves, sending harsh sparks of agony and pleasure exploding through me.  I screamed out loud as I began trembling, my body overloading and then the one or two little “Christmas” words drove Robert to pull the violet wand away and sting me good.

            Michael Bublé started singing about what he wanted for Christmas and I knew all I wanted was the fucking song to end and for me to orgasm.  One of us at least got our wishes to come true because I exploded in one of the most violent, intense, teeth gritting, agonizing orgasms I’ve ever endured.  Then the song ended with only two or three more strokes to my clit.

            Robert turned the music off as I lay there gasping, my body shuddering in the mix of endorphin adrenaline overload and the over-sensitization of certain parts of my anatomy.  My head lolled to the side and then Robert was there, sticking his cock into my face.

            “Suck it, Breanne.  Suck me.  And hurry!” he whispered.

            I opened my mouth, letting this thick cock enter, but to be honest, I wasn’t in much of a condition, much less position to really suck cock.  Robert kept glancing at the wall clock and then growled something.  He yanked himself out of my mouth and hurried back around to the base of the bench. I felt his fingers scrabbling at the vibroballs cord and he tugged the sex toy out, quickly turning them off with the remote.  Then he squatted down, positioned his cock, and pushed deeply into my cunt with a groan.

            To my surprise, he began counting thrusts.  He one was slow and steady and I detected urgency in his voice.  Between his twelfth and thirteenth strokes he muttered a muted “damn” and I lifted my head.

            “What’s wrong?” I asked, gasping.  Trust me, that cock felt incredible.

            Robert grit his teeth.  “I have to cum in twenty five strokes.”

            “Huh?” I groaned.  “Why would Kari set that limitation?”

            He groaned again, plowing through my soaked and abused sex.  “Because… if I don’t, you have to listen to another thirty minutes of Christmas carols before I can try again!”  There was another thick pushing between my legs and I felt his balls against my bottom.

            My eyes widened eventually as I realized what Kari had set up.  It was cruel. It was inhumane!  My pussy couldn’t take another half hour!  And what if he didn’t cum again?  I opened my mouth to plead with him, but he was already at twenty, his face straining.  He stopped and I squeezed as hard as I could, trying to kegel exercise him to climax.  It didn’t really work.  My position made it practically impossible to exert any type of serious pressure on Robert’s cock and he made a hard, fast, full depth penetration, muttering “twenty one”. 

            He tried.  Really.  He did.  I knew he did.  It must have been pure agony for him to pull his wet, hard, desperately wanting cock out of my gaping, soaked, swollen, bruised pussy, only to sit down again between my legs.  I felt him slip the vibroballs back into me, turning the vibrations to their maximum setting.  He flicked on the radio, picked up the sap and the violet wand, and hummed under his breath along with the playing song, raising the sap high.  I screamed in anticipation, my hips churning as the sap came down.

            “We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry…”

Breanne is the author of "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" Volume 4!  Check out a free sample of it out today!