01-30-11 Jumping Jacks

This post is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM blog but can be read in Breanne Erickson's amazing e-book novel "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 3!" from Amazon.com and Barnesandnoble.com! Check it out today and find out just what happened.


"Great erotica. Breanne is this down to earth girl with a sense of humor and this incredible way of describing things. It's really amazing. Loved it." - Amazon Reviewer

All Tied Up And No Where To Go

Nothing says "great evening" like a little black dress...

Via J-girl&SM

The Horrible Torture of the Story Writer

I am now infamous.

As many of my fans might be aware, I've been active on the BDSM Library website for almost a decade. My first story, "The Chapel In The Woods" was posted there in 2003. One of the reasons I have liked the BDSM Library is that it has a rating and response system that I have found valuable over the years. Most of the commentary on my work was worthless, but occasionally I received critical feedback that benefited my writing. I also occasionally got comments that suggested I stop. Obviously, I have ignored those. As part of the community of authors at the BDSM Library, whenever I read a new piece of erotic fiction, I take time out of my life to write a review. I try to alternate criticism with compliment, making sure to focus on both the positive and the negative. No doubt I've hurt some feelings, but reviewing is not just about patting someone on the back, but providing the information needed for them to become a better writer.

Recently, a new story was posted on the BDSM Library. I almost missed it in fact. It is entitled "The Horrible Torture of the Story Writer" by Bitter Betty and basically is a simple narrative of a woman who writes her "erotic masterpiece", submits it to the Library, receives no congratulations, and then only two reviews which skewer her submission and self worth. I review under the name "Michael247" and my "screen name" is listed at the end of her story along with a slew of other prolific reviewers.

As she read the biting words of criticism she could not really at first believe them. The words struck her with the impact of a branding iron.“Why would they say that,? “Why???” And thus ended the short career of the woman with a dream to share her stories on the website she so once enjoyed. The entire experience served only to bring her discomfort and pain. It was a torture greater than any she could have previously conceived.

I leave this website so you can enjoy all the great work of, Dryhill, Michael247, wistan, tjlewis132, JimmyJump, Major Littman, Azrig17, Snark and all the other story reviewers. May they continue to entertain you.

Many of my fellow reviewers had their own responses encouraging her to come back and try again. My response however, was more... intense:

Ah, hell hath no furry like a woman scorned. How have I wronged thee dear lady? Were my words harsh upon thine ears? Wouldst thou have me lie? Of what value wouldst my opinion be should I hearken to those who find value in mediocrity and cast thine standards to thy winds?

My name is Michael Alexander and I am no mere critic, but an author myself. I know what it is like to have your worked chopped to bits, to have it examined, pulled apart, insulted, and even condemned. And while my work today is usually given high marks, it has not always been so. I did what every true artist does: pick myself up, learned what I could from those who destroyed my work, and started again.

Writing is an art form, and one of the most difficult. I have reams of hand written doggerel I wouldn't show anyone else for the life of me. When I started, I wrote for myself. Now I have a paying audience who ten years ago wouldn't have bought a single paper from me.

For the life of me, I can't tell why you penned "The Horrible Torture of the Story Writer". Was it to castigate the readers for not leaving messages of congratulations, of orgasmic completion, of sexual oneness? Was it to tell the few individuals who frequently review, providing feedback and (what I hope) is helpful critique, that you did not appreciate their candor? Or were you merely blowing off steam because you're hurt?

I've noticed that some of my fellow reviewers have taken a single road in response to your chastisement. All have encouraged you to continue writing. I will not do so. Writing is a natural imperative and either you will continue writing because you must or you will abandon it. In either case, I care not.

I feel your pain. I can empathize. But if you can't stand the heat, get out of the water.

Yours Faithfully,
Michael Alexander
(www.michaelalexanderstories.com (10/10)

Some might think me harsh. Some might think me callous. But Frank Black once said "But the truth is that critics are by definition critical. That's their job."

How Milk Maids SHOULD Dress

While browsing my favorite sites this morning I stumbled upon this gem from J-Girl&SM Photobox. Will someone please send Breanne out dressed like this?

Sick Leave

Ughh...

I'm sick. Fever, chills, coughing, hot and cold flashes, absolutely no sexual desire whatsoever....

Plus I think I've got PMS. I just can't win here.

But hopefully I'll be better next week and hopefully have some fun. Got lots on my plate. So stay tuned, hope you are enjoying "Barter" and my best to everyone!~

Breanne's Barter - Happy Anniversary

On January 15th, Breanne celebrated her 1 year anniversary as our very own Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut. To celebrate, she spent a week "softening up", a delicious novella length work that chronicled the slow build up of "Sluttiness" that she embodies so well. Now at last we find out what happened the following Saturday, when Breanne jumps into her Anniversary Assignment: Barter, given to her by Master Brandon. This one is a page turner and trust me, you're going to want to read it. - Michael Alexander

Breanne’s Anniversary Assignment – “Barter” assigned by Master Brandon

Hi. My name is Breanne. As many of you probably know, I spent all of last week slowly getting my self whipped, clamped, spanked, plugged, and screwed silly during that “softening up” assignment: 7 Days of Sluttiness. If you haven’t read it, you should. Master Barrett has asked me to complete a count of various things like orgasms and such and just doing that is going to take awhile. I even managed to get behind in my writing, which is why I’m going to do this in stages. I’m a busy girl and I can’t just sit down at the computer and type all day. I’ve got a farm to run and curious family members who are always asking “what are you writing?” It’s not like I can show them, right? “Here Mom. Read this.”

So thank you for checking up on me. I decided last Friday to go ahead and do Master Brandon’s “Barter.” If you forget what that involved, don’t worry, I’ll go over it so no one is lost. Hell, I had to print the damn thing out and take it with me anyway, just so I’d remember. That was my problem during the 7 Days of Sluttiness. I kept forgetting things because it was all so complicated. That’s life, right?

So let’s get started!

Saturday, January 15th, Breanne’s Anniversary

Saturday morning broke with more than just a little excitement for me. “Today is my anniversary!” I kept thinking to myself. I had just endured a week of sexual torment and torture that can only be described as incredible, even as I stumbled through my chores, wincing at some of the remaining sore spots. Out of all of the Anniversary Assignments give to me, Master Brandon’s was one of my favorites. It encompassed everything I like in a sexual task: plenty of humiliation, a bit of pain, lots of fucking, and no limits on orgasm. That’s a gift, frankly. And I was going to take it!

I had let my family know that I was going to be gone all day, so after breakfast I went upstairs and packed a bag. The temperature was still cool enough to require a coat, so after I stuffed some important items in my largest purse, I grabbed my duster and headed out to my truck. Of course, my first stop was the grassy side of the farm to market road running behind our property. It is rarely travelled; in fact, I’m surprised it’s even paved. Over the last several days, I had done my changing in the cab of the truck, but I decided that on my anniversary, I needed to do things right. I hopped out of the truck and moved to the front where I immediately began taking off my more weather appropriate long sleeve button down shirt, work boots, and jeans. My skin rose in goose bumps as the cold wind struck bare skin and I started to hurry as I unclasped my bra. My nipples immediately rose to prominent points as I worked my panties down. Lastly, I tugged my ben wa balls out of my pussy and set them on the hood, ignoring the wet spot they caused. I had been granted a stay on NHPS Rule #1 for the beginning of the assignment, so I ran with it.

I grabbed the tee shirt, one of Kari’s gifts during college, a purple, overly tight (especially now) tee shirt, that sported the words “Good Girls Do Bad Things”. Well, isn’t THAT an oversimplification? A pair of rather tight denim short shorts went on next. They weren’t Daisy Dukes, but rather more appropriate, low hip-huggers that I personally think are sexier than Daisy Dukes. So with about six inches of my belly showing (thanks to a too small shirt and really low riding shorts) and all of my leg going down from the curve of my ass to the tips of my toe just as visible, I shoved my feet into the flip flops, wrapped my duster around myself, and practically ran to the cab. Ah… sweet warmth. It was awesome.

Ready to read the rest? You can! And it's absolutely free! Just sign up for the free newsletter from Michael Alexander Stories and we'll mail it right on out to you! Each day for over a week, the next chapter will be sent out, almost as fast as Breanne can write! Join us and see what Michael Alexander Stories has to offer!

Update* I've been informed that the first emailing has a few... formatting errors. We're still in the process of trying to lock down our methodology and Breanne's remaining chapters of "Barter" will be sent out in a different format, one each day. We hope you enjoy!

Day 7: Seven Days of Sluttiness

Yeah, I know. You want to know what happened on the Anniversary Assignment. But first things first. I haven't told you what happened last Thursday! Day 7 of 7 Days of Sluttiness. Let's keep current, shall we?

Thursday morning I didn’t get up out of bed. I rolled over and looked at the alarm clock which announced quite plainly that it was time to get up and go feed the animals. The alarm clock is lucky I don’t sleep with a loaded gun next to me. Instead I settled for bitch slapping the damn thing and rolling back over. The pigs and horses wouldn’t die if they didn’t get fed EXACTLY at 5:30am. Why the hell did farmers ever get up at the crack of dawn in the first place? Shit.

I felt awful. I had more beer than I thought I had and I was feeling just a tad bit under the weather. I ached too. Even my pussy was sore, though that was really no surprise. The previous evening I had spent around five hours fooling around with about a dozen guys doing a whole litany of naughty slutty things. I had even fallen asleep after a fifty stroke pussy whipping and one of the best screws of my life. My legs had been tied to the bed frame and my wrists bound together. Let’s just say that my big O at that point was pretty big.

But boy did I NOT want to get out of bed. Parts of me ached that weren’t related to sex. I felt lethargic. My brain was sluggish. My muscles ached and hurt. What I really wanted was to stay in bed for another 24 hours and try to find someone to come and give me a full body, non-sexual body massage. That and about a thousand milligrams of ibuprofen.

I rolled over onto my stomach and closed my eyes. I had removed the RVP when I had arrived home, after enduring (and yes it was awful) the powerful rotation and buzzing as I had crept into the house and up the stairs. Once in my room I decided the day was over, got out of the RVP and took a shower. I needed it. Afterward though I knew I needed to obey NHPS Rule #1, so I selected my vibroballs, slipped them, kept them OFF, and went to sleep wearing nothing but my nightgown.

I knew I needed to get up, so I needed motivation. I wriggled my hand around until I finally found the vibroballs remote. I thumbed it to its lowest setting. I settled back down, half awake, half asleep, feeling the pleasurable vibrations emanating from my nether regions when I suddenly remembered (and I have no idea how) that I was supposed to have whatever was inside me on full power. I groaned, reached back down, and jacked up the slide until the vibroballs were roaring inside me. I was still sensitive, but it wasn’t painful. I tried to sleep some more, but it just wasn’t happening. I was also a little worried about cumming. I wasn’t near someone whom I could just casually announce “Oh, by the way, I’m cumming!” so before I let myself sink into the early morning pleasure of a vibrator induced orgasm, I hauled myself out of bed.

The rules for the day stated that I needed to be wearing the RVP, which was not something to make me happy. Oh, I can handle the rumbling of the vibrator, but the damn thing spins inside you too, which I can NOT handle. I knew I’d be cumming at least once before getting the chores done, if not twice, thanks to letting my engine rev so much first. I tugged out the vibroballs, cleaned them off, and the put on (and in) the RVP. As soon as it was strapped on, I turned it all on and up, bracing myself as the four inch simulated cock not only shook, but spun inside me. Yeah, let’s see a real guy do that.

I tugged my jeans on next. No panties. I wasn’t allowed. And you know what? Jeans aren’t exactly that comfortable when you’re going commando. Still aching, hurting, mentally impaired, I managed to button my shirt up over my bare breasts. I could see red marks by each nipple, clear indications that either the binder clips or the alligator clamps had done damage. They were sore too.





The rest of this post is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM blog but can be read in Breanne Erickson's amazing e-book novel "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 3!" from Amazon.com and Barnesandnoble.com! Check it out today and find out just what happened.


"Great erotica. Breanne is this down to earth girl with a sense of humor and this incredible way of describing things. It's really amazing. Loved it." - Amazon Reviewer

A Brief Note

Photograph by Yumpop

Hi everyone. Okay, first of all, I know that everyone is dying to read Day 7 of 7 Days of Sluttiness. To be honest, I wrote all morning and half the afternoon and while I was developing carpal tunnel syndrome I finally figured out a few things.

1. There is no way I'm going to get Day 7 written today.
2. I've spent the day with no orgasms, recuperating, and I think I can handle doing one of my anniversary assignments on my actual anniversary.
3. I've decided to do "Barter" first.

Why? Well, out of the top three that you all selected, Barter is the one that is going to be the least physically demanding. Sure, I'll get embarrassed here and there, probably have a bit of sex, give a couple of blow jobs, that sort of thing, but Mistress Ellen's Doghouse is going to take a little bit to set up, and frankly there is no way I could handle an extended torture session with me putting six hours of ride time on Kari's wooden horse. A HORSE ya'll, not a PONY! Do you guys even understand what that means? It means me sitting on an only slightly blunted edge of a triangular cut piece of wood, with that edge digging into my pussy, my legs spread, tied apart, and WEIGHTED, pulling me downward. My arms will no doubt be tied, and not anywhere close to a spot where they could help take my weight, my nipples will be clamped (and probably weighted too) and I have to spend SIX HOURS like that!

Thank God it won't be all at once. But who KNOWS what Kari will do to me in between! I just can't do that yet! Not after the 7th day of Sluttines! I'm not built for that much abuse.

So Master Brandon's assignment wins. I head out tomorrow morning right after breakfast. I'm guessing it will take most of the day. I've got a plan in my head already, so we'll see what happens. After that, I'm not sure. We'll see what Kari says. She's arranging Doghouse for me. Regardless, it should be one a weekend from here on out.

Then on Sunday I will spend the day finishing the write up for Day 7. I'll post it as soon as it's ready, maybe even Sunday afternoon or evening. Then on MONDAY, I'll write out what happened on my Anniversary Assignment.

Geeze, you people are keeping me busy! But wish me luck and Happy Anniversary! I LOVE MICHAEL ALEXANDER STORIES!

Love, Bre

Help Fight Breast Cancer!

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Day 6: Seven Days of Sluttiness

Well, events finally outpaced my ability to write about them. I’ve now technically got TWO days worth of sluttiness to write about, Wednesday’s AND Thursday’s, and I’m very very sore. In fact, I was so out of it on Thursday morning that I showed up at the Frat house in something of a daze. Granted, the guys snapped me out of it pretty quick… but hey… let’s not get ahead of ourselves, right?

Wednesday (Day 6) was pretty busy, mostly because I spent a great deal of time writing and also getting distracted by various online friends. Of course the best was Karen. She knows why :D! Anyway, I had a lot to write about. That whole night out with Sara had been pretty intense, from start to finish and I wanted to make sure I related it appropriately. So it was after three before I managed to get out of the house and into my truck. Of course, as usual, my bag was packed with the full assortment of what I might need: binder clamps, ½ pound weights, the alligator clamp for my clit, ankle and wrist cuffs, a bit of rope, condoms, Stinging O, the usual. Okay, so I ADDED the cuffs and the rope. Sue me.

Wednesday was also Day 6 of my 7 Days of Sluttiness, a smorgasbord of leveled sexual insanity that Master Barrett said was designed to break me. Well, it worked. I’m broken. I have no idea if I will be able to do my first Anniversary Assignment tomorrow. There are parts of me that hurt that I’m not sure will be sufficiently… recuperated… enough to proceed. But we’ll see. But back to Day 6. Day 6 had every single thing the previous days had required, with one more addition. Now, I ALSO had to actually fuck 6 guys along with everything else. Now honestly, it wasn’t so much the sex. I was ALREADY having that much sex. It wasn’t the QUALITY of the action, but the QUANTITY. See, in all the other cases I used a new stranger for every single one of my tasks and frequently I screwed them silly in order to get what I needed. Willing to fist me to orgasm? Great, but unfortunately I had to “purchase” that with a bit of pussy. Granted I didn’t mind either. But now, on top of … let’s see… what… at least five, but more likely nine screwings, I had to do an additional three. And every single one of them had to be a stranger and none of them could complete TWO of my tasks.

That’s a lot of fucking.

So at three I stuffed my bag and headed out. My first stop was as usual the side of the road right behind my dad’s farm. It’s a quiet farm to market asphalt two lane road that sees about as much traffic as the moon. Oh look. There goes Neil Armstrong! Hi Neil! Anyway, again the day was freezing cold. And when I say freezing, I mean it was about two or three degrees above it. That meant I changed in the cab again.

My cowboy boots went first, followed by my socks. I then shimmied out of my jeans, tossed them aside, and shifted slightly as the RVP (or Rotating Venus Penis) dug into my crotch. I was already wearing the anal beads, the wire and remote draped across the seat next to the pink RVP controls. I pulled off my shirt and sat there naked for a moment, considering things.

Master Barrett had informed me earlier that morning that I HAD screwed up the whole unauthorized orgasm thing, erroneously concluding that my orgasm with Donald in the car had been an authorized explosion. I argued my point, but then realized that Master Barrett could pretty much decide things any way he wanted. I was in the middle of writing out my narrative from Tuesday however, and wearing the binder clamps on my nipples wasn’t exactly conducive to getting that done. So we did some negotiating and I ended up agreeing to something a little more intense, in order to buy the time I needed to finish writing.

I have about seven different types of clamps. I’ve got duck billed, rubber tipped, clothespin, chip clip, crushers, bell clamps, Japanese Clovers, and of course, the ones that were currently in my pocket. I was dreading the whole idea of putting them on. Connected together with a silver chain, each clamp was nothing more than a set of sharp metal teeth, originally designed to transmit small amounts of electricity. They were NEVER intended to be applied to the delicate never filled nubs of a woman’s breasts.

And yet, sitting there, I pulled the clamps out, looked down at my breasts, and gently pinched each clamp open. I released the tension on the clamps simultaneously, the idea being that enduring the pain all at once was better than enduring one breast at a time for an extend period. I gasped as the metal teeth sank into my flesh, crushing my nipple but also tearing into it, the alligator jaws sinking deeply into the skin. It hurt, oh God it hurt, but I’ve dealt with it before and would do so again. After a minute the pain changed to a burning throb and I pulled my black dress out of the bag.

My dress isn’t terribly fancy, but it LOOKS that way. Sure, it’s a designer knock off, and not really worth all that much, but I look good in it anyway. Basically it’s nothing more than a sheath that goes from the top of my breasts down to mid-thigh. It’s even decent. I could go to the opera in it. Well… maybe. Maybe because the sides of the dress, both sides I might add, are decorated by a long series of horizontal slits that reveal the skin underneath from arm pit to thigh. With this dress you don’t wear a bra. With this dress, you don’t wear panties. Why? Because everyone would KNOW. You’d be able to actually see them. Well, at least the parts that wrapped around your body. I slipped the dress down over my head and wiggled it down until my arms and shoulders were out of it and it rested atop my clamped breasts. Finally I managed to get the black material down my entire body. My RVP was mostly concealed, though you could still see the black Velcro straps through the slits on both sides of the dress.

I reached into the bag, pulled out the bondage collar, and put it on next. Lastly came the clear please fuck me shoes, four inch platforms you only see strippers and whores wearing. I swear, there must be a whole generation of American men who think that women wear their high heel shoes to bed.




The rest of this post is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM blog but can be read in Breanne Erickson's amazing e-book novel "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 3!" from Amazon.com and Barnesandnoble.com! Check it out today and find out just what happened.


"Great erotica. Breanne is this down to earth girl with a sense of humor and this incredible way of describing things. It's really amazing. Loved it." - Amazon Reviewer

Day 5: Seven Days of Sluttiness

Well. I see that everyone has voted. I guess I’m doing four anniversary assignments. I guess in the end, I’ll probably have to do them all, especially if Michael makes me hold to the new poll. My biggest issue is deciding which one to do first. I have some ideas about that, mostly based upon what I’ve been doing lately. I’m only going to get one day of rest between the end of the Seven Days of Sluttiness and the first assignment, so I need to be sure I can actually handle whatever it is I decide to do. Thank you to everyone who voted.


So what was yesterday? Day 5.


Day 5: On the Fifth Day of Sluttiness the NHPS was ordered to:
• Endure fifty swats on your pussy with your leather sap. (This can be spread out across the day with multiple strangers)
• Suck four cocks
• Receive three dozen bare bottom spanks, outside, while bare breasted wearing weighted binder clamps on both nipples. ( But since I fucked up, I really needed 108)
• Get double penetrated (ass and pussy)
• Get fisted and orgasm while doing it.
• While wearing your black latex top, your black Skort, and black thigh high stockings. You will wear your vibroballs.


I’m still sore; sore in more places than I can really describe. I’m sitting on a pillow too, mostly because my ass is still tender and even red. Of course I’ve also got my RVP (Rotating Venus Penis) strapped to my crotch, and even though it’s only on its lowest setting, my pussy is pulsing around it and what I really want is more sex. Plus I’ve already had one unauthorized orgasm this morning so the anal beads are in too. Weird huh?


Yesterday was Day 5 of the Seven Days of Sluttiness, and I think it reflected much more fully what it means to be a nympho humiliation pain slut. There’s just something… meaningful I guess, to it, when you’re lying on your back with your legs tied open, while someone his hitting your pussy with a leather sap.


Despite Monday’s fluke of getting everything done practically at one spot, I knew I was beginning to get into the “Danger Zone”. It is one thing for me to go out giving blowjobs, or carefully selecting two guys (or more) to double penetrate me, but in reality asking strangers to hit me isn’t something to be done lightly. So around 2 o’clock in the afternoon I called Mistress Sara and asked her if she could help me. I wasn’t planning on violating any of the stringent requirements of Master Barrett’s assignment, but if nothing else I needed someone along with me who would make sure that my evening was fun filled and not filled with something I didn’t want. I needed to be safe.


Okay, and maybe I also needed a babysitter to make sure I didn’t do any really stupid bad things either. Give me a break, okay?


We chatted for about twenty minutes while I packed my bag. Pretty much the same stuff went into it: my outfit for the day, my binder clips, the ½ pound weights, the alligator clamp, my four inch white platform fuck me shoes, and a new box of condoms I had picked up yesterday on my way home.


Yes, in the short shorts and the Sex Goddess tee shirt. And yes, you should have seen the looks I got. Especially since I bought the “economy size” box!


Anyway, with my bag packed I finished plotting and planning with Mistress Sara and then headed out the door. Now you need to understand that it was cold, which is really strange for south Texas. I’m used to balmy Januaries where the temperature is around fifty five to sixty degrees. This forty degree crap is for the birds. It also puts a little bit of a kink in the concept of dressing like a nympho humiliation pain slut, because nothing shuts down sexual drive than having the tips of your breasts get frostbitten. In short, when I left the house I was in work boots, tube socks, heavy blue jeans, a heavy flannel button down shirt, and my duster. Of course I wasn’t wearing panties or bra, since Master Barrett had forbidden me those items for the course of the entire week. I hadn’t minded, much, though I admit I had soaked several outfits in the course of my activities.


I was also wearing my vibroballs, complete with remote jammed in a pocket. Since I had spent the morning writing, it hadn’t been on any higher than low, except during my normal chores. These had been completed with the vibroballs on high, and as expected I had accidentally cum while feeding the goats. This meant that by the time I headed out, I was also stuffed with my vibrating anal beads. The beads had also been on low so I was charged and ready to go, but not quite that close to cumming again.


When I climbed into the truck I was able to turn both vibrators off, which afforded me a little bit of peace, especially while driving. I put the truck in gear and took off. My first stop was of course the same place I’ve been changing over the last week. There is a farm to market road behind our property that is rarely travelled. Usually, when the weather is nice, I follow Mistress Ellen’s procedure for stripping, which means going to the front of the truck, stripping completely naked while folding each article of clothing nicely, and then slowly getting dressed. The idea of course is to provide eye candy for anyone driving along the road. I’ve done this on other roads of course, including I-10, and that almost caused an accident. Better a rarely traveled concourse, believe you me!


But since the temperature was hovering around forty three degrees, I stayed in the cab to do my switch out. I’ve changed in cars before. I used to do it every morning after Kari picked me up for school. I’d leave the house in jeans and a tee shirt, waving bye to my mom, and then get in Kari’s GT. Almost always there would be a different outfit waiting for me, usually a really short mini-skirt, a blouse that wasn’t quite transparent but close, or even something that covered me completely, but was so tight that you could see the bumps of my nipples. Kari wouldn’t allow me a bra or panties unless it was my time of the month. But even then I had to wear slut clothes.


If you’ve read Michael Alexander’s “Angie’s Humiliation”, you probably already know how I got my skort. He used me for inspiration. What’s a skort? Well, a skort is actually a trick. First, you get what looks like a really super short mini skirt, then underneath you attach a pair of shorts that are exactly the same color. Cheerleaders wear a sort of skort. That way they can look sexy, but it’s not exactly a problem to do a back flip and show the audience what’s underneath it. In my case, the skort wasn’t so much to allow cartwheels though. It was very narrow, riding just under my hips. It barely covered my ass, and when I mean barely, I mean that if I squatted or bent down about an inch or two of my actual rear end would be visible. Or it would have been, had my ass and pussy not been completely covered by the “shorts” part of the skort. It was a tease.


Well… it HAD been. Until Kari took a pair of scissors and cut out the shorts part.


I had been 17 when I had received the skorts, which I guess I should really call a skirt now, since it was lacking the concealing shorts part. I held it up after taking it out of my bag, my fingers tracing the still ragged edge where Kari had sheared out the thin material. I remember when she had made me walk the mall that day, stuffed with ben wa balls, on three inch heels, wearing the skort and a reversed chevron shirt. Talk about pre NHPS days. I was cumming in about ten minutes!

Yes, just like these except just a tad bit shorter and black.

The rest of this post is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM blog but can be read in Breanne Erickson's amazing e-book novel "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 3!" from Amazon.com and Barnesandnoble.com! Check it out today and find out just what happened.


"Great erotica. Breanne is this down to earth girl with a sense of humor and this incredible way of describing things. It's really amazing. Loved it." - Amazon Reviewer

Anniversary Poll Results

As many of you can see, The Anniversary Assignment Poll is now closed. As many of Breanne's fans intended, there was a three way tie between Mistress Ellen's DogHouse, Master Brandon's Barter, and Mistress Kari's Riding the Horse. Since all three of these assignments won first place, Breanne must do all of them PLUS the second place assignment. That honor went to Mistress Sara's Bound and Caned.

Breanne has been notified of the results of the poll and upon the conclusion of her Seven Days of Sluttiness, she will begin to do the Anniversary Assignments over the course of the next month. Due to the "intensity" of the assignments, she will do one per week. Breanne has the right to decide which assignment she will complete first and in what order.

There has been some commentary that Breanne should just do them all. To that end, I'm posting a new poll in which her fans may wish to express their desires.

Yours Faithfully,

Michael Alexander

Day 4: Seven Days of Sluttiness

Don't forget to vote for the anniversary assignment!

I’ve been censured. Yep. In case you hadn’t noticed, I did something REALLY REALLY bad Sunday. Got in some serious trouble for it. Don’t bother asking what. I’m not going to tell you. Both Barrett and Michael went ballistic on me. I was threatened with about everything from severe punishment to actually being fired. Now, if you asked me to rate what I did on a scale of 1 to 10 for being really bad, it would score about a 9.6 on that scale. So, I’m really sorry. Okay?

No. I didn’t kill anyone. But it was almost that bad.

Evidently I was also a brat yesterday, mostly because I was still dealing with the aftermath, my own conscious, and both Barrett and Michael giving me a hard time about it. As Master Barrett so gracefully put it, “Admit it Bre, you fucked up.” Yes. Yes I did. I admit it.

And that’s not all. Since I didn’t get my narrative posted quick enough, Master Barrett didn’t find my screw up of the previous day until this morning. You can imagine my surprise when I got an email stating “it was 3 dozen spanks, not 20. Do it over.” Oops… and a bigger oops when I realized that I had asked for and received another 20 spanks yesterday afternoon at the construction site too. Let’s see… that means this evening I get 108 spanks. On top of my first pussy whipping. Part of me is scared to death of that. Part of me is so totally turned on that I don’t need the vibroballs to keep me wet.

Day 4: On the Fourth Day of Sluttiness the NHPS was ordered to:
• Suck four cocks
• Receive three dozen bare bottom spanks, outside, while bare breasted wearing weighted binder clamps on both nipples.
• Get double penetrated (ass and pussy)
• Get fisted and orgasm while doing it.
• While wearing one of Kari’s Slutty T-shirts, your daisy duke shorts, and your G-Spot Vibrator.

Okay, so now we’ve got that out of the way, I spent most of the morning writing, which when you realize that Michael actually deleted almost a full two and a half pages from my narrative, it makes more sense. I was told that writing a confession was not a brilliant plan. It was around two when I finally managed to get my bag packed with everything I needed and headed out the door. I was already stuffed with my G spot vibrator, a seven inch long purple monstrosity with a curved tip that actually rests right on my cervix when fully inserted. Now when I left, it was still plenty cold outside and I was wearing my jeans. I had eschewed panties and a bra, just like I had all week, due to trying to follow the restrictions Master Barrett had placed on me. I said goodbye to the family, headed outside in duster and boots and hopped in my truck.

As usual I stopped on the side of the road just south of our farm and stripped. As with the day before I didn’t get out of the truck. It was just too cold. And this would be a boring story if I died of hypothermia right at the beginning. So in the truck cab I took off my boots, then my jeans. They were a bit wet from me being stuffed all morning with the vibe, with it on for some of it too. I folded them and put them aside, using the truck seat to keep the vibe in. Granted, it was off since I was driving around, but it would be on soon enough. I peeled off my shirt and folded it up. Then, totally naked in my truck, I fished out my new outfit for the day.

The first thing I put on was the shorts. They were kinda like daisy dukes, except a little narrower. The hung right below my hips and crawled up my butt like a wedgie. Hell, you could actually see the little round bump of the vibrator through the denim if I spread my legs. There was my camel toe and right in the center was this obvious circle. Next I pulled out a tee shirt, grateful that the heater was on full blast. I had a lot of choices for which tee shirt to wear. Kari had bought me quite a few and I spent two years of college cycling through them. It’s tough to carry on a conversation with a someone when you’re wearing a tee shirt that says “I Am A Porn Star (In Training)”. Fortunately for me, that shirt was worn to nothing and we had to toss it. Instead I was wearing a cut little black tee shirt, one size to small, that had the words “Sex Goddess” in gold script written across the front. I admit it’s sort of hard to read when I’m wearing it because my boobs stretch the words out.

I squeezed into the shirt and then pulled my bondage collar out of the bag. The two inch thick black leather went around my neck and I finished the whole thing off with my fuck me shoes: the four inch white platforms that strippers wear to work. All in all, I LOOKED like a sex goddess.

Or a two bit whore.




The rest of this post is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM blog but can be read in Breanne Erickson's amazing e-book novel "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 3!" from Amazon.com and Barnesandnoble.com! Check it out today and find out just what happened.


"Great erotica. Breanne is this down to earth girl with a sense of humor and this incredible way of describing things. It's really amazing. Loved it." - Amazon Reviewer

Breanne's Anniversary Vote

Breanne has asked me to clarify the voting results procedure. Evidently she's been getting a few emails concerning the subject. The vote is to determine which two assignments Breanne will do. HOWEVER, that said, if there is a tie for the first or second place slots, than all of the assignments ranks within the top two slots are required to be completed. As the standings show right now, we have three top contenders and one that's catching up. If, for example, Master Brandon's "Barter ties with Mistress Kari's "Riding the Horse", then both of these assignments have to be completed, PLUS whichever assignment one second place. If, for example Mistress Ellen's were to tie with Mistress Sara's "Tied and Caned" for second place, then Breanne would have to complete all FOUR assignments.

I hope this clears up any confusion. Please feel free to post any questions in the comments section and I will attempt to answer them.

Day 3: Seven Days of Sluttiness

It wasn't until four o'clock that I climbed into my truck and headed out into the wild blue yonder. It was pretty damn cold and I was feeling it, even through my duster. The thermometer wasn't getting much higher than forty five degrees and fell rather than go the other direction. When I started off, I was wearing a warm pair of blue jeans, long sleeve shirt, and my boots. But tucked into my bag was the outfit I would need for Day 3 of my Seven Days of Sluttiness. As I drove away from the farm, I couldn't help thinking about what would be required of me today. In fact, I kind of sang it out loud.

Day 3: On the Third Day of Sluttiness the NHPS was ordered to:
• Receive three dozen bare bottom spanks, outside, while bare breasted wearing weighted binder clamps on both nipples.
• Get double penetrated (ass and pussy)
• Get fisted and orgasm while doing it.
• While wearing your tube top and elastic mini. After each task you will swap these, top to bottom. Today’s toy will be the vibroballs.

After surviving two days of sluttiness I had a glimmer of what I was in for. In all fairness, it wouldn't be that much different than what I got the previous day. Granted, I'd only have to get fisted once instead of twice, but almost everything else matched. The only thing I wasn't looking forward to were the three dozen bare bottom/bare breasted spanks, outside. Earlier I had repacked my bag and was carrying just about everything I would need: condoms, my vibrating anal beads, my binder clamps, my alligator clamp, even the outfit I was going to wear. Of course, I also added two more items to the mix. The first was a set of 1/2 pound weights. These were two large steel balls complete with a machine screw going through them. The end of the screw didn't have threads and ended in a hook. Obviously these were meant to be hung on the binder clips. The other item was a leather sap. It was nothing more than two pieces of leather, cut to form a handle and a two inch wide three inch long rectangular "paddle". While I don't mind being spanked with an open hand, I thought it might be nice to offer the sap. Besides, on the fifth, sixth, and seventh days of sluttiness that sap would be getting a lot of use for another task that I was partially dreading and partially desperate for.

I pulled the truck over to the side of the road, but the freezing blast of wind that rocked the entire truck made me rethink about WHERE I was going to change. Instead of doing it outside, at the front of the truck, I elected to do it inside the truck. Don't look at me like that. I KNOW. But seriously, do you want me to catch frostbite on my nipples?

Don't answer that.

I stripped naked of course, right down to the silent vibroballs resting quietly in my pussy and the still form of the clitoral butterfly stimulator resting against my clit. The second toy, the butterfly, was a new addition. Evidently, Master Barrett felt that I've been behaving in a "NON-NHPS" fashion occasionally and decided that the butterfly, under the same requirements as the vibroballs, would serve to remind me of my place. So far that day I had only had them both on sporadically, not enough to induce an orgasm, but certainly enough to keep me in a heightened state of sexual arousal. In other words, I was wet and wanting.

I pulled my new outfit from my bag and gently unfolded the two pieces of cloth. Both were made from a stretchy elastic material, one white, the other a dangerous shade of dark navy blue. Ostensibly the white one was a tube top that hugged my breasts and left my shoulders and midriff bare while the other was an elastic skirt that stretched across from my hips to just below my crotch. To be honest, there wasn't a lot of material in either article of clothing. I squirmed into the white tube top. It didn't conform to my breasts, it squashed them, coating them, wrapping around them like a vacuum bag. I did something similar with the skirt, pulling it up my bare legs and over the straps of the butterfly. I wasn't exactly surprised to see the butterfly straps clearly outlined against the material. Hell, if I had been wearing a THONG everyone would have known about it. I replaced the work boots with my four inch platform fuck me shoes and then carefully buckled the two inch thick black leather bondage collar around my neck. With my outfit in place I put the truck into gear and headed toward town.



I decided to head toward a different mall, mostly because I didn't want to over do it at the Mills. It wasn't going to be long before security knew me by name (not to mention panty size, bust size, and whether I shave my pubic hair or not) Instead I drove east, heading toward Houston. After my last little adventure at the Oaks, I decided I needed to visit that mall a little more often, since while small, it offered a rather nice and fresh area for me to get into trouble. Since it was just down Highway 6, it was also close by.
of Kari’s Slutty T-shirts, your daisy duke shorts, and your G-Spot Vibrator.

The rest of this post is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM blog but can be read in Breanne Erickson's amazing e-book novel "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 3!" from Amazon.com and Barnesandnoble.com! Check it out today and find out just what happened.


"Great erotica. Breanne is this down to earth girl with a sense of humor and this incredible way of describing things. It's really amazing. Loved it." - Amazon Reviewer

Day 2: Seven Days of Sluttiness

Don't forget to vote for the anniversary assignment!

Just as I was finishing up yesterday's post, I felt the oncoming surge of another orgasm. My body was pretty much at the edge already. My nipples were throbbing, still stuck in the binder clamps, and the anal beads were vibrating away in my rear end. It was driving me crazy and I sat there in front of the screen, gripping the desk as I shuddered to a climax. I had been granted a sort of "clemency" during my writing by Michael. I had been allowed to turn the vibroballs down to low, but he told me that if I came, I still had to follow Master Barrett's punishment schedule. It took around four hours to write the entire post and about half way through I had my first orgasm. That had resulted in the quick lubrication of my anal beads with Stinging O, and a rather distracting irritant. Then, about three quarters of the way through I had a SECOND orgasm, and that resulted in my putting on the binder clamps. Oh God did they hurt! So let me tell you, writing was a bitch yesterday.

At around nine though I knew I needed to get the anal beads and the binder clamps off me, and since I had NOT been granted a way to remove them myself, I ended up sneaking out of the house after my parents had gone to bed. I roared off in the truck, my bag beside me. Of course my first stop was the side of the road. I hurried out in front of the truck, stripped out of the denim skirt and sweat shirt I was wearing, left the binder clamps and vibro balls on and in, and pulled out the little school girl outfit. Red plaid and white blouse went on over my naked and bare skin and I slipped my feet out of the flip flops and into my stripper shoes.

Then I went driving.

It was a quick outing. I just went up to the gas station. I pulled up under the florescent lights, got out of the truck, and headed in. There was only one car in the lot and that guy was by the beer section, deciding whether to go with less filling or great taste. I sauntered right up to him, smiled, and asked him if he could do me a favor.

His eyes popped out of his skull, rolled across the floor, and then slammed back into his head with an audible click. I decided to help that shock value by unbuttoning my shirt. Both breasts, bare and naked, with the exception of the biting binder clamps, flashed before his eyes. I cupped them, gave him my sad little puppy dog look, and begged him to take off the clamps for me.

He lifted his hands, then paused. "I don't know. They kinda look good like that."

Bastard. So I offered him a blow job to remove them. He agreed and we went out to his car. I climbed in with him and directed him to pull over into a darkened spot and quickly got down to business. It was fast, but I did a good job and I swallowed every drop as he spurted up into my mouth. A little might have dribbled down my chin, but I licked and sucked and even cleaned him up pretty good before presenting my tits to him. I admit I screamed out loud when he took the clamps out. It hurt. The blood rushed back into my crushed nipples and I just knelt there on the passenger seat shuddering. It was agony. When I had recovered, he asked to take me home, but I told him I had some other things to do, gave him my card (he he) and buttoned up my shirt. Then I went back into the gas station.




This post is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM blog but can be read in Breanne Erickson's amazing e-book novel "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 3!" from Amazon.com and Barnesandnoble.com! Check it out today and find out just what happened.


"Great erotica. Breanne is this down to earth girl with a sense of humor and this incredible way of describing things. It's really amazing. Loved it." - Amazon Reviewer

Day 1: Seven Days of Sluttiness

DON'T FORGET TO VOTE FOR THE ANNIVERSARY ASSIGNMENT!

Friday morning dawned bright and clear with a promise of seventy degree weather. I was looking forward to it actually. My pussy was wet and I was ready to go. I had slept with my vibro balls in of course, so the very first thing I did was turn them up… to high. That in and of itself was difficult to handle since I usually can’t deal with the vibroballs on that high of a setting for very long. I had masturbated the night before, quite extensively, to build up my endurance, but as usual, a full nights sleep rendered me back to my natural state of constant horniness and sexual need.

I made arrangements with my family to be pretty much gone this week. Sure, I still had to sleep here, not to mention take care of morning chores, but they knew I’d be gone before they got up, and so for that very first day I didn’t bother dressing in my usual outfit, but instead put on the one that Master Barrett had requested. First came the red and black plaid skirt, which barely covered my ass. The remote to the vibroballs was tucked nicely into the waistband and then I pulled my toy box and white blouse from the closet. I had a choice of nipple clamps and I decided to be a little more daring than usual and I grabbed the black rubber tipped duck billed clamps. By the time I put them on, I was getting pretty close to the metaphorical “edge” of the orgasmic cliff, and I slipped into the white blouse, buttoning it up all the way. The thin material did nothing to hide the outline of my bare breasts, complete with nipple clamps and dark connecting chain. Then I grabbed the bag I packed the night before and padded downstairs.



I wore my work boots to do the chores. Come on… there is no way to do them in high heels, especially the stripper shoes Master Barrett wanted me to wear. I’d slip, break an ankle, and then all of you would be very disappointed in me. As it was, I froze my ass off as I was doing my chores. I even put on my duster but cold air kept blowing up my skirt and chilling my ass. As it was, I hurried through my chores, until about half way through when my pussy couldn’t take it any longer. I fell backward against a stall railing and put my hand in my mouth as I cried out in bliss. The orgasm was intense, wonderful, and very wet. But I shuddered anyway, knowing that I had to endure a lot more. I halted my chores and got my bag.

My vibrating anal beads are not my favorite toy. In fact, I’d get rid of them if it were up to me. But it isn’t, so I haven’t. I also grabbed the small bottle of Stinging O, a lotion that serves the same purpose as IcyHot, except without all of the poisonous side affects that come from internal use. Carefully, I applied a light coat of the Stinging O to my anal beads and then bent over a hay bale, slowly pushing one bead at a time into my instantly stinging, tingling, and then warming asshole. Of course, through this whole process, my pussy was still being vibrated which, while not as demanding as before, was still feeling the slow build up to another orgasm. When my rear end was stuffed, I turned the vibrating anal beads up to high, tried to ignore the two major earthquakes currently shaking my entire internal landscape, and stuck the remote in my waistband next to the vibroballs controls. I put my duster back on, lowered my skirt, and finished my chores, though admittedly like a drunken sailor as I swooned in washes of pleasure from my loins.

I got to the truck just in time. With a sigh I turned both sex toys off and sat in stillness for a blissful second. I took off my work boots, tossed them behind the seat, then slipped into my four inch platform pumps: my stripper shoes, as Master Barrett likes to call them. Then I turned the key in the ignition and headed off to my day’s tasks.

Master Barrett’s Seven Days of Sluttiness is one of those massive orgasm filled assignments that boggle the mind. The first day’s requirements were pretty simple. Wearing my little school girl outfit, I was to go out and find someone to fist me. Of course, that morning, I had absolutely no idea where I was going to go or how I was going to get someone, anyone, to agree to stick their hand up my twat.

Have you ever been fisted? Well, it’s a unique feeling. Like sex for girls, it’s not something you guys can really understand. First of all, being fisted is a bit uncomfortable for a woman unless you do it all the time. The pussy is just not designed to take something the size of a tree limb. That said there is a certain amount of “elasticity” in the female sex organ, so it’s at least doable. I’ve been fisted a number of times, and while it isn’t high on my list of great sexual experiences, at least they haven’t been negative ones. To be honest, I usual come when I’m fisted too, but it’s a brutal way to be fucked. Plus there are a lot of techniques and concerns that come with fisting, which means you have to be selective about your partner. You certainly don’t want the Hulk trying to shove his hands into your body. You want to find someone with thin hands, narrow bones, and some strength and stamina.

Which at six forty in the morning, while sitting in a Ford pickup, seemed rather impossible to find. My nipples were aching a little, both from the cold and the clamps and I headed into town. I started passing other cars and trucks as I left the undeveloped and farmed country south of town and traffic picked up significantly as I approached the freeway. I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, but as I turned on to the freeway it suddenly occurred to me that I knew EXACTLY where I could go to get not only a fisting, but the privacy necessary for me to get it done!

I made a U-turn and headed west, rather than east, which had me facing AWAY from Houston. In seconds, traffic eased up even further and I managed to make good time as I proceeded down the freeway. Technically, its only about two and a half miles down the road, but my destination is far enough outside the Greater Houston area that while busy, it wasn’t cram packed with people.

But it was full of one thing: trucks.

I’ve done assignments at this place before. I think two. I’ve done so many assignments I sometimes forget who and where and even what I’ve fucked over the course of the last year. I remember bartering for a ride, complete with blowjobs, and riding naked here, while Becca followed along in her car, making sure I was safe. In fact, Becca was standing by and I called her to let her know where I was and what I was doing. It was just a little after seven when I pulled up into the parking lot.

Technically, since I was no longer driving it meant that I needed to turn both the vibrating anal beads and the vibroballs back up to their maximum settings. This reignited the flames between my legs rather nicely and it was really hard not to put my hand down there between my legs. I actually found myself lifting my skirt several times and stroking my thighs, moving my fingers higher up until I was actually touching my pussy. Each time I took a deep breath, put my hands on the steering wheel, and tried to concentrate.

I was looking for a truck driver with a full sleeper cab, and one who looked like he was going east, rather than west, so I kept an eye on the road too. Twenty minutes in I still hadn’t seen the right driver and I was so close to cumming I could stand it. I got out of my truck, leaving my duster in the warm cab, and hurried my freezing ass over to the station.

The looks I got when I opened the door and stepped in were almost comical, but then, so was I. I flushed crimson and sort of moved toward the back as everyone took in my costume. Sure, I filled it out well, but I was balancing on heels that only looked appropriate to wear in a strip club, dressed in an outfit that only looked appropriate in a strip club, with a clearly visible set of nipple clamps hanging from tits under my shirt. I heard the laughter clearly.

Which made me even wetter. I took about four steps and felt the oncoming orgasm hit me like a freight train. I wobbled a little closer to the drink dispenser, where several people were either filling their cups or staring at me. I bit my lip as the orgasm started, sending waves of agonizing pleasure through me and I came, standing there, in the middle of the station, while being stared at.

“Oh my God, I’m cumming” I announced, eyes closing as I tried to deal with the public orgasm. I reached out and took hold of one of the shelves as my body swayed dangerously.

Then it was over. I had shuddered and swooned through the orgasm and now I was only dripping, down one leg of course, but I was in control again. Sort of. I still wasn’t allowed to turn down either the vibroballs or the anal beads, but at least I had avoided having to replace the nipple clamps I was wearing with binder clips. Those hurt quite a bit more.

Still the center of attention, I moved toward the ladies room with the intention of washing my face (and getting out from under all those stares) when one of the men stepped right up to me.

“Hi. I’m Bob.”

I gave him a smile. “Breanne.”

He looked around for a moment and then looked back at me. “You available for some fun?” he asked, his voice low.

Oh my God. He thought I was a hooker! My mind raced for a moment. I looked down at his hands. They were pretty big, but not to large. I licked my lips, our eyes meeting and I nodded. I needed to land this one before I orgasmed again. I stepped closer and I put my mouth at his ear.

“Promise to fist me, as well as fuck me, and you can have me for free.”

I moved back and his eyes widened in surprise. He suddenly grinned. He held up the bottle of soda and the breakfast muffin he was holding. “Want something to eat or drink?”

I shook my head.

I waited for him, walking next to him as we approached the register. I guess it was about a minute later when he looked at me quizzically.

“What’s that buzzing noise?” he asked.

I flushed again, but told him “I’ve got a pair of vibroballs in my pussy and vibrating anal beads in my bottom.” I tried to say it quietly, but the guy behind us, who was busy eyefucking me to death, certainly heard. Things were getting very uncomfortable for me. Bob gave me one of those looks that was a combination of disbelief and “that’s fucking awesome.”

“You’re really into this, aren’t you?” he asked. I nodded.

Finally the ordeal was over. He purchased his food and amidst a chorus of both disapproving and jealous glances, we headed out into the lot. His truck was giant 18 wheeler, complete with sleeper cab and we climbed up into the still warm tractor. It was relatively neat, which still surprises me, since I’ve always thought truckers were not really the most organized of me, but it turns out they are. They THINK a lot. Bob himself wasn’t ugly either. His hair was a little long, and he had a bit of a paunch, but he was clean and relatively muscular, which was what I needed at the moment.

I didn’t bother sitting down in the passenger seat and instead made my way into the sleeping compartment. Here at least there was a bit of “lived in” sense, since there were still a few clothes hanging about, and I spotted a collection of porn magazines under the bed. I climbed to the back of the sleeper and I heard a whistle behind me. I stopped and looked back. My skirt, which barely covered my ass when I was standing up, had exposed most of my rear end, along with my shaved and bare pussy. Obviously, wires led from both holes up to my waistband and the humming of the toys were very very loud.

“Lady, you got one sweet ass,” Bob told me. I twisted, lying down on his bed, my legs spread open.
“Do you want to fuck me first, or fist me?”

“You really want me to put my hand inside your cunt?” he asked. I nodded. “It’s your pussy. I’ll give it a fisting you’ll never forget!”

I reached down and pulled the vibroballs out. It took me a moment to get them turned off. I left the anal beads on. Then with a toss, I dumped the vibroballs on the floor and got in position.

This will probably be the only time over the next week that I describe this in detail, mostly because I don’t want to bore you. But it started with Bob running a few fingers through my slit. I was soaked, so it wasn’t like I was a dry virgin who was terrified of her first fisting. It took only moments for my juices to slick his fingers up and he began working a second, then a third into my hole. Slowly he stretched me and I loved the sensation of his fingers curling inside me, stroking the walls of my pussy. He twisted his arm a little bit, pushing here and there until he was able to get hour fingers in. This is the key moment. He began pumping his arm against my slit, four fingers slightly curled together, forming a flesh phallus that drove deeply into my cunt. Then he slipped his thumb into the little hole formed by his fingers, bending his palm. Slowly he worked it in, still thrusting regularly. It felt incredible and the vibrations from the anal beads only got me more excited.



Finally he was able to get his thumb in and he began pushing. I tired to relax, opening up, letting him shove his hand into me. It took several minutes and lots of steady pressure but eventually there was this release as the widest part of his hand passed my opening and then my pussy lips sealed themselves around his wrist.

Having someone’s entire hand up inside you is an amazing sensation. Too bad guys never get to experience it from our side. First of all, you feel fuller than you ever had before, but it moves, because most guys like to clench their fists inside you, or even wiggle their fingers. It’s intense. And then if they start pumping too, well… it doesn’t take long for things to reach their climax. Or for me to reach mine.

I exploded. Hard. I was clenching his sheets in my fists, my legs splayed wide apart and my entire body rocking with these hammer like shoves as Bob worked me. After I had my orgasmic screaming fit he tugged his hand free (which wasn’t that easy, even with all the lubrication) and stuck his fingers into my mouth. I did my best to slurp up the excess juices, but there was too much and he ended up wiping it on my blouse. The thin material turned transparent in spots, not that the shirt was doing a good job hiding anything in the first place, but…

I was still dazed when cock landed on my face. I blinked and Bob was naked from the waist down and he was tapping his thick heavy dick on my cheek. Without much in the way of conscious thought I turned sideways and began sucking on him. He didn’t taste all that good, but I’m a good NHPS and don’t complain. It didn’t take him long before he pulled himself out, put a condom on, and then rammed his cock into my pussy.

I felt the thrusts, but they were child’s play next to the fisting I had just gotten and I barely registered the penetration. Evidently Bob thought the same thing because a moment later I was literally lifted and rolled over. Before I could object, he pulled the vibrating anal beads out of my ass and replaced them with his cock. I could hear them buzzing on the floor.

Bob came half in about five minutes and I just took it like a champ. It didn’t require much. Some moans from me, a few “yeah, fuck me hard!” comments, and then he was filling that condom with cream and I was able to roll over.

The rest of my time in the cab was rather boring. I asked him to reinsert both the ben wa balls and the anal beads, and then I turned them back up to maximum the moment they were in. That surprised him. Then I thanked him, kissed him, and headed back to my truck.

It wasn’t even eight o’clock.

Of course, I still had a few major problems though. The first was my attire. I could hardly go home right away. Part of the assignment was for me to DRESS the part. And while I could get away with going home after lunch, maybe, there was no way Master Barrett would approve of me finding someone to remove the beads and then heading back to the house. Even if I kept the vibroballs in and on he would have a conniption.

I didn’t know what to do. So I called Kari. She told me to head for her office, which was fine by me because that meant I could turn off the vibrators. The drive took almost a full hour because of traffic and I pulled up into the plush office park Kari has her digs. It’s all lush jungle landscaping, dark woods, and reflective mirrored glass. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, I got out of my truck, turned on both sets of vibrators, and started in to the building.

Thank God I didn’t pass anyone. The sound of the vibrators were clearly audible and I was already embarrassed by my attire. I opened Kari’s office door and looked around the gorgeously decorated waiting room. In less than twenty seconds Kari, dressed in an immaculate white business suit, stepped into the room. Her eyes took one look at me, then rolled, and she turned around and left without a word. I followed.

She checked once to make sure I was following and then led me to the conference room. I have some happy memories here. I gave Robert a blowjob here almost a full year before for an assignment, and then let him screw my brains out, without asking for permission from Kari first. I got punished for that. Hell, I’m STILL being punished for that. I’ve already agreed to help “cater” Kari’s superbowl party. But that will be another story.

With my pussy and rear end buzzing away, Kari had me sit down at the table. I dumped my bag on the chair next to me and sat down. To my surprise, she produced a long piece of rope and I let her tie my hands and feet to the arms and legs of the chair. In moments I was secured.

“Are you close to cumming again?” she asked politely, eyeing me. I nodded. It wasn’t going to happen in the next ten minutes, but I could tell it wouldn’t be much longer than that.

“And you already have the anal beads in and on?” she asked again.

“Yes, Kari,” I replied meekly. She began digging in my bad and pulled out the binder clamps. Then she unbuttoned my blouse. Some people would have removed the clamps on my nipples by opening both tightened pincers. Kari just grabbed the chain between and pulled hard. I yelped, my breasts tingling, hurt rushing up through my globes as my pussy contracted hard around the vibroballs. Even my ass clenched.

Then Kari held up the binder clamps. “Since you’re close anyway, let’s just put these on now, shall we?”

I kept my mouth shut.

With a flick of her finger she snapped my nipple and then quickly let the small binder clamp bite down and crush my delicate nub. I cried out, a quick yelp and moan even as she was preparing the other breast. There was another flick and then I felt something cruel and inhuman bite down on me. My nipples started to throb. My pussy burned. I looked up at Kari who grinned down at me.

And then left.

For two hours.

I can’t even begin to tell you how awful those two hours were. When she came back right before lunch I was sitting in a puddle of my own juices and I felt as if I had been wrung out. Sure, I’ve dealt with non-stop vibrations before, and I was tied down too, but I was a wreck then as well. My nipples had gone numb and all I could think of was “thank God I’m not wearing the butterfly!” Fortunately, Master Barrett had not required the butterfly during ANY of the week’s assignments. It sits right on top of my clit and just forces me to have clitoral orgasms over and over. In that two hours I had five orgasms.

Kari told me it was time for lunch and let me up. I rose to my feet and Kari helped me button my shirt back up. The binder clamps stayed on of course, which made my chest look ridiculous. The black clamps were clearly visible and made very odd looking outlines at the front of my shirt.

Fortunately, my skirt wasn’t soaked like the chair. This was undoubtedly due to the fact that my skirt was too short to be that far under my bottom when I sat down. I didn’t feel guilty about ruining Kari’s chair either. She got what she deserved. She put me there. She left me there. She can pay the cleaning bill too.

I stumbled my way out of Kari’s office, with her at my elbow making sure I didn’t fall. My pussy was still contracting in rhythmic spasms around the vibroballs and my ass felt like I was sitting on a hand mixer and not allowed to get off. Kari put me in her car and we drove to Kari’s favorite restaurant.

I probably shouldn’t name the place, just to avoid issues. It’s one of the best Mediterranean restaurants in Houston. The gyros are incredible. It’s expensive, but it’s worth it. To be honest, I only go with Kari. She can afford the bill. I’m more of a Taquieras del Sol kinda girl. Three bucks for a steak fajita torta with guacamole is more in line with my checkbook. Kari walked in like she owned the place and took me to the very back of the restaurant and sat me down. I was scarlet. The walk from the front door to the back of the restaurant had been even more humiliating than I had expected. If you ate at this particular restuarant, chances were that you were well off. I was the epitome of sexual sleaze and I felt ridiculous in my little slut schoolgirl outfit. Worse, Kari sat me down so that I was looking out at all the people still staring at me. I lowered my eyes and tried to ignore it.

My pussy was burning and I was quickly approaching another orgasm. The place was packed too. There were other diners within a few feet of us and I could sense the quick glances I was getting. Everyone was trying to see me, and I could sense their disgust, hunger, and even jealousy. Our waiter dropped by, a nice boy in a white shirt, black pants, apron, and a black tie and Kari ordered for us. As he scurried off to get our drinks, I bit down on my lip, trying to keep from having another orgasm.

“You look a little peaked,” Kari said, eyes bright at my discomfort. She lives for this kind of thing. “Need to cum?”

I nodded, not trusting my mouth to respond.

“Well don’t let me stop you.” She smiled evilly.

Our waiter returned and Kari began outlining what we wanted. I always ordered the same thing, so it wasn’t really necessary to speak.

“There is one more thing, however,” Kari said, putting one hand on the cute waiter’s arm. “My friend here,” she nodded at me, “is in a bit of a bind. I put a pair of clamps on her tits earlier and they hurt quite a bit. Would you mind removing them for her?”

I didn’t see his expression because I was intensely studying the napkin holder.

I heard his voice though. “You mean…?”

Kari laughed, her sweet bell like chuckle of mischievous delight. “Yes. Just reach down into her shirt and pinch them off, would you?” There was another laugh. “She doesn’t bite.”

I heard his voice again. “Miss?” he asked, clearly speaking to me. I looked up, tears filling my eyes. This was just too much.

My voice cracked and I had to clear it. “Please sir? Take off the clamps? They hurt.” I asked, knowing it was what Kari wanted to hear.

He looked around the restaurant. Everyone was pretending not to watch. He glanced back at me and I lifted one hand to my blouse and pulled the collar out. Since there were only three buttons on the shirt in the first place, and it didn’t exactly cover my entire upper torso, he got an immediate look down my shirt.

With a darting glance around, he quickly reached in, grabbed hold of the binder clip on my right nipple and pinched it open.

Pain exploded in my breast as the blood rushed back into the crushed nub. I gasped out loud, my hands flat on the table and I pitched forward, only just barely keeping myself from breaking my nose on the napkin holder. I trembled and ground my teeth together to keep from screaming. It seriously alarmed the waiter, who was now the center of attention. I know because the noise level in the restaurant had suddenly gone down.

“I’m sorry, I can’t!” he said. I didn’t see him walk away. I was too busy with what was now happening between my legs.

“Oh God. I’m cumming!” I said out loud, my voice cracking with emotion.

The next two minutes were lost to me as I let out a quiet whimper and just endured the rush. I could feel the juices seeping out of me, my pussy lost in a series of convulsions that tried to squeeze the vibroballs out of existence. My ass was locked in a tight clench around the anal beads, and one breast throbbed with agony while the other one was still aching in the death grip of a binder clamp.

The next thing I heard was “is there a problem… oh… Ms. Kari.”

Geeze. Does she know everyone?”

“Hello, Carlos. How are you doing?”

I looked up to see a Hispanic man wearing a similar outfit as the waiter, except without the apron. He was clearly management.

“I’m fine, thank you.” He looked over at me, and then smiled. “It’s good to see you again miss.”

Now THAT startled me. I blushed again, finally coming out of my orgasm stupor. I gave him a confused look because that’s how I felt. “Um, I don’t remember…” He held up his hand.

“It’s not surprising. You were tied up at the time. Just hanging around.” He grinned then looked back at Ms. Kari. “Did you order?”

Kari nodded while I tried to puzzle out what “Carlos” had just told me. He looked vaguely familiar, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t fucked him.

What? You think that I like take pictures of every guy I screw? Do you have any clue how MANY pictures that would be? I could fill several photo albums with snapshots if I did that. I stopped COUNTING years ago. I’ve been gangbanged at frat houses, screwed random people off the street, walked into shops and had sex in back rooms. How the hell am I supposed to remember who I’ve screwed anyway? Bite me. This is what you wanted. A girl who just does it, right?

“Yes, we ordered, but your waiter had difficulty with one of my requests.”

Carlos’ eyebrow went up. “And what request was that?” he inquired.

Kari gave me a pointed glance. “Breanne was wearing an accessory that I asked him to remove. He only got one off.”

I still had a binder clamp on my left breast, outlined against the white cotton of my shirt and Carlos looked at it. He sighed and nodded. “I suppose it was inevitable.” He turned toward Kari. “If I assist with this, will you promise to keep things low key from here on in.”

Kari smiled. “As much as I can. If you’d like, I’ll have her walk naked through your kitchen.”

Carlos shook his head. “No thank you. While I would enjoy it, I’m not sure my staff would be as understanding.” He turned toward me and lifted his hand. “Breanne?”

I nodded, leaning forward. He dipped his fingers into my décolletage quickly and this time I was a little better prepared for the excruciating pain I felt as the blood surged back into my compacted nipple. I hissed a little, fingers tightening on the edge of the table and I swayed back and forth in my chair. Every muscle in my body clenched and I concentrated on my breathing.

“Thank you, Carlos,” Kari said politely.

“My pleasure, Mistress Kari.” Then he walked off.

Lunch arrived about ten minutes later and proceeded a little more smoothly. The other diners got sort of adjusted to me and returned to their lunches, while all of the men in the place continued to cast little daring glances at me. My lunch plate of gyros were incredible and Kari’s penne rustica with grilled shrimp smelled heavenly. All in all, it was a great meal, except for the wet spot on the chair beneath me and the constant attention I was receiving.

After we had finished eating, Kari paid the bill, leaving a humungous tip of course. Our waiter had reappeared with a few apologies and been very attentive, probably due to Carlos’ stern words. I was once again led through the crowd, the very center of the universe for a few moments, and then was safely ensconced back in Kari’s convertible.

The weather had warmed up and Kari put the top down. I got chilled by the wind as we drove, but the sun was bright and warm and if I hunkered down behind the windshield I was able to stay mostly out of the slipstream. As we pulled into the parking lot of Kari’s office, she turned to me.

“Do you want to come in and stay a while longer?” she asked.

My eyes widened in alarm. I knew what she would do. I’d end up back in the conference room, tied to a chair. She would put the binder clamps back on. I shook my head.



“I’m going to go find someone to remove the anal beads and then head for home.”

Kari grinned. “Before we left I checked the poll on Michael’s Blog.” She smirked a little. “My assignment is tied with your Master Brandon’s.”

I shrugged. “I’m sure you will look forward to torturing me.”

This time Kari shrugged. “Well, I admit sometimes I miss you.”

I blinked. “Really?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Really.” She came around to me and quickly wrapped her arms around me. I felt her warmth, her touch, and her love. Kari was my first lover, my first mistress, my first torturer, my first friend, and still is the best friend I’ve ever had. I love her very much. I felt tears coming.

She pulled away for a moment. “Stay safe, okay?”

I nodded. “Yes, Mistress.” I replied. It was a bit of a joke. Even when I was her sub, she never made me call her mistress. Just her name had been enough. She smiled at me. Then she kissed me. A real kiss. A wet kiss. A long kiss. I felt her put something in my hand. Then she broke contact, winked, and went into her office complex. I looked down at what I was holding; two black binder clamps.

I got in my truck and began driving, which was something of a relief since I got to turn off the vibrators buzzing in my rear and pussy. I drove slow, on the side roads rather than the freeway, taking Westheimer all the way back down to Highway 6 before getting on to I-10 and heading back toward my side of town. It took an hour and a half to get near home, but the peace of mind (and pussy) was worth it.

I still had one problem though: the vibrating anal beads. I needed to get them out. That meant finding someone will to pull a full set of eight plastic spheres out of my ass. So I did what any nympho humiliation pain slut would do under circumstances like that.

I stopped at the mall.

Of course, the moment I stopped the car I had to turn the vibroballs in my pussy, not to mention the anal beads, back to their full intensity vibrations. Almost instantly my pussy gushed and I started that internal muscular dance of contraction and relaxation that I go through when being stimulated like this. I headed into the mall, a different one than my usual spots to go, and began walking around.

I had never done an assignment at this particular mall, mostly because it was pretty small. This time however it was exactly what I needed. I made my way into one of the department stores and set my sights on the men’s section. I didn’t hurry, though I wanted too. Walking with a pair of vibroballs buzzing in your pussy, rolling around, sets me off. The eyes glued to my ass, not to mention the quiet snickers behind me were all the stimulation I needed. As it was I didn’t make it before I had to turn toward one of the small shops, go in, get within five feet of the clerk (a little Asian woman) and announce in an emotional, obviously tense voice “Oh God! I’m cumming!”

I trembled a bit as the orgasm washed through me, a veritable wave of endorphins and pleasure streaming up through me. I had one hand on a glass shelving unit and then the little Asian woman was coming around her counter, waving her hand at me.

“What is it you do? You disgust. Get out!”

Wow. Welcome to America.

I gave her what I hope was an apologetic look and decided not to lift my skirt and ask her to remove the vibrating anal beads. Instead I just left. Before she called mall security. I managed to make it to the department store I was heading for and wound my way into the men’s department. It only took me a moment to locate a clerk, a nice looking gentlemen who was about my age, clean cut, and ready to sell me something.

I approached him and as expected, when he saw me, his jaw fell open. I gave him one of my million watt please fuck me stupid smiles and made a beeline for him.

“Hi! I’m Breanne,” I said conversationally.

“John. What can I do for you?” His tone was professional, but I got the sense that there was a bit more to the offer than just finding a new suit for my boyfriend.

I leaned forward; making sure that my shirt fell away from my breasts and giving him a relatively clear view of my belly button, THROUGH my shirt. Oh, sure my breasts were in the way, but there was this clear spot BETWEEN them for him to see my belly button. “Actually, John, there IS something you can do for me,” I said a bit breathlessly. When manipulating men, it helps to play the part they expect.

“I’ve got a set of vibrating beads up my ass and they’re driving me crazy. Would you mind removing them?” I asked.

Silence. Then, “really?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Sure. When do you want…” his voice trailed off.

“Right now.” I replied. He glanced around. His department was empty. He looked back at me, suddenly at a loss.

I sighed. “How about the changing room?”

“Uh… sure.”

I strolled toward the men’s changing room and walked in like I owned the place. Actually I was glad I had just cum, since John was a bit of a hunk. He followed me in a moment later and I shut the door to my own little personal sex stall behind him.

With a grin on my face I turned around and bent over, flipping the little red plaid skirt up around my waist. The little plastic pull circle was sticking out of my ass, along with the wire to the remote and I felt John’s fingers touching me. He got a hold of the beads and started pulling.

I have to admit, as much as I don’t really like the beads, I enjoy having them extracted from my rear end. It feels… good in an odd way. I can’t really describe the sensation. It’s like.. um… well. Fuck it. It just feels good, but in a weird way.

I pulled the remote from my belt as the last bead popped out of my rear end and I quickly turned them off. John stood there like an idiot holding up the beads, trying to decide what to do with them. I dropped the remote and grabbed my purse. A baby wipe and a plastic baggie took care of the beads and I tucked it all away.

“Thank you!” I said with a grin, turning back toward him.

“Uh. Is that it?” he asked, clearly disappointed.

I shook my head and lowered my voice so that it came out dark, sultry, and very very hungry. “No. It isn’t.”

Frankly, I hope John didn’t get fired. I kept him in the dressing room for about twenty minutes while I gave him a rather aggressive blowjob followed by a quick but energetic fuck. It felt good to have cock in me again and while I didn’t cum, it was still much much better than the vibroballs buzzing away.

After we were done I stuck the vibroballs back up inside me, turned them on full, kissed John goodbye, and headed back to my truck. I didn’t make it of course. After getting screwed like that, combined with the non-stop buzzing, I felt the next orgasm coming like a freight train. I reeled toward one of the kiosks and braced myself while pretending to look at the product, some sort of soap.

“Hello, would you like to try a free sample?” I was asked by a young looking guy with dark hair. I opened my mouth to reply, but the only thing I could say at that moment was “Oh my God. I’m cumming.” And then I did. I just stood there, shaking, letting the waves of pleasure rush through me. It was intense. When I blinked and focused again, I realized that there were like five or six people all standing around, watching me. I flushed crimson, took the free sample, and hurried away.

Back in my truck I considered my options. To be honest, I had completed the necessary requirements to make Master Barrett happy. I was also tired and a little worn out. So I headed for home. I pulled up in front of the barn, quickly disappeared into with my bag, and emerged in denim shorts, a baggy tee shirt, and flip flops.

But inside me, buried deep, were my vibroballs.

And they were on. And boy did that get me in trouble! But I'll tell you about that tomorrow.

Hope you enjoyed Day 1 of my Seven Days of Sluttiness!