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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