Kari's Super Bowl Party

Kari’s Super Bowl Party

02/08/11 Part One

Sunday afternoon, right around four pm, I pulled up into the business park. It’s a rather upstanding sort of spot, just south of Downtown in the Rice Village area. The building itself is an architectural oddity. Lots of dark wood, horizontal beams, heavy tinted glass, and it’s surrounded by a lush tropical jungle of banana plants, palm trees, and about a dozen other plants I can’t identify off hand. It exudes “richness”, making you feel self-conscious about your dress, your hair, and whether there is sufficient cash in your bank account to actually even hire any of the businesses inside. There are two lawyers, a CPA, a marketing firm, a couple of other high scale businesses, and of course, one of the most successful interior decorating firms in Houston.

That interior decorating firm is Kari’s of course, and I felt decidedly out of place as I opened the foyer door to the building. I was in jeans, tee shirt, and sneakers, and looked like a normal girl for a change. No slutty look. No half exposed body. Even my tee shirt was normal, not even one declaring “I’m a Fuck Toy! Wanna Play?” I wasn’t even stuffed with a sex toy! I had brought my bag though. Kari had asked I bring the stripper shoes Master Barrett had forced me to buy several months ago, so they were dangling over my shoulder. I walked through the large interior courtyard, passing offices on both sides, still impressed by the inside garden, skylights, stone floors, and even the “dry” creekbed running through the garden. I crossed the little bridge and went up the stairs toward Kari’s office.

Kari’s suite was actually pretty large. It had her office of course, a corner affair that was almost nothing but windows. There was two other smaller offices, one of which was her “design” room. Kari is OCD, which stands for obsessive compulsive disorder, and entropy is her main enemy in life. Everything has its place, even her design room. There are binders of fabric samples. An art pallet the size of one of my hay bales sits on one shelf. She’s got one of those slanted desks with blank paper on it, coming from a side mounted roll. The stool is padded and comfortable and even THIS room looks “designed”.

She also has a small kitchenette, which I should really call a kitchen, since it has an oven, microwave, sink, refrigerator, and dishwasher. Hell, I could LIVE in this suite. There are TWO bathrooms, neither of which are marked for gender, but both are immaculate and have obviously been decorated by Kari as well. Then there is the conference room, which last time I had seen it, held a massive twelve person oak table, a matching number of chairs, a side table complete with espresso and coffee machines, and all the fixin’s.

The glass door to her office was unlocked and I walked in with a “halloo”. The small “waiting” room is more of a niche, and you can actually look down the hall straight into Kari’s office. I saw her lean over to look through her office door from behind her desk. Her phone was to her ear and she was chatting amiably with whoever was on the other line. She waved me in with a smile and bright twinkling eyes.

“Yes. I want the first set delivered around five pm and the second set at seven. Yes. Thank you ever so much, Carlos. Absolutely. Thank you!” she said, then ended the call.

“Breanne!” Kari was suddenly up and coming over to me with a hug. I grinned and hugged her back. She was wearing the vanilla perfume and I took a deep breath. Kari loves vanilla. She even coats her lips with a gloss that TASTES like vanilla. When I was younger I used to love kissing those lips. I still do in fact. I just don’t do it very often any more.

“Hi Kari,” I said. “Here I am.”

She grinned. “Here you are. Thanks for being willing to help.”

I shrugged. “I sort of owe you.”

“Yes you do, and trust me, you will pay off that debt tonight.”

I expected as much. Why else would I be bringing my stripper shoes? Why else would she have told me not to worry about what I would be wearing?

“So I suppose you want me to get changed?” I asked.

Kari shook her head. “Not yet. You’ll have help tonight, so we’ll wait until Holly is here.

“Holly?” I asked, not recognizing the name. Kari shrugged.

“The other girl I hired. Don’t worry, she’s not in your class.”

I smiled, but a little nervously. “So what do you want me to do?” I asked.

“Why don’t you see if Robert needs any help? He’s in the conference room working on the tech stuff.”

I blinked. Robert was there? I hadn’t been expecting that.

For those of you that don’t know, Robert is Kari’s submissive Boy Toy. He’s twenty nine, a sandy haired blonde brown hunk who is a day trader in stocks, an iron pumping, jogging, racquetball playing freak, who when he gets home, strips naked and submits to every whim Kari has. We have a lot in common. Both of us have been sex slaves to the same woman. At the end of our sophomore year in college, both Kari and I realized that while we were bi-sexual, both of us “preferred” guys. We ended our D/s relationship and went our separate ways while maintaining our friendship. I found a new roomie and Kari kept the apartment for herself. Her dad was paying the rent anyway. To replace me, Kari hunted boy toys. She’d go looking for the physically perfect specimen, lure him back to her place, screw his brains out while applying increasingly draconian requirements on him. Very few of them lasted a month. There were even a few who didn’t last a weekend. Kari’s idea of sexual fun is to torment the living hell out of her boy toys. And she doesn’t really do denial. It’s more about over dose. With Kari, everything is at one hundred and twenty percent.

But Robert has made it past a year and a half now, almost to two, which makes him the longest lasting boy toy I’ve ever know to stay with Kari. I’m actually really impressed. He is polite, mild mannered, clean, neat, handsome, the perfect guy to bring home to mom and introduce as a fiancé. Except he belongs to Kari. He’s devoted to her; devoted enough to be willing to endure her OCD, her anger, her wit, her vitality, her whims, her maniacal trend toward neatness, not to mention pain, denial, and sensory overload when she sexually tortures him. I know what it’s like to live with her. It can be absolute hell. Putting your glass on the coffee table without a coaster is enough to get you bent over the end of the sofa with a spiked dildo in your pussy while enduring fifty swats with a wooden paddle.

Is it any wonder I’m so fucked up?

“Robert’s here?” I asked in surprise. Kari nodded then smiled warmly.

“It’s a reward. Be nice to him.”

I blinked again. Shock. Be nice to him? Huh? Where did the real Kari go?

“Okay!” I said brightly, recovering. Then I turned and headed down the hallway.

I passed the design room and the second office, both of which were closed up so I couldn’t see into them. The kitchen was dark and I passed it. Then I made it to the conference room.

Holy shit!

First of all, the table was gone. And so were the chairs! How they had gotten that massive table out of there was beyond me. But it was gone. Also gone were all but three of the chairs that went with it. But the room was not empty. Sitting in a half circle where the table used to be, was five black leather easy chairs, each looking so comfortable, and so wide, that if they were airplane seats you wouldn’t be flying first class, you’d be flying by yourself. In a Lear Jet. Each chair had a small table to the right, though the far left chair ALSO had a table to the left. There was enough space between the chairs and their matching tables in order for someone slim enough to step through. Heavy coasters already sat on each table – Kari’s influence no doubt.

In front of the chairs was the largest television set I’ve ever seen. It was massive. Don’t ask me how big it was. I have no idea. But it was huge. It was like movie screen big. And bright. And detailed. The television was on, but the sound was muted, which was good, because there was a pretty impressive set of speakers, including one of those big box bass speakers too. Lastly, kneeling in front of the system, fiddling with one of the equalizer things, was Robert.

“Hey Robert,” I said warmly when I saw him. He turned and looked up. Then he smiled.

“Hi Breanne!” he said, standing up and coming over to me. We embraced and he lifted my chin and kissed me. With tongue. I melted against him.

Don’t get me wrong. We’re not in love, though I admit that he’s HALF of what I’m looking for. I’ve made love to this man. I’ve been tortured by him. I’ve sucked on him. I’ve helped Kari milk him, torturing him to the point where his cock was nothing more than red swollen raw meat incapable of even tolerating being inside me. I’ve seen this man bound, his cock stuffed in leather bindings, tied up between his legs. I’ve seen this man follow Kari’s orders to put me on the wooden horse, leaving me in agony for hours, only to have him fuck my tender parts later at her command. I’ve seen him risk hours of punishment or even banishment to give me just a few moments relief, outside of orders. I’d do practically anything for Robert. Our bond is just that, one of mutual, shared bondage. We both are frequently at the whim of our Mistress Kari.

To be honest, it was a little weird seeing him with clothes on. Of course, I have before. We’ve all gone out and about too. But normally when I see Robert he is buck naked. Unlike me, he handles his nudity very well. Of course, I’m a plain jane. To thin, farmer’s tan, more freckles than is good for me, and a round face. The only good parts about me are my blue eyes (which granted don’t go with the dyed red hair), and my lips, which I think are full and sexy and look particularly good when wrapped around something thick I’m sucking.

Robert broke the kiss and our eyes met.

“So you get a day off?” He grinned.

“Think we’ll get a chance too…” I started to ask and he nodded.

“Absolutely, Breanne. That’s one of the benefits of today.”

I felt a warmth rush through me. The thought of being able to make love to Robert again just made everything better.

“Kari said to see if you needed help,” I suddenly said. He shrugged.

“Not much left to do. The screen and sound system are set up. Pre-game stuff is already on,” he said, motioning to the television. “But you can help me get the beer cooler stocked. He pointed to the side table where the espresso and coffee machines had been joined by what one would consider a half sized refrigerator.

“Okay!” I replied. Together we went to the kitchenette, and started transferring samples of about ten different popular beers to the little beer cooler in the conference room. I was tempted at one point to strip naked so that Robert would have something to watch as we walked back and forth, but decided not to. Why incur the wrath of Kari just for a little bit of fun, right? We also set out several bottles of wine. Robert said that the vino was expensive, but since I can barely tell wine from grape juice, I took his word at it. I don’t understand why people would pay seventy dollars a bottle for wine. Is it really THAT good? Can you tell I’m not a wine drinker?

It was around four twenty when Kari called to me from the hallway. I left Robert to his tasks and stepped out of the conference room to go to Kari. I found her standing at the open door of the second office. She motioned me forward and I stepped into the spare office past her.

Which is when I got to meet Holly. Holly was a blond girl, thin, pretty with a slightly upturned nose which made her more cute than elegant. Her makeup was a little overdone and she was wearing a mini skirt and halter top that went with the rich décor about as well as my blue jeans and tee shirt. We were roughly the same size, right down to height and weight though. We looked at each other with appraising glances. I’m pretty sure we distilled our judgments down to the basics. My brain cataloged her as high priced hooker. Excuse me. ESCORT. I’m sure she had me pegged as well: unsophisticated farm girl, picking cow pies from between her toes. The look of disdain was evident on her face.



The rest of Kari's Super Bowl Party 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