Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction

In the world of erotic literature there is something called "Writer's License". Breanne reminded me of this a few days ago. But at least we don't go to these extremes!

Revised Edition: The Dinner

With our new editor weeding her way through the Free Archive, we've been slowly updating and revising some of the older stories, correcting mistakes, smoothing out writing problems, and generally making things better. If you haven't had a chance to peruse Michael Alexander's Free Story Archive, you absolutely should. Recently updated was Michael's "The Dinner" a phenomenal short story sure to delight your virtual taste buds!

Oh. And we have new book cover art as well!

Daily Assignment 032911 Sanded

"Sanded" is available in Breanne Erickson's novel "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" Volume 4! Buy it now from Amazon.com or Barnes and Noble!

Love the Beret...

Via J-girl&SM Photobox.

Couldn't resist posting this. It's too good.

Daily Assignment 032511 Just One Blowjob

It took me about forty minutes to find it. Mostly because there aren’t that many of them around. And why would there be one on a small back road? It was closer to Houston and I’m surprised it was still up and running. Prices were high of course, but I figured maybe the owner of the gas station also rented out the appliance repair place next door or something.

I pulled up on the far side of the station. There weren’t any customers, but there were still two cars. One behind the station and one in front of the appliance repair place. I sat there for a moment, considering my options.

At first I had figured I’d have the ability to choose from customers. Now that really wasn’t possible all things considered. I looked down at my outfit and shifted uncomfortably. I was wearing my stripper shoes, my flipflops having been flung to the side of the cabin as I donned the inappropriate for just about everything but fucking footwear. My legs were bare, all the way up. And I mean that. The only thing that could remotely be considered decent was the black skort I was wearing. It was ultra short, having been given to me when I was a slightly smaller at the hip sixteen. It also had the “shorts” part cut out, meaning that my skort was actually a skirt; a skimpy ass revealing skirt that I had to literally wear under my hip bones to keep from flashing my pussy.

But that wasn’t all I was wearing. I was also sporting a regular fashion for Nympho Humiliation Pain Sluts; a rope thong. It was made of one ¾ inch thick rough hemp that wrapped around my waist and then from back to front where it was looped and tightened with a clove hitch. This sunk the rope deeply through my ass crack, labia, and over my clit. It was very uncomfortable, especially with the tightening knot positioned right over my clitoris. Of course the rope thong wasn’t just decorative either. It was holding in a 12 inch long black rubber dildo; my Core Driller. So whether I was sitting, walking, or just holding still I was constantly uncomfortable and sexually stimulated.

And that’s it. I had been wearing a shirt and bra earlier, but I took those off for the drive. I had gotten plenty of looks too, but here I was, bare from the waist up and the thighs down. Honestly, if it had gotten me out of the crotch rope and Core Driller I would have pranced around naked!

With my options limited, I opened the door of the truck and crossed my arms across my bare chest. The warm sun caressed my skin and I quickly walked passed the convenience store windows, hoping I wasn’t seen. Every step was hard. The Core Driller didn’t like me moving with fast steps and I felt as if someone had shoved a baseball bat inside me and was jerking it back and forth with sharp pulls. My guts were getting bruised! Of course this wasn’t even close to the abrasive pain I was feeling from my clit. The rope rubbed me raw with every step and my poor clit was slowly becoming red, chaffed, and swollen. By the time I got to the appliance repair store I was ready to collapse.

It seemed dark inside, but once my eyes adjusted to the light I saw two Hispanic men, eyes wide, mouths open in surprise. They were both dressed, but sort of greasy (not because they were Mexican, but because they had been working on washers and dryers and stuff!) I walked up to the first one and smiled.

“Can I please give you a blowjob?” I asked politely.

The two guys looked at each other and then grinned. There was a flurry of Spanish, which I couldn’t follow and then he reached up and grabbed my breasts, kneading them hard. Next thing I knew I was being pulled behind the counter and into the back room.

They had least made a pretense for my comfort, though I’m sure they wondered why I was wincing as I was moved around. A cushion of some sort was dropped on the floor in front of me and I went to my knees. The first guy immediately stood in front of me, freeing his cock from his jeans.

Oh yuck.

He was rancid, and I mean seriously rancid. It was everything I could do not to gag. After a moment though I literally cleaned his cock with my mouth and I no longer could taste the acrid slime of his cock. His foreskin was literally gross. But I took it all and kept sucking and rubbing his balls until he finally popped, shooting a stream of thick goopy white cum across my face. It dripped down my chin and over my lips and onto my bare breasts.

And then guy number two was there, putting his cell phone into his jeans pocket before yanking out his wand. I didn’t really object at this point. It would hardly be fair for me to suck off one and not the other, right? So I put my effort into another spurt of cum across my face and was rewarded about eight minutes later with another spurt of wetness that splattered on my cheek and neck and then dripped wetly onto my chest.

I blinked as guy number three moved into position. Where the fuck had he come from? And guy number four was standing in the doorway, watching. His cock was already out and he was stroking it! I turned my head, only to get smacked in the face with a cock. Something was said in Spanish and cock was pretty much forced into my mouth at that point.

After guy number three was satisfied I handled guy number four and guy number five. I was covered in cum. My knees were hurting and my breasts were literally soaked. My face was nothing but white cream and I suddenly understood what bukkake must be like for Japanese girls.

“No! No more!” I said loudly, getting up. I stumbled along as they moved aside and I wondered if I was about to get raped. Not my most brilliant moment. I stumbled out of the appliance repair shop as the entire gaggle of guys followed. The parking lot was full now. I opened the door to the convenience store and hurried inside.

The clerk was Indian or Pakistani, not sure which. He stared at me for a moment, eyes wide. There was one customer as well, a white guy purchasing gas and a soda and they both looked at me in astonishment.

I swallowed, walked right up to the counter, cleared my throat and said “Excuse me, do you have a tissue I could wipe up all this cum with? I’ve given a few too many blowjobs.”

The white guy let out a quick bark of laughter. “Lady, you don’t need a tissue. You need a fucking bath towel.”

I ignored the comment. “Do you have a tissue, sir?” I asked the clerk. Politely I hope.

He nodded toward the back of the store. “There is a bathroom in the back. You can clean up there.”

I smiled. “Thank you.”

It only took me fifteen minutes to get cleaned up. There was nothing I could do about the cum in my hair, but I managed to mop up the white spooge that had splattered my face and shoulders and tits. The skort needed washing and I felt rather dirty. And incredibly horny. I put my hands down on the sink and pumped my hips. The rope and knot slid through my pussy and over my clit and as I thrust forward the Core Driller did what it was supposed to do. I felt the orgasm overwhelm me and then I let out a soft cry of anguish and pleasure as I came.

I’d say I looked decent when I came out of the bathroom, but since my breasts were still on display, I don’t think decent is the right word to use. The white guy was still there, chatting with the clerk and obviously waiting for me. I stepped back up to the counter and offered my thanks to the clerk.

“This is not proper behavior,” the clerk said. I shrugged, then turned to leave, only to be caught by the arm. The white guy’s fingers tightened slightly.

“So do you only do Mexicans or are good old American boys on your list to?”

My eyes narrowed. I’m all about patriotism, but not about racism. “The terms didn’t specify race sir, just that I needed to give a blowjob. I’m done now. Thank you.”

“What are your rates?” he asked, still pressing. I felt his hand on my ass and watched his eyebrows quirk upward. “What the hell?” he asked, pulling the skort material upward. The exclamation of surprise was impressive.

To make a long story short, I went back to his place. Some of it was because there were five guys waiting for me outside of the convenience store and I didn’t feel like doing all of them. Plus I think a few more had shown up. I DID get to take off my crotch rope and take out the Core Driller. The sex was pretty good and two hours later, when he dropped me back off at my truck, the appliance shop was once more deserted except for the one car out front, and they never came out to check on me.

Short and sweet and pretty fun! Pretty stupid too. Me I mean, not the assignment. So hope you enjoyed hearing about how dumb I am. Maybe I should be a blond instead of a red head! See ya

Daily Assignment 03/23/11: Blue Trucks

I stared at the road in front of me. It was empty and to be honest, I was hoping it stayed that way. My hands were clutching the steering wheel and I was just a tad bit uneasy. I wasn’t totally sure why I was uneasy. Perhaps it was the nervousness at what was coming. Perhaps because my window was open. Maybe it was because there were two clothespins tied to the steering wheel. Maybe it was the fact I was dressed in only flip flops, a tee shirt, and a skirt; no bra, no panties. Or maybe it was because I had my anal beads stuffed up my ass, my vibroballs in my pussy, and my butterfly vibrating stimulator wrapped around my loins and pressed delicately against my already sore clit. They were off of course, but I suspected it wouldn’t be long before they were on.

One hour and ten miles. I could go over of course. I could go farther if it took me an hour. Or I could take longer, if I still needed to cover ten miles. My truck trembled, the engine rumbling, shaking, as if sensing my uneasiness. Or maybe it just needed a fuel injector cleaning. Not sure. Plus there was the other requirement to this adventure I was dreading: a trip through a drive thru at a local fast food place. Talk about humiliating.

In Texas it’s not hard to get away from people. I live on a farm and I can honestly say that with the exception of my family, there isn’t another soul within five miles of my parent’s place. I COULD have driven toward the boonies, long dusty barely paved roads (and some just gravel!) where I could have eaten up the ten miles and single hour without ever passing another car, much less a blue truck. But considering what I had to do, what was expected of me, of what I NEEDED, I turned the wheel the opposite direction and headed north; north toward the freeway, the retail stores, the restaurants, and the mall.

As it was, fate was against me. Granted, I was in a more populated spot, with a number of semi-industrial and agricultural businesses around, but I hadn’t expected it so soon. I mean seriously, how many blue pickup trucks can there possibly be? Worse, it was moving, pulling into a some ranching equipment place and I let out a soft whimper as I pulled my truck over and followed him into the parking lot. Unlike the guy in the blue truck, I parked facing the street, and as far away from the entrance as possible. Already my heart rate had picked up and I was biting my lip in a mixture of dread and excitement.

I turned off the car. First things first, right? I picked up the black control unit that led to the series of beads embedded in my ass. I thumbed the dial, twisting it to its maximum setting, feeling the eight little spheres begin tumbling, vibrating inside me. It felt as if the truck engine was not only still on, but had planted its crank shaft between my butt cheeks. I didn’t stop there either. Next I grabbed the vibroballs remote, quickly bringing both ovoid objects to a clattering, pussy shaking and high level torment. I felt myself clench around both the anal beads and the vibroballs, my already wet pussy squelching as I felt my sex ripen in sexual excitement. I let out a whimper next, but my fingers had already lifted my skirt and quickly flicked the small switch on the front of the butterfly stimulator, sending the small plastic knobbed device into a series of fluttering spasms as it caressed my clit. There were only three settings: off, low, and high. For this assignment, there were only two and low wasn’t one of them.

In seconds I was near orgasm. Even as my thighs pressed together and my hips began jerking spasmodically, I licked my lips and lifted my shirt. My bare breasts were perfectly visible to anyone driving past the truck, but only from the side, not from the front. Carefully, but with increasing difficulty I reached up to the first clothespin and attached it to my left nipple. The string was just long enough to allow me to move around. I followed suit with the other clothespin and in just a moment I was whimpering and moaning as the vibrations sent me spiraling upward to climax and my nipples reacted to the gentle pinching.

I kicked off my flip flops. It was hard, but I managed to bring my left foot up, propping it on my right knee. The position sent a wave of excruciating pleasure through me, almost enough to make me cum right at that second. But I mastered myself long enough to reach over to the console and extract the large tan rubber bands that sat in the little cup. One I put on the seat next to me. The other I slipped over my toes, working it upward until it sat neatly and straight around my foot, bisecting the arch of my sole, the tenderest section.

Closing my eyes for just a moment, I took hold of the rubber band against the sole of my left foot. I pulled it outward, one inch, then two, then three, then four. Then I let it go.
A sharp sting exploded through my arch. It wasn’t too bad though. I could handle it. I did it again, wincing with my lips pressed together. The sting was worse the third and fourth times, and by the time I got to five, I was taking a several moments to recover.

I pulled the foot away from my knee and put the stinging aching punished arch back on the floor of the cab. Then I put my right foot up on my left knee. I grabbed the other rubber band from the seat and slipped it on, repeating the earlier process. Then I began snapping. Just like my left foot, my right felt the repeated sting, slowly becoming more sensitive to the cruel snaps of the rubber against the sole.



With five snaps completed on each foot my fingers fumbled for the control remotes. I grabbed the black anal bead controller and quickly turned it off. The roar in my ass died down and then faded, despite the continued pulsing of my buttocks. Of course my pussy and clit were still being subjected to something around 9.4 on the Richter scale and my leg contortions had caused frequent tugs on my still clothespin clamped nipples. I grabbed my left foot and started to snap again.

This time it hurt, a little. Sure, it stung too, but there was something else there. And with each repeated snap I felt just a little more tender, a little more delicate, a little more responsive. I could see a thin red line building against the already pink skin of my arch and when I finished the second set of five on my left foot, I moved to the right. My nipples were tugged painfully as I got in position and as I started snapping the rubber band against my sole, I shuddered in sudden orgasmic ecstasy. I cried out, my hips grinding downward, my chest heaving, and then I could feel the wet spurts soaking my skirt and the vinyl seat beneath me.

I’m not sure I would have if I had been allowed to. Turn off the vibroballs and butterfly I mean. They felt so good. But I had to move on. I knew that. Besides, what would happen if I was still there in the parking lot when the owner of that blue Toyota Tundra came out and started his truck? I’d have to turn on the anal beads again and do it all over.



So I continued on. Two more snaps to my right foot finished me up and I reached over and turned off the vibroballs, stilling the raging rattle that threatened to send me over the edge a second time. Now I only had to endure the butterfly vibrator. But I was aware of the nature of my torment. The butterfly was no doubt the worst. Already I could feel the build up, the tension rising, the pressure building. It wouldn’t be a vaginal orgasm. I had just had one of those, but it would be clitoral, a mind-numbing, nerve wracking, climax that would be centered on just one spot, tenderized and swollen and perfectly receptive to the direct stimulation. I struggled to get my left foot up, ignoring the now repetitive spasm of my legs and hips. My fingers snapped the rubber band, pain exploding up through my sensitive arch. The sole of my foot burned, aching as the two, then three, then four snaps landed, each punctuated with an audible hiss of pain. My nipples throbbed, agony lancing through my breasts as the crushing bite of the clothespins further antagonized my libido. The fifth snap on my left foot brought tears to my eyes.

I moved to my right foot, but only made it through two snaps before my clit finally overloaded. This time the orgasm made my entire body jerk like a puppet on string, held by an overactive toddler. I actually cried out, trying to smother my wails of pleasure due to the open window. The climax itself was intense due to the focus. Unlike the previous orgasm, this one was centered on one spot, my clit and had been fiery, short lived, and felt raw. Imagine taking a girl’s nipple in one hand and slowly pinching it and her entire breast in a bruising squeeze. Keep squeezing until the pain is deep. Then on her other breast, take a sharp needle and drive it through her nipple. That’s the difference between a vaginal orgasm, and a clitoral one. Got it?

I struggled through the last two snaps on my right foot. The butterfly was still buzzing happily away against my sensitized clit, which was trying to figure out if it was trying to come DOWN from orgasm, or go UP to it. With a sigh of relief I reached down between my legs and flicked the small switch to off.

Silence filled the cab of the truck, except of course for my little moans, whimpers, and still heavy breathing. Aftershocks raced along my nervous system, setting muscles jumping and twitching. I gasped and winced as I freed my nipples from the painful bite of the clothespins and pulled my shirt back down over my breasts. Slowly I mastered my body. The catalog of hurt included the arches of both feet, tension in my thighs, my hyper-sensitive clit, and my aching nipples. I turned the key in the ignition and managed to get out of that parking lot before the driver of that blue truck came out again.

I managed three miles. Traffic, despite being a lazy slow Tuesday afternoon picked up as I got closer to the freeway. Cars began to pass me, even a lot of trucks. I watched, my heart beating faster as each pickup approached, looking to see if it was blue.

There are a lot of trucks in Texas.

Read the rest of Breanne's Assignment: Blue Trucks
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

Rope and Clothespins

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Today's Assignment: Blue Trucks

Received from Master Brandon:

Breanne -

Brace yourself, girl. It's about to get bad. You will wear a skirt, a tee shirt, and shoes that can be easily taken off. Nothing else. You are to stuff yourself with your vibrating anal beads, your vibroballs, and wear your clitoral butterfly stimulator. You will also bring those two wooden clothespins with the strings attached. Tie the clothespins to the steering wheel at about eight inches. You will also bring two rubber bands. But them on your feet so that they rest around your arches.

You will then go for a drive. Your minimum drive time is one hour. Your minimum mileage is ten miles. You can go over if you want. Keep the driver's side window down.

Here's the kicker. If you see a running truck, a BLUE TRUCK, you are to pull over immediately. You will then turn on all three vibrating toys to their maximum, which should put you over the edge pretty quick. Once the vibes are all on, lift your shirt (you can keep it on, just expose your tits) and attach the clothespins to your nipples. At this point you've got to EARN the right to turn off the vibe toys. You will complete five snaps to both arches in order to turn off ONE vibe. You must start with the anal beads, then proceed to the vibroballs, with the final vibe to be turned off being the Butterfly. So in order to turn off all the vibes, you'll need to snap both feet fifteen times each. Once you have turned off the vibes, you may take the clothespins off your tits, lower your shirt, and continue driving, at least until you see another BLUE TRUCK!

One last thing. Even if you are half-way done getting the vibes turned back off and you see a running BLUE TRUCK, you will turn them all back to maximum and start over, including snaps.

By the time you're done with this I expect your clit to be so sore you'll be screaming for days just from grazing it with a fingernail, your ass to be tender, your nipples to be bruised, and that you'll practically cum just from SEEING a BLUE TRUCK in the future! In fact, we just may make this a permanent assignment!

- Brandon

I'm in some serious trouble now.

Punishment: I'm Cumming!

I’m Cumming

I sat down across from him, not allowed to touch or taste him. We were separated by miles and miles, yet so close. I was barefoot, in jeans and panties, stuffed with my ben wa balls, wearing an old gray tee shirt and bra.

"Put a peg on your clit," he commanded. I swallowed, nodding, knowing it was only going to get worse from this point.

"Just a second. I've got to take off my jeans." I stood up, unbuttoning my denim pants and sliding them and my pink bikini panties down to my knees. My shaved slit was already wet from the ben wa balls, not to mention anticipation.

"Okay. Jeans and panties down to my knees... putting the clothespin on now sir" I said. I lifted the little wooden clamp and pinched it open. My clit was already protruding, a wet little lump of nerves that screamed for attention. It closed upon my flesh and I stifled the little scream that went with it.

"Keep it on all day."

"Uh... can I switch to a skirt then?" I asked, fingering the wooden clothespin.

He looked at my quizzically. "Why do you want to wear a skirt?"
"Because then the clothespin will dangle down without any pressure. If I wear panties and jeans, then the jeans tug painfully on the clothespin when I move around.

His laugh was very pure. "Sounds like you should wear the jeans then."

"Um... Yes sir," I replied. My clit throbbed, crushed between the wooden jaws of the peg.

"Better give the clothespin a twist to make sure it's on okay."

I frowned. "It's on okay, believe me sir." I said a bit grumpily, not wanting to send the shooting pains up through my loins.

His tone was stern. "That wasn't a request."

I swallowed my pride. "Yes, sir. A full twist or a half twist." Yes, trust me that matters.

"Two full ones, one each direction."

"Yes sir." I reached down between my legs and grasped the clothespin. Slowly I began to turn it clockwise, pain and pleasure shooting up from between my legs and rushing through me like a freight train in a tunnel. My clit felt like it was being ripped off my body, especially when I released it and then went the other direction, twisting it around like a messed up dial on a radio.

Panting, the pulse and wetness between my legs now much worse, I looked up at him. "Yes, the clothespin is on properly sir."

"Good."

"Should I pull up my jeans now?" I asked.

He grinned, the thought of my panties and jeans pressing the clothespin into an awkward position, hurting me even more appealing. "Yes, go ahead."

He waited a few moments while I struggled into my clothes, wincing at the shifting of the clothespin. "Painful?" he asked.

I nodded, biting my lip. My clitoris really didn't like how the clothespin was jammed and pulled downward and I could feel the rough edge of the clamp against the folds of my sex.

"Speaking of pain, I've still not entirely forgiven you for last Saturday, so I think I should hurt you."

I gulped. "Right now, sir?"

"Yes. Get the rubber bands for your feet."

I flinched. "Oh God..."

He glared at me as I rummaged through the drawer. I pulled them out and held them up. "I've got them here sir!" I called out.

"Well? Put them on and begin."



I blinked. "How many snaps sir?"

His head cocked to one side. "Till I get bored of hurting you."

The thought of my arches stinging like that was too much. Tears came to my eyes. "Sir? Please... can you hurt me some other way? Please? I'll sit in my chair with the Husky Dildo up my ass, or on the tack mat, or put ice in my pussy.. something?" I took a breath. Or I could sit with my legs spread to the sides of the chair on my triangular prism."

He crossed his arms and gave me that look every submissive dreads to see. "Why would I offer you such kindness?

I hesitated, trying to come up with a good answer. "Uh... because it's more sexual and will hurt more?"

"And what makes you think I would WANT to give you sexual pleasure?"

That hurt. It really did. I backtracked instead. "It wouldn't BE sexual pleasure sir. It would just hurt."

"Fine. We'll do both then. Sit on your prism while you give yourself snaps.

I realized I had lost this one and only made it worse. I struggled to find a way to mitigate what was happening. "Jeans up or down sir." It was a trick question. If the jeans had stayed up they would have padded my pussy from the painful edge of the mini "wooden pony". But either he knew that or got lucky. Knowing him, he knew it.

"Do you want me to keep my panties on then?" I hoped he'd have me remove those too. They were holding the clothespin still attached to my pussy at an awkwardly painful angle.

"Why?" he asked.

To lie or tell the truth? "If I keep my panties up, then the clothespin on my clit has to stay pressed down, tugging on it. And the panties won't really provide any protection considering what I'm about to sit on."

My heart thumped as he considered his options. "Panties stay on," he said.

I nodded. "Yes sir. Give me just a second. I've got to take the jeans off and get the prism."

He waved a hand. "Go ahead." He watched me stand and move to the closet. I got out my toybox and quickly removed the mini wooden horse. It was eight inches long and four inches high with a rather sharp point, much sharper than the full sized one I had ridden just a few weeks earlier at Kari's place. I took it back to my chair and sat down. Pain blossomed between my legs as the sharp edge dug up into my pussy and ass. Slowly, I lifted on foot and brought it up to my lap. I slipped the rubber band around the arch. The movement made the prism dig deeper into my crotch and I groaned.

"Oh damn..." I said aloud. His eyebrow went up. I gave him a rueful smile. "Swinging your leg up to snap the bands makes sitting on the prism hurt more," I told him.

He grinned. "I know.

I reached down to my left foot, grabbed hold of the rubber band, and pulled it out three inches. I let it go with a snap and it struck my arch with a sharp sting. It hurt, but only barely. That's why the rubber band snaps are so diabolical. I lowered my leg and lifted the right one up. I gave my other arch similar treatment, sending the small thin elastic against the tenderest point of my foot. Then I put my right leg down and went back to the left, snapping the rubber band. I called out the number and side with each snap.

"Left one, right one, left two, right two, left three, right three, left four, right four." At the fourth snap I was starting to feel the sting, and it wasn't the mild slice the first snap had been. Already my arches were turning pink, a thin line running from one side to the other. I began hissing as the snaps hurt more and more. By the time I had gotten to eleven my feet were hurting as much as my pussy was. Not only that, but I was moving slower. Each strike of the rubber band against my sole took several seconds to recover from, not to mention the movement of my leg from one to the other. I began to shake silently, my brain dipped in liquid "ouch".

"Slowing down, slut?" he asked softly.

I glanced up. "Sorry sir, but switching legs each time, plus the stinging and everything... its just... well... I'm having to grit my teeth and hold it all in." I reached down and snapped the rubber band on my left foot again. "Twelve" I hissed.

Several snaps later he grinned. "Sounds like adding the prism was a good idea. Thank you."

I didn't respond to that. I just kept snapping the rubber bands.

"In fact, I think you should always do your snaps like this from now on!" he said with a laugh.

I pulled the rubber band on my left foot back and let it fall for the fourteenth time. Pain laced up through my sole and up my leg till it got to my pussy and increased exponentially. I clenched my teeth as I rocked from the assault. "Not sure which hurts more... my pussy or my feet!" I declared.

"Good."

Fourteen right, fifteen left, and so on.

"Too slow. The slower you go the more you will have to do," he told me, pointing at my burning feet.

I choked back a sob. "I'm sorry! It's so hard!" I shuddered. "Can't I just give myself five on each foot and then switch legs?" The mini-wooden horse between my legs was REALLY hurting.

"No." It came out rather dark too and his expression was cold.

Seventeen left, seventeen right, eighteen left, eighteen right. I felt something odd. It was a build up of pressure. Of pain turning into something more tangible, more desirable, more desperate and wanton. My eyes widened as I realized I was close to cumming. "Sir!" I moaned. "Oh God... Sir please... I need..." Another wave hit me and I realized that I sliding fast toward the cliff edge of orgasm. I wasn't going to be able to stop. I snapped a rubber band again.

Then it hit me. What the fuck? Why was I CUMMING from being hurt? What the hell is wrong with me? How could my body DO this? "T-t-this isn't right!" I suddenly announced, eyes wide in alarm. My body trembled as I was kicked another few meters toward climax. "Sir, can I cum? Please?"

Another cold "no" was my answer.

I snapped the rubber band again, feeling the spark of pain leap to my clit and then to my heart. "Sir... I d-d-don't think I can keep from cumming... please!" I begged.

He took a deep breath. "How close are you?"

It took a moment to convert my current level of desperation into the new NHPS scale. "9.8" I gasped. It was fairly accurate. I was ready to cum. "Close." I said again a moment later. I reached down to my foot.

"Stop snapping," he ordered, his voice stern and commanding.

I looked up. "What? No! Please!" I begged him.

"NO."

I almost cried. "Please! Please hurt me!"

He eyed me coldly. "Beg."

I was shaking. I put both my feet to the ground and spread my legs, rocking on the triangular prism between my legs sending waves of pain and pleasure up through me. "PLEASE HURT ME SIR I WANT TO HURT! SO CLOSE!" I felt a sudden rush as my body flooded my bloodstream with endorphins and adrenaline. I saw spots. What came out of my mouth was practically gibberish. "Fucking prism need to cum" was all I said.

I couldn't stop. My fingers scrabbled metaphorically at the edge of the cliff and then I was falling, exploding in orgasmic delight that defies description. It was several minutes before I was even able to speak coherently. I sighed in satisfaction.

"Finished?" he asked.

I looked up at him, nodding. "Yes, sir."

"Carry on snapping, then."

I quivered a bit, but pulled my left leg up, reaching for the rubber band. "That was just wrong," I said to myself. "Why did I cum like that?"

His eyebrow went up and he seemed amused. "How was it wrong?"

"I shouldn't have cum like that." I pulled out the rubber band and let it snap sharply against my left foot.

The roll of his eyes made his feelings clear. "You are a pain slut and you need and deserve to be hurt."

I accepted this. I've always accepted this. I snapped again. And again. Twenty left and right, all the way to twenty five. My crotch was burning, deeply aching and the pain was like someone hammering nails into my pubis. My arches were just as bad.

"Please sir... my feet really hurt now and I need to get off the prism!" I gasped.

He eyed me critically. "Want to cum again?"

My eyes widened in alarm. How could he ask that? "No!" I said quickly. "I want to get off."

He pointed at the rubber band and I almost burst into a fresh bout of tears. I struggled but then reached down.

"Twenty five right," I gasped. He smiled, nodding his approval. I did the other foot. "Twenty six, left."

He took a deep breath. "No. I like that you are hurting," he said.

My eyes burned with tears. "Twenty six, left... uh I mean right!" I stammered. He said nothing. I moved to the other foot. Agony laced upward and I gasped out "twenty seven, left."

"You can stop at thirty," he told me.

I blinked. Thirty? Only six snaps to go? Oh God yes! "Thank you sir!" I offered, trying to stay strong.

I did them as quickly as I could. Fire laced up through me. It was like hot lances being drawn across your skin. It was a blaze of agony spreading from my sensitive skin. It hurt so bad. At twenty eight he encouraged me.

"Hurry up, or you won't be stopping at thirty."

I practically rushed at that point. Snap, snap, snap! I did the last one and yelled out "THIRTY, RIGHT!" and slowly put my foot to the ground. I was pretty sure walking was going to be an issue. "My arches are all red now." It was a statement of fact.

"So?" he asked.

I looked up at him again. "Sir? Can I please get off the prism now?" It was still digging up into my pussy and I could feel my cotton panties literally INSIDE my pussy as the sharp edge of the mini-wooden horse drove my panties inward.

He shook his head. "No. Does your pussy hurt?"

I nodded rapidly. "Yes sir. And my perineum. It's like a deep ache."

His mouth was a thin line. "You can get off when you cum again."

My heart thumped painfully. "How do you want me to cum sir?" I asked in a whisper, scared of the answer.

"Grind your clit into the prism." He pointed at the mini wooden horse between my legs.

I said what any good nympho humiliation pain slut would say. "Yes sir." I spread my legs wide to the sides of my chair. My jeans were now on the floor. The clothespin on my clit was still biting me and the panties had become a sodden mess. I leaned forward so that most of my weight was centered on my clitoris and then I began jacking my hips back and forth. The clothespin kept me from getting a good pinch between the mini-wooden horse and my nub so I said something to him. "I don't think I'll be able to cum from this. The clothespin is in the way."

He chuckled and leaned forward. "You can take off the peg for now."

I nodded. "Yes sir."

I pulled my panties outward and reached into to remove the clothespin. A surge of discomfort went through me as the blood seeped back into tenderized and damaged flesh. "Geeze, taking those off hurts so damn much!" I announced. The clothespin clattered on the table. Then I went back to rocking, moving myself back and forth until I began to feel the pressure of sexual urgency.

"The more you hurt yourself, the better you will cum," he said. He eyed my breasts, still covered with the gray tee shirt and bra. "Yank on your nipples."

I lifted my hands to my shirt, tearing it off over my head. I tossed it aside and in seconds I was bare breasted. My fingers latched onto my nubs and I tugged and pulled. The pressure increased and I could feel myself reaching a state of utter abandon. I NEEDED THIS.

"Sir?" I gasped out loud. "Can I put clothespins on my nipples please?"

He nodded. "Go ahead."

I picked one up of the table and quickly placed it on the pointed tip of my left breast. Another clothespin quickly followed and shortly they stuck straight out from my chest like obscene pasties. A fit of giggles hit me despite the pain and sexual need. "I'm a clothesline!" I said stupidly, shaking my tits back and forth. My hips rocked again and I ground myself against the sharp edge, literally fucking it, humping it, working myself into epiphany.

"Ooohhh yes," I groaned. "Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!"

I let out a loud squeal and he sat up straight, watching.

"Harder, Breanne, harder!"

I let my entire body weight press down upon the prism, crushing my clit, practically cutting it in half. My hands went to my breasts, squeezing them and wiggling wildly the two clothespins attached to my nipples . "Oh I'm cumming!" I said out loud, more to myself than anyone else. The second orgasm blew through me like a gale, spinning me around and tearing me to shreds. If it didn't hurt it felt fantastic. And where it did hurt it felt... incredible. So sensitive, so tender, so desperate. I almost passed out.

"Did you squirt?" he asked.

I looked down between my legs to the sodden panties now partially embedded in my pussy. I hadn't squirted but I came, soaking the prism and chair. "My panties are soaked sir. Can I please get up off the prism now sir? It's starting to hurt really bad."

He grinned. "I'm glad your panties are wet. Sure, get up and clean yourself."

I stood. A moment later I was back, my clit still suffering the bobbing dangling clothespin. I stood before him. I was wearing only my panties and they were soaked, the outline of the peg clear through the semi-transparent cloth.

He leaned back in his chair, studying me. "You did good. Though you did cum without permission the first time."

I stiffened.

He nodded. "I will decided what to do about you cumming without permission."

I stood there, heart hammering.

"Get your largest anal plug."

It took a moment, especially with my clit still aching. I retrieved my plug.

"How would you like this lubed sir? Pussy juice, grapeseed oil?" I asked. I deliberately left out the option of Stinging O.

"I think Stinging O would be the best," he replied.

Trembling I took the bottle of cream and poured a generous amount onto the large four inch wide plug. I rubbed the lotion onto the thick rubber and then smeared the remainder across my breasts. Then I took the plug to my seat and pulled down my panties. The clothespin on my clit popped upward and stuck straight out like a little cock. I shuddered and held on through it.

"Well, put it in," he commanded. I sat down, my ass puckering at the feel of something cold and tingly pressing up against it. I forced myself to relax, lowering myself until first one inch, then two, then even three were embedded in my ass. It took everything I had to seat it, forcing the full four inches into my ass. I hated it. It ached.

"Now make yourself cum," he said as soon as I was done rocking my hips, trying to settle. "Rub your clit until you cum. Hard and fast."

"Sir? The clothespin?"

"Take it off for right now."

I reached down. The flush of pain as I removed the wooden peg from my clit flooded through me, but my fingers began playing with my clit.

"Your punishment for cumming without permission, is to cum as much as you can today. I want your clit raw and red. Do you understand?"

I nodded, the sensations flooding up through my loins. Cumming? All day?

"You will cum at least once an hour. More if possible. Now rub faster!" His voice was intense and I could feel the pressure on me like a weight.

My fingers tugged frantically at my clit, pressing against it, scouring my nub until I was starting to buckle. My body folded and I had to slump in my seat, spreading myself obscenely wide as he urged me on.

"Faster! Rub HARDER! NOW! RUB!"

My clit hurt but that didn't stop me from popping. It was a clitoral orgasm, not vaginal and I felt as if I had been sand blasted into climax. Pain radiated up from my abused loins, but that didn't stop him from pointing to the clothespin.

"That needs to go back on your clit. I said all day."

I reached over, hands still shaking. I picked up the clothespin. My ass clenched in expectation of the agony as I positioned the peg over my clit. It was already deep pink, over sensitive, and chaffed. When the clothespin bit down I put my fist to my mouth, stifling the scream. I shook like a tree in a hurricane, powers beyond my control rattling me. Hot white fire exploded up from between my legs, burning me until they smoldered into hot coals. I slumped even more into the chair.

Ten minutes later he spoke. "Rub your clit until you cum."




I started in surprise. What? Seriously? I couldn't! My body couldn't take that sort of abuse! I glared at him. "I can't! There's a clothespin on it."

He shrugged. "Take the peg off until you cum again."

Resistance flooded through me. I opened my mouth to protest and then realized I was playing right into his hands. Instead I glared at him, reached down between my legs, and removed the clothespin. Another flash of pain almost floored me but then I was slowly and as gently rubbing myself as was possible.

"This is so hard..." I said, more to myself than him. But he replied anyway. "Good. I like it when things are hard for you."

"My clit's sore."

"Good. Hope it is agony to cum by the end of the day tomorrow."

It took five or six minutes, maybe longer, but I began to feel it again. I rubbed more enthusiastically, but then he was there, whispering. "You're getting close, rub harder! Make it hurt!"

I made a nasty face and snarled "if you want it to hurt make me whip it with a ruler!"

"Go ahead. But I want you to REALLY hurt yourself. Hit as hard as you can."

The ruler was right there on the table and I picked it up. Me and my big mouth. I spread my legs even farther. I felt the anal plug driving up into my butt. Then I brought the flat edged side of the ruler come down on my pussy, smashign the petals and the clit flat, crushing my sexual stability in one fell swoop.

I smacked my pussy until I came again. It wasn't that long either. I was ready. Forty strokes later my clit was a darker shade of red and the surrounding flesh was bright pink, showing tinges of blue. When the orgasm rocked me, I sawed the edge of the ruler against my clit. Wanton abandon, that was me! Colors flashed across my eyes and I felt as if I were flying to pieces. I shuddered and dropped the ruler, my crotch sore and painful to the touch.

"How did that feel?" he asked.

I tried to control my quivering, eyes still glazed. My thighs were now pressed together and I concentrated on staying conscious. He left me alone for a little bit, at least until I started moving. When I had straightened in my seat, he looked at me.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked.

I blinked, confused. "Forgetting something?" I asked stupidly.

"What's supposed to be on your clit?" he replied, his question tone making it clear he expected only one answer.

"The clothespin," I whispered.

"That's right. So why isn't it on your clit then?"

A torrent of emotions rushed through my brain, and he could see it. He could see my hesitation, my thoughts, my very unwillingness.

"What are you?"

"I'm a nympho humiliation pain slut," I replied automatically.

"And that means?"

"I should be punished and hurt and embarrassed, and fucked."

He nodded. "That means you need to put that clothespin on your clit right now."

I let out a pretty decent scream when it closed on my clit. I was shaking hard, totally unable to handle the pain streaming from my clit.

"Now, you are going to have to masturbate again shortly. Remember, you have to cum lots today. I want your clit sore and red and raw. Understand? That means an orgasm an hour, preferably a clitoral one. You're a pain slut and I expect each orgasm to hurt like hell. Also, you will leave the butt plug in until you cum at least ten more times today.

I nodded, my entire body tense. The clothespin hurt, but cumming every hour? "Sir? Can I make a request?"

He shrugged. "You can ask."

"Sir... can I please replace the clothespin with the butterfly? It will make cumming, especially clitoral orgasms, come easier and more often sir." The plea came out in a rush. An insane rush. The butterfly clitoral stimulator would hurt me WAY more than a clothespin.

He didn't look convinced.

"I'll keep it on low all day unless I'm horny and then I'll turn it up to maximum.

He sighed and nodded. "Okay, but I want you to cum at least once an hour for the rest of the day."

I nodded emphatically, hands going down to my clothespinned clit. "I'll do my best sir."

"I didn't say do your best. I said cum at least once an hour!" he snapped.

I paused. "Can I use any toy I want then sir?"

He shook his head. "No. You will turn the Butterfly up to high."

The thought of that that scared me.

"I want your clit raw by the end of the day."

"Yes sir. I'll make it very raw."

He smiled. "Good. I do like playing with my fuck doll. Now thank me."

My response was wooden, but only because I was in the process of getting my butterfly clitoral stimulator out of my toybox. "Thank you for hurting me and making me cum sir," I replied.

"You are welcome. Does your pussy still hurt?" he asked.

"Oh God yes sir."

"Maybe I'll have you spread the Stinging O all over that prism next time you ride it.

What could I say to that? I hung my head, holding the purple plastic butterfly vibrator that in seconds would be strapped to my swollen and sore clit. "Thank you sir."

I spent the next few minutes taking off the clothespin, checking for damage, and then strapping on the butterfly. Once it was in position, I switched it on, setting it to the lowest setting. It didn't matter. It felt like someone was rubbing my clit with sandpaper. I grit my teeth and sat back down, legs spread.

"Sir? It's on. And on low."

He didn't even look up at me. "Turn it up to high until you cum."

"SIR! I can't! It just doesn't work like that sir! I can't so soon..."

"That's not my problem," he replied. "High. Now."

I let out a wail as the vibrations went from low to high. "Oh God this hurts!"

He let out a scoffing laugh. "Cum quicker then."

He watched as I suffered. The vibrations were so intense, so painful, and so delicious. I hurt and I wanted and I needed and I felt and I pressed and I pushed and I demanded and then I came. I pulled the clitoral vibrator away, and turned it to low, still holding it away from my pussy.

He stood up. "Well done. I hope you aren't this slow all day. I have to go now. Remember, you have to cum at least once an hour, so at least ten more before the end of the day. I'll expect your clit to be so tender that even touching it tomorrow will make you scream."

I collapsed in a heap, unable to do more than nod. Yes master. Yes sir. I'll cum more. Thank you for making me cum. Thank you for hurting me.

Oh God, my clit!

I'm cumming!

Punishment Time? Oh, Geeze...

Okay, if anyone wasn’t aware, yesterday I was required to wear the Rotating Venus Penis toy by Master Brandon. And it was OFF. Yes, I know, weird right? But there was ONE little issue with that. Any time I heard or read the word “love” I had to turn the RVP on for five minutes. So special thanks to temp_slave, who sent me the lyrics to that Beatles song with the word “love” in like twelve times. And thanks to Michael and Bad Barrett and others who made sure to leave that little gift on my Facebook page and elsewhere. That made yesterday VERY difficult. Especially since Master Brandon made it clear I was too be PUNISHED for every orgasm. So thanks ya’ll.

Breanne, First you will announce how many orgasms you had yesterday along with how many vibration sessions. Today’s toy will be the vibroballs on low plus your bra tack mat insert and your pussy tack insert. Your punishment will be to complete a NHPS pushup for every session you endured, and to go on a horse ride today with a time frame of five minutes per orgasm. You will turn your vibroballs to maximum. That should teach you not to orgasm without permission. - Brandon

Well, I had 14 orgasms 28 sessions. I’ve already got the tack mats in and they’re driving me crazy. Dressed in a skirt, tee shirt, bra and panties of course. This will be… insane.

Love,

Breanne

Daily Assignment 03/16/11: Lingerie, Clothespins, and Cumming

It had been a tough couple of days. Ever since Monday afternoon I had been sans orgasm, which meant a full five days of sexual frustration. For the first few days I had been stuck in my Chastity Belt. I probably would have still been stuck in it if it hadn't been for the fact that I ended up with some medical issues concerning the anal plug. Let's face it, the human rectum was just not built to permanently house a four inch vibrating plug for extended periods of time. Especially when every three hours meant removing it, lubing it with Stinging O cream, reinserting it, and then turning the vibrator function on high for thirty minutes. But that wasn't the only thing going on. On the first hour it was the clit vibrator at the front of the belt for two minutes, on high. Then the next hour it was the vaginal phallus, ten minutes on high. Then I had to do the whole anal plug thing. Talk about sexual frustration.

On Wednesday I had to endure the vibroballs, on for ten minutes every hour, unless I was close to cumming. That was tough. I went twice without turning them on because I was worried I was going to cum and once I turned them off a little early. To much stimulation. And I was horny. Thursday I moved to my Husky dildo, which wasn't that bad. Sure, I still wasn't allowed to cum, but all I really had to do was not go horseback riding or use the tractor and I was relatively sane. Friday however, Master Barrett set me to wearing my ben wa balls and a clothespin on my clit. This was pure torment. The ben wa balls only activate if I'm moving around and I almost lost it that morning while doing my chores. But I managed to make it through, and Master Barrett only made me "flick" the clothespin once or twice to keep me right on the edge.

So when he told me I needed to keep the ben wa balls and clothespin on through Saturday, I almost cried.

But I was saved! Yep. By Mistress Ellen. See, if I'm given an assignment, then the minor torments applied to me daily are subsequent to my little daily torment. I didn't beg or ask for it, she just gave it to me and I didn't see a reason NOT to accept the assignment, especially when it meant major relief for me! Besides, Master Barrett told me I was too suffer until I was finished with my writing. And I AM. So there! Anyway, Mistress Ellen and I discussed the assignment and here is what I got told to do:

Breanne, you will go to the mall dressed in something incredibly sexy and only on the verge of being decent. You will stop at a lingerie store and purchase a new camisole or teddy, something that is transparent and leaves your pussy available. You will then go shopping at other clothing stores, but you aren't looking for clothes, you're looking for the prototypical guy standing by the women's dressing rooms, waiting. You will approach the guy, explain you've recently made a purchase and want to try it on, but would like his opinion. Invite him into the changing room with you. If possible, try to be in the changing room next to the person he is waiting for. Once inside, get out your lingerie and then strip naked. Put on your lingerie. Ask him how he likes it. Then offer him either a blowjob or fuck. You must find five guys, each of which you must at least get into the changing room with you.

So around 9:45 I picked out an outfit that I thought would fit the bill quite nicely. Don't worry, it's something you'd be familiar with. My blue stretch skirt and the white tube top. It's warm enough here in Texas and its spring and I was feeling daring. Besides, I look good in it. I also grabbed my nice blue sandals with the three inch heels. Not the stripper shoes. Real shoes. AS a result I ended up looking a little slutty, but not at a point where I needed to be arrested for indecency. As usual, I left the house in my blue denim skirt, tee shirt, and flip flops, but once I got out onto the main road, I pulled over, moved to the front of the truck, and peeled off my clothes.

This was started ages ago by Mistress Ellen in fact. She likes me to publically strip, even though I'm usually unobserved. Its the risk, though I think if she had her way, I'd be doing it every day in a hardware store. I wonder if Mike would really mind? Uh.. never mind. Anyway. standing at the front of my truck, the empty Farm to Market road stretched off in both directions empty. I took off my tee shirt, folded it, removed my bra, and then slipped the denim shorts down my legs. I already wasn't wearing panties thanks to the clothespin that had been clamped to my clit for over twenty four hours. Yes, I slept with it on. Yes. It ached. And yes, even tapping it, barely touching it, made me so wet that I'd almost come. Hmmm... maybe that's what I should have tweeted to Master Barrett! "Please Master Barrett, if you let me cum I'll.... stand naked from the waist down in front of a stranger and let him smack the clothespin back and forth until I either cum or it falls off." I wonder if he would have accepted that?

Anyway, with the road still empty I pulled on skirt and tube top, leaving myself stuffed with both ben wa balls and the clothespin on my clit. I want to make it clear, that I didn't HAVE To do that. I could have taken off the clothespins, and removed the vibroballs. Notice that they were not part of the assignment? But I'm a good girl and even though technically I was sort of working around Master Barrett's daily torment, I was still trying to honor most of it.

Except for the not cumming part.

I'm am going to be in SOOO much trouble. Sigh.

I got to the mall a little early but that didn't matter much. I headed in, acutely aware of the fact that every step I took caused the ben wa balls to roll around inside me. Now I have to tell you, generally the ben wa balls don't do that much to my libido. Sure, when I was sixteen and dressed like a tart and Kari would have me walk the mall, I couldn't stand it for longer than fifteen or twenty minutes before I was wheezing through an orgasm while leaning on a wall. Now a days, I can spend DAYS with the ben wa balls in and moving and not cum. Of course, if I'm ALSO not allowed to orgasm at any time, including my usual three to four a day masturbations, then the ben wa balls suddenly become a bit more effective at turning me on. So I walked slowly and deliberately toward the lingerie store. I sat down on a bench outside, kept my knees together, felt the clothespin between my thighs, gently chewing on my clit, and waited.

Picking out the right set of lingerie wasn't that hard. I knew exactly what I was looking for. It needed to be transparent, long enough to come down over most of my ass, but short enough to keep my pussy exposed. It also needed to be pretty. I was looking for something in pink, but I ended up with this gauzy camisole type long shirt that flared near the bottom. It was intended to be worn with panties, but I decided it would be more fun without! Anyway, I made my purchase, with only a few sidelong glances from the girls working the shop. To be honest, I probably looked like a slightly higher dollar hooker, but hey, being a nympho humiliation pain slut has its privileges and dressing like a slut is one of them. So now armed with a very pink bag declaring quite plainly that I had just bought lingerie, I began wandering the mall. Ostensibly I was window shopping, but as I went in store after store, I was actually looking for a target. It was over forty minutes before I found one. I won't mention the name of the store but it catered to women and I spied this couple. He was clearly bored. She, a woman who easily topped out on the two hundred pound mark, had an armful of items to try on. I waited, watching, trying to find something in my size. Finally they moved off toward the back of the store and the changing rooms and I followed. It wasn't a long wait. She didn't even say anything to him, just disappeared into the room while he leaned against a wall. I caught his attention quickly enough just by walking up to him and I have him one of my million watt please fuck me smiles.

"Hi" I said with a touch more warmth than I would have greeted a stranger at the gas station.

He blinked in surprise. Then he spoke to my breasts. "Hello."

I took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor? I just purchased a new outfit and I wanted to try it on, but I need someone to take a look and tell me how well it fits. Would you mind?" I asked.

He tore his eyes away from my breasts and down to my bag. I could already see the gears turning in his eyes. He nodded.

"Sure. I can do that," he said with a grin.

"Great! Come on!" I said, reaching out to grab his hand.

"Uh! Wait, where are we going?" he asked, a little alarmed.

I gave him a vapid bubbleheaded sort of look, the kind you expect from a bimbo. "Into the changing room of course!" I replied, acting a little confused.

"Um... with you?" he asked, his tone a little concerned.

"Well of course. How else would you be able to look at it?"

His eyebrows went up. "Well you could come back out here..." he left it hanging.

I just laughed and took his arm again. "There is no WAY I could wear this outfit out here!" I pulled and he hesitated. "Are you coming?"

He glanced back at the changing room his wife had disappeared into, then took a step in my direction. I grinned as I turned toward the changing rooms as well and quickly opened the one RIGHT NEXT to the one his wife was in.

I was lucky. The changing rooms were huge and I could have hosted an orgy in there. Well, probably. It was certainly big enough for the two of us and I sat my lucky find on the bench while I set my bag on the floor. I gave him a grin and then fished my see through green camisole out of the bag. His eyes widened in surprise and then he had this huge grin on his face as I hung it up on a little hook to the side.

Then I stripped. And I did it sexy too. Hell, I almost gave him a lap dance. I slipped my tube top over my head, turning my back to him, only to whirl around again, arms covering my breasts. Then, right in front of him, I uncovered my tits and began pushing the tube stretchy skirt down my ankles, once more turning around so that he got a good look at my bare ass.

Now I'm mostly healed from the previous Saturday's caning, but I KNOW there are still a few bruises and welts that are still visible, but he didn't say a word. Same thing with my breasts. I still have one rather bad line across both tits. It's faded quite a bit, but its very clear that someone took a cane to my breasts. But when I turned to face him, his eyes took it all in.

"IS that a clothespin?" he asked, pointing toward my clit. Still naked, I nodded and took a step closer. I put one leg up on bench next to him.

"Yes. Want to flick it?"

"Fuck ya!" he said quietly. He reached out and slapped the wooden peg once from back to front and I almost swooned in delight. I reached out and gripped his shoulders as the wave of pleasure smashed into me and almost brought me to orgasm.

"Flick it till I cum and I'll fuck you!" I whispered, fingers pressed tightly into his shoulder.

He did me proud. Suddenly my clit was being tugged, smacked, moved around and manipulated as I gasped and tried not to scream. In seconds the wave that had been building crested and I found my self thrusting my hips forward, rocking back and forth as I climaxed. It was sudden and intense and when I started to come down from the heights my eyes were glazed and I felt a sudden lethargy flow through me. Thus is the letdown after sudden adrenaline and endorphin highs.

I came down from that height to see cock. It was already out, already exposed and I fell to my knees on the carpet and went to town. My new lover could have been a little more fastidious in his personal grooming, but it wasn't bad and I had him hard in seconds. Mostly because he was already that way. I did some judicious sucking while my fingers removed the ben wa balls.



Then I found my purse and shortly his cock was condom clad as I turned around and proceeded to give him a lap dance he would never forget. We grunted, fucking each other's brains out until he pushed me off his lap and onto the floor. Before I could even blink he ripped, yes RIPPED the clothespin off my clit and then pinned me to the changing room carpet. I didn't even get a chance to put on the camisole.

When he came it was with a grunt and then he was up, pulling off the condom even before he had lost his erection. I stayed on the floor, naked, fucked, and with a rather wet pussy. It had gone too fast and I wasn't quite mentally connected yet. He looked down at me, tossing the used condom next to my hip and got his trousers back up and zipped.

"The outfit looks great," he said, then opened the door, peeking out. It closed after him and I slowly sat up.

Wow. I swept my hand under the bench, retrieving the ben wa balls and my clothespin. I hauled myself upward onto the bench and sat there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Had that been the quickest fuck I'd ever done? I shook my head, trying to clear it, but finally I just shrugged, stood up, and retrieved my fallen tube top and stretchy skirt. These both went on quickly and once covering my more salient parts, I propped one leg back up on the bench, slipped the ben wa balls back into my pussy, and then carefully let the clothespin pinch my clit in silent sexual torment. Lastly my camisole went back into the pink lingerie bag and I headed back out into the mall, looking for fuck number two.

My orgasm had gone a long way to relieving some of the stress I was feeling and even though the quick fuck had also brought me half way back up, and admittedly the clothespin wasn't making anything easier, I was able to handle the stress of walking the mall with the ben wa balls much easier. To my surprise, I had trouble, even on a Saturday, with finding another couple whose male partner was waiting around for her to try something on. Once again, I ended up following a shopping couple, rather than randomly visiting changing rooms, and after a full hour was finally presented with another opportunity.

It was a younger couple this time, obviously not married. She was thin, very punk rockish, with purple spiked hair, enough hardware piercing her face to set of airport metal detectors, and a decidedly Hot Topic meets Little School Girl taste in clothing. He was shaved bald and his arms were covered in tattoos. Now usually this isn’t my normal taste in guys. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind tattoos, it’s just that usual guys like this are a bit… rough around the edges. While I’m compatible sexually, emotionally and in other ways I’m not. Besides, I usually like guys who don’t have an easy time finding girls, rather than guys who can walk into a bar and find a slut in about ten seconds.

But since it was so hard to find guys actually waiting on their girlfriends or wives, I didn’t have an option. I couldn’t be picky, though to be honest I was pretty sure nothing was going to happen. So after Ms. Spiky Hair disappeared into the dressing room with Mr. Tattoo standing outside, I made my approach.

The words I used were almost an exact repeat of what I had told my first paramour of the day. I had recently bought a new outfit (holding up the lingerie bag) and needed someone to give me their opinion on how it looked. I got the same amount of interest from Mr. Tattoo, but as we walked toward the changing rooms (I was aiming for the one next to where his Amazonian girlfriend was in) he moved to the right, one hand on my arm, and opened the door, exposing a half dressed punk chick. She looked at her boyfriend with an arched eyebrow even as she was snapping the button closed on the jeans she was trying on. Her shirt and skirt were on the hook behind her and she had on a, I kid you not, pink lace bra. Both nipples were obviously pierced and I felt the hand on my arm tighten as Mr. Tattoo maneuvered me into the doorway.

“Bitch here says she wants an opinion on her new outfit and invited me to watch.”

I got a dangerous look from Ms. Spiky Hair. I started to pull away but Mr. Tattoo was standing sort of behind me and I was pushed into the stall. It wasn’t really meant for three people and I suddenly found myself breast to breast with Ms. Spiky Hair as Mr. Tattoo sat down on the bench, the door closing behind us. She reached up to my bag, pulled out the green lace camisole, and held it up.

“Oh yeah, lets see it on, bitch,” she said. I started to reach for it, but she tossed it to Mr. Tattoo instead and then grabbed my tube top. I started to clasp my arms to my breasts, but she had the elastic top yanked down before I could even really move. I ended up mashing my arms into my bare breasts instead. But then Mr. Tattoo grabbed my arms, pulling them behind me. Ms. Spiky Hair pinched my nipples, eliciting a sharp groan from me, then pulled my white tube top downward, snagging my stretchy skirt on the way and sending them to the floor.

“Holy shit! Bitch girl has got a clothespin on her clitty!” she exclaimed. I gasped as she touched it, wiggling it around.




“Like that bitch girl? You like it kinky? You need me to twist this sucker around a bit?”

I didn’t reply. I just moaned and spread my legs. Pain and pleasure shot up from my sex as she twisted the clothespin around, going to her knees. My pussy tightened around the ben wa balls and my hips jerked. Mr. Tattoo stood up and put his hands on my breasts, kneading them and then pinching my nipples hard.

“What the fuck? You on the rag, bitch?” I felt a tug at my pussy and realized she thought the little string sticking out of my pussy was to a tampon, rather than the ben wa balls.

“No…” I gasped “Ben… wa… balls,” I managed to say between the rapid manipulation of my clit and the hard pinches of my nipples.

“No shit?”

I felt the ben wa balls pop out of my sopping wet sex, ringing clearly now.

“Damn! She’s a slut, Frank!”

Mr. Tattoo, whose name was evidently Frank, responded by giving my nipples an extra hard pinch. I could feel his hard cock pressed against my bare ass through the jeans he was wearing. With my hands down by my sides, I reached behind me and rubbed him through the denim. I’m not sure if Ms. Spiky Hair noticed, but she shoved two fingers into me, fucking me with her hand before pulling her slimy digits from my snatch and holding them up to my mouth, making me suck my own juice.

“So you like the taste of pussy? Good.”

She started undressing now. I was right about the piercings. When the bra came off I saw two rather large c cup breasts, both sporting barbell piercings horizontally across the nipples. Her jeans went next and she was wearing brown boy shorts. They looked good on her and she pulled them off and pushed them down her legs. Her toenails were painted a dark purple and then she moved over to the bench, sat down, and lifted one leg. Her pussy wasn’t shaved and she sported a dark mass of black hair. Frank (or Mr. Tattoo as I still think of him) turned me around and pushed me down to my knees. Ms. Spiky Hair reached out, grabbed me by the hair, and pulled my face to her crotch.

Despite her unshaved snatch and the scent of arousal in the little room (which admittedly could have been mine), she was clean. I really had no choice but to use my tongue, which I dragged against her clit repeatedly as she began taking heavy breaths. I could tell she was becoming aroused because her flavor changed from mild to heavy and there was added wetness. I suckled her folds and concentrated on making her cum.

Which was why I didn’t hear the sound of the zipper behind me.

During my interaction with Ms. Spiky Hair, Mr Tattoo had unzipped his jeans, pulled out his cock, put on a condom (evidently some guys come prepared) and then expertly stuck his dick into my pussy. It was an awkward angle, because of how I was kneeling, but the sensation of being filled was too good and as I felt my own orgasm rising up, I redoubled my efforts on Ms. Spiky Hair’s pussy. We came almost at the same time, grunting and groaning as my pussy was pounded.

But even as I cried out my orgasm into Ms. Spiky Hair’s pussy, she was pushing me away and moments later we were playing musical chairs. The cock inside me was withdrawn and then Mr. Tattoo was sitting on the bench, with me in his lap, impaled once again, while Ms. Spiky Hair knelt in front of me. Mr. Tattoo helped spread my legs, widening them till my high heels touched the walls of the changing room and while he thrust upward into me, Ms. Spiky Hair began touching the clothespin.

Did I say touching? I should have said pulling. Or twisting. Or jerking. All I know is that Mr. Tattoo was holding my thighs, keeping me from closing my legs while his girlfriend knelt between my legs and sent shooting pains and incredible pleasure up from my clit.

“You like that, don’t you bitch? Like having me play with your clitty?” Ms. Spiky Hair asked as she gave the clothespin a full 360 degree twist. My eyes rolled up into the top of my head. I gasped, and then bit down on my lip, trying to keep quiet. Mr. Tattoo continued to pound into me and Ms. Spiky Hair stroked his exposed ball sack even as she tugged on my clamped clit.

Moments later he came, his mouth on my shoulder, biting into my flesh. He left teeth marks actually.

I was already being kicked up the orgasm hill and was nearing the top thanks to Ms. Spiky Hair’s manipulation of the clothespin, not to mention the pistoning cock in my pussy. I probably would have exploded again if it had not been for a sharp knock on the changing room door.

“Damn it, Kristen! Carol will be back soon so you and Frank better cut it out and leave!” a woman’s voice said.

Ms. Spiky Hair sighed and let go of the clothespin. I was pushed to my feet as both Ms. Spiky Hair, aka “Kristen” and Mr. Tattoo, aka “Frank” got back into their clothes. They did it fast even as I looked around for mine. My skirt and tube top had both ended up underneath the bench and even as I bent down to retrieve it, the door opened up as Frank left.

“Shit, three of you?” the girl outside asked, giving Ms. Spiky Hair a disgusted look. “Whose she?”

Kristen looked back at me. “Just a slut that came on to Frank. We fucked her. Bitch has a fucking clothespin on her clit.”

The other girl gave me a look of appraisal though I had grabbed my clothes and held them to my bare body. I knew she wanted to see if Kristen was right, but I wasn’t about to just show her. Besides, the nametag on her shirt, which I couldn’t read from where I was, said very clearly she worked at the store we were in.

“Well, ya’ll need to leave. Carol will be back any minute and you know she’ll flip a lid if she sees you in here,” the clerk girl said to Ms. Spiky Hair. Kristen stuffed her blouse back into her skirt, grinned, and grabbed Frank. Then it was just the clerk and me. She took a step forward, almost coming into the changing stall. Her nameplate said “Bethany”. She was a redhead, like me, except I think she was natural, plus she was about forty pounds overweight. She crossed her arms across her chest.

“I want to see the clothespin.”

I stayed the way I was. “Why?” I asked.

Bethany stepped into the stall, reached out, and grabbed my tube top, yanking it away. It stretched and then popped from the one hand holding it. I let out a little yelp and then covered my breasts with my arm.

“Show me or I call security to tell them you’re publically lewd and masturbating in my store.”

Oh yeah, that was just what I needed. Mall Security coming by, then the police. I shook my head, then slowly let both my arm across my breasts drop and my stretchy skirt. The clothespin was still sticking straight out like a stupid looking wooden penis. Bethany stared at it for just a moment and then laughed. She reached out, touched it, sending lightning up through me and she noticed. A few movements back and forth and I was having trouble standing.

“You like that, don’t you.”

I nodded, trying to keep from collapsing on to the floor as she wiggled the clothespin around. I ended up with my back against the changing room wall, my legs spread, up on tip toe, which in high heels is even more impressive. Bethany lifted one hand to my nipple, pinching it even as her other hand wiggled, twisted, tugged, and shook the clothespin that was attached to my clit. In short order I was close to cumming.

And she stopped.

“Now get dressed and get out of my store.” She stepped away from me, left the changing room, and walked away. I stumbled forward and shut the door, giving myself privacy. If there was a way to measure how close someone is to orgasm, a NHPS scale, where orgasm is a ten, and total non-arousal is a one, then I was sitting at about 9.6 and uncomfortable as hell. At that point ANYONE could have walked up, told me to strip and bend over, and I would have.

I worked myself back into my stretchy skirt, trying not to move the clothespin more than I had to. Sure, I thought about masturbating, giving myself relief, despite my earlier orgasms, but I knew that was wrong. Besides, I would just look for another couple, right? I found my ben wa balls and slipped them back into my pussy. That by itself almost caused the orgasm I was at that point trying to avoid. I spent a minute just leaning against the wall and breathing deep, trying to calm down. Then I put my tube top back on.

The changing room reeked of sex, but that wasn’t my problem. So when I had sufficiently recovered enough to keep my face a clear and calm, I opened the door and stepped out into the store. The ben wa balls rang inside me, rolling slightly, as if someone were massaging my insides. I walked slowly. I threaded my way through the racks of clothes, keeping an eye out for Bethany. She was no where to be seen, instead, an older blonde woman with a name tag saying “Carol”, stood at the counter. She nodded at me once, eyes never suggesting she knew what I had just done in her changing booth. A sense of relief flooded over me as I left the store and stepped back into the mall.

My overcharged libido came back down of course. Not much, but a little. While walking was definitely still an issue, thanks to the ben wa balls and the little clothespin, it wasn’t enough to keep me right on the edge constantly. I slid from my 9.6 down to a steady 8.5 and remained there while I stopped, grabbed a little lunch, and then started hunting again.

And came up with NOTHING. I spent two more hours at the mall, walking it back and forth. I did see one couple shopping for clothes and I followed them, but they ended up at the Target and their dressing rooms are monitored. No go there. Anyway, I was getting really tired, my feet were hurting and finally I gave up and headed for home. Still horny. Still stuffed. Still clamped.

But wait. The story doesn’t end there. You know who was pissed? Yep. Master Barrett. Not that I did the assignment, but that I KNEW I was going around him. Granted it was “technically” legal, but I sure as hell violated the spirit of our little agreement, didn’t I?

And I paid for it. His email was explicit. I actually printed it off, holding it with shaking fingers on Sunday afternoon. I grabbed what I would need and headed down to the barn.

The first thing I did was get out my tack mat. It’s nothing more than a two foot by one foot ¼ inch rubber slab that has had about a thousand tacks nailed through it. One side is nothing but tack heads. The other side is more interesting. It’s nothing but spikes. Granted, only about half a millimeter is sticking out of the rubber, but it’s enough. The next thing I did was strip. I had been wearing jeans and a tee shirt, but those got peeled off quick enough, as did the bra and panties, leaving me naked standing in the barn. On Sunday I was stuffed with my vibroballs, so I took them out as well, cleaning them with a baby wipe and putting them in the bag.

Then I got out my CoreDriller. The Core Driller is a twelve inch long, four section, black rubber dildo that looks like a multi-stage rocket. It’s one of those dildos that I’m still not really accustomed to. Sure, I can have it inside me, but if I’m sitting for extended periods, or worse… on a tractor or a horse, the CoreDriller is like being fucked with a jackhammer. It’s WORSE than a vibrator. It fills me completely. I really didn’t need to lube it. I was already wet, so I sat down on a bale of hay covered with a horse blanket, lifted one leg, and slowly inserted my largest dildo. It felt incredible.



Next I went back to my bag, which thankfully was right next to me. I can’t walk with the CoreDriller in my pussy unless I’m wearing panties and jeans or shorts. It won’t stay in. I really should rig something up. It’s got a little ring in the bottom and I could easily put a rope in there…. Oh my… a rope thong again? With a knot right at my clit? Threaded through the CoreDriller? Hush Breanne…maybe no one noticed.

I got out my Husky Dildo and my bottle of grapeseed oil. My Husky dildo is this flesh toned rubber cock. It’s nine inches long and three inches wide. It comes with a nice flat base which includes two thick rubber balls. Slowly I lubricated this and then set it down on the blanket while I stood. One hand was holding in the Core Driller while I got everything positioned. I couldn’t believe I was about to try this. I turned around, moved my ass above the Husky, and slowly started to sit down.

I hate having things in my ass. Everyone will tell you that. But for the first time I was grateful that I had spent so much time with large anal plugs shoved up my rear, or vibrating anal beads, or cock. I wasn’t able to get the whole nine inches in, but I got a good portion of it. Maybe six or seven inches. And it hurt too. I could literally feel the dildos banging against each other inside me. Now fully impaled, I reached into my bag, and pulled my alligator clamps out. These are just two metal clamps, with sharp teeth, connected by a chain. They went on my nipples. Pain raced through me straight to my pussy and I found myself teetering on the edge of about 9.4 on the NHPS scale. So gasping and aching I stumbled to my feet, hands trying to keep the dildos both inside me while the chain between my alligator clamped nipples swung.

I moved over to the tack mat, which was thankfully only two steps away. I reached the spot and knelt down. This part scared me a little bit. How the hell was I supposed to do a full fifty NHPS Pushups with the Alligator clips on? Then I realized what Master Barrett intended. See, when I put the alligator clamps on my nipples, I latched them on from the bottom, so that the clamps and the chain would dangle downward. There is an art form to how one puts clamps on a girl’s nipples. For example, with duck bill clamps you put them on from the front, horizontally, so that the clamps stick straight out. Most of the time when I have clothespins on they are like this too. Guys like to see them sticking straight out. Clover clamps go on from underneath, pinching the nipple on the sides with the hardware and attached chain dangling down. Alligator clamps work the same way. In this instance, the alligator clamps had actually squeezed my nipple and made it more prominent, sticking out slightly. This would mean a greater likelihood of the nipple coming into a deeper contact with a tack, not to mention the pressure of my upper body resting on my tits, resting on the tack mat would cause my nipple to push into the teeth of the clamp as well as any tacks below.

Ouch.

I did it anyway. I made sure the chain was out of the way and then got into a push up position. I kept my legs closed, thighs pressed together in an effort to keep my dildos in. Then, with my breasts dangling above spiked hell, I lowered myself down.

Needles. Pain. Agony. Up. Down. Counting. Breathe. Gritting teeth. Piercing. Slipping. Catching breath. Reinsertion. Pressing thighs together. Down. Up. Owwwww….

I took forty minutes. Part of the problem was that the damn CoreDriller kept slipping out. After three or four pushups, each which took thirty or forty seconds, I’d accidently let my legs open and the Core Driller would go shooting out like a rocket. Once I lost the Husky too and THAT was fun. You know how hard it is to do something like a NHPS Pushup when you’re holding in two thick dildos? When I finally finished I noticed I was actually bleeding from one nipple. It was just a trickle, and stopped in a few seconds, but I could FEEL the cut. I stumbled back over to the hay bale and sat down.

Completely forgetting that the Husky Dildo was only PARTIALLY in my ass.

I weigh about 117lbs. Please imagine that sort of pressure suddenly driving a nine inch long three inch thick shaft up your ass. When I finished rolling in agony (not to mention stupidity) I spent about ten minutes just trying to get a grip. My ass really really hurt. Inside. Anyway, when I was finally ready I took my seat again, though to be honest I was lying on my back. I lifted my right foot and slipped the thick rubber band over the arch. Then I did the same to my left foot.

At ten flicks the sting was bad enough to make me wince. At fifteen I had red lines on both arches and it was taking almost a minute each in order to deal with the pain and keep going. At twenty I was actually rolling as the pain overwhelmed the hurt in my ass AND my breasts. At twenty five I was crying, with like three minutes between snaps. When I got to thirty I wept in relief and just laid there, my eyes closed, suffering. I wasn’t even horny. I was only wet, and then barely. On the NHPS scale, I wasn’t even past four.

“Breanne! Breanne!” I heard in the distance. It was my mother’s voice, calling me from the house. I groaned and sat up, driving the Husky a little deeper into my ass.

“What!” I yelled as loud as I could, wincing as I reached down to tug the dildo out of my rear end. It came out easily and I tossed it aside.

“I need you in here right now!” my mother called.

I admit it. I used a little bit of foul language, but quietly so my mother wouldn’t hear. I rolled off the hay bale while grabbing for my clothes.

“Okay! Be right there!” I shouted as I yanked my panties up. I didn’t even take out the Core Driller.

“No! I need you NOW!” my mother shouted. “Hurry!”

Damn it damn it. I didn’t bother with my bra, but merely shoved myself into the shirt, though I did take a second to unlatch the alligator clamps on my tits. I muffled my scream even as I tugged the shirt downward. Thank God I had been wearing my boots and not shoes, and I shoved my bare feet into the boots, eschewing the socks in order to hurry. I looked around the barn. I had left the tack mat, my socks, my bra, the dirty husky dildo, the alligator clamps and my bag strewn across the floor. Not good.

I tried to run, but my feet were in agony. My ass burned and my nipples felt as if they had been caught in a vise. I waddled, yes waddled up to my mom who was now looking at me in concern.

“Are you okay?” she demanded.

I nodded, holding my breath as I mastered the pain. “Yeah. I fell of Star”. Star is my horse, by the way.

“What?” my mother asked, a little incredulous. As far as lies go, that one wasn’t exactly believable. I haven’t fallen off a horse since I was six.

I waved my hand as I sucked in a breath. “I was doing something stupid.”

Her eyebrow arched as she crossed her arms. “I’ll believe that. Come on. You need to see this.”

And I limped in after my mother. I’d learned my lesson. I got it. And it still hurts.