Clamps At The Mall
Assigned by Master Barrett
Breanne, what you are to do is go to a mall somewhere dressed in a short skirt, tight t-shirt and stripper shoes, put the anal beads in your ass on high, the vibrating clamp on your clit and the vibrating balls on low. You are then to take a walk around the mall. Whenever you cum you are to announce it like you did for the Seven Days of Sluttiness assignment, meaning you must do it in the presence of strangers, and within 5ft. After each orgasm you are to take an alligator clamp or binder clip and attach it to you labia or nipple. repeat until you have two binder clamps on each of your labia and 2 alligator clamps on your nipple (under the shirt) so that will take you six orgasms. On the seventh orgasm replace the vibrating clamp on your clit with an alligator clamp and then reattach the vibrating clamp to that. The clamps must be put on within one minute of orgasm. To remove the clamps find a willing target and have them fuck you in the ass. If you manage to cum you may have them remove the clamps and binder clips. If you do not cum, then you must find another stranger to fuck you up the ass. - Barrett
I put the truck in park and looked out through the windshield. It was very warm outside, almost eighty degrees and I took a deep breath as I climbed out of the large Ford pickup and put my flip flop clad feet into the gravel. I didn’t have much to take with me as I walked around to the front of the truck; just a single shirt and a pair of shoes. The shirt I was wearing didn’t exactly qualify as a “tight” tee shirt, and I was well aware that the bra I was wearing underneath it wasn’t permitted either. The wind blew through my hair and I listened to the quiet whisper of the long grasses bending and swaying. I grabbed my shirt and pulled it up over my head. I took it off, turned it right side out, and then folded it neatly.
The road I was standing on was empty. It is infrequently traveled and goes right past my farm. Hell, I’m on it more than anyone else I think. It makes for a perfect spot to strip naked however, or change outfits as the case may be. There is always the threat of being seen, discovered, observed, but the likelihood isn’t very high. I’ve had some masters and mistresses who didn’t like that, but since I don’t want to go to jail for stripping in a McDonald’s or at a public park, it’s probably better I stick to this quiet Farm to Market road and just keep my mouth shut.
The bra went next of course and I placed it on top of my shirt. My nipples contracted, hardening into two little bumps thanks to the wind, and the tingle I felt from exposure. I would have said that being half naked made me wet, but I was already soaked thanks to the set of vibroballs which were buzzing away inside my pussy. They were on low, but not even an hour and a half prior they had been set to full power, overwhelming my nervous system with an orgasm that would have been perfect had it not been interrupted by a nosy parent.
I was already wearing a skirt, a blue flared denim skirt with a few pleats. It was cute, a little faded (so it looked like it had been acid washed), and just about two inches too short. Sure, it covered my ass, but only barely. To be honest, any decent girl would have tossed it years ago. But in case you hadn’t figured it out already, I’m not a decent girl.
I’m a slut. Specifically a nympho humiliation pain slut and wearing too short skirts is practically a uniform. As was the overly tight tee shirt I squirmed into that bright sunny afternoon. The shirt was another one of the leftovers from my college days when my former mistress, lover, and still current best-friend had bought me a whole collection of questionable attire to wear to class. This one, light brown in color, and a little thread-bare, sported the picture of an ice cream cone and the phrase “get licked!” My breasts warped the material, pushing it out and pushing them up. Kari bought all my shirts a little tight. That plus three years made the shirt almost see through.
I reached down after getting myself settled, which mostly amounted to pushing my breasts into the shirt and adjusting them so I didn’t look like an improperly wrapped sausage. Tight and small was actually now a joke, since the tee shirt had lost some of it’s elasticity and the front was now pulled upward slightly, exposing a good portion of my belly. That’s not too bad. My belly is pretty smooth and flat, but the shirt really needed to be tossed.
Note to all my fans, if you want to buy me new “sex” shirts, feel free!
Anyway, I reached down and pulled the flip flop off my left foot. One of my stripper shoes, those ridiculous high heels Master Barrett made me buy last year went on instead and I wobbled a bit as I adjusted to four inch platforms and what would be a four inch heel if there wasn’t four inches of added spike to make up for the stupid soles. As I mentioned, they’re “stripper” shoes; perfect for swaying on a stage while taking off your clothes.
Yes. I’ve done that. Not often, but I have.
The other shoe went on next and then I was appropriately dressed. I gathered everything up, moved cautiously through the gravel around to the driver’s door and then climbed back in to my truck, tossing the shirt, bra, and flip flops into the seat beside me. They spilled over the small bag I had brought, but I didn’t care. Instead I started up the engine and took off down the road.
I could have gone to my usual mall, the one closest too my house, but I had second thoughts. I’ve done an awful lot of these assignments there and started to become familiar to the security staff. That just won’t do, especially with what I was going to try that afternoon. Instead I went to a different mall that I had visited during my Seven Days of Sluttiness. It wasn’t that far away, it was a bit smaller, and most of all, wouldn’t be as busy. Built back in the early eighties, this mall was dark and organic and felt like my dad’s den.
When I pulled the truck up into the parking lot I took a deep breath. What came next wasn’t exactly going to be the hardest part, but it was going to be intense. I reached into the bag and I extracted my anal beads complete with wire remote. A little bit of grapeseed oil squirted from the small plastic bottle I keep with me in my purse was sufficient lube for me to start popping the small but slightly larger than marble sized vibrator balls into my ass. I hate things in my ass. Everyone seems to know this, but my online masters and mistresses seem to take absolute delight in making me stuff things up there, get fucked there, finger myself there, or just general do things that end up with me butt fucked. What the hell is up with that anyway? It just doesn’t make sense! The anus is an exit, not an entrance! Sigh... and let me tell you EIGHT small beads instead of a huge cock doesn’t make it any easier. So I twisted and slouched and kept an eye out for passersby as I popped those beads in.
And I was sore down there too. Two days before I had spent the day either riding a wooden horse, complete with spreader bar, weighted ankles and clamped nipples, or on my back bound, getting whipped, electrified, clamped, caned, pinched, tickled, and fucked. Supposedly, that long list of torment was intended to give me a break from sitting there on a semi-sharp wooden edge biting up into my pussy. Hell, I was in such bad shape on Sunday that had Master Barrett issued this assignment then, I would have refused on the basis of medical reasons. I wasn’t even WALKING good on Sunday.
But on Monday, I was doing better. I was still bruised of course, still tender, but most of the pain had faded to a dull ache and provided that I wasn’t going to be required to ride a horse (wooden OR real), or straddle a motorcycle, or you know, sit on a fence, I could handle what he wanted. Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Rule #2: A NHPS must be ready and able to endure a painful punishment/torture at anytime, for anyone, for any reason.
Within limits of course.
Anyway, I was now pretty well stuffed. My ass was filled with the vibrating anal beads and I still had two ovoid shaped “balls” in my pussy. I could feel them rattling against each other, which was sort of the point. Kind of a high tech version of ben wa balls, except ben wa balls only clattered and rung when you walk. Vibroballs do it whenever they’re turned on. Of course, mine were: on low.
Most women I know can’t handle having vibroballs on for extended periods of time, even on low. I admit there was a time I couldn’t of course. Even an HOUR with the vibroballs on low would set me off. But you can get used to things, even sexual toys. I used to be a big chatroom and webcam girl back in my upperclassman college days, when I actually had something called privacy. On certain days when I had free time, I would literally strip naked, shove a vibrator or the vibroballs in me, get on line, and stay that way for HOURS. I used to have a chat rule that was posted in my online profile (hell, I think it still is!): Any girl chatting on the internet, in a sex room, should be stuffed with some sort of vibrating toy. She should ALSO be required to offer proof, either via mic or cam, of her stuffing.
I was very popular.
I didn’t have much trouble tolerating the vibroballs now though, and besides, I was supposed to keep them on low anyway. But I did grab the remote to the anal beads, which I had threaded through the waistband of my skirt. I cranked the wheel up to maximum and let out a little gasp as the sexual horsepower equivalent to the Daytona 500 purred to life in my ass. Let me tell you, that’s NEVER a comfortable feeling.
I reached into my bag and withdrew the next important item. I had purchased a pair of these a few months before and hadn’t used either of them much. In essence, it was two small vibrators that looked oddly like my vibroballs, except instead of being connected by wires to a remote, each ovoid object was connected to a metal clamp. At the base of each flattened sphere was a tiny switch. Today, I only had one. No need for the second. I took the little clamp and its attached vibrator and lifted my skirt. This was going to be one of those “intense” parts. My clit had been a frequent target for abuse over the last three days. Even that morning I had endured a slathering of Stinging O and a ruler spank until I came. Thankfully, it was quick. Sharp, powerful, and very painful too. Between the horse ride and Kari hitting me with the sap, my clit was still swollen, slightly red, and very very tender.
And I was now going to clamp it.
The rest of "Clamps At The Mall " is available in Breanne Erickson's Novel "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" Volume 4! Buy it now from Amazon or Barnes and Noble!