05/20/11 Alligator Clamp Bra

Alligator Clamp Bra

05/20/11

Last Assignment: Breanne – For today’s assignment you will start off by dressing in the shortest skirt you own. You will not wear panties. You will also wear the tiniest halter top you own. Do not wear a bra. You may wear whatever footwear you desire. There is a bit of preparation as well. Prior to beginning your assignment you will retrieve your alligator nipple clamps. You will find some thin string, not rope and you will measure out enough string so that it is long enough to run from one nipple to the other, behind your next. You will then cut that length from the string. Tie one end of the string to one of the clamps. You will thread the other end of the string through the opposite clamp, and tie the string with an adjustable clove hitch, thus enabling you to shorten the length of the string.

With your “alligator clamp bra”, and dressed appropriately, you will visit your local farmer’s market or upscale grocery store. Prior to going in, remove any sex toy from your pussy as well as remove your halter top, and put on your new bra. You will then adjust the length of the string so that the “alligator clamp bra” pulls upward on your breasts so that the entire weight is supported. You may then put your halter top back on.

Go into the store and purchase three vegetables that are large and vaguely dildo shaped. When you get back to the truck, you will roll down the window and proceed to masturbate with each vegetable in turn. When you cum, you will make your usual announcement. You MUST orgasm with each vegetable before you may either remove the alligator clamp bra or leave the parking lot.

Should you attract attention, you may ask the person to unclip your nipples. You may choose to reward the person with sexual services if you desire.

Sometimes, assignments that seem simple sure have a lot of specific instructions. I think I could have made this one a lot easier. Seriously, it doesn’t take that much to figure out how to make an alligator clamp bra.

And talk about ouch. Damn it hurt too. Plus there were complications.

Around eleven am, right before lunch, I was out in the barn measuring string. I was dressed in blue denim shorts, bra, and a tee shirt, but I wasn’t wearing panties. Instead I was stuffed with my Rotating Venus Penis, a peculiar sex toy that provided enough stimulation to usually have me floating through orgasmic clouds. As Michael once teased another author: the O-zone! LOL. Anyway, it had already been a tough morning for me. Since I had been wearing the RVP since five am, I had been dealing with direct and powerful sexual stimulation every twenty five minutes or so. At the top of every hour I had to turn the RVP to full power, both the vibrating and rotating parts. For five minutes. So not only did I have a chunky plastic and rubber base shaking like mad against my clit and via the four inch cock, inside me, but I ALSO had to deal with said four inch cock SPINNING.



I have trouble with the spinning part. Five minutes is USUALLY too much for me to handle. I wasn’t supposed to cum either, not until my assignment, but I had already had four that morning, which while feeling good, wasn’t good for me or for the upcoming task. Of course, part of the reason I had difficulty handling the top of the hour torment, was because the bottom of the hour torment was five minutes with just the vibrator on full power. That kept me sexually ready, stimulated, and needy, so by the time I got back around to the top, it was likely for me to fail.

I feel like everyone is setting me up to fail. These assignments are like practically DESIGNED for me to fuck up. Gosh guys, it’s not like you NEED a reason to punish me!

So at eleven, I was out in the barn, trying to measure string. This would have been simple had I not been shuddering my way up the mountain of orgasm, close to reaching the pinnacle. I took the spindle down, pressed one end to my breast, then draped it over my neck and down the other side. I sort of marked it with my thumb, and then pitched over in bliss as the explosion inside me. I ended up on the floor, the string still in my hands, trying to endure the last forty seconds of direct stimulation left in my “five minutes”.

When my watch alarm beeped loudly, I used the remotes to silence the mechanical sex monster between my legs. Then, blinking the daze of sexual release from my eyes (as well as my fifth orgasm of the morning) I grabbed my box knife, and cut the string. The alligator clamps were already out on the work bench and thanks now to the silence of the RVP, I made short work of tying the string to the nipple clamps. Now, besides the thin metal chain running from one metal toothed jaw to the other, there was also a much longer strand of nylon string, forming a sort of neck support. I played with the thought of shortening the chain too, making it an actual “bra” and then grabbed an unused key ring, splitting the metal and threading it through two of the links, thus shortening the chain by a good seven inches and making it so my breasts would not only be pulled upward, but together as well. Got to have some cleavage, right? Geeze was THAT a mistake.

After lunch on Wednesday I headed out, still dressed like I was that morning. I pulled over to the side of the road, just like usual, right after turning out of my farm’s entryway. I was the only vehicle in sight, which was ALSO usual. So I got out of the truck carrying the skirt and halter top, and went to the front grill.

I took my shirt off first, folding it gently and laying it on the hood. Next came my bra, folded as nicely as you can fold a bra, and laid gently beside the shirt. To be honest, this is my favorite part. Naked from the waist up, not breaking the law, the wind blowing against my skin… seriously, if you haven’t been naked outdoors before, it’s an amazing experience. Kari and I actually played around with becoming nudists back when we were seniors in high school, mostly because I was naked around her so much. We ended up NOT doing it because Kari decided she didn’t want to have to explain the bruises and welts on me. Clothes ARE good for hiding that sort of stuff from your parents and other people.

The road was still empty and likely to remain that way, so I shucked out of my blue jean shorts and stepped out of them. I was wearing flip flops anyway, my chosen footwear for this adventure. Sure, I could have worn my fuck me shoes, but those things hurt my feet and draw attention like flies to dead meat. Uh… poor metaphor. Sorry. Anyway, I figured that I was going to have enough issues with just the Alligator Clamp Bra to worry about.

I left the RVP in. It was currently off, but wouldn’t be in a few minutes as the clock’s hands got closer to twelve. But I didn’t quite have to worry about that just yet. I grabbed my skirt and pulled it up. The instructions had dictated I wear my shortest skirt. Well, my shortest skirt happens to formerly be a skort. It’s black lycra and was given to me when I was seventeen, by a sadistic teenage dominatrix who got her pleasure by watching me walk through the mall dressed like a whore, making me bend over occasionally to pick crap off the floor, exposing the fact that prior to putting on the little black fake skirt, she had taken scissors to the “short” part of the skort, making it into exactly what it looked like.

As a result I had two choices. I could wear it over my hips so that it wouldn’t fall down, thus exposing several inches of my ass and quite a bit of my pussy. Or I could wear it UNDER my hips, thus ensuring that my privates were barely covered, but that one wrong step or moment’s inattention would result in my suffering a… uh… wardrobe malfunction. Can you hear me chuckle at that? And to be honest, I’d do it with a lot more style than others I could name.

I opted for the below the hips method. Mostly because the assignment had me sans panties, which meant that while an accidental exposure might not get me arrested, actively walking around with a too short skirt and flashing my goods probably would. So I delicately settled the skirt right under my hips and tried not to wiggle too much.

The halter top was much easier. I have about half a dozen of these. I choose a plain pink one with an around the neck tie, rather than the typical shoulder to back support. I figured this one would do a better job hiding the string holding up my Alligator Clamp Bra. I was right. But as it turned out, “hiding” the Alligator Nipple Clamp bra wasn’t really an option.

So dressed to kill, or at least fuck, I got back in the truck and headed toward someplace that would meet the requirements of the assignment. I ended up opting for one of our local grocery stores. Don’t worry. It was an upscale one with dark wood paneling and muted lighting, especially in the floral, deli, bakery, and produce sections. The lot wasn’t exactly full on an early Wednesday afternoon, but it wasn’t empty either. It also didn’t help that it was located in a strip mall with everything from yoga to restaurants, to an active bank on the corner of the lot.

I pulled up, my heart thumping in my chest and found a spot out in the boonies, or B.F.E. as some people like to call it. (Beyond Fucking Egypt), but in reality I was pretty much even distance between the road and the store. There were maybe fifteen parking spaces between me and the other cars, which I felt was perfect. I put the truck in park and then did what I had to do.

Turn the RVP up to full power, on both the stupid spinning cock and the vibration. I clutched the steering wheel as the sensations rolled up from between my legs, sending me spiraling upward with sexual energy. When I looked down, I could actually see the pink base of the RVP, clearly exposed since my “skirtish” skort had ridden up almost a full five inches. God, I was lucky I wasn’t ever pulled over! Two or three minutes in I decided I might as well put on my bra, right?

There are times when I think to myself “I should take the Saturn.” It has tinted windows. My Ford F-150 does not. But part of me says “that’s the way it should be. Besides, now you have a better view of who is around you.” I’m not very good at arguing with myself, am I? As it was, my truck was pointed away from the main traffic areas (I’m not stupid. Sorta.) so except for a quick glance around to assess the risk, I was able to remove my halter top rather quickly. I grabbed my alligator nipple clamps, draped the string over my head, and let the clamps dangle down.

Which is when I realized that I had made a pretty major mistake.

A little perturbed, I grabbed the clamp dangling down by my left breast. Carefully, knowing it would hurt, I pinched the evil little thing open and then let the very end of the clamp snag my nipple. I was right. It hurt. A lot. But I was already so hot and bothered from the RVP that it made absolutely no difference whatsoever. The pain just got sucked right into that spinning vortex between my legs and made it stronger. I reached to the other side, sliding the little slip know down to length the string, and discovered that I had REALLY screwed the pooch.

The string was too short. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have measure the string wearing a bra. I also think that CUTTING the string while in the midst of an orgasm was probably not one of my more brilliant moves. As a result, I think the string was about three or four inches shorter than Master Ham or Master Mark had intended. I pulled on the string, which of course tugged on my left breast and nipple rather painfully, and even with my left forearm holding up my left tit as high as possible, while lifting my right breast up, I had trouble getting the second clamp on. I managed though, but barely. My breasts were in agony though, pulled and tugged sharply upward in this excruciating. But they were ALSO pulled together, the alligator clamps almost twisting to forty five degrees between the alternating tug of the connecting chain and the string. The areolas were pointing directly up, the undersides of my breasts now the front. Pain washed over me as I picked up my halter top, my movements making everything much much worse.

And then, as I pulled my shirt over my new Alligator Clamp Bra, I exploded with a loud cry, a gush of wetness that soaked the seat beneath me, which made me shake like a storm lashed tree. It was a few minutes before I was able to really figure out what to do next. Orgasms like this, pain filled ones with lots of possible humiliation, are rather intense. In some ways, they’re like getting high. Except instead of illegal drugs (which I HATE!) I do it with endorphins and adrenaline. Trust me, natural highs are WAY better than doing it with drugs.

I did manage to turn the RVP off, but only after my brain had started to work again, although I was still a bit mind fucked. Slowly, trying not to move my upper body or arms any more than I had to, I pulled the RVP out of my soaked crotch, down my legs, and over my feet. According to the assignment, I wasn’t supposed to wear it into the store. I smoothed my skirt down as best I could and used some tissue to wipe up the seat. I had no clue if the skirt was soaked as well, but honestly, it was black and probably wouldn’t have been noticeable even if it WERE soaked. I opened the door of the truck and got out, grabbing my purse at the same time. That, in and of itself, almost had me crying out, folding as the pain in my tits almost floored me. It was like hot flaming needles being shoved through each nipple; and then electrified.

Hmmm… I wonder when THAT will eventually happen to me? That actually doesn’t sound that bad any more. Maybe I need to alter my limits, just a bit. OOHHH! Personal Growth! Aren’t you guys proud of me?

I did manage however, to stay steady on my feet, adjust my skort skirt appropriately an inch or two below my hips. Thank God I shave. If I had even had a little bit of hair down there, it would have been CLEARLY visible. As it was, I think there was only about an inch of material between my clit and my exposed abdomen. But hey, at least my ass and pussy were covered.

And I headed into the store. It was a long walk.

Throughout all this there was one little think I had failed to really notice. Of course, inside the store, I figured my skirt would be the real attention grabber. I mean, seriously, it was SO short! Oh… and the other reason I didn’t wear the fuck me shoes? My hips roll a LOT when I’m in heels. Could you imagine twitching your ass just one time too many and then whoosh, down your skirt goes? Anyway, I though my skirt would be the attention grabber.

It wasn’t. It was my alligator clamp bra.

When I caught this one woman staring at me, half in shock, half in horror, and half in what I suspect was disgust (yes I know that’s three halves. Bite me mathematicians.) I finally looked down at my chest for the first time. I had been so preoccupied with how it felt that I hadn’t bothered considering how it looked. My halter top was obscenely stretched. The low neck line bulged oddly now and due to the chain BETWEEN my clamps, my breasts were pulled tightly together. The clamps were actually SHOWING as were my nipples! It was… well… oddly erotic. I felt a renewed sense of moisture between my legs and I quickly turned and readjusted my halter top so that I left a great deal of belly exposed, but managed to cover up at least my clamped nipples. The material of the halter bunched up at my neck, but I felt I could handle that. The real issue now was that the clamps were CLEARLY defined under the material, and the odd shape of my breasts, tilted upward, made it clear that they were pulling on my tits. Harshly too. I took a deep breath. Smart thing was for me to just get my produce and go.

Thankfully, the produce section is not that far away from the entrance, even if it is in back of the store behind the deli and bakery. I flip flopped my way to fruits and vegetables, clearly on display (me, as well as the produce), with a number of shoppers openly staring at me.

I grabbed an ear of corn, a cucumber, and a banana. I was all finished and heading back to the front to make my purchase when a man in a shirt and tie, with a nice name tag sporting the store’s logo, stopped me.

“Miss, I’m sorry, but you are inappropriately attired to be here.”

I understood every word. I DO have a college degree. But I blinked and pretended ignorance. “Excuse me?” I asked. I didn’t stop though, I continued walking to the cash register. Unfortunately, being approached by management had caused more of a commotion than just me walking slutlike through the store. Now people wanted to see what happened. Mr. Manager (who will remain unidentified because I don’t want him or myself in trouble) walked with me.

“Your clothes are inappropriate to shop here. You will need to leave,” he repeated. His voice was firm but I could tell he was ogling me. Hey… when a girl walks by you, dressed like I was, you’d ogle too, even if it was only to express your shock. I could hear the laughter behind me, the chuckles of derision, mostly from women. But I guarantee you, every man and lesbian in that store was trying to get a better look at me, hoping for the right twitch that would bring down my skirt and wondering how the hell it was staying up.

Yeah, I was wondering that too.

I walked right up to the do it yourself register and immediately began purchasing the produce. Mr. Manager walked right up to me and touched my arm, saying “Please miss, you can’t make a purchase, you have to leave…” His sentence sort of trailed off because I jerked away, glared at him, and said “don’t touch me!”

Which is of course right when my skirt decided to head south for the winter.



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