Julie's Date

Preparation

Friday afternoon I spent a few minutes up in my room, ostensibly packing my bag. It was an overnight bag of course, but it was also a bit more diabolical than that as well. Let’s see… toothbrush? Check. Floss? Check. Twelve inch black rubber Core Driller dildo? Check. Vibroballs? Check. My list also included my Butterfly Clitoral Stimulator, my vibrating anal beads, a small bag containing several pairs of different sized binder clamps, and of course a number of other minor but just as evil toys that had been requested. I had also packed my stripper shoes. Everything was there except for ONE thing missing from my overnight bag, mostly because I was told not to bother.

Clothes.

Sure, I was dressed. My exposed toes were slipped into a pair of thin flip flops (I’d call them thongs, but I don’t want to confuse anyone!) and my ass was conservatively encased in a pair of blue denim shorts. Underneath that was a pair of blue cotton panties. Higher up, I was in an old tee shirt over a white cotton bra. As a nympho humiliation pain slut, I was following NHPS Rule #1, which means I have to keep my self STUFFED, so there was also a pair of ben wa balls nestled between my petals, keeping me soft and moist and ready with every step.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and said good bye to my family. They knew I was going out, though I seriously doubted they knew or would approve of what I would be doing “out and about”. I’d be back by six am on Saturday in time to feed the critters, and that’s all that really mattered.

Thirty minutes later I was pulling up to a small apartment complex on the north side of town. It was one of those places that look a little run down, but is just barely hanging on to respectable tenants. I parked the truck, grabbed my bag, and headed over to the nearest building. I skirted some yucca sticking out into the walkway, and was soon standing in front of a dirty green door. I lifted my hand and knocked.

I know. Some of you are asking “Wait a moment, why isn’t Breanne naked? Isn’t she supposed to be naked?” Yeah, well… when I go to KARI’S place, that’s the rule. But I wasn’t AT Kari’s apartment. I was at Julie’s, and that’s a whole nother breed. The door opened after my second knock and there she stood.

When I first met Julie, she was a brunette. Tonight however she was… uh… blond? No… that’s not quite right. White haired. Seriously. She bleached her hair to the color of snow. Plus the front was standing straight up and the back was artfully messy, sticking out in all different directions. Her dark brown eyes seemed to be chocolate and her lips were covered in a bright blue lipstick that made her look a bit like an ice princess. She was wearing a black choker with an azure stone right at the hollow of her throat. My eyes went downward. A black leather bra covered her breasts and she was wearing a black fish net shirt over the bra. More dark leather went from ankle to waist, a tight pair of form fitting pants that seemed to match her brassier. She wore black open toed high heels, sensible yet sexy. Lastly, there was a steel ring belt around her middle, complete with two sets of handcuffs, clearly attached so that they could be removed easily.

“Breanne,” she said in way of greeting as I smiled softly. I didn’t move. I just braced myself.

“Well come in,” Julie said, stepping back and opening the door fully.

I blinked. That was not what I had expected. I stepped into the apartment. Julie’s taste in furniture ran toward the eclectic. It wasn’t really styled in anything other than “Julie”. There was a large couch, one of those huge massive deep things where you could actually lay two abreast comfortably. The television was big, maybe 42 inches, and there was an Xbox console sitting underneath the television on the stand. The coffee table was scarred and battered, and had holes drilled in it, obviously from screws, and I remember that Julie had once told me that she had bound a girl to the coffee table once and screwed the metal strips holding her down to the wood, right before whipping her raw. I wonder when it will be my turn?

I put my bag down on the sofa and turned toward my host.

“So strip, fuck slut,” Julie suddenly demanded, giving me a disdainful look. Her hand started to come up but I grabbed my shirt and had it over my head in seconds.

You have to understand. Julie is a hitter. If you don’t move fast enough, you get smacked. It’s that simple. Heck, sometimes she hits just because she wants to. In fact, right after I peeled off my shirt and unhooked my bra, her hand swung at my breasts, slapping my left tit hard enough to sting and sending a ripple reaction through my entire bosom. I winced, my teeth clenched, but didn’t cover or cry out. Crying out isn’t so bad, but God help you if you cover. Julie doesn’t like that.

I kicked off my flip flops and then pushed my shorts and panties to the floor. I got smacked twice more, once more across my breasts and once across my ass. Then I straightened, hands entwined behind my head, legs spread slightly, up on my tip toes, waiting. Julie moved around me, her fingers lightly touching my back, my shoulders, then moving downward to my ass. Her hand lifted again and I braced myself, knowing what was coming, and it did. I grit my teeth and only hissed as her hand smacked into my rear again.

Then she came back into view and started going through my bag. It only took seconds for her to find what she was looking for. Soon my vibroballs were on the table, sitting right next to my bag of binder clamps. She opened the small plastic bag and dumped the metal clips onto the coffee table. Then she walked across the room and returned from the kitchen bar with a small box.

“Are you ready for your assignment?” she asked me.

I nodded. A few weeks before one of my fans, Caz, had sent me an assignment. It involved a few interesting things; visiting lesbian bars, having lots of sex, oh yeah… and being clamped. When I had agreed to go out with Julie, she had asked if there was an assignment that needed a chaperone. It was as if Caz’s assignment was MADE for Julie. She is MUCH more into the lesbian scene than I am. She knows the bars, and frankly she’s better security than even Robert and Kari. I mean, who messes with Julie?

Julie dropped the box on the coffee table and told me to open it. I did, fingers trembling already, and found my evening’s outfit. In seconds I knew I was in trouble. The skirt was black, skin tight, and would barely cover my ass. Frankly I had doubts about that, but as it turned out it really didn’t matter. The top however was more of an issue. It was a Bolero jacket… just the jacket. And while it did close across my front, it pushed my breasts both up and down so that the bottom half of each mound stuck out of the bottom even as the tops were smashed together, creating a cleavage you could ski down. Under Julie’s watchful eye and the occasional raised hand, I slipped into the clothing and then strapped on my fuck me shoes.



When I was completely dressed, which actually meant sort of dressed and possibly even inappropriately dressed, or half-naked, Julie grinned and then pushed me back over to the coffee table. The box hadn’t just held the clothing I was wearing for the evening. There was also a spool of string and several dice. Julie pulled out the string.

“Let’s get you prepped for this evening, shall we?”

I cringed. I had hoped to avoid this until we were actually going IN to the various bars, but since I wasn’t driving, I suppose Julie felt that my torment could start immediately. She scooped up the two smallest binder clamps, the kind that would only fit over the actual nipple, rather than the areola. They were tiny, and she held them up, pinched between her fingertips. I knew better than to pull away, or resist, so I actually presented my breasts to her, the Bolero jacket open at the front.

Oh god they hurt! I almost cried right there! Pain shot up from my nipples in this tight agony that was almost too much for me to handle. I’m not sure why it hurt so much. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t had those things on before. Maybe it was because Julie put them on and she didn’t put them far enough back. All I knew was that it felt like I had just had my nipples crushed.

Julie grinned as I dealt with the hurt and she uncoiled a length of the string. A quick snip with a pair of scissors freed up about an eighteen inch stretch and she strung the line through the metal loops of the binder clamps, tying them so that should someone tug on the string, it would yank both clamps off together. She had me button up the bolero afterward and all I can say is that the stupid jacket made my nipples hurt even more.



“Bend over the coffee table,” Julie said next. I did as I was told, spreading my legs even more than they had been before as I bent over the wooden tabletop. I felt my skirt ride up and then Julie helped it go the rest of the way, baring my ass. Her hand came into view, picking up one of the larger binder clamps and I bit my lip, trying hard not to burst into tears. I knew where that one was going.

Sure enough, her fingers teased my clit a few moments later and then she pulled the ben wa balls out of my pussy. I moaned slightly. Removing those things always sends a little shiver of pleasure through me and thanks to the binder clamps on my nipples, the tiny sliver of delight seemed even stronger than usual. You know, I’m still not sure why I’m like this. Why does hurting a little bit (or a lot) make the sex so much better?

Anyway Julie didn’t waste time. In one hand was the clamp and in the other was the first sphere of my vibroballs. I felt her rub the plastic globe against my soaked slit and it disappeared up inside me. From my bent over position, I had a very good view and my glistening sex seemed to gobble up that little tidbit until I felt it embed itself deeply inside me. Then the second one went in and when Julie turned them on with the remote control, I groaned in immediate sexual need.

Which is when she put the one inch binder clamp on my clit of course.

I did jerk away that time, my knees closing, my legs folding, dropping down as if I had just been kicked in the crotch. Now I think I should mention that my binder clamps have been uh… altered… slightly of course… so that they don’t actually do any damage to me. All have been bent outward a little so that rather than tightening down to metal on metal (and thus either cutting me or doing serious damage) they tighten down to about a quarter of an inch between the edges. That’s enough for a nipple, or my clit, or a fold of labia to be nicely caught and tormented. So if you’re planning on going out to the office supply store, keep that in mind.

Still hurts like hell though.

So with a soft buzzing inside me and a crushing bite on my clit, I found myself literally lying on the coffee table, panting softly. Julie evidently liked it because suddenly she brought her hand down sharply on my ass and proceeded to spank the crap out of me. In short order my brain forgot about (or at least minimized) the pain coming from my clit and nipples and it became all about wriggling my bottom. Julie was leaning hard against me, literally keeping me there on the table as fiery heat exploded through my ass. It didn’t take long before tears finally escaped my eyes and dripped down onto the marred surface of the table beneath me.

Which is when she let me up.

When I was able to stand up, she let me close the Bolero jacket, sending fresh sparks of agony through my throbbing nipples, and then I was able to push down my skirt. She laughed at me, tucked the vibroballs remote (which was still set on low) into my skirt’s waistband, and grabbed the dice from the box. Then we headed out, me wobbling on my fuck me shoes and Julie lightly smacking me on the bottom to encourage me to move faster. Thanks to the blistering I had gotten moments before, even those light touches were good motivation. I just tried to balance things between teetering on those shoes, falling to my death by broken neck, and my burning ass. Hey. YOU try to balance those issues all at once and tell me which one you’d go with!

Julie drives a beat up old Ford Focus which I personally think is something of a joke. It’s ugly, it’s small, but on the flip side, it gets better gas mileage than my pickup. Not sure it could beat my Saturn sedan, but I guess it’s all comparative. Julie has her car decorated in punk rock stickers, including one for a band called “Free Beer”, which I think has to be the dumbest and yet smartest name for a rock band ever. Can you imagine putting up signs for your concert? FREE BEER! Saturday Night at blah blah blah… everyone would show up!

And then lynch you.

There are also a few other more disturbing stickers, like the one of the fancy mushrooms and the marijuana leaf. I asked Julie about that once, since I know for a fact she doesn’t actually USE drugs, of any kind, unless you count Mountain Dew and Dr. Pepper as drugs. She says it’s about image. I think it’s stupid because when a cop pulls you over the first thing he’s going to ask is “do you have anything illegal in the car, miss?” But hey, it’s not my car, is it?

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