Doilies 07/24/11

I was more than a little nervous. I was downright close to going home. The butterflies in my stomach could easily have been mistaken for an incredibly deep set vibrator, but since I was only stuffed with my twelve inch Core Driller dildo, that didn’t vibrate, I couldn’t really blame the toy. I stood there, my legs spread a good three feet apart, the arches of each foot pressed into the high heels I was wearing, forcing me for fashion’s sake to stand on tip toes. The front of my skirt was down, concealing the fact that I wasn’t wearing panties, but the back of my skirt was tucked into the hemp thong that I was wearing, exposing both butt cheeks quite nicely.

I was also wearing a tee shirt, just a tee shirt, and the thin white cotton material was rolled up under my chin. I could feel the air conditioning vent blowing cool air across my breasts, both nipples hard and puckered. My arms were up with my fingers laced behind my head. This kept my hands busy but also forced my breasts outward. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to look at her. Hell, I didn’t even know her name! All I knew is that she had my cane, the one I brought in with me, raised in readiness. I admit I was taking deep breaths in preparation and the rogue thought “how the hell did I GET in this situation?” crossed my mind…


This morning started the usual way, with me getting online and finding out what toy I would get to torment myself with for the whole day. I have a large collection of course, the idea being that swapping out a different toy each day will keep me from becoming accustomed to certain sensations. I can understand that. If I spent weeks wearing the ben wa balls I’d barely feel the arousal they can cause. Heck, even now I have to admit that my endurance levels for toys like my vibroballs, or the RVP has increased dramatically. There was a time that an hour on high in my vibroballs would have me gasping with orgasm. Now… well… I’m a little better trained.

I had some chores to do that morning along with the knowledge that I also had a very specific punishment assignment that evening. That punishment came thanks to one of my facebook friends, a fellow submissive, who decided that I needed to be punished. I know… odd for a submissive male, right? But I suspect that Slave Caz is one of those guys who believe that misery enjoys company. And I’ll be honest, no one knows punishment better than someone whose HAD it!


Master Brandon was online and after a brief discussion about my day’s itinerary, he decided that I needed something that would appropriately fill me, stretch me in preparation of my punishment assignment, and hurt me all at the same time. Worse, since Master Barrett’s prohibition on cumming, unless of course I had my tongue stuck in a strange woman, these two “stipulations” promised to make my day a sexual hell LONG before I’d have to submit to the punishment assignment in the first place!

My twelve inch Core Driller is a black rubber dildo shaped like a rocket ship. It’s large. It’s long. It’s thick. And it won’t stay in by itself. There have been a number of methods I’ve used to hold it in of course, from panties to short shorts to duct tape. But the means Master Brandon is most fond of is my hemp thong.

Hemp is another word for rope and my thong is about the cruelest “rope” g-string you could find. It consists of some of the thickest scratchiest rope on our farm, a full half inch wide, tied so that one strand goes around your waist, then knots in the back and comes to the front. The crotch strand slips under the front and the clove hitch knot happens (through careful measurement of course), once tightened properly, to sit right above my clit.

The nice thing about the Core Driller is that it comes with this steel ring embedded in the bottom. That makes it rather easy to run the crotch rope through. Of course tightening the rope does a couple of things. First of all it makes sure that all twelve inches of hard rubber is thoroughly and completely embedded inside me. I don’t know of many girls who routinely walk around with a foot long thick column of rubber up inside them. Second, because I keep the rope tight, that scratchy hemp line slips deep between my labia, puffing out my petals and generally causing all sorts of mischief and mayhem down there. Third, with every step, the entire thong slides about a quarter to half an inch, slowly rubbing, chaffing, and scratching my clit, my inner and outer labia, my perineum and even my butt crack.

There have been some suggestions about me putting a knot in the rope right over my butt hole, but I’ve been resisting THAT. So until someone ORDERS it, I’m not going to do it.

So stuffed and sexually bound, I started my daily chores with something akin to a wavering desire for a decent fuck and orgasmic release. What I got was a slow building burn between my legs that only increased with every step and a slow but desperate longing to have that Core Driller pumping inside me like a jackhammer.


Despite the clitoral stimulation, I didn’t cum that morning. Oh no. It was just pure sexual torment. I sat with my family for breakfast, quite uncomfortably I might add, but still no release. I thought about taking Star for a ride, but quashed that idea pretty quickly. A ride on a horse while stuffed with the Core Driller and wearing the rope thong? That would almost CERTAINLY make me cum and make the movement of the rope through my crotch an unbearable torment. I’m not saying I wouldn’t go for a ride like that, but I’ll say it would have to be an assignment, not just me being stupid.

I puttered. I did some minor repair work on one fence. I lubricated one of the mower rigs. I scratched our sow’s back with a rake. I curried and combed Star. I went upstairs to my room and did some writing…

It was after lunch when I finally gathered up what I would need and put it in my bag. Short skirt? Check. Thin white cotton tee shirt? Check. Stripper Fuck Me shoes? Check. A solid cane? Check. Okay, the cane wasn’t in my bag, it was actually out in the barn and I tossed it into the truck before heading out.

Now I’m not stupid. I hardly left the house dressed like a tart. I was wearing shorts and a tee shirt and a bra of course. My mom’s eyes would have popped out of her head and frankly, my dad doesn’t need the encouragement. But like with most assignments, I drove off the property onto the farm to market state highway south of our farm, found a gravel shoulder, parked, and moved to the front of the truck. It wasn’t hard to strip and despite the threatening clouds and high heat, I managed to get naked in almost record time. Of course our road is about as frequently traveled as the Antarctic, so I didn’t see any snow mobiles, let alone cars or trucks. So in about five minutes I had changed into the standard uniform of a nympho humiliation pain slut.

The shirt was too short. It was one of the shirts Kari had given me in college, this one sporting the words “Porn Princess” in faded pink lettering. I had a whole collection of sexually inappropriate shirts. It was a game for her. I sometimes felt like a doll, constantly getting dressed up by my best friend and mistress, but even back then I was a nympho humiliation pain slut, stepping out to go to class wearing a shirt that said “Don’t stare. Touch” right across my breasts. Do you have any idea how OFTEN I got groped? But now, almost five years later, the material is worn out, the cotton stretched, my breasts are a bit bigger, and… well… they didn’t fit well back then either. Now it’s just worse. Think practically see thru spandex with a damned good chance of just tearing, spilling my breasts out.



Thus attired I got back in the cab of the truck and headed down the road. The punishment assignment I had received the day before had been rather specific. I needed ten strokes to my breasts and ten strokes to my ass for every unauthorized orgasm I had given myself the day before. Then I needed to get fisted. Since I had experienced two orgasms during Friday’s punishment assignment, that meant forty strokes, twenty to my breasts and twenty to my ass. To complicate matters, the forty strokes to T&A needed to be from strangers. The fisting however… that could be my choice.

In hindsight, I should have realized that it would be a lot easier to find girls willing to beat me than girls willing to let me stick my tongue in them so I could orgasm. Lesbians can be hard to find but there seems to be a sadistic streak in most people. So with my clit still burning from the hemp thong chaffing with every step, my pussy stuffed to the point of rupture, and my entire body sexually charged, I turned north on Highway 6 and stopped at a strip mall.

I like strip malls. They usually aren’t as busy as regular malls and it’s a lot easier to find people either working alone or with just one other person. That makes things much easier. Plus stores at strip malls usually are the kind of places people CHOOSE to go, rather than wander in. That makes a difference, since it also means fewer customers to interrupt me when I’m doing something that would probably quantify as illegal. Maybe.

I know that I probably could have found a bunch of men completely willing to cane my tits and ass without a problem, but I wanted girls. So instead of stopping in like the electronics store, or the CD store. The first place I tried was a shoe store. The two sales clerks, both women by the way, were very attentive, if a little judgmental about my attire. They were polite of course, but when I explained that I didn’t want to buy shoes, and that what I really needed was for them to whip me with the stick I was carrying, well… I was asked to leave. The looks they gave me were practically poisonous. I’d say it hurt a little, and it did, but not much. I’m sorta used to it actually. When I walk the mall dressed like this the looks I get are half hungry and half “what a slut!” and not in a fun sexy sort of a way, but in a despicable one.

So on I went. I tried two more stores with similar if not quite as volatile results before coming across a sweet little boutique. Doilies everywhere, all sorts of tiny statues, salt and pepper shakers, tea sets, and a bunch of other stuff a Southern Texas Cowgirl like me, or even a nympho humiliation pain slut would NEVER EVER buy. The bell on the door rang as I went in and the first thing I saw was a gray haired thin lady look at me from the counter.

“Hello, thanks for coming in? Can I help you find something, dearie?”

Dearie? Oh dearie me. Still reeling from multiple disappointments and a rather sore crotch, I slowly walked (yes slowly. You would too if you had rope threaded through YOUR sex!) through the store with a slight smile and a shake of my head. I made a show of looking at the merchandise, all of which would look kitschy, rather than classy. Let me be honest, my best friend happens to be an upscale high dollar interior designer and she wouldn’t buy ANYTHING in this shop.

When I got close to the counter I noticed another woman besides the gray haired lady. She was sitting down in a chair behind the glass counter top, busily cross-stitching. She was plump and had brown hair done up in a perm with silver at the temples. A pair of thin reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She looked at me over the tops of the lenses.

“Goodness! You ought to be ashamed of yourself for going out in public like that!” the plump woman said cheerfully, without a trace of either embarrassment. I blushed crimson. This woman reminded me a lot of my mother, who would have probably said something similar.

The thin gray haired woman gave the plump lady a glance. “Gladys, she’s a customer. Please be polite.”

Gladys made a hrummphing sound and waved a hand. “She’s no customer, Rose. Trust me.”

The gray haired lady named Rose turned and gave me an apologetic smile. I blushed some more, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable, and it wasn’t from the hemp thong or the Core Driller. I started to turn away, to leave, when suddenly I heard something that made me freeze.

“She ought to be whipped for wearing an outfit like that out in public,” Gladys said. The comment was meant to be heard, but only barely, so that she could deny it, but it made me hesitate. I turned back around and walked right back to the counter.

“Will you do it?” I asked, holding up the stick in both hands, across my palms.

“Excuse me?” Gladys asked, eyes widening in surprise.

“You’re absolutely right. I DO deserve it,” I said in a rush. “Would you give me twenty strokes to my bottom?”

“Your bottom!” Gladys said, somewhat shocked.

“And twenty to my breasts,” I finished.

Rose gasped, her hand pressed to her lips.

Gladys looked up at me, her expression a bit haughty and very hard and she put down her crosstitch and stood up. “Are you playing games, girl?” she asked me.

I shook my head. “No ma’am. I’m being honest. Please punish me?”

Gladys and Rose exchanged looks and then to my surprise, Gladys reached out and took the cane. “Come behind the counter girl.”

I nodded and moved to the end of the glass display cases and went behind the counter. There was a bit more room in the back corner and Gladys motioned me to the very back. She swished the cane once or twice and then looked at Rose.

Rose looked much more comported now the shock of my request had worn off and there seemed to be an unspoken conversation between the two elderly women. Then Rose nodded.

“I’ll take the top, Gladys.”

Plump little Gladys grinned with a silly laugh and she turned toward me. “Well, I’d order you to expose yourself but you are almost naked as it is. Be that as it may, lift your skirt for me and pull down your panties.”

Once more I felt the heat on my face. “I can’t pull down my panties, ma’am. I’m not wearing any.”

Gladys laughed at me. “You ARE a slut, aren’t you! Then lift the back of your skirt up with your hands and hold it.”

I did so but then I felt the tip of the cane stab me in my left buttock. It wasn’t pleasant let me tell you!

“What’s that?” demanded Gladys. Rose came a bit closer and I felt her thin fingers touching my ass. I practically jumped out of my skin!

“It’s my crotch rope thong,” I replied.

“My goodness!” said Rose, coming closer to look at it. “Doesn’t that hurt?” she asked.

Gladys answered for me. “Not as much as this cane will!” She poked at my ass again. “Tuck that skirt into your rope thong, girl.”

I did as ordered. What else could I do? I had to get caned one way or the other and being in the hands of two grandmotherly aged women could hardly be worse than what Julie would do to me.

As I tucked my skirt into the back of the hemp thong, Rose got even closer, grabbed the hem of my shirt, and lifted it up. Immediately my breasts fell out. I think I squealed a bit and made to cover my breasts, but Rose stopped me with a smile and then I dropped my hands. She reached out and touched my nipples, both of which hardened immediately. A shiver went through me, almost electric, and highly sexual and for a moment, I thought about asking Rose if I could stick my tongue up inside her! Wow… geriatric sex! Not that I mind of course, but Rose and Gladys had to be in their late fifties or early sixties. But hey, I’m going to be sixty someday. Or at least I hope I will.

Gladys tapped my wrist with the cane and nodded and I pressed my lips together as I lifted my hands. They went to the back of my neck, forcing me to arch my back. My legs were spread wide apart, at least three feet. With my shirt rolled up under my neck, both my tits and ass were exposed, ready for the caning. As Gladys got into to position, I wondered how I got into this mess.

The first stroke landed and to be honest, it was nothing. A mere love tap. I didn’t even gasp. The only reaction I felt was a slight tightening of my buttocks and a little sway. Of course Gladys didn’t leave it at that level. The second stroke felt more powerful, but it still didn’t elicit the normal screams I give when Julie is beating the crap out of me. Wait… I guess I should explain. Julie doesn’t beat me up. She spanks me. She loves spanking me. She spanks my breasts, my ass, my pussy. She loves to hit me in those spots, over and over again, hard and soft. So I’m USED to this.

By the time we got to the fifth stroke across my rump, it was starting to sting. Pretty badly too. Gladys started off light but quickly found both her rhythm and strength and by ten my hips were jerking around, dragging the crotch rope back and forth across my clit and through my pussy. I felt the moisture between my legs increasing as did the pain and as we finally got to twenty I was so close to cumming that had Gladys whipped me even once on my clit, I’d have popped merrily and been a satisfied woman for the rest of my life.

Okay, no I wouldn’t have been satisfied for the rest of my life, but I’m sure I’d have been pretty good for twenty or thirty minutes.

My ass felt like it was on fire as Gladys handed the cane to Rose. The thin gray haired woman came up and stood on the opposite side of me. She raised the thin bamboo rod at chest height, my chest, and swung it horizontally at my breasts. The cane cut the air with a swoosh and the next thing I knew I was bent over, both hands covering my chest as I yelled, yes yelled in agony. My GOD did it hurt. After a minute I was finally able to stand and look down at my chest. Both breasts sported an angry thick red line that crossed the soft white flesh, both nipples and the cleavage.

Then, while I was still reeling from that first stroke from Rose, she snapped the cane against my ass, which caused me to stand up straight. That hurt too.

“Hands on the back of your neck again or we’ll have to tie you,” Gladys said.

Hmmm… now wouldn’t that be interesting?

The second stroke across my breasts was just as hard as the first. Rose was a much more aggressive torturer than Gladys and it was everything I could do to keep my hands behind my head. I hissed. I whimpered. I yelped. But by the time we got to ten my breasts felt like I had dipped them in molten lead and I was hyperventilating like a landed fish. The lines across both tits were scarlet, tinged with blue and they felt heavy as well.

Two strokes later I couldn’t stay in position. Rose was hitting me harder than anyone had EVER whipped me across my breasts. Seriously, not even Sara’s Caning that I endured a while back matched this one. I thought my tits were going to split. I buckled, tears pouring down my cheeks, my arms clutched across my body protectively.



“Tsk tsk.. now we’re going to have to tie you, dearie.” Gladys stood up and opened a nearby drawer. They had rope. Why did they have rope?

Gladys wrapped the rope around my wrists, binding my hands together. I didn’t resist, but I didn’t cooperate either. I know. Bad. But all I could think about was how bad my breasts hurt. With several loops around both wrists, firmly bound, Gladys pulled my arms upward. My hot and heavy breasts were once again exposed and Gladys once more put my hands behind my head. Except this time, to keep them there, she ran the long length of rope from my hands down to my ass, and threaded her rope through my hemp thong, right at the back. Then she pulled it tight.

For a moment, I forgot about my breasts hurting, which was nice. Of course on the flip side, the Core Driller shifted inside me, going deeper. The rope slid along my clit and labia. And I felt the scratchy part of the rope chafe my perineum. Add those up and they hurt pretty bad. Of course all that did one other thing.

Even as I was dealing with the sudden sexual urgency Rose hit me again. Except this time, when I jerked my hands, it yanked on the hemp thong, which ground the knot into my clit. My hips pumped and Gladys reached over and tried to yank my skirt off. Unfortunately, that didn’t work thanks to the rope binding my hands to my hemp thong, so she settled for exposing my pussy and tucking the material into the rope around my waist.

I was dripping I was so turned on. My hips ground back and forth and the rubbing on my clit was just about more than I could bear. Rose hit again and then again and I’m guessing they could tell I was getting close. I was too, and I knew it. But there was that one issue. I wasn’t allowed to cum unless…

At the eighteenth stroke I bit my tongue but managed to gasp out “please! I’m not allowed to cum unless I’m eating pussy!” Not very eloquent or classy, but hey… I’m not Kari either. Besides, there isn’t a sexual version of “pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?”

“Pardon me, might a tongue your clitoris?”

“Excuse me, might I nibble your nub?

See? But evidently that didn’t matter than much because Gladys, not Rose, pulled up her dress, yanked down her panties, and exposed a rather thick bush of hair between her legs. Rose put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me down to my knees. I leaned forward. Gladys wasn’t dirty or anything, but she had a definitive odor, like… I don’t know… old woman house or something. Like a mixture of talcum powder and old cheese. Weird. But she was clean and I bent down, trying to get a decent angle since my elbows were in the way.

Gladys helped by spreading her legs wide and I finally got close enough to get my tongue into her slit. She tasted very strong, salt and tang and musk. She was also turned on. I could tell. My breasts were now pretty much inaccessible, but then I felt a tap between my legs. I jumped slightly but that only resulted in another agonizingly sexual movement of the rope against my clit. I felt the cane begin to tap my labia, the meaty thick petals that bulged on each side of the half inch thick rope buried in my pussy. I began tonguing Gladys.

Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap. The cane came up between my legs, beating out a light pattern against my labia, one side, then the other. I swirled my tongue through her slit and immediately found her clit. In seconds I was dabbing my tongue against it.

Snick Snick Snick Snick. The cane came with more force and little bursts of pain exploded up from between my legs as Rose hit a bit harder. I continued to suck and nibble on Gladys but I was increasingly having problems. My butt was moving rapidly up and down and wriggling like a live eel. That didn’t make things harder for Rose let me tell you. She just kept hitting.

Smack Smack Smack Smack. Now the strokes between my legs were hurting. Some of the blows landed on the rope, but most just continued to tenderize my swelling labia. I shuddered as I felt myself getting close to orgasm. I began pulling on the rope at my hands, forcing the knot to move against my clit. I groaned, sending the vibrations of my voice down into Gladys’ cunt and then I couldn’t do anything else but cum.

I came, with my tongue buried inside a girl, a woman, a stranger. There. Authorized Orgasm.

And as I exploded Rose let loose a few more whacks between my legs.

To be honest, I’m not sure when or even IF Gladys came. I know that I ended up on my side, screaming in orgasmic agony.

Yes. I just made that up. What’s orgasmic agony? Well, if you’re a pain slut, you know. It’s where the difference between pain and pleasure is only a couple of letters, rather than an actual experience. It’s when you get to a point where your brain shuts down and your nervous system can’t differentiate between “ouch” and “ooohh”. It’s when there are so many sensations that you lose track of them and all you can do or think or say is “oh God yes please more! HURT ME! HURT ME!”

And yes. I’m sick. I know it. Most girls aren’t constantly wet either.

I was left on the floor for a bit but was treated gently. At least until I rolled over and managed to sit up. Rose was still holding my cane and Gladys had put her panties back on and pulled down her dress.

“Are you alright dearie?” Gladys asked kindly. I nodded and slowly got to my feet. My shirt was still rolled up, bruised and welted breasts on display, but my skirt had fallen down in the front. My hands were still bound up behind my head, the rope connected to my hemp thong. I’m sure I was a mess too.

“Are you ready, sweetie?” Rose asked me with a smile.

I blinked. “Ready? Ready for what?” I asked, still sex dazed and throbbing in various spots.

Rose swung the cane in a vicious arc that ended at my breasts again. I cried out, pain once more exploding through me and before I could even turn away, she swung again, sending a final lash through my breasts that I would have SWORN had cut me all the way to my sternum. I fell to my knees sobbing. Gladys came off her chair and hugged me, holding me tight as I bawled. I put my head on her shoulder and just cried and cried.

I hope you see the irony in this. I certainly do. Two old sweet ladies with a fucking doily shop are vicious evil sadists who enjoy whipping young women. What the hell is this world coming to?

Eventually I managed to get control of myself and stop crying. Gladys untied my hands and I cupped my breasts gingerly. Kneading them hurt and so all I could do was pull my shirt down. Even that hurt as the cotton compressed my tits, mashing them tightly. Gladys put away the rope and Rose gave me another warm and loving smile.

“Twenty strokes to your breasts. Now, hopefully you’ve learned your lesson about wearing outfits like that, young lady.” Rose’s voice was stern. I nodded dutifully. The last thing I wanted was ANOTHER caning. I moved toward the end of the counter, where it opened up into the main shop. I was just a little blown away.

“Now now, dearie. Are you okay?” Gladys asked. I nodded and smiled wanly. My breasts really really hurt.

“She’s fine,” Rose stated, then she gave me a very stern look. “And I expect you to come back regularly, dressed appropriately.” She held out my cane. Gingerly (I didn’t want to move my arms around too much) I took the weapon and said quietly, “yes ma’am, and thank you. Both of you.” I got warm smiles back and then I turned and walked out of their shop.

Um… or maybe I escaped. I’m not sure.



I made my way back to my truck and I’m going to admit that I did NOT wear my seatbelt across my chest. I tucked it behind my back. There was just no fucking way. In fact, I pulled over in a deserted parking lot and gently lifted my shirt, just to examine the damage. My breasts from top to bottom were scarlet, with visible welts running across both, with just my cleavage clear of damage. There were ripples of black and blue as well and I’m absolutely positive there was subdermal damage. Oh my god... Rose fucking BEAT me!

Originally, my plan had been to go see Amber, a cute little seventeen year old blond that I’ve been… uh… seeing… corrupting… dating? Anyway the original plan was to get her hands a little dirty… in a fun way, by fisting me. But after what Rose did to me, there was no way I could go to Amber’s place. She’d freak if she saw my breasts at that point. And frankly, my ass probably was only marginally better. I suppose I could have called Kari, but Kari costs me. If I go to Kari and ask for sexual assistance, I’m going to have to pay for it. Oh… not in money, but in later sexual services. It technically makes me an employee of Kari’s interior design business, but in a really weird way.

But there was another option, an option that would be easier to impose upon, easier to contact, with fewer repercussions; Julie. Of course on the flip side Julie is just about as brutal and vicious as Rose.

When I got to Julie’s apartment, most of the heat had finally faded from my breasts. They were still throbbing slightly though, which felt really weird, like someone’s hand was squeezing them gently in time with my heart beat. My ass was fine, and I got out of the truck, winced through a deep breath, and headed down the concrete walk to Julie’s door. I knocked gently, still trying not to move my upper body more than necessary. Finally the green painted door opened and there stood Julie.

With red hair.

I don’t mean auburn either. I mean electric bright RED flaming fire hair. It was brilliantly red. I’m a red head (yes dyed, sue me) but mine is a more natural red. This was about as natural as Velveeta cheese. I stared at her in shock as she eyed my costume. She was dressed in a loose blue tee shirt with a wide collar that hung half off her skinny thin frame. She was wearing khaki shorts that were exceptionally tight and looked good on her bottom. One ear had five earrings and the other six. Her nose is pierced, along with her lip, her tongue, both nipples, and her clit. She crooked a finger at me, motioning me in. I took that one step, the door closed behind me and then her hand came up, swinging directly at my breasts.

“NO! Please NO!” I screamed, holding my hands out in front of me. Julie’s arm stopped a moment before contact with my forearm. She blinked.

“What?”

“P-p-please! I can’t!” I cried out. With trembling fingers I lifted my shirt exposing my breasts.

“Holy shit!” Julie gasped. “Who the fuck did that?” She reached out and ran a finger over my left nipple. I think that’s the gentlest Julie has ever touched me. So I told her the whole story. We ended up moving to the couch and she made me show her the welts on my ass. My shirt ended up on the floor. It hurt to wear it anyway, so I didn’t mind and Julie obviously enjoyed looking at the damage Rose inflicted upon me.

“That’s pretty brutal, but it’s kind of awesome too, you know?”

I nodded, not sure I agreed with Julie about that. She continued on anyway.

“So now you need to get fisted, right?”

“Yes Mistress,” I replied. Julie likes being called that.

She took a deep breath and grinned. “Well for starters, take off that stupid rope and get the Core Driller out.” She waved at me and then stood. I did as well and while I stripped out of my skirt and began picking at the knot above my clit, she left the room. By the time she got back I had managed to loosen the hemp thong. It was a relief to get the rope out of my crotch and Julie tossed the bag she had brought from the back bedroom on the sofa. Then she got down on her knees in front of me and inspected my pussy, grabbing hold of my swollen labia and pulling them outward to check me.

“Well, for a girl who has basically been rope fucking all day, your cunt is in pretty decent shape. You’ve got a couple of small bruises forming from where Rose hit your cunny, but it’s not bad. You up for this?”

To be honest, I wasn’t sure I was emotionally up for it. Physically… yes I could handle getting fisted. Besides, it would allow me to cum again and NOT require my tongue be in a strange girl’s body. I could deal with that. I reached down between my legs and for the first time in over eight hours, slowly extracted the Core Driller dildo.

You ever see those magic shows with the never ending scarf that comes out of the hat? Yeah well, the Core Driller is sorta like that. If you pull it out slowly then you make everyone ask “how the hell did THAT fit in there?” Sex magic… all sorts of fun, right? Like that girl who plays the harmonica with her pussy.

Or was it a kazoo?

Anyway, I extracted the Core Driller, cleaned it off dutifully (yummy!), and then allowed Julie to sit me down in the very center of the couch. I was told to spread my legs, which I did, moving my rump forward enough to make access very easy for Julie. She pushed the coffee table aside and began putting items on it. Oil of course was joined by several long bungee cords, complete with hooks, and then a pair of leather bondage cuffs. These she put on my ankles and then using the bungee hooks, secured my feet to opposite ends of the couch. Not much I could do. Wrist cuffs were brought out next, along with a bondage collar and I let her but it all on me. Moments later my arms were once again above my head, elbows pointing outward to my front, my wrists locked to a ring at the back of the collar.

I’ll admit it. I was nervous. Julie has a vindictive cruel streak in her. She likes hurting people. She’s not just a sexual sadist, she the real thing. Ask her to break your arm and she will. Ask her to push pins underneath your fingernails, and you’ll be lucky if she dips them in alcohol first she’ll be so eager. Expose yourself to her, allow her to tie you up, and give her permission to sexually torture you… well… be prepared for the consequences.

Which is why I almost cried when she brought out the Japanese Clover clamps. They came up to my nipples, my poor caned, welted, swollen, bruised, targeted nipples, and bit down. I cried out. It hurt. A lot. But Julie really didn’t care. I could see that. Her “line in the sand” wasn’t whether it hurt. It was whether I was damaged. And as far as she was concerned, my nipples were just two more pieces of flesh that could with stand more. Then she knelt down between my outstretched legs, grabbed the oil, and proceeded to liberally lubricate my pussy.

It wasn’t fun. My pussy hurt quite a bit thanks to both the rope and Rose’s caning. I groaned as she pushed one, then two, then three fingers into me, fucking me with her hand. After the Core Driller, her fingers felt good, but rather… small. It was hard to adjust. So when she grimaced, jacked her hand around inside me (exciting me rather nicely too), and then declared that I was too tense and tight, I had to wonder what the hell she was talking about.



Julie reached back to her bag and then my heart did this wild jump in my chest. My pussy may or may not have been tense, but the rest of me certainly got that way as she drew the black leather sap out of the bag and brought it to my clit. She hit me about ten times, not too hard, but enough to sting like the dickens, before dropping the sap, inserting three fingers into me, and pumping. A few moments later as I was moaning a fourth finger slipped into my pussy and she continued the in and out rhythm. I could feel myself ripening, getting closer. My chest began heaving, the weight of the nipple clamps suddenly added to the pleasure, rather than just hurting. My toes curled, I arched my back. Closing my eyes I felt the build as I rushed toward the cliff of orgasm, fully intending to hurl myself over the edge.

The fingers were gone and then more pain exploded from my loins. The sap smacked into me repeatedly, the hurt blossoming like a mushroom cloud from a nuclear explosion. I screamed out loud, my hips thrusting up to meet her blows, each stroke landing wetly and directly. When it seemed I couldn’t bear it any longer, Julie tossed aside the sap and folding her hand, rammed it all into me. Her fist didn’t go in smoothly, despite her small fingers. She had to work it back and forth a few time even as I gasped, eyes wide. Suddenly I was right there again, my brain no longer recognizing the difference between vanilla and chocolate. It was all the same! I started to cum, the orgasm burning through me as Julie’s fingers opened and closed inside me, her wrist twisting, my pussy clenching tightly around her fist as she opened and closed her hand. It was like fucking an earthquake. At the height of my orgasm Julie bent down and sucked my swollen, chaffed, and abused clit into her mouth.

Don’t worry. I’m almost done. There really wasn’t anything more after that. I soaked Julie with a spurt of cream that made her yelp and then give the nipple clamps a tug. I was untied, forced to lick my own juices off the couch before Julie handed me a Lysol wipe. Then we took a shower together and Julie dabbed some Blue Emu on my ass and tits. Healing right? Finally I helped her clean up the toys and squirmed back into my clothing. As I buckled on the stripper shoes she patted me on the shoulder.

“Hey, you want to go out next week?” she asked. I smiled.

“Sure. What day and where we going?”

Julie smiled. “I’ll call you about that day, but as far as where we’re going… well… I think shopping might be fun.”

“Shopping? Really?” I asked, totally clueless.

My dominatrix grinned. “Absolutely, and I’ll want you to wear something that makes this outfit look respectable. I’ll have it for you here.”

I flushed crimson again. “Just so I don’t go to jail, Julie!” The last thing I needed was my dad coming to bail me out of the slammer.

She gave me a quick kiss, her eyes alight in mischief. “Oh no… we won’t be visiting the jail. I need a few things… a new dress… some hair dye… and oh yeah; some doilies.”