I'm Back!

I’m back. Thanks to everyone who was patient with me. I was getting burned out and things were busy here with the corn harvest and I was just totally NOT with it. Oh… I still followed NHPS Rule #1 through my “vacation”, but I kept the stimulation down to a minimum… just enough to keep me wet. Lots of ben wa ball days! Then of course I had another week of TOTM, which was physically not fun, but mentally and emotionally pleasant. I never realized being a nympho humiliation pain slut was such hard work!

But I’m back in gear now! Aren’t you pleased? I am! Of course, there were a couple of my online masters who were not so happy with me. The way I understand it, I’m supposed to get a serious punishment for taking my “vacation”. I should get that assignment today sometime. So that should be fun, right?

So now there is just one more thing to discuss… today’s toy. I haven’t cum in five days thanks to my TOTM, so I’m pretty desperate. Master Brandon would like to keep me like that, so he has suggested… wait. Did I say suggest? ORDERED would be a more appropriate adjective. Master Brandon ordered me to wear my vibroballs and butterfly clitoral stimulator. I have to keep ONE of the toys on at all times, at medium. But I’m allowed to switch whenever I want. If I cum, then I am supposed to lube my clit with Stinging O, put the jumbo alligator clamp on my clit, and then turn both toys to maximum vibration for twenty minutes. When my twenty minutes are done (and if I haven’t cum again), then I can turn one toy off, the other down to medium, and remove the clamp.

I think I’m in for a tough day. Don’t you?

Love to everyone!

Bre

Assignment 082911: Mike's Machine

I parked my truck in front of the brick house and looked at my destination. The lawn was carefully maintained, the wooden fence sealing off access to the backyard was practically perfect. The mailbox was an intricate iron sculpture, not too weird or anything, but still impressive, and I stepped out into the brutal south Texas heat. I was dressed appropriately: flip flops, blue denim shorts that came down almost to my knees, a blue tee shirt, white lace bra, and a pair of pink panties.

Of course I was also following NHPS Rule #1, which states that girls like me must be constantly stuffed, ready for a sexual experience. You know, in hindsight, I’m not sure that makes much sense. At least for me. Rule #1 is there to keep a girl wet and ready, right? Well, even without a toy, I’m usually wet and ready. Oh well, I guess that really doesn’t matter, does it? That day I was stuffed with my ben wa balls, two sphere shaped, latex covered toys on a string, each with a tiny rolling clapper inside. Every step was like someone’s fingers wriggling around inside me. Not enough to make me cum, but enough to make me want it. Constantly.

With a deep breath I walked up toward the door and rang the bell. It was only a few moments before the door opened and a familiar face grinned at me through the glass storm door.

“Hi ya, Mike!” I said with a smile. I opened my arms wide, presenting myself. He laughed, but then his eyes flashed with mischief.

“Aren’t you supposed to be naked when you ring a doorbell?” he asked pointedly.

I have him a slightly dirty look… and not the “dirty” he probably wanted. “Your email said that you needed me to come by to see something. You never said that I needed to arrive naked,” I said patiently. Mike was the manager of one of our local hardware stores, the small kind that actually has the items farmers need. We had met almost a year before when I had stupidly locked my keys in the my truck – while masturbating naked in the cargo bed. Mike had come to my rescue – finding a quilted blanket clad, naked girl to be an intriguing damsel in distress. Since then Mike had been nice enough to help me with a few items needed on some of my assignments. He’s pretty handy and has always been willing to help me out at the cost of a screw or two.

Mike crossed his arms across his chest. He still hadn’t opened the door. “Well I’ve decided that nympho humiliation pain sluts who come to my house, have to strip on the stoop. And they will remain naked until they leave.” He said it with this commanding finality, as if I were going to argue with him. He knew as well as I did that I wouldn’t. Stripping on his doorstep was well within my limits. So with a shrug, I kicked off my flip flops and tugged my shirt up over my head.

He watched of course. Granted, he’s seen me naked enough times as it is, so it wasn’t like he was getting something new. But I guess since this was the first time I was at his house, and not his store, it was worth watching. Or maybe I’m just ALWAYS worth watching. Whichever… I unsnapped my bra and pulled it down my arms, letting my bare breasts pop into view. Mike’s eyes immediately were drawn to the points, where several deep blue bruises seemed to crisscross across my bosom. Those were the remnants of a particularly harsh caning, but that’s another story. As it was, he winced a little. I didn’t mind. Sympathy can be a sweet thing.

I bent over and shucked my shorts down, followed immediately by my panties, until I was standing on his front patio in nothing but my birthday suit while stuffed with a relatively tame sex toy. Mike’s eyes seemed to take in every aspect of me and just for fun, I put my hands up over my head and did a ballerina pirouette for him. He grinned.

“Okay! I think you’re ready to come in,” he said. I laughed at the irony, stooped low to pick up my attire, and as the storm door opened, I stepped into the cool interior of Mike’s home.

The first thing I noticed was that there was a lot about Mike I didn’t know. As I walked into the living room, I saw some pictures of a handsome woman, about Mike’s age, in several frames. There was one of them together and they looked very happy. I paused, staring at the lovely couple.

Mike came up, a sad smile on his face. “My wife. She died four years ago. Cancer.”

I blinked, then turned. “I’m sorry, Mike. I didn’t know.”

He shook his head. “It was fast. We were married seven years.”

I looked around. “No kids?”

“We were saving that for later. We just didn’t know that there wasn’t going to be a later.” He sighed but then gave me another look. “Can I get you a drink?”

I nodded, anything to change the topic of conversation. “Sure? Got any ice tea?” I asked.

He grimaced. “No… but I’ve got diet soda, water, and some lemonade.”

“Oohh.. lemonade with lots of ice!” I replied, then followed him toward the kitchen.

The kitchen was white and maple wood, rather countryish and I could still sense the impact that Mike’s wife had on the place. It was slowly going bachelorish, and really needed a plant or two to bring some green into the space, but all in all, it wasn’t bad. It was also very very clean. I also happened to glance out the back window and saw a large eight by eight blue plastic pavilion, like the kinds you see people bring to the beach, erected in the back yard. Underneath it was something covered with a tarp. Suddenly I had my suspicions.

“What’s in the backyard?” I asked as Mike handed me a large plastic glass filled with ice and long thin cylinders of ice. I looked at the bottle ice and wondered if I were in for something ELSE later. Mike grinned and nodded toward the window. “Well, that’s what I called you over to see… and experience.” His head turned and he looked at my bruised breasts. “I was going to tenderize you a bit though before taking you out there, but considering…”

I lifted a hand and stopped him. “Hey, don’t let these stop you.” I put down my lemonade and cupped my breasts. “I can handle anything you do to me.”

He gave me a quizzical look. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Then he shook his head in amazement. “I have no clue how you can do it, but I’m so hard right now.” His voice was more than a little tight. I grinned and took a step closer, reaching out to caress the bulge in the front of his jeans.

“So… let’s do that tenderizing,” I whispered, eyes flashing.

We left our drinks on the counter and Mike took my hand, pulling me into the living room. At the sofa he turned and faced me.

“Take off my clothes,” he ordered. Finally.

I unbuckled his thick leather belt first. It was supple and I imagined what it would feel like against my skin. Then I set it aside. His jeans came down next and I saw a pair of silk boxers. The scent of soap and aftershave assaulted my nose and I peeled his shirt and then socks from his body. Lastly, I pulled his boxers down until he was as naked as I. I went to my knees and his cock sprung from the containing cotton, practically putting my eye out. I let the boxers fall by them selves, releasing the underclothes in order to grab hold of his shaft. I opened my mouth and sucked him in, tasting clean, soft, hard flesh.

Mike moaned and reached down entwining his fingers in my hair as I bobbed my head, slurping and sucking on his cock with something akin to hungry abandon. I don’t know why I wanted him so bad, but I did. I started stroking his balls and I heard him moan. But then he pulled away from me, sitting down on the couch.

“Now, come here,” he said. I obeyed. His fingers slipped between my thighs for just a moment, tugging out the ben wa balls. These he tossed aside and I didn’t care. I put one knee on the sofa next to his thigh, and then straddled him, the tip of his cock slipping through my petals even as I positioned myself. I reached down between my legs and grasped him, then lowered myself down with something akin to a sigh of relief. Feeling him penetrate was so good. I groaned. I shifted. I wriggled. I fucked the crap out of him.

I was starting to really feel it when he told me to lean back and close my eyes. I nodded, tilting, shifting my center of balance and I put my hands on his knees. I wriggled my toes under his thick thighs and closed my eyes. I heard the clink of the buckle and knew what was coming. My chest heaved in anticipation and then the sharp smack of the belt against my right nipple exploded in my ears. The exquisite hurt behind it came almost at the same instant and I groaned as the pain rushed through me, straight down to my pussy. I tightened around him, my hips jerking wildly. He hit me again, rapid hard snaps of the first six inches of belt, and it was everything I could do to keep from covering my breast.

He moved to the other nipple, snapping the tip of my breast with steady and forceful strokes and I grimaced as the pain of it overwhelmed me. Granted, it just made me fuck him harder, but I was getting close to not being able to hold position. Just as I thought I couldn’t take another blow, he moved back to the first breast and repeated the series. I cried out and continued to jerk wildly, still pinned on his cock. I opened my eyes and looked down at my bosom. Both breasts were bright red, tenderized, even as the leather tip of the belt continued to bite into me, the impact waves of the strokes flashing through the meat of my breasts as if I were gelatin.

But then he dropped the belt and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his embrace. His mouth opened and engulfed one nipple, sucking hard as I continued to bounce and the sensation of his tongue dabbing at that tender part was enough to make me spiral upward toward orgasm. I was about to explode, my hips rocking, when he lifted me up and I found myself on my back, lying on the floor. Mike moved on top of me, penetrated, and then lifted his legs over mine so that he straddled me.

I have to admit, as far as positions go, I do like that one. As much as I love having my legs spread open wide, especially tied, having them clamped closed like that, while being regularly screwed, is just… nice. It’s a great feeling. I could feel Mike’s rough skin and his hair scraping against my clit and it drove me crazy. I put my hands above my head, closing my eyes, taking every thrust, my body rocking. Mike’s face turned red, then a little purple and I felt his cock harden inside me. I groaned. Too fast! I wasn’t quite there yet! But then he popped, his cock rippling and thrusting and throbbing in this exquisite internal dance.

He collapsed on top of me, mouth on my breast as I held in my disappointment. I so wanted to cum! And I had been so close! But as I’ve been reminded recently, my own pleasure is second to what I provide others. That’s the point of being a nympho humiliation pain slut. My purpose is to be hurt and embarrassed and be screwed for others pleasure. My own is immaterial.

Yeah. Tell that to my clit.

Mike rolled off me a moment later, which I didn’t like. Despite his weight, I enjoy being pinned like that. I rolled with him, keeping my skin in contact with his.

“Oh God, Breanne that was wonderful!” he gasped. I grinned.

“Of course it was. It was me!” I said. Then I kissed him softly. “Now, what was it you wanted to show me?” I asked.

Mike blinked. “Oh! Oh yeah!” He took a deep breath, still reveling in the afterglow of the moment. Screwing me is like that. Most guys need to take a moment to recover!

He rolled to the side and then got to his feet. He was then a gentleman and helped me up. I felt another twinge between my legs as my pussy complained that it hadn’t gotten enough. Mike grabbed his boxers and jeans and quickly got into them. I stayed naked. I’m used to it.

A moment later Mike was leading me through the giant glass doors leading to his backyard and that blue pavilion tent I had seen through the kitchen window. We stepped out into the heat and I sort of hop skipped along with Mike across the walk until I was able to step in the grass. The concrete felt like I was walking on a hot plate. The temperature was only marginally cooler under the tarp, but the humidity still made it uncomfortable. Even naked I started to perspire a bit.

Mike approached the tarp covered object and grabbed hold of the olive drab plastic. With a mighty yank he pulled it off, his face staring at mine, his eyes delighted. I looked down in expectation and…

…wondered what the hell it was.

The rest of Breanne Erickson's "Mike's Machine" is available as part of  "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut! Volume 5"  Check it out today!

New Changes Coming to Michael Alexander Stories

Things have been a bit hectic around here for the last two weeks. A number of issues forced me to reconsider my business model and do some adjustment. Add to that Breanne's request for some official time off and my brain has felt like it's going to explode.

First of all, let me assure the current members of the VIP Lounge that I have no intention of taking it down immediately. The VIP Lounge will remain open for the duration of your membership and you will still have exclusive access to new posts by both Breanne Erickson and myself. Teasers and occasional full length "assignments" will continue to be posted here to the blog.

One of the bad things about the membership site is that at no point do you ever actually purchase THE STORY. Basically, you're buying a lease to READ the story. As part of our new business model, we are going to the more classic version: you buy the story and can read it and re-read it as many times as you want. We're not sure which publishing label we will use at this point, but the idea will be to release the majority of the contents in the current VIP Lounge in e-book format, so that our fans can make one small purchase and own the content. In the long run, this will be cheaper for our readers, easier on both Breanne and I to provide new content, and alleviate some of the business pressures that maintaining a subscription based website entails.

With this in mind, we are rushing to prepare Breanne's "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 3" for publishing and are already collating Volume 4. As for my own works, we are in the process of re-editing for e-book publishing "Sigma Epsilon Xi" as well as preparing the unpublished sequel "The Intern". We will make these available at the same time, with Sigma Epsilon Xi being offered at no cost. Free erotica for your e-reader!

We will continue to offer a "membership" only section of the website. While this will no longer contain Breanne's archive, new Michael Alexander novels or short stories, there will still be a plethora of erotica content that wouldn't fit appropriately into published e-books. Vignettes, the occasional short story, interviews, and of course any other content that we feel works well within the website will be offered. Membership will be free upon signing up for the Michael Alexander newsletter.

For those of you who preferred our original setup: that of membership to the VIP Lounge, please forgive this change. Sales were dismal and honestly we couldn't have even purchased a decent microwave oven between Breanne's cut and mine after costs. The credit card processors were pushing for single day subscription sales - at a cost of 1 dollar per day, which both Breanne and I were totally against - feeling that this would be unfair to our readers.

In summary, the good news is that a new "Tales" from Breanne will soon hit the market. The big visual changes won't happen for another four or five months... but they will happen. Until then, enjoy the VIP Lounge, the blog, the Cream of Venus, Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut, and the Free Archive!

Yours Faithfully,

Michael Alexander

Crave Duet

An Interview With Breanne Erickson at AfterDark Online

Check out Breanne Erickson's latest interview! Ray Sostre of AfterDark Online digs in and asks some of the more detailed questions about being a NHPS, Breanne's likes and dislikes, and what it takes to be an erotica writer!

Check out "The AfterDark World's" Interview with Breanne Erickson HERE.

VIP Lounge

Currently, Michael Alexander Stories' VIP Lounge is no longer accepting new subscriptions due to issues with finding a new credit card processor. Evidently the various banks and institutions involved either require us to become G rated, or hand over our first born child along with several ounces of gold before they're willing to take 7 percent of every transaction.

Thus we are being forced to either reconsider our business model or go looking for ANOTHER credit card processor.

For those of you who are desperate to join the VIP Lounge, please contact Michael Alexander directly to arrange access and payment.

Knees Apart

I got out of my truck and almost wilted it was so damn hot. The humidity was high which meant that my shirt and shorts were sticking to my skin, and frankly my panties were crawling up my ass. I winced a little too. Wedgies aren’t comfortable to begin with and when you also happen to have a clothespin down the front, hanging on to something tender and a bit swollen, tight panties are a liability.

I think it’s definitely a case for going commando most of the time.

Moving to the front of the truck was simplicity in itself. The road was empty in both directions and I expected it to remain that way. High heat, humidity, and the fact that my Farm To Market road goes nowhere, helps keep it that way. It was barely ten o’clock in the morning and already I could see heat shimmers where the road was practically steaming.

I tugged off my shirt. It stuck to my skin and I had to wriggle as much as I do when I’m wearing the ultra tight ones I had back in college. I folded, despite the dampness, and laid it on the hot hood. My bra came next, folded in half as my breasts suddenly seemed to glisten in the morning Texas sunlight. I shoved my shorts down next, hissing as the clothespin twisted slightly as I moved, pulling my flip flop clad feet through the leg holes. Extracting my panties was interesting. They were more than damp, but that wasn’t the fault of the late summer heat or high humidity. That was because I was stuffed with a pair of ben wa balls, two golf ball sized spheres designed to rotate and ring inside a girl with every step.

I peeled the panties down, had to remove my flip flops to get them off, and then stood there naked for a moment. Eyes closed, fingers searching, I reached down between my legs. The first thing I felt was the clothespin, dangling dangerously from my clit, a reminder from Master Barrett that as a nympho humiliation pain slut, my purpose was to be abused. Or to give pleasure to others… or something like that. I forget. Or is it to hurt? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s all of those things.

I lifted the clothespin with a finger, which elicited a pretty intense hiss from me. The clothespin had already dangled there for thirty minutes and I figured it would be there for quite a while to come. But I then moved a bit lower and snagged the loop of string that barely stuck out from between my fat pouty nether lips. A steady pull popped the first ben wa ball out and a then the second followed. I hate taking those things out. It always feels so… disappointing.

I opened my mouth and popped the first ball in, sucking it clean of my juices. I’ve been trained to do that from the time I was fifteen. Kari always made sure that I had to clean all of my own toys. It’s a simple process. Unless it’s been in my ass, I suck or lick them clean, then wash them, then douse them in rubbing alcohol. Simple, right? Well, I wasn’t going to be able to wash and soak the ben wa balls, at least not for a while, so after I sucked the juice off them, I put them in a plastic baggie and put them on the hood of the car.

Then I grabbed my vibroballs.

Why the switch? Master Barrett’s instructions of course. Ben wa balls are effective for lots of walking, but frankly, even doing laps and stairs, the ben wa balls can’t make me cum any more. Sure, they get me soaking wet and so desperate that I’d be willing to fuck just about any reasonably healthy male or any appropriately sized and shaped object, but they don’t take me over the edge. The vibroballs can do exactly the same thing the ben wa balls do, but jack the remote to the highest level and I won’t last longer than an hour. Put me in a humiliating or painful situation, and that time frame decreases noticeably.

Slipping the vibroballs in was ridiculously easy thanks to the wet swamp I had created between my legs since five that morning. The clothespin got in the way a bit, and I almost had an orgasm just from moving it aside a few times, but I managed to get everything in place. I laid the remote on the hood of the truck and grabbed the next item I needed; my stockings.

They were separate. Two separate stockings, white stylized lace with an elastic lace top. I had picked these up at one of those “erotica” stores and each stocking only came up to about two inches above the knee. These are not “elegant”. They’re “slutty”, about as slutty as you can possibly get and still wear lace. I had to be careful and put my feet back onto my flip flops, since I didn’t want to tear or dirty the lace.

Had a car driven by at that moment, I’m sure there would have been issues. I was stark naked, with a wire running into my pussy and a wooden clothespin dangling from my clit, while wearing thigh high white lace stockings. If that doesn’t scream “slut” I don’t know what else does.

Oh. A thin super short white and blue flower print summer dress.

No bra of course, that was part of Master Brandon’s orders. So I slipped the summer dress over my skin, felt it cling to me as a bit of perspiration soaked it, and I tugged it down until it covered my ass and pussy.

Barely.

Then I grabbed my fuck me high heels, a pair of “stripper” shoes Barrett had me purchase almost a year before, two crystal shoes with four inch soles and five inch heel which did wonders for my height but critically damaged my sense of balance. It took a moment to get them strapped on over the stockings, but when I was finished I looked…

Like a nympho humiliation pain slut. At least you couldn’t SEE the clothespin dangling out from under the dress. The remote to the vibroballs had fallen to ground and I pulled the wire until it was back in my hand. Then I pulled the stocking top at my right thigh out, and shoved the remote down into my stocking.

Yes. Talk about obvious. And yes, the vibroballs were on low.

I got back in my truck, thanked the Lord for air conditioning, and headed for Houston.

Kari’s office is in a rather upscale part of south Houston, near Rice University. I have no idea what she pays in rent, but she has this incredible suite with a waiting room, two offices, a little kitchenette, and this absolutely huge conference room that I’ve seen converted into a Super Bowl Party room and a sex crib. The architecture is all dark woods and brick and stucco and there is enough tropical landscaping around the building to effectively hide it from satellite surveillance.

I parked next to Kari’s BMW and headed inside. Kari and I had talked on Monday about getting together for lunch and then she invited me to come with her on a furniture shopping expedition. It sounded like fun. Kari is an interior designer if you didn’t know, an upscale, only for the RICH, interior designer. She does corporate offices, million dollar mansions, politician’s homes… that sort of thing. So if we were going furniture shopping for clients, we wouldn’t be stopping at Wal-Mart, that’s for sure. There was also a good chance she would be unhappy with my state of attire.

I went right up to her office and walked in. As usual she was behind her desk, feet up on the credenza behind her, the three hundred dollar high heel shoes glittering. She was dressed in a black business suit, complete with jacket, and a red silk blouse that looked like she had paid well over a thousand bucks for it. Rubies glittered in her ears and at her throat and her iPhone was pressed against the side of her head.

She waved at me as she finished her conversation, half syrupy and half forceful woman. Kari is a dominant personality and I’ve never know man or woman to push her around. Once in high school one of the cheerleaders had decided that Kari wasn’t fit to serve on the homecoming committee and ended up duct taped to a goal post before the game. Not that I’m saying Kari and I had ANYTHING to do with that. Especially since the girl’s top had been pulled up and only duct tape was covering her… um… more salient parts. We had nothing to do with it at all. Seriously. No idea how that happened.

Where was I? So I walked into Kari’s office and she turned in her chair and looked at me, one eyebrow going up as she took in my outfit.

“Alright, Alan. Absolutely. Yes. I have to go now, something’s come up that needs my attention.” She laughed with delight, her smile growing. “I will. Thank you.” Then she put down the phone and looked at me.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting this. What’s the occasion?” Kari asked, her eyes trailing down to my stocking covered legs and the vibroballs remote, complete with wire disappearing under my dress.

I blushed slightly. “NHPS Rule number four,” I replied.

Kari cocked her to the side. “I see. So you’re doing this for me. How… nice.” She stood up and grabbed her purse, an expensive Gucci that I’m guessing cost around five hundred. Then she came around her desk, took my arm, and led me back toward the door. She moved quicker than me and noticed my more hesitant walk and gave me a look.

“Lift your dress for a moment,” she said. I did as ordered and she didn’t even have to bend down to see the clothespin. She sighed. “Well, at least you’re predictable.”

I turned scarlet. “Master Barrett also said…” She cut me off with a waved hand.

“Yes, yes… I’m sure you’re supposed to punish yourself somehow at some point. Well, when you are with me, you will do as I say. Having you dressed like that certainly won’t hurt my reputation and perhaps I can make use of you as well.”

“rubber bands on my feet,” I muttered.

Kari gave me a dark look so I shut up. She sauntered while I took mincing small steps over to her convertible and after just a moment or two I was seated in the passenger seat of Kari’s shark like sports car/convertible. She left the top up and cranked the air conditioner to maximum, then peeled out of the parking lot like a formula one race car driver late off the line.

As we drove Kari looked over at me. My dress had ridden up thanks to sitting down and you could actually see my clothespin. Sorta like a panty peek, but much much worse.

“All right, new rule for today,” Kari announced.

I looked at her. “A new NHPS Rule?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Just a rule for today, sweetie. Your knees…”

“My knees?”

Kari gave me another dark look. “Keep them apart. If I see your knees touching, the punishment will be extreme.”

I swallowed. “Extreme?”

She nodded. “Extreme as in you don’t want to find out what the punishment will be.”

Oh shit… I nodded back at her. “Yes, Kari.”



She smiled, once more all Miss Congeniality. I spread my legs apart, my summer dress sliding even farther up my thighs, exposing ALL of the clothespin… and my slit. But I kept my knees apart. Kari began talking about her latest client’s needs, the style and my world was suddenly awash in foreign concepts like modern and contemporary and industrial and discussing the merits of leather verses microfiber and all this stuff that went in one ear and out the other. We drove north toward the Woodlands and we stopped at this rather upscale furniture retailer.

I got out carefully, making sure that my knees weren’t touching. That was a little awkward of course, and I smoothed down my dress as soon as possible, covering up my exposed rear end not to mention my clothespinned clit. Kari led the way and we strolled through the late morning heat into the store.

You have to understand, being with Kari is sort of like being with a celebrity. People KNOW her, which I find really strange. I wasn’t popular in high school… well… not really. It was Kari and I was considered… well… a slut. Which I was, but I was Kari’s slut. No boys asked me out, ever. They asked Kari out and I was sort of the “bonus” package. Of course after a few discovered and spread around the school that dating Kari meant getting to spank the crap out of me or shove a variety of objects inside me before screwing my brains out, I was pretty darn popular too.

But still… not like Kari. Kari walks into restaurants and the manager comes out to say hello and calls her by name. I’ve met famous people while hanging around Kari. Oh… not like Hollywood people, but it wouldn’t surprise me. But locally famous people. No.. I won’t drop names here. That would get me in trouble, but I’m trying to convey to you what it’s like being next to her, moving around in her world.

So when we walked into that furniture store she was immediately greeted, by name no less, and a rather handsome young man who couldn’t keep his eyes off me was designated to follow Kari around. Evidently this is a common thing because it happened practically at every store we went to. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Kari knew exactly where in the store were the items she had in mind and she headed that way with me and “Ross” in tow.

Kari had her notebook and iPhone out and even pulled out a tape measure and I found myself pressed into service. “Hold this end.” Kari worked methodically making notes, snapping photos of the furniture from all angles, even looking under some of the pieces. I just stood back and let her do it. At one point she sent Ross off to see about the availability of something and she turned to me quickly.

“What did Barrett tell you to do?”

The question surprised me. Not because I didn’t want to answer, but because I wasn’t prepared for it. In fact, after Kari’s declaration, I hadn’t even brought the two rubber bands IN with me. They were still in Kari’s car.

“Uh… twenty snaps of a rubber band to each foot,” I stammered.

Kari frowned. “In those stockings? What’s the point of that? We’ll think of something more appropriate. And get those knees apart. They’re far to close.”

I looked down. I was standing normally, my feet about a foot and a half away from each other. My eyes widened as I realized what she was asking and I took another step outward, spreading my legs. The buzzing of the vibroballs actually became audible, but only barely and you had to be listening for it.

Ross returned a moment later while Kari was examining another couch. They discussed something or other while I stood there, legs spread slightly, making sure my knees didn’t touch.

“Ross, let me ask your opinion. Do you think this couch would be decent for giving out a spanking?” Kari asked, her tone completely normal, as if she were asking “do you have this in leather?”

Our poor sales associate, in his crisp suit sort of just stood there for a moment, his brain trying to shift gears. Sure, he had been staring at me every moment he could. Despite being prettier than me, Kari was playing second fiddle on the sexual attraction gig that morning. My outfit put me ahead of her quite nicely. The fact that even more thigh was showing was certainly a plus.

“Excuse me, Miss Kari?” Ross asked, still trying to frame his mind around the question.

Kari gave him a direct look. “It’s a simple question, Ross. If someone was seated on the couch, do you think the height would be appropriate for an over the lap spanking?”

The poor guy about had a conniption. He stammered something and then raised his hands helplessly. “I have no idea, Miss Kari.”

My former mistress, occasional lover, and forever best friend nodded wisely. “Then we’ll just need to see. Please sit down on the couch, Ross.”

I knew what was coming the moment she said that. I glanced around. We were at the very back of the store, no one else was around, and we were shielded from view by the rows and sections of furniture around us. Ross gave Kari a confused look, but sat down on the couch. I didn’t move. Maybe Kari had something else in mind.

She squatted for a moment, bringing her eye level to the couch arm and then nodded. “Well let’s see. Breanne? If you would please… across Ross’ lap.”

My heart thudded painfully. Sure he was cute, but my god… a spanking? Here? I took a few steps forward, trying not wobble on the stripper shoes. Ross stared at me with shock as I bent over, flashing him a good bit of cleavage before laying myself across his lap. From the waft of cold air I felt, I was quite aware that my entire ass was uncovered and my dress had slipped up to the small of my back.

Ross was in a state of apoplexy but I could feel his hard cock poking me in the stomach. I didn’t feel his hand on me, so I figured he was keeping his hands either by his sides or up.

“Now, if you’ll please give her a few decent swats so I can make sure the height of the couch is sufficient.”

“Please, Miss Kari!” Ross protested.

I heard her displeasure. “Do I need to speak to Mr. Davidson?” Kari asked politely.

Ross stiffened, and I don’t just mean his cock. Whoever Davidson was, it was a direct threat. I felt a hand on my bottom.

“No ma’am,” Ross said, his voice a whisper.

“Good, now please give Breanne a bit of a spanking. Ten strokes should do it.”

I braced myself but the first spank was about as hard as getting hit with a pillow. A feather pillow. Thrown by a three year old. Who is exhausted.

“No, no, no… not like that, Ross. Like this.”



I didn’t have time to brace myself and let out a sharp yelp when Kari’s hand SLAMMED into my ass. It burned. It stung. And while I was gasping the heat suffused outward. My buttocks clenched and I felt my pussy ripen even more.

“Now try again, Ross. That first one didn’t count.”

I was better prepared when Ross delivered his second spank. It wasn’t quite as hard as Kari’s, but it was solid and it stung. I let out a muted moan through my closed lips and arched my back a bit.

“Much better. A little harder on the next one,” Kari encouraged.

The next one was a LOT harder, but because I was ready for it, my wail of pain was nothing more than another strangled squeal. Ross swung again and then again, starting to get into the swing of things.

Ha ha… get it? Swing of things?

Okay… right. So I got spanked. Hard, right there on the sofa. Kari made a few notes while my ass was being blistered and after Ross had delivered the spanks she reached out, took my hand, and pulled me up. My dress fell back down, covering the clothespin, my pussy, and my now hot to the touch rear end.

“I think this one will do nicely,” Kari announced, looking at her notebook. I stood there, not wanting to look anyone in the eyes. I could FEEL the heat from the cheeks of my ass spreading through the cheeks of my face. Ross didn’t say anything either.

“All right, I know exactly what I want.” She turned to Ross and started spitting out items and he yanked a notebook out of his pocket and started writing things down. I just sort of stood there, knees apart, while my hips reacted to the heat in my bottom as well as the slow vibrations of the vibroballs. I was not in a good place at that moment. I was teetering on the orgasmic cliff. For some reason, getting spanked by a totally strange male, in public, wearing a super short thin white and blue flowered summer dress, with my clit caught in a clothespin, and vibroballs buzzing inside me, turned me on.

Wow. What a surprise.

I followed Kari as we made our way back to the front of the store and she gave directions on where stuff was supposed to be delivered and then she spoke with Mr. Davidson and praised young Ross, who still looked a little shell shocked and stared at me. I gave him a little shy smile and then I was taken by the elbow and escorted out by the woman who had just had me spanked.

Back in the convertible I was again reminded to keep my knees apart and then we were off. We hadn’t gone a mile before Kari asked me where my rubber bands were.

“In my purse,” I replied.

“Get one of them out.”

I fished the thick tan rubber band out and held it up.

“Stretch it between your thumb and forefinger.”

I did so.

Then she reached over and pulled my dress down. My breasts popped out and we were in the middle of traffic! I yelped a little in shock and scooted down in the seat. Thank god the windows were darkly tinted!

“Now, put the rubber band against your right nipple,” Kari ordered. I whimpered a bit, but did as she asked.
“Now, just as Master Barrett asked, ten snaps. For each nipple.”

I bit my lip. “He said on the bottoms of my feet!”

Kari shook her head. “That’s impractical considering the stockings. It wouldn’t hurt as much. Besides, this is twice as humiliating and will hurt as much if not more. I want to see red marks on your breasts, Breanne. Snap to it.”

I almost snapped at that last little pun but I know better than to make sarcastic replies to a woman who enjoys whipping me with a leather sap or humiliating me in public. I brought my left hand up, pulled the rubber back, and let go.

Ow.

Actually, “ow” doesn’t quite cover it. The first one was more like “Owwww…” and the fifth one was more like “EEEEEeeeeeeeeeennnggggggg” as I keened into the pain and strangled it. Kari had turned on the radio and Christina Perri’s “Jar of Hearts” came on and I was just sitting there snapping one breast and then the other, back and forth. By the time the song ended I had this slash of red across both nipples. When I hit twenty, it felt like someone had taken a pair of vice grips and given me a good hard long squeeze and then dipped my nipples in hot oil for a frying.

And I was about ready to cum.

Kari seemed to know that too, because her hand snaked down between my open legs, found the clothespin, and flicked it. I don’t know how many times but she didn’t stop till I came wetly in the seat, my hips grinding, my hands cupping my breasts, head thrown back in orgasmic ecstasy. I still hadn’t recovered when she pulled into the parking lot of another furniture store. She hurried me, still dazed with orgasm, out of the car. I stood there in the lot and Kari rolled her eyes at me.

“Your tits are hanging out, stupid.”

I looked down. Both breasts were still exposed. Oops. I hurriedly pulled up my dress. My tender nipples hurt. My clit ached. I followed Kari in.


Part Two and Part Three of Knees Apart will be available in the VIP Lounge of Michael Alexander Stories! Check in there and become a member. Though I guess you COULD wait for "Tales Of A Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 5" if you REALLY want.

*Update: All three parts of Knees Apart are now posted in the VIP Lounge.

Story Review: Maggie's New Slave by Sam W.

Maggie is the teen who has everything, including her own personal slave. She can't wait to play with her newest one, the beautiful Katie.


Oh my. I just finished reading "Maggie's New Slave" by Sam W. and I have to admit, it wasn't bad. Overall an eight on a scale of one to ten.

I'll get to the rest of the story in a moment, but I just HAVE to comment about the second paragraph of this story. In what has to be one of the most... awesomely weird character descriptions in the history of erotica, the author gives the reader a detailed vision of Maggie's latest acquisition: a gorgeous auburn haired girl. But in what must be the strangest series of descriptors, the author gives us detailed information about the girl's jaw, neck, collarbone, shoulders, breasts, nipples, stomach, DIAPHRAGM (WTF?), pelvic bones (not pelvis!), waist, thighs, mound of venus, her sex, and even (without naming it which is a surprise) her perineum. Usually I have to take authors to task for not providing ENOUGH descriptions, or for giving measurements. Rarely do I have to chide an author for too much.

Maggie marveled at the prize bound to the table before her. She started at the top, looking at the apex of the girl's head, and from there followed the billowing auburn hair that radiated from the point. The girl's hair framed a beautiful face, with a hard-set, determined jaw, mitigated by soft, rounded features. Maggie's eyes moved down the girl's long, elegant neck, to her pronounced collarbone, which supported two round, strong shoulders which the girl's hair came to rest at. Maggie's eyes greedily took in the girl's soft, supple skin, the color of a pale peach. She looked down the girls chest until the skin tightened and stretched to accommodate a pair of charming B-cup breasts. Small, but not tiny, they were perfectly rounded. The two milky-white globes quivered with the girls rising and falling chest. They were topped with two pink, soft and puffy nipples. Maggie's eyes moved further, past the girl's toned stomach, where her strong diaphragm contracted and expanded with breath. She watched as the girl's pelvic bones created a kind of valley at the girl's waist. Two creamy, toned thighs framed what Maggie was waiting for. The valley of the girl's pelvis rose up to a mountain as the girl's mound of venus came into view. The pronounced, pale mound was topped with a light dusting of dark, curly hair. At the girl's hooded clitoris, the mound parted into two thick, puffy lips which concealed the girl's virgin passageway save for a single spot in the middle where Maggie could view the pink flesh within. The lips resealed themselves at the bottom of the girl's vagina, and the smooth skin ran farther back to a hidden point that Maggie could not yet see.

Sam... too much. What did you do? Get out Grey's Anatomy and just go down the list? Why not describe her patellas too? Personally, I would have loved to hear about her phalanges.

0kay, despite my issues with that second paragraph, I have to say that "Maggie's New Slave" is really well written. The author has a good command of the language and uses compound sentences effectively, creating depth and complexity. It comes off rather nice.

Grammatically, for the most part, the author does a good job. I noticed a couple of sentences ending in prepositional phrases and there was one spot were an apostrophe for a possessive was missing, but these are minor issues and if there were any other mistakes, I didn't notice them. That says a lot about the quality of the author. Sam W is very readable.

I'd like to say that the plot is good, but I'm not sure. The reason behind THAT is because the author has decided to serialize this story. I hate serials because I rarely will go back and re-read earlier chapters in order to catch up. That said, at least Sam W. does the serialization correctly. Many authors don't end their "part" at the correct moment. Each episode or part needs to have it's own self-contained plot movement. Sam W. does that rather well, finishing the introduction and initial scene before "to be continued" hits us in the face.

And it does hit us in the face, because while the author ended the "part 1" at an acceptable moment, ending it at THAT particular point completely destroyed any sort of sexual tension the author was trying to build up. The introduction was rather bland. We got to endure the back story of Maggie's introduction into domming and there weren't even any juicy tidbits. How hard would it have been to expand on that one finger fucking scene? In the end, I didn't start feeling any of the needed tension until Katie woke up. Then the story ended a few paragraphs later. Ugggh...

And speaking of Katie, was Katie the red head girl from the beginning of the story? The author never actually SAYS. Not only that, but we move from the introduction of reminiscing to "Katie" bound. Is this still a memory, or is this the girl with the amazing strong diaphragm?

The author also describes the ultimate bondage toy table - one completely impossible by today's standards and technology. Yes, it MORPHS into any conceivable shape! Yet no explanation is given for this marvelous contraption. Is this important? Well... yes. Readers need a reason to suspend their believability. As a founding member of the Society For the Prevention of Cruelty to Reality, I object to there not being a decent explanation for this. Does the story take place in the future? Are Maggie's parent's mad scientists? Is this the world of Harry Potter and a quick flick of the wand can enchant wood and metal to do move in ways never imagined before? The author asks us to swallow a pretty big pill but doesn't provide any sugar to go with it. That said, I want one of these tables. My own jenni could well do with being on one for a few weeks. :D

Where the author REALLY shines though is in his descriptions. And when say that, please note that I usually HAMMER authors for this. Sam W not only describes the INTERNAL ORGANS and SKELETON of his characters, but he does a damn good job describing the scenes, the action, the environment... all of it. Talk about adding depth and complexity!

Sam also hits dialog well. A good author knows that action and dialog are what move a plot forward. Sam happens to be a good author. No where do we stall, get bored, or have issues. It's a steady pace. To bad we got cut off at the knees with the "to be continued".

In summary this story would probably rate a little higher from me had the rest of it been there. I'm not totally opposed to serials, but if you're going to do it, make sure that you don't damage your overall plot arc and leave readers disappointed. "Maggie's New Slave" is a perfect example of an opening "episode" that SHOULD have been a double. Regardless, Sam W. takes us into an intriguing world well worth exploring - once the rest of it is there!

Read Maggie's New Slave.

Assignment 08/0911: Don't Touch

I know this is really long. Sorry. We're still having trouble with the VIP Lounge credit card system so Michael said I could put it up here. But on the other hand, that's good right? Free is always good! So on with the tale!


My day started on low. I know that that may not make that much sense, but it’s the absolute truth. It’s quite a description, don’t you think? On low? Sounds like I’m some stove or thermostat.

Or a vibrator.

Every morning when I wake up, the very first thing I do is comply with Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Rule #1. It’s very simple. I have to have something stuffed up inside me, preferably cock, but a sex toy will do, and I have to be like that all the time. Twenty four seven. Without fail. It makes for an interesting day. Saturday morning was just like usual. I had a possibility of five or six different options and Master Mark made the decision for me. But unlike usual, my daily toy was not just to keep me wet and ready, but to torment me, to prep me for what was coming. Stipulations to go with the toy? Oh… no cumming. Of course.

So at around five in the morning I climbed out of bed, removed yesterday’s ben wa balls, and got out the two toys I would be needing for the day. The first was my vibroballs, two golden oblong “spheres” with wires running back to a similarly colored remote. My vibroballs actually are similar to my ben wa balls, except that it’s not just moving around that causes them to have an effect on me. As soon as both were snug in their little bower, I turned them on and bit my lips as my pussy contracted repeatedly around them.

Yes. It takes practice to deal with vibroballs.

The next toy was not something I was looking forward too, and no doubt since I’ve already described how I had my pussy stuffed, you are totally aware of where the other toy had to go.

Right. In my ASS. I hate things being in my ass. It’s like every possible toy that can go in your ass is not comfortable, and I have an unusual number of “butt” toys. I have a full sized four inch anal plug. I have a vibrating anal plug. I have two piggy tail plugs. And I have anal beads, a series of latex covered motor filled “spheres” (eight of them to be precise) on a long semi-rigid wire, leading to another remote. It takes five or six minutes to get them in, plenty of grapeseed oil, a nubile hand, and lots of determination.

I tucked the remotes into the waistband of my shorts. Both were “on low”.

It wasn’t until after breakfast that I headed out in my truck and drove the forty minutes to Kari’s new condo. She moved over the July 4th weekend (I know… a story you want) and the new place was definitely an improvement on the apartment complex. For one thing, it was no longer a risky trial to strip before knocking on her door. The front porch was an alcove, permanently shadowed and concealed by several large oleanders. Beautiful place.
It wasn’t quite nine when I knocked on the door, stark naked, holding a bag with my stuff in one hand and my remotes in the other. I smiled as the door opened and Robert (also stark naked) greeted me, stepping aside so I could enter.

“Heya Robert!” I said, lifting up on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek. He accepted it gladly. I admit, I deliberately accidentally grazed his thick and erect cock with my wrist as I put my bag down beside the door.

Kari’s new place is just as lavishly decorated as the old place and she really hasn’t changed styles. Think Kirklands and add a touch of Pottery Barn and then go off the deep end with art and weird sculpture and deep reds and golds. Throw in a touch of soft blue here and there and you end up with… well… it’s tough to describe. Kari’s place is pretty amazing.

I looked around, expecting the woman herself, but Robert smiled at me as turned.

“She’s not here, Bre. I was told to get you prepped,” he said politely. Robert is ALWAYS polite. I like that about him.

“Oh. Okay,” I said. “Where is her highness?” This was an important issue

He chuckled as he went to the bar between the kitchen and the dining room and got down a thick pair of leather ankle cuffs and some rope. Evidently they were ready for me. He came over to me and motioned me to the leather sofa. I sat down and he took off my flip flops, pushing them under the couch.

“She had some errands to run this morning and told me to take care of you.” Robert began buckling the ankle cuffs around my legs and I tried not to let the combination of a handsome hunk make the vibroballs and anal beads more of a sexual nuisance.

I grinned. “Did she say anything about me taking care of you?” I asked, a naughty tone in my voice.

Robert looked up and smiled. “As a matter of fact, she said that if you offered, I am allowed to accept. You however, must still be bound and are not allowed to touch yourself upon pain of punishment.”

I laughed. “I could use some cock,” I said and patted my pubis. He chuckled and shook his head.

“Blowjobs only, Bre. Sorry.”

I frowned, but with chagrin. “Drat. Oh well. Ooohhh…” I said. Robert had lifted my left leg up and stretched it out along the couch. I leaned back slightly, my exposed sex only an inch away from the edge of the sofa. He deftly tied off my ankle, probably to the side table or maybe a leg or something and then took my other limb and stretched me wide.
I like being in the splits. I know… strange… right? But it’s not about that. It’s part mental, part physical, and being BOUND open like that, with no ability to close myself, to protect myself, is very enticing. I love it. My pussy was gaping, a perfectly exposed patch of wet neediness that only sported a single black wire that trailed over my thigh. Robert smiled and then stood. He disappeared from view for a moment and then returned with a jingling noise.

The rest of "Don't Touch" by Breanne Erickson is now available in her novel "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 5"  Check it out today!

Gabrielle And Leviathan

Things proceeded a little quicker that we imagined and the entire complete story of Gabrielle and Leviathan is up at Michael Alexander Stories in the VIP Lounge. If you haven't read it, you should!

An excerpt from Chapter Three:

The penetration came rather quickly and it was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. She had made love to both men and women and she had a whole cubby filled with various sex toys purchased across an entire quadrant of the galaxy. She had even spent one wild shore leave on New Amsterdam, using every available credit in her account to purchase the seventy two hour “sexual extravaganza buffet”. But nothing felt like the thick four inch feeler now writing inside her. To her horror, her pussy rippled in spasms and it seemed as if the tentacle was actually fucking her, not merely seeking its perverted pill. It withdrew a few inches and then went back in. The sensation was difficult for Lori to comprehend and she realized that her body was being tricked into producing more of the enzyme.

She felt something slimy move lower and cried out as something probed against her anus. She tried wiggling her hips but it made little difference. Even tightening down meant nothing as one of the tentacles pushed its way into her ass, running itself deep enough that she could literally feel it pressing against the similar phallic probe in her pussy. The two feelers writhed inside her, churning her insides like butter as she yelled obscenities between racking sobs.

A movement against her clit caused her to gasp and then two additional feelers exploded up out of the water filled hatch, slithering their way up her body. Both new arms wrapped themselves tightly around her breasts, squeezing and pulsing while the end of each appendage seemed to seek out her nipples. Lori screamed, her body and mind at war as the creature deliberately worked her into a higher sexual state. The penetrative tentacles pumped in and out of her while her body trembled. Her nipples started to tingle and as she lifted her head, she saw that both breasts were turning purple, the blood squeezed into the tips. Her clit felt as if it had been subjected to hours of the sonic wrench, or at least a vibrator, with no stop. Her buttocks clenched even as the tentacle inside her drove deep again.

Check out Gabrielle and the Leviathan at Michael Alexander Stories Vip Lounge!

Gabrielle and the Leviathan Part One Posted!

Michael Alexander Stories is pleased to announce the publication of Part One thru Part Four of Michael Alexander's new novella, "Gabrielle and the Leviathan".

"Gabrielle and the Leviathan" is only available to VIP Members of Michael Alexander Stories. This story veers away from Michael's usual tale, combining elements of eroticism with science fiction.

An all female crew runs the SS Gabrielle, an inter-stellar space cargo transport. In the depths of space both wild abandon and discipline are the routine and Amber finds herself in the midst of forbidden seduction, terrible punishments, dark revenge and a danger that none of her fellow crewmembers can even hope to combat. Only Amber can save the ship...

An excerpt from Part One of "Gabrielle and the Leviathan"

The quiet hum of the engines filled the darkened compartment and the only source of illumination came from one of the lit computer terminals. A console of green and tawny lights blinked sporadically, casting alternating gold and emerald hues across the control room. There was an air of quiet despite the steady thrum of the converter, slowly but surely changing the meta-stable metallic hydrogen into gas before it was burned. Four chairs were arranged around the control room, one at each station, but only the position at the master engineering board was occupied.

She was blond and her regulation French braid kept her golden locks tight against her head. The artificial gravity field would have brought her hair almost all the way down to a point between her shoulders, but like most space faring vessels, it was almost a religion that everything was either tied down or secured. Zero G was nothing to laugh about and floating through a veritable cloud of debris during an emergency was not fun. Neither was trying to hold on during a pressure hull breach while thousands of small objects pelted you from above.

Straight backed, she kept a close eye on the monitor board. She enjoyed working the third shift. Her job was simple. Inventory the various tools stored in the control room and monitor the main engineering console for problems. Anything major was handled by informing the on-duty bridge officer and then waking the chief engineer. It was an important responsibility and she had been pleased when she was selected for it. Once more she glanced at the board. Everything was in the green and she settled back into her chair, slowly pouring over an engineering manual on one of the side screens. Perhaps during her next cruise she could get promoted to Engineering Mate, rather than one of the lowest grades of engineering crew.

She fidgeted in the ship suit, a solid one piece gray coverall that zipped all the way from her collar, down the front, between the legs and half way up the back. While sounding uncomfortable, in reality it served rather well. Using the restroom was dramatically easier and the suit’s built in protection shielded the wearer from stray radioactive isotopes, gamma rays, and even stabilized temperature. It could even serve for a limited time as a pressure suit. It was the perfect apparel for shipboard duty and if Amber had selected a rather tight fitting size, it wasn’t due to a vain or self-conscious attitude, but a genuine desire to fit her lithe body into an appropriately contoured uniform. A small sensor bundle was woven into the material just above her left breast, a spot which also sported her rank.

Suddenly a sound came from the elevator shaft and Amber stiffened in her seat, trying to look studious and professional. She heard the telltale whine of the lifter field cushioning the elevator and then the normal hiss of the doors told her she was no longer alone.

“Hey Amber,” a soft voice said from the doorway. Amber looked up from the main engineering station and saw another tightly fitting ship suit in the doorway. She grinned as Lori came into the control room, shaking out her long brown hair. It was definitely a violation of regulation, but Amber knew that Lori was off duty and frequently bent the rules when it was unlikely that an officer would find out. As it was, Amber knew that the ship’s executive officer, Rebecca, wouldn’t do her rounds for a few more hours.

“Hi Lori. What are you doing down here this late?” Amber asked curiously as Lori sauntered in. They had both worked together on the second shift before Amber had been promoted, ostensibly with a pay bonus, to the solo third shift. Their friendship had just begun to get interesting when it was nipped in the bud and Amber had felt the loss rather disconcerting.

Lori walked over to the control station and laid one hand on Amber’s shoulder. The touch was light and almost a caress. “I came to see if you needed anything sweetie, maybe keep you company for a little bit?”

Amber laughed. “I’m good. I’ve got one of the updated manuals on the transfer conduit control system and after that I can read the field system control manual,” she said brightly.

Lori shook her head and clicked her tongue. With a little push she turned the chair Amber was sitting in so that rather than facing the indicator console, the blond girl’s knees were touching Lori’s thighs.

“Isn’t that boring?” Lori asked, leaning forward slightly, her face getting closer to Amber. The little blond blinked as the large and dark brown globes of Lori’s incredible eyes glittered inches away and Amber could smell the scented strawberry lipstick that she knew Lori favored. Amber swallowed, but then twisted her head to look at the console again.

“Uh… no. I mean… it’s… I’m… I should be…” Amber said, stuttering, but the words seemed to melt away as Lori let her finger glide down Amber’s cheek. The little blond stiffened slightly and let out a tiny moan.

“Hush now, Amber” Lori’s fingers slid down the blond girl’s neck and across her shoulders, only to come back in at the nape of Amber’s throat. Slowly the zipper tab was pulled downward, opening Amber’s suit.

Things heat up quickly in Michael Alexander's latest work: Gabrielle and the Leviathan! Read it today! Join the Michael Alexander Stories VIP Lounge!

Skirting The Edge III

I have the willpower of mashed potatoes. That’s a metaphor actually, since mashed potatoes don’t exactly have willpower. Think of it more like a description. Mashed potatoes are soft, pliable, warm, easily molded, and can’t really hold back anything more than gravy. And when it comes to edging, that’s a fairly decent description of me.

What’s an edge? What’s edging? You should know by now, especially if you’ve read my first two assignments about it. But for those of you who need to catch up, it’s the practice of masturbating right to the point where you are going to cum, and then stopping. It’s not that easy to do, especially under specific circumstances. Try it. Seriously. Try it right now. While you’re reading this, stroke yourself, masturbate for me and then… no matter where you are in my little tale, right before you’re ready to pop, STOP.

We can be miserable together then!

Yesterday I eschewed my Rotating Venus Penis in favor of my vibroballs mostly because my clit was a bit tender. There had been too much vibration, not to mention the three fifteen minute sessions of alligator clamping that I had earned by NOT stopping when I was supposed. Three orgasms in one day is actually pretty light for me, but when Master Brandon proposed his “incentive” for me not to cum, I thought I’d do better.

Yeah. Right. Try asking an eagle not to fly, or a horse not to run, or a nympho humiliation pain slut not to cum while masturbating.

On day 1 all I had been asked to do was masturbate sixteen times in one day and not cum. Simple right? Cumming was rewarded with a nice alligator clamping for fifteen minutes on my clit and nipples. Ouch… but a serious incentive to NOT cum. I blew it of course. I came four times. That meant on day two I had to do the sixteen edges again, plus an additional four. Plus the incentive to not cum increased: add a butt plug fucking. I still came three times, which you have to admit was a dramatic improvement. Think about that. Day One? 16:4. Day Two? 20:3 and those are pretty good ratios, right?

Well Day Three was even better, despite the fact that I still screwed up and despite the fact that I had added an additional three more edges to the twenty three I was already required to do. I still came. What was my ratio? Well… I’ll just let you discover it.

My morning started normally… well… as normally as it does for any nympho humiliation pain slut. I woke up. I masturbated right to the edge, the RVP still stuck inside me where it had been all night. I turned it on, let myself get right to the brink, and then with a groan turned it off, clenched my fists, bit my lip, and tried to get myself under control. Did a pretty good job too.

Getting up was easy. Removing the RVP wasn’t that hard either. I only felt the occasional twinge. I selected my vibroballs as the “toy of the day” though. That’s Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Rule #1. Got to stay stuffed. Why rotate? Well that’s simple. If I keep the same toy in me day after day I’ll get used to it. So you got to rotate them. What’s the point of being stuffed 24/7 if you’re just going to allow yourself to adjust?

I headed out to the barn dressed in my work boots, some white tube socks, blue denim shorts, white cotton bikini panties, a tee shirt, and a white lace bra. All it all, a pretty normal morning. Of course, the vibroballs were inside me, but I didn’t have them on. Not at that moment at least. I started my chores, finished up around six or so and climbed up into the seat of our tractor. I turned on the vibroballs to maximum, letting them churn inside me, while my fingers unbuttoned the shorts and I slipped my fingers down into my panties.

I was wet, but then again, I usually am. It’s a normal condition for nympho humiliation pain sluts. Slowly, but with increasing fervor, I worked at my clit, my chest slowly rising and falling as I rubbed myself right to the brink. I skidded toward the edge, my body thrumming with need and want. Desire flooded through me.



And then I remembered. If I came. If lost it. If I exploded. If I fell off over the edge of the cliff, then the punishment was not just getting alligator clamped for fifteen minutes. It wasn’t just having to ram my butt plug up my ass. It was getting out a candle full of hot wax as well, and roasting certain private parts. Namely my nipples and clit.

That’s a lot of hurt just to cum.

I slid to a stop, dragging my hand away from between my legs. As you can expect, I was in quite a state. My eyes were a little unfocused, my legs were trembling, and with something akin to both a desire to continue and desire to stop, I got a grip, buttoned up my shorts, and climbed down from the tractor.

Ha ha! I’m guessing you thought I’d be messing up right then, right!

But no, I held out.

Doing an edge an hour is pretty tough; doing twenty six of them in sixteen hours… that’s a lot harder. That morning out in the barn I managed to get to five before breakfast. Afterward, back out in the heat, the vibroballs purring me into sexual oblivion, it wasn’t until I got to number eight that things sort of fell apart.

The rest of "Skirting the Edge" by Breanne Erickson is now available in her novel "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 5"  Check it out today!

Practice Practice Practice

I know. You want to hear about yesterday. But I've got stuff to do this morning. Sorry. Don't worry. I'll write it up later. When I'm not getting whipped. But in the mean time, you can head over to AfterDark Online and read my latest story. It's actually true though... not a story I mean. Well... okay... yes it IS a story. I mean it reads like one, but if you know anything about me, you'll realize that even though it happened about four or five years ago... um... let's see... in 2004? Ooops.... that makes it six, right? Six years, but you'll see that the skills I've earned came at a price.

So in honor of AfterDark Online's attempt to encourage safe sex, I wrote out how I learned a very important task for a NHPS: Putting a condom on a guy! Enjoy!