Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Assignment 080311: Skirting The Edge II




It wasn’t the first, or the second, or even the third or fourth that got to me. No. It was the fifth. Perhaps it was because I was distracted with writing out the previous day’s trials, or maybe it was the fact that I had been sitting down with the Rotating Venus Penis spinning slowly and steadily inside me for almost an hour. Of course, it may have been some secret desperate part of my mind that said “you WANT the clamps. You WANT the plug.”

To be honest, I sort of doubt it though. I HATE the plug.

After my first day of edging I was doing all right at first. Twenty required edges, rather than sixteen, with a punishment of the alligator clamps for all my tender spots. Plus, with the new day, came a new punishment as well, something Master Brandon knew I wouldn’t care for: the butt plug. So after posting my little adventure on Michael’s BDSM Blog, I headed down to the barn to take care of a few more things and slipped just a little. I was wearing shorts instead of jeans. It was just too hot. My tee shirt was tight and stuck to me. My bra was uncomfortable so I pulled it off, draping it on a hook. I looked down and saw my nipples hard and poking through the thin material of the shirt and I couldn’t help it. I rubbed them lightly, running my fingers in little circles around them.

It made me a bit crazy of course and that settled things quite nicely. Instead of saddling up Star or getting the ATV out, I settled back on a hay bale, pushed my shorts down, pulled my shirt up, and did some finger dancing that would have had most men and a lot of girls ready for some fun. I’m very very good at self-pleasure let me tell you. I would dip a finger down to my clit, pushing up under the gently buzzing RVP, sending shivers up through me. I intended to stop. Really I did. But it just wasn’t possible at that point. I have no clue what happened, but it was like the punishment meant NOTHING. Some little voice in my brain said loudly “so what? You’ve endured worse countless times!”

And so I didn’t even slow down as I approached the edge. In fact, I jumped, gleefully, legs open and gasping and crying out, exploding like a grenade as the orgasm washed through me. Moments later I was quivering jelly, my shorts around my ankles, my shirt around my throat, nothing more than a half naked slut lying on some hay.

I took a deep shuddering breath though. I knew what had to happen. The plug was in my bag so I pulled it out. My small bottle of Stinging O provided the lubrication and I put it down beneath me and then squatted down over the tapered point. I felt it press against me, the oil cool for a moment as I let it penetrate just a bit into my body. Then it didn’t matter because I thrust downward, gravity and desperation both doing their fair share. I cried out as it penetrated deeply and it ached, a deep ache that seemed to pulse inside me, never mind the cool burning of the oil.

I hate being stuffed like that. It happens all the time though. Why am I always told to stick things up my ass? Sigh… anyway, I waddled over to my bag and extracted the next part of my punishment: the alligator clamps. Three evil, metal toothed, monstrosities that hurt like the devil and made their namesake critter sound like a pleasing alternative. Seriously, I’ve often wondered if it might just be better to get some live baby alligators and let them bite me.

The two smaller ones are chained together. Why? So they won’t get lost maybe? To make it easier to hold on to me? I have no idea. The larger one is separate, not quite so tight and dangerous, even though it hurts more. Gently I took up the nipple clamps, pinching them open and gazing at the pointed yet slightly blunted teeth. They would pinch and crush but not cut. Not unless I yanked on the chain. The marks from the previous day had faded but were still easily seen. I added to them.

It was hard not to cry out when I let the clamps close on the tips of my breasts. The chain dangled down and I gasped through the shooting pain. This was punishment, not fun, and for a moment all I could think about was how much it hurt. I literally folded. But my hand found the final clamp and in a moment of nympho humiliation pain slut insanity, I squeezed it open, spread my legs wide, and let the clamp close down on my clitoris with something akin to masochistic delight.

I’m glad the barn is a good distance away from the house, otherwise my mom would have come running to see what the problem was.

I’m not sure how long I laid there, but by the time the hurt had died down to a level where I could actually move, it was time enough to take everything off. Talk about incentive NOT to cum! Taking the clamps off hurt almost as much as putting them on and when I tugged the plug out of my ass I realized that this punishment was actually probably sufficient to make me think about NOT cumming. Of course, it didn’t help that ten minutes later I had to turn on the RVP again, revving the motors up and by extension myself, until I was shaking with need, standing at the edge of the cliff, trying desperately not to jump.
Jump, Jump, Jump,Jump, Jump, Jump, Jump,Jump, Jump, Jump, Jump,Jump, Jump, Jump, Jump,Jump,
I could hear the chanting. It was coming from my clit, from my insides, from my desires and wants, from desperation. It was the hum of the RVP, spinning that stupid four inch plastic cock inside me. It was the vibrator inside the base of the RVP, pressed against my clit and labia. It was the dull ache at the tips of my breasts. It was my nature, my need, my everything.

And I ignored it.

For a while.

After my sixth edge I went about my business. I could tell you all I did, but it would bore you. I did a bit of plowing, some watering, some other farm things, but this is supposed to be a sex tale, and not some stupid “how to run a farm by yourself” lesson. As it was, I frequently paused in what I was doing to work myself into a screaming lather, holding back just enough to keep from slipping over the edge and having to hurt myself again.



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!

1 comment:

  1. AHHHH I want to know what happen next, how did you feel about it. Did he cum in your ass? what would you have done if he put it in your NhPs cunt? you would not been able to stop it...Orginally I was very upset by this assignment, however after talking with you I am better because I trust you and that you understand and know what u are doing.

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