Society of The Golden Rose (Part Three)

Society of The Golden Rose (Part Three)

The Society of the Golden Rose is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog. Check out www.michaelalexanderstories.com to for further information on the release of this incredible story!

Society of the Golden Rose Part 2

The Society of the Golden Rose is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog. Check out www.michaelalexanderstories.com to for further information on the release of this incredible story!

The Society of The Golden Rose

The Society of the Golden Rose is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog. Check out www.michaelalexanderstories.com to for further information on the release of this incredible story!

Things Have Changed

This is going to be short, because I’m writing it all up, but it’s a long story and an emotional one, so I’ve got to be sure I get everything down as best I can. After my enigmatic “things have changed” status update on Facebook, I’m figuring just about everyone is freaking out, wondering what the hell is going on.

I can’t possibly summarize it. Well, I suppose I could. In the shortest possible explanation of Saturday’s events, the following things happened:

1. I was stripped.
2. I was tested.
3. I orgasmed.
4. I was tied to a St. Andrew’s Cross.
5. I was betrayed.
6. I got pierced.
7. I was angry.
8. I orgasmed.
9. I was tortured.
10. I was hurt.
11. I orgasmed.
12. I got disgusted.
13. I was whipped.
14. I was exchanged.
15. I made someone ELSE cum.
16. I made love to a little French maid.
17. I watched other girls get punished.
18. I orgasmed.
19. Kari and I fought.
20. Kari cried.
21. I cried.
22. And I accepted a collar. A real one. A permanent one. Not submissive… but truly giving everything up to Kari.

Curious now? Damn right you are. Things were VERY complicated. I spent all day writing already and I’m on page 21. This one might even end up being novel length. We’ll see. Anyway, stay with me. I’ll post tomorrow and let you know how some other things have changed!

Love,

Breanne

The Power of Prayer

It was sort of driving me nuts. I went out to the barn, knowing it was time for my five minutes, not willing to do it in the house. The vibrations had been on all morning, slowly churning my insides into a froth of sexual want that was driving me slowly crazy. The addition of turning on the rotating function of my Rotating Venus Penis toy, on full power for that five minutes… well that was sort of like throwing gasoline on the fire.

I had managed to make it through the first three, but only barely, and by keeping my mind firmly on the punishment for screwing up. I was even carrying them in my pocket, the alligator clamps, as a physical reminder to keep my mind on the goal: absolute arousal without orgasm. It’s a tough state to get to. It’s worse to be in. It’s a nightmare to maintain.

I let out a particularly sexy moan when I turned on the rotation function, feeling the four inch plastic cock stuck up inside me begin to spin. Sure it was already vibrating, but I’m used to that. Feeling it swirl inside me was about as energizing as French kissing a light socket. I clenched my teeth as the seconds ticked by. I was already standing on the edge of the cliff, trying hard not to be blown off it.

I played an image in my mind, of what would happen if I blew it. If I fell off the cliff into orgasmic bliss, I’d have to put on the alligator clamps for thirty minutes. I imagined what it would feel like, pinching them open and holding the metal jaws up to my breasts, slowly letting those teeth bite me, crushing the sensitive tender nubs, sending shards of pain through my bosom and straight down to my sex.

Yeah... these are alligator clamps!

I groaned as my pussy convulsed, sending tremors through my entire body.

My mind pictured pulling the RVP away from my clit. The plastic base held both the motors to spin the cock as well as vibrate, and it normally pressed tightly to my clit. This arrangement usually sent ripples of sensation directly into the packed bundle of nerves. But in my mind I saw myself holding the largest of the alligator clamps, squeezing it open and delicately positioning those sharp silver fangs over the knob of my clit. I imagined it biting me, closing on my flesh, chewing on me even as the RVP was replaced and the vibrations shook the clamp, changing the pain of the bite into this chewing monstrosity that threatened to send me into orgasmic apoplexy.

Next time, I need to think about something else when I’m trying not to cum. Because you know what happened?

Yep.

Now there was just one thing more to do. Pray I didn’t cum again.

Tales Of A Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Now Available for Nook!

Michael Alexander Productions is pleased to announce that Breanne Erickson's "Tales Of A Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" Volumes 1 & 2 are now available via Barnes & Noble's Nook! If you have an Android enabled tablet, this might be the version for you! Check out the link and zip over to B&N and pick up your copy today!

Assignment 090911: Swirl And Vibrate

It’s a love hate relationship.

There’s not much to him actually. In fact, he’s rather shallow, plastic, limited. He clings to me tightly, not willing to give me even an inch of room. He’s constantly poking me, prodding me to do things I may not want to do and he’s relentless, never stopping unless I do something to turn him off. His cock his too small too. That said, I love him. No one does a better job of stirring me to new heights, of shaking up my love life. He can do it for hours, gently motivating me into new realms of rippling passion, or he can go full throttle, sending me over the cliff with a powerful fast push.

I’m talking about my sex toy, the Rotating Venus Penis.

What? Yeah, I know.

He’s a simple enough fellow. It all starts with a set of straps that fit around my loins. They hold him there, allowing me to keep my hands free for other things. Like being bound over my head! The straps are there to keep his face… oops I mean base against my pussy. It’s an odd combination of course, because the base has its own motor and batteries, ensuring a non-stop vibration that rumbles through me like a torrent of cascading water. Since he’s pressed to my clit, that’s stimulation enough for an orgasm, but the four inch plastic cock that slips inside me vibrates too, and that’s just intense.

But he has one extra trick up his sleeve. The clue is in the name: “rotating”. It doesn’t mean I raise my arms and spin around while cumming. No, the cock inside me spins and as it turns, gliding along through my body, it’s like I’m on some sort of strange amusement park ride, pleasure and delightful impulses flickering through me. I’ve gotten better at tolerating him as well. There was a time when even his lowest settings would set me off in minutes. But I’m better prepared now. Only on high, with both the vibration and spinning functions active, will I explode in minutes. The rest? Well there are so many combinations.

To be honest, there are times I don’t like him. Like when he needs new batteries. Or when my clit has already been subjected to so many torments that I start the day off swollen and red and tender, and then I’m basically forced to slip his four inch plastic cock inside myself, settle the vibrator base against my clit, and turn things on. Like yesterday. Let’s see… several clampings, multiple orgasmic masturbations, ninety spanks, violent rubbing… all was applied to my clitoris within the last three days. That tends to make a girl a bit tender. Which is why Master Brandon ordered me into my RVP. I resisted at first, explaining that there was no way I could handle the vibrations against my clit. Master Brandon was relentless though and in the end we compromised. Sort of. He got what he wanted.



Why did I agree to it? Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Rule #3: a NHPS is not allowed to refuse to perform a sexual act that is within her proscribed limits. That pretty much says it all, doesn’t it? That and Master Brandon likes to hurt me.

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

Assignment 09/08/11: Losing The Game

I grimaced as I gingerly touched my clit. It was still terribly sore after spending four hours clamped in the jaws of one of the cruelest sex toys ever imagined from the previous day. The little red dots, still clearly evident, formed from the biting pressure of the metal teeth, lined both swollen sides. The alligator clamp was off now, but my clit still hadn’t recovered yet. Neither had my nipples, both of which had endured the same sort of torment, except while being regularly yanked. The clamps hadn’t drawn blood thank goodness, but they had come close.

Of course none of that had been helped by the fact that in a state of extreme stupidity, I also happened to beg Master Stone to hurt me that morning. It was during the middle of a reward. I had done something nice and was instructed to make myself cum. Close to orgasm, I begged for permission and he replied “You know what you need to ask.” My response? “Please hurt me.”

And he had. The next orgasm was done with clothespins on my nipples and clit, twisted and flicked until I couldn’t take it anymore. And after I had collapsed into my chair, a limp wet rag of sexual nirvana, Master Stone had forced me to keep the clothespins on until I had cum AGAIN for him. Three orgasms, all in the space of thirty minutes.

Now I was standing in the barn, the warm air of the afternoon making the scent of fresh hay fill the air. I could hear the bleating of the goats in the pen outside, but that didn’t stop me from doing what I had to do. I was naked already, having shucked out of my blue denim shorts, the silly pair of blue panties, not to mention the tee shirt and bra. I looked down at the small bag of stuff I had brought out and plucked out the first clamp. This one wasn’t a clothespin.

Master Stone had known how sore I was. He knew that after the previous day’s absolute agony that the last thing I needed was clit and nipple torture. But he also knows that just because I’m tender isn’t a reason to let me off the hook. Besides, that’s what I agreed too if I lost. You know… that game of virtual pool we played? I almost won too, but he finagled a win at the last minute. I felt my loins tighten as the virtual eight ball went into the virtual pocket and virtually got to torture myself. And this was BEFORE I begged him to hurt me.



The terms were simple. If I lost, I wore the butterfly clitoral stimulator, on full power, for an hour. Combined with my vibrating nipple clamps and the vibroballs, also both on maximum, I was to try not to cum. To add some motivation to keep myself under control, after the hour had passed I was to take a thin plastic ruler and smack my clit with ten hard strokes for each orgasm I had following our game. So even before I stripped in the barn I was up by three. So you know what went through my mind? “Don’t cum, Breanne. Don’t cum!” Yeah. Right.

The thought of putting clamps back on my nipples, even tame rubber coated duck clamps, was almost too much. I trembled at the thought. But the idea of putting on the butterfly vibrator… that was just… awful. It would vibrate and shake and stimulate just my clit, and on full power, there was no way I’d be able to handle it for a full hour. You might as well just go ahead and give me the swats! Which would also hurt! Arggggghhhh!

With shaking fingers I picked up the first vibrating clamp. The nice thing was that it was adjustable. The bad thing is that I knew from experience that it needed to be pretty tight in order to stay the hell ON my nipple. They were already set appropriately, so I pinched the little jaws open and then clamped my right nipple. Oh my. The twinge I felt went right up through my breast, sort of out to my elbow, and then came back in. The ache blossomed and went down to my loins even as quickly clamped my other nipple. Pain radiated out from my chest and I bit my lip, trying hard to breathe normally as the pressure on both nubs made it difficult to think.



My fingers fumbled for the little egg shaped objects dangling from my tits and then the shaking translated up to my nipples as the vibrators began buzzing. I groaned, cupping my breasts as I felt my pussy tighten and a trickle of moisture leaked out and slipped down my thigh. I bent down and grabbed a hold of the wire that snaked out from between my petals and down to the floor. A pink plastic battery pack and remote sat in the dirt and I pulled it upward, only to thumb the little slider on the side up to maximum. The two vibroballs in my pussy hummed and I swayed as the sexual urges rushed through me. The need combined with the pain coming from my breasts, the sensitivity heightening my desire. I sat down on a hay bale, feeling the prickly stalks digging into my ass.

I spread my legs wide apart. I like feeling them stretched, the ache in my thighs combining with the sexual desire, the pain, everything. It feels… right. And so with everything buzzing, I sat back and tried ever so hard, NOT TO CUM.

To be honest, I’m not equipped mentally for denial. Or even restraint. My body has a tendency to do what it wants to do regardless and frankly, by the time the first ten minutes had passed my body was shaking, well on its way to the first orgasm. My hips jerked wildly as the vibroballs purred inside me, but the real intensifier, the real force behind my wild inability to resist, was the butterfly clitoral vibrator.

It sat against my tender sore clit, the one I’d abused practically non-stop for several days, and buzzed. And it wasn’t a light buzz either. It was set to maximum, which meant that I had the electronic equivalent of a tongue rapidly stroking my clit at speeds humanly impossible. Is it a wonder that I came? I don’t think so either.

I gasped, crying out in pain laced ecstasy as the explosion worked its way through me and I felt a series of spasms rock my body as I lay exposed on the bale of hay. My fingers clenched as I resisted the urge to shut off the torment, glancing at the small watch on my wrist. Mastering that urge was about as hard as enduring the next orgasm, which came just a few minutes later. That’s the problem with being multi-orgasmic. For a while, until you reach a point where your sensitivity to the sensations causing your orgasm is overloaded, the next one is just around the corner. So stark naked on a hay bale I came again, my legs splayed wide to each side, two silly looking pink vibrating eggs dangling from my breasts, while my hips rolled and thrust in a lewd dance of need. I exploded again, loudly, my hands grasping my own breasts and squeezing as the pleasure moved through me.

Which is why I didn’t hear the barn door open. I was a little preoccupied. Besides, my mom wasn’t even home and my dad’s leg makes even leaving the house a long and painful process. So how was I to expect being interrupted? I mean, I’m NEVER interrupted out in the barn; which is why during my third orgasm I was a little oblivious. I exploded wetly, noisily, and with a great deal of twisting and thrusting. My toes curled it was so good.

And the someone said, “You know, it’s much better seeing it than reading about it.”

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

Assignment 09/07/11: On A Fence Post

I hit the brake and coasted to a stop. The wind blew through my hair and I reveled in it. After almost three months of non-stop heat, summer’s back was finally broken and despite the temperature still up near ninety, I was very very pleased. The south Texas sun is brutal, especially in high summer and it beats down on you almost like a physical blow. The afternoon’s balmy weather was not just a relief, it was a blessing; because I still had eight acres to turn under.

I live on a farm and ever since my dad was clipped by a drunk driver, I’ve been pretty much the only ranch hand we’ve got. So after I graduated college I moved back home and pretty much do it all. And at that moment, all included turning under some finished crop land that we’d already harvested and were ready to replant. I was sitting in the cab of our green tractor, dressed in work boots and socks, tight short shorts, a tight tee shirt, light blue bikini style panties, and a white lace bra.

Oh yeah, and I was stuffed with a twelve inch long three inch wide black rubber dildo.

Sitting on my Core Driller dildo isn’t easy, even when you aren’t rolling and bouncing along on a giant vibrating tractor. I’ve tried and when the base is flush with your pelvic bones and embedded as deeply as it can go, there just isn’t a way to get comfortable. It fills you up in a way that most girls weren’t intended to endure for any length of time. Me? Well I’m just a tad bit different. I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut and I’m used to it.

I had been enduring the Core Driller all day, which made walking a challenge (YOU try walking around with a foot long rubber rod shoved up inside you!) Of course that morning I had also spent a few hours on the tractor before lunch and let me tell you, the engine vibrations that come up through the seat do some mighty interesting things to a girl impaled on a foot long gear shift rod that moves her from apathetic to “oh my God I’m going to cum” rather quickly. I think I did cum two or three times that morning, which meant my afternoon would probably have the same sort of results.

Or better ones.

I grabbed my bag, opened the cab door, and hopped out. It was a long way to the ground but I made it with a grunt another spear of angled discomfort in my loins. Then I put one foot up on the step of the tractor and began working off my boot. The other followed momentarily and then I stood barefoot in fallen corn stalks. I grabbed the bottom of my shirt with both hands and tugged, pulling it up over my head and baring my lace covered breasts. My breasts didn’t stay lace covered long though, since my bra went next, a quick unclip and then it followed the shirt into the bag. The next part was going to be a bit dicey.

The Core Driller is, as I’ve said, twelve inches long. I can’t think of a single girl’s vagina who will retain a twelve inch long dildo. Let’s face it. Girl’s are intended to be slippery, smooth, and soft. If we were intended to keep super long thick cock like objects in there, our labia would have teeth.
Aren’t you glad we don’t?

All of which meant that the moment I took off my shorts my body would do the natural thing and expel said intruder. Of course my panties would be in the way, but my panties don’t even do a good job of keeping my nine inch Husky dildo in. There’s no way they could handle my Core Driller. I unzipped my shorts and started to wriggle out of them, already feeling the Core Driller slipping. I squeezed my thighs together and did this little hip wiggle dance, letting gravity take the shorts down past my knees and then to my ankles. With one hand between my legs, I stepped out of the fallen attire, and then extracted the Core Driller simply by pushing aside my panties. It came out with a wet squelching sound and I groaned. It NEVER feels good having that thing come out.

Don’t worry. I was about to put it back in.

I set the Core Driller on the floorboard of the cab, upright obviously, and quickly skimmed off my panties. Everything got tucked back into the bag and totally nude, I climbed back up into the cab of my tractor, snagged the Core Driller, and looked around. Miles of fields and not a soul in sight. Even the farm to market road that boarded the property was so far away that I could have been standing in the middle of the field, stark naked, and no one would have been able to tell.

I love being naked like this, outside. It’s so… natural. I’m guessing it’s what nudists feel. Of course I seriously doubt they also do what I do, which was rummage around in my bag and extra the first two items I really needed; my anal plug and my Stinging O.

I’m not a fan of the anal plug, I’ll readily admit. But since this afternoon’s performance was the result of a rather poor choice in a game of sex hangman played right before lunch that morning with Master Stone, I really didn’t have a say in what was going in my ass. This was punishment. Partly for having such a good time that morning, but partly just because Master Stone likes it when I’m hurting. And to be honest, sitting there before lunch, I WANTED that afternoon to hurt. Lots. I know… strange right? But I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut. It’s what I do.

I coated the anal plug with Stinging O, a concoction of cinnamon and chili oil in a grapeseed oil base. It basically works a lot like IcyHot, except it won’t poison you if you use it internally, like me. I placed the anal plug on the black vinyl seat of the cab and positioned myself delicately over it. I hesitated a long time, working up the courage to do this. There’s a right way to put in a four inch long three inch wide ass plug, and a wrong way to do it. Or if you really want to be technical, there is the uncomfortable but less painful way to put it in, and then the really agonizing butt clenching, teeth grinding, let’s scream way.

Guess which way I did it?

The idea is to sit on the anal plug as fast as possible. Of course you have to be positioned properly to do it like this, and your seat has to be firm enough. And you have to be able to endure a great deal of pain. So with my bottom and plug both lubbed up (and already burning mind you), I lowered myself down until I felt the tip of the butt plug pressed up against my anus. I pushed it in just enough to make sure I wasn’t going to miss, and once about a half an inch of plug was inside me, I grabbed hold of the steering wheel for balance, and then let myself drop.

The rest of "On A Fence Post" by Breanne Erickson is now available in her novel "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 5"  Check it out today!

Punishment Bench 09/02/11

Every once in a while, I’m a bad girl.

I know. Hard to believe, right?

To be honest, I LIKE being a bad girl. My Dad is a Meatloaf fan (the rock singer, not the food) and I’ve heard the tag line often enough: good girls go to heaven and bad girls go anywhere. I like the idea of every door being open to me.

Of course when you’re bad, you have to accept the consequence, which means being punished for being bad. Bad like going on vacation without permission. And sometimes that punishment is much much worse than you expect.

I hit the end button on my phone and dropped it into the cup holder of my truck’s console. I was wearing a short flared denim skirt, not quite inappropriate but damned close, and the summer heat had made me sticky. Of course not wearing panties or a bra also might have had something to do with it. My shirt? Well, that WAS inappropriate. It was a dark purple tee shirt, way too tight, stretched across my breasts, with the words “fuck me!” written in gold letters across the front. I sat behind the wheel of my truck as I slipped the flip flops off my bare feet and affixed the massive teetering towers I called my “fuck me” shoes, but just about everyone would recognize the branded footwear of strippers and whores across the world.

Strapped in and ready, I took a deep breath. The temperature was still in the high nineties and the brilliant sun was only occasionally obscured by clouds. I grabbed my bag, climbed down from the cab of my truck, and headed out into the park. The walk wasn’t that long. All I needed to do was get to this one little spot I had found a month or two earlier. It was a spur, a relatively unused spur, with only the occasional errant biker who liked to backtrack traveling the distance. From one end to the other it was about a mile and a half. Not long enough to want to do for exercise, not short enough to do for fun.

But what really appealed to me was the lush plant life around, the quiet atmosphere, and most importantly, a large metal park bench stuck firmly under a giant live oak tree. It was practically a perfect place for park play, with a place to sit in the shade, some decent bushes to fuck in behind the tree, and relatively untraveled. Perfect.

I looked around when I got there. Not a soul in sight. I had passed one or two joggers on the path leading up to the spur, getting quite a few stares that had made me very wet. But neither jogger stopped me or asked me anything, so I went on unmolested. Damn.

I sat down on the bench and began pulling items out of my bag. The first thing I drew out was my Stinging O, an oil mixture made of a combination of chili pepper oil and cinnamon oil in a base of grapeseed oil. It’s totally natural, burns and tingles like hell, and makes for either a cruel and inhumane lubricant, or a fantastic lube for a nympho humiliation pain slut.

I started off with the vibroballs, two sphere shaped vibrators attached with wires to a blocky remote. These were given a single drop each of Stinging O, which I spread around with my forefinger before bringing them one by one down to my pussy. My thighs were already well spread and my skirt had ridden up nicely, exposing my freshly shaved pussy. I dragged the first ball across my clit, feeling the slickness of the oil. As I slipped the first vibroball through my labia, pushing it in deep, I felt the tingle on my clit turn to heat. The temperature between my legs increased dramatically as the capsicum in the oil tricked my nerves into thinking I was on fire.

It actually wasn’t that bad. It certainly wasn’t like I was getting a direct undiluted dose. I’ve actually had that before… on my fingers and it was literally like being burned. Lasts HOURS. My Stinging O only has a tiny amount in it. Just enough to stoke the engines and make it hurt just a tiny bit.

So with my pussy contracting both in response to the spherical intrusion of the sex toy and the chemical enhancements applied, I moved on to the next item in my bag: my vibrating anal beads.

These are not my favorite toy. They’re a pain to put in, uncomfortable, and I think by now everyone knows how much I hate having things in my ass. But I really didn’t have a choice here, so I lubricated the first sphere with oil, stood up, put one knee on the bench, and reached back behind me. Putting in the anal beads is not a quick process, but despite the risk of being discovered, I managed. It took four or five minutes and my fingers were slick with Stinging O by the time I was done. Stuffed and ready, I sat back down and extracted the next item I needed: my butterfly clitoral stimulator.

This toy was nothing more than another vibrator encased in plastic. Except this time, rather than spherical, this one was in the shape of a butterfly, which nestled right on top of my clit. The idea is simple. You turn it on and it rubs your clit non-stop. It’s quite exquisite. I can’t stand it for that long. In fact, I think the longest I’ve ever managed NOT to cum while wearing just the butterfly stimulator was forty minutes, at least with it on high.

Once I was set, I knew it was time for the punishment to start. Trembling slightly, I drew out the metal jumbo alligator clamp, a vicious toothed instrument that hurts like heck and can’t be purchased at your local sex toy shop. No, for this thing, you need to visit a hardware store. Slowly I pulled the butterfly stimulator away from my clit and then set the toothed clamp over my most sensitive and tender part. When it closed I let out a sharp wail and bit my lip, struggling to handle the shooting pain that exploded up through my groin and went right through my heart to my throat. It was awful.

When I had mastered myself enough to continue, ignoring the pain, I reached back into my bag and grabbed the clover clamps. These are heavy metal flat tipped clamps designed to tighten if you pull on them. I lifted my shirt, exposing bare breasts and hard nipples. One by one I pinched the Clover clamps open and attached them to the tips of my bosom. Another gasp from me as the delicious pinching was added to the other sensations I was experiencing. While the vibroballs, anal beads, and clitoral stimulator were all currently off, I was still stuffed, feeling those things move and roll around inside me. That ALWAYS makes a difference. I pulled the shirt down, covering the clover clamps but not concealing them, thanks to the rather obvious outlines under the “Fuck Me!” shirt.

I grabbed a small plastic baggie out of my larger bag and opened it, extracting the clothespin and string construction I had made a few days earlier. It was a rather simple thing. A baker’s dozen worth of clothespins were tied, one by one, on to a single string. I started with the peg on the end, spreading my legs and readily attaching the first clothespin directly to my left labia, as far down toward my ass as I could go. The next clothespin went across from the first and back and forth until my entire pussy looked like a porcupine mated with a wash line. It tingled badly as well and I leaned forward and tossed the end of the zip line across the concrete path so that it was obvious. Then I smoothed my skirt, hiding my charms.

I pulled the handcuffs and key out of the bag. The key was on a cheap dollar store carabineer hook and this I clipped to the chain dangling out from underneath my shirt. It didn’t do much of adding to the weight hanging from my nipples, but it didn’t help either. Next came the tough part. The part I wasn’t looking forward to. I twisted in the bench, already in quite a bit of discomfort, and threaded the handcuffs through one of the bars. They still stuck out on my side, but in essence, if I were to lock myself in the cuffs, not only would I be locked with my hands secured behind my back, but I’d be locked to the bench as well.

The vibroballs remote was on the bench next to me. I turned it up to maximum and the spheres inside my pussy roared to life. I groaned and almost closed my legs. My pussy convulsed and I felt a sudden wave of sexual urgency and pleasure rush through me. Then I turned on the vibrating anal beads, also to maximum. This just added to the pleasure I was already feeling. It was amazing to be sitting there like that. Then I reached down, lifted my skirt, and flicked the little button that activated the butterfly clitoral stimulator. It too roared to life and the vibrations shook the alligator clamp which translated the movement into the most agonizing chewing sensation on my clit I’ve ever felt.

Then I put my hands behind my back, locked my right wrist into the cuff, and then snapped the left one on as well.

Punishment.

I’ve been in a lot of strange predicaments in my life before. Being a nympho humiliation pain slut into bondage and discipline, not to mention masochism, presents quite a few opportunities for situations that go a little outside the norm. But I’m going to admit right now that NOTHING has ever been so dramatically intense as yesterday’s torment. Of course being bound, cuffed with your hands behind your back, permanently stuck to a park bench and waiting for a good Samaritan to free you, is one of the predominant sensations. My shoulders started to ache and I couldn’t just lean back, otherwise the cuffs cut into my wrists. This created a lot of tension in my shoulders and I couldn’t get comfortable. Of course the maximum buzzing of the anal beads and vibroballs didn’t help either. And on top of that, my clit was throbbing from the alligator clamp and vibrating butterfly stimulator. In fact, now that I think about it, the clamp was what hurt the most. The butterfly was literally shaking the clamp and it was, slowly, chewing my clit. I’m STILL sore there and while I didn’t bleed or anything, a close examination shows all these little dark red pressure punctures that look suspiciously like tooth marks. God that thing hurt!

The clothespins running up and down my labia were practically nothing in comparison. And of course the clover clamps pinching my nipples were merely a presence that amplified all the rest. Pain shot through me from practically every spot.

I came in like five minutes.

I can only imagine what it looked like. I know my hips were rolling and my ass was jerking around. I also spread my legs wide during my orgasm, mostly because I love the way it feels when my thighs are aching from being stretched apart. I ground my hips, gasping, moaning out loud, the thought that my cries might attract someone’s attention was just too much for my stupid little brain and the next thing I know I was squirting juice and slumping into the bench, my brain befuddled.

My orgasm didn’t attract any attention though, but it did create one problem. In my throes of pleasure (and agony, which was still going on) my skirt had slid upward thanks to my movements. I shifted. I lifted my ass. I tried standing. I could NOT get my skirt back down to cover my pussy! It was insane! That kept me busy and distracted which was good because endorphins and adrenaline can only carry you so far. By the time I realized that I was not going to be able to cover myself my body was already reacting sexually to the stimulation and once more starting the climb up the mountain of orgasm.

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