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.”
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