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!