Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 4

Michael Alexander Productions is pleased to announce the release of Breanne Erickson's "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 4" available from both Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble booksellers! Breanne's sexual escapades never seem to stop in this latest installment of nympho humiliation pain slut insanity! With "tales" only before published in Michael Alexander's VIP Lounge, follow along with Breanne as she completes her assigned "tasks", forcing her to explore her own desires for humiliation, pain, and orgasm. Breanne combines eroticism, humor, and a bit of self-depreciation for an orgasmic climax!

Now available in e-book format for $3.99!

If you don't own an e-reader or tablet, a PC Kindle reader is available for free from Amazon.com!

NEW! Michael Alexander's BDSM Review!

Michael Alexander is pleased to announce the opening of his newest blog, "Michael Alexander's BDSM Review", a blog dedicated to exploring and reviewing the best BDSM Erotica the internet has to offer! Michael is a prolific reviewer on the BDSM Library and now brings his in-depth insight to a blog that seeks to promote the best authors and give invaluable tips to others. If you are an aspiring author or even a published one, take the time to submit your story. Michael will be pulling from popular libraries or you can submit your own story for a featured review!

Book Mark "Michael Alexander's BDSM Review!" Today!

Getting Started

Breanne explains just how a man can get started in the BDSM lifestyle and most importantly - how to find his very own Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut!

Also, just to let everyone know, we had a minor url address issue with the website, but that's been corrected! Thanks for your patience with us!

Breanne Erickson is the author of "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" Volumes 1,2, and 3! Check out our store today!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Michael Alexander Stories wishes everyone the very best for the Thanksgiving Holidays. Breanne is spending it stuffed like a Turkey, and I think I might do the same for my sub Jenni. It seems we have much to be thankful for!

If you like the picture above, you should definitely check out Muki's Kitchen, a Dolcet inspired site whose staged pictures are beyond and above expectation.

The Silver Locke - Revised and Edited - 99 Cents!

In 2008 Michael Alexander released "The Silver Locke", his first full length novel. It was a Breanne story, one of the first that truly explored the depth of the original character from "The Museum of Inquisition" based off of fellow author Breanne Erickson. Now revised and edited, Michael presents his classic tale, The Silver Locke, including the short story "Heart of Ice" in all it's glory. Available from both Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com as an e-book for 99 cents, "The Silver Locke" is a beautiful addition to any erotica fan's library! Click here to read the first chapter!

Sheograph's "Caught You"

My manga artist, Sheograph (who did the artwork for Gabrielle and the Leviathan, and Breanne's Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volumes 1 & 2) has her own DeviantArt Gallery. Recently she posted this little bit - two sisters. Now she's questioning which of the two of us is more deviant. Care to weigh in?

Daily Assignment: Extreme Butterfly

Extreme Butterfly

11/14/11

Yesterday I slipped into a nice, completely decent summer dress. The temperature was going to be in the mid-eighties and frankly, November in South Texas isn’t exactly winter coat weather, at least not often. Sure, sometimes it gets chilly, but Sunday was NOT one of those days.

And guess what? I looked wonderful! The dress wasn’t see thru, nor was it too short, and I was wearing regular heels! I looked like the perfect version of a dressed for church south Texas cowgirl, bright eyed and attracting looks because I was fresh and beautiful and wholesome.

At least on the surface. Wholesome is probably not a word that most people would use to describe me, at least those people who know me. Frankly, if anyone had shown the courage to peek up my dress, they would no doubt have been shocked to find that I wasn’t wearing panties. A girl in church, with no panties? Outrageous! But that wasn’t all. I was also stuffed with a pair of ben wa balls, the small string extruding from the latex spheres just barely visible in my very moist, very pink petals. Of course this probably wouldn’t have been the most shameful issue either. That would no doubt have been taken by the fact that dangling from my clitoris, was a wooden clothespin.

Oh, it didn’t hurt, at least not by the time I made it to church. I had been wearing it for hours by that time and the initial pinching sensation of it had faded into this dull sexual throb. It was as if someone had tightly latched their fingers onto my clit and started to squeeze in short regular little pulses. Intellectually, physically, I know that was my pulse, but that’s not what it felt like. And let me tell you, those little pulses were much more sexually aggravating than the ben wa balls!

I managed not to cum at church, or even the rest of the morning. By Sunday afternoon though I was in quite a state and I went out to the barn, found a quiet spot to lift my summer dress, and do some intense and rather rapid flicking of that clothespin. My clit wiggled under the onslaught of my fingers and I just closed my eyes and moaned. It felt incredible, the little sharp shocks of pain, the sweet and delicate pleasure swelling inside me, all of it coalesced into this amazing orgasm. I came, my clit tender, my pussy pulsing, and my fingers very wet.

I did it again that evening, lying in bed, my nightgown up around my neck, one finger pinching my nipples while the other rested against my thigh, flicking the clothespin back and forth over and over again. I came so much quicker that time. My clit was so sore, tender even. Not as bad as I’ve experienced, but a whole day clamped, even lightly clamped was just… exquisite. Concentrated. Strenuous even.

This morning when I woke, I was desperately horny. I had been allowed to sleep with the clothespin off, but my ben wa balls had stayed in the entire night, just like usual. I sleep with my previous day’s toy in you know, though if it’s one of the powered ones, I do usually turn it off. Can you imagine trying to sleep with a vibrator on? I’ve only done it a few times. Anyway, I woke up terribly desperate and before I even got up my fingers were between my legs, rubbing away, touching, pulling, pinching at my clit. I gasped, my hips rolling, eyes closed, moaning in vanilla pleasure. I came hard and then lay there, letting the wash of pleasure seep through every pore. I would have done it a second time except I had to get up and take care of the critters. So I finally hauled myself out of bed, got the computer going to check my email, and got out some clothes for the day.

As usual, Kari’s email was waiting for me. In fact, there were two. One was labeled “Open First. Today’s Toy.” The second was labeled a more sinister “Punishment. Open Second”. With a sensation that was both a sigh of resignation and a heart fluttering tremble of anticipation, I opened the first email and found my directions for the day.

Breanne – today you will wear your vibroballs. They will be kept on low when in public, and on medium in private. Please do not orgasm. If for any reason you can not contain yourself, be prepared to suffer for it. Do not open the second email unless you orgasm.

I toyed with the idea of opening the second email. How would Kari know right? Why didn’t she want me to know what the punishment was for orgasm? Besides, I could probably handle the vibroballs all day. That wasn’t so bad, was it? There was another issue. I had things to do for the day. What if I was out and about and came? It wasn’t like I’d be able to run back here and open her email. So I rationalized it until I gave myself permission. I clicked the “Punishment: Open Second” subject line and read.

Breanne – I knew you wouldn’t be able to follow those orders, so now you will also put your butterfly vibe on as well. In public you may leave it off. In private however it must be set at full power. You should also be prepared to cum again since I have no doubt you will be unable to control yourself. A second orgasm results in you having to lube your clit with Stinging O, keeping the butterfly attached. A third orgasm will result in another application of Stinging O, plus clamping your clit with a binder clamp. As before, the butterfly vibrator should rest on top of the clamp. Should you be foolish enough to cum a fourth time, you will apply your jumbo alligator clamp on your clit, and set the butterfly vibrator to full power for an entire hour. You may then remove both the clamp and the butterfly in favor of ice. Once your cube has melted, you will put the butterfly back on and leave it on and running on low for the remainder of your day. Should you cum additional times, you must sleep with the butterfly on.

I groaned. I should have known! Seriously? All fucking day? I grumbled to myself as I got my toy box out of the closet. The first thing I grabbed were the vibroballs. A swift tug removed the ben wa balls from my already soaked pussy and I licked them clean, tasting my mornings arousal. It took only moments to slip the vibroballs into my sex and I let out an explosive breath as I jacked up the remote to medium, just as Kari’s first email had directed.

Then I pulled out my butterfly clitoral stimulator. It’s not much of a toy. It’s a plastic and rubber, butterfly shaped vibrator that sits directly above your clit. I strapped it on, the Velcro sounding unusually loud to me that morning. I switched it on to full power, cursing Kari for knowing me so well. It roared to life, immediately sending a steady thrum of stimulation directly through my nervous system and to the sexual corners of my brain. I gasped, trying to focus on getting dressed, and I managed to put my panties, bra, shorts, and tee shirt on. Lastly, feeling the steady onslaught of sexual stimulation, I grabbed the binder clamps, the small portable bottle of Stinging O, and my jumbo alligator clamp. I hoped… no, I PRAYED, that I wouldn’t be forced to wear it.

I padded downstairs, my loins feeling as if they were the arena for a demolition derby. I could FEEL the engines purring, the vehicles banging against each other and me as they swirled around inside. I put on my socks, then slipped my feet into my boots, only to shudder, gasping, my body trembling as my second orgasm of the day, but first in violation of Kari’s orders, rocked through me. I wasn’t even out of the HOUSE yet! Fuck!

I unsnapped my shorts and pulled the bottle of Stinging O out of my pocket. A small spill of the oil mixture on my forefinger was more than enough and I slipped it inside my panties and under the butterfly. I felt the instant relief as the direct vibrations against my clit were alleviated by my probing finger, only to be replaced a moment later by a distinct tingle unlike anything I had experienced that morning. It was as if I someone were directing a hose full of compressed air at my clit, using the blast of chilled air to stimulate the flesh.

But then that chilly air turned warm, heating up and beginning to itch and sear my flesh. I gasped even as my finger rubbed at my clit, trying to acclimate it to the chemical torment. Finally I pulled my finger out from between my legs, the butterfly landing delicately once more on my tender nub. I gasped, my hips shaking as the vibrations seemed to sear me and I grit my teeth, my chest heaving as I struggled to cope.

I stumbled outward into the yard and then across to the barn. It was a long walk. Despite two orgasms I was already sprinting head long for the cliffs of sexual ecstasy. I tried to think of something else but the only thing my brain was capable of handling was the rush of sensation shooting up through my central nervous system from one single node. I got to the barn and concentrated as best as I could on my chores. Feed went into the pigs’ trough. I put grain out for the horses. The goats got goat feed and I noticed that our formerly pregnant she goat had gone ahead and had her baby. That distracted me nicely for about thirty minutes as I helped clean things up. Stupid she goat… she kept getting up and moving and losing her baby! Not the brightest creature on our farm, that’s for sure.

By the time I loaded the trailer and climbed up onto the tractor I knew I was screwed. I didn’t bother to start it up, knowing that my climax was so close. I didn’t want to miss the barn doorway and run through the wall in orgasmic intoxication! I shuddered through another orgasm, gripping the steering wheel while my denim clad hips jerked wildly. I mashed my hands down into my groin, pressing the vibrating butterfly hard against my clit, attempting to… I’m not sure… something. While the pressure changed the intensity of the shaking, it drove the sensation deeper, like an ocean current, and I gasped as my pussy clenched hard around the vibroballs. I closed my eyes and popped, half rising out of the seat and falling forward, only to let my breasts catch me on the steering wheel.

When I was done exploding, I sat there struggling to catch my breath. I wanted only one thing at that point: to turn off the vibrators. My hands fluttered around my zipper, the button, the belt, but I didn’t release my pants, instead gritting my teeth as my thighs squeezed tight, trying to incorporate the now chaffed feeling I was getting from my clitoris. I looked up at the barn ceiling, trying to get a grip, but it was very very difficult.

That’s when I remembered that I needed to put the binder clamp on. Slowly I climbed down from the cab of the tractor and with shaking hands, unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped my jeans. When I pushed them down the scent of my arousal was very strong and I realized that I had completely soaked the crotch of my panties.

Oops.

Unfortunately, the rest of the tale is no longer available on our blog. But it is available in Breanne Erickson's "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 5" available in e-book format from fine booksellers. Also be sure to check out the BreanneApedia to get the full low down on everything Breanne!

Laundry Day

11/11/2011

There is something peaceful for me about the idea of doing the laundry, and I have come to understand that I’m not the only one. My mom once gave me Robert Fulghum’s book “Everything I Needed To Know I Learned In Kindergarten” and Mr. Fulghum feels the same way. The cycles of dirty and clean, rinse and spin, wash and dry, alpha and omega… it does sort of feel like you’re an agent of order fighting chaos and entropy! And when you have laundry for four people to do, it does make things a little more interesting.

Of course, I have the most clothes, and there are other reasons besides the whole cosmic sensation of rightness, that I do the laundry. Sure, it helps out my mom too. She has arthritis and me being upstairs all day, willing to leap up from my bedroom desk chair, run downstairs, down the hall to the kitchen and into the laundry room, only to do the mad shuffle of dry clothes to basket, wet washed clothes to drier, sorted dirty clothes to washer, only to carry baskets of cleaned laundry upstairs for folding… well… it’s sort of a relief for her.

For me, it means I can wash all the stupid slutty outfits Kari, Badd Barrett, Mark, Ellen, and Brandon keep forcing me to wear on assignments without commentary from curious or outraged parents. Seriously, try explaining to your mother why there is a shirt in your laundry that proudly declares the wearer as a “Sex Instructor” with the added tag line “first lesson free”. That’s not the sort of thing that moms like to see their daughters wearing.

On the flip side, unlike most fathers, I don’t think my dad would mind too much.

Most laundry days are sedate except for the up and down movement. I usually spend a lot of each Friday writing at the computer, listening for the tell tale beep of the dryer finishing. Like every day though, even Laundry day, I have to follow a simple rule, one I’m sure all of you are familiar with; NHPS Rule #1.

I’m going to admit that I think I’ve gotten a bum rap on this whole nympho humiliation pain slut Rule #1 thing. The rule states quite clearly that the NHPS is to keep her pussy stuffed with cock or a sex toy or some sexually arousing object, so that she stays wet and ready at all times. Okay, I can see that. I can handle that. But why are all my various masters and mistresses so intent on using Rule #1 to aggravate my sexual condition? Why is “wet and ready” not enough? Why does it always have to be “wet, ready, and sexually desperate to the point where she’s willing to fuck a cactus to get off!”

Seriously! If I’m wearing the ben wa balls, half the time I have to have the vibrating anal beads in my ass and on. Or sometimes the butterfly clitoral vibrator tormenting my clit. Or if it’s the vibroballs, those two golf ball sized spheres have to be rolling and shaking around inside me. Never mind the fact that just HAVING two almost egg sized objects in my pussy is more than enough to keep me wet. Oh no… they have to be ON too. Oh, and just for fun, let’s go ahead and vary the settings, just to make sure Breanne doesn’t get used to the low setting. Or how about the six inch vibrator? That was inserted two days ago, on low, and held in place with DUCT TAPE! Do you know how many times I came? SEVEN! And half way through the day Master Barrett told me that every additional orgasm would result in my self-punishment with a rubber band to the soles of my feet!

I’m STILL limping.

Kari isn’t any nicer. She’s ordered me to wear my RVP on occasion, with varying settings, so that I can barely function. You try running errands, or doing chores when every hour, for fifteen minutes, you have to turn on the vibrator and rotation functions, to high power. And your mistress tells you “by the way, don’t cum!”

Yeah right.

Laundry day’s toy is especially cruel. No vibrating of course, or spinning, but that’s only because on laundry day I’m supposed to wear my Husky dildo. Wait… why did I say “wear?” Maybe it should be “bury?” Or maybe “implant” is the right word. Oh. Forget that. I know the right word.

Fuck.

That’s right. “FUCK”. I have to FUCK the Husky dildo. Repeatedly. Without using my hands. My Husky dildo is simply a nine inch long two inch wide rubber cock, complete with a half set of balls and a flat bottom (the better to place on a chair). I admit I like the feel of it and frankly this is the largest dildo I can comfortably take. Notice I didn’t say that it was the largest dildo I own, because it’s not. But I can handle nine inches without feeling like I’ve been stuffed and then impaled on a fence post. Of course the Husky dildo does have the same problem that my largest phallic toy has. It won’t stay in by itself.

Actually, very little will. A woman’s vagina isn’t exactly intended to permanently harbor a wide selection of sex toys. Let’s face it: it’s slippery in their, soft, warm, wet, and designed to caress and lightly squeeze and stimulate the surface of one thing: cock. It’s not meant to hold long penis shaped objects on its own. Try it! You’ll see! Take a vibrator, or a cucumber, masturbate with it (or have some fun and find your own NHPS and gently and erotically slip it inside her) and then stand up. See what happens. I’ll bet you that said cucumber falls out eventually.

So when I wear my Husky dildo, I have to wear something else to keep it in. Usually it’s a pair of panties over which I use tight shorts, or tight jeans to hold the full nine inches in my guts. It works well except sometimes if I get really excited during the day walking around stuffed, I can end up looking like I wet my pants. That’s very embarrassing. And it’s not like you can look chagrined and say “oh, that’s just pussy juice. I’ve got a nine inch rubber cock up there. You can understand, right?”

But on laundry day, thanks to Kari and what is now tradition, I don’t get the luxury of jeans or shorts. Oh no. I get to wear panties and a skirt. Skirts are nice. I love them. But for helping keep my Husky in? Worthless. And since I wear bikini cut hip hugger panties, there isn’t a lot of help there either. Kari knows this very well.

It’s not much of an issue if I’m sitting down of course. The dildo is rammed quite nicely up into my crotch, filling me simply and fully. Standing of course causes the Husky dildo to slide outward, until it’s caught by my panties. This usually means that three inches of cock are inside my pussy, while five inches are hanging out of me, stretching my cotton panties to the limit.

Try walking around like that sometime.

Of course the idea is for me to have get up frequently, and sit down just as much. This way I am consistently and constantly fucked all day, single penetrations and extractions that will no doubt aggravate and arouse me to the point where orgasm isn’t an option, it’s a necessity. So add up and down and in and out and “oh my fucking god I need to come” to that alpha and omega, wash and dry, spin and rinse shit that Robert Fulghum was talking about. Laundry takes on a whole new meaning when you’re trying desperately not to scream out loud in orgasmic bliss in front of your whole family.

But wait. Today it’s worse.

You see, I’m NOT allowed to cum. Kari’s orders of course. Oh no… I get to suffer, holding myself back, allowing desperation to slowly build inside me until one of two things happen. One, I manage to control my libido, eventually making it through laundry day and taking a freezing cold shower at the end. Or two, I explode like a naughty bad nympho humiliation pain slut and take my punishment like I was meant too.

Want to know what I really wonder? Why do they bother? They set me up to fail right from the beginning. Why? Why not just say, “oh, and by the way, I’d like you go and have yourself spanked a zillion times whether or not you cum.” Or maybe “I’d like you to put the alligator clamps on your nipples and clit, just because.” Why run me through this rigmarole? Well, I know why. It makes it more exciting. It builds tension inside me, knowing that there is a possibility, even if it’s a slim one, of escaping those punishments.

But what if I WANT those punishments?

Kari has told me that today, if I cum, then I have to remove the panties. This will make things much more difficult for me. Sure, I’ve gone commando before. It’s not that tough. But since the panties were the primary method for holding in the Husky dildo, it will mean that every time I stand I’ll need to clamp down, grit my teeth, and hold on for dear life.

And what happens if I drop the dildo? Simple. It goes back in, hard and fast, and then I have to go find someone, anyone, to spank me stupid, on the ass, with at least twenty strokes. Talk about awkward. It’s like that “walking the mall” assignment Master Barrett gave me two or three weeks ago.

Excuse me a moment. The washer just finished. I have to stand up now.



A little later…


I’ve been writing in between loads and let me tell you that writing erotica while stuffed with a nine inch dildo is quite… invigorating. It provides a certain amount of tactile stimulation, no doubt making me a better describer of some of the things in my tales. Of course, remembering what happened is sometimes just as arousing and I’m going to admit that right now, I’m pretty desperate. I’ve been downstairs three times now and I’ve stood and sat at least a dozen times. Each time I stand I feel the Husky dildo slide slowly out of me, like an unwilling lover interrupted mid-coitus. I waddle around, hoping that the dildo doesn’t slip out of my panties, until I can get back upstairs and plop down in my seat, ramming the rubber rod deeply back into my pussy.

It’s sort of hard to describe that single thrust. It’s powerful of course, but with no repeated movement, it is like this single caress, this massively powerful stimulator, that only fades after igniting the fires inside me. Or stoking them. I find myself contemplating standing up again, and then sitting down, fucking myself via the chair and gravity, two entities I’ve had sex with before, but never consciously. I tremble, resisting, my legs widening to the sides of the chair as I grind my pussy back and forth, merely wiggling on the post between my thighs. It is terrible. I want so much to cum. My panties are soaked. The sweet and musky scent of my need is rather pungent and the desire to press my fingers to my clit, lifting my skirt, is almost overwhelming. If Master Barrett were online right now, I’d beg for a clothespin. Flick Flick Flick.

Unfortunately, the rest of the tale is no longer available on our blog. But it is available in Breanne Erickson's "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 5" available in e-book format from fine booksellers. Also be sure to check out the BreanneApedia to get the full low down on everything Breanne!

Sheo on Deviant Art

My regular artist, Sheograph has been posting some non-Michael Alexander art to her account on DeviantArt. For those of you interested, you might browse some of her provocative work! Enjoy!

Today's Joke!

From Sexy & Funny.com!

Oops...

In our rush to get the new updated website running, we accidentally left out Breanne's signature work... Riding The Wooden Horse. It's technically a part of "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" Volume 3, but if you haven't read it and are just dying to, then feel free to click on the link. It has also been officially added to the Free Story Archive in Breanne's Section, so enjoy!

Assignment: Twenty One Items

I was pretty desperate by the time I got in my truck. The vibroballs, two small, annoying, golf-ball sized spheres, had been gently buzzing inside my pussy for over eight hours. Normally, I can tolerate the gentle purr for hours without any major side effects, but even after the previous day’s masturbation and orgasm fest, I was still suffering from a week of physical deprivation. Friday had been nothing but me reeling from one orgasmic event to another as the Rotating Venus Penis, on full power, with both the vibration and the spinning function operating, hammered me for fifteen minutes every hour, driving me crazy.

Saturday morning had started off at a much more sedate pace. I had taken care of the critters, patently ignoring the steady thrum between my legs as only an experienced nympho humiliation pain slut can. The vibroballs were doing their job of course. I was wet, and had anyone come up to me at any point and ordered me to drop my pants I would have been immediately able to take a full penetration with ease. And that’s the point right?

I have to admit, I like the way the vibroballs feel inside me. They’re smooth, slippery, rattle and roll against each other, and frankly are one of the nicer, easier toys that I keep in my box. Texture is very important to girls and I like the whole spectrum; from smooth and hard to bumpy and soft. Hell, I’ve even been known to go for unpleasantly prickly. But that’s just me. And we all know that I’m a little strange when it comes to the “sexual activities” department.

I left the vibroballs on as I left the farm, mostly because I was only going to be driving about half a mile down our gravel topped driveway before pulling over to the side of the road. The bumps didn’t help my sexual state and by the time I pulled over on the farm to market road behind our ranch, my sex was squeezing those vibroballs in sexual rapture. Not that I was going to cum. Oh no… it doesn’t work that way with vibroballs. I’ve rarely cum just from vibroballs alone. For that to happen, they have to be on full power, and probably in combination with extreme public humiliation, or someone whipping my breasts or clit… or something.

See? Told ya I was sexually deviant.

I parked the truck, took off my boots, and got out with my bag. The weather was beautiful. Mostly sunny, a light warm breeze from the south, and I moved the front grill and began to strip. In seconds my tee shirt and bra were lying neatly on the warm hood of my truck and then my blue jeans joined them, followed by my panties. The remote to the vibroballs dangled down on the ground, the wire disappearing up between my thighs as I tugged my afternoon’s attire out of the bag. I started with the skirt, a nice little item I had recently picked up; sleek sexy black cotton that almost could qualify as a mini skirt, but had just enough flare to make walking (and other naughty things) more interesting. It literally hugged my bottom and I pulled it up my legs until it settled low on my waist, just above my hips. It held tightly and I picked up the vibroballs remote and with the wire leading out from under the skirt, tucked the bright pink wire and controller into my waist band.

The halter top I had selected to go with the stunning skirt was also a bright pink, just a few shades off from my controller. It too was tight, though not as rib huggingly restrictive as my collection of “sex” tees Kari bought me in college. I’ve grown slightly since then, at least in the “bosom” area, if not in the waistline. In fact, I weigh less than I did in college. I guess there IS a difference between working all day and sitting on your ass all day.

The halter wasn’t decorated, leaving the “attraction” totally to my breasts. This in and of itself would be enough to draw the eye, especially since the tightness of the material made the piercing of my right nipple extravagantly noticeable. And if that hoop silhouette was insufficient to garner attention, then no doubt the highly recognizable outline of a small padlock, clearly dangling from said hoop, would.

Dressed appropriately, or perhaps inappropriately depending on your viewpoint, I drew my fuck me shoes out of the bag. I am NOT a fan of these shoes. First of all, you most commonly see them on prostitutes and strippers. But that’s not why I don’t care for them. I don’t care for them because they’re uncomfortable. I don’t care for them because I’m a full eight inches taller in them and I am in constant fear of losing my balance and falling. I don’t care for them because they practically scream “this girl is a nympho humiliation pain slut! LOOK AT HER!” with every step.

You need to understand that girls who “like” humiliation don’t actually “like” being humiliated. What we like is the feeling CAUSED by being humiliated. Trust me; I hate being paraded in public looking like a combination of whore, slut, and sex toy. The stares I get… the looks of vitriolic jealousy or derision… the hungry looks of sex starved men, and the occasional woman… it can be intimidating, even frightening. But seeing those looks turns me on. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m messed up. Maybe I’m sick. But walking through a mall, or a grocery store, dressed like a slut, makes me so wet, so ready to fuck, to suck, to cum, that I can barely think straight.

I got back in my truck, the stupid high heels strapped to my feet. It took a bit of adjustment to deal with the additional eight inches of height and I once again snarled at the irritating shoes. I turned off the vibroballs, wanting to make it to my destination without crashing, and I let out a deep breath and a shudder when the buzzing between my legs finally stopped.

For the first time in nine hours.

I put the truck in gear and was about to pull out when I heard a roar behind me and watched in surprise as a huge extended cab pick up barreled up from the southeast and passed me at a decent rate of speed. I blinked. Wow. What if he had been just five minutes earlier? Oh well… that’s the way it goes, right?

I started the engine and took off down the road, ostensibly following that truck. It didn’t take us long to separate though and I eventually made my way toward our local grocery and goods store, otherwise referred to as Wally World. You know the store I’m talking about, right?

The assignment I was on was relatively easy, or so I had thought. I was to dress like a slut, complete with the attention grabbing high heels, and go to the store. Once there I was to shop, purchasing twenty one items, each one at least nine inches long and wider than two inches, focusing on texture. I’m sure from such requirements you can easily deduce what I needed these items for. But that was just the start. I was also to find, there at the grocery store, a stranger, whom I could get to take me to their place, sit me down on the kitchen counter or table, and patiently fuck me with every single item.

How’s that for a shopping list?

To make things a little harder for me, Master Mark, the devious and diabolical man who likes humiliating me above all else, ordered me to turn the vibroballs to their maximum level, a tangible difficulty that would have me stumbling around in a sex crazed daze in thirty minutes. Not to mention the fact that on high, my vibroballs are clearly audible if you’re standing next to me.

With the churning bubbling shaking earthquake inside my sex, I got out of my truck and lightly balanced my way across the pavement. Already I was getting wide eyed looks. Most were appreciative, but I could already see a few sniggers, a few hard haughty sneers, and I felt the bottom of my stomach let go and fall all the way down to my hip line. My heart beat increased and I felt like a frightened rabbit, wanting to run away. My pussy tightened and began pulsing around the vibroballs, the barely noticeable jerking of my hips a steady and involuntary reaction.

I tried to ignore everything, including my shaking. I went into the produce section first, quickly plucking out an assortment of vegetables and fruit to sexually abuse later. Most of it I’ve fucked before, but with a requirement of twenty one items, I’d be hard pressed to find sufficient makeshift dildos with no previous repeats. Remember, I’m no stranger to object sex.

I grabbed everything you would expect, and even a few things that might surprise you. Then I continued through the grocery aisles, for the first time looking not for items I might want to eat or spice things up with, but for containers that would be extremely interesting to insert into my pussy.

Like the Tabasco sauce bottle, the extra large one. Or the small can of Crisco Canola Oil Spray. As I made my way to the back of the store, a variety of different items found their way into my cart. I was keeping a careful count as well and tried to ignore the stares and wanton looks, wondering if anyone had looked into my cart and realized that everything I was buying had a sexual purpose.

By the time I made it to housewares, I was having some physical problems relating to my vibroballs. Like I mentioned before, by themselves, the vibroballs generally can’t make me orgasm. Combine it with constant humiliation, plenty of walking, and the mental stimulation of wondering “what will this feel like shoved up my pussy?” I was quickly approaching a state of sexual release. Master Mark hadn’t exactly said I couldn’t cum and I looked around for a quiet corner, someplace where me gritting my teeth and holding on to my shopping cart for support wouldn’t be that noticeable. I didn’t exactly find a private spot, but I managed to get far enough away from other people that when I couldn’t hold off any longer, my shuddering whimper of release, the gasp, and my shaking body clinging to the shopping cart, wasn’t as noticeable as it could have been. Still, having an orgasm right there in the store, out in public like that… well it seriously intensified my arousal.

And even after I came, with the vibroballs still buzzing away at full power, my pussy was still in a state of wanton desperation. I wandered some more and had made it to the automotive section, when two men, clearly of college age (or perhaps a tad bit older) eye-fucked me so intensely I almost came again. Both were handsome, though one was a bit on the tubby side. The thin guy was sandy blond and had a rugged look, wearing blue jeans, a white under shirt, and a dark blue polo. Tubby wore a tee shirt and khaki cargo pants and was holding a new air filter. I pretended to look at windshield wipers.

“Hi! Can I help you find something?” the blond guy asked me, coming up with this absolutely amazing smile on his face. I practically jumped out of my skin, turning to look at him. The vibroballs seemed to buzz harder inside me, even though I know that is impossible. I swallowed hard, my chest heaving. “Isn’t that what the sales people here are supposed to ask?”

He shrugged as his friend came closer. “Well, you’re a girl, standing in the automotive section, looking like she doesn’t know what she’s looking for. I’m a gentleman, so I thought I ‘d offer,” he said confidently. I blushed.

“So what are you looking for?” he asked.

I bit my lip. “It’s sort of tough to explain,” I stammered, hardly wanting to tell this handsome devil and his friend that I was actually looking for things to have someone fuck me with. My hips gave another little jerk, as if I were actually humping someone and I let out another whimper.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded, my throat tight, trying very very hard not to orgasm.

“Are you sure?”

My head wobbled up and down like a bobble head as I held my breath. I couldn’t help it. It was just too much. I let out a sharp gasp, then a high pitched but soft little cry, and pressed one hand down against my pussy, through the skirt, as I exploded wetly.

“Holy shit,” Tubby exclaimed.

I shuddered through the orgasm.

“What the hell? Are you cumming?” demanded the blond guy.

I couldn’t exactly respond. Both men looked up and down the aisle and then back at me, clearly at a loss.

“Damn, girl. What are you? Some kind of slut?”

“Dude, look at her piercing.”

“Yeah, I saw it.”

“Check out the cart!”

AS the rolling wave subsided and I was left high and dry on the beach, still dripping, I realized that these guys might just be the answer I was looking for. I took a deep breath, ignoring the flush in my cheeks and the embarrassment I was feeling.

“My name is Breanne,” I said softly.

“Chad. And this is Grover,” the blond said, sticking his thumb out to his friend.

“Grover?” I asked, the uniqueness of the name a little striking. “As in Grover from Sesame Street?”

Tubby, or I should say Grover, laughed and shook his head. “As in Cleveland. Grover Cleveland.

Ah… of course. I nodded, mentally telling myself not to make puppet or Sesame Street jokes around poor Grover. “I need a favor from you guys,” I said earnestly.

Chad looked hard at me and smiled. “I can’t think of anything better than helping you out.”

I smiled, but inwardly still felt awkward and embarrassed. “I’m supposed to find twenty one items,” I swallowed hard. “And then find a guy or two who can take me to their place, sit me on the kitchen table or counter, and fuck me with all of them.”

“Seriously?” Grover asked, one eyebrow up.

I stifled my sigh of exasperation and nodded.

Chad grinned. “I think we might be able to assist with that.” He looked down at my shopping cart. “You really want to get fucked with all this?”

I followed his gaze. There were a few things in the cart that no doubt appeared a little… odd… for sexual use. I nodded. “Yeah, but I’ve only got eighteen items. I still need three.

“Would my cock count?” asked Grover playfully.

I smiled. “It won’t count as one of my items, but I’d be happy to put it in there too as payment for your help,” I replied.

Chad gave Grover a look. “You might want to do that BEFORE she fucks all this though. She might not be in a condition to screw us otherwise.”

Grover shrugged. “I’m cool with it.”

“Well I guess we need to help you find three more things to stick up your cunt, don’t we?” Chad asked.

I smiled bashfully. “Yes sir.”

Unfortunately, the rest of the tale is no longer available on our blog. But it is available in Breanne Erickson's "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 5" available in e-book format from fine booksellers. Also be sure to check out the BreanneApedia to get the full low down on everything Breanne!

Breanne is the author of "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" a series available in e-book format via Amazon.com and Barnesandnoble.com! Check it out today!

Website Upgrade 11/04/11

Michael Alexander Stories (www.michaelalexanderstories.com) is undergoing a major upgrade and might be difficult to access for a few hours according to my webmaster. Hopefully everyone will appreciate the new look, new graphics, as well as revamped materials. The Free Archive is still a major part of our website but we've begun to eliminate some of the work that is being duplicated in the novels offered at Amazon.com and B&N.com .

The best thing though is that we've moved the Choose Your Own Destiny novel "The Club" to the Free Story Archive, so if you never had a chance to peruse the VIP Lounge, then this will be your opportunity to explore something relatively unheard of in the erotica genre.

I will update this post when we're totally active and things have checked out!

Yours Faithfully,

Michael Alexander

* Update* That went much quicker than expected. We apologize for any inconvenience our readers may have experienced while we got the new website up and running. We're still working on a few things, but for the most part, it looks pretty good! What do you think?