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.”

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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!