Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Daily Assignment: Extreme Butterfly

Extreme Butterfly


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.


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!

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