Here We Come A Caroling!

12/1/11

I shut the door of my truck and groaned.  It had been a tough day already and having to turn the vibroballs up to maximum the moment I turned off the engine, letting the Christmas carols I had been listening too die, had been just a bit much.  Already I was soaked and I could feel the wetness streaming down a thigh, nothing but a bare expanse of skin between my swollen, abused, and desperate sex and the crystal plastic sole of my eight inch tall platform stripper fuck me hard shoes.  It also meant I didn’t move fast.

           

Not that it mattered.  I was still wearing my coat, thank god.  My long duster may have been unbuttoned, letting in a frigid fifty degree blast hit me from my neck all the way down, but I was still partially warm from the heater of the truck.  That made the thirty feet from the curb to Kari’s front door easier to bear.  What wasn’t so easy was shucking out of my denim duster, spreading my legs, and ringing the doorbell.  I felt my teeth starting to chatter as I mentally urged Kari to hurry up and answer the fucking door.  A rather expensive looking wreath, complete with pine cones, berries, leaves, and a ribbon stared down at me as if it were studying my nudity.

            I wasn’t worried about being seen of course.  Kari’s condo has a rather well hidden front entrance that sits right behind this massive oleander bush.  But it does jack shit when it comes to keeping either cold, or blasts of arctic wind, from raising about a zillion goose bumps over my entire body.

            The door opened almost immediately and I groaned in relief as Robert, also naked in all his glory, motioned me in.  I stumbled inside and he grabbed me in a bear hug.  Our bodies touched and for the first time in my life I found myself in this man’s arms and NOT thinking about how nice it would be to fuck him.

            Hey.  He was WARM.  Sometimes, that’s enough. 

            Of course it only took about a minute for the chill to leave me and for his rock hard prick to begin poking me in the stomach, right around my belly button.  Definitely NOT the hole I was hoping for.  I pulled my cheek away from his chest and looked around.  The condo was quiet.

            “Where is she?” I asked.

            Robert smiled.  “Out with a client.  She said she’d be back to torture you this evening.”

            I frowned.  “Then why the hell did she want me out here at two in the afternoon?” I demanded, somewhat annoyed.  In general, I enjoyed being Kari’s sex slave, but occasionally her demands were just a little bit of a hassle.  Robert smiled ruefully and spread his hands outward.  I felt a momentary loss as he no longer touched me with those fingertips.

            “She wants me to soften you up.”

            I cocked my head and gave him a flirty smile.  “Oh?  Really?” I asked.

            He nodded apologetically.

            I reached down and touched his shaft, squeezing the tip lightly.  “And while I have the privilege of getting this inside me?”  His face colored slightly and he nodded.

           “Mmmmm, so let’s start softening,” I said, twisting in his arms until his cock rested between the cheeks of my bottom.  I moved his hands back down to my chest, letting his fingers cup my breasts.  One thumb teased the golden hoop on my right nipple, along with the tiny charm padlock dangling from it.

            “All right, let’s go soften you up,” he agreed.

            He took my hand and led me through the living room, past the kitchen entrance, and into the back hallway.  This led eventually to the master bedroom, but only after passing the guest restroom, the utility closet, and of course our destination, the second bedroom.  Which had been decorated as only Kari can do into a modern interpretation of a medieval dungeon and torture chamber.

            I’ve written about this room before, but in case you missed all the OTHER times I’ve been in here, the contents are rather impressive.  The wooden horse is there, waiting for me to have another ride.  Sure, I’ve done it a few more times since that one massive six hour torment, but never that long.  There is a pair of wooden stocks, the old fashioned kind made of dark stained mahogany, three circles for a head and both wrists.  Next to it stood an actual St. Andrew’s Cross, covered in black leather and sporting enough metal attachments to tie, bind, and secure your victim in practically any way.  It also rotated, meaning you could flip your slave upside down if you really wanted to.  And lastly, there was the I bench.  It was the largest object in the room and took up the most space. 

            At its simplest, the I bench was nothing more than a four foot long thick beam with leather removable pads running down its length.  At both the top and bottom of the makeshift bench was a long cross beam, basically forming the top and bottom of the letter “I”.  These in turn were capped at the ends my uprights, each sporting a pulley, through which a strong steel flexible cable was strung, leading to a dangling D type carabineer, perfect for attaching to a the leather bondage cuffs Kari was so fond of.  In the center of both the top and bottom crossbeams, a mounted spool, complete with crank, allowed the torturer to literally increase the tension on whomever was lying on the bench.

            And it was to this bench I was led.  Now I didn’t object, because frankly, I like this bench. I LIKE being cuffed and drawn out so wide and stretched.  I like it when my thighs and arms ache from being drawn apart like this.  It sensitizes me in ways that you might not even understand.  Of course, depending on where I’m positioned on the center bench (let’s face it, I AM rather short) it’s possible to actually draw my legs out in a perfect split.  Hell, you could put a broom stick across me from ankle to ankle and it would lie flat.  It hurts, sure.  It’s uncomfortable, yes.  But who am I to complain?

            I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut.

            Robert took his time attaching the leather bondage cuffs.  These were the real deal, complete with inner fur lining to prevent chaffing, thick leather to hold the various metal hoops, and a buckle strong enough to keep Santa’s belly in check.  Both wrists were soon engulfed, followed almost immediately by my ankles.  Robert didn’t bother removing the fuck me shoes, which hinted that I was going to get fucked.  He likes them.  He hasn’t SAID he likes them, but I can tell.  Any man willing to get gouged with the heels from a shoe like that is either a masochist, or finds them really sexy.

            Or I guess he could be like Robert and be both.

            In any event he pushed me backward, letting me lie on the bench looking up at the ceiling.  My rump was right at the bottom edge and when he walked around to the top in order to secure my hands to the frame, he only drew the steel cable up enough to stretch my arms outward and up.  That left my torso low and I knew, just knew, that in moments my legs would be literally perpendicular to the rest of me.  Sure enough he attached the steel cables to my legs and began cranking the spool beneath my ass, his nose only inches away from my dripping pussy.  I hoped he’d take a lick or something, but instead he concentrated on getting my legs open.

            Holy shit did they open!  I groaned in a bit of discomfort as he practically tightened me up to the point where I wasn’t able to move my rump more than half an inch either direction. Even up wasn’t much of an option.  With the exception of a meager roll of my hips, I was pretty much secured.  Then Robert left the room for a moment, leaving me to stew and adjust.

           He wasn’t gone long thank goodness.  I had an itch on my right side and when he returned I begged him to scratch it.  When he did, I told him I had another itch and directed his hand down between my legs.  When his fingers grazed my clitoris, I moaned and said “yes!  Oh yes! Right there!”  Robert just laughed, tweaked me, and then plugged in the small radio he had brought with him into the wall socket.

            Then he got a few things out of the closet.  The first I recognized immediately.  It was a leather sap, actually a very small, flexible paddle, and one I was intimately familiar with.  Kari had been pussy whipping me with it for years.  I can’t even begin to count how much of my juice had been absorbed into that black treated leather, but let me tell you, it shined for it, with a luster that would have put Santa’s black leather boots to shame.

            The other item sent a tingle through me, and it wasn’t even on!  The violet wand Robert pulled out had a thin glass rod at the tip and I knew what it was for.  He plugged it in next to the radio and then left the room once again.  When he returned, it was with a black folding chair.  He set it up between my spread legs, only an inch or so from my open and exposed pudenda and then ran a solitary tormenting finger through my wet slit, from clit down to my perineum and then to my bottom.  I gasped. 

            “Do you like Christmas carols?” Robert asked me politely, fiddling with the radio.

            I groaned, still desperately wanting his finger, his tongue, but mostly his cock.  “What kind of question is that?”

            “Well we have to listen for thirty minutes before I can fuck you,” Robert explained.  I moaned in response.

            “What’s the catch?” I asked as the radio came to life and I heard the power chord melodies of the end of Transiberian Orchestra’s “Christmas Eve – Sarajevo” stream through the room.

            Robert put down the radio and picked up the violet wand and the sap, turning the first tool on so the tip glowed.  “Every time we hear the word ‘Christmas’ I hit you with the sap.  You get the wand for the word ‘holidays’.”

            My eyes widened in alarm but then the music ended and a new song began even before I could object.  It was Feliz Navidad.  I struggled during the Spanish intro but then at “I want to wish you a merry Christmas” section Robert swung the sap down on my pussy with a stinging stroke.  Another one followed almost immediately and then another.  In seconds I was gasping.  A full six strokes landed before we went back to the Spanish second.  Then I got another six strokes.  My mind was already frayed by the time we did the second verse repeat.  Then I got ANOTHER six strokes.  My pussy burned, pain radiating upward through me and please remember that I still had the vibroballs buzzing inside me like mad.

            The song ended and my chest was heaving as the heat from my loins just spread through me. We went through a chatter section in which the radio host said the word “holiday’ twice.  Robert immediately brought the glowing tip of the violet wand down upon my clit and shocked me stupid.  I cried out, hips rolling, my entire body jerking in response to the stimulation.  Then someone mentioned Christmas cookies.  That got me another stroke of the sap.  And oh look let’s talk about Christmas shipping!  Each mention resulted in another blow to my tenderized and swollen clit.

            I very quickly stopped listening to the radio, only barely registering the occasional word.  What mostly got to me was the frequent use of the word “holiday”, each which resulted in a sharp rather painful zap to my clit.  Next we listened to some unknown Christmas song which must have used the bloody word at least half a dozen times.  I was having some serious issues by this time.  Then came Amy Grant’s “Night Before Christmas” and Robert slammed the sap down between my legs. 

            I cried out as another one impacted wetly on my slit and I couldn’t stop from cumming. I jerked wildly and Robert didn’t even care that I was in the middle of an orgasm and once more slapped my clitoris hard as the song’s lyrics once more triggered my “softening up.”

            Of course, after cumming, direct blows of a sap to one’s clit aren’t as pleasant as they are BEFORE you explode. Now they really started to hurt, especially since it felt as if Robert was hitting harder.  He wasn’t of course, but I began blubbering as the words “Christmas” and “Holiday” spun in my head. 

            Between strokes Robert started to rub my clit with his finger, only moving his hand out of the way when it was necessary to shock or smack my pussy.  I couldn’t handle it of course and immediately ripened and once again the shocks and the impact of the sap only heightened my sexual arousal.  I endured another unknown carol with frequent mentions of Christmas and I began meeting the blows with my twisting hips.  My thighs strained and I began gasping, my buttocks clenching.  Robert stuck a finger into me and then began pushing it against my ass.  He was still holding the violet wand and I could feel the warm hum against my thigh.

            Then came Andy William’s “Happy Holiday” and my Robert practically held the damn violent wand against my clit, tapping the reddish nub of nerves, sending harsh sparks of agony and pleasure exploding through me.  I screamed out loud as I began trembling, my body overloading and then the one or two little “Christmas” words drove Robert to pull the violet wand away and sting me good.

            Michael Bublé started singing about what he wanted for Christmas and I knew all I wanted was the fucking song to end and for me to orgasm.  One of us at least got our wishes to come true because I exploded in one of the most violent, intense, teeth gritting, agonizing orgasms I’ve ever endured.  Then the song ended with only two or three more strokes to my clit.

            Robert turned the music off as I lay there gasping, my body shuddering in the mix of endorphin adrenaline overload and the over-sensitization of certain parts of my anatomy.  My head lolled to the side and then Robert was there, sticking his cock into my face.

            “Suck it, Breanne.  Suck me.  And hurry!” he whispered.

            I opened my mouth, letting this thick cock enter, but to be honest, I wasn’t in much of a condition, much less position to really suck cock.  Robert kept glancing at the wall clock and then growled something.  He yanked himself out of my mouth and hurried back around to the base of the bench. I felt his fingers scrabbling at the vibroballs cord and he tugged the sex toy out, quickly turning them off with the remote.  Then he squatted down, positioned his cock, and pushed deeply into my cunt with a groan.

            To my surprise, he began counting thrusts.  He one was slow and steady and I detected urgency in his voice.  Between his twelfth and thirteenth strokes he muttered a muted “damn” and I lifted my head.

            “What’s wrong?” I asked, gasping.  Trust me, that cock felt incredible.

            Robert grit his teeth.  “I have to cum in twenty five strokes.”

            “Huh?” I groaned.  “Why would Kari set that limitation?”

            He groaned again, plowing through my soaked and abused sex.  “Because… if I don’t, you have to listen to another thirty minutes of Christmas carols before I can try again!”  There was another thick pushing between my legs and I felt his balls against my bottom.

            My eyes widened eventually as I realized what Kari had set up.  It was cruel. It was inhumane!  My pussy couldn’t take another half hour!  And what if he didn’t cum again?  I opened my mouth to plead with him, but he was already at twenty, his face straining.  He stopped and I squeezed as hard as I could, trying to kegel exercise him to climax.  It didn’t really work.  My position made it practically impossible to exert any type of serious pressure on Robert’s cock and he made a hard, fast, full depth penetration, muttering “twenty one”. 

            He tried.  Really.  He did.  I knew he did.  It must have been pure agony for him to pull his wet, hard, desperately wanting cock out of my gaping, soaked, swollen, bruised pussy, only to sit down again between my legs.  I felt him slip the vibroballs back into me, turning the vibrations to their maximum setting.  He flicked on the radio, picked up the sap and the violet wand, and hummed under his breath along with the playing song, raising the sap high.  I screamed in anticipation, my hips churning as the sap came down.

            “We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry…”

Breanne is the author of "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" Volume 4!  Check out a free sample of it out today!