Sometimes, I have to wonder about the innate intelligence of my tormentors. Why, I have to ask myself, when they want me to write write write about my experiences, do they then insist that to motivate me, I submit to invasive, constant, and distracting sexual torture? Like Saturday. On Saturday Kari told me to wear my triple vibroballs, all day, on high. Unless I was writing, in which I could turn them down to low. That wasn't so bad, and I DID get a lot of writing done. But this was a LONG one. So on Sunday Kari added the vibrating anal beads and those DID have to stay on high, which was damned awkward at church because I KNOW the lady sitting next to me could hear them AND the vibroballs which, because I wasn't writing, had to be on full blast. Have you any idea how hard it is to sit through an hour and a half mass right on the edge of cumming? Of course, on Monday I got to keep the triple vibroballs in me ANOTHER day, except this time, on high period whether I was writing or not. And Kari had me put those tiny rubber bands on my nipples too. THAT'S supposed to make me want to write? You know what that makes me want to do?
But I've got this sucker MOSTLY written, and despite the fact that I'm already in a state today thanks to having to wear my Rotating Venus Penis, on high, for both the spinning and vibrating functions, unless I'm writing or done, I'm going to post the first half and work on the back half. Don't worry, I'm way farther along than just half, but I don't want to overload anyone, the way I've been overloaded by a certain mistress with cruel intentions. So here you go. Last Friday's assignment. Eat your heart out Master Brandon!
Zip Lined Fun - Part One
02/17/2012
I have a
tendency to bite my tongue at the most inopportune moments. Unfortunately, those moments are usually when
I’m concentrating hard on some difficult task that takes most of my attention. I get this look on my face where it’s pretty
clear that I’m in tunnel vision mode, everything else sort of goes away, and
somehow my tongue slips between my teeth.
Then it gets bitten. Accidentally
of course.
For me,
the frustration of tying twenty five clothespin to a fourteen foot long piece
of string was exactly the sort of
difficult dexterity requiring task that had my tongue between my teeth by
clothespin number four. And when the
whole thing slipped and fell to the floor, I accidentally bit down. I tasted blood and there was this throb in my
mouth that felt totally unnatural. I’ve
had lots of things “throb” in my mouth before, but on the whole, I prefer it to
be cumming cock and not my wounded tongue.
I wasn’t
wearing much considering the temperature was in the lower sixties. Morning chores had been a trial since I froze
my ass off. Trust me, going out in fifty
seven degree weather, when it’s wet, wearing nothing but a denim duster, a thin
tee shirt, no bra, an extremely short blue denim skirt and a pair of panties is
not a recipe for warmth. Thank God I was
wearing boots and socks! Of course my
attire had been selected by Kari, my lover/bestfriend/mistress, who has
permanently decided that laundry day be accompanied by being stuffed with my
Husky dildo, a nine inch rubber rod that only stays inside me with either
concerted effort (risking another bit tongue) or with help, like my
panties. Of course the panties do a piss
poor job as well, since they aren’t tight enough to keep the Husky dildo in all
the way. So whenever I stand up, the
Husky dildo slides halfway out of me and is only held in the other four or so
inches by my panties.
This
makes it tough to walk around.
Kari says
I have to wear the skirt because anything else and the Husky wouldn’t slide out
properly. I can see her point. It’s not really walking around with half a
dildo inside me that she’s really interested in though. It’s me sitting back down. That’s what she likes. See, when you’ve only got half a dildo inside
you, and you sit down, then you get immediately and thoroughly penetrated.
There
have been some suggestions that I replace the Husky dildo with my Core Driller
dildo, which is twelve inches long and widens to about four inches. Been there.
Done that. But while I get a much
more thorough fucking, you just don’t sit down quick or repeatedly when you
know that getting fully impaled on a twelve inch long fence post is what’s
going to happen. But no doubt next week
I’ll be ordered to go out to the mall wearing it under a skirt, with panties,
and to sit down on every single bench.
When I
finished the zip line, I stuffed it in a plastic shopping sack and headed out
to the truck. Laundry was mostly
finished and the whites were in the wash and the perm press was in the dryer. That meant I had at least an hour or two
before I really needed to get back and fold laundry. So I gingerly got into my truck. Of course as I sat down, the base of the
Husky dildo pressed against the seat and I groaned in momentary sexual
satisfaction as the thick rubber dick was driven deep. I know… I’m sick. I can’t help it. It feels good! I shifted in my seat and actually lifted up a
bit. It helped. The Husky dildo moved inside me and I felt
another rush of wetness lubricate my already much moistened sex. Is it a surprise? I can’t imagine why it would be. The whole point of keeping a sex toy inside
me is for that very reason; to keep me wet.
It would be a shame to have a nympho humiliation pain slut who wasn’t
wet and ready, wouldn’t it?
But
despite the fresh surge of wantonness coming from between my legs, I took a
deep breath, ignored the metaphorical burning itch coming from my libido, and
put the truck into gear. Don’t worry, I
didn’t go far. Just down the mile long
gravel drive to the road. The Farm to
Market lane that goes by my farm is just wide enough for two of those little
SMART cars to pass side by side without getting on the shoulder. And of course the shoulder is either grass,
weeds, or in some spots gravel. If
you’re driving a pickup and you see another pickup truck coming at you, you
move over. At least you do if you like
your paint job. Of course the likelihood
of seeing another truck is slim, but it does happen.
Occasionally.
I
pulled over to the side of the road and got out. Storm clouds threatened overhead, there was a
blustery cold wind coming from the northeast, and I could feel a few isolated
rain drops on my hands and head. Of
course as I moved to the front of the truck, my duster flapping around my bare
calves, the Husky dildo slid halfway out of me, eliciting another moan. I managed to make it to the hood and felt the
warmth of the engine through the hood. I took a deep breath and got to it.
I
started with the duster, because frankly it’s tough to strip naked when you’re
wrapped up in a coat. Shivering in the
sprinkling cold rain, I practically ripped my tee shirt off. My nipples, now totally exposed to the chilly
wind hardened into perfect points.
Goosebumps rose all over my breasts and stomach and down my arms. My teeth started chattering and I pushed my
skirt down in a hurried rush, even as I stepped out of my boots. I picked up the skirt, folded it, and began
to pull off my panties. I caught the
Husky dildo in the other hand as it slipped from inside me just as my teeth
started to chatter.
I
put my duster back on. It wasn’t warm,
but at least it protected me from the wind.
I was still shivering as I buttoned it up quickly. Once that was done I grit my teeth, pulled
off my socks, and then hopped painfully on the gravel with all my clothing,
back to the cab of the truck. Once in I
started the engine and directed the vents at myself with a sigh of relief.
Of course
that relief was momentary. I may have
been warm, but I knew in short order I’d be warm AND hurting. I reached over to my bag and pulled out the
ben wa balls. This was no doubt Master
Brandon’s attempt to make my life easier.
Ben wa balls are only sexually stimulating when walking around. To be honest, I’ve worn them off and on for
years and I might even go so far as to say they really helped in motivating the
whole Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Rule #1.
I remember when Kari replaced the two golf balls she had started
stuffing me with and handed me the ben wa balls. Of course I was also in a one of those
skorts, except with the shorts part cut out, a halter top that would have
shamed a stripper, and high heels that made me look like a two dollar
whore. Then she took me to the mall.
I was
sixteen. I must have cum about eleven
times. Ever walk the mall looking like a
tramp when your thighs are wet with pussy juice?
But
over the years I’ve actually gotten used to it.
I can wear ben wa balls for hours, even the whole day, walking
constantly without cumming. Sure, I get
wet. I get desperate. Wanton even.
But cum? Just from the ben wa
balls? Ain’t happening.
I
unbuttoned my duster while sitting there in the truck cab. My skin had lost that chilled look and the
goose bumps disappeared to wherever they go when they aren’t making me look
like a plucked goose. I pulled the
duster open, baring my breasts, my tummy, and of course that dark secret place
between my legs, which doesn’t really happen to be dark, or very much a
secret. First of all, it’s very pink, or
red, depending on the last time I was whipped there. And as for a secret… well shit, I write BOOKS
about that secret. Not much of a secret,
is it? I slipped the ben wa balls into
my pussy with little fuss. I was already
soaked from the Husky dildo, so pushing two golf ball sized spheres up inside
myself wasn’t exactly tough. I admit, I
may have rubbed my clit a little bit as I did it, trying to work myself up
sexually in order to handle what was coming next.
I
swallowed. This was the part I was not
looking forward too. Okay, I admit it. I
wasn’t looking forward to any of it.
Being ziplined hurts. I know,
I’ve done it. I mean I’ve done it BEFORE
having to do it that Friday. You know
what I mean. I took a deep breath and
pulled out the zip line. The first
clothespin was there in my finger tips and I spread my legs as wide as I
could. When I felt I was ready, I
pinched the wooden clamp open, positioned the two biting edges right above my
clitoral hood, and then gently let go.
I’m
not going to say it was agonizing pain, because it wasn’t. Clothespins are on the lower end of the
clamping spectrum and trust me, I’m used to the higher end as well, so having a
clothespin dangling from my clit isn’t the fear inducing experience it was when
I was sixteen years old. I’ve gone
entire DAYS having a clothespin dangling from my clit. In fact, I did it last week. It’s an intense feeling, but it’s more about
the constant reminder, the pressure, the demand,
of having sex that the clothespin inspires.
The pain isn’t much to deal with.
So
I moved downward. Six or seven inches
along the string was another wooden peg.
With moistening fingers, I dug into my pussy and attached the clothespin
to my right labia, right on the thick outer petal. Just underneath that clothespin I pegged
another, and then another, and another, until four wooden clamps sat in a row
under the one which dangled outright from my clit. I went back up the other side of my pussy,
hissing as each additional clamp seemed to make the first one hurt just a tad
bit more. My hips rocked, which is not a
good thing when your nether region looks like the offspring between a porcupine
and a laundry mat drying line. By the
time I was ready to go up to my tummy, my pussy was hurting. Just a bit.
Of
course the peg on my stomach was no picnic either. That one hurt. I hate having my skin pinched like that. I pulled the string as taut as possible and
managed to make it up to my breasts using just two clothespins. Then I started the awful procedure of
clothespinning my bosom. I literally had
a dozen clothespins left on the string, so I quickly encircled my left breast
with five, evenly spaced around the areola.
Not comfortable. But not
debilitating either. Then I went across
to the other breast and repeated the process.
Lastly, with just two clothespins left, I made the leap, took the
plunge, and pinched them both open at the same time and let them chew on my
nipples.
Ow. But also “oooohhh”. Yes, I admit it. I was TERRIBLY turned on at
that point. It may be hard to understand
and I accept that, but the reality of it was that I was preparing for a sex
assignment, I was mostly naked, in semi-public surroundings, about to go out
and get tortured, with no limits on cumming.
There was a better than probable chance I’d get fucked, maybe even suck
some cock. And inside me my pussy
tightened around those ben wa balls and made it very clear that my libido was
hungry.
Feed
me Seymour!
Driving
a manual transmission pickup truck while wearing a zip line is not easy. The clothespins really get in the way, and
the constant movement makes the point where they’re chewing on you hurt
more. So I realized in short order that
my driving range was severely hampered.
Second, I discovered something even more disturbing. While I could
close and button my duster, the clothespins on my breasts, more specifically
the two on my nipples, were pushed down painfully by the denim front of my
coat. So I ended up fastening the bottom
two buttons, while leaving my clothespinned tits in full view, sprouting pegs
and looking as if I had two hand carved wooden hedgehogs glued to my chest.
Before
embarking on this little adventure, I had given some thought about where I was
going to go. Obviously the mall was
out. I was going to be literally
flashing someone, and technically I would be breaking the law as well. I think asking strangers to zipline your
naked body, while stuffed with ben wa balls, certainly counts as public
lewdness. If I were a guy, I’d be
arrested. As a girl, well… sometimes a
little sexist chauvinism is a good thing.
The
first spot I pulled up into was a tiny strip mall. Ha ha!
Get it? A STRIP mall? Oh.
Sorry.. Anyway, I pulled into the
parking lot of the strip mall and started cruising down it. Where’s a guy when you need one? I moved on down the road. I crossed I-10 and moved north of town and I
found myself in an office park. You know
those kinds of buildings right? It was all
concrete, few if any windows, and plenty of garage doors; warehouses, that kind
of thing. But even better was the fact
that in one tiny parking lot was a guy unloading a pickup truck. He was stacking a few things onto a small
cart and I pulled up into the spot next to his.
He only gave me a cursory glance, clearly unconcerned about me. Perhaps the window tinting on the truck side
window is too thick. Since my passenger
side door was to him, and he was standing at the back of his truck, I slipped
out of my seat at the same time I unbuttoned the bottom two buttons of my
duster.
The
cool air wasn’t what gave me a second set of goose bumps. It was my nerves. My stomach was doing flip flops and I didn’t
just have one butterfly in there. I had
a flock, or swarm, or whatever you call a shitload of butterflies. I moved around to the tail of my truck, put
my arms on the side of the bed, and smiled at him. My entire naked and exposed body was
concealed, so I know it was my smile that attracted him.
“Hi!”
I said with forced brightness.
He
was dark and clean shaven with short cut hair.
He looked like a businessman in casual.
Or maybe a repair guy. He was
wearing khaki trousers and a blue polo shirt, cotton weave and dark. His shoes were no nonsense either, with heavy
rubber soles.
“Hi,
yourself!” he replied back with a grin.
My red hair was probably doing some of the attracting too. When a pretty redhead smiles at you, don’t
your insides get a little wobbly?
“Having
a good day?” I asked, still giving him my million watt please fuck me smile.
He
nodded. “So far. We’ll see how it goes.”
“Me
too, but I was wondering if you’d be willing to do me a tiny favor,” I asked
politely, trying to keep any sexual innuendo out of the request.
He
looked over at me and grinned.
“Sure. If I can.”
My
right hand came up and it was holding the end of the zip line string. It disappeared down my front and behind the
side of the truck so he couldn’t see where it went.
“I’d
like you to come over here and pull on this string as hard as you can,” I said
easily. He gave me an odd look and I
could see the wheels turning in that mind of his. But then he shrugged and came around the back
of my truck. As he did I turned away
from the back panel and made sure that the front of my duster was open wide.
“Holy
shit!” he stammered, coming to a stop a few feet away from me. His eyes went down my body and couldn’t
settle on where to stare. He started at
my breasts, then went down to my pussy, then back up to my breasts. Finally he
glanced at my face and I put on the most simpering Bambi eyes look of helplessness
that I could possibly muster and held out the string.
“Please?”
I begged, somewhat sincerely. I wasn’t anywhere near total desperation or in
terrible agony. Sure, the clothespins
were uncomfortable, but so is wearing a butt plug. But he took my Bambi eyed look and the
simpering whimper I let out as need and he took a step forward. He lifted his hand and I realized he was
about to pinch open one of the clothespins.
“No!”
I gasped. “You have to pull them off.”
“But
that is going to hurt you!” he said in astonishment.
I
nodded vigorously. “That’s the point.”
“You
want to be hurt?”
“I’m
a nympho humiliation pain slut. This is
a punishment. Please? Just pull them off?”
He
gave me an incredulous glance and then shrugged. “Sure.
If that’s what you want. Brace
yourself.” He reached out, took the end
of the string, and yanked.
Have
you ever heard a zip line being yanked off a girl? It sort of sounds like a muted machine gun,
or maybe two dozen mouse traps going off.
Or maybe a clunky zipper might be a better way to describe it. Of course, that noise was hard to hear
because I was letting out a pretty impressive yell of my own at the time. The clothespins went flying in a roar and I
curled into myself, arms going across my loins and my breasts as I folded in
half, my body telling my brain that a massive amount of pain, specifically
located in tender spots, had just occurred.
“Are
you all right?” he asked, coming up to me.
I didn’t really answer him, I was in too much pain. My nipples felt like
they had been ripped off my body and I’m pretty sure my clit was reporting a
similar experience to my brain. My labia
throbbed, but that pain was overshadowed.
It took maybe twenty or thirty seconds before I was finally able to take
stock of my surroundings. My gallant
knight’s hand was on my back and I realized that I was almost on my knees,
examining the back wheel of my F-150.
“Are
you all right?” he asked again. I nodded and slowly got up to my feet. My arm was still pressed tightly across both
my pussy and my breasts and I turned to face him.
“Thank
you,” I whispered. The shock and pain of
the ziplining was fading, but it was still a palpable presence in my mind. Trust me; you don’t just forget having two
dozen clothespins ripped off your skin.
I reached out and took the end of the string, still dangling from his
fingers and started to coil up the zipline.
“So…
do you do this often?” he asked.
I
nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
He
stared at me, more than a little uncomfortable.
“My name is Damien.”
I
took a deep breath, getting back a little more control. “Breanne.”
He
licked his lips, still looking disconcerted.
“That was pretty impressive.”
I
straightened a bit more under the compliment and took my arm down from my
breasts. Damien looked at my nipples and
my eyes went down too. There were little
red marks all around each breast and the tips were a little misshapen after
spending twenty or so minutes crushed between two sets of wooden jaws.
“Thanks,” I replied. “Just two more to
go.”
“Two
more?” Damien asked curiously. His eyes
were still locked on my tits. I took my
hand away from my pussy as well and watched as his gaze moved lower. I nodded, not that he would have seen it.
“Yeah. I’ve got to get ziplined twice more.”
Damien
looked slightly outraged. “Twice? Seriously?
And this is some sort of test?”
“An
assignment. I’m a nympho humiliation
pain slut and one of my online masters ordered me to do this.”
Damien
digested that. “So you like pain?”
I
smiled for the first time since getting ziplined. “Yep.
It turns me on.”
Damien
blinked. “So, you’re like, sexually
excited?”
I
reached down between my legs and drew my forefinger deeply through my still
smarting petals. It came out slick and
slimy. I held it up for him to see and
then popped it in my mouth. Yummy. His eyes widened even though he never stopped
grinning.
“Well,
I’d be happy to do it for you, if you want.”
I
knew what he was offering. I smiled
sadly. “Sorry Damien, but Master Brandon
said it has to be a stranger each time, and I know you now.”
Damien
stared at me. “Oh. Why would he want that?”
I
quirked an eyebrow up. “Strangers? To embarrass me of course. He knows that if I get ziplined by a stranger
it means I get more humiliated. I’m a
nympho humiliation pain slut,” I
said, emphasizing the word humiliation.
“Oh. That’s too bad.”
I turned and took the few steps
back to the cab of my truck. I opened the door and tossed the zip line in. I turned back to Damien and gave him another
smile. “Thanks for helping me out.”
“Wait! What’s your name?” he asked, moving up to the
door as I climbed in. I felt the ben wa
balls swirl inside me and I swallowed down the urge to rip Damien’s clothes off
and fuck him.
“Breanne,”
I replied.
He
looked up and down the street again and then back at my breasts. I’d swear he was talking to them and not to
me.
“Look,
don’t go. Gerald is in our office and
I’ll bet he’d be happy to pull those clothespins off.”
I
paused. “Really?”
He
nodded vigoursly. “Absolutely. Gerald is my partner. We repair
computers. Why don’t you come in?”
I
shrugged. Getting another ziplining out
of the way here wasn’t a bad idea and maybe, just maybe, I’d get some cock
too. I climbed back out of the truck,
zipline in hand, and closed up my duster.
Damien grinned though he was clearly disappointed that I had closed the
curtains on the peep show. I closed my truck
door, locked it, and followed him to the back of his vehicle.
It
only took him two more minutes to finish loading the cart and we chatted a bit
about me being a nympho humiliation pain slut.
I gave him the basics, explained the rules and such, and enjoyed the
astonishment he expressed when he found out that I was stuffed with a sex toy
and that my purpose was to be fucked, used, hurt, and abused.
“So
like anyone can order you to do something and you have to do it?” he asked as
we rolled the cart toward his building.
I
shrugged. “Within reason. I’m hardly going to do something that sends me to
jail, so don’t ask me to kill Gerald or have sex with a kid or something,” I
replied.
Damien
laughed. “But seriously, if I ordered
you to take off that coat right here in the parking lot, you’d do it?”
I
nodded. “That’s the point of being a nympho humiliation pain slut. I’m not
allowed to refuse any order that doesn’t violate my limits,” I said.
“And
what are those?” asked Damien.
I
helped him push the cart up the handicap ramp.
“Oh, the usual. No kids, scat,
pee, blood, disfigurement, me going to jail, rapes, that sort of thing.” I paused, thoughtful. “And I technically can refuse an order for
medical reasons if I don’t think it’s safe for me, though there are proscribed
punishments for that sort of stuff if I DO object.” I said.
Damien
nodded. “So taking off your duster isn’t
breaking any limits.” Obviously the man
wanted me naked.
I
looked into his eyes. Since my breasts
weren’t out for him to see, I suppose I should have expected it. “Why don’t you just give me the order and
find out?” I said.
“Breanne,
take off your coat.” His voice came out
just a bit gruff, as if he were pushing it.
Right
there on the front stoop of his business, while staring him in the eyes, I
unbuttoned my duster. I started at the
top and went down slowly, playing up the whole thing. I hate to say it like that, but men are very
easy to manipulate, even ones who I call Master. Some slow seductive movements, the gradual
exposure of skin, even if it’s already been seen, a little hip wiggle, the arch
of a foot, a soft wetting up the lips, and men eat out of the palm of my hand. When I got to the bottom button I wriggled my
hips and shoulders and the whole thing slid off my back and downward to puddle
around my bare feet. I stepped out of
the fallen duster, completely naked, holding a string with a dozen clothespins
tied to it.
Damien
looked at me with wide eyes again. “Holy
shit.”
I
stopped and picked up my duster, but I casually draped it over an arm. Then I pointed at the door. “Damien, it’s cold out here.” And it was.
My nipples were stiff and the goose bumps were coming back. Granted the wind wasn’t as bad here in the
city as out by the road, but still it was chilly. The realization shook Damien out of his
sexual impairment and he blubbered something like “of course! Sure! I’m sorry!”
He
pushed the cart toward the door and in a helpful and feminist sort of style,
I opened the glass door for him. Damien went in first, following the cart. I entered next and found myself in a small
lobby the size of a minivan. There
wasn’t even a desk in it, just a few chairs and what looked like a doorbell on
the wall under a sign that said “ring for service”. How quaint.
Damien
led me down that hallway that branched off from the lobby and I passed two
empty offices, a small bathroom, a kitchenette, a break room, a janitor’s
closet (it was marked “Janitorial”, that’s how I knew), and then we pushed
through a final door.
Into
a rather large workshop. It was easily fifty or sixty feet wide and a hundred
feet deep. There were rows of tables, of
shelves, and more electronic thingies that I have no clue what they do, I’ve
ever seen in my life short sexual life.
There were a lot of computers running and some were in various stages or
either repair or assembly. Damien moved
right down the middle aisle and I followed, eyes wide.
We
made it halfway when, on the other side of one of the partially assembled
computers, I made eye contact with Gerald, Damien’s partner. He was a bit older than Damien and looked to
be in his middle thirties. He had a
brown hair, was getting thin on top, and had a walrus mustache that would have
made mustachio aficionados everywhere jealous. He noticed Damien with an apparent
apathy or perhaps tunnel vision, and I noticed his tongue was between his teeth
as he patiently screwed in something on the open computer case in front of him.
At
least until he got a sight of me.
Gerald
blinked in astonishment and I heard a sharp click come from the computer case. His eyes tore away from contemplating my
breasts and went back to the computer where he softly but earnestly cussed out
the machine. In retrospect, I may or may
not have had something to do with whatever got messed up. Who knows what the appearance of a naked girl
will have on a man holding a screwdriver?
Gerald
turned back to look at me, or more accurately, at my breasts. He put down his screwdriver, glanced once at
Damien, and then back at me. I smiled,
giving him the full power million watt please fuck me with that screwdriver
smile.
“I
hope you’re the new secretary,” Gerald said, his eyes going downward to my
shave slit. I giggled once and Damien
coughed.
“She
was in the parking lot. She’s a sex
slave and she needs some help finishing her assignment.”
That
caught Gerald’s interest. “Sex slave
huh?”
I
nodded happily. “Yes sir,” I replied
demurely.
“So
what do you need help with?” he asked.
I
lifted the zip line up. The clothespins
rattled loudly. “I need to pin these to
myself and then have a stranger rip them off me.”
Gerald
grimaced and winced. “Sounds painful.”
I
nodded. “That’s the point sir.”
“I
see. And is that all you’ll do?”
Damien
grinned. “She’ll do anything we order her to do.” He picked up Gerald’s screwdriver and held it
out to me. “Here. Take this Breanne and
fuck it.”
I
reached out to take the screwdriver but Gerald gave a rueful glance at Damien
and snatched his tool away before I had a chance to screw myself with it.
Damien
laughed. “You get the picture.”
“So
I rip those clothespin off you and I can order you to do anything?”
I
shook my head. “No sir. I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut and you can order me
to do anything whether or not you rip off the zipline.” I know… I’m a bit voracious but you have to
understand that my body was tingling with sexual energy. The previous ziplining not to mention being
naked, and wearing the ben wa balls, had combined into something that pretty
much made me a sex rocket and I was on a course heading for the moon.
Gerald
laughed. “So if I say, ‘suck my cock’…”
I
didn’t bother responding. I just reached
out, my fingers caressing the bulge in his pants. I had his belt half unbuckled
when Damien reached out, snagged my arm, and pulled me away.
“Now
wait a moment. I get first rounds with
her. I found her first. Then you can have your fun, Gerald.”
The
older man grinned. “All right. I’m in the middle of this anyway and I think
I’ll want something more than just a blow job.
Why don’t you take her to the breakroom and show her what computer
repair is all about.”
Damien
grinned and pulled me away and I was hauled out of the workroom, leaving Gerald
behind. We went back up the hallway a
bit and then stepped into the small break room. It featured a table, a few
chairs, and against the back wall, a leather couch that looked like it had seen
better days. I was manhandled onto the
couch and the Damien, without a please or thank you, whipped out his cock and
stuck it in my mouth. I opened wide and
sucked, because that’s what a nympho humiliation pain slut is supposed to
do. You don’t expect a please or thank
you. That’s not your job. So I sucked.
Damien
had… um… difficulty… holding back, and a moment later (a very SHORT moment
later) ejaculated into my mouth with about a quarter cup of cream. I swallowed it easily and tasted the musky
salty flavor with just a hint of beer in it.
Yuck. I know what Damien had to
drink the night before. But I didn’t
object either. For Damien, it was a bit
of a shock, cumming in my mouth like that.
He looked irritated too, as if he meant to do something more penetrative
and he acted like a schoolboy on his first trip behind the football clubhouse. I smiled, trying to be positive, but I guess
my disappointment was pretty evident. To
get him back on topic, I picked up my zipline, shook it loudly in front of him,
and asked him if he wouldn’t mind getting me “zipped” back up.
Evidently
the thought of pinning a two dozen or so clothespins to a girl who just gave
him a blowjob was enough of a trick to turn his mood, because he readily
agreed. I straightened up on the couch
and spread my legs wide, doing the splits and arching my back to present the
appropriate area. I walked him through
it, telling him the first peg needed to go on my clit, then down my right labia
and up my left. He got it backward, or I
did, but in the end I sat there, mouth open, panting slightly from the steady
and painful pressure of the wooden clamps as he pinned two more pegs to my left
side and then up to my breasts.
Damien
liked putting the clothespins on my breasts and continuously thumbed my nipples
as he encircled both areola with pegs.
Eventually he got down to the last two clamps and flicked my nipples
hard before crushing the little nubs in the wooden jaws. I was in a state, a state of quiet sexual
desperation and I was quite aware that after getting ziplined I would want
either a thorough rough fucking or a whipping.
Or
both.
I
stood up gingerly, feeling the pull and tug of the various clamps and their
connecting string. It hurt quite a bit
more this time, or at least it seemed to.
Slowly I shuffled along behind Damien who led me forward with one hand
on the string. I had to keep up to prevent him from prematurely pulling the
clothespin off my right nipple, but from his expression, I could see he was
hoping to do it anyway. We walked back
down the hall and then into the workroom.
Gerald was still at his station, but this time he was better prepared
when I was brought forward. There wasn’t
any cussing out the computer. He turned
in his stool as Damien stopped me in front of his partner.
“Wow. That was quick,” Gerald said, looking over at
Damien. I think the man actually
blushed. I sure did.
I
coughed to distract Gerald’s attention. “Will you zipline me now sir? Please?”
I asked.
Gerald
looked back at me. “Does it hurt?”
I
blinked. “Um… yes sir.”
“So
we should restrain you?”
Ooooohh. My pussy started squeezing the ben wa balls
hard and I felt a new surge of wetness.
Oh god yes. Tie me up! I nodded,
trying to hide my enthusiasm. Gerald
nodded and then got up off his stool. He
didn’t touch me, but walked deeper into the rows of shelves toward the back of
the storage area. Damien led me by the
zipline string and I followed along, the soles of my bare feet slapping on the
cool concrete. We got to the back wall
of their facility and Gerald pulled some thick black wire that was coiled in
small lengths off one of the shelves.
For a moment, I thought he was going to hit me with it, but he didn’t.
(Too bad, right?) Instead he uncoiled it
and I realized they were power cords.
Now
Damien let go of the zipline string as Gerald took my arm and moved me so that
my back was pressed up against one of the shelves. He handed one power cord to Damien and then
both men pulled my arms wide and quickly, if not expertly bound my wrists to
the wire shelf behind me. I could have
gotten free in about a minute with just a little bit of effort.
“Um…”
I stammered. “I won’t pull the shelf
down on top of myself, will I?” I asked.
Gerald
laughed. “It’s bolted to the floor,
little lady. No fears.”
I
nodded but then Gerald took another two power cords from the shelf. In short order my feet had been pulled
outward, my wet thighs and the pegged folds of my sex on deliberate and obvious
display. I pulled on my bonds slightly, not wanting the cords to slip, and
found them sturdy, if not tight. I knew
that when I got ziplined they’d keep me from closing up on myself.
And
then Gerald seemed ready. He and Damien
stood there, looking at me. I was
stressed, scared of having those clothespins yanked off my body, but also
scared of the fact that I was there, with two guys I barely knew, who had me
tied to a shelving unit, naked. That fear
coalesced inside me and made me even wetter.
God, I’m sick.
Gerald
moved up and took the dangling string.
Slowly he pulled it taut, taking up the slack from his hand to my right
nipple. I felt the tug, that turned into
a gentle pull, that became a tight draw.
The pain built up inside me and I winced as my breast was drawn outward
by the nipple, the other clothespins jiggling as Gerald worked me. Then with a sharp click, the clothespin came
free and I let out a scream, expecting the rest of the clothespins to rip from
my body in one loud painful burst.
“Oops,”
said Gerald, who stepped up, lifted the dangling clothespin and then cruelly
reapplied it to my nipple. I whimpered
loudly, my knees buckling. He turned and
stepped away again, but then without a moment’s warning, he pulled hard on the
string and in the space of a single second, all twenty five clothespins were
ripped off my body. It felt like someone
had given me a light coating of alcohol and set me on fire. I let out a choked sob and I folded as if
someone had punched me in the stomach.
My clit, my nipples, and my entire pussy were on fire. The only thing that prevented me from ending
up on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, were the four power cords that
bound me to the metal framed shelving unit behind me. As it was I dangled there, my body in too
much pain to really do anything more than endure.
I
was only barely cognizant of the clothespins clattering to the floor, but when
Gerald’s finger found my slit and worked the delicate nodule right above it,
well… that I recognized. I was soaked
too. The penetration was light and
delicate, a caress rather than abuse. I
didn’t care. He could have shoved a hard
drive up inside me and I wouldn’t have cared at that point. That’s the nature of being a nympho
humiliation pain slut. Things like
getting ziplined only make you hornier.
Of
COURSE it hurt! But you have to
understand that I’m a live, sadist’s wet dream.
There is something seriously wrong with me. If you hurt me under the right circumstances,
like a whipping, a spanking, or maybe even something more terrible, as long as
it’s sex orientated, I get turned on. I
know. You are sitting there shaking your head saying “what a weirdo.” Of course I know you’re also sitting there
saying “thank God!”
Breanne Erickson is the author of five novels including The Society of the Golden Rose and the acclaimed "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" Series! Check out her books today!
