Zip Lined Fun - Part One

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!