Breanne - This assignment is going to be a test of your endurance and willingness to comply. It will not be easy and my goal is to push you to your absolute limits. Today you will follow NHPS Rule #1 with your triple vibroballs, set to their lowest level. You may not turn them off for any reason. Your goal is to not only endure the vibroballs, but edge once every thirty minutes. You are not to cum. You will continue this all day until you either go to bed or violate the instruction not to cum.
Should you allow yourself to orgasm, for any reason, email or text me and I will send along your punishment. – Master Brandon
I admit I was biting my lip. I sat at my computer wearing nothing more than an old tee shirt and a pair of gym shorts. Inside my pussy, sitting quietly, were my triple vibroballs, currently off. I squirmed a little. The wire leading to the remove went out one of the leg holes of the shorts and the remote was sitting on the desk next to the keyboard. Every fiber in my body was screaming at me to turn them on, to wallow in the explosive release and relief of orgasm. I’m like that. Every morning I’m turned on, desperate for sex. And that’s without having gone an entire previous day with the slow churning stimulation of a vibrating sex toy pushing on my limits and not cumming.
Kari had set me a similar “limit” on Thursday. “Don’t cum!” she had said brightly when I called to tell her that I was getting close. And I hadn’t. Sure, I’d taken a small break from the incessant tremors inside me, but only for a few minutes, and then I’d started them right back up. Maybe that’s why she had approved this little assignment with such haste, along with the order, phrased as a “suggestion”, to do it on Friday.
So I was desperate. The last thing I wanted was to spend the day “edging”. I hate edging. If you aren’t aware of what a feminine “edge” is, it’s quite simple. You masturbate yourself until you are standing on the “edge” of the cliffs of orgasm, the point where you are about to jump into freefall. One can approach the “edge” in various ways. You can sprint at high speed, you can crawl and the get pushed over the edge, or you can walk up nicely at a steady pace and hope you don’t fall over. For a girl who is not used to “stopping” at the edge, but usually, gleefully, jumps at high speed over and over again, clinging to the rock face, fingers scrabbling in the dust, trying not to fall, isn’t an appealing prospect.
Neither was “punishment.” I am very familiar with Master Brandon’s idea of “punishment,” and I can tell you that I did not have warm fuzzy feelings about screwing this up. Okay, I admit it. I had warm wet feelings. I knew I was going to screw it up. YOU knew I’d screw it up just looking at Master Brandon’s message. We all knew it. Hell, Master Brandon knew it and suspected that I wouldn’t make it past eight o’clock in the morning! The assignment was rigged. Of course there was a chance, like a snowball’s chance in hell, of me actually being able to do it. I mean, I COULD just lie, or only lightly edge. I could tip toe to the Cliffside, look down at the valley of release, and then after only a moment, step back, take a deep breath, and do it again thirty minutes later. After all, that would technically not violate the terms of the assignment.
But I knew in my heart I’d do no such thing. To be honest, I wanted the punishment. The edging was just a prelude. As I took another deep breath, I shrugged and thought “who knows what the punishment will be?” Well, the first thing that needed to happen was what my little pussy had been screaming for since the moment I woke up. I grabbed the triple vibroballs remote and slid my thumb along the edge. In half a second, the three ovoid objects inside my sex sprung to life, jittering inside me like tiny insects driven mad. I closed my eyes as the waves of exquisite pleasure slid through me. Focus, Bre. Focus! I took a deep shuddering breath, pressing my thighs together. Then I did a little “social media” marketing, as Michael likes to call it, on the computer. Then I stood, once more feeling another wave of orgasmic pressure, and went to get dressed.
On my own, I’m a conservative dresser. Sure, I wear shorts and tee shirts a lot, that and blue jeans, but they generally aren’t super tight, or really short. You won’t find me doing my morning chores in “daisy dukes”. But that morning, knowing that I was going to have to put my fingers between my legs every thirty minutes (presuming the vibroballs didn’t drive me over the cliff all by themselves,) I choose something a little more appropriate. I slipped the white cotton dress over my head, letting it slide down over bare breasts. My night time shorts went down my legs and were replaced with a pair of white panties. The remote to the vibroballs got stuck in the waistline and then a pair of thick white tube socks went on my feet.
I padded downstairs and quickly put on my boots. My pussy was already halfway up the hill and I could smell the scent of my own arousal. All I wanted to do was cum. My hand went down between my legs, lifting the dress and I grazed my clit with a fingernail. Little shivers went up my spine and I almost came just from that! I sucked in a shuddering breath, pulled my hand away, and clenched my fingers tight. “Ignore it, Bre,” I said to myself silently. “Ignore it.” Closing my eyes for a moment, I then grabbed my duster and headed out to the barn.
I’m not going to bore you with “I did this, then that”. If you want to know how to run a farm, email me and I’ll be happy to discuss agriculture with you. All you need to know was that it distracted me a bit. Working has a way of doing that, and when you’re slopping out pigs, feeding chickens, goats, and horses, a trio of buzzing, sexually stimulating, orgasm inducing sex toys only mildly gets ignored. And not for long either.
I glanced at my watch. Thirty minutes. Oh god. Time for an edge. I put down the bucket and walked over to a haybale. I sat down on it, spreading my legs. I leaned back against the post and gently, ever so gently, dragged a nail over my panty clad slit. Little sparks of ecstasy shot through me and my pussy screamed for more. I did it again, and then again, delicately scratching my clit through the sheer cotton. My hips started jerking and I tightened around the vibroballs. I could feel it. I could sense it. I was getting close. My finger rubbed a little more vigorously, my nail almost flicking my clit. The cotton smoothed out the sensation and I picked up speed, rushing toward the devastating climax that would result in my fall.
And then, just when I was so close that a single touch would have sent me spiraling out into open air, screaming in release, I pulled my hand away. I let out a high pitched moan of desperation as the tension in my body seemed about to pull me apart. I felt as if I had to jump, had to cum, had to let go, but something kept me from it. I felt like a pressure cooker begging for some idiot to open it prematurely, instead of siphoning off some of the steam. I clenched my fists and suffered.
But eventually I came down. My chest was heaving, and I felt like I had just run a fifty yard dash, but when I sat up, the pressure was gone, leaving only a stirring churning need between my legs. For a second, I contemplated touching my clit again. But I shook my head. Stupid, Bre. Very stupid. I stood up, dusting stray strands of hay from my ass, picked up my bucket, and continued my chores.
Have you ever edged? If you haven’t, please try it. Hell, if you aren’t masturbating right now reading this, I’d be terribly disappointed. So if you are, I’d like to encourage you to edge. Even if you are a guy, you can technically edge, though it doesn’t feel anything like what a women has to experience. Guys are all immediacy. If you get to the point you want to cum and don’t, your body dumps the hormones and endorphins and stuff pretty quickly. You come down very fast and very hard and I’ve even known some guys to actually lose their hard on. Women on the other hand, can’t do that. We build up the need, the desperation, and like an airplane can’t stop on a dime, women can’t “stop” from having an orgasm just like that. We take time and space to slow down. Don’t believe me, guys? Ever have sex with a beautiful girl and explode before she does? Ever see that look of anguish on her face that doesn’t come from orgasm? That’s the pressure leaking out. Trust me. Not fun.
Of course twenty or so minutes later I was in a horse stall, leaning against the sides of the box, my hands between my legs, rubbing my slit again, but this time with my fingers deep in my panties, working the bare wet petals, pinching my folds and my clit with gentle pressure. I shuddered as I marched resolutely up the hill to jump from the cliff and suddenly I heard two little voices in my head.
Evil Bre was dressed in demon red, complete with a dark crimson headband with horns. She was barely dressed in this torn silk chemise that showed off a lot more than was decent. She even sported an ass plug that had a curling tail sticking out of it and she chortled in glee. “Jump, Breanne! Jump! You know you want it! Just cum and get it over with! You know the punishment is what you really want!”
And then Angel Bre, complete with halo, white furry bikini bottoms, and a set of clover clamps attached to her nipples, frowned and said, “I agree. Jump, Breanne. Jump. Take the punishment.”
Bitches. Even my moral opposites are sluts.
A part of me agreed with them. “You’ll never manage to make it the entire day, stupid. Why not just cum now an hour in, and take the punishment?” I asked myself. But then I shook my head. No. Not a good idea. What if Master Brandon’s punishment had me leaving the farm? I wasn’t technically done with my chores. I couldn’t just leave. I had to soldier on. So as the edge of the cliff came in view I pulled my hand away. I was going at a pretty good clip and even without the immediate pressure behind me, I had built up plenty of steam. I dug my heels in, sliding toward the edge, toward relief, toward oblivion. But just as I expected to be pushed over the edge, I slid to a halt, gasping, my entire body shaking with desire.
Once again I felt weak, trying to adjust to the total sexual let down. My pussy was driving me crazy. The vibroballs aren’t the kind of stimulation that will drive you over the edge easily, but they sure facilitate it. Sort of like lubrication. Which would you rather fuck? A girl with a sopping wet cunt, legs open and a desperate look on her face, or some soulless bitch who’s never even touched herself there and hasn’t felt an erotic desire in her life? Sure, I’d love to seduce the second girl, and try to get her wet, but if I were a guy, I’d be wanting girl number one.
I chugged on, once more letting my chores distract me from the churning cauldron of sexual desperation between my legs. To be honest, I shouldn’t say that, because that churning cauldron had bubbled upward and had pretty much completely taken over my brain. I know because I was imagining Evil Bre and Angel Bre in a sixty nine, sucking and licking each other, with Evil Bre’s tail quivering with every pull on Angel Bre’s nipple clamps. What can I say? Good girls are just bad girls who haven’t been caught yet.
Thirty minutes later I still wasn’t done with my chores, though I was close. I groaned in frustration, knowing I had another edge to do that I HAD to accomplish. Once more I trudged over to the hay bale and sat down. I lifted my dress, put one hand down between my legs, and touched myself.
“That’s it, Breanne! Do it!” Evil Bre whispered. Her own hand was buried between her legs, rubbing frantically.
“Mmmmm… yeah, Breanne. Go for it!” Angel Bre added. She was holding a huge vibrator, ramming it in and out of her pussy, her bikini bottoms gone.
I shook my head, trying to get them out of my mind. It didn’t help that I was following suit, my own fingers touching my clit lightly through the cotton panties. Almost instantly I felt the increase in arousal, the onslaught of hormones and chemicals in my blood that told my body “here it comes! Expect something amazing!” I grit my teeth, my fingernail scraping my clitoris. I could see the cliff ahead of me. Evil Bre stood there, beckoning me, one hand pinching a nipple while the other continued to frig herself. Angel Bre stood on the other side of my intended path, already cumming, spraying the ground with her juices, wetting the rock and making it slick.
How’s that for imagery?
Suddenly it was more than I could handle. I groaned, mashing my fingertip against my clit, pressure mounting. My hips shifted as my pussy clenched tightly around the vibroballs. I thrust upward, fucking my own hand and then my fingers delved into my panties, soaking in the juices of my need and my want and pinching my clit tighter and tighter…
I exploded with a cry of release that filled the barn. My entire body shook. Remember, it had been a full twenty seven hours since I had last orgasmed and that much pressure was a lot to deal with. Perhaps Master Brandon didn’t know I was in such a state. But Kari did. And she knew I wouldn’t be able to last that long. Three edges? That’s it? Damn, I’m pathetic. I slowly straightened up. The back of my dress was soaked from where I was sitting on it. I got to my feet and stumbled, my body filled with a lethargy that only comes from damn good sex. I walked across the barn with a dreamy smile and glazed eyes. Oh God did I feel good.
But as I finished the last of my chores, I started blinking. I still had the triple vibroballs inside me, still purring on low, and I was supposed to email or text Master Brandon immediately. I took a deep breath. I was so close to finishing, I decided to do that first. Master Brandon would understand. So fifteen minutes later I hurried back to the house and up to my room, waving once at my mom and hoping she wouldn’t see the backside of my dress after I hung up my duster.
I dove to the computer. Sure enough, Master Brandon was online. Evidently he had faith in me. Faith in my inability to last. I quickly messaged him, explaining my lack of decorum. As I expected, he wasn’t surprised, and a moment later my punishment was posted.
Breanne – I expected this. You are such a slut, you can’t even edge properly. You are about to pay for that. You want to cum? Then we’ll let you cum. You will drive yourself to a public spot, if not populated. I recommend a park bench somewhere. What you wear is your concern. You will turn the triple vibroballs to their highest setting. You will then insert your vibrating anal beads and the double vibroballs and set those to their highest setting as well. You will then place your butterfly clitoral vibrator on your clit and maximize its vibrations as well. Attach your vibrating nipple clamps. You are then to remain in that spot, being vibrated, for a full hour. Not only can you cum at this point, but you will need to cum at least eight times in order to avoid the punishment for not cumming ENOUGH. Each orgasm must be a separate event and not part of a multi-orgasmic flow.
My mouth went dry as I read it. Eight orgasms? In an hour? I looked over my shoulder and Evil Bre was grinning like a Cheshire cat. She thrust her hips out lewdly and licked her lips. On the other side Angel Bre was bouncing up and down on a double dildoed sex ball, both holes filled with thick rubber cock. Geeze, what a slut! I shook my head. I grabbed a canvas bag and loaded it up with what I needed. Master Brandon continued to comment though, and recommended I use Stinging O instead of grapeseed oil for lubrication. Both Evil Bre and Angel Bre agreed with him. Then to my surprise, he also instructed me to include my alligator clamps, both the nipple and clit ones. I added them, ignoring Evil Bre’s whisper to put them on right at that moment.
When I was all packed, I had to make the decision about what to wear. Master Brandon was in favor of me staying in the dress, though he had certain reservations about my panties. When I explained to him that I was keeping the remote to the triple vibroballs in my waistband, he laughed and told me to go commando. I rolled my eyes, but did as ordered and finally I was ready. I held my canvas bag in one hand and in the other I held my vibroballs remote. I headed downstairs. My father was already in the living room and he looked up at me as I came down the stairs.
My father knows what I am and if you’ve read any of my other “tales” you’ll know our relationship borders on inappropriate. He’s never pushed, technically. But he’s taken a few liberties. He saw the vibroballs remote in my hand and grinned.
“Got an assignment?” he asked softly, clearly not wanting Mom, who was in the next room, to hear.
I nodded, a scarlet blush coming to my face.
“Let me see.”
I gasped. “Dad!” I gave him a sharp glare. Evil Bre suddenly lifted her little demon chemise and flashed him enough to arouse a tubeworm. I glanced at my other shoulder. Angel Bre was still riding the double dildo ball and either didn’t care or knew my father couldn’t see her. I frowned.
“See you later, Dad.” I said darkly, and then marched out of the living room. I was already moving fast when I waltzed through the kitchen. Mom was at the stove, stirring something.
“Heading our for some errands! I’ll be back later!” I said quickly as I grabbed my duster and shot out the door. All I heard was “…what about your breakfast?” Then I was fishing my keys out, jumped in the truck and put the pedal to the metal. Gravel flew out from under the rear tires, harkening back to the days when it was Kari who picked me up in her little red Nissan coupe. I turned the wheel and sped off down the lane.
Yes. My vibroballs were still on. Yes. I turned them off before getting on the Farm to Market road that borders my parent’s farm. I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut. Not a moron.
I already had a pretty good idea of where I was going and I spun the wheel and headed in the right direction. I happen to know of a park, about twenty minutes away, that had a particular dead end path that was rarely traveled, especially in the early morning on a Thursday. Sure, there might be an occasional jogger bent on self-destruction, but nothing to major. Kids would be in school, and it wasn’t like I was going to be sporting a zip line and be cuffed to the park bench, right? Heh… heh…
Twenty minutes later I arrived and with my bag I started off down the trail. Sure enough, there were a few people on the path, but as I turned down the dead end section I was suddenly alone. Half a mile later I was tucked into a secluded turn of the concrete trail, right at a bench, staring at the lush trees that bordered the bayou. I sat down on the bench, contemplating what was to come.
Evil Bre tapped me on the shoulder. “Are your vibroballs on?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yes. I turned them on the moment I got out of the truck,” I said patiently.
Angel Bre had finally cum and gotten off the double dildo ball. “Yes, but they aren’t on full power, are they?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, not yet. I thought I’d get everything in first.”
Evil Bre hissed. “The instructions from Master Brandon said to have them on high before you put the other toys in.”
I rolled my eyes. Seriously? My own conscience was going to domme me?
I grabbed the triple vibroballs remote and thumbed the wheel up to maximum, letting out a little groan as the roar inside me intensified.
“Good. Now put in the anal beads,” Angel Bre said, all while tugging on her nipple clamps.
I reached for the vibrating anal beads, a series of eight gumball sized spheres, connected on a thick rubber wire. I stood up, put one leg on the bench, and grabbed my tiny bottle of Stinging O lubricant and torture oil. Carefully, I dabbed the first ball thoroughly, already feeling a tiny tingle on my finger. With a quick glance around assuring me that I was alone, I lifted the back of my dress and began rubbing that first bead against my ass. In seconds the tiny brown button was feeling the tingle of the oil, then it began to burn with the heat. Finally there was enough oil to get the bead in and I pushed with a grunt.
“Oh yeah, baby. Do it!” Evil Bre moaned. I looked at her and saw she was working her own anal plug in and out, holding it by the curly red tail. I blinked. Could it possibly be that my own subconscious actually LIKED anal sex?
I pushed the second bead in, grunting as my rear end filled up. Another bead went in, and then another, and in a process that took a good five minutes, I finally managed to stuff a total of eight, black, latex covered, motor filled, plastic beads into my ass. Damn it, I think I deserve a fucking medal for that. And by “fucking medal,” I mean a medallion that has an actual removable metal cock to slide up inside myself.
I turned the vibrating anal beads to maximum and felt the general earthquake being generated inside me increase a few points on the Richter scale. Next I pulled out the double vibroballs, the twin cousin to the triplets already inside me. I sat down on the bench, groaning again as the toy in my bottom exerted unusual pressures on my internal organs. I spread my legs and lifted my dress. My pussy wasn’t just wet. It was dripping copious amounts of juice and my thighs were soaked. It wasn’t easy to get the two ovoid bullets into my pussy, but it wasn’t due to a lack of lubrication. It had more to do with the fact that I already had three of the damn things in there and add two more was just tough.
“That’s it,” Evil Bre said, “push them in. You know you like it. Oohh… rub that one against your clit.”
I couldn’t help it. I did what she asked. Exquisite pleasure surged through me and I felt myself tightening. Once more I saw the cliff or orgasm up ahead. I pushed the last remaining vibroballs into my depths, letting it join its brothers in those tight quarters. I wish I could describe to you what it felt like, having literally thirteen separate vibrators buzzing away inside me, but it was a riot of sensation that defies analogy. There is no way for me to adequately describe it. I sat there, my entire bottom half enduring a non-ending sexual upheaval.
My hands trembled as I pulled the vibrating nipple clamps out of my bag. I tugged down the front of my dress, pulling my bare breasts out and into the cool open air. I almost peaked. My nipples were hard and the right one glimmered with gold from the piercing and padlock that hung from the tip of my breast. Then I clamped my nipples, the gentle yet steady pressure sending even more ribbons of pure lust running through me. As I flipped the two little egg shaped weights on, they began sending another set of shakes through my body and I about curled in a ball.
I exploded in a rushing groan, my entire body subject to the vibrations. And I didn’t even have the butterfly on! After I had gone through the whole process, I blindly groped for the butterfly and lifted my booted feet and stepped into the harness. I could barely get it up I was shaking so bad. Once the purple colored butterfly shaped vibrator was nestled against my clit, I turned it on to high and then settled back.
“Does that feel good?” Angel Bre asked. She was looking down at my body. To anyone passing by, I was just a good looking red haired girl wearing a stylish summer dress and cowboy boots, sitting on a bench. Of course my hips were also churning and I was splayed wide with my legs far apart, no doubt showing some of the more secret parts of my body. And I’m sure my face was reflecting my desire as well. My eyelids fluttered as I tried to deal with the non-stop stimulation.
“Eight orgasms in an hour,” muttered Evil Bre. “That’s an awful lot. I’m not sure I could even do it, not without Angel Bre whipping me.”
Angel Bre looked over at Evil Bre. “I’d be happy too!”
“But we’re already ten minutes in. Breanne, do you think you can have another seven orgasms in fifty minutes?”
I blinked. That’s when I put my hand down between my legs. I pushed on the clitoral vibrator and worked it in steady circles. A moment later I was gasping out loud as the orgasm rocked through me.
My third orgasm came a few minutes later, though I suppose technically it was my fourth since I had a really nice wave right after the second. Sometimes being multi-orgasmic is not all it’s cracked up to be. My fourth orgasm hit right around the half hour mark and I felt pretty good about things.
So did Evil Bre. She was lying on her back, those ridiculous red fuck me high heels she was wearing were up in the air, her legs spread deliciously wide. Angel Bre had crossed over and was slamming a leather sap down on Evil Bre’s pussy with these vicious strokes, all while straddling Evil Bre’s mouth. Evil Bre was alternating her licking with these high pitched squeals and cries that even turned ME on. There is NOTHING more erotic than a scream muffled by the petals of a hot girl’s pussy!
But despite my advantageous beginning, by orgasm number four I was starting to get very sensitive, especially on my clitoris. I couldn’t sit still. Soon my chest was heaving and I was biting my lip, trying to cope with both extreme sexual torment as well as this little sliver of pain that was being translated from certain spots of my body. The nervous system is not designed to take the kind of sensational onslaught I was inflicting upon it and I went from discomfort to right out pain rather quickly. I teetered with the conflicting desires of turning off the butterfly and mashing it hard against my clitoris. I settled on the latter, ignoring the pain, or more accurately, combining it with the pleasure and sending myself into a tornado of orgasmic bliss, jumping off the cliff with glee.
When I checked my watch, I saw I had fifteen minutes left and three orgasms to go. Worse, my clit now felt like it had been sandblasted and my nipples felt numb. I stood up, trying to sort out the various sensations. But the new position only contributed to the overall problems I was experiencing. I gripped the back of the bench and dug my nails into the wood. I was right on the verge of exploding again when suddenly a jogger came around the bend and saw me.
Technically, I could have been stretching I suppose. The only problem was that I had never tucked my breasts back into the dress. Both were still clamped, the weighted motors dangling from the tips with a tenacity that most people only attributed to telephone sales people and sharks. The jogger, a cute guy in his mid-thirties stumbled to a halt as I glanced at him wild eyes.
“You don’t see that every day,” he said, staring at my breasts.
Suddenly it was too much. I couldn’t take it. Adding being seen sent me shooting off over the edge of the cliff and I exploded with a cry. I curled forward, almost falling as the powerful pain laced orgasm blew through me like a bomb in a subway. He looked at me in shock as I seemed to collapse in on myself, not realizing that I was in the throes of orgasmic ecstasy. Then he rushed to my side, cradling me as my hips pumped in rapid thrusts. I’m sure he could hear the vibrators. I sounded like a motorcycle at a stoplight for God’s sake. Eight minutes left. Two orgasms to go.
“Are you okay?” he asked intently. I nodded, still unable to put a voice to my problems. Evil Bre suddenly was there, looking at me. “Suck his cock, Breanne! That will make you explode!”
Angel Bre appeared, totally naked, bound in shibari rope bondage, her breasts clamped and her own butterfly vibrator above her clit. It was cute. “Don’t Bre! It will distract you! You’ve got to cum twice more! Just put your hand down there and do it!”
Evil Bre laughed. “You can masturbate and suck at the same time! Do it! Besides, who knows what the punishment for not getting eight orgasms will be? For all you know, you might like it!” she said.
Angel Bre glared at Evil Bre. “You bitch, you’re trying to get her punished!”
“Of course!” the red dressed devil said haughtily. “Now shut up or I’ll come over there and gag you!”
Angel Bre gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!”
Evil Bre waltzed over, a red ball gag appearing in her hand. A second later Angel Bre was gagged, her jaw wide. Evil Bre began finger fucking the little angel girl.
I looked over at the jogger. “Please? Please can I suck your cock?” I begged.
It was his turn to look shocked, but that only lasted about four seconds. Then he was reaching into his shorts. His cock was already firm, if not hard as a rock and I hunched over, still seated on the bench, and wrapped my hands around the base and my mouth around the tip. He tasted salty and the scent of his sweat filled my nose and I inhaled deeply. It was a clean masculine scent, the kind I really enjoy – not stinky, but just natural. I slurped on him, one hand on his balls, the other between my legs. I bobbed my head, working him back and forth.
Time seemed to slow, or perhaps speed up. I’m not sure. But even before I managed to make him cum, or myself, my watch beeped. I was TWO orgasms short of cumming. Worse, the pain from my clit was wrenching my entire libido around like a fisherman hauling in a trout. I doubled my efforts, totally unaware that my time was up and then the jogger was pumping at least a gallon of cum down my throat. I gagged. It was too much and some spilled out from around his shaft to drip down on my vibrating and clamped nipples. I gasped, trying to get some air, but he grabbed my head, skull fucking me. Cum went everywhere, splattering his shorts, his shirt, his stomach, and I won’t even talk about the condition of my dress. Finally he softened and I hauled in a breath.
I know. I’m sick.
I collapsed on the bench looking like a wreck. My partner also sat down, but only after tucking his cock away. He looked at me with this big grin as I panted my way through my climax and into the endorphin and adrenaline laced aftershocks. Finally I reached for the various remotes and began turning them off. Slowly the earthquake subsided, though my paramour’s eyes were locked to my loins when I lifted my dress and turned off the butterfly. Lastly I released the clamps on my breasts and pulled my dress back up.
“Cum here often?” he asked, his voice laced with the double entendre. I couldn’t help laughing.
“Sometimes,” I admitted. I felt weak, drained. All I wanted to do at this point was get something to eat and collapse in my bed.
“Well, would you care to have lunch with me?” he asked.
I opened my mouth, but paused. Evil Bre had appeared again and she was holding a cell phone in one hand while the other steadily rubbed at her bare slit. Damn. Master Brandon! I took a deep breath.
“I wish I could, but I’ve got something I’ve got to do,” I said honestly. “Can I have your number and give you a call when I’m free?” I asked.
He grinned. “Sure, but only if I can have your number too.”
I agreed and hauled out my phone. We exchange numbers and a moment later he was jogging off, leaving me to my quiet seclusion. I lifted my phone, logged on to the internet, and sure enough, Master Brandon was waiting for me.
“Did you manage?” I read in the tiny chat window.
“No sir. Six orgasms.”
“That’s too bad. You can’t even cum properly,” he typed. Evil Bre snickered.
I grimaced. “Yes. I apologize,” I typed into my phone.
“That doesn’t excuse you. Now you are to be punished for the failing to orgasm eight times,” I read.
Evil Bre sidled up to my ear. “I hope it hurts bad!” she whispered in delight. I frowned and waved at her, but she wasn’t actually there, so it was meaningless. I looked at the other shoulder, hoping Angel Bre would say something, but she was lying on the ground naked, wrapped in rope, still gagged, and now stuffed with a vibrator on high that had her shaking like the top of the Empire State Building during a thunderstorm.
“For your punishment, you will remove the butterfly and the nipple clamps and replace them with your alligator clamps. You will leave the vibroballs (both sets) and your anal beads in place and on high power. You will then edge four times during the next hour. You may not cum.”
I sat there dumbly, reading the words. Edge? With alligator clamps on? How could he possibly expect me to do that? There was no fucking way!
“Sir, I’m exhausted. I’m sore. I don’t think I can handle that,” I typed.
Evil Bre glared at me. “You are a pussy, Breanne. Wimp.” I turned on the little imp.
“You want to do it?”
Her eyes widened and she grinned. “I’d do it in a heartbeat! So should you!”
My phone chimed another received message. “It doesn’t matter what you think. If it doesn’t violate your limits you have to do it. Now start or I’ll require you to do it naked too.”
Evil Bre clapped her hands and jumped up and down, her cute little tail bobbing. “I love Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut rules!” she exclaimed.
I typed an affirmative response into the phone and set it down. I hadn’t mentioned to Master Brandon that I had already removed the clamps or turned off the vibrators. I reached into my bag and dug around. Finally I found the three metallic toothed clamps, all latched to each other, the tiny silver chain between the two smaller clamps cold against my fingers.
For the second time that morning, I pulled my dress down, baring my bare breasts. The gold piercing glimmered on my right nipple and of course the padlock enameled with a black outline of a rose hung from that piercing. Slowly I picked up the smaller alligator clamps. Pinching the first one open, I held it above my left nipple. When it closed a brutal burst of pain shot through my tit, exploded into my spine, and went on a circular course that slammed into both my pussy and my brain. I shook, my lip trembling as I adjusted to the pain. I put the other clamp on, latching it behind the gold hoop of my piercing, the pain much harsher than on my left nipple. I almost cried. I was tender, sore, and when I pulled my dress back up to cover my breasts, the material pressed against the clamps sending even more pain down through my bosom.
I lifted my skirt again and tugged the butterfly off. Setting it aside, I grabbed the vibroballs remotes and turned them both on to full, reigniting the rush of sexual consternation I was barely capable of handling. Then I reactivated the anal beads, enduring another upping of the sexual ante. I licked my lips, grabbed my jumbo alligator clamp, and held it above my swollen ripe clit.
“What are you waiting for?” Evil Bre asked, looking down.
“Yeah, you might as well do it now,” Angel Bre said contemptuously.
I still hesitated. “It’s going to hurt,” I whimpered.
“Well duh,” Evil Bre said. She looked over at Angel and rolled her eyes.
Angel sighed softly and laid one hand on my cheek. “Breanne? What are you?” she asked gently.
My lip quivered. “I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut.” I’ve answered that question before.
“And what is your purpose?” she inquired.
Again my response was practically automatic. “To be hurt and abused and used for others pleasure.”
“And Master Brandon is taking pleasure from you doing this, right? He wants it to hurt?”
I nodded. But then Evil Bre popped up.
“And you love it, don’t you. Admit it. You like it when it hurts!” she hissed.
“Yes! I do!”
“Then do it! Clamp your clit!” they both said simultaneously. I let the pressure on the jumbo alligator clamp slip away and then the thick metal teeth bit into my clit and the hood and the pain shot up through me. My entire body convulsed as the pain mingled with the pleasure of the vibroballs, and of the anal beads. The pain changed, warping into something totally different and then I felt as if I were on a rollercoaster, shooting down the side of a hill. I felt the orgasm rushing up toward me like a tsunami and Evil Bre squealed in glee, slapping her hand against her bare rump. Angel gasped and held on for dear life.
“No Bre! You can’t! You’re supposed to edge! Not cum!” she cried out.
Evil Bre yelled. “Fuck it! Cum girl! Who cares what he’ll make you do next!”
And so I rode that pony. It bucked beneath me, my body riding that crazy horse and cumming so hard and so long that I took up fifteen minutes of my allotted hour just in the throes of sexual climax. My entire body ached and throbbed in time with the rolling waves and after the first harsh orgasm, my body went into multi-orgasmic mode and I rode three more to completion before finally slumping down in exhaustion. I lay there on the bench, half on it, one breast hanging out of my dress, my legs curled and pressed together. I was twitching for God’s sake. Talk about overload.
I hurt too. As the euphoria of release faded, the pain in my nipples and between my legs slammed back into me like a brick. I grit my teeth, picking up my phone. It didn’t take long to get back into chat with Master Brandon, whose very first words to me did not inspire confidence.
“It hasn’t been an hour yet, which means I’m absolutely positive that you came instead of edging. What is your problem with following orders?” he demanded.
“I’m sorry! It was just too much stimulation,” I typed poorly. “You know how I am.”
There was a long pause and then Brandon responded. “Yes. You’re a nympho humiliation pain slut. I suppose it wasn’t realistic of me to expect four edges from you while enduring the alligator clamps.”
I smiled softly and Angel Bre sighed. She was wearing her white furry bikini bottoms again as well as a pair of crystal high heels whose straps ran all the way up to her thighs. Her breasts were still bare, sporting the alligator clamps. Evil Bre on the other hand frowned and crossed her arms across her barely covered breasts. For some reason her chemise had shorted until it stopped just shy of her belly button and her entire shave slit was totally in view and appeared to be sporting the same kind of alligator clamp I was wearing on mine.
“Yes, sir. Thank you for understanding,” I typed back.
“It doesn’t change anything though.”
I blinked, then typed “it doesn’t?”
“No. You still have to be punished. Since you seem to like cumming so much while wearing the alligator clamps, you can go ahead and masturbate. You have thirty minutes to cum three times, except you can only flick the alligator clamps. That should be enough pain to make you pop.”
And then he signed out of chat. I didn’t even GET a chance to respond.
Evil Bre stood there, eyes wide. “Oh shit,” was all she said. Angel came on over and ripped Evil Bre’s chemise off, leaving the little demon girl naked except for the anal plug tail. Angel pulled off her own clover nipple clamps and they changed into wicked looking alligators, the metal teeth long and sharp. She grinned as Evil Bre’s eyes widened in alarm and then Angel placed them on her counterpart. Evil Bre cried out, her body shaking.
I licked my lips, watching as Angel tortured Evil Bre and I put my hand down between my legs, lifting my skirt. As soon as my pussy was visible I set one finger down on the alligator clamp. The pressure was almost enough to make me swoon. Pain rushed up through me, mixed with the constant sexual dynamic I’d endured all morning.
Angel paused torturing Evil for just a moment. “Think you can do it?” she asked honestly.
“Do I have a choice?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. You really don’t. You got yourself into this mess.”
I looked up a the white clad girl whose naked body matched my own, minus the thirteen vibrators stuffed up both holes, piercing, padlock, and clamps. Angel smiled sadly.
“What do you recommend?” I asked. Perhaps she would be gentle, tell me to take off the clamps, turn off the vibrators, go home, relax in a bath, sleep. Maybe even call that nice jogger and arrange a dinner date. Have some plain vanilla sex. After all, she was the Angel, right?
Angel Bre’s eyes turned hard. She leaned down. “Me? It’s not a recommendation. You start flicking that clamp right now, because the clock is ticking.”
I gasped and my fingers flicked the clamp between my legs. A sharp pain exploded in my clit and slammed up through me. I did it again. And then again, shaking like a leaf.
Angel reached back over to Evil Bre and sent her into paroxysms of agony, flicking the evil demon girl’s clamps violently back and forth. As she worked the poor evil subconscious she grinned and said “And keep going Breanne. I know you’ll never cum three times in the next thirty minutes and frankly, I want to see what Master Brandon’s next punishment will be!”
Needless to say, I failed miserably. I did manage to cum twice though, which when you think about it, is quite impressive. Master Brandon wasn’t that impressed though, but even he realized that I was pretty much a washout from that point on. He told me to remove the clamps, the triple vibroballs and turn down the anal beads and the double vibroballs to low. As I was walking back to my truck, he added that I was to continue edging once every hour and keep track of the number of orgasms I accidentally had. He seemed to imply that keeping that number low would be a good idea.
I think so too. Hold on… let me ask my two little friends.
Evil Bre says that I should do my absolute best to cum during every single edge for the rest of the day.
Angel? She said the same thing. I guess there are something we all agree on, aren’t there?