A Perfect Recipe

05/25/2012

I looked around the barn, memories filling my head like the haydust filled my nose.  Not much had changed in that wooden construct over the last two and a half years.  Over there was the hook which I had attached the end of the knotted rope, using a binder ratchet to make sure that it was so tight that it didn’t have enough give as I walked along it, each knot striking my clit while the rough hemp sawed through my slit.  And there was the stack of hay bales where I had laid spread open, bound and sobbing, as my clit was struck over and over. The steel bucket that I had hung from my breasts and filled with water dangled from a hook.  Along one wall, leaning amidst a hundred other spare handles, was the bar that I had ridden in a makeshift attempt at an early “wooden pony”.  And of course the workbench sported a hundred different tools, half of which had been stuck up inside me at various points of my life.

I unbuttoned my shirt, the standard short sleeve western style blouse I like to wear when working around the farm.  Morning sunlight glinted through the upper windows and I worked my fingers downward.  It didn’t take long.  I checked my watch.  It was almost time.  Almost eight am.  I kicked off my boots and shucked out of my jeans.  The last thing I removed was my bra, finally standing naked in the barn, as bare as when I was brought into this world.

I picked up the plastic butterfly, a clitoral stimulator complete with straps that I slid up my legs until it settled gently at the top of my slit.  It was within a minute of being eight, so I tugged on the small black switch, twice, until the tiny motor within the plastic bug began rumbling at an exhaustive rate.  Each rotation of the slightly off balanced rotor moved the butterfly, translating that tremor from motor to bug to clit with unerring intensity.  I had to take a deep breath just to steady myself. 

While my hands were down there I tugged free the ben wa balls that were stuck in my pussy.  They had kept me soaked all morning, walking around, anticipating this.  I licked them clean and set them aside, my clitoris already moving me closer, much closer to an orgasm.  As my chest began heaving, I quickened my pace, not wanting to screw this up an more than I had to.

The alligator clamps came next, two vicious, metal toothed monstrosities that I could barely tolerate.  I pinched each one open, the first set back behind the gold hoop that pierced my right nipple (something that merely increased the amount of pain the clamp caused) and the other chewing on the more pointed tip of my left breast.  It felt as if shards of glass had been shoved through each nub, leaving me shuddering and gasping.  But I was already turned on, terribly aroused, and rather than sending me collapsing to the floor, the pain merely combined with the pleasure and became something else, something that has no name, something that I’m addicted too. 

With trembling fingers I pulled out the two half pound weights.  These were nothing more than two thin eye hooks, the back half a solid bold.  But each sported a series of thin metal washers held on with a nut.  The basic effect was simple.  The chain between my breasts, gently tugging down on the alligator clamps already crushing my nipples, was not enough, and I hooked the two weights to the chain.  They dangled far enough down that each nipple took the added weight individually, but additionally affected both sides.  The chain stretched oddly across my middle and I saw the tips of my breasts turning a dark purple.

I glanced down at my watch again.  It was time.  Thank God!  I tugged the massive black dildo out of my bag and looked at it.  It was twelve inches long and looked like a rocket ship with multiple stages.  Symmetrical bumps, which could have served as view ports for the imaginary crew were spaced evenly around the fuselage.  The tip was tapered but still wide, overly wide perhaps, for the mission it was intended to fly.  I stepped gingerly over to the hay bale, mostly because each step caused the weights dangling from my breasts to swing and the pain from that was like someone grabbing hold of each nipple while both pinching and twisting with all of their might.  I stood there for a moment, lost in the sensation, holding the giant dildo in one hand, contemplating how I should accomplish this.  Do I lay back, bringing my legs up, my hips rocking, to fuck myself that way?  Or should I straddle the small bale, the Core Driller dildo, all twelve inches of it, sticking straight up like one of Vlad the Impaler’s posts?

I sat down, and not on the Core Driller dildo.  Slowly, heart racing, I laid back.  I lifted my legs as I brought the black monstrosity down to the slit between my legs and I rubbed the tip back and forth through my labia.  I wished I could have rubbed it against my clit, but that was already getting enough attention from the butterfly.  My nipples throbbed.  The weights, spread so far apart on the chain, had fallen to opposite sides of my body, changing the manner in which my nipples were tugged.  Now they were pulled outward and the difference sent a much different agony through me.  A little of the weight was removed thanks to the chain across my middle, but it did little to affect the biting bitterness of those clamps.  The metal teeth were unusually cruel and viscious.

The first four inches of the rocket ship (or perhaps I should call it a submergible?) dove into the dark wet cavern of my sex, splitting the folds and flesh and penetrating slowly but deeply.  I was soaked, wet far beyond the teasing provided by the ben wa balls.  No, I was desperately wet, wet like a seventeen year old blond on her first date with the guy of her dreams, knowing she was about to get fucked for the… uh… eighth… yeah… eighth time.  I twisted my wrist.  I couldn’t feel the bumps but as I pushed the second stage widened, forcing my pussy to open even more.  It was thick, wider than a banana, wider than a cucumber.  I groaned as the first penetration took every fiber of my being.  I drove the Core Driller in half way, then pulled it out fast. 

My second thrust was no slow push.  It was a brutal, fast penetration that drove not only the first and second stages of my massive rubber cock into my sex, but half of the third.  My labia stretched wide around the four inch base, barely able to take it.  Without a moment’s rest, I pulled it out again and rammed it right back in.  I repeated this, twice, three time, maybe five or six, and then I was crying out loud, shuddering in orgasmic ecstasy, my body exploding around the implanted massive black shaft like an ore vein cracked with a miner’s dynamite.

Eventually time seemed to stop.  I lay there, looking up at the ceiling of the barn, the summer sunlight making beautiful patterns on the sloped underside of the roof.  I was barely conscious of my state, but it didn’t take long for the throbbing pain of my breasts to reassert itself.  But while my nipples hurt terribly, it was the brutal non-stop torment of my clitoris that seemed to reach into my core.  It didn’t cease, it didn’t wash away with the orgasmic euphoria I experienced.  It just went on and on. 

At first the clitoral vibrator feels wonderful.  It’s as if someone’s tongue is darting against that very sensitive spot, over and over.  But as you move from arousal to completion, your body becomes sensitized, the nerves reaching the limit of what they can tolerate.  Most girls would scream at this point, pushing away the tongue or vibrator, cringing and rolling away into a fetal position.  To be honest, a part of me longs to do this.  It has too.  But there is another part of me, the sick and dangerous part, that longs for that discomfort of constant rubbing.  As my nerves fray, splitting, and frying from prolonged sexual contact, I feel a tingling, then a burning sensation.  It splits, becoming one part electricity, one part, heat, and another part pressure.  My hips begin to move, and the pain coming from my clit is laced with sexual need, a sensation that I have never felt anywhere else in my body.  It’s as if agony and ecstasy are pre-mixed, a sort of quick “bake from a box” recipe that takes little to no preparation, just the endurance to get the box in the first place.

The Core Driller was half way out, coated with my juices, the base resting on the hay beneath me.  Stupidly, already feeling the itching pain between my legs from the butterfly I glanced at my watch.  Eight minutes.  I had cum in eight minutes.  I dropped my arm with a sigh and reached back down between my legs.  I grasped the dildo. My feet were on the barn floor on either side of the hay bale and the slightly different position made it much more difficult to push the massive rubber cock deep.  But I triumphed.  It wasn’t exactly a spectacular, violent thrust, destined to drive me over the edge.  It was more like a stuttering rocket ship coughing on an alien planet, resources low, with enough damage to make the plot arc desperate.  Can the ship regain orbit?

My wrist moved back and forth and I pumped, slowly increasing speed, letting the top two stages split and penetrate me, working my pussy with steadily deeper thrusts.  I didn’t count. It could have been twenty or maybe a hundred deep action violations of my honor, but between the sharp edges of each individual tooth on the alligator clamps, weighted to torment my nipples even more, not to mention the still purring, shaking, rubbing of the butterfly against my clit, I’m sure it won’t surprise anyone that I came again, a much deeper, more agonizing orgasm that left me breathless and weak.

When I had recovered, another glance at my watch told me that I had used up another fourteen minutes of my hour.  I sat up, arm aching, which should tell you how powerful the second orgasm was.  Of course seconds later the chapped raw burning between my legs exerted itself as the butterfly continued it’s unholy stimulation, pushing my tormented clit toward another orgasm. 

I know I’ve talked about the two types of orgasm girls experience, so hopefully you know the difference between a clitoral and vaginal orgasm.  But you also need to know that they aren’t mutually exclusive.  Sure, they can be totally separate, but they can also combine.  The clit can serve as a primer pump, working me up to a gut wrenching, body stiffening explosion if combined with the thrusting piston of a decent sized dildo.  So the orgasms I was experiencing had qualities of both clitoral and vaginal orgasms.  It sucked the energy out of me.

But I took a deep shuddering breath and instead of moving off, my hand grasped the thick dildo, holding it half way in my pussy as I stood.  Instead of lying back down on the hay bale, I straddled it, bending my knees.  I dropped down, and not slowly either.  I went down fast, keeping my hand between my legs just long enough to keep the Core Driller dildo embedded properly as I literally sat down.  My knees were splayed outward, my thighs stretched nicely.  And as my weight carried my buttocks all the way down to the firm surface of the compacted hay bale, twelve inches of firm, solid black, rubber drove upward through my body like a plow in a fallow field.  Sure, I was used to the width and length of the Core Driller, but not the full thing.  Remember, I was only using the top two stages for the second orgasm and really hadn’t buried the whole thing in there.  So suddenly getting a full twelve inches that rammed hard against my cervix and spread my labia wide was quite… difficult.

I thought my groan of desperation loud enough to alert my father, back in the house, as to what I was doing.  Wouldn’t that have been a problem?  But as soon as I bit my tongue I lifted up slightly.  Sure enough, the Core Driller began sliding out of me the moment it wasn’t mashed between the hay bale and my pelvis.  I let it.  As soon as it felt as if it was about to drop free, I reversed course and sank down once again, much more rapidly than I had risen.  I let out another terrible groan.  It’s one thing to hand fuck yourself, masturbating in short or long thrusts, controlling the depth of penetration and the speed with your own hand.  It’s another to let gravity, your own weight, and the size and thickness of your intended fuck tool to set the parameters of your masturbation.  

It took twice as long to drive myself in orgasmic bliss and by the end you should have seen me, bouncing on that foot long spike like a crazy living bug trying to join the collection of spiked and finished peers, each dead and open.  It didn’t help that each bounce was accompanied by significant movement of the weights dangling from my breasts and I was positive that my nipples were being torn and ripped.  But by the time I figured that out, it was too late and I was in the midst of a third orgasm that gobsmacked me so hard I ended up falling over, twitching in the dust, curled into a fetal ball, somewhere between crying and gasping.

The aftermath of my third explosion wasn’t as powerful as the first two, mostly because like any drug, shots of adrenaline and dopamine don’t really have as much effect when you’ve already flooded your veins with that shit.  So I rolled over, one leg still draped over the bale of hay, the bare foot twitching.  My dildo was on the floor, sitting in a pool of my cum, a few stray stalks of alfalfa clinging to its wet surface. I glanced at my watch.  Ten minutes to go.  

I didn’t feel like masturbating again.  My clit hurt.  My nipples hurt.   Hell, even my pussy hurt.  But I struggled to my feet and grabbed the dildo.  I brushed it off and went back to the hay bale, resigned and trembling.  I dropped down on the rectangular bale and propped one leg upward as I lay on my side.  The weight on my right breast rested on the bale itself, the other half way down my stomach, still pulling tightly and agonizingly against my clamped nipple.  I didn’t see any blood an frankly, that surprised me.  Guess my nips are more tough than I realized, right?

I slipped the dildo into my pussy from the front, groaning as it penetrated.  I felt bruised, taken, spilt, and having that twelve inch monster going back in was not something I wanted.  My clit started burning again, overwriting my brain’s attempt to block out the over-stimulation.  I bit my lip, my breath going shallow as I shook.  Slow and steady thrusts of just the first stage primed me as each second ticked.  I knew I only had ten – now nine – minutes left until I could stop, until I could take off the cruel alligator clamps; until I could take off the damned butterfly vibrator on my clit.  I was desperate for that to happen and I tried to close my eyes and take light breaths, minimizing movements that would translate to my breasts from the weights swinging. 

Five minutes passed with non-stop thrusting, vibrating, and hurting.  My pussy was tight around the Core Driller, but it wasn’t ready to cum, not by a long shot.  My clit felt as if someone had poured acid on it.  I glanced at my watch.  One more minute then I could stop!

But there was a twinge deep inside me.  Call it guilt.  Call it desire.  Call it stupidity.  But I couldn’t help feeling a bit uneasy.  What would Master Barrett say if he knew that I had gone easy on myself that last ten minutes.  What would he say knowing that I had only cum three times, unwilling to push myself, to really hurt myself while working for the fourth orgasm.  Would he be understanding?  It wasn’t like he had given me any assignments for ages.  I was weak, unused to this sort of abuse.  Would he understand?  Or would a worse punishment await me?  Part of me wanted that punishment.  But a different part of me didn’t want to fail him. I wanted him to be proud of me, to praise me for accepting my role, my position, my purpose.  I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut and I’m here to be hurt and fucked and to cum on command.  I’m here to suck cock and take it up the ass if that’s what my betters want.  I’m here to be humiliated, to be stripped naked and punished wherever and whenever my masters and mistresses think I deserve it.  And it’s not my place to object.

I struggled to a sitting position.  The Core Driller went deep and I groaned.  But this time I moved my hand away.  I began rocking my hips, the heavy weights swinging back and forth, striking my ribs before swaying out over my groin.  I brought my heels upward toward my sex, settling in a butterfly pose, knees bent outward, inner thighs exposed, the soles of my bare feet touching.  I rocked, working the dildo through me and then I pressed my hand against the butterfly, adding pressure and even more movement against my clit.  I hunched over, my upper body powering the movement as the Core Driller slid inside me.  It wasn’t much, two or three inches, while the majority of the massive rocket ship remained fully embedded, punching hard against my cervix.  Two minutes past the hour went, then four, then eight.  Tears poured down my cheek.

I like cooking.  Do you cook?  I’m a pretty good cook and I love mixing ingredients together, the wet and the dry, stirring and swirling the mix until I’ve created something delicious and amazing from disparate parts.  Do you know what that’s like?  For example, one evening last week I mixed grilled chicken, fresh green onion, cream cheese and sour cream, placed a spoonful of the mixture into crescent roll dough, and made chicken onion and cheese turnovers.  I dumped half a cucumber into a blender with a cup of Greek yogurt, some olive oil, and salt.  Served with mashed potatoes and green beans with a few slices of uncooked cucumber for garnish, and you’ve got a meal to remember.

That final orgasm was like cooking that meal.  Here’s the recipe I used:

1 raw, fresh, incredibly ripe, tender nympho humiliation pain slut (pre-used if possible)

2 metal toothed, highly painful alligator clamps

2 half pound weights

1 over powered clitoral vibrator

1 twelve inch multi-staged, overly thick, black rubber dildo.

Prep the nympho humiliation pain slut with orgasm denial and then multiple painful orgasms in whatever manner you so choose.  Clip the alligator clamps to her nipples for at LEAST an hour before the orgasm you are trying to force her to achieve.  Add the weights to the clamps so that it increases the pain by double.  Place the clitoral vibrator on her clit and turn it to maximum.  Leave it on for a complete hour until the final orgasm takes place.  For no reason should you let her remove it or turn it down or off.   Lastly ram as hard and as fast as you can, a twelve inch rubber dildo through her pussy, with special care to make it hurt as much as possible.  If done properly these various ingredients will melt and create a massive orgasm that will literally turn your nympho humiliation pain slut in a blubbering, bawling, pile of orgasmic jelly suitable for nothing except more torment.

I was there.  I felt it melt.  The various ingredients came together and there was that magical moment of fusion, where everything combined and became more than the sum of their parts.  The pain transmuted inside me, mixing with the forced pleasure, the sensitivity of my clit, the bruised feeling of my labia and cervix.  My aching back, my straining thighs, all of it merged, percolating together into a sort of nirvana that blasted through me.  I screamed as that last orgasm hit, blowing me to smithereens and I fell backward, twitching and crying and locking my thighs around the damn Core Driller dildo as my ass and hips jerked wildly in release.

It took me a while to struggle back to awareness.  Everything had been on autopilot for two or three minutes.  The first thing I did was turn off the butterfly vibrator.  My clit couldn’t tell it was off for a moment but by the time I managed to pinch off the alligator clamps, the resulting rush of blood into the tip of my breasts sending me once more into the depths of sharp agony, my clitoris had started to breath a little easier.  I lay there, gasping, trying to recover. 

Finally I rolled to my feet.  The Core Driller dildo had fallen out and was lying on the ground.  I stumbled across the barn floor to my clothes.  Carefully, as if I were a million years old or just finished with a torture session leaving me a crumpled shadow of the woman I was, I picked up my shirt, boots, jeans, and underclothes.  I teetered back to the hay bale and began dressing.

I started with my bra, but quickly discarded it.  My nipples were too sore.  I couldn’t stand the material pressing against them. I put on the shirt, leaving most of the buttons loose.  My panties were tugged up my legs to settle quietly over the butterfly vibrator and my sex.  The wetness between my legs instantly dampened the material, leaving me sticky and uncomfortable.  I pushed one bare foot through my jeans, then the other, but as I drew the heavy denim upward, I realized that there was one more way I could make Master Barrett happy with me.  My head dipped down and I pressed my lips together.   Why oh why had I thought that?  

I reached down and picked up the dirty dildo.  It was still wet and shiny in some spots, dry in others, scented with my juices.  I brushed it off and then pulled my panties back down.  Slowly, ever so slowly, wincing with every inch, I pushed it back up inside me.  My pussy protested, aching and hurting as it was once more split, muscles shoved aside as I screwed myself deep.  I tugged up the panties, then the jeans, letting the tightness of my pants hold in the massive cock.  I pulled my socks and boots back on and stood, just a little off kilter from the full foot of rubber embedded between my legs.  I tucked the alligator clamps in my pocket.  I grabbed the weights too.

I took a trembling step, then another, and I knew that I had probably made Master Barrett happy with me.  But I also knew one more thing.  It wouldn’t be an hour from now, or even two, but later that day something was going to happen.  I could tell.  The Core Driller was inside me, slowly working at me, tenderizing the first ingredient of that recipe, the nympho humiliation pain slut.  And if we were going to make another “Fourth Orgasm Overload”, then I’d need to turn on the butterfly vibrator again, and clamp my breasts with the alligator clamps, and even weight them.

But you know what?  I’m a good cook.  Even when I’m the dish.

Enjoy the meal.

Breanne –

So anyway how can you help? Well on Thursday at 8 am (your time) I want you to take your butterfly, core driller and a pair of alligator clamps with 1/2 lb weights for your nipples out to your barn. Clamp your nipples, position the butterfly over your clit (on high naturally) and fuck yourself senseless for a hour non stop with the core driller. You should be able to cum at least 5 times if you don't slack off.  – Master Barrett

Breanne Erickson is the author of the critically acclaimed "Society of the Golden Rose" as well as the wildly popular "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" Series.  Available in both Nook and Kindle formats, check out Breanne Erickson and get your fill of her incredible sexual adventures!  

Low, Medium, and High

5/18/2012

            I was already buzzing and had been for most of the morning.  My triple vibroballs, a trio of small, egg shaped, plastic encased motors were rumbling inside me, on their lowest setting, clattering and rattling against each other as they stimulated my insides driving me toward orgasm.  In fact, I’d already had one around seven thirty and I’m sure the sight of me frozen in orgasmic ecstasy, one hand clutching a bucket of goat feed while the other held on to the fence and kept me from falling over, was no doubt a pretty sight.  Of course, I was dressed in blue jeans and a tee shirt, complete with a straw cowboy hat and leather boots.

           

            But that changed after breakfast. The wardrobe.  Not the buzzing.  I had climbed up into my truck after telling my parents I had a few errands to run, being rather vague on my intended destination.  Once I had turned off the main drive from our house to the farm to market road that runs just south of our farm, I found my convenient shoulder, pulled over into the gravel, and hopped out with my bag.

            I laid out the khaki shorts, the purple thong, and the white cut off tee shirt on the hood of the truck, but that wasn’t all.  Next to the clothing I set my purple butterfly clitoral stimulator.  It’s nothing more than a plastic vibrator shaped like a monarch butterfly, complete with straps that wrap around my hips and thighs.  Then I pulled out my old vibroballs, a double set with only two bullets.  The triple vibroballs were still inside me, gently purring.  Lastly, I set a series of eight black beads on a long plastic string on the hood.  These were my vibrating anal beads and not my favorite toy. 

            In the bright sunlight of an early Texas morning, I stripped down to the skin, folding my jeans, the tee shirt, and panties and setting them in a pile next to the assembled outfit.  I was shivering.  Not from cold, but from exposure.  This was going to be the longest I had ever been required to stand naked in the open, the risk of some driver zipping by and seeing me doubled or even tripled.  It’s not like the Farm to Market road isn’t EVER travelled.  It’s just INFREQUENTLY traveled.  That’s a big difference.  Sure, I’ve driven down the whole length and never seen another car.  And then there have been times I’ve seen convoys of them, stuck behind a tractor, with no decent way to pass. 

            So I hurried, or I hurried as much as I could.  I snatched up the anal beads and quickly lubricated them with a combination of pussy juice and the help of a small bottle of grapeseed oil I keep in my purse.  Then I propped one leg up on the front bumper, reached behind me, and began shoving marble sized beads into my rear.  This is not as easy as it sounds and even in private takes me a good three or four minutes.  Admittedly, I finished quicker, willing to take greater discomfort from behind in order to reduce my vulnerability.  I kept glancing back over my shoulder to the hill behind me, where my only warning would be about two seconds of roaring engine before my entire backside was in plain view.  I could already see back down the other way, where I would have a good twelve or fifteen seconds to prepare for exposure.

            But I managed to get the anal beads in deep and correctly and I snatched the butterfly vibrator off the hood and quickly stepped into it.  The gravel hurt the soles of my feet and I had stupidly forgot to bring my flip flops with me.  I thrust one leg through the straps, then the other, and I pulled the little insect shaped toy up and over my slit until it settled like a bee collecting pollen on the little nodule protruding just above my flower.  The moment I got this in place, I grabbed the khaki shorts and tugged them up my legs, concealing my nakedness, or at least part of it, along with the three sex toys, one of which was already buzzing.  I buckled the belt that was already stuck through the loops and then I strung the remotes to the triple vibroballs and the vibrating anal beads through the belt so they dangled at my hip.

            You’re probably wondering why I hadn’t done anything with the double vibroballs, right?  Well that was next.  Remember, I hadn’t put on the white cut-off tee shirt yet.  I plucked the spool of first aid adhesive tape out of my jeans pocket and quickly tore off two strips, both four inches long.  I grabbed one of the double vibroball bullets and held it to my left breast so that it was pressed squarely against my nipple.  Then I taped it in place.  I tore another two pieces of tape off and just as I was about to tape the second vibrating bullet to my other breast, the roar of an engine sounded and I glanced over my shoulder to see a dooley hurtle over the hill.

           

            My naked back was too it and I swallowed hard.  This was what being a nympho humiliation pain slut means.  The urge to cover myself, to clamp my arms across my chest, was the strongest instinct to counter.  Instead I continued as the truck blasted past me.  But I could see the red glare of brake lights and I finished taping the vibroballs bullet to my right nipple.  The truck began backing up, the high pitched hum of the engine seeming to match the purr of the triple vibroballs inside me.  I plucked my shirt off the hood as the truck stopped opposite from me and I glanced over to see a dark skinned man in his late forties.

            “You doing all right, miss?” he asked, his eyes wide and locked on my breasts.  I turned and faced him, giving him an even better view as I shook out the shirt.

            “Oh yeah!  Thanks for checking on me! I’m doing great.  Just getting dressed!” I said brightly, hoping my positive attitude would conceal the fact that I was shaking like a leaf and that my pussy was trembling and squeezing the triple vibroballs in sexual desperation.  What can I say?  Humiliation turns me on.

            “What’s them things you’ve got on your chest?” he asked while I stuck my arms into the tee shirt.  I pulled it over my head and the white material fell downward, covering my tits, but only just barely.  The cotton was cut off just an inch below and the white expanse of my midriff was in full view.  So was the bottom edge of the padlock that dangled from my nipple piercing on the right side.  Oh, and there were two huge bumps pushing out on the front of the shirt.  Talk about obvious.

            I smiled, trying not to cringe or turn away.  “Those are vibrating bullets sir.”

            “Bullets, huh?” he looked at me suspiciously, but with still apparent appreciation.  I plucked the remote from the hood of the truck and held it up. 

            “See?  If I turn this up they vibrate!” I demonstrated and felt an immediate tingle at the tips of my breasts.  It combined with the buzzing between my legs and I realized that I was in all likelihood going to cum BEFORE getting to the mall.  Master Mark would not be pleased.

            “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered.  “Feel good?”

            I nodded stupidly.  He stared at me some more, no doubt wishing my shirt would come up again, or maybe my shorts would go down.  I thumbed the double vibroballs down and off, leaving my nipples in peace.  I was already harboring dark thoughts about going to his window, giving him the remote to the vibroballs, opening the door, and sucking his cock until he popped.  But I knew that came from being horny, and not from an part of the assignment I was on.  I took a deep breath.  Control, Breanne.  Control!

 
This tale is no longer available on the blog and can be found in Breanne Erickson's e-book anthology "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 6"

Don't forget to visit the "BreanneApedia" for all things Breanne Erickson related!

 Breanne Erickson is the author of the wildly popular "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" series as well as the controversial and highly rated BDSM novel, "The Society of the Golden Rose".  Check out her work at our website and dive into the amazing world of Breanne Erickson!

The Society of the Golden Rose - Review

Evidently, LaCrimsonFemme wasn't the only one to read and review Breanne's "The Society of the Golden Rose!"  Winning 5 out of 5 paddles, Star from BDSM Book Reviews gives Breanne her due in this amazing review.  Be sure to check out what other people think of Breanne Erickson!

"This is a heavy BDSM story that will titillate, disgust, arouse, and anger a lot of readers.  Be ready to run through a multitude of emotions and look into your own heart as you read The Society of the Golden Rose." - Star, BDSM BOOK REVIEWS

La Crimson Femme Reviews Breanne's "Society of the Golden Rose"

If you haven't had an opportunity to explore Book Addict's blog "La Crimson Femme", you should definitely head over in that direction.  A voracious reader of all things erotic, Book Addict reads and reviews more erotica in a month then most people read in a year.  Recently she tackled Breanne's "Society of the Golden Rose" and had some amazing things to say about it.  We keep a permanent link to "La Crimson Femme" in the "Interesting Blogs" sidebar, but click on the link and check out her blog. 

Full Bore

            Usually, my various doms and dommes rarely meet.  For example, Julie and Kari have never met, despite the fact they are very aware of each other.  Their personalities, their demeanor, all of it is too different and their shared commonality – the desire and wish to abuse, hurt, and fuck me – isn’t really enough to bring a twenty seven year old interior designer with champagne tastes and a twenty year old punk goth chick who is all beer and vodka, to come together.

            Of course, just as odd was the day that Kari asked me for Mike’s number.  Mike is my hardware guy and is usually the guy I go to when one of my assignments requires something to be built or constructed, or if I’m just looking for a decent screw.

            Like a metal screw.  Geesh.  Perverts.  Oh wait… maybe you know what I like to do with big metal screws. 

*Blush*

            Anyway I gave her Mike’s number, no questions asked.  You never tell the person who holds the leash, the whip, and an insane number of rather painful clamps, no.  At least I try not to.  I suppose every once in a while it sort of slips out.  Then the word that follows is “owwwww”.  Followed by “sorry!” 

           

            Life proceeded normally after that for two or three weeks, only to be interrupted by Kari requesting that I join her and Robert at her condo for a Saturday afternoon.  I readily agreed, mostly because I hadn’t had a really good sex session in a while and I REALLY wanted one.  The idea of getting to fuck Robert, even if it meant torturing him in another milking session, made me even wetter than normal.  So I packed everything up and headed over to Kari’s place.

            I parked in front of her condo, behind a large flatbed pickup and I admit I was just a tad bit curious.  Robert drives an SUV, while Kari has a convertible.  I ended up deciding that the truck belonged to someone else further down the street.  It was a little after one o’clock and once again I admired the landscaping.  I knew that Kari had “helped”, choosing which plants and how things were to be trimmed, but I also knew that Kari hadn’t picked up a single pair of shears or a rake or even a trowel.  A landscaping company had done all the work, but even then I still had to pause momentarily to appreciate the kaleidoscope of greens and flowering plants.  It was impressive, especially the giant white oleander that sat just to the side of the front porch entry and actually blocked the street’s view of the door. I liked the oleander too because one of Kari’s basic requirements for every single one of my visits was that arrive at the doorstep naked.

            I was dressed in khaki shorts along with an old tee shirt.  No bra or panties of course.  I stopped in the shadows in front of the door and began stripping.  The weather had turned warmer weeks ago, proving once again that southern Texas’ winter was exactly four days long.  The heady scent of the oleander blossoms filled the air and I shuffled out of my flip flops and quickly peeled myself out of the shorts and tee shirt.  I wasn’t worried about NHPS Rule #1 because I was wearing my ben wa balls, a set of spheres the size of pigeon eggs that even at that point were keeping me rather wet between the legs.  Satisfied, I stuffed everything in my bag and knocked sharply on the door.

            Historically, Robert answers the door at Kari’s place, unless of course it’s a meeting of the Society of the Golden Rose, and then usually it’s me.  The one consistency is that whoever answers the door, almost without fail, is naked as a mole rat.  So you can imagine my surprise when I saw Robert barefoot, in blue jeans and a tee shirt, grinning at me with obvious appreciation.

            I blinked. “You’re dressed!” I said stupidly.

           

            Robert laughed.  “You’re not.”

            I looked down at myself, as if this was new information.  I gave him a grumpy frown.  “How come you’re dressed?”

            He shrugged.  “We’ve got company over.”

            That alarmed me.  “Should I come back later?” I asked with concern.  Robert just grinned and shook his head.  His large hand reached out and grabbed hold of the tiny padlock which dangled from the golden hoop piercing my right nipple.  I let out a little squeal as he pulled me in to the cool interior and then he let me go as soon as I was clear of the door.

            When you enter Kari’s condo, the dining room is to your immediate right and the living room, complete with fireplace, television set, sofa, love seat, and recliner, is to your left.  I wasn’t surprised to see the shining blond locks of my favorite dominatrix, her back to me, sitting on the sofa.  What surprised me was seeing Mike the Hardware Guy sitting across from her on the recliner.  Guests indeed.  There is nothing more frightening for a submissive girl with a bent for masochism than to see two of her regular tormentors together.

            “Hey Bre!” Mike said with a delighted grin.  Kari didn’t bother to turn and greet me.  I licked my lips and waved, in humiliated chagrin.  Oh joy.  TWO dominants in one room.  I glanced over at Robert who was still smiling.  I put down my bag and circled around the end table and with a polite nod at Mike, knelt in front of Kari.

            She was dressed comfortably in a sweat suit, the kind that you spend seventy or eighty bucks for and was a combination of pink and gray.  She too was barefoot, her delicate boned feet peeking out from where her legs were curled up under her.  Her toe nails were painted a delicate shade of deep pink.  I choked down the urge to kiss her feet and instead assumed the classic subservient position; thighs parted wide to show off my shaved slit, fingers interlaced behind my head, eyes down, and my back arched slightly to present my breasts.

            Kari stared at me for a while and then she looked at Robert.  “Please take her to the room and prepare her.  Let us know when she’s ready.”

            That sort of surprised me too.  I felt Robert’s finger curl through my hair and I rose even as he pulled me upward, a small tinge of pain in my scalp.  I knew which way to go, but Robert pushed me forward anyway and I skirted the sofa and padded down the back hallway to the very first bedroom.  It wasn’t a bedroom any longer though and hadn’t been since Kari bought the place.  Kari had converted it into a full fledged dungeon, complete with St. Andrew’s Cross, a wooden horse, a metal framed “I” bench, stocks and now, in the very center of the room, something new.

            I took a moment to examine it.  First of all, it was readily apparent that it was a stool of some sort.  Except instead of a classic seat in which to put your ass, there was merely a circular frame; certainly serviceable at supporting someone’s weight, albeit uncomfortably, all while leaving certain portions of their anatomy completely exposed.  This feature was no doubt necessary due to the extremely large phallic probes sticking up from a black painted metal box which sat directly underneath the stool.  The metal cover had two holes from which the posts rose directly out of and I could see the electrical cord spooled along the side. 

            Robert stepped over to the small closet and opened it, extracting a bottle.  I frowned again, noticing that he had quite deliberately chosen a bottle of my Stinging O.  I watched in stony silence as he liberally doused both rubber dildos with the spicy lubricant.  On further examination, I noticed that one of the probes was smaller, though not by much, and clearly intended for my ass.  Robert finished the lubricant coat and turned, wiping his finger across my left nipple.  Almost immediately I felt the tingly sensation of the cinnamon, pepper and grapeseed oil mixture begin to work its chemical magic on my nerves and I took a deep breath. 

            “Need you to sit down,” Robert said, motioning toward the stool.  I gave him another glare, but turned around and straddled the odd shaped furniture.  Robert reached between my legs and I gave a slight gasp as his fingers spread my petals and dug into my wetness.  I felt him snag and pull on the ben wa balls, extracting them with dexterity.  He tossed them aside and I lowered myself down with Robert’s hands on my hips.  The first phallus to touch me was the vaginal probe and I slid it through my labia with a hip rocking movement that made sure as much of the Stinging O oil coated my thick folds as possible.  Before I felt more than a twinge though, there was another sensation coming from deeper underneath me and Robert’s hands applied more pressure. I gasped as the anal probe began penetrating, followed a second later by a burning sensation from my pussy.

            Then everything happened at once.  The thick vaginal dildo slipped upward through my insides, while Robert pushed down, making sure that the anal phallus dug in deep as well.  My pussy burned with need even as my rear end started to pucker from the stinging oil.  My thighs jumped wildly as I finally was able to put my entire weight down on the stool, the metal circle digging into my buttocks and thighs uncomfortably. 

            Fully settled, I realized that only two to three inches of both dildos had penetrated into my body.  Robert began strapping me down.  Thick bands of Velcro went around my thighs down to my knees and I knew the only way I was getting off the stool was with help.  This was then followed by Robert bringing a thick metal chain along with a set of leather bondage cuffs out of the closet.  Carabineer hooks on the both ends of the chain meant easy restraint as Robert clipped one end to an eyehook embedded in the ceiling and the other through the metal hoops on my cuff.  I wasn’t pulled tight though.  Robert hadn’t secured my arms upward past my ears, so it was clear that I wasn’t going to be pulling myself upward to get off the stool either. 

            I figured I was done.  But then Robert pulled my feet upward and secured my ankles with two more straps as well, making the soles just as available as the rest of me. I sat there, totally unable to move, my body bound to the metal monstrosity.  I knew damn well what was happening. It was a fucking machine, a double one.  No doubt built by Mike the Hardware Guy to Kari’s demanding specifications.  I knew I was going to get fucked.  Seriously fucked.  And it was all going to happen by a machine that could last practically forever, that didn’t care if I came or not, and would continue fucking me until someone else made it stop.

            Robert went behind the St. Andrew’s cross and brought out the small rolling cart and I suddenly realized that things were much much worse than I had previously thought.  I knew now what we were doing.  It was an assignment!  I had received it two or three weeks previously from one of my online doms, H, who had wanted me double fucked and shocked to oblivion.  Robert wheeled the TENS Unit over and quickly wired three scissor clamps to the machine.

           

            Robert isn’t normally sadistic, but I’ve always felt deep in my heart that he ENJOYS seeing me hurt and abused like this.  He’s not one of those people like Kari and Mike who not only need to see it done, but want to do it themselves.  But Robert took an almost savage pleasure of picking up each clamp and applying it with agonizing pressure to the most delicate parts of my body; namely my nipples and clit.  Pain burgeoned through me and I tried rocking on the stool.  I moved less than a centimeter.  Then he left.

            A few moments later Mike came in.  He stared down at me with a lustful gleam in his eye and he quickly plugged in the device.  A flick of his thumb beneath me caused a sudden hum and there was movement between my legs.  I groaned loudly as the vaginal probe slid out of my pussy almost completely, while the anal dildo drove upward, spearing me painfully.  Then they changed position.  The pussy dildo slid skyward, thrusting up through my split folds, even as the probe in my ass came almost fully out.  Then it went back to being stuffed in my rear, and almost empty up front.  Mike bent down and fiddled with something and suddenly the in and out pistoning went from a slow brutal fucking to a fast one. My entire body seemed to jerk in response to the now savage bashing my nether regions were getting.  I gasped in astonishment.  It wasn’t just that I was getting fucked.  Oh no.  As H had required in his assignment, I was being double fucked at “full bore”. 

            I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that they were working on one motor, no doubt with the posts mounted on a wheel so they could go in and out in perfect synchronization.  To be honest, the combination of Stinging O and repeated fucking, not to mention the amazing bondage, drove me toward orgasm faster than you’d think.  Remember, I was already horny thanks to the ben wa balls, and had been that way all day.  Add in the public stripping on the doorstep, the humiliation of finding Mike here, then being impaled, bound, stung, and clamped, I’m sure it’s not that big of a surprise to find that I was close enough to the edge that my first orgasm came within minutes.

            And Mike turned on the TENS Unit and fried me.

            Admittedly, it was the lowest setting, right around the 3 to 10 hertz setting, but Mike cranked up the pulse width, frying me for an extended period.  As I struggled to cope with the added fun of being shocked the dildos pounded at high speed in my pussy and ass.  The stool literally shook as I was pistoned.  I found out from Mike later that the motor setting was around a hundred twenty rotations per minute, which meant that I endured to thrusts to both my ass and pussy every damn second.  Mike also admitted that he could have gone up higher, but was worried about actually damaging me.

            After my toe curling orgasm, I broke out into a sweat.  The full bore pounding that I was receiving between my legs didn’t quite hurt, but it didn’t feel “good” either.  It was a mixture of “oh my god, yes!” and “fuck no!”  I’m still not sure.  It wasn’t like anything I had ever felt.  I can tell you this – I didn’t spend a lot of down time between orgasm number one and orgasm number two.  It wasn’t quite a multiple orgasm.  They were quite separate.  But I think even Mike was surprised at how quick it went. 

            My eyes glassed over as the orgasm hit and the rush of endorphins and adrenaline and dopamine exploded through my blood stream and sent my brain into pleasure overload.  I was off in dreamland when Mike hit me again with the electricity, sending the equivalent of shards of glass piercing my nipples and clit.  It seemed to hurt way more than the first time and while I screamed and shook, I spied his hand on the TENS Unit controls, jacking with both the intensity and duration settings. 

            When I was done with the excruciating shock, my bottom lip was trembling and I had a hard time breathing thanks to the racking sobs that shook my body.  I hung in the chains, trying to bend over, my entire upper half supported from the eyehook.  My hair hung limply over my eyes and tears fell down to splatter the black metal box.  They mixed with other fluids that had been dripping out of me and in a rush the pounding between my legs came back to the forefront of my mind, beating my pussy and ass black and blue.

            Yes.  I mean that.  I have the bruises.  My labia have dark blue streaks and the surrounding flesh looks like someone took a baseball bat to me.  And not fuck either.  I look like I was beaten with it.  But that’s what was wanted, right?  Me bruised and fucked at full bore?

            Mike moved around me and I felt his fingers lightly stroking the soles of my feet.  It felt good, but I was unable to really appreciate it thanks to the bestial stabbing of the rubber dildos which were still moving through my innards like a troop of football players running for a goal.  I wish I HAD been able to enjoy the delicate touch of his fingers on my feet, because the next time he touched me there, it was with a Wartenberg wheel and the sharp metal spikes dug into the soles of my feet with a cruelty that had me trying to jerk my feet away.

            I cried out of course.  He didn’t draw blood, but it was close.  Mike rolled the wheel around the edges of my sole, across the sensitive arch, over the fleshy pads of my toes, and then up my leg, over my ass, and down the back of my other thigh to do it all over again.  And why?  To torment me while the pounding between my legs built up another orgasm.

            By the time that happened though, he was holding my big toe with one hand, forcing my little toes apart, and was running the pinwheel through the highly sensitive and soft parts between.  It was agonizing.  He did it just hard enough to make me squeal, and to be honest, I think he was caught by surprise when I started squirting juice downward around the dildos, crying out in orgasmic overload.

            Then I stiffened, my voice fading out into a teeth clenched screech that filled the room with a high pitched tone.   My upper body thrashed in agony as the electricity flowed.  With more power and for a longer duration, I felt as if I were on fire for minutes.  Admittedly, it made the compressive strain between my legs fade into something unrecognizable, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt either.  I felt stretched, pulled in ways I was never meant to go.

            Then the electricity stopped.  I sagged in my bonds, limp and exhausted.  I no longer felt the tension of the impetus of the dildos.  They merely moved in and out.  As I let every ounce of tightness fade I became soft putty, my body reacting like gelatin to the giant forceful intruders of hard cast rubber.  All I could think of was what it might be like to cum again.  I didn’t want too.  Every time I had cum Mike had turned up the TENS Unit and had fried me longer.  I closed my eyes.  Time seemed to crawl and the only way I could measure its passing was the gentle and steady increase in my desperation, in my need, in my want and desire. 

            I felt Mike’s finger cup my face, lifting my chin, brushing the hair out of my eyes. 

            “Breanne?  Honey, you only have to stay on it an hour.  We’re done sweetheart,” he said.  He reached for the controls beneath me and I croaked, trying to get the words out.  He paused and the dildos jacked through me, non-stop. I swallowed, trying to find the strength to say what needed to be said.

            “What is it sweetheart?” he asked gently.

            I licked my cracked lips.  “Not yet,” I whispered.

            Mike looked uncomfortable.  “One more orgasm,” I muttered.

            He frowned.  “But, if you cum again, I’ll have to shock you,” he said.

            I nodded.  I know.

            The pounding between my legs continued and so did I, closer and closer to that final orgasm.  One hour and twenty three minutes of non-stop, crotch bruising, fucking, at full bore.  And as I tightened, crying out, Mike turned the TENS Unit back on, timed with my orgasm, rather than after it.  I exploded in ecstasy and agony, my teeth tightly together, my entire body quivering in sensation that goes beyond description and can only be experienced and endured.

            I wasn’t really aware of things after that.  Mike turned off the TENS Unit and the full bore penetrator.  I was released from the stool, from the chain, and Robert came and carried me into the living room, depositing me on the couch.  Kari inspected my loins, announcing that not only was I undamaged, but ready for more.  Mike and Robert both undressed and I laid there practically unconscious while Mike shoved his cock into my super loose and wet hole and Robert tried to skull fuck me.  I didn’t respond.  I had nothing left.

            It didn’t stop them from leaving goo all over my body though.

            Mike won an entire day with me next week for his assistance.  Robert won an excruciating sixteen hour milking that tied his record for most number of orgasms in one day.  I think we would have gotten him to the next level if his cock had held up better.

            Me?  I’m alright.  For the most part.  I’m still sore down there.  It’s not fun to go to the bathroom let me tell you.  And I feel like I’ve been kicked between the legs, repeatedly, which sucks because if I’m going to feel like that, I’d have at least liked to have been actually KICKED between the legs.  Of course Kari has also taken advantage of my soreness to keep me even more off center, and in more pain.  That’s why I’ve got the Core Driller dildo stuffed in my cunt and the four inch vibrating butt plug in my ass.  Nothing helps a bruise heal than stretching and abusing it, right?

            Because that’s how I do things. 

            Full Bore.

If you enjoyed "Full Bore" there's tons more!  Breanne Erickson is the author of  the "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" series available in e-book format from both Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.  Check out some of her free stories at her website!

If The Shoe Fits, Fuck It

            It was already a hot day with an expected high near or at ninety degrees.  At ten am, it was just approaching eighty five and already I was feeling a bit sticky.  Some of that wasn’t exactly due to the temperature, but that probably doesn’t surprise you.  I shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, wishing I hadn’t put on the damn high heels until AFTER I had arrived at the shoe store.

            I was dressed appropriately.  Appropriately for a nympho humiliation pain slut though.  The halter top I was wearing was thin cotton, bright red, and the outline of my left nipple was not just readily apparent, but was exact in every way.  I might as well just poured paint over my chest.   The right breast was even worse.  Not only was the small bump of my nipple tightly molded by the cloth, so was the gold metal hoop piercing it, not to mention the small charm sized padlock that dangled down.  Talk about conversation starters.

From the waist down I was just as tightly wrapped.  A narrow band of black material, no longer than five and a half inches from the waistband to the hem, tried, pitifully, to hide my slit from view.  As it was, sitting down, the bright purple semi-transparent mesh of the thong I was wearing was completely visible, and the puffy and glossy petals of my sex were just as apparent. 

I was also following nympho humiliation pain slut Rule #1, which states quite simply that I am not allowed to have my pussy empty at any time.  Sure, a cock is the most desirable object that my betters wish to have inside me, but failing my being mounted to a table at a bar while gang banged, I usually have to settle for some sex toy.  In my case, my triple vibroballs, three plastic oval shaped vibrators were quite happily nestled deep inside me.  They were off of course, but that would soon change.  In addition to the vibroballs, my bottom was following Rule #1 too.  Eight black beads, each connected with a thick latex covered wire and containing a micro-motor, had been stuffed up my ass. These too were off, but I still felt the thick, full sensation that I absolutely hated.

            I pulled up and put the truck in park.  Things were still quiet, not very busy, and the shoe store had opened only minutes before.  I glanced around to take stock and realized that waiting only made it more likely that I’d be spotted.  My hand dug through my large bag and extracted the small bottle of oil.  With a delicate finger, I slipped my thong slightly aside, extracting a good portion of the tiny sliver of material out of my wet pussy and exposing my clit and labia.  The wire to the vibroballs was just as easy to move around and as my finger grazed my clitoris, I moaned softly.  I was terribly turned on.  Unimaginably so.  I popped the top of the oil bottle off with a snap and then poured a liberal amount onto my clit.  An extended finger spread the oil mixture around and in seconds I felt the cool tingle of the Stinging O begin its burning interaction with my nervous system.

            I didn’t bother putting my thong back in place, leaving it to the side of my protruding petals.  Instead, I reached up to my halter top and tugged downward, allowing both breasts to pop free.  Supported by the stretch cotton, I dabbed more oil on the nipples, allowing my bosom to join my pussy on the chemically enhanced torment train.  The tingle set my libido humming though and leaving my breasts hanging out, I dug through my bag a second time.

            It’s a love hate relationship I have with the alligator clamps.  The first two are a set, small metal toothed electrician’s clamps that have been slightly altered (reducing the bite to something tolerable and less likely to make me bleed) that are connected by a silver chain.  I’ve almost gotten used to wearing these cruel pincers and you’d think I’d be more enthusiastic about putting them on.  But as usual, I had to force myself, cupping my left breast first, pinching open the clamp, my eyes locked on the semi-sharp metal teeth, watching as I slowly allowed the jaws to clamp down on the extended nipple, biting, chewing, tearing into my flesh with a sharp sliver of pain.

            The other breast was harder.  I had to put the clamp on my nipple behind the piercing, an unpleasant prospect that made the right side of my chest throb painfully, out of proportion with my left side.  Then came the jumbo alligator clamp, a single shark like clamp, twice the size of the set intended for my nipples.  This one went down between my legs and I pinched it open and set it above my clitoral hood in one mad, crazy, insane moment of sexual desperation.

            Pain flooded through me and I ended up grabbing hold of the wheel and holding on for dear life as my body sped down the highway of agony and sexual need.  It took four or five minutes to master myself, all of which was spent with my breasts hanging out, perfectly visible to anyone passing by.  Had they been at my window, their eyes would no doubt have seen my clamped and shaven slit, wet and wanting, reacting not only to the pain of the jumbo alligator clamp, but to the burning need of the Stinging O.

            And I was only just getting started. 

            When I was sufficiently recovered, at least to realize that my breasts were on display, I turned on the vibroballs and vibrating anal beads.  The buzzing hum in my loins sprang to life and immediately I went from desperate and ouch to vehement need and “oh fuck yes!”  It’s a delicate balance.  My fingers pulled my thong outward and placed it as gently as possible over my clit, hiding, or perhaps merely accentuating the shape of the alligator clamp as well as my fat pussy lips. 

This tale is no longer available on the blog and can be found in Breanne Erickson's e-book anthology "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 6"

Don't forget to visit the "BreanneApedia" for all things Breanne Erickson related!

Breanne – Today’s assignment is simple.  First of all, you will dress appropriately for a nympho humiliation pain slut.  This means a simple, tight, minimal halter top that appropriately displays your breasts to their maximum advantage.  Second, you will wear your microskirt, the “skort” Kari so kindly chopped the “shorts” portion out of years ago.  In the spirit of legality, you may, if you choose, wear a thong under the skirt, but it must be your narrowest, sexiest, most transparent thong.  Lastly, you will wear your “fuck me” shoes, the crystal eight inch heels.

In order to follow NHPS Rule #1, you must be stuffed with your triple vibroballs as well as your vibrating anal beads.  During the assignment, both vibrating toys will be set to their lowest level provided you don’t experience an unauthorized orgasm.  You will also prepare yourself by coating not only your clit, but labia and nipples with Stinging O.  Lastly you will apply your alligator clamps, all three, to the appropriate spots.  Yes, I know this will hurt.

You will proceed to visit a shoe store – the old full service kind.  You will allow the attendant to measure your feet, making sure the attendant gets a full view of your assets.  You may not verbally ask for sex.  However, if the attendant offers, you may allow him or her to remove your thong, the jumbo alligator clamp, and your vibroballs in exchange for a foot fuck.  You MUST fuck his or her foot FIRST.  After you cum, you may engage in traditional sex

- Master Mark

Breanne is the author of the popular BDSM series "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" and the controversial BDSM Lesbian romance "The Society of the Golden Rose."  Explore her writing at our website and check out her other free works at our Free Story Archive!