Friday, May 18, 2012

Low, Medium, and High


            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"

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 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!

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