Friday, May 25, 2012

A Perfect Recipe


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!  

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