I glanced around nervously. The place was packed. Afternoon shoppers were skittering around, people were eating, joking, laughing around me, and I was about to sit down. Frankly, that was a good thing. I had been clenching my muscles tightly for about ten minutes, praying that my pussy was tight enough to keep my newest toy embedded where it was supposed to go. I had walked with short tiny steps, my thighs pressed together, feeling the thick rubber base, ostensibly cast in the shape of a pair of testicles, rubbing against my skin.
Even without knowing of my ten inch long accessory, I was still the subject of intense scrutiny. Every male within twenty feet of me had their eyes glued to my body. The shirt I was wearing was ultra tight, with a collar low enough for me to risk “loosing containment” of my upper half if I even bounced up and down a bit. My nipple piercing, not to mention the charm sized padlock that dangled from the tip of my right breast were quite visible through the material. A three inch strip of my belly was exposed, under which a short denim skirt covered just my bottom and front, leaving the vast majority of my thighs exposed. I was actually worried that the bottom of the dildo could be seen from the right angle the skirt was so short.
I was also wearing the fuck me shoes, a pair of stripper style heels, complete with four inch heels and four inch platforms, which lifted me a dizzying eight inches into the air above my usual five foot four and a quarter inches. This in itself affected my walking, but add the fact that I had almost a foot of supple yet firm rubber shoved up inside me, and I couldn’t relax or it would fall out, made my movements not just noticeable, but odd. There’s nothing more humiliating than taking a step and everyone noticing that something is not right, and wondering.
The seat before me had a wooden bottom and I bit my lip. This was exactly what Master Mark had insisted on. I set my tray down on the table top. There was a paper cup filled with water, some orange chicken and rice on a plate, and a pair of chopsticks and a fork. Slowly, I moved over the seat and sat down gently. Sure enough, the dildo had slipped, though not much. I felt two or three inches of penetration, the rubber shaft driving up into me as the base was pressed up against the seat. I groaned lightly. I had been driven nuts all morning, masturbating to the edge, wearing the vibroballs on low, all in preparation for this assignment.
Breanne – Amazing new toy. I especially like the functionality you described. For your assignment today, please wear a low, tight top that will allow your breasts to “pop” out of should you bounce. In addition, please wear a short tight skirt and your stripper shoes. I know I shouldn’t have to say this – no panties or bra obviously. You will go to the mall. You will walk with the dildo embedded in your sex. If at any time you feel that it is about to fall out, you will find a chair or bench and sit down. However, the chair or bench must have a flat surface so that the suction cup will function. Once sitting you must orgasm before getting back up. Two trips around the mall would be acceptable, don’t you think? – Master Mark
I hadn’t walked the mall yet. I was hungry. Besides, I wanted to see just how hard it would be. Well, just the walk from the parking lot, passed the carousel, into the food court had been a trial. I could feel the dildo slipping. Worse, I was soaked, had been for hours, but the combination of the dildo, along with the stares my outfit was attracting, had me practically humming with sexual energy. It’s too bad we can’t find a way to harness that stuff, right? Could you imagine that job? I’d love to be strapped into the local power plant’s sexual torture chamber, wires going to various parts of my body to collect the energy, while the technician readies the whip and his cock…
Sorry. Sometimes my imagination gets away from me. Perhaps that will be a fiction story I write some day. Cool huh? So now you know how I get my ideas!
I shifted in my seat and realized my first predicament. The dildo was stuck to the wooden bottom and I wasn’t quite sitting where I wanted too. You know how you sit down and then move to wear you are most comfortable. Well that’s kinda hard to do when your physically impaled on a ten inch rod that’s attached to the seat itself. You can’t slide. You can’t shift. You’re stuck.
I went to reach down between my legs, to unstuck the dildo’s suction cup, but noticed that a few teenage boys one table over were quite obviously watching. I don’t think they could see anything, after all, my legs were together, but spreading them, lifting up my skirt to get to the dildo, freeing it, and then sitting back down, once more impaling myself nicely on the thick rubber, would have been more show than I was willing to give.
No doubt you are asking “why is a humiliation pain slut unwilling to give a show?” Yes, well, I AM a nympho humiliation pain slut. But that doesn’t mean I LIKE it. I don’t. I actually HATE being a nympho humiliation pain slut. The emotional toll it takes on me is insane. I hate dressing like a whore, a sex-starved slut who wants nothing more than cock in every hole. And yet, when I’m put in this position, when I’m flaunting my body like this, put on display, humiliated, embarrassed, toyed with, or even when I’m being hurt and used, my orgasms are so powerful, so intense, so amazing that some tiny part of me longs for it. Do I hate it? Yes. Do I want it? Oh… absolutely.
I’m fucked up, in almost every connotation of that statement you can think of. Mentally, emotionally, and yes, even physically, and at that moment it was a ten inch realistic rubber cock doing most of it.
So yes, I shifted, quite uncomfortable, bending the cock at the apex of it’s joining with the table. My hips rocked and I tried, unsuccessfully, to break the suction cup’s seal and move the dildo over an inch or two. No luck. So after a minute of what must of appeared as very strange movements, I sighed in exasperation and started to eat. That distracted me for a few minutes, but I couldn’t help twisting my hips every once in a while. Sitting still with ten inches of rubber rod inside you is not the easiest thing to do. Sure, I wasn’t suffering from the torment of a buzzing vibrator, but there is something elegant and simple about a thick inanimate dildo. It’s not what it does, it’s what you do to it. And while my brain was contemplating food, my outfit, the boys (who couldn’t have been more than thirteen and fourteen) at the opposite table, my pussy was contemplating things like in and out, squeeze and relax, and most importantly, up and down. With every involuntary twist of my hips, the dildo moved inside me.
Remember how I told you I was already aroused? Well, it didn’t help. Or maybe it did, depending on your point of view. If you were hoping I’d hold off, keep control, and strongly represent woman as a force to be recognized with, you’re going to be sorely disappointed. Instead I was halfway through my meal when those movements, which my audience had noted quite obviously considering the snickers, wide eyes, and whispered comments, when I realized that I was going to cum.
I braced myself for it of course. It meant putting my fork down, gripping the table, clenching my teeth, and closing my eyes. It was a strong one too, more than enough that had I been in my barn, or at Kari’s place, I would have been gasping and crying out in wet delight. Instead I was in the middle of a crowded place, being ogled and observed, with my hips delightfully bouncing up and down on a pillar two inches thick and long enough to stir a five gallon bucket of paint.
What? We recently painted the living room of the house! So I know what a five gallon bucket of paint is like!
I managed to keep the audible portion of my climax to a bare minimum, but I swooned in my seat like a drunken sailor stumbling out of a bar. When I opened my eyes to take stock, I realized that my legs had come open and the entire table of boys were staring at me, mouths open in shock and glee. There was even a pointing finger. I turned absolutely scarlet. Not cool. I smashed my knees quickly together, grabbed my tray and started to get up, intent on escape.
I got about six inches up when I realized that I had a slight problem. “Think Breanne. Don’t be stupid,” I said to myself angrily. I slammed back down, this time letting out a groan as the thick cock, which had been stuck to the seat and stayed there, split me up the middle again. Another rush of sexual wantonness rocked me and I struggled to maintain control. It wasn’t easy, trust me.
With my eyes down, but watching the boys, who were still all staring at me, no doubt having glimpsed the dildo, I tried to pry up the suction cup without spreading my legs. My thighs were cooperative, but the dildo’s full sized balls kept getting in the way and with my weight on the damn thing, I couldn’t get a finger under the phallus. In addition, it looked… well… there was more chuckling and head nodding coming from my audience. Or were they judges? For one moment I pictured them holding up rating cards like Olympic Figure Skating judges. How was Breanne’s art at orgasm? 9.6 average. How was Breanne’s expressiveness? 6.7 average. Do we want her to do it again? Hell yes.
When I drew my fingers back out from between my legs, they were soaked. And I mean very soaked. In fact, I could feel the wetness on my buttocks and the backs of my thighs, puddling around the base of the dildo. I bit back a grimace. Not because I was disgusted, oh no, but because I couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing. I was going to leave the mother of all wet spots.
The boys were definitely enjoying the show and that’s when things turned ugly. Fascination and interest turned to mocking. One of them grabbed his chest and pretended to “shake boobs”, clearly wanting me to do a little bouncing. This spurred further insults as one made a circle with thumb and forefinger and then very clearly used his other hand and a single finger to “fuck” it. The implications were clear. I needed to leave. Immediately.
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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