Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Conditioned Response

During the 1890’s, there was a Russian physiologist named Ivan Petrovich Pavlov who noticed odd behavior coming from his test subjects.  He was investigating the gastric function in dogs and noticed that every time his lab assistant came in to feed the dogs, they began salivating before the food arrived.  In time, Pavlov realized that the dogs had been conditioned to expect food every time they saw that lab assistant.  And thus the psychological concept of “conditioned response” was born.  Most animals can be “conditioned” to have a reflex response to an outside stimuli: a gesture, a bell… a buzzer.

I was sitting at my desk working on another write up when the buzzer went off.  I could hear it through the shut and locked door of my bedroom, coming from down the hall.  It was laundry day and the sound indicated that my third load of clothing was done.  I closed my eyes, dreading the next few minutes.  My chest started heaving as my body prepared for the coming pain.  As I lifted my hands, I noticed my fingers trembling.  It wasn’t the first time I had done this, but the sixth or seventh. I had lost track.  My fingers grasped the black metal binder clips that were delicately but firmly attached to my nipples and pinched them open.

It was tough to keep from screaming as the blood rushed back into the crushed tips of both breasts.  I did fall over though, smacking my head into the wood of my desk, just barely missing the opportunity to leave an imprint of the computer keyboard on my forehead.  I dropped the binder clips on my the desk, listening to their clatter as the buzzing from the dryer continued, calling me.  I didn’t want to get up.  I SO didn’t want to get up.

“Bre!  Breanne!” my mother called from downstairs.  “The dryer is done!”
I rolled my eyes.  “I know!  Thanks!  I’ll be there in a minute!” I called down, trying to keep the stress out of my voice.  I took a shuddering breath, ignoring the throbbing of my nipples.  I tugged down my shirt, covering my bare breasts.  I smoothed down my skirt.  Then I stood up.

The slipping sensation hit me immediately, only to stop in what can only be described as blinding pain.  My fingers tightened on the desk as I grimaced, my hips churning in a lewd and quite sexual motion.  My clit felt as if it were being torn off my body as my pussy tightened convulsively around the foot long Core Driller dildo that was now only partially embedded inside me.  I gasped, then bit my lip in an effort to keep from wailing.  My hips continued to rock violently, which did not help things one bit.

I had been suffering for the entire morning, responding to the buzzing alarm of the dryer with regular agony.  It had all started with a simple chat message from Master Barrett, one that I have come to both appreciate and fear.  “I’m feeling sadistic today,” he informed me politely.  I braced myself.  It was early and it was laundry day, meaning that I had already done my morning chores, stuffed to the brim with my Husky dildo held in with a pair of panties.   Light, easy, with no pain.

That changed in a heartbeat.

The first thing that changed was that the insertion of my four inch butt plug had been ordered.  I’m not a fan of things in my ass, but I was hardly in a position to refuse.  Then the Husky dildo came out, only to be replaced by my Core Driller dildo, which was two inches longer and quite a bit thicker.  This replacement was a compromise of sorts, since Master Barrett had wanted me to wear my jumbo alligator clamp, attached to my clitoris, weighted to keep me hurting and swinging.  And yet, when I pointed out to him that I couldn’t wear the clamp AND the panties, which were holding the Husky dildo, we ended up making a compromise.

Well, actually, he compromised and I was tortured even more.  So instead of the Husky, I was stuffed with the Core Driller. Instead of panties holding in the thick rubber cock, I had attached a four inch chain and D clip from the metal ring at the base of the Core Driller to my alligator clamp.  So every time I stood, a decent six pound dildo tried valiantly to slide out of my pussy, only to be stopped short by the chain, which was attached to the jumbo alligator clamp, which was biting down on my clit with sharp metal teeth.

Walking was a nightmare.  Every step caused the chain between my legs to tug painfully and there was this constant sensation of the dildo falling out and being fucked all at the same time.  Combined with the almost unbearable pain of having so much weight hanging, even if only partially, from my clit, and I’m surprised I was even functioning on a conscious level.  You’d think I’d have been on the floor in a fetal position, drooling or something.

The dryer buzzing had stopped but I took a few steps toward the door.  Out of twelve inches of rubber cock, at least five had slipped out of my sex and the arrestor chain that was connected to my clit was pulled taut.  I could feel the metal teeth of the clamp tearing at my sex and it was only with great willpower that I was even able to make it to the door.  Every step was another brush with both pain and sexual desperation.

Yes, sexual desperation.  I know it’s tough to imagine, but I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut.  Being hurt, at least being hurt in certain ways, at certain times, turns me on.  Don’t think I’m going to lust after your cock if you come over and break my arm.  But at that moment, with my clit pinched tightly between those metal jaws, tugged painfully downward, while my hungry and incredibly wet pussy tried to keep that dildo embedded as deeply as possible, I was a contradiction in terms.  And after four or so hours of non-stop stimulation and torture, I was right on the edge.

I assembled some sort of cloak of respectability around me.  After all, my family was home.  I padded down the hall and looked down the stairs.  I almost wished I could take advantage of my father’s stair lift, a motorized seat that allowed him to rise to the second floor with little effort, or come back down.  But how would I explain my need?  “I’m sorry Mom, but I took Dad’s lift because I was afraid my dildo would slide out and thus rip off my clitoris.”  I blinked.  Not an explanation I wanted to give.  So instead I took the first of a dozen or so steps, shards of exquisite agony exploding between my legs and making my arousal even more of a problem.  By the time I got to the bottom of the staircase I could detect the sweet musky scent of my need and I hurried, as much as the dildo and clit clamp would allow, to the utility room.

It didn’t take me long to unload the dryer, put a wet load in, set up the washer with the whites, and then make my long way back upstairs to my bedroom with the dry laundry.  They needed folding.  Climbing the stairs was even more agonizing and I had to stop halfway up to catch my breath.  Finally I made it back to my room, closed and locked the door, and tossed the basket of clean laundry on the bed.

You might think, “wow, at least it’s over.”  Right?  But I knew better.  My torment, my punishment, my problems had only just begun.  I shuffled over to my chair and prepared to sit down.  Most people don’t have to prepare, they just do it.  But in my case, it was an absolute necessity.

I groaned out loud as the five inches of Core Driller dildo immediately and deeply re-penetrated my depths.  The tip of the dildo slammed into my cervix and I had to rock, which of course tugged on the chain that was no longer taut between my clit and the dildo.  But the new position literally pulled the alligator clamp chewing on my sensitive nub to the side, sending new slivers of pain through my loins.  I couldn’t help it.  It didn’t matter if it hurt.  I started to bounce, literally standing up in my seat as my hands went to my breasts to lift my shirt.

I stopped my up and down gyrations only long enough to put the binder clamps back on my nipples.  The very different pain shattered a few more barriers and finally, for the first time that morning, I felt the sexual pressure overwhelm the pain.  They began to combine in dark swirls.  I put my knuckles between my teeth, the climax of orgasm making me shake and cry out.  I rose and then dropped down as hard as possible, my body shuddering in release. 

It took a while, but it was the pain that brought me back through the sex induced euphoria.  Everything hurt.  My clit felt as if it was being chewed on by a shark.  My pussy felt bruised, as if I’d been fucked by a baseball bat wielding lesbian “butch”.  My nipples throbbed in crushed oblivion, and my ass… well my ass was so tightly locked around the anal plug that I suspected that I’d need medical assistance to get it out. 

But I had cum, and that was what the last four hours had been all about.  Cumming.  I hadn’t been allowed to touch myself, to stimulate myself into orgasm.  The pain was terrible, but I stilled myself enough to pick up the phone.  I heard the ring on the other end of the line and then Kari’s voice greeted me.

“Let me guess.  You are in a state,” she said.

“How did you guess?” I asked, my voice tinged with the discomfort of my circumstances.

“Oh, the fact you called at eleven thirty in the morning.  The fact that you sound desperate or in pain.  Do I need to list all the audible clues?”

I shuddered. “No.  But I need permission to do something.  Barrett insisted,” I replied.
There was a dark silence.  “Barrett insisted?” Kari asked.

I swallowed.  “Yes Kari.”

“What does he want you to do?” she asked.

I took another deep breath.  Presentation was absolutely essential on this.  “Well, now that I’ve had an orgasm, I have to go down to the barn and do ten NHPS jumping jacks.”

I heard a pencil scratching over the line.  “I see,” Kari replied.  “What else?”

“I have to masturbate to another orgasm afterword,” I told her.

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”  Kari seemed almost inattentive.  I sighed in relief.  If she had asked the details… I’d have been in trouble.

“So what’s the catch?” Kari suddenly asked. 

I trembled, my heart sinking.  “Catch?  There’s no catch,” I stammered.

I could practically hear her shaking her head.  “No.  There’s a catch.  You wouldn’t be calling me for permission if that’s all there is.  No, this isn’t a normal case of jumping jacks.  Did he want the weights on you?”

I swallowed.  “Yes.”

“And clamped?”

“Yes.”  I closed my eyes.  Please don’t ask more, Kari!

“And I presume you’ll be stuffed?” she asked.

“Yes, Kari.”

There was another pause.  “Your Husky dildo?”

“No.”  My voice had shrunk down to a tiny squeak.

“This feels like I’m pulling teeth, Bre.  Either tell me or the answer is no.”

I took a deep breath.  “I’m wearing my Core Driller, no panties and I’m using a D link and the jumbo alligator clamp to keep the Core Driller from falling out,” I said in a rush.

“You’re WHAT?” Kari asked, clearly astounded.

“I’ve got the Core Driller…” I started to say, only to have her interrupt

“Did I hear you correctly?  You are holding the Core Driller in by attaching it to your CLIT with that damn supersized Alligator Clamp?” she demanded.

I shrank down in my chair. “Yes, Kari.”

“And you want to do jumping jacks like that?  Are you fucking insane?  That will tear your clit and leave you bleeding in the middle of the barn you stupid twit!” Kari said violently.

I grit my teeth.  “I don’t think that will happen. I’m pretty…”

Kari ripped into me again. “I don’t care what you think because it’s pretty obvious you aren’t thinking.  What the hell was Barrett thinking for that matter!  I realize that you love the pain, but the two of you need to stop smoking whatever it that you are smoking and understand reality here.”

“But Kari!” I protested.  “It’s just ten jumps.  I’ll space them out and go easy.”

There was sudden silence.  “You’re serious.  You think you can do this, can’t you?”
“Yes,” I said solidly.

“No.  You can’t.  This is stupid.”  There was a moments silence on the other end of the line as I contemplated my options. I was feeling just a bit sullen.

“All right, you want your clit hurt, so you’ll get your clit hurt.  But it will NOT be with the jumbo alligator clamp,” Kari said.  “Instead you will hold the Core Driller in with a clover clamp on your clit.  That way if it falls off for some reason, it doesn’t leave you bleeding and in need of stitches.”

“But Kari!” I exclaimed.

“No buts.  This is an order.  And tell Barrett I’m glad he made you check with me first.  Men.  Do you understand?  Use the clover clamp.”

“Yes Kari,” I replied sullenly.

“Good.  Don’t forget.  We’ve got another Society meeting coming up next week.”

“I know.” Another society meeting. Great. 

“Be safe, Bre.”  Then Kari hung up.

I put my hands in my head and rubbed my face.  I still hurt, but I felt wrung out too.  Any confrontation with Kari left me feeling raw.  But finally I stood up, got my toy box out of the closet, and extracted my clover clamps.  It didn’t take much to free one of them from the chain and then I tugged my shirt down and once more endured the painful process of going downstairs.  The Core Driller slid out and every step resulted in another painful drawing sensation on my clit.

Outside in the barn I once more lifted my shirt and crushed each nipple with the binder clamps.  Then came the painful process of changing out the alligator clamp with the clover clamp.  Clover clamps are a unique design, since the very act of pulling on them tends to tighten them even more.  So after gasping and having to sit for a few minutes on a hay bale after releasing the alligator clamp from my clit, I stood with the dark but even tighter pressure of the clover clamp crushing my tender nub.  Instead of biting me, the clamp was nomming me to death.  I stood up. The Core Driller slid out of my pussy and then stopped.  The clover did its job.  Surprise surprise.

I picked up the half pound metal weights and hung them on my binder clips.  The pain from my breasts doubled.   Then I put my arms down at my sides, closed my legs tightly and jumped.  My arms flew up as did my entire torso.  My ankles went wide and a number of things happened all at once.

My breasts bounced, each with heavy weights dangling from the tips.  That hurt, sending shards of pain through my torso.  Down between my legs I actually felt the Core Driller go back up into me an inch before trying to come out even farther.  The chain halted it though, which of course put terrible pressure on my clit.  I let out a cry that might even have been heard inside the house a hundred feet away and between the walls of two structures.

But before I could think about it, my limbs swung again and I snapped back to attention.  The pain was brutal.  My breasts felt as if they were being ripped from my body, by the tips no less.  But that was nothing compared to the pain I felt from the clamp on my clit.  The Core Driller dildo wasn’t light and the chain connecting my sex toy and my clitoris had snapped taut and sent the equivalent of having a sharp wooden stake pounded through my body. 

I clenched as hard as I could as the next jump sent another wave of agony through me.  Any thought of sex went right out the window.  It just hurt.  Another jump caused my Core Driller dildo to go shooting out of me, the Clover clamp unable to find sufficient purchase on my swollen and still quite moist clitoris.  I collapsed on the ground, after just three jumps.

I’m not sure how long I just lay there, trying to cope with the sensation.  The Core Driller was a few feet away, dirty and covered with hay and dust.  My clit was throbbing still, despite the fact that the Clover clamp had come off.  Fortunately the way I was laying caused the weights that were attached to the binder clamps on my nipples to rest on the ground, rather than continue pulling on me.  Slowly I rolled over, groaning as the weights came off the ground.  Everything hurt.  I didn’t want to do anymore.

I rolled a bit more and reached for my dildo.  One half of it was covered in a layer of grime and plucked a few strands of straw off the thing.  I thought about shoving it back in, but the idea was just too gross.  I climbed to my feet, the weights dangling, and shuffled my way across the barn.  I pushed open the back door, stepped out into the bright sunlight, and bent over by the water spigot.  A quick sluice of the dildo cleaned it and I turned off the water and went back into the barn.

Both my mind and my heart resisted when my mind told me to get on with the jumping jacks.  I sank down onto one of the hay bales, ignoring the prickling ends poking my bottom.  I spread my legs and gently, oh so gently, slid the Core Driller inward.   It took a moment.  I was still wet, but I had tightened noticeably with my antics.  Twelve inches of black rubber, widening to a good three or four inches at the base, is not something you just ram in.  At least, not when you’re already in a lot of pain.  I needed to stabilize, to build another protective shield against the agony of the jumping jacks.  And so with gentle movements I slid the Core Driller in and out, working myself steadily back toward orgasmic need.

It didn’t take very long.  I wish it had taken longer.  But when I felt sufficiently aroused I forced myself to once again clip the Clover clamp to my clit.  This time the pain combined with the pleasure and I almost lost it, orgasming right then and there.  But I held back, straightening up and then standing.  Once more the Core Driller began to slip out but the clamp and D link held this time and only four inches slid out of my pussy.  I waddled into the middle of the barn floor, prepared myself, and jumped.

I made two successful jumps.  My breasts hurt.  My clit burned.  And then on the third jump I repeated the entire escapade.  The Clover clamp just couldn’t handle the strain and with a snap my Core Driller fell out of me, gravity and my lubed interior all the enablement it needed to once more fall to the ground.  I cried out, falling to my knees, my hands at my crotch.

This wasn’t working.  Once more, after collecting myself, I grabbed the dildo, washed it off, and worked myself back into a lather.  I still hadn’t cum, but I so wanted to.  But as I approached the cliff, the shield of sexual desperation back in place, I tossed aside the clover clamp.  I reached for my pile of clothes, and drew out the one thing I KNEW would hold the damn Core Driller in place.

Putting it on hurt way more than the clover clamp did, but it held nicely.  I attached it to the D Link connected to the bottom of the Core Driller and then I stood.  Sure enough, the taut pull on my clit, combined with the weight of the dildo was more than enough to send waves of agonizing pleasure through me.  I gasped, moved my body into a straight line, then jumped.

And jumped.

And jumped again.

When I finished my ten jumping jacks I collapsed on the ground.  Tears streamed down my face and my shaking hand went down between my legs.  It took every ounce of strength left in my soul to keep from removing the alligator clamp from my clit.  I didn’t even look at it. I was scared about what I might see.  Instead I unclipped the D Link and then began to rapidly, violently even, fuck myself stupid with that dildo.  I even pressed on the bottom plug, wiggling it around as well.  There was that perfect moment when everything comes together, like a stew with separate ingredients and then I gasped, exploding in a mixture of sweet pain, drenching need, and exhausting exhilaration. 

It was ten minutes later before I even moved.  Once more I reached down between my legs, but then cursed slightly as I remembered the rubber bands.  Of course Master Barrett had insisted that the soles of my feet be tormented too.  But why AFTER I came?  It just was mean.

I reached down and snapped one and it did hurt, but I was too sore, too tired, too drained to do any more.  I climbed to my feet with a shudder and put on my clothes, taking off the damned binder clamps and heavy weights.  Sure enough the Core Driller slid partially out, held in place with my alligator clamp and I closed my eyes, blocking out the pain.  I opened the barn door and limped my way across the yard. 

To my surprise, my mom’s car was gone.  She had come out of the house while I was torturing myself?  Thank God she hadn’t heard me screaming and come to investigate!  But with ginger steps I climbed the porch and then went in the kitchen door.  I was headed to my bedroom, but as I stepped into the living room, my father glanced over at me from the computer.  He took just one look at me, shook his head, and chuckled.

“Feel good?” he asked me.  I must have looked a wreck, what with blotchy cheeks and tear streaks on my face.  I looked down at myself.  My shirt was disheveled and my nipples were hard bumps on the cotton. My skirt was half askew and I could feel the Core Driller base rubbing against my thighs.  No.  I did not feel good.  My clit was throbbing in building agony and I wanted it off.  Damn the fucking rubber bands!

I kicked off my flip flops and walked straight over to my dad.  “Ten each,” was all I said.  Then I turned around, bent over his desk, and lifted my right foot, setting it against his knee.

I didn’t hear a word from him, but I knew what was going through his mind.  My skirt was short enough that he would be easily able to see the base of the Core Driller, and perhaps even a bit more.  The rubber bands still around each foot were plainly visible.  I rested my upper body weight on my desk and then I felt his hand on my ankle.  His fingers stroked my leg, moving up until he got to the back of my thigh.  I stiffened, wondering how high he would go, but then his fingers left me.  Instead I felt my skirt move and a cool breeze blow across my bottom.  Then his hand found my foot again and I felt the rubber band pulled.

The sting hurt, at least a little, on that first snap.  The second, third, and fourth were consecutively worse.  By the time we hit five I was wriggling, trying to keep from yanking my foot away.  When he finished I wasn’t sure I’d be able to use my right foot to even walk.  He pushed it off his lap and when I lifted my left foot, he slapped his hand against my bottom.  It landed on bare skin and I knew he had moved my skirt up enough to expose me.

“No.  Turn around and sit on the desk.  Then lift your foot.”

I did as ordered.  I knew what was happening.  I couldn’t stop it.  I twisted, pushed up on my toes, and sat down in front of him.  I lifted my left leg and my skirt rose, exposing my pussy, my alligator clamped clit, the dildo, everything.  My father’s eyes widened and he started to reach for my foot, but then his eyes narrowed and he peered into the shadow between my legs.

“Are you bleeding?” he asked, his voice moving from arousal to concern.

“What?” I asked with a ragged gasp.  I looked down and lifted my skirt, exposing myself to the light.  I didn’t see anything, but then I pinched open the alligator clamp.  Flecks of red spotted my labia and I found the cut a second later.  It wasn’t gushing. It was just a tiny laceration where one of the alligator clamp teeth had sunk a little deep.  But since I had taken off the alligator clamp, the pain had hit me twice as hard, the blood seeping back into my crushed nub. 

My father seemed mollified, but slightly disturbed and refused to give me any more snaps.  He ordered me upstairs to take care of myself and I stood, once more covering up my abused loins as I limped upstairs, the Core Driller dildo in my hand.  When I got to my room, I moved to my chair.  With a sigh I propped up one leg.  Then with great patience, I put the tip of the Core Driller back to my sex and slowly worked it in.  I lifted my skirt as I sat down and felt the full twelve inches go deep.  I wiggled my hips.  The anal plug was still embedded in my ass, and there wasn’t a lot of room in there, but it still felt good.  I bounced in my chair.  The binder clamps went back on my breasts, my eyes closed as I hissed through my teeth.   In moments I was cumming, exploding with my fingers gripping the edge of the desk.

And as soon as I was done, I reached down and snapped the rubber bands.

Laundry day was tough. But you know that.  I kept the Core Driller in for the rest of the day too, except I used a pair of panties to hold it in.  The anal plug stayed in as well, keeping me stuffed with enough rubber to make me feel like some sort of plastic model.  My clit… well… that needed time to recuperate.  And of course every time I came, I had to snap those damn rubber bands. 

I didn’t tell Kari about the Alligator clamp though.  And I was healed enough by the time the Society of the Golden Rose met, but still… she may read this little tale.  And if she does… she’ll punish me.  Hard.

But that doesn’t matter.  I know what I had to do.  And I’d do it again.  As for Kari’s punishment?  Well, I’ll deserve, it won’t I?

Breanne will remove her Husky dildo, panties, and bra.  She will then insert her four inch bottom plug, with her choice of lubrication.  She will then insert her 12 inch Core Driller dildo. She will attach the metal retaining ring on the bottom of the dildo to her jumbo alligator clamp, which will then be placed on her clit in order to hold the Core Driller in.  If she is alone, she is to expose her breasts and place binder clamps on both nipples and after every seating, she is to place rubber bands around the arch of each foot and snap each rubber band ten times.

In order to be released, she must cum without touching herself.  Cumming is rewarded with ten rubber band snaps to each foot. Also, once she cums, she may go down to the barn and complete ten jumping jacks after attaching ½ pound weights to each nipple clamp.  Upon completion of the jumping jacks, she is to immediately masturbate, without removing any of the toys, to orgasm.  She will then apply another ten snaps of the rubber band to each foot and may THEN remove the alligator clamp from her clit.

However, Breanne must keep the Core Driller in her pussy using whatever means she chooses to retain the dildo.  She must also keep the butt plug inserted.  Lastly, if she in private, her breasts must remain clamped.

Breanne Erickson is the author of "Coming of Age - A BDSM Romance" as well as the highly controversial and five star reviewed novel "The Society of the Golden Rose."  Her series "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" is available in e-book form.  Check out her website at www.nymphohumiliationpainsluts.com!


  1. So what was Kari's punishment for disobey her?? And for keeping info from her? On an FYi note: Im back in the hospital again... keep writing love so I can keep my spirits up. and for other people sake take batter safety precognition. you always say you do, but late you are clearly putting yourself in DANGER. xxxxxxxoooooooooooo

  2. LOL. You'll find out about the punishment. I'm sorry to hear you're back in the hospital. Damn it Caz... what do you have to do? Eat more broccoli or something? Do it, okay?

    And the warning... THANKS DAD! I'll be a good little girl.


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