July 4th 2012
Not to be irreligious, but I’ve always wondered what was going through Jesus’ mind when he was forced to carry his cross up to Golgotha. I mean, seriously, talk about psychological torment on top of physical. He KNEW he would shortly be NAILED to the damn thing. I’m surprised he didn’t just throw it down, glare at the Roman soldiers and say “Fuck you. You carry it!” I mean, that’s what I would have done. Of course I’m not Christ, not by a long shot. And my cross wasn’t exactly a twelve foot piece of heavy lumber. It was just a cooler. Granted, it had a twenty five pound block of ice in it, but still, that’s not like a cross.
I didn’t carry it far either. My cooler has wheels, which I think was a brilliant addition on the part of the manufacturer. I’ve heard of bad things happening while carrying coolers with twenty five pound blocks of ice in them. I didn’t want to slip a disc or something, right?
But still, there was something… diabolical in being dispatched to bring the instrument of one’s own torment back to the condo. Wasn’t it enough that I would shortly be mounted on that block of ice? Mounted might be too strong a word. After all, it wasn’t like it had a cock or anything. No, perhaps the better word might be “riding.”
I stopped in front of the door. A large white oleander bush concealed the front porch from the street, a nicety I appreciated. I grabbed hold of my halter top and yanked it upward, baring both breasts. My left nipple was normal, but my right breast sported a golden hoop that pierced the tip, as well as a small charm-sized padlock baring the black enameled logo of a rose. I shoved my halter into the small bag I had brought with me and then peeled my shorts down off my ass. There weren’t any panties and the shorts were skin tight. Those went down to my flip flops, which I stepped out of at the same time.
Naked, I once again grabbed the handle of the cooler and knocked sharply on the door. It took only a moment before it opened and I grinned as I saw Robert in the entranceway. He was a large man, with ripped pectorals, thick arms and legs, and not an ounce of fat anywhere on him. He’s handsome, clean shaven, rugged, and his cock is seven and a quarter inches long. I know. Kari and I measured him once. As usual, he was buck naked, except this time his cock wasn’t exposed. It was wrapped snug and secure in one of Kari’s leather and steel bondage devices and the exposed tip of his cock stuck out at me, practically begging me to get down and lick the large red colored head.
“Hi Robert!” I said with a grin. “You look a little desperate.”
He laughed, nodding and reached out to take the cooler handle from me. “It’s been awhile for me Breanne. Kari and Mistress Savanah have been letting Kylie torment me.
I blinked. “Kylie’s here?” I asked, quite surprised. Kylie was one of the other girls from the Society, a sweet little petite brunette who could have passed for a high school cheerleader despite her twenty three years of age. She still shopped for clothing in the juniors sections. She and I had a special relationship. Granted it was mostly due to the fact that we spent a decent amount of time with our faces between the other’s legs, but I really liked her personality. After the Society had evolved into something less brutal and more relaxed, Kylie had blossomed into someone almost as sexually deviant as me. She wasn’t as much into the whole masochism thing, but you should see that girl get off at being humiliated in public!
“Yeah. She and Mistress Savannah have been here for over an hour,” Robert replied with a look of chagrin. I took a closer look at Robert’s cock and saw the glistening signs of moisture and figured that Kylie had been doing exactly what I WANTED to do for the last fifty or so minutes. Awesome for Kylie. Not so awesome for Robert. Poor guy.
I followed him into the condominium and was blasted by the cool air. Kari is one of those crazy people that have to keep the air conditioning right at seventy three. I suppose it serves a purpose. My nipples are always nice and hard and I rarely am forced to rely on pinches or ice to do it. The room was dark, but lighted enough to see, and my eyes immediately locked on Kylie, who was kneeling naked in the center of the living room floor. Like me, her right nipple was also pierced, sporting the exact same gold padlock.
She was also stuffed with a something motorized because I could see the wires coming out from between her legs. Mistress Savannah was sitting on the easy chair next to her, leaning forward, holding the remote and I grinned as Kylie smiled at me, trying to repress her twitching.
“Hi Kari! Hi Mistress Savannah!” I said brightly as I came around the sofa. Kari was sitting there in a patriotic colored tee shirt and white shorts. Red, white, and blue stripes crossed her breasts in cotton colors and I fell to my knees in front of her, leaning forward. Kari’s eyes found mine and for a moment I was breathless. The intensity of her gaze, the depth of emotion in it overwhelmed me. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much Kari loves me. Sometimes it comes back and smacks me in the face like a paddle on the rump. I started to smile, to bask in that warmth, when suddenly her eyes changed. She still loved me, but there was something else there. She reached out and grabbed hold of the padlock on my right breast and gave it a half twist. A distinct discomfort shot through my breast and I held still, hoping she wouldn’t twist it any farther.
“I saw your twitter feed yesterday,” she whispered, so softly that I doubted anyone but me could hear her. I winced, and not because of the twisting of my nipple. Yesterday Kari had ordered me to wear my Rotating Venus Penis, a specific sex toy designed to spin as well as vibrate. I had sort of tricked Master Barrett into allowing me to cum that morning, instead of enduring the slow stewing and public orgasm that Kari had originally intended. Master Barrett hadn’t been to pleased either once he dug a little deeper and discovered that I had deceived him. So instead of an easy, if socially embarrassing Harry Met Sally Moment somewhere, I had to keep the RVP on its highest setting whenever I wasn’t driving or with family. In essence, I had spent most of the previous day orgasming.
Which was actually not so bad. It meant that I was braced for today. The likelihood of my cumming quickly was cut in half. Of course, I might have overdone it too. Fourteen orgasms in one day is, after all, a lot. I smiled at Kari, trying to formulate an apology.
“And then there is the issue of your latest assignment posting,” Kari hissed, giving my nipple another half twist. I winced and clenched my teeth, trying not to squeal. Pain shot up through my breast and I tilted slightly to the left to try to relieve some of the pressure. It didn’t help. I knew exactly what she was talking about too. I had put the jumbo alligator clamp somewhere, doing something dangerous, and she didn’t like it.
“Today is not going to be easy on you,” Kari said, a bit louder this time. Then she released my breast and I sagged down. A residual ache seeped up from the tip of my breast into my shoulder and I resisted the urge to massage myself. Kari looked back over her shoulder at Robert.
“Would you pleased get the ice set up like we discussed?” she told him. I kept my eyes down but knew he had nodded obediently. I heard the plastic wheels of my cooler running over the carpet. A moment later the sliding glass door leading to the porch opened and then he was out in the morning heat.
“I think Breanne should greet Kylie, don’t you, Kari?” Savannah asked politely, with her southern drawl. Kari nodded and I turned around and crawled over to where Kylie knelt, still shaking from whatever torment was going on inside her.
Greetings amongst the slave girls of the Society of the Golden Rose is a simple affair. It basically involves a very wet, very deep French kiss, while at the same time inserting at least two fingers into the sex of the person you are greeting. It’s a nice, very erotic, intense greeting and I’ve experienced quite a few of them. Some of the mistresses even like watching the greetings develop into outright sex. I’ve made love to Kylie a few times like that.
I knelt in front of her, my legs spread and she immediately leaned forward. I felt her hand on me only a second before her tongue slipped into my mouth and there was the heady scent of her vanilla perfume. I kissed her back as my fingers moved along her thigh. She penetrated first though, slipping into my depths and finding the pair of ben wa balls I had inside me. My own fingertips found a pair of vibrating bullets, two egg shaped objects that shook like mad inside her. For fun, I pushed them around, wriggling my fingers like mad while my thumb repeatedly grazed her clit. I knew if she had an orgasm Savannah would punish her.
Evidently Kylie knew it too and pulled back right when she was on the edge of exploding. Her face was flushed and her chest heaved. A guilty look crossed her face and then she glared at me, well aware that I had just tried to get her in trouble. I shrugged, a wicked smile still on my face. Then I turned toward Mistress Savannah. I crawled to her and planted a single chaste kiss on her bare foot.
I heard the sliding glass door open. “Everything’s ready, Kari.” Robert announced. Kari stood up and put her hand on my head.
“Let’s go, Breanne. Time to chill.”
I swallowed. I had known exactly what the ice was for. It had been an assignment sent to me by one of my online fans and it was one that would chill me. I’m no stranger to ice. I’ve had it in me, on me, over me, and even through me. But one thing I’ve never done is ride it. Michael Alexander once wrote a story about the fictional “Breanne” going to a party and being abused with ice. I live in south Texas and ice… well… it’s something you put in your tea. Not in your slave girls.
I crawled, following along as both Savannah and Kylie rose. In a sort of July Fourth parade we went outside. Kari’s backyard has this overgrown jungle sort of feel. There is only a small glade of grass, surrounded by bamboo and juniper and Japanese maple. As usual, the setting was perfectly arranged. Two lounge recliners complete with matching cushions were placed at opposite ends of a low table, filled to the brim with cut watermelon and other more interesting objects. Robert had run an electrical extension cord out and there was a fan blowing a light breeze. My cooler sat in the grass, and there, right in front of everything, was a block of ice, sitting in a box, wrapped with towels. Worse, one edge of the block was facing up. And just so you have this correctly in your mind, there is a difference between a SIDE and an EDGE.
This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but can be read in Breanne Erickson's e-book anthology "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" Volume 6.