In The Dark II - Off for Proof Reading

Well, good news everyone.  In The Dark II -  A BDSM Anthology has been sent off to the proofreader for final edits and I'm pleased with how this one came together.  It's just over 74 thousand words and is a steady, solid sequel to the the first In The Dark Anthology, which is available in e-book format from both Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com.  The good news is that unlike the first anthology, In The Dark II contains a ton of new material. Right now the contents include:

Abduction 

 Teenage Dana Garon accepts a ride from co-worker Chris Miller, despite knowing that he has a crush on her.  Then on a back road the unbelievable happens when a true unidentified flying object appears and kidnaps them both.

The Invitation 

 Angie and Kat return, now in college and Angie is sent out to deliver invitations to a unique event - an Abuse Angie Party.

The Arroyo

Karen and Parker are a classic couple enjoying a hike through a dry river bed.  She knows he intends to sacrifice her to the rain gods, giving them her sexuality, but she doesn't know how incredible it will feel when the rain comes.

Punishment: PFG

New laws against cock-teasing need new punishments.  Poor Sofia isn't quite prepared to deal with the public display or of the comeuppance the hundreds of men she has used feel she has earned.

 

Rumors

The words were whispered in the back halls of the school. Ms. Rutger had some very interesting idea of corporal punishment.

Kikkus

Yuki, a transfer student, is introduced to how things are done at her new private school.  

The Shop

Jessica and Caitlyn are just a little curious as to what David, a transplanted New York teenager, is doing in his garage.  They go to investigate and discover the amazing truth.

Calibration

Cassandra Goldstein is called in for an interview, but she discovers that it isn't for the administration job she applied for.  A quick tour and an awful truth show her that she's perfect for the position of Calibration Assistant.

The Hunter

James Rutherford the Third is hungry and on the prowl for a beautiful woman to sate his needs.  He finds her in gold and she seems to be just as needy and naughty as he is.

Vindication

My wife thinks it is incredibly funny to watch my face every time I see a news report or visit the book store and see Fifty Shades of Gray being mentioned or perused.  Part of me is pleased of course.  Anything that promotes BDSM erotica into the mainstream consciousness is a good thing. But I have sincere reservations about Fifty Shades of Gray for a number of reasons. The first and most damning is that Fifty Shades of Gray started out as a Twilight Fan Fiction, where the author stole Stephanie Meyers' characters and created something erotic out of them.  Then when the story was getting so many hits, the author E.L. James (aka Erika Mitchell) took it out, changed the names and scenes enough to keep her from getting her ass sued off, and tried again.  A publisher bought it.  While I've only personally read bits and pieces of the first book, I found the writing acceptable, but not very deep. Had it been posted on the BDSM Library, I'd have given her seven, maybe eight stars.


But now I feel slightly vindicated.  A few days ago I received a review for my early novel (and I do mean early) Sigma Epsilon Chi, a Samantha Mayfield story, and was both delighted, and chagrined.

It's basically a lesbian 50 shades of grey. its got the same watered down commercialized bdsm and sado-masochism. which is what sells. i was about 75% of the way through the book and thinking for its genre, its not badly written as far as grammar and syntax and overall organization [far better than 50 shades...]then as soon as i thought that i started seeing spelling mistakes and incorrect usage of words [There instead of their]. this bothered me but overall, not bad. for its genre.- Grammarnazi

This review came from a reader named "grammarnazi" and while the description "watered down commercialized BDSM and sado-masochism" stings a little, the comment "far better than 50 shades" is what pleases me.  I've always thought so too.  And hey, it's original. It also looks that while Grammarnazi gave me four stars, had I been a little bit more diligent with my proof-reading (this one was posted before I had a decent proof reader!) I might have gotten 5 stars.

Well rest assured, my friends, I'm looking into a "second version" with the grammar errors fixed.  Not only that, but the sequel is coming and it will be proof read as well.  Hopefully I can manage something beyond the typical "commericalized BDSM and sado-masochism" this time!  

Seventy - Five

I was understandably nervous when I hopped out of my pickup truck with my denim duster under my arm.  It was hot already, well into the upper eighties, with a promised ninety one coming later that afternoon.  I was dressed for the heat of course; with a pair of blue shorts and a simple tee shirt.  I was even wearing the necessary under things.  After all, I had spent the morning working around the house and out in the barn.  As my flip flops hit the gravel of the road side, I reached across the seat and as an afterthought, grabbed my high heels.  Then I shut the door and moved around to the very front of the truck.

            I’m absolutely positive, in a general sort of way, that you know what was coming.  Or is it cumming?   Me?  A stripping?  Another car?  I laid my duster down upon the warm hood of the truck and licked my lips.  Glances down the road and over my shoulder reaffirmed that I was alone, but over the years the amount of traffic on my little Farm to Market road had increased, just enough, to make my usual stripping spot something a little more daring.

            I’m sure Mistress Ellen, the domme who first introduced this endearing little ritual to me and the whole hordes of other people destined to abuse and torment me would find it amusing to know I’m squirming now.  She’d like it if I were seen, or better yet, if they stopped to offer me assistance.

            So now I strip pretty quick.  I peeled off my tee shirt, followed by my shorts, until I was standing there in just my panties and bra.  Then the bra came off, leaving my bare breasts exposed to the world, the heavy gold padlock dangling from the right nipple piercing.  I shivered once from the humiliation of the exposure, despite the unobserved state I was in, and then I pushed my panties down.  They snagged for just a moment on the Velcro harness of the Rotating Venus Penis, a pink plastic sex toy that kept a four inch rubber and plastic cock stuffed in my sex.  It was off, but that hardly mattered.  I hurriedly snapped out my duster and not a moment to soon, swung it around myself, just as a car came roaring up over the hill behind me.

            My hands clenched the front of the duster closed across my breasts as the engine noise grew louder.  I could sense the car slowing down, just a bit.  I mean who wouldn’t slow down if you saw a redhead, wearing a long coat, at the end of summer, whose lower legs were bare?  I turned my head as the car drove past and I realized that I was a more effective speeding deterrent than a cop sitting on the side of the road.  The car shot past and accelerated and I grinned, the knot in my tummy releasing.  With a deep release, I let my breath out.  As the car disappeared down the road, I slipped off my flip flops, grabbed the four inch slip on heels, and put them on my feet. 

            And since I was now along again, safely inside my duster, if not totally concealed, I tried a little experiment.  With one hand gripping the front edges of my coat, holding them closed, I lifted one foot up, bending my leg at the knee.  The shoe I was wearing had no ankle strap and so a little bend of my toes exposed the bottom sole.  I tried, very hard, to reach the arch of my foot without letting the coat open.  A few moments of experimentation told me everything I needed and I put my foot down in exasperation.  Then I headed back to the cab of the truck.

            As I got back behind the wheel the edges of my coat gaped open.  Master Dan had prohibited me securing or fastening my buttons in any way, which left me in quite a state.  I rode high enough that just about anyone glancing over at me would get a pretty awesome view of my breasts, with just enough covered to make them want more.  My sex was also on view, but it would take a trucker to see it.  Adjusting my coat did little good.  My duster isn’t exactly small, but it isn’t overly large either. As I drove off I tried to keep my thighs pressed together, but driving a stick shift is a two foot job and in the end my shaved slit saw plenty of daylight.

            There were a few honks and plenty of wide eyes, but I ignored most of it.  Focus is one of the most important aspects of being a nympho humiliation pain slut and you can’t let the little things get to you.  Of course they did anyway.  Each honk, each wide eyed stare set me a little closer to the edge.  I was already soaked and my pussy was squeezing that little four inch plastic dildo inside me.  And to think, the RVP wasn’t even on yet!  I took another shuddering deep breath and tried to still the butterflies in my stomach.

            Why was I nervous?  Oh, just wait till you read on.  You won’t believe what the assignment was, or what I was about to do.  I drove west on I-10 and kept going till I was pretty far outside of town.  My goal was a particular truck stop, not the usual one I’ve used since that one would be too busy and the parking lot isn’t right..  About fifteen minutes later I pulled in and wove my little pickup through the massive big rigs to the very back of the lot.

            A number of trucks were parked there, but no many.  Since we were west of Houston and even Katy, and due to the time of day, most truckers were still on the road.  Only a few were parked and I suspected that most of their drivers were in the restaurant eating.  That suited me just fine.  I parked behind one semi, just at the edge of the lot. Then I got out the rubber bands.

            They were rather large, tan colored, elastic loops and it didn’t take very much for me to slip off my high heels and place them around each foot, right at the soft and delicate arch.  Then my high heels went back on.  With a deep breath and my hands clenching my duster, I hopped out of the truck and closed the door.  Another quick glance around assured me that things were quite, despite the roar of the freeway just a hundred yards away.  In fact, I’d be visible from the road as well.   I turned my back to it, facing a few trees the bordered the back of the lot.

            I had stuck the remote to the RVP deep into the inside pocket of the duster and I pulled it out, flashing myself to a bunch of trees.  It was the work of a simple thumb flick to move the sliders up the controller, causing the four inch plastic cock inside me to suddenly begin spinning wildly, as well as vibrating.  The base the cock was attached to was also large enough to touch my clit and trust me, those vibrations had an immediate effect on both my sexual readiness and my mental health.

            Then I turned back around, facing the parking lot, the parked trucks, and the freeway.

            I slipped my left foot out of the high heel and brought it up so that my sole was behind me, pressed against my buttock.  Unfortunately, before I could even snap the rubber band much less grab hold of it, my flamingo like perch wobbled and I lost my balance.  My coat flapped open as my right hand was forced to swing out wide as a counterweight to the direction I started to fall, and immediately a swath of my cream colored skin, from chin to pussy, was perfectly exposed.  I put my foot back down with a cry of chagrin and immediately grasped my coat again.

            I knew that the longer I stood out here, the better the chances of being seen, so I wanted to hurry.  Master Dan’s assignment hadn’t actually specified that someone WATCH me humiliate myself while hurting the soles of my feet.  So with a quick look around, I moved to the grill of the closest semi-truck, and put my right hand out to brace myself.  And that left me in a quandary.  How do I keep my coat clenched closed if one hand is bracing to keep me from falling over, while the other is snapping the rubber bands.  Would you believe I didn’t even realize until that moment just what Master Dan had ordered me to do?

            If only I had three hands.  I wasted precious seconds, maybe even minutes, struggling with the choice.  And with the clock ticking, all I could think of to do was to let my coat go.  Just through body movement I tried to keep the front edges as close as possible, I bent my leg, brought my foot up, and grabbed the elastic band.

            The sting was negligible and I put my foot down.  Then I twisted, put my other hand on the truck grill, lifted the right foot, and snapped the second rubber band.  Again a light sting sent a spark of sensation up my leg that would rival even a political shiver and I twisted again, changing my position in order to repeat the process on my left foot.

            I alternated back and forth as required by the assignment and the fact is that by the time I hit the ten snap mark on both feet I didn’t really care that my back and forth movements were causing the front of my coat to flap loosely, both breasts hanging out, all while the RVP danced and whirled at the cleft of my sex.  I was so horny, so wet, so desperate that I was having trouble standing.  The soles of my feet stung and I still had forty snaps to go on each foot!

            The struggle was impressive and I managed to make it to sixteen before my pussy gave out, responding to the incessant sexual impulse caused by the Rotating Venus Penis.  I cried out in ecstasy, shuddering with exquisite pleasure as the orgasm rocked my world.  Thank God the truck was there because if it hadn’t been I’d have fallen to the ground in a twitchy pile of girl goo.

            I wish I could start this next paragraph with “when things calmed down,” but the truth is that they didn’t.  Sure, I exploded and there was the typical moment of sexual euphoria, my brain flooded with adrenaline and endorphins and a soup of pleasure causing hormones, but the truth is that I left the RVP on high, still buzzing and spinning between my legs.  My coat was still wide open now and only in the smallest corner of my brain had I managed to keep from concealing myself against the grill of the truck. My body was smarting from the rubber band snaps, the exposure, the constant stimulation of my clitoris and sex, and then there was the man standing twenty feet away, eyes wide, mouth open in astonishment, looking at me shudder through the obvious end of my orgasm.

            I immediately felt two things; the heat of my humiliated blush, and a secondary rush of sexual urgency, totally unrelated to the RVP, that flooded my depths with another wetness that almost, but not quite, could have qualified as a second orgasm. I drew in a shaky breath, eyes open and staring as I let go of the truck and quickly clenched my duster closed.

            “Am I interrupting something?” the man asked.  He was in his early forties, thinning on top, and dressed in jeans and a tee shirt.  He wasn’t thin, but wasn’t fat either, and only had a few extra pounds on his middle that told me he liked his beer.  Or maybe not.  He was clutching a cold bottle of diet soda in his right hand. 

            I shook my head violently.  “No, I’m sorry!” I said hoarsely.  My voice was fine but I lacked control.  You try carrying on a conversation when you’re recovering from an immediate orgasm and are well on your way to a second one, while trying to keep your coat closed.

            “Are you sure?  Looks like you were having fun there,” he said.

            I shuddered again.  “No please.  I’m fine!  Really,” which didn’t seem to go so well since my hips started thrusting forward of their own volition, clearly fucking the four inch plastic cock inside me.  The trucker might not have KNOWN about my sex toy, but my movements were obvious.

            “Are you… um… selling?” he asked suspiciously.

            My eyes widened.  “What?  No!” I said forcefully, my hands still clenching the front of my duster closed.

            He crossed his arms.  “Okay.  So what is it you’re doing?”  He shifted his weight and as my body language told him I was in the throes of sexual chaos, his told me that he planned to stay right there and watch until I answered him, and probably a lot longer.

            The heat in my face increased and I realized that I was going to have to tell him.

            “I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut and I’m being punished,” I said quickly, in a rush of breath.

            He blinked. “Excuse me?”

            “I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut and I’m being punished!” I said again, this time louder.  I’m not positive, but I think maybe the RVP was overloading a few of my higher brain functions.

            “You’re being punished?” he asked, looking around.

            I nodded.  “Yes sir. I’m supposed to stand here and snap these rubber bands on my feet.”  I pointed down to my toes and he took a step forward, eyes narrowing as he peered down at my high heels.

            “Seriously?”

            I swallowed, looked up, and met his gaze.  Evidently that was enough for him because he went right back to his previous position of polite waiting.  He was there for the show.

            I almost cried.

            But then my pussy clenched again and I realized this was exactly what Master Dan had wanted to happen. It was why I was in a parking lot.  So I took a deep breath, let my coat go, braced myself once again, and lifted my foot.  I focused on the snap, rather than on the trucker’s face, which was an amazed, wide-eyed, lip licking stare.  Had I not already been dealing with the penetration and movements of the RVP, I know I would have felt that eye-fuck like a physical penetration.  I wasn’t positive, but I thought I could see a bulge forming in the front of his pants.  I have that effect on some people.

        d directly to your clit. Enjoy! – Master Dan

This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but can be found in Breanne Erickson's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Vol. 7"  Click here to check out our sample page and take a look at the amazing work of Breanne Erickson!

 

Rumors by Michael Alexander

Codes: F/m, spanking, school,

Jeremy Evans sat stiffly at his desk, the crumpled paper ball wadded up in his right hand.  He shook, just a little, as he contemplated what he was about to do.  Normally he wasn’t a trouble maker and considered one of the “well-behaved” kids.  But he just had to know.  The rumors… they were just too incredible to believe.  Spoken in dark rooms, behind the field house, after drinking one too many beers at a party, the tales bordered on insane.

Ms. Candice Rutger was an attractive women, if a little older than the type Jeremy would normally be attracted too.  She was a few inches over five feet, even in high heels, with blonde hair that was going to steel.  She was in her early forties, thin and strong, and wore conservative, yet tight clothing that emphasized the well proportioned curves of her breasts and hips.

But even had she been a crone, Jeremy would have been tempted.  He bit his lip.  Timing was the most important thing involved.  He had to choose the moment to throw so carefully.  His hand trembled as Ms. Rutger turned her back to the class, scrawling across the blackboard.  Her voice was powerful, easily in command of the class, and as she finished her sentence, Jeremy slid half-way out of the desk, and hurled the paper ball directly at Ms. Rutger.

Not only was his aim phenomenal, but so was his timing.  She turned around as the paper ball hit the apex of its arc, and her eyes flashed in fury.  To Jeremy’s astonishment, she not only spotted exactly who threw the paper wad, but caught it mid-flight, right before it was about to bang her in the nose. 

Caught red-handed, Jeremy’s face went white and he finished sitting down as the class erupted into laughter. 

“That will be enough!” Rutger hissed.  The class went immediately silent.  Nothing, not even Jeremy’s almost awesome shot, was worth violating the school rules.  Corporal punishment was the most common means of correction and no one wanted to risk getting their rump redecorated in the school colors of blue and red. 

“Jeremy Evans, how dare you?” demanded Rutger, her eyes burning.  Jeremy shrank into his desk chair, wishing for just a moment that he was terribly small.  “Detention.  You will return to my classroom at the end of the day where you will be paddled.  Do you understand?”

His mouth went dry and he nodded stupidly, but inside, a part of him screamed in triumph.  He had been afraid that she would merely chastise him with a verbal reprimand, or perhaps notify his parents.  Instead she had demanded his presence that afternoon, after class, and if what he had heard was true…

The rest of the school day seemed to crawl and Jeremy had trouble concentrating.  Part of it was due to the fear of the paddling, which he knew he would have to endure regardless of what else happened.  But there was also the knowledge… well, the suspicion, the hopes of what else would happen.  It was distraction that made him uncomfortable.

Finally the last bell rang and he proceeded quickly to Ms. Rutger’s room.  He arrived even before the last class’s final student left and the boy in question gave him a suspicious wink as he left.

“Close the door, Mr. Evans, and lock it,” Ms. Rutger said as she opened one of the drawers of her desk.

Jeremy nodded and closed the door, his foot kicking up the stopper and letting the heavy weight of the door swing it shut.  He twisted the dead bolt and the loud thunk of the lock securing the door sounded distinctly ominous to him.  When he turned back to Ms. Rutger, she was sitting in her desk chair, holding the paddle.

It was a serious looking weapon, made of solid wood and drilled with holes in order to make it sting more.  The handle itself was thin, but counterbalanced by a wide pommel.  It looked fearsome.

“Now, come here,” ordered Ms. Rutger.

Jeremy approached, his heart thumping wildly. 

“Unbuckle your jeans and push them down to your knees, Mr. Evans,” Ms. Rutger said.  Jeremy licked his lips, but then his pulse went even higher as he watched her reach across the desk and grab the large bottle of hand lotion she kept near the edge.  She pulled it toward herself and then pressed the top, depositing a massive dollop of white, unscented skin cream into her left palm. 

Jeremy trembled as he unbuckled his belt and pushed his jeans down.  He was wearing a pair of blue boxers.  The front was tented embarrassingly.  Ms. Rutger looked at him with bemused indifference and then she nodded.

“Now put your hands on the desk and bend over,” she ordered.  “No, take a step backward.  There needs to be room between you and the edge of the desk.  That’s better.”  She put the paddle down for just a moment, her right hand coming up and grabbing hold of the boxers.  “Now, as you well know, all corporal punishments are delivered bare bottomed.  We aren’t going to have a problem, are we?” she asked harshly into his ear.

Jeremy shook his head. “No, ma’am,” he replied, still trembling, having second thoughts.  His buttocks clenched in pre-stroke anticipation.

“Good,” Rutger replied.  Then she tugged the boxers down.

Jeremy’s cock bounced into hardened view like a just raised mast of a sailboat.  It bobbed up and down for a moment, seeking something, but as Ms. Rutger pushed the boxers down to Jeremy’s knees to join his jeans, his cock seemed to wilt.  The thought of the paddling was not something to look forward to.

“I’m going to hold you so that you don’t jerk too much,” Ms. Rutger said as she picked up the paddle again.  “This is going to hurt, but I hope you learn your lesson.”

Jeremy gritted his teeth. “Yes, ma’am,” he said again, bracing himself.

And then it happened.  Just like everyone said it would.  He gasped as she grabbed hold of his cock, the cool cream covering the tip as his shaft head hit her palm.  And it wasn’t merely a grip.  She began rubbing his shaft vigorously, working the lotion over his shaft, which had again hardened to immediate need.  He groaned, his hips involuntarily shoving forward, thrusting into her curled hand.  She squeezed him, pulsing around his manhood when suddenly she laid a stinging swat on his bared rump.

It had come as a surprise to Jeremy, but the delicious pleasure she was inflicting on his anterior made the pain in his posterior bearable.  He thrust again, grunting as the sting turned to heat and he rocked, his breath coming in short gasps.  Rutger wasted no time, but swung again, this time even harder.  The pain made him grimace, but the blow also moved him forward again, making the thrust of his cock through her slick fingers even more penetrating. 

For Jeremy, it felt like nothing he had ever experienced.  His cock seemed close to bursting as stroke after stroke fell on his exposed buttocks, burning them.  Rutger seemed to almost toy with him, moving her fingers, curling them around the tip, at one point making a small, tight “O” shape and gliding it down his shaft length until she was able to squeeze the very base of his cock. Then she focused on the purpled head of his shaft, tormenting him.  Together they moved, her hand stimulating him, working him to release, while he bounced between the need of her hand and the stinging agony of her paddle.

He cried out, shuddering, as the impending release rose in him.  His hips churned, rapidly pumping and Rutger picked up the pace of both her strokes against his ass, and the ones around his penis.  Her arms moved in blurs and then Jeremy grimaced, his cock throbbing in orgasmic release and he pumped a massive load of cream, indistinguishable from the lotion except in its viscosity, into her palm.

He almost fell, but instead put his head down onto his arm, his knees weak. Rutger continued rubbing his cock until it softened. Then she pulled away and used a paper towel to wipe her hand. 

“Turn and face me,” she said a moment later.  Jeremy blinked and straightened, his cock still hanging out, but limp and small, still coated in a mixture of cum and lotion.  He felt a momentary flush of embarrassment as Ms. Rutger took a second piece of paper towel and cleaned off his shaft. It felt… wrong, somehow.

“Pull up your pants, young man,” the teacher said, tossing the paper towels in the nearby waste basket.  It was ironic they fell on the crumpled paper Jeremy had thrown earlier, smearing it with cum and lotion.  “I think that’s enough correction for this afternoon.”

Jeremy swallowed.  He tugged his boxers back up, covering his manhood. “Yes, Ms. Rutger.  Thank you.”

Her eyebrow went up. “I am a bit surprised at you, Mr. Evans.  You aren’t the kind of student I would have expected this kind of behavior from.”

He flushed crimson.  There was no way he could possibly explain.  He pulled his jeans up over his smarting posterior.

She shook her head.  “But since you are here, I thought we might also discuss your scholastic situation.”

“My grade?” he asked stupidly.  He was a great student and was doing well.  What would she need to talk to him about?”

She nodded.  “Not your grade.  I said scholastic situation.  It’s my understanding that you will be attending university next year, are you not?”

Jeremy bobbed his head.  “Yes, ma’am.”

“Then I think you would qualify for an English Scholarship, but it would take some private tutoring.”

“A scholarship?” Jeremy asked, his brain still not yet quiet functioning at normal levels.

She nodded. “That is correct.  If you wish to be tutored, you will come to my house on each Saturday for the next two months.  The tutorial will last a few hours at most.  Are you interested?”

“Oh! Um… sure!  That sounds great,” Jeremy replied, still at a loss for words.

Ms. Rutger nodded and picked up a pen, scribbling an address down.  “Excellent.  Be at this address at ten am, sharp, Mr. Evans.”  She handed him the paper and turned away.  It was clearly a dismissal.

Jeremy took the paper and blinked.  Slowly he shuffled away and headed for the door. It took him a moment to unlock it, but then he stepped out into the hall.  He felt strange, as if the day’s tension had been forcibly ejected from his body and his mind replayed the events of the last forty minutes.  His rump still ached and burned, but it was nothing compared to the arousal that returned in seconds as he remembered the feel of Ms. Rutger’s hand around his shaft. 

He looked down at the note paper in his hand, his cock thickening underneath his jeans.  Scholarship?  Private tutorials?  Jeremy Evans grinned.  Who would have guessed?

The rumors were right.

Michael Alexander is the author of "Breanne's Three - Chicago BDSM, The Silver Locke, Sigma Epsilon Chi, and In the Dark (A BDSM Anthology)!  Check out his work at www.michaelalexanderstories.com!

The Ride

http://www.paintingmania.com/nude-girl-riding-horse-145_4729.html

10/10/2012

I took a deep breath.  Despite a cold front that slithered through a week before, the late Texas Summer Heat was still flowing over the fields of my farm.  It was in the upper eighties and still threatened to hit ninety unless a few more clouds appeared, which was doubtful on that very bright weekday afternoon.  But I didn’t mind in the least.  The scent of ryegrass and hay, of freshly turned earth, filled my nose and the sounds of cicadas still rang out, a chorus that still had weeks before silencing in hibernation.

            I was plodding along peacefully, gazing around from high atop my horse, Star.  She’s a mare and has been mine a long time and to be honest, is getting on in years.  She’s a quarter horse, dappled brown and white, but with an odd shaped, five pointed blotch on her forehead that I thought, as a little girl, looked like a falling star streaking earthward. 

            We were just taking a tour of the north fields, far enough away from the house to be out of sight and out enough in the boonies that unless a neighbor was also out for a ride, or a spy satellite was orbiting overhead, there was little chance that I would be observed.  Which is good, because I slithered down from Star’s back and let her munch on some green thing sticking up from the ground.

            I dropped my canvas bag to the ground behind me and began at my neck.  The button up shirt was a staple in my closet, and I liked wearing them around the house and farm.  It was blue, which is one of my favorite colors, and looked like the sky above me.  It was short sleeved and my arms darkened in a farmer’s tan from the shoulder down to my wrist.  The buttons slipped loose one by one, exposing a tee shirt underneath, a solid white, that conformed to the soft curves of my breasts.

            I put the button up shirt aside, folding it gently before laying it down upon my canvas bag.  Next came my tee shirt, and I relished pulling it up over my head, the long strands of my auburn hair folding and then falling free as I tugged the tee-shirt off.  The breeze was delicious against my bare skin and it didn’t take my long to reach behind my back unclasp the bra that was cupping my breasts.  A moment later it too fell free and I took a deep, unfettered breath.  My nipples hardened instantly, just as they usually do when first exposed, and I felt the gentle pressure of the nipple piercing at the tip of my right breast and the light tap of the charm sized padlock that dangled downward from it.

            Sunlight streamed down upon my skin and my hands moved to the buckle of my belt.  It wasn’t a typical massive steel cowboy belt buckle, but something more feminine, more subtle, but just as beautiful.  It came loose and I felt my jeans loose that tension.  The button beneath slipped through my fingers and then I began wiggling my hips, working the tight, protective denim downward.  I fought for balance when the jeans got to my knees, and I grimaced in self-depreciation as I mentally cursed myself for failing to remember my boots first.  I tugged my jeans back up mid-thigh, my bright yellow panties matching the brilliance of the sun as I swung my rump back and forth, shaking my feet one at a time and tugging my leather cowboy boots down and off.

            Gingerly, since God only knows what might have been on the ground, I put a stocking clad toe downward and then began the process of removing my jeans again.  Without my boots in the way, I wasn’t hard and I stepped onto the denim with something akin to a smile.  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.  Standing there, in the glory of nature itself, in just my panties, wearing nothing else, was pretty awesome.  I wasn’t embarrassed either.  No one was around to see me.  No one was there to hurt me, or humiliate me.  At least, not yet. 

            I slipped my thumb into my panties, along the waistband, and I pushed them down.  They were slightly damp with both perspiration and something more, something muskier and I knew that just the knowledge of what I was going to do in the middle of this field was enough to get me aroused.  Of course, the ben wa balls that were rolling lightly inside me might have been responsible too.  Who knows?  I stepped out of the panties, leaving them fallen and rolled on my jeans.  My thumb grazed my clit and I moaned loudly.  Star snorted, shaking her mane and looking up at me for just a moment.  Naked Breanne is not all that unusual for my horse, so after a second or two of horsey contemplation, she put her head back down to continue her snack.

            I snagged the small piece of string that protruded out from between the petals of my sex, tugging the first of the two small golf-ball sized spheres from out of my depths.  Another groan came unwillingly to my lips, since my sex clearly didn’t want to surrender the tiny sex toys.  But I am woman.  I am strong.  I am powerful, and two little plastic, bell filled, balls will never get the best of me.  They popped out in a one two punch and then were dangling from my hand as my sex clenched tightly on nothingness, protesting and squeezing and generally feeling quite disgusted with the whole situation.  

            I looked down in my best “Princess Bride” voice, said “I thinks doth protests too much.”  It was cheesy, I know.  But I knew what was coming, even if the small pink nether mouth didn’t.  I lifted the ben wa balls upward and gingerly stuck out my tongue.   The taste was familiar – my own sexual need, and I cleaned them delicately until not a trace of my own arousal was left.  Then they too joined my shirts in the canvas bag.  While I was down there, digging through the canvas, I realized that I might as well grab what was needed next.

            There were actually two items, yet they were combined in such away that a single movement pulled them both free of the depths of my bag.  The first item  you are no doubt familiar with.  Looking like a dark rocket ship, my Core Driller dildo is one of those rubber monstrosities that is twelve inches long and widens to an astonishing three and a half inches wide.  It has multiple stages, each with tiny bumps, and feels… well… there really isn’t anything it feels like.  It just is.  If you are familiar with dildos, then imagine one so thick and so long that when it’s completely inside you, it hurts.  It presses painfully up against your cervix if your sitting wrong.  It’s the kind of dildo that boys with small dicks wish they looked like.  Hell, I’ve known some STALLIONS who would have been jealous of my Core Driller dildo.

            I mean in size!  They’re jealous of the size!  Not where the stupid dildo GOES!  No. I’ve never fucked a horse.  Never will.  Get THAT thought out of your head.  Sheesh.

            But today, there was something else attached to my Core Driller dildo, something that I was certainly not comfortable with, and only had because I’d been ordered to bring it, to use it, to endure it.  It was oddly shaped, and made of the same flexible, black rubber, that my tack mat and bra tack inserts had been made off.  It was shaped like an arrow.  Not a real arrow, like what the native Americans used to shoot at the US Calvary or colonial settlers.  No, it looked more like one of the arrows you might find pointing to a restroom, or along a corridor.  The head was thicker, more blocky.  But in an odd way, certainly not less sharp.  That was due to the fact that the triangle head piece of the thick arrow shaped rubber, as well as the shaft, were pierced by about thirty silver headed tacks.

            Each tack was just long enough to completely pierce the rubber, leaving a tiny pin prick sliver on the opposite side.  I could stomp on it with my foot as hard as I could and probably only get one or two punctures.  Done lightly, none of the millimeter length points would break skin.  But it wasn’t about that, was it?  The shaft of the arrow shape was odd as well.  Behind the triangle shaped point, the shaft was four inches wide, all the way down to a massive hole cut directly into the rubber.  This hole was exactly three and a half inches wide, perfect for the base of my Core Driller dildo.  Then, the rest of the arrow shaft narrowed until it was only wide enough for two tacks side by side. 

            The Core Driller was already fitted into this new torture device and I spread my legs lewdly as I began rubbing the tip back and forth across my slit, making sure that my clit received some direct attention from the tip of my Core Driller.  Already in a state, I worked myself into a froth, my sex ripening even more from the direct stimulation.  Finally I began slipping the tip inward, pulling it upward, letting the thick rubber penetrate with increasingly heavy thrusts.  Moment by moment, the tapered head of the dildo deepened inside me until I was gasping in delight, one hand working my clit while the other helped move the dildo higher into my depths.

            With most of the dildo in, but with the tacks still an inch or two away from the soft petals of my sex, I bent over in a ridiculous position, pulling up the canvas bag and quickly draping the handles over the horn of Star’s saddle.  She didn’t care.  Then, in what must have been the most awkward mount ever, I put my stocking clad foot in the stirrup, grabbed hold of Star’s saddle with my right hand, while the left remained between my legs, and swung up and onto my horse’s back.

            Despite my attempt to stay standing in the saddle, it didn’t really work out.  I’m just not tall enough.  The rubber attachment hit the padded leather beneath me and as I straddled my horse’s saddle, the Core Driller moved a little deeper while I felt a sharp scratch against my thigh.  Wincing, I reached down and repositioned the rubber attachment.  Then, satisfied that everything was in place, I slowly let myself down.

            The first thing my body noticed was the additional two inches of thick rubber cock that speared upward into me.  I gasped and rolled my hips, trying to settle it.  But that was a mistake.  As I rolled, my weight pressed forward, driving the folds and wefts of my sex, the soft pink wet petals of my flower, directly downward onto the pinprick points of the attachment.  The triangular shape made sure that the spread labia, stretched wide by the Core Driller dildo, were subjected to just as much torment as the rest of my folds and the pointed top curled up to actually prick my clitoris.  It was diabolical. Evil even.

            My body reacted with expected distress and I rolled backward, away from the sharp pin pricks that scored my clit and sex.  Of course, all that did was drive a similar sensation along my perineum and then against the crack of my ass, literally driving the tiny steel thorns into the sensitive flesh around my bottom.  I rocked back forward and… well… you get the picture, right?

            It took maybe two or three minutes to adjust, finally settling in my saddle with a shudder of both misery and sexual appetite.  My sex was tingling with the mild discomfort of the pins and with a hard swallow I picked up the reigns and thumped my heels into Star’s sides.

   

This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but can be found in Breanne Erickson's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Vol. 7"  Click here to check out our sample page and take a look at the amazing work of Breanne Erickson!

 

Coming of Age Now Available on Nook

We are pleased to announce that as of right now, Breanne Erickson's "Coming of Age - A BDSM Romance" is now available for the Nook.  The exclusive agreement with Amazon has ended and we are pleased to be able the book in other formats. For those of you who are B&N fans (like me!), here's your opportunity to get Breanne's masterpiece.

Sigma Epsilon Chi

We're rolling out a new cover for the classic Michael Alexander tale, "Sigma Epsilon Chi", the continuing story of Samantha Mayfield, the young college co-ed who starred in the short story "The Waxers."  The original cover design by Sheo was great, but it didn't really appeal to the audience that reads these kinds of tales.  To read a free sample, please visit Michael Alexander Stories and check out "Sigma Epsilon Chi!"

We've updated the covers on Amazon and Barnes&Noble, but it will take a few hours for the new graphics (not to mention the corrected title) to be put in place.

Update: And since we had to change a bunch of pictures on the website anyway, we cleaned a few things up!

•  You'll find a full and complete thumbnail bookcase at the bottom of each page, linked to the various samples!
• The video narrations of "The Society of the Golden Rose" and "The Painter" are now available from the right side column, but what link will take you there?
• Updated the side column cover pics, added a few more here and there.  

 

Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Rule #6

I’m sitting here in front of the computer and I’m scared stiff.  I’m not at home right now. I’m at Mike the Hardware Guy’s place.  He’s in the kitchen right now, making me a drink of water and letting the anticipation get to me.  I admit that I wasn’t really prepared for what he would come up with, and the diabolical nature of it frightens me.  It doesn’t look like much, at least not that you’d really notice.  It’s all wrapped up nice and neat in a vinyl covered seat cushion.  Except for the odd bump at the front and the two very exposed little metal nodules, you’d think it was a normal seat cushion.

Sitting on it, like I am now, doesn’t hurt.  But that’s because it isn’t on.  Mike said he wanted to give me some time to ruminate, to place my thoughts on paper, or the computer as the case may be, before we turn it on.  He showed me how it worked though, even gave me a brief demonstration.  It is battery operated of course, but the amount of electricity that flows through it is still pretty scary.  He turned it on, holding the cushion in his hands, and told me to lay my finger across the two metal bumps.

I was expecting the shock, but I jerked my hand away.  It hurt.  Not terribly, but enough to make you not want to touch the damn thing again.  I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that I’m sitting here naked, with my clitoris pressed up against those two metal barbs.  Even with the cushion “off”, I’m still sweating. 

Mike explained that it was nothing more than a discipline collar meant for a dog. Dog owners actually zap their dogs with this? My God!  What is wrong with you people?  He described in quite loving detail how he changed the input on the zapper so that rather than having it go off when I crossed some invisible line on the lawn, it would go off if I shifted my weight, specifically if I tightened my buttocks and thrust my hips forward, as if I were fucking something.  That just seems wrong.

He’s back now.  With my water.  He says it’s time to turn it on.

***

I’m not sure I can do this.  I don’t dare move.  It’s affecting my typing too.  More typos of course, but I’m distracted to the point of    *SHIT* DAMN!  Owww!  Oh God.  It’s terrible!  When I shift my hips, it activates the zapper and I feel the shock right on my clit.  It’s painful, like a sharp pinch.  But that’s not the worst thing!  My body responds by jerking back, and then I jerk forward again, activating the damn thing a second time!  Then a third!  Until I consciously think “STOP YOU CRAZY BITCH!”  My lip is trembling and Mike is sitting on the bed, grinning like a Cheshire Cat, enjoying every second of this.

Ugghhh… Sorry.  Had to deal with another round.  The pain hasn’t lessened at all, but I think I can deal with it.  The big thing is to remember not to thrust.  What really scares me now is the thought of having the vibroballs in me while sitting on this.  What if they were on high?  What if I were extremely sexually excited?  What if I WANTED to thrust?  If…

FUCK!  DAMN THIS FUCKING THING!  GOD THAT FUCKING HURTS!  Please?  Please can I get off it?  Mike says no. To keep typing.  To think beyond the pain.  I’m not sure I can.  It’s this sharp pin going through my clit and…

AAAHHHHH. OWwww… Owww… please no! Not …. Owwwwwwwwww.

***

Mike says that maybe he needs to reduce the charge.  I’m not sure how he’s going to do that.  He said something about a resistor, but I’m not sure what that means.  I’m hardly going to resist.  But my clit feels like I’ve fried it.  He’s getting out the second cushion, the other one he made.  I’m not feeling confident at this point.  Oh look.  It’s a prism.  At least I know how this will feel.

This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but can be found in Breanne Erickson's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Vol. 7"  Click here to check out our sample page and take a look at the amazing work of Breanne Erickson!