I’m not sure if I slept or if I just lay there in a daze for an hour, but it was close to noon when Julie roused me from my self-induced semi-coma.
“Come on. We need to get through the next torment.”
I groaned and shook my head. I had changed my mind. No more torments. No anniversary was worth this. I might have been celebrating my three years of writing confessional BDSM erotica, but my breasts felt as if I’d been beaten by a crazy woman with a plastic rod while fucking a non-stop, spinning machine that didn’t care if I was over-sensitive or not.
And I had.
I sat up and took stock of my condition. My breast felt huge. Both were slightly swollen, bright red and still sporting some obvious welts that had darkened into easily visible lines. My nipples looked odd, misshapen slightly, as the swollen tips distorted the distended points. It made my piercing ache and the padlock that dangled from my right breast was cocked at an even more irritating angle than usual. But as bad as my breasts hurt, the real trouble was between my legs.
Sitting up made it more obvious, but the non-stop vibration and spinning was beginning to be a problem. I realized I wasn’t lubricating any more and I stood, moving quickly into the dining room. Julie was in the kitchen, pouring some drinks for us.
“I need to lube,” I said darkly.
She glanced at me and then shrugged. “Sure. You going to use Stinging O?” she asked.
I shook my head. Stinging O would hurt and make things worse. “Just grapeseed oil,” I replied.
“Whatever. Just do it. We need to be quick about this,” she said.
I nodded and reached into my bag. I had brought a bottle of grapeseed oil for just this reason and I began unbuckling the RVP enough to pull it away from sex. Looking past my bruised and beaten breasts, I tugged the four inch, spinning, plastic cock out of my depths and groaned in relief. It wasn’t dry, but it wasn’t soaked either, which seemed odd to me. Usually I gush in sexual juice. I’m like Old Faithful even. I’m never dry.