Trucks, Clocks, and Canes

01/25/2013

           I sat down in my desk chair with a groan, shifting my hips and trying very hard to ignore the buzzing between my legs.  Embedded underneath my tight blue jean shorts, and even below a pair of pink bikini style panties, even deeper than the wet and soft petals of my sex, two roughly spherical objects that were rattling around and clattering inside my well.  A thin wire trailed outward, past my labia, down by my thigh, out of the panties and then shorts, to a small rectangular remote that was tucked into my left front pocket.

            I had just endured two hours of exertion, and not the kind I prefer.  If I’m going to exert myself, I’d rather be on my knees sucking cock, or maybe mashed between two guys, with one up my rear and one up my front.  Hell, had in a third guy and fill every hole.  Now that’s what I call exercise.  Filling feed bags, currying horses, slopping pigs, spreading chicken and goat feed is not what I’d call a lot of fun. 

            Now try doing that with a pair of vibroballs stuffed up inside you, buzzing away at medium.

            As usual, I checked my email.  There was the usual junk mail, a note from Kari, an email from Kylie, and then my heart skipped a beat.  There was an email from Master Brandon.  The subject line read “Open Immediately.”  My fingers trembled on the computer mouse but I’m a good girl and I clicked on the email and started reading it.

            “Breanne, the moment you read this email, the clock starts ticking,” read the first line.  I scanned the rest of the assignment, for that was what it was and my sex tightened around the vibroballs with desperation. 

            No cumming?  Not without purchase?  But… but… I was on MEDIUM!  There was no way I wasn’t going to be able to keep from coming!  And the punishment for unauthorized orgasm was brutal – vicious even.  I bit my lip and shook my head.  How was I going to do this?

            The crux of the assignment was simple.  I had to get my breasts beaten, and within a certain time limit.  I gritted my teeth and jumped up from the chair. I didn’t have much time.  I practically ran to my closet and grabbed my toy box.  I dumped it out on my bed, unwilling to spend the time searching through it.  I grabbed everything Brandon had asked for, mentally categorizing everything and hoping desperately that I wouldn’t need any of it.

            As I stripped off my shirt and bra, I ruminated about my plan. I had a single hour in which to find a stranger, present myself and my cane, and get twenty strokes across my breasts.  The very THOUGHT made my nipples tingle. I found the small box of nipplebands and as the assignment required, pulled two out and stretched them over each hardened nub.

            Clamped with rubber, I felt even more arousal and I had to really focus not to let the vibrations and the tight suction feeling on each nipple send me over the edge.  I realized that I had to get downstairs and into my truck as soon as possible.  I’m allowed to turn off any vibrators when I’m driving and so I shoved everything, the cane, the flogger, the sap, and all of the various clamps Brandon had ordered me to take, into a canvas bag and I flew downstairs with my tee shirt in one hand.  My bare breasts jiggled deliciously but I knew that no one was up, so I’d be okay.

            I made it to the truck just in time.  I turned off the vibroballs and settled back in my seat with a sigh of relief.  Still, my sex kept squeezing and contracting around the two plastic spheres, as if it expected them to turn back on at any second. I took a deep breath.  Then, realizing that I was still naked from the waist up, I slipped on my tee shirt.  It was tight and without a bra, both nipples were hard little points, especially distended with the nipplebands.  I let my finger graze over each tip and shivered as another flurry of decadent delight poured through me.

            Tick tock!  Time girl! I glanced at the dash clock. I’d already lost nine minutes!  I shook my head clear of the mist of arousal and gunned the engine, peeling out and heading toward the farm to market road that runs past the south end of our farm.  It took me mere seconds to get to the road and I turned toward town. 

            I didn’t really have a plan.  It was just barely after seven in the morning, on a Thursday, and while it was a work day which meant plenty of people around, I wasn’t asking to give someone a blowjob.  I was going to have to ask someone to hit me.  That’s not as easy as finding a guy to fuck me up the ass, trust me.  You have to be a sadist of some sort in order to be okay with taking a thin wooden rod to a girl’s breasts.  Especially if she needs twenty strokes and there need to be visible welts to go with it.

            I passed the gas station, the first sign of advanced non-agricultural civilization closest to my farm.  One car in the lot.  Cashier?  Go in and beg him to whip me?  No… the last few times I’d done anything there it had been a challenge.  The clerks were generally Indian (not Native American) and while I’d given one a blow job once, the others had been resistant to me.  Weird. I know.  Also, their bathroom was outside.  Not very convenient and I doubted anyone would stop there for gas in the next thirty minutes anyway.

            No. I needed somewhere heavily populated with guys, guys who were constantly horny, guys who would have no problem caning my breasts, and where there was instant privacy a few steps away.  That logic trickled through my mind and I grinned.  It would take me a good fifteen more minutes to get there, putting me past the half hour mark, but if I did it right, I might just have a quick torment, a solid fuck, and spend the rest of the day in sexual nirvana cumming whenever I wanted.

            When I got to the freeway and headed west.  As I drove out of town I felt the butterflies in my stomach go into a frenzy as my nerves tingled.  Part of it was from fear.  I was about to do the unthinkable.  I was going to a truck stop, where I would select a driver with a rig, approach him, and offer him sex in exchange for him caning my tits.  That would clearly put me in the “crazy but fuckable” category in a trucker’s book, but it classified as “incredibly stupid and nuts” in mine.

       

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!