Texas is well known for its multitude of sayings. You’ve probably heard some of them. Don’t mess with Texas has always been popular, referring of course to littering. And if you are something of a history buff, then “remember the Alamo!” is probably on your short list. Texans like to remind people that the first word spoken from the moon was “Houston” and that “failure is not an option.”
In the space program, maybe. But when you are a nympho humiliation pain slut, there are all sorts of opportunities for failure. Sometimes it happens to be a particular set of circumstances that are just too intense. In fact, now that I think about it, I’m frequently positioned for spectacular failure, as if the various doms and dommes KNOW that I’m going to blow it, plan for my dismal and abject deficiency, and pre-set the required punishments.
I’m beginning to suspect some sort of conspiracy. It’s possible, maybe, that they are creating assignments that might be slightly tilted toward me screwing things up.
Yesterday I waltzed out of the house with a big old grin on my face, never suspecting that I was in for a rough day. First of all, I was dressed, and dressed comfortably and conservatively. I know this might come as a shock to you, but my general sensibilities are not geared for dressing like a teenage prostitute. Given the choice, I’d slip into a pair of comfortable blue jeans, white tube socks, a pair of boots, some pink bikini cut panties, a bra, tee shirt, and if it’s cool out, maybe even a flannel button up long sleeve shirt. In fact, that is exactly what I was wearing.
I had some errands to do that morning and Master Salvador had been waiting for exactly something like that for his little assignment. The previous few days had been tough on me, starting with a Saturday of non-stop vibration torment at Kari’s place and enough orgasms to almost rival my twenty one explosion record. So I think it’s understandable how I spent Sunday with my ben wa balls stuffed inside me, staying far away from anything motorized, and not even bothering to masturbate. When Monday came around though, Master Salvador asked about my condition, and finding out that my clit was still sore to the touch, instructed me to edge every few hours with my Husky dildo, all while pressing a vibrator to my clit.
I’m sure you can imagine me sitting there in my chair, naked from the waist down, my shirt pulled up under my chin, two clothespins dangling from my nipples, while I grit my teeth and shuddered under the vibrational onslaught, all while bouncing up and down on a nine inch long, three inch wide rubber cock. It was practically war.
Remember the Alamo!
So I didn’t cum at all on Monday. And yes, that was a challenge. On Tuesday however, Master Salvador rewarded me however. I was wearing my RVP and he had me turn it on, giving me relief, which was absolute bliss. But then I was instructed to remove the RVP, stick my ben wa balls back in, and given an assignment that I thought was not only doable, but could be a lot of fun.
Master Salvador has a peculiar bent. He’s not sadistic like Masters Brandon or Barrett. He’s not into humiliation quite like Master Mark. He’s not complicated like Master Dan. Instead, he’s into something else, something I can’t quite figure out. It’s like he’s trying to create certain situations – and I’m not positive he means for me.
Anyway, my big grin started because Master Salvador wanted me to wear something special, something I’ve rarely worn out on an assignment before, and usually the only reason I was allowed to wear it, was because I’d shortly be naked anyway. But this time, this time was really awesome. Why? Because I got to wear, what I was already wearing.
I know, you’re shocked, right? No stopping the truck on the gravel roadside along the south border of our farm. No getting out and moving the to the front in the cold. No stripping naked, my nipples hard from the chill, goosebumps on every inch of my body, worrying about a car or truck coming along over the hill, seeing a very naked, redhaired nympho humiliation pain slut struggling to fold her clothes. No putting on something so skimpy that I might as well be naked anyway. No getting back into the truck, shivering and freezing my ass off, all while stuffed to the brim with something uncomfortable and buzzing and turning me on like an over-amped light switch.
Nope. Just me and my regular clothes. And with the ben wa balls? I might as well have been spending the day with my family!
Of course going out in regular clothes with just my ben wa balls to tease me into sexual readiness was hardly the point of Master Salvador’s assignment. I trundled along and checked my list. Both my mother and father had given me things to pick up and I needed a few things too, so I headed north toward town and pulled into the parking lot of one of those huge home improvement stores.
I’ve been at this one before, even done some questionably intelligent things here. I remember one time I bought a large jumbo alligator clamp and before even adjusting it so that it wouldn’t cut me, deliberately attached it somewhere on my body that elicited a knuckle bitten scream while raising the eyebrows of the poor clerk who was watching. I’ve purchased some rather questionable items here, all at the same time, each vaguely dildo shaped.
And yesterday? Yesterday I was buying a few fence posts.
Oh… not to fuck! You pervert! Could you imagine me sitting somewhere with a four inch wide metal pipe, trying to get that thing up inside me? Hell, even with the rounded caps it would be too much for me. I know some women that can take dildos that big, but I’m not one of them. My Core Driller is about as much as I can handle, even uncomfortably. So don’t think I was going to plop down naked from the waist down in the back of my truck and screw a fence post.
It was still early and there weren’t many people about. I closed my truck door and began walking toward the front doors, when I saw a man. He was closer to forty than he was to thirty, dressed nicely, buzz cut hair, glasses, a tad bit overweight but not grossly so, and to be honest, looked rather nice. I felt my loins tighten and changed my course slightly. With a skip I caught up to him and flashed him a beaming smile, the kind of smile that changes a man’s life. It startled him and his step faltered a moment.
“Hi!” I said brightly, eyes wide and direct. I gave him a warm smile.
He looked at me, and when I say he looked at me, I mean he REALLY looked at me. I’m not positive about what he saw, but I can guess. I looked… good. Wholesome. Friendly. Conservative even. I was dressed as a typical cowgirl, from the pony tail that held back my fire engine red hair to the dark blue denim covering my butt. Hell, I was even wearing cowboy boots!
“Hi,” he said back with a grin.
“I’m Breanne,” I told him.
“Uh…. Rufus,” he replied and once again began walking toward to the store.
“Hi, Rufus,” I intoned.
He gave me a bemused smile. “Hello Breanne. Can I help you with something?” he asked, clearly confused as to why this twenty something red head cowgirl was walking next to him, appearing to give him all her attention.
My face brightened considerably and I opened my mouth like a vapid school girl who cares for nothing but new shoes. “Yes! Totally!” I gushed. I grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. It didn’t matter that we were standing directly in the middle of the roadway that ran past the front of the store. I leaned close to him, violating his personal space and whispered conspiratorially, “I was wondering if you would please fuck me.”
He reeled back as if I’d slapped him and now it was his turn for his mouth to open. I could see the wheels turning as his eyes now looked at me in a completely different light. I could tell he was having trouble reconciling my attire and image with what I had just said. He stalled for time and confirmation.
“Excuse me?” he stammered.
I beamed another one of my million watt smiles at him and said a little louder this time, just in case there was anyone around to hear, “I want you to fuck me. I could use a decent fuck.”
His eyes glanced around nervously and he coughed. “Well, I uh… I uh… appreciate the offer, Breanne. But uh… I’ll pass. Thank you.”
The smile dropped from my face, replaced immediately by my puppy dog eyes and sad frown. “What? But why? I could really use it,” I whined.
He pushed past me and I matched his pace. “Because it just isn’t right,” he insisted.
I let out an exasperated gasp. “It doesn’t have to be right, Rufus. It’s not a moral decision here. It’s you taking me somewhere private, pulling down my pants and panties, giving me your cock, and then spanking me afterward,” I told him.
His eyebrows went up at that and he glanced at me. “Spanking too? You’ve got some issues, young lady.”
“Well duh,” I replied. “But please, I know you can sort them out. Please, Rufus? Take me some place and do me?” I begged. I even put a hand on his arm.
“No Breanne. I don’t think so,” he said, his tone even and soft, but still stressed.
“Why? I don’t understand,” I said.
“Because things like this don’t happen. It’s too good to be true. You’re playing me.”
Well, I sure wasn’t’ expecting that. He was right of course, I was playing him. Just not the way he THOUGHT I was playing him.
“Girls just don’t come up to old fat guys like me and offer to let me fuck them. Besides, I’m married. You’re too pretty not to be able to get some young hunk, which makes me think you’ve got ulterior motives. Maybe you are hoping I’ll take you back to my place, and you’ll rob me and leave me tied up and naked on the bed, or invite a friend who is following you to come and help. Either way, I’m not stupid enough to look at your offer as anything but suspicious.”
Well, tar and feather me and call me a duck, I’d never quite been spoken to that way. I sort of just stood there, open mouthed, blinking. It had actually never even occurred to me that I might be perceived as a villain. I started to protest and he laid a finger on my lips.
“Conservation over. Have a good day.”
I hate moral, intelligent people. Shessh.
I watched Rufus walk off and the look on my face more closely resembled Kermit the Frog after being told something by Miss Piggy. I’m lucky my face didn’t freeze that way or chagrined frustration would have been writ upon my expression for all time.
I began wandering around the store, trying to avoid sales clerks. They have this annoying habit of asking if they can help you find something, and to be honest, I was trying to find someone to fuck me. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against screwing employees, but I was hoping for something a little more… wholesome… than taking some guy off the floor, risking his job, all for a little fling with me. It seemed wrong and I was trying my best to be virtuous.
Well… as much as I could be.
I hit the jackpot about twenty minutes later when I stumbled across two contractors who were busy selecting a variety of only God knows what from the hardware aisle. My approach was flawless, insinuating myself between the two of them, striking up a conversation, and then asking them if they would be willing to assist me with my little project. Evidently scruples isn’t contagious because they were more than willing to address my plumbing problem and with my arms linked in theirs, we went through the checkout line with their purchase and headed for the door.
Yes, I did see Rufus, but you expected that right? He watched me go out the door with my two guys and I twisted my head around and stuck my tongue out at him. The shocked look on his face was worth it.
I was taken to a van parked in the lot and I climbed in the back with Jim. He was tall with this shock of white hair and I’m positive he was in his fifties. He was also just a little unprepared and not sure what to do. So with Jim half sitting on an upturned bucket just behind the driver’s seat, and Chris kneeling on the passenger seat, arms folded across the top and watching every move I made, I proceeded to strip out of my perfectly good farm girl clothing as sexually and provocatively as possible.
Once I was naked, I moved in like a hungry shark, rubbing my breasts against Jim’s face and banging my head on the low roof. I ignored that and turned around, planting my bottom in his lap and I rubbed and twisted and generally tried to see if I could put a wet spot on his pants. To my surprise, he kept his hands away from me, not quite willing to touch and I realized he was a strip club veteran. I rolled my eyes in the semi-darkness of their van, reached down, grabbed his wrists, and brought his meaty, sweaty palms up to my breasts.
Well that revved him up. I know because I could feel his cock swell. He began playing with my piercing and the charm padlock that dangled from my right nipple and in short order he was getting pretty serious, sticking his fingers just about everywhere. I spread my legs as he found my slit and when he felt the thin string leading to the ben wa balls, he pulled his hand away.
“Pull them out,” I said huskily, my chest heaving.
I’m not sure what he thought was in there, but he tugged and was shocked to find himself holding my sex toy. I laughed and took it from him, licking my juices off one of the spheres before tossing the gooey set of spheres onto my fallen pile of clothes. Then I plucked a condom from my jeans pocket, tore the package open, and popped it in my mouth like bubblegum.
Master Salvador had told me I wasn’t allowed to suck cock. But I’m pretty sure he meant that for actual orgasm. He wanted me fucked. No problem there. I wanted fucking. I was horny too. Not desperate, but totally ready for cock. And so I went to my knees, helped Jim unbutton his pants, pulled out his cock, and dipped my head down on his soda straw.
He was hard and ready and I’ve been a master at the oral application of condoms since my sophomore year of college. Once he was appropriately covered, I stood up, straddled him, grabbed his shaft and positioned him properly between my legs. Then I lowered myself down.
Yes, it was completely vanilla, just two bodies bouncing on a bucket, in the back of a van, in the parking lot of a home improvement store. His mouth suckled my breasts, moving between one nipple and the other, even tugging lightly on the piercing. I groaned, moaned, squealed and did my best to make Jim pop.
Before I did of course.
See, that was the crux of the assignment. I had to fuck three guys vanilla style, all wholesome and sweet and innocent on the outside, yet dark and perverted and wanton on the inside, like a rotten fruit. And I had to do it all without cumming.
No cumming. Sex like crazy and no relief. That was what was going to be hard for me. Granted, I’m better at controlling my urges and needs than most – I’ve had lots of practice – but I’m a slut. Sex itself turns me on!
But porn positions help. Trust me. There is a reason porn stars do the facial thing and it isn’t just because everyone likes a facial finish. It’s because those weird positions are practically impossible to cum in from just vaginal stimulation. Poor guys. We girls have all the fun, don’t we?
Jim however had no trouble cumming while sitting down and he popped just a few minutes after he began snaking out my plumbing issues. I groaned and rocked my hips as he held me, ramming himself deep. And then I felt him soften, leaving me in a state of need, wanton urgency spreading through my blood stream.
“My turn,” Chris growled playfully and the next thing I knew I was lying on my back while he stuck his naked cock in my face. I blinked and began sucking, even as my fingers reached for my jeans to get another condom. I managed it and gagged a few times as I was facefucked. I held up the condom packet and he took it, but thrust his shaft a few more times between my lips for good measure. Finally he pulled out, leaving me breathless and gasping, put the condom on, and slid down my body.
I felt him penetrate like a nail into wood and I was pinned to the floor of the van. His hips slammed against mine like a sledgehammer and in moments the entire van was rocking on its shocks, bouncing up and down in what I’m sure was obvious clarity as to what was happening inside.
But lying on my back was not a good thing. With Chris on top of me, the angle was just right, perfect in fact, and I grit my teeth, struggling against the tide. There was no hope for me though. I was too bothered, too perfectly aligned, and even as Chris began to fill his condom, grunting with exquisite rapture, I cried out, bucking up against him, exploding with certain perfection that failure is definitely an option.
I felt amazing afterward and sat up as Chris pulled out. Condoms were disposed of and there were some nice grins exchanged. I grabbed my clothes, but all I did was slip the ben wa balls back into my pussy while the guys watched, clearly shocked but intrigued all the same. Once I was again following NHPS Rule #1, I got on all fours, presented my ass to Jim and said “now I deserve a spanking,”
That too was part of the assignment. After each fuck I was too ask, beg even, for a spanking, and I wasn’t allowed to specify how many strokes. In fact, if asked, I was to shake my rump and say “as many as you want to give me, just make it hurt.” And I was to count them too. Out loud.
Jim was a little incredulous, but was more than willing to give me what I wanted. He moved closer and brought his hand down and I felt the impact sting and jolt me forward.
“One,” I called out.
Jim laughed. “Guess a good girl counts.”
No, Jim. Only bad girls count.
By the time we got to eighteen my ass was burning and my rump was all over the place. Jim evidently thought twenty was a nice round number and when he stopped I wiped a single tear from my eye and turned around. I kissed his hand, thanks him, put him hands behind my back, and presented my breasts.
“Please sir? Slap my breasts ten times?”
“Wow, are you like a pain slut or something?” Jim laughed, shaking his head.
“I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut,” I replied softly.
“Can’t say no to that then,” and he hit my breasts.
It wasn’t as hard as Julie usually does it, which I guess is a blessing, but it still stung, and when he was done both breasts felt hot and heavy and ached. Then, without waiting even a moment, I crawled again on all fours over to where Chris was leaning against the back of the front passenger seat.
“Sir? Would you please spank me?” I asked, looking him the eye.
“What, again? Jim just spanked you!” Chris said, slightly shocked.
I lowered my lashes, “yes sir.”
“Uh, how many spanks?” Chris asked.
“As many as you think I deserve,” I replied.
“Damn girl, you are a glutton for punishment,” he said. “Get over my lap.”
I crawled across his legs and put my hands down on the van floor. My breasts swung just past his thigh, the nipples actually touching the metal bottom of the van. I felt Chris’ hand on my rump and then he lifted it and brought it crashing down.
A flurry of swats landed and I counted out loud but it was damn near the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I kicked and wiggled and he grabbed my right arm and dragged it into the small of my back when I couldn’t take the strokes and instinctively went to cover myself. I lost count at twenty three.
I was crying when he stopped and I was absolutely positive that someone had built a fire on my buttocks and that I’d find hot coals resting on both butt cheeks if I looked. Chris rubbed my rump, feeling the heat, still holding me. Finally he let go and I lifted up and faced him. I lifted my arms up and laced my fingers behind my neck.
“Please slap my breasts twelve times sir,” I whispered, my rear end still on fire.
Chris gave me a queer look. “Why twelve? Jim only got to hit you ten times.”
I winced. “It’s half of the spanking.”
Chris gave me a dirty look. “I gave your thirty strokes, bitch. You need to learn to count better. That’s fifteen slaps to your tits.” Then he lifted his hand and did Julie proud.
My cries nor tears abated during the next five minutes and it took every ounce of strength not to cover myself as Chris walloped my bosom. Hot and heavy went to burning and aching and I felt spasms in muscles I didn’t know I had. When he got to fifteen I crossed my arms across my chest and just rolled onto the floor. It hurt a lot.
They gave me about ten minutes to get it together and finally I was able to sit up. I thanked them both of course, because I’m a sort of good girl, and I crawled across to my pile of clothing. I slipped my panties on first, because that’s what goes on first, only to blink in surprise as Jim came over and took the rest of my clothes.
“You said you’re a nympho humiliation pain slut?”
I blinked. “Yes sir.”
“So embarrassment gets you turned on?” he asked.
I nodded, too stupid to see where this was going.
He grinned. “Good,” he said, then opened the back of the van and tossed my boots, socks, bra, jeans, and shirts out onto the pavement, at least fifteen feet away and in the middle of the parking lot aisle.
Need I also mention that it was about sixty degrees outside? I felt the blast of cool air hit me and my nipples tightened immediately. Jim held out his hand and I struggled to my feet and climbed out of the van. Glancing around, I darted out into the aisle and was almost hit by an uncoming truck, the driver looking at my half-naked form with surprise. I grabbed my clothing, gave him an apologetic grimace, and ran back to the side of the van.
I glared up at Jim. “That wasn’t necessary!” I declared as I held my stuff up to my chest. He and Chris were both laughing uproariously. I must have looked ridiculous with my ass bright pink, matching my panties, and my breasts the same color. I dumped my boots and socks on the concrete and hurriedly stuffed my legs in my jeans. I turned and faced the truck and got my bra on, then slid into my tee shirt. I sat down, which hurt my bottom, and slid my socks up over my toes and then I jammed my feet into the boots. Finally I pulled my flannel shirt on over my shoulders and with a wry frown at the two contractors, I turned away and marched off toward the store.
For about half a minute, I was thinking along the lines of “hey, I’ve gotten two of my three fucks done! This should be a cinch to wrap up!” when all of a sudden I realized something. I had cum, and cum well. And that was against the rules. There was also a proscribed punishment for unauthorized orgasm. My number of fucks was reset back to zero. I groaned. Chris and Jim! All for NOTHING! I thunked my head against a nearby shelving unit and cursed my stupidity. Now instead of just needing to find one more guy to screw stupid, I had to do THREE! All with spankings and slapping!
Irritated mostly at myself, I wore a scowl that pretty much declared me off limits to anyone who might have thought me worthy of attention. I marched along the aisle, grabbed a cart, went to the fencing section and picked out the metal strakes we needed. Then I went to the cashier, bought my supplies, and took them back out to the truck.
Admittedly, climbing up behind the wheel smarted. But I bore it like a true trooper and got myself going. With a shake of my head I considered my options and pulled out of the parking lot knowing that I still had lots to do.
Part Two will be posted tomorrow!
Breanne Erickson is the author of the wildly popular "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" series, available in E-book format from both Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble! Check out the sample pages here!