Mousetraps

          

  I stood there in the parking lot, trying to gather the courage I needed.  It was dark, but the lot lights fully illuminated me and my truck, and despite the fact that it was well after eight in the evening on a Monday night, the lot was full enough to make me nervous.  I was dressed like a tramp, sporting the overly tight and incredible short, black lyrca skirt that Kari had given me years ago.  Of course then it had been a skort, a combination of skirt and shorts so that I could look sexy and not worry about flashing everyone.  Kari had dealt with the shorts in about five seconds, taking a pair of scissors to them and leaving me with a skirt that wasn’t even eight inches from top to bottom.

            I twitched my hip at the thought, which of course threatened to send my skirt to the asphalt underneath my stripper high heels.  I was wearing the crystal colored nine inch platform heels and while I enjoyed the added height, I wasn’t crazy about the balance, especially in a slanted parking lot.  I could feel the cool breeze wafting up my skirt, dancing across my very bare and naked sex, which was stuffed to the brim with my vibroballs.

            The wire that escaped from between the wet petals of my sex emerged out from under my skirt in a rather obvious way, and was coiled around the remote control, which I had stuck in the waist band.  This helped to keep the skirt up, even though the skirt still rode lower than my hips.  It wasn’t a perfect solution. I was trading humiliation for security – the security that a single step wouldn’t cause what is now known as a wardrobe malfunction.

            The vibroballs were buzzing of course and I admit that the pressure inside me was probably at least partially to blame for my nervousness.  I get a little… strange… when aroused.  The two egg-shaped bullets buried in my well were set to medium and since I had spent most of the day in various stages of arousal, edging toward orgasm only to turn down the vibrations, or even off completely for a brief amount of time, I was certainly on edge.

            My outfit also included a halter top, one that was about two sizes too small for me.  The material was stretched and tight and my breasts literally bulged out of the sides and collar of the halter top.  A wide swath of my belly was exposed and both nipples, including the hardware piercing my right tip, were perfectly exposed, just from outline.  Emblazoned across the front of my shirt was a printed graphic of one of those stick on name tags with the words “Hello, my name is” printed in white letters. Underneath, in the white area of the name tag, was written “Trouble.”  It was a bit faded, since I’d owned it since college, but it was certainly eye-catching.

            I turned back toward the open cab of my truck after glancing around.  There were people moving around, but I was far enough in the back that I wasn’t immediately being observed.  Facing my truck I lifted the front of my skirt, exposing my slit, and fished the metal jumbo alligator clamp out of my purse.  I held it up in the light for just a moment.  A glimmer flashed along the slightly dulled but still very pointed teeth.  I pinched it open and then looking down, I lifted one foot and put it on the truck frame.  Carefully, because I’m not stupid, I positioned the opened jaws of the alligator clamp around my clit, and gently let off on the pressure.

            Putting on the clamp hurt like the dickens and my knees buckled a moment later as I jammed the knuckles of my left hand into my mouth.  Pain shot up through my body, swirling and rattling around like a spoon in a garbage disposal.  I ended up holding on to the open door of my truck and hoping I didn’t attract attention by falling to the pavement.  But after less than a minute I was able to straighten.  The throbbing in my clit was still a distinct and powerful force, but I was at least able to tolerate it.  Swallowing hard, my fingers went back to my purse and fished out two more clamps.  These were also standard fair for Nympho Humiliation Pain Sluts; vibrator clamps, two silver plastic ball shaped vibrators connected to simple, rubber coated, duck bill clamps.

            While these would have no doubt felt wonderful on my breasts, the architect of my assignment had deigned them to be attached in a different spot.  So with my leg still up on the door frame of the truck, I again lifted the hem of my skirt and began attaching each vibrator clamp to the end of the jumbo alligator clamp.  The added weight sent new shards of pain lancing up through me, but I managed not to scream or draw attention to myself.  So with about a pound and a half of weight dangling from my clit, and two silver vibrators hanging beneath the hem of my skirt, around mid-thigh, I grabbed my purse, closed the truck door, and prepared to go shopping.

            Which meant that before I took a single step toward the store, I had to reach down between my legs, grab each one of the little vibrator clamps, and turn them on.  In seconds my world tipped upside down as the vibrations traveled up the little chain to the alligator clamp, which then seemed to actually chew on my clit.  These combined with the already buzzing action of the vibroballs buried in my slit and I realized that if I wanted to cum at the right time, I needed to get moving, because the timer was counting down and I didn’t have a lot of time before I exploded wetly, nosily, and quite publically.

            Of course walking at that point was a challenge.  Every step was a sex-laden, pain-filled action that only emphasized how close I was to the cliffs of orgasm.  The vibrator clamps knocked against my thighs and I tried to angle myself to avoid anyone going into the store.  That was pointless though as the choke point of the entry/exit made me the center of attention in about half a second. People stared as I walked, with what I hope was a nonchalant face, into the store.  I can only imagine the picture I made; long red hair, sexy tight halter top, obvious nipple piercing, bared midriff, tiny short skirt, obvious sex toy wire and control, and… something hanging from her sex?

            I had been smart enough to avoid the grocery side of the store and instead immediately turned left and headed deeper.  People were staring at me and I couldn’t help feeling like I’d just gotten off the dance floor at a strip club, still wearing my costume.  I tried to move a bit faster, but that just sent all sorts of sensations up through my clit that were not helpful, and falling down in a fit of orgasmic apoplexy would not make things easier for me.

            And that’s where things started going down hill for me. See, I figured mousetraps would be in the House wares or Do It Yourself departments.  But they’re not. They’re all the way over in housecleaners! Can you believe that?  So I spent the next ten to fifteen minutes, wandering around half the store, trembling in sexual tension, while trying to stay out of the main aisles and getting looks that ranged from absolute desire to disdain and disgust.

            My main problem wasn’t actually the pain of the clamp. It was the vibrators.  The two vibrator clamps made walking not only a challenge, but rather awkward.  Regular steps would make the vibrator clamps swing wildly back and forth, and you can just imagine how THAT felt on my clit.  Add in the actual vibrations and my clit felt… well… overloaded might be a nice way to describe it.

            So instead of a regular walk, I spread my legs apart and took these awkward type wide stance steps that kept the vibrator clamps from swinging too much.  This only added more to the long list of over the top behavior that was attracting attention.  Eventually I found the mousetraps and I grabbed a pack of them and headed toward the automotive department.

            I would have preferred to do this whole assignment at one in the morning, but since the auto folks shut down around nine, I was there way earlier than I would have preferred.  As it was, I even had a number of men actually follow me across the store, trying, in a sort of pathetic way, to shop in the same area I was heading.  In some ways I think it’s cute.  But guys… if you a see a girl dressed like a tart, in a public place, alone, chances are she WANTS you to come over and strike up a conversation.

            There was a middle-aged lady at the automotive counter and usually when a female looks at me for the first time I’m able to categorize them into one of two slots.  Either they like the look of me and want me, or I’m the embodiment of something repugnant.  In this case I was the latter and she glared at me as I handed over my purchase.

            “Don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate, young lady?” she asked me as she rang up my mousetraps. 

            I lifted one eyebrow as I considered how to respond.  Righteous indignation?  Befuddled confusion?  Innocent bimbo? Irritated customer?  I selected the one I thought was right for the occasion.

            “Don’t you think that commenting on your customer’s attire is inappropriate?” I demanded.  “Just ring me up,” I told her nastily. 

            Her eyes narrowed but she did as I asked.  A moment later I was the proud owner of a pack of ten mousetraps.  I picked up my purchase and headed toward the garage door. I glanced at her with a glare and tapped my foot, and she finally frowned and pressed the electronic release, letting me out into the garage.

            The cool night air washed over me, tinged with the scent of oil and sweat and I turned left and started down the side of the garage.  Of course I attracted attention from the mechanics, getting a wolf whistle from one.  I smiled at him, giving him one my million watt grins, and then stepped out of the garage into the small drive up area.  I turned and walked past the open garage door bays and that’s when I opened the small plastic bag and tore the cellophane on the mousetrap packaging.

            Each mousetrap was the classic wooden plank with a metal bar.  The concept is simple. You push the bar back, lock it into place, then put some bait on the little catch release.  Then a mouse comes up, nibbles on the bait, and accidently releases the bar, which then slams forward onto the mouse’s head.  It’s sort of like sitting down at a table to eat a scrumptious meal only to have a serial killer come in swinging a two by six at you from behind.  You get a single bite of steak and then WHAM. You never see it coming.

            Of course, that’s the classic use for mousetraps.  For this assignment, I had something more interesting to do with them.  In full view of the mechanic, who had walked forward to the edge of the bay, I lifted my halter top.  My breasts popped out, bouncing majestically, both nipples stiff from the cool air.  He grinned in appreciation.  Then, licking my lips and moving seductively, I plucked the first mousetrap from my bag. I dropped the rest on the ground and using both hands, opened the mousetrap’s metal bar, only to let it close again, this time with the tip of my right breast between the metal bar and the wooden plank.  Pain shot up through my breast, but it was minor compared to everything else and I was so close to cumming that I barely felt it.

            A second mechanic joined the first and their eyes were pretty much glued to my heaving chest.  I bent down, my pussy trembling in excitement as my orgasm approached.  I grabbed another mousetrap, held it out with shaking fingers, and when the first guy took it from me, I cupped my left breast and offered it to him.

            He pinched my nipple and tugged on me first, but then with a grin, opened the mousetrap and attached it to my breast.  I felt the weight and groaned.  A second later I let out a wild cry, my entire body shaking as the orgasm that had been building for hours blasted through me.

            It actually concerned the two mechanics too. They exchanged glanced and then literally put their oil covered hands on me, pushing me into the garage and to the far side.  A moment later, still lost in orgasmic bliss, I was stumbling down some stairs into a barely illuminated concrete chamber under the garage.

            I fell. My shoes weren’t meant for orgasmic girls to be hurried down steps.  But I was caught.  I felt hands on me. My skirt was pulled up.  Fingers kneaded my bottom.  I remember a wall and then someone was pulling the vibroballs from me.  The alligator clamp as well as the vibrating clamps stayed on and then I was bent over a cart that held all sorts of tool, my mousetrap clamped breasts flattened and throbbing.

            I felt the cock drive in deep and I groaned as the thrust made the clamp chewing on my clit swing wildly.  My body was forced forward against the cart, my breasts mashed against the assortment of tools.  Someone grabbed my hair and yanked me up off the cart.  The mousetraps swung wildly even as the shaft penetrating me from behind continued to piston through my loins.  Despite the recent orgasm, I was already blasting off for another trip to the moon. 

            The second mechanic came up to me and began wiggling the mousetraps up and down and you can just imagine what THAT did to me.  Then he picked up one of the oil filter wrenches, widened the metal strap, and then slipped it over the mousetrap on my left breast.  He went all the way up, then tightened the wrench until my boob looked like a swollen grapefruit.

            It wasn’t long before a second oil filter wrench dangled from the other side of my body and the guy pounding me from behind thought the wrench handles would make a much better holding on point.  He let my hair and hip go and then I felt my breasts get pulled even further outward.  My nipples throbbed and pain rushed through my bosom. I cried out in both agony and ecstasy and then he was cumming.

            I was on cloud nine even as he pulled out and mechanic number two stepped up. He too grabbed the wrench handles and began banging me from behind.  A loud buzzer sounded from somewhere upstairs and the mechanic who had just relieved himself in me quickly zipped up his jumpsuit and hurried over to a lift a few feet away. I watched as he stepped up, began working on a car above him, all while occasionally glancing at me as I got my chassis lubed, my oil changed, and my fluids topped off.

             I climaxed a moment later and slumped forward, the man behind me still holding me up via the oil filter wrenches. I could feel the sharp pinch of the metal digging into my breasts, but it was his cock that had the most impact.  His hips slammed against my buttocks and I heard him grunt.  Seconds later he exploded, white spooge going everywhere.

            I was in somewhat of a daze and my second paramour wasn’t in much better shape.  He pulled out and leaned against the nearby wall, grinning and gazing at me.  Slowly I straightened, looking down at myself.  I pushed my skirt down, but it was riding so high now over my hips that half my ass was bare and my now soaked, swollen and obviously clamped slit was on perfect display.  My halter was around my neck and my breasts looked blue and purple thanks to the lack of blood circulation. 

            There was another buzz from above and I heard that middle-aged woman clerk shouting.  The guy across from me looked frustrated, but then climbed the stairs quickly. He shouted something at her and then came back down the stairs.

            “That was fucking awesome,” he said to me. I grinned.

            “Uh… we’re closing,” he said stupidly, as if he didn’t know what else to say.

            I smiled.  There really was only one thing left to do.  Master Dan had said for me to walk back to my truck from the auto garage with my breasts bared.  So I peeled off my halter top and handed it to him.

            “To remember me,” I said.

            He took it in oil stained hands reverently.  I almost laughed, but then reached up and started to release the oil filter wrenches.

            “No!” He said suddenly. “You can… uh… you can have those.”

            I laughed, ignoring the throbbing in my bosom. “They aren’t yours to give,” I reminded him.

            “Oh, right. Well uh…” but it was too late. I released the first one and groaned as the blood rushed back into my breast.  The other side came a moment later, though I kept the mousetraps on. I grabbed my vibroballs, slipped them back in, and jacked the control to maximum.

            I climbed up the stairs with his help, my hand in his, teetering dangerously on my heels for a moment.  As he snuck me out the back garage door, I caught sight of the middle-aged lady clerk, whose eyes were wide at my nudity and the mousetraps hanging from my nipples.  Then I was outside, in the semi-darkness.  My halter top was gone and I didn’t feel bad about it at all.  My skirt was back in place, covering my clamped and swollen slit, but both breasts were still on display, mousetrapped and aching.  I marched resolutely ahead.  When I crossed the main road I got honked at, shouted at, whistled at, and one guy tried to pick me up, asking how much for full service.  But I managed to get back to my truck and climb in without being accosted.  I wondered how long it would be before the police showed up.

            So I turned off the vibrators, all of them, even the vibrator clamps which still dangled from the alligator clamp on my clit.  I put the truck in gear and drove off, heading toward somewhere to finish.

            There isn’t much more to tell. In a quiet, dark, parking lot I spread my legs.  With the windows down and the cool air blowing past, I turned the vibrators back on and masturbated.  My cries of release filled the truck and no doubt were carried on the wind.  But I didn’t care.  It was the perfect end to a fun little assignment, and hopefully Master Dan will be pleased.

            I know I was.

Breanne,

You will dress for success by wearing your shortest skirt, your stripper shoes, and a halter top.  No bra or panties allowed.  You will then proceed to a local “Wally-world” store.  Before going in you will attach your jumbo alligator clamp to your clit, and then BOTH of your vibrating nipple clamps TO THE JUMBO ALLIGATOR CLAMP.  Turn the vibrating clamps on.  Once you are inside find someone to help you and ask them to help you locate old fashioned mouse traps.  Purchase at least two, but do so at the automotive desk.

Immediately after purchasing the mousetraps, exit through the automotive department door. While in the garage, pull down your halter top and apply both mousetraps to your nipples before heading back to your truck.  Make sure you say goodbye to the mechanics working.

You will walk back to your truck and you may turn the vibrators off once you get in your vehicle.  The Jumbo Alligator Clamp and the mouse traps will remain on your body until you masturbate to orgasm, which you may do there in the parking lot, or elsewhere at your discretion.

- Master Dan

 

Breanne Erickson is the author of "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" series as well as "Coming of Age: A BDSM Romance" and "The Society of the Golden Rose." 

Check out her amazing tales at www.michaelalexanderstories.com!

Striptease

            My mother told me frequently while growing up that dressing in layers was the appropriate thing to do when the weather wasn’t perfect outside. I spent countless winter mornings at elementary school stripping. First came the heavy coat, then the stupid sweater; underneath that would be my long sleeve shirt, followed by my short sleeve shirt.  Was I warm getting to school? Hell yes. I cooked. But it was a lesson that has severed me well later in life.

            Like yesterday.  It was in the low sixties that April morning and while the weather was expected to be pretty decent, and the temperature to rise to the mid-eighties, it was still pretty chilly thanks to the wind blasting up from the south.  Now normally I handle days like this simply.  Blue jeans handle everything from the waist down, while a tee shirt and a long sleeve shirt go under my duster.  Then as I heat up during the day, I peel off the duster first, then MAYBE the long sleeve shirt.  That’s a toss up because I’m trying to get rid of my farmer’s tan.

            But yesterday morning was just a little different for me thanks to a private message I got from Master Mark.  It came just in the nick of time too. I’ve been going crazy with work, and all work and no play makes for a really shitty day.  I needed a simple, easy assignment, with immediate rewards and plenty of risk.  Master Mark made it an all day assignment and that meant a new sex toy the moment I crawled out of bed.

         

The rest of this tale from Breanne Erickson is available in her book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut, Volume 8" available at Amazon.com.  Click here to find out what happened next!