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.
I tugged free the ben wa balls that I’d been wearing since the previous morning, giving them a sweet lick before setting them aside. Master Mark had inquired what my schedule was like for that Monday morning and I had explained that I was planting. Planting is not one of my favorite things to do since it involves sitting for hours on the tractor, driving generally in a straight line while the seed drill does the planting. The only excitement comes when you get to the end of a row and have to actually turn the wheel. So without going into much more detail, it sucks.
And not the good kind of suck where I’m half naked and bent over someone’s cock while someone is paddling me from behind.
I dug through my toy box and pulled out the particular object Master Mark had requested. I don’t wear use it often, or I suppose often enough, mostly because I’m not terribly fond of having things up my bottom. Double dildos are not exactly comfortable. But I did my duty and started off by lubing both rubber probes with oil (not Stinging O) and then set them gently on my desk chair. It wasn’t much of a challenge to get them both in, the thick rubber base connecting them made sure they were in the right spots. With seven inches of rubber up front and a good five inches in my rear, I felt rather stuffed. I pulled up my panties, securing the dildos in their little love nests and went for the next item Master Mark had asked me to wear.
If you’ve never seen a clitoral stimulator, I feel sorry for you. Every woman should have one, especially if she’s a nympho humiliation pain slut like me. Mine is simply a butterfly shaped plastic vibrator, complete with straps to hold it in place, that fits directly over your clit. Mine also happens to be big enough to get a good portion of my labia too, so you can just imagine how that feels. I ignored the wire and the small remote control for a moment, and went fishing in my drawer for the next layer.
I pulled out a pair of spandex pants, tugging them up and over my stuffed but and letting the elastic material tightly press not only the butterfly but the double dildos firmly in place. Then I grabbed a pair of simple running shorts and put those on over the spandex.
My jeans and socks went on next, followed by a bra, a tee shirt, and an over shirt. I was already too warm and perspiration was starting to bead up on my forehead. I hurried down stairs, grabbed my coat and boots and headed out to the barn.
You might think that the first thing I would do would be to start my chores, but instead I plucked the tiny remote to the butterfly clitoral vibrator out of my jeans pocket and I turned it on to its lowest setting. Almost immediately I felt a wave of sexual tension blast through me. I’d been a little sexually stagnant over the weekend, mostly thanks to doing family things, and while I’d masturbated once or twice, I was still just a little hornier than usual.
But I’ve dealt with vibration before, and despite the fact that it was centered directly on my clit, I managed to take a deep breath, swallow my need, and start my chores. The cool air outside was just enough to keep me from overheating and I spent that first hour trying very hard not to cum and to get everything I needed done. But I’m going to admit that the butterfly is one of those toys that I have some trouble with. It’s not the worst by any means, but usually I can’t stand it that long. An hour is actually an impressive time span, and that came from working hard at disgusting chores, trying to keep my mind off sex.
But by the time six o’clock rolled around my clit felt like it had a front row seat for a Californian earthquake and I was so close to the edge of orgasm that I finally shrugged my shoulders and gave in. Clutching a nearby fence railing with a bucket of goat feed in one hand, I let out a little wail of ecstasy and stood there shaking as my loins decided to see oneness with the sex gods. It was a clitoral orgasm, despite my sex clenching tight around the dildo stuffed up my slit, and I admit that the one in my butt sort of felt good too, but it still made me a tad bit sensitive.
I took a deep breath, straightened up, removed my coat and went about my business though. I didn’t turn down the butterfly either, keeping it right at its lowest setting. That didn’t do my clit any good and by the time another forty minutes had rolled around my loins felt like I’d started rub them the wrong way. I popped again, this time pressing my palm against the base of the dildos and working my hips up and down. It felt great, but immediately left me with a problem. What article of clothing to remove? I knew that I’d be eating breakfast with my family twenty minutes later, and would look odd if I showed up in just a tee shirt.
So I peeled off my jeans. No! I didn’t choose my jeans. Instead the running shorts got tugged free and I pulled my jeans back on, then pushed my toes back into the boots. Gotta be smart about things, right? With a grin and another hip wiggle (thanks to the still buzzing butterfly,) I finished up my chores and headed inside.
I was able to turn off the butterfly for the duration of breakfast, which gave me a needed break and kept me from having to make some interesting explanations for the strange sound emanating from my jeans. An hour later I excused myself, headed out to the barn, turned on the butterfly, and hooked up the seed press to the tractor. I got the hopper loaded and made sure everything was working right, and then proceeded out into the brilliant southern Texas spring sunshine.
The day was already warming up quickly and I headed toward the south fields were I was planning on doing the planting. The tractor rumbling along did some strange things to the double dildos and I almost felt like they were vibrating right along with the butterfly. As I got the tractor into position I ignored the sensations coming from my depths and the ones from the clit and instead tried to focus on what I was actually trying to accomplish: planting. That kept me distracted until I started doing the first few rows and by the time I hit my fifth turn I was paying more attention to my pussy than my planting.
The orgasm hit me hard, sort of like getting smacked in the stomach with a bowling ball. Or maybe getting kicked between the legs. I’m not sure. But regardless of the metaphorical description, I came and came hard. I stopped the tractor as I blew through my limits and shuddered to a halt. Once again I was forced to take stock of my clothing situation and since the sun had warmed things up nicely, I peeled my long sleeve shirt off my back and tossed it into my canvas sack. Ignoring the fact that I was leaving the butterfly on to continue its sweet and horrible torment of my clit, I started up the tractor and concentrated on driving in a straight line.
This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but keep an eye out for Breanne Erickson's amazing new collection!