Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Vol. 7

Get ready folks, Tales Vol. 7 is about to hit the bookshelves and for a limited time only this collection will be available for $2.99 from both Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com.  Vol. 7 does include several pieces never before published, so you'll want to grab your copy tomorrow when they come out!

UPDATE: Tales Vol. 7 now available from Amazon.com!  Click Here!  and Barnes & Noble! Click Here!

A Willow Switch - Part Two

If you haven't read Part One yet, click here.

Turning off the RVP was pure bliss and I hadn’t realized just how sensitive I was until the buzzing and spinning sexual torment was halted.  With fifty-five more strokes still due to various parts of my anatomy, the last thing I needed or wanted was another orgasm and driving somewhere to get those strokes was just the sort of rest I needed.  A quick check of the time told me that my morning was disappearing fast.

There are a myriad number of places that I could have gone to get my strokes but I headed to the mall.  Such a close location meant I only spent about fifteen minutes with the RVP off, but that was enough to settle my nerves and give my sex a chance to recover from what amounted to almost non-stop sexual stimulation for almost six hours.  To be honest, I was surprised I’d only had three orgasms.  

Pulling up in front of the sports equipment store, I spent a few minutes adjusting my clothign, specifically my top, trying to cover as much of my chest as possible.  The marks left by the thin switch quite visible thanks to a couple of high placed strokes Ryan had left at the top of each breast.  Unfortunately the halter top didn’t cooperate and with a sigh I stepped out of the truck.

The first thing to do was turn on the RVP and I had to put out a supporting hand as the four inch, plastic cock once more began spinning in my depths.  It was quite disconcerting, especially since the muscles of my vagina began contracting repeatedly, clearly stimulated into immediate sexual arousal.  I could feel the wetness.

But then I added the vibration and I didn’t just compound the problem; I cubed it.  I couldn’t believe how quickly my body ran up the mountain toward the cliffs of orgasm.  I didn’t walk, I didn’t plod, hell... I didn’t even SPRINT upward. I FLEW.

I struggled to get a hold of myself and I put one hand to my breast, digging my fingers through the cotton of my halter into the forming bruises.  Pain thudded into me and slowed my ascent and I realized that I was a hell of a lot closer to cumming than I had thought.  I grabbed my purse, locked the door, and again leaned into the bed of the truck to grab the thin willow switch.

I didn’t browse on my way through the sports equipment store.  For one, I’m known there as a somewhat disruptive individual.  They haven’t technically banned me or anything, but when I walk through invariably I attract attention and one of the managers begins to hang around me.  Sometimes that plays into my hands since one of the newer assistant managers fell to my charms a few months ago, but the more seasoned executives never seemed to fall for me.  I wonder why?

I made a beeline through the place and ended up in the common mall area and I hesitated momentarily as I tried to decide between heading straight for David’s office, or going by Julie’s store.  I sort of doubted Julie was there, since it was a Thursday morning.  She usually handles weekend mornings and is off mid-week, but I shrugged. It could hardly hurt to walk down that way and it wasn’t that far.  Besides, Julie would be furious if she found out I’d been to the mall and NOT gone to see her.  

Sure enough I was right.  Julie wasn’t there and I recognized the store manager.  I walked past, never even going in, only to realize that I needed to turn around and go the other way if I wanted to take the most direct route to David’s office.  

You would think that a slut walking around in revealing clothing, obviously sporting marks that seemed to have come from a thin rod, carrying a willow switch, would attract more attention.  But I suppose the length of my skirt, which still fully covered my bottom, and my more sensible slip on heels, mitigated some of the obscene sexuality I was oozing.  Halfway to David’s office, I realized that I had promised David I’d call, rather than stop by the office, so I slipped my phone from my purse, dialed up the number and waited.

“Well, hello Breanne,” David said into my ear.

“Hi.  I’m wondering if you’ve got some time?” I asked.

“Right now?”

I chuckled. “I’m here at the mall.”

He paused for a moment. “Where?”

I glanced around. I was actually near the food court and I gave him my location by telling him what stores were around me.

“Okay, I’ve got something I have to finish up.  Can you meet me near the movie theatre in fifteen minutes?” he asked.

“Sure,” I replied, wondering what was up.  Usually I went to David’s office.  Skipping that meant I wouldn’t get to see his sweet little secretary.  Oh well.

“All right, fifteen minutes. Stay wet.”

I rolled my eyes. Staying wet would hardly be a problem.  In fact, trying to keep from getting wetter was probably in  my best interest.  I hung up the phone and headed down the mall corridor.  Five minutes later I was loitering in front of the movie theatre and watching people. I love watching people.  It’s fun to see the different clothing, the looks, the attitudes, and even better, their expressions when they notice me sitting on a bench, my hips rolling in provocative motions, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.  Evidently I ooze sexuality or something.  Men take more notice but I like it when a well-dressed woman sees me and clearly wants some.

I remember once I was sitting on a bench trying to keep my skirt down and covering up my sex, legs apart due to my assignment instructions, when a beautiful young woman, with TWO kids walked up, told me I was beautiful, and asked if I wanted to go back to her place to have sex.  I asked if she had a sitter and she laughed, replying “the television.”  I turned her down. Having sex while her two and three year old were in the next room watching Sesame Street did not sound appealing.

David showed up precisely when he said he would and he sauntered up with that swagger that comes from being master of his world.  He bent down and gave me a kiss on the cheek and then accepted my hand as I slipped it into the crook of his arm.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” he said, making the last word of his sentence longer and adding emphasis to it.

“I need to be punished,” I said succinctly.

“When do you not?” he replied with a grin.

“No David. I’m serious.  I need fifty-five strokes of this,” I held up the switch, “or things are not going to be good for me.”

He glanced at the willow branch. “Fifty-five?  That’s awfully specific. Please tell me they don’t all go on your tits.”  He glanced down at my chest. “I don’t think you can take much more there.”

I shook my head. “No, only twenty-five go there,” I replied.  “Another twenty-five on my bottom and the last five go on my feet.”

    He looked down at my toes to see my slip on heels. “I see.”

    I bit my lip. “And it needs to happen before I cum again,” I said, a little more urgently.

    David’s eyebrow went up. “And how soon will that be?” he asked.

    I let out a whimper. “Not long enough.”

    He chuckled, propelling me a few more steps down the corridor.  We walked a bit, then he turned toward a storefront that was dark, lined with glass doors, and looked abandoned.  I watched as he tugged out a key and opened the space.

    I’m not sure what was in there before. I forget.  Generally I’m a bit distracted when I come to the mall so I hope you don’t blame me for not remembering.  Most of the floor space was empty but there was a pile of unused cardboard boxes in one back corner.  Shadows were everywhere and the place was barely lit.  David walked me to the very back, and then we passed through a doorway leading into the rear of the store.

    It was here the David nodded at me, pushing me slightly away, and plucking the willow switch from out of my hands.  I didn’t just pull up my halter top, I took it off entirely, followed by my skirt, so that I stood there in my heels, wearing only the RVP which was still spinning and vibrating at my sex.  I spread my legs, put my hands behind my head, and braced myself.

    David was quick and he started with sharp but not blistering strokes that left a harsh sting that turned into heat.  At first he focused on my breasts, leaving the first ten strokes with rapid and precise flicks of his wrist.  Then he came forward, touched me, and wiped away the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks.

    Then he went to work on my ass and I ended up on tiptoe, teeth clenched as the willow switch bit into my butt.  David seemed to enjoy it too, but as we passed the tenth stroke he paused.

    “I’m not sure you can take any more there.  We might need to look at alternatives,” he said.

    “Alternatives?” I asked, still gasping from where the thin stick had bitten into my flesh.  My hips were jerking back and forth and I could feel the orgasm coming like a thunderstorm on the horizon.  I was practically trembling.

    “I think we need to cool you off for a moment,” David said. He moved around in front of me and began unstrapping the RVP from my loins. I gasped as the four inch, plastic cock was pulled away.  David turned it off and set it on the carpeted floor nearby.

    “Now spread your legs and try not to scream too loud,” he said firmly.

    My legs were already spread of course, but I moved my feet into a wider stance anyway.  Failing to comply with a man holding a stick is never a good choice for a girl who is known to be a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut.  David moved behind me and I braced myself.

    He bent down low and moved the stick between my ankles.  I saw it there for just a second before it snapped upward, striking my labia with a sharp sting that broke my stance and brought my knees together.  It was like getting stuck with a needle.  It took a full ten seconds before my brain took control of my body again and I was able to open back up.

    David didn’t even say a word and just did it again, the thin willow switch swishing upward and laying another scarlet welt along my inner thigh and labia majora.  He moved his arm a bit for the third swing and when the switch caught my clit I again collapsed, unable to control myself or the instinctive need to protect my delicate parts.

    Normally, when a girl collapses in front of a man and curls up into a fetal ball, there is concern for her well being.  Paramedics might be called; a pillow might be slipped beneath her hair.  For damn sure no one grabs her ankle, hauls one of her legs upward, and begins to snap a long, thin length of willow against her privates.

    I rolled, again operating more on instinct than any kind of mental power.  I was only obliquely aware that I was being bad.  Most doms consider a submissive who tries to get away the worst sort.  David evidently understood that what he was doing was beyond my body’s ability to really react to and that I had little conscious control over what my muscles were doing.  Sharp pains seemed to explode upward from between my legs, as if I had fucked one of those stinging jellyfish.  It was not pleasant.  David held onto my leg and even hauled me higher up, leaving my ass in the air, twisting in the air conditioned breeze.

    I presume David only laid ten strokes on my sex. I can’t be sure because you can bet if I couldn’t hold my position, I damned sure wasn’t counting.  Admittedly this morning I tried to count the little red welts, but so many of them are close together so I’m torn with somewhere between eight and twenty two.  Your choice.

    Normally time is the only thing the reduces the pain in sensitive areas like your sex, but for me, I got a different sort of treatment.  Remember the old joke of the patient who goes in to see the doctor about his toe hurting, only to have the doctor smash his thumb with a book?  The patient says “owww!” and demands to know why the doctor has made his thumb hurt.  The doctor grins and replies, “well, now you aren’t complaining about your toe.”

    David is a strong guy, so gripping me by the ankle and almost holding me entirely upside down by one leg isn’t all that impressive.  But he did that AND managed to snap the willow switch against the sole of my foot with five sharp strokes that made my foot feel as if it were being flayed.

    I cried out. I flopped around.  And remember, my RVP was out and the arousal I was feeling was now fading.  The trip up the mountain of orgasm isn’t always a one way road.  It doesn’t always go up toward that cliff edge.  Sometimes your momentum suffers and you start slipping backward. No climax. No orgasm. No sexual euphoria.  Most women understand what I’m talking about, especially if they’ve ever had a lover with “premature detonation” problems.  Everything is going perfectly and then suddenly he’s grunting and popping and squirting loads of white cream in you and you’re lying there thinking, “what the fuck? He’s cumming already?”  And that sort of sucks because then you have to trick yourself into thinking that he’s just that taken with you and not doing the “slam, bam, thank you ma’am.”

    Wow. I’m rolling with the metaphors today, aren’t I?

Of course immediately after scouring one foot with the switch David dropped my leg, bent down, and before I could move or even try to scurry away, grabbed my other ankle and hauled me back up.  Only my shoulders and head were on the ground and I was bent in half, trying to hold on to his iron grip.  Suddenly my left foot was on fire and I let out a choked sob.

When he let go I rolled over onto my side and curled up into a ball.  This didn’t save me either because he merely took the opportunity to strike at my upturned bottom. I rolled again and this time he used his foot to stop me, literally kicking me back into a position of exposure.  This time I did count the strokes and he left five burning lines across my rump.  Then he squatted down and let me cry, stroking my head.

“Breanne,” he said softly. “Bre, open up.  Lie on your back.”

I was shaking too hard to comply and he said it again, this time with a little more force.

“Breanne.  Lie on your back now,” he commanded sternly.

I did it, and not because I was trying to be good. I did it because I was scared of the switch.  And I was right to  be scared of it because the moment I laid myself out and spread my legs and arms outward, twitching, he brought the switch down across my breasts, aiming right at both nipples, with the speed of a striking snake.  I let out another yell and my arms flashed back to cover my tits even as I rolled away from him.

David let me roll and a moment later he again commanded me to spread myself open.  I cried, tears streaming down my face. I wasn’t feeling arousal. There was no way I was going to cum now.  Not in a million years.  But I did as asked and held my breath and clenched my fists and gritted my teeth.

None of it helped. The stroke felt like someone had sawed off the tips of my breasts with a hacksaw soaked in lemon juice.  Again I rolled and he let me.  I literally turned over, pressing my chest to the carpet.  I gathered my knees up underneath me and it was then I felt something pressing against me.  I flinched away, only to realize that David was trying to slip the Rotating Venus Penis back into my sex.  Slowly, I took charge of everything below my neck, telling my nervous system to comply upon pain of... well... damn.  How do you threaten your own nervous system?  

I groaned when the four inch cock went back in and David strapped the contraption back onto my loins.  I gasped then when the phallus began spinning, joined a second later by the vibrations. I have no clue what David set the damn thing at, but it certainly was enough to feel amazing.

“Three more, Bre.”

I nodded and changed position.  Now with the purring between my legs for some reason I felt more capable at handling what was coming.  I moved into a kneel position, legs still spread wide, folded my arms behind my back, and pushed out my chest.

Yes, it hurt. It hurt a lot when the switch once again smashed into the softness of my curves.  My face scrunched down as I hissed and kind of let out another squeal.  But I managed to stay in position.  Evidently I’m some sort of Super Hero. I can withstand massive amounts of pain and personal torture, provided I’m being sexually stimulated at the same time.  Hmmm... I need a name.  Orgasm girl? Orgasmagirl? Painvixen?  

Okay... so a Breanne themed comic book is probably not going to be seen anytime in the near future.  Besides, what kind of plot could there possibly be?

A few strokes later David dropped the switch and began unbuckling his pants.  I obediently opened my mouth when his cock was pressed to my lips and I hungrily devoured him, totally willing to allow his shaft to be a distraction from my suffering.  David was already hard when I began sucking on him, and he let me deepthroat him for several minutes before pushing me to the floor and flipping me over.

Every morning when I get ready for the day, there are certain preparations that I complete, regardless of my toy for the day or the expected assignment.  One of those preparations is to squirt a tiny amount of grapeseed oil into my bottom.  First of all, its just good for the anal tract.  It makes things a bit cleaner and easier on the skin.  But most of all, if for some reason I end up getting something forced up my ass, something like a plug, a cock, or a cucumber (yes, that’s happened, and out of the blue too) I’m at least relatively capable of accepting it without screaming my bloody head off.

David was already well lubricated with my saliva, but I’m still glad I was oiled.  I gasped, trying to relax my rear end when he slid atop me and began probing.  A moment later I felt the slick head of his rod against my rear and while I hoped he’d slide down and fight the RVP for access to my front half, it became clear a moment later that he fully intended to fuck me up the ass, allowing the RVP to handle my other hole.  

Ever hear of fluid dynamics?  Fluid dynamics is a subdiscipline of physics that involve the study and regulation of fluids in motion.  You can actually get a degree in this and work on anything from aircraft to hydroelectric dams.  Of course, if you happen to be perverted, then I might suggest a more unique analysis of a more biological fluid system.

First of all, I was wet. Soaked even.  My labia was swollen and the RVP was pressed tightly to my crotch thanks to my own body weight and that of the man on top of me.  This was making the base of the RVP dig into my clitoris, which was also swollen, but from sensitivity to the intense vibrations coming from the tiny motor in the RVP base.  The four inch, plastic cock was spinning inside me, churning the various fluids of my sex into a froth and driving God only knows what hormones and endorphins and hormones through my bloodstream.  My rear end was also in play, since a variety of fluids, namely grapeseed oil and saliva, had been used to allow the penetration of a blood filled piston that was rapidly thrusting in and out, sending pressure waves through my entire body.  A few minutes later I heard David grunt and he added his own spunk to the mix, filling my ass to the brim.

When he pulled out and stood up, I felt like a bowl of gelatin, all wiggles and feeling wibbly wobbly.  I’m not sure I could have stood up at that particular moment.  My big issue was that I was feeling... sort of caught between necessities. Part of me wanted to explode. Part of me wanted to curl up into a tiny ball and just shiver for a while.

David, in stoic dominant demeanor, ignored me while he got his clothing back in gear, wiping his cock off on my halter top.  Ugghhh.  Once he was looking all professional again, he came over to me, squatted down and touched my shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded, though my heart really wasn’t in it.

“You asked for it,” he told me.

I swallowed, not sure I trusted myself to speak.  Finally I did.  “I know,” I said.

“Well I can’t leave you here. Can you walk?”

Muscles ached and I lifted myself upward.  My head wiggled up and down. “Yes,” I groaned, then hauled myself up to my feet.

He helped of course, which was nice, and I was actually very grateful for the wall, which was very considerate by being right behind me and catching me before I fell over.  David held out my halter top and I grimaced at the smear of cum across the front.  I sort of glared at David, but he did not appear sorry in the least.

“I’m okay,” I said at last and pulled the halter over my head.  I’m absolutely positive some of his cum got smeared into my hair.  I managed to get the wet shirt over my now absolutely frightening breasts and winced at the pain.  David stepped closer with my skirt and even held it for me to step into. What a gentleman, right?  It settled around my hips and he tucked my RVP controller into the waistband. I plucked it right back out and checked the setting. Sure enough, it was jacked up to around medium. I turned it back down to low.

I looked around for my shoes and finally found them a few yards away. I had no idea how they got there.  I stumbled over and slid my toes in.  My arches stung and ached and again I groaned.  

“You look delectable,” David said proudly.

Delectable?  I kind of doubt that.  A good portion of both breasts were still exposed and the damage done to my skin was going to raise a few eyebrows, especially since only the brain dead wouldn’t wonder if the damage went downward under my halter top too.  It took me a few more minutes, but eventually I was ready and David led me to the door.

“I’ve got stuff I’ve got to take care of, so I can’t walk with you.  Where are you parked?” he asked.

“Bass Pro Shop,” I replied with another groan.

“Oohh... bad luck,” he said with a grin.  

I glared at him. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Of course.”

I sighed. “Is my shirt bad?”

He looked down at my chest and smiled. “It looks like you got some mayonnaise on yourself at lunch.”

My eyes widened. “Oh... lunch.”

His eyebrow went up. “You haven’t eaten yet?”

I shook my head.  

He grinned. “I wish I could have lunch with you today, but it’s impossible.  I do like the idea of you squirming in your seat in the food court though, that toy in you buzzing away at full power.”

I frowned at him. “You can’t be serious.”

He grinned.  “NHPS Rule number three.”

I knew what he was talking about. There are five rules to being a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut.  Rule three stated that I couldn’t refuse an order given to me unless it was outside my limits.  I gave David a cold stare.

“David, there is no way I can handle the RVP at full power, buzzing or rotating,” I stated.  

He grinned. “I know.” Then he reached for the remote which was tucked in the waistband of my skirt. I took a step back, eyes wide in alarm.

“David!” I hissed, glancing around.  There were people everywhere, though no one seemed to be looking at us.

His eyes narrowed though and his voice dropped. “Breanne.  Stand perfectly still. Do not resist me,” he said softly.

I’ve heard that voice before and I froze.  He reached out, took the remote, and pushed the control sliders upward.  Instantly my loins tightened around the now churning and shaking toy strapped to my sex.  I let out a cry and practically folded in half, unable to handle the stimulation.  That drew attention though and David quickly stepped up to me, wrapping an arm around my back, which cleverly concealed the RVP remote and the wire from all the people now looking our direction.

David thumbed the sliders back down. “Okay, I guess you weren’t kidding,” he said petulantly. I let out a gasp of relief and partially straightened back up. My chest was heaving and David grabbed my arm and began leading me down the corridor.  As he walked, he fished out his phone and a moment later was talking into it.

“Christine?  Yes. I’m fine. Where are you?” he asked. He waited a moment, listening to her answer. “No, that actually works.  Can you meet me in the food court?”

I knew in a flash who he was talking to; his cute thirty something year old secretary. She was a preciously cute brunette with good taste in undergarments.  A moment later we made it to the food court and David angled me toward a table. I sat down with a thud and looked up at him, still shaking slightly.  

Christine arrived a moment later wearing a blue suit with a neck kerchief.  She looked adorable and her eyes widened when she saw me.  Perhaps it was the black stretch skirt or the cum smeared halter top that barely covered my breasts.  But she glanced up at David with puppy dog eyes.

“Yes David,” she asked.

My RVP remote was still in his hand. “Please allow Breanne to get a lunch and then during the lunch, please turn this controller up to full power. Just don’t let her cum.  As soon as she’s close, turn it off.”

Christine nodded obediently, giving me a cool glance.  “Yes sir.”

David smiled. “Good.”  He nodded at me. “Enjoy your lunch.”  Then he walked off, leaving me in the hands of a woman who was jealous of my relationship with David.  Even before he had left my sight I felt the roar of the RVP between my legs, and looked at Christine’s dark eyes - brimming with satisfaction.

Stay Tuned for Part Three!

A Willow Switch

“Wait!” I cried out suddenly, sticking my hand out, waving it frantically.  I already had his attention, but I definitely wanted him to hold still, even if just for a moment.  The sigh of exasperation he let out certainly told me how he felt.

“What now?” he demanded, relaxing his pose like a baseball player at the plate discovering that the pitcher isn’t ready.  

I swallowed hard and gave him a rather unsteady look.  “Ten only, okay?” I insisted and he rolled his eyes.

“I know how to count.  You said ten at the beginning and I’ll only do ten,” Peter said, just a little testy.

I took a deep breath which made my bosom seem to swell. His eyes went right back down to my bare breasts, the material of my halter top tugged down beneath them, giving both soft mounds some added lift.  The gold padlock dangled from the hoop piercing of my right nipple and the evident marks of the two other canings I had already received earlier in the day were perfectly visible.

Peter adopted his batter’s stance again and I could see his eyes gauging the distance.  I pulled my arms up and once again locked my fingers together behind my head. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see this one coming.  The suspense nearly killed me and just when I thought my nerves were at their breaking point I heard the light swish of the willow cane cutting the air.

It had all started that morning with the toy of the day; the diabolical, vibrating, spinning, four inch plastic cock studded Rotating Venus Penis.  To be honest, I like the RVP.  It’s base is big enough that it touches my clit and since the base vibrates, it’s like a butterfly vibe as well as a traditional vibrator.  Add the fact that the phallus spins and you can just imagine the kind of amusement you can get from this ride!

Both the vibration and the rotation functions can be controlled separately, but I’d been told to leave both on low.  Not that it mattered of course.  While I can handle the vibrations for several hours, adding the rotation function to the mixture of other stimulations puts me in orgasm city.  Me lasting an hour is impressive.  

But I buttoned my jeans over the RVP and set out to do my chores.  The stipulations Kari, my best friend, lover, and mistress had placed on me were rather simple.  I was allowed to cum, but it would cost me.  Considering I had spent the previous day stuffed with ben wa balls and prohibited from orgasm, you can imagine how wet I was just waking up and swapping out the ben wa balls for the RVP.  Even four inches can be a pretty amazing thing when you’re desperate.  I turned on the vibe function and then set the plastic dildo to a steady slow spin, and headed out to the barn.

    Ten minutes.  Yep. That’s all it took.  Ten measley minutes. You’d think I’d have better stamina.  But no, I was holding onto the wooden side of a horse stall, gasping and shaking as the powerful sexual sensation blasted through me, leaving me feeling weak-kneed and a little light headed.  But that wasn’t the hard part.  No, the hard part was leaving the RVP churning in my wet little hole, like James Bond’s best and worst vodka martini - shaken AND stirred.  (Can you tell I just watched Skyfall the other day? LOL!)

But I do happen to be used to the idea of non-stop stimulation and once my immediate horniness had been blunted, I went about my chores with gusto.  Okay, I was actually trying really hard not to think about what I’d just earned for myself.

See, orgasms were not free.  The cost was simple.  For every orgasm I allowed myself to have, I was to beg and receive ten strokes of a willow switch aross my breasts, and ten strokes across my ass.  Twenty strokes, for each orgasm.  And I’d already earned that by the time five thirty in the morning had rolled around.

Of course things could and would get worse.  I wasn’t allowed to “bank” strokes.  Meaning that after I orgasmed, I needed to pay up before the next orgasm hit.  Screwing that up meant either turning up the RVP to medium, both rotation and vibration, with no way of reducing the stimulation, or taking extra strokes to delicate spots.

Well there aren’t exactly a lot of people around at five thirty in the morning on my farm.  True, my father would probably have been delighted to take a willow switch to my T&A, but first of all he was still asleep and second, how would we explain it to my mother?  So with a sigh, I decided I’d just hold off and not cum again until I was done with my chores and I could head out on the town to find an acceptable individual to cane me.

Determination can be an amazing things sometimes. It can propel a climber up a mountain, or a cyclist to finish the Tour de France.  It can help a woman through child birth and it can knock the pounds off someone who wants to get rid of that extra cellulose.  For me, determination and a stick will get me a stick.  I barely made it an HOUR before I was once again leaning against a wall, barely able to stand, my legs trembling as the waves of intense pleasure overwhelmed me.  I could feel my vaginal muscles fluttering around the spinning cock, tightening with delightful massaging movements as my clit rumbled under the vibration.  I slid to the ground, a darkening wet spot in the crotch of my jeans and my eyes rolled up into the back of my head.

I must have sat like that for a few minutes, concentrating on breathing and loving the sexual euphoria that sets in after powerful, long, drawn out orgasms.  My toes had curled in my boots and I was feeling amazing.  But it also meant that I had to endure a full forty strokes split evenly between breasts and bottom, and a choice of an additional five strokes to my breasts, bottom, and soles of my feet.  

I sat there contemplating my options for a few minutes, all while still enduring the spinning vibration of the RVP.  Finally I decided that I’d go for the extra fifteen strokes.  I climbed to my feet, ignored the delicate feeling between my legs, and finished my chores.

I was able to turn off the RVP for breakfast, which was a definite relief.  I relished the break, but by the time 8:30 rolled around I told my mother that I had some errands to run and needed to go out. We were expecting some rain later, so there wasn’t much to do out in the fields and after packing my canvas bag and slinging it over my shoulder, I climbed into my truck.

A few minutes later I was parked on the side of the farm to market road that runs along the south border of our property.  As I climbed out of the truck, a car whizzed past, the occupants only barely giving me a look. Of course I was still dressed in blue jeans, a tee shirt, and cowboy boots, but it was a stark reminder that the times were changing.  My once deserted road was becoming more heavily traveled and that eventually, like Russian Roulette, my ticket would get punched.

There’s a ritual that comes with stripping in front of your vehicle.  Unless it’s freezing cold out, which means you can go fast and sloppy, you’re supposed to start with your shirt.  It was already seventy degrees, which meant I peeled off my tee shirt and folded it delicately, then set it on the hood of the truck.  My bra followed next, leaving my padlock clad nipple exposed and bare skin from my waist up.  Next I kicked off my boots.  Bending over and lifting one leg at a time, I tugged the tube socks I was wearing off both my feet and grimaced as I put my tender soles back down in the gravel.  Moving a bit more gingerly, I unbuckled my belt and began sliding my jeans downward.  My pink panties were still soaked and the RVP made a unique and quite interesting bulge underneath the wet cotton.

I was in the process of folding my jeans when the car came up over the hill behind my truck, heading toward town.  I froze. I was literally mostly naked, wearing only a pair of cotton panties, which didn’t exactly conceal the fact that I had some sort of... thing... plugged into my nether parts.

You need to understand that I don’t relish these moments. I’m a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut, yes.  But that does not mean that I LIKE it.  Oh no.  On the contrary, if I were left to my own devices I’d probably be just a closet masturbator or try to find a private person to torment me.  I’d NEVER go out and do crazy shit like this.  Ever.  I’d dress conservatively, in blue jeans and tee shirts and maybe the occasional dress, but never go out looking like a stripper or two bit teen whore.  And for damned sure I wouldn’t be caught on the side of the road wearing nothing but a pair of pink panties.

The car kept up their speed until they were almost even with the truck and that’s when the brakes came on.  It slowed from fifty-five miles per hour to about ten and I think it was only by the grace of God that the driver didn’t leave skid marks on the asphalt.  Hell, twenty years ago he would have slid in gravel since the road hadn’t even been PAVED then.

I closed my eyes and thought “please do not backup, please.”  Then I heard the whine of the motor in reverse and I opened my eyes and glanced to my right.

The man was a decent looking guy, mid-thirties, hunched over across the empty passenger seat and his eyes were as wide as his smile.  He was clearly enjoying the show.

“Morning!” he called out. “You doing okay?” he asked.

Ah yes, the pretense of the good Samaritan.  As if the only way I could get roadside assistance is to take off most of my clothes.

I took a deep breath and steeled myself. I turned toward him, which of course displayed my breasts perfectly, not to mention the still turning and vibrating RVP that made the front of my panties literally move.

“Oh yes! Thank you!” I said with a Barbie like smile, trying to play up the image of a total bimbo.  “I just needed to change and I didn’t think anyone would come along. I’m fine though, thanks.”

He blinked at me and I knew he wasn’t looking at my face.  His eyes moved from the padlock on my right nipple down to my vibrating crotch.

“I see.  Strange place to change,” he said, still looking at my panties.

I bit my lip.  

He glanced up at my eyes and I felt another surge of sexual lust hit me.  I took a deep breath, which dragged his eyes back down to my chest.  Every part of my instinct screamed “cover up!” but I carefully kept my arms down at my sides.

“Can I ask a question?” he asked.

My eyebrow went up. “What, another one?”

He laughed and nodded. “What is that thing in your panties?” he asked.

Oh geeze... how to explain that?  I blushed crimson as I considered my options.  Finally I realized that I could just get a move on.  Without a word, I slipped my thumbs into my panties and pushed them down with a smooth fluid motion. I stepped out of the fallen and quite soaked material, turned back toward the front of my truck, and folded them neatly before extracting my skirt.  Before my audience could get over the shock, I had pulled my black stretch skirt over my ass, concealing the RVP and putting me well onto the road of legality.  Remember, it’s only illegal in Texas to display one’s genitals.  And while technically I could argue that the RVP had been concealing mine, I’m not sure I’d want to use that defense on a public lewdness charge.

A moment later the man’s disappointed look came back into focus as I pulled the overly tight halter top down across my chest.  My boobs, which aren’t unusually sized or anything, looked obscenely large wrapped up in the tight top and it looked like I was bursting at the seams.  But it didn’t change the fact that I was still buzzing, still impaled, and still getting stirred into sexual bliss.  I wasn’t quite near an orgasm, but it, or more accurately, I would be cumming soon.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” he asked wistfully.

I was about to shake my head and get him moving when it suddenly occurred to me.  Maybe he could help.

I licked my lips.  “Are you in a hurry?” I asked, lowering the timbre of my voice.  Seducing a man is an art form and as I took a few steps forward toward his car, I crossed my ankles with each swing of my leg.  Men like that.  I leaned down on the open window sill and yes, my breasts spilled out.  His eyes widened again and he shook his head.

“Nothing that can’t be delayed,” he stammered.

I fluttered my eyelashes. “I’ve been a bad girl,” I said.

He nodded. “I believe it.”

I put my hands on my breasts and tugged the halter top even farther down. I pinched the material and tugged on it. “Dressing like this is one of my punishments,” I explained.  His eyes never left my bare breasts.  “But I’ve been much naughtier. I came this morning without permission and I have to pay for it.  Would you be willing to cane me?” I asked.

He blinked and finally looked back up to my eyes. “Cane you?”

I smiled. “I’ve got a willow switch in my truck.  Ten strokes to my breasts and ten strokes to my bottom.  Think you can do that?”

I could see the wheels turning and just to make sure he made the right decision, I leaned in even farther, one foot coming up off the ground, and stretched my arm.  My fingers went into his lap and I began stroking the obvious bulge there.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” I whispered.

“Fuck yes,” he gasped.

I pulled away and extracted myself from his car.  “Wait here a moment,” I said.

It took me only a few seconds to grab my stuff from the hood of the truck and snatch up my boots.  I dumped everything in the cab, grabbed my purse and my slip-on high heels, then locked the truck.  The willow switch was in the bed and I hopped up on the sideboard, reached in, and grabbed it.  Lastly, I tugged out my smart phone, snapped a picture of the guy’s license plate, and sent it to Becca.

He never said a word as I climbed in.  My breasts were still hanging out of course and he glanced over with a wide eyed glance.

“Are you going to ride like that?”

I laughed and put my hand back in his lap. Yep. Still hard.

“Only if you aren’t going to wreck us.”

He nodded. Then looked around. “So uh... where too?”

My eyebrow went up. Seriously?  Where too?

“I know a place up ahead,” I told him.  The car started rolling and we moved on down the road, leaving my truck behind.

“So what’s your name?” I asked him.

“Ryan,” he replied.  

“I’m Breanne.”

He smiled, his eyes darting from roadway to tits.  “Nice to know. So you really are getting punished?”

    I looked at him, a smile on my face. “Turn left on the little dirt road a quarter mile ahead.”

We almost missed it and this time he actually did leave a skid mark on the asphalt.  A moment later we were bumping along a dirt track that mainly sees tractors and not your typical four door sedan.  

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“A friend’s barn,” I replied.  It was actually one of our neighbor’s barns, but hadn’t been used in quite awhile.  Mary and James Faulkner were friends of my parents, but they were letting a number of their fields rest this year and I knew that except for a few things put away in storage, there wouldn’t be anyone or any critters out there.  There wasn’t a dust plume thanks to the recent rains and about two minutes later we pulled up in front of a large ramshackle barn.

Ryan glanced up at the barn skeptically. “It looks like its about to fall over,” he muttered.

I laughed and climbed out of his car.  The willow switch was in my hand and I took my purse too.  Ryan followed a moment later as I opened the barn door and disappeared into the darkness.

Talk about perfect!  The cracks in the walls and roof let in just enough light and there was a creepy, gloomy feel to the place.  A quick glance around revealed a few bales of hay, a disc harrow covered with a tarp, and a skein of old, frayed rope hanging on a nail.  I grabbed the rope, threw it expertly up over one of the rafters and smiled as Ryan watched my bouncing breasts.  I tied off the rope and then held it out to Ryan.

“Gonna tie my hands?” I asked.  His eyes widened even more and then he smiled.  I held out my wrists and he did a fair job binding them together.  

“Now pull me taut,” I told him.  A second later I was on tip toe, despite my slip on heels.  I watched him pick up the willow switch and give it a test.

“This looks like it will hurt,” he told me.

“That’s sort of the idea,” I replied. “Now I need ten across my breasts and ten on my ass please.”

Ryan came up to me and pressed his hand against the RVP. I moaned.

“What exactly is this thing?” he asked.

I told him, explaining the rotation and vibration functions.  His fingers found the wire that led to the remote and pulled it free from the waistband of my skirt.  Then he pushed the elastic material downward and I stepped out of my black skirt and stood there waiting.

“So can I turn this up?”

I shook my head. “I’m supposed to leave it on low unless I don’t collect the strokes I’ve earned.

He grinned. “So you’ve earned twenty strokes huh?”

I frowned. “Well... actually... no.  I’ve earned forty, plus a few extra for cumming again without getting the first set.”

His eyes widened even more and he reached up and began playing with my breast. “Why don’t you tell me about that.”

So I told him. I told him how I wasn’t allowed to cum and if I did, then I had to get twenty strokes to breast and bottom.  And if I came again without getting the caning, not only did I get another twenty, but the extra five strokes to my breasts, bottom, and the soles of my feet.

“So a total of fifty five strokes?” he asked.

I nodded stupidly. I had been planning on spreading them out.  Not having him do them all.

“And what do you plan on giving me for doing this to you?” he asked wickedly, giving my nipple a nice, sweet pinch. I groaned.

“Anything you want,” I moaned back to him.

He moved to my side and raised the willow switch, laying it lightly across my nipples.  Then without a word of warning he pulled it away a few feet and brought it down hard across my chest.

Fire seemed to burst at the tips of both my breasts and I gasped painfully as the red welt immediately sprang into existence.  He hadn’t hit hard enough to mash my breasts, so the crimson line started about an inch to the right of my nipple, continued across it, then added another inch before appeared and duplicating the look on my other breast.  Me? I thought he’d split skin.

He moved to my ass next and left an equally blistering stroke along my soft, creamy buttocks.  I hissed and shifted forward, but Ryan managed to get the willow switch back up to my chest with surprising speed.  He left another welt across my bosom, this one just below the tips of my breasts, and then while I was still trying not to squeal, he darted in, latching his mouth down on my nipple.

The suction felt amazingly good compared to the burning line that left me breathless and Ryan wrapped his arms around me. I felt his fingers digging into my bottom, squeezing my rump.  To be honest, it went well with the churning revolutions of the RVP in my sex.  I made a few whimpering cries of desperation and pressed my hips into his leg.

Ryan finally came up for air and decided that a breath meant he should also bend down and pick up the willow switch again.  Before I could even twist, the thin branch whipped forward and caught me across my bosom, leaving a third, dark pink line.  I squealed, gritting my teeth, and twisted, which merely brought my ass into range.  Ryan hit me there too.

I blinked back tears as the switch bit into my tender breasts, then my ass for another round.  Ryan seemed to be enjoying himself and frequently stopped to touch the raised welts upon my skin, or push against the RVP.  His fingers found the wire that led to the ground where the remote was sitting and he picked it up.

“Ready for full power?” he asked me.  

My eyes widened and I shook my head. “No! I only have to turn that up if I...” I started to gush.  But it was too late.  Suddenly the RVP went into overdrive and the vibrations became an earthquake.  The four inch, plastic cock spun inside me like one of the carnival rides and I almost lost it right there.

Ryan evidently liked the new me, because he rewarded my new gyrations with a flurry of strokes that would have dropped me to the ground had I not been tied upright.  The willow switch lashed out, cutting into my breasts, only to repeat the process on various parts of my bottom.  I counted the strokes, just like I always do. It’s a way to mentally brace yourself, but I was having problems thanks to the intervention of the RVP.

I’ve been told that torturing a sex slave when she’s in the throes of orgasm is good for a man’s self-esteem.  Ryan swung the willow switch as I began moaning and carrying on.  I lost count of the strokes, but I knew it was way more than ten, and probably well into the twenties when I cried out in orgasmic ecstasy and sent a spray of Breanne juice across the hay littered floor of the barn.

Ryan went crazy.  He ripped the RVP off my body, the Velcro straps a minor impediment to what he wanted.  I admit, at least he turned it off so not to waste my batteries.  Then he freed my hands and shoved me to the floor.  Seconds later his cock was in my face.  I sucked on it as my fingers groped for my purse and I managed to get a condom out.  You should have seen the surprise in his eyes when I came up for air, popped the condom in my mouth, and went back to sucking on him.  Yes, I can put a condom on a man with my mouth. It’s a skill I think is VERY useful for a girl with my hobbies.

Then Ryan pinned me to the floor.  It was a short but powerful thrust and felt amazing after being frustrated and tormented with only four inches of plastic cock.  Sure, Ryan didn’t spin or vibrate, but he thrust, and sometimes that is so much better.  My ass smarted from the hay poking my welts, but in seconds it didn’t seem to matter as Ryan used his weight to mash me downward.  His hands found my breasts and he played with the little padlock.  

It took Ryan only a few minutes to reach the finish line and he grunted through his explosion, sounding like a coughing lion.  He pulled out when he was done, leaving me aroused and just a little stunned.

“Wow,” he said softly, rolling off me.  Bits of hay clung to his black trousers and his white button up shirt was just a little rumpled.

I looked down at myself.  My breasts were covered in scarlet marks that were quickly blossoming into a mural of red, blue, and even some green.  I scrambled to my feet and found the RVP.  While Ryan was attempting to get his attire in order, I plucked a few strands of hay off the phallus and stuck it back where it belonged.  I twisted the dial to low and let out another moan as the RVP began its rotating vibrations.

“You are incorrigible,” said Ryan, glancing over at me.

I grinned. “I know.”

He glanced down at my breasts.  “So did I do enough?”

I nodded.  Technically he probably missed a few strokes, but I can tell with some men that after they’ve cum, there isn’t much left in them. It takes a masterful will to continue hurting a woman without the impetus of sexual arousal.  I could tell that Ryan could handle me when stiff and ready to pop, but afterward he’d be scrambling to untie me, unable to bear the thought of me in chains.  

What a wuss.

I got dressed and picked up my willow switch.  It was still in perfect condition, despite having impacted repeatedly against various parts of my body.  I tucked it up under my arm and contemplated my situation while Ryan offered to drive me back to my truck.

First of all, I had no idea how many strokes I’d been given, and when I asked Ryan, he admitted he had not been keeping count.  That totally sucked!  It also set me back, since all I could be sure of was that I’d gotten my first ten.  Thinking on that, I set my jaw and also gave myself the credit for the five strokes to my ass and breasts for punishment, which meant that I still had five more strokes to go on the soles of my feet, along with another ten strokes to my bottom and breasts for the second orgasm.

And then there was the issue of my third orgasm. Did it count?  After all, Ryan turned the RVP up to full power. How the hell was I responsible for that?  But even as I asked myself that question I knew the answer.  Of course I was responsible.  Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Rule #2 says that I’ve got to be ready and accepting at any time.  Just because Ryan decided to put me through my paces didn’t mean that I was allowed to cum without consequence.

So with a sigh I added another twenty strokes to the count, evenly split between my top and bottom.  Then I groaned.  I hadn’t paid off the first two orgasms!  That meant another set of punishment strokes...

or turning the RVP up a notch.

I bit my lip.  Turning the RVP up meant that I wouldn’t be able to turn it back down and that meant that I’d be cumming even more often.  I hate these assignments that are set up to snowball.  If you screw up at the beginning, it just keeps getting worse and worse until finally you might as well just put yourself up on the block with a sign that says, “go ahead. Punish me.  I deserve whatever you do to me.  Be cruel.”

I’m not sure whether it was good sense or just my innate concern about being overly stimulated, but I decided to add the punishment strokes to the total.  Despite my desire to avoid added canings, I knew I needed to catch up.

“Ryan?” I called out softly as I followed him out to his car.

“Yes?” he asked me, still grinning.

I winced a little, not liking what I was about to ask.  “I do have to ask for a favor.”

His eyebrow went up.  Like Spock from Star Trek.  

I held out the willow switch. “Can you please whip the bottoms of my feet?” I asked.

He looked down at the thin branch of wood and then looked at me curiously. “How can you possibly want me to do that?” he asked.

I flinched slightly.  “It’s complicated.”

“No kidding.”

I pressed my lips firmly together. “Look, it’s just five strokes to each foot. I’ll lay across the hood and you can do it quickly,” I blurted out.

He let out a breath. “What if I don’t want to?” he asked.

I looked down and tried to look miserable too.  Half of sex is manipulation.  “Then I will find someone else to inflict my punishment,” I said.

Ryan looked uncomfortable.  “You really want this?” he asked.

I nodded. “I have to.  I’m a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut.”

He glanced down at my toes.  “On the bottom of your feet?”

I smiled ruefully and he sighed. Then he reached out for the switch.

I climbed up onto the hood of his car and laid across it.  I could still feel the heat of it and since I was facing him, I lifted my shirt again and pressed my boobs to the warm metal.  That seemed to encourage Ryan and as I kicked off the slip on high heels I was wearing, he worked his way around to the other side. I felt his fingers grab my right ankle and I braced myself.

The strokes were light and he evidently didn’t know to concentrate on the arches.  It stung of course, but my cries sounded more like a dog yelping than the full throated screams of a woman in agony.  It took him less than a minute to handle the first foot and then he moved to my left sole and left similar marks from the ball to my heel.

 When he was done I slid off the hood of the car, my breasts still hanging out, and fished for my shoes. It hurt to put them on, but I was satisfied. I smiled at Ryan who handed the switch back to me.  

“Ready now?” he asked me.   I nodded, then put a hand on his arm.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely.

He nodded.  A moment later we were both in the car.

“Are you going to ride like that?” he asked me, glancing at my still exposed chest. I could understand his consternation. It was distracting, but the red marks and lines and forming bruises also made it fairly obvious I’d been abused, and abused recently. Guess Ryan was concerned about passersby seeing me and thinking naughty thoughts about him.

I looked down at my breasts and laughed. “Guess you don’t want me coming to your office today in order to give out blowjobs on your behalf.”

His eyes widened in alarm until he realized I was joking.  I reached down and pulled up my halter top. It didn’t really conceal my breasts, but I suppose it minimized other’s noticing the cane strokes left across my bosom.

Ten minutes later we were back at my truck and I hopped out of Ryan’s car with a smile and a wave for my latest lover. He drove off and didn’t even look back, which sort of made me feel like used tissue paper.  But like any strong willed woman, I took a deep breath, looked forward and got in my truck.

 

Part Two will be posted soon! Stay tuned!

Breanne Erickson is the author of the popular BDSM erotica series "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" available from Barnes and Noble and Amazon.com.