Friday, May 17, 2013

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  

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