South Texas is hot and Monday was
no exception. With a humidity at
ninety-nine percent, mostly sunny skies, and a southern breeze that only
brought more moisture up from the gulf, rather than any sort of relief, it wasn’t
exactly the kind of day anyone wants to be out in. I was no exception. I was hot, sticky, and distinctly
uncomfortable, and had been for most of the day.
It was four in the afternoon and I
was struggling with one of the massive, metal pipe irrigation systems we use to
water. Ankle deep in soybeans, I was
attempting, rather unsuccessfully I might add, to replace a faulty spigot that
seemed to be gurgling water instead of spraying it. My boots were muddy and because I was wearing
shorts, tight ones that didn’t come down even mid-thigh, I had smears of dirt
up both calves and even a few that went higher.
My tight tee shirt clung to my
chest, bunched up just under my chin, chaffing at my arms and neck, soaked with
a mixture of water and perspiration, and as I stood on tip toe, trying to
unscrew a spigot that really needed me to go back to the barn and get a wrench,
I trembled. It was just too much. I could feel the vibrations inside me, the
powerful rocking of the two vibroballs rattling deep within my sex. The epicenter of my personal earthquake
combined with the cruel clamps attached to my nipples and my clit and I
couldn’t take it anymore. I overbalanced
and fell on my ass in the wet mud between the rows of soybean, legs splayed
wide, crying out in orgasmic release, mud oozing between my fingers as my cum
mixed with the dirty water I was sitting in.
Mud splashed up and splattered my bare breasts, my throbbing nipples
sporting the dangling metal alligator clamps I wore as punishment.
It had all started that morning the
way everyone expects: the toy of the day.
I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut and there are rules for girls like
me. Rule #1 is probably the most
important, though I suppose there could be some argument about that. Simply put, the first rule states that nympho
humiliation pain sluts will always keep some sort of sexually stimulating
object in their sex at all times, making sure that they will be ready to please
their master, mistress, or hell – some random stranger, at all times.
Except for my time of the month,
I’ve spent the last three years like this and sometimes I think I’m going
crazy. I’m normally an excitable person
and trust me, it doesn’t take much to make me wet. A stiff breeze blowing past me could do
it. Seeing a hot guy, or a beautiful
girl (yes, I’m bi-sexual. Is that a problem?)
But back to the toy of the day.
Some girls might think, “oh, I’ll just wear the same toy and get used to
it so I can actually function!” And that
would be a great idea, unless of course your sadistic doms and dommes KNOW you’ll
get used to it, and send you an email or text message each morning, specifying
exactly which of your various toys you’ll be stuffed with.
And of course, they might add
stipulations. For example, like
yesterday morning, I was told to stuff myself with my vibroballs and turn them
to their medium setting. And I was told
that cumming would cost me. I don’t know
about you, but reeling from one chore to another, with a sex toy that is
constantly pushing me toward a biological, pleasurable explosion, only to be
told that it might be a good idea NOT to pop, isn’t exactly the sort of thing
that makes acting normal easy.
What was the “cost?” Well, I did say that I was a nympho
humiliation PAIN slut, right? My
mistress knew I’d be spending most of my day out in the fields, so she decided
that pain could work to keep my natural inclination to erupt like Yellowstone’s
Old Faithful in check.
Yeah. Right.
Clamps were the order of the day
and when I left the house early that morning I had a selection of them in the
front pocket of my shorts. The back
pocket on the right side was stuffed with the remote control for the
vibroballs, still set to medium, with the wire disappearing into the waist
band, trailing down my hip, and then slipping between my petals to attach to
the two plastic, motor filled spheres that were rattling around inside me.
I start my day early and I was out
to the barn by five in the morning. I’m
sort of used to doing my morning chores with a simulated earthquake shaking
things up between my legs, but because I’d spent Sunday wearing nothing more
challenging than my ben-wa balls and resisting the urge to cum (again thanks to
an order received from my mistress,) I was on edge and desperate and more than
willing to accept the punishment for a little sexual relief. I was in the middle of slopping the pigs when
I realized I was about to orgasm and I put down the feed bucket and gripped the
railing of their sty as the overwhelming sensation of release moved through me
like a disc tiller through dry soil.
For you non-farmers out there,
ploughing with a disc tiller basically breaks the dirt and turns it… and oh… never mind. I’ll try to limit the number of farming
metaphors. Sorry.
As I stated before, I was wearing just shorts
and a tee shirt. No panties. No
bra. Just me and enough covering to keep
my mother from raising her eyebrows and my father from making obscene
comments. Of course that didn’t exactly
matter and as soon as I had recovered from the usual euphoria I experience from
popping like a balloon in a cactus garden, I fished the two clothespins from my
pocket and tugged up my shirt.
My breasts popped out of the tight
material easily and the nipples stiffened immediately. It can’t have been from
the temperature, since it was already a humid and sticky seventy-seven degrees,
so I’m guessing it was because I liked
the idea of putting on the clothespins.
The shirt material bunched up along my collar bone and I licked my lip
and set the wooden pegs on my nipples, sticking straight out so that every step
would make them wiggle and bounce. Then,
just as instructed, I fished the remote out of my back pocket and jacked the
vibroballs up to their highest setting.
I checked the time on my watch, already shaking with renewed sexual
energy, and picked up the bucket.
Kari had made it clear that the
punishment for coming was not just the clamps, but also turning my vibroballs
higher. Over-stimulation is one of
Kari’s trademark torments and I suppose that my unique nature makes me highly
susceptible to it. Most women get
sensitized to sexual stimulation and I’m certainly one of them. But some women, like Kari for example, can’t
tolerate additional sensorial input once she’s reached climax. It literally hurts so bad that she will fight
you. I can’t imagine doing this, but if
I were to tie Kari up, her legs spread, and go at her with a vibrator and my
tongue, and made her pop, and then continue to press the vibrator to her clit,
she’d go mad. She’d scream, fight, kick,
swear, bite, and be in such agony that she’d probably try to kill me the moment
she had the opportunity.
I on the other hand, am at the
complete opposite end of the spectrum.
After I’ve had an orgasm, I get a bit sensitive and my nerves sort of
feel like they’ve been dipped in acid.
But for some strange, odd reason, that sensation of my clit on fire
turns me on again. I know, weird
huh? I know I’m not alone. Many woman are like this too to some degree
or another. But for me, it creates a
vicious cycle. I get turned on. I cum. I
get sensitive. Which turns me on. Which makes me cum, making me more sensitive,
turning me on even more, making me cum again.
Until I’m exhausted or I’m physically incapable of taking more (like rug
burn on my clit) I can be locked in a loop of cumming and pain all day.
There was a time limit for the
vibroballs however. Kari didn’t want me
stuck on high all day, which was damned nice of her since she had also told me
that unless I was in the house with my family, the clamps had to stay on
too. My chest heaved as I moved around
the barn, checking my watch every few minutes as I waited stressfully for the
moment I could turn down the rumbling between my legs. The vibroballs are a particularly cruel toy
when the person wearing them is told NOT to cum. Even with a recent orgasm, after ten minutes
I was already close to another climax and I still had five minutes to go.
I made it, but just barely and with
a sigh of relief I turned the vibroballs back down to medium. It slowed my ascent up the Sexual Climax
Mountain and my approach to the cliffs of Orgasm, but didn’t stop it. Instead I was able to focus just a little
more on my chores, only marginally distracted by the steady pressure on my
nipples and the buzzing inside me, instead of completely distracted.
By six-thirty though I was there
again. I clung to the goat pen fence,
one hand supporting myself while the other hand came up to my left breast and
began flicking, twisting, and tugging on the clothespin. One of the goats watched me as I cried out,
grinding my clit against one of the fence posts and generally make a fool of
myself. The crotch of my shorts was
soaked and I exploded wetly again, a blob of cumming girl, totally oblivious to
her surroundings.
When I came back down to earth I
noticed that the goat who had watched my unauthorized explosion had come up and
was expressing a distinctly disturbing interest in the scents emanating from my
shorts, so I pulled away from the fence and grimaced in disgust as the thing
licked at the fence post I’d been grinding against. Eewww…
I turned away, the wooden pegs on
my nipples still bouncing up and down nicely, my tee shirt still rolled up
under my chin. A moment later I went
fishing in my shorts again and this time drew out a small pair of rubber tipped
clamps, each sporting a dangling, oval shaped plastic object. I groaned in relief as I pulled the
clothespins off my nipples and admittedly, I gave myself a little bit of time
to allow some blood flow back into the semi-crushed tips. Then, once they had regained their usual size
and color, I lifted the rubber capped clamps and set them in place, using the
pressure screw to tighten them appropriately.
The vibrator clamps had to be set a
bit more securely than the clothespins, since my skin was slick and the jaws
were coated with rubber. Then once they
were on and even a little bit of breast jiggling didn’t send them flying, I
turned on the vibrators. A whole new set
of issues flooded through me as my breasts now joined my sex and I got to
endure three separate earthquakes, each at an epicenter of nerves, sending all
sorts of strange and wonderful sensations up to my sex-soaked brain. Of course, I had cum too, which meant turning
the vibroballs up to maximum as well, and the moment I did this I knew that
there was no way I was going to be able to last the fifteen minutes.
So I didn’t even try. I didn’t try to hold off. I just moved along and about eleven minutes
later shuddered to a halt and leaned against a stall, arms wrapped around my
body, my hips pumping lewdly, wishing desperately for cock instead of stupid
sex toys. My sex tingled in the darkest,
cum-soaked depths and my nipples throbbed.
I was panting, chest heaving, the vibrator clamps swinging wildly. I didn’t touch the vibroball’s remote, but
merely checked my watch to set a new fifteen minute time limit. Then, with trembling hands and the threat of
a multi-orgasmic experience looming on the horizon, I turned off the vibrating
clamps hanging from my breasts and pulled out my clover clamps. It actually took two or three minutes to
accomplish the change out, just from the fact my hands were trembling almost as
much as my sex.
Eventually my nipples were crushed
in the cruel bite of the clover clamps, two steel maws that clung tightly to my
breasts. A heavy chain, easily a pound
in weight, connected the two clamps and dangled down to almost my navel. You try moving around, working on chores,
with that much hardware hanging off your tits!
By then I was tired and hurting, or
I guess I should say that my pussy was tired and my breasts were hurting. But it could have been worse. Despite the rapid and continual buzzing
between my legs I actually made it through the fifteen minute time period,
holding off from anything serious, and only experiencing a few minor waves of
pleasure that couldn’t have counted as orgasms.
Sure I swayed and moaned a bit, an electric thrill going down my spine,
but orgasmic? I don’t think so.
I finished my chores in a hurry,
mostly because I could actually sense another orgasm approaching and with a
sigh of relief I turned toward the house, turned off the vibroballs, removed
the clover clamps with a gasp, and then tugged down my shirt. I wasn’t really allowed a moment to collect
myself, since that would have meant putting the clamps back on and again
turning the vibroballs to medium, so I barged into the kitchen, one arm across
my bosom and another across the front of my soaked shorts. My mother was at the stove, making breakfast
and I moved past her at something close to lightspeed.
“Breakfast in thirty minutes,
Breanne!” she called out to me.
“Okay, mom!” I shouted back.
The next room was the living room
and my dad was there, ensconced in his throne, his bum leg sticking out an
angle. His walker was there and he looked
up at me as I started to hurry past.
“Stop,” he said sharply and I
screeched to a halt. Or I would have if
I’d been in a car. Instead my stocking
feet slid slightly on the carpet.
“What, daddy? I need to use the bathroom!” I said with
urgency. It wasn’t exactly true, but I
hardly wanted to stand there for inspection.
He eyed me suspiciously. “Put your arms down,” he said.
I bit my lip. My dad is very well aware of my proclivities,
which is somewhat disturbing. A friend
of his, an old army buddy from another state, was reading my blog and sent my
dad the link, only because the girl in the stories lived in the same town. I suppose the army buddy was hoping my dad
could find that nympho humiliation pain slut some time and get some
nookie. My dad read the blog and let’s
face it: if you actually know me, it isn’t that hard to figure out who Breanne
is, now is it?
I dropped my arms. The crotch of my
shorts sported a dark wet spot that made it quite clear that I had either
pissed myself or masturbated to the point of indecency. My dad knew it was the later. And of course my nipples were two hard little
bumps at the front of my shirt.
He glanced back at the kitchen
door. “Let me see,” he said softly, in
barely more than a whisper, pointing at the tips of my breasts.
My eyes widened. “Dad! No!” I
hissed. I too glanced at the kitchen door.
My father’s eyes hardened. “Do I
have to spank you?”
It was my turn to glare. “You
won’t! Not here, not right now!” I whispered back.
He shrugged. “Your mom is going out
later. It can be then,” he said with a
grin.
My face screwed up. I know what you’re thinking. You are thinking “why on earth would she
follow his orders, or even allow him to spank her?” Some part of me agrees with you. But then there is Nympho Humiliation Pain
Slut Rule #2. “A NHPS must be ready and
able to endure a painful punishment/torture at any time, for anyone, for any
reason.”
When I agreed to abide by the
rules, there weren’t any exceptions, and frankly that “anyone” and “any reason”
has gotten me into trouble before. And
to top it off, NHPS Rule #3 doesn’t make things easier either.
“A NHPS is not allowed to refuse to
perform a sexual act that is within her prescribed limits.”
Do you realize what that
means? It means that as long as my
limits aren’t violated, I HAVE to do what’s ordered. My limits are pretty much blood, scat, pee,
and kids, meaning that my father’s request to see was well within my prescribed
limitations. And with the “anytime,
anyone” rule, it sort of made refusing a punishable offense.
So I flashed him.
It was quick, nothing more than a
flip up flip down movement and all he got to see was the bright pink marks of
my tender nipples before the cotton material of my shirt covered me up
again. But he was smiling and I knew
that he was happy. The relationship
between my father and I is complicated. Complicated and a bit disturbing, so
let’s move on. I certainly did.
With the show over I galloped up
the stairs to my bedroom where I quickly stripped off my shorts and plucked a
fresh set from my drawer. It was a good
thing I did too because the scent of my orgasms was so obvious and so prevalent
that I actually skipped half naked out of my room and across the hall to the
bathroom so I could hop in the tub and stand in the shower, the nozzle directed
at my vibroball stuffed loins.
I almost came while washing my
petals, but I managed to hold off and after toweling dry, I stuffed my bare feet
down into the fresh shorts. Then, since I had a bit of time to kill, I headed back
to the privacy of my room. Of course
that meant I had to put the clover clamps back on, but I didn’t mind. No, not at all. What I minded was turning the vibroballs back
on to medium. Sitting at my computer, my
nipples clamped and sex convulsing around the sex toy, I checked my email and
messaged. Finally, when it was close to
breakfast time, I removed the clamps and turned off the vibroballs. I headed downstairs, passed my still grinning
father, and stepped into the kitchen.
Breakfast came next and for the
first time that morning I wasn’t placed into a sexually charged situation. My family ate with me, just as we normally
do, and I relaxed comfortably, ignoring the fact that I knew I’d be suffering
sexually in less than an hour. After we
ate my dad and I spoke about the farm and he reminded me that I needed to set
up the sprinklers in the soy fields. I
grimaced. I knew that. I didn’t need him reminding me. But he also knew I hated doing it. Finally with a roll of my eyes I stomped out
of the kitchen door, grabbed my boots which were sitting on the porch, and put
them on.
As I sat there my hand plucked the
vibroballs’ remote out of my back pocket and I thumbed it up to medium. Instantly my pussy tightened around the two
rattling spheres dancing in between my legs and I swallowed hard, adjusting to
the fresh round of stimulation. I stood
and walked toward the barn, fishing my clover clamps out. Even before I made it to the wooden structure
across the gravel yard from the house, I was lifting my shirt, exposing my
breasts, and attaching the steel clamps.
The metal jaws bit down and fresh pain shot up through my chest, hit my
heart, and then swirled down to my sex, which reacted predictably. I was almost cumming even before I made it
into the barn.
But I didn’t want to cum. Cumming would result in a step up on the
clamps and the last thing I wanted to do was replace the clover clamps with
something worse. And worse was all there
was left. Kari had been very specific
about what the progression of punishments would be if I continued to
orgasm. So instead of just giving in I
focused on what I was doing. I got
Star’s blanket and saddle and got her ready for a ride and when things were
finally ready, I put my boot into her stirrup and hauled myself up into the
saddle.
For a moment, I would like you to
picture this, because frankly I think I must have looked pretty darn good. Dressed in blue jean shorts, boots, and a tee
shirt that was rolled up just under my arms and above my clamped and bare breasts,
I rode out of the barn and headed southward toward our soybean fields. My boobs jiggled and I was glad I was no
longer wearing the clothespins, since those things would have been bouncing up
and down horribly. The clover clamps
moved a little, but the pressure was tight enough and the chain heavy enough,
that there wasn’t too much torque applied to the tips my breasts.
Of course riding a horse when
you’ve got two small golf ball sized vibrators inside you isn’t easy,
especially if the point is NOT to cum. I
didn’t even make it out to the first field before my hips were grinding away
with Star’s trot and next thing I knew I was crying out, no longer guiding the
horse, while I tried feverishly to grind my clit on the saddle. I may have even scooted up to the saddle horn
to rub myself against it, but I’m not sure.
Star doesn’t like it when I’m lost
in the bliss of sexual euphoria. I’m not
good about telling her where I want to go, or how fast, and I don’t even sit
her well when I’m weaving from side to side, my mind foggy and eyes
glazed. So when I was blasted into
orbit, Star came to halt and waited for me to come back down.
When I finally came to my senses I
realized that we were about twenty meters from the roadway, which was certainly
close enough for anyone driving by to see that the cute redhead on the horse
had her tits hanging out, draped with a steel chain from nipple to nipple. I blinked and started to turn Star, when I
remembered that cumming had consequences.
I frowned and hurried, turning up the vibroballs to high and unclipping
my clover clamps.
As the blood rushed back into my
crushed nipples I tugged out the next set of clamps, the final pair before
things got really nasty on the punishment stage. I looked at them. The new set of clamps were steel, and much
lighter weight than the clovers. But the
jaws of each clamp were lined with metal teeth, slightly dulled so as not to
cut into skin, but sharp enough to send fresh slivers of pain into whatever was
trapped between those fangs.
I lifted the alligator clamps up to
my nipples and deftly attached them. The
left one went on easiest, since my nipple there is still in its all natural
state. But my right one takes some care
since my nipple has a piercing, a yellow metal hoop that has a small gold
colored padlock dangling from it. I
placed the right side clamp on and grit my teeth as I struggled to handle the
pain shooting up through my breasts.
At that point, I wasn’t so much
ready to cum again, as wiped out. My
nipples hurt, throbbing in time with every heartbeat, while the vibroballs
between my legs continued their mad dance, still set to the highest
setting. It was hard to even
function. I stumbled between one chore
and the other, sweat pouring down my brow from the extreme heat, while my denim
shorts quickly saturated from the juice pouring out from between my legs.
I went almost forty minutes
though. I’m not sure I should be congratulated
however, since it was more a combination of exhaustion and focus than on any
sort of endurance on my part. On the
flip side, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the fifth orgasm of the
day. You might be thinking “how can it get
any worse than the alligator clamps?”
And you’d be right to think that.
After once more coming out of my
sexual daze, my fingers fumbled at my shorts.
The button came loose and I unzipped the front, exposing my slit. I even wiggled the denim downward a bit, just
enough to make sure that my clit was easily visible and exposed. I plucked a clothespin, a simple, common
clothespin, from my pocket and without a wince, pinched it open and set it on
my clitoris. When it closed a fresh
burst of pain blasted through me, but since it was so specific, and my clit
hadn’t received any attention at all, you can imagine how THAT felt. I had to leave the shorts open as I moved
from one field to the other, opening water valves and moving the
sprinklers.
Riding a horse when you have a
clothespin on your clit is not exactly fun.
For some reason, clothespins move around a lot more than other
clamps. They wiggle and twist and generally
make for some of the most agonizing sexual torments possible. Unfortunately for me, that meant I was
cumming again thirty minutes later, the buzzing of the vibroballs combining
with the fresh sensation of my clit being jerked around. I popped with a gush and exploded wetly,
still astride Star.
And so the clothespin came off and
a spare vibrator clamp replaced it.
Fresh buzzing exploded up from between my legs and I didn’t even have a
chance to turn down the vibroballs before the vibrator clamp was coming off and
the clover clamp was going on.
You see where this is going, don’t
you? How things progressed? By the time four o’clock rolled around I was
exhausted, physically, emotionally, and sexually. My clit felt like I’d stuck it in a door jam
and pinched it a hundred times. My
nipples ached abominably, the metal teeth of the alligator clamps chewing
away. And when another orgasm hit me and
I was forced to set my jumbo alligator clamp against my abused clit, feeling
the burst of pain, I could barely stand.
I slogged through wet mud between
the rows of soybeans and began fiddling with the nozzle on the sprinkler,
sending waves of water over me. My tight
tee shirt clung to my chest, bunched up just under my chin, chaffing at my arms
and neck, soaked with a mixture of water and perspiration, and as I stood on
tiptoe, trying to unscrew a spigot that really needed me to go back to the barn
and get a wrench, I trembled. It was
just too much. I could feel the
vibrations inside me, the powerful rocking of the two vibroballs rattling deep
within my sex. The epicenter of my
personal earthquake combined with the cruel clamps attached to my nipples and
my clit and I couldn’t take it anymore.
I overbalanced and fell on my ass in the wet mud between the rows of
soybean, legs splayed wide, crying out in orgasmic release, mud oozing between
my fingers as my cum mixed with the dirty water I was sitting in. Mud splashed up and splattered my bare
breasts, my throbbing nipples sporting the dangling metal alligator clamps I
wore as punishment.
I was a mess. Mud covered me from head to toe and I could
feel it oozing into places that even mud shouldn’t be allowed to go. I sat up, dripping, and looked down at
myself. Even my front was splattered and
rivulets of muddy water streamed down across my breasts and over the jumbo
alligator clamp between my legs. My
pussy continued to convulse around the vibroballs, still buzzing at maximum and
I curled up into a fetal ball as the overload of sensation hit me like a
proverbial wrecking ball. Finally I
couldn’t take it anymore. My hands flew
of their own accord and I barely had the sense to squeeze the alligator clamps
open before yanking them off my flesh.
It left me screaming in the middle
of field as blood rushed back into my clit and nipples and I rolled over,
pressing my sore and burning body into the wet mud. There was some relief, but it still was more
of an internal hurt. But my wriggling pushed
my shorts down even more and my shirt was a loss. I flailed around, trying to find the
vibroballs’ remote, just wanting even that to stop. Finally I put muddy fingers between my legs
and just yanked the god damn things out of myself. I heard them plop into the water next to me,
still running.
The sprinkler continued to move on,
just like it was supposed to and an artificial rain fell across me. I just lay there, taking it, my legs spread
as far as the blue jean shorts around my knees would let me, my arms thrown
outward. As the sprinkler washed the mud
from my face I lifted up, letting it stream down me.
Suddenly I felt a surge of energy
and I kicked off my boots. My shorts
went next and I yanked the shirt from around my neck. Naked and still slick with mud, I danced
forward, hopping over half-grown soybean plants, my toes squishing in the mud. I stood under the sprinkler, feeling the cool
water sluice me clean. I ran my fingers
over my body, feeling the sensitivity of my nipples, the soreness of my clit,
and I even pulled my buttocks outward to make sure I was clean everywhere. And then with only my feet still muddy, I
went back to my shirt and shorts and rinsed them clean.
I
had to follow my tracks back to where my vibroballs and alligator clamps
lay in the mud and I plucked them up and hurried back to the sprinkler. I washed them all quickly and then gingerly
made my way to the edge of field. Star
was tethered to a small scrub brush tree that had grown up between the fields
and she ignored both my nudity and my wetness.
My boots were a mess and I tossed them down, but I strung up my clothes
on a branch to dry.
Which left me with the vibroballs,
the alligator nipple clamps, and the jumbo alligator clamp. I looked down on them. Already I was violating Nympho Humiliation
Pain Slut Rule #1. I was supposed to
have something inside me at all times.
That in and of itself would earn me a punishment. But Kari had also made it very clear – the clamps
were not to come off unless I was in the house.
Torn between not wanting to disobey Kari and not wanting to inflict more
pain on myself, I began stuffing the rinsed vibroballs back up inside
myself. Admittedly, it felt good and as
soon as the two motorized sex toys were fully embedded, I thumbed the controller
and reset them to medium. In seconds my
pussy seized up, tightening around the vibroballs as I let out a deep
moan. Still clutching the remote in one
hand, I went to Star’s saddle bag and fished my phone out. Kari answered on the second ring.
“Hello, Bre. What clamps are you wearing?” Kari asked
before I even spoke a word.
Yes, I thought about lying. Are you shitting me? Of COURSE I thought
about it! I even opened my mouth to say “the
alligator clamps, Kari.” But I’m not a
liar. I don’t do it very well and Kari
has always been able to tell.
“I’m not wearing them right now,
Kari.”
I could hear the disappointment in
her silence. “I presume you have a good
reason?” she finally asked.
“Overload,” I replied
honestly. “I blew a gasket and couldn’t
take it.”
Again there was a pause. “That’s
unusual for you.”
“I know. I’m really sorry, Kari.”
“Did you remove the vibroballs too?”
I winced. “Yes, ma’am,” I replied. I usually don’t use
titles with Kari. I’d be totally willing
to call her “mistress,” or “ma’am,” or even “goddess,” but she feels that “Kari”
is sufficient. So me using “ma’am” just
made it even more obvious that I knew I had screwed up badly.
“Please tell me that you have
already put them back in. Because if you
haven’t, your punishment is going to be so bad you won’t be able to walk for a
week.”
“They’re in!” I gushed, again
feeling my loins tighten around the vibroballs.
“I’ve even got them on!”
“What setting?” she asked.
“Medium,” I replied.
I could hear her fingers tapping on
her desk. “Turn them to high right now,”
she ordered.
I let out a whimper but twisted the
wheel on the remote, feeling the vibrations increase intensity. My breathing came in short little gasps and I
stammered out a simple “it’s done,” to her.
“Good. Now I want you to put your alligator clamps
back on. If you want them off, you will
get your leather sap and ask someone to give you ten strokes to the location
each clamp is currently connected. They
can remove the clamp and spank you with the sap.”
My eyes widened in alarm. She couldn’t possibly mean…
“Do you understand?” she demanded.
I almost panicked, but then
remembered that she wasn’t violating my limits.
Was I sore? Yes. But this was the punishment I got for not
obeying her. I whimpered and almost
cried, but Kari’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“I know you can do this,” she said.
“But I’ll have to drive somewhere!”
I cried out. I had lifted my hand and
was staring at the jumbo alligator clip.
The teeth seemed to glisten in the afternoon sunlight and I knew the
pain that pincer would bring to me.
“You can turn the vibroballs off
for that if you have to. I don’t
recommend going far though,” she said. “Now
I want to hear your cries of anguish as you put those clamps back on. Do it. Now.”
And so I did. Kari got exactly what she wanted, hearing me
scream outloud as the metal teeth bit into my skin. I did my clit first, followed by my nipples
and when I was finally allowed to hang up the phone I felt like my throat was
raw and the pain was going to overwhelm me again. My shorts and shirt were still wet so I climbed
into the saddle naked, tucked the vibroballs’ remote into my boots which I held
in one hand, snagged my clothes off the branch and laid them across a
shoulder. Then I rode for home.
My parent’s house sits at an
unusual angle compared to our farm and since I was approaching from the other
side of the barn, I knew my mother would need to be standing on the toilet, in
the upstairs master bath in order to see her daughter riding naked over the
fields. I skirted the goat pen, risking
being seen from the living room for just a moment, but then rode Star right on
into the barn. I stopped her and like a
good cowgirl, got her saddle and blanket off, gave her a quick rub down, and
then sent her out to graze. And all
while hurting and throbbing and feeling the steady pressure of sexual need
building beneath the surface.
My jeans were still damp but I
tugged them up my legs. My shirt was a
lost cause. It was stained beyond belief and even the rinsing I had given it
wouldn’t help. But I pulled it on
anyway, the tight material hugging my breasts, the alligator clamps and chain
obvious underneath the material. I knew
I couldn’t go out like this, but I would.
The problem was that my keys were upstairs in my bedroom. That meant going into the kitchen, hiding my
clamped boobs in case my mom was there, crossing in front of my father, who
would no doubt enjoy seeing me wet and clamped and vibrated, and then upstairs
to get a pair of flip flops and my purse and keys.
I rinsed my feet off again in the
barn and then opened the opposite door of the barn, the one that led out into
the yard between the house and the barn.
There was my truck and my Saturn coupe, but my mother’s car was missing
and I said a silent prayer of thanks. My
mother was a strict woman and she had already given me the eye that morning
when she saw I wasn’t wearing a bra.
Talk about uncomfortable.
I hurried as fast as my bare feet
would let me, wincing as the rocks dug into my soles while the alligator clamps
chewed on my flesh. The vibrations
increased inside me and I knew it wouldn’t be long before the vibroballs, which
were still set to high, would push me over the edge and I wanted to get my sap
and keys before I came again.
I didn’t mean to let the storm door
slam, but it did and when I burst through the empty kitchen and into the living
room my dad looked up at me. He blinked.
“What the hell happened to you?” he
asked.
“Sorry dad, I don’t have time!” I
said urgently. And I didn’t. The orgasm was cumming. I’d be lucky to make
it to the top of the stairs before I burst.
“Hold it right there, young lady!”
my dad said sternly.
I skidded to a halt again, my
entire body tight and my face no doubt looking like I was desperate to use the
bathroom.
“Why are you soaked? Was there a problem with the sprinkler?” he
demanded.
“Dad!” I said between clenched
teeth. “Please! I’ve got to go!”
One eyebrow went up. “If it’s to pee, you can go. If not, then you stand right there.”
“Um… yeah. I’ve got to pee,” I declared, putting one
hand between my legs. See? There. I
lied.
“You’re lying,” he replied, but
then he shook his head. “Your mother and
Rachel went out to the mall. They won’t
be back until five thirty. She wants you
to put the meatloaf in the oven at five fifteen,”: he said, rattling off the
message.
“Please can I go now!” I demanded.
He shrugged, his attention going
back to the television. I didn’t even
make it up the stairs before my body erupted, eliciting a knuckle biting cry as
I surged through another orgasmic event, every part of me throbbing and aching
and cumming. I fell forward and crawled
up the last few steps and I have no doubt that my dad heard it and was well
aware of what was actually happening.
At the top of the stairs I laid
there stunned for a few minutes letting the sensations of climax seep through
every pour. My clit and nipples hurt and
I rolled over onto my tummy, trying to add pressure to my sex. Finally the pain was enough to cut through
the sexual euphoria and I stood, barely able to keep my balance as I went into
my room. Struggling to handle both the
vibrations and the pain of the clamps, I got my purse, keys, and the leather
sap. I put on a fresh pair of loose gym
shorts and followed it up with an extra-large tee shirt. Then with everything in hand and still
trembling, I started back downstairs.
Worse, I had no idea how I would do
this. How to have the clamps removed and
get my strokes and stop the pain and cumming, all while needing to put dinner
in the oven? I had…. What? Twenty minutes to DRIVE somewhere and find
someone to sap me? And that’s when Kari’s
words hit me. “You will get your leather
sap and ask someone to give you ten strokes to the location each clamp is
currently connected. They can remove the
clamp and spank you with the sap.”
I paused on the stairs,
blinking. Of course. I put my purse and keys down and kicked off
my flip flops. Then I peeled the shirt
off my body, exposing my breasts and the chain that connected the sharp
toothed, alligator clamps clinging to my nipples. I pushed down the shorts and let them slide
down my legs, pooling at my ankles. I stepped out of them, one hand holding the
remote to the vibroballs, the other my sap.
I went downstairs.
His eyes widened when he saw me,
but he adjusted well. And by adjusted
well, I mean that he stuck his hand down his jeans and adjusted his hard member
with a light touch. I stood before him
and held out the sap.
“Would you please remove each clamp
and deliver ten strokes to the spot?” I begged him. His eyes went straight to my clit.
“What if I like having you clamped
like this?” he asked.
I almost burst into tears. “Please,
dad. I can’t take much more. I’m so on edge now.”
He looked up at me, or perhaps my
nipples. “I’m not sure ten is
appropriate. You lied to me and then
orgasmed on the stairs. I didn’t even hear the toilet flush.”
“Dad… please.”
He let out a sigh. “Kneel down,” he said with exasperation. I did as he said and knelt before him, putting
my hands on top of my head. The
vibroballs remote went on the floor and he reached out and grabbed hold of the
alligator clamp on my right nipple. He
tugged on it, sending even more pain shooting through my bosom, but then he
released it. I gasped, the pain increasing, only to have it change to a violent
heat as he laid into my breast with the sap.
It stung like the dickens, but I have to admit it did moderate the pain
of the release. Then he moved to my
other breast and did the same thing, twisting and tugging and hurting me
horribly, only to remove the clamp and slam the leather sap into my tit with
repeated blows.
“Now, lie on your back and pull
your knees up to your shoulders,” he said to me. I rolled onto my ass and then lay back,
staring up at the ceiling fan. I pulled
my legs up, my clit throbbing while my pussy pulsed around the vibroballs. I could feel his eyes boring into me, even as
his fingers found my petals and pulled on them.
He smeared the wetness around, touching me, stroking me and I felt
another renewed sense of need. I
whimpered.
“This is going to be simple,
Bre. I’m going to take the clamp
off. Then I’m going to sap you till you
cum. “
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
The sharp pain filled me and I
cried out, my fingers white and holding up my legs. My toes curled as my feet bounced against his
chair. He was leaning forward and brought the leather tongue of the sap down, letting
the thick rectangular pad smack wetly on my petals. I jerked wildly and he swung again, then again,
the moist slickness of my sex soaking the sap and squelching as I pumped my
hips. I rocked back and forth, almost
too far gone to understand what was happening, or how things were going. My
entire world was red and black and pain and pleasure and I have no idea how
many times he hit me before I finally gave in, exploding with what must have
been the most intense orgasm of the day.
He hit me once or twice more even
as I let my legs go and I turned away, closing my thighs and curling up into a
ball. The bliss of cumming again only
last as long as it took my sex soaked brain to understand that my father was
now smacking my ass with the sap, leaving stinging welts that quickly turned to
high heat. I rolled away, getting
tangled up in the vibroballs’ wire. But
then I was on all fours, looking over at my father.
He stared at me with a burning
intensity I recognized, a need similar to the one he had just sated in me. One hand gripped the sap, but the other was
rubbing the massive bulge at the front of his pants. I knew exactly what he was thinking and when
he opened his mouth I smiled.
“You need to go put the meatloaf in
the oven,” he said.
I blinked. “What?” That wasn’t what
he was supposed to say!
“It’s time to go put the meatloaf
in the oven,” he repeated.
I straightened, moving out of the
seductive pose I had unconsciously adopted and climbed to my feet.
“The meatloaf,” I said stupidly.
“The meatloaf.”
I plucked the vibroballs’ remote
from the floor. I looked down at the man
before me and arched my eyebrow.
“I’m going to go put the meatloaf
in the oven. And then I’m going to come
back.”
He smiled and wiggled the sap. “Good.”
Naked, with red marks on my bottom,
between my legs, and across my bosom, I carried my buzzing vibroballs’ remote
to the kitchen. I put in the
meatloaf. And then… well…
Never mind. You probably don’t want
to know.
