If you haven't read Part One, please click here.
I went from tip toe to actually having my weight mostly on my arms. My feet were now mainly for balance, and I didn’t even really need that since I was hardly going to fall over. Zach and his compatriot tied off the ropes and then he stepped back up to the microphone, adjusting it so that it was closer to my mouth.
“Go on, Bre. I’m just going to lower your hands a bit.” He reached up and fiddled with the chain and I felt about an inch or two of slack and I once more was standing, albeit with my legs spread about four feet apart, rather than hanging from the ceiling. While he did this I tried not to hyperventilate and looked back out across the crowd.
“Uh…” I started, mostly due to the fact that I was being stared at by fifty people while the vibroballs churned crazily inside me. I knew my timing was off and that I was starting to sound like a sexually desperate girl chained up and on display on a stage. “There was a girl seeing her doctor after an operation. She asked the doctor how soon she would be able to have sex and the doctor suddenly wiped a tear from his eye. ‘What’s wrong, Doctor?’ the girl asked. ‘Will I even be able to have sex?’ He nodded smiling. ‘Of course, I’ve just never had anyone ask that after having their tonsils out.’”
Okay, so my delivery might have been terrible, but the joke wasn’t and I heard a muffled laugh from over on my right. The second that laugh came the entire room sort of erupted and I bit my lip, struggling to remember the next joke. I twisted slightly, totally uncomfortable to be strung up nude in front of everyone. I glanced over at Zach who was now standing at the pool table, holding my clover clamps on their connecting chain in one hand. I swallowed and turned back toward the crowd.
“One day a guy at the office can’t stand it any more because there is this absolutely beautiful girl sitting in the cubical next to his and he wants to screw her badly. So he goes right up to her, confesses his desire, and asks if he could have sex with her. She gives him a queer look and says no. He runs his fingers through his hair and offers a hundred dollars if she has sex with him. ‘I’ll throw the money on the floor, you bend over, and by the time you’re done picking it up, I’ll be finished,’ he says. The girl thinks about it for a second and then says she has to call her boyfriend and get his input. The boyfriend listens to the problem and tells her to accept, except for two hundred dollars. “Just pick up the money fast. You’ll be back up before he gets his pants unzipped. Call me in thirty minutes to tell me how it went.’ The girl turns and agrees to her co-worker’s request. Thirty minutes pass and the boyfriend doesn’t hear anything. Finally after an hour he calls her and is surprised to hear her groaning and grunting. ‘What happened?’ he demands. ‘The bastard dropped two thousand pennies on the floor and he’s still fucking me!’”
I could see the smiles, even a few covered mouths. Was that a snigger? No…. oh God. Oh no. I froze, the stupid smile on my face beginning to crack. I glanced over at Zach who was already shaking his head and moving in my direction. He stepped up behind me, speaking into the microphone from over my shoulder.
“Oh, Breanne. Too bad that one wasn’t funny enough,” he said as he brought both hands up from underneath. I glanced down. Both clover clamps were pinched open and rising. “I’m afraid that consequences for another bad joke are pretty severe.” He let the clamps close on my nipples and I let out a sharp squeal as the pain shot up through my breasts. He jiggled the chain, allowing the clamps to tighten even more and I trembled. The crowd loved it.
Me? Oh I loved it too, except in a totally different fashion and not quite voluntarily. For me the incessant purring of the vibroballs suddenly seemed twice as intense. With the tight pinch of the tips of my breasts, whole new levels of sexual arousal hit me and I delivered my next joke panting, struggling to maintain control.
“One night a young college guy… *pant*… was asked by a pretty, teenage girl if he preferred legs or breasts. *pant*. He replied ‘I prefer a well shaved snatch if you’ve got one.’ After that he was told never to come to Kentucky Fried Chicken again,” I said, stammering out my lines.
That one drew laughs and I was grateful and moved on, though with difficulty. My loins were now pumping back and forth and it was getting harder and harder to concentrate as the vibroballs and clover clamps kept me moving in the direction of sexual climax. I wasn’t close by any definition of the word, but I was steadily plodding up that hill. I’ve never been able to handle the highest setting of the vibroballs for longer than forty or so minutes.
I told another joke, I forget which one, but I got a laugh on that one too and I realized that I might just make it through all thirty jokes without much more in the way of torment. But then no one laughed when I explained that men pay more for car insurance because women don’t get blowjobs while driving. That did not go over well.
Zack was instantly ready and when he came up on the stage he was already holding the thick wooden paddle I had brought.
“Sorry Breanne, but that was another bad joke. That’s a full ten strokes too,” Zach announced loudly, and then he moved behind me, swinging. I think the first impact of the paddle was the worst, but he crowd absolutely loved it and went nuts watching me get ass-blistered. And to be honest, he didn’t hit me that hard. I felt a sharp sting, then this intense heat, but I played it up, moaning and groaning and squealing so the crowd would think Zach was beating me half to death.
As soon as Zach finished the ten spanks I let loose with another joke. “A man and a woman were having a drink at a bar and arguing about which gender enjoys sex more, men or women? The man made it clear that men must enjoy it more, saying ‘after all, we’re constantly trying to get laid.’ The woman laughed at him and said ‘thing about this; if your ear itches and you stick your finger in and wiggle it around, which feels better when you’re done? Your finger? Or your ear?’”
Maybe it was my delivery. Maybe it was the fact that I sort of gasped it out instead of telling it like a story. Or hell, maybe it was because it wasn’t really funny. I have no idea, but the dead-pan silence that followed my joke was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Zach came up again shaking his head and the crowd suddenly let loose another roar.
This time instead of the paddle he was wielding the thin plastic cane I had brought. He waved at the frat folks to quiet down and then he stepped up beside me, leaned forward nearer the microphone, and cleared his throat.
“Well Breanne, another failed joke. I think if this goes on you’re going to be pretty sore by the time we’re done. That was your eleventh joke. You’ve still got nineteen left. So you just go on ahead while I inflict the consequences of your last joke on your tits.”
I blinked at him. He couldn’t be serious, could he? Continue telling jokes while he CANED me across the chest?
But Zach WAS serious and he gave me that look, making it clear he wasn’t going to start with the plastic rod until I was well into the next joke.
“A man and his wife were having sex one night when…” I managed to say, only to get rudely interrupted by Zach swinging the cane sharply around, snapping the plastic against my breasts. I instantly squealed, which of course ruined the timing on the joke. The crowd cheered, encouraging him to hit me again. Zach did so, hitting the clover clamps this time. Pain and heat blossomed up from my nipples and I shook, my head hanging as I tried to struggle through the agony.
“Go on, Bre. Tell us your joke,” Zach said, pulling the cane back for another blow.
I sucked in a ragged breath. “A man and his wife were having sex one night when their little boy came into the room and asked…” I didn’t get any farther again because Zach laid another red stinging welt across the upper half of my bosom. I cried out again, and I would have fallen over if I hadn’t been bound to the ceiling hook. The hurt lanced upward through my breasts and I tried to get myself back together. Zach held off with the next stroke, giving me time. Finally I started up again. “’What are ya’ll doing?’ the little boy asked. The father looked up and said ‘making you a little sister.’ ‘The hell with that,’ the boy said, ‘do it doggy style, I want a puppy!’” and just as I finished the punch line, Zach landed another vicious stroke across my chest.
I was the only one to make noise though I suppose it’s possible that someone might have snickered. If they did, it was totally lost in the throaty cries of my own suffering.
“Ooh… too bad, Breanne. Another bad joke,” Zach said out loud. The crowd went nuts.
He dug around in his pocket and pulled the item I was dreading the most from it’s depths. He held it up and there was a chorus of commentary, everything from cries of dismay to “ooh yeah CLAMP her!” Zach made sure everyone could see the jumbo alligator clamp and then he bent down, reached between my legs, and began flicking his fingers across my clit.
That by itself was almost enough and I’m guessing the crowd sensed it. As his fingers tumbled across my nub I let out a wailing moan and pulled tightly on the ropes and chains holding me in place. He lifted up the alligator and the crowd began howling. I couldn’t see him but I felt the metal teeth graze my labia. Zach let go slowly and the bite centered over my clit, crushing the sensitive little nub between the metallic jaws and I lost it.
The orgasm that blasted through me at that moment was pretty intense, mostly fueled by my abject humiliation and fifty or so voices all calling for me to be tortured for their pleasure. Juice dripped from my petals and flowed down the inside of my right leg and I jerked and made all of the appropriate sounds you would expect from someone who is cumming from having a sharp toothed metal clamp set on her clitoris. My head rolled as the sexual euphoria hit me and then shuddered to a stop, the pain of the alligator clamp more that enough to ground and center me, bringing me back into focus.
I blinked. I was hanging from the ceiling, both hands bound above my head, buck naked, my legs spread wide, with both my clit and nipples clamped and throbbing, with my vibroballs churning deep inside me. The crowd was noisy, chattering and discussing the show. Zach came into view, give me a concerned look.
“You all right?” he asked softly.
I nodded. “Sorry, I came.”
He let out a laugh. “No kidding. There’s juice running down your leg.” He lifted a hand to my cheek and cupped it tenderly for just a moment. “But you’re not even half way girl. Ready to tell more jokes?”
I thought about it for a second. Was I ready? Fuck no. And these people didn’t want to hear a comedy routine. They wanted to see me tortured more. Why not just let them have it? I would have, honestly. Except I knew the lengths that torment would actually go if I just gave up, so instead I sucked in a breath past the deep aching pulse of pain and once again looked out at the crowd.
The only problem was that my mind had gone blank. All of the jokes I’d studied, painstakingly memorized, gone. I racked my brain furiously and that actually did more help to my muddled sense of self than anything and I tugged one more stupid joke out of the barrel of my synapses. The crowd, sensing it was time to continue and obviously looking forward to me getting more torture, hushed down and prepared itself.
“Once when I was in math class the teacher was counting up. Sixty-five, sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine. ‘What comes after sixty-nine?’ she asked. Apparently ‘I do,’ is not the correct answer.” The joke was delivered in a shuddering, shaky voice that belied the fact that I was under a great deal of sexual stress. And I was too. No one had lowered the setting on the vibroballs either and I’m multi-orgasmic. I was already half-way back up the mountain of arousal and I was moving at a good clip.
You could hear the crickets chirp. Come on, people! That was funny! Sort of! But in the silence Zach stepped back up, shaking his head.
“Sorry Breanne, but evidently that was another bad joke,” he said. The moment he finished his sentence, the crowd began laughing and cat calling and shouting out for all sorts of unspeakable things to be done to me. Evidently Zach agreed because without a moment’s warning he produced a pair of my two pound weights and just hung them from the chain connecting my clover clamps. Suddenly the throbbing pain in my nipples quadrupled and I’m absolutely positive the damn vices pinching the tips of my breasts actually tightened. I let out a terrible groan which morphed into a high pitched squeal as the crowd cheered.
The pain made it difficult to breathe, though there wasn’t any chance of me passing out or anything. But between the shakes and the arduous sensations, my chest was heaving, which merely set the weights swinging back and forth and I could feel the metal striking my midriff. Zach stayed up there for just a moment and then turned and waved for the crowd to settle down again as I struggled to work past the torment and recall another joke.
My overtaxed brain finally managed to yank another one out of the depths of memory, but it was becoming harder and harder to find them. Now remember, I had actually studied and MEMORIZED a bunch of jokes, so that I’d have plenty for this. But the problem was I never realized how hard it would be to recall them while distracted. Or maybe distracted isn’t the right word. I never realized how difficult it would be to remember a bunch of jokes when bound naked, sexually tormented, painfully clamped, after being both spanked and caned in front of seventy-five people!
I sucked in another big breath and tried to steady my voice. There wasn’t a hell of a lot I could do, but I managed to make a sound that wasn’t a moan, groan, squeal, or scream. “A young couple were out driving in his new car when he asked if she would take her clothes of if he went a hundred miles an hour. She agreed and as soon as he reached top speed began to peel off her clothes. Unfortunately it distracted him and he hit a patch of gravel and then hit a tree. Amazingly, she not only survived but was thrown clear of the car, practically uninjured, while he was pinned between the steering wheel and the seat, badly hurt.”
I had to stop for a moment as another wave of… something… made my pussy convulse and tighten around the vibroballs. I gritted my teeth and worked through it, trying to ignore the fresh pain from the once again swinging weights dangling from my boobs.
“He called out to his girlfriend to go get help, but she resisted, saying ‘I’m naked! I can’t go for help!’ He could reach his shoe though and he pulled it off and handed it to her. ‘Just cover up and go!’ She took the shoe and held it in front of her pussy and marched back up the road to the gas station they had passed earlier. ‘Please help, we had an accident and my boyfriend is stuck!’ she cried out to the old man running the place. He looked down at the shoe and shook his head. ‘Sorry miss, but there’s nothing I can do. He’s too far in.’”
I heard a snicker and then the room erupted in laughter. I felt a wave of relief and began frantically trying to remember another joke while they crowd did its thing.
“A boy once asked his dad what a pussy looks like. The dad asked ‘before or after sex?’ The boy replied ‘before.’ ‘Son, ever see a beautiful rose in the morning with dew sparkling on it? That’s what it looks like before sex.’ The boy nodded. ‘What about afterward?’ The father frowned. ‘Son, ever see a bulldog eating mayonnaise?’”
I could see a few smiles, but no one laughed. Zach even had the courtesy to wait a few extra seconds before coming up onto the stage. Once again he apologized to the crowd, rather than me, and then politely informed me that I’d told ANOTHER bad joke. I blinked and saw he was holding something I normally wouldn’t have felt terrified of; my vibrating clamps. There were three of them, one for each nipple and a third for my clit. Each pincer was rubber coated and no where near as painful as what I was already wearing, but I doubted he was going to be nice and remove the jumbo alligator clamp from my clit, much less the clover clamps and the four pounds of heavy weight dangling from them.
I was right. He just clamped the new toys right to the chain, directly below each nipple and turned them on. Now not only were my nipples being crushed and tugged on painfully, they were also being vibrated – at the highest level. He knelt down between my legs and just clipped the last vibrator clamp to my alligator and when that activated it completely changed the torment into something monstrous. It felt like the damn thing was actually chewing on my clitoris.
I’d like you to imagine, for just a moment, a naked girl who is walking through the dust up a very high hill. Every step is a struggle for her, sometimes she falls to her knees. But she continues up the hill because there is a cliff there that she loves to jump off, especially because there is cool relief of a deep lake below. But in reality it is the jump she loves. That sensation of falling, of floating, of being weightless, of absolute pleasure, it’s what she craves. Now imagine for a moment there is someone else there, pushing her up the hill, kicking her violently up it. And as she nears the summit, she knows she’s about to get relief, but it hurts so badly to get there.
The vibrators, all five of them (two inside me, one on each nipple, and the one dangling from my clit) buzzed away and sent me staggering up the hill at top speed. My entire body tensed and I just stood there on the stage, eyes wild as my body responded to the torture with predictable aptitude.
Clearly Zach was waiting for another joke. He glanced down at his watch. “Well?” he said to me. I didn’t reply. I was too close, caught up in the moment. Do you have any idea how much sexual torment I was undergoing? Everyone was staring at me and then some shouted out “cane her!” and then the rest of the crowd started chanting it.
Zach shrugged. “It counts as a joke though.” Then with me still silent and about to cum, he turned back to the pool table, picked up the cane, and with a lunge, slammed it into my ass. The pain exploded through me back to front and my entire body jerked from the pressure. The jumbo alligator swung painfully back and forth, the weight increased by the vibrator clamp, which also translated its movements up through the metal jaws clamped to my clit. The weights on my breasts went outward and then in, hitting my ribs and metaphorically I was blasted off the side of the cliff. I screamed out loud and was still in the air when Zach landed another stroke across my backside. Sex juice squirted out of me and I began shouting and shaking and staring wild-eyed across the room.
Then I slumped. Collapsed might even be a good word. My knees turned inward slightly and all my weight was on my wrists. My shoulders ached, but none of that mattered because I was totally out of it. Of course Zach kept smacking the damn plastic cane against my bottom, each stroke quite sufficient to send a spark of agony blasting through the cloud of sexual bliss. And then that cloud just dissipated. Maybe it was the cane strokes. Maybe it was the fact that my clit was throbbing and vibrating from the jumbo alligator clamp and the damn vibrating clamp attached to it. Or perhaps it was the vibroballs, still set to high, still buried inside me, the remote just laying there on the floor between my legs. Or it could have been my pulsing nipples, both which felt as if they were going to be ripped off my body any second, tugged painfully downward by the weights and feeling the gentle shaking of the last two vibrator clamps.
I know a lot of people think I’m sick, and they’re right. I have to be sick because that’s the only explanation I have for the fact that despite all of that horrible discomfort being inflicted on my body, despite the fact that I was bound naked in front of seventy-five people who were all clamoring for further abuses, despite the fact that I had just cum for the third time, I was STILL horny. I know. I can’t explain it either. I mean, sure… I’ve always been multi-orgasmic. I’ve been tied to beds before and tortured with my legs spread open, forced into orgasm, then into another one, then another, over and over until the only thing that kept me from cumming was the fact that I was exhausted. But most women would get too sensitive and the pain would keep them from it. I get sensitive, almost over-sensitive, but instead of stopping me, the pain itself becomes an aphrodisiac and that is what makes me sick. After all that abuse and humiliation, even hurting, I was still being constantly and repeatedly turned on, forced back up the mountain.
The cane hit my ass again and suddenly, with an awful clarity, I realized that Zach intended to cane my ass until I told another joke. I wracked my brains furiously and then there it was! I opened my mouth just as another blow hit my buttocks and unfortunately I started the joke with a cry of pain. But then, in the space between one whack and another, I found my voice and started.
“One day a hippie is riding the bus when a young, pretty nun gets on. The hippie, being slightly stoned, asks the nun if she’d have sex with him. The nun frowns, politely declines, and the proceeds to pray for the hippies’ soul since clearly he will be going to hell. After the nun gets off, the bus driver looks at the hippie and he says ‘I can tell you how to have sex with that nun. Every Tuesday she goes to the cemetery at midnight to pray. Dress in flowing robes and put some white powder on your face, say you’re an angle and you’ve been sent to have sex with her.’ The hippie laughs, but decides to do it and sure enough on Tuesday night, he sees the nun in her black habit and wimple, praying at a cross. The hippie approaches and waves his arms and claims to be an angle and the nun agrees to have sex with him, but asks that it be anal sex so she can keep her virginity. The hippie agrees and proceeds to screw her bottom. When he’s done he laughs and wipes off the white powder and says ‘ha ha! I’m the hippie!’ The nun looks up, rips off her wimple and says ‘ha ha! I’m the bus driver!’”
Now of course you understand that the joke didn’t come out all clear and nice and sweet like that, right? I was SHAKING when I told it, and not from fear trust me. My voice cracked and groaned and I moaned frequently through the whole thing so that it sounded horrible. There were points where I thought people wouldn’t understand me because I was clenching my teeth and hissing as my body reported some new painful issue.
But evidently my delivery wasn’t botched too badly because I heard a few titters and then the room erupted into laughter. Zach backed off, a satisfied look on his face as he returned the cane to the pool table. And as the crowd hushed back down, I came up with another joke. Again it was delivered breathless, tortured, and punctuated with little cries of both pain and pleasure.
“A young couple were going back to his place to have sex when he confessed that he lived with his parents and brother. He further told his girlfriend that he shared a room with his brother and that he slept on the top level of the bunk bed. ‘If you want it harder, just say the word lettuce. If you want me to go faster, say tomato.’ Later the two were screwing away and she was constantly whispering ‘lettuce! Tomato!’ while the bed creaked from their sex. Right before the young man was about to cum, his brother piped up from down below, ‘can ya’ll please go somewhere else to make your sandwiches? You’re getting mayonnaise on me!’”
Okay, so even I admit that one wasn’t all that funny, and in all honesty I probably screwed up the delivery, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t my fault either. But when the deathly silence gave way to a steady chanting of “punishment, punishment, punishment, punishment,” I knew I was in trouble.
Zach appeared on the stage again and waved the four inch long, two inch thick butt plug in front of my eyes. The crowd cheered and I watched as Zach opened the small bottle of Stinging O I had brought along and liberally lubricated the anal plug. He moved around behind me, set the tip against my bottom, and then pushed. Hard.
As everyone by now knows, I’m not a fan of anal sex. I don’t like things going in my ass for any reason and I do it under protest. That said, most of my doms and dommes KNOW I don’t like it, which is why they do it to me. Sheesh, next time I’ll just tell them I don’t like having cock in my pussy or something. Maybe I’ll get that more.
My body did not respond well to getting fucked up the ass. I think it had more to do with the stresses I was already enduring than because of the plug, since I’ve worn that thing often enough to know it wasn’t exactly painful or anything, and while the Stinging O certainly added a burning sensation to the experience, it wasn’t any worse than any other time.
Of course I spent the entire insertion time trying to remember another joke and only barely managed it as the thick rubber cone was seated firmly in my ass. Now gasping for real and shaking my posterior and certainly providing a high quality show, I once again faced the spotlights and tried to speak.
“What did the penis say to the condom?” I asked stupidly. There was no response, but I hadn’t expected any.
“Cover me! I’m going in,” I groaned. I wasn’t the only one who groaned, but groaning counted. They had to stay silent and I think I saw a couple of harsh looks being delivered to the few who couldn’t keep their mouth shuts. For me, I saw it as vindication and brought up another horrible two liner.
“Once a mother was explaining things to her daughter. ‘If a boy touches your boobs, tell him “don’t!” and if he touches your pussy, tell him “stop!” The daughter frowned. “but Mom, Tommy touched both and I said ‘don’t stop!’”
That got laughs! I couldn’t believe it! Again I grinned, wincing a little as the weights dangling from my breasts swayed and hit me again in the ribs. Zach folded his arms and leaned backward against the pool table.
“What do you call a virgin on a water bed?” I managed to croak. “A cherry float.”
Okay, that one was bad.
Zach stepped up just as I began to orgasm and he laid the foot and a half long piece of Velcro strap across my left breast. He formed a loop, pulling it tight and set it. My left breast bulged like a swollen grapefruit and the pressure actually made my nipple hurt MORE. Then he moved around to my other side, even as I exploded again, crying out with my hips jerking wildly.