Hot, Buzzing, and Clamped

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.