Thursday, July 25, 2013

See-Through Part Three

Author's Note: This is Part Three, which means if you haven't read Part Two, you will corkscrew your eyes and wonder what the hell is going on.  If you haven't read Part One either, the best you'll be able to do is shrug your shoulders, put your hands down between your legs, and masturbate.  So I recommend that you make sure you've read Parts One and Two BEFORE reading Part Three.  But that's just me! Love ya! - Bre
The very idea horrified me but when Kari says jump I’m usually up in the air before I have the presence of mind to ask how high and which way.  That sometimes bites me in the ass, or in the nipple as some of you might remember.  I’m scared of needles and would never have agreed to a piercing had I known one was coming.  Hell, I had my ears pierced at eight years old or so and it was a traumatic experience.  Imagine getting an unwanted nipple perforation.
I scooped up my canvas bag and tucked away the alligator clamps.  There was one thing Kari was right about.  I would need them again, and probably soon.  With the vibroballs bustling around inside me, not to mention seeing Kari half naked and having her taste on my tongue, I was steadily and quickly marching up the mountain toward another freefall dive at the cliffs of orgasm.  As we worked our way to the parking lot, me in my flip flops and Kari in her heels, I once again pressed an arm across my gauze covered bosom and tried my hardest not to be noticeable.
Kari drives a convertible and the top was down. As I climbed in my heart sank as she began retracting it.  Evidently I was to be on display since a hot blond in a convertible, with a nearly naked redhead in the passenger seat was like a great big walking sign that said “FREE BEER.”  It didn’t help that my skirt didn’t actually come down low enough in the sloping seats of her sportster and the dark crevasse of my sex was disturbingly obvious.  I kept my legs pressed together as we zipped off.
Kari ran the air conditioner anyway and a cool stream kept my gauze from sticking to my skin, even as my hair was ripped backward in the wash.  Kari drove like a crazy woman, darting in and out of traffic as if she were invincible and I wasn’t immediately causing driver distraction in everyone around us.  
By the time we pulled into the lot I was on the verge of cumming and was seconds away.  As Kari put the transmission into first and killed the engine, I gripped the edges of my seat and let out a series of grunts and moans that announced to my partner that I was experiencing another mind blowing orgasm.  Kari watched with a grin, then nodded toward my bag.
“Clamps,” was all she said.  
There really isn’t a good way to describe the sexual euphoria that follows orgasm. Either you’ve experienced it or you haven’t.  If you have, you know that after really good sex you sort of feel mellow and there can even be a cognitive slow down.  All sorts of pleasure receptors in your brain have fired and there is a reason some people call it an afterglow.  And when you have powerful orgasms like I do, afterglow is actually more like drug use.
In fact, now that I think about it, sexual euphoria is very much like drug use.  It produces the same kind of effects in the brain, at least for a little while, and while one is produced naturally (while burning calories!) the other is imbibed, or injected, or smoked, and destroys brain cells.  Thank you, but I’ll stick with being a sex addict.  It seems safer.
So with my brain half fried, I really didn’t move in any one direction and it was Kari who dug into my canvas bag and pulled out the three alligator clamps.  It wasn’t until she leaned over in the car and slipped open a few of my buttons that I blinked into awareness.  I really didn’t want the clamps back on, but I didn’t have a choice.  Kari’s fingertips lightly brushed my nipples, already sporting a unique, reddish, blotchiness.  I whimpered as she squeezed open the first clamp and set in on my right breast, just behind the piercing.  Pain shot through my nipple and I clenched my teeth, shaking.
To her credit, she moved fast with the left side and a moment later I was sporting the steel chain that dangled from my bosom.  The pain slid downward a notch, moving from the sharp shard like sensation to a heated throbbing.  Then Kari patted my thigh.  My legs opened on their own, the response to her touch to ingrained in me over the years to stop.  The jumbo alligator clamp was in her hand and she deftly placed it on my clit from above.  Of course, she did it so that the clamp hung awkwardly, sticking out like a man’s erect penis, which actually hurts more, but I was sitting down.  What did I expect?
She got out of the convertible and came around to my side while I tried to button my shirt with trembling fingers.  She opened my door and helped me get the shirt closed, then pulled me to my feet.  I hurt.  That’s the problem with orgasm when you are a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut.  All of that emotional, sexual energy that literally protects you from really feeling pain is gone.  You have to get aroused again.  Of course, I’m a sick fuck too, which means that pain inflicted on sexual parts of me turns me on.  So while my clit and nipples burned horribly, there was still an underlying layer of sexual need that bubbled and churned.
And then Kari turned the vibroballs up to high, her deft touch slipping along the remote control stuck in the waistband of my skirt.   The move was dramatic as the two ovoid objects in my sex now clattered together in movements that made me reach out and grab the car to steady myself.  Under normal circumstances, in a vanilla situation, I can only handle the highest level for about thirty or forty minutes before popping like shaken soda can.  Add in humiliation and sufficient torment to certain parts, and that forty minutes can drop to about fifteen.  Then if you consider other factors like multiple orgasms, being with Kari, constant sexual agitation, and you can imagine the timer clicking on THAT bomb.
Kari grabbed my canvas bag which was probably a smart thing and then led me toward the restaurant.  I’m not allowed to name the place, but Kari has an understanding with the owners and management.  You are familiar with the place, at least a little, because the first time I ate there all I was wearing was a men’s button up tee shirt.  And my first lunch with Kylie and Mistress Savannah was there.  Since then the Society of the Golden Rose have used it as a regular meeting place and we had a private dining room away from the regular diners.  So while my exposure to the public was explicit as we walked up, the moment the greeter saw Kari, she smiled with one glance at me and gestured to our left, admitting us through a door marked “private.”
The private dining area is regularly used for parties and large groups, but during the afternoon it’s usually empty except for other members of the Society of the Golden Rose.  As we walked in I immediately smiled.  We weren’t dining alone and that was good.  Two other mistresses and their submissives sat, already engaged at one of the larger tables.  
The first woman I recognized was Mistress Isabel.  She was a tall, graceful Greek looking woman with lovely coffee colored skin, dark chocolate hair, and these almond shaped eyes that looked incredibly erotic.  She wore a black leather vest with a plunging neck line and no bra, not that she needed it.  The vest was tight enough to keep her well-formed chest in place, creating a tight, eye-catching cleavage.  Black leather pants that seemed to be painted on her bottom finished the outfit and she wore a pair of open toed pumps that made the scarlet of her toe nails that much brighter.  
Next to her sat Madeline, the “maid” of the Society.  Madeline had originally not been one of the submissive girls, but had clearly longed for it and eventually found Isabel.  Kari had a hand in that pairing and evidently it had worked well.  Isabel was an aristocrat of sorts and Madeline was petite, beautiful, and very subservient in attitude and demeanor.  Normally I saw her in some perverted version of a little French maid’s outfit, breasts, bottom, and sex exposed, all while she served drinks or presented her bottom for a caning.  But today she wore a simple summer dress that clung to her ample curves like sea foam to the shore.  She smiled at me, her brown eyes gazing in open wonder at my gauze shirt and the alligator clamps that dangled from my nipples.
Opposite Isabel and Madeline sat Mistress Sara and Alissa.  I met Sara years ago through Kari on what could on be considered a blind sex date.  Sara was a tort attorney in her middle forties and like me, was a dyed red-head.  However Sara has a very different body type than I do.  I’m lean and while I sport a decent sized C cup and good hips, my curves are more like hills than mountains.  No one has ever named a national park after my breasts.  Sara on the other hand, has great tetons. Think Christina Hendrix from Mad Men and you’ve got a close approximation.  She was dressed in a women’s business suit of dark forest green and it looked amazing.  A necklace of pearls encircled her neck, matching the small ones that dangled from her ears.
Next to her sat Alissa, another friend from the Society.  Alissa was the youngest of us, barely old enough to drink, and had been in the lifestyle, albeit with questionable consensuality, for years.  Kari and I had technically rescued her from an abusive dominatrix who thought that half starving the girl and whipping her with a metal barbed flogger constituted acceptable punishment.  Her skin was starred with hundreds of tiny white scars, but with time, most of them were fading and Alissa had gained enough weight to look healthy.  She clearly was devoted to Sara and the two of them got along great.   The only issue I had noticed over the last two years was that Alissa was bi-sexual and Sara was a dedicated lesbian.  But it hadn’t come between them at least.
Alissa was wearing less than me and I liked that.  Her breasts were both exposed and also clamped, though the hardware she sported was much gentler than mine.  Simple screw clamps had been attached to her nipples and the chain that dangled between them seemed a bit heavier than mine.  She grinned at me as I looked at her chest.  Down a little lower was a skirt that seemed to be the twin sister of mine, but from the way her hips were moving in the seat, I was absolutely positive that I wasn’t the only one with something stuffed up inside me buzzing.
Many of the dommes of the Society of the Golden Rose had adopted some of my Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut rules. Number one was the most popular: keeping a sex toy in at all times so the girl is always ready.  But we discovered right off the bat that some girls couldn’t handle the constant stimulation.  For example, one girl, Wendy Dean, who belongs to Mistress Jillian, can’t handle vibroballs on any setting for longer than ten minutes and she is literally unable to function during that ten minutes.  She just stands or sits there moaning and whimpering and jerking like a landed fish and then she cums.  If you leave the balls in her, she’ll cum two or three more times before become over-sensitized and having to take them out.  Personally, I think it’s psychological and I suggested to Kari that we borrow Wendy, tie her spread-eagled in Kari’s personal dungeon, and just leave the vibroballs in her for six or seven hours.  You know?  Flooding?  If you’re scared of spiders, the psychologists suggest you go and spend time with them?
Of course, that’s what you people have been doing to me with anal sex, constantly suggesting things and people going up my ass and I STILL don’t really l like it.  So maybe flooding doesn’t work.
Kari and I sat down and in seconds a beautiful girl who was older than Alissa and younger than me, with long blond hair wrapped up in a sort of half bun at the nape of her neck, hurried up.  I didn’t even to look at the menu, ordering the seared sea scallops while Kari opted for the Colorado lamb shank.  I hate Kari sometimes.  She has one of those metabolisms that enable her to eat anything she goddamn wants and still stay super thin.  In college I puffed out like a ding dong eating elephant and it was only once I was working the farm again that I managed to lose all the weight I had put on during school.  I’m at one seventeen now, but I got up into the one forties for a little while there.  Kari?  She’s been at one twenty two for twelve years.  
As the waitress scurried off with one of those looks in her eyes, Kari greeted Sara and Isabel, while acknowledging Alissa and Madeline.  As I sipped my ice tea the conversation turned toward my attire and the alligator clamps.
“Please tell them about your assignment today, Bre.”  Kari’s voice was soft and pleasant.
So I did. I told them I wasn’t allowed to cum, and about how I was stuffed with vibroballs.  Isabel wanted to know what setting the toy was on and I told her it was at high.  Then they wanted to know the consequences for cumming.  With that explained, Isabel immediately offered to flick my clamps if I wanted to remove them.
Fuck yeah.  Removing the clamps might mean that instead of cumming ten minutes into lunch, I might make it to the end.
I glanced at Kari and she nodded.  So I rose from my chair, walked around the table to Isabel’s side, and lifted the hem of my skirt as I spread my legs.  I hoped she’d start with my breasts and she did, reaching up and using just the movement range of her fingers to slap the alligator clamp on my right nipple.  The charm padlock that dangled from my piercing danced and I glanced over at Alissa.  She had a similar piercing and also wore a padlock, and I knew that if someone were to pull down Madeline’s dress, her right nipple would also have a gold hoop shoved through it, along with the same, rose embossed charm lock.  It was the Society’s hidden “collar”.  Some of the girls had real jobs and couldn’t wear an overt sign of their subservience.  The piercing and the padlock served that purpose.  Of course some of the girls and gotten the other nipple pierced too, so they had a matching set.  But the padlock was the key.  If you saw that, you knew they belonged to the Society.  
Pain radiated through my chest and I winced, my breath coming in a ragged gasp as Isabel hurt me.  Each flick of her hand sent what felt like shards of glass through my nipple and when she finished the right side she went straight to my left.  I had to wrap my arms under my breasts, clenching my fingers into fists as I suffered through the pain.  My sex clenched tightly around the vibroballs and suddenly I realized that I was a lot closer to cumming than I had thought.  Isabel finished at my left nipple and moved down between my legs.
It wasn’t a conscious thought – trying to hide the orgasm, but I admit that I was scared about what Isabel might do to my clit.  But the first flick against the jumbo alligator clamp dangling from my tiny nodule of pleasure was just enough to kick my ass the rest of the way up the mountain to stand staring perilously over the edge of the cliffs of orgasm.  I shook, hoping they thought it was from the pain and then Isabel flicked my clamp a second time.  Again a jolt of pain shot through me and this time I jumped, metaphorically, into the abyss, exploding with a wet groan.  Isabel zapped me again. It was almost like getting hit with a violet wand set to maximum, and since I was in the throes of orgasmic release it felt amazing.  No more pain, no more agony. Just unadulterated pleasure. I let out a moan, thrusting my hips forward.
Isabel is no dummy and she knew what was happening.  Three more quick flicks followed and she was done even before I was.  Then she reached up and unbuttoned my shirt, quickly removing the clamps, sending fresh surges of pain through my body as the blood rushed back into the crushed tips of my breasts.  Her hand slipped between my legs and found my swollen clitoris.  The pain of the jumbo alligator clamp being removed from my loins was like being kicked in the crotch.  I almost fell but Isabel caught me, pulling me against her body as she began kissing my side, moving her mouth up to the underside of my breast.  Her tongue touched my flesh and then she suckled my nipple into her mouth.
It felt… um… both good and awful.  I was tender from the clamp and the suction hurt, but it was a gentle hurt and since no one bothered to turn off the vibroballs, or even turn them down, I was still on the train as far as sexual need went.  For the first time though I could feel that sensitivity that inhibits Kari and Wendy.  But unlike them, it just turns me on more, like eating a sour lemon drop.  You love that rush and the sourness… it just makes you want to pucker, but you long for it.
Are there any psychologists or psychiatrists out there that would like to do a paper on me?  You know… something akin to the idea that some people’s brains are wired weird?  I’d volunteer to be a subject – as long as there is plenty of electroshock therapy and non-stop sex and sexual torture.  That and orgasms, lots of orgasms, yours and mine.  And remember, I actually LIKE sucking cock.  So please submit your research proposal to me at
Oh, I’m so going to be in trouble for that one.
Anyway, my lunch arrived a moment later and Isabel let me go to stumble back around the table and find my seat.  Kari glanced at me as if to say something, but then looked away, a forgiving look in her eye.  I knew what she was objecting too but I dug into my scallops with a fever.  I had cum again.  And despite the fact that the clamps had been removed afterward, technically I was supposed to put them right back on.  I had cum and that was the punishment.
Sort of.  Because the punishment also included turning up the vibroballs.  But they were already at their highest setting.  So Master Dre, the man who dreamed up the assignment, had provided me with an alternative should I be unable to control myself during the day.  That alternative was in my canvas bag, waiting for me.
But evidently Kari knew that cold scallops are not good so she let me eat and I savored the freedom, the bliss of only enduring the nerve scraping thrum of the vibroballs.  Had it been against my clit, and not inside me, I’d never be able to stand it.  At least free.  If I were restrained, sure.  But loose?  No way.  Not after the morning I’d had.  I almost scarfed down my food, as Kari ate her lamb, but deliberately slowed myself.  I needed to take all the time Kari was willing to give me.  So I ate slowly.  We all talked too. Alissa told us about an amazing torture session she had endured with Sara, describing the wet leather thong Sara had wrapped around Alissa’s breasts before hot waxing them.  She also admitted to having a vibrator stuffed up inside her when Kari asked.  Madeline was taking cooking classes, but she admitted that she found it difficult to even wear a set of ben wa balls since they were such a distraction.  Isabel told us about purchasing some fifty three different sets of clothes from an Italian designer for her boutique and told Kari to come by for a fitting.  There was even some talk of Elizabeth, the woman who had sent me to the ground that morning after hitting the jumbo alligator clamp on my clit.  Kari had politely informed Isabel that they could discuss Elizabeth in private.
No one asked what I was up to.  Some of that is the fact you should never ask a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut “what’s up?” unless you actually want to know.  The answer is usually something along the lines of “a dildo” or “a vibrator.”  And then there’s the fact that out of all the submissive girls of the Society, I’m the only one who is a farm girl.  I’m the only submissive that sports tan lines mid bicep.  My skin is spotted with freckles from sun damage.  My hair lightens from excessive sunshine.  So there is already that schism between us.  Alissa is a college student.  Wendy works for a department store in the makeup section.  Madeline is actually a maid and now burgeoning cook specializing in French cuisine.  Georgia Tai is a yoga instructor.  Brooke is a model.  Tiffany is a receptionist and legal administrator.  The list goes on.  Next to my name?  Farmer.  It’s pathetic.
I admit I might have dawdled with my lunch, but eventually I was scraping the last of the sauce into my mouth and Kari looked over at me with expectation.  I swallowed hard, tasting my meal with just a hint of trepidation.  I nodded faintly.
“I’ve allowed Breanne the courtesy of eating her lunch unmolested, but now she must pay the price for cumming.  Since we can’t turn up the vibroballs any higher, she has been instructed to complete five NHPS pushups in addition to another application of her alligator clamps,” Kari announced.
Sara’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve always wanted to see your NHPS Pushups!” she exclaimed.  Sara is a reader.  In fact, all the SGR women read my books, event he submissive ones.
Isabel nodded too and I could see the looks of interest in both Madeline and Alissa’s eyes.  I reached down by Kari’s chair and grabbed my canvas bag.  Inside was a rolled up piece of black rubber, almost a quarter of an inch thick.  One side of the one by two foot wide strip was covered with silver colored, metal circles, each one the head of a sharp, pointed nail.  Each nail was exactly a quarter inch long, so that less than a millimeter of tip stuck out from the rubber.  If you put your hand on the tack mat and pressed, you’d leave hundreds of little red indentations in your flesh.  But no cuts.  No penetration.  No punctures.  
I stood up and took off my shirt.  Our waiter watched from nearby and had been joined by two other men from the wait staff, all who watched me with fascinated expressions.  Swallowing, I put the tack mat on the ground, point side up, and then knelt down beside it.  The vibroballs were sending all sorts of interesting sensations up my spine and my breasts tingled in expectation.  I licked my lips and tried to calm myself as I got into position.  With both hands on the floor and my body suspended above the mat, my breasts dangled deliciously downward, centered over the tacks.  I lowered myself down in a classic pushup, but where a NHPS pushup differs, is that the girl doing it doesn’t stop.  She lowers herself all the way down, putting as much of her body weight on her breasts, mashing them into the mat.  I lifted my hands up from the ground and groaned as I tucked them into the small of my back for a three count.  Then I hurriedly lifted up.  
My breasts stung, but not badly.  They looked worse than the felt.  Already there were hundreds of tiny red dots spotting my bosom, including the nipples.  But while it looked bad, lying on the tack mat was like sleeping on a bed of nails.  One nail, with all your weight on the single point, would go right through you.  Spread your weight across a thousand of them?  Negligible.  Same thing with the tacks.  Of course, I’d be leery of taking a lemon juice shower after doing a NHPS Pushup.  That’s for sure.
I did four more of them just for good measure and when I came back up my breasts were bright pink.  The dots had sort of faded into a sort of tenderized and very raw beef look and as I turned toward Kari, Isabel grinned.
“Well, now that I’ve seen a NHPS pushup, I want to see if it’s just Breanne who responds well to that sort of punishment, or if any of the submissives can handle it.”  She turned toward Madeline and reached out, tugging the cute brunette’s summer dress down.  “I think five for you would be appropriate.”  Madeline’s breasts were small in comparison to mine, but still decently sized.  She wouldn’t be featured on a “Girls with C cups” video, but she still had a handful.  The only girl I know with no breasts is pretty much Julie, who for some reason only as these cute prepubescent bumps.  
Madeline didn’t object at all to Isabel’s orders and merely nodded with a stoic look.  She rose and stepped around the table, moving over to my tack mat.  She knelt, then dropped forward into a pushup pose.  I watched with a sort of surreal expectation. I’ve never seen someone else do a NHPS Pushup.  
Madeline gasped when all of her weight went down on her breasts, and all I could think of was that both of us were lucky not to have do the extreme version, where you put your feet on a chair, which REALLY puts the majority of your weight down on your breasts.  She came back up and her beautiful bosom was marked from one end to the other with tiny red pinpricks.  None of them bled, but you could tell the tacks had dug in nicely.  She whimpered noisily as she went down for another round and I really wanted to watch, especially her face, but Kari decided I needed to have the alligator clamps reattached to my delicate parts at that particular moment and distracted me by just clipping the first one to my left nipple.
That same familiar pain shot through me and you’d have thought I’d be used to it by then.  But on the contrary, I was still just as sensitive to having toothed, steel clamps attached to my nipples.  I whimpered, ignoring the stare of the blond waitress who stood against the far wall watching me.  I cupped my hands under my breasts as Kari finished adding the necessary hardware to her submissive slave girl.
“Now for your clit,” Kari said softly.  I spread my legs and heard Madeline doing another drop, her moans loud in the empty dining area.  I would have empathized with her, but the reality is that the alligator clamps were doing their own little dance through my nervous system and besides, I’d already done my five pushups.  Madeline’s breasts were just right for NHPS pushups.  I know because I’ve had them in my mouth a number of times.
She tastes like French Vanilla in case you’re wondering.
My little mental soiree was interrupted by the pointed agony of the alligator jumbo clamp latching on tightly to my clitoral hood.  Like the nipple clamps, the pressure of the jumbo alligator clamp had been lightened enough that I didn’t have to worry about being cut, but there was still enough that had I jumped up and down a few times, the clamp wouldn’t have come off.  My hips jerked a few times, an autonomous response as my buttocks clenched and my pussy tightened around the vibroballs.
It was right at this moment that the blond waitress came up.  Her eyes were bright and her face was flushed. If I’m any judge, she was hornier than I was.  She stepped right up to Mistress Isabel and licked her lips nervously, obviously hesitant to interrupt.
“If you wish to submit, you’ll remove your clothing immediately and kneel,” Isabel said with a direct stare.  “If you wish to domme, you’ll need to ask Mistress Kari if you can flick those clamps off her slut.”
Everyone’s eyes turned toward the blond girl.  Well, except for Madeline, who was at that moment resting most of her body weight on the tack mat, mashing her breasts into the tiny pins.  The idea of that scrumptious looking blond was more than enough to get my mind off the immediate pain coming from my breasts and my clit and all I wondered was what she would look like naked.
The blonde’s eyes widened and she glanced over at me.  For a second I thought the white apron would come off, followed by the white blouse and black skirt, but then she pulled a leather folder from a pocket and handed it to Isabel.
“Your check, ma’am,” the girl said, her voice tight, again glancing at me and the slightly wiggling clamps that dangled from the points of my breasts.  Isabel took the folder with an arched eyebrow and then the waitress retreated.
Kari laughed and Isabel frowned.  She glanced down at Madeline. “That’s enough, Madeline.  Stand up.”

Madeline did and all of us looked at the damage.  Her breasts were tinged red and there were some darker points evenly spaced out all over her bosom.  She wasn’t bleeding or anything, but you could tell that she had really gotten some pressure down on those tacks.  Isabel reached up and began kneading Madeline’s breasts.  The little French maid winced, but then Isabel pulled the loose summer dress back up over Madeline’s chest.  
“You can sit down now,” Isabel told her.
Kari nodded at me.  “You can put away the mat now, Bre.  Unless you think you’ll need it again before we leave.”
I took stock of my situation. I was tired, on edge, over-sensitive, and my clit and nipples throbbed from each point being caught in the jaws of metal toothed mechanical monsters.  But after the last orgasm I knew I had at least twenty or thirty minutes before I’d even be feeling anything besides the hurt.  I shook my head and gingerly bent over to pick up the pad.  The alligator clips on my nipples wiggled insanely, even from that small movement and I bit my lip.
The tack mat went back into my canvas bag and I again sat down.  The conversation around the table had died and after all the checks were given and paid, it was Sara who stood up first.
“Well, we have to go.  Alissa and I will see ya’ll next week,” Mistress Sara said.  Alissa smiled at me warmly.  
Isabel stood too and Madeline hopped to her feet.  The well filled front of her dress bounced playfully and I wondered if she would retain the pinprick marks for as long as I would.  My breasts, still exposed thanks to the see through shirt, still sported a sort of reddish polka dot motif.  Kari waved at both of the other mistresses as they left, leaving me and Kari alone while she finished her tea.
“You doing all right?” Kari asked me.
I looked down at the table. “I was hoping you’d offer me to Mistress Sara.  These clamps hurt.”
Kari laughed.  “You wanted Sara to flick them for you so you could take them off?”
I nodded.
She shook her head.  “Poor Breanne.  Guess you’ll just have to suffer.”  She drained her glass and stood.  I pulled myself wearily to my feet and followed her as she headed to the door.  I almost ran into her as she stopped suddenly, still within the privacy of the special dining room.  I tilted slightly to the side to see what the problem was and saw the blond locks of the waitress.
“I’ll do it,” the girl said, looking past Kari at me.  I felt a sudden thump in my heart and Kari stepped aside slightly.
The door beyond the girl was closed and the look on Kari’s face was interested amusement.  The waitress moved closer, violating my personal space and lifted her hand gently.  Her fingers came up to my see through shirt and began softly unbuttoning the front, the gauze like material opening before her.  She undid the whole front and peeled my shirt away from my breasts as if she were opening the bedroom curtains for the morning sunrise.  Her tongue came out and licked her lips, her attention focused on my breasts.
“Flick each clamp five times.  And do it with enough force to make it hurt,” Kari said sternly, but passionately.
The blond girl nodded and I could see her swallow, the graceful lines of her throat working.  She reached up and placed her fingers on each clamp and then put just enough pressure on each metal jaw to send fresh sparks of discomfort through my breasts.  Then, ever so lightly, she began twisting the alligator clamps outward.
I cried out, my face scrunching up as shards of agony flashed from the tips of my breasts, up my spine, to my brain, and then back down to my sex.  I convulsed around the vibroballs and was shocked, literally shocked, to find myself ripening again.  I wasn’t anywhere near orgasm, but I FELT sexually aroused and I wasn’t expecting that.  Not yet.  
“Flick them,” Kari hissed.
And she did.  The blond waitress in her crisp white shirt and black pants and white apron let go of the alligator clamps, letting my nipples snap back to their proper orientation, and then slapped her hands downward, flicking both clamps at the same time and eliciting a cry of anguish that again made me involuntarily bring my arms up to cover my chest.  Sometimes I think “involuntarily” is my middle name.  Kari snagged one wrist as it began to cover my breast, leaving the clamp and nipple available to the waitress, but the other side was mashed and concealed behind my arm.  Kari moved behind me and pulled my elbows back, tightening her grip around me and bending my spine so that my breasts were even more pushed out.
“Again,” Kari said.
The flick that came burned through me and with my arms locked behind my back and in Kari’s embrace, all I could do was thrust my hips forward.  My teeth were clenched and then a third flick, again on both nipples at the same time, burned through me like fire in tinder.  There was a light in the girl’s eyes, a sort of spark that I’ve recognized before.  Absolute desire.  Her hands came up and flicked the alligator clamps again.
And then for a fifth time.
I was actually crying by this time, and while not terribly vocal, there were tears running down my cheeks.  The waitress reached up for my clamps again and I twisted away, again instinctively, not realizing she intended to remove them.  Kari still held me tight though and the waitress was able to get hold of the steel maws chewing on the tips of my breasts and pinch them open.  A very different sort of pain flashed through my bosom and I almost folded, my knees buckling.  
But my nipples were free!  The girl suddenly bent forward, her mouth opening, the ruby colored lips wide and her tongue reached out, dancing across the crushed nub of my left breast.  I groaned at the soft, wet sensation of her mouth and then she began suckling me, tasting me as if I were one of the dishes she had served to us earlier.  It was intoxicating, so wildly sexual and marvelous that I didn’t even realize her right hand was sliding down my side, over my hip, pulling up the front of my black skirt.  Her left arm went around my waist, holding me tight against her, and with her mouth still sucking hard on my tit, her right hand smacked the jumbo alligator clamp that hung from my clitoris.
Pain, pleasure, and now more pain seared its way through the fried neural paths of my brain.  I shivered, crying out loudly now, my body shaking with both need and hurt.  I was standing on the tips of my toes, the arches of my feet taut and exposed, my spine bent with my breast in the waitress’ mouth while Kari held me tightly, keeping my arms locked behind my back.  I whimpered like an animal as the girl sucked me and flicked the clamps.  
I totally lost count and the only reason I knew that we were done was the flooding of blood back into my released clit.  Again I shook, my knees wobbling and her mouth came off my breast and she sank to her knees.
“Gently now,” Kari said softly.
I felt the soft lapping of the blond girl’s tongue against my petals, up to my clit, and practically died and went to heaven.  My hips moved forward and I spread my legs wider.  Pleasure of almost unspeakable intensity enveloped me and I couldn’t help grinding myself against her face, the sensation of her mouth combining with the vibroballs to send me through the roof.  I could literally feel my sex tighten, the combining of sensation making me glad that Kari held on to me with an iron grip.
In hindsight I have no idea how the two of them managed it.  You’d think after suffering horrible punishment for orgasm, and having just cum not fifteen minutes before, that I’d be immune against such actions.  But there was something about that cute blond waitress with her slightly upturned nose and freckles, with her face down between my legs, gently sucking on my swollen clit, which made me turn to jelly.  My hips twisted, grinding against her face and a moment later I was whimpering and bucking.
“Seriously?” Kari whispered in my ear.  “The moment you cum I’m just going to put those damn clamps back on you, right after you do ten Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Pushups!” Her grip on my right arm loosened and her hand came around to my front.  She still held me tightly, but her fingers found my nipple and began tweaking it.
Could I really do that?  Put myself right back where I was just minutes ago?  Was it worth it?  The blond waitress’ tongue continued to dart at my clit and I realized that yes, yes I could.
And I came.

Don't worry.  There's a Part Four.  Check back in a few days.  LOL!

Breanne Erickson is the author of "The Society of the Golden Rose,"  a controversial BDSM adventure that challenges the limits.  La Crimson Femme says " Is this merely a story or is a diary of Breanne Erickson? I'm not sure and several chapters into the story, I'm not sure I care. The reason, this story is H.A.W.T!"  Check out Breanne Erickson's "The Society of the Golden Rose!"


  1. Nothing wrong with being a farm girl.

  2. Um... well... I suppose. If you WANTED to be a farm girl. I wanted to be a lawyer. Oh well...


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