If you haven't read Part One yet, then you need to, because otherwise you'll be totally lost and have no idea what the heck I'm talking about! - Bre
I found my flip flops and stuffed my toes back into them, shuffling carefully as pain radiated up through my body. I pushed my skirt hem down, once more covering up my quite pink looking loins, and I buttoned up my shirt. I was grateful the shirt was so loose, since it meant that the material didn’t press against the alligator clamps chewing on the tips of my breasts. And while the bright metal was perfectly visible through the thin gauze, the shirt suddenly didn’t seem that bad.
I padded gingerly to the front of the office, my hips starting to churn thanks to the combination of vibroballs and alligator clamps and when I sat down behind the tiny desk, my body told my brain to brace itself, and another orgasm was on its way. I fought that sensation, that urge, and managed to control myself a little, clenching my fists and sitting quietly as I tried to manage control.
A number of people walked through the atrium and each one made me stiffen. But no one came in, not for a while, but the tension was terrible. I had no idea who was coming to see Kari and the idea of me sitting there as a greeter, with my breasts not only hanging out but clamped in what would seem an unusually cruel and vicious manner, only added to my arousal. I know. It’s hard to understand the warped sensuality that makes me tick. If it makes you feel better, I have no idea why I tick that way either.
For some reason I had been expecting a man, despite Kari’s gender specific commentary at the beginning, so I wasn’t quite prepared for it when a very good looking woman in her late forties suddenly crossed the bridge and headed straight for Kari’s office. She was dressed in a light cream pantsuit and sported a wide, brown leather belt. Her hair was coiffed and highlight blond, but I could see the darker streak of plain brown beneath. Around her neck she wore a necklace of emerald green, and if those were real gems, she had more money than Kari did.
She opened the door and took one look at me, freezing in place. I could see her studying me, taking in my outfit, the flushed coloring of my cheeks, the fire-engine red hair that streamed down past my shoulders, and of course, the two steel clips swinging from my nipples. The gauze shirt might as well not have been there. I felt my loins tighten up in absolute terror for a second.
“You must be Breanne,” the woman said with an arched eye-brow and a smirk.
Oh shit. I hate it when my reputation precedes me. It usually means they’ve heard something incredibly sexual, terribly naughty, horribly perverted and lascivious, and totally true.
“Hi. Kari’s expecting you. You can go right back,” I said with what I thought was a polite smile. My nipples and clit were throbbing too much for me to be all bright and chipper. The woman glanced down the hall.
“By all means, lead the way,” she said, motioning me to go down the hall first, which was NOT what I wanted to do.
Slowly I stood, aching in places that most people call “unmentionables” but which I seem not to be able to keep from talking about. The woman eyed my legs and footwear, again exuding this sense of disapproval when she saw my plebian shoes. I turned gingerly and began taking tiny steps down the hall`.
“Is there some reason why you’re walking so slowly?” she asked me after a few steps.
I admit, I thought about lying, but it wasn’t like I could hide the nipple clamps, so why tell a falsehood about the jumbo alligator clamp? I took a deep breath.
“I’ve got a clamp on my clitoris as well, Ma’am.”
Her eyebrow went up again. `”Really?” she asked, intrigued. “I’d like to see it.”
Uh… well… damn. Are all Kari’s clients sexual perverts?
The hall lighting wasn’t exactly good for getting a good glimpse of my bean, clamped or not, but I tugged up my skirt and sort of widened my stance. Kari’s client sort of bent over a little and just as she was reaching out to touch the jumbo alligator clamp, Kari entered the hall.
“Elizabeth! It’s good to see you again. I see you’ve met my secretary, Breanne.”
Kari’s client straightened without touching my alligator clamp and I swallowed down the sense of relief I felt.
Elizabeth smiled and took Kari’s proffered hand, shaking it lightly, in a very feminine fashion. “She’s exquisite. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to part with her? She’d make an entertaining personal assistant.”
Kari shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m too attached. Besides, she has discipline problems that sometimes affects her efficiency. I have to keep her constantly punished to get any work out of her.”
I blinked. Did Kari just call me… a slacker?
The rest of this tale from Breanne Erickson is available in her book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut, Volume 8" available at Amazon.com. Click here to find out what happened next!