Seventy-Eight Edges – Friday

Friday

You may have noticed that there seems to be a day missing, and the truth is that Thursday morning arrived at the same time I noticed a peculiar tightening inside my skull.  Occasionally I get headaches.  Maybe two or three a year, which last from about seven in the morning till six or seven at night.  They’re brutal.  My mom says they’re migraines and I believe her because I literally feel sick to the stomach and the only way to deal with them is to lie down and pretend I’m dead.   And when you’re feeling like this, the last thing you want to do is masturbate.

I tried.  Really.  But the pain in my head was just too much.  I tried writing too, but as you can imagine, that didn’t get me very far either.  So I just curled up into a small ball on my bed and half-dozed my way through the day, praying the pain would end.  Eventually it did and by them time my bedtime rolled around, the pain was gone and I was back in the groove.  I only masturbated once, right to the edge, before bed and then fell asleep with wet dreams.

When I usually wake up on Friday morning, my first masturbation usually culminates in a powerful explosion that not only wakes me up, but powers that first step out of bed.  This Friday that first quiet rubbing bubbled and frothed just beneath the surface and I stopped before cresting.  It was hard. I almost lost it too, and only the thought of spending the rest of the day either denying myself or ending every fucking masturbation with a shock to my clit with the Taser, gave me the impetus to bear down and let the need slide away.

The toy of the day was my Husky dildo, a nine inch rubber monstrosity that slid into my pussy like an old friend.  And since I was already horny as hell, I shrugged my bear shoulders, fell backward across the mattress, and slid the Husky through my loins a dozen or so times until I was right back up there, my breasts rising and falling fast, the tips hard points, my thighs wet.  And just as I felt the absolute need to cum, to jack that dildo in and out with a few hard, fast thrusts, I jammed the Husky in hard and left it deeply buried.

I got dressed then.  A single pair of cotton panties got pulled up my legs, ostensibly to hold in the Husky dildo.  Then a blue denim skirt.  A tee shirt went down over my head, and I didn’t bother with a bra.  Next socks, a pair of boots, and my duster completed the ensemble and I pushed out into the early morning dawn to take care of the critters.  I did my rounds and as my concentration moved away from my sex and elsewhere, the tension inside me seeped away.

So I masturbated again.  Another edge.  Then back to chores.  As soon as I felt like I had a grip, I did another one, each time bringing myself closer and closer to cumming, yet still energized enough to exercise some sort of will power over my own sexuality.  It was strangely liberating.  Of course by the time I headed inside for breakfast, I felt charged and wanting, like a stalled thunderstorm. 

My fifth edge came up in my room, just after I sorted all the laundry into its component piles.  Then I spent a bit more time writing, working away at the computer in between the cycles of light and dark and bright, wash and rinse and dry.  And every thirty or so minutes my hands crept down underneath my skirt, slipped the panties to the side, and with increasing speed began pumping the Husky dildo in and out of my swollen slit until I was gritting my teeth, sucking in deep breaths, and trembling like the San Andreas fault.

But I managed.  I got Wednesday written up.  Aren’t you glad?  And then I posted it.  I continued to edge.  By noon I’d added twelve more edges to my running total and I’d only had one close call.  I’d almost popped and only yanking the dildo and slapping my clit a few times had saved me from ending my day with a clothespin dangling from my clit and the Taser finishing things off for me. 

Around two though is when my day changed.  I was half-way done with the laundry, most of the loads folded, when I received an email from Master Mark.

Breanne – I enjoyed reading your description of Wednesday’s Assignment.  I was wondering how it went. I was surprised how easy it was for you to find men willing to lick your clit.  Obviously finding willing women was a bit harder.  But did you notice?  You actually failed your assignment.  You didn’t get a second woman, did you?

As punishment for failing your assignment, this evening you will go out and about dressed in NHPS casual.  You are excused from the toy of the day for the duration of this assignment.  It doesn’t matter where you go, only that while you are out, you find an appropriate spot to edge.  What makes an appropriate spot?  The spot must be in public but may be out of the way.  The spot must be well lit.  And lastly, you must have an audience, preferably a single person.  You must make eye-contact with this person and make sure that they are watching you as you masturbate.  Lastly, if you aren’t already wearing a clothespin by the time you start this punishment, you are to apply one immediately after your first punishment edge. Wear the clothespin till you find a NEW appropriate spot and keep it on until after you’ve finished masturbating through your second edge.  Then you will remove the clothespin and replace it with a vibrator clamp (which should be on).  Wear it through your third edge, then remove it and replace it with your jumbo alligator clamp.  To remove the jumbo alligator clamp after your fourth edge, you will need to ask a bystander who witnessed your edge to remove it. There are no limitations on sexual contact. Just don’t cum.

My mouth went dry as I read the assignment and my mind went into overdrive. I’d been planning a leisurely evening at home, spacing out spending time with my family with the occasional edge.  My mind went a little numb and I tried to think about where I could possibly go that I’d be able to find a well lit, out of the way spot, where I’d have a fucking audience.  Of course the whole idea turned me on too and I almost came the next masturbation session I had. 

I cooled things down a bit and by the time I finished dinner with the family and explained I was going out for a little bit, I’d already passed eighteen edges and was feeling tired and just a little heady.  The human body isn’t meant for this kind of denial and unlike having constant orgasms which actually gives you some relief, constant edging just leaves you in this state of advanced sexual limbo where you desperately want it.  Ever see calm waters that you know have a strong current underneath?  That’s what it’s like to edge twice a fucking hour.

Honestly I think that my “day off,” even if it was spent with a horrible headache, gave me the stamina to handle Friday’s edges.  Plus I was horny. I was desperate.  All of it together made things very difficult for me, but also… amazing.

I climbed into my car with my canvas bag. It was already getting chilly so I was wearing my duster and I stopped only long enough to remove my tee shirt and put on a halter top.  With bared midriff, flip flops, and my loose, blue denim skirt, I headed off, looking for a decent place to accomplish four more edges.

I had a few things with me too.  I had condoms, just in case.  I had a clothespin. I had the vibrator clamp.  I had the jumbo alligator clamp.  And I had the Taser.  But I hoped I wouldn’t need the last one.  Contemplating my options, I decided against the mall.  There was always the chance David was working late and the last thing I wanted to do was become a permanent fixture there. 

I drove east, passing Dairy Ashford and then eventually the Beltway.  That’s when an idea hit me.  I went all the way down to Silber and hit up that entertainment place on the north side of the freeway. 

The place is called the Marq*E Entertainment Center, which I think is kind of silly, but hey… they can call it anything they want.  All sorts of interesting places are in there, from a movie theater at one end to a comedy club to Dave & Busters.  Plenty of spots for a nympho humiliation pain slut on assignment to get herself into trouble.  When I arrived it was almost seven o’clock and the first thing I noticed was that the place was packed.

With kids. 

Not like little kids, but teeny-boppers.  They were everywhere.  Twelve year olds pretending to be eighteen.  Fourteen year olds pretending to be twenty.  Sixteen year olds pretending to be five.  It was… disturbing.  I almost left.

Except… this place offered some unusual opportunities.  A quick walk through in my flasher coat told me that there were lots of “spots” that would qualify, provided I could make sure that I had an audience.  So I grabbed a drink, sat down in the courtyard near the movie theater, and watched the crowd.

By eight o’clock full darkness had arrived and hordes of kids were moving around.  I felt nervous, but knew I needed to get moving.  I stood, wandered around, and spotted my first opportunity a few minutes later.  Two guys were waiting for a movie and standing over in a corner next to some trees.  If I stood in this one little spot, only they would be able to easily see me.  And even better, I’d have to walk right by them.  And they were clearly old enough to fuck my brains out, meaning that I wouldn’t be exposing myself to some kids. 

I slipped out of my duster, shivering a bit in the cool air.  Then I headed straight for them.  They saw me when I was still forty feet away, the male eye doing exactly what I expect it to.  I was the only woman of age there and while I may be in my late twenties, I still LOOK pretty decent.  I don’t have the body of a sixteen year old anymore, but I think that’s to my advantage.  I have fuller breasts, bigger hips, and my work on the farm has kept my weight down to an even 116 lbs for years.  Add in the fire engine red hair, the midriff baring halter-top, and the short skirt that didn’t even come down mid-thigh, and you can understand why I was grabbing my share of the attention.

“Hi guys,” I said seductively as I stepped past them.  Their conversation had stopped immediately and if looks were sex I would have been butt fucked hard as their heads turned to follow me.  I took another twenty or so steps, turned around, and leaned up against the wall.  I smiled at them as they stared at me.  Then, our gaze still locked on each other, I lifted the front of my skirt.

The look of shock on their faces was worth it.  Farther away there were people, people who could have seen me if they’d squinted, or knew what to look for.  But right now the world was just three people.  I licked my lips and put my hand down between my legs.  Then I started rubbing.  My bottom bounced against the wall as I moved my hips and fingers.  I was soaked already, as I usually am, but the whole thing – being there, being watched, being desperate, was more than enough to set me climbing to the cliffs of climax.  I felt the juices coating my fingers and then I stood at the edge of the cliff, wanting to jump, needing to jump, desperate to jump.

And I stopped.  It had taken less than two minutes to work myself up into a froth and I let the front of my skirt drop and brought my sauce coated fingers to my mouth.  I sucked and licked and then wiped my hand on my halter top, leaving a wet smear across the white material.  I reached into my bag and pulled out the clothespin.  Then with another grin, my eyes locked on my audience, I lifted my skirt again, gave them a naughty wink, and clipped the clothespin directly to my clit.

I almost came again.  But no, I didn’t count that.

They were stunned.  Both guys just stared at me.  And why not?  I’m hot. I’m cute.  I’m pretty… sorta.  Hell, even if you didn’t find me pretty, my body is good.  And there I was, out in sixty degree weather, barely wearing any clothes, masturbating in front of them, almost cumming, and capping it all by putting a clothespin on my clit?  That’s got to be worth SOMETHING!

And so I walked away.

My next edge was inside D&B’s, tucked into a corner at a table that left me exposed to this gun game.  The guy playing it was having some serious distraction issues.  He kept glancing over at me, sitting at that high bar table, my legs open just enough, lightly and nonchalantly flicking the clothespin, getting closer and closer to just saying fuck it, having the orgasm, and dealing with the consequences.  But again, I stopped, shivering, just in time, and then swapped out the clothespin for the vibrating clamp.  I turned it on and stood, walked about six feet, and then exploded like a ton of dynamite in one of those videogames.  I shook, my teeth clenched, clearly overwhelmed, fluids streaming down my thighs, as the release hit me like a brick. I almost fell.

Well.  Shit.

Clearly I’m not meant for edges. 

This put me in quite a pickle.  At nineteen edges, I’d just lost one, and the one I came on didn’t count, so I was literally back to eighteen.  Worse, the assignment meant that I had two more to go, regardless of whether I wanted to stop, and that meant that both of the next two would be a tad bit more intense since I had to stop my oncoming orgasm with the Taser.  The bottom dropped out of my stomach and despite the stares and looks of interest I was getting, I hurried out of the D&B’s and headed to my truck.  There were too many people there at the Marq*E entertainment center for me to be screaming my head off. 

I turned off the vibrating clamp hanging from my clit the moment I got in my truck,  but it didn’t matter. I was too close.  My fingers fumbled for the Taser as I skidded and slid and fell toward the precipice and just as I was about to fall, I pressed the damn thing to my loins and pressed the button.

I’m lucky the truck door was shut because my scream was loud enough to convince people to send for the constabulary.  Oh my fucking GOD did that fucking hurt!  I fell over in the seat, twitching and feeling like I’d just been drop kicked between the legs, breaking my pelvis and permanently bruising my sex.  If this is even half what guys feel when getting racked, I swear I will never kick a man in the jewels again.  EVER.

It took me a good ten minutes to pull myself together, and with my clit still clamped but no longer getting the direct stimulation, I was able to put the truck in gear and escape from teenager hell.  I drove, not sure where I was going, or what I was going to do.  I still had two more performances to give, despite getting my nineteenth orgasm (though it should have been my twenty first!) and I had no idea where I could go and find a single guy who would be willing to…

Oh.  Yeah.  That would be fine.  That would work.

As I passed under the Sam Houston Toll way I took the Texas U-turn and drove back east along the frontage road.  I pulled into the parking lot of a seedy little “News Stand” that fronted as a novelty shop and video arcade.  And I don’t mean a video arcade like Dave & Busters.  I went in, the clamp on my clit once more vibrating at full power, already tense, and went right to the counter.  I bought my cup of coins, ignored the dark look of the girl keeping an eye on things, and made a beeline for the perfect spot.

The arcade was dark, smelly, dank, and crowded.  I was instantly an attraction, dressed like I was, a cup of useless tokens in my hand.  I put them on the ground and then began making the circuit.  I found an open door, stepped in, and instead of closing it, went right to the bench, slipped my skirt up, and began masturbating.

I had an audience in about ten seconds.  The guy who stuck his head in first was dark skinned, black as night, with white teeth.  He saw what I was doing and came in eagerly.  Without a word he got down on his knees, moved my hands aside, and began twisting and playing with the clamp.  When his tongue began lapping at my clamped clit, I started gasping.  My hand dug in my purse. I pulled out the Taser and his eyes widened and he backed away, startled and probably just a little angry.

I shook my head before he could say anything.  “No!  It’s for me! I’m not allowed to cum.  Use it on my clit when I’m close!” I said loudly.  I held out the Taser to him and he took it with a surprised grin.  Then he went back between my legs and I just held on for the ride.  It took me just ten minutes, legs spread wide, my own hands rubbing and twisting my nipples, my shirt up around my neck, when I was clearly getting close. My cries and whimpers were strong, I was bucking, and I could feel myself sliding. 

“I’m going to…” I started to say, then lightning struck.  I screamed loudly.  The crowd at the door cheered and my legs closed around the black man’s head.  He yelled with me and then stood, his massive cock coming out.  He ripped the vibrator clamp off my clit and jammed himself into my sex, pumping crazily.  It felt… awesome actually.  He was big.  And I was dazed.  I didn’t cum, but he sure as hell did, yanking out just as he began to squirt.  Massive globs of cum spattered across my bare breasts, coating me from neck to navel. 

I don’t really remember the next few minute.  I think there was some sort of commotion outside the door.  Then there was cock in my face.  I sucked and licked, totally forgetting the alligator clamp that was supposed to be dangling from my clit at this point. The guy in my mouth, a big guy with hairy arms, pulled out and I remember him producing a condom and then I was getting screwed again. Large powerful thrusts drove me into the wall and I rattled around like a bean in a paper cup.  It wasn’t a particularly good fuck either, doing more for him than for me, and when he came I sort of just let it happen.

Of course I remembered the alligator at that point and while the line outside the door struggled with itself, with trembling fingers, I found the alligator.  You should have seen their looks!  Guy number three came in as I gingerly began twisting and flicking the alligator clamp, whimpering in pain.

“Like that do you bitch?” he said.  I nodded, making noises that were a cross between a frightened puppy and a wounded animal.  I didn’t see it coming and he lashed out with his open palm and struck my left breast hard.  I gasped as a surge of pain shot through me, up to my brain, then short-circuited there and flew down to the heat sink between my legs.  Evidently my response was what he was looking for because he did it a few more times while my fingers did even more frightening things down at my slit and then he jammed his cock down my throat. 

Someone else moved into the room and I heard the black guy talking.  Something about using the Taser.  I admit I was getting close, but not quite that close, when I felt the hard metal pressed up against the alligator clamp.  Realization hit me and I tried to pull my head back.  But the bastard between my legs zapped me before I could.

I haven’t bitten a guy’s cock in years.  And the last time was just like this.  When you are torturing a girl who has COCK in her mouth, don’t hurt her so bad that she bites down.  I didn’t bite his cock off, or even break the skin, but I left deep red marks on his shaft and he was yelling at me and yelling at the other guy and I was crying my pussy hurt so bad and all I could do was yell some things and grab my stuff and storm out of there.  A number of the guys tried to stop me, but the girl from the counter came in and started telling everyone to leave or she’d call the police.  I got told to stay in a corner.  I ignored that the moment the worst of them cleared out and I managed to get to my truck and peel out with that chick yelling at me from the door.

I drove for about fifteen minutes, found a quiet spot, pulled over, and cried.  Not because of what I’d done, or how it was done, or even what was done. I cried because it hurt and things went to hell in a hand basket.  That’s why.  And there was the fact I didn’t know if I’d technically finished the four orgasms.  I was sore down there and the last thing I wanted to do was try for another one.  And so I went home.

I didn’t masturbate before going to bed.  It would have meant the Taser.  And so with a full twenty one orgasms under my belt for the day (more if I hadn’t cum accidentally) I crawled in between the sheets. Tomorrow would be Saturday and I’d just have seventeen more.