Okay, so if you don't know what the heck is going on, you'll need to read THIS post first. Then you'll sort of need to read the other ones. Sorry. But hey - come back to the blog more often so you won't be lost. Okay? - Love ya!
Saturday began exactly as you would have expected, with me lying naked in my bed, legs spread like the wings of a bird, my thighs aching from being stretched so wide, with my fingers running through my slit like a runner pounding asphalt through a canyon. Now THERE’S a mental image, right? With a fresh day it meant that I didn’t have to worry about the god damned taser. And with only seventeen more edges required to meet my necessary seventy-eight, I felt rather confident. I got extremely close, right on the edge, looking down, my toes hanging out over just air. And stopped.
And that was just the beginning. I edged again in the barn – twice no less – and with that I was down to fourteen. After breakfast I managed again before I took Rachel out riding until lunch time. After lunch I did another, and around two o’clock you could find me out in the barn one more time, my hands down the front of my jeans, working away. Each of those edges were intense, physically demanding, and left me soaked, wanting, and desperate. With eleven more to go, I stumbled around, mostly trying to kill enough time to give my sore, swollen, little clit a rest before going at it again. And that’s when my phone rang.
“Hey Bre,” Kari said into my ear.
I couldn’t help smiling. I love hearing from Kari. “Hi, Kari!” I said brightly enough. It had been like ten minutes since my last gut wrenching edge that left me trembling.
“Where are you?” she asked. Her tone was relaxed and I could just imagine her sitting on her couch, lounging easily, Robert’s naked and very hard cock in her hand, being nonchalantly stroked with no intention of being actually rubbed to orgasm. In some ways, being Robert must really suck.
“The barn,” I said, trying to figure out why she needed to know where I was.
There was a long pause, then a sigh. “I suppose the fault is mine. I should have phrased that question better,” she said. “Where are you on your assigned number of edges?” She asked, clearly enunciating every word.
“Oh. Sixty-seven,” I told her.
“So eleven more to go?” she asked.
I grinned. “Yep. Just eleven.”
“And then what?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but then realized I had no idea.
Which was fine, because Kari continued. “In hindsight, stressing a goal of seventy-eight edges was perhaps unwise. Here you are, five days later, not six mind you, just eleven short of your goal, and you even took a day off when you had your headache. In four days you’ve managed to edge enough to probably drive a normal woman mad. But you aren’t normal. Neither is your friend Sarah. So here we are, just short of your goal, and what do we do when you’ve reached seventy-eight edges?
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!
Breanne Erickson is the author of "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut", a popular BDSM confessional series detailing her incredible, often humorous, and a bit self-depreciating sexual adventures! Check out her work at Michel Alexander Stories!