I bit my lip and swallowed. I was just a bit distracted, most of which I could lay at the feet of the vibroballs. Two plastic, oval shaped objects, both stuffed with offset motors, were vibrating on full power deep inside me. I had slipped the diabolical sex toy in that morning, and thanks to some very specific instructions, had endured the nonstop sexual stimulation for practically the entire day. There had been some relief to be had, but there had also been the requirement for three masturbation sessions and that had been non-negotiable.
To be honest, if left to my own devices, I’d have had more than three, but since only one of them was simple, if not quick, things had been a bit more chaotic that morning. Now it was late afternoon, I was desperate, and that post was waiting for me.
No, I wasn’t going to fuck the post. Well, not exactly. I took a deep breath and began rooting in the canvas bag I had brought with me, finding and extracting the massive twelve inch long, black rubber dildo. Called the “Core Driller” this monster phallus was shaped like a four stage rocket ship and would have been fine in a children’s toy store if it was white with a NASA label on the side. No one would have known it was a multipurpose toy for girls.
I also pulled a bottle of lubrication out of my bag. Sure I was wet enough to take the entire Core Driller, but I’d done something bad a week before and Kari had altered the requirements for my third masturbation session slightly. Now instead of just using natural juices, or even some KY Jelly or grapeseed oil, I was told to use something with a bit more heat. I walked over to the post, set the Core Driller down on the metal plate so that it was pointing straight up, and opened the bottle of Stinging O.
Stinging O is a homemade brew combining a number of ingredients in proportions that I like. I start out with a base of grapeseed oil, which I find to be one of the best natural lubrications available. It is then mixed with a little bit of pepper oil, and then depending on my mood, either mint or cinnamon oils. This in effect gives you a feeling of coolness, then with heat. The key is to make sure you don’t overdo the pepper oil, since that stuff can actually give you a bit of a burn. And since pepper oils don’t come in standard strengths, when you buy a bottle you have to test it yourself. Trust me – it’s a chore to make that stuff which is why I’m not bottling and selling it to BDSM couples.
I poured a liberal amount on the tip and watched it spill down over the sides of the Core Driller, wetting it nicely. Then came the fun part. I stripped naked, the cool breeze on my skin, the scent of winter wheat in my nose, the little shiver of excitement that comes from being naked outside. I had to kick off my boots to get my blue jeans off, and I put them right back on once I was bare. The last thing I did was tug the vibroballs out of my sex, groaning and trembling with need as my clit got just a bit of the vibration.
It wasn’t the only post I’d fucked that day. Not four hours earlier, just before lunch, I had driven south into the wilderness of south Texas farm land looking for an appropriate spot. I’d finally settled on a speed limit sign post on the edge of a gravel road, with enough of a view in both directions to give me at least a minute’s warning on the off chance that some country farmer would drive by. I’d shucked out of my blue jeans and tee shirt, this time barefoot and wincing on the rough gravel. I put my duster back on, but it did little to hide the front of my nude body. I ran my hand up and down the steel post. It was rough, pocked from time, though it wasn’t rusty. I grabbed a hand towel and cleaned it quickly, from knee height to waist, and then squirted just enough Stinging O on the side to watch it coat one side of the post.
Next came the clover clamps, two sets. The first were borrowed from Mike the Hardware Guy and sported a chain only six inches long. The other set belonged to me, a gift from Kari, and had a foot long chain. I began clipping on the clamps and in short order I had chains dangling from the left side of my labia, and hanging off my left nipple. I grabbed hold of the post, arched my back, and pressed my swollen, desperate sex against the metal. It was cold and the chemical tingle was harsh, only to be replaced by a burning heat. My fingers fumbled as I held onto the sign post and it took almost half a minute to get the other clover clamp, the one on the short chain, around the pole and attached to the other side of my sex. That left me little too no room and since Mike the Hardware Guy’s clover clamps have ridges etched into the pads, you can imagine that I wouldn’t be pulling free.
I clung to the pole as I exploded, shaking and trembling, fingers white, my sex still open and pressed to the metal. I could feel the coolness of it between my breasts and I struggled to think straight through the mix of endorphins and dopamine and adrenaline that had me floating on my own little pink cloud of delight. Nothing beats an orgasm. Not drugs, not chocolate, not winning a million dollars. It’s all natural, perfectly easy to achieve for most people, and while addictive, not too bad to deal with. I heartily recommend them.
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!