Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Ask Breanne - Too Much Sex



Fan mail comes in all sizes and shapes, but none are more interesting than those asking for help... sexual help. - MA

Dear Breanne,

I’ve been running into a little bit of a problem with my girlfriend and I know I should be grateful for her, even ecstatic, and that most men would gladly change places with me in a heartbeat, but I’m starting to get concerned.

We met a little over a year ago at a club one night and immediately hit it off.  And by hit it off I mean we were rolling in my bed three hours after meeting.  She is beautiful, sexy, and very spirited and my willingness to try out practically every position from Karma Sutra made me someone she wanted to stay with.

But not only was the sex great, so was the combination of our personalities.  We like the same music, the same television shows, the same food.  We’re even getting the same degrees in college and are taking some of the same classes!  She is my perfect soul mate and I love her very, very much.

But there is just one slight concern.  She loves sex and frankly, I’m concerned about it.  The first thing I feel when I wake up in the morning is her hand or mouth on my cock.  The second I’m hard enough, she’s riding me.  And she cums fast too.  I’ve never ever met a woman who can cum as quickly as she can. It’s like I don’t even need to do any foreplay!  Sure, she loves me going down on her too, but I can literally lick her three or four times and then she’s squirting everywhere.  Multiple orgasms are the rule with her, rather than the exception. 

And it’s not just the morning either.  If we meet for lunch she will usually pull me somewhere private for a quick screw.  I’ve had sex in empty classrooms, in bathrooms, in the park, behind bushes, in the car, on a bus.  She doesn’t even seem to care if we’re in private for God’s sake!  She’s not an exhibitionist though. She doesn’t want to be seen, or do public sex acts right there in front of anyone, but it’s like she’s desperate for sex and will take unusual risks to get it.  On a regular work/school day, I’ve usually screwed her two or three times by one o’clock. 

The second we get back to the apartment after school she is ripping off my clothes and going down on me.  Every fucking day.  Granted, she makes things interesting – sometimes wearing slutty clothes or drizzling chocolate over her breasts. One day she came in from the kitchen wearing absolutely nothing but with both nipples capped with left over frosting from the cake we had baked the previous day.  And yes… we had sex while make the cake too.  Invariably we screw on the sofa and then start our homework.  Even that can be a problem, because if she’s done before I am, she will CRAWL across the floor, buck naked, her bottom wiggling in the air, go under the desk, and start sucking on me!  I’ll have two options at that point. Try to finish my homework, or have sex with her again. It’s like her default position is with me inside her!

The worst thing however is when we’re home alone.  She made it clear that she prefers me lounging around in my boxers, that way she can slip a hand into my shorts.  Or naked.  Naked happens a lot.  The moment we sit down on the couch together to watch a show, her hand slips down between my legs and begins fondling my cock!  How the hell can I watch a show with her rubbing and stroking me constantly?  Of course, if I do get hard, she usually slips down, sucks on me, and then during a commercial break we’re fucking like bunnies, but after we both cum, she again slips into the crook of my arm, puts her hands down between my thighs, and begins touching me!  Again!  There’s only so much a man can take!  Do you have any idea what it’s like having this gorgeous woman constantly playing with your cock, even when the last thing on your mind is sex?

Then we shower before bed.  She insists that we shower together, which before hand I would have been very enthusiastic about.  She says it’s to “improve intimacy.”  Seriously?  Intimacy?  That is what we do all fucking day long!  And in the shower you know what she insists we do?  Wash each other!  And I’m fine with that, really.  It’s the HOW she washes me that is the problem.  She soaps my cock and balls and even my ass, actually sticking her finger up my rear end!  Then she gets on her knees and strokes my rod until I’m hard as a rock again.  If I’m having trouble getting it up, she’ll suck on me!  Then we have to fuck in the shower!  And she puts body wash gel on my cock and lift one leg up in this incredibly sexy pose and have me screw her from behind!  Fortunately, she doesn’t make me cum since she knows I have trouble doing it standing up, but I still have to fuck her in both holes with fresh applications of body wash between impalements.  She can actually cum from getting fucked up the ass.
           
After the shower we dry off and go to bed.  We sleep naked, though that was an adjustment for me. I was a pajamas guy before, but I’ve acceded to her demands.  We slide into bed, I’m exhausted, and you know what she does?  Right. Her hands go all over my body, caressing me, rubbing me, rubbing my nipples, and eventually she gets down to my cock, holding it softly, squeezing it, caressing it, rubbing it up and down.  And she keeps doing this until I’m stiff, even if it takes an hour!  Rare is the night she falls asleep before getting me hard again and I’ve actually begun LONGING for those nights when she fades off to sleep before me.  But even if she does fall asleep, she’s got a hold of my cock and just won’t fucking let go!

I’ve tried toys.  I bought her vibrators and dildos and vibroballs and ben wa balls. She loved them. She played with them.  She even fucked them right there in front of me.  But the moment she got close to cumming, she was back at my cock, sucking me into hardness.  She says she doesn’t want synthetic orgasm!  Arggghhh!

A few months ago things got even worse.  She got online and since I had bought her toys, she’s bought some for me.  Frankly I was hoping for a chastity belt or something that would lock up my cock.  She got me masturbatory toys!  I have cock rings that vibrate now!  I’ve got suction pumps to make my cock bigger!  I’ve got a chest full of fake silicon pussies!  Pussies! And why on earth would I WANT those when all I have to do is walk through the damn apartment and she jumps me?

So why am I writing you?  Because she bought your books and likes to read them to me while she stroking me.  I don’t blame you and frankly, it has made things easier to get it up lately.  But still, you’ve got to help me.  What do I do? 
Sincerely,

Too Much Sex

UPDATE: Breanne Replies

Dear Too Much,

You're right.  There are approximately seven billion people on the planet, and we can generally say that half of them are male. That means that we can estimate that there are three billion, four hundred and ninety nine million, nine hundred and ninety nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine men who think you are nuts to be complaining and would gladly trade places with you.  But you know what?  I actually do understand.  It's simple biology. Men are not physically equipped for constant, long term sexual acts.  In fact, in nature, frequently the female accepts multiple mates in order for the most viable sperm to win the race to the egg.  I remember watching a nature show once and laughing when the skinny "nerd" lizard snuck into the "jock" lizard's den and did the nasty with the jock lizard's girlfriend.  It seemed familiar somehow.

But let's get back to your problem.  First of all, you're going to need to TALK to your girlfriend, not just buy her sex toys.  You need to establish some common sense rules about when sexual contact is acceptable, and when it's not.  There need to be some legitimate boundaries.   That said, you also need to take her physical needs into consideration.  If she needs sex that much, then you both need to consider whether you can sufficiently provide it. Maybe ya'll need to bring a third lover into the mix.  That can overly complicate things, but it's either that or she takes her foot off the accelerator, especially if she isn't willing to go to the self-service aisle, which is still probably the best bet.  

The next thing I recommend is try to set up scenarios where sex takes time.  Tell her if she wants to rub your cock, to get out the oil or something.  And you might also turn the tables.  If ya'll are cuddling on the sofa and her hand goes down between your legs, smile wickedly and push her back and tug down her panties and do a slow rub on her.  She'll purr, love it, and either cum or get so horny that she'll finally pounce like a kitten on a ball of yarn.  

So good luck!  I hope you guys find a happy medium where you both get what you need!

- Breanne

Friday, February 22, 2013

Set to Zero - Part Three

Part Three




This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but can be found in Breanne Erickson's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Vol. 7"  Click here to check out our sample page and take a look at the amazing work of Breanne Erickson!

 

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Set to Zero - Part Two


Part Two




I drove around aimlessly for the next thirty minutes, trying to decide where to go. It was already ten o’clock and somehow I ended up at the mall.  I threw a tarp over my fence posts and then headed into the mall.  I admit there was something novel about showing up at the mall wearing clothes- or at least clothing that wouldn’t immediately mark me as a slut.  I walked in through the sports store and didn’t even garner a second glance. Instead of thinking “wow, what a hot little fuck slut!” I could tell I was getting, “oh look at that cute redhead cowgirl!”  And that was that.  It was… novel.

            I began wandering around and found myself standing in front of the little jewelry store Julie works at.  She’s an assistant manager and handles most mornings and I wasn’t surprised to find her calmly restocking the various racks in her store.  I walked in with a smile on my face and she glanced over at me.

            “Hi! Let me know if you need anything,” she said perfunctorily.

            “Thank you. I will,” I replied.

            I’m not sure if it was my voice, but I’m absolutely positive it wasn’t my attire.  Julie’s eyes widened and she looked at me, taking stock of the blue jeans, boots, tee and flannel shirts.  “Breanne?” she gasped.

            I struck a silly pose and grinned.

            “You’re… you’re…” she stood there flabbergasted.

            My smiled fell and my lips twisted into a chagrined look of irritation, very similar to the one I wore while getting my fence posts.

            “Dressed?” I said in a low tone, tinged with just a bit of vexation.

            Julie picked up the hint.  “Conservative.”  She smiled and motioned me deeper into the store. “Come on back.”

            I followed her into the small back room.  There were boxes everywhere and as soon as the door closed behind me Julie turned and looked at me expectantly. I just stood there, bewildered.

            “What?” I asked.

            “What do you mean, what?” she snapped back.

            “You’re the one staring at me!” I protested.

            “Your shirt you numbwit! Both of them!” she shot back.

            “What about them?” I asked.

            “TAKE THEM OFF!” she just about roared.

            Oh.

 

This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but can be found in Breanne Erickson's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Vol. 7"  Click here to check out our sample page and take a look at the amazing work of Breanne Erickson!

 

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Set To Zero



Texas is well known for its multitude of sayings. You’ve probably heard some of them.  Don’t mess with Texas has always been popular, referring of course to littering.  And if you are something of a history buff, then “remember the Alamo!” is probably on your short list.  Texans like to remind people that the first word spoken from the moon was “Houston” and that “failure is not an option.”
Oops.
In the space program, maybe.  But when you are a nympho humiliation pain slut, there are all sorts of opportunities for failure.  Sometimes it happens to be a particular set of circumstances that are just too intense.  In fact, now that I think about it, I’m frequently positioned for spectacular failure, as if the various doms and dommes KNOW that I’m going to blow it, plan for my dismal and abject deficiency, and pre-set the required punishments.
I’m beginning to suspect some sort of conspiracy.  It’s possible, maybe, that they are creating assignments that might be slightly tilted toward me screwing things up.
Yesterday I waltzed out of the house with a big old grin on my face, never suspecting that I was in for a rough day.  First of all, I was dressed, and dressed comfortably and conservatively.  I know this might come as a shock to you, but my general sensibilities are not geared for dressing like a teenage prostitute.  Given the choice, I’d slip into a pair of comfortable blue jeans, white tube socks, a pair of boots, some pink bikini cut panties, a bra, tee shirt, and if it’s cool out, maybe even a flannel button up long sleeve shirt.  In fact, that is exactly what I was wearing.
I had some errands to do that morning and Master Salvador had been waiting for exactly something like that for his little assignment.  The previous few days had been tough on me, starting with a Saturday of non-stop vibration torment at Kari’s place and enough orgasms to almost rival my twenty one explosion record.  So I think it’s understandable how I spent Sunday with my ben wa balls stuffed inside me, staying far away from anything motorized, and not even bothering to masturbate.  When Monday came around though, Master Salvador asked about my condition, and finding out that my clit was still sore to the touch, instructed me to edge every few hours with my Husky dildo, all while pressing a vibrator to my clit.
I’m sure you can imagine me sitting there in my chair, naked from the waist down, my shirt pulled up under my chin, two clothespins dangling from my nipples, while I grit my teeth and shuddered under the vibrational onslaught, all while bouncing up and down on a nine inch long, three inch wide rubber cock.  It was practically war.
Remember the Alamo!
So I didn’t cum at all on Monday.  And yes, that was a challenge.  On Tuesday however, Master Salvador rewarded me however.  I was wearing my RVP and he had me turn it on, giving me relief, which was absolute bliss.  But then I was instructed to remove the RVP, stick my ben wa balls back in, and given an assignment that I thought was not only doable, but could be a lot of fun.
Master Salvador has a peculiar bent.  He’s not sadistic like Masters Brandon or Barrett.  He’s not into humiliation quite like Master Mark.  He’s not complicated like Master Dan.  Instead, he’s into something else, something I can’t quite figure out.  It’s like he’s trying to create certain situations – and I’m not positive he means for me.
Anyway, my big grin started because Master Salvador wanted me to wear something special, something I’ve rarely worn out on an assignment before, and usually the only reason I was allowed to wear it, was because I’d shortly be naked anyway.  But this time, this time was really awesome.  Why?  Because I got to wear, what I was already wearing.
I know, you’re shocked, right?  No stopping the truck on the gravel roadside along the south border of our farm.  No getting out and moving the to the front in the cold.  No stripping naked, my nipples hard from the chill, goosebumps on every inch of my body, worrying about a car or truck coming along over the hill, seeing a very naked, redhaired nympho humiliation pain slut struggling to fold her clothes.  No putting on something so skimpy that I might as well be naked anyway.  No getting back into the truck, shivering and freezing my ass off, all while stuffed to the brim with something uncomfortable and buzzing and turning me on like an over-amped light switch.
Nope.  Just me and my regular clothes.  And with the ben wa balls?  I might as well have been spending the day with my family!
Of course going out in regular clothes with just my ben wa balls to tease me into sexual readiness was hardly the point of Master Salvador’s assignment.  I trundled along and checked my list. Both my mother and father had given me things to pick up and I needed a few things too, so I headed north toward town and pulled into the parking lot of one of those huge home improvement stores.
I’ve been at this one before, even done some questionably intelligent things here.  I remember one time I bought a large jumbo alligator clamp and before even adjusting it so that it wouldn’t cut me, deliberately attached it somewhere on my body that elicited a knuckle bitten scream while raising the eyebrows of the poor clerk who was watching.  I’ve purchased some rather questionable items here, all at the same time, each vaguely dildo shaped. 
And yesterday? Yesterday I was buying a few fence posts.
Oh… not to fuck!  You pervert!  Could you imagine me sitting somewhere with a four inch wide metal pipe, trying to get that thing up inside me?  Hell, even with the rounded caps it would be too much for me. I know some women that can take dildos that big, but I’m not one of them.  My Core Driller is about as much as I can handle, even uncomfortably.  So don’t think I was going to plop down naked from the waist down in the back of my truck and screw a fence post. 
It was still early and there weren’t many people about.  I closed my truck door and began walking toward the front doors, when I saw a man.  He was closer to forty than he was to thirty, dressed nicely, buzz cut hair, glasses, a tad bit overweight but not grossly so, and to be honest, looked rather nice.  I felt my loins tighten and changed my course slightly. With a skip I caught up to him and flashed him a beaming smile, the kind of smile that changes a man’s life.  It startled him and his step faltered a moment.
“Hi!” I said brightly, eyes wide and direct.  I gave him a warm smile.
He looked at me, and when I say he looked at me, I mean he REALLY looked at me.  I’m not positive about what he saw, but I can guess. I looked… good.  Wholesome.  Friendly.  Conservative even.  I was dressed as a typical cowgirl, from the pony tail that held back my fire engine red hair to the dark blue denim covering my butt.  Hell, I was even wearing cowboy boots!
“Hi,” he said back with a grin.
“I’m Breanne,” I told him.
“Uh…. Rufus,” he replied and once again began walking toward to the store.
“Hi, Rufus,” I intoned.
He gave me a bemused smile. “Hello Breanne. Can I help you with something?” he asked, clearly confused as to why this twenty something red head cowgirl was walking next to him, appearing to give him all her attention.
My face brightened considerably and I opened my mouth like a vapid school girl who cares for nothing but new shoes.  “Yes!  Totally!” I gushed.  I grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. It didn’t matter that we were standing directly in the middle of the roadway that ran past the front of the store.  I leaned close to him, violating his personal space and whispered conspiratorially, “I was wondering if you would please fuck me.”
He reeled back as if I’d slapped him and now it was his turn for his mouth to open. I could see the wheels turning as his eyes now looked at me in a completely different light.  I could tell he was having trouble reconciling my attire and image with what I had just said.  He stalled for time and confirmation.
“Excuse me?” he stammered.
I beamed another one of my million watt smiles at him and said a little louder this time, just in case there was anyone around to hear, “I want you to fuck me. I could use a decent fuck.”
His eyes glanced around nervously and he coughed. “Well, I uh… I uh… appreciate the offer, Breanne.  But uh… I’ll pass.  Thank you.”
The smile dropped from my face, replaced immediately by my puppy dog eyes and sad frown.  “What?  But why?  I could really use it,” I whined. 
He pushed past me and I matched his pace.  “Because it just isn’t right,” he insisted.
I let out an exasperated gasp. “It doesn’t have to be right, Rufus.  It’s not a moral decision here.  It’s you taking me somewhere private, pulling down my pants and panties, giving me your cock, and then spanking me afterward,” I told him.
His eyebrows went up at that and he glanced at me.  “Spanking too?  You’ve got some issues, young lady.”
“Well duh,” I replied.  “But please, I know you can sort them out.  Please, Rufus?  Take me some place and do me?” I begged.  I even put a hand on his arm.
“No Breanne. I don’t think so,” he said, his tone even and soft, but still stressed.
“Why? I don’t understand,” I said.
“Because things like this don’t happen. It’s too good to be true.  You’re playing me.”
Well, I sure wasn’t’ expecting that.  He was right of course, I was playing him.  Just not the way he THOUGHT I was playing him.
“Girls just don’t come up to old fat guys like me and offer to let me fuck them. Besides, I’m married.  You’re too pretty not to be able to get some young hunk, which makes me think you’ve got ulterior motives.  Maybe you are hoping I’ll take you back to my place, and you’ll rob me and leave me tied up and naked on the bed, or invite a friend who is following you to come and help.  Either way, I’m not stupid enough to look at your offer as anything but suspicious.”
Well, tar and feather me and call me a duck, I’d never quite been spoken to that way.  I sort of just stood there, open mouthed, blinking.  It had actually never even occurred to me that I might be perceived as a villain.  I started to protest and he laid a finger on my lips.
“Conservation over.  Have a good day.”
I hate moral, intelligent people. Shessh.
I watched Rufus walk off and the look on my face more closely resembled Kermit the Frog after being told something by Miss Piggy. I’m lucky my face didn’t freeze that way or chagrined frustration would have been writ upon my expression for all time.
I began wandering around the store, trying to avoid sales clerks.  They have this annoying habit of asking if they can help you find something, and to be honest, I was trying to find someone to fuck me.  Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against screwing employees, but I was hoping for something a little more… wholesome… than taking some guy off the floor, risking his job, all for a little fling with me.  It seemed wrong and I was trying my best to be virtuous.
Well… as much as I could be.
I hit the jackpot about twenty minutes later when I stumbled across two contractors who were busy selecting a variety of only God knows what from the hardware aisle. My approach was flawless, insinuating myself between the two of them, striking up a conversation, and then asking them if they would be willing to assist me with my little project.  Evidently scruples isn’t contagious because they were more than willing to address my plumbing problem and with my arms linked in theirs, we went through the checkout line with their purchase and headed for the door.
Yes, I did see Rufus, but you expected that right?  He watched me go out the door with my two guys and I twisted my head around and stuck my tongue out at him.  The shocked look on his face was worth it.
I was taken to a van parked in the lot and I climbed in the back with Jim.  He was tall with this shock of white hair and I’m positive he was in his fifties.  He was also just a little unprepared and not sure what to do.  So with Jim half sitting on an upturned bucket just behind the driver’s seat, and Chris kneeling on the passenger seat, arms folded across the top and watching every move I made, I proceeded to strip out of my perfectly good farm girl clothing as sexually and provocatively as possible.
Once I was naked, I moved in like a hungry shark, rubbing my breasts against Jim’s face and banging my head on the low roof.  I ignored that and turned around, planting my bottom in his lap and I rubbed and twisted and generally tried to see if I could put a wet spot on his pants.  To my surprise, he kept his hands away from me, not quite willing to touch and I realized he was a strip club veteran.  I rolled my eyes in the semi-darkness of their van, reached down, grabbed his wrists, and brought his meaty, sweaty palms up to my breasts.
Well that revved him up. I know because I could feel his cock swell.  He began playing with my piercing and the charm padlock that dangled from my right nipple and in short order he was getting pretty serious, sticking his fingers just about everywhere.  I spread my legs as he found my slit and when he felt the thin string leading to the ben wa balls, he pulled his hand away.
“Pull them out,” I said huskily, my chest heaving. 
I’m not sure what he thought was in there, but he tugged and was shocked to find himself holding my sex toy.  I laughed and took it from him, licking my juices off one of the spheres before tossing the gooey set of spheres onto my fallen pile of clothes.  Then I plucked a condom from my jeans pocket, tore the package open, and popped it in my mouth like bubblegum.
Master Salvador had told me I wasn’t allowed to suck cock.  But I’m pretty sure he meant that for actual orgasm.  He wanted me fucked.  No problem there. I wanted fucking.  I was horny too. Not desperate, but totally ready for cock.  And so I went to my knees, helped Jim unbutton his pants, pulled out his cock, and dipped my head down on his soda straw.
He was hard and ready and I’ve been a master at the oral application of condoms since my sophomore year of college.  Once he was appropriately covered, I stood up, straddled him, grabbed his shaft and positioned him properly between my legs.  Then I lowered myself down.
Yes, it was completely vanilla, just two bodies bouncing on a bucket, in the back of a van, in the parking lot of a home improvement store.  His mouth suckled my breasts, moving between one nipple and the other, even tugging lightly on the piercing.  I groaned, moaned, squealed and did my best to make Jim pop.
Before I did of course.
See, that was the crux of the assignment. I had to fuck three guys vanilla style, all wholesome and sweet and innocent on the outside, yet dark and perverted and wanton on the inside, like a rotten fruit.  And I had to do it all without cumming.
No cumming.  Sex like crazy and no relief.  That was what was going to be hard for me.  Granted, I’m better at controlling my urges and needs than most – I’ve had lots of practice – but I’m a slut.  Sex itself turns me on! 
But porn positions help.  Trust me.  There is a reason porn stars do the facial thing and it isn’t just because everyone likes a facial finish.  It’s because those weird positions are practically impossible to cum in from just vaginal stimulation.  Poor guys.  We girls have all the fun, don’t we?
Jim however had no trouble cumming while sitting down and he popped just a few minutes after he began snaking out my plumbing issues.  I groaned and rocked my hips as he held me, ramming himself deep.  And then I felt him soften, leaving me in a state of need, wanton urgency spreading through my blood stream. 
“My turn,” Chris growled playfully and the next thing I knew I was lying on my back while he stuck his naked cock in my face.  I blinked and began sucking, even as my fingers reached for my jeans to get another condom.  I managed it and gagged a few times as I was facefucked.  I held up the condom packet and he took it, but thrust his shaft a few more times between my lips for good measure.  Finally he pulled out, leaving me breathless and gasping, put the condom on, and slid down my body.
I felt him penetrate like a nail into wood and I was pinned to the floor of the van.  His hips slammed against mine like a sledgehammer and in moments the entire van was rocking on its shocks, bouncing up and down in what I’m sure was obvious clarity as to what was happening inside. 
But lying on my back was not a good thing.  With Chris on top of me, the angle was just right, perfect in fact, and I grit my teeth, struggling against the tide.  There was no hope for me though.  I was too bothered, too perfectly aligned, and even as Chris began to fill his condom, grunting with exquisite rapture, I cried out, bucking up against him, exploding with certain perfection that failure is definitely an option.
I felt amazing afterward and sat up as Chris pulled out.  Condoms were disposed of and there were some nice grins exchanged. I grabbed my clothes, but all I did was slip the ben wa balls back into my pussy while the guys watched, clearly shocked but intrigued all the same.  Once I was again following NHPS Rule #1, I got on all fours, presented my ass to Jim and said “now I deserve a spanking,”
That too was part of the assignment.  After each fuck I was too ask, beg even, for a spanking, and I wasn’t allowed to specify how many strokes.  In fact, if asked, I was to shake my rump and say “as many as you want to give me, just make it hurt.”  And I was to count them too.  Out loud.
Jim was a little incredulous, but was more than willing to give me what I wanted. He moved closer and brought his hand down and I felt the impact sting and jolt me forward.
“One,” I called out.
Jim laughed.  “Guess a good girl counts.”
No, Jim. Only bad girls count.
By the time we got to eighteen my ass was burning and my rump was all over the place.  Jim evidently thought twenty was a nice round number and when he stopped I wiped a single tear from my eye and turned around.  I kissed his hand, thanks him, put him hands behind my back, and presented my breasts.
“Please sir?  Slap my breasts ten times?”
“Wow, are you like a pain slut or something?” Jim laughed, shaking his head.
“I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut,” I replied softly. 
“Really?”
I nodded.
“Can’t say no to that then,” and he hit my breasts.
It wasn’t as hard as Julie usually does it, which I guess is a blessing, but it still stung, and when he was done both breasts felt hot and heavy and ached.  Then, without waiting even a moment, I crawled again on all fours over to where Chris was leaning against the back of the front passenger seat.
“Sir? Would you please spank me?” I asked, looking him the eye.
“What, again?  Jim just spanked you!” Chris said, slightly shocked.
I lowered my lashes, “yes sir.”
“Uh, how many spanks?” Chris asked.
“As many as you think I deserve,” I replied.
“Damn girl, you are a glutton for punishment,” he said.  “Get over my lap.”
I crawled across his legs and put my hands down on the van floor. My breasts swung just past his thigh, the nipples actually touching the metal bottom of the van.  I felt Chris’ hand on my rump and then he lifted it and brought it crashing down.
I yelled.
A flurry of swats landed and I counted out loud but it was damn near the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.  I kicked and wiggled and he grabbed my right arm and dragged it into the small of my back when I couldn’t take the strokes and instinctively went to cover myself.  I lost count at twenty three.
I was crying when he stopped and I was absolutely positive that someone had built a fire on my buttocks and that I’d find hot coals resting on both butt cheeks if I looked.  Chris rubbed my rump, feeling the heat, still holding me.  Finally he let go and I lifted up and faced him. I lifted my arms up and laced my fingers behind my neck.
“Please slap my breasts twelve times sir,” I whispered, my rear end still on fire.
Chris gave me a queer look.  “Why twelve? Jim only got to hit you ten times.”
I winced.  “It’s half of the spanking.”
Chris gave me a dirty look. “I gave your thirty strokes, bitch. You need to learn to count better.  That’s fifteen slaps to your tits.”  Then he lifted his hand and did Julie proud.
My cries nor tears abated during the next five minutes and it took every ounce of strength not to cover myself as Chris walloped my bosom.  Hot and heavy went to burning and aching and I felt spasms in muscles I didn’t know I had.  When he got to fifteen I crossed my arms across my chest and just rolled onto the floor.  It hurt a lot. 
They gave me about ten minutes to get it together and finally I was able to sit up.  I thanked them both of course, because I’m a sort of good girl, and I crawled across to my pile of clothing.  I slipped my panties on first, because that’s what goes on first, only to blink in surprise as Jim came over and took the rest of my clothes.
“You said you’re a nympho humiliation pain slut?”
I blinked. “Yes sir.”
“So embarrassment gets you turned on?” he asked.
I nodded, too stupid to see where this was going.
He grinned. “Good,” he said, then opened the back of the van and tossed my boots, socks, bra, jeans, and shirts out onto the pavement, at least fifteen feet away and in the middle of the parking lot aisle.
Need I also mention that it was about sixty degrees outside?  I felt the blast of cool air hit me and my nipples tightened immediately.  Jim held out his hand and I struggled to my feet and climbed out of the van.  Glancing around, I darted out into the aisle and was almost hit by an uncoming truck, the driver looking at my half-naked form with surprise. I grabbed my clothing, gave him an apologetic grimace, and ran back to the side of the van.
I glared up at Jim. “That wasn’t necessary!” I declared as I held my stuff up to my chest.  He and Chris were both laughing uproariously.  I must have looked ridiculous with my ass bright pink, matching my panties, and my breasts the same color.  I dumped my boots and socks on the concrete and hurriedly stuffed my legs in my jeans.  I turned and faced the truck and got my bra on, then slid into my tee shirt.  I sat down, which hurt my bottom, and slid my socks up over my toes and then I jammed my feet into the boots.  Finally I pulled my flannel shirt on over my shoulders and with a wry frown at the two contractors, I turned away and marched off toward the store.
For about half a minute, I was thinking along the lines of “hey, I’ve gotten two of my three fucks done!  This should be a cinch to wrap up!” when all of a sudden I realized something. I had cum, and cum well.  And that was against the rules.  There was also a proscribed punishment for unauthorized orgasm.  My number of fucks was reset back to zero.  I groaned.  Chris and Jim! All for NOTHING!  I thunked my head against a nearby shelving unit and cursed my stupidity.  Now instead of just needing to find one more guy to screw stupid, I had to do THREE!  All with spankings and slapping!
Irritated mostly at myself, I wore a scowl that pretty much declared me off limits to anyone who might have thought me worthy of attention.  I marched along the aisle, grabbed a cart, went to the fencing section and picked out the metal strakes we needed.  Then I went to the cashier, bought my supplies, and took them back out to the truck.
Admittedly, climbing up behind the wheel smarted.  But I bore it like a true trooper and got myself going.  With a shake of my head I considered my options and pulled out of the parking lot knowing that I still had lots to do.

Part Two will  be posted tomorrow!


Breanne Erickson is the author of the wildly popular "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" series, available in E-book format from both Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble!  Check out the sample pages here!

Riding The Wooden Horse - A New Tumblr Blog

Michael Alexander has started two new tumblr blogs, one of which is dedicated to Breanne's Wooden Horse.  You should take a moment to check out the collection of Wooden Horse art and photography, added to almost daily.   Check out the new tumblr blog "Riding the Wooden Horse!" and cum along for the ride!



Sunday, February 17, 2013

Valentine's Torture Party - Part Four



Part Four

            I collapsed onto the floor, my body just about giving up. I hurt in more ways than I could imagine.  Julie left me there, my pain ridden breasts mashed against the floor, my wrists still cuffed behind me.  I just cried and shook like a bowl of jelly during an earthquake.  I felt hands on me and I was rolled over onto my back.  My cuffs dug into my buttocks and then my ankles were tugged apart and my knees bent.  I was too blinded by my tears to see much, but I felt it; ten hard strokes of the sap, directly on my clit.  I caught a glimpse of Matthew, a look of excitement and need on his face, holding my sap.  I bucked, my hips thrusting upward to meet the blows, but they were practically over before they had even begun, leaving behind a stinging sensation that was rapidly turning into a hard heat.  My pussy was contracting frantically, searching for something to squeeze.

Someone grabbed my foot and hauled it upward and before I had even recovered from the strokes between my legs, the sap was brought down on the sole of my right foot.  It stung, but to be honest, in the whole pantheon of abuses I had already suffered, getting my foot slapped a few times was nothing. Maybe if the sap had been more of a paddle, or maybe if I had gotten thirty or forty strokes, I would have been hurting.  But as it was, I barely felt it since so many other parts of me were on fire.

My other foot was yanked upward too and a matching sting added to the panoply of torments.  I was rolled over and then my bottom was smacked.  Even then, I barely felt it and when Julie and Matthew hauled me to my feet, I was forced to rely on Julie to keep me upright.

And that’s when Matt hit my breasts with the sap.  Now that I felt.  Julie had to haul me backward, almost off my feet, my ankles kicking as Matt let sharp little flicks of his wrist bring the leather rectangle down perfectly on each nipple.  Julie’s hand came up to cover my mouth because I let out a cry that probably could be heard in Downtown Houston.  Once again Julie wrapped her arms around me, her fingers sliding down my torso to grab me between the legs. I felt her fingers press against my petals and then she was inside me, with one hand across my face, tilting me back, while the other dug through my sex.

Matthew was lucky my hands were bound because otherwise there is no way I would have stood for him hitting me like that.  Oh, he wasn’t violent or cruel or vicious or anything. It’s just that my breasts were so sore and painful that getting sapped there was like having hot lava poured on me.  It was a totally unconscious, instinctive reaction.  My world turned red for a full minute and when Matthew was done Julie let me go and I collapsed like an apartment building after demolition explosives blow out all the supports. 

And not even THAT stopped Matthew.  Oh, he put down the sap of course, but he picked me up instead and I was carried, barely cognizant, into the back bedroom.  In moments I was once again laid down on rumpled sheets and I felt a sticky wet spot underneath me.  There was a bit of a conversation, one that I didn’t follow, but evidently involved logistics.  Wow.  You know, only a nympho humiliation pain slut can have so much sex that you actually have to have logistics to handle it.  But since I was to be fucked both front and back, all while providing a handjob, there are evidently protocols to be handled.

To my surprise it was Jimmy who took the bottom.  I was hauled into a squatting position, facing away from him, while Matthew and Saul held my arms.  I felt hands on my hips and then I was guided, carefully, down. I felt the tip of Jimmy’s cock at the entrance of my bottom and I strained to relax, to allow it to happen.  It’s rare for anal penetration to be easy, but I was already opened there, well lubricated, and gravity helped, not to mention the steady pull of Jimmy’s hands.  Once I was done, eyes closed, my face a mask of discomfort, I felt myself pulled backward, impaled on Jimmy, with my full weight draped across his body.


This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but can be found in Breanne Erickson's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Vol. 7"  Click here to check out our sample page and take a look at the amazing work of Breanne Erickson!

 

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Valentine's Torture Party - Part Three



Part Three

            Usually at these shindigs I’m the only girl who is getting abused.  I’m used to it, though I have to admit that Society of the Golden Rose meetings are more general and then I’m one of a dozen girls getting spanked, whipped, clamped, and caned.  But private little parties like this?  I’m usually the only one; which is why I was so surprised to see Kelly, in the buff, glistening with enough oil to lubricate a Twister game pad and four couples playing, kneeling on a towel which had been laid across the top of the coffee table.

            Her eyes were closed, her hands were cuffed behind her back, with real metal handcuffs no less, and my mistress, Kari Anders herself, was standing directly behind the petite and cute brunette, with her hand between Kelly’s legs and one arm wrapped around the brunette’s body, playing with one nipple.  Kelly was clearly turned on, her face flushed, her chest heaving and if the soaked spot on the towel beneath her was any indication, she was enjoying having Kari’s finger dipped repeatedly in her well.

            I felt a surge of jealousy, which in hindsight is totally ridiculous.  I’ve shared Kari before, but this… this was… I’m just not sure.  I had no idea WHY I was feeling that way.  Maybe it was because I wanted to be the well oiled girl getting finger fucked on the coffee table. I shook my head to clear it, but then Julie appeared and pulled me forward. 

            “Another oil model, Kari?” she asked.

            I glanced around the room.  A number of cocks were out and were gently being stroked.  Expectant faces seemed to appreciate the sudden increase in naked girl bodies and Kari grinned. 

            “There’s room up here for another one,” Kari said with a wicked laugh.

            Julie gave me a little push and my shins bumped up against the wooden coffee table.  I was still wearing my high heels, the ankle and wrist cuffs, not to mention the collar, and I crawled up to join Kelly, eyes wide.

            She looked at me and I saw the lust in my friend’s eyes, her soul already sold to the sexual devil that tormented us both. I know Kelly isn’t a pain slut by any definition of the word, but she was clearly aroused enough to accept certain things.

    

This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but can be found in Breanne Erickson's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Vol. 7"  Click here to check out our sample page and take a look at the amazing work of Breanne Erickson!