Breanne Erickson's "The Night Before Christmas"

A few years ago Breanne graced us with her own version of "The Night Before Christmas".  It's time we dusted it off and pulled it back out into the light of the Christmas tree!  Merry Christmas!

 

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse.

Breanne was sitting, silent in her chair

Tied up naked, a bow in her hair.

A tight cloth gag had been placed through her lips

And a large pink vibrator was buried between her hips.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter

Breanne pulled on her bonds, wondering what was the matter.

“Had Santa finally arrived?” She thought.

“When would begin the sexual onslaught?”

In some houses it was custom to leave milk and cookies.

But in this quiet house it was sexual nookies.

Bre had been left by the fire tied and gagged

A sweet Christmas treat for Santa to shag.

The moon on the breast of the tied up sweet

Was creamy and light with promise complete.

And then in a twinkling there was noise on the roof

Of a large red sleigh and sixteen hoof.

As she twisted and turned, looking around

Down the chimney, St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in red, garnished in white

Indeed to Breanne he was quite a sight!

His eyes were dark, like chocolate or night

And his cheeks were ruddy, like fire light.

On his back was a bundle, a bag, or a sack

That was filled with the usual old knickknack.

He turned as he landed, all sprightly and quick,

And saw the bound girl, did old St. Nick.

“Well well, I’ll be.” Said Santa with pleasure

This sure beats cookies, carrots, even treasure!

He reached out a hand to give a little pinch

To Breanne's nipple.  It was a cinch!

She moaned at his touch, the vibrator humming

St. Nick’s hands caressed slowly strumming.

He was unusually adept, lifting her up

Bending her over so she was bottoms up.

The large silver buckle came loose in a flash

And the black belt swung in a large heavy slash

To strike Breanne’s bottom with a terrible blow

She gasped as the tears began to flow

Santa it seemed, did not really care

And let loose with his belt on her poor derriere

Until she was red all over the her butt

And Santa knew she was ready, the slut!

He knelt down behind her and pulled out the plug

That was buzzing and shaking inside tight and snug.

He tossed it aside and dropped his pants

And pulled out his cock for a quick little dance.

Breanne groaned out loud as he drove himself deep

Pushing and thrusting in one fell sweep.

And then St. Nick groaned as he came in her guts

Spewing and throbbing as he emptied his nuts

In moments it was over and he stood up quick

Pulled up his pants and covered his stick.

He picked up the sex toy with a laugh and a grin

Positioned it perfectly and sank it within.

With a twist of his fingers the buzzing increased

Within Bre’s well which was thoroughly greased.

He set her back down on the seat with care

And pulled silver clamps from his pocket – a pair!

As Breanne moaned in sexual torment

The cruel bite of clamps on her nipples was spent.

Santa, the resourceful elf that he was

Pulled some rope from his pocket along with some fuzz.

Loops around knees and ankles and chair

Resulted in Breanne’s exposure down there.

Santa, with a wink, pulled out a small clip

And bent with delight to her small pouting lips

Breanne squealed loud as the clamp closed and bit

The tenderest nub, her swollen wet clit.

Santa, he laughed, at her tough situation

Sexually tormented and filled with frustration.

To be left tied and stuffed until Christmas morn

Her body, orgasming hard until it was worn.

“Breanne” Santa said. “I’ve had a delightful time.”

“Much better than cookies and milk on a dime!”

“So I will leave you now all trussed up and presented

As a gift from me who you’ve left contented.”

He moved to his sack and pulled out a box

With Breanne’s name in black letter blocks

“This is my present to a naughty pain slut

Who gave Santa a chance to spank a cute little butt.”

“Inside you’ll find everything on your list.

Clamps, the handcuffs, even a dildo with a twist”

Breanne looked on wide eyed as he moved away

As he prepared to head up, back to his sleigh.

She twisted and moaned, in orgasmic bliss

As he gave her a wink and a soft blown kiss.

And then he was gone, up the chimney he rose

By laying a finger aside his nose

In his wake, lit by Christmas tree light

Was Breanne, the slut, in sexual plight.

The clock on the mantle showed a quarter to three.

Only five more hours until she’d be freed.

Five hours more of vibrations and cumming

Tears sprang to her eyes it was so mind numbing.

And up on the rooftop she heard a shrill whistle,

The crack of a whip and a laugh filled with gristle.

But she heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight

“Merry Christmas Breanne.  Geeze you were tight!”

The Knotted Rope

This morning I received approximately 60 pages of manuscript from Breanne, all of it concerning last weekend's "Abuse Breanne's Pussy Party."  And while we will not be posting it here on the blog since it will be included in Breanne's "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 11" (Ten is already complete and we're just editing now,) there was one little section that I thought was so amazing that I want to share it.  So enjoy.  - MA

So I took a breath and another step.

The rope was just a little thicker than my thumb and piss poor quality.  Strands peeled off, essentially making the entire length into a brush that scoured and grated my pussy.  I made it to the first knot with two baby steps and another cane stroke that wasn’t quite as bad as the first two.  My clit hit that knot and I felt the awful texture of the rope grab hold of my clit and seemingly pull it down under me as I tried to go over it.  Then there was this sort of half erotic, half agonizing pop as my clit was abraded and the knot slipped down through my petals.  I’d of course ripened, my body’s natural defenses against such personal calamity.  Gushing goo, the knot slid down through my open flower, soaking up fluid and scratching tiny red lines across the inside folds of my labia.  

Walking a knotted rope is a tri-part experience.  The first, which I’ve described above, is what I like to refer to as “the clitoral impact” or “humping the hedgehog.”  Clitoral Impact is where the knot first hits your clit. You feel the pressure and work up the courage to rise up as high as you can on tip toe, your calves burning and your toes aching, knowing that it’s all pointless anyway.  The knot presses at your clit and you feel how rough it is, like a cat’s tongue or a splintery wooden board.  And then, despite every instinct screaming “get the fuck off the rope!” you push forward.  Your clit doesn’t just rub against it.  It get’s snagged, the soft flesh pulled downward and under as the knot works its way into the opening rift of your sex.  The knot moves past and while the rope still excoriates that little nub, it slips back into position, waiting for the next knot to strike it.  But the really horrible part is that if you get aroused, wet and wanting, if you suddenly feel the urge, you start to thrust your hips at the knot, letting it strike your clit over and over before you finally “hump the hedgehog”, crushing your clit against it before you even try to ride the swell.

The second part is what I like to call “the pop.”  The knot slides through your petals, and if you aren’t hurting too much from having your clit practically ripped off, then this is where a massive bulge in the two thin lines of burning heat blossoms to score the entire width of each fold of your labia.  Then the line dips and the knot literally pops into the opening of your vaginal tract.  The knot actually goes in deep enough that for a moment, you think you’re about to get fucked and your body opens up, preparing for the penetration.  It’s just a response, a physical instinct triggered by the pressure. But no, it’s just the knot, and while it’s there it does this little round swirl to tenderize your opening just enough to torment you.  Then it moves on.

The third part begins with the excruciating passage of the knot over your perineum, which has already been severely scratched from the rope.  It’s the lowest point on your body and technically is taking the most strain.  This part of you is also horribly sensitive, tender, and it’s what is really making you wince.  You hurry, past this, knowing that speed won’t help but since it’s your body in charge, and not your brain, it doesn’t matter.  The knot then dips again, but it’s not this popping sensation.  It’s just a dip, but since that dip is actually your bottom, it’s like wiping your butt with a dry luffa sponge. (Don’t try that by the way. It’s not pleasant.)  The knot sits there for a moment because you pause.  You’re past the perineum and you’re privately saying “thank God!” but you know that you still have the tender crack of your ass to go.  So you have to gather enough energy to get the last bit over. So despite the fact that you are literally sitting on the knot, letting it dig its way a little into your ass, you finally move and let it scour its path through your buttocks until you are free and clear, only another four inches away from another knot.

Now, try doing that with a madman smacking your ass and tits with a cane in order to keep you steadily moving.  One of these days I’m going to walk a knotted rope that is smooth, thin, and soft, while those watching let me take my fucking time.

Breanne Erickson is the author of the wildly popular BDSM series "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut."  Check out her amazing work at Michael Alexander Stories!

The Little School Girl: Saturday Detention by Michael Alexander

Did you enjoy Michael Alexander's recent tale, "The Little School Girl: Summer"?  If you did then here is a real treat!  Michael has finished and posted a prequel of sorts entitled "The Little School Girl: Saturday Detention."  Here's a tiny excerpt but you can find the entire thing at Michael Alexander Stories, right now!  Check it out!

The little school girl was only marginally surprised to discover that she wasn’t the only student who had been ordered to report to the Principal’s office that warm Saturday morning. A bench with several seats sat along the opposite wall from his office, occupied by two girls. She recognized Ann immediately; a popular sophomore whose small, shy smile was enough to make hearts melt.  Ann wore a pleasant summer dress; white with little blue flowers that went well with her shoulder length brown hair.  The bosom of the dress was elastic and pulled tight, emphasizing Ann’s impressive bust. The little school girl suppressed a moment’s jealousy as she admired the large curves that Ann’s dress framed well.  The little school girl’s own bosom was nothing compared to Ann’s and she felt the lack acutely.  It was like comparing apples to cantaloupes. 

Sitting two chairs further down was Liz, a spitfire of a girl with a bad attitude and enough black eyeliner on to qualify for her own line of cosmetic products.  Her sable colored hair obviously came from a bottle, the dark locks going well with the punk rocker - Goth look Liz was going for.  A silver ring flashed at Liz’s nostril, with a matching piece of hardware in her lip.  There were odd little bumps where the tips of her breasts pressed against her shirt.  The little school girl’s eyes widened as she took in Liz’s ripped fishnet stockings, a black leather skirt, the combat boots with green neon laces, and the loose and half torn tee-shirt that hung off of one shoulder, sporting the words “bad to your boner” between the outlines of the pierced nipples.  The meaning couldn’t have been clearer.

Read Michael Alexander's 

"The Little School Girl: Saturday Detention" NOW!

Jeans That Rock Sex

Well, in all fairness, I have no idea how these jeans fit, except when they're tugged down and showing all the right amount of skin.  But I'll leave it to my readers to tell me if these jeans aren't the sexiest things you've seen in awhile! Go Alexander Wang! Brilliant.

V - Part One

I closed my eyes and braced myself.  The cool surface of the desk lay under me, the edge digging into my upper thighs while my fingers gripped the far side.  I’d lifted my shirt before lying down, so my bare breasts were mashed against the veneer.  I felt a cool draft as the back of my skirt was unceremoniously flipped up, exposing my very bare, panty-less bottom.  I took a deep breath.  This was always the hard part, and I heard the light snap of a bottle cap being opened.  The sensation that followed was startling, even if it was expected, and a thin stream of baby oil was poured into the crack of my ass, flowing down to coat both my bottom and my petals before a few solitary drops managed to fall to the tile floor beneath me.  

I wasn’t expecting the finger though.  I gasped as it touched me, not on my sex, not sliding through my petals, or into my pussy.  No, it circled right there at my brown button, at the back door.  I’m not a fan of anal anything, but I admit that the light, soft circles he drew felt amazing.  He pressed so lightly that I couldn’t help relaxing and his forefinger, up to the first knuckle, disappeared into my ass.

He pumped, smearing the oil around inside and out and as he pushed more of himself inside me I had to groan and concentrate on staying relaxed.  I probably made a face too, but that’s to be expected when you’ve got four inches of someone’s bony finger jammed up your back end.  I could feel it curling inside me, a unique and somewhat disconcerting sensation.  But then he pulled out, completely, and he picked up the small paper towel beside me and wiped off his hand.

The sound of his zipper came next and I took another deep breath as the head of his cock began to probe between my buttocks.  The oil was slick and he spent some time rubbing the head of his shaft through the dark crevasse, even going low enough to dip the tip of his rod into my actual pussy.  I moaned and wiggled, hoping that he’d decide to give me that privilege, knowing that he probably wouldn’t.  Instead he tormented me, torturing me through aroused need.  And when the straining purple head of his manhood was ready and coated with my goo, he grabbed hold of his member and pressed it firmly into the oiled depths of my ass.

I tried not to cry out, even though the hardware store wasn’t open yet and none of Mike the Hardware Guy’s employees had even arrived.  It just wasn’t proper, and even though the first thrust penetrating my posterior were a pressured mixture of discomfort, I didn’t want Mike thinking I couldn’t take it.  Besides, I’ve had things in my ass for years and while I still don’t like it, I can think of worse things to have up my bottom than Mike’s cock.

He grunted. “God you’re tight.  How can you be this tight when you have things in your ass so much?”

I couldn’t help grinning, knowing he couldn’t see my face.  Just for fun I tightened up all my muscles, locking his cock inside me for a moment.  He pulled, then slapped my ass, making me yelp.

“Ow! Sorry!” I snapped.  He sighed.

“There we go.  That’s better,” he commented.  His hips slammed against my bottom and it felt like the whole room was rocking.  Or maybe it was just me.

I had nothings in my pussy, which was an oddity for me, having removed the vibroballs I’d been stuffed with just a few moments before.  This made the sex just a bit more one-sided than I’d have liked.  To be honest, there is just no way for me to have an orgasm from anal sex alone.  I don’t like it. I don’t care for it.  It doesn’t do anything for me sexually.  Well, generally.  There are certain things…

None of which were happening right then.  But while I wasn’t enjoying myself, someone else certainly was.  Mike was grunting happily behind me, repeatedly ramming his piston into my cylinder as if he were a Formula One racer with nitro being squirted into the combustion chamber.  It was pretty intense, but I endured it, holding on for the ride.  Finally I felt him stiffen, hardening even more inside me, throbbing with need as the built up tension in his loins demanded release.

He exploded inside me and I could feel his cream shooting, even though he was wearing a condom.  I sighed in happiness and he patted me on the shoulder, his breathing hard in my ear, no doubt thinking I’d enjoyed getting drilled from behind.  Actually I was just relieved that the ass fucking was over.  Of course that meant things were about to get serious.  Much, much more serious.

I straightened up as Mike sighed and fell backward into his chair with a controlled collapse.  Being the nice girl I am, I bent down and peeled the condom off his shaft and tossed it in the wastebasket under his desk.  Both my shirt and my skirt had fallen back into place and I leaned back against the desk as I appreciated his look of satisfaction.

“So,” I drawled.  “Was that worth what I’ve asked you to do?”

Mike’s still somewhat unfocused eyes moved up from my bare midriff toward my face.  I don’t blame him.  I was wearing one of my few rather loose tee shirts.  It wasn’t a clingy thing, which is probably why Kari had taken a pair of kitchen shears to the damn thing, cutting it horizontally across the middle.  My boobs weren’t exactly showing, but there was definitely a bit of an overhang and enough shadow to make a man wonder just what might be under there.  He nodded sleepily and grinned, shaking off the euphoric afterglow of awesome sex.

Even if it was with my ass. I’d have laid him out had we done it the traditional way.

“Well, feel free to get them,” he said slowly, waving at the canvas bag which sat in the second chair on the other side of the desk.  I sidled around to where I’d dumped my stuff and quickly went digging through the contents of my sack until I had what I needed.  I tossed it all out onto the desk.  Then I shucked out of my skirt, leaving it in a puddle of blue and white plaid on the linoleum floor.  I think Mike liked that because he leaned to the side to see the curvature of my freshly fucked fanny.

The first thing that clattered onto the wooden veneer was my butterfly clitoral vibrator, which is nothing more than a plastic bug shaped vibrator that is strapped on so that it sits directly over your clitoris.  This particular item was joined by two sets of clamps; binders and vibrating.  A small washcloth came next. And last but not least, I had a small bottle of Stinging O.  Stinging O is nothing more than a mixture of four parts grapeseed oil, one part cinnamon oil and a somewhat nebulous part of pepper oil. You’ve got to be careful with that last bit since it frequently comes in doses that vary.  Still, the final mixture does something akin to icy hot. It causes a cool tingle, then your skin feels like someone poured alcohol on it and struck a match.  Think you can handle heat?  Try using it as lubrication.

I grabbed the bottle of Stinging O first and I came back around the desk.  Bending over, I rammed my recently reamed rear right in Mike’s face, just inches away from his nose, and uncapped the bottle.  He leaned away a bit as I upended the little plastic container and squirted out a single line of oil across both buttocks.  Even before I put the bottle down there were rivulets of oil traveling toward the floor. Gravity is a neat thing, isn’t it?  I grabbed the washcloth and began rubbing my own bottom, spreading the Stinging O around.  The thing about Stinging O is it reacts best to mucus membranes.  The last thing you want is this stuff on your finger when you’re about to pick your nose.  You’ll be lucky if you can still breathe.  But spread out on the bottom?  It’s just a heat comparable to the aftermath of a decent spanking.  And since I was using the washcloth, I wasn’t risking a whole lot.

Of course some of the oil dripped right down my crack and went straight to the formerly puckered but now somewhat gaping opening where Mike the Hardware Guy had recently inserted his own bolt into my socket.  I gasped as the burn hit and winced, my back arching as I dealt with the fresh discomfort and heat.  I wiggled my rear end around in circles, not that it helped.

With my derriere now glistening hot I straightened back up.  My fingers slid across the desk as my buttocks clenched and loosened constantly, and I dragged the vibrating clitoral butterfly toward myself.  It didn’t take long to put it on.  All I had to do was take a single step into the harness, strap the thing around my waist, and voila; my pussy was now a butterfly garden.  Who would have thunk?  Of course the moment I had the butterfly on I had to grab the two sets of clamps.  I turned back toward Mike as I lifted the first set of binder clamps.

“Do you want help?” he asked politely.  I nodded.

“I hate putting clamps on myself,” I admitted.

He gave me one of those looks. You know, the kind that makes it look like he doesn’t believe you?  “Really?”

I sighed. “Yes.  I always put them on with the intention of making it hurt as little as possible.”

Mike’s eyebrow went up. “Ah. I see.  But that may not be such a bad thing,” he told me as he stood up and lifted the first black metal clamp.  I put my hands behind my back and arched my spine, which had the end result of making my boobs stick way out.  My butt was still tingling and then there was this sudden agony at the tip of my left breast.  I looked down and sure enough, there was this black metal vice handing off my boob, my nipple hard and distended. Pain radiated deep into my bosom and wrapped itself around my spine as I groaned.  Mike didn’t waste any time coddling me either.  The other binder clamp, originally meant for bracketing a sheaf of paper, was placed over my pierced and padlocked nipple.  I gasped as the now matching pain struck deep.

“I really like these vibrator clamps,” remarked Mike offhandedly.  I looked down, my chest heaving as I adjusted to the lack of circulation going to the furthermost points of my body.  Mike brought up the first of the little motorized jaws and deftly hung it on the metal handles of the binder clamps.  The weight was negligible, but detectable and I winced.  The second vibrator clamp was attached and then he turned them on.

My breath caught in my throat.  It’s one thing to have your nipples pinched and throbbing.  It’s another to have both of them subjected to the thrumming hum of tiny motors.  The vibrations traveled up through the metal binder clamps and into my flesh, radiating outward in circles of excruciating pleasure that instantly ramped up the wetness between my legs.

“Well?” Mike said. “Jump.”

The rest of Breanne's amazing tale is no longer available here on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog. You CAN find out what happens though, by reading Breanne's "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 11," now available from Amazon.com!