Social media can be a bitch, especially when it’s linked to certain physical requirements. Imagine you’re sitting at work one day and your boss comes in and tells you that every time you get an email, or a text message, you must immediately drop to the floor and do ten crunches. It wouldn’t be long before you were contemplating murder, or at least quitting. Now imagine your boss ALSO makes you send out an email to EVERYONE telling them that every email you get in response earns those crunches?
Some of you already know that yesterday morning I did almost exactly that. Except instead of questions, my boss - one Kari Anders - specified a full five minutes enduring my Rotating Venus Penis - a diabolical sex toy I happened to be wearing under my jeans, snug up against my clit, and wedged tightly into my sex. The RVP consisted of a four inch plastic cock that not only vibrated, but spun as well, along with a large base that curves along my entire sex, sending rumbling vibrations into my clit. On low I can handle fifteen, twenty minutes at best. At higher levels I’m gelatin. Thank God Kari left the level to me.
But that didn’t help me yesterday morning as I tucked my smart phone into my pocket and headed down to the barn. Within seconds of letting everyone know what Kari had in mind for me I was getting tweets and emails back. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes worth of low level but intense sexual torment was served up in about a minute and a half. And so before I even managed to feed the goats I was on cloud nine, wobbling from one part of our barn to another, trying to focus on something other than the pleasure bubbling up from between my legs. It wasn’t easy either. I came that first half hour, my phone beeping with each new tweet or email, and being dumb enough to get into an actual back and forth conversation didn’t make things easier. By seven in the morning I had already built up ninety minutes of dealing with the RVP and endured two orgasms. Then one of my followers suggested I was being just a little dense.
Don’t read the tweets or emails until I’ve had a chance to recover.
Yes. Well, that’s all well and good until you go back and check eventually and find that after dealing with ninety minutes of sexual stimulation, resulting in three orgasms and an intensely sensitive clit, you’ve got another two hours and ten worth of email and tweet time coming.
And that was at three o’clock.
One of the emails was intriguing. It was from Master Brandon, one of my more sadisitic online doms, who gave me an out, provided Kari approved. I sent her the email, and she replied, which of course earned me an additional five minutes of time. And so I had a horrible decision to make. I could hang out there, at the farm, probably out in the barn or out in a field somewhere, trembling and cumming and aching for hours and hours, with more tweets piling up, or I could follow just a few simple instructions and cut my time completely in half. I hate hard choices but as the tweets continued to roll in it wasn’t like I had a choice. I’d have been buzzing and spinning my way to bed and halfway through the night.
I tucked my outfit into a spare canvas bag and explained to my parents that I had some errands to run. My dad lifted an eyebrow, well aware that my errand in all likelihood consisted of some sexual act. My mother was oblivious and told me to drive safe. And so I climbed into my truck and drove out to the farm to market road that runs by the border of our property. Since it was the middle of the afternoon I didn’t feel to self-conscious about pulling over onto the shoulder, and for the first time in several months, climbed out of my truck, moved to the grill, and slowly, steadily, stripped naked.
I actually like being naked outside. I’d become a nudist except they discourage sexual issues from being the predominant result of being naked. For me, being naked MEANS sexual issues. So even had I NOT been stuffed with a four inch long, buzzing, spinning, plastic cock, I’d have been wet in seconds, just from taking off my tee shirt, bra, blue jeans, and panties. I even waited for a moment, with just the RVP strapped to my loins, sort of hoping and dreading that a car would come over the hill behind me, or maybe from around the curve in the other direction, but no one came and I was eventually forced to slip a short blue denim skirt up over my ass. Panties? Please… like I ever where them on assignments. My bra was rolled up and discarded with my other outfit and I pulled a tight fitting tube top down over my head. This was a new purchase for me, a gift from Kari, and just a tad bit disturbing since the tube was only about seven inches from top to bottom. Breast band might be a better description of the narrow strip of material that left way too much of my cleavage and the tops of my breasts exposed. Know what a nipple slip is? That’s why Kari bought this top. The first time I wore it I had like ten slips at the mall, with people starring.
Dressed appropriately according to Master Brandon’s requirements left me with the next point of contention: location. Brandon had specified that I select a public place for my marathon endurance race, even going so far as to list some possibilities. He suggested the train, the library, and a restaurant. None of those really appealed to me. A train limited my options for leaving and there were cops just walking up and down from one end of the train to the other. A restaurant would kick me out before I was finished with my time, even if it was cut in half, and a library would ask me to leave in case I got vocal, which was a likelihood considering that the last requirement Brandon pushed upon me was turning the RVP up to full power. None of that low level stuff. If I was going to take it, I was going to take all of it. As Brandon put it, “if it leaves you screaming and breathless, rolling on the ground with your hands between your knees, then that’s fine.”
So where does a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut with a penchant for public displays of sexual insanity go when she knows things are going to be difficult?
She goes shopping.
I pulled up at the mall with more than a simple feeling of dread. I’d sort of been avoiding two specific people over the last few months, despite several emails to the contrary and even a phone call or two. And here I was, in all my Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut glory, about to do something very me. I bit my lip as I took a deep breath, noticing how clearly my tube top stretched and rose with that breath. The imprint of my nipple piercing, not to mention the small padlock dangling from my nipple was very, very apparent under the white elastic material, leaving little but color to the imagination. I got out of the truck and slipped on my high heels. Yes - the stripper heels. What did you expect? Brandon said he wanted me dressed appropriately.
I went in through the sporting goods store, just like usual, and like usual I was instant eye-candy, with every male in the entire place being drawn in like moths to a flame. I’m not sure what was more intriguing for them; the stupid band across my chest only barely hiding my breasts, or the fact that there was a bright pink wire coming out from under my skirt and trailing up to what was obviously a little remote control tucked into my waistband, contrasting nicely with the pale flesh of my belly.
I could have turned the other way, walking the long way to the food court, or half a dozen other possible places to sit, but reparations had to be made. So I went left instead of right and in a few short minutes I stood outside Julie’s little jewelry store.
Julie was in the middle of helping a customer so I studied her. She was looking good. She’d either dyed her hair a dark brunette and let it grow out to just past her ears with these incredibly cute bangs or it was her natural color. Either way it was the first time I hadn’t seen her head looking like a bag of skittles. It sort of shocked me. Julie was… pretty.
She also wasn’t wearing that much makeup, another big change. Gone was the goth punker chick and in her place was this mature looking, gorgeous girl. Granted, some things hadn’t changed. She still had no boobs to speak of and she was dangerously narrow. Kari is thin. Julie is anorexic. That said the easy smile on her face made me let out a little sigh of longing and I patiently waited outside the store until she was finished and the customer left.
Her eyes widened immediately when she saw me and the smile faded from her lips to be replaced by a thin tight line and glaring, narrowed eyes. I almost withered right then and there, but then found my courage and actually stepped into the store. She didn’t approach me and instead crossed her arms and tilted her body to the side as if daring me to come closer. I did until I finally stood in front of her.
She didn’t say anything until I was about to open my mouth and apologize and even then it came out with a hiss.
“Five months. I haven’t seen you in almost a half a year. You wouldn’t answer emails, or the phone. If Kari hadn’t explained what was going on I wouldn’t know NOW,” Julie spat. “I would have come and visited you in the hospital.”
I took a deep breath. “I’m not sure getting my breasts slapped would have helped my pneumonia, Julie.”
She actually teared up. “Is that what you think I would have done?” She demanded angrily. “You think bitch slapping you is the only reason I like you? You arrogant little cunt,” she said, turning away from me. She took a few steps toward the back of the store. “You are more than just a toy, Breanne Erickson. I thought you were my friend.”
I stood there feeling as if my world had just crumbled into ashes. I matched Julie’s tears and came close to letting out a sob. I hadn’t realized just how bad my silence might have hurt people, people I was close to. I’d basically cut everyone off. I hadn’t spoken to or returned Mike the Hardware Guy’s calls. I’d avoided Julie. I hadn’t even wanted to speak to Michael Alexander. I’d basically cut all my friends out of my life except for Kari, and by association, her boytoy Robert. With Julie, all I had thought about was that I wasn’t up for being hurt and used at that particular moment. In never, ever occurred to me that she’d be worried about me as a friend, and not just missing a pleasant diversion to play with.
“I’m sorry?” I asked, wondering if anything I could say would fix it.
“Sorry?” she snarled. “You waltz in here, dressed like that, as if nothing had happened, and expect things to just be solved with a ‘sorry’?”
I’m not sure the crestfallen expression on my face helped but I raised my hands, palms up. “Julie, I was broken. I’m better now. I’m sorry. It’s all I can say. What else do you want from me?”
Julie turned back to look at me.”I want you to suffer,” she said.
I set my hips. “Well here I am. I’m stuffed with the RVP and you can do whatever you want to me.”
Julie looked up. “I’m not sure just physically hurting you is going to be sufficient,” she said quietly. “And me slapping the shit out of you isn’t going to come close to giving you what you deserve.”
That made me hesitate, but then I looked at her resolutely. “Then it can be just the start,” I said, offering all I had.
She bowed her head, clearly trying to make a decision. “Fine. I get you this Saturday. All day, starting at eight am and ending at midnight.”
I paused. It wasn’t like I had anything planned. I didn’t. But still… that much time with Julie meant some serious shit was going to happen. I mused it over for about half a second and then bowed my head, accepting it.
“Get in the back room,” she said in response to my obvious acquiescence. I moved steadily forward and then entered the small stock room at the back of the store. Julie looked around steadily and then followed.
The backroom of Julie’s store consists of a few small shelves stacked with boxes floor to ceiling, an electrical panel with lots of yellow and black tape around it, a small wooden desk with a computer, and a wooden swivel chair that looks like it was stolen from a 1940’s office supply store. As soon as I got in I turned back toward the door and braced myself. Julie moved closer, both hands coming up. I took a deep breath as her fingers grazed my nipples right through the material of the tube top, the tips of my breasts obvious and quite apparent. Carefully, gently even, she peeled the elastic cloth down, baring my chest. I expect a spanking across my bosom, but instead she leaned forward, putting her lips over my left nipple. She sucked in the little pink tip, running her tongue in wet circles around the aerola. It left me gasping and my hand went down to the RVP controller and turned it on. I don’t know what setting it was at but it sure felt strong. Julie’s other hand came up to the piercing and toyed with it, bouncing the padlock that dangled from my right nipple back and forth like a kitten playing with a cricket.
She suckled. She licked. She pinched me so lightly and gently that it didn’t even hurt. She came up only to glance out the little window of the backdoor, just to make sure she didn’t have any customers waiting on her. My world went white as the pleasure between my legs combined sweetly with what she was doing to my breasts. It was too much. With a soft moan I leaned back, bracing myself against the desk, one leg propped up on the chair, my skirt flared, my sex convulsing around the spinning, rumbling phallus, all while Julie did sweet things to my breasts. I exploded wetly and sincerely. It was only then that Julie pulled her mouth away from my bosom and gave me a wicked smile as I sat there half dazed.
I blinked. “Where is Julie and what have you done with her?” I whispered dreamily, obviously sated. And that is when she hit me.
Her hand flew like lightning and smashed into my right breast, half knocking me over as I let out a yelp. A bright sting started on the right side of my chest, but even as it began to fade, only to be replaced by a scorching heat, there came another stroke on the opposite side of my tits that stung just as badly. I cried out and brought my hands up to cover my breasts. Fury flashed through Julie’s eyes and she lifted her hand threateningly.
“Get your hands down or I swear to God what I do to you Saturday will make angels weep,” she hissed.
I moved my hands immediately. Julie glanced out the window once more, then refocused on me, and pulled her hand back. I flinched, but it didn’t matter. Her hand began going back and forth, using my breasts as the equivalent of a boxer’s punching bag, except every impact was delivered with her open hand. In ten strokes my breasts were bright pink. At fifteen I couldn’t stand up straight. I’m not sure when she stopped by the tears were pouring down my cheeks.
“Do you have your alligator clamps with you?” she demanded.
I shook my head. I hadn’t brought them. I didn’t think I would need them. Clearly that made her unhappy and her hands came back up, snagging just the tips of my breasts in sharp, pinching twists. That made my knees buckle and the only thing that prevented me from becoming a puddle of girl goo on the floor was the fact that I was literally being held up by my nipples. Finally she let go and I fell to the ground, sobbing.
“Don’t cover up yet. I’m not done,” Julie declared and then walked out of the back room. I sat there on the floor trying to recover, but my chest felt like I’d been kicked and then walked on by a herd of horses. Ten minutes later I was able to stand and examine my bosom. It looked red and raw, but most of the hurt had faded. I glanced out the window. Julie was helping a customer. I fished my phone out of my purse. Two more emails. Good lord….
It took another five minutes but Julie came back in, this time clutching two small hair clips, each about the size of my thumb. I stood up and bit my bottom lip as she lifted the two plastic clamps up to my breasts. Carefully she squeezed them wide open and then set them so that the toothed edges would bite into the pink tip of my nipple. I gasped as they tightened down. There wasn’t pain exactly, it was more like Julie was standing there, permanently squeezing and pinching the tips of my breasts. Distracting as hell and it certainly combined with the vibrations and spinning sensation of the RVP. I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself.
“Why are you really here?” Julie asked, stepping back and once more glancing through the window.
“Cutting my punishment time in half,” I explained, going into the details with a blush.
Julie’s eyebrow went up. Without another word, she twisted round, dug into the purse on her desk, and pulled out her phone. Still quiet, she began typing something into phone and half a moment later my phone chirped. I’d gotten another email.
“Hey!” I protested, glaring at her.
She smiled wickedly. “Better go start before I send another email.” She began typing again.
I snarled something better left unsaid and tugged my top up over both the little hair clamps and my breasts. I looked ridiculous, the clamps making my nipples twice as obvious and even more sensitive. I pushed through the back door as my phone indicated the arrival of another email and I hurried out of the store and into the mall corridor. The second I was there I grabbed the RVP controller from my waistband and pushed both sliders all the way up.
The first five seconds weren’t the worst. They were the easiest I think. That said I froze in place, my entire body rigid as my libido reacted in the worst possible way to the increase in tempo. I felt like a dust devil turned into a tornado and I was worried about tripping over my own feet as the orgasm hit me like a freight train. Fortunately there was a bench right there in near the front of Julie’s store and I gripped it tightly. Julie came out to the edge of her domain, looked at me shaking, smiled, and then waved her phone at me again. A moment later my phone chirped again. Another email.
I stumbled into the bench itself, only to stand back up immediately as the RVP began loudly clattering against the wood. It’s one thing to draw attention to yourself visually. It’s another to set off an auditory signal that sounds like an earthquake rattling a teacup. I again looked over at Julie, who was clearly laughing at my distress. My phone chirped again. Crossing my arms across my chest I quickly hurried away as fast as my high heels and the spinning, churning, vibrations in my loins would allow.
I’m pretty familiar with this particular mall so I knew where I was heading, I just had to get there. The last two orgasms had given me just a bit of an edge in dealing with the stimulation I was feeling but it still wasn’t easy. Most women get sensitive after having a clitoral orgasm. I’m no different. I get sensitive. It’s just that after I get sensitive, the feeling of sandpaper dragging across my clit actually arouses me more. It becomes a vicious cycle of pain and discomfort and cumming. Have I hit my limit? Sure. But yesterday I wasn’t anywhere close to that.
The alcove I was thinking of was a little side shoot filled with plants and a nice straight bench that I could sit on the edge of. It was still out in public, completely exposed, except you had to WANT to sit in that alcove and there was nothing else worth doing in there. So I sat down, my thighs and knees pressed together, with only the bony part of my ass on the seat to prevent my pussy from tapping out Morse code to casual passersby, trying to breathe steadily and sedately, all while a tempest seethed between my legs.
My phone chirped again and I grabbed it. Julie had sent me another email. I didn’t even open it. Instead I checked my twitter account. No further tweets thank God, but my email was chock full. I glanced at my watch as I squirmed, my body trying to subconsciously escape, or possibly embrace the full roar of what the RVP was doing.
Time slowed to a crawl as I struggled to sit still and ignore the elephant in the room. My pulse quickened, my chest rose and fell, and it felt like I had a pair of electrodes inside me since certain parts of my anatomy were pulsing without my conscious decision to actually flex. My bottom lip was practically caught between my teeth as every fiber of my being focused on cumming quietly.
In all honesty, I did a pretty good job. I didn’t scream, or carry on, or collapse in a fit of paroxysms that made my sexual climax obvious. I wrapped my arms around me and shook as if I’d french kissed a light socket, eyes closed, overwhelming need dispersing what little coherent thought I had. And after that orgasm I let out a whimper and pressed my hand back to my skirt, hoping the pressure would alleviate the tension. It didn’t. In fact, it made things worse as my clit began chaffing and it became difficult just to breathe. My sex was beginning to ache I’d tightened it so much and so frequently, and the vibration was wearing me down even as the spinning jacked me up.
I was twenty seconds away from another orgasm when David sat down across from me. I stiffened in surprise, totally shocked. I hadn’t called him. I hadn’t even spoken with him in four months. Our trip to New York had been great, but like Julie, I’d sort of locked him out of my life while I was sick.
He crossed his arms and stared at me while I rattled. Finally I closed my eyes, let out a whimper, and came again. He watched as I brought my feet up, trying to curl into a fetal position as my body tried to come to terms with the torments being inflicted upon me. I wanted the buzzing, spinning torture to stop. I couldn’t take it any longer. I glanced down at my watch. Another twenty minutes to go.
“You were supposed to call,” he said sternly.
I looked up at him, my brain still wrung out and slowly being twisted a fifth time into a sexual knot. “How did you know I was here?” I asked him.
He didn’t reply. “Four months. You could have at least called to let me know you were okay.”
I looked down, suddenly embarrassed. “I wasn’t okay. That was the point,” I replied.
“And now you are?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Come here again on assignment and I expect a call. And understand you’ll pay double next time for today’s escapade. I’m busy today, but before the end of the week. Understand?” He stood up, not even waiting for me to agree. I blinked in shock. What the hell was I getting into?
“Um. Yeah. Okay. Maybe Thursday evening?” I asked. “Dinner?”
His eyes focused on me. “Does it sound like I want to take you to dinner?” he asked me.
“It sounds like you want to have me for dinner actually,” I drawled.
That made him smile. “I’ll have to tenderize you first. My office. Six o’clock. Dress slutty,” he said, then walked away.
“As if there is any other outfit ever,” I muttered, knowing he wouldn’t hear me. One final orgasm fifteen minutes later and then I was done. I turned off the RVP, sighing in relief as the earthquake between my legs stilled. Slowly I climbed to my feet, noticing the dripping wet spot on the bench. I ignored it and instead slowly shuffled my way back toward Julie’s shop. To my surprise, she was waiting outside, leaning up against the wall while one of her employees ran the shop. Her phone was in her hand. She glanced up and saw me, smiling big.
“I was waiting for you,” she said. “I’ll walk you out. How do you feel?”
I paused. “Tender actually, like I’m biscuit dough. Beaten, mixed, and stirred.”
She nodded. “Got all your time out of the way?” she asked.
I sighed. “Yes, for now. I’m guessing a few more emails or tweets will come in though.”
“Full power?” Julie asked as we started toward the entrance.
I shook my head. “No, low now. It was the amount of time that was the issue though.”
“So you can take it at full, right?”
I let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “Hardly. I’m so sensitive right now that my clit feels like’s it’s swollen to four times its regular size.”
“Want me to check?” she offered mischieviously.
I gave her a hard look. “What will that entail?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Oh, you lifting your skirt, removing the RVP for a bit, followed by my tongue on your clit.”
“I’m tender and you want to lick me?” I demanded.
She grinned. “Hell yes.”
I let out a sigh. “Okay. Your place?”
“I’ll ride with you,” she said with a wink, then pushed a few buttons on her phone and put it away. A half second later my phone chirped.
“Is that an email?” Julie asked goodnaturedly.
I gave her a naughty glare and she gave me this innocent smile. “Don’t you have to turn on the RVP?” she asked.
“Are you trying to kill me?” I asked as I fished the controller out of my waistband and slipped it on. Julie grabbed it from me and slid the controls even higher as I trembled and seemed to fold in half, my pussy on fire with sexual stimulation.
“No,” Julie whispered. “Just making sure you suffer for five months of absence. It’s going to hurt, Bre. I’ll make sure of it.” She tucked the controller back into my belt. “Come on. You can hang at my place and I’ll make sure that you get your time for every email you get. We’ll even send out emails for fun! I’ll get all my friends to email and text you! Social media is fun!”
Buzzing and swirling, social media.