Sunday, June 15, 2014

Sudden Drops

I glanced around nervously.  I didn’t see anyone looking at me, or hiding in the bushes, but that didn’t mean much, not here.  The jogging path was notoriously twisty and an errant runner could come out of nowhere in seconds flat, leaving me in quite a predicament.  Unfortunately I really didn’t have a choice.  I knew it was a ploy, one that left me with only one option, but the assignment was legitimate, and after Master Brandon had found out that it had been over five months since I’d had my Core Driller dildo impaled inside me, he’d immediately emailed me. 
With my heart thudding nervously and my tummy hosting swarms of butterflies, I again looked left and right.  The path was still empty and so I moved right in front of the bench and opened my canvas bag.  Inside was the monster dildo, twelve inches of graded rubber, black in color, with little bumps just to keep the texture interesting.  I reached into the bag, and again making sure no one was looking, pulled the massive rubber rod out and set it down on the bench. 
Next I pulled a small bottle out of the bag.  Master Brandon had given me two options on lubrication.  I could use my own, or I could bring some with me.  Was I wet?  Sure I was.  But let’s be honest.  Twelve inches is a lot of rubber to thoroughly lubricate.  And since I was going to have to impale myself fast, I didn’t want to get stuck and have to pump.  I was on a fucking jogging path, mid-morning.  The last thing I needed was some guy or gal coming up while I was half bent over trying to get a foot long synthetic cock stuck up inside me.
Which meant lubrication.  Unfortunately, that also meant a particular kind of lubrication – another five month first.  I bit my lip as I opened the cap of the bottle and began pouring the oil over the tip of the Core Driller Dildo, making the black rubber shine.  The scent of cinnamon hit me first, but then my fingertip began to tingle, a cool chemical type of sensation reminiscent of Icy Hot.  But then after twenty or so seconds, the cool tingle turned hot, almost burning as I used a bit more oil to fully cover the foot long pillar.
My finger felt like I’d dipped it in scalding water and as soon as the entire dildo was ready I reached up with my free hand and pulled down the front of my pink halter top.  Master Brandon had told me to wipe any excess oil across a nipple so I did, transferring sufficient lubricant to immediately start the chemical to skin reaction.  I felt a cool tingle on the left side of my chest that was quickly replaced by the sensation of someone holding a hot iron to the tip of my breast.  Gasping, I tugged my halter top back up and then reached down between my legs.
I was wearing a short, little mini skirt that couldn’t have been considered decent unless it was being worn by a stripper about to take it off while swinging around a pole.  It was plaid and the distance between the hem and the elastic waist line was about eight inches.   I strongly suspected that my ass was hanging out.  There was also the fact that I wasn’t wearing panties of any kind, which did make it that much easier to slide my still stinging finger through my petals to snag the small thread that was extruding from my sex.  I also had to push aside the clothespin that was dangling from my clit, which merely made me gasp.  I tugged free the ben wa balls, biting my lower lip as the sensation of being empty did not go down well.  Now that I was following NHPS Rule #1 again, I was so sensitive to the toys.  It made things very, very difficult.
I brought the ben wa balls to my mouth and immediately began licking them, which must have been quite a sight, except no one was there to see it.  I didn’t pop them in and suck on them like a lozenge, but I think I did a sufficient job.  I put them in my canvas bag and then focused on the next part.  Master Brandon had given me the option of leaving on the clothespin on my clit, supposedly making it easier for me to avoid notice.  I choose to take that option, since the alternative was to again expose a nipple and clip the clothespin there.  So with my clit still clamped and my pussy open, wet, and ready, I made sure the Core Driller Dildo was sitting upright on the bench, that no one was approaching, and that I was ready.  I moved over it, squatted down slightly, felt the tip touch my petals, transferring the Stinging O oil to my sex, and began the process of lowering myself gently.
And of course, just at that moment, is when fate decided to send the jogger.  Why couldn’t he have come two minutes earlier?  Why would he have to come just then, when I had only a single inch of black rubber dildo inside me.  He was still a good hundred feet away. I had to make a decision. Up or down?  Stand up and leave my dildo sitting there?  In plain sight?  With me dressed like a two-bit whore getting ready to impale herself?  Or should I sit all the way down, leaving me still dressed like a two-bit whore, dealing with the physical ramifications of having eleven more inches of thick rubber rammed violently into her nether regions?
For a moment, time slowed.  My heartbeat labored as a blink took an eternity.  I could feel my clit burning now, the Stinging O cool then hot.  The folds of my slit were hot and the jogger’s eyes were on me.  I struggled, even with the extra time, trying to deal with the decision, his footsteps loud drumbeats pounding on my psyche. I panicked, not sure where to go, or what to do, and finally as he took the last few steps toward me I let my legs go, my entire weight forcing me downward, the thick twelve inch dildo spearing up into my body as if I’d been a captured slave being impaled.
The pain of it made the time bubble burst and the jogger’s eyes widened as I cried out.  He came to a lurching stop as I hunched over, my hands pressing down on the front of my skirt as I reeled from the pressure wave I’d just created inside my own body, not to mention the more mundane and burning heat of the Stinging O transferred to both my labia and the insides of my sex.  I trembled violently.
“Are you alright?” he asked, panting. 
I nodded stupidly, clearly not alright.  Five months of no sex had seriously diminished both my pain threshold and the elasticity of my insides.  Twelve inches no longer fit as easily and adding in the Stinging O was the icing on the cake.  Agony blew through me as my body and brain tried desperately to deal with the massive, burning intruder between my legs.
“You don’t look alright,” the jogger observed.
I looked blinking back tears.  “No,” I gasped. “I’m f-f-fine,” I stammered.  His eyebrow went up and he looked at me disbelievingly.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
I nodded again, wondering what I’d need to do.  Would I be sucking this man’s cock in a moment, safely hidden behind some bushes?  Would he be demanding the right to stick his dick up my ass, seeing just how much cock, synthetic or otherwise I could take?  Would he be slapping my exposed breasts back and forth, leaving them red and swollen before grasping my nipples and twisting them to a new station?
He shrugged.  “Alright.  Have a good day,” he said, turning away from me and breaking out into a run.  Before I could even say “hey wait! Can I suck your cock?” he was forty feet away and accelerating.  I struggled to call out to him, to call him back, to beg for his help, his attention, but it came out as a wheezing gasp. 
And then I was alone.  The jogger disappeared around the bend of the trail.  I stayed seated another three or four minutes, my body adjusting to the foot long spear of rubber thrust up through my loins.  Finally I rose, my sex clamping tight around the Core Driller.  Without panties, keeping that monster in was even harder than sitting on it in one full bodied thrust. I had to walk with my thighs pressed together, waddling stupidly.  A full quarter of a mile back to my car took fifteen minutes, but no one else passed me.  Finally, with one hand between my legs holding the Core Driller in, I climbed into the truck and felt the seat press the massive dildo deeper. I moaned and put my forehead down on the steering wheel with a sigh of relief, closing my eyes.  My God it felt good to be sitting, to be stuffed again, to be burning.  I was… I mean… I AM a nympho humiliation pain slut.  I could take it.  Bring it on, Master Brandon.  Hurt me.  Humiliate me. Punish me.  Make me cum for your pleasure.  Make me cum for mine…  but still there was something missing.
The knock on my window surprised me. My eyes snapped open and I turned my head to look.  There was another jogger, his face concerned. I rolled down my window.
“Sorry. I saw you slumped over and I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said apologetically.  This time I grinned.  Would I be sucking this man’s cock in a moment?  Would I be begging for him to stick his dick up my ass, just to see how much cock, synthetic or otherwise I could get in there?  Would he be slapping my breasts back and forth while I gave him a handjob?
“No.  No I’m not alright.  There’s something I need,” I said, feeling my sex contact tightly around the Core Driller dildo.
And this time, the jogger didn’t get away.


Breanne Erickson is the author of "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" Series. Check out her amazing "tales" today!

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