Switching Back and Forth

“Well, go pick one out,” she said with a shrug, pointing at the bushes nearby.  It was around eight in the evening and I was standing in Kari’s back yard, studying the flora.  The fact that I was naked was making about a million of Houston’s mosquitoes very, very happy, so I hurried my bare little ass across the grass and over to some of the more promising shrubbery, a pair of small lawn clippers in my hand.  There were a number of options.  Do I go for the white oeleander bush or for the Mexican sage?  Does the yapon holly work better?  And where’s a willow when you need one?

I ended up slapping my own ass as I felt the light sting of a skeeter try to give me West Nile virus, the bug escaping my piss poor attempt at swatting myself.  And that was the crux of the problem. I suck at swatting myself.  I quickly cut a strand of the yapon holly and began stripping the leaves off the long switch as I hurried back to the patio.  Kari was waiting for me, dressed in a tight fitting tee shirt along with gym shorts.  There wasn’t a mosquito anywhere near her, with all of them focused on me.  It’s always been like.  Evidently there is something about my body that just makes me desireable.

“Hold still,” Kari suddenly said.  I froze and she slapped her hand sharply against my left breast.  I cried out, totally unprepared for the blow, my nipple still stinging.  I crossed my arms across my chest.

“Ow!  I said a switching! Not a fucking spanking!” I protested.

Kari blinked at me, then held out her hand.  There was a small black smear on her palm, tinged with red.  

“Oh.  Oops.  Sorry,” I mumbled.

Kari sighed. “Get inside before you’re eaten alive,” she told me.

The blast of cold air from her air conditioned condo caused goose bumps but it was a welcome relief to the sweltering humidity of Houston summer.  And there weren’t any mosquitoes either, though I wasn’t so naive to know that I wasn’t going to get bit.  I turned left and marched down the hallway of Kari’s home and then walked into the first room on the left.  Branded as “Breanne’s Bedroom,” it was decorated in a style that I could only quantify as Holy Inquisition meets Art Deco.  A number of various bondage and restraint devices were scattered around the room, with enough paddles, whips, clamps, syringes, and other objects to keep anyone busy.  I’d spent hours, if not days, in this room and I stopped in the center, waiting for her, one hand filled with small leaves from the holly branch I still clutched.

“Drop them on the floor. You’ll clean them up afterward,” Kari told me briskly, marching into the room behind me.  She went straight to the closet as I opened my hand, a flurry of leaves falling like snow to the carpet.  I watched as she came back to me with a skein of nylon rope and a thick dowel no longer than my shoulders.  

“Put your feet together,” she said.  I did as ordered, feeling the nervousness creep on me.  When I had asked her for help, it was nothing more than a simple switching - a present from an online friend who decided that I needed to be punished for six months of silence.  One switch for each month - on the soles of my feet.  But the reason I was nervous was because I knew Kari.  Oh sure, my feet would definitely get switched.  And I’d at least get six slices.  But I knew that she wouldn’t leave it at that.  If I was only going to get my feet switched, she could have done that to me at the mall, instead of making me strip, take the vibroballs out, and making me march naked out into the backyard.

Hmmmm…. well… another time.

She knelt down in front of me and placed the wooden dowel on the tops of my feet, right up next to my ankles.  Her knot work was excellent and she wrapped the nylon rope around my legs, tying them both together, and to the wooden dowel in two or three minutes flat.  I found myself completely hobbled, unable to take a step and swaying precariously as I concentrated on keeping my balance and not falling on my face.

Kari stood up.  “Robert!” She called out.  A moment later a tall, sandy blond hunk stepped into the room.  He was buck naked, his cock locked in some sort of silver cage, the tip of his shaft actually catheterized.  It looked uncomfortable.  But he was still a hunk.  

“Yes, Kari?” he asked softly, with a smile at the blond woman who stood next to me.

“Can you please lift her up and put her on the horse?” Kari asked.

I blinked. “The horse?  Wait a moment!  This was supposed to be just a switching!” I exclaimed.

Kari looked at me with a grin.   “And I will switch you.  On the horse.”

This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's Blog, but can be found in its entirety in Breanne Erickson's latest novel, "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 9"!  Stop by Amazon.com today to pick up your copy!

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