Deliberate Torture

I looked down at it critically, my eyes tracing the finely cut lines, the firm mounting, the excellent craftsmanship.  Then I looked up at Mike the Hardware Guy, who was standing a few feet away, a wicked grin on his face as he looked at me critically, his eyes tracing my soft, lush lines, the firm height of my breasts, and the excellent craftsmanship of whomever put the series of welts across my bottom.  What can I say?  Great minds think alike.

“It’s not quite what I envisioned, or what Master Shadow described,” I pointed out, walking around it.  We were in the middle of Mike’s indoor workshop, the converted master bedroom that now sported a faux wood laminate floor and walls lined with a series of workbenches, covered with half-finished projects.  Leather, metal crafting, electronics, hydraulics; you name it.  Mike worked on all of it.  He was a craftsman.  Me?  I was material as well.

Mike ran his hand lovingly across his little creation.  It was approximately five feet long and looked disturbingly like a wooden pony, complete with a slightly dulled but still angular edge pointing straight up.  The legs were simple wooden braces that stuck out at forty degree angles from the crossbar, but looked astonishingly sturdy.  The spine of the pony was clearly two pieces of wood, both of which I suspect began life as two by fours, but had been planed and cut down into something a little more like two by threes.  Of course the top piece had been formed to create the edge, but the interesting thing was the holes.  There were five differently sized holes, mostly spread evenly over the entire length of the pony.  Only two of them were unusually close together.  I glanced down into the first hole and saw it went down all the way through the top piece and well into the bottom.  A pair of bolts with wingnuts and washers held the two pieces of wood together.  Mike grinned and began unbolting the pony, disassembling it.

I watched him, my hands on my hips.  Mike is a pretty amazing guy. He’s funny, creative, handy, and makes me purr sexually.  A widower, I’m surprised he hasn’t been snatched up by some cute little bunny who can give him what he really needs - a girl to cuddle and children to hold.  Every now and then I worry I’ve ruined him.  He likes the BDSM aspects of sexual interaction too much to make a vanilla girl attractive to him.  He says he’s going to wait for me to come to my senses. The problem is that I can’t really be what he needs either. I’m too messed up.

Ah… what a crappy world we live in, right?

I shifted slightly, feeling the ben wa balls inside me roll slightly, keeping me wet, ready, and aroused. I seem to be constantly in that state, though whether a reaction to following Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Rule #1 or that I’m just naturally a horny nymphomaniac who adores humiliation and pain I have no idea.  What I did know was that it had been two days since I’d had anything long, thick, and cock like inside me.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my ben wa balls, and the vibroballs.  They’re fun toys and great for keeping me in a state of constant sexual need, which is how practically everyone I know wants me.  But there is nothing like a thick, pulsing, thrusting phallus, preferably a live one attached to a guy, to get a girl really going.  And so you can understand I was understandably eager, since Mike had borrowed four of my regular dick-like toys for this little adventure and I’d be getting all of them back.

Mike opened a medium sized box that was sitting on one of the workbenches and pulled out my Husky dildo.  At nine inches long, it was easily a handful to deal with and was one of my favorites. It was very realistic, but it was the texture that made it worth my time.  Nine inches was long enough to make me comfortably full, and the slightly curved, firm length was just the sort of thing I loved having inside me.  Mike knew and flashed me a grin as he fit the base of the Husky into the first hole.  It almost seemed as if it were made for the Husky dildo, which it probably had been.  

The Husky dildo was followed by my other “all natural” looking synthetic cock, except this one was a mutant.  There were two dicks, one long and narrow, the other a little shorter but much thicker.  Both curved in the same direction and there wasn’t much doubt that the double dildo was intended to penetrate a girl in two different places at the same time.  I’m not a fan of anal sex, though I’m subjected to it often enough that it doesn’t bother me.  Still, I could have done without the knowledge that eventually I’d have my ass stuffed full as well as my pussy.

My new Monster Vibrator came next, a motorized foot long plastic sheath that was controlled via a phone application and a Bluetooth or internet connection.  The number of people who had access to the controls was limited, but it still created all sorts of issues when I had the Monster Dildo stuffed inside me, especially if I were doing something innocuous, like grocery shopping.  Do you know what it’s like to be in the middle of squeezing a tomato, uncomfortably stuffed, but quiet and silent, when suddenly the damn thing activates and goes to full power in the space of about two seconds?  Everyone can hear it start up, as if your phone’s vibrator function just went haywire, and if you aren’t trembling in sexual overdrive in seconds, you’re squealing and twisting as the orgasm begins. Talk about embarrassing.

The fourth dildo (or fifth if you’re counting the double dildo as two) was my Core Driller, a twelve inch long rocket ship with tiny bumps and four stages of widening thickness.  The foot long rod of rubber was one of my favorites, since it stuffed me to the point where I was comfortably uncomfortable, the tip smashing against my cervix and putting all sorts of exquisitely proportioned strain on my insides.

“There,” he said in satisfaction as he fit the edged half of the wooden pony device down over the dildos.  “I really appreciate you loaning me the toys.  It made putting this together easier.”

I shrugged. “It gave me a break.  Besides, no one seemed to mind or care since I was still stuffed with other things.”

Mike laughed. “Well this was rather easy to make,” he said.  “Ready to get on?”

I bit my lip.  “I have a question,” I said, just a bit sullenly.

Mike blinked. “Yes?”

“Why does it look like a wooden horse?” I asked.  “It’s supposed to be a mini gauntlet.”  I was of course, referring to the row of dildos I’d been asked to “ride” during my initiation into the Society of the Golden Rose.  There had been maybe a dozen or more probes, some benign, but most either annoyingly large, ridged, spiked, made of ice, hot, or electrified.  There were also a few too close together to be anything other than penetrative in two holes at once.  Still, the gauntlet had been mounted on a flat board.  Sure, I’d been forced to lift my feet up to prove the penetration, but this… what Mike had created… it looked painful.

We're sorry, but the rest of this tale is now only available in Breanne Erickson's amazing novel "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 10" Now available from Amazon.com!