Burn

The truck was in gear before I even dialed the number, the back wheels of my Ford F-150 spitting gravel as my foot pressed down on the accelerator.  The tension I felt was palpable, a literal force that tore at both my body and my psyche, demanding action.  Fortunately the man I was calling was on speed dial for just this sort of emergency.  My knuckles were white upon the steering wheel as the connection was made and I heard his voice, cheerful and pleased that I had called.

“Hello Bre!” Zach said into the phone.

I didn’t mince words when I told him what I needed.  Not at that point.  I slammed the wheel to the right and took off down the farm to market road, racing toward I-10 with an intensity and speed that would have alarmed my parents, disturbed Kari, and interested the police.  But I didn’t care.  I knew what I needed.

“I’m coming over,” I had told Zach. That was all I said.  It was all that I needed to say.  There was a momentary silence as Zach dealt with my pronouncement.  He had seen my tweets for the last few days and no doubt had a pretty good idea what was going on. Five days of denial does some rather strange things to me and it wasn’t good.

“Do I need to run up the flag?” He asked.  I snorted into the phone.  Zach was grasping at straws, hoping I was coming over to see him, or talk to him about an upcoming assignment.  

“Hell yes, run up the flag.”  

Zack’s tone was answer enough.  “Sweet or spicy?”

I pushed the pedal to the metal.  “Five alarm chili, Zach.  With pepper spray.” I paused. “But I’ll need to be able to walk out.  Kari wants to take me out on Sunday.”

He let out a sigh.  “All right.  I’ll see you when you get here.”

And that was that.

***

I pulled up in front of the fraternity house thirty minutes later, shocked that I’d managed the drive from Katy all the way to the university without attracting the attention of the police.  It was around seven in the evening and as I climbed out of my truck I felt the Husky dildo, a nine inch rubber shaft that was stuffed up inside my sex, shift diabolically.  I was wearing a skirt and panties, a combination that wasn’t optimal for keeping large rubber sex toys embedded in wet, slippery holes.  And that was the point.  Every time I’d stand up five or so inches of that phallus would slip out of my box, kept from falling to the ground by my stretched out panties.  And then, every time I sat down, I’d get the full length slammed back into me.  And that was it.  I wasn’t allowed to masturbate except by standing and sitting, and I hadn’t cum all day.  My nerves were on fire with need, every part of me demanding attention.

Of course the day before that I’d been told to endure the shifting, rolling, ringing swirl of my ben wa balls, two golf-ball sized spheres that did little to drive me over the edge into orgasm, and lots to drive me up a fucking wall.  And on Wednesday?  Wednesday I’d been stuffed to the brim with my twelve inch CoreDriller dildo, a massive rocket-ship looking toy that had been held in tightly with jeans, leaving me wet, aching, and desperate.  And Tuesday?  Tuesday was the damn ben wa balls… AGAIN!  Monday was just as bad.  I’d had the vibroballs in there on Monday, purring away on low, tormenting me.  No orgasms.  Just denial. For days.  At one point I actually made the claim that I was horny enough to fuck a cactus.

I don’t handle denial very well.

I marched up to the front door with dark thoughts and needs swirling inside me, my sex trying to tighten around the Husky dildo constantly, but only succeeding in pushing it a bit further out before it slipped back in.  It was maddening - by centimeters.  I pounded my fist against the door and glanced down at myself.  Short but respectable skirt, flip flops, tee shirt.  I was even wearing a rather plain bra and panties.  I was hardly dressed as a slut and could have been any redheaded college co-ed looking for a party.

Zach opened the door and I stepped in.  There was a crowd waiting in the hall.  Well, maybe not a crowd.  Ten?  A dozen? I didn’t stop and count.  I glanced to the left, into the common room and couldn’t help grinning.  There against the far wall was a red flag flying near the ceiling.  I knew what the crimson cloth symbolized, as had everyone who had seen it.  Breanne was cumming.

That was not a pun.

Even before the front door closed behind me I began.  The shirt came first but I kicked off the flip flops at almost the same time.  Eyes bored into me as I unclasped my bra, baring my breasts and I could see the arousal on some of the guys’ faces and yes, possibly in a few large lumps at the front of a few trousers.  I felt it too; a tangible need that was forcing me to move.  I pushed the skirt down over my rump, baring my panty clad bottom and the real problem; the dildo.  The gold piercing at my right nipple flashed as I bent down, stepping out of the skirt, and grabbing hold of both panty and Husky dildo.  I pulled both downward, groaning as the thick phallus was finally extracted from my grasping, wanting, desperately soaked sex.  My panties reeked of my juices, and I kicked aside the cloth as I brought the dildo up to my mouth and with one swift movement, drove the entire thing down my throat as if I were giving the synthetic dildo the best blowjob in the world.

Yes. I am not above using jealousy as a motivator.  I didn’t lick that damn thing clean.  I blowjobbed it clean. I sucked on it, bobbing my head, jamming it down my gullet until my lips touched the synthetic half balls the designers had seen fit to add.  There were murmurs of appreciation and then I pulled the thing out, wet with saliva, and tossed it to one of the guys.  He caught it and put it on the nearby side table with a grin.  For a long moment no one moved. I stood there naked, one leg cocked so that the arch of my foot was exposed and I pushed my breasts forward.  The silence stretched on and then Zach nodded.

Several of the guys moved with a speed that shocked me.  I was roughly grabbed and manhandled into the common room, dragged forward so that my toes literally scrambled along the wood floor. It was violent and forceful. I loved it. I was thrown down upon one of the couches and the swarm of fraternity guys moved in.  My wrists and ankles were caught and I was pulled open, my wet sex on display.  One of the guys shoved a number of throw pillows behind my back, bending me in half.  Zach moved behind the couch and I looked up so I could see him.  His hand went high, then flashed downward.

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!

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

Resistance (Part Three)

If you haven't read Part One or Part Two, you really should do that first. Don't ya think?

I tried to shut the door quietly, but Ford F-150’s aren’t the kind of vehicle you can do anything quietly in.  I looked up at the farm house.  The place was dark and quiet and I could sense that everyone inside was asleep.  That was a good thing.  It was already eleven o’clock and it meant that no one would be waiting up.  Even the living room window was dark, meaning my dad wasn’t in his easy chair with the television on.

Gingerly I stepped over to the barn. I wasn’t wearing any clothes, nor did I have any in the barn or truck.  Isobel, in a fit of pique at my response to her request that I provide her a rimjob had kindly ordered me to leave naked and drive home unattired.  Kari hadn’t objected, mostly because I think she was embarrassed at the way I refused Isobel’s order, rather than the order itself.  In any event, wearing only the RVP (which I’d just turned on again), wrist cuffs, and my high heels, I stepped over to the barn door and went in.

Turning on the lights, I surveyed my surroundings.  The barn was about sixty feet long, two levels in some places, and housed stalls for about fifteen horses (though only four were occupied), a half pen for pigs, and a sort of workshop/tractor housing in the back right hand corner.  It’s also where we kept the rope locker.

I wrapped my arms around my welted breasts, wincing as the lingering pain of Sara’s caning seeped up through me.  I’d be sporting the marks for days, each one set in place with a thin, wooden rod she’d brought.  My ass was also vibrating, stuffed thoroughly with my Titanmen Vibrating Inflatable Wonder Plug, a massive toy that was not combining well with the RVP.  Or should I say, it was combining too well? I was on the verge of another orgasm, which meant I needed to get a move on.

I winced as I walked across the floor.  My breasts weren’t the only parts of me caned.  Over the reddish soreness of the rubber band snaps were twenty more darker lines, placed there by Isobel with Sara’s cane.  As if heels weren’t hard enough, or painful enough to walk in, now the soles of my feet felt like I’d had them branded.

I made it to the rope locker and dug around for a few minutes.  Eventually I found the knotted rope and pulled it out.  It was almost a half inch thick line, the knots heavy and spaced every eight to twelve inches. I also grabbed the strap winch and hook and then hobbled to the back wall.  It didn’t take me long to get the rope attached, level with my belly button, dragging it heavily across the barn.  I made it to the other end and hooked it in place, only then starting the heavy cranking needed to force the rope into a taut line.

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!

Breanne,

Your assignment today is about resistance.  The assignment starts the moment you wake up. You will dress in whatever clothing you would like.  Your toy of the day will be the RVP (Rotating Venus Penis).  I am aware that there are two functions: a rotation action with three settings, and a vibration function, also with three settings.  At no point during the day will either function be turned off.  For fifteen minutes of every hour one of the functions must be turned to high.  For the remainder of the time you may adjust the settings as you see fit, provided both functions not be turned off.  I suspect you will cum frequently and often.  Waves count.

However there are repercussions for orgasm.  With a thirty minute time period, with a different person each time, with no repeats, you will seek and accept the following punishments. Some will require you to remove the RVP, which should be immediately put back in once you’ve been suitably chastised.  If the punishment does not require the removal, the RVP stays in – and on.  Should you fail to   complete the required punishment, you will complete a single knotted rope walk, stretched at the height of your naval, across your barn, wearing your alligator nipple clamps, with your wrist cuffs connected crosswise to the clamps across your chest.  Have fun. - Brandon

First Orgasm – Twenty spanks to your bare bottom.

Second Orgasm – Hard breast slapping

Third Orgasm – Twenty rubber band snaps to each sole

Fourth Orgasm – Alligator clamps, applied by someone else, on your nipples, worn till your next orgasm.

Fifth Orgasm – Fucked up the ass

Sixth Orgasm – Twenty strokes of the sap to your clitoris.

Seventh Orgasm – Weighted Bell Clover Clamps, applied by someone else, worn till you complete a dozen NHPS Jumping Jacks

Eighth Orgasm – Clit and pussy hot waxed, removed via flogger.

Ninth Orgasm – Your Titanmen Inflatable Vibrating Wonderplug, lubricated with Stinging O, stuffed up your bottom, turned to maximum, and left there for the remainder of the day.

Tenth Orgasm – Both functions of the RVP turned to high for twenty minutes while giving a blowjob.

Eleventh Orgasm - Have someone cane the bottoms of your feet.

Any additional orgasms can be punished as Kari sees fit.

Breanne Erickson is the author of "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" which is available on Amazon.com!