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!