I closed my eyes and braced myself. The cool surface of the desk lay under me, the edge digging into my upper thighs while my fingers gripped the far side. I’d lifted my shirt before lying down, so my bare breasts were mashed against the veneer. I felt a cool draft as the back of my skirt was unceremoniously flipped up, exposing my very bare, panty-less bottom. I took a deep breath. This was always the hard part, and I heard the light snap of a bottle cap being opened. The sensation that followed was startling, even if it was expected, and a thin stream of baby oil was poured into the crack of my ass, flowing down to coat both my bottom and my petals before a few solitary drops managed to fall to the tile floor beneath me.
I wasn’t expecting the finger though. I gasped as it touched me, not on my sex, not sliding through my petals, or into my pussy. No, it circled right there at my brown button, at the back door. I’m not a fan of anal anything, but I admit that the light, soft circles he drew felt amazing. He pressed so lightly that I couldn’t help relaxing and his forefinger, up to the first knuckle, disappeared into my ass.
He pumped, smearing the oil around inside and out and as he pushed more of himself inside me I had to groan and concentrate on staying relaxed. I probably made a face too, but that’s to be expected when you’ve got four inches of someone’s bony finger jammed up your back end. I could feel it curling inside me, a unique and somewhat disconcerting sensation. But then he pulled out, completely, and he picked up the small paper towel beside me and wiped off his hand.
The sound of his zipper came next and I took another deep breath as the head of his cock began to probe between my buttocks. The oil was slick and he spent some time rubbing the head of his shaft through the dark crevasse, even going low enough to dip the tip of his rod into my actual pussy. I moaned and wiggled, hoping that he’d decide to give me that privilege, knowing that he probably wouldn’t. Instead he tormented me, torturing me through aroused need. And when the straining purple head of his manhood was ready and coated with my goo, he grabbed hold of his member and pressed it firmly into the oiled depths of my ass.
I tried not to cry out, even though the hardware store wasn’t open yet and none of Mike the Hardware Guy’s employees had even arrived. It just wasn’t proper, and even though the first thrust penetrating my posterior were a pressured mixture of discomfort, I didn’t want Mike thinking I couldn’t take it. Besides, I’ve had things in my ass for years and while I still don’t like it, I can think of worse things to have up my bottom than Mike’s cock.
He grunted. “God you’re tight. How can you be this tight when you have things in your ass so much?”
I couldn’t help grinning, knowing he couldn’t see my face. Just for fun I tightened up all my muscles, locking his cock inside me for a moment. He pulled, then slapped my ass, making me yelp.
“Ow! Sorry!” I snapped. He sighed.
“There we go. That’s better,” he commented. His hips slammed against my bottom and it felt like the whole room was rocking. Or maybe it was just me.
I had nothings in my pussy, which was an oddity for me, having removed the vibroballs I’d been stuffed with just a few moments before. This made the sex just a bit more one-sided than I’d have liked. To be honest, there is just no way for me to have an orgasm from anal sex alone. I don’t like it. I don’t care for it. It doesn’t do anything for me sexually. Well, generally. There are certain things…
None of which were happening right then. But while I wasn’t enjoying myself, someone else certainly was. Mike was grunting happily behind me, repeatedly ramming his piston into my cylinder as if he were a Formula One racer with nitro being squirted into the combustion chamber. It was pretty intense, but I endured it, holding on for the ride. Finally I felt him stiffen, hardening even more inside me, throbbing with need as the built up tension in his loins demanded release.
He exploded inside me and I could feel his cream shooting, even though he was wearing a condom. I sighed in happiness and he patted me on the shoulder, his breathing hard in my ear, no doubt thinking I’d enjoyed getting drilled from behind. Actually I was just relieved that the ass fucking was over. Of course that meant things were about to get serious. Much, much more serious.
I straightened up as Mike sighed and fell backward into his chair with a controlled collapse. Being the nice girl I am, I bent down and peeled the condom off his shaft and tossed it in the wastebasket under his desk. Both my shirt and my skirt had fallen back into place and I leaned back against the desk as I appreciated his look of satisfaction.
“So,” I drawled. “Was that worth what I’ve asked you to do?”
Mike’s still somewhat unfocused eyes moved up from my bare midriff toward my face. I don’t blame him. I was wearing one of my few rather loose tee shirts. It wasn’t a clingy thing, which is probably why Kari had taken a pair of kitchen shears to the damn thing, cutting it horizontally across the middle. My boobs weren’t exactly showing, but there was definitely a bit of an overhang and enough shadow to make a man wonder just what might be under there. He nodded sleepily and grinned, shaking off the euphoric afterglow of awesome sex.
Even if it was with my ass. I’d have laid him out had we done it the traditional way.
“Well, feel free to get them,” he said slowly, waving at the canvas bag which sat in the second chair on the other side of the desk. I sidled around to where I’d dumped my stuff and quickly went digging through the contents of my sack until I had what I needed. I tossed it all out onto the desk. Then I shucked out of my skirt, leaving it in a puddle of blue and white plaid on the linoleum floor. I think Mike liked that because he leaned to the side to see the curvature of my freshly fucked fanny.
The first thing that clattered onto the wooden veneer was my butterfly clitoral vibrator, which is nothing more than a plastic bug shaped vibrator that is strapped on so that it sits directly over your clitoris. This particular item was joined by two sets of clamps; binders and vibrating. A small washcloth came next. And last but not least, I had a small bottle of Stinging O. Stinging O is nothing more than a mixture of four parts grapeseed oil, one part cinnamon oil and a somewhat nebulous part of pepper oil. You’ve got to be careful with that last bit since it frequently comes in doses that vary. Still, the final mixture does something akin to icy hot. It causes a cool tingle, then your skin feels like someone poured alcohol on it and struck a match. Think you can handle heat? Try using it as lubrication.
I grabbed the bottle of Stinging O first and I came back around the desk. Bending over, I rammed my recently reamed rear right in Mike’s face, just inches away from his nose, and uncapped the bottle. He leaned away a bit as I upended the little plastic container and squirted out a single line of oil across both buttocks. Even before I put the bottle down there were rivulets of oil traveling toward the floor. Gravity is a neat thing, isn’t it? I grabbed the washcloth and began rubbing my own bottom, spreading the Stinging O around. The thing about Stinging O is it reacts best to mucus membranes. The last thing you want is this stuff on your finger when you’re about to pick your nose. You’ll be lucky if you can still breathe. But spread out on the bottom? It’s just a heat comparable to the aftermath of a decent spanking. And since I was using the washcloth, I wasn’t risking a whole lot.
Of course some of the oil dripped right down my crack and went straight to the formerly puckered but now somewhat gaping opening where Mike the Hardware Guy had recently inserted his own bolt into my socket. I gasped as the burn hit and winced, my back arching as I dealt with the fresh discomfort and heat. I wiggled my rear end around in circles, not that it helped.
With my derriere now glistening hot I straightened back up. My fingers slid across the desk as my buttocks clenched and loosened constantly, and I dragged the vibrating clitoral butterfly toward myself. It didn’t take long to put it on. All I had to do was take a single step into the harness, strap the thing around my waist, and voila; my pussy was now a butterfly garden. Who would have thunk? Of course the moment I had the butterfly on I had to grab the two sets of clamps. I turned back toward Mike as I lifted the first set of binder clamps.
“Do you want help?” he asked politely. I nodded.
“I hate putting clamps on myself,” I admitted.
He gave me one of those looks. You know, the kind that makes it look like he doesn’t believe you? “Really?”
I sighed. “Yes. I always put them on with the intention of making it hurt as little as possible.”
Mike’s eyebrow went up. “Ah. I see. But that may not be such a bad thing,” he told me as he stood up and lifted the first black metal clamp. I put my hands behind my back and arched my spine, which had the end result of making my boobs stick way out. My butt was still tingling and then there was this sudden agony at the tip of my left breast. I looked down and sure enough, there was this black metal vice handing off my boob, my nipple hard and distended. Pain radiated deep into my bosom and wrapped itself around my spine as I groaned. Mike didn’t waste any time coddling me either. The other binder clamp, originally meant for bracketing a sheaf of paper, was placed over my pierced and padlocked nipple. I gasped as the now matching pain struck deep.
“I really like these vibrator clamps,” remarked Mike offhandedly. I looked down, my chest heaving as I adjusted to the lack of circulation going to the furthermost points of my body. Mike brought up the first of the little motorized jaws and deftly hung it on the metal handles of the binder clamps. The weight was negligible, but detectable and I winced. The second vibrator clamp was attached and then he turned them on.
My breath caught in my throat. It’s one thing to have your nipples pinched and throbbing. It’s another to have both of them subjected to the thrumming hum of tiny motors. The vibrations traveled up through the metal binder clamps and into my flesh, radiating outward in circles of excruciating pleasure that instantly ramped up the wetness between my legs.
“Well?” Mike said. “Jump.”
The rest of Breanne's amazing tale is no longer available here on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog. You CAN find out what happens though, by reading Breanne's "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 11," now available from Amazon.com!