10 Strokes

“What?” Julie said with exasperated disbelief. “Already?” She turned and looked at me, one eyebrow arched in that Spockish sort of way that I liked. I wanted to smile, to grin at her, but I was just a little bit focused on maintaining my poise. My face was steel and the rest of me was almost as firmly tense. She sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Christ, Breanne. It’s only been ten minutes,” she said, grabbing my hand and looking around. I nodded, my throat tight as I tried to focus on my breathing, which was steadily becoming more labored. My hips suddenly thrust forward and I let out a little whimper as Julie spotted an appropriate clothing store and hauled me in.

We moved past the counter rapidly, Julie’s commanding look more than enough to satisfy the clerks. That was a girl who knew where she was going. What she wanted. And she dressed like it too. Gold earrings and necklace, combined with a stunning black blouse with some intriguing black lace panels, with a pair of those chino type pants that flared and hung loosely around the calves. High heeled open toed sandals to match, with purple painted toe nails.  All in all a definite possibility for a quick sale.

The girl with her? The redhead? Um… yeah. Not so much. Cute, definitely. Especially with the shoulder length red hair.  But that halter top! It looked like it had been through the wash one to many times, faded and thin. And you could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra either. You could practically see her nipple! And speaking of nipple, did you see what was hanging off her right tit? A padlock! An actual padlock! Granted, it was a small one, but what kind of girl has a lock hanging off her nipple?  The skirt? Blue denim, flared and pleated. How old fashioned. Definitely needs a new one. It was too short too. I’ll bet if she were sitting down it wouldn’t cover her bottom! Shoes? Flip flops you mean. How… base. Couldn’t she at least afford some nice beach sandals? At least her toe nails were painted a crimson to match her hair…

Julie snatched a blouse off a rack and pushed me toward the changing rooms. I was breaking down, too close and Julie glanced around. “Hush!” she whispered, then opened the small door and took us inside.  The changing room was nothing more than a closet with a mirror, though there was a small bench. Julie hung the shirt up on a hook and then nodded at me. I groaned and put one leg up on the seat while Julie pushed her hands up underneath my skirt. Her deft fingers followed the Velcro straps upward to my hip, finding the small controller and with a simple swipe of her thumb she turned the Rotating Venus Penis off.

I crumpled, whimpering as the four inch plastic cock inside me went silent. It also stopped moving. The “rotation” function of the “ROTATING Venus Penis” makes the little cock churn inside me like a wooden spoon stirring a pot of soup. It drives me crazy.

“They were only on medium!” Julie said in disgust as she ripped the first of the straps off. I trembled, unwilling to answer her. She pulled on the other side and the front of the RVP loosened. Her hands tugged and a moment later the entire thing came away from my sex, the soaked petals glistening. My clit was peeking out, desperate for release as well. The RVP, silent but wet, hung down from beneath me, half the straps still connected, or I was sitting on them. Julie opened her purse, pulled out the sap and gave me an expectant look.

I took a deep breath and spread my legs, pulling my feet out of my flip flops and setting them on the bench. It was an awkward position and my knees were forced wide apart, almost to the walls. I braced myself, clenching my teeth as Julie dropped down to get a better angle. She knelt right in front of me, then bent down and kissed my clit. It was a wet kiss, with lots of tongue, and this just brought me right back to the edge of the cliff, desperate for release. Then she pulled back, her lips wet with my juice, raised the sap, and smashed my clit into paste.

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!