I sat in the back of SUV, my hands tied together, trying not to
move. My jaw ached horribly as I bit down on the rubber ball gag that had been
strapped to my head. Saliva was dripping down my chin and onto my bare chest,
but as annoying as that was, my real problem was that they’d tied my thumbs
tightly to my nipples, using thin and very short string. It forced me to hold
my arms up, never letting them rest unless I wanted to inflict some intense and
painful tugging on my own bosom. My biceps were starting to cramp and the tips
of my breasts pulsed with a burning ache.
The vibrator that had been jammed into my shaved pussy roared, set
to full throttle, probably with fresh batteries and that made it even harder to
sit still as the vehicle rocked down the roadway. I’d seen the toy for only a
moment. It was pink and had a little arm sticking out of the side, like a
saguaro cactus, the extension mashed against my clitoris, seemingly vibrating
on its own at a totally different wavelength, making coherent thought on my
part almost impossible. The leather belts that had been secured around my
thighs, knees, and ankles ensured the massive sex toy would stay in place,
regardless of how I squirmed, and the presence of Carson sitting next to me,
his eyes locked on my naked body was insurance. They wanted me panting,
hurting, and strained.
There was little I could do.
The drive took almost a full hour and I’m ashamed to say that I
had another two orgasms there in the car. Half of that was Carson’s fault. He
was constantly touching me, little light strokes of his fingers along my thigh,
arm, and breasts that combined with the vibrational torment. All together it
was more than enough to send me over the metaphorical edge. Repeatedly. The
cliffs of orgasm are no laughing matter to a girl like me and I felt a moment’s
pity for the owner of the sedan, who would no doubt be dealing with permanent
cum stains on the back seat, a little memento of the time he transported the
condemned prisoner to her execution.
Zach sat in the front seat next to the driver and he would
occasionally look back at me, his appreciative eyes psychologically fucking me.
Evidently the two hours he’d spent that morning pushing his well-lubricated
cock through every single one of my holes, tying me down to his bed for some
rather intense electrical play with a TENS Unit, followed by allowing the rest
of his fraternity brothers line up at the doorway to what was dubbed “Breanne’s
Bedroom”. Six hours later I’d lost count of the number of cocks I’d taken and I
was lost in the sea of sexual euphoria forced upon me. To be honest, I hadn’t
minded it. Gangbangs, or more accurately “never-ending cock” can be fun.
Eventually dinner had finally arrived and after I was given a moment to eat
something Zach had reappeared, this time with string, the vibrator, the leather
belts and the rubber ball gag.
One of the reasons I hate gags so much is that it’s hard not to
drool and I’ve never particularly found that appealing. As the SUV bounced up
and down, disappointingly not in time with the rumbling between my legs,
spittle was pouring down my chin to coat my chest and I there was nothing I
could do about it. I glanced out the window as we got off the freeway and
headed out northwest. I knew vaguely where we were. We’d headed toward Katy on
I-10 and now we were out near Sealy, close to the Brazos River. There was
nothing out here but farms and grassland and a few hills, not to mention a
shitload of alligators if you were actually thinking about swimming, which I
wasn’t. The temperature was middling, neither hot nor cold, but I wasn’t
wearing a damn things except for a few belts of leather. Zach was wearing jeans
and Carson was in shorts and tee shirt. Still, I was thankful that Zach had
turned the temperature dial on the SUV’s AC to medium. I twisted in my seat as
much as I could, shards of agony coming from my poor nipples as I looked behind
us. There was an entire convoy. The entire fraternity had come. Fifteen cars?
All for little old me? I didn’t know if I was impressed or frightened.
The wheels bumped when we left asphalt and the crunch of gravel
made it clear we were on private property. I watched as scrub oak and mesquite
trees flashed by in the darkness and still we drove on. Five minutes later the
car came to a stop, illuminating what looked like a dilapidated mobile home in
the bright halogen lights of the headlamps. The grass was long and off in the
distance was the dark edge of a tree line. There were no lights. Not for miles.
Zach looked back at me. “We’re here!” he said brightly, as if I
were a six year old child, excited to have finally arrived at our destination.
Everyone got out of the car, including me, though a more accurate
description would be “pulled” from the backseat by Zach’s hand on my elbow. That
hurt, mostly because my nipples were throbbing horribly and he pulled me up by
my arm, which of course was translated straight into my breast. I’d read once
that suspected witches were tied thumb to big toes, naked of course, before
being dumped into the nearest river to see if they floated. I couldn’t help
imagining myself in similar straits. I was barefoot and the gravel dug
painfully into the soles of my feet as I was yanked forward. This only lasted a
second though because to my dismay Zach picked me up, hauled me over his
shoulder, and then began walking. Around me was laughter, the sound of beer
bottles clinking, shouts and even some friendly conversation. The blood rushed
to my head as my ass was pointed skyward. I concentrated on keeping my nose from
getting smashed on Zach’s denim clad ass.
Forty or so feet later I was set down on a mowed lawn. A lighter
flickered and I saw the torch spring to life, bits of flaming drippings falling
to sputter and die as they hit the ground. Flames curled upward and in the
flickering light I could see their faces, staring at me. Everyone had gathered
around in a sort of semi-circle with me in the center next to a massive pile of
wood. For a second I checked to make sure there wasn’t a post in the center, my
imagination easily picturing me tied naked to the stake, while kindling was
stacked around me. While I rarely object to being tied to a post, getting set
on fire was not on my bucket list. Instead I looked around at the faces behind
me. I was surprised to see that I wasn’t the only woman. There were at least
ten others, all of them dressed (sort of. Some of them were wearing outfits I’d
have paid money for, but would have been embarrassed to wear in public!), eyes
bright, eagerly watching the proceedings. The guy with the torch walked past me
and plunged the entire flaming stick into the prepared bonfire.
It must have been soaked in diesel fuel, because it roared to life
in seconds, bursting with fiery flames. I felt a heat that bathed the entire
front of my body like a furious blush. The bonfire was a conglomerations of
wooden pallets and old fencing, stacked at least as high as my head, while full
size tree trunks had been laid in a teepee style frame around the pallets.
Despite the heat I had goosebumps. The good thing was that I was able to see
better and the light from the fire illuminated the crowd. Make no mistake. It
was a crowd. There were at least fifty brothers and if you added the ten girls,
there were close to sixty people mulling around, watching little old naked me.
I felt old. Every single person there was younger than me and I even saw a few
eighteen year old faces. But as intriguing as the passionate faces were, my
attention was drawn to some of the objects the fire had just revealed, laid out
in the cut grass before us.
The first thing I noticed was a padded tatami mat made of some
woven reed. Bordered in red cloth it was easily big enough to stretch out on
and I suspected that someone would be placed on that mat, enduring another
round of varied and intense sexual use before the night ended. Just a few feet
away there was a pile of actual wooden stakes (look out vampires!) and four
skeins of rope. Frankly it made my mouth water. If getting staked spread-eagled
in front of the bonfire were my fate I wouldn’t have minded. Being used like
that, men jamming their cocks into my pussy and mouth, each hand wrapped around
a thick piece of sausage, was actually something I knew I’d enjoy. No, the mat
didn’t worry me. What worried me was lying on the ground a few feet further to
my right. At first I thought it was just some spare firewood. But then as my
eyes really managed to get a good look I saw that it was actually two pieces of
lumber. A solid four inch by four inch fence post had been cut and fitted with
a crossbeam. My heart suddenly thumped as I recognized it. It was a cross. A
crucifix. Like the kind that Jesus Christ had been nailed too. (Supposedly. I
just watched a really cool show that suggested the cross was actually more like
the letter “X”). A pile of thick hemp lay near it, as well as some small pieces
of cut wood and what had to be a homemade spreader bar. Had there been nails
and a hammer I think I would have freaked. There are some aspects of masochism
that I’m not up for.
Zach set me down and Carson grabbed hold of me, not to keep me
from escaping, but to keep me from falling over. Zach moved out in front of the
fire and turned to face the crowd and Carson bent down and began freeing the
belts around my ankles and knees. This left just the one positioned mid-thigh,
the one holding the still buzzing vibrator against my clit and inside me. It
was driving me nuts and I could feel the juices running out of me, seeping down
my closed legs. The second the straps dropped Carson shoved me forward and I
hobbled as best I could until I was standing on the mat, the crowd watching.
Silence fell and then Carson stepped back, leaving me alone in front of Zach;
the proverbial condemned.
“Breanne Erickson. You are a declared nympho humiliation pain slut.
For refusing to permanently become the property of our fraternity, and not
explicitly accepting your use for our sexual gratification, you are hereby
found guilty. For your punishment, your breasts will be flogged, your bottom
paddled, your feet caned, and your pussy sapped. When the punishment has been
completed you will be crucified. Do you have anything to say for yourself?
My eyes flashed with a bit of anger and I snarled something that
came out totally unintelligible thanks to the gag. A round of laughter flitted
over the crowd. Do I have anything to say for myself?
“I thought not. Very well, we shall begin. Will the flogging team
come forward?”
The
rest of Breanne's amazing tale is no longer available on Michael
Alexander's BDSM Blog. But don't despair! It can be found in her novel
"Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 13"! Check it out now at Amazon.com!
