Saturday, January 30, 2016

Crucifixion



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!
 

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Fingered



I woke up wet, entangled in a wire, and flashes of the dream I’d just had still echoing in my head. I’d been lying on the floor of limousine, naked except for a pair of high heels that left my toes and arches exposed and wrapped around my ankle like a pair of bondage cuffs. I wasn’t able to see very much because another girl, wearing almost the exact same thing I had on, was straddling my face. In her hands was a whip, a knotted cord folded back to the handle and I stretched my legs wide apart as she was instructed to whip my slit until I managed to lick her to orgasm.



Quite the dream, huh? So you can understand why the very first thing I did was slide my finger down between my legs. They went right in too. No rubbing necessary. Had a man with a granite like cock been there he could have driven himself deep with a single thrust. That’s how wet I was. Hell, I’m surprised the National Weather Service hadn’t issued a flood warning for Harris County.



Of course my fingers weren’t the only things in there. A pair of plastic objects nestled in the waters of that sodden swamp. Off, the vibroballs in me were nothing more than a pair of oddities, barely moving as they floated through my nethers. But my other hand traced the wire, through my slippery petals, grazing my clit, along my bikini line, down my smooth thigh, around my knee, until I found the box. It was nothing more than a battery pack, powered by a pair of double A Energizers, and I twisted the little dial until the two submersibles in my sea powered up.



The vibrations? Oh my God. I swooned. I melted. I bucked. My back arched and my hands went from between my legs to yank up my shirt and pinch my nipples. I twisted the little padlock on my right breast, sending shards of pain through me that only emphasized the delicate little oscillations inside me. One hand went back to my clit, fingers drawing tight circles of wetness and I tensed even more. My body shook with need and I wanted the power turned up. I groped for the controller, with every intention of setting it to maximum, giving myself the relief I needed.



And my fucking phone rang.



“Good morning, princess!” Julie’s voice came to me across the ether. I groaned in response as I turned off the vibroballs. My pussy didn’t like that. It contracted in tiny little spasms. There was a momentary pause on the end of the line as she listened to my whimper of despair. “Either I just woke you up from a wet dream, or you’re in the middle of being incredibly naughty,” she said knowingly.



I grimaced. I hate it when people know me so well. I steeled myself. “What do you want, Julie?”



She laughed. “Ah. I interrupted coitus. Are you with someone or are you doing yourself?”



I sighed. “Me, my vibroballs, and my fingers,” I said informatively. “And I’m desperate,” I added, hoping she’d take pity on me.



Julie snorted. “When are you not desperate?”



“When I’m in your arms,” I replied sweetly. It never helps to suck up, right?



I heard her laugh. “Ah… you’re so sweet! Except I know you’re trying to wheedle permission to cum out of me.”



I frowned but didn’t say anything. Sometimes you have to assert your Fifth Amendment right not to incriminate yourself.



“Since you’re being so nice, I guess I will be too,” she said next.



I let out the breath I’d been unconsciously holding. She was going to let me cum! Thank God. My fingers started sliding back down between my legs and I shivered when I touched my clit.



“Today’s toy will be your ben wa balls. And you can cum as much as you want,” she said.



I slipped a finger deep and groaned. Oh God yes. She was going to be nice!



“But you can’t touch yourself. If you want to cum you have to have a stranger’s hand between your legs. Girl or guy, it doesn’t matter.”



I froze, my finger half inside me, my palm pressed against my clit as my brain tried to process her words.



“What?” I stammered.



“Take your fucking hand out of you cunt,” Julie said angrily. I pulled my hand out from between my legs, my finger gooey.  “Now let me repeat myself. You can’t touch your pussy. If you want to cum, it has to be with someone else’s fingers, and it can’t be anyone who has already touched you sexually. You want to cum, then go out somewhere and spread your legs for someone.”



I blinked. This was… this was… I couldn’t even articulate what it was. It was bad, because it meant public humiliation, desperation, and delayed gratification. I’m never good at delayed gratification. And it was awesome. My God what a turn on! I’d have instantly moistened at the idea if it wasn’t for the fact that I was already running my own version of Noah’s Disaster.



“Now pull the vibroballs out. Put in your ben wa balls, and I think you should dress in one of those short, flared skirts Kari bought you. You know, maybe that blue one. I like that one. Every time you sit down it doesn’t cover your ass.”



I bit my lip. This was getting worse and worse.



“And Bre, no panties. I shouldn’t have to tell you that of course, but just in case, make sure your cute little pussy is bare and ready to flash.”



Now I was feeling a bit surly. “I suppose you want me braless too, wearing that belly button baring crisscross blouse too.”  It was meant to be snarky.



“Wow! That’s a great idea! Thanks for suggesting it! You’ll look great asking random strangers to stick their hand up your skirt.”



I groaned and rolled my eyes. “But what about Kari? I’m supposed to work today!”



Julie laughed. “That’s your problem. If you aren’t out having orgasms all day I’m fine with that, especially since tomorrow you have a totally new assignment set to go. Remember? The one Master Matt suggested? What was it again? Edging every hour with punishments set for accidental orgasm or if your edges are progressively shorter? So don’t cum today. You don’t have to humiliate yourself. Put in the ben wa balls and suffer all day.”



I didn’t know what to say, so I said something mean. “I hate you.”



Julie laughed. “Oh. I know you don’t mean that. Unless you want a pussy whipping when you get home tonight?”



My entire lower half tightened and my pussy went into convulsions at that thought.



“I really hate you,” I said hopefully.



She chuckled. “Now you’re just trying to get me to punish you. Have fun today!” Then she hung up.



I groaned and threw the phone. It landed somewhere on the floor of the room with a thud. Slowly I sat up, my lower half churning with need. With a snarl I grabbed the wires that led from the battery pack to the vibroballs and I tugged them out, which was neither helpful nor decent to my state of mind. I fell back in the bed, my pussy now grasping at nothing while I held up two slimy plastic orbs. I tossed them away in frustration where they landed next to my phone. Then I climbed out of bed.



It took me twenty minutes to feel human, though I had to spend the entire time ignoring the ache between my legs. I showered, brushed my teeth, and did all the other normal things I’m supposed to do, including squirting a half teaspoons worth of grapeseed oil up my ass. Preparation. It’s the only way to conduct yourself. Finally I stood in my bedroom naked and started to get ready for the day.



The first thing was the ben wa balls. Nothing more than two silicon covered spheres the size of a golf ball, the ben wa balls are hollow inside and have a small ringing weight. Diabolical, they roll and chime with every step, but so lightly that they haven’t driven me into an orgasm in years. And yet, I could guarantee that I’d be wet and wanting the entire fucking day. It was torture. That’s what it was.



Slipping them in was just about as agonizing. Not because it hurt, but because my pussy was finally getting what it wanted, at least for a moment. Penetration is sweet and I laid back on the bed and groaned as I spread my legs and pushed in the balls. Oh my God I wanted to rub myself into orgasm! I grit my teeth and sat up. Discipline, Breanne. Discipline.



The skirt Julie had ordered me to wear was a problem. The adjectives ninety-nine percent of the population would use to describe the skirt is “too short.” I pulled it up over my bare ass and glanced in the floor length mirror hanging on the back of the closet door. Not good. You could actually see the little half globes of my ass hanging out from under the hem when I turned. I pushed the waistband down lower. Lower. Now my hip bones were visible, but at least my bottom was covered. Or at least it would be until I sat myself down. I sighed. This was not office appropriate, despite what Kari thought.



Then I grabbed the blouse. It was light blue with dark blue swirls and it matched the skirt nicely. In fact, I would have liked the shirt if there was more of it. Instead it bared my shoulders, hugging my upper arms, only to angle across my chest, covering my breasts. It had a low neck line and the bottom hem angled up toward my sternum. It was elastic, so it held up my boobs like a bra and the material cupped each curve like paint. You could easily see the outline of my piercing and the padlock. I wasn’t dressed like a secretary. I was dressed like a sex kitten. Lastly I put on the shoes, a pair of six inch stilettos that matched the ones I’d been wearing in my dream.



Dressed, tormented, aching, wanting and yes… fucking cold, I headed out to the kitchen for breakfast, only to encounter my eight year old daughter, who took one look at me and rolled her eyes.



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!