BDSM Test

I could swear I've done this test before. But since Master Fred asked... == Results from http://bdsmtest.org/ == 99% Submissive 99% Rope Bunny 96% Slave 95% Exhibitionist 94% Experimentalist 88% Non-monogamist 86% Masochist 85% Degradee 85% Brat 85% Primal (Prey) 77% Voyeur 61% Pet 41% Girl/Boy 12% Ageplayer 10% Vanilla 3% Sadist 2% Degrader 2% Brat Tamer 2% Primal (Hunter) 2% Daddy/Mommy 1% Dominant 1% Master/Mistress 1% Rigger 1% Owner 1% Switch See my results online at http://bdsmtest.org/result.php?id=1784750


If anyone wants a pdf. copy of my report just email me and I'll send it along.

Bre

Garter Clips

This tale of Breanne's is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM blog but can be read in full in Breanne's "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 14."  Check out the amazing antics of the "goddess of dark erotica." At Amazon.com!

Garter Clips - Teaser

“Stand up,” Kari said to me as she came through the glass door. It was a heck of a greeting. Normally I get a “good morning, Bre. How’s my favorite fuck slut today?” Or “You look ravishing this morning Bre. I think I might just have a taste of my nympho humiliation pain slut.” Or at least “Hello Bre, go to the supply closet and strip naked. I want to whip your cute little pussy.”  But now that I think about it, maybe “stand up” is actually better. It avoided a label that a good portion of my messed up psyche isn’t exactly comfortable with.

So I stood, like any good, submissive, fuck slut would. Like I said, I have a messed up psyche.

Kari put her purse down on the desk and rounded the corner so she could see me completely. I felt like a bug under a microscope as she examined my person with both appraising and appreciative eyes. She started at ground level, no doubt examining my selection of footwear; a pair of black strap heels that had a good four inch lift. We’d had a discussion about shoes a week before and she’d grudgingly agreed to let me come down a few inches in order to spare my back. High heels can be a killer. We also agreed that boots would be acceptable on some outings, like demo days, so I had a pair in the trunk of my car.

My legs, as usual, were totally bare. I’m not a stockings girl for the most part. Sure, I own a few, but I’ve never really seen the appeal of them. Since Kari prefers sandal type heels on me, stockings would look a little odd at the toe. She once told me when we were teenagers that not wearing stockings revealed a vulnerability, just one less piece of attire between my body and hers.

Kari liked accessibility, which was why I was wearing a mini-skirt that barely covered my ass and left ninety percent of my leg showing. It was the kind of skirt you see on a girl who is constantly flashing the little lace triangle of her panties every time she sits down, or climbs in or out of a car. Men are constantly waiting for that little glimpse, presuming she’s wearing panties at all. I was following in the footsteps of great pantiless women like Madonna, Kate Moss, Britney Spears, and Kim Kardashian; the soft pink petals of my sex waited for an embarrassing moment to peek out from under the hem, revealing just how desperately wet I was.

Thanks to the vibroballs, my pussy was just a tad bit damp and Kari’s eyes traced the bright pink wire that extruded out from under my black mini-skirt’s hem and trailed upward toward my hip. It was an obnoxious, obvious display, since the position and color of the wire made it rather obvious that I hadn’t shoved my iPod up under my skirt. There would be little doubt in educated or speculative minds that the wire led to a sex toy. It served as another point of humiliation for a girl who cringed when walking into public. The single knob was set to low, sending a small electric current down the wire, which in turn powered a pair of weighted motors, both offset of course, inside two plastic, pill shaped containers. These “pills” were too large to swallow though and had been placed, like suppositories, into my sex that morning with a judicious push of my thumb.

But Kari didn’t stop at my skirt. Her eyes continued upward, roaming over my exposed tummy and up to my top. I hoped she was looking favorably on the blouse I’d selected that morning. It was one she’d bought me and I’d avoided wearing it for months. It was technically a turtleneck, but since it was made of black lace with embroidered black leaves and flowers on it, indecently exposing every curve of my breasts, making it obvious I wasn’t wearing a bra, calling it a turtleneck implied a sort of conservative persona that I find hard to apply. My nipples were hidden, but only by the grace of God and maybe a conscientious designer who had placed the embroidered ivy leaves in just the right spot. Which was good, because the gold hoops which pierced both of my nipples would have been easily seen through the lace sections of my top. And we don’t even need to talk about the small, shiny padlock that could be seen, or the fact that it had to be hanging from my right nipple.

I wasn’t wearing any other jewelry, unless you counted the dangly earrings that pierced each lobe. They were gold, twenty-four carat, and matched the shirt. Lately Kari had requested I wear earrings that befitted my station in life. I’d been a smart ass and asked exactly what my station in life was and Kari had given me such a wicked and sexually naughty look that I just shut the hell up. If you’d asked me, I’d have told you that I’m a stud girl. No… not that kind of stud, though I’ll do him too if I get the chance. Studs as in small, understated earrings. Remember, if given the opportunity, I’d dress like a mouse and you’d never notice me. I hate being put in theses… costumes. It’s humiliating beyond all belief.

I cringed under Kari’s sharp gaze and felt my pussy tighten up even more around the vibroballs. For a wild second I hoped she’d order me to the supply closet, where the punishment frame was waiting. I’d strip naked, let her hang me by the wrists, my weight supported on the twin spreader poles which would force my legs open. She might whip me, or cane me, or use the leather sap on my pussy, or she could push the fucking machine, a dildo tipped post attached to a quiet electric motor, underneath me, letting me endure and enjoy the constant fucking for hours. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that,” Kari said. She turned back toward the door, the one leading to the lobby. “Come along, Bre.”

I blinked and gaped. Today wasn’t an outing day. I wouldn’t have worn the outfit I was in if I’d know we were going out! “Kari!” I hissed. “I’m not dressed for an outing!”

She glanced back at me over her shoulder. “On the contrary my dear, your outfit is almost perfect.” Then she went out the door, holding it open, expecting me to comply. I swallowed hard, a mixture of fear, excitement, and definite arousal surging through me. Would she humiliate me? Would she hurt me? Would I cum?

Well, duh.

I grabbed my purse. It held the basic necessity a girl like me needs; condoms, clamps, a few diabolical sex toys, lubricant. Then I followed her out. She locked the office and together we went to her car.

Don't worry. This is just the teaser. The good part will get posted tomorrow! I promise! - Bre

RVP Blush

A beautiful girl sat down in the chair opposite me, her bright blue eyes flashing with amusement as she cast an appreciative glance over me. She was wearing a light blue summer dress that did absolutely nothing but flaunt her amazing curves and a pair of heeled sandals that were both sexy and sensible. The collar was low, revealing a great deal of her chest, which for the most part was creamy white, except instead of freckles a dusting of what looked like stars in the sky stretched across her cleavage. And what a cleavage! Her décolletage was the sort of thing that men dream about burying their faces in. Down around her upper thighs, the hem of the dress danced enticingly. I stared at her as she gave me a huge smile, my face expressionless as I struggled not to cry out, whimper, or make a scene.

“You know,” Alissa said, leaning forward with a smirk. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find you. But Christ, Bre. You’re like a fucking peacock. Practically every man here is staring at you.”

I didn’t bother to glance around. I knew damned well what she was talking about. With my fire-engine red hair standing out like a beacon in the crowded food court, I could have been wearing a plastic garbage sack and men would have looked at me. Red hair is like that. Kari once told me that redheads come in two flavors: those who wish they were the center of attention and those who need to be. I’m not sure where I qualify on that spectrum, but my hair isn’t “auburn” or “rose.” My hair is red. An unnatural hue of it too. So my crimson locks are meant to attract attention. Personally I disagree with Kari. I think my hair color is a cry for help. But combine fire-engine red hair with the ivory colored dress Kari had bought me, not to mention the six inch high heels I was wearing, and my attire practically screamed “LOOK AT ME! NOW!”

Along with other, more prurient suggestions.

Alissa looked at my dress with a calculating expression. “That’s a novel outfit. How are you keeping your breasts in it?”

I swallowed and looked downward. I could understand her curiosity. The front of the dress had an oval cut in it that exposed practically everything from the hollow of my throat to a disturbing point midway down my ribcage. The top halves of both breasts were pushed up and looked like they were about to pop out of my dress with the slightest provocation. I’d complained to Kari when she’d given it to me that a deep breath would cause a “wardrobe malfunction.” I’d meant it as a joke, except it had actually happened in the car. The dress was tight, which was just about the only thing keeping my bosom from falling out. Kari had warned me just as I left, not to do any jumping jacks.

“It’s tight,” I said, my voice strained. Alissa leaned forward.

“Is that your RVP I hear?”

My RVP, or “Rotating Venus Penis” is a sex toy that I’ve had for years (though I’ve replaced the thing twice.)  The current model was shaped like a purple butterfly which was strapped into place along my slit. The nose of the butterfly was pressed against my clit, delivering some rather intense vibrations to one of the most sensitive spots on my body. Unfortunately this was combined with a four inch silicon covered phallus that extended from the butterfly into my dripping, hot depths. Then, to make matters worse, a second motor caused said phallic probe to corkscrew around inside me. And since both motors were set to their highest speeds, I was on the verge of having a rather impressive, loud, somewhat frantic orgasmic explosion.

In a crowded mall food court.

I gritted my teeth, trying hard to suppress the involuntary jerking of my hips. Alissa looked around. “I’m thinking I should get something to eat. How much more time do you have?”

I glanced down at my watch. “Eight minutes,” I said tightly.

Alissa leaned back and crossed her arms. “You’re wound so tight it looks like you’re about to pop.”

My eyes widened. “I am about to pop!” I hissed.

“Good!” She replied wickedly. “I was worried I was just here as a witness.” She glanced under the table. “Are they in your purse?”

I nodded, struggling even more not to cry out. Beads of perspiration had appeared on my forehead and the full throttle churning of the RVP’s prick inside me, not to mention the vibrations rushing up from my pussy and clit, was about to send me over the edge. I gripped the edge of the table, my knuckles white.

“I’m curious,” Alissa continued, as if her conversational companion wasn’t trying to desperately control the tremors shaking her. “Will this be a ‘When Harry Met Sally’ moment? Or do you think you’ll be able to keep your screams to a minimum.”

I little touch of anger flashed across my eyes. “Worried I might embarrass you?” I asked spitefully, knowing damn well what she was trying to do.

Alissa laughed. “Hardly. If I’m not humiliated to be seen in public with you in the first place, you cumming loudly in the food court isn’t going to phase me.” She leaned forward, grinning “You know, I wasn’t told that you’d be wearing such an intriguing outfit. I especially like the neckline, or lack thereof. Do you think anyone would mind if I just tug the front down and put your alligator clamps on right here?”

And with that she managed to do exactly what she intended. My mind was filled with the image of her reaching across the table, grabbing my dress and yanking downward, both breasts falling out. My pussy tightened as she fished the alligator clamps out of my purse and put them both on me, right behind the piercings on each nipple, sending wicked shards of pain through each soft jug, straight to my brain.

But that was just fantasy. What actually happened was that I let out a shallow, low throated moan that held more than enough innuendo to tell everyone in the immediate vicinity that I was having an orgasmic episode. I pitched forward, almost enough to hit my head on the table, stopping myself just in time as my hips began rocking wildly. The wicked movements of the RVP spinning and screwing inside me sent waves of wild pleasure up through my body and my toes curled as the spasm of sweet tremors left me rigid and panting. I felt the surge of wetness and my cheeks turned crimson, knowing I’d just soaked the back of my dress, the part I was sitting on. I let out a bit of a whimper as the peak crested and then faded, leaving me breathless and limp. Slowly I straightened and looked up at Alissa.

She reached out and patted my hand. “Actually, I was joking. But if you want you can give me the alligator clamps now.”

My eyes widened and I glanced down, gasping. Sure enough, my left boob had pretty much exploded out of the dress, the nipple totally visible. I glanced around as I hauled up on the dress and saw a number of pleased grins.

“You can turn off the RVP now, Bre.” Alissa’s lips were pressed together in a smirk and I nodded wordlessly, my face flushed as I put my hand down in my lap. I pulled up the hem of my dress just enough to get to the controller. I’d asked Julie to loan me her wireless version of my RVP, but she’d laughed and said that having a wire and control box would humiliate me even more. So I exposed an unseemly amount of leg and plucked the purple controller out from under one of the straps of the butterfly itself and quickly thumbed both sliders downward. The little lights went out and I sighed in relief as the churning and shaking stopped.

“I’ve reconsidered,” Alissa suddenly said. “We can go someplace private to put on the alligator clamps,” she said. She stood up and was clearly waiting for me to follow. I tucked the RVP controller back under the strap and rose slowly, picking up my purse from the floor at the same time. I ran a hand down the dress, trying to force the hem lower but all it did was stretch the material over my breasts and threaten to expose them. I slid my hand to the back and winced as I felt the wetness. A glance down at the chair confirmed it and I grimaced.

“You okay?” Alissa asked, showing genuine concern.

I glanced back at her and nodded. “I’m just…” I paused and glanced around. I was clearly the center of attention. People everywhere were looking at me. Some, the closest, clearly seemed to know what I’d just done and were waiting for my other breast to pop out. Others, further out, just looked on in mixture of longing or disdain. I felt the flush of heat on my cheeks.  “Totally embarrassed.”

Alissa took my hand and squeezed it. “Good. You should be.” Then she led me away.

***

“What’s the matter?” Alissa asked, popping a French fry into her mouth. “Not hungry?”

I sat across from her at the table she’d selected. We were at one of Houston’s more fashionable chain burger joints and the rock ‘n’ roll paraphernalia that dominated the decor gave the place a decidedly sixties feel. Music played loudly and for that I was grateful, since it meant that not even I could hear the muted roar of the RVP swirling and churning around inside me. I felt it of course, the incessant buzzing against my clit, the purple butterfly toy set to full power again. My pussy spasmed around the silicon probe that stirred me like a pot of boiling pasta, waiting for me to froth and bubble over. I stared down at my burger, which I hadn’t even touched, despite being hungry, and felt my bottom lip tremble. Alissa glanced down at her phone, which was sitting on the table.

“Wow. You’re just four minutes in and already incapable of speech,” she observed. Her eyes sparkled. “Is it the RVP quivering in your cute little pussy, or is it the alligator clamps?”

I glanced down at my chest. The dress did absolutely nothing to hide the outlines and shadow of the alligator clamps. Both steel pincers were hanging from my nipples downward, tightly chewing on the tips of each breast. Alissa had waited till we’d parked before reaching over and pulling down the front of my dress. Both breasts fell out easily, hanging high, supported by the bunched up material. But Alissa didn’t just put the clamps on. No. She’d bent over and began licking each nipple in turn, hardening them until each one was puckered and wanting, before she attached each toothed clamp. It was both wonderful and excruciating and I moaned loudly when she’d done it.

“Both,” I said softly, acutely aware of both the pain and the pleasure streaming from separate parts of my body.

Alissa nodded. “Just sixteen minutes to go. Do you think you’ll cum again? After all, it’s only been about thirty minutes since your last explosion at the mall.”

I took a deep breath, cautiously of course, one that was laced with the harsh sting of the clamps and picked up my burger. Concentrating on eating actually seemed to help and I took a huge bite and began chewing methodically, even as the RVP spun and danced between my legs. Alissa watched with amusement as I tried to eat and fuck the machine strapped to my pussy at the same time, all without anyone knowing that was what I was doing.

“So, how are things with Julie?” She asked me a moment later.

I put down my burger and took a sip of my Diet Coke. “She’s fucking Mike.”

Alissa laughed and rolled her eyes. “Well yeah. Who doesn’t want to fuck Mike? I mean even I’ve had the pleasure of that man’s....” Her voice trailed off when she saw my face.

“What do you mean?” She asked suddenly.

My pussy tightened around the RVP as I answered. “She’s doing him when I’m not there is what I mean.”

Alissa blinked. “Oh. So she’s having him on the side?”

I nodded, resisting the urge to rock back and forth.

“I caught them two Saturdays ago when I showed up early for some playtime with her,” I said, my voice just a tad bit strained. “They were in the middle of it, and I think Julie might have been tied down.”

That made Alissa blink. “Wow. Really?”

I nodded. “Later, when they had me on the coffee table, she rode the wooden pony she’s got.”

Alissa’s eyes widened. “Oh. Wow. That’s really… um… is she allowed to do that?” Alissa asked curiously. “I mean, she’s a dominatrix for the Society. If they find out she’s submitting to a man…”

This tale of Breanne's is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM blog but can be read in full in Breanne's "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 14."  Check out the amazing antics of the "goddess of dark erotica." At Amazon.com!