Thursday, May 5, 2016


Monday, May 2, 2016

“Strip,” Julie said darkly, crossing her arms. Her eyes were narrowed as she studied me and I had this mental image of her slowly tearing newspaper into long, thin strips. I suppressed a shudder and began peeling off my clothes. It wasn’t a strip tease either. I shucked out of the skirt and blouse with almost industrial efficiency. Most of the lights in the large room were off, giving the space an even more cavernous feel than usual. Five chairs, all of them thick, comfortable, and most of them occupied, sat in a circle around the single illuminated spot in which I stood and the smiling faces of those watching made it clear that they were happy with both Julie’s dangerous tone and my growing exposure.

I was understandably nervous. It had been over a week since I’d endured any kind of serious sexual torment. My time of the month had necessitated a certain amount of recovery time in which the various bruises and welts that normally cover specific portions of my anatomy had faded and even disappeared. That left my skin looking creamy white and an extra three days of light teasing had left me breathless for attention. I’d begged Julie to do something about it she’d only laughed manically, as if something were already in the works. Later that evening she’d swung by the apartment, a babysitter in tow, only to practically kidnap me. The drive to the warehouse that harbored the meeting room of the Society of the Golden Rose had been uneventful, even though the tension was palpable. Though I admit that the small coven of trucks and cars in front at that late hour was definitely a concern.

Yet I knew almost everyone there. Mike the Hardware Guy sat in the first chair, his massive girth and well-trimmed beard appealing as usual. He was wearing blue jeans and a polo shirt, the massive leather belt that encircled his waist thick and supple. Next to him, looking almost scrawny by comparison was Zach, my friend from the university. Zach was not a small man, though he was long rather than wide like Mike, his clean-shaven chin pointed and narrow. In the third chair sat Nick, a scruffy looking guy who was mostly average in everything but the streak of cruelty that lanced through every sexual thing he did. Nick was the guy who liked to take me to the edge, push me over, and then watch me dangle from the edge while squealing. In the fourth seat was the only person I didn’t know. A woman sat there, thin and dark, in her early forties. She was wearing sunglasses, which gave her a sinister look that complimented that black suit she wore. Expensive pumps adorned each foot and a gold necklace drew the eye downward to a conservative, but intriguing cleavage.

“Go on. Remove every bit of your clothing,” Julie urged me, the quirt in her hand snapping forward. The small strip of braided leather on the end, no longer than eight inches, slashed at my rump. The black mini-skirt I wore wasn’t thick enough to keep the sting of the thin strip of rawhide from making me jump and I gasped as my hands shot up to the first button of my shirt. My fingers flew and a second later I was pulling the white lace apart. Underneath I wore a bra colored electric pink. Before your eyebrows go through the roof, I just want to state for the record that I wasn’t responsible for choosing the color. Julie had selected it, wanting something that would show through the thin material of the white and mostly translucent shirt. I tossed my top to the floor and then shoved both thumbs into the waistband of my skirt, pushing the material down my bare legs, right toward the black strap on sandals I was wearing. The skirt got tangled on one of the high heels, but I kicked it away, making sure that the bra matching panties were in plain view. For a second I looked at Julie, wondering if “strip” meant all of it or just some of it. The glare I got encouraged me to fumble behind my back.

A moment later my bare breasts hung in plain view, both hard tips capped with a gold hoop that pierced the soft, pink flesh. On my right breast also hung a gold padlock. It was small, no bigger than my fingernail, and it sported a black enameled outline of a rose with gold petals. I couldn’t help wondering what the various dominatrixes would say if they knew one of their collared submissives was giving a private showing to three guys and an unknown woman.

Julie swung the quirt again, striking me lightly across my panty clad bottom. “All of it slut,” she ordered imperiously, walking around me. The thick plush carpet absorbed the sound of her footsteps. Her high heels were just as dangerous as my own, though her mini-skirt was made of leather and her corset was tight enough that what little bosom she had was ballooned up, creating this tiny ledge of white perfection.  With my own rather full and ponderous breasts swinging as I tossed my bra aside, my hands darted down to the pink cotton panties and peeled them down, revealing the clean shaven pinkness of my own folds, already dripping wet, the sweet petals parting to reveal an inviting, warm, and ridiculously moist crevasse. I couldn’t help but wonder how many of those watching thought about slipping something into me at that point.

The quirt snapped against my bare bottom and I let out a tiny squeal. Julie didn’t really hit me hard, just with enough force to get my undivided attention. “Spread your legs wide, slut.” Her words still felt hard and merciless and I took a single step to the side, widening my stance and exposing even more fully the slit between my ivory colored thighs.  Julie stepped around me as I began to bring my hands up behind my head, adopting a pose by rote rather than by order. I felt the quirt rub against me, not the braided leather strand but the flexible cane part. It slid over my buttocks, down the inside and back of my leg, only to come up along the front, between my thighs, to rub against my sex. Julie sawed the stick between my petals and I groaned, lubricating the full length of the cane as she tormented me.

I moaned and wriggled like a good little girl should, when standing naked with her body on display, a carbon fiber cane rubbed deliciously between her legs. I swung my hips and made lewd and lascivious full body gestures that would have won me a place on any strip club stage. My audience seemed to like it, from Mike’s expression of pride and satisfaction to the hungry piranha-like smirk on the unknown woman’s face. Zach cast an appreciative eye on me and Nick looked like he was half ready to come up off his seat, snatch up the quirt and quietly beat me.

“Bend over and touch the floor with your fingers,” Julie ordered, stepping back as she pulled the quirt away from my dripping sex. I knew there was a table behind us, along with a cloth covered cart. The table held two items and since I’d been ordered to bring them, it wasn’t with any surprise that I pulled my hands from the back of my neck and folded myself in half. I bent over, my ass high in the air. I saw and sensed movement and Julie came close again. I noticed the quirt was gone and in its place was a thick and solid phallus, six and a half inches long, made of a slick and shiny rubber, with strange ridges and sharp looking nodules spaced evenly along its length. It disappeared from view but I knew just a moment later where it was pointed. Julie pushed it through my petals, rubbing it up and down, pressing it against my clitoris, rubbing me with tiny circles until my body coated the thick toy with enough juice to leave it slimy. Julie just didn’t torment me with it either. No, she thrust it in deep, driving the six inch long phallic probe hard into my depths, pumping until my bottom half tightened in response and I let out a mewling whimper of pleasure. I began panting as my body became sharply aroused, pressurized into a sexual tension that demanded relief. It was only then that she tugged the thick and now fully oiled toy from my pussy, only to move it a few centimeters higher and drive it in deep. I let out a wide-eyed gasp as my entire body rocked, the tapered end of the Thrusting Anal Vibrator disappearing into my body, but up what I considered the completely wrong hole. Julie continued to push and I struggled to maintain my composure, to keep my bottom relaxed and accepting. More and more of the rubber coated length went in until I felt like I was a cucumber having my seeds removed. A dull pang of discomfort swirled up from my bottom and then the probe settled itself.

There is something totally humiliating about being butt-fucked in front of people. There is some instinctive realization that the anus is an exit, not an entrance. Those of us who are forced to accept such brutal degradation are immediately branded in the eyes of others as submissive, weak and worthless for anything but sexual use. I stood there, legs still spread wide, braced with my hands flat on the floor while Julie patted the base of the Thrusting Anal Vibrator. Her fingers danced on the controls and the whole thing began quivering inside me.

“Stand up straight,” she said, even as I felt the end of the Thrusting Anal Vibe jerk. The toy lengthened inside me, literally fucking me all by itself. I unfolded my torso and again put my hands behind my head, interlacing the fingers, already tightening up as the sex toy jerked and wriggled in my ass. I didn’t care for it but I had no option. Julie was already grabbing the Monster Vibrator, a twelve inch long tapered pipe, bringing it around to the front and rubbing it along the opposite hole. I groaned as she deposited maybe three inches of plastic into my aching, wanton pussy, only to pull it out and hold it up to my mouth.

“Open up. Lick it,” she demanded. I did, the taste of my own arousal thick and oily on the surface of the foot long toy. My tongue swirled around the outside of the plastic and then it began to tremble, vibrating in response to the whirling but strategically off-set motors trapped within. Julie pulled the shaft away from my mouth and pressed the tip to my chin. I whimpered softly as she pulled it down my body, making sure to go over my left nipple, under the curve of my breast, across my belly and then pressed against my clitoris. In seconds I was again panting like a wild beast in heat. Only then did she push the wet phallus up into me, sliding all twelve inches of rumbling plastic into my depths. I groaned, my hips pumping lewdly and holding the vibrator in with a single finger, she gave me a wicked smile.

“Close your legs. Tight.”

I did, both grateful and disappointed. I’m a girl who relishes the sensation of being open, of exposure. I like the strain of stretched muscles, of my thighs exposed, especially the soft inner bits. And yet I was pleased because keeping in the Monster Vibrator would have been a difficult challenge had I not been allowed to squeeze my legs together. I was just too aroused, too wet to manage such a feat. Julie retrieved a black leather belt and in seconds had it wrapped around my legs at mid-thigh, pulling it tight. I trembled and almost toppled as Julie buckled it, leaving me with merely a single pedestal to maintain my upright position. Julie produced a pair of black padded bondage cuffs, the dark dyed leather matching the shadows behind me. The silver metal buckle and loop shined brightly under the single spotlight from above and Julie wasted no time in getting the bondage gear around my wrists. A moment later she clipped the cuffs together in front of me and then used an electric remote to lower a chain. I heard it rattling above me and I glanced up.

“Hands above your head, slut.” Julie pointed at the chain and I lifted both hands up simultaneously thanks to the cuffs. Without another word Julie attached my wrists to the chain, leaving only an inch or two dangling against my arm. She grabbed the remote again and a moment later my arms were drawn upward, higher and higher. Then I felt the pull on my shoulders and body as I was swung forward. My feet bent as my toes scrabbled for the ground and my entire body went taut as most of my weight was suspended above me. I found my balance, my toes aching as I struggled to stand. I must have cut quite the figure stretched out like that. The heels of my shoes, as long as they were, didn’t touch the floor.

Julie knelt down and began unbuckling my sandals, tossing them away to leave me barefoot. I helped, just a little, lifting one foot at a time, even kicking a bit to get the shoes off my soles. I shuddered and moaned as she caressed the bottoms of each foot individually. But then she rose and backed away, joining the others. For a moment those gathered admired me. I stood there, bathed in light, a sheen of perspiration forming on my brow, dancing on tiptoe, the starkness of my ribs standing out, my heavy breasts dangling in front of me, all while my hips silently churned to the music of the double vibrators buzzing within my loins. The Thrusting action of the anal vibrator was incredibly difficult to handle in any meaningful way, especially since it was moving in me like a wild thing on steroids. Add to that the buzzing intensity of the foot long monstrosity in my pussy and you can imagine what I was going through.

Julie leaned in, eyes burning with delight. “Don’t cum.”

Yeah. Oh. Right. That’s funny, because there was absolutely no fucking way I was going to be able to not NOT cum.

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!

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