Jackhammered

Kari gave me a look of consternation as she walked up to the office building. I was leaning against the wall, right near the outer door, arms crossed over my chest, a look of smug satisfaction on my face. She herself was dressed in blue jeans, a gray designer tee shirt with some sort of black crest on, and a button up over shirt that she’d artfully left open. Dark, brown, leather boots finished the outfit and looked far too expensive to get dirty.

I, on the other hand, had been requested to wear something a little different from my classier, goddess of a boss. Instead of blue jeans, my creamy white legs were exposed, my loins jammed into a pair of extremely short, denim shorts, so tight that anyone looking at my sticks had to wonder how blood was circulating. Instead of a tee shirt, my boobs were covered with a blue, almost translucent bikini top, the bottoms of which were back at my apartment. My feet were jammed into a pair of decent work boots, cowgirl style, and I wore my hat to ward off the sun.

Oh yeah - and I had on one other thing. A similar shirt as Kari - a button down the front, cotton long sleeve, except while hers was exposing the tee shirt, mine was tied just under my breasts, doing a better job of concealing my curves than the blue swimsuit. She didn’t even bother to say good morning.

“That’s going to cost you,” Kari warned, eyeing my attire. I sighed and gestured around.

“You wanted me to stand in front of the office, with my tits hanging out?” I protested.

Kari gave me a stern look. “Yes. That’s exactly what I wanted. Is the RVP on at least?”

I gave her a blank stare, but inside I was feeling a tremor of fear. Slowly I shook my head. I hadn’t turned on the sex toy because I knew I couldn’t handle it. Even on low it would only be a matter of an hour before I popped, both loudly and wetly.

Kari frowned. “On. Now. On high.”

The blush on my face faded as I went white. “Kari? Please. Not high,” I begged softly, glancing around again.

Kari pretended to look thoughtful. “Perhaps I’ll allow you to suffer one of the functions on low,” she said amiably. She leaned in, an angry look on her face “If you take off that goddamned shirt.” Then she smiled warmly again.

Mental torment is kind of Kari’s specialty. Okay, technically “Breanne Torment” is her specialty. But I shrugged out of the shirt, exposing my bikini bound boobs, and handed her the shirt. She took it smugly, then stared at me until I plucked the wired controller for the RVP out of my back pocket, the pink wire disappearing into my waistband in a very obvious and disturbing manner, meant to make someone look. I held out the little box and she pulled on it, forcing me a step closer via the control wire.

“Brace yourself,” she said softly. Then she cranked up the controls to maximum.

Beneath the extremely tight denim of my shorts, jammed directly against my clitoris, was the proboscis of a bug shaped piece of plastic. About the size of my palm, this plastic formed the base of a particular sex toy called a Rotating Venus Penis, which consisted of two separate motors, one which vibrated the entire toy from end to end, and another which caused a four inch long, silicon covered, slightly off-set phallus, to rotate at various speeds. In short, the damn thing cause two very separate and extreme sensations. I’ve likened it to being butter churned during an earthquake. On the lowest setting I’m good for an hour, maybe an hour and a half. On medium you can expect me to cum in ten to fifteen minutes. On high?

Don’t bother going to get popcorn. I’ll be climaxing before you get back.

I stiffened, eyes wide, mouth half open as the rushing earthquake between my legs started up, easily audible through the single layer of denim separating the motors and everything around me. My clit, sensitive, slightly swollen, and suffering from a full fourteen hours of denial, was pressed directly against the RVP base. That translated into an immediate urgency of sexual need. My knees swung in together and buckled, and I groaned as I pressed my thighs to each other, twisting as the four inch cock inside me began a maelstrom like movement, stirring the pot with single-minded intensity.

Kari plucked her keys out of her purse and gave me a winsome smile. “I need to get something out of the office,” she said simply. “You can wait her for me.”

I croaked out some sort of acknowledgement, my teeth locked together as I struggled not to make any noise. Then Kari pushed past me, opened the door to the atrium, and disappeared inside, leaving me to dance.

For the first three minutes I was alone and I’m not sure why I tried to hold off, to resist the incessant stimulation. Maybe if I’d just gone along and cum, teasing my own nipples, or hell, even exposing myself, baring my breasts and pinching each pierced nipple lightly, I’d have gotten through it enough so that when Mr. Thompson, the attorney on the third floor, pulled into the parking lot, I’d have been able to stand straight, ignore my near nudity, and greet him with a controlled smile. Instead, he climbed out of his Lexus, strolled across the lot straight toward me, his mouth curled up in a grin.

“Good morning, Breanne. Are you okay?” He asked with a knowing look. My reputation around the building isn’t exactly pristine.

I swallowed hard, the orgasm threatening to burst through and I realized that trying to hold back from jumping off that cliff was not going to work. I looked up at him, panic in my eyes as I nodded, my fake, three million watt, please fuck me stupid smile, writ large upon my face. My voice came out high pitched.

“Oh! Good morning, Mr. Thompson! I’m fine!” I gasped, bending slightly at the waist as another storm surge of acute pleasure hit me like a hurricane’s wave. I wished, with all my heart, that he’d just go on in, leaving me alone, so that I could jam a knuckle into my mouth, scream in rapture, and fall to the ground bucking.

“I have to admit that your outfit is quite nice. Going swimming today?” He asked pleasantly, as if we were just chatting. The sparkle in his eye told me outright that he knew exactly what was happening. He was waiting for it. But something inside me resisted. I didn’t want him witnessing my loss of control.

“Demolition day,” I said, stifling another groan. “We’re tearing out two retaining walls and a sidewalk, along with a lot of landscaping.”

The rest of this story is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but is available for purchase, contained in Breanne Erickson's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 16."  Get it now at Amazon.com!

Décolletage

I gripped the edge of my desk with white fingers and stared out through the glass. The atrium had been unusually busy that morning, though thankfully none of the passersby had been clients of Kari Anders and her interior design firm. Most of them hadn’t even been walking directly by the transparent walled front of our little corner of the building’s ground floor. Instead I’d watched in stressed terror as each person had crossed the wooden bridge spanning the small, inside, faux creek that bubbled its way from one side of the lobby to the other, all to visit the touchscreen directory.

God, I hated that directory. While it was on the opposite side of the atrium from where I was sitting, a simple look to the right would reveal a somewhat pretty, but very cute redhead, sitting at a desk, fairly well illuminated by the lighting, wearing an outfit more suitable for a pornoflick entitled “Slut Secretaries”. That morning was no different.  

My hips were grinding as I sat there in front of my laptop computer and I was paying absolutely no attention to the words on the screen. My chest was heaving and my thoughts continually went down to the tips of each breast, where a pair of not-to-tight rubber rings had been placed behind each hoop piercing. They were effectively clamps of a sort, but not the kind I was used to. They didn’t hurt. At all. Instead they just made my nipples feel as if someone were holding on to them, not to mention making my bosom look grotesque, what with the gold hoops and padlock now all sticking out. The skin-tight blouse left absolutely nothing to the imagination either. It might as well have been transparent.

The fact that my skirt was around my hips was deliberate. I’d been worried about a wet spot. When Kari had told me to lower my panties down to my ankles and let the chair keep the Monster Vibrator in my pussy, I knew instinctively what she planned to do with the twelve inch long plastic rod. And I’d been right. Even before she got back to her desk the damn thing had been spinning up, rumbling with all three motors, vibrating in a complicated and sophisticated pattern, surrounded by my very wet slit, teasing me. Pushing me. Or tormenting me. Now I could feel the sodden swamp between my legs and there was no doubt my fine, leather chair was going to need a serious wipe down when I finally was permitted to get up.

My eyes went left and right as I neared both orgasm and panic. This was not the time to have someone come up. A series of spasms rocked me again and I resisted the urge to plunge a hand down between my legs to rub my clit, or reach up and tug my shirt down, just to tease or pinch a nipple. My knees hit the desk drawer sides, as wide apart as I could get them. My sex tightened rhythmically around the long, plastic rod inside me, pulsing with a dark, wet need so strong that I was slinging my hips back and forth, making both the chair, and even the desk, rock. I kept as close to the edge as I could, trusting in the lack of light between my thighs, to keep my open legs, not to mention the vibrator, invisible to anyone glancing over. Thank God Kari has never purchased a dildo with little lights on it. Wouldn’t that be obscene?

After an hour’s worth of torment, I was finally cumming. I closed my eyes and let out a low, high pitched whine that I knew would be audible down the hall and in Kari’s office. Then the release came, with no one standing at the directory, or in front of me, and in relief, I let the sensation overwhelm me.

Orgasm is one of those things that come in different intensities. Most people get into a comfortable range where they feel the euphoric bliss, along with a momentary happiness. I have those too, usually by myself, using just my fingers or a dildo, laying in my own bed, in private. They’re nice. They relax me. They feel good.

But those aren’t the normal kind of orgasms I experience. See, there are ways to intensify those sensations, to supercharge them, and Kari knows which of those “intensifiers” to inflict upon me. I thought making me wear my panties down around my ankles was particularly evil. I mean, anyone looking over would have seen that and wondered. And the rubber rings around the tips of my breasts? I couldn’t keep my thoughts off my tits. Of course, the pattern of the motors going on and off in the Monster Vibrator wasn’t easy to bear either.

So yes, the orgasm was turbulently fervent and I heard knuckles rapping on the glass.

My eyes snapped open to see Jose, our building’s dayporter, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, standing at the window. The man seemed to have a sixth sense about when I was having moments like this and he pointed downward, under the desk, and then gave me the thumbs up sign.

That’s when the second wave of my orgasm hit. Because the only thing more intensifying than the risk of being humiliated in such a way, is to actually get caught doing it. Even if it was Jose.

I groaned and trembled while Jose pretended to wash the lower half of our office’s windows, no doubt enjoying the view of my vibrator stuffed snatch, at least what he could see of it. I felt the juices pouring out of me, seeping back along my bottom and when the last bit of my climax left me breathless I let out a soft groan and folded, putting my head down on the desk. The vibrator slowed, tingled, and then went silent.

Kari knew I’d cum.

“Breanne? Breanne? Can you please come here?” Kari called out from the back.

I raised my head. Jose was still cleaning the window and I couldn’t help it. I closed my legs. He gave me a disappointed frown and I reached down, grabbing my panties and pulling them up my calves. His eyes widened and then brightened as I stood up and he got to see everything for just a moment as I pulled my panties back into place, letting the lace crotch catch hold of the vibrator. I tugged my skirt back down, ignoring the wetness of my thighs. Again I got a beaming smile and a thumbs up sign, like I was some sort of trucker. I sighed, opened a drawer, pulled out a package of wet wipes, and tried to clean up the mess in my chair. A minute later I turned down the hall and swung my stuffed hips down toward Kari’s office.

Kari’s office is as exquisite as the woman who sits in it. One is a mixture of natural woods, golds, and reds, while the other mimics the scheme with a crimson suit, jade colored jewelry, and long, straight, gold locks that frame her face. She looked up at me when I waddled in and smiled.

“How did that one feel?” She asked. About two weeks before she’d asked me to starting rating orgasms in an effort for her to better understand my perversions. We’d done a little experimenting and I swallowed.

“That was a seven,” I said with embarrassment. It was already becoming readily apparent that the more public my orgasms the stronger they were. This matched with another reality - that mixing a little pain with the explosion roused my ardor just as much. Now Kari was joking about a public pussy whipping. The only thing that kept me from worrying about it was that I knew such an act would be illegal.

Kari nodded. “Well, good. Please go to the conference room and bare your breasts.” She picked up her cellphone and began pressing the screen.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

She glanced back up and nodded toward my chest. “Your tits. Bare them. But don’t take off the shirt. It will stretch.”

I was about to say something snippety, but the vibrator in my pussy began buzzing again. Softly. I let out a short groan and put my hand to my crotch, giving her one of those “are you kidding me?” looks.

But Kari ignored me. Instead she tapped the phone again and this time the Monster Vibrator inside me began a pattern where the base shook violently, then revved down as the middle motor took over, only to downshift as the top motor buzzed impressively. It was like a wave inside me. Not enough to push me right back up to the mountain top, but more than enough to make it clear that my torment was not even remotely over. Whimpering, I left Kari’s office and turned left, heading for her conference room.

Maybe, just maybe, I was overthinking things. Maybe she just wanted to remove the rubber bands surrounding each of my nipples. I mean, that would require me to bare my breasts. As I entered the conference room I grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled the tight, stretchy material downward. The collar was cut in a V neck, one that went disturbingly low, leaving a great deal of cleavage showing. I wasn’t wearing a bra because the shirt didn’t need one. Besides, as tight as it was, and white too boot, any bra I wore would have been obvious.

So with my tits hanging out, nipples tingling from the red rubber encircling them behind each piercing, I waited for my mistress.

It took five minutes. Five minutes of standing there, legs pressed together, trying not to let myself get too worked up due to the Monster Vibe dancing between my legs. When Kari walked I snatched my hands away from my bare breasts and gave her a guilty look.

She laughed. “Like the way those feel?” She asked curiously.

I nodded. “They’re not as bad as regular clamps,” I said. “They don’t hurt, but they’re tight and tingly. They make me think about my breasts all the time.”

Kari gave me a slightly sympathetic look. “Well, sorry that has to change,” she said, holding up a pair of curved snips. “But we’re about to free your nipples. At least for a little while.”

I sighed. This also was something we’d been doing fairly often at the office. One the elastic nipple rings went on, they were hard to get off considering each of my breasts were pierced with gold hoops. Even if Kari unlocked the padlock on my right tit, getting the rubber band off my nipple was exceedingly difficult. So Kari had taken the most expeditious route. She cut them off.

I gasped as she carefully worked one blade of the scissors underneath the elastic and cut it. Then the tight grip around my right areola lessened and I let out a sigh. Kari took care of the other side with equal skill and a moment later she was tossing the remnants of my nipple bands on the table.

I sighed in relief.

“Now we’re going to put these on,” Kari said. She reached into the pocket of her blazer and my stomach tightened up into a dark, terrified little knot as I saw the steel pincers come out. Up until Christmas of last year, I’d have said that without a doubt, the worse clamps anyone could put on my nipples were the plier-edged clover clamps with the long chain between them. But for Christmas I’d gotten a new set, also altered with filed ridges to prevent slipping. Except this one didn’t have a long chain. It had a short one.

Of just four inches.

“Please press your breasts together,” Kari said simply.

Tears filled my eyes. I knew what was coming. But even as I brought my hands up, pressing my boobs against each other so that my cleavage was a thin, dark line, I began to blubber. “Please Kari! Please don’t do this to me! Not today!”

Her fingers pinched open the first clover clamp even as I let out a whimper and it pinched both deliciously and painfully on my right nipple, behind the gold ring. She put it on from the inner side and tugged on the chain, stretching it across to my other tit. Then, without another word of sympathy, and in spite of my entreaties, she let the second clover clamp tighten on my left nipple. With her nod, I let go of my breasts and groaned as the pain shot through my top half. This ricocheted around with the swirls of pleasure still streaming up from the Monster Vibrator. Perhaps that had been Kari’s attempt at easing the torment?

“There now,” she said simply. “How does that feel?”

“Awful,” I said with a teary-eyed sniffle. “It hurts.”

“It’s supposed to,” Kari said. “You know that this was part of the requirements from the board of review.”

I tried glaring at her, but the reality was that once more I was being torn in half. Everything below my waist was in the throes of sexual wonderland, while everything above was tearing at it. The resulting mixture was confusing, arousing, and terrible.

“Do I need to go get my dildo?” I asked softly.

Kari shook her head. “Not today. Different plan.”

Again she reached into her blazer pocket, pulling out two small items. One was a bottle, no bigger than her thumb. She held it up and uncapped it, only to squeeze out maybe a quarter teaspoon of oil right onto my chest, at the top of the dark crevasse between my clamped tits. I gasped as the oil seeped down through the crack.

This too I was expecting, but what happened next bewildered me, at least for a moment. Kari reached down, grabbed the hem of my skirt, and lifted it upward. Then I groaned as her hand found my sex, caressed me right through my panties, and then without even a word of warning, slipped the lace aside, grabbed the base of the still gently purring Monster Vibe, and pulled it completely out of my slit.

“Oh!” I whispered, suddenly understanding. The Monster Vibe sounded incredibly loud as it hummed in the open air. Kari brought it up and I stared at the purple, foot long, tube covered in girl goo. Then Kari tipped it over like a ballistic missile heading for its target. I closed my eyes as it fell, the tip finding the exact same spot she’d poured the oil, pushing down through my clamped boobs.

With a four inch chain, there was no play in the bonds holding my tits together. And since the clamps were steel, and the vibrator plastic, there was no elasticity to either substance. So the only thing that could give way was me. The vibrator pushed on my breasts, making it feel like my nipples were being ripped off even more, shaking at the same time.

Oh my goodness it hurt!

Then Kari produced the second object she’d pulled from her blazer pocket. Her hands went back down between my legs and I gasped as she tugged my panties out, only to clamp my clitoris. The pendant that hung from the clamp was pressed up between my petals and I felt her switch it on. Sweet purring vibrations surged up through my pussy, making me gasp. It felt … it felt … well, I wish I could say incredible, but it hurt too much. And yes. Incredible too. Oh my God. Everything was just so concentrated!

“There,” Kari said, licking her finger as she let my panties snap back up, covering my pubis.

I stood there shaking as the Monster Vibe made my boobs oscillate, which made my nipples tingle in agony, which made my pussy tighten, even though there was nothing to tighten around. I thrust my hips, denied the simple act of being full. And for a girl who is normally stuffed, that is just a cruelty.

“H-h-how long?” I stammered, my entire body trembling with the strain.

Kari took a deep breath, clearly admiring the tension running through every inch of my being. “I think until you cum again.” She reached out, took hold of my shirt, and brought it back up to cover my breasts, clamps and chain and all. The stupid Monster Vibrator’s base sticking an inch up out of my décolletage.

I stood there, a wet, shaking tube, stuck down my cleavage, my nipples throbbing with pain, the nipples distended and looking grotesque under the tight, white material of the shirt. My lace panties didn’t do much to hide the purple pendant attached to my clit, or the fact that it was nestled between the lips of my sex. Kari unrolled my skirt, smoothing it down as I trembled.

“Yes. Until you cum,” she said simply.

I mewled. “But, but, but there’s nothing inside me!” I whined.

Kari stepped close, close enough for our noses to almost touch. “I know,” she whispered. “That’s what’s so wonderful and cruel about it!” She said. Then her mouth came down on mine and she kissed me, kissed me with a passion that was almost as hot as what she’d done to me that morning. She broke away breathless, eyes sparkling. “Cum for me, Breanne. But not too soon,” she amended as she took a step back, as if telling herself to resist me, to resist the urge to take me, to hurt me more, to make me hers, as if there were anyway I couldn’t be that already.

Then she smiled. “It would be fun to take you out to lunch, just like that.” Then she turned and walked away, leaving me to sag against the table, rattled, burning, wet, and aching.

Cumming? I let out a slow, terrible groan.

Not for a long time.

 

Breanne Erickson is the author of  "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut" - a wild and amazing series of adventures by everyones' favorite "goddess of dark erotica." Breanne's funny, sexy, and bdsm-centric confessionals continue to titillate and excite readers across the globe. Check out her amazing books at Amazon.com and come along on a wild ride with WEEKS of erotica escapades!

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