Saturday, July 29, 2017

Punishment's Folly - Part One

“Well,” said Kari, stepping into the office. “That’s a look I can appreciate.” Her eyes focused on the peasant blouse, or possibly the two wooden clothespins that hung from my barely concealed nipples, the ends peeking out from under the mostly transparent material. The blouse, a pleated monstrosity with a single strand of elastic holding it in place above my breasts, didn’t do much more than keep my bosom from being immediately bare and the slightest gust of wind had a tendency to flip the whole thing up, forcing me to involuntarily flash my breasts to the whole freaking world.

I gave Kari a sour look. I wasn’t happy about the outfit, which was purely Julie’s fault. She’d texted me that morning, directing me to wear it. I’d have gone for something more conservative, despite the assigned punishment I was to endure that morning, but still. The peasant blouse? Why not just strip me naked?

“Are you ready?” Inquired Kari sweetly, coming around to check out my skirt. I’d worn the pleated blue one, the one that was too short to actually cover my ass, and I nodded.

“Yes, Kari. I’m ready,” I assured her. “The RVP is in, with fresh batteries, and as you can see,” I said, gesturing at my breasts. “I already have the clothespins on.”

“Mmmmm,” she hummed. “Yes. I like it when you’re proactive like this. Has it been hard, sitting here with your tender, little nipples crushed like that for so long?”

I swallowed and nodded, not wanting to admit that I’d put them on just a few minutes ago. I’m sexually crazy.

Not stupid.

“Turn on the RVP then,” she told me. “Both functions on low please. Thirty minutes. No cumming.”

I nodded. The remote was already out on my desk and I quickly activated it. Kari stayed to watch the immediate response and it certainly wasn’t disappointing. Inside me the four-inch-long synthetic cock spun up, wriggling around inside my desperate pussy like a chef’s spoon in a small pot. I gasped, eyes widening as the sensation incited a riot of pleasure. Then, just as quickly, the other motor in the Rotating Venus Penis started up, shaking lightly. The base of the RVP was pressed against my petals, and worse - my clitoris.

I’m a girl who is accustomed to sexual stimulation, but I admit that the one toy I consistently have trouble handling is the Rotating Venus Penis. I’ve had four of them, which shouldn’t be a referendum on their durability. I have a tendency to fuck to destruction. The latest incarnation was more solid, and had no wires. I liked that because it left out one additional way for Kari and Julie to humiliate the fuck out of me. Do you have any idea what it’s like to have someone look at you when you’ve got a bright pink or purple colored wire going up under your skirt, with a battery pack and control sticking into your waistband?

But as the RVP churned up to it’s lowest settings, my pussy tightened and I found myself gripping the desk, my entire body keyed to react. Thirty minutes is a long time and I realized that under the circumstances, I’d be lucky to last five. I glanced up at Kari, the panic on my face apparent, and she laughed.

“Too much, too soon?” She asked. “That’s what you get for being a naughty little slut,” she said snidely. “Out of curiosity, what did you do to deserve this particular punishment?”

I swallowed, my entire body shifting as the RVP did it’s magic dance between my legs. “You know that Wizard of Oz porn parody I’m writing?” I asked her. She nodded.

“I know of it. I haven’t read any,” she replied.

“Well, no one has,” I said roughly. “I mean had. Master William inquired about it and I’d sort of put it on a back burner. So I sent him the first part.” A surge of sexual energy shot through me and I let out a whimper. Control. It’s all about control. I looked back up at Kari. “He was disappointed that I only sent him part one.”

Kari crossed her arms over her chest. “Why?”

Another wave of absolute sexual lust rushed through me. And with all due respect, I should be forgiven for the lack of control. I hadn’t cum in six days for goodness’ sake!

“Why what?” I stammered.

Kari snapped her finger in front of my face. “Bre, concentrate. Why didn’t you send him the whole thing?”

I closed my eyes, swaying dangerously in my seat. “I… I… .it wasn’t finished,” I blurted out. Then I moaned. “It was a rough… rough… oh my God.” I realized I was panting. “Draft!”

Kari smiled. “Well then, don’t let me stop you. Get to work. Edit the first part and make sure everyone gets it. Start typing,” she ordered.

I blinked. “I… how can I write like this?” I gasped, my legs starting to tremble.

Kari shrugged. “It’s your normal state isn’t it?” She reached down, slid her right hand under the peasant blouse, and squeezed my breast, shaking the clothespin. That did not help.

“Come see when you cum. Now, write.” She let go of my boob and turned and walked away. Shaking, panting, aching, needing, I grabbed hold of the mouse and opened my documents file. Tons of half-finished assignment write-ups filled the screen, files and files of them. I opened my “fiction folder.” Only five items in there, none of them done, and I started to open “Bondage in Oz”.



The red-haired girl lay on the bed, eyes half closed as her fingers moved in lazy circles. A low moan came from parted lips and her back arched, the pale, white curves of her body writhing in self created ecstasy. Sunlight and a light breeze came in through the open window, pushing on the curtains that weren’t quite closed. She seemed lost in her own little world, legs parted with her toes just barely grazing the corners of the footboard, while her fingers moved from the swollen nub of sweet flesh at the cleft of her slit to the thick, black, cucumber sized phallus that waited patiently for another chance to feel her warm, sweet depths...

And then I exploded.  Three minutes. Well done, Bre.

Leaving the RVP on, I climbed out of my chair, wobbled slightly on the stripper shoes I was wearing and headed back down the hall. I walked into Kari’s office and the golden haired goddess I routinely worship glanced up at me. She didn’t seem surprised.

“That took longer than I expected,” she said with a grin. “Go to my art room and get one of the plastic rulers. Then go to the conference room and remove your RVP. You know how I want you,” she said with a smirk.

I swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Kari” I replied obediently. I turned tail and moved down the hall to her art room. It was cluttered, or at least appeared to be, but I knew that everything had a place. On the second shelf, in the back corner, was a jar full of rulers. There were wooden ones, plastic ones, short ones, foot and a half long ones, ones with holes, ones with slides, and even wide ones. I spent a moment trying to figure out which would be the least painful. I skipped the one with holes, and the wide one, and the long one, and instead selected a simple, smooth, straight, orange, plastic ruler.

It would do.

I turned tail. I wanted the RVP off because it was already churning me into another state. I wasn’t quite ready to pop, but if I didn’t get it turned off, I was certainly going to. That’s one of the problems to being multi-orgasmic. I’m the sort of girl that can just lurch from one orgasm to the next if left to my own devices, or left to the devices still on. The last thing I needed was to get myself all hot and bothered so that after the punishment I’d be in the same state I started.

I turned left in the hall, then took another right past the kitchen. That put me in the conference room, the largest space in the suite, dominated by a large, mahogany conference table and six, expensive, leather chairs.

The leather is treated frequently. Trust me.

I pushed one of the chairs at the end of the table out of the way and dumped the ruler on the surface. I went to remove the RVP, but realized that I’d left the damn control box at my desk. With a sigh of exasperation, I headed back down the hall, only to bump into Kari.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She asked me in surprise.

I blushed crimson. “I uh… I left the RVP controller on my desk.”

Her eyebrow went up. “I see. That’s earned you another five strokes.”

My eyes widened and she pushed me back down toward the conference room. “Go. Remove your RVP. I’ll fetch the controller and turn it off.”

She whirled and marched away and I took a deep breath. Alright. Back to the conference room. Extra strokes. Yay.

The RVP went quiet just as I walked back into the conference room and I quickly released the straps holding it to my slit. I pulled it out with a groan, the four-inch-long cock glistening with my cum. I set it aside. Kari came in a moment later.

“I thought you were supposed to be laying on the table, legs spread?” She asked, giving me a dark look.

My eyebrow went up. “Well, I was taking off the RVP,” I said as an excuse, gesturing at the toy now sitting in one of the extra chairs. “I was just about to climb up.”

Kari’s mouth twitched. “Unacceptable. That will earn you another five strokes.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “But you already are giving me an extra five strokes!”

She nodded, her mouth curling up into a wicked smile. “Yes, for being foolish enough to leave the RVP controls on your desk. This extra punishment is for not being on the table.”

For a moment our eyes met. Anger flooded through me, but only for a second. I looked away from the concentrated will and dominance in Kari’s eyes. I bowed my head with a muttered “yes, mistress.” Then I pressed my skirt clad bottom against the table and hopped up.

I slid across the highly oiled tabletop backward, until my calves bumped the edge. I knew it was highly oiled because Kari had removed my piercings the previous Wednesday, along with the padlock on my right nipple, and made me oil the entire table with just my breasts. Then she’d come in to supervise with the flogger. Bent over, rubbing my chest across the smooth surface, while she’d given my pantyclad ass a series of sharp smacks, had been highly stressful. The bondage cuffs on my wrists hadn’t come off until I was done, either.

But not today. Today I was still fully dressed. Well, sort of. As I slid up the table my skirt did some interesting things. Granted, it covered my ass better, but it also pulled the front upward, exposing my very pink, very wet, very wanton, little slit. The other issue was that I was now mostly horizontal. The peasant blouse was designed with gravity in mind, and now that I was flat on my back, or at least propped up on my elbows, the blouse fell upward, exposing the pink, clothespin-clad tips of each breast.

Kari picked up the ruler and moved down to the end of the table, between my feet, like a perverted obstetrician, her eyes glued to my gash.

“Spread your legs my dear. You’re getting ten for your punishment from Master William and ten from me.”

I drew my feet up and as I did, Kari pulled the stripper shoes off. That didn’t worry me too much. She was probably more concerned about marring her table than whacking the soles of my feet. She then pushed, bending my knees and setting my feet wide apart. She tapped my inner thigh, right above my pussy, with the ruler, leaving a light, but noticeable sting.

“Open up,” Kari demanded. “Further. Almost a Butterfly.”

I let my knees move outward. The butterfly position has the actor laying on her back, legs spread wide, except bent at the knees so that the soles of each foot are touching the other. What Kari wanted was sort of similar, except with my knees bent, legs spread wide. It doesn’t have a name, but if I were polled, I’d call it “Ouch” because the moment I adopted the position Kari requested, she raised the ruler and brought it straight down on my clit with a sharp crack of sound.

Then I said, “Ouch!”

Of course it came out more as a squeal and my bottom lifted up off the table and when my ass came back down my skirt was now a rumpled ring around my waist. My knees waved in the air as Kari looked down, and with both hands, snapped the plastic paddle against my pussy again.

“Owww!” I yelped, once more pushing my hips upward, lifting my ass off the table. I hissed as the sting began to morph into heat and Kari poked at my clitoris with the edge of the ruler.

“I have to ask,” Kari said. “If you truly understand the difference between punishment and torment.” The edge of the ruler moved back and forth, rubbing my clitoris. That didn’t hurt. Not one bit. In fact …

“That’s torment,” I gasped.

Kari hummed and the ruler changed orientation. Now she began tapping my clit. I clenched my pussy. She wasn’t technically hitting me. It didn’t even sting. But my God I sure as hell felt it.

“That’s torment too!” I whimpered.

“Very good,” Kari replied. Then she lifted the ruler about ten inches away from my pussy and brought it down hard and fast.

I let out a harsh cry and jerked half upright as the burning sting cause my knees to buckle and close. I twisted away, jamming a hand down between my legs, covering my pussy as the tears came to my eyes.

“And that?” She asked sharply. I clenched my eyes shut.

“Punishment!” I whimpered.

“That’s correct. “Now open up again.”

Slowly, over the next thirty seconds, I managed to regain my position. Kari stood above me, the villainous schoolteacher, intent on inflicting some serious discipline on her wayward, naughty student. I trembled like a leaf in a storm, but managed to get my legs open again. But I was crying.

I expected another blow, but instead she slipped two fingers into my pussy and began thrusting. I don’t think I need to explain how that felt. But just as I tightened around her digits, squeezing in response, she yanked her hand away and slapped the ruler down for the third blow, straight to my clit. It stung, but not as badly. I gasped, thrusting upward, the sting biting for two or three seconds before just becoming hot.

“Oh my God,” I whimpered.

Kari answered that little prayer by smacking my clit again.

And then again.

And once more.

I broke. My knees came together, I let out a choked sob and Kari waited patiently for me to recover. My pussy burned like hell and my clit felt swollen and raw. A minute passed, then another, and Kari became impatient.

“Open back up, Breanne.” She smacked the ruler against my leg, right where it meets the lower buttock.

Damn.

The ruler flicked again, this time stinging. She was spanking my ass. I rolled so that my bottom wasn’t quite as exposed, but this did exactly what she wanted. My legs opened up and before I could bring my knees together, she pushed two fingers deep and hard into my slit.

You know what? I have no fucking idea about definitions when it comes to torment and punishment, because her fingers curled and swirled inside me just as insidiously as the RVP had done. Her palm pressed against my clit and in seconds the pain of the swats was lost in a wave of pleasure so acute that I practically swooned. I gasped, moaned, whimpered, and thrust my hips up into her. I spread my legs again, offering myself up to her. I could feel another orgasm begin to blossom in the heat and movement, the thrust and pull, the fingers of my sweet well.

And then Kari’s hand stopped moving. She held her fingers still inside me and I squirmed.

“Please! Kari! Please! I’m so close!” I puffed.

“Punishment,” she said sweetly, yanked her hand out of me, and with the other, brought the fucking ruler down hard. Even before I could react to the scorching heat, I heard the crack of flat plastic striking wet flesh, mashing my folds down and biting into my clitoris. I threw my head back, cried out, and once more my knees slammed together.

I rolled onto my side, groaning in agony. It was so cruel!

Kari sat down in the leather chair and licked at her fingers while I lay there trembling.

“Do you know why I’ve been pleasuring you?” She asked me idly.

I sniffed. “So you can hurt me more?” I managed to reply

“Exactly. Hurt you more. Do you even understand what that means? I am literally using your own libido against you. If you weren’t constantly aroused, always wet, always wanting, I wouldn’t be able to do this to you.”  She paused. “Well, not as much. If I didn’t care how bady it hurt, I suppose I could still do this to you. But we’d need a gag.”

I felt her lean forward and the edge of the ruler touched my foot. The sole. Right in the middle. I twitched and pulled my foot away, but Kari grabbed my right ankle, holding it. The ruler came back, like a cutting edge. It tickled, almost. Maybe. Just barely. She dragged the corner along my sole. I couldn’t tell if it hurt, tickled, or felt good. I lay there, twitching.

“I hope you realize the gift you are. I certainly do,” Kari said, still driving me crazy with the edge of the ruler. “You are like the Ferrari of sex sluts.”

She slapped the ruler against my foot. “Now open back up. You’ve got like fifteen more swats to take.

And me, the stupid, nympho humiliation pain slut, did exactly as she asked.


Stay tuned for Part 2!



Breanne Erickson is the author of the BDSM Confessional Erotica series "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut. With over twenty novel-length works, Breanne is best known as the “goddess of dark erotica” a moniker bestowed upon her by Afterdark Online. Her witty repartee, honest narrative, and self-deprecating humor makes each “tale” seem like an entry into her personal diary, the ins and outs of a girl who can’t ever seem to get enough when it comes to sex. A prolific blogger on Michael Alexander’s BDSM Blog, Breanne continues to charm both men and women and serves as the prime example of what a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut can be when she puts her heart and soul into achieving her goals. Breanne's novels are available from Amazon.com, where we hope you will express your appreciation of her writing by buying and reviewing and even spreading the word about this amazing young lady!

Saturday, July 8, 2017

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.



07/06/17



I parked my car in the driveway and looked over at the bungalow style house. It had been several months since I’d last been to Mike’s place and I admit that I felt a little bit of trepidation as I stood before the brick and wood structure. Last time I was here he’d strapped me down to a piece of MDF covered plywood. Admittedly, the orgasms I’d endured were rather impressive, but Mike’s place was sort of a testing lab, where he indulged in creating devices designed to sexually torment women from one extreme to another. And since I was the most willing of all the masochistic submissives he knew, generally eager to mount whatever, godawful new thing he’d created, provided there was some reasonable assurance I wasn’t going to be leaving body parts lying around, I’d get a call.



I’m a human, sexual, guinea pig.    



The last time I’d gone to Mike’s place, I’d shown up wearing gym shorts and a tee shirt. Then I’d been thoroughly castigated for not dressing “slutty” enough. So this time, while still sitting in my car, I slipped out of my shorts and panties, tossed them into the front passenger seat, and then followed up with my top. That left me completely naked, and except for the ben wa balls I had stuffed inside me, all I still needed to do was slip my bare, little feet back into the flip flops and scurry my exposed ass up to the door.



Which I did.



I stood on his stoop, glancing back over my shoulder for less than twenty seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. Mike appeared, his eyes widening as he caught sight of me, then got even bigger when he realized that not only was I naked, there was no sign of my clothes. At all. He loomed in the doorway, blocking my entrance.



“Where are your clothes?” He asked.



I jiggled a little, impatient and just a little worried someone was going to call the cops about the girl violating the state’s public nudity laws in their neighborhood. “In the car. Can I please come in?”



He blinked. “Yes, but I’m curious. Why strip there?” He stepped back, letting me in. I scurried by.



“Because last time you gave me flack about being inappropriately dressed,” I retorted, moving out of the hall and into the living room. I was half scared I’d find another piece of MDF covered plywood, but this time the coffee table was just a coffee table and there weren’t any power tools or pliers immediately available.



“So this time you went with no dress at all,” he finished. I could see the gears turning. “Okay. I can deal with you being naked and showing up that way.” He gave me a smile and opened his arms. “How about a hug?”



I laughed and went to him. He was warm and the inside of his house was cool. “How about you jam yourself inside me and see if you can shoot me to the moon with just your spunk?” I replied good-naturedly.



Mike laughed and then let me go. “Well, as fun as that sounds, I need your help.” He gestured at the hallway. “In my workshop.”



I groaned. “Machine testing? Again?”



He nodded. “Hey. It could be worse. It could be the Iron Maiden, right?”



I sort of shivered when he said that. Mike had confessed to me that he’d created an Iron Maiden, a real one, except one designed not to kill the occupant. Instead of iron spikes, the inside of the chest piece was covered with long needles, each positioned to penetrate deep into a woman’s bosom, rather than cause massive internal trauma to her organs. Add a similar patchwork for the rear, and a crotch piece that would have tenderized the labia with a bristle brush pad of spikes, and you can understand my worry. I’m not into bleeding and this device would have seriously violated my personal limits.



And yet … I admit to a certain curiosity. I also knew that he’d designed it for one person in mind, measuring me specifically and then using a model to form the chest piece. It wouldn’t fit anyone else. Probably.



“It’s not the Iron Maiden, right?” I said cautiously.



Mike’s gaze softened. “Of course not Bre. You know I wouldn’t use that on you, not without your permission.” He shrugged. “But I do have something new that I’m calling a “Pressure Fucker.”



I screwed up my face. “Please tell me we aren’t going all water bondage?” I’ve been hosed before and while I can deal with it, that particular means of sexual torment isn’t my first choice.



He laughed. “No. No. No pressure washers. Just… well… wait and see!”



I sighed and then shook my head, dismissing protests and questions, and headed down the hall. Mike was a widower and while there were signs everywhere that Julie had practically moved in, the master bedroom was still a workshop, the walls lined with benches. The carpet had been removed, leaving a concrete pad exposed. In the very center, on a raised wooden platform, was a post.



It was adjustable in two spots. The bottom half was a metal casing, squared and smooth, and the middle portion could be raised or lowered as needed. An upper portion had a T shaped protuberance at the top and could also be adjusted with a few pins. But there were a couple of other features I immediately noticed; the first being the massager.



Hitachi massagers are a common sight on the BDSM scene. They are soft to the touch with their silicon bulbs, vibrate at a variety of speeds, and when pressed tightly to a woman’s clitoris and labia, can create some intense clitoral orgasms. There are even attachments that can provide penetration. They’re like pocket vibrators, or sybians. Well worth it if you ask me. I own two.



Mike had roughly secured one of these style massagers to the post, pointing upward on the second, adjustable height portion. A heavy leather belt was screwed in above the massager, making it clear that someone would be positioned against the post, with no option but to press herself against the bulb. The belt mean she wouldn’t be able to get free.



I leaned down to look at the bulb, suspicious, and Mike did as well, except he pointed with his big finger.



“So you’ll be bound to the post, facing it, so your pussy is grinding against the massager,” he explained simply. “I’ll turn it on and you can fuck yourself on it.”



“What’s the catch?” I demanded.



Mike looked uncomfortable, as if he didn’t want to actually tell me. “What catch?”



I waved my hand. “There’s a catch. There always is. So what’s the catch?”



He gave me a steady look, then sighed. He lifted his hand and put a single finger on the side of the Hitachi’s bulbed head. “Listen,” he said softly. Then he began pushing. The massager moved slightly and I heard a soft click. Then there came a second click, followed by a third. And a fourth. When the fifth click came the edge of the massager was actually touching the post itself.



“It clicks,” I said sarcastically. “Cool!”



Mike gave me a frustrated look. “Actually, it’s a pressure switch.”



Suddenly, the name “Pressure Fucker” began to make more sense. He didn’t mean water pressure. He meant the pressure my hips were going to apply to the massager as I mashed my clit up against it. Realization dawned on me. A switch meant current going somewhere else. Redirected current meant utilization. When you flip a switch on the wall, chances are the light is going to come on. Or a fan. Or...



A switch on one of Mike’s machines meant something infinitely worse.



He straightened up. “Let’s get you on it,” he said brightly.



“What does the switch do?” I asked hesitantly.



Mike grinned. “You’ll find out. Stand up straight.”



I rose warily and he grabbed my arm. “I have to admit, it’s convenient you showing up naked. Here, just step up right here.”  He manhandled me into position and I found that he must have preset the height of the post. The bulb of the massager touched my clit in just the right spot, with the side of the bulb spreading my petals open. For the fun of it, I pushed forward slightly with my hips and heard the clicking noise. It didn’t take much force at all and I found that I could mash the bulb against the post very easily. Worse, it felt good to do it, like I was humping something soft.



Mike wrapped the leather belt around my waist and began buckling it. It felt like hands holding me up.



“Will that keep me from pushing on the massager?” I asked, now feeling a lot more hopeful. Already my pussy was wet and even off, the silicon head rubbing against my clit felt amazing. Sure, my little wanton thrusts were accompanied by a series of clicks as the massager moved through a ten degree arc, but who cared?



“No. The belt just makes sure you can’t get away from the massager,” Mike replied.



I giggled. “Why would I want to get away?” I said with a grin. “It feels amazing. Can’t wait till you turn it on!”



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!