Saturday, August 19, 2017

Oil Slick

When I opened the door leading into the atrium, the blast of cold air felt good upon my skin. It was early, too early actually, and the building was still quiet, drifting out of the sleepy emptiness of night. The other office on the ground floor was dark, as was the small lobby belonging to the interior design firm that catered to the ultra elite and idiotically rich of the city's wealthier denizens.

The decor for the atrium looked like it was stuck in the 1980’s, though I admit that I really liked it. The tile was dark, a rich brown color that looked like glazed pottery. Cut through the center, from one corner to the other, was a faux riverbed, complete with tropical plants, a real, flowing creek with actual water, some goldfish, and a small, wooden bridge that was more ornamental than functional. After all, you could have hopped over the creek itself.

I moved easily through the atrium, toward the interior design firm tucked away into the back right hand corner. My purse was slung over my right shoulder, while a brown sack with rope handles dangled heavily from my left hand. The slapping sound of my flip flops striking the bottoms of my feet seemed to echo through the chamber, just barely louder than the babbling of the tiny brook.

I looked around, surprised that I was unobserved. I was ridiculously early, but for the first time in quite awhile, Jose, our day porter, didn’t happen to be loitering around to watch me come into work. I wondered if I had beaten him in, an uneasy feeling starting in my stomach. I reached the door of Kari’s offices, bent down to unlock it, and was then scared out of my wits when Jose appeared out of nowhere, grinning down at me, cooing at me in his sing song voice.

“Breaaaaannneeee! Look you!!” He sang, gesturing down at me with wild and unbelieving eyes. He gestured at my clothes again, a look of astonishment on his face and I let out a relieved chuckle. I knew what he was trying to imply. I was dressed. Or at least nothing sexual was hanging out. I finished unlocking the door and stood up, giving him a smile. I crooked a finger.

“Necesito tu ayuda,” I said softly, glancing around, giving him a little eyebrow wiggle that clearly meant “follow me and have something tasty.” No one else was in the atrium. I watched as Jose’s eyes widened with excitement and he bobbed his head eagerly. This wasn’t the first time I’d been alone with the man so there weren’t any questions asked, in English or Spanish. I opened the door and gestured for him to go in and he did. He stepped to the side the moment he got into the lobby, and I grabbed his hand and pulled him in deeper. I didn’t bother locking the door back up. No one would come in until Kari arrived an hour later, and that left me with plenty of time to abuse Jose’s good nature.

I didn’t turn on the lights and instead pulled Jose down the hall and to the right. It wasn’t until we got to the conference room that I snapped a switch and let the white luminescence bathe me. Jose stopped and waited, a hungry look on his face and I didn’t want to disappoint him. I slipped off my shoes as I set the paper sack down on the conference table. Then I turned toward him, our eyes meeting, and I unbuttoned the white blouse.

When you aren’t wearing a bra, breasts have a tendency to flop out when released from the tight cotton weft of a shirt. I’m a C cup, which translates into two “grapefruit” sized melons on my chest. My nipples, both of them pierced with gold hoops, danced in front of Jose’s face, and the little padlock which dangled from my right tit wiggled enticingly as each breath just made me look all that much more desireable. I shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it to the side where it hung on one of Kari’s leather conference room chairs.

Jose didn’t say a word as my thumbs went down to the shorts. I unbuttoned them quickly, pushing them down at the same time, and the fact that I wasn’t wearing panties either only turned the heat up. Naked, I kicked off the clothing. Jose stared, still unmoving, waiting for me. So I reached into the bag, pulled out the anal beads and bottle of baby oil. And since I was already facing the right way, toward the table, I laid my top half down on the table and stuck my ass out.

Some things do not need words. Much less translation.

Jose was a practical man and he needed no urging or explanation. He grabbed the anal beads and bottle of oil. The beads themselves were black and there were eight of them, starting with one the size of a marble and getting bigger until the very last one would feel like a walnut had been shoved in my butt. Worse, and I’m not sure if Jose knew this, but they vibrated. There was a black cord leading to a controller with an overpowered battery.

I heard the snap of the bottle cap and I closed my eyes as cool, wet drops began falling on my tailbone, right above the crack of my ass. Jose didn’t go easy on the oil either. I reached back for him, grabbing my butt cheeks and pulling them open even as I spread my legs. I’m sure the gaping wetness of my pussy, which was uncharacteristically empty at that particular moment, was undoubtedly inviting, but Jose is not a man who takes. He’s a man who gives. And right at that moment, he knew that what I needed was my ass filled.

And preferably well lubricated.

He used his finger, which drove me absolutely nuts, because he basically gave me the hand massage equivalent of a rimjob, gently caressing my anus with his finger. I groaned, quivering like mad. Jose slipped a digit into my ass, just up to the first knuckle and I gasped, eyes widening. It wasn’t supposed to feel good. But it did. I shook my head, trying to grasp the reality I found myself in. Getting turned on by anal play isn’t really my thing.

Jose fucked my ass with his fingers and I struggled not to clamp down or tighten up. He did this for almost thirty seconds, then twisted his hand and pushed his thumb into my pussy. He sat down in a chair behind me and, ignoring the beads, began using his other hand to rub my clit. I trembled violently, waves of sweet, exquisite bliss shooting up from between my legs and I couldn’t help it. The pressure became too great and I found myself crying out in rapture, the heat and pleasure of his gentle, but thorough ministrations took me to the cliff and tossed me over the edge.

He didn’t pull his fingers out of me until I sighed in relief, sagging onto the table, my breasts mashed outward as the euphoria of climax left me blissfully sublime. Jose let out a chuckle as I hummed. Then he pulled his fingers out of me, wiped them on a towel he pulled from his back pocket, and grabbed the anal beads.

I’d let out a disappointed groan when he’d pulled his hand out of me, but that sound disappeared when I felt the first silicon covered bead get pressed against the brown button of my bottom. It went in easily, though Jose applied a little more oil and pressed the second sphere up against my sphincter. The third bead got pushed in next, then the fourth. I moaned as my bottom took more and more of the round balls until finally the last bead was a constant pressure against my bottom. I felt too full, my bottom achingly stuffed, but Jose managed to get the last, walnut size object into my ass. I looked back at him and nodded, eyes bright.

“Ahora, por favor. Úsame.” I reached over to the bag and tipped it over. A number of things spilled out - the alligator clamps (three of them), my vibroballs, and a box of condoms. I grabbed the prophylactics and handed one to Jose who took it with a grin. He knew what I was doing; granting permission. He applied it himself right after I heard the zipper of his pants. Then, with exquisite grace and accuracy, he pressed himself against my bottom and I felt his long, thick cock slide deep into my pussy.

Yessssssssss.

There is something right about getting fucked by a man. Don’t get me wrong - I’m bi-sexual and I can have a sweet, steamy time with any girl. But men come naturally with the right equipment. There’s no buckles or straps. They feel amazing inside me, and while I can understand the psychological reasons some women become homosexual, being able to have the best of both worlds means a lot to me. I wasn’t planning on marrying Jose. In fact, I think he is married. But clearly our relationship was a physical one only. I was using him. In fact, I wasn’t done using him.

Jose worked himself into a tizzy in relatively short order, though I admit if he’d managed to hold off for another minute or two, I’d have been joining him on the “I just had a fucking oragasm” porch. Instead, with me quivering in renewed excitement, he stiffened, hardened, trembled, and popped, squirting a cumload of cream into the tip of the condom. He sighed in relief, pulling out slowly, his cock softening.

I groaned too, straightening up as my pussy complained about the sudden emptiness. I turned to face him, being careful of the anal beads and the wire and controller. I faced him with a grin. Then I grabbed the bottle of oil and held it out, even as I gestured with my other hand at my chest.

“¿Por favor? ¿En todos lados?” I asked him meekly. “Lots of it.”

His eyes brightened and he nodded. He stood up and tucked away his sausage, straightening his pants easily. Then he took the bottle and poured a small amount of baby oil on my sternum, right between my breasts.

“Mas’ I said as he brought a hand up, catching the trickling oil and spreading it over my breast.

His eyes widened and I nodded. “More please,” I said, this time in English. Jose tipped more and caught it again in his free hand, letting go of my bosom. He set the bottle down, but I grabbed it. Our eyes met and I nodded smiling. I poured more oil right onto my left tit and he had no choice but to bring his hand up, catching the over flow, and begin spreading it around.

In seconds my breasts glistened, as did Jose’s hands, and I poured a bit more baby oil onto my chest, high up by the hollow of my throat. Jose took the hint and left my boobs, oiling my chest, a look of concern on his face as I kept putting on more oil.

“Lower please?” I asked him, then said, “Bajo?”

Jose glanced up at me sharply, but then nodded, dropping to one knee, even as I poured another trickle into my cleavage. This time it slid downward, through my slick breasts, over my tummy and into my belly button. Jose caught it, spreading it around, rubbing it into my skin until I turned shiny. And I poured more. He had no choice but to move lower and I tilted my hips, pushing my sweet pussy out for his hand.

“Me piernas, tambien, por favor,” I whispered. Jose nodded and I poured oil onto my right thigh. His hands touched me everywhere and my skin glistened as if I’d just been glazed. It felt so good and he moved down to my foot.

“Todo,” I said, arching my foot. I felt his fingers on my sole, then slipping across the top and down to my toes.

“Le otro pierna?” I asked. He switched as I poured the oil and rubbed my other leg.

Then it was time for the other side of me. As he looked up I turned around, sticking my ass right into his face. I put a hand on the table to brace myself and literally upended the bottle onto my back. Jose quickly rose.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” He said, his “t’s” dropping. “Un momento!” He grabbed the bottle from me and set it down, his hands slipping and then going to my skin. He spread the film across my shoulders and down my arms, then rubbed my spine. Eventually he got to my bottom and he poured more oil into his hand.

“Mas, por favor,” I said. “I have to glisten.”

“Glisten?” He asked.

I thought hard, straining my Spanish. “Resplandescer?” I asked.

He gave me a confused look. “Brillante?”

Jose shook his head. Then his eyes brightened. “Con brillo?”

“Shiny,” I repeated, pointing at my arm where the oil was thick. He nodded, grabbed the bottle again, and put more oil on me. I could feel it dripping down my back and along my legs.

“Too much,” he said in his heavily accented English, clearly worried. But I knew what I was doing. Sort of.

“Mas,” I said. “It has to be almost dripping off me. I have to be wet,” I assured him. “Mucho mojado.”

He nodded, working hard, his fingers digging into my buttocks, massaging me. I think he was enjoying himself. Then he went down my legs, at least the backs, a second time. He finished at my ankles and then stood up, clearly thinking he was done. I turned around and straightened up, then carefully grabbed the vibroballs and held them out to him.

“Please?” I said, spreading my legs and presenting. He nodded with a smile and pushed them into my pussy so easily that you’d have thought I’d just been fucked and oiled. There was no resistance. I groaned as his hand slid along the wire, found the little knob, and turned them on.

Just too low though.

My pussy instantly tightened, or at least, tried to. There was enough oil inside me that it wasn’t exactly easy to get a good grip on the vibroballs and they kept sliding around within me as they buzzed. Jose pointed at the other items on the table and I shook my head. I wasn’t supposed to pop after the toys were put in. No one said anything about doing it before I was being tormented. So I put the alligator clamps back into the bag. Then I reached for my shirt, but Jose picked it up.

“No,” he shook his head. “Tu camisa se arruinará!” He protested, pulling it away from me.

I laughed. “I know. It’s okay. Kari will buy me a new one.” I held out my hand. Distrustfully, he slowly gave my shirt back and watched me as I slipped first one arm, then the other into it. Instantly the oil that hadn’t been absorbed by my skin (and trust me, there was tons of it) soaked into the white cotton, turning it translucent. White became a creamy ivory color and you could see my freckles through the material. I pulled it closed across my chest and began buttoning it up even as the excessive oil on my breasts was instantly sucked into the shirt front. Jose’s eyes widened, first in surprise, then understanding, and he grinned like a Cheshire cat, giving me a thumbs-up as my pink nipples and their golden jewelry became perfectly visible.

From the way the shirt clung to my back, I knew that the opposite side of the blouse wasn’t any better off than the front. But there’s nothing on my back as embarrassing as having both breasts in full view, wearing what was essentially a wet shirt. Jose nodded at me and I pointed at my shorts, which he retrieved easily, bending down to help me put them on. I pushed one oily foot through the leg hole, then the other, and Jose pulled them up until I could grab the tight, white shorts myself. I pulled them into place, the pink wire of the vibroballs coming up out of the waistband. I knew the black wire for the vibrating anal beads was doing the same.

I glanced down. It took a little longer than the shirt, but in less than thirty seconds the crotch of my shorts looked like a pane of glass and my bright pink, stuffed and trembling cunt, was perfectly visible. If I didn’t keep my thighs tightly pressed together I’d basically be showing off everything. I bit my lip, wondering what my ass looked like. Imagine wearing wet tissue to a party and you might have an idea of what I was going through.

Jose was loving it and I could see why. I looked… tempting. My tits, pussy, and ass were in full view, but not in view and once more I was breaking taboos. He reached over to the table, picked up the black controller, and turned on the vibrating anal beads. I gasped and my eyes rolled into the back of my head as my bottom clenched even tighter around the shaking little balls in it. My world seemed to tip and the orgasm I’d avoid during Jose’s strident cock wetting, seemed to suddenly rear its head and demand an accounting.

“Oh God,” I whispered. “I think I’m going to cum!”

“Cum! Cum. Good. Good!” Jose chanted. “Breanne muy bonita,” he said, grinning.

I licked my lips, shuddering, trying to get a grip, and I slipped (get it? Slipped?) my oily feet back into the flip flops. I slid on the foam, but managed a step, then another. My hips rolled, thrusting against all the balls and spheres and beads and strings inside me and I’m not sure what fluttered more - my pussy or my ass.

“Breanne, okay?” Jose said cautiously as I headed toward the door.

I smiled. “Si,” I replied. “Gracias. Estoy bien,” I said. He nodded and bowed.

“Mucho trabajo,” he told me, shrugging apologetically. I grinned, laughing.

“Go. I know!” I waved him off. “I’m fine. And thank you, Jose.”

He gave me a final thumbs-up, and then hurried away, turning to the left and heading toward the atrium before I even made it past Kari’s art room.

I took shuffling steps, partly because I was afraid I was going to slip out of the flip flops, but also because I could feel the various balls rolling around inside my sex and ass, driving me right toward the fucking cliff. The problem was that now I wasn’t allowed to cum, and if I did, I’d be marching right back toward the conference room to collect those alligator clamps.

I made it to my desk without exploding like an offshore oil rig and sat down. The oil seeping out of every part of my outfit, not to mention the slickness of my skin, turned the leather chair into a slip and slide and I had to tilt it back just to keep from falling out of it. I wrapped my arm across my chest and suffered, staring at the clock. Kari would be in at nine. Just forty-six more minutes. If I could just make it till nine…

***

Kari opened the door and looked down at me as I dropped my arm. The bottle of oil was on my desk and I set the empty cap down. The golden haired goddess I worship, and sacrifice myself to, stared down at me, her eyes bright and amused.

“Did you just pour that capful of oil onto your tit?” She asked wickedly.

I bit my lip and nodded.

“The other one looks fresh as well,” she said.

“It is Kari,” I replied, my voice a whimper.

“And your clit?” She asked.

There was no point in lying. “I was… I was just about to do it,” I replied, my voice trembling..

She hummed a little. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

I closed my eyes. No one was in the atrium, thank God, but that could change in a split second. I tried not to think about that, or the glass wall in front of me, or the light glistening off of every inch of my body. Instead I spread my legs, exposing the pink, stuffed slit underneath the white, almost invisible material. The zipper was the only dark spot, and it went down across my clitoris. My fingers found the button, then the zipper, and opened up the front of my shorts until my clit was in perfect view - oiled, swollen, red, and tightly clamped, the jumbo alligator clamp chewing on it with serrated teeth. With a trembling hand, I reached out, poured another capful of oil, and then picked up the cap, holding it like a cup, right over the metal maw biting me.

“Do it,” Kari breathed. “Pour it.”

My hand shook as the oil spilt out, splashing onto the bright, wanting, crushed, pink nub. More oil soaked into the cloth and my petals gleamed in the light.

“Now, if I’m not mistaken, this is the punishment for cumming once,” Kari said, her hand in my hair, her lips near my ear. “I can see the clamps on your nipples too. It must ache under that shirt. I know you want to free yourself from them. So now is a good time to edge, to bring yourself right to the line. Suffer for me. And when you cum, as I know you’ll eventually do, you can spend the rest of the day begging strangers to help you.” She smiled at me, reaching down and flicking her finger hard at my clamped nipple. Pain, or should I say more pain, exploded through my chest. I jumped, my body trembling, but I pushed a hand into my pants.

“I wonder,” Kari breathed, “Just how long you’ll take?”

I panted, gasping, eyes wide as I stared at her. My body felt like it were writhing in fire. My fingers dug at my pussy, twisting the metal clamp on my clit, sending wave after wave of agonizing bliss through me. Kari watched, a smug smile on her face.

“Now,” she whispered. “Do it. Disobey my orders. I know what you’ll have to do if you cum again,” she said. “You little fuckslut.”

I threw my head back and cried out as I exploded like an off shore oil rig. Fire raged in my veins and I spread my legs, not caring if anyone in the atrium saw me, or if my oil slicked outfit was improper. All I saw were the colors and shapes and strikes of white hot lightning that shook me to the core and Kari sighed in satisfaction as her finger continued to rub my right nipple through my soaked shirt, ignoring the gold piercing, the padlock, and even the steel alligator clamps chewing on my breast.

“Very nice,” she said a moment later, lifting her hand from my chest. “Now, I’ll see you at lunch.” She walked away, down the hall. “Until then…”

I shuddered. Right. The punishment… for cumming. Wearily, I climbed to my feet, slipping in the flip flops. My shorts were wide open and in the glass I could see my reflection. My skin glistened, my shirt and shorts were nothing more than gauze, and you could see the wires leading to the vibroballs and the anal beads. The pink, clamped, tips of my breasts, and my poor clit were like beacons, crying out for attention.

I took a deep breath and grabbed my purse. I was done here. Dressed in white, oiled, fucked, still buzzing from the toys in my ass and sex, clamped and desperate, I headed for the door, one arm wrapped across my chest, the other holding my purse between the translucent cleft of my shorts.

More to do.









Breanne, your assignment today starts when you arrive at work. You will bring with you a large, industrial sized bottle of baby oil. Find someone to help you put on a thick, wet layer all over your naked body. Everything must be oiled - your ears, face, in between your toes, the bottoms of your feet - but especially your ass (in and out), your pussy, and your breasts. You shouldn’t just be glistening. You should be dripping with oil.

And that will be when you dress. I would like you to wear a white, tight, button up shirt and a thin, white pair of short shorts. But underneath, you should have your ass stuffed with your vibrating anal beads, and your pussy should be filled with your vibroballs. Both toys should be on medium power. You should resist cumming. Should you yield to the vibrational pressure urging you into orgasmic bliss you will add alligator clamps to your nipples and clit. A second orgasm will result in you being required to go out in public, find someone to remove each clamp (individually, so you will need three someones) as well as someone to remove the vibrating anal beads. Reward your saviors fully.

In addition, every top of the hour it will be time to refresh the oil. Take one capful of oil for each breast, your ass, and your pussy, and pour the contents onto the appropriate locations.  

Enjoy your day. - Brandon


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!

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

The Check

I checked the time on my phone and stood up, smoothing down the material of the dress. My black strap stilettos, the ones with six inch heels, didn’t make a sound on the carpeted hallway as I walked down to see Kari. As I expected, she wasn’t in her office, so I took the ninety degree turn, passed the door to the small kitchenette, glanced to the left, and found my golden haired goddess hard at work in her art room.

To a casual observer, one would think that Kari’s art room is a chaotic mess of materials. As an interior designer, Kari possessed one of the more impressive collections of samples in existence. She had binders full of photography, books full of 2x2 carpet squares, stone samples in little plastic pockets, and stacks of miniature wood shingles. And that was just a short list. For art supplies the woman was stocked. Markers, pencils, pens, ink, hell - she had crayons. But despite the seemingly haphazard collection, I knew that each item had a very specific place - the consequence of an ordered mind.

And perhaps some obsessive compulsive behavior too.

Kari’s long golden hair was tucked back behind her ears along with a teal colored pencil. Far sighted, Kari had started wearing glasses to do the close up work and when I gave a soft knock on the open door frame, she looked up forgetfully, the spectacles making her eyes look like one of those Japanese anime characters.

Or bug-eyed. Depending on how gracious I was being.

I smiled. “Hey. Gotta go. First of the month,” I reminded her.

She eyed my outfit with a wry smile. “Yeah. I could tell when I walked in this morning.” She sighed and waved a marker at me. “Okay. No worries. I can hold the fort.”

I laughed. “You are the fort,” I reminded her. “I’m just the guard at the gate.”

“Dressed like that?” She asked mischievously. I glanced down. Sure, the little black dress wasn’t exactly meant for office work. No administrative assistant, receptionist, or secretary would dare show up at the office wearing it. Too short at the hem, my rear end was in constant danger of being exposed, and with the top tied to my neck and only barely flaring out to cover my ample breasts, my bosom was in constant threat of literally falling out of the material. There was no back except for a four-inch-wide lace strip that went from the collar to my tailbone, most of which was exposed. But hey, the dress had been cheap. Just five bucks from Fabshopper. Who could complain?

I smiled. “I might remind you that some of the ‘outfits’ you’ve purchased for me to wear at work have literally been more risque and obscene than this one.”

Kari smiled and shrugged. “What can I say? I like to see your naked body?”

I laughed, stepped into the room, rounded her desk, and kissed her on the top of the head. “You’re cute. Gotta go,” I said. Kari gave me a little wave and I swished my sweet, little ass out of her art space, letting my best friend forever, lover, mistress, and employer get back to work.

A few minutes later I was in my silver Saturn sedan, heading just a few blocks north. That late in the morning there was little to no traffic, and I wasn’t getting on any of the major thoroughfares anyway. Fifteen minutes of relaxed driving found me pulling up into a small industrial area. The warehouse I was looking for was small, meant for a business with just a few employees, but it suited our purposes just fine. And by “our,” I meant “The Society of the Golden Rose”, not Kari and me.

Several years before Kari had been inducted into a rather elite social group. To join, you had to first be invited. Second, you had to be female, though being a lesbian was not specifically required. Third, you had to already have in your possession, a submissive female who you were willing to share. Lastly, you pretty much had to be rich. The membership costs were steep - and I’m not talking like HOA dues. Think “expensive car”. In full, each year. And by expensive car I mean a current, brand new Corvette, not a Camaro.

The warehouse was actually a conglomeration of them. Five in all, with ours being the second from the street. There was a large, steel garage door, positioned four feet up from the parking lot, as well as a set of concrete steps leading to a glass entryway. I pulled into the lot. It wasn’t empty. Two of the other sections were occupied by functioning businesses, but I didn’t see anyone, and the space in front of the Society’s door was empty. That suited me just fine. Getting ogled while walking through the lot always made me quiver a bit. At heart I’m a sexual coward and conservative. My dress was overly risque and I’d have much preferred to be wearing a pair of blue jeans, a tee shirt, and and even a nice cowboy hat and boots. It’s not that I believed that a girl wearing a slutty, black cocktail dress was asking for it, but why advertise the goods if you aren’t for sale?

Yes. I know. Feminists are screaming at me in fury. How can I, an acknowledged and certified Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut, say such a thing? No. I’m not saying that wearing provocative clothing, or even walking around nude, should deserve being molested or worse. Never. But let me ask you this - if you don’t want a toddler to eat the cookies, why would you leave them out where they can see them?

See? It’s just common sense.

I closed the door of the car, my purse slung over my shoulder. As I walked toward the door, I felt the smooth, soft, rolling sensation of my ben wa balls, a pair of golf-ball sized spheres, connected by twine, that were right at that moment, buried deep in my sex. As I said, I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut and rule number one is that if I couldn’t have actual cock inside me at all times, something else had to take its place. Ostensibly the rule was designed to keep me wet and ready for sex at the drop of a hat (or pants.) But personally, I’m of the opinion that it’s really just meant to humiliate me - keeping a particular thought fresh in a submissive girl’s mind.

I’m a sex object, meant to be fucked and used.

Don’t get me wrong - I’m also a person. A lovely, wonderful person. At least I hope I am. My entire life does not revolve around me spreading my legs. Just most of it. And because I’m a little messed up psychologically (I have proof. I have a doctor’s file that says I am totally fucked up in the head,) I happen to like the fact that sexual arousal tends to color my worldview. While one little part of me was screaming in horror that I was dressed like an escort on the way to a job, wanting me to hide, run, and possibly buy a burqa (which yes, would be going way too far,) the other part of me relished my deviant, prurient, provocative, hyper-sexualism.

And I might, possibly, probably, be addicted to orgasm.

I stepped carefully across the hot, asphalt parking lot and climbed the stairs, my hands going to my rear to keep the hem from bouncing too far up and flashing the goodies. No one was really around to see, but it was habit, especially since I wasn’t wearing any panties. No bra either, in case you’re keeping score or something. It would have seriously clashed with the dress. I adjusted my top, just to keep my breasts from falling out, and looked around. No one. Perfect.

I tilted forward and used my thumb to type in the code. We’d had the lock changed for an expensive lock that required only knowledge to enter. I heard the latch click, straightened up, tucked a boob back into the dress, cognizant of the fact that I’d just had a major nipple slip, and hurried into the dark lobby. Welcome to the meeting rooms of the Society of the Golden Rose.

The lobby itself was about the size of Kari’s closet. The one in her condo, not the punishment closet in her office. Or if you want to be more realistic, the lobby was about the size of my apartment bedroom, which says a lot about either Kari’s clothes collection or my small living quarters. Back in the Society’s lobby, a small wooden desk sat in one corner, while two old, leather chairs were positioned opposite. There was some art on the walls, but it was non-descript, just some metal, sculpture type pieces that Kari had hung when we got the place, to add some flare. A ficus tree stood near the glass door. I wasn’t sure if it was fake or not. I’d never watered it and it was still green.

A hallway led off toward the main floor and the light from outside didn’t penetrate very far. I passed the door to the restrooms. We had two of them, and then I glanced into the kitchen. Dark. I kept going and the industrial carpet suddenly changed in texture and thickness into something thick, heavy, and padded. My heels sank down considerably, though there was at least no shag. It would have sucked to catch a spike on a carpet loop and take a tumble!

The idea, of course, was to make it easier on the submissives, who weren’t expected to be walking on the carpet, even in ridiculous shoes. We were expected to be kneeling on it. Or flat on our backs, legs spread, waiting for whatever torment, punishment, or pleasure the nearest mistress felt like inflicting upon us. I’d spent some quality hours on that carpet.

A divider wall, three quarters of the way back, had been partially pulled across the space and the only reason I could see it was because a single light had been left on. I didn’t know if it was on an emergency circuit, or deliberate, but it illuminated the divider enough that I could see it. Behind the wall was where we stored all of the medieval torture devices we owned, each custom made, of high quality materials, each designed for some aspect of sexual deviance generally shunned by the common populace unless featured in some “shades of gray” movie or novel. None of them were out though, leaving most of the meeting room empty, save for the scattered setees, couches, and other seating areas, pushed to the sides, meant for mistresses and their submissives to socialize. If that’s what you want to call it.

But the light from above did illuminate one thing. Someone had left a bondage mattress out. Merely a full sized mattress with a waterproof cover and a fitted sheet, special holes had been cut in the bedclothes, leaving room for the four, black straps sewn directly to the mattress itself. I’m sure you can picture it. Imagine a pristine, white bed, and at each corner, black bondage straps, which were attached too … you guessed it! Bondage cuffs! Leather ones. It sort of came as a package deal.

I frowned. Criminy. I hate it when people don’t clean up after themselves! I mean, really! No doubt Mistress Savannah had dragged Kylie in here, tied her down and ravished her. Or maybe it was Mistress Isobel, the current matron of the society, electing to give her little French maid submissive Madeline a lesson in manners and a rubber baguette. Or hell, it could have be Margaret, bringing her pet girl Lisa in… except… that was actually unlikely. Lisa took “fucked up” way beyond anything I do. She lives like a dog. As a dog. She actually barks.

It’s disturbing.

I let out a frustrated breath and that’s when the hand clamped itself across my mouth. I tried to gasp in surprise, but an arm wrapped itself around my torso, pulling me off my feet and against the body of my attacker. I kicked my legs, but struck only air. A second shadow loomed up out of the darkness. There were two of them. With hard fingers, the second man grabbed my legs, tucking them both up under one arm. I tried to scream, but even if I had, the walls were sound proof. The Society had paid for that. What would be the point of having meeting rooms where you could literally tie a girl up and whip her repeatedly to the point of screaming, if the police were just going to show up a few minutes later?

I was hauled toward the light, or more appropriately, the bondage mattress. I wriggled, fighting it, but my attackers were much, much stronger than me. A moment later I was thrown down, which knocked some of the wind out of me. My dress was pulled to the side, both breasts exposed, the hem up around my waist. All I could see of the two men were dark silhouettes. The light came from above. The one who had covered my mouth grabbed my wrist and pinned it with his knee, only to take my other hand and force it up to the corner of the bed. At the same time, I kicked out with my foot, and I heard a grunt from the other man. I think I got him in the thigh. My leg was roughly pushed aside, my other calf trapped under a knee. Then both my ankles and wrists were forced into the bondage cuffs, strapped and buckled in.

And that pretty much was it.

I writhed on the mattress,  yanking hard on the bondage cuffs holding me open and down. No longer worried about flailing limbs, rough hands began groping me, coming up between my legs, kneading my breasts and pinching my nipples hard. A few well placed smacks to each boob left me breathless. I yelled. I yanked. I flailed. I tried to bite. Then the larger of the two men, the one who had secured my wrists, reached down to my chest, grabbed the front of my dress and pulled.

“Please!” I cried out. “Not the dress!” But it was too late. I heard the tearing noise. The flimsy material shredded, parting at the collar leaving me with a sexy, black choker and a strip of lace hanging from the back of my neck. He rolled up the torn material and then roughly tied the remnants of my dress over my eyes.

I do not like blindfolds.

A heavy hand slapped my breasts, back and forth and I grimaced. Fingers pried up between my legs and I felt the tiny loop of twine going to my ben wa balls tugged on. The toy was pulled from my sex and tossed aside. I could hear it ring lightly as it rolled onto the carpet.

“Damn,” someone said, obviously impressed. A hand cupped my sex and two fingers were roughly pushed in. My pussy tightened on them. “She’s soaked. Guess she likes it.”

I felt a flurry of emotions. Embarrassment, anger, arousal. I pulled on my bonds but went absolutely nowhere. Freaking bondage cuffs.

I heard a zipper and a moment later a cock was stuffed into my mouth. “I wouldn’t bite, if I were you,” I was warned. “Considering you have nowhere to go, you hurt me and my partner will destroy you.”

To be honest, I hadn’t even considered it from that perspective, but I couldn’t argue the logic. I opened my mouth and began sucking, eagerly and with all the prodigious skill I could muster. But while this was going on, my other attacker had been doing his own preparations. Granted, I couldn’t see, but when the man I was sucking on spoke, I realized that the bondage mattress wasn’t the only thing these men had gotten ready for use.

“Now. Do it. Just like I told you.”

And with that came a hard, stinging slap to my pussy, aimed at my clit, but blistering its way down my labia. I gasped around the cock, my hips lifting, thrusting hard, and a second blow landed, mashing my sodden swamp downward.

“Again. Faster. I told you, she likes it!” The man I was sucking on said eagerly. “See? Look at her hips pump!”

The leather sap began falling faster and in seconds I was crooning, my entire body trembling. Fluids seemed to gush from my pussy and my brain, always the true danger, once again demonstrated its lack of differential. My clit was screaming “Ow, ow, oww, owwww!” and my brain was misinterpreting it as “Oh yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck me baby!”

Like I said, “messed up.”

“She’s ready. Do it!” I heard a paper tearing sound.

The pressure on the mattress changed and a rigid, hard cock slid into my beaten pussy. I gasped, loving the sensation of it, the need of it, and more weight fell on me, pressing my hips down. The two men fucked me, one in the mouth, one between my legs, and there was nothing I could do but serve as a receptacle; a willing, wanton one. I sucked on him hard, listening to him groan.

The man between my legs moaned and his breathing became labored. I felt the stiffness of his cock, thick steel driving into me. He pumped hard and then I felt the flutter, the familiar sensation of pulsing cum, thick white cream pumped into the rubber reservoir of the condom. He gasped and sighed, relief palpable in his breath. Then he rolled off me.

The cock in my mouth wasted no time and I felt the movement. I heard a tear of paper and realized another condom was being applied. Then the leather sap slapped into my cunt again, two, three, four times, wetting and stinging me, before the man who’d first clamped his hand over my mouth mounted me, driving his shaft deep into my body.

I surged. Two screws, under awful circumstances. I couldn’t handle it. My body arced and the pressure built as he fucked me hard, pounding away, beating into my sex with force and fury. My toes curled. I cried out. And then, arching my entire body, I exploded just a second before him, voicing my climax with a shouted “Oh my God! I’m cumming!” The remnants of my dress, a makeshift blindfold, slipped from my head. I blinked, trying to see.

The aftermath of sex is never pretty. It’s messy. It’s anti-climactic. Literally. And when you’re bound to a mattress, ravished and helpless, even some of my usual antics don’t make a whit of difference.

The two men left me lying there, walking off together. I heard soft voices, not enough to identify either one. Then laughter. A tone of regret maybe? Then one man headed for the lobby, while the other came back toward me. I heard the glass door open and close, leaving me alone with just one scoundrel.

He reached down and undid the bondage cuffs on my ankles. I didn’t kick him. If he was going to release me, why stop him there, when my wrists were still bound? Sure enough, he came higher and in seconds my left hand was free. He leaned over me, his shirt grazing my bare breasts, only to quickly unbuckle my right hand. Then he got close, his face near mine, his smile huge.

“That was fucking amazing. As usual, Bre.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thank you, Bart. Who was your friend?” I asked, sitting up.

Bart chuckled and sat down next to me on the mattress. “Just a buddy. He knew it was a set-up. Consensual of course, but it’s a fantasy, you know? You were exquisite by the way.” He put a hand on my bare hip and I quivered as his finger caressed me.

“Thank you,” I said. “Where’s my purse?”

He reached out and snagged it, bringing it over to me. I unsnapped it and pulled out a crisp, white, envelope. I held it out and he took it.

“Most of my tenants pay electronically,” he said wistfully. “I definitely prefer your method,” he said with a laugh. He took a deep breath and then stood up. I realized he was still naked from the waist down. He picked up his pants.

“Hey,” I said softly. “Do you have to go? I mean, here we are, alone. With all these sexual torture devices back here,” I said, gesturing toward the divider wall. “I could show you how to use them on me.”

Bart stopped, his jeans halfway up his legs. He seriously considered my offer, but then shook his head. “Maybe next month, Bre. I just came and it will be hours before I’m charged again. I’m getting old. You do realize I’m like twenty years older than you, right? You’re what? Twenty-five or so?”

I shrugged. I’m older than that, but why ruin his fantasy. “I could get you hard again,” I assured him, a wicked smile on my face. And maybe I sort of posed for him. You know, a leg up, knee bent, my wet pussy gaping open.

Bart laughed. “Yes. I know you could. But I do have other responsibilities to attend to. And other rent checks to collect.” He waved the envelope. “It’s the first of the month.”

I sighed in disappointment and climbed to my feet. I picked up the leather sap and carried it over to the small cupboard we stored such things.

“Need help with the mattress?” Bart asked. I shook my head.

“Nah, we’ll take care of it before the next meeting, presuming someone doesn’t use it between now and then.”

Bart sighed. “I’d love to come to one of those meetings,” he said wistfully.

I laughed. “Sorry. Got to be female,” I replied. We started walking toward the front of the warehouse.

“Yeah. I know. But to be a fly on the wall!” He said wistfully. Then he shook his head. “Still, I appreciate the time you give me,” he said honestly. “Oh! By the way, loved the last book! It was great! You are totally insane. You know?”

I laughed. “I appreciate that. Maybe you’ll be in the next one.”

“Really? Hope you change my name,” he said wryly.

I nodded. We passed the kitchen. Then the bathrooms. In the little lobby we stopped. I fished my keys out of my purse and held them out to him. “Favor?” I asked. “In my car, in the front seat, is a paper bag. It’s got a replacement dress in it. Would you mind?”

He took the keys and looked at me. “I’d think that a nympho humiliation pain slut like you would have no problem waltzing out to your car buck naked to get that dress.”

I stared at him. He laughed and rolled his eyes. “Oh… alright. The things I do for a fuck!” He headed out the door into the bright sunlight.

The door shut and I watched him go to my car and I couldn’t help it. “Yeah,” I said to myself. “The things I do for a fuck.”

***

“You’re back!” Kari exclaimed. “And in time for lunch! Perfect!” She stood up, putting her pencil carefully back into the single canister she used to hold them. I stood at the door, arms crossed, my slutty, little, black dress barely containing my breasts. The hem was too high, almost showing my ben wa balls stuffed pussy, and the black material matched my stilettoes perfectly. The four inch wide strip of lace running from my neck to my ass was the only bit covering my back.

“Any problems getting Bart the rent money for the meeting rooms?” Kari asked as we stepped into the hall and headed toward the office door. I shook my head.

“Nope. Easy as usual. The guy is a professional,” I assured her. “I handed him the check and off he went. Never said a thing.”

Kari smiled. “Pretty dress. Why won’t you let me get you something nicer though?” She asked as we got into the atrium. “That one is so cheap. It looks like it could get ripped right off your body.”

I laughed, eyes a little wild. “No,” I said. “That’s okay. I like this dress. It’s cheap, but irreplaceable,” I assured my mistress.

She shrugged. “Well, since you only wear it once a month. Bart must think you’re a tease.” She turned and led the way, her high heels clicking on the ceramic floor.

I paused, just long enough.

“Oh, he does,” I muttered under my breath. “He certainly does.”



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!