Worship - Prelude

Prelude

It was late in the evening when I pulled up in front of the condominium. Lush tropical plants covered every corner and a massive oleander guarded the doorway. The porch light was on, which glittered through the leaves of the foliage, casting a flickering illumination on the path I was just about to tread. As the engine of my jeep rumbled to a stop, the sound of a different motor seemed unusually loud and with a groan, I reached down between my legs and pulled the purple colored, six inch long vibrator out of my shaved, wet slit.

It came out with a slurping, sucking sound; mostly because my pussy was loathe to give it up. I’d spent most of the day empty, and before you get all indignant at my failure to follow nympho humiliation pain slut rule number one, the rule requiring me to be constantly stuffed with cock or a sex toy, it was because I was doing an assignment. And Master Brandon said I should be cock hungry for this one.

And oh God… was I ever. Sigh…

I held up the toy. It was slippery, gooey, and tingled between my fingers as I twisted the base, turning off the motor. It went silent and I quickly popped it into my mouth, sucking on it like a man’s cock, giving that little toy a blowjob good enough to have made it pop. You know, if it could actually cum, much less give a damn. It took me only half a minute to clean it off though, and only one gagging reflex. Still, I managed to exchange one body fluid for another and I dried it off with my car towel, rubbed some unscented hand sanetizer on it, then tucked it safely into the plastic cup I kept in the door. It would wait there, at least until I was done inside. Hopefully I would be able to slide it back in without wincing, but I doubted it.

The next challenge was the thirty feet from curb to door. While the path was straight, litter free, and would pose little challenge to my high heel clad feet, the fact that I was buck naked, wearing absolutely nothing but a set of duck bill clamps on my nipples, connected with a chain between them, made for a daring walk. Granted, it was around eight in the evening, but on a Saturday night people were still coming and going, even in a luxury gated community like this one. I’d already been well illuminated by the passing headlights of a few cars, just as I’d parked.

Still, there was really nothing to do but go for it. Running was out of the question when wearing a pair of acrylic stripper shoes, so I took a deep breath, opened the door, and thanked my lucky stars that Kari’s condo was on the left side of the road and I’d been able to pull up so that the driver’s side of the car let out on the sidewalk leading up to her front door. I ignored the soft, overly-warm, south Texas summer breeze, and began my walk of shame up to the front of the condo.

Which is of course when the headlights flashed across the yard, forcing me to prove that yes, you can trot in high heels.

I made it to the porch just in time to keep my cute little ass from being a lawn ornament, either by being seen or falling down, and I sighed in relief as I ducked behind the oleander as the approaching card went past at a decent clip. If it had slowed down, I’d have known they’d seen me, but drivers tend not to pay attention to anything but the obvious. Hell, I’d probably need to be standing in full view, masturbating or something, just to get noticed.

Or not.

I turned toward the door and rang the bell. It wasn’t a long wait and when the door opened I was presented with a vision of sexual masculinity that almost defies the definition. Robert, Kari’s husband, stood there in the buff, just as naked as I was, his cock locked into a steel cage and bent downward. It glistened with oil, as did the rest of him, and holy mackerel he looked good. For a guy in his mid-thirties, his stomach was toned and washboarded, his calves were thick and muscular, and his biceps were so large that I’d need both hands (and then some) to encircle them with my fingers.  

“Hello, Bre. Come on in,” he said pleasantly, especially for a man with his cock locked up in a cage, confronted by a naked girl.

“Robert,” I said with a grin. “You look fantastic,” I told him seriously as he stepped aside, letting me into the condo.

He smiled, but there was a touch of frustration in his eyes. I could tell. Robert is a submissive, like me, except he lives with the wicked queen herself. I just work for her.

“Rough day?” I asked as he shut the door and I bent down to take off my heels. He nodded and gave a grunt.

“She’s been playing denial games with me since this morning,” Robert admitted. “I’m so desperate I’d gladly pay the penalty for the chance to cum.”

I chuckled. That sounded similar to the things Kari liked to do to me at work. “Well, maybe since I’m here now, she’ll let you fuck me.”

Robert nodded. “Or her,” he said wistfully. I didn’t take offense. I know that Robert was devoted to his wife and mistress. If Kari said “fuck Breanne stupid,” then Robert would fuck me until I was unable to think. And he would enjoy doing it. But he would also very much prefer to slide his dick into the woman he loved. Even if she could barely tolerate it. Robert once confided to me that giving Kari an orgasm was the greatest pleasure he could have.

I could relate to that.

As I finished tucking my heels under the small table by the door, Kari came out from the hallway. Her mouth was curled up into a smile, her golden hair was caught up in a loose ponytail, and she was wearing black lace lingerie, the kind that concealed everything but nothing. I could see through most of it; the luscious curve of her breast, the tiny, pink points of her nipples, even the hidden depths of her slit. She came straight at me, one arm up to embrace me, the other down low. I let out a soft gasp as she bothed hugged and penetrated me at the same time. My hungry pussy, just denied a climax via vibrator, quivered around the two fingers she slid in deep and I shuddered.

“Hello, my darling. Are you desperate?” She asked me. I nodded, my lips pressed into her lace covered shoulder.

“Yes, Kari.” It came out in a rough whisper. Her fingers pumped, then came out of me. She let me go and held the goo covered digits out to Robert. He obediently opened his mouth, sucking her hand clean of Bre flavor.

She gave me a deep, hard look, then smiled. “And how many strokes of punishment were you able to eliminate?” She asked, getting to the crux of the issue, as she always does. I looked down, my cheeks turning scarlet. It was why I was so horny, despite having literally held almost a dozen cocks in my hand over the course of the day. How to admit that I'd failed not just once, but all eleven times?

Fortunately, my lack of explanation was admission in and of itself, and Kari gave me a pitying look and shook her head, clicking her tongue in gleeful disappointment. “Oh dear, Breanne. So many chances.” She sighed, pulling her fingers out of Robert’s mouth. He licked his lips and glanced at me with a soft smile. “Well, I suppose if anyone can handle a hundred and ten strokes, it would be you.” She took a step back and gestured toward the hallway. “So when did you start this morning?”

I knew she wanted me to head toward the master bedroom. My old “room”, which had actually been a modern sexual torture chamber, had been converted after Hurricane Harvey into a office for Robert, who worked as a day trader and financial advisor. Both Kari and Robert followed behind me, but Kari’s inquisitive look made it clear she wanted an answer.

Now.

I took a deep breath. Right.

“Well,” I said, remembering that very morning. “It all started…”

The rest of this tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but can be found in Breanne's book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 18" which is available in e-book format from Amazon.com!