Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 19!

For the last ten years Breanne Erickson has been delighting readers with her sexual escapades. Now, on January 9th, the tenth anniversary of her very first post at Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, she released her 19th collection of "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut". Chock full of amazing "assignments" and the give and take insanity of living, working, and loving two very different mistresses and a bevy of secondary doms and dommes, Breanne is subjected to all sorts of intense, humiliating, and thoroughly orgasmic adventures sure to delight readers with their brilliant and vivid descriptions, the light humor, and the phenomenal climaxes! Containing several of the milestone tales posted on the blog, this collection includes A Bad Little Girl, Cat's Cradle, Zippered, The Loop, Little Bags, Christmas Shopping, and a novella length tale entitled "Fraternity Slut". NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED TALES! Mark your calendars and get ready for a new year's extravaganza with another full novel length dose of 99k words, each one guaranteed to stimulate your senses!

Final Meetings - Part 6 of 6

Part Six - Finale

I sit with Julie, apart from the group. Behind us there are whimpers of desire, cries of pain, and groans of satisfaction. Every submissive but me is getting fucked in some way. Alissa is mounted on the iBench, having replaced me while Mistress Sara uses the studded cane. Tiffany is riding the wooden pony, still paying for the unauthorized orgasm given to me. Morgan is lying on a beanbag chair, legs spread, while Mistress Haley slowly thrusts a massive, four inch wide dildo into her pink slit with repeated movements. Kylie is facing Wendy, both on tiptoe, straddling a knotted rope, their nipples clamped together while their respective mistresses whip their bottoms, urging them to back up. Bethany and Gwendolyn are bound back to butt, with their hands up in the air, covered in clothespins, with Mistresses Lucille and Amanda smacking at the pegs with floggers. That scene pleases me, though the disparity in height makes me worried that Gwen’s face might accidentally get hit.

Me? I am not being used. I sit with Julie and she is holding my hand.

I am not surprised about Julie’s announcement. I have suspected something like this would happen. I was the one who introduced the two of them together. Or, more accurately, they met through me. I saw the relationship build between them, growing first as mutual doms working a nympho humiliation pain slut through her needs, but eventually, finding pleasure in each other. I saw Julie slip, just a little, adjusting her own attitudes to bring satisfaction to Mike’s life.

Mike is a widower, having lost his first wife to cancer. When Julie moved into his house a year and a half before, I’d watched as hope and love had blossomed again. Mike had pictures of his first wife up, and when he’d finally gone to take them down, Julie had stopped him, asked to know all about her, and when Mike was done crying, Julie had held him and told him that she would still have a place in Mike’s heart, and their home. That is the kind of woman she is.

They had travelled over the Thanksgiving Holiday. Julie tells me that on a beach in Costa Rica he got down on bended knee. It was sunset and he told her that he wants her to spend the rest of her life with him. She accepted. She pulls the ring out and shows it to me.

“Why aren’t you wearing it?” I ask. I am happy for her. She is a wonderful woman and I know that even married, I will still be a commonality for them.

She licks her lips and looks down. “I needed to deal with something first.” She looks up and around the room. “It’s almost time.”

Indeed, the Matron claps her hands. It is late. The meeting will be officially coming to a close soon. It doesn’t mean the sexual torment will end. Only that any business will be wrapped up.

“Ladies? It is time for the closing of the circle,” announces Mistress Isobel. “Tonight we have a special announcement.”

Around the meeting rooms, submissives are set free. Knots are loosened, ropes untied, bondage cuffs unclipped from chains. There are sighs of relief, moans of frustration, wet kisses, and even one or two rushed orgasms. It takes another ten minutes, but I follow along on hands and knees, crawling after my mistress as we move back to the main seating area.

Julie sits, waiting for Mistress Isobel.

“Ladies, it has been a pleasure, as always. Tonight, Julie has asked to speak with everyone.” Isobel gestures at my mistress. Julie stands. She moves to the center of the circle, and I see that she is now wearing the diamond studded engagement ring on her left hand.

“Hello everyone,” Julie says. She is nervous, but resolute. Pride surges through me. I smile. She is amazing. I love her.

“As many of you know, I’ve been maintaining a relationship with Mike the Hardware Guy. Most of you have met him, since he has made most of the furniture we use around here,” she says, pointing over at the wooden pony, which was indeed made by Mike. “Many of you have also heard rumors, or read Breanne’s stories, and know that I am subbing for him.” She takes a deep breath. “These are true. I have indeed been submitting to him.”

There is a rumble of discontent, though I see a smirk of acknowledgement on Lucille’s face. Mistress Amanda looks troubled. Mistress Charlotte frowns. Mistress Sara has a resigned look on her face.

“I am aware that the rules of the Society prohibit this. I’ve appreciated your tolerance, but considering that the next step in this relationship is about to happen, I wanted to explain my choices.” She pauses. “Mike has proposed to me, and I have accepted.” She holds up the ring.

The circle bursts into excited talks. Half the mistress jump, surging forward with bright smiles and congratulations. Savannah is bubbling with excitement. Haley is practically cheering. Lisa goes to Julie, hugging her tightly. Jillian and Brooke both join around my mistress, encouraging her. I look around. Most of the submissives are happy for her too. But I notice the mistresses that are still seated. Sara looks like she has lost something. Amanda looks stern. Lynda crosses her arms over her chest. And Mistress Lucillle? She is grinning, and not in a good way.

Finally things die down. And it is Lucille who speaks first.

“You can’t belong to the Society anymore,” she declares.

Savannah glares at her. “She knows that, obviously.”

Isobel sighs. “Ladies, please allow Julie to finish.”

Julie nods. “Lucille is correct. I cannot belong to the Society any longer. I love all of you,” she looks at Lucille. “Even you Lucille,” she assures the woman. “But my relationship with Mike will interfere with my duties here.” She pauses. “I do however, have another concern.”

It is Mistress Amanda who speaks. “Breanne.”

Everyone looks at me and I feel overwhelmed. Me? Why am I a concern? Why would I be a problem? Suddenly I realize what Julie means. If she is no longer a member of the Society of the Golden Rose, what happens to me?

Lucille quickly turns. “I will take her. She needs a firm hand and I will be responsible for her discipline.”

Mistress Sara stands. “Over my dead body. I’ve already discussed it with Julie. Breanne will go with me.”

Suddenly everyone is talking and I am shocked. I kneel there, flabbergasted, unprepared and I look over at Julie. Her eyes find mine and for a moment the roar dulls. She mouths silent words and I know she is apologizing. “I’m sorry.”

A bell rings loudly and we all turn to look at Mistress Isobel, who is taking control. “Ladies!”  Everyone begins to quiet down, even Savannah, who is arguing with Amanda. Sara and Lucille glare at each other.

Isobel goes to stand next to Julie. “First of all, none of our submissives should be ‘gifted’ without consent. Obviously. Which means that Breanne will have the final say, should we decide to allow this. I, for one, do not think that any one member should be permitted to… possess… more than one submissive. The reasons for this are obvious. As dominants, our responsibility is to protect, care for, and mold our subs. Having two divides the attention that can be given.”

Lynda nods. “She makes a good point,” she agrees, looking around.

“But what if the submissive wants to be a second?” Asked Sara, pointing at me. “Breanne’s needs are well known. Besides, she will still have Kari, and to an extent Julie and Mike. We are talking about stasis here, not some sort of insane change of lifestyle.”

Isobel held up her hand. “I understand that Sara, but we are talking about a change to the Society that goes beyond Breanne. If we allow this, we set a precedent.”

Julie bites her lip, looking over at me. She walks back to where I kneel and sits next to me.

Isobel looks around. “We will take a vote. A yes vote means that you are in favor of allowing multiple submissives. I need a show of hands.”

I look around the room. Sara, Lucille, Amanda, Savannah, and Charlotte all raise their hands. I count swiftly. I look at Julie. She needs to raise her hand. But she does not. I understand suddenly. She has lost the right to vote.

Isobel nods. “Very well. One submissive.” She sighs and looks at Julie. “Julie Uterro, we accept your resignation from the Society of the Golden Rose. Your rights and privileges as one of our members is hereby revoked. We wish you the very best, and hope that you will find both happiness and fulfilment.”

Julie nods. Her eyes are filled with tears.

Then Isobel looks at me. “Breanne? Please come here.”

I glance at Julie. She nods. I crawl into the center of the circle. Isobel reaches out, takes my hands, and draws me up until I am standing. I am barefoot and shorter than her, especially since she is wearing black leather boots. She strokes my face. Madeline appears at her side and holds out something small and golden.

“As much as it pains me to do this,” Mistress Isobel says, “without a mistress, you cannot serve as a submissive within the scope of our Society. You are not outcast. I expect to see much more of you in the future. But as of tonight, unless you find a new mistress who joins, you are no longer a submissive to the Society of the Golden Rose.” She takes the key from Madeline and holds it up. I blink. It can only go to one thing. Isobel reaches for my right breast, and to my shock, unlocks the tiny, charm sized padlock that dangles from my right piercing. It snaps open and she unthreads it. I stand there, bewildered, terrified, and confused. I lean slightly, psychologically unbalanced as the weight disappears from my breast. I look down. It is the first time the lock has been off me in over seven years.

Julie hurries forward and takes my hand, pulling me around in a circle. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to me. “You are still mine, alright? You aren’t lost!”

And then it hits me. I understand. I burst into tears, sobbing like a child. Julie holds me and then I feel other hands comforting me. Sara wraps her arms around us both. Then Alissa, and Savannah and Kylie and Amanda and Gwendolyn, Haley and Morgan, Charlotte and Tiffany. Soon everyone is hugging us and I see Lucille pushing through until she stands face to face with Julie.

“You will make a fantastic submissive,” she says to Julie. “I hope Mike whips your little tush raw.” She grins. “And I hope Breanne is hanging right next to you, covered in welts, while he does it!”

Julie laughs and I watch them hug. Lucille glances over at me. “You have my number. If neither Kari nor Julie can satisfy you, give me a call. I’ll do things to you that will make you scream for hours.”

I gulp. I nod.

Slowly the group parts and Julie takes my hand. She leads me away, out of the circle and for a moment, I wonder if we are headed to the wooden pony, or the iBench, or the St. Andrew’s Cross, or the V rack, or stocks. But instead we walk toward the hall leading to the entrance. Behind us things devolve. Submissives are taken back to their torments. I hear a whip striking flesh. A soft cry. A moan. Then we pass by the bathrooms, the kitchenette, and into the lobby. Julie glances as the clock on the wall.

“Right on time,” she says softly. She stops me. Then, to my astonishment, she undresses, right there, in the lobby.

The black dress is pulled up off over her head and she tosses it to the side. She is naked underneath and she grabs me close. We hug, skin to skin. I am still only wearing the bondage cuffs on wrist and ankle.

“Get our coats?” She asks me. I nod. I go to the pile by the door and get our jackets. I realize that hers is long, like mine. I pull mine on over bare skin, but Julie just drapes hers over her arm. I blink.

“Julie? It’s cold outside.”

She nods. “I won’t have to go far. Come with me?” She asks softly. “Please?”

I laugh and nod. I do not mind leaving my Jeep here. I would go with her anywhere.

She takes my hand and together we go outside. It is cold. I have not closed the front of my coat and my skin instantly chills, goosebumps going up and down my tummy. Julie is stark naked except for her shoes. But there is a huge pickup truck waiting, lights on, engine rumbling, heater undoubtedly blasting. I recognize it instantly. We take four steps and open the door. Julie gestures me to climb in first and I get in the back seat. Julie takes shotgun. We both look at the man driving the vehicle. He is large, with wide shoulders and a full, well trimmed beard. His brown eyes are bright and cheerful and he grins.

“I see things went the way I thought they would,” he says. Julie nods. “Yes. You were right. They kicked Breanne out as well.” I hear a little sadness in Julie’s voice. Mike looks back over the seat at me.

“Well then, let’s go back to our place and celebrate.”

I smile. “Yes. We need to celebrate.” Julie laughs. 

“Celebrate how?” She asks.

Mike puts the truck in gear. “By tying the two of you up and seeing how many orgasms I can force out of the both of you.”

Julie looks back at me and grins. “Breanne has already had two. I can beat that,” she smirks.

I lean back, looking at two of the people I love the most. “Bring it,” I declare. Sitting back. The truck moves and I look out the window. There are Christmas lights dancing in the wind. I look down at my right breast. No padlock. Just a golden hoop. I finger it. Then I bite my lip.

“Julie?”

“Yes princess?”

“Since I’m not hanging that damn padlock from my tit anymore, can I please get some barbell piercings instead of these awful hoops?”

Mike and Julie glance at each other. Then they laugh.  

Later that night, after having five more orgasms, one more than Julie could handle, I snuggle down between them. I am sleepy. I am warm. I am happy. I am sated. I am loved.

I’ve got new silver barbells. 

The End.

Final Meetings - Part 5 of 6

Part Five - Accidental Orgasm

It is Mistress Haley’s turn to use me. Hers was the first pussy I tasted that evening and I have little doubt that a number of other tongues have dipped and swirled their way through her folds since. She is almost as voracious as I am. She is still wearing her black bustier and chaps, but her loins are no longer exposed. She is wearing a strap-on, sporting a thick, black rubber dildo sticking straight out.

“Breanne, are you ready to get fucked?” She says saucily. Morgan stands up behind her, her massive breasts hanging like ripe fruit. I can see a few bruises forming on her dark skin and she wraps her arms around her Mistress. Morgan’s hand goes down and I see that it is covered in some sort of gel. She begins stroking the strap-on and it glistens.

“Yes mistress,” I say in relief. I am tired. I have been stretched out on the iBench for over an hour, almost an hour and a half, and have been tortured in ten minute intervals. The pain has been, admittedly, inconsequential. My thighs ache from my legs being spread so far apart and my back is hurting. But worst of all has been the arousal. I’m craving sex in ways that go beyond my usual deviance. I want it hard and brutal and fast and painful. I want it repeatedly. I am sore and tender and sensitive and I am willing to beg for it.

“Please? Will you fuck me?” I plead, my voice high pitched and whiny. Mistress Haley smiles down at me, bending over at the waist to kiss me. It is a nice kiss and her tongue glides across my lips.

“Of course I will,” she assures me. She runs her hand down my body, her fingers gliding on the still oily surface of my skin. Morgan stays near my head, only to reach down and grab my breasts. I am right. Her hands are covered with some sort of gel that becomes even more slick as she begins to massage my breasts. Mistress Haley moves around my outstretched leg, drawing figures on my skin, little circles of pleasure. I look up, past Morgan’s arms, ignoring the kneading of my bosom, ready for that thick, wonderful cock to slide into my pussy. Mistress Haley moves to the perfect position, her strap-on pointed right at my depths. Morgan gives my nipples a little pinch and I groan in utter relief, in expectation, in total readiness.

And the cock presses against the wrong hole.

“Wait!” I blurt out, head snapping up. “Not there!” I gasp. But it is too late. Haley thrusts hard and the mixture of fluids on my body, the melted coconut oil left on my loins by Bethany’s popsicle, the flavored stuff put on me by Madeline, and now the jelly coated dick, make clenching tightly enough impossible. The thick rod slides into my ass with ease, spreading me open uncomfortably. I let out a wail. I am not in pain. It doesn’t really hurt. I’ve been used in such a manner so often that my bottom is accustomed to being violated. But it is so not what I want! Mistress Haley starts fucking my ass in earnest, pumping enthusiastically, her own voice making it clear that her pleasure, not mine, is at stake. I realize it must be a double sided dildo, and that just as I am stuffed to the brim, so is she.

Except I’m betting the other end of the dildo is in her cunt. Not her ass.

Morgan continues to play with my breasts as I lay there, teeth clenched, enduring my sodomization. I loosen, accepting the torment, allowing my bottom to relax. It is still difficult. It takes a special mental state to remain calm and composed while getting buttfucked and Morgan is trying to break my concentration. She squeezes, kneads, and caresses my breasts, everything centered on the pierced tips. She twists the hoops around, just a bit, back and forth, before cupping my breasts and drawing her fingers inward and up. She scratches lightly as my skin, her nails teasing the areola until my flesh tightens up. Then she bends down and suckles, licking and drawing on my tips until my back arches. 

Between my legs, Mistress Haley draws her fingers up and down my thighs, caressing me. It is inconsequential because I’ve got a thick, pumping, rubber rod being shoved repeatedly into my bottom. It is not where I want, or need it to be. My arousal remains the same, neither increasing or decreasing. I ache. I hurt. I want. I need. Yet… this is not as intense as the other torments. I am not confused about sensations. I can tell left from right and pain from pleasure. I sigh, enduring the anal sex with only minor whimpers. 

“Morgan?” Says Mistress Haley. “Her clit please.”

Morgan lifts her head up from my chest, her teeth marks still visible on my right breast. She grins and goes back down, only to run her tongue down through the flavored oil on my torso, down to my hip. She licks along where my leg meets my loin. It tickles and I yelp, giggling. Then Morgan’s tongue slides across the inch or so of flesh to the apex of my sex. I stiffen, gasping, words escaping from my lips.

“Oh… oh yes!” I whisper passionately as Morgan licks at my nub. The strap on continues sliding into my ass, but I am charged in a different direction. I tighten, pressure building in my bottom. Morgan sucks on my clitoris and I groan, eyes closed, head back. I tug on my bonds, stretching as fresh surges of lust blast through me. It is beautiful. It is perfect. I don’t care that my ass is being pumped any longer. Then Morgan bites me. It is not that painful. It is intense. It is hard. I cry out, jerking, my clit caught between her teeth, her tongue stabbing at the head, inside her mouth. If my legs had not been tied open I would have slammed my knees together to protect myself. As it is, I have no recourse. I am tortured. Morgan releases my clit and I shudder, trying to relax strained muscles. She licks. Haley thrusts. Morgan bites me again.

Once more my brain short circuits. Time becomes meaningless. I am barely cognizant of things going on around me. I am bitten and butt fucked. I cannot cum. Not like this. Instead I am driven closer to the edge, but lead in circles, the abyss hidden from me so that I get no relief. When I hear Mistress Charlotte’s voice, telling Haley that her time is up, I cry tears as the strap-on is pulled from my bottom. Morgan’s gives me one more nip, her fingers splayed across my belly. I am once more on edge, straining for release.

Mistress Charlotte looks down at me. Her submissive, the blonde and athletic Tiffany, stands behind her. I like Tiffany. She is a kind, sweet girl who shows kindness to everyone. What concerns me though, is that Tiffany is holding two leather saps. They are small paddles, three inches wide and four inches long - the perfect width and length for spanking a woman’s sex. Or bosoms. She moves behind her mistress, like a nurse ready to slap the appropriate tool into the surgeon’s hand. Mistress Charlotte puts her left hand on my breast, fingers encircling the soft globe. I brace myself, but she merely touches me, plumping my tit until the nipple is raised and pointed toward the warehouse ceiling.

“I’m guessing you haven’t been allowed to cum,” Mistress Charlotte says to me as she squeezes my boob. I shake my head as her thumb caresses my nipple. Shivers of pleasure stream through my chest.

“No mistress,” I croak. I am… not scared, but not at ease. I am expecting to be paddled. I know it is coming. 

Charlotte nods as Tiffany moves down to the end of the iBench, positioning herself between my legs. “I know you want to cum, but I am curious. Do you deserve to cum?” Mistress Charlotte asks.

The question confuses me. Have I not been tormented? Have I not suffered? Have I not given satisfaction to the other mistresses? Have I not been chastised for the things I’ve done wrong? Am I not a good little fuck slut? Have I not held myself back properly? Have I accepted all of the humiliation and pain and use? My eyes narrow quizzically in bewilderment. 

“Mistress?” I manage to blurt out. Her thumb continues to rub at my nipple. 

Charlotte holds out her other hand and sure enough, Tiffany gives her one of the two paddles. “Simple enough question, Bre. Do you deserve to cum?”

I stare at her. Now I am scared. If I answer yes, does that make me uncooperative? Or unwilling? Or disobedient? Or arrogant? Or something else? If I answer yes, will she spank me? Or allow me to cum? But if I go the other route, will she spank me? I waffle, even though were I in my right mind, thinking logically, the answer would have been easy. Finally I get there. 

“No, Mistress. I do not deserve to cum,” I manage to say. Charlotte smiles, beaming down on me. 

“No, you do not. Do you know why?” She asks, lifting the sap and positioning it over my breast. I tense, my chest starting to heave as my breathing quickens. I am about to have my breast spanked and I know it will sting and burn and hurt. I shake my head, my arms and legs straining against the bonds of the iBench. 

Charlotte looks right into my eyes. “Because you are you,” she whispers. I stare at her, watching her hand intently, bracing myself, which is why the impact comes as a complete and utter shock. The leather sap lands wetly, with a hard cracking noise. The jolt rocks upward through me, followed by the heat of the stinging. My gaze snaps downward, past the leather paddle in Mistress Charlotte’s hand, to the one in Tiffany’s. She lifts it up, the black leather wet, and I watch as she runs her tongue through the girl goo. I am shocked, my pussy clenched tight and tingling.

“Yum,” she says, eyes glittering. She moves her wrist back into position, holding the sap and I start blubbering. I managed three or four seconds, but then the beating commences. Mistress Charlotte leads, smacking my plumped up breast, striking the raised nipple. She uses steady, firm blows that sting horribly, turning my breast into a pin prickling cushion of pain. But between her strokes, Tiffany licks at my pussy, spanking my splayed petals and beating my clitoris. Tiffany doesn’t hit me as hard, which is a blessing, but the dual sensations, so close to each other, from opposite prurient points, rocks me. I clench my teeth, keening loudly as the spanks continue. Within a few strokes I lose control. I yank on my bonds, the iBench groaning beneath me. My toes curl and I yell, teeth gritting as the pain begins to build. I endure, twenty, maybe thirty blows to my right breast and pussy, only to have Mistress Charlotte move to the other side of my chest, plumping it up in similar fashion. 

But while Charlotte moves targets, Tiffany continues to beat my slit, her strokes firm, incessant, and increasingly difficult to cope with. My hips thrust upward, despite the leather band around my waist, or the straps on my thighs and she pushes her left thumb into my ass. I cry out at the penetration, but she has a perfect hold now, sensing my movements, and the firm taps on my slit become drum beats in a march toward orgasm. My clit swells with each impact, until the top of my cunt is red and inflamed. I lift my head, suddenly realizing that I am there. I am about to cum. I open my mouth to beg permission, to ask Mistress Charlotte if I can cum, and I see Tiffany looking at me, eyes bright, a smile on her face. For a second she shakes her head back and forth.

The words die on my throat. Tiffany pulls her thumb out of my ass and pushes two fingers into my sex. I tighten, the last ripples of resistance fading. It doesn’t matter that my right breast is hot and heavy and still blistering from the sapping. It doesn’t matter that Mistress Charlotte is beating my left breast into a raw and prickling mass. I am cumming. Finally. Terribly. Strongly. Completely. I clench my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut as the eruption overwhelms me and I cry out, squirting as every muscle vibrates and trembles. There is no doubt about what is happening, or the fact that I am in the throes of passion. Charlotte’s eyes widen and she looks at me in shock, only to turn her gaze downward to her submissive. I let out a gasp and then sigh, my body relaxing as the power surge ebbs. There are no more strokes to my breast and Tiffany pulls her fingers out of my pussy, licking at them wickedly.

“You little bitch,” Charlotte says, her voice slightly disbelieving. She is not talking to me. 

“I apologize, Mistress.” It is Tiffany. I breathe, feeling better than I have in hours. I sigh in happiness, in relief, in satisfaction. My brain is still locked in sexual euphoria, the drug I’ve been craving. I am barely aware as Charlotte leaves my side, moving down to the other end of the iBench. The mistress brings up her free hand, running her fingers into Tiffany’s blond locks. She bends her forward and for a moment, I feel a sense of panic, worried that Mistress Charlotte is truly mad. But there is a glimmer of amusement in Charlotte’s face. Tiffany bends, yielding, until her mouth is pressed to my wet and satisfied slit. I am still tender, still sensitive. I let out a tiny moan. 

“Lick her. Lick her until she’s on edge again,” Charlotte orders roughly. Tiffany laps at my petals, then my clit. I suck in a tender breath. I am… sore. Sensitive. Delicate. It feels intense, and not in an arousing way. At least, not yet. Tiffany senses my feelings and softens the pressure, not wanting to overwhelm me. A tingle begins, building until it is a pressure, and then it shoots up through me, causing my sex to squeeze. And with that I am ready again. Nowhere close to cumming, but aroused. I close my eyes. Why? Why does my body do this? How can it accept being like this over and over, taken to the edge? Why do I crave it so much?  

In the meantime, Mistress Charlotte has turned in her leather sap, as well as the one being wielded by Tiffany. A long-tail whip takes its place in her hand and I twitch as I expect her to flick it at my body. Instead, Mistress Charlotte snaps it down low, out of my sight. I hear it impact something. There is a soft gasp and then a vibration in my pussy. I lift my head. It is Tiffany. Her mistress strikes her again, somewhere beneath the chin. I do not know where, but from the way her body moves, I suspect her breasts. But Tiffany is focused on licking me and ignores the sting of the whip. Her tongue laps and strokes my pussy, flicking back and forth before suckling my tender nub deep. There is wetness and warmth and her pitiful little cries humming into my sex. It is working me back into a froth.

There is no surprise that I am wanton again, ready for another orgasm. I am multi-orgasmic under the worst of circumstances and I have been teased and tormented for over an hour and a half. I am aching in all the right spots and even the sensitivity I am feeling only adds to my arousal. Tiffany knows that, which is why she is focusing on my clitoris. I feel sympathy for her as I listen to the whip strike her flesh. Mistress Charlotte is not hitting her hard, but it has to sting. She is taking my punishment, my torment, in exchange for giving me a gift. I owe her.

“Mistress?” I whimper. I hear the pause and Tiffany rewards me by slipping a finger into my slit and wriggling it around. I tense, swallowing, trying not to reveal the pleasure.

“Yes Breanne?” Charlotte says, coming up to my side. Her fingers touch my skin, along my ribs. It tickles. I bite my lip, looking up at her.

“Please? Can I take the rest of Tiffany’s punishment?” I ask. Her eyebrow rises and she looks down at me.

“No,’ she says simply. “But I don’t want to neglect you either.” Her head looks up, past me and she calls out. “Sara? Do you have a moment?”

I look, turning my head. Red curls. It is Mistress Sara. She walks over, her black leather picking up the light. Behind her crawls star-bright Alissa, naked and beautiful. But there is something in her mouth. A cane of some sort. It is oddly shaped, thicker than I would have expected. It seems… bumpy, but I do not get a good view. As Mistress Sara comes up to my other side, on my right, Alissa disappears from my field of view. I am distracted then, as Mistress Sara places her left hand on my breast. I stiffen, expecting a pinch, or a twist, or a pull, or a squeeze, but there is nothing. Just the pressure of her touch. In some ways, the expectation is worse than the torment. And between my legs Tiffany’s tongue and finger swirl.

“Yes?” Sara asks Charlotte warmly. “Can I assist?”

Charlotte nods. “I know you’re next, but if you don’t mind, I need to punish Tiffany for allowing Breanne to cum. But that means…”

“That Breanne is being neglected,” Sara replies. She nods. “Of course. Do you have a preference?”

Charlotte smiles. “I know you have a vested interest. No preference, except I’ve instructed Tiffany to get her back into a state of need.”

Sara looks down at me. “I think she’s there already,” she says with a laugh. “Look at her. She’s practically shaking with desire. It’s one of the things I love about this girl. She cums so hard she almost passes out, then turns around and is ready to suffer through it all again.”

Charlotte smiles. “Would you care for the whip? Or can I get you a sap?”

Sara’s fingers finally begin to move, tightening on my breast. I gasp, unprepared. She looks at my bosom, considering. “I’ve brought something special actually.” She reaches down with her other hand and the strange cane Alissa was carrying in her mouth appears. It is only a centimeter thick. The cane is triangular and made of plastic. One side sports pyramid like studs, the tips sharp. Charlotte looks at the weapon intriguingly.

“My goodness, that is interesting,” she admits. Sara holds it up. I can see it perfectly now. Charlotte runs her fingertips down the studded side. “Will you hit her with it?”

Sara lets go of my breast. “This side is for a different sensation,” she explains, lowering the cane to my chest. She grabs my right breast around the base, bunching it up just as Charlotte had before. I gasp as the studs press against the underside of my nipple. Sara draws the rod toward her, as if my breast is the string of a violin, the can the bow. Each stud along the back strikes my tender nub like the teeth of a saw and within seconds I am overwhelmed. My back arches and I squeal. Mistress Sara finishes the length of the cane and I am wide-eyed and gasping. The studs are sharp, yet not cutting, and combined with what Tiffany is still doing between my legs? My God! It feels…

Mistress Sara twists the cane sideways and with a snap, smacks it firmly across my chest. An entirely different sensations surges through me – sharp pain and the cry that escapes from my throat seems to burn as much as my nipples do. Only the hard suckling of my clit keeps me from screaming. Then, to my consternation, Mistress Sara turns the cane again so that the plastic studs point at the tips of my breasts. Slowly, yet steadily, she draws the cane back toward her, each sharp, firm point drawn roughly across my nipples. When she gets to the end I get another stroke, strong and swift and my nerves are on fire.

“Very good,” Charlotte says in satisfaction. “I’ll deal with Tiffany now.” Mistress Charlotte moves away from my side I feel Tiffany stiffen. She is not scared, but she is bracing herself, her mouth still licking and lapping and sucking at my petals and clitoris. I am dripping wet, wanting to cum again. I endure another length of Mistress Sara’s cane, bouncing sharply against my breasts and I can see Mistress Charlotte position herself directly behind Tiffany.

“Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

My own legs are spread, bound to the iBench, and even strapped at the thigh to prevent me from closing them, so I know it is Tiffany who is to open herself. Again I feel her move, through her mouth, her tongue, and I know she has widened her stance. Mistress Charlotte flicks the whip, underhand, and the leather tip swings upward, fast between Tiffany’s legs. It strikes her sex and she jumps, letting out a gasp that goes into my sex. But by then I am distracted by Mistress Sara’s third stroke, a bright flare of pain shooting across my bosom. I hear Tiffany’s little yelp, but then it is time for the studded side of the cane to be dragged across my chest once more. I hear the whip this time, striking soft, wet, pink flesh. Poor Tiffany!

But as the seconds tick by I come to realize that I am still suffering more than Tiffany. Mistress Charlotte is only barely letting the whip lick at Tiffany’s pussy. She is squirming, it stings, she is dripping wet. But she is not having her nipples slowly sawn off her chest, in between light, sharp, burning strokes of the cane to the same spot. Mistress Sara is methodical, and cruel and only after twenty rounds – one stroke to one draw of the studs – does she change targets. I am panting, tense and desperate as Sara moves to my right foot. I look at her in sudden realization.

“Wait! No! Please! Not my foot!” I squeal. But it is too late. She slaps the cane against my arch with just the right amount of force to sting like a wasp. I squeal, my toes curling, my ankle rotating as I jerk my leg, only to have it stop as the bondage cuff locks me in place. I feel something sharp on my instep and realize that Mistress Sara is rubbing the pyramid studs along the sole of my foot. It is like being scratched with fingernails, or pins, and it both hurts and tickles. I cannot help myself. I pull hard, trying to get my foot away.

“Charlotte?” Asks Mistress Sara. “Do you mind?” The cane waves toward Tiffany’s head.

“Only if you’ll do Tiffany afterward,” Charlotte says curtly. Then she grabs Tiffany by the hair and pulls her mouth, and her fingers, away from my pussy. Tiffany gasps as she is hauled back and Sara takes her place. I am not expecting a soft tongue, or the warmth of Mistress Sara’s mouth. Instead she places the cane against my clitoris, running down into my slit, her knuckles rubbing my petals, and then draws it bouncing and jerking over my sex.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

It is a sensation I am not prepared for. It hurts and feels good, all at the same time. The tiny impacts and sharp points both prick and punch me, and my swollen clit yields. Again, I tighten, pressure building up inside me, my muscles hard and tense. We get to the end of the cane and without a word of warning Mistress Sara lifts the cane and snaps it back down, just enough to make me cry out. Then it is repositioned and dragged through my cunt again.

And again.

And then once more. Each pin point stud tugs at my clit and it drives me insane.

Behind Mistress Sara, Tiffany has been ordered to put her hands on her head, to spread her legs, and brace herself. Mistress Tiffany is merely swinging the whip back and forth, striking Tiffany’s breasts, her loins, and even her sex. I can already see red marks decorating her skin, some of them firm lines, others just a pink glow. But while I feel for her, it is the cane that keeps my attention. Mistress Sara snaps it again, leaving my pussy stinging from clit down to my ass. Then she drags the studded side through my sex once more.

I surge upward, thrusting, desperate and crazy. I am begging. I am pleading. I am needful and on edge. I hear the whip against Tiffany’s skin, but it is my own suffering that surges through my head. I lift up my bottom, tilting my hips, making a target of my sex so that Mistress Sara can hit me. It comes as expected and I scream, trembling. I am so close. I am ready. “Yes!” I squeal, shuddering. “Please! Please! Hit me!”

Mistress Sara chooses otherwise. Once more the cane is pulled across my pussy, the points tearing at my clit, scratching at my petals. Sara pulls slowly and I squeeze my eyes shut, my teeth clench, my back arches. I am raw and exposed. I am pressured and ready to pop. I feel the end of the cane and I brace myself.

Nothing happens. I wait. Nothing. I open my eyes. Sara is gone, as is Charlotte. No more cane. No more sharp little studs. No more whip. No more whimpering Tiffany. For a second I am lost, hungry and hurting, wanting more. Movement. Dark locks around a pixie face. I look up into the eyes of my mistress. Julie leans down, kisses me on the mouth, and pushes her hand up between my legs. She is holding a massager. One of the small, battery operated ones. It purrs to life as she presses it against my clitoris, buzzing in short bursts. I gasp as it brings me the rest of the way and I look up at Julie. She nods.

“Yes princess,” she whispers in my ear. “You may cum.”

I let out a whimper. An orgasm without consequence. I shudder and let myself go, giving into the moment as this slight woman brings me to a peak. I cry out, climaxing as she does nothing but pleasure me. She kisses my mouth, my breasts, and I am arching. Energy courses through me and I find my edge. I leap into the abyss, my heart racing, tense and electric and passionate. I am exploding.

“Breanne,” Julie whispers, her voice excited, afraid, worried. “Mike proposed. I’m getting married.”

And I go crashing down. 

Part 6 will be out tomorrow...

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