A Roll In the Pegs

Nerves. Either they are things of steel, or weak, watery things. Mine were running toward the latter and I stood in the hallway with the bucket, feeling just a little nervous. I licked my lips, trying to summon the mental courage to get on with it, but the thumping metal bass of the music and the underlying roar of people talking were like an imposing wall. How could I possible walk in there; a room filled with almost forty people, and do… well… you know.

I looked down at myself. I was wearing the flimsiest of dresses, a seven dollar gauze number Julie had picked up online and given me right before she’d taken me out for dinner. That had been almost as humiliating, sitting there at the table, the waiter oggling me. I might as well have been naked for all the good my attire was doing. You could see my breasts perfectly, right through the black mesh, and had I been wearing a bra, or panties, you would have been able see the pattern of the lace. The dress was more costume than clothing.

I shifted my weight back and forth. The black stilettos Kari had given me over a year ago were on my feet, the six inch heels lifting me up precariously, but making me look like the sex slut I was. Considering the late hour of the day, my feet weren’t hurting, and I knew I wouldn’t be on them for long.

There was a light tap on my shoulder and I glanced over to my right. The young man standing there was tall and lean, clean cut and handsome. His chin was covered with a short, attractive beard and his blue eyes seemed to sparkle with anticipation. Zack gave me a look that said “get on with it” without actually saying it. I took a deep breath. Right. This group had been gathered for a specific purpose. So there was nothing to do but “get on with it.” I took a step forward. Then another. I felt the change in pressure as I stepped into the fraternity’s common room, and joined the party.

Black lights, strobe lights, and one of those kids’ party disco ball things had turned the great room of the fraternity house into a rave. Purple, blue, red and green stars flashed across the ceiling and everywhere kids were dancing. I say kids, but technically they were all adults. The reality is that I’m getting older. I know it. To me, these eighteen to twenty-two year olds look so young. Granted, I’ve got a baby face, so most people underestimate my age, which is nice. I look like I’m in my late twenties. But still, I couldn’t help feeling a twinge, knowing that I was fourteen years old and already sexually active when some of these whelps were born.

I stepped to the doorway and looked in. The center of the room was clear, a taped square approximately fifteen feet across daringly empty, as if some sort of force was preventing the partygoers from entering the space. I pushed forward, already drawing eyes and then I was alone, standing in the square as the music died down to soft tones and everyone began to hush. My pulse raced and I swear to God I actually considered running for it. People began settling down, finding places to sit, drinking and watching as I stood there in my gauze dress, and set the bucket down.

Nothing was said. Nothing had to be. They all knew why they were here. I knew why I was there. “A mid-term party with some special entertainment,” Julie had said. “You’ll have fun!” She said. Fun. Right. I moved to the very center of the square and tried, probably poorly, to do a sexy strip tease. The buttons on the front of the dress were small and cheap and my fingers fumbled them. Still, I swayed, and turned; presenting my ass, my breasts, exposing little bits at a time, pretending that they couldn’t already see my prurient bits. I expected a cat call or something, but the fraternity boys knew better and the few girls that were there seemed to understand. Then the front of my dress was open and I shrugged out of it slowly, letting it fall until I stood there naked, utterly and totally exposed.

Still sort of dancing to the music, I reached into the bucket. My hand closed on a fistfull of wooden pegs and I drew them out. I tried not to look at the faces around me, the eyes staring, or the muted whispers I could barely hear over the music. I squeezed the first clothespin and set it onto my left nipple, sticking straight out. It closed, biting the tip of my breast tightly, wiggling as I breathed. The pain was noticeable, especially the way I put it on. With the clothespin parallel to the floor, the weight of the peg actually bent my nipple down slightly; each movement, each breath making it jiggle painfully. I set another one next to the first, and then a third a bit further out than that. Then, with my nipple already throbbing, little shards of exquisite pain mixing with the humiliation of my public nudity, I set the last two clothespins on the same breast, leaving five of the damned pegs jiggling on my tit.

I went back to the bucket, sensually, as if I were a ballerina on the stage, swirling as I dipped down and got more. I sat down smoothly, one leg up in the air, spreading myself open, and I put a clothespin on my clitoris. Another went on my labia, then another. Clothespin after clothespin. I set them myself. Delicately. Painfully. Until my sex was almost hidden by rows of pegs clinging to my petals. My movements started to become hindered as I rose, the wooden edges digging into my thighs, but I managed it, standing and bending, a handful of clothespins waiting.

I did my right breast, another line of biting, pinching, crushing maws chewing on my flesh. It hurt. Every new bite hurt. My clit seemed to tingle, my left nipple throbbed with heat. And then my right breast joined in. More clothespins. Around in a circle. Each breast. I looked down into the bucket. It was only half empty, but at least now I could see the vibrator. It had been hiding under the mass of pegs, waiting for me.

I ran out of room. There was nowhere else to stick the clothespins on my breasts or sex and I was starting to have trouble. So I looked around. There was one girl, sitting on a lap, staring at me hungrily. She might have been twenty, with soft brown eyes, a mischievous smile, and luxurious brown hair that came down to her shoulders. She was dressed in a crop top and skirt, both of which emphasized her impressive bosom and hips. I stepped out of my square, hands held out, reaching for her wordlessly. Her eyes widened and she rose, handing off her cup, taking my fingers as I pulled her into the square. I scooped up a handful of clothespins and held them out to her. She seemed to understand. One by one, she helped me, placing a line down my left side, along the underside of my arm, then on my inner thighs. I bit my lip and placed my hands behind my neck. Pain shot through me and a few of the clothespins snapped free, requiring them to be placed back on.

Finally, the last of forty-eight pegs were hanging from my skin and I knew the hard part was coming up. I looked at her, practically scared to move, her eyes questing, unsure. “The vibrator,” I said, wanting to whisper but knowing she’d never hear me under the thumping music. She smiled and pulled the toy out of the bucket. I moved my arm carefully, took the purple phallic rod, and switched it on. Then, looking back out at the crowd around me, I set it against my clit.

It is not an easy feat to masturbate to orgasm in front of someone. Trying doing it covered in clothespins, pain shooting through every section of your body, and in the middle of a gaggle of someones. Eyes caressed me, words of encouragement, of debasement, of hunger lapped at my senses. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. I wanted to rip the clothespins off. My nipples and clit hurt. But so did every other part of me. The lines of clothespins running down my side, along my thighs, and on the underside of my arms burned horribly. Arousal? I didn’t think I could do it. Until the buzzing vibrator touched my clothespin crushed clitoris.

A surge of lust shot through me. Pain? I eat it for breakfast. Humiliation? It was what I was built for. My hips jerked forward, making the pegs wiggle. Another wave of agony flashed through me, but this one was graced with a different flavor. I needed now. The clothespin on my clit danced to a different tune as I rubbed the tip of the vibrator there, and I spun in a slow circle, growing rapture on my face. It didn’t take long, the waves of pressure building and I realized that I had been halfway to orgasm from the very moment I’d stepped into the room, wet and ready. I moaned, the nature of my movements changing from a dance to a fuck. My hips rocked and thrust lewdly. I thrust my breasts forward. My eyes, half lidded in pleasure and pain. I started looking at faces, seeing their own arousal, their lust, match mine. I slid the vibrator into me, gasping as it spread my depths open, filling me fully and completely. The oscillations sent me skyrocketing upward and my lewd thrusts only enraptured the crowd further.

I could feel the orgasm. It was there and I was on the edge, skipping along the metaphorical line that represented a point of no return. Did I leap into the abyss, cumming with a spectacular finish? Or stop and suffer? A series of spasms rippled through me and I caught Zack’s eye, seeing him shake his head. He knew what I was thinking and his eyes narrowed, promising punishment.

I let out a squeal and yanked the vibrator away from my pussy. My hand shook. My body did too. The clothespins seemed to writhe like fire on my form. I hunched over, counting, teeth clenched, desire flooding through my veins like an empty arroyo during a rainstorm. I got to thirty.

I dropped to my knees.

I twisted and fell onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. Prone. I raised my hands above my head.

And did the unthinkable.

I rolled.

My body spiraled across the carpet. Agony shot through me as the clothespins were violently bent to the sides, their wooden maws unable to maintain a hold on my skin under the pressure. There was a snapping sound and pinching agony flared across my skin. Wooden pegs went flying, but some went under me as the line along my left side were mashed between my own weight and the floor. I completed the revolution, turning onto my stomach as my bosom hit the floor. The pain of it was something I was just not prepared for. The softness of my breasts yielded, and instead of coming off, the clothespins twisted on my nipples, or dug into the flesh of my bosom. I let out a sharp cry and felt the pegs on my pussy digging and jabbing, tearing at my labia as they were bent and forced, and with an awful realization, I knew that I’d have to move faster if I wanted to dislodge them. I’d need to fling them off. I came back up on the other side, the floor littered with at least a dozen, maybe even two, but that left still half clinging to various parts of my anatomy. I sucked in a ragged breath, legs spread obscenely as I braced myself.

The two clothespins I’d stuck directly on my nipples had managed to remain, the gold hoop piercings and charm padlock giving the clothespins something to grip. But most of the others on my breasts were gone as I took stock and got ready to roll back the other way. The ones on my pussy pretty much all remained, and I could feel the absence of the lines going down my sides. There was still the same pinching sensation on my thighs and arms and I pushed myself the other direction, rolling over the fallen clothespins more frantically, thrashing as if I were on fire, needing to put it out. More clothespins fell, but it was truly a bitter sensation. My arousal was forgotten. I didn’t need to cum anymore. I just hurt. I rolled again, thrusting my pussy forward. It was so hard to get the ones on my labia off! Then I felt the clothespin on my clit snap free and I almost brought my hands down to my sex, it stung so much. Tears beaded up in my eyes, but I rolled again. It took me three more spins before my breasts were free, and only a few errant clothespins clung to my pussy.

I came to a stop, chest heaving. I was out of breath! I was tired. I was… exhausted. I was hurting. I was trembling, shaking, just lying there on the floor amidst a battlefield. Clothespins lay around me like fallen soldiers. I spread my arms wide and lay there, about a dozen beneath my ass and back, but just too blown away to even try to do something about it.

The vibrator; it lay forgotten.

The girl who helped me picked it up. She turned it off. She leaned over me and put it back in the bucket. I looked up at her and she smiled. Then she picked up a clothespin and made to throw it in with the vibe, but suddenly Julie was there. She’d stepped into the square. She grabbed the girl’s hand and pushed it back toward me. The girl’s eyes widened as I nodded, accepting and Julie pointed at my breast. So the girl with the big boobs in the crop top brought it down, toward my bosom. Our eyes met and her expression was enticing. I could see she wanted to do it. She just wasn’t sure if she should. So I helped her. I reached up, cupped my breasts, and nodded. She licked her lips and then pinched open the clothespin. She pushed it into my tit, deep, letting it bite just to the side of my piercing, where the other clothespin still dangled and I arched my back, grimacing. I hadn’t really even recovered.

Julie stepped away, grinning, eyes sparkling at my discomfort, and disappeared back into the crowd. I was too focused on what was happening. Clothespin after clothespin being picked up and set on me again. Movement caught my eye and another girl crossed into the square; a sweet little blonde. She smiled at me, scooping up the wooden pegs. She pushed at my leg and I spread myself. She put the first one on my clit.

Someone else joined in, and then another, until I was surrounded. I closed my eyes, taking the pain, the attention, the utter sound and fury of it. Shards of glass seemed to cut at me, along my labia, my inner thighs, my biceps, along my sides. And oh God, my breasts. My breasts hurt so much! I was rolled, just enough to get the pegs beneath me, then those too were pinned to my form. I moaned, whimpering, and then I heard the vibrator. I opened my eyes to see the girl I’d pulled into the square with me first, holding it up, then press it down to my sex.

My legs were already open and to my shock, she didn’t aim for my clit. The pink, inviting depths were her target and I gasped as the vibrator slid into me. It felt amazing and I suddenly realized that I was horny. I was wet and ready and wanting. The energy pulsed through me, over the throbbing heat at the tips of my breasts, over the caustic pain of the pinched folds of skin on my arms and legs and sides. And that girl fucked me. She slid the vibrator in and out, over and over. Someone else leaned near me and took hold of the clothespin on my clit, gently twisting it a few degrees back and forth. I cried out, thrusting upward, desperating surging upward and downward as my toes curled in my shoes. I heard the voices commenting, the excited exclamations, and then someone kissed me, passionately. I felt long hair on my face. A tongue pushed its way into my mouth and I kissed her back.

“She’s still not allowed to cum,” I heard Zack shout over the music, through the kiss. “Don’t let her cum!”

And then I was there. The orgasm I’d been denied the first time hurled itself at me. I twisted my head and freed my mouth. “Stop! Please! Please!”

Zack’s head flitted into view through other, surprised faces. “Get back! Let her roll! Take the vibe away!”

The phallus between my legs was pulled mercilessly from my snatch and I literally cried out more from that than anything else. I brought my arms down to my stomach, clothespins already snapping off my skin. But then Zack reached down and snagged my wrists, hauling my hands back above my head.

“Roll Bre!” He shouted at me over the music and the cheering. The girls around me scattered and I felt him twisting my arms, not to hurt me, but to give me torque. I did it, rolling onto my stomach, shards of pain exploding through me, all at the exact same time I was cumming.

My mind fogged. Too much stimulation. Was it hurting? Or was it something else? I couldn’t tell. My muscles stopped taking my commands and it was Zack who rolled me, keeping me from curling up into a fetal ball. Still, it isn’t easy to spin someone who isn’t cooperative and I ended up with my knees at my chin anyway. He looked down at me in frustration, two dozen clothespins still clinging to my body as I shuddered, eyes rolled up into the back of my head, humiliating myself as I proved, once more, that I was a nympho humiliation pain slut.

“Help me get her to her feet!” Zack shouted at someone, and hands grabbed me under my arms, hauling me up. I felt more pain, especially as the glow of the orgasm faded, and I looked down. Most of the clothespins on my sex were still there. Including the one on my clit. Worse, the ones on my nipples had stayed on. I felt my legs give way, but Zack and his friend held me up. I laughed, a little hysterical, and I was practically dragged away, out of the room, back into the foyer.

Quiet. Hurt. Satisfaction. I felt a riot of sensation as we escaped the music, the eyes, the people. I let out a small cry as Zack picked me up, carrying me in his arms as he started up the stairs. I clung to him, still shaking, my clothespinned breasts pressed to his chest. On the second floor he turned left, and into the first, small room. A bed was waiting, stripped of nothing but a soft, fitted sheet, and he laid me on the mattress. Another boy was there too and they took my wrists, pulling them upward. I didn’t fight it. The ropes were already tied to the metal framed headboard. Then they moved downward. My legs were spread, bound at ankle and knee, and then Zack began removing the remaining clothespins still attached to my pussy. I winced, whimpering as they came off. He set each one on the nightstand.  

“That was pretty impressive,” he said simply. His fingers danced along my labia and it felt good and bad at the same time. Another clothespin went on the nightstand. “But I thought you were supposed to wait thirty seconds before rolling and then cum.”

I didn’t reply. I was too breathless. I jerked as another painful spot made me groan. The clothespin went on the stand. I looked down. The only one left was the one on my clit, and the two still clinging to my nipples. How the hell had that happened?

Zack stood up. “”Well, enjoy yourself,” he said simply.

I blinked, bound and spread open, my nipples and clit throbbing in torment. “Zack! Wait! The clothespins!”

He grinned. “Julie said to leave them on you and let your first paramour take them off.” He leaned down and kissed me. “And to make sure they knew to put them back on you before the next one came in.”

He flicked the one on my clit and I gasped. Then he turned and left the room, closing the door. The other boy, who had helped tie me to the bed gave me a smile.

“It’s okay, Bre. I’ll take them off,” he said as he unbuckled his pants, shucking out of them. His boxers went next and he pulled out a huge, thick cock. He rolled a condom onto himself and then climbed up between my legs. He reached down and pulled the clothespin off my clit. Without squeezing it open first. I squealed. Then he slid himself in.

“Well, one of them. I like the ones on your tits,” he whispered as he thrust deep. I opened my mouth, whimpering as the rush of pleasure hit me, the sensation of his member inside me, the wet bliss of sex. I shook my breasts back and forth, the clothespins sticking straight up from my nipples wiggling, and tines of pain rushed through me. I felt the heat, the power, the energy, the want. I gulped and looked up at him.

“Fuck me hard, please.”

And he laughed, his hips pounding against mine.

“Breanne, everyone is going to fuck you hard.”

And the clothespins danced.

Breanne, you will find a place to get naked, cover yourself in pegs everywhere you can fit them, and then use a vibrator to bring yourself close to orgasm. Edge. Wait 30 seconds, then drop to the ground and roll over and over until all the pegs fall off of your body. If you don't orgasm from the pegs breaking off, put them back on and repeat. - Mistress Jess

 

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