Nick's Night - Part One

I paced around my apartment, my bare feet thudding softly on the carpet, waiting for the person I was calling to pick up. It took four rings before the line went to voicemail and I sighed in exasperation, throwing the phone down onto the bed in frustration.

“Neither of them?” I asked no one in particular, raising my eyes toward the ceiling. “Neither of them are answering? What if I was in trouble? What if I were hurt? What if I needed…” my voice trailed off because that was the problem. Need, of the most intense sort.

My day, up to that point, had been mildly frustrating. Kari had been in one of her creative moods, practically locking herself into the art room, leaving me to my own devices. And by devices, I mean the vibroballs that I’d slipped inside myself that morning. I’d turned them on for fifteen minutes stretches, each hour, on low, per her standing instructions, which only kept me insanely wet and desperate for more attention. I’d gotten a ton of writing done; a full fifteen pages. And there had been a quick desk fuck in the upstairs office of one of the CPAs that work in our building. But that had been so vanilla that it practically wasn’t worth anything.

I had fire running through my veins that needed quenching and that was a bad thing.

Neither Kari nor Julie were answering their phones and to be fair, I knew why. Kari was probably doing something with her husband Robert, which was understandable. They had active social lives that frequently did not include me, especially in the evening. They were constantly going to galas, parties, grand openings, and other elitist events that would not have reacted well to a scantily clad redheaded fuck slut following in Kari’s wake. It was one of the reasons that having two mistresses worked out well for me. Kari had me during the daylight hours, while Julie had me for the evenings.

Except… she didn’t. Not really.

As a parent, I had responsibilities, so most weekday nights I spent at home. I cooked for my daughter. I helped her with her homework. We read together. We got ready for bed. Then we would go to sleep. Julie had compensated for my lack of availability by finding someone else to fuck stupid. I didn’t mind that of course. She and Mike the Hardware Guy were now quite the cute couple and even I could see that the romance between them was real and special. I just hadn’t been expecting it. Julie had moved out of her apartment and in with him, which put a thirty-five minute drive between the two of us during non-rush hour traffic. She was busy.

The nice thing about being me though, is that I have alternative options. So I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts list, considered two or three names, only to have my thumb hover over one in particular. I knew he’d pick up, and I knew he’d be available. The only issue was that I also knew that I’d barely be able to walk afterward. Then my pussy contracted wetly around the still silent, still unsatisfactory vibroballs and I made my decision. I pressed the button.

He picked up on the second ring.

“Well hello,” Nick drawled. “I’ve been wondering when I’d hear from you.”

I’d met Nick four or five years before after a seriously bad bout of pneumonia had left me hospitalized. Oddly enough, he had been visiting a friend who had been sharing a room with me and a relationship developed. It had been Nick who had pushed me back into the semi-public life I lead as a nympho humiliation pain slut. And I appreciated that. Nick had flitted in and out of my life since then, but one thing I knew about him was that he had a tendency to push my limits. Sex with him was about straining capacities. And since that’s sort of what I was looking for, I smiled at the inflection in his voice. He wanted me too.

“I was wondering if you were interested in spending some time with me this evening?” I asked carefully.

He paused. “That depends. Are you giving yourself over to me?”

I laughed. “For the duration of the evening, yes.”

“Well, you have my attention, but I have to warn you that I’m feeling unusually energetic and sadistic. You’ll lose your voice.”

I blinked. “I’ll lose my voice?” I asked skeptically, wondering how the hell he was going to fuck me to a point where I’d not be able to talk anymore. “What, you’re going to gag me or something?”

He chuckled. “No. But you’ll be screaming so much you’ll go hoarse.”

I started to laugh, but there was something in his voice that made me pause. “The ‘oh my God yes’ sort of screaming? Or the ‘holy fuck that fucking hurts do it some more’ sort of screaming?”

“Yes,” he replied smugly.

I sighed. Admittedly I reconsidered it, but the pressure that had built between my legs was just too much.

“Okay, I’m in. Sign me up for horrible sexual torture,” I agreed.

He laughed. “When?”

“I’ve got to drop Rachel off at my parents,” I told him. “Should I pick us up a bite to eat?”

“Nah, I’ll take you out for dinner. Wear the gray summer dress.”

I squirmed slightly at that. The gray summer dress was actually decent, with a collar that hugged the throat, bare shoulders and arms, and had a wide open back. It wasn’t super sexy, or revealing. But it was soft and malleable. That did not bode well. “Okay,” I replied. “Shoes?”

I could practically hear him shrug. “Whatever. You won’t be wearing them long. And considering what I’m going to do to the bottoms of your feet, you might want something simple and soft for the ride home.”

I paused. “Ride? Why wouldn’t I drive myself home?”

Nick laughed. Evilly. “Because you won’t be in a condition to drive yourself. See you soon.”  He hung up.

I set down the phone and started to strip as I padded into the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror.

“Okay, girl. You’re getting what you asked for,” I told myself, my lips pressed firm and in a thin line. I looked at myself, naked in the mirror, a blank canvas ready for paint.

Why the hell did I feel so nervous then?

***

When I arrived at Nick’s apartment, I was wearing a pair of high heeled sandals that I thought went well with my dress. I’d elected to go sans panties, and a bra was already out considering the dress I was wearing had no back, so in essence I had a single article of clothing to my name, along with a small purse that held my wallet, about half a dozen condoms, two different sets of nipple clamps, and my phone. Oh, and a battery pack. He opened the door a second after I knocked and he looked down on me with hungry eyes.

I felt a shiver of trepidation run through me. I imagined that was exactly how a wounded zebra felt on the Serengeti, being stalked by a lion.

Nick was tall, but not basketball tall. Even with my heels he stood over me by a good six inches. His hair was dark brown and he had an impressive, clean shaven chin. Neither fat nor thin, he was relatively average in the physique department, which didn’t bother me in the least. I don’t need washboard abs to be attracted to a guy. It’s all about attitude. And Nick had plenty.

“Well, Breanne Erickson, my favorite nympho humiliation pain slut,” he said casually, leaning against the door frame. I smiled.

“You know more than one?” I queried with just a bit of snark. I knew I could get away with it. Nick appreciated a little bit of witty banter. It would give him a justifiable excuse to punish me.  Besides, there aren’t a lot of us out there. Two that I know of, and one lives in California and one in the United Kingdom. I doubted Nick had been banging either of them.

“What’s the toy of the day?” he asked me, though I’m pretty sure he noticed the bright pink wire coming out from under my hem and going up to my handbag.

“Vibroballs,” I told him simply. “They’re off.”

He nodded. “Okay. Take off the dress,” he told me, though he didn’t move. He was still blocking the doorway. My eyebrow went up.

“Here?”

He grinned. “Right here.”

“I thought we were going to go get some dinner?” I sidetracked. The doorway of Nick’s apartment wasn’t terribly exposed, but his neighbor’s door was literally next to his. This wasn’t exactly a great place to undress.

He shook his head. “First we’re going to do an assessment of your horniness. Then I’m going to hurt you while you make me cum. Then we’re going to dinner.”

I blinked. “Um, will I get to cum?”

He laughed. “I doubt it. Not unless you get off on the abuse I’m about to inflict on your pussy.”

I swallowed. “Well, you never know,” I said glibly, not feeling confident at all. “So the idea is to take me out aroused?”

Nick reached out, put his finger on my chin, and lifted it up so our eyes met. “Breanne, you will be so fucking desperate when we go out to eat that you’ll be begging me to fuck you up at the restaurant.”

“Uh… you mean fuck me. Not fuck me up,” I amended.

“No, I meant exactly what I said. Now take off your dress.”

I took a deep breath. I’d already made up my mind, but it perhaps didn’t quite show as firmly as Nick would have desired. I looked hesitant, worried. Still, I peeled my dress up, despite standing in the doorway of his apartment. In seconds I was standing there in the buff, my pierced breasts hanging out, begging for a whipping. My well rounded posterior hung out, facing the walkway, and my stuffed pussy glistened with anticipatory wetness. Nick held out his hand and I handed him my dress, though I obviously kept my purse. The pink wire running to my pussy was quite visible against my white skin.

Nick reached into his pocket and brought out three clothespins. He held them out to me. “Put them on. Nipples and clit.”

I took them, but I also glanced around. This was called “public nudity” in police parlance and the sexual connotation put it dangerously close to “lewdness.” Still, no one was around, so I did as told. The tight bite of the wooden pegs on my nipples went straight to my sex, making my wet slit tighten around the vibroballs. I spent some time positioning the last clothespin, letting it close on my clitoris with a gasp. It felt incredible and my slippery hot sex tingled with anticipation. I looked up at Nick, slightly breathless, loving the thrill of being naked outside, fearing the risk of being caught, and enduring the delicious bite and pain of the clamps.

“Now, you’re going to get on your hands and knees and crawl into the living room,” Nick explained easily. “You’re going to sit down on the coffee table, lay back, and spread your legs open as far and as wide as you can.”

“Okay,” I gulped.

His eyebrow went up. “Just okay? No smart alec quips? No snarky repartee? No questions why?”

“I know why,” I replied. “Can I get on my knees now, sir?”

He pursed his lips, then nodded. I dropped down. The concrete wasn’t comfortable, but he moved out of my way as I crawled into his apartment. How could he not realize that I was going to cooperate completely, just in order to get out of the public space?

Nick’s apartment wasn’t dirty, but it wasn’t picked up either. Beer bottles stood on a few tables, some dishes clearly needed to be put away, but I wasn’t there to be his maid. Just his little nympho humiliation pain slut. I turned to my left, saw the couch and coffee table, and made me crawl over. Large, sturdy, and square, this wasn’t going to be my first time on Nick’s coffee table. I lifted my head and torso, rising up, when I caught sight of the flogger and leather sap. A tightness spread across me and I wondered just how bad things were going to get. I lay back. The coffee table was wide enough to support my entire body, but my head dangled uncomfortably off the other side. I didn’t like it, and knew I’d get tired quickly, but couldn’t think of a good way to complain about it. I spread my legs and then Nick was there. I felt him grab my left foot and watched as he buckled on a rather nice, black leather bondage cuff. Evidently he’d threaded rope under the coffee table and when he did my other foot, he was able to tie me down and open with an impressive strain on my thighs. I groaned with pleasure at the sensation. I’ve always loved being spread open and tied that way is even better. I love the feeling of helplessness, of exposure, and of being stretched and strained. His fingers found my dripping cunt and he rubbed the smooth, slick petals before tying off my hands. I moaned prodigiously.

“There,” he announced, when I was securely bound to the table. “Now I’m going to whip you, right between the legs, while you give me a blowjob.” He stripped off his jeans and then his boxers, retrieving the flogger and sap and setting them down next to me.

“You really want to smack me with a whip when your cock is between my teeth?” I dared him. He laughed.

“I don’t think you’ll bite me. And if you do, the punishment you’ll get for that will make a simple flogging of your girlie bits seem like a love tap.” Then he moved between the table and the television, his nutsack just a foot above my face, and he knelt, literally resting his scrotum on my face. I didn’t have a lot of maneuverability, but I was able to tilt my head and start licking his balls. He didn’t make any noise, and I couldn’t see his face, but he did pick up the flogger. This particular weapon was rubber and had about a zillion strands, but I didn’t mind. What Nick didn’t realize was that the whip didn’t have a whole lot of bite. Not compared with the leather sap. I felt him drag the ends of the rubber strands across my breasts, making the clothespins still clinging there jiggle. That hurt, but I loved it too.

He lifted the whip off my body and began swinging it in a circle. He didn’t hit my pussy though, or my thighs. His first few strokes slashed across my boobs. I yelped loudly as the pain shot down through me, but I realized a moment later that he wasn’t aiming at my chest specifically. He was aiming at the two clothespins sticking straight up from my nipples. Each stroke forced the wooden pegs to bend and twist, sending shards of hurting glass cutting through my nerves.

Then Nick lowered himself and I realized that the main reason he hadn’t wanted my head supported by the coffee table was because it would be tough to kneel upright and fuck my mouth if I’d been looking straight up. Instead I found myself staring at his testicles, his cock pushed into my mouth, the blood rushing up into the top of my head, as he picked up the whip again. He had a perfect angle too – not for cocksucking – but for cunt whipping, and the flogger swung down with enough straight up force to rip the clothespin he’d made me put on my clit right off. I yelped loudly again, despite the cock in my mouth. My thighs tightened as my legs pulled on the ropes and bondage cuffs, but he’d tied me pretty good. My sex squeezed the vibroballs, but because he’d hit with enough force not just to remove the wooden peg and leave a sting, it felt more like the promised punishment than some sort of kinky foreplay.

Still, my body responded predictably. I felt my sex tighten in rhythmic spasms. My pulse quickened and my chest heaved. My brain began to shut down the higher thought functions in order to keep up with the stimulation being inflicted upon my body. The cock in my mouth set the stage and Nick’s flogger danced across my breasts, tummy and pussy, leaving me ready for more.

As I struggled to suck cock upside down, which is not easy by the way, Nick began slapping the flogger against my thighs. At first I thought his aim was just lousy when he smacked my inner right leg, but then as he placed another swat on my labia and clit, only to nail my left thigh in turn, I began to realize that he was working himself into a pattern. The flogger swung in circles, starting at one knee and working across my crotch until he got to the calf of the other leg. Then back again. Each blow seemed firm and while I wasn’t going to leave me screeching, I could feel the blooming heat of the beating.

But what really got to me was the fact that my pussy wanted to be hit more. I was craving it. Each time he got closer I got more excited, sucking harder on his cock, licking more forcefully, trying to communicate my needs. I wanted more than just the flogging. I wanted him to smack my gash into paste. I wanted him to beat my clit. I wanted him to lick and fuck me stupid. I wanted to cum. Hard. And instead I got this light dusting that just left me humming with desperation. Well… more desperation… than before.

His shaft was rock hard too, and I thought that maybe if I got him off he’d be more willing to spend some direct time on my clit. If nothing else, it would get my mouth free so I could beg. So I focused on that, rather than the building heat and residual string of frustrating blows moving across my loins. My ass tightened up as my hips began pumping and if he couldn’t see that I was rising up to meet his strokes, then I’d have been willing to eat my shirt.

Well, okay. Dress. Or some of my dress. Wherever the hell Nick had put it.

As he got closer to cumming though, I detected a distinct shift in his focus and way more strokes began landing directly between my legs. I loved it and began eagerly devouring his cock. My ass was thumping against the coffee table, my pussy quivering with both stinging heat and desperate desire. I moaned loudly, around the thick shaft wetly pumping in my mouth, only to get two quick slashes of the flogger across my quivering breasts. One tore the clothespin off my left nipple, and that hurt like hell, but the one on my right tit took both hits like a champ and stayed there, sticking straight up like one of those knock down clowns on a carnival midway. Nick, who was clearly getting ready to shoot his load, went back to beating me between the legs, the cracking sound of the rubber whip striking wet, swollen flesh loud and clear. I squealed as the intensity of it grew and I would have traded just about anything to have my hands free so that I could grab the man’s cock and rub him into the necessary release. Instead, I could only lay there, barely moving, a living breathing tied down fuck doll.

And a target.

Nick let out a tense groan and I knew he’d finally gotten to the point. His strokes with the whip faltered, though he still managed one or two more across my torso, stinging my tummy and leaving marks across my hip. Then his cock jerked and shuddered. I took a deep breath of air, in expectation, and I wasn’t left wanting. His thick salty cream blasted its way down my throat, making me choke and sputter as I tried to swallow it all. Evidently that wasn’t quite to Nick expectations and he yanked his cock out of my mouth, his fist pumping the hard shaft, and another stream shot out, splattering my belly and pussy, leaving me wet from cunt to chin. Another, smaller spurt left globs of white across my chest and as he relaxed, letting go of his cock, he began swinging the flogger again.

The first stroke of this second round ripped the last clothespin off my breast and I did scream a little, along with some choice commentary now that my mouth wasn’t full. I gritted my teeth as he spent over a minute hitting my tits, smacking them back and forth with the whip, turning my bosom a nice shade of light pink, before he turned once more to my stretched open loins. My thighs were flushed and my pussy itself dark, but he mixed the moisture of his cum with my own sopping wet juices, using the wet strands of the flogger to open my labia and dig in deep. Even then, he couldn’t really do anything serious with the flogger and I think he realized that a moment later, as all I did was make loud, high-pitched noises of distress. He moved around to the couch, right by my open sex, sat down, and picked up the leather sap.

“Do you want to cum now, Breanne?” He asked me, holding the leather paddle a few inches above my gaping hole.

I lifted my head and nodded frantically. “Oh God yes! Please! Oh please! I need to cum! Please!”

“How many strokes do you think an orgasm is worth?” He asked but then he grabbed at the wire leading to my pussy, following it not to my wet, dark pink slit, but to my purse. He pulled the vibroballs controller out.

“As many as it takes,” I moaned. He nodded. Then he turned the vibroballs on. To full power.

My quivering depths did a double take and had those vibroballs been any more fragile I might have crushed them. As it was, my entire lower half went to high speed, thumping hard as the vibrations drove me way closer to the edge than I’d expected. Sure, I’d been in the vicinity, but this… wow. I closed my eyes and let my head drop back. I braced myself for what was coming.

Nick hit my pussy with a hard enough smack to splatter girl goo across the paddle and over his lap. He adjusted his aim, targeting my clit directly, and began pounding me with forceful, steady strokes. My heels thumped on the coffee table as I strained, my bound open legs tensing. I keened out a pained, but exquisite wail, and as I felt the oncoming orgasm rear its head, I began blubbering, begging him to hit me harder.

Which is when he dropped the paddle on my tummy, leaned back, and sighed.

For the first few seconds I was dumbstruck. My pussy was on fire, both from the beating and the need and I wanted him to either fuck me stupid, or finish up and turn my slit into tenderized raw meat. One or the other damnit. Preferably both? Instead he put his hands up behind his head, lifted his bare foot, and jammed the arch up against my dripping, stinging cunt. I gasped. It felt good. I needed it. But it wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot.

“Whip me? Please? Oh God Nick! Beat me! Please! Hit my pussy with the sap!” I bleated.

Instead he just jiggled his foot. I struggled in vain, perched on a precipice. The vibroballs purred and his foot pressed heavily on my cunt, but there wasn’t quite enough to push me over. I wanted, no needed him to hit me again. I lifted my head. Our eyes met.

“Nick,” I croaked. “Please? Whip my pussy? Please? PLEASE? FUCK PLEASE?”

Nick smiled cruelly and said nothing. But he did wiggle his foot. Just a little.

“Nick! Damnit! You can’t do this to me!” I spat. My head fell back. I couldn’t keep it up. Already the urgency of need was starting to fade, and not in a nice way. Then he moved his foot and I tensed, expecting the needed stroke of the sap. Instead there was a pressure, something pulling, and the two vibroballs popped out of my convulsing gash, rattling loudly against each other. I groaned, a horrible disappointment spreading through me. I lay there panting and then something hard and painful grabbed hold of my clit, twisting slightly. I let out a pained mewl and looked. The clothespin. He’d put it back on. Then he leaned over me and set the other two wooden pegs that he’d knocked off my tits back on my nipples.

“Now you’re ready for dinner,” he said simply. “Let me get your dress.”

To be continued...

This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog, but is now available in Breanne Erickson's Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 20, in e-book format from Amazon.com! Get your copy today!

The Post - Part Two

Of all the various instruments used to scour my skin raw, one of the ones I prefer the most, especially across the breasts, is the leather flogger. The why is simple. It hurts the least. I know that as a certified nympho humiliation pain slut I should be offering my bosom up for the most unspeakable torments, but the reality is that a little bit of pain goes a long way for me. No need to peel my skin off in layers, or break bones, or push needles through my various sensitive bits to push me over the edge I assure you. And if you’re going to get a full body whipping from head to toe, then let me impress upon you - choose the flogger.

Admittedly it also depends on how the person utilizing said weapon is swinging it. But I figure that this is a variable that will change with each of us, and what we’re talking about is the whip, not the person handling it. So when comparing example A: “Julie swinging a flogger, beating my breasts,” and example B: “Julie swinging a rattan cane, beating my breasts,” the choice becomes immediately obvious.

Except, Julie was barely striking me. Oh sure, the leather strips of the flogger were biting at my bosom, but the sting was barely noticeable. It was like she was playing with me. And even when Mistress Savannah brought her crop sideways across my buttocks, I knew that she’d hit me with barely a fraction of her normal force. Still I flinched away, struggling, my body reacting as if I’d just taken felling blows.

In hindsight, which is much clearer than when you’re strung up, hands above your head with your tits and ass serving as the party’s pinatas, all while straddling a massively thick and uncomfortable rubber cock, while struggling to stay up on tiptoe to prevent your oversensitized clit from pressing down on a violently rumbling silicon massager, I understand that they were trying to drag things out. They knew I’d be up there for quite some time and they wanted to be able to hit me for the full duration. So for the first few minutes, rather than wriggle and thrash away from the repeated smacks of Savannah’s crop and Julie flogger, both of which were kissing my bottom and breasts thoroughly, I focused more on the increasingly difficult task of keeping my pussy away from the massager.

And that, my friends, wasn’t easy.

As the burning sensation of staying up began blooming in my calves, I desperately tried to think of options. This isn’t as easy as it sounds when someone is smacking your boobs with a multi-stranded leather whip. As the sting from that kept distracting me, it took way longer than it should of for me to think of pulling myself up by the wrist bindings. I looked up, flinching as another swing took me across the chest, and pulled. I managed to put the majority of my weight on my wrists, only to discover that the rope bit into them horribly. I gritted my teeth and squealed, but in the end I managed only ten or so seconds, punctuated by another two or three light strokes across my rump and rondure. I let out an explosive breath and dropped back down onto my toes. The burning only increased and as my pussy contracted around the overly thick dildo, I knew what was coming. It was inevitable. I was going to drop.

Julie and Savannah switched and suddenly the crop was tapping my breasts, or nipples to be precise. Sharp, hard, swats that left me breathless. Somewhere in my fucked up head I had a thought that going down now, before I didn’t have the strength to pull myself up, would be better than just collapsing and riding the massager, so despite Julie’s stinging strokes to my butt, and Savannah’s attempt to knock my piercings off with her crop notwithstanding, I lowered myself downward, carefully, fear and near panic shooting through my soul. Could my clit withstand the surge of vibrations?

I rode the dildo, sliding down it, feeling it spread me and I realized that the entire rubber shaft was shaking. Having a rapidly oscillating massager taped to the post probably had something to do with it. As my clit got closer, I let out a whimper. Then the bulbed head touched my labia, working its way up, higher and higher until I gasped, eyes widening. I held there, heels an inch off the floor, toes bent, struggling not to go up or down. I sucked in a shuddering breath as my clit touched the massager's head.

It hurt, but like a rug burn, or sand brushed off a sunburn. It also felt good, but like pressing your tongue against a canker sore. It felt sweet, like the sugar coating on a bitter pill. It felt hot, like dry ice. Energy surged through me as the vibrations excited nerve endings already frayed from a day's worth of sexual torment. It was like swallowing a pitcher's worth of water, or standing in the bright sun. My body couldn't take it. I lifted myself away, back into the beating of my breasts and bum which had never stopped, chest heaving, nerves on fire, wanting… wanting… something.

Julie switched back to my bosom and the flogger slapped against my curves with biting heat. Stinging warmth spread across my tits as I struggled. Then, between one stroke and the next, I had another idea. I could rest one foot at a time. The flogger smacked my breasts harder, making me gasp. Panting, shaking, hurting, and wanting, I quivered on the impaling post, and lifted my right foot. I relied on my pussy, tightening around the rubber phallus to hold me in place.

But the ankle cuffs prevented me from lifting. I let out a frustrated whine and then my left foot gave out. I dropped down flat footed, both feet, jamming my pussy full of the dildo, and mashing the massager against my clit. Nerves misfired as bioelectrical impulses short circuited. I screamed out loud, yelling as surging, cutting bliss hit me. The flogger encased my breasts, spreading the prickling burn to every soft curving edge. I lifted myself back up, away from the overstimulation, my buttocks tightening as Savannah beat out a sharp tattoo.

That's when I lost it. Banana fucking nuts crazy. I blubbered, begging them to let me go, the flogger slashing across my nipples with heated insistency. I lifted my feet, goose stepping up and down as I began bouncing, unable to tolerate pressing myself to the massager, but unable to stay off it. Each elevator like movement seemed frantic and forced, my own frailty conspiring to bring me down, while my oversensitized panic forced me up. The flogger flashed, whacking at my breasts, sparking heat and sizzling hurt. My ass tightened as the crop snipped and snapped downward, along my legs. My feet rose and fell, the anklets crimping at my legs, as I expended energy in spurts and dashes. The minutes crawled by as I shuddered, hurt, and began creaming. My breasts were on fire and my ass stung. It was a struggle to even breathe without crying out. I rode the dildo and massager, twitching and squirming until finally I slumped, flat footed, unable to lift myself even the few inches needed.

A tsunami of sensation stormed up into me, like nails on a chalkboard, or machine gun fire. And there was nothing I could do about it. It was like fucking a waterfall, a tornado, a mountain. It was like trying to drink from a fire hose. It was like burning in the sunlight. And yet it was torture too, like Savannah licking my clit, or Julie taking my clothes, or Mike impaling me with the dildo, or Kari beating my pussy with her leather sap, smashing my clit over and over until I jammed my fingers in my mouth, muffling my cries of agonized ecstasy.

And this was all that and more. I’d been brought not to the edge, but past it. Suddenly I felt a surge of adrenaline, my body preparing for fight or flight, and suddenly I was bouncing again, fucking the thick, conical dildo with a passion. The bracing impact of the massager against my clit only punctuated my animalistic thrust and the ladies switched again, so that Savannah’s stick crossed my breasts, aiming at the tips, as I jittered and jounced, squealing. Brillant warmth flashed across my rump as the flogger struck in waves, beating and heating, until it was all lost in a single, overwhelming burst of sensory overload that fried my synaptic paths and turned my brain into sexual mush.

Colors spun in my vision and I remember seeing Mike the Hardware Guy sitting there, jeans down around his knees, his extended and rising cock in his hand, stroking himself. I remember darkness and flashes of light. I remember pain and pleasure, stinging heat and searing cold. I remember crying out, head lifted high, eyes closing as I let myself down, not easily, not gently, but with my full weight on a single post, capped with a dildo, letting the violent spasms of the massager hurl me out over the abyss.

I’ve spoken of orgasm as a cliff, and of the ways to approach the edge. Often times I am forced inch by inch to the limit, sometimes to slip and fall with small satisfaction, other times to tumble with a sigh of relief. I’ve run full tilt, throwing myself over, and sometimes I’ve been pushed, suddenly and forcefully. I’ve scrambled in the dust, struggling to keep myself from falling. And I’ve stepped gladly, willingly even, into the euphoric bliss or orgasm.

That night I was strapped to a fucking rocket and launched out into the darkness, screaming.

The explosion started deep in my loins, where my pink, soft, wet depths clenched around the dildo. Bolts of energy shot up and down my body, some going to my calves and toes, forcing me to bounce up and down. The nerves in my clit, already overload, misfired, unable to tell the difference between what feels good and what doesn’t, and I ground my pussy down on the massager, fucking it almost as much as I did the dildo. My back arched as energy surged, folding upon itself like Damascus steel, rigid and flexible, brittle and crystalline. The flogger came back to my breasts, slashing left and right and that only tempered me, aligning my thoughts to a single unity of purpose. Cumming. I had to cum. Oh my fucking GOD I had to cum.

The tips of my breasts tingled and pulsed and a ripple shot through my sex. I didn’t even realize that both feet were planted firmly on the ground as I pressed my clit against the massager. Suddenly I felt a release, like a bowstring releasing, an arrow shooting out, energy and power flashing up and out, blossoming like a fireball. I cried out, shuddering as waves of utter bliss overwhelmed every thought, every feeling, every need. My vision darkened as I settled, the rapid tremors shaking me. And beneath it all, a whisper of crushed glass, grinding and cutting and rubbing at me between my legs…

I didn’t pass out. At least, I don't think I did. But when my brain rebooted and took stock of my situation, I was lying on my back, supported on the mattress, while Mistress Savannah untied my wrists.

I felt… damn… it's hard to describe. Used? Flushed? Uncomfortable? Perfect? I couldn't even tell. Part of me recognized the euphoria that comes with powerful orgasms, but this had other elements attached. I tried to catalog them while the ropes were pulled from my hands, but holding a thought longer than a few seconds seemed impossible. So I gave up and just breathed. That seemed like a good idea.

When my wrists came free I stretched them out, a natural reaction to being bound. But I felt Savannah’s hands in mine, and she pulled gently. At first, I thought it was a massage, but then the strap encircled my wrist and was pulled tight. I jerked my left arm, but it was now secured to the mattress tightly. A bubble of concern managed to form in my head, but before my fried synapses could formulate a response, my other hand was bound too.

Which is when I realized that Julie was pulling on my foot. Drawn outward, another strap went around my ankle. Now I started to panic, a fresh jolt of energy waking me up. I managed to kick once, but then Julie had my other foot in her iron like fingers and that was that. I was spread-eagled and bound.

A dozen thoughts rattled through my head. They couldn't possibly be thinking about torturing me again, could they? I was in no condition for another session. In fact, a whole host of minor, but distracting pains we're waking up, now that I wasn't so befuddled. I lifted my head and looked down my body at Julie. She was grinning up at me and I watched as she moved to my side. Savannah knelt down opposite her, and my worst fears began to realize as they slipped the straps beneath my legs and pulled me open. That couldn’t mean anything good.

I blubbered something unintelligible, but Julie just shushed me.

"Hush Bre. It's for your own good," she declared.

How being tied open could possibly be good for me under those particular circumstances escaped me. I struggled fruitlessly for a moment and only succeeded in leaving myself breathless. Then Savannah loomed over me, standing just above my feet. Julie backed away and disappeared from view. And then… then Mistress Savannah began to strip.

Well, strip tease.

The first thing she took off was her suit coat. The powder pink jacket was folded and tossed to the side and I saw the creamy white blouse she wore beneath. Slowly, her eyes smoldering, she began unbuttoning the shirt, revealing a deep cleavage and a pastel pink lace bra. It was a little too much pink, even for me, but when she shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it down, I had to gulp a little. Savannah was freaking gorgeous and her breasts looked soft and scrumptious, like big balls of vanilla pudding.  She unzipped the pencil skirt and stepped out of it. Her panties matched her bra and then, as my heartbeat quickened, she undid the harness holding her breasts.

Huge, pink nipples capped the white splendor of her bosom and I barely was able to tear my eyes away as she hooked her panties with her thumbs and drove them down her bare legs. She stepped out of the lace, kicking it aside, and I realized she was still wearing the white pumps. She stood above me, victorious and nude, and I stared, mouth open and expectant. What was she doing? What was she going to do? Then Julie swung back into view, handing Savannah a bottle.

I didn’t have enough time to process what was coming and Savannah upended the container and began pouring before I could even twitch. Something cool and slick struck my belly, trickled down into my navel, and then Savannah fixed her aim. I felt the oil fall across my pubis, coat my clit, and then seep between my folds. Then the southern goddess above me left trails down each spread open leg, my inner thighs turned upward because of the straps holding me open, and back up to my chest. She did my arms too and I shuddered. It was a lot of oil.

Savannah dropped down, kneeling on the mattress between my outstretched feet and she put the bottle to the side. She put her hands on my shins, smearing and spreading the oil down toward my strapped ankles, and then back up to my knees. In seconds my legs glistened and then she moved her fingers to my feet, rubbing and kneading my tired soles.

Holy fuck, that felt good! I moaned, this time in utter pleasure. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been impaled, vibrated, and whipped, but it had to have been more than twenty minutes. At least, that what my toes and arches and calves were telling me. But Savannah soothed those parts of me easily and I felt myself relaxing, my breathing slowing as she massaged those aches and pains away.

Then she moved higher and now I stiffened slightly, afraid of what her fingers might do to my clit. But she avoided my loins, rubbing my thighs both lightly and with force, her nails grazing the skin, only to be replaced by deep, forceful gouges that worked the muscles perfectly. She went upward to my hips, tracing circles on my skin. Then she climbed over my right leg, moving to my side. She rubbed my belly, emptying my navel of oil and spreading it fully. When she got to my breasts I gasped. I was tender there and I lifted my head to look down. Unsurprisingly, my bosom was flushed, the remnants of both Savannah’s crop and Julie’s flogger marking my skin. It had been Julie’s strokes that turned the whole area into a bright, rosy shade of pink. But it had been Savannah’s crop that had left the three or four darker welts that I could see. The ridges of each line stood up and I couldn’t fail to notice that each one bisected at least one nipple. And one crossed both.

Savannah began rubbing my breasts, cupping and smearing the oil, squeezing and pinching the tips of my breasts. I groaned, wincing and turning my head, but there was still something arousing about it. Savannah wasn’t gentle, but she wasn’t rough either, but she must have spent almost a full five or six minutes rubbing, kneading, and handling my abused breasts before moving on to spread oil up and down my arms. She moved up above me, kneeling on either side of my head as she finished the oil massage. I looked up at her massive breasts dangling down, just far enough away that it wasn’t even worth the effort to stick my tongue out and lift my head. Instead I waited. I could smell her arousal. And considering where she’d ended up, I knew now what was going to happen. I smiled. Savannah scooted forward, her knees touching my shoulders, and she spread herself open, dropping down perfectly.

Her pussy was shaved bare, though like most of the mistresses of the Society, she’d left a small, well trimmed patch above her clit. For me though, at that particular angle, I saw the perfectly light pink petals of her sex, dripping with need. Her skin was like ivory and I opened my mouth and stuck up my tongue as she dropped onto all fours, pressing her sex into my face, her breasts falling to land on my belly. Her clit rubbed at my chin as I began lapping and licking, occasionally thrusting my tongue into her well. At first she tasted like strawberries and cream, but then came the flavor of her juices, a salty, tangy sensation that danced across my tongue. There was a sweetness there too, and I devoured her as best I could, licking her folds, lapping at her clit, and even suckling her sensitive nub when she let me.

I thought everything was going rather well, what with my tongue up inside her as she writhed on top of me, until she slid down my body, away from my mouth, and used her large, soft breast to smear the oil on my pubis down over my clit. The sudden intensity of that sensation, of her fucking nipple gliding across my clitoris, felt like being shocked. I stiffened, gasping. In hindsight I should of screamed or something, because she drew back, repositioned her breast, and did it again. Her nipple, soft but firm, taut and pointed, struck my clit and it slid across it. Even with the oil it was like being rasped with a file. I shuddered, a very unique and confusing pain shooting up from between my legs. I’ve rarely been so stimulated and for the first time I think I understood what Kari goes through after sex. Over-sensitization. I hadn’t thought I had limits, but I guess I was wrong. Savannah did it again, pressing her boob into my slit and shimmying around. I twisted frantically, trying to get away from the sensation, but I was bound to the mattress with a hundred and thirty pound woman on top of me.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, she scooted back up to my face and tried to fuck my nose and chin. The relief of not having her touch my clit was enough to relax me again, and instead I stuck my tongue out. Savannah rocked her hips, her breath quick and loud. She moaned and I wished my hands were free so that I could wrap my arms around her legs and hold her to me.

"Yes!" I heard her exclaim. "Yes! Yes! Yesssss!" Then she cried, falling forward, her breasts pressed to my belly as I lifted my head, still lapping at her gushing slit. She shuddered, pulling away from me just a little and I.closed my eyes as her weight pressed me down. Slowly she rolled off me, landing on the carpeted floor, one shoe knocked loose. Julie reappeared, looking down at Savannah, not me.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

Before Savannah could reply I whimpered. "No.".

Both of them glanced at me, but Savannah's lazy smile spoke volumes and I realized that Julie’s question wasn’t meant for me. "I think I'm going to do that to Kylie," Savannah hummed.

Good, I thought. That little vixen playing Overwatch with my daughter needed to be strung up, impaled, vibrated and whipped.

Savannah picked up her panties and pulled them on. Then she rose, found her bra, and began dressing. No one moved to untie me. I laid there, trying to sort out a bevy of conflicting feelings. What Savannah had done to me was sexy as hell, but I was too sore and tender for it to be arousing. Right? I'd just had my twelfth orgasm of the day, along with a full body whipping, and then a rub down, and then...

But, if I'm being honest, there was something there; a spark. A cinder. Something. And I was still naked, still tied up, still spread open, still covered in oil.

As Savannah put on her clothes, Julie began peeling off her jeans. My heart skipped a beat as my mistress' long, pretty legs were bared. She wasn’t wearing shoes, which I thought sexy as hell, and when she tugged her shirt off over her head, standing naked in front of me, I couldn't help licking my lips. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for another round of sapphic licking.

Except Julie didn't straddle my face. She sat down at the end of the bed, her feet between my knees. Then she leaned back, lifted her right foot, and pressed it to my thigh. I sucked in a sharp breath as she slowly slid her toes upward. It felt good and I relaxed when she pulled back, staying away from my sex. For the next five minutes she played footsie with me, caressing both legs with the soles of her feet, smoothing and spreading the oil until I was heartily glad that there was carpet on the floor. Otherwise she would have slipped. Her toes glistened that much, as did the tender arch.

It felt so good that I was close to falling asleep, even bound open, so I was totally unprepared when she did it. Her toes slid up my inner thigh, curled down toward my buttocks, and then pressed in, dipping first to my ass, then sliding up, spreading my labia. I cried out as her foot found my nub and she rubbed me soundly, pushing with her heel.

It hurt. My clit, even after the rest, was abraded, swollen, and tender. I pulled back from her, but that meant nothing considering the straps holding me down and open. I squealed, words forming in my brain, but unable to get to my mouth. Julie began moving her foot up and down through my crotch, using the sole to caress, rub, and spread my folds. Back and forth. It was too heavy, with too much pressure, and despite it being sexual in nature, my pussy couldn't take it. I started blubbering, head shaking back and forth, until strong hands grabbed me, twisted my head to the right and a thick cock was jammed into my open mouth.

Julie didn't stop, her foot gliding over my clit, back and forth. It felt like I was being sawed in half. Slowly. Incrementally. And yet, the arch of her narrow foot was soft. It slid across my folds and over the engorged nodule of my clit, sending this toe curling sensation that wasn't quite pain, but definitely wasn’t pleasure. Incredibly I found myself thrusting even as I sucked and licked Mike's cock, the duality of what was happening to me breaking lines of thought and reasoned response into involuntary reaction. I mewled, shaken and stirred, which evidently was exactly what Julie was waiting for.

She pulled her foot away from my slit and hurled herself forward, her face pressed to my wet, oiled slit. I keened a wild whine around the muting sausage in my mouth, but as her tongue began lapping at my clit, the self imposed limit I had placed on my own body was revealed to be wildly conservative. My back arched, and while it felt like a belt sander was being pressed to my sex, instead of Julie's tongue, the surge of sexual need still blasted through me.

And it was worse.

Julie seemed to be pretending that my pussy was an ice cream cone and she was licking and circling it eagerly, devouring the sweet goodness. Each time her tongue swirled over my clit my entire body went rigid, tensing violently. It almost became a rhythm. Sweet but intense pleasure, then this sudden blast of super sexual, arousing hurt, then back to intense pleasure. And let's face it. Tied down, spread open, sucking cock, while being licked… how could I not respond to that?

Julie looked up, her lips and chin shiny from oil, or possibly my gushing cunt. She grinned up at Mike. "She sounds like a Japanese porn flick. All those high pitch squeals, doesn’t she?"

Mike chuckled. "She seems to like it when you lick her clit."

Julie nodded, stuck out her tongue, and ran it in a slow circle around my swollen nub. I squealed again, like a Japanese porn star. Then Julie stuck a finger in me, pumping as she lapped and then sucked on my clit. You should have heard the noise I made for that.

This went on and on, the seconds mounting into minutes, then passing five, and then ten. It became a circle of sensorial overload, hurt and pleasure, in equal installments of $19.95 each. It was torture. It was bliss. Then my nervous system overloaded, as usual, and the mixed dichotomy of sensations screwed with my perceptions. Everything hurt. Everything felt amazing. I couldn't think. I couldn't speak. I couldn't stop. I couldn't cum.

And my body wanted to cum. Badly. But while the things being done to me pushed me toward the edge, toward another orgasm, it hurt so much! I was being dragged, by the hair, through brambles.

Wow. Sorry. That's a fucked up metaphor, isn't it?

Mike yanked his cock out of my mouth. His voice was tense. "Julie, I'm almost there," he grunted. Julie lifted herself up.

"Come here dearheart," she encouraged. I gasped, panting. My body hummed with energy, with need, but no one was sucking, lapping, or touching my clit. That was a major relief. Mike went to Julie and she moved out from between my legs. I lifted my head. I wanted to see them fuck. I wanted him to throw her down and jam his cock into Julie's pussy and fuck her brains out. I wanted her clit to feel like mine. I wanted her screaming as she came.

She reached out and grabbed his wet shaft, slipping on a condom. He stood there, a masculine god, and she turned him back toward me. I looked at Mike in confusion. How could he fuck her facing me? Why was he kneeling on the mattress? How was she going to relieve… oh. Oh fuck no. Oh Holy Shit Fuck NO.

"No! No! No! You can’t!" I blurted out, but it was too late. His thick hard shaft slid into my sauced slit so easily you would have thought I was a sheath specifically designed for his weapon. He drove in to the hilt, grinding his hips into me. My pussy fluttered around his cock, clenching and rippling. But it was his pubic hair, the rough patch above his penis, that tore a scream of agony out of my mouth. The course texture, his weight, and the thrusting action of his hips, rubbed at my abraded, sensitized, swollen clit, and shredded me.

Julie leaned over me and began licking my nipple, as if that mattered. I didn't even feel it.

Pain shot through me, obliterating the pleasure and I clenched my teeth, enduring the forceful, rapid pounding. Julie moved, straddling my head. I didn't want to lick her. But certain actions have been trained into me, and I couldn’t help myself as I stabbed her clit with my tongue. I tried to channel the hurt into her, but deep down, I knew that all I was doing was giving her the best tongue lashing her sweet little clit had ever had. She started sounding like a Japanese schoolgirl on a porn set.

Mike was like a jackhammer, and as I sucked and chewed on Julie’s clit, he pummeled me with his coital might. Twenty, thirty, forty thrusts. Fifty, sixty. Then, somewhere between the next set, Mike exploded, ramming himself deep. I cried out, the sound muffled as it hummed through Julie's cunt. My fingers clenched into fists as my toes curled. It hurt. It fucking hurt so much! And yet, my pussy convulsed. I felt another sensation. A need. A longing. I wanted to cum too. I didn't know what to say or do. Too much of everything. Then Mike pulled out, rolling away with a happy sigh. I cried in relief. But also in want.

Julie panted above me, hips rocking, and I began lapping more gently. I tingled everywhere, but mostly between my legs. My mistress, lover, and friend ground her sex down on my face and with delicate grace, whimpered, shuddered, and then came. A flood of fluids drenched me, soaking my face down to my ears. She lifted away and fell over to the side, and I saw Savannah, fully dressed again, stand over the three of us. She clapped her hands appreciatively.

"Bravo," she said softly. "Bravo."

To be continued... 

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