For a moment, I got turned around, lost in a maze of suburbia. All of the houses were built in the 1970’s, each a single-story brick structure surrounded with a privacy fence. The garages were all located to the rear, and each block was bisected by an alley. Despite the bright, spring sunlight, I looked around, totally unable to locate the back of Julie’s residence.
It seemed a little weird to call it that. For years it had been Mike the Hardware Guy’s house and he still lived there. But the thin waif I called Mistress, he now called fiancé and the complexities of their relationship still confused me. Alone, Julie was a dominant force whose commanding presence loomed large in my life, yet when she was with Mike she switched, becoming another submissive who eagerly offered herself up for similar torments as myself.
Mistress? Or sister? Like I said. Weird.
I hadn’t seen her in over a month thanks to the COVID-19 pandemic, but we’d talked almost daily. I’d been stuck in quarantine. Julie had worked from home, but Mike still had to go into work each day, and Julie had figured that the potential exposure to me was too great to ignore. I’d been ostracized for my own good, and that of my daughter. Except my parents, after four weeks of quarantine, had asked to take their grandchild in, giving me the ability to go back to work. In fact, I’d dropped her off at their place not an hour before.
When I’d called Julie and told her I’d be stopping by, I’d expected to be read the riot act. “How can you even think coming here would be okay?” I could hear her say. Instead she burst out into a laugh.
“Perfect! We can maintain social distancing! Park in the driveway and come in through the fence gate.”
So here I was, trying to find their house from the back. And failing miserably.
After driving the alley twice, I suddenly felt stupid. All I needed to do was find the best maintained fence. Mike the Hardware Guy had a full carpentry shop set up in the garage. With this insight, I pulled up into the correct driveway, got out of my jeep, and nervously glanced around to make sure no one was walking by or watching.
Because I was naked.
No, I did not drop off my daughter at my parents’ place unclothed. The standard rule for driving my jeep was that I had to be naked if I was alone. So, after Rachel had gone in and we’d visited with my mom and dad, I’d returned to the jeep and removed my shorts and tee shirt, stripping down to my skivvies. Then those too had gone into the seat next to me and I’d driven in the buff over to Mike and Julie’s. There is a certain sort of sexual freedom to be found in being naked and despite my ever-present fear of being seen, the truth was that it was arousing.
Very arousing.
I opened the fence and stepped into the backyard. I knew instantly I was in the right place. Everything was immaculate. The grass was green and perfectly maintained. The flowerbeds were weeded and mulched. The patio was screened in, with a sloped cedar roof. And the blue, portable pavilion that stood over a rather small, gold colored pool raft, shading it from the afternoon sun, literally had my name on it. I walked over and read the smaller print under the sign.
Breanne, if you aren’t already naked, get that way. Remove your ben wa balls. Then put on the PPE.
I looked down at the raft. There was a pile of… items, I suppose, waiting for me and I lifted my flip flop clad foot and pushed it all around. There was a lot of clear plastic in there, along with blue gloves, some sort of face mask shield, some rope, and bondage cuffs. Two pairs.
Of course. Because every medical professional has a need for bondage cuffs.
Sighing, I reached down between my legs. One of the other rules I follow, besides driving naked, is that my sex must constantly be stuffed with cock. Now, obviously that isn’t feasible, since I can’t find a man with sufficient stamina to stay hard all day long, and it would be awkward going to the grocery store while straddling said penis. So, the rule allowed an exception: I could replace the cock with a sex toy, if said toy kept me wet and ready for instant sex. I personally felt there was a mental component to it as well. Being kept constantly aroused made me think of sex more often. I dreamed it. I tasted it. I craved it. Being a nympho humiliation pain slut constantly subjected to sexual stimulation increased my addiction.
Since I’d been around family for some of the morning, I’d opted for a pair of ben wa balls, a set of simple spheres the size of walnuts, that I’d pushed deftly into my slit that morning. They didn’t vibrate, at least not unless you were walking around, and they were silent, which was really my point. A thin, wax line connected them and I pulled them out, dripping, and set them on a little metal table that sat near the patio door. I went back to the pavilion and looked down at the raft and PPE.
I started with the cuffs. They were the cheap Velcro ones, rather than the heavy leather I was used to. I suspected Julie was being clever, since the ones I was wrapping around my wrist and ankle were easy to put on by yourself, and they could be thrown into a washing machine. As I put them on, I realized that the rope on the raft had been four ten-foot strands of paracord, and that each was tied to one of the cuffs. The black padded wraps contrasted with my skin, white on black, and when I was done, I looked like a tarp ready to be tied down.
I grabbed the large fold of plastic and shook it out. It was a poncho. Or at least I think it was. It fit over my top and had a nice hood, but someone had taken a pair of shears to it, cleverly cutting out two rather large circles that allowed my breasts to stick out in unprotected glory. Of course, it didn’t cover my loins, stopping around my midriff. The whole thing left me feeling unusually vulnerable. I donned the clear plastic face shield, then the gloves, feeling rather foolish in the personal protective equipment. Dressed, sort of, I stood there feeling awkward until the sliding glass door of the patio opened and Julie came out.
“You look marvelous!” She said. In her right hand she held a stick, or more accurately, a staff, and she leaned it against the wall of the house. I couldn’t see her clearly because of the screen and shadows of the patio, but she came out a moment later, the patio door opening.
She was clothed, if you could call it that. A set of pink bikini bottoms were wrapped around her loins and a tight, white tube top covered her breasts. She did neither justice. Julie is a stick figure, and while her face is freaking gorgeous, an elven pixie with dark chocolate colored hair coming down to her shoulders, she has no breasts or hips, and could easily go around never wearing a bra again. Still, there was something acutely erotic about her. Sensual. And had it not been for the Quarantine crap, I’d have run over to her, scooping her up in my arms, and planting kisses all over her.
“I want to hug you,” she admitted, somewhat sadly. “But I don’t want to expose you.”
“I’m going back to work on Monday,” I said, as if that would excuse her throwing me to the ground and rubbing herself up and down my body, all while we exchanged body fluids. No. That wouldn’t spread COVID, would it?
Julie shook her head. “Yeah, I know. Kari told me. Not sure that’s smart, but if you catch it, there will just be you.”
I shrugged. “We’re all going to get it eventually you know. Herd immunity.”
“Maybe. Possibly. But I don’t want to risk you needlessly.” She gestured back to the patio. “Besides, I’ve got a stick.”
My eyebrow went up quizzically, but if that enigmatic statement was going to get some sort of explanation, it wasn’t going to come soon, because Julie pointed at the raft. “So, lay down on your back and spread your arms and legs out. And fling the ropes. I’ve already got stakes pounded in.”
I glanced over at the portable pavilion. I hadn’t noticed, but sure enough there were metal stakes ready and waiting near each pole. I bit my lip and looked back at Julie. “You’re going to tie me spread-eagled in the garden?”
She nodded. “Damn right I am!”
I let out a sigh and looked around. The fences were six feet tall and the land flatter than a pancake. Short of someone climbing onto their roof (or onto the fence itself), no one would be able to see me. The raft was fully covered by the pavilion, so I wasn’t going to have to worry about sunburn, and maybe whatever Julie had in mind wouldn’t result in my gasping, moaning, wailing, or screaming out in agonized ecstasy, thus attracting attention and police response.
Sure.
I licked my lips and went to the air raft. It was one of those cheap jobbies you get at a dollar store and I sat down on it, legs spread. Laying back, I raised my arms, flicking the ropes toward the stakes Julie had mentioned.
“That’s right. Perfect,” she said, moving around the perimeter of the pavilion. She grabbed one of the ropes leading to my wrist and pulled. My hand was tugged a bit further and she tied it off. Experimentally I tested her knots and found myself reasonably secure. She moved to the other side and did another wrist. Then darted in to grab a rope leading to an ankle and I groaned as she opened me much further than I’d spread myself.
“Oooh, Julie. That’s wide!” I commented.
She scoffed at me. “I’ve seen you bound in the fucking splits. Stop complaining.”
I frowned. “Are you saying I was tied in the splits getting a fucking? Or are you saying that doing the splits is fucking uncomfortable but you like forcing me to do it anyway?”
She rolled her eyes. “Both,” she said and stepped back. “Perfect. Let me go get my stick.” She walked back to the patio door and I heard it open and snap shut. For a moment I closed my eyes. There were a few sounds in the garden. An early grasshopper rubbing its legs together. The sound of the breeze whispering through leaves. Off in the distance I could hear a lawnmower. Then the patio door banged and I opened my eyes to see Julie approaching me with a stick.
The stick itself was six feet long and still towered over her, but that was because there was a twelve-inch-long dildo attached to the top. It was mounted on some sort of spring, or at least that’s what I thought as she moved down between my legs, still maintaining the appropriate social distance. But what confused me was the weird looking thing connected to the side of the dildo’s base. Julie posed gracefully and I lifted my head to look at her.
“What’s that?” I asked, looking down past my plastic clad, yet vulnerable body, fully aware that I was staked out in a garden, my pussy exposed, about to get fucked with a dildo on a stick.
“Dildo on a stick,” she retorted.
I gritted my teeth and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “I get that. But what’s the thing on the side?”
Julie grinned. “That’s the smacker. Or that’s what Mike calls it.”
Suddenly, I felt a cold little thrill shoot up from between my legs. “The smacker?”
Julie reached up to the stick mounted phallus and pointed. “The dildo is mounted on a spring. See?” I did see. It was a little far away, but I could see the spring. It was at least as wide as the dildo. Julie grabbed the rubber cock with her hand. “Now here’s the amazing part,” she said in this sort of sing-song voice. “When I push down on the cock, the spring compresses and the base hits this little lever.” She demonstrated, applying force. The spring was placed under tension as she pushed, and as the base got to a certain point, it struck a metal catch. That’s where things got interesting, because Mike the Hardware Guy had attached a six-inch-long leather strap to the catch. I watched as it flopped weakly.
“The cool thing,” Julie continued, “is that when the spring decompresses, the base forces the lever back down,” she said. And she let go of the dildo. Once more the leather strap jiggled.
“Looks like it needs some refinement,” I said sarcastically. “It’s not doing anything more than flopping.”
Julie blinked. “What? Oh! No, not really. It’s not designed to be operated this way.” She shook the stick. “I mean upright. Here. I’ll show you.” She rotated the stick, pointing it at me like a spear.
I braced myself. “Wait! No lube?” I blurted out, but then the soft tip touched my clit. Julie laughed.
“You’re constantly wet, Breanne. But I’ll be gentle.” Then she rubbed the dildo up and down my slit.
She wasn’t wrong. I was wet. Had been all day. And I hadn’t even had any orgasms that morning, so my desperation level was already elevated. She rubbed me slowly and then, just when I was about to beg her to stick it into me, she squatted down, changing the angle on the stick, and began to push. My petals spread and I groaned as I felt the first inch or two of the foot-long cock enter. My toes curled with delight, my entire body trembling with utter desire. It felt amazing! This was the first sex I’d had that wasn’t self-inflicted and the release was tremendous. Someone was doing something to me and I loved it. I closed my eyes, humming with pleasure.
More dildo slid into my sex and Julie began pumping. It wasn’t much in and out movement, but each light thrust pushed more of the thick rubber cock into my sex. I sighed, back arching as waves of exquisite bliss rolled up from between my legs. I could feel the sexual pressure building inside me, a beautiful wave of orgasmic energy that I knew would crash upon my psyche like a storm against a cliff.
“I’m going to push now,” Julie warned me. “Brace yourself.”
Maybe, if she’d done a better fucking job in explaining “the smacker,” I might have been prepared. I felt a strong thrust, the entire length of the dildo suddenly jammed hard into my pussy. I grunted, then gasped as I was forcibly filled, my sex expanding to take the full width and girth of the large phallus. But when the entire twelve inches of rubber were firmly buried in my cunt, the energy of Julie’s thrust was translated to the spring, compressing it. The cock, which was implanted in my loins, couldn’t move, so the stick did, bringing the base of the cock to the latch. That same energy hit the metal catch, almost violently, and the lever snapped up and forward. The leather strap on the end flipped over hard and would have perfectly struck the side of the dildo.
If my clit hadn’t been in the way.
My eyes snapped open as the blow set a stinging heat blistering up from between my legs. My mouth opened and I let out a yelp. “Owww!” I blurted out. But Julie was already pulling back and the leather strap was flung back toward the stick handle. I lifted my head and looked at her. She was grinning evilly.
“Oh fuck,” I whispered, eyes wide as I suddenly understood the peril.
She laughed. “By all means.” Then she pushed hard again.
The leather strap snapped forward and caught me perfectly on the clit again, forcing me to lift my hips. Julie jerked the cock halfway out of me and shoved it back in once more, compressing the spring and letting the leather strap strike my sex hard. In short order, as I lay gasping and twitching, she began fucking me enthusiastically, ramming the dildo stick into my cunt. I pulled hard on the stakes holding me open, but Julie had done a good job tying me down and other than a twist of the hip, I had no way to avoid or pull away from her pounding, pussy smacking, torment.
And maybe, I didn’t want to.
Each thrust of the dildo felt like pure candy. Sweet and sensual. And then, just as I would feel full, totally embracing the firm impalement, there would come this bitter, sharp, biting stroke that slapped my sex, right on my clitoris. I gritted my teeth and tilted my head back, my body arching as the thrusts of the cock and the slap of the smacker against my sex became one sensation, pain and pleasure mixed in perfect harmony. Julie went faster, her arms moving frantically as she pounded me, her eyes glittering with excitement as I thrashed and cried out. My pulse quickened and I heard my own ragged breathing. There was a rush and I trembled violently, the thick wedge of rubber splitting me, the leather tongue lapping at my sex, my clit swollen and throbbing. Julie fucked me stupid and with a gurgled wail, my toes curled and I exploded, every fiber of my being giving in to the release.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
Julie left the dildo in me, setting the stick on the ground as I shuddered. Sexual euphoria flooded through me, a drug I can never get enough of, the endorphins flooding my brain as the surge of adrenaline petered out, leaving me a breathless, thoughtless, mush of sexual putty. My pussy quivered, tightening a little around the dildo, but I was satisfied. At least for now. I let out a hum of satisfaction and then realized my arms were no longer being held down. I lifted my hand and scratched my nose, only to look over and see Julie untying me.
“Are we done?” I said weakly, laughing softly.
Julie smiled. “I am. You aren’t.”
I grinned. I stretched and it felt good, even with the dildo still in my pussy. “I’m not?” I asked lazily, happily. Julie moved back around to my feet and reached down. I groaned in objection as she pulled the dildo out of my pussy.
“Social distance fucking,” she said proudly. “Mike is a genius,” she added with amusement. I sat up, legs still awkwardly splayed, one flip flop knocked loose, looking like an idiot wearing half a poncho, my bare breasts exposed, blue nitrile gloves on my hands, my face covered with a plexiglass shield, and looked at her. She propped the stick upright, like a wizard’s staff.
“Breanne Erickson,” she said formerly. “For your assignment today, you will dress like the nympho humiliation pain slut you are and meet with one of your regular doms or dommes. If they have a private, outside area, you may go to their residence. At this meeting you will strip naked except for the PPE I’ve provided you, and you will present them with the dildo stick, without getting within six feet of them. You will then lay with your legs open and allow them to fuck you senseless until you cum. Movement, or closing up, before you cum, will result in punishment.”
I blinked. “What?”
She smiled. “You heard me.”
“But… but… you want me to violate quarantine?” I said. I blame the orgasm I’d just had and wasn’t thinking straight just yet.
Julie laughed. “No. You will maintain social distancing. The hard part will be you staying open for the full fucking,” she replied. “Because every thrust comes with a spank.” She straightened up.
“But… I don’t understand,” I replied, still laying on the air mattress. “I’m not supposed to visit anyone. Even coming here was a risk. Kari will blow a gasket if I visit anyone else but you!”
Julie sighed. “Calm the fuck down. I’m going to help you out,” she replied. “Stay right there.”
And with that, she leaned the dildo stick against the pavilion and went inside. I bit my lip and lay back. I was going to have to call people. Who? Kari obviously. Her condo had a backyard and I could go around to the gate. Nick would probably do it, but he lived in an apartment. Would he be willing to meet me somewhere? And this was all about me, would he be willing to fuck me with a stick, knowing he wasn’t going to get any sex out of it? I’d have to see if Alex was available. Or maybe I could call Mistress Savannah, or Mistress Sara, or even Mistress Isobel. Maybe they’d be open minded to fucking me with a stick?
The patio door opened and I turned my head, about to ask Julie who she thought I should approach. But instead of my lover and mistress, a huge bear of a man with a well-trimmed beard came out. He was dressed in blue jeans and a tee shirt, and his huge work boots stepped into the grass. His blue eyes looked at me with delight and he walked straight up to the pavilion, grabbing the dildo stick.
“I wish she’d left you tied up,” Mike the Hardware Guy said.
I licked my lips. “I don’t mind,” I said quickly, my heart starting to pound. I flung an arm out toward one of the stakes, but Mike laughed.
“No, I think we need to see how you handle being unbound. The smacker can smart and if you can’t control yourself when it really matters, then maybe we’ll need to change the specifics of your assignment.”
I felt a cold tingle. “Really matters?” I asked.
Mike spun the stick and suddenly the dildo was pointed at my loins. “Spread your legs wide, Breanne. And yes. When it really matters.”
I gulped and opened my legs, knees slightly bent. I felt the tip of the rubber against my dripping sex. “How does this matter?” I pressed, even as the first few inches slid into my hole.
“Because,” Mike chuckled. “I push harder than Julie.” And then the dildo was rammed home. The spring compressed, and the latch swung. The leather strap flipped over and smacked me right on the clit. I jerked, pain flashing up from between my legs, mixing with pleasure, and I jammed a knuckle into my mouth as I twisted, but stayed open. Then the intense pounding began.
And fuck yes. It mattered.
Wild, witty, and totally sexy, Breanne Erickson is the author of “Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut,” series. Known as the “goddess of dark erotica”, her humorous outlook on life, her incredible urges, and sexual escapades are the stuff of legend. Each tale is like an entry into her personal diary - the long, thick, and hard “ins and outs” of a girl who can’t ever seem to get enough deviant sex. Check out her amazing work at Amazon.com.
