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     The breeze was just a tad bit cool, despite the warmth of the day.  Winter in Texas is never a sure thing and while cold snaps come and go, it’s pretty much taken for granted that another seventy degree day is just around the corner.  That said the coat tails of my duster snapped against my legs and I stared up at the massive wooden post that stood at the north corner of our property fencing.  It was a thick piece of lumber too, put into place by my great-grandfather somewhere around the turn of last century.  We’ve owned this land a long time.  It was oak, a long lived wood, that had been soaked in pitch, stained, crisped under thousands of hot Texas summer days, and was even capped with a metal plate designed to protect the end and keep it from splintering.  At just over six inches wide, it stood five and a half feet straight up and had a number of white metal rails attached to it, covering up the scars where barbed wire had once scarred its surface.

                I bit my lip and swallowed.  I was just a bit distracted, most of which I could lay at the feet of the vibroballs.  Two plastic, oval shaped objects, both stuffed with offset motors, were vibrating on full power deep inside me.  I had slipped the diabolical sex toy in that morning, and thanks to some very specific instructions, had endured the nonstop sexual stimulation for practically the entire day.  There had been some relief to be had, but there had also been the requirement for three masturbation sessions and that had been non-negotiable.

                To be honest, if left to my own devices, I’d have had more than three, but since only one of them was simple, if not quick, things had been a bit more chaotic that morning.  Now it was late afternoon, I was desperate, and that post was waiting for me.

                No, I wasn’t going to fuck the post.  Well, not exactly.  I took a deep breath and began rooting in the canvas bag I had brought with me, finding and extracting the massive twelve inch long, black rubber dildo.  Called the “Core Driller” this monster phallus was shaped like a four stage rocket ship and would have been fine in a children’s toy store if it was white with a NASA label on the side.  No one would have known it was a multipurpose toy for girls. 

                I also pulled a bottle of lubrication out of my bag.  Sure I was wet enough to take the entire Core Driller, but I’d done something bad a week before and Kari had altered the requirements for my third masturbation session slightly.  Now instead of just using natural juices, or even some KY Jelly or grapeseed oil, I was told to use something with a bit more heat.  I walked over to the post, set the Core Driller down on the metal plate so that it was pointing straight up, and opened the bottle of Stinging O.

                Stinging O is a homemade brew combining a number of ingredients in proportions that I like.  I start out with a base of grapeseed oil, which I find to be one of the best natural lubrications available.  It is then mixed with a little bit of pepper oil, and then depending on my mood, either mint or cinnamon oils.  This in effect gives you a feeling of coolness, then with heat.  The key is to make sure you don’t overdo the pepper oil, since that stuff can actually give you a bit of a burn.  And since pepper oils don’t come in standard strengths, when you buy a bottle you have to test it yourself.  Trust me – it’s a chore to make that stuff which is why I’m not bottling and selling it to BDSM couples. 

                I poured a liberal amount on the tip and watched it spill down over the sides of the Core Driller, wetting it nicely.  Then came the fun part.  I stripped naked, the cool breeze on my skin, the scent of winter wheat in my nose, the little shiver of excitement that comes from being naked outside.  I had to kick off my boots to get my blue jeans off, and I put them right back on once I was bare.  The last thing I did was tug the vibroballs out of my sex, groaning and trembling with need as my clit got just a bit of the vibration.

             

   I put the vibroballs down after turning them off and then climbed the fence.  I swung one leg over, pushed myself even higher, and then braced myself over the Core Driller and post.  One leg hung on the opposite side of the fence corner, no support available, and I had to use my hands to brace myself.  I dropped down slowly, one hand on the dildo, the other on the metal cap, using my right leg to support my weight.  I felt the tip slide against my petals, the cool cinnamon tingle already starting.  I slid down the black rubber, through the first stage, filling my sex with three inches of tapered rubber.  It felt incredible.  Then the burn of the Stinging O hit me and I let out a needful cry, going down even farther.  With six inches of synthetic cock inside me my knee bent.  More of my weight was transferred to the thick rubber shaft and I slid another few inches down.  I felt stuffed, full to the brim, and yet – I still wasn’t really sitting on the thing. I worked myself down further, my petals opening wide, surrounding the thick base.  I rocked, moaning, whimpering, as I finally realized that I was there, fully impaled, totally sitting on a foot’s worth of rubber post.

                It wasn’t the only post I’d fucked that day.  Not four hours earlier, just before lunch, I had driven south into the wilderness of south Texas farm land looking for an appropriate spot.  I’d finally settled on a speed limit sign post on the edge of a gravel road, with enough of a view in both directions to give me at least a minute’s warning on the off chance that some country farmer would drive by.  I’d shucked out of my blue jeans and tee shirt, this time barefoot and wincing on the rough gravel.  I put my duster back on, but it did little to hide the front of my nude body.  I ran my hand up and down the steel post.  It was rough, pocked from time, though it wasn’t rusty.  I grabbed a hand towel and cleaned it quickly, from knee height to waist, and then squirted just enough Stinging O on the side to watch it coat one side of the post. 

                Next came the clover clamps, two sets.  The first were borrowed from Mike the Hardware Guy and sported a chain only six inches long.  The other set belonged to me, a gift from Kari, and had a foot long chain.  I began clipping on the clamps and in short order I had chains dangling from the left side of my labia, and hanging off my left nipple.  I grabbed hold of the post, arched my back, and pressed my swollen, desperate sex against the metal.  It was cold and the chemical tingle was harsh, only to be replaced by a burning heat.  My fingers fumbled as I held onto the sign post and it took almost half a minute to get the other clover clamp, the one on the short chain, around the pole and attached to the other side of my sex.  That left me little too no room and since Mike the Hardware Guy’s clover clamps have ridges etched into the pads, you can imagine that I wouldn’t be pulling free. 

               

Next I did the clamp that went to my other breast.  The chain wrapped around the post, but I had much more freedom.  It still hurt though.  I groaned and moaned as I began humping the steel pole between my legs, rubbing my clit up and down against the Stinging O coated post.  I hung on with one hand, knees bent, violently fucking the sign.  I leaned back, feeling the pull on my breasts, the tingling, the need and I jerked forward and back, controlling the pain easily enough.  Then with a shudder I felt the orgasm building, rising up through me like a freshly drilled oil well.  It burst out through the top and I ground my clit and my pussy against that post as if it were a mortar and I the pestle, my clit the material needing to be crushed and mashed to a pulp.  I cried out loudly, the freedom of being out in the boonies granting me almost impossible liberty.

                I clung to the pole as I exploded, shaking and trembling, fingers white, my sex still open and pressed to the metal.  I could feel the coolness of it between my breasts and I struggled to think straight through the mix of endorphins and dopamine and adrenaline that had me floating on my own little pink cloud of delight.  Nothing beats an orgasm.  Not drugs, not chocolate, not winning a million dollars.  It’s all natural, perfectly easy to achieve for most people, and while addictive, not too bad to deal with.  I heartily recommend them.

 

The rest of this tale from Breanne Erickson is available in her book "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut, Volume 8" available at Amazon.com.  Click here to find out what happened next!

 

 

Breanne Erickson is the author of "Coming of Age - A BDSM Romance" the origin story for our very own Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut.  Check out the free sample and find out how Breanne came to be the girl we love!

Masturbation on Location: Vibrator On A Bus

“Here,” Kari said, handing me a small, white envelope.  I took it gingerly and looked at it in confusion.

                “If you’re tipping me, you don’t have to put it in an envelope,” I said sarcastically. “And normally you’re supposed to wait until after I’ve opened my coat.”  My hands found the front edges of the Cashmere coat and made sure the front was securely closed.

                She let out a silver laugh that sounded like bells ringing.  “It’s not a tip,” she said simply.  “It’s a fare.”

                “A fare?” I asked suspiciously.  “A fare for what?”  I took the envelope and tore it open.  Inside was a card with the METRO bus logo emblazoned across its face. 

“The bus of course,” she replied, plucking my large purse of my shoulder.  My eyes widened in alarm. 

                “The bus?  The bus to where?”

                “Back to my office.  It’s a bit of a trip, with two route changes, but I’m sure you can handle it.”  She snapped her fingers as if she had just remembered something.  She opened up her own purse and pulled out a small piece of paper.  “Your schedule.  Just remember to get off at those intersections and those other numbers are for the connecting buses.”  I took the paper, my hand trembling, and she reached back down into her purse.  I gasped when she brought out a bright blue vibrator that looked as if it were made of ice.  It flopped half way over as she handed it to me, my mouth open in shock.  My cheeks turned scarlet.

                “Kari!” I hissed.  We were standing in the entrance way of one of her favorite restaurants and while there wasn’t an immediate audience, the risk of a hostess or another customer coming in or out was astronomically good.  My problem was of course more prosaic.  I had nowhere to put the damn thing.  The coat I was wearing was cashmere and very expensive, but it lacked pockets of any kind.  The dress I had been wearing, along with my bra and panties, happened to be in the large purse which Kari had just taken away from me.  The only other spot a girl like me might happen to stash a nine inch long ice colored dildo happened to be full; two golf-ball sized spheres were tumbling around in there in time with each step.  So as I said, not many options.

                I jammed the dildo up into my coat sleeve as a temporary and quite makeshift storage point.  At least it got the damn thing out of sight.  My coat had slipped again, revealing a bit more than I was comfortable showing, and once against I cinched up the front and tightened the belt.  Pockets weren’t the only thing the coat lacked.  It didn’t have buttons either.  What kind of designer doesn’t put buttons on a coat?

                “Kari! This coat is all I’m wearing!  How am I to hold all this?” I demanded.  She grinned, reached out, and squeezed my arm gently.            

                “That’s your problem, Breanne.  Besides, you also happen to be wearing those wonderful shoes.”

                I glanced down at my toes, which were totally visible.  She had also happened to buy me a pair of four inch, open toed heels with these delicate straps that left the sides and tops of my foot bare.  They were nice shoes, and they matched the dress; the dress I was no longer even wearing.  I glared at her.  She checked her watch.

                “Well now, I suggest you move smartly.  The bus will be here in another ten or so minutes.  Please make sure you have the vibrator inside you and on before you get on the bus. Don’t turn it off until you get to my office either.  I’ll see you later.”  She began to turn and I grabbed her arm.

                “You can’t leave me like this!” I said, my voice panicked, the cock shaped head of the ice colored gel dildo poking out of my sleeve.  Kari blinked and looked at me.  Then her eyes narrowed and she leaned in close.

                “Yes I can.  Have fun.”  She pulled away and then left, leaving me a bus pass and a dildo, dressed in nothing but a measly coat held together with a simple belt, a pair of high heels, a set of ben wa balls and a nine inch long dildo.  As far as accessories go, this was a bit much.  My face flushed and with a thumping heart, I followed her out of the restaurant out into the parking lot.  She was already getting into her convertible and she waved at me through the window.  She pointed toward the road and I swallowed, my eyes following her gesture.  There was a sign there, a bus stop sign.  Damn.  She was serious!

                Then she left.  She actually left.  With the tip of the dildo resting in my fingers as I kept it slipped up my sleeve I moved forward, the bus pass in my other left hand.  The street wasn’t terribly busy, but there were cars going past every few seconds and when I got to the sign I was in a state.  How the hell was I supposed to put the vibrator in BEFORE the bus got there?  I glanced back at the restaurant.  I should have turned around and gone back to the bathroom.  Shaking, I turned my back to the street, praying no one in the restaurant happened to be looking out the front windows at the road.  I put the bus pass between my teeth and slipped my hand between the front of my coat, right underneath the single belt which was all that was holding the coat together, digging my hand in between my legs.  It was slippery, my thighs wet, my petals swollen with need, but I found the simple string that led to the ben wa balls.  Normally I pull gently, working the two golf-ball sized spheres out with two steady, but soft tugs.  I didn’t have the time.  I jerked the sex toy out with a cry.  The bus pass fell to the ground. The deep ache wasn’t comfortable as my hand came out clutching the wet ben wa balls and frankly the little burst of pain made my arousal worse. 

             

   I stood there, stupefied.  Where the hell was I going to put the ben wa balls?  I blinked.  I had no purse. No pockets.  And they were… um… wet.  Very wet.  Gooey even.  Looking around in a panic, I almost ran back to the restaurant.  But then I heard the engine.  I glanced down the street.  SHIT!  It was the bus!  Oh fuck!

                I shook my right arm and the vibrator fell into my hand out of my coat sleeve.  I jammed it in between my legs, not caring who in the restaurant happened to see.  In hindsight I was probably far enough away to arouse curiosity, but not calls to the police.  I groaned out loud as I pushed the massive vibrator in deep, twisting the base wildly, not caring about the setting.  I just wanted it in.  My eyes practically popped out of my head though as the vibrations sent ribbons of pleasure through my loins.  I must have been much more aroused than I thought because my pussy contracted wildly around the plastic, rumbling phallus and my hips jerked a few times as I bent over and picked up my pass.  The squeal of the bus brakes hit my ears and when I straightened and turned the door of the bus was opening, right in front of me.

                I climbed in, my entire focus on taking tiny steps that would prevent the vibrator from falling out.  It was awful.  I could feel it slipping and I had to keep my thighs locked together in order to keep the damn thing in.  A women’s sex is designed to be well lubricated.  It’s not designed to hold things in unless they are of a certain shape, like ben wa balls or inflatable dildos.  This vibrator was a monster in length, but not in width, and it certainly wasn’t bulging at the tip.  The climb up the steps was horrendous.  I waved my bus pass and the driver stared at me.

                “Uh, miss?  Your coat?” His eyes trailed down my body and I looked down too.  Sure enough, the front edges of the coat had slipped open under the damn belt and I was showing enough skin to make it very clear that I was naked underneath.  I wasn’t flashing breasts and my sex was to the side, so all he caught sight of was some thigh and loin, but still…

                I slammed my hands together, closing the coat, my face turning even more scarlet, if that’s possible.  The ben wa balls rattled in my hand and brushed against my cashmere coat, leaving streaks of girl goo across the material.  I swore. Then I swore I was going to let Kari play the cleaning bill.  I bit my lop and hurried past the driver and wiggled (since I couldn’t walk very well) down the aisle and to the first seat that wasn’t immediately occupied.

                There weren’t that many people on the bus, maybe six or seven.  They were also evenly spaced out so I found myself sitting in the middle, with no one around me for two or three seats in any direction.  Taking a shuddering breath, I slipped the bus pass into my coat and pushed it down into the sleeve near my forearm.  It would stay in place if I didn’t get too crazy.  Then my hand went down between my legs, opening the front of the coat.  I pushed the vibrator deeper, stifling the accompanying groan.  Then, slowly at first, my eyes constantly darting around the bus, I began.

                Most women can quietly masturbate and yes, I’m one of them.  Under certain circumstances.  For example, I can masturbate almost silently when I’m on my bed at home, naked and spread out on the sheets, my hands between my legs, with the only sound coming from the vibrator buried inside me.  I’ve masturbated in grocery stores, in parks, on picnic tables, all without making a ruckus.  But as I slipped that ice colored, gel filled vibrator in and out, the circumstances and previous arousal did not help.  In minutes I was moaning, my lips pressed together to keep it quiet, but my bottom kept rotating, my hips working in and out even as my hand did the same. 

                One of the passengers, a man, walked right past me, getting a decent glimpse, eyes wide, but then he moved forward to the front of the bus, clearly wanting to get off.  I ignored it.  I was getting close to orgasm.  As the bus stopped and let the man off, his eyes found mine through the window and that was when I orgasmed.  It was quiet, thank God, but powerful, and I shuddered and gasped soundlessly as my body did what it does best.

                I slumped in my seat, brain fogged through the miracle of sexual release and worked my coat closed.  The ben wa balls continued to rattle in my hand, but I ignored it, instead reaching back into my sleeve and pulling out the bus pass.  The paper with the directions was wrapped around it and I checked to see what intersection I’d be getting off on.  I ignored the buzzing between my legs. I didn’t know what level the vibrator was set at, but it wasn’t terrible.  Besides, Kari hadn’t told me I could turn it off.

                It took fifteen minutes to get to my stop and at least a hundred yards out I reached between my legs, pushed the vibrator in as much as I could, adjusted my coat, made sure I had my ben wa balls and my bus pass and diretions, and stood.  Again, the walk down the aisle was intense, but doable.  At least until I got to the stairs.  There was someone at my stop, a guy, who watched with interest as I took the large steps down.  His shocked but pleased expression made it clear that my coat, which only came down mid-thigh, had certainly done little to conceal certain parts of my anatomy.  As I passed him, he grinned.

                “Nice panties,” he whispered.

        

This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's Blog, but can be found in its entirety in Breanne Erickson's latest novel, "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 9"!  Stop by Amazon.com today to pick up your copy!

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