Thursday, March 8, 2018

Driving Toward Torment

The scent of spring filled my nose as I walked across the wet pavement back to my jeep. A late afternoon shower had drenched the west side, leaving a clean, earthy scent. My flip-flops smacked against the bottoms of my bare feet and I climbed up into my car with a satisfied sigh. A gift from Kari, the Wrangler was everything I could have ever dreamed of, so I sat there, just marveling at my good fortune. So of course, that's when my phone rang.

I tugged the device out of the back pocket and glanced at the screen. Julie. I sighed again, this time in exasperation. I swiped my finger across the screen, lifted it to my ear, and said, “Hello?”

“Hey, princess! What's up?”

I paused for a moment, already glancing around the parking lot of my parents’ assisted living complex. No one was around, which was a damned good thing. “Are you being figurative or literal?” I asked in a hawkish tone.

“Well, considering you're supposed to be here right now...” she complained.

I frowned. “Sorry. I got detained. Mom wanted to chitchat when I dropped off Rachel.”

Julie grunted into the phone. “Literal then,” she said with a chuckle.

I took a deep breath. “Vibroballs,” I said honestly, thinking about the two plastic spheres that were currently nestled in the wet crevasse between my thighs. They were off of course. I’m not crazy. But Julie didn’t really need to know that.

I could practically hear her eyes roll. “You aren't even in your jeep yet?”

I shook my head. “I was just getting in when you called!” I shut the door and dumped my purse onto the seat beside me, getting out the key in the process. Still, I could hear her exasperation.

“Well, you know the rules. Get started. I want to hear it.” The undercurrent of excitement in her voice was palpable. I made my “Kermit the Frog” frown, but I knew better than to object. Instead, I reached down and with a flick of my fingers, unsnapped the button of my shorts.

“Come on, come on!” Urged Julie. “I want to hear the moan when it goes in.”

I unzipped the fly, revealing a pair of pink, bikini style panties. “Okay, okay. I'm working on it. Jeeze. Okay?”

Julie hummed warmly as I wriggled my hips, working both the denim shorts and the panties down. I felt the vinyl covering of the seat on my bare bottom and finished pushing my shorts down over my knees. I kicked off the flip-flop on my right foot and pulled it free, leaving my shorts and panties wrapped around my left ankle. That was a calculated measure of course. What if a cop pulled me over or something?

“Are you naked yet or not?” Demanded Julie impatiently.

I let out a frustrated grunt. “No. Not yet! I'm doing this sitting down, in a confined space!”

“Breanne, naked means naked. And you better not have your pants wrapped around an ankle so you can get into them quickly.”

I blinked. How the fuck… I checked my phone just to make sure I wasn't accidentally snapchatting or something, but no… she was just being astute. Or I was predictable. I pulled my left foot out of the shorts, muttering under my breath. Then I glanced around. My windows weren't tinted, but I had parked in a lonely section of the parking lot for just this reason. I dropped the phone and tugged my shirt over my head, a wave of goosebumps going up both arms and straight to both pierced nipples. My areolas tightened, and not from cold, but from risk, the threat of discovery, of being seen. I inadvertently whimpered as I brought the phone back up to my ear.

“If that was the sound of it sliding in, I'm seriously disappointed,” Julie was saying.

I gulped. “No. I just took off my shirt. That's all.”

There was a long pause. “Oh. You weren't kidding when you said you'd just gotten in the car, were you?”

“I was not,” I said firmly.

“Well, fuck. You really are late, aren't you?”

Before I had a chance to respond, she plowed right over my protestations. “Clamps then please. I want to hear you gasp when they bite down.”

“Julie! We agreed I wouldn't have to wear the clamps!” I spluttered. It had been too distracting and I'd almost ended up in both a ditch and intensive care when I’d been forced to spin the wheel on a drive a few weeks before.

“Pfffff,” Julie said, practically blowing a raspberry. “It's punishment for being late. Drive carefully.”

I made a face that would have resulted in an immediate spanking, or worse, had Julie been standing in front of me. Still, I knew there wasn't a choice. I flipped open the console compartment and pushed my fingers past the thick, white vibrator sitting near the bottom. Underneath it was a chain and I pulled it out, the heavy clover clamps rattling against plastic.

I put down the phone, setting it on hands free, and pinched open the first, steel maw. The grips were smooth, meaning that there was at least a chance of them slipping off under duress. But as I positioned the first one behind the gold hoop piercing of my left nipple, I also knew that the additional hardware would probably prevent it. My overactive imagination pictured me lying naked in an emergency room, doctors looking down at my injuries perplexed.

“You said she was in a car accident? How did her nipples get ripped off?”

The sound I made as the first clamp tightened down on my breast must have pleased Julie. “Good. Now the other tit,” she said with encouragement. I grimaced and clenched my teeth. The other clover clamp came up, nudged aside the small, gold padlock that hung from my right nipple, and I gasped as it bit down hard.

“You remembered to string it through the steering wheel, right?” Julie asked.

Fuck! I swore out loud too and my mistress let out a peal of sadistic laughter. I quickly unclipped the pincer on my right breast and threaded it through the steering wheel of the jeep. I ignored the flashes of pain radiating up from the tip of my other breast and repositioned the clover clamp over my right nipple and let it close.

“Shit,” I hissed, more theatrically than in true pain. Julie wanted to hear me, so why not give her what she wanted?

“I love the sound of you hurting,” she said. “But now I want to hear the sound of you wanting. Put it in. On high”

I choked back the groan I felt threatening to emerge from my throat and instead jammed my hand back into the console compartment. This time my fingers encircled the thick, ivory colored rod and pulled it out. The tapered end beckoned and I set it against my leg. Then with a desperate whimper, I slipped my hand between my thighs, finding the warm, wet, slippery folds of my sex.

It was the sound Julie had been waiting for. “That's it. I figure that's the sound of you pulling out the vibroballs. They're off, aren't they? Just a heavy weight inside that tight, little pussy of yours.” She let out a wanton hum, her growl of desire matching the fluttering movements of my fingers as I snagged the two connected beads and pulled them from the depths of my own sex. I realized I was panting and I dumped the two spheres in the plastic tumbler I'd permanently positioned in one of the many cupholders. It wasn't the first time, or even the fiftieth, that cup had been subjected to my slick, used toys.

“I'm putting it in,” I said roughly, picking up the silent vibrator and twisting the base. It rumbled to life, intense and strong.

“Yes!” Julie cheered. “And remember no cumming. And you have to turn it back on at every stop light.”

“I'll… remember…” I moaned, pressing the tip against my tingling clitoris. For one moment I was lost in the sensation, the pinching of my nipples fading into a swirl of need. My pussy gushed with fresh moisture and I took advantage of the tide to slip the full length of the vibrator deep. I groaned now, pumping the plastic cock in and out, my toes curling. I leaned back, the chain connecting the aching tips of my breasts to the steering wheel.pulled taut. Screw being seen, this felt too good. My toes curled and a wave of utter bliss made me shudder.

“Hey! No cumming,” warned Julie. “Shut it off.”

I moaned again, my wrist moving with rhythmic thrusts.


My breathing picked up and I let out another whimper.


I could feel the orgasm approaching. Just a few more thrusts. Oh god yes! I so fuckung needed to…

“Yo! Fuck slut!” Julie screamed through the phone angrily. “Turn the vibrator off!”

I jerked myself upright, which sent a searing blast of hurt down through my tits as the clover clamps tugged hard on my bosom. My fingers scrambled at the base of the vibrator and managed to end the violent oscillations threatening my sexual equilibrium. I let out a shuddering breath, fully aware of just how close that was.

“Hmmm,” she muttered. “I think maybe the.vibe on low, instead of high, at stop lights might be appropriate. And you better not cum.”

I let out a slightly hysterical laugh at the thought. “Yeah? And how are you going to punish me? Whip me between the legs? More orgasm?”

There was a stone cold silence. “No,” Julie said darkly. “I will take you out and demonstrate for a crowd, just how accepting your ass is.”

I blinked. Holy shit. Not good. “No orgasms. Got it,” I whispered. I hate things going up my ass.

“Good. Now get your unstuffed bottom over here as quickly as you can.” She hung up without waiting for an answer.

I sat there for another minute, naked, humiliated, breathless and hurting. Underneath it all was the hungry need, the overwhelming desire, the wet, swirling temptation. I took a deep breath and let it out explosively. She'd know. She always knew. So instead I started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, plotting the most direct route…

…with traffic lights.

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


  1. Clamping the nips is fine, don't know about attaching em to the steering though. And do the 'gasm. Being stripped, punished, and anal played in front on people will be character building. -F

  2. Dear god she is a terrible writer. The character is weak, unrelatable, undesirable. I love every bit of Michael Alexander's work that doesn't involve Breanne. I don't know if she is a real person or a sub personality but she needs to go away. Goddess of dark erotica? Let's try, goddess of terrible prose. She is ALMOST as bad as E.L. James, and that is saying something.

    1. Haters gonna hate. Good thing they haven't read my stuff yet.


Thanks for commenting on Michael Alexander's BDSM Blog! We love hearing from our fans. Whether it's a critique, a suggestion, or just a plain old "well done!" drop us a line! Or feel free to email us directly! You can find our address at our website! Thanks!