A Painful Anniversary

A Painful Anniversary

01/11/12

Nothing motivates like pain.  It's a feral beast, an animal that tears into you, spurring action. It makes you move, to seek relief, and it does so easily, without thought.  Of course, pain can also do other things, especially to someone like me, if it's applied correctly, thoughtfully, deliberately, with intent to motivate certain behaviors.  It can make me do crazy things, in wild places, along with making me very very wet.   But what can I say?  I'm a nympho humiliation pain slut.

My name is Breanne Erickson and if you don't know me already, well that's easy enough to fix.  I'm five foot four and a quarter, which is just tall enough to reach the bottom shelf on kitchen cabinets, and not high enough to reach the shelf we keep the coffee mugs on.  It's sort of pathetic.  I'm termed "petite" in polite clothing circles, which means it's hard to find jeans that fit.  It also doesn't help that I weigh about a hundred and seventeen pounds when dripping wet and naked.  That can go up of course, depending on whatever dildo I've got rammed up inside me.  I'm a bit busty, moving into the upper C range, which makes me look just a tad bit top heavy. I was born a mousy brunette, which is to say that I'm on the blond side of brown and in my natural state makes me look like a bucket of overgrown field mice.  I've taken steps and I've always felt that red hair, fire engine red hair, is the way to go when it comes to increasing the amount of attraction I exert on other people.  I'm bi-sexual.  Why only sample half the food at a buffet, right?  I don't have any tattoos, but I technically have three piercings: both ears and a golden hoop through my right nipple.  That hoop is a long story in and of it self.

Did I get your attention when I said I was a nympho humiliation pain slut?  I'm pretty sure I did.  That normally gets everyone's attention.  I've been one ever since I was a junior in high school, even though I didn’t technically call myself a “NHPS” back then.  My best friend Kari invited me over to watch some of her dad's BDSM video collection.  She had found his bucket of tapes in her parent's closet after her mom and dad separated and she was cleaning.  Over the summer we must have watched every single tape, blankets covering our bodies as we quietly masturbated.  Two weeks before school started she held out several of our favorite videos and asked me to choose.  Which one should we act out?  Our roles were destined from the beginning.  I identified with the girls being tortured in the videos.  Kari identified with the dommes who did the torturing.  I ended up tied spread-eagled to the coffee table while fucked with a cucumber, clamped with clothespins, and lightly whipped until I must have cum three or four times.  Then Kari released me and I did what the girl in the video did.  Kari came next and it started a relationship that has continued in various forms to this day.

But being a nympho humiliation pain slut isn't just about having a mistress, or a master, or even a golden hoop through your nipple.  It's a lifestyle, a choice, and a curse.  And there are rules too.  You should probably learn them, even if you aren't a nympho humiliation pain slut too.  You might bump into me someday and it's a good idea to know how to handle me, just in case.  For example, NHPS Rule #1 states quite clearly that I am to keep myself stuffed with either cock or a sex toy, at all times, in order to keep myself wet and ready for immediate sexual use.  Cool rule, huh?  I have a whole toybox full of crap that I change out daily, usually at Kari's whim, to keep myself stimulated and ready.  I try not to wear the same thing two days in a row.  I'm afraid I might get used to it, which defeats the purpose of being sexually tormented 24/7, doesn't it?  There are other rules of course, but you can look those up yourself.  Trust me. Just google them.

If you have heard of me, that's cool.  I'm popular enough to get fan mail, which is weird, and I've actually gotten marriage proposals from various guys (and one girl) who thought I'd be the perfect partner, despite having never met me in the flesh, based only upon the sex blog I write for.  That's kind of weird, isn't it?  I mean sure, I can cook, clean, play piano, and do it all naked while stuffed with something buzzing, while planning an "abuse Breanne" party for you and your friends, but still... marriage?  It seems... abrupt.  So sure, you might know me from the blog.  Or maybe you've read one of my books, which means you already know all of this already.  Yes.  Books.  I've written three of them and there are two more coming this spring, so eat your heart out.  But I'm not here to plug my books, which would be just totally wrong.

No,  I'm going to tell you about my anniversary assignment.  Anniversary you ask?  Absolutely.  Two years on January 15th, writing for a particular BDSM Blog.  What's an assignment you might ask?  Well over the last two years, a wide variety of doms and dommes have made some suggestions, just little tasks of this and that for me to accomplish.  If you've read "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut," you know what I'm talking about.   If you haven't then you should know it usually starts out with an email.  This one came from Master Brandon, one of my online doms who has a penchant for creating assignments that not just tantalize, but hurt like hell too.

Breanne, Happy Anniversary!  The last two years have been a lot of fun.  Remember that knotted rope walk I made you do?  Twice?  After this you're going to wish that I'd made you do it a third time to celebrate your anniversary.  This one is going to hurt a lot more, but I promise that you'll cum too.  What do you need to do?  Well it's simple.  First off you'll need...

I remember those two rope walks.  Terrible torment.  But assignments are always a little exciting for me.  For someone who absolutely hates getting publicly humiliated, but gets turned on when it happens, or who doesn't like getting hurt, unless it's done in a sexually explicit way, an assignment is usually this test of character, of strength, of will power, and of course my libido.  And there I was, about to start my anniversary assignment.  After my morning chores I grabbed the items specified in Master Brandon’s email, along with my denim duster, and climbed into my Ford F-150 pickup truck.  Don’t give me a hard time about driving a truck.  Technically it belongs to my dad. 

The ben wa balls I had stuffed into myself at five in the morning rolled smoothly inside me, keeping me moist and in a state of sexual flux. As instructed,  I hadn't cum all morning and for someone who if left to her own devices will masturbate at least two or three times a day, the unceasing sexual stimulation without release was more than enough to set me up. A few moments later I pulled over on the side of the road.  The farm to market roadway that passed just south of my parent's farm was nothing more than a long strip of asphalt (and we were lucky to have that!) which didn’t even sport a center line.  I climbed out of the cab and moved to the front grill in a ritual that spanned all the way back two years.  In one of my very first assignments, Mistress Ellen had devised a way to get me attired appropriately, with maximum opportunity for humiliation, yet with minimized risk.  Her concept was so brilliant, every single one of my other online doms and dommes adopted it, even Kari, who takes a lot of pleasure sitting behind the wheel, watching as I strip at the front of the car.

A brisk fifty degree wind blew across the dried grasses that lined the edges of the road and I shivered as I removed my heavy denim duster.  Even dressed in the thick, button down, long sleeve shirt and blue jeans, I felt the cutting touch of the icy wind and my fingers rushed to hurry, not wanting to remain exposed for longer than I needed to be.  I knew it was going to get worse before it got better too.  I started unbuttoning my shirt, working my way down, turning my back to the cold wind.  As I tugged the shirt tails out of my jeans I felt the goose bumps rising on my arms.  I quivered and then pulled the shirt completely off.  Underneath I was wearing a simple bra, white lace and elastic and I fumbled for a moment before my fingers found the small clasp behind my back and freed it.  The bra fell loose and instantly my nipples puckered into hard little bumps.  My right nipple ached just a tad bit more thanks to the solid gold piercing that decorated the pink nub.  From the hoop dangled a small padlock, a tiny charm decorated with the black enameled outline of a rose.  It swung violently as I started shivering.

I looked down the expanse of bare road.  Not a truck or car in sight and I knew it was likely to remain that way.  There wasn't much down past my parent’s farm and traffic was sparse.  I could have sunbathed naked for an hour and been relatively sure no one would pass me.  Of course, it has happened before.  You can't keep rolling the dice and expect that certain number to never come up.  But the few times I've been spotted, or taken advantage of, have been few and far between.  But hey, those are other stories and you can read them later... or maybe you've already read them, which would be sweet!

I struggled with my belt buckle for a moment before managing to get my jeans open.  The zipper dropped and then I was pushing, forcing the heavy denim down my bare legs.  The panties I was wearing weren't anything special; simple bikini cut cotton, white in color.  It wasn't like I was expecting to be on display in just my undies.  Besides, I can't afford a shitload of Victoria's Secret stuff (though I admit I'd like some if anyone wants to send me some stuff!  I’m a size 6 and 36c!) As I struggled to kick off my boots and get out of my jeans, the freezing air blasted at my naked body and practically chilled me to the bone.  Finally I managed the jeans, putting one sock clad foot down in the gravel.  The other boot went easier and then my pants crumpled on the ground.  I picked them up, shaking like a leaf, and quickly folded them.  I hurried, grabbing my panties and pushing them down as well.  Bare ass naked, I grabbed my duster and wrapped it around myself, only barely able to keep from falling over.  I closed the heavy blue denim and then collected my clothing and boots, only to retreat to the comfortable warmth of the truck cab.  I started the engine and let the hot air blast, heating me until I was finally able to hold the wheel without having tremors.  The windows steamed up and I sat back in sweet bliss as scorching air blasted out of the vents and warmed me.  I reached down, pulled off my socks, and carefully put on my stripper shoes, a set of crystal clear rubber and plastic soles with eight inch heels.  They were the kind of shoes that said in a loud clear voice "the girl wearing these shoes is a slut.  Please watch her carefully because she might do something slutty."  And it doesn't matter what else she is wearing, trust me.  I took a deep breath, put the truck in gear, and headed north.

It was just before ten o'clock in the morning when I pulled up at the mall.  I parked as close to the front door as I could.  It wasn't part of the requirements, but I suspected that any shortening of the distance I needed to walk would be a benefit.  As soon as I stopped the truck, I reached over to my small bag and pulled out the three items I needed immediately.  Then I opened my duster, trying to keep as much of myself concealed as possible.  There weren’t a lot of passersby, but I didn’t want to put on a show to early in the morning, or attract the attention of the security staff.  Been there.  Done that. Gingerly I reached down between my legs and found the small piece of twine that led to the pair of ben wa balls that had been rolling around inside me all morning.  I tugged them loose, groaning as they popped out from between my labia, coated in the tangy sweet musk of my own lubrication.  With a slight smile, I licked the ben wa balls clean and then dropped them in the bag, exchanging them for a set of triple vibroballs, a new toy I received at Christmas.  Instead of two bullets, bouncing, shaking, and vibrating inside me, I would now have three, each as big as the ones on the regular set of vibroballs.  I slipped them in one at a time, relishing the sensation of being stuffed to the brim.  I turned them on a moment later, setting the dial to maximum.  My pussy convulsed violently around the plastic sex objects and I knew I didn't have long before I came in glorious release.

But while triple vibroballs certainly go a long way to encouraging sexual behavior, they aren't exactly painful.  In fact, on the stimulation scale, they're much more potent than my old vibroballs, which only had two bullets.  Now I had three and trust me, the extra object made a major difference.  My hips were already thrusting in and out, virtually fucking the triple vibroballs while I pulled loose the next item.  I braced myself.  I knew this would be painful.  I pulled my duster apart, making sure the tips of my breasts were exposed.  Both were light pink, a perfect contrast to the white of my skin.  Carefully I brought up the alligator clamps, two sharp metal toothed monstrosities that hurt like the dickens and were connected to each other by a single steel chain.  One clamp bit into my left nipple like I was a steak dinner, waiting for consumption, while the other snapped close behind the piercing and padlock on my right nipple.  I felt a tug, a pull, as gravity did its thing with the connecting chain and I groaned.  Thank god I was sitting down!  The teeth dug into both nipples sending shards of exquisite pain lancing through my breasts.  That pain only barely registered in my brain, since it combined with the pulsing rhythm of the triple vibroballs stimulating my pussy.  I almost came right then.  As I struggled to come to grips with the incredible sensation, my fingers found the next item I had been instructed to bring and place upon my person.  It was another metal toothed clamp, another alligator clamp in fact, yet this one was twice the size of the ones currently chewing on my nipples. Tied to one end of the clamp was a soft light string which ended at a simple key ring hoop.  I took hold of the clamp and spread my legs.  Trembling, knowing this would hurt much much more than the splinters of pain piercing both nipples, I readied myself as I positioned the jumbo alligator clamp over my clitoris.  I rubbed my clit with the closed tip, prepping my flesh for the burst of agony.  I pinched the clamp open, set it in place, and then allowed the teeth to close, sinking into my tender soft clitoris.

I'm not sure I can describe the blaze of burning sensation that was the pain of my torment.  It burst up through me as if I had been scorched alive, my clit throbbed in agony and my pussy locked down on the three buzzing beads inside me and trembled.  It mixed together in one throbbing, pulsing heat and I let out a moan that would have been heard from one side of the mall to the other had I been inside.  Struggling not to scream or cum, I threaded the string up past my belly button and then between the chain connecting my nipples.  I draped the rope over the nipple clamps chain and then prepared myself.  Yes.  It was about to get worse.  I knew it.  I tugged one of the small two ounce fishing weights from my duster pocket, the tiny hook ready and waiting.  Trembling, on the very edge of orgasmic release, I attached the weight to the ring and let go.

Hopefully you understand the nature of my torment.  Basically, the weight applied pressure to both nipples and my clit, tugging on me painfully.  It hurt.  I shook, and not from cold this time.  But my preparations were complete.  I stuffed the triple vibroballs remote into my duster pocket along with the three other weights, and popped open the door.  A blast of chilled wind struck me and the full length of bared flesh.  I hurriedly closed my duster, even while ignoring the shards of pain that exploded through me from my clit and nipples.  Quickly, I buttoned all five buttons of the duster, closing myself off from the cold, but also concealing my naked body and the hellish torture I was enduring.  I locked the truck and stuck the keys in the other pocket, feeling the nine inch Husky dildo which I had been ordered to bring along.  There was also a tiny bottle in that pocket, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.

I guess I should also take a moment to explain a few things about my alligator clamps.  If you happen to be a nympho humiliation pain slut too, don’t run up to your local hardware store, buy a set of alligator clamps, and just go attaching them to your body.  First of all pressure is the important thing to consider whenever you use clamps.  Take for example, your average wooden clothespin.  Those have about four to six pounds of pressure between the “teeth” of the peg.  Alligator clamps, when bought in their natural state, are quite a bit higher.  That means you have to modify them.  Now don’t ask me how.  I had my friend Mike, the hardware store manager do that in exchange for… uh..  well… never mind.  But my point is that I’ve got my alligator clamps set to around three to four pounds.  I also dulled the teeth enough so that they wouldn’t break skin.  Now, you have to understand these things still HURT.  But come one, the idea isn’t to be gushing BLOOD now is it?

I tried to hurry, but as anyone who has been cruelly bound like I was, you know that walking fast when your clit and nipples feel like they're being torn from your body is not something that motivates you to move fast.  It also didn't help that I had one of the most powerful orgasms I've ever experienced when I was still about twenty feet from the door of the Outdoor Store.  I ended up drifting to the side of the entrance, gasping, thankful no one was out there to see me, because my hips were doing this plainly erotic dance as I struggled not to fall down.  The triple vibroballs seemed to be the pushing factor and even after I came they continued buzzing inside me, allowing me to come down from my climax only so far before turning me right around again and pushing me back up.  For a moment, the cold helped me.  It cooled me down, the sharpness allowing my brain to somewhat deal with the riot of sensation, the overload of sexual stimulation, and the crushing bite of the clamps.  It took a minute or two, but I finally straightened, no longer leaning on the wall, and entered the mall.

The outdoor store is this huge single room that has everything from a giant freshwater aquarium to boats to hunting bows inside.  I like it because I've been fucked a number of times in this building.  The dressing rooms are large and roomy, and despite a few rather difficult encounters, most of the staff I've met has been very understanding.  Of course, I say that ignoring the fact that I've also gotten in to some serious trouble in this store and technically am probably persona non grata.  But hey, they haven't caught me long enough to trespass me yet!  In any event, I wasn't really interested in completing the first portion of my assignment here, besides I still had to go talk to Julie, another one of my long time mistresses who enjoys using me.  Or is it abusing me?

Despite the fact that I was wearing a rather shapeless duster, I felt the eyes of practically every male around me latch on too my ankles and work their way up.  I knew what was going through their minds, not because I'm psychic or anything, but because it was obvious.  What would YOU think if you saw a pretty girl, with dyed, fire engine red hair, walking around wearing a calf high duster and stripper high heels?  You'd wonder "is she wearing anything under there?"   I know that's what they were thinking, and the knowledge they were thinking it, combined with the fact that they were right to think it, made me even more embarrassed and turned on.  Of course I blushed scarlet, once more trying to pick up the pace, only to be halted to a slow and steady, hip-rolling walk thanks to the excruciating bite of the clamps.  I turned left and proceeded down the concourse, attracting attention like a candle pulls in bugs.  No one approached or said anything, and while it took me almost ten minutes to get to Julie’s small jewelry store, I managed without any additional issues. 

I met Julie on another assignment, much like this one, except it didn't hurt as much.  In an instant Julie had understood my psychology, my bent, my interests, my perversions and despite the fact that she is a full six or seven years younger than I am, she took me in hand.  I've done several "assignments" either with her, or created by her, each one a mixture of public humiliation and some pretty intense whippings.  I've experienced some rather wild scenarios with Julie, but there is one thing I've learned about her over the last year and a half.

She's a hitter.  Usually the first thing that happens to me when I get into Julie’s store is a vicious smack across both breasts.

I entered the store and her face lit up.  She knew I was coming of course. I had emailed her Master Brandon's instructions several days earlier and since her store was empty of customers, she came right up to me and grabbed me in a bear hug.  The clamps dug into me and I almost lost it again, but then she was pulling me into the back room.  I followed obediently and entered the small storage area.  There was a desk, some shelves, a small bathroom, and some electrical stuff against one wall.  Julie merely pushed me over toward the desk chair, bent me over, which did nothing to relieve the pain in my nipples and clit, and lifted the back of my duster.  The impact of her hand on my ass was brutal and the two ounce weight hanging from my breasts bobbed, even under my duster.  Pain exploded through me and I gasped, the heat in my ass almost eclipsed the throbbing heat of the clamps.  She spanked me again, hard and I let out a tiny cry, trying to stifle it.  Another stroke came and I couldn't hold the position anymore, straightening and moving my hands to cover my bottom.  Master Brandon had NOT instructed Julie to spank me red.  She was doing that on her own.  On the other hand, it beat the hell out of her smacking me across both tits.  She gave me a dark look.

"Are you ready to start?" she asked.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. 

"Fine.  Open the coat and give me the bottle," Julie commanded.

With trembling fingers I turned and opened the front of my coat.  Five buttons took a while but I managed.  Then I fished the small bottle of oil from my pocket and handed it to her.  Julie inspected the clamps, eliciting another cry from me as she tugged on the weight.  Then without another comment, she uncapped the bottle and allowed several drops to fall down upon my left nipple.  As soon as the oil coated the crushed and bitten nub, she moved over to my right breast and repeated the process.  By the time she was angling to coat my clit, my left nipple felt as if it had been dipped in molten lava, burning and tingling in this cold heat that seemed to enhance my perception of the toothed maw crushing my nub.  Seconds later my right nipple joined the first and I started hyperventilating as my clitoris suddenly reported a strange tingle that had nothing to do with the clamp.  Julie straightened up and gave my weight another tug, sending another jolt of harsh pain exploding through me.  Then she handed me the bottle, told me to button up and get started.

I stumbled out of the jewelry store and headed down the concourse in a state of sexual agony.  I desperately wanted to cum, in ways that you possibly couldn't imagine.  The triple vibroballs were humming like mad inside me and even the clamp on my clit was erotically stimulating.  It hurt, yes.  It made me want to cum.  I dipped into a larger clothing store and worked my way to the back, toward the dressing rooms, disappearing inside with a snatched outfit.  As I closed the door behind me my body trembled and I struggled to open my coat.  I hurriedly tugged the three vibroballs out from between my legs, hastily shutting them off before pulling my dildo out of my duster pocket. The Stinging O lube still burned between my legs and at the tips of my breasts, but I rammed that rubber cock into myself with as much force as I could muster.  I sat down on the little bench, the chain and weight tugging at my breasts and clit.  Pain exploded through me as much as pleasure and I frantically thrust the thick rubber cock into myself in what can only be described as desperate wantonness.  My hips jerked wildly, my chest heaved.  The thick squelching sound of the cock being drawn in and out of my pussy was clearly audible and my moans of relief, of anguish, of need, filled the little room.

When I came I couldn't help crying out.  I exploded in a wet burst that soaked my thighs, my hand, my rubber dildo, not to mention a good portion of the seat beneath me and even a bit of my duster.  I doubled over, trying to recover, but the stimulation that had taken me to this point didn't stop.  Most girls, when they've orgasmed once, or sometimes twice, start to develop a sensitivity to the stimulation, a sort of edge that is distinctly unpleasant.  I'm technically no different.  Except for one thing.  Being hurt turns me on.  Some people think I'm sick. Some think I'm just fucking weird.  A doctor I once explained my nature too told me that I had severe psychological damage and recommended therapy.  A priest I once confessed too told me that I was seeking out punishment for my sins and could he please have a blowjob.  So you can see, I'm a bit fucked up.  In any event, after that orgasm at the mall, in that dressing room, my torment changed.  I was stuck in the classic Catch 22 scenario.  The orgasm hurt.  The hurt turned me on.  Being turned on drives me to orgasm.  The orgasm hurts.

Already, my brain was shutting down.  I pulled the dildo out of my sodden pussy, licked it clean as quickly as possible, and shoved it back into my pocket. I replaced it with the triple vibroballs, which quickly did something inside me that had me shuddering. I pulled another one of the two ounce weights out of my pocket.  This was hooked on the key ring that dangled from the nipple clamp chain between my breasts, the long line stretching down to my clamped clit.  The extra two ounces didn't hurt that much, but I could tell it was there and the doubling of the pressure on my clit and nipples slowly became this overwhelming presence that I could barely deal with.   As it was, I struggled to get my duster closed.  I buttoned it from the bottom up and as I got to the fifth and last button, I remembered another one of the little instructions Master Brandon had given me.  My fingers fell away, leaving the last button undone and I took a deep breath before exiting the little room. 

There was a clerk outside and she was looking at me in a concerned way, at least until she saw my shoes.  That combined with the duster, along with enough skin beneath my neck to make it relatively clear I wasn't wearing anything underneath the duster, made her grimace in disgust.  I blushed, totally humiliated as she categorized me in the "fucking slut" column.  I hurried away, heading back to the jewelry store where Julie waited.  This time she had a few customers so I was forced to loiter, my loins trembling as I struggled not to squirm and wiggle in pain induced sexual desperation.  Finally Julie was free and I was pushed into the back room.  A quick check of my clamps and weights followed and then she asked for the bottle of Stinging O.  In all honesty, the burning chemical reaction of my oil lubricant really didn't overwhelm the pain of the alligator clamps.  But Julie was good and dripped healthy amounts onto each breast and then my clit.  This time though she worked the oil into my heavy breasts with her fingers, moving my clamped chest around and sending more sparks of agony up through my nipples.  Then she helped me button my duster again, four buttons worth.  She turned me around, swatted me on the ass, and sent me out once again.

I stumbled through the mall, which is actually not as hard as it seems when you're making a fool of yourself while tottering around on platform heels that shoot you skyward a full eight inches.  I'm experienced walking in heels, as a nympho humiliation pain slut you have to be, but I'm NOT used to doing it while stuffed with three, vibrating, egg sized bullets, while my clitoris and both nipples are caught in painful metal toothed clamps, all while those same spots are drenched with an oil mixture that is four parts grapeseed oil, two parts chilli oil, and one part cinnamon oil.  The human body just isn't designed to handle that and still look like a sex goddess walking.  I started attracting not just attention, but a few humanitarian inquiries.  Those are always tough to handle.  What do you say when someone asks if you're okay?  "Oh yes, I'm fine thank you. I just have three metal clamps chewing on my privates while the sex toy that's stuffed up inside me is going crazy!"

Sometimes honesty is NOT the best policy. 

After the third time I was approached, asked if I was okay, and eyefucked by the good Samaritan, I found another store.  I made a precursory browse, selected an item to "try on", and disappeared into the tiny changing room at the back.  It was much smaller than the first one I had found myself in, but at that point it didn't matter.  What mattered was that I was allowed to turn off the vibroballs.  I sighed in bliss as they went silent and I'll admit I took my time pulling them out, licking them clean of my juices, and then putting them aside.  I still hurt of course, but without the triple vibroballs driving my libido, I regained a bit of control.  I tugged my dildo out of the duster pocket, spread my legs, and slowly drove it in with one steady push. 

Ever been fucked with a dildo?  If you're a guy, the answer to that question is a resounding no.  If you're a girl, I hope you HAVE been fucked with a dildo.  Don't get me wrong, cock is great.  Real cock is the best.  But there are aspects of dildos that I really like.  One of them is I can screw them in at the pace I want.  And right then, I wanted slow, heavy, thick, and deep.  Really deep.  I almost wished I had brought my Core Driller dildo, a twelve inch monstrosity shaped like a black rocket ship.  When that thing goes deep I feel it pressed against my cervix.  The nine inch Husky dildo was nice of course, but I had to work it back and forth, twisting my hips, to get the depth I needed.  Every time I twisted of course, the two weights that dangled down near my belly tugged on the string and chain.  Sharp sparks seemed to shoot through my breasts and up from between my legs.  The collective sexual hurt I was feeling was quite impressive.  There was the painful crushing sensation of the clamps chewing on my clit and nipples, throbbing as my heart labored to push blood into the crushed tips.  Then there was the steady tug on those clamps, adding a whole new dimension of agony to the hurt I was already experiencing.  This hurt was sharp, like shocks of electricity, which to be honest, I've had done to me before.  You don't know agony until you've been tazered between the legs, trust me.  While this wasn't that bad, it was still a steady torment, like having needles repeatedly thrust into sensitive parts.

Yes, I've had that happen to me too.

Then of course there was the fact that my pussy had been over-sensitized by the vibroballs.  Hell, not just the vibroballs.  The ben wa balls I had worn from early that morning had started the process, getting me sexual aroused, keeping me that way, every step rubbing my insides so that if felt like I was being constantly finger fucked.  Not enough to get off of course, just enough to keep me soaked and wanting.  Then the triple vibroballs did their dance inside me, stirring me like a boiling pot of pasta, waiting for me to turn into a limp wet noodle of sexual yumminess.  Add the nine inch rubber dildo, and you can just imagine the sensations going through my body.  Season with the threat of public exposure, and a dash of exhibition, and you have a recipe perfect for the torment, a major torment, of a nympho humiliation pain slut celebrating two years of doing sexually insane things.

Don't try this at home kiddies.  Try it at the mall.

I exploded with a teeth rattling groan that wrung me like a wet rag.  I slid down, my body puddling just as surely as the dripping juices streaming from between my legs.  I tugged the dildo free, another groan as it left my pussy empty and I seemed to collapse against the wall, just resting, savoring the after glow of extreme orgasm.  Sure, there were still hurts, and they still pressed against me, urging me into another orgasmic ordeal.  I ignored them for a bit though and when I finally felt the wash of endorphin and adrenaline fade, those hurts rushed back with a sharp edge.  I gasped, rolling up into a ball, which did not make my clit or nipples feel any better.  I struggled to get the vibroballs back into my pussy and finally managed, once again turning them on to their highest setting.  My pussy clamped tightly around them and my hips jerked and I found myself whispering in desperation "More please... hurt me.  More... please hurt me."

Yes, that is disturbing. Don't you find that disturbing?  As soon as my own personal earthquake machine was once again buried in the crevasse between my legs, I pulled the third two ounce weight from my pocket.  I clipped it next to the other two and bit my lip as the added pressure pulled on my tender bits even more intensely.  I cried out, whimpering as I buttoned up my duster.  This time however I left the top two buttons undone, revealing conclusively that I wasn't wearing a shirt.  You still couldn't see my nipples, but you could see the top half of both breasts easily enough.  I stumbled out of the dressing room and worked my way out of the store.

The walk back to Julie's store was agonizing.  Everything hurt.  I had to stop frequently because walking was rubbing something inside me, making the vibroballs move in a way that send sharp shards of sensitized stimulation up through me.  Once I thought I was going to cum from it and I ducked into a small store and just stood there at the entrance, mouth open, hips jerking as I struggled to master the pleasure, the pain, the humiliation.  I succeeded and kept going, arriving at the small jewelry store in a state of mind reserved for victims of torture and extreme sexual addiction.

Have you heard of sexual addiction?  I have.  In fact, even though I've never been officially diagnosed with it, I suspect that I am a classic case.  If I'm allowed to, I'll masturbate three or four times a day, though I admit being constantly stuffed with sex toys keeping you in a state of sexual need might contribute to that.  But even when I was living with Kari in college, I was constantly wanting sex. It didn't matter to me.  All I needed was a reasonably healthy male, or hell... sometimes just something cock shaped, to fulfill my needs. Sex addiction is a serious condition that requires patience and understanding to deal with.

I love being addicted to sex.

Julie pushed me into the back room and I unbuttoned my duster to prove to her I had the third weight dangling from my clamp harness.  I don't know what else to call it.  Harness seems to work.  Six ounces of lead swung midway down my torso, pulling hard on the three alligator clamps attached to my privates.  Oh god it hurt.  It didn't help either when Julie pulled a thin plastic rod, as thick as a straw and as long as three feet, from out of her desk.  I was instructed to remove my duster.  Naked except for the harness of course, clamps and all.  The wire to the triple vibroballs remote stretched across the room from my pussy to the duster draped on the desk chair.

"Do you think this is going to hurt?" she asked as she raised the cane.  I nodded vigorously.

The cane whistled sharply and impacted on my ass.  I yelped, loudly and then groaned as the sting blossomed sharply in my rump.  Julie let loose another stroke and added a second welt to the first, striping my rear end in deep red lines.  Another two strokes followed, each one punctuated by Julie looking out the window of the little back room to see if there was anyone in her store.  Evidently there wasn't because she swung again each time.

"Four more on your ass, or one across your breasts?" she asked.  I visibly quailed. It's one thing to get a cane stroke across your ass.  It's another to get one on your breasts when both nipples are caught tightly in alligator clamps.  But I knew what she wanted to hear. 

"Please Mistress, Julie... can I have both?" I asked, my voice cracking.  Julie grinned in delight and kissed me passionately. Her tongue drove into my mouth and when she finally broke the kiss she kept one hand on the back of my neck.

"I want you!  Come over to my place tonight, please?" she begged.  I nodded.  Sex slaves don't argue.  Besides, NHPS Rule #2 states clearly that a nympho humiliation pain slut can not refuse instructions given to her directly that do not violate her limits.

Julie grinned and then raised the cane.  A single stroke across my ass brought me to the verge of tears and as I was reeling from that, she brought the cane down across the tops of my breasts.  It wasn't a very hard stroke, but it certainly left a red line across both.  New pain riddled through me and Julie hit my ass again.  Then to my shock, she laid another red welt across my bosom, even closer to my nipples.  I screeched and she tossed aside the cane and slammed her hand into my backside three or four times for each cheek. 

I felt like I was on fire.  My loins were sopping wet and jerking around even as my central nervous system tried to cope with all of the signals streaming from my rear end, my loins, my nipples, my clit, and even the tops of my breasts.  But unlike you, or maybe LIKE YOU, my brain does weird things.  All of those pain signals shot up through my spine, got to my brain, and were suddenly converted into something only a masochist, a sexual masochist, could love.  My pussy tightened convulsively and I knew I was right on the edge again.  Julie sensed it too and she smiled at me.  She pulled the bottle of Stinging O out of my pocket and quickly dripped enough oil on my tits and pussy to set me on fire.  Streaks of oil slipped down the undersides of my breasts and onto my abdomen.  My entire slit was slick with oil.

"Button up, girl.  It's time for another walk," Julie said, pulling back after tucking my bottle back into my pocket.  I buttoned up my duster, once more leaving two of the fasteners loose.  As before, half my breasts and most of my cleavage was clearly on display, however the big issue was no longer "she isn't wearing a shirt!" It would be "Holy shit!  Someone WHIPPED her tits!"  Julie pushed me out into the mall and sent me on my way with another swat to my bottom, which I barely felt through the duster. 

I wobbled and walked, haltingly, struggling not to cum, not to scream, not to fall down, not to attract attention.  It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life.  I didn't make it as far as the first time, and I ducked into another clothing store that had changing rooms.  I was clearly out of it.  I even forgot to grab something to "try on".  I just stumbled into the dressing room, practically ripped my duster open and yanked the triple vibroballs out from between my legs.  I didn't bother cleaning them.  Instead I just dumped them, soaked in my juices, on the seat beside me, and grabbed my dildo.  It went in quick and I pumped frantically, my body as tense as a guide wire.  I plugged away, grinding the dildo into my body, wanting and needing this third orgasm.  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that I just had two left.  Four orgasms.  It was all that was required.  But I also knew the fourth would be the hardest.  Or perhaps, the easiest.  I exploded wetly as my imagination painted the picture of what was cumming, and it was me, stuffed with cock, pumping wildly. 

When I was done I blinked.  My duster was off and lying on the floor of the dressing room, the seat was a mess of wet goo, my dildo was half in and half out, and I hurt practically everywhere.  I groaned and struggled to my feet.  I picked up the duster and slung it over my shoulders.  My fingers felt numb and my vision seemed blurry.  I felt as if each breath was a bit of a struggle.  The Husky dildo fell out of my pussy onto the floor and it took me three tries to pick it up.  Then I spent another three or four minutes working the triple vibroballs back into my body.  I wondered if anyone would know if I DIDN'T turn the vibroballs back on.  But then I realized that Julie would know.  That was the whole point.  She was my backstop, my check.  She made sure I put the weights on.  That I kept the clamps tightly bound to my nipples and clit.  She made sure the vibroballs were turned to maximum. 

I fished the fourth two ounce weight out of my pocket and clipped it to the key ring.  That meant a full eight ounces of weight were now pulling equally on my nipples and clit, held on by a triplicate set of alligator clamps.  Even though adding the weights had been done incrementally, the full eight ounces seemed so much heavier.  I know literally had half a pound hanging from my most delicate parts.  Sure, half a pound doesn’t SEEM like a lot of weight, but you try hanging that much off your body using alligator clamps. 

I buttoned up the coat; five buttons, three of which now had to remain open.  I left the top three undone, but quickly revised that idea.  My breasts, bound, clamped, and tugged inward, were clearly on display and even the slightest movement of the duster revealed not only my cleavage, but allowed the weight and my clamped nipples to be clearly seen.  So I secured that button, once more providing concealment to most of my bosom, and instead unbuttoned the lowest fastener.  The clear sheen of cum soaked thighs glistened through the bottom slit of my duster, reinforcing the perception and reality that I was wearing NOTHING under the coat.  The welts across my breasts were still clearly in evidence and as the vibroballs once more started pushing me toward that masochistic excitement of sexual agony and release, I stepped out of the dressing room.

And was instantly brought up short by a matronly looking woman, wearing a name tag that said Giesle, her arms crossed and giving me a nasty look.  I blinked, trying to decide how much trouble I was in.  I turned scarlet of course, pressed my thighs together, and twisted to head out toward the mall concourse.

"Just a moment, miss," Giesle said, her voice just a bit harsh.  I made just one more step and then felt her hand lock down on my upper left arm.  She tugged me backward and my back straightened, which of course caused the harness to tighten, pulling hard on the clamps.  I clamped my lips shut in an effort to restrain my cry. 

"If you think you're getting out of here like that, you've got another thing coming. I'm not stupid.  You're coming with me."

I protested slightly.  "Wait.  What?  Why?  I haven't done anything!" I exclaimed. 

Giesle rolled her eyes.  "Sure. That's what all shoplifters say." 

I blinked.  Oh shit...

"But I'm not a shoplifter!" I exclaimed.  True enough.  But what was I?  How was I going to admit I didn't take something and conceal it under my coat?  How was I going to explain I was just using their dressing room for an act of public lewdness?  I was pulled into the back room which was much much bigger than Julie's store.  In fact, their backroom could have HELD Julie's little jewelry shop.  I was propelled toward a chair, wobbling along on my high heels.  Inside the back room the mood music couldn't be heard and I could actually hear the buzzing of the vibroballs.  With my heart thudding painfully, I sat down.  My pussy throbbed and I pushed my knees together.

"What's your name?" Giesle asked.

"Breanne," I replied. "Breanne Erickson.  But you're making a mistake. I didn't steal anything," I said desperately.

She nodded while writing down my name.  "Sure.  And that's why you spent fifteen minutes in our dressing room?  And how about the fact that you didn't bring anything out either?  So where is it?" she demanded.

I shrunk down in my seat, humiliated beyond belief.  This was just too much.  I shook my head.  It didn’t help that the triple vibroballs seemed to be buzzing stronger.  “I didn’t steal anything,” I whispered helplessly.

Giesle gave me a harsh look.  “Fine.  Empty your pockets and open the coat and show me.  Either that or I call the police.  And just to let you know, if you do have something I’ll call the police anyway.”

I shrank back.  “I can’t open my coat!”

“Really?  And why is that?”

I bit my lip and looked away.  I couldn’t stop wriggling in my seat either.  My hips were doing their own little dance.  Giesle picked up the phone and started pressing buttons.

“Wait!  All right!  Okay!”  I gasped.  Giesle paused and looked at me, the phone still up by her ear.  I stood up.  Only two buttons of my duster were closed since the bottom and top two buttons weren’t fastened.  My chest heaved as I reached down and did one, then the second.  My coat popped open, revealing my bare body and I shrugged my shoulders, ignoring the shooting pains it caused in my breasts, and dropped the coat to the floor.

You should have seen the shocked look on Giesle’s face. 

“See?” I demanded.  “I didn’t steal anything!”

Giesle’s eyes were still locked on my body and I felt like I was being eyefucked.  Slowly she put the phone back down in its cradle.  Her eyes locked onto my clamped pussy and followed the light white wire from between my swollen and soaked petals down to the coat which was on the floor.

“What’s that?” she asked slowly, almost delicately. 

I let out a soft moan.  “It’s the w-wire to my triple v-v-virbroballs,” I stammered.  Giesle reached down and tugged the remote out of my coat pocket. 

“So that’s the noise,” she said.  She thumbed the dial down and turned off the vibroballs and I gasped in relief, almost sobbing.  “Don’t those hurt?” she demanded, pointing at the pincers attached to my clit and nipples.

I nodded.  “Yes ma’am.  Very much,” I replied.

“Then why are you wearing them?”

“I was ordered too, ma’am.”

She quirked a single eyebrow up. “Ordered?”

I nodded again.  “Yes ma’am.  It’s a punishment.  An assignment.”

Giesle crossed her arms with a snotty look.  “Really?  You walk around like this?  So what were you doing in my dressing room?”

I licked my lips, trying to frame an answer.  Now that the vibroballs were off, I had a slightly easier time thinking, but it still wasn’t easy.  Do I lie?  Tell the truth?  A half-truth?  I finally looked at her.  “I was resting, ma’am.”

Giesle looked at me for a moment and then bent back down to my coat.  A second later my keys, the bottle of Stinging O, and the Husky dildo were on her desk next to my triple vibroballs remote. 

“Resting.  Right,” Giesle said.  Then she reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a black purse.  A small cell phone came out.  She quickly dialed it as I gasped and reached out toward her.  “Don’t worry, I’m not calling the police,” she said contemptuously.  Suddenly, the phone on the desk rang, but Giesle ignored it.  It rang a few more times, but then suddenly stopped. 

“Hey, Kathy.  Yeah.  No, I’m sure. I’m going to be a bit busy back here for a few minutes.  Can you handle the front?  Sure.  No, that’s fine.  Just make sure I’m not disturbed, all right?  No, I don’t think that’s the situation.  Sure.  Okay.  Thanks.”  Giesle hung up and put the cell phone down.

“You realize of course that lewd acts are illegal?” she asked me.

No they weren’t.  At least not the kind I was engaged in.  Trust me, I know the law about public lewdness.  Sure, what I did wasn’t exactly right, but the best Giesle could hope for was to criminally trespass me from the store, which would mean I’d never be allowed to come in again, much less cum in her store again. (Hah hah! Get it? Cum?) Since I hadn’t been on display when she caught me, it was hardly public now, was it?  And since she had basically forced me to disrobe there in the back room, that wasn’t illegal either.  In fact, now that we had established that I hadn’t stolen anything, my continued “detention” boarded on false imprisonment or kidnapping charges.

But I sensed something a little different in Giesle’s tone.  And technically, she was right.  Lewd PUBLIC acts ARE illegal. I didn’t bother to correct her though. I nodded, trying to maintain an attitude of guilt.  Giesle’s hand moved across the desk to my triple vibroballs remote and she picked it up.  I shivered as I felt the soft and steady thrum start, down at the  lowest setting.  Giesle put the remote back down and stood up, one hand extended.  She began touching me, stroking my breasts around the clamps, running her fingers over my shoulders and down my arms.  Her nails glided across my skin and she reached between my legs, feeling my wetness.  I moaned, closing my eyes.

“You like that, don’t you?” she asked.  I nodded, putty in her hands.  “Would you like to cum again?” she asked me. 

“Oh yes please,” I replied, practically swooning as her hands glided over my body.  She took one hand away and touched the remote again.  The triple vibroballs buzzed just a little stronger.

“I’ll let you cum, but first you have to do it to me,” Giesle said with a husky whisper.

I blinked.  I wasn’t exactly expecting that, but when she moved away from me and sat back down in the desk chair, spreading her legs, all while pulling up the black skirt she wore, I went to my knees in a heartbeat.  It took us only seconds to get her panties off and I pushed on her thighs, opening her up. 

She was already turned on, though not nearly as wet as I was.  Her crinkly hair tickled my nose as I ran my tongue through her slit.  She moaned, sliding back in her chair, pushing her sex into my face. I lapped at her clitoris until she trembled and then I slipped two fingers in, thrusting while I continued to tongue her.  She moved and something tapped me on the shoulder.  I pulled my head up to see her holding my Husky dildo.

“Use this. I want this!” Giesle gasped.  I nodded and grabbed hold of my dildo and replaced my two fingers with the thick rubber cock.  It went in smoothly and I pumped it rapidly while my other hand rubbed at her clit.  She came in moments, exploding with a wet groan before closing her legs, locking my hand and the dildo in between her thighs.  It took her half a minute to come back to earth and when she did her eyes were bright.

“Stand up and turn around,” she declared.  I did as ordered, presenting my bare backside to her. I felt her finger touch one of the welts Julie had left on my rump and then she pushed me over so that I was half draped across the desk.  The vibroballs suddenly went into overdrive and my new position sent shards of pain through my nipples and pussy.  I heard a wet squelching sound and then Giesle said “spread your legs.”

I did, and part of me wondered if she was going to pull out the vibroballs.  That’s when I felt something touch my rear end.  It was the tip of my dildo, covered in her goo.  I gasped and started to rise, but Giesle’s hand was on my back and she worked the first inch and a half into my ass.  I tried to relax, to make the penetration easier, but while I’m experienced at taking things up the rear end, it’s not my favorite and I’ve NEVER had my Husky dildo in there.  That didn’t stop Giesle though.  Her left hand came around to my front and gave the chain between my nipples a harsh and forceful tug and you can imagine what THAT felt like.  By the time I was done dealing with the pain, another three inches of cock was buried in my ass.  And frankly, once that mush is in you, the rest is just more. 

Giesle began pumping the husky dildo in and out of my ass, never quite removing it, but making sure that each thrust was as long as possible.  There was no way for me to take the full nine inches, not up my rear, but I’m pretty sure a good five or six made it’s way there and Giesle punctuated each ramming thrust with a soft tug on the string leading to my clit clamp.  It was agony.  It was ecstasy.  It was more than enough to have me yelling out in orgasmic pleasure.  I collapsed on the desk in a blubbery heap and Giesle continued to slowly and sensuously drive the dildo in and out of my ass.  Then with a final thrust, she pushed the thick rubber cock in as deep as I could take it, eliciting a whimpering cry from me, and patted my butt softly.

       

“There you go.  Now get out of my store,” Giesle said.

I rose, taking stock.  My triple vibroballs were in my pussy, buzzing away on high.  My clit and nipples were still clamped, with a half pound of weight dangling from the various chains and string attached to those clamps.  Now I also had about seven inches of a nine inch rubber dildo rammed up my ass, and all I had to wear was a duster on which I could only button two of the front buttons. 

Giesle was nice enough to pick my duster off the floor and hold it open for me.  She stuck the remote into the pocket, as well as the bottle of oil, I struggled to button the two buttons I had fastened before and Giesle helped.  Then she escorted me past the surprised clerk at the front of the store and back out into the mall.

Walking had been difficult before back when I was merely being over-stimulated by the vibroballs while dealing with the three point pain coming from the clamps.  And let’s not even start on the issue of the stupid shoes I was wearing.  But let me tell you, adding a nine inch dildo up your ass dramatically changes the way you walk and what I really wanted to do was curl up into a small ball in a dark corner and shudder my way into oblivion.  Really.  That’s what I wanted.  No more torture, no more pain, no more orgasms even.  Just quiet and peace.  But being a nympho humiliation pain slut is not about giving in to your base desires.  It’s about will power and keeping your legs open even when someone is taking a sap to your clit.  It’s about stifling those screams when someone brings a cane down on your breasts, right on the nipples.  It’s about staying positive when you know that you are being set up to fail.  It’s about walking back to damn jewelry store, knowing I was  about to get more torture, despite what had already happened to me.

It took practically forever to get back to Julie’s shop.  My stomach was churning, mostly from the fact that it was now well past lunch time and I’d had my nipples and clit clamped for well over two hours.  Add in the time the triple vibroballs had been buzzing and I’m surprised I was even mobile.  People were staring at me, my drunken, hip jerking lurch no doubt drawing even more attention than the fact I was wearing shoes that caused me to walk like a slut, and that my duster was flapping open in places, making it rather obvious that I wasn’t wearing much, if anything, under it. 

In what seems like a miracle, I made it back to the jewelry store without collapsing, or with being dragged off by security.  This time Julie had customers so she merely sent me into the back room with a gesture.  In the quiet solitude of the storage room, I shrugged out of my duster to stand there naked, trembling, as the vibroballs burned inside me.  Everything hurt, from my nipple to my clit.  My bottom ached from where my muscles were locked around the monstrous cock.  At first, I just stood there, hands down at my sides, but as the minutes passed I started touching myself, running my fingers across my skin.  In ever closing circles I brought my fingertips closer and closer to my clamped nipples until finally I touched the metal jaws, flicking them lightly.  Tiny sharp shards worked their way through the throbbing pain, shooting down to my pussy like lightning.  One hand found the weights and I tugged on it once, sending even more hurt through the three points.

My left hand went to my pussy and I began rubbing my slit, but I couldn’t help myself.  I pushed my fingers inward, masturbating, my thumb lightly tapping the alligator clamp chewing on my clit.  It was too much.  I couldn’t handle it.  I let out a loud gasp as the orgasm washed over me.  It didn’t matter that the torment wouldn’t stop yet.  It didn’t matter I still had at least one more “walk” to do. It didn’t matter that my brain, as fucked up as ever, couldn’t tell the difference between hurt and delight.  As I exploded I twisted the clitoral clamp and bit the knuckles of my other hand.

Julie found me like that, coming in just as I was panting through the final eruption.  Her eyes widened in alarm at first, but then she realized what I had done.  She examined me for a moment, noting the dildo in my ass, the fourth weight dangling from the key ring, translating into the permanent tug on my clamps.  She noted my swollen sex, the wet and red petals, and she shook her head, not in disappointment, but in amazement.  To my surprise, she reached up to my chest and lifted the weights.  Instantly a new cascade of pain erupted in my nipples as the weight changed how the clamps were chewing on my nubs.  Julie drew the weights through the chain and back down between my breasts, disengaging the whole harness.  She put the weights on the ground and then took hold of the chain between the alligator nipple clamps, pulled it upward, and put it between my teeth.

I had to keep my head down of course.  If I had pulled upward, it would have done some very painful things to my breasts.  But I’m sure she knew that.  She grabbed her cane, the same plastic rod she had smacked me with before.  I whimpered, eyes wide as she laid it carefully against the underside of my breasts.  She pulled it downward a good seven or eight inches, and then snapped it back with a flick of her wrist.  My god it stung!  I jerked as the fresh pain hit me, my head snapping back involuntarily.  New bursts of agony spread inward from my nipples.  Julie moved around to my other side, placing the rod in exactly the same place, but this time her left hand grabbed the base of the Husky dildo.  When she hit my breasts, I felt her push.

When she was done, my ass burned, and I had about ten extra stripes across my breasts, reddening them significantly, and making it incredibly clear that I had been beaten there.  My ass wasn’t much better.  She had added a few more welt lines there as well.  She took out my bottle of Stinging O, daubed each nipple, then my clit, and then with a cruelty that only Julie can really display, she drew the Husky Dildo halfway out and lubed it as well.  My weights were replaced, drawing down on the chain between my breasts, hurting my clit and nipples equally.  With that she smiled at me, kissed me, and told me to dress.  She went back out to take care of customers while I struggled to get back in my duster.  It hurt. 

To be honest, my brain was fried by this point.  I was a psychological mess.  My pussy hurt in ways that I had trouble coping with.  My ass burned.  My nipples felt as if someone had shoved ice picks through them.  My clit… well my clit felt like it had been chewed up and the laid on a hot griddle.   I buttoned my two buttons and stumbled out of the storage room and Julie’s store without a single look of mercy from my tormentor.

Do you know what desperation is?  Desperation is hurting so bad that it doesn’t matter how you get it to stop.  Desperation is when you are so brain fucked that you’ll consider things you never did before.  I was desperate.  Not for cumming, though that underlined everything.  No, I was hurting.  It was pain that motivated me.  Nothing motivates like pain.  It's a feral beast, an animal that tears into you, spurring action. It makes you move, to seek relief, and it does so easily, without thought.  And so, hampered by the torture, I went down to the outdoor store and looked for someone to relieve my pain.

Master Brandon’s email had been very specific.

In order to be able to remove the alligator clamps, you must find a stranger willing to fuck your brains out.  Both you and he must orgasm.  Once these stipulations are met, you MAY ask him to remove the clamps. 

I wandered into the boating area until I found a guy, any guy.  He was tall, dark haired, old enough to be mature and understanding.  I stepped up to him, my face flushed, my hips thrusting lewdly without my control, and my mouth open. 

       “Please?  Please can you help me?” I begged. 

       “My god! What’s wrong?” he asked me, clearly concerned and totally misreading my physical cues.  He took hold of my arms to keep me from falling which was probably a good thing.

       “Please! I need to be fucked,” I whispered. 

       His face clouded in confusion.  “What?”

       “Fuck me, please!  I just need you to screw my brains out.  Please?”

       He blinked.  “What?  Here?” he demanded.

       I nodded frantically.  “Take me up there,” I pointed to one of the large boats that had a cabin.  “And fuck me.  Please?”

       He shook his head. “I can’t! I’m working!” he said. 

       I groaned in frustration and stamped my foot. I yanked my duster open a bit, giving him a perfect view of my clamped tits.  “See!  If you don’t fuck me I can’t take these off!” I said forcefully.

       

       His eyes widened even more and he glanced around fearfully.  “Look lady, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but…”

       I let out a snarl and turned away.  Anger was giving me a little bit of an edge, giving me a tiny bit of clarity.  I started walking away when he grabbed my arm.

       “Wait!  Okay!  Wait… just a second,” he said softly but insistently.  He turned me around.   “I don’t know what this is, but look, I can take the clamps off you.  You don’t have to offer me sex.”

       I rolled my eyes.  “Yes I do!  That’s part of the assignment!” I hissed back at him.  “I have to be fucked in order for them to come off!”

       “Assignment? I don’t understand!” he said.  I shook my head, intending to turn away again.  I felt his fingers tighten on my forearms.  His lips were pressed together and I could tell he was thinking furiously.  Then suddenly he turned, still keeping hold of me. I was pulled and pushed through the virtual sales marina until we stopped at a metal stairway.  It led up to one of the larger boats and he let me loose.

       “Get up there and wait for me. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he whispered.  Then he turned and hurried away.  

       I climbed the gantry, making sure my heels didn’t get stuck in one of the holes pre-drilled in each step.  I climbed and then got in the boat.  There was a seating area at the back and I moved forward to the cabin door.  I went inside and worked my way through a small galley, past the open door of the bathroom (or is it a head?), and found a large, clothing iron, shaped bed that was tucked into the bow of the boat.  I turned and sat down, my pussy throbbing.  I reached into my pocket and turned off the vibroballs, sighing in immediate relief.  I reached between my legs, unbuttoning a single button, and drew them from my body.  I licked each one, more from training than any desire to taste myself.  I dropped them into my duster pocket and then waited.

       And waited.

       Five minutes passed, then ten.  I was getting to a point where I was about to leave when I felt the boat tremble.  I heard the metal stairs being climbed and as I sat there on the bed, I stiffened as I waited to see who was boarding.  The cabin door swung open and there he was.

       

       “I’m on break now.  Sorry it took me so long to get over here.  My supervisor wanted me to get two things done before I could go.  He moved closer and saw that my duster was open except for the single button in the center.  I spread my legs and he saw my pussy, including the clamp.  His eyes widened and I stood, my head bumping on the overhead ceiling due to my increased height.  I reached down, unbuttoned the final fastener of my coat, and let it drop, displaying my nudity, the clamps, the weights, my entire torment to his eyes. 

       “Holy shit!” he exclaimed.  I stepped forward and knelt, unbuckling his pants with an urgency usually reserved for paramedics and soldiers in battle.  He helped as much as he could but I was only interested in his cock and getting it into myself as quickly as possible. He kicked off his shoes and moments later he was naked from the waist down.  His shaft was hard as a rock and needed no encouragement.  I reached for my duster, grabbed an extra condom from the pocket, and then quickly applied it to his shaft. 

       “How do you…” he started to say but I grabbed his dick and pulled him forward.  I felt the edge of the bed on the backs of my thighs and I fell backward, feeling the Husky dildo drive deeper into my ass.  I spread my legs, bringing my knees upward.  I still had his cock in my right hand and I pulled it toward my sex.  He got the point and a second later I felt the awesome penetration of real cock driving deep into my hole.  It hurt.  It burned a little. I was too sensitive.  I’d been wearing the triple vibroballs for too long.  I clenched my teeth as his thrusting movement ripped through me. 

       But I am a nympho humiliation pain slut.  And that means that unlike most people, hurting isn’t exactly something to be avoided.  Yes, the fucking hurt me.  But it turned me on as well. I felt the first sweet twinge of… of… I can’t even describe it, that point where you can’t tell the difference.  It’s like a lemon drop at that second were the sour mingles with the last vestiges of sweetness and it’s more than the sum of its parts.  I was there.  At that point.  And I reached up and pulled him down to me, feeling his weight on my body, my nipples throbbing, the clamp on my clit digging in painfully, my ass aching, my pussy…. my pussy exploding.

       I’m not sure which of us came first.  To be honest, it was probably me.  I was just too far gone.  My eyes glazed over and I was in la la land for probably a full minute as my boating expert finished keel hauling me.  I remember him groaning, his face tightening in that look of astonished release and then I felt him shudder atop me.  He kept his mast buried inside my port and trembled, panting as he finished.  Then he rose slightly, on his arms and looked me in the eye.

       “Can I take off the clamps now?” he asked softly, his chest still heaving with the exertion.

       In my mind’s eye, I reread Master Brandon’s email:

       In order to be able to remove the alligator clamps, you must find a stranger willing to fuck your brains out.  Both you and he must orgasm.  Once these stipulations are met, you MAY ask him to remove the clamps. 

But you are a nympho humiliation pain slut, and I would be pleased if you kept them on until you got back to your truck.  Your purpose is to be hurt, to be fucked, and to provide pleasure to others.  It doesn’t matter what you want, or what you need.  It only matters that I and others have been satisfied.  If you cum, it is because I desire it, not you.  And so I urge you to obey your nature, your purpose.  Keep the clamps on if you can.

       I looked my savior in the eye and smiled.  “You can if you really really want to, but I’d prefer it if you left them on,” I said softly, my brain still

       His eyes widened in shock.  “But… don’t they hurt?” he asked.  He reached up and gently touched one of the alligator clamps on my nipples.  I felt another twinge and gasped.

       I nodded.  “Yes.  And that’s the point.  I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut.  I’m supposed to hurt.  It’s my purpose.”

       “To be hurt,” he said flatly in disbelief.  “You like this.”  His finger touched the clamp on my right breast and flicked it.

       A sharp jolt went through me like lighting and I groaned.  Then to my surprise, I felt a hardening of his cock, still inside me.  My eyes widened and I nodded.  “And to be used, fucked, abused…”

       “And hurt,” he declared, finishing my sentence.  His fingers tightened on the clamp and twisted it as he began pumping again.  I whimpered, my body instantly responding as he began twisting first one, then the other clamp. My hips thrust up to meet his and we moved in rhythm.  He fucked me.  He used me.  He hurt me.  And I fulfilled my purpose.

       When we were done he had to help me put on my duster.  The cabin reeked of sex and I’m afraid we left wet spots on the bed’s mattress and sheets.  He left first, but hung around nearby to make sure I didn’t fall and break my neck as I came down those stupid stairs.

       Stupid shoes.

       Without the vibroballs buzzing around inside me, the walk back to Julie’s store was only difficult and I managed it without swooning or having to lean against a wall.  Sure the dildo in my ass throbbed in time with my clit and nipples, still clamped, still pulsing, but it wasn’t that bad.  My immediate need had been met and frankly, I hadn’t realized just how much of my torment had been caused by the triple vibroballs.  Clamps hurt, definitely.  But the over-sensitization of my pussy had been the real problem, and I hadn’t even realized it.  Of course the walk wasn’t without its challenges.  Thank god it was short too, because I had been forced to make a decision in that boat.

       Julie looked up at me and grinned. “So, you decided to keep the fourth button closed. I wondered what you were going to do.”

       I smiled gamely.  One arm was held tightly to my chest.  My duster was open all the way down the front, until you got to that one point right above my clit.  I shrugged and dropped my arm and both breasts burst out from behind the duster and my arm, displaying the welts and the clamps in clear view.

       “Very nice.  I figured you’d keep them on.”  She reached out and ran her hand across the weight dangling from the nipple clamp chain. I suppressed the wild cry and shudder it caused.  She grinned.  “Say, are you hungry?” she asked.

       I nodded.  “Oh yes.  I’m looking forward to lunch,” I replied.  Julie went back to her counter and picked up her purse.

       “Why don’t you pick up something here, for both of us?” she asked.

       I hesitated.  I knew what she was asking.  What she wanted.  What she intended.  And it wasn’t about lunch.  Slowly, gingerly, I reached out for the twenty dollar bill she was holding.  I took it in my hand, only then realizing that my fingers were shaking.  Her fingers latched on mine and drew me close.

       “You can go pick the food up in a moment,” she said softly.  Her hand reached into my duster pocket and she pulled the triple vibroballs out.  “But first, let’s get you ready.  We can’t have you violating Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Rule #1!”

***

       My name is Breanne Erickson and I’m a nympho humiliation pain slut.  It’s what I am.  I know I’m sick.  That I’m deviant.  Maybe a little crazy.  I know that I’m a masochist, a danger to myself.  I know that I’m a glutton for punishment.  I know what people think about me.  I can see it when I’m doing these assignments, dressing in a way I’d never dress if it was up to me alone, doing things I’d never ever do, if I wasn’t told to.  You have to realize that I absolutely hate it. I don’t LIKE being humiliated like that.  I don’t like having to walk the mall in unceasing pain and sexual torment.  I don’t like being fucked by stranger after stranger.  I don’t like being dressed like a tart and put on display.

But it turns me on and that is the paradox.  Why do these things have this affect on me?  What is so wrong in my genetic makeup that makes me WANT these things over and over?  Why do I say “please, hurt me!” instead of “harder and faster!” like most women?  Why do I offer myself up to be tortured and abused?

Because it’s what I am.  It’s my purpose.  So go ahead.  Learn the Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Rules.  I know them by heart.  And maybe, just maybe, it will be you I approach someday, in a store, or at the mall, wearing something inappropriate, clearly in distress, my nipples and clit clamped, my hips thrusting, a desperate and wild look in my eye, only to say to you “Please.  I need your help.  Fuck me.  Use me.  Take me...”

Hurt me.

Breanne Erickson is the author of “Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut” a four novel series detailing the adventures as a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut.  She writes for Michael Alexander’s BDSM Blog and you can find more of Breanne’s stories at Michael Alexander’s website in the Free Story Archive.