Directory

Tales 12

Tales 11

Tales Vol.9

Deep Waters

Tales NHSP 8

Challenge of Love

Tales Vol. 1

Coming of Age

In The Dark II

Breanne's Three - Chicago BDSM

The Society of the Golden Rose

The Silver Locke

Michael Alexander Stories

Breanne's Top Ten - A Brief Wish List

By Breanne Erickson

The paper before me is filled with writing, my own halting grammar, the misspelled words; even the poor punctuation that litters the page.  You’d think working for an author would at least encourage me to do a better job!  I shift in my seat.  The seven inch vibrator moves within me, churning at its lowest setting.  I put it in myself.  It helped me to think.

He asked for ten tortures I didn’t want done to me.  I am so going to get punished!  I started that list of course, but who would want to read it?  A lot of people know my limits!  Is it really a surprise that I would prefer not to get whipped bloody?   Or that I’d prefer not to have sex with animals?  And we don’t even need to talk about scatological stuff!

I didn’t ask permission to change the assignment, which is probably going to get me another spanking. Maybe worse.  Who knows?  But we’ll see how this works out.  Instead I wrote about the ten tortures I WANT done to me.

#10 – On the Beach

Take me to the beach in the early morning, the sound of the waves crashing, the sand beneath my feet.  I’m ordered to strip, peeling off my bikini in the morning light and wondering who will see me.  I’m told to lie down on the sand and spread myself wide.  I do, staring up at dark blue sky.  The sand is gritty beneath me.  Rope is wrapped around my wrists, my ankles and then I’m pulled taut, the sound of the hammer pounding in the stakes fills the air.  I’m stretched, my body spread-eagled in the sand.  A blindfold goes across my eyes, and then a cloth gag is shoved into my mouth.  I can not speak or see.  More pounding with the hammer and I know it’s the sign I wrote earlier, the one where I drew a little flower.  It says “Please fuck me.”

Tied On The Beach

#9 – On and On

There is a cool website where beautiful girls are subjected to sex with motorized sex toys, giant machines where fast turning motors pound dildos in and out of them, or strange mechanical marvels smack pseudo machine tongues against their clit.  I would love to do that, but not like the models on these websites.  I want to be tied down, held in place, and subjected to the torment for hours…more than hours…a full day, two days even.  Slow, non-stop fucking.  I want to be screwed like that, over and over, with no changes to the speed, the depth of penetration, the angle, or whether I orgasm.  Hopefully someone would lube me up every once in a while, but meanwhile the pounding goes on and on.

On and On

#8 – Chopsticks

I’m bound spread-eagled again, this time on a more professional looking St. Andrew’s Cross.  I feel the sexual tension, but it isn’t bad.  Too my surprise, he approaches holding what appears to be small sticks.  A handful of small rubber bands accompany them and he drops the materials on the small table.  Two sticks are lifted while he binds the ends with the elastic bands.  He brings them up to my breast, flicking my nipple, as if it isn’t hard already.  He pries open the two sticks, turning them into a clamp which closes softly upon my hardened nub.  I moan.  Then he takes another rubber band and begins binding the other side of the sticks, pinching their lengths together, ignoring the fact that my nipple is stuck between the rods.  The closer the elastic gets to my nipple, the tighter it pinches me.  I shake, I shudder.  Then he tells me he is almost finished.  Just two more sets to go.  I know where they are going.  My other breast.  My clit.  Ohhh…chopsticks.

Chopsticks

#7 – Decoration

Another day at the office, but then I’m ordered to strip.  I peel my clothes off, leaving them folded at my desk.  I’m led to the main entry, a giant room full of glass doors and marble floors that force every sound to echo.  There is rope, lots of it, and I am slowly wrapped like an oriental flower, bound in kinbaku, known as shibari bondage.  My legs are drawn up and then a rope from above is lowered, hooked to my tight harness.  I feel the tension as I’m raised, my body displayed.  Blood rushes to my head as I’m tipped over and I wonder how long I am to be left like this.  Lastly, a vibrator is pushed into me, still upside down.  I groan as it’s turned to its maximum setting.  I am suspended like art, in the center of the back wall, not a woman, not a slut, not a submissive, not a slave.  Nothing but decoration.

 

# 6 – Bound and Caned

I am hanging from the rope, my body tightly bound.  My limbs ache as I swing.  One leg is pulled up near my head, my torso tilted back so that my pussy is totally exposed.  My breasts jut out, each wrapped tightly with hemp, the soft skin taut and red.  I swing in the darkness.  When the light comes on I see them, five men, each holding a reed thin cane.  They approach as one, canes raised, and they begin tapping me, each little rod banging softly against my skin.  The impacts move up and down my body, not an inch spared.  I gasp when the canes strike my clit, my nipples, even the small brown button of my bottom.  Each blow is soft, just a light tap.  But then something happens and they hit me harder, aiming for my most tender spots.  Under my arms, my thighs, my clit, the petals of my flower, my bottom, the soles of my feet.  Harder and harder the canes land, over and over, striking me until I can not tell where the next sting will come from.  They seem to concentrate on my clit, nipples, feet, and bottom.  I scream in my bonds…caned.

#5 – Lemon Juice

I stand on tip toes in the iron cage, the arches of my feet aching in torment.  I can not lower myself down unless I want my heels penetrated by the quarter inch spikes protruding under my feet.  This does nothing to eliminate the tenderness caused by the pins that have already perforated large swaths of my bottom.  My wrists are locked above my head, trapped as the door swings shut.  I draw in my breath, tightening, but to no avail.  The pins embed themselves in my thighs, the longer ones actually reaching the tender petals of my pussy.  My breasts burn with each little prick.  I doubt that I am bleeding, but each little puncture is skin deep.  I hear the drip drip drip of the juice starting.  There is wetness on my head as I squirm, the first rivulet coalescing on my scalp and moving down my neck.  The drip becomes stronger and then the scent of lemons fills my nose.  I shudder as the first dribble flows down the slope of my breast, moving inexorably toward my nipple.  Will I scream?  Will I cry?  Sigh…paper cuts and lemon juice.

lemon juice

#4 – Humiliation Slut

Not every torture involves pain.  There are other types as well.  I’m at the mall, wearing a short mini skirt.  Too short to be honest.  A tight stretched halter top covers my breasts…barely.  Every man looks at me with lust in his eyes.  Some women look at me with disgust, others with envy, even some who want me.  Every step I take is torment, the vibrating bullet inside me purrs, rolling around as I move.  My nipples are hard, two small visible bumps on the cloth halter, caused not by cold, but by embarrassment, and the two small finger length rubber bands carefully snapped over each nub.  My bottom puckers tightly around the thin plug embedded between my cheeks.  Worse, I am only on my first lap.  When I get back to the elevators I have to put the nipple clamps on, under my halter top. On the third lap, the halter comes off and I have to take the gauze shirt that is currently rolled up in my purse out and put it on.  Then everything will be exposed.  I hear the words muttered, intended for my ears…slut.  I am humiliated.  Humiliation Slut.

Short Skirt

#3 – Steel Phallus

It is shiny and huge, heavy in my hand.  It must weigh nine or ten pounds at least.  Cast or forged iron? I don’t know.  Do I care?  No, not really.  It is practically reflective and I can see my bare breasts curving around its polished surface.  I want to put it in my mouth, my pussy, but it’s not ready.  I give it back to you.  It goes into the oven.  Bake at 110 degrees for twenty minutes.  Pull out, check temperature, let cool slightly.  Soon it’s cool enough to hold, but hot enough to turn your skin red.  I lay back, spreading my legs.  I’m already so wet, the ice cubes inside me melted ages ago.  I brace myself and it touches my clit, searing me.  I imagine I can hear the hiss as it slides in, solid red hot metal burning my insides.  I know I’m not truly branded, not truly damaged, but it feels like it…oh it feels like it.  I gasp, pumping, fucking, cumming the hot steel phallus.

#2 – Clit Torture

I am tied down, legs spread into the splits, even farther, until my ankles are almost to my shoulders.   My hands are bound above me and a soft cloth is draped over my body until everything is covered except my pussy.  That piece is left totally exposed.  I’m rolled into a new room.  The sounds of people fill my ears and then it happens, that first touch.  But only on my clit.  A finger is rubbing me, pushing around the little nub.  It goes away only to be replaced by something hard and sticklike.  It smacks me, right on the clitoris, tormenting me.  There is poking and prodding, but it is all concentrated on that small bundle of nerves.  Oil, pinching, icyhot, a clamp, a few droplets of hot wax, someone’s tongue, ginger root, a hot light bulb, ice, a flicking finger, duct tape applied and ripped off.  I’m touched no where else…just my clit.  It’s torture.

#1 – The Wooden Horse

Yes, that says wooden horse, not pony.  I don’t want to be on tip toes going up and down as my calves tire, pressing my clit against a smooth curved piece of wood between my legs.  I want the real thing.  It needs to have a real edge, very pointy, at a pretty sharp angle.  I don’t want to be able to curl my legs up and support my weight.  There needs to be several feet below me, so someone can tie heavy weights to my ankles, pulling me down.  My hands need to be bound behind my back, but high up, so that I can’t touch the horse beneath me, taking the pressure off my pussy.  My nipples need to be clamped, and not just with soft rubber coated or duck billed clamps.  They need alligator clamps with sharp teeth, the kind that leave little red marks along the skin.  I need to be left there.  Not minutes…but hours.  Riding the wooden horse.

Riding the Horse