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Breanne's Three - Chicago BDSM

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Michael Alexander Stories

Breanne's Three - Chicago BDSM

A Breanne Story

Michael Alexander

Sample

 

Foreword by Breanne Erickson, author of “Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut”

Dear Reader,

Someone has an overactive imagination.

I first corresponded with Michael Alexander in the fall of 2004 after reading his short story “The Museum of Inquisition.”  I really liked it too.  It had that sort of depth that turns me on and I’m going to admit right here, that what I really enjoyed was that the main character had a name that resonated with me: Breanne.  I couldn’t wait.  I wrote to him, left a review for his story, and started a friendship that has lasted seven years and through several tough times, for both of us.

I’m not quite sure where the line between Michael’s fictional Breanne and me actually is drawn.  She’s had quite a different path.  I ended up running my parents farm and being collared by my high school sweet heart, Kari.  Michael’s Breanne ended up working at an upscale BDSM brothel on an Indian Reservation.  Guess you probably need to read “The Silver Locke” too!   But the story you’re about to read right now is a sort of prequel to “The Silver Locke”.  There are a couple of nuggets of me in it.  I’m guessing Michael was using me as the basis for his character.  Not that I mind. Michael can do anything he wants to me.  I just wish it wasn’t all fiction!

But you are about to dive into a story that I wish WASN’T fiction.  I wish that it had been real.  That I had met Kyle and Megan, that I had spent that long weekend with them, going through those BDSM Olympics, wanting, needing, longing, and cumming.  In the very end I would wait for the question, the only right question to ask a nympho humiliation pain slut:

Did you enjoy yourself?

Oh no.  That’s not the right question!

Did you cum?

Oh yes.  I came.

And so will you.

Enjoy the story.

I did.

 

Chapter One: Arrival

She stared out the small window, watching with fascination the various wisps of cloud that floated hundreds of feet beneath, the white stutters of vapor that crossed the endless geometric squares of corn and wheat fields below.  It was her first time on an airplane and she had spent nearly all of it staring downward, fascinated with the vista.  Part of her enthrallment was due to the incessantly changing landscape, the tiny houses, the roads, even the sunlit flashes of blue lakes, but another part was to ignore the same sort of fascination the man in the seat beside her tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to hide.  But unlike Breanne, he wasn’t staring out the window.

She wasn’t exactly surprised by the attention.  The halter top she was wearing was a tad bit too small, with a plunging neckline, and the smooth curve of her young breasts swelled the cotton material in alluring ways.  More than a bit of her taut belly showed, the silver dangle piercing at the middle serving to pull eyes in, which then could not fail to notice the loose flared but very short skirt that seemed to barely cover her bottom and required almost constant attention not to expose more as she sat in her seat.  Her feet were clad in high heels, the bare toes exposed.  All in all, she expected to be watched with as much interest as she had for the rolling scenery below.

She squirmed in her seat, her knees together, trying not to let her skirt slide up any farther.  Already the journey had been torturous, and her wriggling had caused the skirt to move higher than appropriate.  The man seated next to her, his suit jacket off and his tie loosened, surreptitiously stole glances at her legs as she moved them, her hips rocking as she let out a tiny involuntary moan.

“You all right?” he suddenly asked her, his voice filled with concern.  She turned, giving him a small smile and nodded.

“Yes sir.  Thank you for asking.  It’s my first time flying and I didn’t realize the flight would be so long.”  Her flowing auburn hair cascaded down upon her shoulders, her green eyes flashing.

“So are you catching a connecting flight at O’Hare?” he inquired.

She shook her head.  “No sir, I’m meeting someone.”

He nodded and then sighed softly.  “Well if you feel the need to get up and stretch your legs, I can always let you by.”  His offer held the promise of ulterior motives.

Breanne Erikson nodded in appreciation, knowing full well that standing up and walking the aisle of the airplane was the last thing she needed to endure.  “Thank you sir, I appreciate the offer, but I’m actually very comfortable.  I’ll let you know if I need to get up, sir.”

The businessman nodded and then with deliberate effort, took his eyes away from the smooth expanse of her legs and got out his laptop computer.  Breanne’s attention went back to the window as she thought about what a walk through the plane would do to her.  It wasn’t the embarrassment of having the other passengers see her barely clad body.  She was used to that.  It was the two small, rubber coated balls she had buried inside her pussy that would roll and ring gently as she walked down the aisle that concerned her.  Even seated, the ben wa balls were a continuous sensation, filling her sex, making her constantly aware of her panty-less and semi-aroused state.  But Bre was also used to it, and while her lack of undergarments and the kinetic sex toy were stimulants, they were something she could handle under duress.

Farm fields finally changed to suburban sprawl, and Breanne pressed her nose to the window as the tiny houses and manicured lawns quickly gave way to the industrial outskirts of Chicago.  She spied the Willis Tower, formerly the Sears Tower, its twin spires looking like some strange bug with giant antennas looming over the city.  Lake Michigan was beautiful, a blue expanse that seemed far different from the silt shadowed waters of the Gulf of Mexico at Galveston.

The aircraft banked slightly and the announcement of the captain asking the passengers to put on their seatbelts brought Breanne back to the present.  She had been tense and nervous from the very moment she had gotten on the plane, despite the fear and wonderment of her first airplane ride.  She had known back in Houston that once on the plane, there would be no turning back.  Her return ticket was dated three days hence, and she had deliberately brought no money, not even her credit card.  Her identification was tucked in her carry on bag, and that was it. She wriggled in her seat, the ben wa balls slipping around inside her as she managed to buckle the safety harness across her lap. 

The landing was uneventful, and Bre stared out the window at the rushing landscape, marveling in the speed and smoothness of the airplane’s flight.  Even the bump of landing was nothing more than another exciting aspect of her trip.  As the scream of the engines slowly throttled down, Breanne bit her lip, reaching down under her seat to pull out her small back pack. 

It took another twenty minutes for the plane to reach the terminal and for the passengers to start disembarking.  First class passengers went first and then Breanne watched as the businessman stood and pulled another case from the overhead compartment. 

Finally it was her turn.  Standing carefully, she inched her way out of the seat, her body an instant attraction for a number of the men working their way through the cabin.  The arch of her foot still strapped in her high heels, her calves, her bare thighs, even the denim cloth covered bottom, and every thing about her was an attention magnet.  She ignored most of it though, her mind trying to focus on exiting while the ben wa balls began their smooth sexual stimulation with each step.

She felt her pussy ripen in moments and she bit her lip again as the tension she had felt between her legs during the trip suddenly changed into desperate desire.  She steeled herself, resolutely moving forward, her back pack slung over her shoulder, until she stepped onto the gantry and moved up into the terminal.

It took a moment to orient herself.  She knew exactly where she needed to go from studying a few posted maps, and quickly took off down the concourse, passing the various kiosks and stores where travelers purchased reading material and food.  Baggage claim wasn’t an issue for her, since her only luggage was the small backpack on her shoulder.  Breanne had packed very little, knowing she wouldn’t need it.

As she exited the secure area, she turned to her left, her eyes quickly searching.  For a moment, her heart skipped a beat, wondering if he had decided not to meet her.  But then she spied his sandy blonde hair, the grinning smile, and she grinned back, moving as quickly as the ben wa balls would let her.  She opened her arms as she approached, seeing his eyes roam over her body.

There were no words.  She merely stepped into his embrace, lifting her chin and standing on tip toes to kiss him.  It was no chaste kiss however.  She opened her mouth, slipping her tongue against his, a deep sexual kiss that left no doubt to her intent.  When it was finally over his eyes were wide in astonishment.

“Well, it’s good to finally meet you in person, Bre” he said, still a little flustered by the passionate kiss.

“It’s good to meet you too, sir!” Breanne replied, her beaming smile warming him to the bone.

The man nodded and then looked at the small backpack slung over her shoulder.  “Is that all you brought, or do we need to stop by the Baggage claim?” he asked, his voice polite, but warm.

Breanne shook her head.  “No, everything I needed for the weekend I was able to fit in here.”  She jiggled the knapsack, grinning.

“I can imagine,” he replied.  “How was your flight up from Houston?” he asked as they fell into step, walking toward the exit.

She couldn’t help grinning.  “A bit long.  I thought it would go faster.  It was also just a tad uncomfortable.”

He couldn’t help laughing.  “You wore the ben wa balls, didn’t you?” 

She nodded with a smile.  “Of course.  You asked me too.”

He returned her grin. “Well I thought it would be more entertaining.  Are you horny?” he asked.

“If you ask, I’ll strip right here and you can do me,” she replied immediately.  He paused momentarily, trying to decide if she was being honest.  He decided she was.

“As fantastic as that sounds, I think the airport is not quite the right place for that.”  He motioned toward the doorway. “Well, I’m parked out here, so let’s head out.  As nice as O’Hare is, it really isn’t one of the best features of Chicago.”  Breanne smiled and nodded obediently.  She pushed her arm through his and followed his lead as they made their way through the automatic doors into the parking area.  In the shadow of one of the parking garages, Breanne was led to an off-white Chevrolet Camaro with a solid black roof, shiny and reflective.  The man was a gentleman and opened the door for her, watching as she sat, her skirt riding up her thighs.  This time she made no effort to straighten her skirt, letting it ride upward, exposing the glint of moisture on pink petals.  With a smile he closed the door and went around to the other side.

As soon as he sat down behind the wheel and closed his door he turned toward the auburn haired beauty next to him and held out a small silver paper wrapped box.  A shiny bow adorned the top and he smiled as Breanne’s eyes went wide. 

“Open it,” he ordered, his voice soft and tender.

Bre didn’t hesitate and quickly slit the tape holding the top of the box down, her thumbnail slicing the transparent film in two.  Carefully, she lifted the top, exposing an exquisitely wrought silver chain.  But instead of being a loop, the silver chain was only ten or so inches long.  On each end, attached with precision, were two long silver alligator type clamps, the edges lined with vicious looking teeth.  Bre pulled the silver chain out of the box and held it up, examining it.

“Please lift your halter top and put it on,” the man ordered.  Bre glanced at him once and then nodded.  Laying the chain across her lap, she used both hands to lift her halter top, rolling the cotton material upward over her firm breasts.  Both nipples were large and pink, the perfect size for a man’s mouth to cover.  Her fingers trembling, she picked up the first alligator clamp, squeezing the toothed jaw at the back and opening it wide.  For a moment, she debated how to apply it, whether from the side or straight on would be the best, but then quickly brought the gaping clip to her nipple straight on.  She let it go softly, wincing and then letting out a tiny whimper as the metal teeth bit down on her tender nipple, pinching it hard.  It took only a moment for her to take the other clamp and repeat the procedure, shuddering slightly as it too bit her delicate nub, latching on with tenacious viciousness. 

Her chest heaving, she turned her head to look at him, hoping he was pleased with her.  Pain shot up through her breasts, her nipples the epicenter of the sensations.  She squeezed her legs together as the feelings from her breasts intensified the desires and needs she was feeling from between her thighs.

The man next to her nodded, smiling, pleased with her performance; and the dangling silver chain that hung between her two breasts.  He reached into the console of the vehicle and pulled out a small cell phone, flipping it open and quickly scrolling through the programmed list.

“Jason?  It’s Kyle.  I’m just calling to confirm tonight.  Yeah.  She’s rocking hot, sitting right next to me.”  Kyle laughed and then glanced at Breanne, the silver chain still swinging slightly with each breath.  “I’ll try.  Okay, see you then.”  He snapped the phone closed and fished out his car keys, inserting them into the ignition.

“Time for us to head out,”  he said, smiling at Breanne.  She nodded, smiling despite the pinching ache from her breasts. 

“Are we going out tonight?” she asked, her voice soft and subservient.

Kyle nodded.  “Absolutely.  But we don’t need to get into that until later.  Right now, you just enjoy the incredible Chicago ambiance.”  He laughed and put the car into gear.  Bre looked out the window of the Camaro and watched the various terminals and shuttle busses drive by.  She watched, wondering how many of the passengers and other drivers noticed her bared and clamped bosom, staring at her pinched nubs in fascination.  Once more she felt her sex tighten around the ben wa balls and she let out another soft moan.

The drive was pleasant, despite the ache, and it only took a moment for them to leave the airport, heading south back toward Chicago.  As the Camaro turned onto the Kennedy Expressway, Kyle suddenly pressed a button on the door and both windows rolled downward, the cool wind rushing into the car.

Breanne squealed once as the air swirled around her bare breasts.  It wasn’t cold, just a different sensation.  She was used to the Texas heat, and the cooler Chicago air was refreshing.  Her hands went up to both mounds, cupping them for a moment before relaxing, dropping her palms back down to her lap.

“I want you to scoot your seat back as far as you can and lean it back, so you’re lying down.”  Kyle ordered, glancing at her as he maneuvered the car.

She nodded and reached down between her legs, her fingers snagging the lever that released the seat.  With a ratcheting series of clicks, the seat slid backward until she was almost a foot further away from the dash board.  Next she tilted the back of the seat, pushing down with her weight until she was staring up at the roof of the car.

“Excellent.” Kyle said.  “Now put your right foot up on the window sill.  Stick it out of the car,” he ordered.

Breanne swallowed hard as she lifted her foot.  Despite her reposing position, she knew that lying down wouldn’t conceal her from other drivers.  Any SUV, van, or truck would easily be able to see into the low riding Camaro, and more importantly, the single high heeled shoe sticking out the window would be an immediate attractant.  As she lifted her leg, she realized that the position would also force her skirt up to her waist, baring her soft silky wet sex.

She rested her calf on the door sill and Kyle grinned.  The stolen glance he gave her was rewarded with the perfect view of her pink shaved slit, wet and pulsing around the hidden and buried ben wa balls.  Her delicate little foot, waving like a flag, and drawing the attention of everyone around excited him to no end.  He reached down under his seat again, and pulled out another silver decorated box.  It was long and rectangular and he passed it over to Breanne.

“Another present sir?” she asked politely.

“Open it,” he ordered, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Bre slit the tape holding the top down and lifted the silver cardboard.  Inside, nestled in silver tissue, was a large pink vibrator, curved at the tip in order to caress a woman’s most sensitive internal spots.  She pulled it out and stared at it in awe.  It was very large, easily eight inches long and two inches thick.

“Take out the ben wa balls and masturbate with the vibrator,” Kyle said while switching lanes to the far left, swinging the vehicle around a tractor trailer.

Breanne nodded, reaching down between her legs.  She let out a tiny moan as her fingers entered her now sopping slit, swirling downward into the well as she finally found the small string that connected the balls together and provided for easy removal.  Pulling gently, she tugged the ben wa balls free of her body, shuddering in pleasure as they popped out with a wet sucking sound.  She held them up, their huge round shapes dripping with her juices and she carefully put them in the box that had held the vibrator. 

The large penetrator was activated by a simple twist and Bre turned the pink monstrosity on low, running it down her body from her one of her clamped nipples to her slit.  As it passed over her clitoris, she saw a shape out the window and realized that Kyle was pacing a large semi truck.  She saw the reflective sunglasses of the driver, moving back and forth between the road ahead and her bared body.  She flushed in humiliation, and pushed the vibrator between her legs, slipping the curved head through her petals and then deep into her sex.

Her mind couldn’t escape the simple fact that she was being observed, the driver of the truck watching as the pink toy sank deeply into her body.  Her back arched, eliciting a desperate moan, and her thumb spun the dial on the end of the vibrator, turning the shuddering vibrations to a higher level.  The rushing air streamed against the petals of her sex and she felt the dichotomy of cool air and hot sex.  The sound of the vibrator was lost in the roar of the wind and she pulled the vibe half way out before plunging it back in deeply, twisting it as it rotated in.  The truck faded from view, only to be replaced by another.

“Look out the window as you fuck that thing, Breanne.  I want you to see the faces of the people who see you,” Kyle ordered.

Breanne turned her face, seeing a large pickup’s roof, along with the astonished and pleased look of the man driving it.  He grinned and lifted his hand, giving her a thumb’s up sign.  She made no acknowledgement, but continued to thrust the vibrator in and out, her foot tingling in the rush of the wind.

It only took a few more vehicles appearing in her view before the sensations were too much for her body.  She arched her back, her mouth opening in desperate pleasure.

“Please sir?  Please can I come?” she begged, her hips thrusting forward as her hand mashed the vibrator deep.

Kyle shook his head.  “No.  You just keep masturbating. No cumming, or you get punished.”

Breanne moaned, realizing that it was his intention to punish her no matter what.  She tried to slow the pace of her masturbation, holding the vibrator in place, rather than slipping it in and out frantically.  Her left hand snagged the chain between her nipples, pulling on it sharply in an effort to force her mind away from her sex and the parade of faces looking down on her.  The pain rushed through her breasts, but then swirled down between her legs, driving her need into desperation.  She cried out, ramming the vibrator home, her body shuddering as her orgasm rocked through her in loud frantic cries.

Kyle watched as she slumped in her seat, the vibrator still buried in her wet snatch.  He grinned, pleased with her performance.  Over twenty drivers had looked at her naked body in shock and pleasure, and Kyle had done a good job in deciding who would get a glance.  The beautiful little college cutie lay gasping on her seat, her body the perfect vision of wanton sluttiness.

They had met online, in an adult room, where Breanne was a popular young lady.  Being one of the few girls who would get on the microphone, and later, after she became comfortable, on camera, her bubbling personality attracted a large assortment of men.  But it wasn’t so much her personality, but her physical beauty and sexual perversions that kept her held in such high regard.  From the first, Kyle had been amazed at her need for the discomfort of pain in order for her pleasure to be maximized.

She wasn’t sadistic to the extent of some.  Her limits were pretty simple.  No blood, and no disfigurement.  Easy limits.  They had chatted for over a year and Kyle had found himself enjoying her company, her bright wit, and her beautiful sexual body.  She was the one who had introduced him to sex wagering, an online game where two people agreed to play online pool, or chess, or hangman, and offered up a sexual wager.  After several months of beating her at online pool, he had finally made his most important wager.  If she lost, she had to agree to fly up to Chicago for an extended weekend, three days of sexual torment and humiliation, the very thing she craved.  He would pay all her expenses.

She was a very good player, but to his surprise, the game seemed almost too easy to win.  Her fingers had seemed to miss more often and he suspected that she had thrown the game in order to lose.  Still, he admitted that he wouldn’t have been surprised had she not shown up at O’Hare International Airport, bailing out of her agreement.  Her incredible body pressing up next to his for that kiss had been incredible.

And now she lay next to him, her bare leg resting on the window sill of his car, her denim skirt a thin band of blue at her waist, her bare slit pulsing with a thick vibrator stuck halfway in.  Her eyes were closed and her clamped breasts rose in the shallow breathing of orgasmic relaxation.

“That little orgasm earned you a punishment, Breanne.  Don’t stop though.  Keep pumping that vibrator,”  Kyle said pleasantly.  “And turn it back up to high, but you better not come again, or that will earn you a second punishment.”

Breanne turned her head and looked at the ruggedly handsome man driving the car.  She nodded softly as her fingers turned the vibrator up to its highest setting.  She let out a low moan and began once again, thrusting it in and out of her body.  Her hips reacted a few times as she set her pace, once more letting the vibrator piston in and out.

Breanne was no stranger to vibrators.  She had a large collection of them at home.  Everything from tiny little pocket ones to keep in her purse, to large knobbed ones with extra arms that tormented her clit while inside her.  She had posted her golden rule on her internet profile: That any girl chatting online should be required to have a vibrator inside her, on low, and that she should have to provide proof of that, either on microphone or via webcam, to whom ever asked.

It was a dangerous rule, one that resulted in frequent conversation starters.  Many men merely scanned her profile, enjoying the picture of her body and one exposed breast, followed by an immediate instant message demanding proof.  Over and over, she would turn on her microphone, holding it down by her sex, letting men hear the buzzing toy plunge deep into her body.  Eventually she bought a cam and was soon proving it through more visible means.

It wasn’t till later that she discovered the “Wagering” room.  She had loved it from the first moment, the risk of losing, even the joys of winning.  When she won she usually tormented her opponent, forcing him to masturbate for her, or having him write her poetry or a story.  Losing always was sexual torment of various kinds, the more creative the wager, the more excited Breanne became.  Meeting Kyle in that chat room had been a stroke of luck, for his wagers were always innovative and very exciting.

Breanne felt the Camaro exit off the freeway and begin a series of turns in a more sedate setting.  Breanne saw the signs of business through the open window, foreshadowed by her high heel encased foot.  She continued to pump the vibrator, feeling her body tighten just as quickly as before, due to the high setting.

She closed her eyes as her hips bucked, her thighs opening wider.  The sucking plunging pink rod between her legs forced her to moan, and then with a shuddering cry, she exploded once more in orgasmic bliss.  Kyle certainly noticed, inwardly pleased she couldn’t control herself, yet adopting a stern look of displeasure.

“That’s your second punishment.  Keep fucking yourself.”  It took every ounce of will he had to keep from grinning.

She nodded, once more moving the vibrator in and out, her body trembling at the repeated intrusion.  Kyle finally grinned as she closed her eyes again, wondering if she would manage to orgasm before they arrived at his home.  The poor girl lay in the seat, her arms almost wooden with exhaustion as she used her wrist to slip the vibe deep, then pulling it out.

There was a bump in the road and Breanne felt the car shake once and then she saw the eaves of a small condominium.  There was the hum of a garage door opener and the Camaro moved into the small parking space, sliding into the garage much like the vibrator slipped into Breanne’s pussy.  Kyle turned off the ignition and pressed the garage door remote, letting the garage door come back down to conceal the vehicle and its two passengers.

“Not bad, Bre.  You’re always boasting about how long you can endure the vibrator if it’s on low, so you can turn it down now,”  Kyle said, reaching over and running a finger down her left thigh.  She nodded and used her fingers to turn the dial, sighing as its tormenting buzz decreased to a barely discernable hum.

“That vibrator is very unique.  You ever use one angled like that?” Kyle asked, running his finger up between her legs, lightly grazing her swollen clit which stood swollen above embedded pink stud.

His touch was almost enough to set her off again, but she shook her head.  “No sir.  I’ve got some straight ones, and one with an extra arm, but I’ve never had one angled like this.”  She bit her lip and tensed as his finger rubbed her steadily.

“Well, the really cool thing is that it should stay inside you unless you deliberately you pull or push it out.  You probably can even walk with it in.  So, I’d like you to get out of the car and I’ll show you my place.  If it falls out though I should point out that you will earn yourself another punishment.”

With a demure “yes sir”, Breanne brought her right leg back into the car and smoothed down her skirt over the vibrator.  The buzzing was a distraction, but Breanne had ample experience with vibrators.  It was one of the more endearing things about her.  Most of the time she was online she tried to follow her vibrator rule and was something of an attraction.  One day while online she had even managed to keep her vibrator in and on low for six hours straight.

She opened the car door and stood, wincing slightly as the large sex toy inside her angled into her thigh.  Kyle had been right, the twisting curve at the end of the vibrator kept it securely embedded in the still wet and hot well between her legs, and she quickly figured out how to walk without the bottom three inches chaffing the insides of her thighs.  She tried hard not to squeeze it though, knowing that if she tightened her muscles it might just pop out.

Breanne looked at his smiling face and followed him into the house.  Her body trembled with excitement as she walked around the Camaro.  She knew that whatever was coming, it would be fantastic. 

 

 

 

Breanne's Three - Chicago BDSM

by Michael Alexander

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