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

Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut

Volume Four

Breanne Erickson




Clamps At The Mall
Bound & Caned
Lingerie, Clothespins, and Cumming
I’m Cumming
Blue Trucks
Just One Blowjob
13 Clothespins
Margaret’s Punishment (Part One)
Margaret’s Punishment (Part Two)
Margaret’s Punishment (Part Three)
Orgasms At The Mall
The Scrubbie
Blowjob Friday
Clamped Ready
Julie’s Date
Ass Fucks
Alligator Clamp Bra
Bar Edges
A Walk, A Cantor, And A Gallop
If You Make A Slut Suck…
Water Torture
The Shirt
Another Scavenger Hunt (Part One)
Another Scavenger Hunt (Part Two)
NHPS Back Arches
Hanging For A Screw Up

NHPS Rules



Foreword by H Dean, Author of “The Family Pet” and “Becoming Bimbo”

Many years ago, as I was sitting at my computer, I ran across a website. The site was the sort that appeals to the prurient minded. In other words, it appealed to me. It is one of many such sites and it contained a plethora of erotic writings. Many stories by many authors could be read by readers across the globe and in the comfort of their own chairs, beds or wherever they had a computer connected to the Internet. It was a wonderful thing. Sadly, as wonderful as it appeared, it was not all it should have been. You see, any hack can write a story and have it published on a website. It does not mean it’s good or even readable.

It was those sites, those stories that filled me with the writing bug. Or, I should say, it was those stories that infected me with the drive to write my own erotic stories. Since I was already a published author of various articles, mostly sports related, I was certain I could do better. I could take some of those very same ideas and turn them into works of art. I could make them plausible, believable and I could increase their erotic value. Then I discovered it was harder than it looked.

In the years since my first erotic writings I have improved considerably. I no longer make the same mistakes and I am far better at describing scenarios. But I am not so talented as Breanne Erickson in these areas. I admit, my skill lies in the twist, the oddness, the horror of extremes. But I am still not the talent that is Breanne.

Breanne has a particularly interesting ability with constructing stories that are light, funny and erotic. All at once she can make me grin and laugh, while offering up pruriently inappropriate situations that never fail to arouse. That she does so with such seeming ease is, perhaps, her greatest ability. Her story telling is simple (though not sophomoric), straight forward and pleasant.

In this, her latest installment of her ongoing series, she continues to detail her exploits. She is a submissive of the highest degree, craving humiliation and exposing herself for all to see. This is how she lives. But wait, is the Breanne in the stories really Breanne the author? Short of asking her, I have no way of knowing. But I won’t ask. That she endures the anal play she hates is far too thrilling for me to chance asking her. Besides, I want this Breanne to be the Breanne. It’s important to me that it is.

I imagine, in some far off future, some author will feel about her writings as I have felt about so many other author’s writings. They will determine they can improve on what she has already written and maybe they will be right. But, just as modern rock has its roots in early rock and roll and rock and roll has its roots in blues, jazz and early country, theirs will have roots in the writings of Breanne Erickson. She is that good.

     H. Dean


Clamps At The Mall

Assigned by Master Barrett


Breanne, what you are to do is go to a mall somewhere dressed in a short skirt, tight t-shirt and stripper shoes, put the anal beads in your ass on high, the vibrating clamp on your clit and the vibrating balls on low. You are then to take a walk around the mall. Whenever you cum you are to announce it like you did for the Seven Days of Sluttiness assignment, meaning you must do it in the presence of strangers, and within 5ft. After each orgasm you are to take an alligator clamp or binder clip and attach it to you labia or nipple. repeat until you have two binder clamps on each of your labia and 2 alligator clamps on your nipples (under the shirt) so that will take you six orgasms. On the seventh orgasm replace the vibrating clamp on your clit with an alligator clamp and then reattach the vibrating clamp to that. The clamps must be put on within one minute of orgasm. To remove the clamps find a willing target and have them fuck you in the ass. If you manage to cum during the ass fuck,  you may have them remove the clamps and binder clips. If you do not cum, then you must find another stranger to fuck you up the ass in order to remove the clamps..


I put the truck in park and looked out through the windshield.  It was very warm outside, almost eighty degrees and I took a deep breath as I climbed out of the large Ford pickup and put my flip flop clad feet into the gravel.  I didn’t have much to take with me as I walked around to the front of the truck; just a single shirt and a pair of shoes.  The shirt I was wearing didn’t exactly qualify as a “tight” tee shirt, and I was well aware that the bra I was wearing underneath wasn’t permitted either.  The wind blew through my hair and I listened to the quiet whisper of the long grasses bending and swaying.  I grabbed my shirt and pulled it up over my head.  I took it off, turned it right side out, and then folded it neatly.

The road I was standing on was empty.  It is infrequently traveled and goes right past my farm.  Hell, I’m on it more than anyone else I think.  It makes for a perfect spot to strip naked however, or change outfits as the case may be.  There is always the threat of being seen, discovered, observed, but the likelihood isn’t very high.  I’ve had some masters and mistresses who didn’t like that, but since I don’t want to go to jail for stripping in a McDonald’s or at a public park, it’s probably better I stick to this quiet Farm to Market road and just keep my mouth shut.

The bra went next of course and I placed it on top of my shirt.  My nipples contracted, hardening into two little bumps thanks to the wind, and the tingle I felt from exposure.  I would have said that being half naked made me wet, but I was already soaked thanks to the set of vibroballs which were buzzing away inside my pussy.  They were on low, but not even an hour and a half prior they had been set to full power, overwhelming my nervous system with an orgasm that would have been perfect had it not been interrupted by a nosy parent.  Sigh… I can’t believe I’m twenty five and still live with my parents.

I was already wearing a skirt, blue flared denim with a few pleats.  It was cute, a little faded (so it looked like it had been acid washed), and just about two inches too short.  Sure, it covered my ass, but only barely.  To be honest, any decent girl would have tossed it years ago.  But in case you hadn’t figured it out already, I’m not a decent girl. 

I’m a slut.  Specifically a nympho humiliation pain slut and wearing too short skirts is practically a uniform.  As was the overly tight tee shirt I squirmed into that bright sunny afternoon.  The shirt was another one of the leftovers from my college days when my former mistress, lover, and still current best-friend had bought me a whole collection of questionable attire to wear to class.  This one, light brown in color, and a little thread-bare, sported the picture of an ice cream cone and the phrase “get licked!”  My breasts warped the material, pushing it out and pushing them up.  Kari bought all my shirts a little tight.  That plus three years made the shirt almost see through.

I reached down after getting myself settled, which mostly amounted to pushing my breasts into the shirt and adjusting them so I didn’t look like an improperly wrapped sausage.  Tight and small was actually now a joke, since the tee shirt had lost some of it’s elasticity and the front was now pulled upward slightly, exposing a good portion of my belly.  That’s not too bad.  My belly is pretty smooth and flat, but the shirt really needed to be tossed.

Note to all my fans, if you want to buy me new “sex” shirts, feel free!

Anyway, I reached down and pulled the flip flop off my left foot.  One of my stripper shoes, those ridiculous high heels Master Barrett made me buy last year went on instead and I wobbled a bit as I adjusted to four inch platforms and what would be a four inch heel if there wasn’t four inches of added spike to make up for the stupid soles.  As I mentioned, they’re “stripper” shoes; perfect for swaying on a stage while taking off your clothes.

Yes.  I’ve done that.  Not often, but I have. 

The other shoe went on next and then I was appropriately dressed.  I gathered everything up, moved cautiously through the gravel around to the driver’s door and then climbed back in to my truck, tossing the shirt, bra, and flip flops into the seat beside me. They spilled over the small bag I had brought, but I didn’t care.  Instead I started up the engine and took off down the road.

I could have gone to my usual mall, the one closest too my house, but I had second thoughts.  I’ve done an awful lot of these assignments there and started to become familiar to the security staff.  That just won’t do, especially with what I was going to try that afternoon.  Instead I went to a different mall that I had visited during my Seven Days of Sluttiness.  It wasn’t that far away, it was a bit smaller, and most of all, wouldn’t be as busy.  Built back in the early eighties, this mall was dark and organic and felt like my dad’s den. 

When I pulled the truck up into the parking lot I took a deep breath.  What came next wasn’t exactly going to be the hardest part, but it was going to be intense.  I reached into the bag and I extracted my anal beads complete with wire remote.  A little bit of grapeseed oil squirted from the small plastic bottle I keep with me in my purse was sufficient lube to start popping the small but slightly larger than marble sized vibrator balls into my ass.  I hate things in my ass.  Everyone seems to know this, but my online masters and mistresses seem to take absolute delight in making me stuff things up there, get fucked there, finger myself there, or just general do things that end up with me butt fucked.  What the hell is up with that anyway?  It just doesn’t make sense!  The anus is an exit, not an entrance!  Sigh... and let me tell you EIGHT small beads instead of a huge cock doesn’t make it any easier.  So I twisted and slouched and kept an eye out for passersby as I popped those beads in.

And I was sore down there too.  Two days before I had spent the day either riding a wooden horse, complete with spreader bar, weighted ankles and clamped nipples, or on my back bound, getting whipped, electrified, clamped, caned, pinched, tickled, and fucked.  Supposedly, that long list of torment was intended to give me a break from sitting there on a semi-sharp wooden edge biting up into my pussy.  Hell, I was in such bad shape on Sunday that had Master Barrett issued this assignment then, I would have refused on the basis of medical reasons.  I wasn’t even WALKING good on Sunday.

But on Monday, I was doing better.  I was still bruised of course, still tender, but most of the pain had faded to a dull ache and provided that I wasn’t going to be required to ride a horse (wooden OR real), or straddle a motorcycle, or you know, sit on a fence, I could handle what he wanted.  Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Rule #2: A NHPS must be ready and able to endure a painful punishment/torture at anytime, for anyone, for any reason.

Within limits of course.

Anyway, I was now pretty well stuffed.  My ass was filled with the vibrating anal beads and I still had two ovoid shaped “balls” in my pussy.  I could feel them rattling against each other, which was sort of the point.  Kind of a high tech version of ben wa balls, except ben wa balls only clattered and rung when you walk.  Vibroballs do it whenever they’re turned on.  Of course, mine were: on low.

Most women I know can’t handle having vibroballs on for extended periods of time, even on low.  I admit there was a time I couldn’t of course.  Even an HOUR with the vibroballs on low would set me off.  But you can get used to things, even sexual toys.  I used to be a big chatroom and webcam girl back in my upperclassman college days, when I actually had something called privacy.  On certain days when I had free time, I would literally strip naked, shove a vibrator or the vibroballs in me, get on line, and stay that way for HOURS.  I used to have a chat rule that was posted in my online profile (hell, I think it still is!): Any girl chatting on the internet, in a sex room, should be stuffed with some sort of vibrating toy.  She should ALSO be required to offer proof, either via mic or cam, of her stuffing.

I was very popular.

I didn’t have much trouble tolerating the vibroballs now though, and besides, I was supposed to keep them on low anyway.  But I did grab the remote to the anal beads, which I had threaded up through the waistband of my skirt.  I cranked the wheel up to maximum and let out a little gasp as the sexual horsepower equivalent to the Daytona 500 purred to life in my ass.  Let me tell you, that’s NEVER a comfortable feeling.

I reached into my bag and withdrew the next important item.  I had purchased a pair of these a few months before and hadn’t used either of them much.  In essence, it was two small vibrators that looked oddly like my vibroballs, except instead of being connected by wires to a remote, each ovoid object was connected to a metal clamp.  At the base of each flattened sphere was a tiny switch.  Today, I only had one.  No need for the second.  I took the little clamp and its attached vibrator and lifted my skirt.  This was going to be one of those “intense” parts.  My clit had been a frequent target for abuse over the last three days.  Even that morning I had endured a slathering of Stinging O and a ruler spank until I came.  Thankfully, it was quick.  Sharp, powerful, and very painful too.  Between the horse ride and Kari hitting me with the sap, my clit was still swollen, slightly red, and very very tender.

And I was now going to clamp it.

The thought “at least it’s not the jumbo alligator clamp” went through my mind for a second, but I pushed that thought away.  Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, right?  The clamp was still a duck billed clamp, without protective rubber, and could be tightened or loosened depending on the needs of the wearer (or tormentor).  In my case, considering how wet I was down there, and what I needed to do, I knew I had to have it just about as tight as it would go.  I had to WALK with this thing attached and I knew that if I had it too loose it would fall off and start clattering on the floor, drawing even more attention to me, as if the stupid shirt and fuck me shoes weren’t enough, right?

With the front of my skirt flipped up and my pussy exposed, I pinched the little clamp open and positioned it.  My heart skipped a few beats, thumping irregularly as a burst of adrenaline went through me.  I tensed, but finally let the clamp close.

Oh My God.

Yes. I screamed too.  Not loudly.  But enough that had you been walking by my truck right at that moment you would have turned your head to see what the hell that noise was.  Fortunately I had parked out in the boonies, so while I had a long walk ahead of me just to get IN the mall, no one was walking by me.

You know, I’m just waiting for some master to correct that.  One day there will be an assignment where I have to park right up front.

Racked with pain I had barely enough mental control of my body to flip the little switch on the vibrator now hanging from my clitoris.  A steady thrum travelled up the chain and into my clit, effectively operating as both clamp and butterfly.  It was… intense.  While the vibrations weren’t anywhere as powerful as my butterfly clitoral stimulator, the addition of the clamp changed the dynamics pretty good.  Hell, I almost came!

But I grit my teeth and held off.  Cumming right then would NOT be good for the rest of the assignment.  I pushed my skirt back down, grabbed my bag and purse, and got out of the truck.  That movement alone was again almost enough to make me swoon in absolute pleasure and I realized that I didn’t have much time before I wasn’t going to be able to stop the rising wave of orgasmic bliss that was rushing toward my metaphorical shore.  I stumbled forward, a mixture of agony and mind-numbing pleasure flowing from exactly the same parts of my body, and I hurried toward the mall.

I went in through one of the main entrances, rather than through a department store.  This wasn’t planned, just expedient.  As I walked, the vibrator clamp did its buzzing thing to keep my clit excited (and crushed), but I noticed that a secondary effect was occurring as well.  With each step (especially large ones), the vibrator would swing, which made my clit ache even more, but on the return the vibrator would touch my labia, vibrating against them for just a moment before swinging back out.  It was a delicious sensation.  And let me tell you, delicious at that moment was not good.

In fact, deliciousness made me turn to my left, passing the kid’s play area, and walk right up to one of those cart vendors in the middle of the aisle.  He wasn’t really paying attention, and who could blame him?  It was early afternoon on a Monday!  The place seemed practically deserted too!  I slowed down as I approached him, his back turned.  When I felt it coming, I stepped up the pace and was right in position as the orgasm hit me like a freight train.

“Oh God! I’m cumming!” I announced in a moderately loud voice.   This of course was accompanied by an expression of agonized bliss trying to be suppressed to avoid drawing attention.  I also lost my balance for a second, stumbling toward the wall, which on four inch platform heels is pretty damned scary.  Of course while all this happened I was experiencing a physical rush of pleasure, tinged with hurt, that had my pussy dripping, my brain overloaded with endorphins and adrenaline, and my entire body pulsing.  My heart was racing and even my breaths seemed to come in ragged draws. 

When I recovered enough to reassess my situation, I noticed I was leaning against a store front wall, one hand out.  I looked back at the vendor clerk who was staring at me in astonishment, and if I can be just a little egotistical, in absolute love.  He WANTED me.  I gave him a little smile, and then looked around for a store to disappear into.  One of the pros about coming to this mall was that it wasn’t very busy.  It was a smaller, older mall, and that meant most people didn’t come here.  The negative of course was that a lot of the store spaces were empty, meaning I didn’t have convenient places to disappear into.  I started walking, looking for a spot where I could do what needed to be done.  I didn’t have a lot of time either, so while I looked for an out of the way, semi-private spot, I considered my options.

In my bag there were four binder clamps, two alligator clamps, and one last item that I didn’t want to think about at all.  The assignment was very clear.  I had to walk the mall, having orgasms, for a total of seven.  After each orgasm I had one minute to apply a clamp.  The binder clips were intended for my pussy, two for both my labia majora and my labia minora.  The alligator clamps were intended for my nipples.  I had to chose what went on first, and let me tell you, that was a tough choice.  As I walked, I fumbled in my bag and eventually pulled out a thick binder clamp, designed to keep two inches worth of paper together. 

I ducked into a small clothing store, disappeared behind a rack of clothes, and hiked up my skirt.  It took me only seconds to pinch the binder clamp open and snag one of the thick petals of my pussy, the outer ones, the labia majora.  Pain rushed up from my groin and my pussy clenched around the vibroballs.  I lowered my skirt and just stood there, trying to adjust to a whole new world of hurt.

Binder clamps in their natural state are designed to clamp paper (a very thin object) tightly even at what could be considered their “zero” state.  To be honest, had I NOT adulterated these a bit, I would have suffered some pretty serious damage, so all of you wannabe NHPS out there, don’t just go to an office supply store and pick some of these up.  You have to bend them outward a bit so that they are just slightly narrower than what you are intending to clamp with them.  So while the binder clamp on my pussy hurt a whole lot, it wasn’t going to cut off circulation or blood bruise me, or worse.  It just hurt.  Especially after riding the wooden horse two days before.

And made it more uncomfortable to walk.  The metal extensions kept digging into my thigh when I took a step.  But onward I went.  Slowly I stepped out of the store and began walking my way down the mall.  The few people I encountered took one look at me and either sniggered or stared.  I even saw a few sales people coming to the front of their stores to watch me slowly walk past.  I pretended to window shop and ignored it all.  Of course, I knew why I was attracting sniggers.  Walking in four inch platform stripper shoes would have been enough, but add to that the stupid sex tee shirt that made my breasts VERY prominent and was even slightly see through thanks to the age of the shirt, not to mention the too short skirt, and you get quite a show.  PLUS there was the fact that I was now walking a little funny, taking an odd waddling right step due to the binder clip no one could see.

To be honest, I thought that I’d have trouble getting sexually aroused again, but by the time I walked all the way to the opposite side of the mall, enduring the looks of people in the food court and along the way, my pussy was rapidly clenching and jerking around and I was getting close to cumming again.  I stopped in front of the department store at the end, but then decided to go in.  I could FEEL the pressure building.  I moved toward the men’s department, knowing that I would get more… leeway… there. 

My second orgasm approached while I was standing between a rack of polo shirts and a shelving unit filled with packaged button up oxfords.  I had picked the spot because it was right near the register of the men’s department sales clerk, who hadn’t seen me (because I’m short) but was close enough that a few steps would take me into the five foot radius required by Master Barrett.  As the oncoming rush burst up from my sore and abused stuffed pussy, I once again grabbed hold of something to keep me standing and announced in as level a tone as I could manage, “Oh God! I’m cumming.”

I didn’t shout it.  Just said it.  But believe me, it was loud enough.  The cute guy at the counter turned and looked at me in surprise.  I’m trying now to imagine what he was seeing.  Willowy, somewhat pretty redhead, wearing a brown tee shirt stretched tight over her tits, with the words “get licked” printed boldly across both mounds; short short skirt, long pretty legs, and a set of crystal clear fuck me heels, obviously in physical distress of some sort, though considering what she had just announced, maybe it wasn’t quite DISTRESS.

I think this is a pretty good guess because I was looking at him when this all went through his mind and I don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out what he was thinking.  Of course I didn’t do too much during or immediately after my orgasm.  I was still too dazed.  Come on, you know it takes a moment to get your brain going again.  Try it with EXTREME ORGASMS.  You don’t just blink and then go do higher level math.  When the orgasmic ecstasy I was feeling finally faded into something more like background music, I blinked a little at my audience.  He was just as flabbergasted as the little cart vendor had been and I smiled a very seductive wonderful little smile at him.

Then I reached into my bag, drew out the matching binder clip to the one already on my pussy, and lifted my skirt.  His eyes widened in shock as he saw my bare sex, soaked, with wires running into it (the vibroballs of course), a clamp attached to my clit, not to mention the fact that there was a big black binder clip attached to the right side of my pussy.  I spread my legs a bit and quickly clamped my left labia majora.  The pain was delicious, and I mean that.  Since the buzzing from the vibrator clamp on my clit hadn’t stopped, I wasn’t really coming DOWN from orgasms any more.  It was more like riding a raft on an ocean.  Each wave crest was a powerful climax.  Each trough was the little dip between.  I was STILL horny.  Still needy.  Still wanting. 

I lowered my skirt and took a tentative step.  Again, the physical dynamics of walking had changed.  I had to keep my thighs parted quite a bit more now.  I took more care with each movement and I approached my audience.

“Hi.  What time do you get off?” I asked with a breathy voice.  He stammered something, cleared his throat, and told me nine thirty.  Perfect.  He would be here the ENTIRE evening.

“I’ve got some shopping to do, but then I’ll be back.  You can fuck me up the ass,” I said, smiling.  Then I turned and walked away.

Okay… I WADDLED away.  But by the time I made it back to the mall section I had gotten my walk down to a wide hip swinging, sexually suggestive, and highly rotational step that made the vibroballs inside my pussy churn.  This walk attracted even MORE attention and sent shivers of delight through my slit that had me trying hard to conceal my arousal before I even made it back to the food court.  As I felt the inescapable rush coming I turned into a clothing store, saw a cute young college aged girl folding some clothes on a back table, and moved right up to her.  She glanced at me, her eyes narrowing in harsh judgment at my attire, but then looked at me quizzically as she began to realize that something wasn’t quite right.

And that not quite right part was the fact that I was holding in an orgasm.  And that’s hard to do.  Finally I gasped, my hands going down to my skirt and pressing hard on my pubis through the material.  “Oh God! I’m cumming!” I announced and her eyes widened in shock.  Then her mouth went down in a frown and then gave me a look of utter disgust.  This time it took me longer to recover.  I was shuddering from the orgasm, little jerks of my hips, my shoulders, and even my head.  My eyes had practically rolled into the back of my head.

“What are you? Some sort of slut?” she demanded.  I tried to speak but it came out as a breathy whisper.  I cleared my throat, nodding.

“Yeah.  You should try it sometime,” I replied, swallowing and trying to get my rapidly beating heart and heavy breathing under control.

“Get out of my store,” she demanded.  Ouch.

I turned and started to leave, my right hand digging into my bag.  Once more I pulled out a binder clamp.  She was watching me of course, almost following in fact, but I stopped between two clothes stands, pulled my skirt up (with my back to her of course), and quickly applied the smaller binder clip to my inner petals.  Pain rushed through me again and I winced, swaying slightly as my skirt dropped back down.  I had to steady myself on one of the racks, but by the time the clerk in the back started to approach I was able to take a half-hearted step toward the store entrance.

Nothing came of my encounter and I had my fourth orgasm in the doorway of a travel agency.  The guys in there looked at me in surprise, but I kept moving after saying my “Oh God! I’m cumming!” line.  I tucked myself into a private corner between the dead anchor store at the end of the hall and one of the empty spaces right near it.  I applied the fourth binder clip.

I couldn’t close my legs at this point, there was so much metal dangling down from my pussy.  Those binder clips weren’t exactly small, and I wished I had four of the little ones, rather than two of the two inch clamps.  As it was, I was now forced to waddle, though with the swing of my hips it looked more like what a stripper does when she’s walking out onto the stage.  My body was curving and dipping and moving in ways that drew the eye and I was barely able to maintain my composure. 

And there was another factor starting to come into play.  Pain.  Sure, it had hurt before, but I was now starting to feel the hurt a lot more than the turn on.  Maybe it was because I was having so many orgasms.  Maybe it was because I was in a trough.  But whatever the reasons I was starting to really hurt.  Additionally, the clamps on my pussy widened my petals, opening up the interior.  I started literally dripping pussy juice, noticing it after a few steps.  How embarrassing!  Not only that, but now with my inner labia clamped and spread open, the vibrator clamp was actually touching the soft sensitive flesh of my inner petals.  It was an interesting sensation on top of the burning throbbing ache I was also feeling.

I grimaced as I started my next round.  I was also dreading my fifth and sixth orgasms.  The next clamps that needed to go on were the alligator clamps, and those had to go on my nipples, underneath my shirt.  Talk about creating a scene.  If I hadn’t been required by the assignment to “walk the mall”, I would have found a quiet corner and just masturbated, cum, hurt, and cried. 

I was beginning to hurt as badly as I did on Saturday when Kari was ramming my Core Driller into my pussy on one of the rests between Horse rides.  It was actually making me tremble and I had to stop frequently to get a grip on things.  Add to that the steady thrumming inside me, against my clit, and in my ass, and I was starting to have some difficulties.  The human body just isn’t meant to do things like this.  As it was I had been walking, hurting, and cumming for over two hours.  Every once in a while I was now being asked if I was okay.

Have you ever seen those videos of the girls who are stuffed with vibrators and made to walk in public?  Have you ever seen them falter, stopping suddenly, eyes closed, mouth open, little shudders rippling through them?  Well I have not only seen it, I’ve done it.  And mine were ten times worse because those girls didn’t also have clamps all over their pussy, or were stuffed in the ass.  The walk across the mall became a nightmare for me as I was approached at least five or six times by strangers, most men, asking me if I was okay.  Each time I smiled wanly, nodded, ignoring the throbbing hurt between my legs and the underlying sexual urgency of another approaching orgasm.  I would blink, thank them for the concern, but explain that I was fine.  Then I’d move on in that sort of wide swinging hip waddle I had now adopted.

It was humiliating.

I didn’t make it back to the men’s department of that first department store when I orgasmed again.  I had to do my announcement at another kiosk, shuddering in orgasmic overload.  This time my body did practically shut down as the pain finally disappeared, caught up in the climax of my public vibration masturbation.  The girl at the kiosk watched me in surprise.  She was a foreign girl, probably Indian because she wasn’t wearing a veil or anything, and she just stared as I stood there shuddering and cumming. 

You know what, let me try to put this in perspective for you guys.  By guys I mean MALES.  All the girls who are reading this are sympathetic.  They love it, but at least they’re sympathetic.  You guys are just grinning from ear to ear wishing you had been there following me around with a video camera.  Well let me put this in perspective for you boys.  First of all imagine you are riding on a push cart through the mall.  I know, strange, but it attracts everyone’s gaze so you are suddenly the center of attention.  Then imagine yourself wearing a really tight shirt (even if you aren’t the model of the manly handsomeness!) that says “studmuffin for hire”.  Riding on the cart in front of you is a girl, who is DRESSED LIKE A GUY, so no one can tell it’s a female in front of you, on her knees.  And your cock is in her mouth.  No one can really SEE that you’re getting a blow job, but they KNOW you are.  On top of that, someone has shoved a beer can up your ass.  So you’re the center of attention, you hurt, you’re humiliated because everyone thinks you’re a studmuffin, but that there is a GUY sucking your cock, and there is nothing you can do about any of it.

Are we all on board now?  Okay, good.  Sorry if that killed the mood.  I just wanted you to know what this was LIKE for me.

After being asked if I was okay I nodded and waddled away from the kiosk.  Another clothing store to my right afforded me the privacy I needed for the next clamp application.  I drew the alligator clamp from my bag and as the chain continued to come out of the bag, followed by the other clamp, I realized I had a problem.

My alligator clamps were connected by a chain.  I could put just one on, but the second clamp would dangle down by my exposed belly.  I struggled with it for just a moment, trying to decide what to do.  I trembled and then grabbed a shirt from the rack in front of me and hurried to the back of the store to the changing rooms.  I quickly hung the shirt on a hook and turned toward the mirror.  I pulled up my “get licked” shirt and exposed my breasts.  Shaking in pain, desire, trepidation, and humiliation, I lifted the little alligator clamp to my nipple.  I knew this would hurt, worse even than the two sets of binder clamps on my pussy and the one vibrating on my clit.  Only slightly blunted metal teeth lined this clamp and I’ve endured it many times before.  It’s brutal. 

And I let it close on my right nipple.  I bit my knuckle to keep the scream from going any farther than the dressing room. I swayed dangerously, falling backward as my breasts now joined the orchestra of agony playing from my loins.  I fell, landing on the bench seat.  The binder clamps dug into my thighs painfully and I opened my legs, spreading my ankles wide.  The vibrator dangling from my clit settled into the clamped open cleft of my pussy and began doing some rather interesting things.  The pain in my breast seemed to amplify it all and after about ten minutes of sitting there enduring, I could feel the beast slouching forward to shove me over the cliff.

I realized I couldn’t cum in the dressing room, so I struggled to my feet.  That only marginally reduced the impending need as the vibrator on the clamp slipped out from between my spread petals.  I opened the door, leaving the shirt I had taken still there, and waddled out into the store.  I headed toward the counter where three women were busy.  One was a customer.  Every step brought me closer to my sixth orgasm and I watched a few eyes widen as they took in my costume.  The only real difference now was the fact that my right breast sported an obvious odd shaped lump under the too tight tee shirt.  Even more interesting was the fact that the lump under my tee shirt bore a remarkable resemblance to the totally visible alligator clamp dangling down from UNDER my shirt, by my exposed belly button.

They all stared at me in wide eyed astonishment as I stood there for a few moments.  I wasn’t standing “in line” per se, in fact I was just waiting for the approaching orgasm to roar into my personal station. I felt the rumble of the train, the excess lubrication, the roar of power that suddenly filled me. I started shaking, my mouth open with a groan, my eyes half closed.

“Oh God. I’m cumming!” I said suddenly.  And I did.  I stood there almost a minute just shaking and trying not to fall over.  The customer who was looking at me turned back to one of the clerks and said “outrageous!”

I heard a very firm “Miss, you need to leave!” from one of the clerks, who in all honesty was probably the store manager anyway.  I heard another command “call mall security”, and that was my cue to pull it together and head out. 

Which was damn hard.  Have YOU ever tried walking after your sixth orgasm?  Especially when technically you’re supposed to pull up your shirt and put the last alligator clamp on your nipple?  I sort of doubt it.  In any event, I was pretty close to that same department store I had been in earlier and I disappeared into it before I even saw a security guard.  As soon as I was lost in some tall stands of clothing, I lifted my tee shirt and placed the second alligator clamp on my breast.  It hurt of course, but the pain just blended in with everything else.  My clit was sore in a way that went beyond normal pain.  It wasn’t as if I had just been clamped and released, or kicked between the legs.  It was like being clamped, left that way and THEN sexually stimulated.  That was when I noticed the convulsions in my pussy. They were totally automatic; rapid clenching movement that proved my vaginal muscles were now taking orders from places other than my brain. 

They say that a body can become attenuated to pain.  That it becomes almost like a narcotic, addictive, and that the body can adjust to it.  Let me tell you, if the pain is swirled into sex, the body can most certainly become attenuated and even addicted to it.  I’ll admit, I’m more into sex than pain, but the hurt for me is like icing on a cake.  You coming over to my house and breaking my arm isn’t going to turn me on.  But you making sure I’m sexually stimulated first, and THEN inflicting tortures upon me that would make a medieval inquisitor flinch, will do some rather interesting things to me.

Add to that the fact that I have some rather intense and unique reactions to constant sexual vibration torment.  I’ve become somewhat used to being vibrated.  It happens pretty consistently.  Actually, I’ve gotten a lot better.  A year ago spending a day with my g-spot vibrator and my butterfly stimulator both on low would have had me orgasming in about five minutes.   Now I can last around thirty or forty.  However, I’m not capable of handling three to four hours of that same sort of direct stimulation.  When that kind of torment happens your body starts experiencing things that are tough to describe.  First of all, there is an increased sensitivity in the areas that are being um… affected.  This sensitivity translates into a sort of hyper-awareness, an acute sexual arousal tinged with something that borders on actual pain.  I’ve seen guys go through it during milking.  They WANT me to keep stroking.  But it gets to the point where it HURTS to keep stroking.

I was at that point while walking through the mall.  Everything was adding to that “I WANT it but it HURTS” concept.  And it all fed on itself because of the added pain from my nipples and clit.  I moved slowly through the department store, still attracting attention, but using the mostly deserted departments and high racks of clothing as a sort of concealment.  All it really did was buy me time as I slid down into the trough of my latest orgasmic cycle and began the torturous climb back up to climax. 

I’m guess that a part of you is asking “WHY? DEAR GOD WHY?” Well, I wasn’t done yet.  There was still one more clamp in my bag, and while it was the worst one, the one I feared, the one I really really didn’t want to put on, I had to do it.  And so I browsed the women’s clothing, stepping gingerly, keeping my chest to the racks and trying to hide my escalating wantonness while trying hard not scream from the throbbing crushing biting discomfort coming from my clit, my nipples, and both pairs of labia.  In short, I was quivering and crying, aching and wanting, sexually charged and needing it to be over.  And as I started to get close I went back over toward the perfume counters. 

My announcement drew a few startled looks, but I mastered myself after saying “Oh God! I’m cumming!” out loud and since I immediately left, I wasn’t present to listen to the aftermath of excited condemnation and snide remarks from the assembled makeup consultants.  Instead I headed upstairs, slipped into the women’s bathroom, and pulled out the final clamp.

It was another alligator clamp, but much larger than the two that currently decorated my breasts.  This one sported the same sharp teeth, blunted only by a few strokes of a file from my dad’s workshop.  I had also altered the spring inside, stretching it out so that it wouldn’t actually PIERCE anything if closed.  In a stall I lifted my skirt and reached down between my legs.  The vibrator dangling from my clit continued to hum and I pinched open the clamp.  Once again I had to eat my knuckles to keep my scream from carrying outside the restroom.  Thank God the place was empty too!  My clitoris throbbed in agony as the blood rushed back into the crushed nub.

But that sudden burst of agony was NOT the real torment.  That started a moment later when I, with trembling hands, willingly let the alligator clamp close on my clit, pinching it tight between metal jaws that bit deeply.  This time my knuckle didn’t even come CLOSE to stopping the wounded animal sounds I was now making.  Then, shaking like a leaf on a tree, I clipped the vibrator clamp to the alligator clamp, increasing the weight dangling from my clit dramatically and returning the previous sensation of the constant vibrations back to my clitoris.  I almost passed out. 

Now that I was finished there was only more thing to do, but as I left the bathroom I realized that I had a serious problem.  The vibrator clamp was now dangling BELOW my skirt, plainly visible, and knocking against my lower thighs.  This “banging” around was doing serious damage to my ability to keep control of my bodily functions.  I’d say my clit was seriously hurting, but to be honest, it had already been seriously hurting.  This just hurt more, all while turning me on again.  I was caught in a cycle of horrible pain sex. Cum hurt cum hurt cum hurt cum hurt cum hurt cum hurt cum hurt cum hurt.

I hurried to the men’s department and there he was.  I’m not sure if he waiting for me but when he saw me he smiled.  For a second at least.  Then he saw the bulges of the alligator clamps on my nipples, the dangling vibrator that swayed between my legs, and the obvious agony on my face. 

“Are you okay?”

I almost burst into tears.  “Please! You have to fuck me in the ass!  Please!  And then you can take them off!” I said.  I stumbled forward, the stupid vibrator bouncing off my knobby knees and about sending me to floor as sharp flickers of pain shot up through my clit.

He blinked at the outburst even as he reached out and caught me.  He glanced around quickly, but then pulled me forward even as he backed up to the small door immediately behind him.  There was a numbered key pad on the handle and he punched a few of the buttons and then twisted the handle. In seconds I was inside the small store room with him.

It was nothing but shelves and boxes and I reached into my bag.  A pre-lubricated condom pack came out and I handed it to him.  “In my ass,” I whispered. “Hurry.”  The hurry part was due to something outside my control. Another approaching orgasm.  I could FEEL it rising up.  It wasn’t vaginal of course, purely clitoral, but it didn’t matter.  It would still BE an orgasm, and I wanted to have it while this guy’s dick was in my ass.

I bent over a box, flipped my skirt up and heard “Oh My God!” I guess the guy was a little surprised to see all the hardware attached to my parts.  I turned back and looked at him.

“Please! Just fuck me!”

“But…!” his eyes had a wild look.

I whirled around, which was not good for my clit thanks to the swinging weight that ricocheted off my thighs.  I grabbed his belt and ripped it open, tugging down his pants.  When I got to his cock I took the condom from his hand and quickly applied it.  It went on smoothly and I could feel the oil on my finger tips.  Once more I turned around, now closer to climax and gritting my teeth to keep it from overwhelming me.  I bent over and braced myself.  Then I remembered. The fucking ANAL BEADS! 

With a groan I grabbed hold of the wire coming out of my ass.  Then I pulled.  This was NOT a pretty sight and I’m glad my lover didn’t really care.  I tugged them free, pulled the remote from my waist band and through my skirt, and then turned them off.  They fell on the carpeted floor.  Then I resumed my position, bent over, and tried to relax.

Have you ever been fucked up the ass?  Well I have, and this was not my first rodeo either.  Of course, I had never been fucked up the ass while having a long dangling vibrator attached to my clit either.  As the cock pushed up into me and I struggled to relax enough to allow smooth entry, I felt my body tightening.  My fingers reached to my waistband.  I cranked the vibroballs to maximum, just as Master Barrett said I could. 

The worst part was actually the jumbo alligator clamp on my clit.  Fucking while bent over a few boxes means that you’re still upright, and in my case, standing with legs spread.  That meant that every thrust into my ass was immediately accompanied by a forward motion that translated downward to the vibrator clamp hanging from the alligator clamp on my clit.  It would then swing back and forth wildly. 

And I came.  I know, I have trouble believing it too, except for the fact that I was trying, really hard.  If I hadn’t, it would have meant keeping those clamps on until I could find someone else to fuck me in the ass and trying again.  The dangling metal from my clit was like my fingers pinching and pulling on my clit and the buzzing vibroballs were like… well… buzzing vibroballs!  The cock in my ass felt easier to bear after the anal beads and the loss of the vibration actually helped since I was less overstimulated.  I gasped out my cries of completion even as the guy behind me grunted in satisfaction.

I didn’t wait for him to soften.  The moment it was clear he had exploded I pulled away and turned around, eyes pleading.

“Please? Please take them off?” I begged.

He started with my nipples.  I had tugged my shirt up during the fracas and I gritted my teeth as the alligator clamps came off.  A sharp rush of pain came from both breasts and I covered them with my hands, squeezing the nipples as the blood rushed back into the bitten and crushed nubs.  The pain was incredible and not only touched my tips, but sank into my body all the way to my spine.  Then he was between my legs.  I braced my self for him to remove the jumbo alligator clamp on my clit, but instead he began removing the binder clips.  I hissed through these.  Dark red lines were imprinted on both sets of labia, overlaying the bruise blue of my wooden horse ride from two days earlier.  I shook as he took them off, the small chain of the vibrator clamp buried between my petals as they closed.

And then lastly his fingers closed upon the menacing monster chewing on my clit.  Squeezing it open I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.  His crisp white dress shirt and tie were under my hands as I once again stifled a cry.  Pain exploded up from between my legs, overwhelming the vibrations still coming from my pussy.  It was awful.  My clit had been punished so much, to be forced to wear that clamp… those clamps, because truth be told, even the vibrator clamp hurt a bit. 

“Do you want these out?” he asked, tugging slightly on the wire leading to the vibroballs.  I shook my head. 

“No, please leave it in. I have to stay stuffed.  But you can turn it down to low,” I told him.

He nodded, but made no move to take the remote control from the waist band of my skirt.  He held up my assorted hardware and I grinned, holding out my bag.  Everything was deposited back into the bag and I smoothed down my skirt and lowered my shirt back over my breasts.

“I need to get back out on the floor,” he said suddenly.  The condom came off and was dropped into a tiny trash can near the door and he buried it deeply, putting some semi-used napkins over it.  His trousers came back up and he opened the door for me, peaking out quickly to make sure that we were unobserved. 

I didn’t bother hanging around to make small talk, though I could tell he wanted to. Instead I turned my back on him and walked away.  He said “hey, wait!” a couple of times, but I ignored it and went back out into the mall.  For the first time that afternoon the walk was easy, despite the full powered buzzing of the vibroballs.  I had cum too many times for those to have much effect on me.  Sure, they were keeping me wet, but I wasn’t having issues.

“Miss?” I heard a voice.  I turned.  Mall security.

“Yes officer?” I asked politely, hoping that the buzzing I could plainly hear wouldn’t be noticeable to the guard.

“Is there some sort of problem?”

I gave him one of my million watt please fuck me in the ass while I’ve got four pounds of hardware clamped to my pussy.

“Not any more officer.  I’m heading back to my car.  Would you care to give me an escort?”

He did escort me, which I thought was very nice, but I couldn’t help shaking the feeling that I was being unofficially asked to leave property.  Once I got in my truck I pulled the remote out of my waistband, the guard still watching. 

“What is that?” he asked, a little suspiciously to my mind.

I grinned.  “To the sex toy I’m wearing.  I get to turn it off now!” I thumbed the vibroballs down and the never-ending earthquake between my legs finally subsided.  It had been almost four hours.

His shocked expression was delightful.  I wish I had been in a condition to fuck him.  Oh well.  All’s well that end’s well.  And I drove away, sore, tender, and stuffed.


Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 3

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