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 Vol. 8

Tales of a NHPS 8


Don’t Slip
Comedy Night
Hot, Buzzing, and Clamped
Just Sweet
Laps With Sarah
Vibrating With Sarah
Cumming and Going
78 – No More, No Less
One Orgasm Too Many
78 – Edges
Extreme Halloween



My mother frequently told me while growing up that dressing in layers was the appropriate thing to do when the weather wasn’t perfect outside. I spent countless winter mornings at elementary school stripping. First came the heavy coat, then the stupid sweater; underneath that would be my long sleeve shirt, followed by my short sleeve shirt.  Was I warm getting to school? Hell yes. I cooked. And it was clearly overkill, but it was a lesson that has severed me well later in life.

Like yesterday.  It was in the low sixties that April morning and while the weather was expected to be pretty decent, and the temperature to rise to the mid-eighties by the afternoon, that morning it was still pretty chilly thanks to the wind blasting up from the south.  Now normally I handle days like this simply.  Blue jeans cover everything from the waist down, while a tee shirt and a long sleeve shirt go under my duster.  Then as I heat up during the day, I peel off the duster first, then MAYBE the long sleeve shirt.  That’s a toss-up because I’m also trying to get rid of my farmer’s tan.

But yesterday morning was just a little different for me thanks to a private message I got from Master Mark.  It came just in the nick of time too. I’ve been going crazy with chores, and all work and no play makes for a really shitty day.  I needed a simple, easy assignment, with immediate rewards and plenty of risk.  Master Mark made it an all-day assignment and that meant a new sex toy the moment I crawled out of bed.

I tugged free the ben wa balls that I’d been wearing since the previous morning, giving them a sweet lick before setting them aside.  Master Mark had inquired what my schedule was like for that Monday morning and I had explained that I was planting.  Planting is not one of my favorite things to do since it involves sitting for hours on the tractor, driving generally in a straight line while the seed drill does the planting.  The only excitement comes when you get to the end of a row and have to actually turn the wheel.  So without going into much more detail, it sucks.

And not the good kind of suck where I’m half naked and bent over someone’s cock while someone is paddling me from behind.

I dug through my toy box and pulled out the particular object Master Mark had requested. I don’t wear use it often, or I suppose often enough, mostly because I’m not terribly fond of having things up my bottom.  Double dildos are not exactly comfortable.  But I did my duty and started off by lubing both rubber probes with grapeseed oil and then set them gently on my desk chair.  It wasn’t much of a challenge to get them both in, the thick rubber base connecting them made sure they were in the right spots.  With seven inches of rubber up front and a good five inches in my rear, I felt rather stuffed.  I pulled up my panties, securing the dildos in their little love nests and went for the next item Master Mark had asked me to wear.

If you’ve never seen a clitoral stimulator, I feel sorry for you. Every woman should have one, especially if she’s a nympho humiliation pain slut like me.  Mine is simply a butterfly shaped plastic vibrator, complete with straps to hold it in place, which fits directly over your clit.  Mine also happens to be big enough to get a good portion of my labia too, so you can just imagine how that feels.  I ignored the wire and the small remote control for a moment, and went fishing in my drawer for the next layer.

I pulled out a pair of spandex pants, tugging them up and over my stuffed butt and letting the elastic material tightly press both the butterfly and the double dildos firmly in place.  Then I grabbed a pair of simple running shorts and put those on over the spandex.

My jeans and socks went on next, followed by a bra, a tee shirt, and an over shirt.  I was already too warm and perspiration was starting to bead up on my forehead.  I hurried down stairs, grabbed my coat and boots and headed out to the barn.

You might think that the first thing I would do would be to start my chores, but instead I plucked the tiny remote to the butterfly clitoral vibrator out of my jeans pocket and I turned it on to its lowest setting.  Almost immediately I felt a wave of sexual tension blast through me.  I’d been sexually stagnant over the weekend, mostly thanks to doing family things, and while I’d masturbated once or twice, I was still just a little hornier than usual.

But I’ve dealt with vibration before, and despite the fact that it was centered directly on my clit, I managed to take a deep breath, swallow my need, and start my chores.  The cool air outside was just enough to keep me from overheating and I spent that first hour trying very hard not to cum and to get everything on my list done. But I’m going to admit that the butterfly is one of those toys that I have some trouble with.  It’s not the worst by any means, but usually I can’t stand it that long.  An hour is actually an impressive time span, and that came from working hard at disgusting chores, trying to keep my mind off sex.

But by the time six o’clock rolled around my clit felt like it had a front row seat for a Californian earthquake and I was so close to the edge of orgasm that I finally shrugged my shoulders and gave in. 

Clutching a nearby fence railing with a bucket of goat feed in one hand, I let out a little wail of ecstasy and stood there shaking as my loins decided to see oneness with the sex gods.  It was a clitoral orgasm, despite my sex clenching tight around the dildo stuffed up my slit, and I admit that the one in my butt sort of felt good too, but it still made me a tad bit sensitive.

I took a deep breath, straightened up, removed my coat and went about my business though.  I didn’t turn down the butterfly either, keeping it right at its lowest setting.  That didn’t do my clit any good and by the time another forty minutes had rolled around my loins felt like I’d started to rub them the wrong way.  I popped again, this time pressing my palm against the base of the dildos and working my hips up and down. It felt great, but immediately left me with a problem.  What article of clothing to remove?  I knew that I’d be eating breakfast with my family twenty minutes later, and would look odd if I showed up in just a tee shirt.

So I peeled off my jeans.  No! I didn’t choose my jeans. Instead the running shorts got tugged free and I pulled my jeans back on, then pushed my toes back into the boots.  Gotta be smart about things, right?  With a grin and another hip wiggle (thanks to the still buzzing butterfly,) I finished up my chores and headed inside.

I was able to turn off the butterfly for the duration of breakfast, which gave me a needed break and kept me from having to make some interesting explanations for the strange sound emanating from my jeans.  An hour later I excused myself, headed out to the barn, turned on the butterfly, and hooked up the seed press to the tractor.  I got the hopper loaded and made sure everything was working right, and then proceeded out into the brilliant southern Texas spring sunshine.

The day was already warming up quickly and I headed toward the south fields were I was planning on doing the planting.  The tractor rumbling along did some strange things to the double dildos and I almost felt like they were vibrating right along with the butterfly.  As I got the tractor into position I ignored the sensations coming from my depths and the ones from the clit and instead tried to focus on what I was actually trying to accomplish: planting.  That kept me distracted until I started doing the first few rows and by the time I hit my fifth turn I was paying more attention to my pussy than my planting.

The orgasm hit me hard, sort of like getting smacked in the stomach with a bowling ball.  Or maybe getting kicked between the legs. I’m not sure.  But regardless of the metaphorical description, I came and came hard.  I stopped the tractor as I blew through my limits and shuddered to a halt.  Once again I was forced to take stock of my clothing situation and since the sun had warmed things up nicely, I peeled my long sleeve shirt off my back and tossed it into my canvas sack.  Ignoring the fact that I was leaving the butterfly on to continue its sweet and horrible torment of my clit, I started up the tractor and concentrated on driving in a straight line.

Sensitivity became a problem about thirty or forty minutes later as the constant rubbing of my clit went from “this is a damned erotic thing, more please,” to “oh… this is a super damned erotic thing and it kind of hurts. More please.”  By now pretty much everyone knows that I’m a pain slut.  Break my arm and I’m not interested.  Whip me between the legs and I’m yours for life.  So you might understand the psychological imperfections in my makeup that make “over-sensitizing” my clit something of a desirable outcome.

It took another thirty minutes before my nerves were frayed and I only barely managed to hit the break in time before I blew a gasket and exploded. I sat there, clutching the steering wheel, trembling, my thighs pressed tightly together, bouncing up and down like a five year old on a trampoline, all while my clit was being slowly abraded.

Part of me longed to remove my tee shirt.  The temperature was now in the mid-seventies and climbing. I was sweating and it was hot in the direct sunlight.  The cab’s small roof wasn’t enough to keep me from getting cooked.  But since I was only an hour or so away from heading back to the house for lunch, I instead idled the tractor, climbed out, and removed my boots and jeans, only to tug loose the spandex shorts I was wearing. 

Losing the spandex shorts felt good, if only because it lightened the load and kept the butterfly from pressing as tightly against my clit and labia as it had been.  I put my jeans and boots back on, climbed back up into the tractor, and went on my way, trying very hard not to think about the still buzzing torment between my legs.

Lunch rolled around and I almost had another orgasm before getting home and only the timely intervention of me stepping into the house and being given the opportunity to turn off the butterfly kept me from removing another article of clothing.  I ate slowly, chewing through my roast beef sandwich, pickle, and chips with a sort of “last meal” attitude.  Mom kept giving me weird glances while my father smirked in a conspiratorial way.  Clearly he had checked my twitter feed that morning.

Finally I couldn’t hold off any longer. I pushed my plate away.

“I’m going to go finish, but I won’t be staying for dinner.  Thought I’d go out tonight,” I said softly.
My mom smiled. Her hope is that I find a nice man, preferably a farm guy, who would sweep me off my feet, marry me, and move in to take care of the farm with me. 

She doesn’t know that my hope is to find a cruel, creative, sadistic man, who would sweep me off my feet, tie me to his kitchen table and beat me between the legs with a leather sap.  They’re not incompatible dreams, just not likely ones.

As soon as I went outside I turned the butterfly back on and twenty minutes later I was in the throes of orgasm down on the south field, bucking like crazy.  I yanked off my tee shirt, leaving me wearing a bra, panties, blue jeans, socks, and boots.  I drove another twenty or so lines, finishing off another acre, only to shudder to a stop with another orgasm.

The sun was now coming down from the west and it was hot.  We were easily into the eighties and I reached behind my back to remove the bra.  My breasts came free, the nipples hard and pointed, more from the exposure than any serious temperature change.  I reached up and flicked my nipples once or twice, just to feel the little shudder, and then started driving again.

My hips got to a point where I couldn’t sit still.  My buttocks clenched tightly around the anal probe while my pussy contracted repeatedly around the vaginal phallus. And through it all my clit just sat there under the constant, non-stop arousal of the butterfly.  It was near three when I popped again, this time removing my jeans and leaving me driving the tractor half nude, wearing just my panties, boots, and socks.

Another forty minutes managed to leave me sockless and as I turned the tractor and headed for home, I popped again, just from hitting a few deep ruts in the roadway.   Still shuddering, I pulled up behind the barn wearing nothing but a cute pair of bikini cut panties, light blue in color, with some rather unique and probably disturbing protuberances quite visible.  After I got the seed drill disconnected and put away and wiped down the front of the tractor, I was just about going crazy.  Standing there barefoot, in just my panties, wiping down the truck I tried to hold off, really.  I bit my lip. I pinched my arm.  I thought about mucking out stalls.  None of it helped and just as I finished getting the tractor cleaned off I slid to the ground twitching from the final orgasm of my work day.

Carefully, and just a little sex dazed, I tugged my panties down and groped for the butterfly remote.  I was on my last legs to be honest and lying there naked, with just a pink plastic butterfly sitting over my sex, all I could think of was stopping the sensation.  I was tingling. I was sore.  And worse, I was still desperate.  I turned off the butterfly with relief and sagged down against the massive back wheel of the tractor.

But now I had a problem. I was naked.  Literally naked.  Master Mark had been rather specific.  I was to permanently remove an article of clothing for every orgasm and at the end of the day I was to head to the nearest bar and order a drink.  I climbed to my feet and looked down at myself. At least I had avoided the punishments Master Mark had specified.  If I had even another hour of work things could have been a lot worse.

I stared out at my truck through the open door of the barn and bit my lip.  Me showing up au natural at the local cowboy bar was going to create quite a stir.  But I shook my head.  It wasn’t enough.  I turned back into the barn and turned the butterfly on, pretending to accidentally moving the setting to its highest level.  As my loins suddenly rumbled back into arousal, I began sweeping the barn.
The orgasm hit me just ten minutes later and went back to the canvas bag and tugged out my alligator clamps.  With those in hand I put up the broom, grabbed my bag, and made a run for my truck.  I got there with no outcry from the house, so I figured my mom hadn’t seen me streaking.  I climbed into the truck, gunned it and spun out, gravel flying.  Then I raced south along on the gravel driveway out to the farm to market road which run past our property.

My butterfly was finally silent, but I left it on, knowing that it would provide just enough coverage to keep me from too much trouble.  I hung the remote from one of the straps and with my alligator clamps in hand, drove.  Fifteen minutes later, just before the six thirty mark, pulled up into the mostly empty lot of the bar.

It wasn’t the ice house, but one of the country places I visit regularly enough to be well known.  I sat in the truck, trying to gather the courage for what was coming next. I pulled my fuck me high heels out of the canvas bag and slipped them on my feet.  A little bit of scooting managed to give me the flexibility needed to pull out the double dildos.  Empty, wanting, and wet, I lifted the alligator clamps and set them to chewing on my nipples.

I got out with a firm breath and walked across the parking lot to the door.  I stepped in, feeling the cool air of the bar wrap around me.  Music was playing from the jukebox and I walked straight up to the bar.

There were about eight or nine people in the bar, counting the bar tender and only one was a woman.  She looked at me in surprise, as did the men, and I pulled a few dollars out of my small purse that I had dangling from my wrist and asked for beer.  The bartender, whose eyes were glued to my breasts and the alligator clamps attached firmly to my nipples, almost spilled the beer.

I took a swig and then held the cold bottle to both nipples in turn, even as the most daring of the men there drinking came up.

“That’s a novel outfit,” he said to me with a grin.

I nodded. “It saves time.”

He pointed at my breasts.  “That’s a nice piece of jewelry.”

“It’s better if you tug on it a little,” I replied.

“I can handle that.”

“Good, because I’ve been cumming and going all day.”

He laughed. “I can imagine.  What about tonight?”

I grinned.  This was exactly what I wanted. I turned around and leaned backward against the bar, putting myself on complete display.  Every eye was on my body, my sex only barely concealed by the plastic butterfly.  I lifted the remote, turned it to maximum, and lifted the bottle of beer to my lips. I gave the man a smile and replied with a grin. “I can cum again today.  Just let me finish my beer.”

And he bought me another before I went home with him.



For your toy of the day, you will wear your double dildos and your butterfly clitoral stimulator (on low.)  The goal is not to orgasm. You may turn off the butterfly while around family. Should you accidentally cum for any reason, you will remove, permanently for the day, one article of clothing.  At the end of your work day, you will get in your truck and proceed to the nearest bar, and order a drink.  Wear your high heels.  Should you be unfortunate enough to get to the point where you are wearing nothing at all, you will begin attiring yourself with your alligator clamps, jumbo alligator clamp (under your butterfly of course), breast bindings, and nipple clamp weights.  I leave it to you to decide what and when.

Good luck,

Master Mark


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