I may never look at banana bread the same again.

Several weeks ago Mr Stern sent me home with three bananas that were a little past ripe. He instructed me to make banana bread and bring it back to him. Knowing that I would not be able to get around to making the bread before the bananas went completely bad, I put them in my freezer.

And there they sat for at least a month. Mr Stern reminded me, subtly and not so subtly, several times that I owed him a loaf of banana bread. He made sure I got the recipe (which I had left at his house) and that I had time to make the bread, but somehow it never got done. It stayed on my list, but never moved to the top.

This last week he reminded me again. I promised to get the three bananas out of my freezer and turn them into a nice soft loaf of bread by Saturday. In fact, I promised to make the bread and bring it to a party at Curtis and Chloe’s house Saturday night. Mr Stern countered my promise with a threat. If I didn’t make the bread, he would use the bananas for a harshly humiliating triple penetration scene at the party (yes, it was that kind of party).

The fatal mistake on my part was not in forgetting to make the banana bread, it was in not taking Mr Stern seriously.

My week turned out to be not the greatest for getting things done. I was sick early on then spent my one free evening at Mr Stern’s until the wee hours of the morning. Then I booked my Saturday solid. Getting my nails done, visiting a friend and her baby, taking Mr Stern his lunch, socializing with a small group of kinky people, getting my hair cut and colored, and then the party – somehow they were all more important than staying home and making bread.

So it happened that I ended up at Curtis and Chloe’s sans banana bread.

Curtis handed me a margarita as soon as I walked in the door. I took it and sought out Mr Stern to get his approval before I drank it.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Do you have any driving to do in the next hour or so?”

“Not that I know of, Mr Stern. Do I?” I asked, suddenly wary of what I might be in for. It hadn’t hit me yet though.

“Where’s my banana bread?” he asked.

I almost crumpled. I had thought about it a few times during the day but hadn’t made time to get it done. My nails were perfectly red, my hair was cut and colored, I was content with the socializing and networking I had done, but his bread was no further along than it had ever been.

“I didn’t make it,” I said, close to tears.

“How long does banana bread take to make?” he asked, pushing me against a wall at arm’s length so he could see me better.

“An hour and a half or so,” I said. I was almost certain he was going to dismiss me from the party so I could go home and make the bread. I just wanted to cry.

He continued to inquire as to why I hadn’t made the bread and I told him that I had scheduled too many things and that there were other things that I wanted to do. That last bit almost went too far.

“You better tread lightly there, missy,” he said, glaring down at me.

I shrugged. It was the truth. I had been more concerned about doing the things I wanted to do than with making his bread. I had prioritized my list and my preferences had been put first. This was a bad omen for the way things would continue to go for the rest of the evening, though I didn’t see it until the next morning.

Mr Stern debated, with me and others, about sending me to the grocery store for fresh bananas but decided that that would be too easy, especially since I couldn’t non-consensually involve the clerk in my humiliation by explicitly telling him what the bananas were for. The only other option was to send me home for the frozen bananas so he could make good on his threat.

There have been several occasions when Mr Stern has come up with far fetched ideas of things he would like to do to me. Exquisitely painful or humiliating things only he could dream up. I tend to shrug them off as fanciful imaginings and don’t pay much attention because they rarely come true. Such was the case with a triple frozen banana penetration. I had no idea that he would even seriously consider the idea, let alone actually make all the preparations for it to come to fruition.

“I guess the only solution is to send you back home to get the bananas,” he said with finality. I hesitated, whether out of disbelief or exasperation, I’m not sure.

“What are you still doing here?” His voice was harsh enough to catch the attention of another guest. I bowed my head, put my drink down, grabbed my bag and walked out the door.

From Curtis and Chloe’s to my house is a solid thirty minute commute. Shortly after I slammed the car door I turned a Latin dance CD up loud to block out thought. I was fuming mad at myself and didn’t have anywhere to dump the blame. Mr Stern called while I was on my way back to Curtis and Chloe’s, just to check on me. I assured him that I had the three frozen bananas and would be there shortly.

Even after I showed up at their house, greeted Mr Stern, and put the bananas in the freezer, I still held some hope that he would tease me mercilessly but eventually let me off the hook. I rationalized that since he has never put anything in my ass in public, surely he wouldn’t do it this time, especially with a frozen banana.

Sometimes I am so wrong it isn’t even funny.

Mr Stern likes to sing when he knows it will bother me the most. When I am waiting for him to do something especially cruel or unpleasant, he will sing. When he knows I am on the edge of losing my mind with frustration, he will sing.

So it was at the party Saturday night.

Mr Stern told everyone who would listen, and those he didn’t tell directly overheard, the story about his banana bread and my punishment for not making it. He ordered me to tell several people what he was planning to do to me.

“Why did you have to go home right after you got to the party?” he would ask, for the benefit of whoever was hearing the story.

“For your bananas,” I would say.

“How many bananas? Where were they?” he would ask.

“Three. In my freezer,” I would say.

“And what am I going to do with those three frozen bananas as punishment for you not making my bread?” he would ask.

“Put them… places,” I would say, trying to avoid being completely embarrassed.

“Like where, slut?” he would demand.

“My cunt,” I would offer hesitantly.

“That’s one. Where else?” he would persist, usually with his hand in my hair to encourage my compliance.

“My ass and my mouth,” I would finally admit. Whoever was being entertained by this interchange would invariably make some sort of concerned face and express their regret over this eventuality.

This went on for several hours. When a whole new wave of people showed up, fresh from another party, I was forced to repeat the story to half a dozen or so more people. Each time I told it, I got more and more frantic that Mr Stern was actually going to carry through with it.

During the course of all of this humiliation, Mr Stern started singing.

He decided that a slut penetrated by three frozen bananas equaled a “banana slut sundae.” To go along with this he and Rachel somehow came up with the theme song to “The Banana Splits.” Evidently this was a kid’s TV show during the late sixties in America. Seeing how I wasn’t born until the mid-seventies, I’d never seen the show, much less heard the song, but Rachel and Mr Stern conspired to pull it out of somewhere and sing the words they knew.

This quickly devolved to the point where Curtis googled the song and downloaded it to CD. Mr Stern and Rachel were absolutely thrilled and sang out loud with the music. They couldn’t remember most of the words and the sound quality was so bad we couldn’t understand many more of them, but that didn’t stop Mr Stern from deciding that I would be forced to sing the song as I was being molested by the three frozen bananas.

As a warm up to the real thing, he had Curtis put the CD on the stereo in the living room and made me sing along with the chorus, the only part I could understand and carry a tune with. He kept his hand firmly in my hair the entire time to be sure I was doing what I was supposed to. I wasn’t weaseling out of this one.

Then Mr Stern realized that everyone he wanted in attendance was there. Everyone who has come to know me as more than Mr Stern’s shadow was ready to partake in my humiliation: Curtis and Chloe, Rachel and her partner, Frank and Heather, Spencer (the rope guy), Julie, and probably two dozen other people. It seemed like everyone in the kinky community that I’ve had a conversation with over the past year was there.

On Mr Stern’s cue, everyone headed to the dungeon in the basement. He led the way with me following of my own volition. I still held the slimmest hope that he would decide at the last minute that it wasn’t a good idea, but that hope was melting faster than a frozen banana in a slutty wet cunt.

***************

<i>(I dare you to find this song on the internet and listen to it. Then imagine having to hear it at least two dozen times over the course of several hours.)

One banana, two banana, three banana, four
Four bananas make a bunch and so do many more.
Over hill and highway the banana buggies go
Coming on to bring you the Banana Splits show
Making up a mess of fun
Making up a mess of fun
Lots of fun for everyone

Tra la la, la la la la, Tra la la, la la la la
Tra la la, la la la la, Tra la la, la la la la

Four banana, three banana, two bananas, one
All bananas playing in the bright warm sun
Flipping like a pancake, popping like a cork,
Fleagle, Bingo, Drooper and Snork
Making up a mess of fun
Making up a mess of fun
Lots of fun for everyone

Tra la la, la la la la, Tra la la, la la la la
Tra la la, la la la la, Tra la la, la la la la

Two Banana, four banana, one banana, three
Swinging like a bunch of monkeys hanging from a tree
Hey there everybody won’t you come along and see
How much like Banana Splits everyone can be
Making up a mess of fun,
Making up a mess of fun
Lots of fun for everyone

Tra la la, la la la la, Tra la la, la la la la
Tra la la, la la la la, Tra la la, la la la la</i>

I followed Mr Stern towards the stairs to the dungeon downstairs. He stopped short, just past the kitchen, and turned to me.

“Oh no, what did we forget, slut?” he asked in mock forgetfulness.

I just shook my head and smiled tightly.

“The bananas, Mr Stern,” I said, playing along with his game. He was milking the situation for all it was worth.

“You better go get them then… on second thought, let’s wait until we have everything all set up. I don’t want to be fucking you with mushy bananas,” he said. He continued down the stairs, followed by me and several other guests.

Once downstairs he found a location he liked: a padded table against the wall in the main room of the dungeon. It was in front of the stairs, easily seen from all corners of the room, and just big enough for me to lie down on.

“You’re wearing way too many clothes,” he said, grabbing me by the hair sharply and tossing me against the table.

I sighed, almost resigned to my fate by this time, and started unbuttoning my skirt. I still had some doubt, however, that Mr Stern would actually go to the extreme of humiliating me this badly in a public setting. He is usually very reserved about how degrading he will be to me when we are around others, understanding that not everyone sees the eroticism in being made to blush and cry. It seemed that this was to be an exception to his usual stoicism and reserved nature.

The skirt was soon joined by my tank top. I left my panties on for a moment longer than necessary and Mr Stern noticed.

“Oh, like you’re going to need these,” he taunted, pulling them off roughly.

I had my back to the room but could tell by the noise and movements that it was filling fast. Everyone’s voices blended together but they were quiet enough to hear what Mr Stern was saying whenever he spoke to me.

“Get up on the table,” he said, shoving me forward again. I climbed up on the table, half sitting, half kneeling with my face to the wall.

“You know how I want you,” he said, pressing my shoulders down. I had been waiting for his cue but had a pretty good idea of how he wanted me to present myself. I lowered my head and shoulders and raised my ass.

“How do I want you?” he asked, just to make sure I knew and was humiliated by being in that position.

“Head down, ass up,” I said. I was starting to become rather resigned to the fact that I was not getting out of getting fucked by three frozen bananas. It seemed like there was no way out.

“Can somebody tie her up real quick?” he asked, turning to the crowd assembling in the room. I heard Spencer speak up – he has tied me for numerous other painful and embarrassing scenes for Mr Stern. Mr Stern told him to tie me wrists to ankles, just one piece of rope on each side, so I wouldn’t move around too much.

Spencer did an admirable job, and quickly too, making sure that the ropes were tight but not too tight. When he was done he stepped back against the wall and watched Mr Stern unrolling condoms onto the frozen bananas he had fetched. Mr Stern made a few jokes to the other party guests, warming people up to what was going to happen, and made me recite, one last time, what I had done wrong.

Zero hour had arrived. It had been four days since Mr Stern had come up with the idea and it was finally going to happen.

While Mr Stern was talking, I found a bit of courage and opened my eyes. They had been closed since Spencer started tying me and when I saw the number of people watching me, I quickly closed them again. The entire wall opposite me was lined with people. Every one of the guests at the party had dropped what they were doing and gathered to watch the scene. People I had never met, casual acquaintances, and close friends – at least two dozen people were focused on me, my naked cunt, and my ass.

Mr Stern rubbed the first banana against my cunt. I squirmed and complained that it was cold.

“What do you want me to do with the banana, slut?” he asked, laughing at my protestations.

“Fuck my cunt, Mr Stern,” I mumbled. He mimicked my unintelligible response and demanded that I say it loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Fuck my cunt, please, Mr Stern,” I said, projecting as much as I could with the edge of tears on my voice. I really didn’t want to know how bad a frozen banana was going to feel inside me.

Satisfied at my response, he shoved the banana in my cunt.

“It’s a good thing your cunt is all slippery wet. You know what happens when you lick a frozen light pole, don’t you?” he asked. I nodded absentmindedly. The last thing I needed was bits of skin sticking to the banana.

Lucky for me, most of the nerve endings in the vagina are located on the outer one-third, near the opening. That is where it hurt the worst and where I felt the burning cold of the banana. I concentrated on breathing through the pain as Mr Stern continued to make rude comments about the wetness of my cunt to the audience.

As he talked, he started lubing up the second banana and my asshole. His fingers worked steadily over my ass, pressing lube into me while he talked and wiggled the banana in my cunt. I was so humiliated, and so aroused by my humiliation, that his finger in my ass provided a perfect erotic counterpoint to the pain in my cunt.

“What do you want me to do with this one, slut?” he asked then.

His finger was working its way in and out of my ass, I could feel myself relaxing around him, but I was still excruciatingly embarrassed by the thought of him actually putting the banana in there for everyone to see.

“Put it in my ass, Mr Stern,” I said.

“This thing is fucking cold. You better speak up, my hand is starting to hurt,” he said.

“Please, Mr Stern, put it in my ass,” I said.

“You know what? I need a volunteer from the audience. When I put this banana in her ass, I’m going to need someone to hold the one she’s going to deep throat,” Mr Stern said. Presumably he was looking out over the audience as he spoke. I don’t know if anyone raised their hands or if Mr Stern had to chose randomly but he found someone.

“Jason, come on down, you get to hold the third banana,” he said. Jason is Rachel’s partner, someone I know slightly but not intimately.

As Jason made his way over to us Mr Stern asked, in a voice that only I could hear, “Do you want me to push it in or are you going to do it yourself?”

I knew I was going to have to press back against the banana in his hand and slide it into my ass myself or it was going to be ten times worse when he did it. I focused on his voice, and the fact that my Mr Stern was humiliating the fuck out of me in public, relaxed every muscle I possibly could, and started rocking back towards him.

Jason patted my hair as he held the third banana at the ready, waiting for Mr Stern’s command.

The banana in my cunt was fast becoming unbearably painful. I knew I had to get this over with quickly or I was going to end up in a puddle of mushy bananas and messy slut with a very upset Mr Stern on my hands.

I felt the second frozen banana against my asshole and, without much conscious thought, angled my hips and my ass to align myself with it. Mr Stern held it firmly and it started to slide into my ass. He continued to apply ample amounts of lube and work with my motion.

I lost track of thinking then. Instinct and arousal took over as my mind ceased to function at full capacity.

Mr Stern must have told Jason to put the third banana in my mouth at that point. My mouth was already open from breathing deeply and moaning out loud so it wasn’t too hard for Jason to push the banana in. I was in an awkward position though – my neck was bent at a funny angle and I couldn’t adjust to make things more comfortable, tied up as I was. The banana was hitting the roof of my mouth so I wiggled my head to try to turn it the right direction.

Mr Stern held the bananas in my ass and cunt and urged Jason to shove the banana down my throat. Before it even triggered my gag reflex, the banana scraped my hard palate. At that same moment my ass started objecting to the frozen banana on which it was impaled, involuntary muscles started flexing and tightening uncomfortably.

When Jason tried one more time to get the banana into the back of my throat and Mr Stern tried to get the banana in my ass to slide a little bit further in, I lost it. I strained against the ropes on my ankles and wrists, wrenched my head to the other side, and jerked my hips forward.

The sudden motion shoved the first banana out of my cunt and tore the third one out of my mouth. I was drooling and sobbing, my wrists bent at strange angles, as Mr Stern efficiently slid the second banana out of my ass. I heard the bananas hit the trash can and came to rest on my stomach.

Mr Stern stepped back and Rachel and Chloe came forward to pet me and reassure me that I had done a fantastic job. Mr Stern was very direct in telling me, several times, that he was not mad at me for not having made the bread and that this was the end of it. This scene did away with the entirety of the bread incident. He repeated over and over that he was incredibly proud of me for having gone through this and I was his slut.

I choked back my tears and allowed myself to feel the warmth and affection of Mr Stern, Chloe, Rachel, and Jason. I honestly don’t know what everyone else in the room did at that point – I don’t know if they left, or stayed to watch the aftermath, or started their own conversations. I wasn’t paying attention and could have cared less. I had pleased Mr Stern and that was all that mattered.

Never in a million years would I ever have dreamed that I would be forced to endure a triple penetration by frozen bananas at the hands of a man with whom I am madly in love. Just two years ago I didn’t know people did such things. But now here I am living it and loving it and always wanting more.