Sunday, October 20, 2019

The Green Dress - Part 5

When I climbed out of my jeep that evening, the sweet scent of jasmine filled the air, the sky was full of scarlet and gold, and I was experiencing my own personal earthquake.
Generally, the United States Geological Survey keeps a pretty close eye on seismic movements, but since it’s been close to twelve years since I last fucked someone with even aspirations of becoming a geologist, I’m pretty sure that no one from the government was aware of the pear sized sex toy that was shaking violently in my sex. It was purple, not that they’d be able to see it, since they’d need a speculum or a serious sense of perversion to tell what color it might be. But I could sure as hell feel it as my pussy tightened around the rolling, buzzing egg in rhythmic spasms, quickly working myself into a froth.
The control fob (since the damn thing was wireless) was in my right hand. To be honest, it was just a little unusual for me to be in possession of the thing. Kari, my best friend, lover, mistress, and employer, all rolled into one, had held onto it for almost the entire day, tormenting me on and off as she saw fit. A number of orgasms, none of them authorized and all of them resulting in some sort of additional sexual torture “termed” as punishment, had left me both wanton and desperately deviant. 
But that is the nature of a nympho humiliation pain slut.
I walked slowly across the parking lot, my bag bouncing against my leg. My reduced speed wasn’t because I wanted the vibrating egg to have more time to push me into an orgasm. Nor was it because of the slutty green dress I was wearing, which threatened to dump my breasts out into the warm, muggy air. It had more to do with the duck billed clamp which was still clinging to my clit, and the swinging, spiked beads that dangled off the clamp. The beads started off small and got larger as they went down, so that the largest, most spiniest, was positioned right between my thighs. Standing upright, this made walking an interesting proposition, and considering the five inch black stilettos I was wearing, a slow, methodical process.
Oh. Try doing it with a vibrator going nuts inside you too. 
Sitting down, the beads had been even more intolerable. Not only was I unable to truly close my legs properly, but the smaller beads had a tendency to work their way between my labia, digging the spikes and spines into my sensitive skin. Admittedly, it was a tease – a horrible, awful tease – and the resulting lubrication kept me wet and dripping. 
Of course the spikes weren’t the only torments exciting me. Had you tugged up the back side of the green dress, exposing my panty-less rump, you would have caught sight of a jeweled butt plug, another “punishment” from Kari for an accidental orgasm. Tugging my bodice downward would have revealed a pair of square shaped clamps, locked firmly over each nipple, and only barely concealed by the dress itself. 
So yes. My personal earthquake was quite an event. Sorry you USGS guys missed it. Next time put one of your seismic sensors up my ass. 
I was parked in front of a downtown high rise and despite the evening hour there were still plenty of people who did a doubletake as I approached the front entrance. Late workers heading home, a few contractors getting set up to do whatever it was they did, everyone had time to look over at the redheaded fuck slut in her stupid high heels and the dress that barely covered her ass…ets. And imagine… they didn’t even know about the vibrating egg, or the clamps, or the spikey beads!
I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the worst as I opened the glass door and stepped inside. Earlier that day I’d had a little bit of an accident in that very lobby and the resulting splatter of cum had resulted in security getting way too much information about me. I half expected to see the same security officer standing at the desk, but to my sense of relief, it was a different man.
I walked purposefully across the lobby, but our eyes met and I saw cold, stark recognition. He knew who I was. He knew I was the slut who had literally orgasmed while standing in front of the elevators, leaving an intriguing pattern of girl goo on the floor. My cheeks heated up instantly and I probably could have boiled water on the tip of my nose, I was so humiliated.
Yet, neither of us said a word. I thought the vibrator between my legs was very loud, but I made it to the elevator without opposition or comment. I pressed the button and a moment later I stepped into relieved silence as I whizzed upward, my elevation actually meeting my sexual heights as I climbed the mountain path toward another climax. The elevator dinged and I saw that I’d reached my intended floor, so I shouldered my bag and stepped out into the hall.
The law firm I was visiting that evening was well known, so don’t expect me to name it. I was scheduled to meet one of the junior partners in order to collect some measurements for Kari, who had been hired to re-design and execute new ergonomics and add some artistic flair to their lobby, hallways, and breakrooms. In fact, we had both sat there that morning for preliminary discussions between her and a man named Jason Cavanaugh. Of course, while they’d talked art styles, Mr. Cavanaugh’s junior partner was putting his hand up my dress, checking to see if I’d been wearing panties. 
Instead, I’d had the duck billed clamp on, the one with the beads. And he’d liked that fact.
I knocked on the glass door. The receptionist was already gone for the day and the lights were out. Still, there was illumination pouring out from the hall doorway, and as I stood there, pussy still quivering, nipples throbbing, legs spread wider than was proper, I wondered if John Parsons, Mr. Cavanaugh’s junior partner, would be there alone. I saw a shadow appear, which then became the man himself.
John Parsons was tall, lean, with a full head of dark hair and a winsome smile. I had noticed a wedding band on his left hand earlier that day, but it was missing now. Besides, it wasn’t my place to keep a person’s vows and fidelity. I gave him a beaming smile and a little wave as he came up and quickly unlocked the door.
“Hello Miss Breanne,” he said warmly as I stepped into the office. 
“Good evening, Mr. Parsons,” I replied. “And please, call me ‘Bre’.” I felt my cheeks heating up and I hoped it looked pretty. “Thank you for being willing to let me come in this evening to get measurements,” I added. 
He waved his hand. “Of course. It’s not a problem. I had a few things I needed to attend to anyway.”
I glanced around. It didn’t seem like anyone else was there. I cleared my throat. “If you don’t mind, is there a place I can change outfits? I’m going to be crawling about on the floor and in this dress I’d be flashing my goodies everywhere.” I gave him an embarrassed grin.
“I wouldn’t mind at all,” he replied, though whether it was to showing me a place to change, or me flashing my goodies, I didn’t know. However he led me back down the hallway, into the light. We bypassed a number of offices and the same conference room we’d met in earlier that day, and I found myself in a spacious room against the glass panes of the tower, looking out over downtown. It was impressive. There was a large desk, a round table in the corner, lots of bookshelves and law books, and even a small sofa. The overhead lights were off and instead the illumination came from two smaller lamps. “You can change here,” Mr. Parsons said, gesturing around.
I put my bag down on the table. John Parsons made no effort to leave and instead stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes smoldering. Our eyes met and the sexual tension rose dramatically. So I gave him what he wanted.
I started by turning away from him. When doing a strip tease you never just strip. No, you need to tease. Tantalize. Torment even. So as I slowly unzipped the dress he got a really good view of my back. The bodice fell away from my breasts and I wrapped an arm across them as I turned once, pirhouetting for him. By the time the green material fell away from my hips I was already facing the other direction again. He got to see my well rounded, jewel plug stuffed ass. I swayed a bit, but then I turned once more, dropping my arm, revealing myself to him. I cocked a hip as his eyes widened, and I knew he was staring at the clamps on my breasts. He eyefucked me up and down, finding the clamp on my clit, and the spiked beads. 
“That sound,” he said softly, inquisitively. “A vibrator?”
I nodded. I fished the fob out of my bag and held it up. “Do you think I’m a naughty girl for having it in me?” I asked.
He grinned. “Definitely.”
“Naughty girls deserve to be punished,” I said simply.
“Do you need to be punished?” He asked.
I shrugged and looked upward. “I’m being naughty, aren’t I?”
“Absolutely. What sort of punishment do you think is appropriate?” 
He was fishing. I knew it. This was tantamount to asking how far he could go. I licked my lips and closed the distance between us. “A spanking? Your belt being whipped against my pussy and my bottom and my breasts? You making me taking Kari’s measurements naked, humiliated as I crawl around on the floor? Spreading myself open on your desk? Getting fucked at the window, my clamped breasts against the glass?” I half-expected a look of shock on his face, but instead he just looked hungry. I could see him mulling it all over.
“Or all of the above,” I finished. I stepped close to him and pressed my naked body against his, my hands going down to the bulge in his pants. I felt his rock hard cock under the material and rubbed it eagerly. 
He smiled. “In any particular order?”
I stepped back and leaned against the desk, looking younger and naughtier and more sexual. “On the contrary, it’s your choice,” I purred. 
John Parsons began to undo his belt. “Then,” he said pragmatically, pulling me over toward the sofa, “let’s begin with that spanking.”
He sat down, dragging me across his lap. I lay there, his knees against my side. His left hand came up under my breast, teasing my nipple and squeezing the soft flesh, even as his other hand began rubbing my bottom back and forth. His right hand came up off my rump and my breath caught. The first swat was light, a love tap, and when I only moaned in pleasure, wiggling my little ass seductively, he managed a stronger blow. 
“Mmmmmm,” I hummed as the third spank landed. I looked back over my shoulder at him, a teasing expression on my face. “You know, I’m a much naughtier girl than that.” 
John laughed, rubbing my bottom enthusiastically. “Oh? Do you like it harder?”
I grinned. “I like everything harder.”
The next swat was more like it and it stung this time, turning to a soft, pulsing heat as I gasped. My thighs bounced against his legs, my pussy clenching around the vibrator. My hips began thrusting and another spank caught my left buttock, pushing it upward from below. I let out a hissing coo and wriggled again.
“Ow!” John gasped, pushing me half off him. “What the hell?” 
I slid to the floor and saw him rubbing his leg. I blinked. “Oh! The beads!” I exclaimed. I put a hand on his leg and gave him a pained look. “I’m sorry!” I climbed to my feet, spreading my legs wide in front of him, and he got his first good look at the spiked and spiny beads dangling from my clitoris. 
“It’s alright,” he said. “I don’t think I’m bleeding or anything.” He grinned. “A booby trap?” 
I cupped my clamped breasts. “These are my boobies,” I said smugly. “The beads are meant to torment me. They constantly prick my pussy and keep me…” I paused meaningfully. “Sensitive.” I thrust my hips forward and put my slit within a fingerbreadth of John’s hand and he reached up. 
“Well, I don’t think we need these on while I’m punishing you,” he said assuredly. His fingers touched the clamp and I gasped as he pinched it open, freeing my clitoris. “And as for the vibrator, you’re going to have something else inside you shortly.” He put the clamp down on the side table next to the couch, and then ran his hand between my legs again. I groaned as he slid his thumb into my pussy, snagging the loop of the egg, drawing it out. I turned off the vibrator with the control fob, and then handed it to him as he tugged the toy out of my sex. He dumped it wetly on the floor, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me back across his lap. I let out a laugh. 
This time he played with the jeweled butt plug, teasing it, pulling it half-way out and pushing it back in for a moment before he began the actual spanking. Without the vibrator inside me, I came down a few levels of intensity, but as the stinging heat spread across my posterior, the wetness of pussy didn’t diminish in the least. As the discomfort rose to a point where I was panting, I could feel the hardness of his cock against my ribs. John’s hand flew, smacking my ass with faster and harder blows. My high heels kicked in the air and I squirmed across his lap until he slipped his fingers into my slit, going deep, right up to the knuckle.  
I cried out in utter pleasure, which was what he wanted to hear. For almost a minute I wriggled like a fish on a hook, his fingers inside me, curling and fucking me. I could feel my orgasm building, coming straight at me, and I was quite verbal in my appreciation. Then he pulled his fingers out of me, wiped his hand off on my bare ass, and pushed me to the floor. Panting, desperate, I looked up at him as he stood up. He began unbuckling his belt, his eyes flashing with need, so I twisted and slid onto my back, opening up and grabbing my legs behind the knees. It was an obscene, lewd position, offering my perfect, well sauced goodies to him. Our eyes met, though he kept glancing down at my breasts and pussy.
“Please sir? Whip my pussy with your belt?” I begged him.
He took it off, taking ahold of it so that the last ten inches formed a nice sap-like paddle, but the next twenty strokes he gave me were more like love taps than real punishment. My clit swelled and I gasped and squealed enough to make him happy, all the while wishing that Kari was there to truly punish me. When she whips my sex, it burns. Still, the leather of John Parson’s belt kissed my pussy, flattening my petals and making my clitoris tingle until I was moaning and thrusting my hips in desperation. I wanted him to hit me harder. I needed him to be more forceful, when he grabbed my wrist and yanked me upright. I balanced on my knees and looked up at him, mouth open, waiting.
“Now,” he ordered, “cup your breasts.”
I knelt before him, cupping my clamped breasts. Each pierced nipple was caught in an impressive bar type clamp, squeezing the delicate nubs and making me incredibly conscious of how they felt. The clamps weren’t tight enough to hurt, but they were uncomfortable, and I could feel the light throb of my heart trying to push blood through the compressed tips. John took the last few inches of his belt and began striking my breasts, right over the clamps. It bent my nipple painfully and I groaned. I turned my face to look away as he smacked my breast and I winced as the pain began to overwhelm me. 
Just when I neared my breaking point, he dropped the belt, flinging it away and struggled with his trousers. I kept my hands on my breasts, not daring to move without orders, but wanting to help. Then his cock, hard and erect, seemed to leap from his boxers, smacking my cheek. I didn’t need to be told what to do. I opened my mouth and began sucking.
He tasted like clean soap and the earthy scent of warm skin. He was a little above average in cock length too and I found the tip of his shaft banging into the back of my throat as I bobbed my head eagerly. I let go of my breasts, one hand coming up to caress his scrotum as my other found the base of his dick, squeezing it and massaging it. He put a hand on my head, more for support than to control my movements. I licked him up and down, along the sides and around the tip, teasing the edges of his circumcised head. I heard him groan, but I didn’t want him coming in my throat. I wanted his cock in my cunt. It was time to take charge. I pulled my head back and grabbed hold of his cock.
“I need you, sir.” It was a whisper of promise and from the flushed coloring on his face, I knew he’d do exactly what I wanted. Still holding his shaft, I grabbed a condom from my bag and I put it on him, stroking his rod eagerly. Then I turned toward the credenza against the glass windows. I bent over, looking out of the building, my nudity blatant and obvious, and pressed my breasts against the cool glass. 
John Parsons stripped off his pants and boxers, moved up behind me and slid himself into my pussy. 
“Ohhhh,” I moaned. “Yes. Fuck me hard please?” I begged him. His balls slapped against my bottom, his thrusts getting more and more frenzied. I groaned, loving every second of it. He held onto my hips. Then, much to my surprise, he grabbed me, turning me around, his cock pulling out. He pushed me to the floor, onto my back, and followed me down. In seconds his shaft was back in my pussy, him on top of me, fucking me stupid on the floor of his office. 
“Yes!” I cried out. “Harder!” I yelled. I know its cliché. But there are certain expectations when you’re a fucking nympho humiliation pain slut. I wrapped my arms and legs around him and a moment later, he grunted strongly, thrusting hard into my loins. His cock jerked inside me and I felt the pulse as he let loose. The condom held it all though, and he gasped, pulling out and falling backward.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, clearly winded. 
Me? I was still heavily aroused. I sat up wanting more. I looked at him, a sinking feeling already spreading through my chest. John Parsons was probably done for the night. 
Slowly I stood up. I gave him a warm smile as I went back to the couch. I grabbed his trousers, then picked up his boxers, and took them to him. He had moved to the office chair and was sitting there with a silly smile on his face. 
“That was incredible,” he said. I gave him a kiss.
“Absolutely.” I turned and went back to my bag. I pulled out a skimpy little set of shorts and a tee shirt that declared I was a “whore in training.” Then I grabbed the egg toy from where it was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa. I sat down, spread my legs obscenely, and stuffed it back in. Parsons watched, his eyes wide. 
“So you, uh… have that thing in you all the time?”
I laughed and shook my head. “God no,” I replied. “It’s something different each day. Otherwise I’d get used to it.” I let out a little groan as the egg settled. Then I found the clamp with the spiky beads. 
“So that’s what I was feeling when you came by earlier today,” he said, leaning forward. “What’s that for?”
I took a deep breath. “To torment me. The spikes are constantly poking and pricking my pussy. It keeps me wet and makes me move in a more graceful manner. It’s maddening and makes me want to touch myself, or offer myself up to be touched.”
“I approve,” he said, grinning. 
I sighed. “Except it's not as much fun when you’re wearing shorts!” I said dramatically, shaking out the clothing I’d brought. “Can’t really do the measurements in a dress, but when this gets tight it jams the beads into my pussy.”
Mr. Parsons looked quite concerned. “Doesn’t that hurt?” He asked.
I nodded. “Absolutely. But I think that’s the point, isn’t it?”
He blinked. “You are quite the young lady,” he said finally. I stood up and pulled the shorts up to my waist. Just as I predicted, the crotch came up, pressing the beads firmly between my petals. I tightened up around the egg, gasping softly, and then buttoned things up. Next I pulled the shirt over my head and covered up my breasts, leaving the square shaped clamps on my breasts. 
I grabbed my bag and pulled out a notepad and my tools, including the laser level. Mr. Parsons slipped back into his boxers and trousers, pulling them up.
“Do you need me for anything?” He asked curiously. I shook my head. 
“Not really. Unless you want to watch me crawl around on my hands and knees, taking measurements and notes, all while trying not to move to fast or too much with all this…” I gestured to my shorts, or more accurately, what was under the shorts, “sending me into sexual apoplexy.”
John Parsons let out a laugh and walked over toward me. He picked up the small control fob that went to my egg toy. “Watching you crawl around, trying not to explode, sounds like a perfect way to spend the evening,” he replied. I smiled and turned. I didn’t even make it to the door before the vibrator inside me turned on.
I stopped and looked back at him. 
“You know, there’s one measurement I’ll definitely have to get,” I said in teasing voice. His eyebrow arched.
“And that is?”
I grinned. “Just how long your amazing cock is. Will you be willing to get it out again when I’m done with everything else?”
Jon Parsons laughed. “For you? Absolutely. But afterward, can I take you out for a drink? And will you wear the green dress for me?”
I smiled, warm and light and fun. “Sir, I’ll wear anything you want.” I walked out into the hall, leaving him to stare at my sweet, spanked little ass. “Or nothing at all.”

The End (of this tale!)

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Saturday, October 12, 2019

The Green Dress - Part Four

The keys to the office door rattled in my hand as I knelt down, bending over to unlock the heavy glass door. I never understood why the lock was at the bottom of the door itself, in the most inconvenient of places. It almost always required me to get on my knees, presenting my ass, which provided Kari with plenty of opportunity to get a good look up the back of my dress as I unwillingly flashed my goods to the entire freaking atrium.
Of course the green dress I was wearing was half of that problem.
As the key turned I quickly put my other hand on my bosom, trying to keep my breasts from falling out of the dress’ bodice. The lock clicked and I tugged my key loose, only to rock back and see Kari’s smirk of satisfaction looking down at me.
I frowned back up at her.
She was nice enough to help me to my high heel clad feet, the black stilettos making my back ache. For a second she held me close to her, enjoying the softness of my body pressed to hers, the fruity scent of my perfume, and the fact that I was sexually suffering, just for her. I felt her hand curl over my flank, cupping my ass.
“Does it feel good?” She asked, her voice husky as she gave my rump a nice, hard squeeze.
I swallowed. “My ass? Which you whipped with a belt just twenty minutes?” I asked acidly. But then I decided that this needed a multiple choice answer. “The clamps on my nipples? Or the one on my clit with the spiked beads hanging from it? Or are you asking about the vibrating egg you’ve got jammed up my twat?”
Kari seemed to be amused by my sullen and spirited resistance. “Yes,” she breathed, selecting “all of the above.” I sighed and turned away from her, pulling myself out of her grip. I grabbed the door and yanked it open.
“Good isn’t what I’d call it,” I muttered, but loud enough for her to hear as I stepped aside, holding the door open, giving my mistress, lover, best friend, and boss right of way. Kari walked through, her long step elegant and feminine. She glanced at me.
“What would you call it then?” She asked in a teasing voice.
“Torture?” I opted. It was just a wild ass guess, but a good one.
Kari laughed again. “Oh dearheart, you don’t know what torture is, if that’s what you’re going to call what I’ve done to you today.”
I let the door close behind me, making sure it didn’t hit me on the ass. I dumped my purse on my small desk and looked at her, my hands on my hips. “Kari, you forced me into cumming in the lobby of a downtown high rise, splattering the floor and humiliating me in front of the security guard. Then you shamelessly put me in a situation where our client has every expectation of fucking me stupid this evening. After that, you took me out for lunch, which admittedly was delicious, except you constantly played with the vibrator control, making my sexual distress obvious to everyone sitting within fifteen feet. And then, after denying me an orgasm there at the restaurant, you took me to a parking lot, stripped me naked, whipped my bottom with a belt, all while cooking my breasts on the hood of your car.”
She shrugged. “You had an orgasm, didn’t you? Are you complaining?”
I glared at her. “No,” I replied. “But I don’t want to get into an argument about semantics with you.”
Kari smiled. “Indeed. I would hardly challenge a wordsmith such as you.”
I turned away and crossed my arms. I might have still been a little focused on previous events. “It’s not my fault I exploded,” I declared. Mostly to myself.
Kari stepped closer and lifted her hand. She turned me back around to face her. Her fingers cupped my chin and she looked me in the eye. “Of course it’s your fault. Your role as a nympho humiliation pain slut is to endure whatever sexual torment I wish to inflict upon you, and to control yourself as ordered. I inflicted a grotesque amount of direct stimulation upon you, and you folded. As I expected.” She smiled again, as if her little story meant something. “Thus you earned the punishment I inflicted upon you. And the punishment to come.”
I felt the resistance inside me crumble again. Torture. Torment. Punishment. Pleasure. Who cared what it was called, if it all did the same thing? Besides, it wasn’t like she was ever going to put me in thumbscrews, or strap me to a wall and fry my genitals with a car battery (probably, though she might get close, using the TENS Unit I knew she owned.) She wasn’t going to ever permanently hurt or damage me, and Kari would have rather killed herself than brought harm to one of my family members.
In reality, she was just constantly looking for a convenient excuse to inflict more sexual insanity upon my person in order to satisfy her own needs. And if she needed a convenient mental construct to do it, fine. After all, I knew that the difference between torment and torture, at least for me, was a matter of spelling.
She took a deep breath. “I would like you to go down to the conference room and remove your dress. Then have a seat in one of the leather chairs and spread your legs wide.”
I gave her a surprised look. “You’re going to punish me again?”
Kari smiled and gave me a little shrug. “I did your backside in the parking lot. Now I intend to do your front side.”
“Why? Wasn’t the belt on my ass enough? I even exploded!”
This time her teeth showed when she grinned. “Exactly!” She hummed to herself as she walked away, preceding me down the hall. Frustrated I muttered a few choice words under my breath and then sort of stomped down the hall. Doing it in five inch heels isn’t practical though and after a few feet I adopted my usual gait; a wide, awkward, sexually explicit sort of roll.
She went into her office while I proceeded down to the conference room. A large mahogany table dominated the space and six expensive, leather chairs encircled it. I pushed one out and over toward the wall, even as I unzipped the side of my green dress. The bodice fell first, letting my clamped breasts free of the restraining material. Two, squarish metal blocks were attached to my nipples, right behind the hoop piercings and the single padlock that dangled from my right breast. These were simple, screw-tightened clamps and they were secured with just enough pressure to send a weak pulse of discomfort through my bosom with every beat of my heart. Kari liked to say that it would “remind” me that my breasts were a sore spot. I’d been wearing them pretty much since ten that morning and I was getting quite tired of having the metal appendages clinging firmly to the tips of my breasts.
The dress slid down over my hips and I pulled it away from my pussy as it fell to the floor. One terrible, forced removal of the black and silver duckbill clamp attached to my clitoris, was enough for one day. Hanging from the clamp was a silver chain with tiny links. Only five inches long, the chain held about six beads in line. Each bead was about the size of a marble, and sported enough spikes, spines, and pins to please an acupuncturist. For me, it was about torment, since the beads had a tendency to wriggle and prickle their way into my slit, opening my folds, any time I sat down. Standing up, the dangled excitedly, bouncing and banging against my pussy and upper thighs with every step. They were maddening either way.
Lastly, there was the egg in my sex. It wasn’t a real egg. Instead it was plastic and filled with a motor. Or several of them. I don’t know. What I did know was that the thing was wireless and that Kari had the control fob. At that particular moment, as I plopped down into the chair, spreading my legs wide and lifting them so that I was propped up on the armrests, the motor was running at low speed, sending a resolute, but not yet troublesome vibration into my depths. 
Besides, I’d cum just forty minutes before, bent over the hood of Kari’s freaking car, her belt swishing soundly against my ass while my tits were sautéed on the hot engine block of her convertible.
I looked down at myself. My full, white breasts were quite pink, a result of a day’s worth of moisture being cooked out of them. The nipples ached too, but that was from the clamps. My stomach was a thick bump, but still lean enough to be called trim. Then below it came the smooth expanse of my totally shaved snatch, along with the deep pink folds of my labia. The heavy duck billed clamp, silver metal and black rubber, stuck up, with the padded pincers pressing tightly on my clitoris. A silver chain was attached to the end of the clamp, threaded with a series of prickly, spiny beads that were already working their way between my petals, trying to open me up.
And I waited. Part of being a good submissive is being patient, knowing that the things I needed, which was to be the things Kari needed, would come in good time. So I sat there naked, my stupid black stilettoes hanging in the air, red painted toe nails pointed upward, my legs propped up on the arm rests of the chair. My dripping, stuffed slit was teased by a string of spiked beads, waiting for Kari to come.
She finally did, maybe ten minutes later. I had no idea if she’d locked the front door of the office, or if she’d put her calls on hold. Instead she came in holding four silk scarves. Without a word she began wrapping them around my thighs, threading the loose ends through the arm rests. I’m not stupid. I knew she was tying me down. And when she was done securing my legs she did my wrists, binding my arms up over my head.
“I need to be tied up?” I asked with concern.
Kari chuckled. “You always need to be tied up. If I could swing it, I’d have you on display in the front lobby like this.”
I think my eyes bulged a little with that statement and it definitely shut me up. The idea of her rolling the chair out to my desk, or worse – out the front door of our little office and out into the atrium, both excited and terrified me. The wet pulsing of my pussy made it clear which side of me won that battle. I tugged on the scarves holding my wrists and found that she’d done a pretty darn good job. She tilted me backward, then locked the chair so that I was reclining. I looked up at the ceiling.
“Be right back,” she said, giving the clamp on my clitoris a tiny little wiggle.
The new position wasn’t any better than the old one and the buzzing of the vibrating egg in my sex still permeated my loins completely. The tingling of my clit added to the arousal, complicated by the spiny little beads tormenting and teasing my petals. My nipples, still caught firmly in the squared off clamps, pulsed softly, not quite hurting, not quite feeling good. I felt a trickle of moisture leak out of my slit and slide slowly down over my perineum, until it found my bottom. Kari came back, arms full, and dumped a frightening panoply of items on the table.
My eyes locked on the red, rubber ball gag first and foremost. I’m not a fan of gags. In fact, I hate them. I don’t mind being unable to talk, or having my cries muffled. What I hate is drooling all over myself. It’s a distinct sensation that I find abominable. So the appearance of the ball gag had some serious mental side effects. Like I failed to really note the flogger, or the crop, or the leather sap. And that wasn’t all. There was a spiked pinwheel, two forceps clamps, and a dozen clothespins. Kari grabbed the gag.
“P-p-please. I don’t need that!” I blubbered.
Kari smiled and gave me a patronizing look. ‘Of course you do. You’re about to get punished. We can’t have the folks upstairs calling the police.”
“You want me to scream?” I asked worriedly.
Kari laughed. “Of course not. That’s why I’m gagging you.”
“But… but I won’t scr… mpggghhhrgggggllllsssssh!” I managed to mumble as she jammed the rubber marble into my gob.
It wasn’t the really big one, but it was large enough and my jaw locked down on it uncomfortably as she buckled it behind my head, pulling my hair through the band. I sucked down the saliva already filling my mouth and looked daggers at my mistress as she reached up. She grabbed hold of one of the clamps hanging on my boob and began loosening it. A surge of not-quite-pain shot through my tit and then she pulled the square frame clamp off.
I made an obnoxious remark that only came out as “mmmpphh jjgggghhrrr fgfrrrrg” or something like that and Kari responded by pulling the other clamp away from my chest and stretching out my nipple.
“That sounded sarcastic,” she chided. Then, with my breast all stretched out and pain shooting up through my bosom, she grabbed the little screw. “Let me loosen this.” But instead of twisting to the left, she went to the right, tightening the clamp. She took several turns until I was squealing right through the gag itself. Loudly. Pain shot through my tit as all the circulation was cut off to the tip of my breast.
“Oh, did I go in the wrong direction?” Kari asked in faux dismay. She laughed as my nipple throbbed horribly, then she loosened the clamp up. But not much. Just enough for the blood rushing back into the crushed nub to hurt me too. Agony raced through my chest for a minute. Then she loosened the clamp up completely and took it off, tossing it onto the table next to the other one.
I sat there, panting.
A small key fob type object appeared in her hands and my eyes widened as she pressed the control buttons. Suddenly, deep between my legs, the vibrating egg went into overdrive, shaking violently. I gasped, my hips thrusting as my pussy tightened violently around the sex toy. I sat there trembling as Kari picked up the flogger.
“Time to sensitize you,” she declared. The flogger began spinning and I felt a cool breeze suddenly strike my skin. It hit me only a second or two before the swinging leather strands began hitting as well. Kari was aiming at my breasts and she switched from a circle, the tips of the flogger whip striking my nipples, to a back and forth type slashing motion. Suddenly the full breadth of the whip was slapping hard against my breasts, first from the left, then from the right. The blows stung and Kari wasn’t pulling punches either. Within five hits the stinging had become almost intolerable and I was keening through the ball gag into the inside of my arm. My back arched as my body suddenly tried very hard to get away from the slashing bite of Kari’s whip. Only the fact that my pussy was doing the can can with Kari’s vibrating egg kept me from screaming bloody murder.
So of course Kari moved the target. Suddenly the flogger was slashing straight downward, impacting with hard, stinging strokes right on my pussy. My eyes went wide and I shrieked into the ball gag. I would have tried to close my legs, except I was tied - knees to armrests. My feet kicked wildly and I lifted my bottom up from the chair. Except that only gave her a better angle and the next few burning licks literally tore the clamps from my clitoris and ripped the strand of spiked beads right out of my slit.
That was probably a good thing, because the next few swings drove a few lengths of leather in between my petals, spreading my labia open even wider, and leaving me breathless. The flogger caught my inner thighs and Kari decided to work her way out to my right knee. That hurt, stinging hotly. I let out a panicked sob and the flogger worked its way right back down to the wet, stuffed, burning slit between my legs. Then she went up the left leg.
The chair creaked as I tried desperately to free myself but Kari was used to tying up little sluts like myself. So while my insides shook and squeezed and pulsed, my outsides burned and stung and hurt. Kari whipped my pussy hard, then went back to give my tits round two. Finally I couldn’t take it. I turned my head away and squeezed my eyes shut, gasping through the gag, sucking in air, saliva spilling down my chin onto my shoulder.
Then it stopped. I let out a choked sob, opened my eyes, and looked down at myself. My chest was a light shade of pink, way lighter than I felt it had any right to be, considering how hard she’d been hitting me. Hell, it should have been scarlet. Crimson maybe! As it was, the color would undoubtedly fade even before dinner.
And my pussy? You couldn’t even tell she’d whipped me there! Except for the fact that my petals were soaked and I could hear the vibrating egg going inside me, as well as feel it. Instead my entire slit felt hot, the skin flushed and excited. My clit was peeking out, as if expecting more adventure. As Kari turned back to the table, I shifted left and right, my hips trying to fuck the sex toy inside me.
Her foot shot out and snagged one of the other chairs and she dropped into it, a flash of silver in her right hand. She rolled herself closer and I saw the pinpoints of the pinwheel. This one was a dual set, meaning two sets of pinwheels. She brought the sharp little points down toward my pussy and I shrank back into the seat, gibbering as I slobbered around the ball gag. I expected those sharp little points to roll their way along my sex and over my clitoris, but her hand grabbed my right shoe at the heel, and while still holding the double pinwheel, she began unbuckling my stiletto.
There are some things I’m scared of, and the idea of her running the Wartenberg Pinwheel along my instep was one of them. I’m very sensitive on the bottoms of my feet and I tried to communicate my concern with some loud pitched whines. Kari ignored them, but as she brought the spiked wheel down to my foot I squealed and kicked, perhaps risking serious injury, but properly communicating the fact that I did not want her to run that damn thing over my sole.
Kari pursed her lips, considered my actions, turned back to the table, and picked up one of the forceps clamps. Before I could really process what was going on, she opened it, set it on either side of my clit, and locked the damn thing down tight.
If you have ever been on the receiving end of a pair of forceps clamps, you probably know exactly what this felt like to me. Needless to say I stiffened, eyes wide, as the pain shot up through my pussy, straight to my heart. My throat closed up after a moment and I only realized then that I’d been squealing like a stuck pig. Kari gave me a cruel smile and then, just to really drive home the point, twisted my clit around a full one hundred and eighty degrees.
“Now that I have your attention,” she said simply, returning my clitoris to the correct orientation, if not releasing it from the forceps clamp, “I would like to encourage you to keep your foot as still as possible.” She lifted the pinwheel again as I stared at her in gibbering horror. She brought the sharp pins close to my foot. The urge to kick surged through me, but the memory of her twisting my clitoris kept me still and then I jerked as the sharp pins touched the very center of my foot, right on the arch. She didn’t push. She just began rolling them back and forth, up to the ball of my foot and back down to my heel. It drove me crazy. It didn’t tickle, but it might as well have. The prickling sensation was just something I couldn’t handle. I struggled to hold still, but then it was too much. I let out another wail through the gag and yanked my foot up and away from the pinwheel.
So Kari twisted my clit.
My entire body went rigid with pain and the chair creaked again as I squealed through the gag. She spun my dial to the point where I shook violently, pain shooting up from between my legs. My pussy tightened down on the vibrating egg and I started jerking my hips. That made her grip shift and to my shock, the forceps clamp came loose. My clit burned horribly and when Kari went to clamp it again, I bounced my ass around in the seat back and forth. Tears poured down my cheeks and my chest was wet from drool.
Then, much to my shock, Kari dumped the pinwheel and the forceps on the table and slid out of her chair, onto her knees. I’m not used to her being on her knees, and she tucked a lock of her long, blonde hair behind her ear. Then she brought her face down between my legs and I saw her tongue dart out, lapping at my swollen, hurting clitoris. I gasped, shaking, and suddenly the residual pain changed to pleasure.
My world twisted and suddenly the pain was gone, fading into the background as my cruel, vicious mistress licked at my pussy. She suckled my clitoris and I pushed up against her. Then her hand came up to my bare foot and even while she was licking me, her fingertips rubbed my sole.
For me, sex is frequently about oscillating between extremes. Kari had hurt me. Now she was pleasuring me. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I knew what would be coming next, but for that moment, I didn’t care. This was perfect. This was amazing. I thrust up against her, humming with need, practically purring as her mouth danced on my sex. My chest heaved, too many good things happening all at once, and I felt the surge of energy. I recognized it. I was going to cum again. I could feel myself tightening, ripening, the pressure intensifying.
And just as expected, when I was right on the cusp of cumming, she drew her mouth back, grabbed my clit with her thumb and forefinger, and pinched. I cried out, the sudden pain only merging with the pleasure, but it let her reach back to the table and this time she came back with the leather sap. I watched, shaking violently, as she stood up. Then she lifted her skirt, pulling them hem up higher and higher, until I could see her white, lace panties. She pulled them downward, exposing a shaved slit with just a touch of trim above it. Then she grabbed the chair I was tied in, spun it around so that I was looking at the wall, and tipped me backward.
Talk about unnerving! For a second I thought I was going to fall but Kari held onto the chair, lifting three of the five rollers off the ground. Then the back of the chair was on the ground and I found myself looking right up her skirt, seeing her white thong. I blinked, rather disoriented since I was still tied to the chair and was looking straight up at the ceiling. Kari, still holding the leather sap, shimmied out of her skirt, letting it fall. Then she took off her panties and that’s when I my breath caught. Her pussy was wet.
Very, very wet.
I didn’t dare hope, but as she dropped down, kneeling over my head, I suddenly realized that I was going to get my wish. She put the sap down and quickly released the buckle holding in my gag. It came loose with a gasp and I swallowed, licking my lips. She moved herself right above me, her legs spreading wider and wider as she dropped down. Her petals were glistening and her smooth, pretty pussy looked like it was made to be licked. The scent of her arousal was almost overwhelming. My mistress is not easily pleased, and as a sadist, it takes an awful lot of inflicted sexual torment to bring her to a point where she was ready to cum. Had I taken enough? Had I been hurt sufficiently to make her want to cum? Kari leaned over and picked up the leather sap.
Her slit hit my nose first and my tongue jabbed upward, tasting her salty tang. There was the scent of lavender mixed in with her need and I sucked and nibbled on her petals with a voraciousness that probably seems out of place. I rarely got the opportunity to use my mouth on Kari. She couldn’t handle it. And the fact that she was letting me lick her was a fucking gift. At least as far as I was concerned.
As my tongue swirled against her clitoris and her breathing changed into a ragged, struggling series of gasps, I felt her move. There was a breath of air between my legs and then something struck me, right on the pussy. It was flat, stung and burned, and sent a shearing shock through my body, enough to stop my licking and instead force a muted scream out of my throat. Of course, it had nowhere to go but up into Kari’s cunt and I wailed as another wet, excruciating slap smacked into my open sex.
“Yes,” hissed my mistress. “Lick me. Scream for me.” Her hips rolled, grinding her pussy up and down my face, smearing her goo from my chin to my eyes. She literally fucked my nose and I had no way to stop her, or control her. More blows landed between my legs, so hard that I could barely focus on getting my tongue up and into her. I squealed, crying out, fire and fury burning down through my loins. Kari’s hips were going back and forth so fast that I could barely keep my tongue in her. The wet, sharp spanking noise of the sap hitting my wet cunt punctuated our fucking.
And then… then Kari moaned.
The sap slowed and stopped, but her hips didn’t. She folded, bending in half as I found her clit once again. Her mouth came down, latching onto my own pussy and we quivered together, our mouths doing everything to each other, and the pain and agony of my punishment faded into a searing, overbearing pleasure that left me breathless.
But Kari was way closer than I was. She shivered violently a second later and pushed herself away from me, falling backward. I lay there, still panting, still needing, still hurting as she curled sideways, into a ball, eyes closed, fingers tightened into fists. All I could really see were her knees and face and she just lay there next to me, her muscles locked in rigor.
“Kari?” I whispered. “Kari? Are you okay?” I asked weakly. Oh my God I needed to cum. I needed her to whip me again. And fuck me. And hurt me. And do me. Hard. “Kari? Please?”
She nodded, her teeth still clenched together. I knew she became intensely, even painfully sensitive to stimulation during sex. I couldn’t even imagine what that might feel like. I watched her for almost a minute, wishing I wasn’t tied up, that I could go to her, brush her hair back, rub her shoulders, or something. Instead I was bound and splayed open, pussy still stinging and wet and hungry. I wanted to hold her, whisper sweet nothings into her ear, and beg her to do it to me all over.
It took my mistress almost five minutes to collect herself, and when she did she was quiet. She pushed herself up to her feet, picking up her fallen panties with a sweep of her hand. She stepped further away from me, out of my direct line of sight. The vibrator inside me went silent and I knew she had picked up the small control fob and turned off the egg. She left the room and I suspected she was getting herself straightened out. The white lace thong would slide up her legs, disappearing beneath her business suit. She’d straighten her jacket, checking each crease. Then she would check the mirror, making any necessary fixes to her makeup.
I ached. Tied the way I was, the position was uncomfortable. My arms were still secured above my head, my legs draped over the arm rests. But with me on my back, the silk scarves were cutting into me. Add in the simmering desperation, the fact that I still needed to cum, badly, and I grimaced with frustration as the minutes ticked by. I was just getting ready to call out to her, to beg her to come back and let me loose, when she waltzed into the room. Kari was herself again, no longer lost to the carnal needs of her body. She was an ice queen, a princess, in control and dominant. I was impressed with her strength as she lifted the back of my chair, my entire frame still bound to it, and set it upright with a bounce that jolted me. The wheels thunked down, rattling me to the bone, and I stared up at her with a silly grin on my face.
“Feel better?” I asked smugly. Kari pursed her lips. I could tell she was just a tad bit embarrassed. And maybe a little angry. She didn’t like losing control, even if it. She looked down at me, eyes cold and cruel. She picked up the duck billed clamp, the one with the spikey beads on it.
“I will feel better when you’re suffering properly,” she said easily, bending at the waist. Her hand came up and I sucked in a breath.
“I am suffering properly,” I assured her. That did nothing because she pinched open the clamp, set the gaping pincers to either side of my swollen, well smacked clitoris, and let it close. I yelped, the delicious pinching both painful and pleasurable. The beads fell against my petals, prickling and poking my pussy.
Kari laughed. “Oh, hardly.” She shook her head. “You haven’t begun to suffer.” She turned back to the table and picked up the first of the steel square clamps. I watched as her thumb and forefinger opened the pressure bar. I didn’t even realize I was close to hyperventilating until she brought the damn thing up to my right breast. It only took her a moment to tighten it up on my protruding tip and I groaned as a surge of intense discomfort shot up through my breast. Then the other clamp went on, leaving me wincing as I looked up at her.
She gave me this warm smile, as if she were giving me chocolate cookies or something similarly innocuous. Then she reached down and pushed her finger into my pussy, making me gasp and tighten. But it wasn’t a finger fuck, that’s for damn sure. Instead she gently slid her nail up along my petals, opening my folds, lifting the beads and letting them settle deeper between the wet, sensitive labia. I gasped, the sharp little pinpricks even more horrible than before. I began squirming, trying to get the beads out.
“Now now,” she warned, her fingers digging into her pocket. “None of that.” She drew something out and knelt down. I quivered with concern, my pussy aching, wanting, needing, and tingling. Then she attached something to the very last bead, the one scratching and poking at my perineum. I sucked in a sharp breath as the weight hanging from my clit, digging into my open folds, practically doubled. And then came a frightening moment when I heard the vibrations, right before I felt them.
“There,” Kari said satisfactorily. She studied the small vibrator clamp she’d hung on the last bead, watching as the vibrations traveled up them, through the prickly spines, into my pussy, and then up to the clamp. My clitoris seemed to shudder. Or tremble. Or whatever. All I knew was that this was so much worse. So much more horrible than getting whipped.
“Kari!” I whispered, already feeling the agitation. “Please!”
She smiled. “So much pleasure. So much pain. Not enough to cum, but just enough the same.” She patted my bare foot and stroked the instep with her thumb. “I’ll leave you to simmer now. We’ll have dinner around five. Then you can head over to your meeting with John Parsons.”  She turned and grabbed my green dress.
“I’ll get this hung up,” she smirked. “After all, you’ll need something to have ripped off your body.” And with that she left the room, leaving me to stew in my own juices.

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