Final Meetings - Part 3 of 6

Part Three - Torment

“Some say Breanne’s cunt is filled with fire. Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire, I hold with those that favor fire. But if you have to suffer twice, I think I know enough of pain to say that ice is nice, and will suffice.”

I recognize the poem. Or at least, the bastardization of it. It is Robert Frost’s “Fire & Ice.” Worse, I recognize the voice and chill goes through me. It is Lucille’s turn. 

A hand slides down my head and onto my shoulder, gliding down to my still hot to the touch breast. Rough fingers grab me, squeezing and kneading my bosom. Mistress Lucille’s face looms into view. She pinches both of my nipples hard, twisting them until I squeal, eyes half closing in agony, my body lifting up in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure. I can see how it pleases her, to see me in pain. Then her submissive – Bethany comes up between my legs. She is holding something white. A Popsicle? I lift my head up, trying to see past Mistress Lucille’s arms, but my vision is blurred. Tears. Strain. Lucille herself. Then the object is lowered and I know that I will learn what it is a totally different way.

 I feel the cold of it first. Icy and slick. My hot pussy contracts tightly as the tapered tip is rubbed up and down my labia. It doesn’t just feel cold. It feels… odd. Not wet or sticky. It feels slippery. Insanely slippery and suddenly a memory slams into my head. Me, Alissa, and Kylie sitting around the table in the Society’s kitchenette, filling condoms with coconut oil and tying the bases around popsicle sticks. We are naked, filled with vibroballs, and teased. We tell jokes. We are making these sex toys, knowing they are to be frozen and then used upon us at a later date. But we don’t care. We’ve been promised orgasms.

And then Bethany slides her coconut oil dildo, on a stick, into my pussy.

In the movie, a small boy sticks his tongue onto an icy metal pole and it freezes in place. For a second I wonder if this will be the case, but instead, the outer layer of the frozen dildo begins to melt almost immediately. My already oiled, smacked, cooked, and lubricated slit suddenly gushes with melting coconut oil and Bethany begins pumping the dildo in and out of my cunt. It is too cold to excite me to orgasm, and the fact that she keeps pulling it completely out, just so she can rub my clitoris with the cold end is more than enough to keep my libido in check. My pussy spasms, trying to keep the cold thrusting rod out, but it is too slick and the penetration actually hurts.

I am too preoccupied to notice Mistress Lucille and her glass. It is full of ice cubes and she uses a steel set of forceps clamps to latch onto one. She turns, holding it above my body as her submissive continues to pump the frozen oil popsicle through my insides. An icy droplet falls, splashing on my arm. It is cold. Way colder than I am prepared for, and I jerk.

“Careful,” Bethany sneers, looking down between my legs. “You really don’t want me to accidentally break this thing off inside you.” It is a threat. Or a promise.

My eyes flash with anger, glaring at a girl who should have been my ally. The coconut oil dildo goes back in and this time she just holds it there, freezing me, letting it melt. I tilt my head back and another splash of cold lands on my skin, this time on the side of my left breast. I gasp, or try to, but the dildo gag makes that impossible. Then the ice Mistress Lucille is holding comes down and the sharp edge of it is rubbed against my turgid nipple.

In the back of my mind, I know that the ice cannot cut me, but it feels as if Mistress Lucille is sawing her way through my breast. She strokes and rubs, then rotates the cube until an unmelted, sharper edge is available. My nipple, first beaten, excoriated, burned, then frozen, now becomes the focal point of an edge too fragile to survive a single cut. Invariably the cube yields to my hot flesh, but I pay for it with every pass of the ice. Freezing melt water drips down around my breast and as the cube finally falls apart, Mistress Lucille makes a satisfied sound. I feel something cold slide down my side, then fall away.

There is no relief. Lucille grabs my nipple with the forceps clamps, twisting the pierced tip of my left breast with grueling force. I bite down on the dildo gag, squealing into the rubber. My toes curl and Bethany has trouble keeping the frozen dildo she is fucking me with against my cunt. The popsicle dildo bounces along my labia, so she settles for laying it right on top of my clit.

 Mistress Lucille lets go of my nipple, freeing the clamp and the resulting rush of agony that shoots through the tip of my breast is awful. I wonder why my nipple isn’t numb from the cold, only to have that thought shoved forcefully out of my mind as Lucille, with a fresh ice cube, begins rubbing the sharp, cold edge against my right nipple. The padlock marking me as a submissive of the Society jiggles as Lucille saws away and I twist, trying to get away, unable to move more than an inch or two in either direction. I feel the water melting, pouring down my right side now. It is almost tickling, or at least, if I weren’t being fucked with ice it would be.

Suddenly Lucille bends down, pulling the ice cube off my nipple. To my shock, she bites my nipple, her teeth pinching the pink, cold nub hard. I squeal again, almost screaming as she ravages my breast. I feel the ice dildo slide into me, Bethany’s hand swinging to the side, and this time… this time it breaks.

“Oops,” said Bethany. She slaps a hand over my cunt, pressing hard, her flesh hot, holding in the broken, frozen dildo while the remnants on the stick slide down to her fingers. She lifts it up and dumps the little fragment onto my clit, tossing the stick onto my tummy as she uses her fingers to hold the melting oilberg on my nub. I shudder, making nonsense noises into my gag, eyes rolling as Mistress Lucille continues to chew on my breast.

“Lucille,” comes a stern voice. “It is my turn,”

Lucille lets my nipple go, her eyes hard. She gives my breast a hard smack, her hand slipping on the water splattering my oiled body. She nods at Bethany who removes her hand and in seconds the last bit of frozen dildo slips from my pussy to drop to the floor.

I am cold.

Mistress Lisa steps up to my bound form and with tender fingers pulls the dildo gag from my mouth.

“Are you okay?” She whispers to me.

My teeth suddenly start chattering. “C-c-c-cold,” I managed to stammer. Mistress Lisa nods and looks away, saying something in another language. She is white, but her submissive is Georgia, who is Thai. A second later one of our warming blankets is draped across me and sweet heat seeps into every pore of my body. Georgia’s beautiful brown eyes look down at me and I can see concern on her face.

“Aftercare?” Georgia asks. But not me. She is looking at her mistress. Lisa sighs and nods. “I expected it. Will you do her limb stretches?”

Georgia nods. She touches my leg, slipping her hand beneath the blanket. I groan as her fingers did into my thigh. She is not hurting me. Instead she touches one of the muscles that I have tightened and I feel it tremble, then relax. Mistress Lisa disappears from my view, but Georgia remains, exposing my right leg from under the blanket. She caresses it, massages it, then to my shock, frees the bondage cuff and strap. Suddenly the strain on my thigh muscles, from being spread apart, lessens dramatically. I let out a quiet sob. Georgia begins working my leg, bending it back and forth, her strong fingers wrapped around the arch of my foot. Other parts of me hurt, but not this part. I feel my leg relaxing. Finally she sets my heel onto the iBench, my knee up in the air.

“Stay like that,” she says softly. Then she frees my other leg.

 I float. Twinges of pain, but the good kind, of relief, flash up from my calf, my thigh, my knee. As Georgia repeats the process, bending and working my leg, Mistress Lisa returns. In her hand is a small bottle and a thick paint brush. For a second I tense again and Georgia hisses. Lisa notices, then laughs.

“It’s not what you think, Bre. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not opposed to painting your clit with that stuff you used to make… what did you call it? Stinging O? But this is much, much milder. You’re going to feel a tingle. That’s all. Just relax into it.”

I look up at her, worried, as Georgia sets my other foot on the bench. “It’s not going to hurt?”

Lisa shakes her head and smiles. “No. But you’re going to be desperate in a few minutes.”

Georgia laughs as she moves to my left side, flipping the blanket up to get at my outstretched arm. She frees my wrist and begins working the muscles. “Breanne is almost always desperate.”

Then Lisa dips the brush in the bottle, looks right down at my sex, and with the lightest, most delicate of strokes, begins to paint my clit with the clear fluid from the bottle. At first I feel only the brush. It is soft and warm. Mistress Lisa encircles my clitoris with it, drawing wet designs on my sex, moving down to my labia. I feel the brush against my petals, down and in, leaving me breathless, hips rolling. She paints my perineum and I close my eyes. Georgia massages my arm as her mistress does things I could never imagine before to my sex. In less than a minute I am soaked and wanting. I begin to beg.

“Please? Please more on my clit?”

Georgia puts a finger on my lips. “Hush Bre. Or she will gag you again,” she warns.

Mistress Lisa begins painting my bottom, circling my brown star and I tighten. Oh my God. But then I feel it. A tingling. It is not a burn. Not like wax, or Icy Hot, or Stinging O. It is just that… a tingling. It starts on my clit and for a second I’m not even sure I’m really feeling it. It spreads. Like a live wire, down to my labia, through my slit, and then to my bottom. But Lisa is already back at my clitoris, painting it again, rubbing it with the soft bristles. I begin to pant and Georgia pulls my arm back down to the bench, locking my wrist into place. She circles around to my other hand, freeing it, massaging me, all while her Mistress sends me into near hysterics with thrilling pleasure.

“W-w-what… oh my God,” I whisper, my hips dancing, my bottom coming up off the bench. I am not tied down and I struggle to hold my thrusts to a minimum, to leave myself open for Mistress Lisa. I am wanting. Please… please… put something inside me. More brushing. Oh my God! It feels so good! I begin to croon. Lisa sighs, says something in Thai, and Georgia pushes the dildo gag back into my mouth. I suck vigorously, sparks flying up through my nervous system, wanting and needing, my body trembling again, this time with utter pleasure.

I want to beg, to ask if I can cum. I am so close. But the dildo gag inhibits me. All I can do is whimper and moan, thrusting my hips up. Then Georgia comes down, grabbing my left ankle. Her grip is hard and she has more than enough strength to stretch out my leg, once more locking it into place. She swings past her mistress, who is still painting my pussy, the slow torment of the brush sending me into swirls of passion. My other leg is drawn out, stretched and I feel the ripple in my muscles. Georgia places the straps back in place: the one across my waist and the two mid-thigh.

If I wasn’t on edge before, I am now. I love being stretched open, held wide apart. I am frustrated though. I need more. Mistress Lisa is torturing me with softness. I want it faster, to tingle more, to go inside me, to fuck me. I need… I need…

“There,” Lisa says. “I think our time is up. This has been a satisfactory session and I am pleased.”

Georgia leans over and kisses me on the forehead. “Namaste, Bre.” She turns and leaves, following her Mistress on foot for a moment, before dropping to all fours. I sigh, more than a little frustrated, feeling almost as tense as before they started, just in different places. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling. My pussy aches. It tingles. I want to get fucked. Hard. I need. I say it again in my head. I need. I think back to the hard, cold dildo and for a second, wish Lucille and Bethany had another turn.

I am insane.

 Mistress Amanda looks down at me. Pretty, blonde, and vivacious, she is in many ways like her submissive: Gwendolyn. I like them both. But what surprises me is that they are both naked. It is unusual for a Mistress to be in the nude, at least to me, but Amanda, who is our newest mistress, frequently disregarded the set standards. Her skin is white and pale, with freckles scattered across it like stars. She is in her forties, and I think her hair is dyed blonde, but she is still beautiful. Mistress Amanda has been firm, but fair with me, so when I see the multi-strand whip in her hand, I am not afraid.

Only… concerned.

Gwennie, her submissive, swerves into my view. She is carrying something. She puts it down at the top of the iBench, on the floor. Mistress Amanda moves up to my head and I realize that it is a stool. Amanda steps up and suddenly I see all of her, from her thigh up to her nose. Her sex is shaved, except for a small, thin line of hair. Her petals are pretty, and when she reaches down to free my mouth of the dildo gag, I cannot help but smile.

“Please mistress? Can I taste you?” I beg.

Amanda laughs. “Of course, dear. I intended that. And in exchange I will lick you.”

I blink. She holds up the whip. “With this.”

I gulp. It is a long whip and she will be able to strike at both my breasts and pussy. I give a short nod, but then she moves forward and the only thing I see is her skin. It is pink and wet and open and she lowers herself just a touch until my nose is in her slit. She begins to rock, rubbing herself back and forth and I stick my tongue out, straining to reach her clitoris. Tied down, with my arms stretched out to my sides there is no way for me to adjust her, or hold onto her. I am at her mercy. Mistress Amanda knows this though and a moment later my tongue finds the delicate nub. I hear her gasp. I stab and lap at the tiny bump, only to feel her entire body shift. Energy moves as muscles tighten and loosen. I do not hear the sound, but I feel it as the strands of the whip flick downward. 

The first impact of the long strand strikes my belly, but the sting flashes downward, perfectly crossing my clitoris, curling over my labia, and even hooking down to leave a tiny sting on my perineum. I hiss, arching my back, my mouth still covered with Mistress Amanda’s pussy. I feel the whip pulled back, the leather strands drawn up through my cunt, across my belly. I prepare for another blow, but then something wet and soft and warm swirls across my clit. This is even more intense than the light strike of the whip and I realize that it must be Gwendolyn. She is licking my pussy. Her tongue dances across my clitoris and I shudder in absolute delight. Waves of sweet bliss shoot up through me and I quiver. It is exactly what I need. What I want. I roll my hips, whimpering with delight, and Gwennie’s mouth leaves me. I feel a cool breeze. Then the whip snaps back down, a little harder this time. It strikes me right between the legs. My entire body jerks from the pain of the strike. It is… intense, but only for a moment. A single stroke. 

Once more Mistress Amanda draws the whip back up over my body, intentionally dragging the strands of leather through my open pussy, up my belly. I gasp, but with my mouth full of Amanda’s sex, my vocalizations are merely another form of stimulation for her. She grinds again, clearly wanting me to renew my oral ministrations, and to encourage me, Gwendolyn once more moves close. She doesn’t touch me with any part of her body but her tongue. She licks at my clitoris, fast and hard, then slows and runs her tongue down the outside of my petals, lapping and licking and pleasuring me.

I am beyond thought now. It is all about the senses and actions and flavors and scents. Rational thought is no longer a part of my mental state. I am a reaction. This happens and I do this. Salty tangy juice hits my tongue and I suck. A flash of stinging heat sears a line across my pussy and my back arches, toes curl, and a whimper escapes my lips. I feel a warm, wet swirling across my own sex and my pussy tightens rhythmically, hips rolling and thrusting, desperate for penetration, for stimulation. I whine my need, only to have more pressure pushed down on my face. My mouth is being fucked. 

The whip strikes again as Gwendolyn moves her lips away from my pussy and it burns, making me tense. Then there is the sweet softness of the tongue again and I am hurled once more from pain to pleasure. Amanda and Gwendolyn work together and I do not even know, much less care, how they communicate. Tongue. Whip. Lick. Lick. Lick. I am excited and teased and tortured and hurt. I feel the pressures inside me return, twice as bad, and suddenly I realize that I do not care which I get. Tongue or Whip. 

Lick. Lick. Lick.

I am frustrated. Frantic now. The whip strikes my clit. Then Gwennie licks me. I am too close… and too far. I pull on my bonds and the iBench creaks. I feel Amanda gasp and shudder and there is a rush, fluids streaming down my face. I suck hard on her clit, wanting to punish her, to force her to punish me. She pulls away, stepping back off the school. Her face is flushed, eyes dazed. Gwennie’s head is between my thighs, her soft hair caressing me. Her tongue is on my clit.

“Please! Oh my God! I’ve got to cum!” I squeal.

Amanda waves a hand. “Gwennie,” she says languidly. “Stop.”

“What?” I practically scream.

But Gwennie doesn’t listen to me. She listens to her mistress. She lifts her head away, mouth and chin covered with my wetness. She wipes at her mouth with the back of her wrist, grinning. 

I go mad. I shake on the bench. “No! No! Please! Oh God! Please! Please! I have to fucking cum! Please! Don’t leave me like this! I need…”

Then Amanda shoves the dildo gag back into my mouth. “Hush,” she urges me. 

I gurgle. 

Part Four will be up tomorrow...

If you enjoy Breanne's work please consider promoting her work - mention her on forums, review her books, or 

even buy them! They're dirt cheap (sort of like Breanne herself.) You can get them at Amazon.com!