Final Meetings - Part 4 of 6

Part Four - Argument

There is a discussion. I can hear the voices because they are raised. It is Margaret. She is offering up her number. My number. I can hear the voice of Julie. She is upset. I hear Lucille’s name and when I lift my head to look, I see them on the far side of the meeting rooms. Julie, Margaret, Isobel, and Lucille stand close together and Julie is shaking her head, holding a paper slip. She is not happy. Isobel, as usual, is trying to play peacemaker and Lucille sneers angrily at my mistress. A fresh surge of trepidation runs through me. What if Lucille gets another turn at my body? I lift my head, watching fervently. Then my view is blocked by the next woman who intends to torture me.

Mistress Jillian is buxom and beautiful, but that is hardly descriptive, since it matches most of the other mistresses. She is brunette, with an oval face that looks much kinder than it should be, considering that she is a sadist with an interest in electric play. I have not spent that much time in her presence. Shocking. I know. The moment I see her I tense, fearing the jolts that are certain to come. Her submissive is a cute brunette with a round face named Wendy and I wonder how she deals with the constant electrical torments her mistress prefers.

I am about to find out.

Wendy is running an extension cord to the iBench and plugs in not one, but two violet wands. They are glass probes, the entirety of which glows with purple light. Like a plasma ball. But unlike the plasma ball toys, these are designed to transfer electricity. Novice users generally place the glass probe directly against the skin. This creates a warm, but disturbing tingling sensation that is not painful. But it is different. Mistress Jillian however, is not a novice user. She knows that holding the violet wand above the skin will create a charge that will then jump to my body. And that jolt will hurt.

I suck on the dildo gag. I am worried about my mistress. She has not been herself since we arrived. I have not sensed any unhappiness in her. In fact, she had seemed buoyant on the drive over. Mistress Sara seemed to know something, reassuring her. And now the argument with Mistress Lucille? This is not good.

These thoughts percolate through my head until Mistress Jillian lifts the violet wands above me. I have no choice and my eyes lock onto the glowing, indigo probes. One hovers above my chest, the other moves down into a stationary orbit above my pussy. I can hear the faint buzzing sound of power and I try to brace myself. Jillian, her eyes glowing with the purple light, lowers the probe to my right nipple, but doesn’t touch it. She brings it closer and closer until finally the spark jumps from the glass to my breast. It hurts, like a sharp pinch, and I jerk. She managed to get the delicate tip perfectly. I let out a whine as Jillian’s head looks down at my loins. I am unprepared, still reeling from the shock to my nipple, when she repeats it on my clit. My buttocks tighten as I squeal, pain rippling down through my pussy as it tightens. I shudder, my breath quickening into panic as Jillian moves the violet wand in her left hand over to my other breast.

The shock is just as vicious and hurts just as much and perhaps the gag is a good thing. The arousal I was feeling with Mistress Amanda ebbs and fades, replaced with over-sensitized hurt. Jillian moves the other wand and this time my labia gets the brunt of the charge, lightning flashing from the wand to my pussy. I cry out, my hips jerking, only to have my attention forcibly drawn upward back to my breasts as Jillian zaps me again.

Two more violet lights appear and I flinch away. Except it is Wendy. Her face glows purple and I realize that the overhead light has been turned off, leaving me in semi-darkness. I am bound in place and Wendy presses her wand to my breast, touching the skin directly, leaving warmth and a tingling in place of pain. Mistress Jillian drags her toy across my ribs, leaving a row of stinging heat, as little bursts of pain explode and die out. Then I feel the heat and tingling between my legs. Wendy has slid the tip of her probe directly into my pussy. It is too narrow to tighten around, and it is not deep. Not at all. I whine, shaking with need, until Jillian zaps my clitoris again.

It becomes a dance. I am the floor. Suffering. My right nipple is fried. My left breast tingles. My pussy clenches around the other wand as my clit is targeted for repeated blasts. Then they switch. Wendy leans over me to tease my right breast while Jillian continues the cruel shocks that leave me twitching.

“Her clit and arch,” orders Jillian. “Full shocks.” I twist my head to look at Wendy, who gives me a sheepish look. Then she pulls the wand out of my pussy, holding it above my clit. Mistress Jillian moves away and I start to wonder where, but then the spark jumps from Wendy’s wand to my clitoris and it hurts! My nipple explodes next and I pant, freaking out. Then I feel something along the sole of my right foot. The tingling and warmth. I lift my head, panicking, and see Mistress Jillian holding the want against my sole. She pulls it back and the warmth and tingle fade, until another jolt of electricity jumps into my foot.

It hits the very center of my arch and hurts. I twist my ankle in a circle, toes clenched as I yank hard on my bonds. I am distracted by another shock to my clitoris, just as painful. I cry piteously behind the gag. What have I done? Why am I made to suffer?

Wendy has moved and now I feel her violet wand against my left foot. I get it now. They are alternating shocks. I feel it in my left arch, against my sole. My toes curl. I strain. Another shock to my clit. Then my labia. Foot. Clit, foot, other foot, clit again, foot, the brown star of my bottom. Foot, clit, foot, labia, foot, clit, clit, foot, clit, foot, clit. Oh my fucking GOD. Clit, foot, clit, foot, clit, clit, clit, foot, clit, clit, clit…

Breasts.

Tingling and warmth. They are both holding their wands to my body and I twitch, overloaded, unable to think. I cannot even control my overloaded nervous system. I twitch. I am filled with spasms. Nothing seems to be working right. My clit is so sensitive, so sore, it seems to be throbbing. Or is it tingling? The violet wands are drawn across my skin, up my legs, across my thighs and through my pussy. They draw shapes with them on my oil slick belly and over my breasts. No more pain. Just the tingling and warmth. Jillian moves between my legs, bends over, and takes one long, loving lick of my clitoris.

I gasp, my body going rigid. It feels… it feels… I cannot even describe it. I have never felt my clit like that before.

“Do you want me to lick you again?” Mistress Jillian asks.

I nod frantically, only able to roll my hips. I whine through the gag.

Lightning strikes my right nipple, burning a hole through me. Then my left breast explodes with the same pain. I squeal, shutting my eyes, and the final blast sears into my clit.

Then… another swirling, wet, soft, long lick. Pain. Pleasure. My brain short circuits. I can’t tell. Is she hurting me?

“Do you want another lick?” Mistress Jillian asks simply.

I don’t know. Do I? My pussy demands one. It feels too fucking good. But my brain twitches. It is suspicious. You know what happened last time, it asks my pussy. But it is too late. I nod, whimpering.

I hear the thunder in my ears, lightning flashing against my breasts, my clit. Pain sears deep into my body and then… utter pleasure; Jillian’s warm mouth on my cunt. I swoon, swallowed up by the waves. I am lost. Her tongue slides down through my slit, dipping into my depths. I gasp, the dildo gag holding my cries of ecstasy in. I push upward, arching my back, lifting and pressing, desperate and needy. I will take the shocks, the pain. Just… finish. Please. Please finish me.

Mistress Jillian’s mouth comes up. The wand lifts and I clamp down on the rubber cock in my mouth. I tense, expecting it. Do I want another lick? Goddamn right I do. Shock me. Hurt me. Lick me! Sparks fly and almost at once I am blasted, both nipples, and my clit. Pain sears through me and I shake. But it is okay now. That last lick did it. I am about to cum. I just need one more. I wait for the question. I brace myself, already nodding, nerves on fire, ready at last for consummation.

There is nothing. There is no question.

No one touches my pussy. I open my eyes. There is no purple light. I am not licked. Jillian and Wendy are gone. I burst into tears. It is too much. I am left alone, ripples of energy still coursing madly through my body as I slide back down into abject misery.

I shut my eyes, but only for a minute. Then I hear the sounds of someone approaching. I am tired. Stressed. Strained. Electrocuted, beaten, cooked, and iced. My body undoubtedly sports bruises I’ll be showing off for the next few weeks. And now, Mistress Brooke and her submissive Kaitlyn bring buckets. The containers are steel, looking just like the ones I used when I was a farm girl, working my parent’s ranch. Mine had carried feed, or milk, or worse. These, I know, are filled with clothespins. Wooden ones, plastic ones, metal ones. But I am distracted as they set up. Straight across from me, in the center of the circle, Bethany is being bound.

Margaret and Isobel are looking on, looks of satisfaction on their faces. Lucille has a smug and confident look on her face. It is my mistress: Julie, who looks worried. I can only assume that she is trying to prevent Mistress Lucille from having a second chance at abusing me. Beth’s hands are drawn up and she is raised on her tiptoes. She is a big girl, a touch overweight, but the position flattens her tummy and does marvelous things to the shape of her ass. Her eyes are a little wild, but I see resignation in them as well. Mistress Lucille appears holding a metal bucket. It looks just like the ones being held by Mistress Brooke and Kaitlyn, standing beside me. I do not feel sympathy, or longing. Bethany is Lucille’s submissive and considering that Bethany had deliberately tried to make me cum when I’d first arrived, I would like her to be punished.

The buckets are set down and Mistress Brooke comes up with a handful, dropping them onto my tummy. I close my eyes, whimpering as she begins. The first one goes on my sore nipple. The right one, where the padlock of the Society hangs from the golden hoop piercing the tender tip. She sets it deep, but it sticks straight up, hurting. The second peg goes on my left nipple in the same manner. Then the third is hung on my aching, burning clit.

Across from me Lucille is doing the same thing to Bethany. The clothespins on her nipples echo mine, though by standing upright, she must also endure the downward pull as the pegs twist her nipples. Lucille adds extra clothespins in a circle around each nipple, until Bethany looks like a porcupine, spines sticking out everywhere. A peg is attached to Beth’s clitoris and I know her labia is next. Because I’m suffering in similar straights.

I lay there, wincing as the pain increases. Mistress Brooke works steadily, without any commentary, as if she is hanging laundry on a clothesline. She pinches a bit of my breast, clamps it, moves an inch to the right, and repeats the process. I groan, the pain building. My nipples begin to throb as my heart labors to push blood through the crushed tips. More clothespins are added to my bosom and I watch as Kaitlyn dumps more clothespins on my belly.

There is a sharp pain in my side and I realize that Mistress Brooke has started a line of pegs going up from my waist. It hurts. She jumps up to my arm, opposite my bicep, and another line is set. It takes a little bit of time and I am wincing with discomfort as my clit joins my nipples in the “pain” room. Brooke puts clothespins hand, between my thumb and forefinger, then moves downward. My pussy is next and my labia is stretched wide, pulled open and apart so that more pegs can be clipped to the soft and tender folds. My thigh becomes the next target and I squeal. It hurts and as I shake, I hear the wooden rattle as the clothespins strike each other. Another handful on my abdomen refills Brooke’s larder and she goes down and up each leg, pinching me.

I hear Bethany groan and when I look, her front is covered with clothespins. At least two dozen. I already have that many on my body and Mistress Brooke is adding more. Kaitlyn dumps another handful on my belly. I quiver, trying to ignore the immediate and focus on Beth’s torment. Lucille grabs two, single tail whips, and hands one to Julie.

My Julie. She is not smiling. Her eyes glance toward me, a worried look on her face. Julie takes the other whip, shaking it out as she enters the ring, moving into striking distance of Beth. I understand now. It is a game. Or a challenge. Is this how they are resolving their disagreement? Both mistresses circle poor Bethany and this time I do feel sympathy. The one who whips the last of the clothespins off Beth’s body will win. Accuracy will be the key here, and I think Beth is about to suffer. A shard of agony shoots up from my thigh and I look down at myself. I am covered with clothespins! Tiny, incessant pinches constantly biting at my flesh!

One pinch, ten pinches, even twenty pinches, I could handle. But fifty? A hundred? On my most delicate bits? I start to lose control, trembling as Mistress Brooke begins another line up my side. Pain is overloading me. I feel no pleasure, no arousal as shards of hurt shoot up through me. The clothespins wiggle, jiggling as I start shaking uncontrollably. Then there is a hiss, followed by a crack. A short, barking cry fills the room. I look past my own tortured body and see Julie pulling

My eyes twist toward movement and I see Mistress Lucille take the next swing. It is at an angle, from the two o’clock position going toward seven, and I know it is meant to sweep its way down Bethany’s front. It impacts just above her nipples and violently rips the clamps from her breasts with a chorus of snaps. I wince as Bethany squeals, twisting violently as wooden pegs rain down from her bosom. Then, even before she stops moving, my own mistress flicks her whip. The leather curls around Beth’s hip and the end snaps perfectly into the submissive’s sex. The clamp on her clit flies off, as do two of the pegs on her labia. It is an expert blow, and impressive. But then again… it’s my Mistress.

“Now, sweetheart,” Brooke says. She has run out of clothespins.

Kaitlyn no longer has the buckets. They are on the ground. Instead, she hands two long floggers to Mistress Brooke. I know what’s about to happen and I’m not sure which will hurt worse, removing the clothespins, or keeping them on. Suddenly I think maybe Bethany is in better straights, even as Lucille swing her whip again, leaving a thick, red welt across Beth’s bottom. More clothespins fly off her as Kaitlyn comes around to my head and begins to unbuckle the dildo gag. I groan, grimacing the second the thick rubber cock comes out of mouth. I wonder what Brooke will do when I yell as the floggers rip the clothespins off.

But it is Bethany her yells first. Julie strikes again and another three or four clothespins fall to the ground. A new red mark, across her breast, mars Beth’s chest and I know that my mistress’ aim is good. Bethany twists and turns, her toes struggling to touch the floor. Her body swings and Lucille lands an ineffective, but clearly painful stroke across Bethany’s thighs.

Then my vision is blocked. Like Mistress Amanda, Kaitlyn has climbed up onto the stool. She stands over me, except instead of facing my feet, she is turned the other way and the only thing I can see is her shaven, pink, moist, delicious looking slit. She backs up until her thighs are touching my shoulders. She looks down at me and our eyes meet, my head between her legs. I nod and she lowers herself down. In the background I can hear the whip and Bethany’s cries. I taste sweet, salty, tangy pussy and begin lapping. Another snapping sound and Bethany screams. For me, it is good to focus on something other than the bite of the clothespins, how they hurt, how they pinch, how they feel. They are everywhere. Even on my toes! There are clothespins on my feet! My nipples are throbbing in time with my heartbeat and my clit feels heavy. There is only one good thing and I am licking it, sucking the juices out of Kaitlyn’s slit. I try to steady myself, my body beginning to adjust to the pain, when there is a rush of air, a hissing noise, and the floggers in Mistress Brooke’s hands slash down across my body.

The leather rips clothespins from my flesh and I heart the snapping of the spring loaded clamps as they shut. Pain flashes through me, from my pussy up to my breasts. But it is the sudden, sharp squeal of Kaitlyn that surprises me. She jumps, gasping, eyes wide, and I realize that both floggers strike her too. Right across the rump. Another stroke of the whips takes more of the clamps from my skin and Kaitlyn again winces. Across from us I hear Bethany sobbing. It doesn’t please me, but I don’t feel sorry for her either. There is a crack of the whip and I hear Julie shout in triumph. I understand. She has won the game, the last to remove all the clothespins from poor Bethany’s form.

Another stroke along my thighs, striking my pussy, then my breasts, ripping plastic and wooden pegs from my flesh and I feel Kaitlyn shudder and wince. It confuses me. Why is she moving in such a way? I am the one being struck by the floggers. But then I get it. Kaitlyn’s poor bum is protecting my face and head as Mistress Brooke whips my breasts. She is taking the flogger across her bottom. For me.

It takes a dozen or so snaps of the floggers, both of them, to clear the clothespins from my body and I am shaking by the time Mistress Brooke is done. Kaitlyn is near orgasm and I am trying, desperately, to make her cum. She deserves it. I am hurting. I feel raw. But she protected me. Finally she shudders, gasping, and Mistress Brooke comes around.

“Did you just cum?” She demands. Kaitlyn nods, her face flushed, her long blonde hair bobbing. Two clothespins appear and Brooke quickly pinches them open and sets them on Kaitlyn’s nipples. The tender girl gasps and I lift my head to lick at her clit, just a bit more.

“Get down,” Brooke orders stiffly. Kaitlyn squirms across my face, leaving a trail of wetness on the tip of my nose, then across my forehead as she drags her dripping pussy off me. I lift my head and look down. My body is covered with little red marks from where the clothespins have bitten at me. The area around is covered with them.

“Now clean these up,” Brooke orders. She is irritated. But not with me. Kaitlyn drops to her knees and I hear the sound of wooden pins being dumped into the buckets. I ache everywhere.

But across from us, in the light of the ring of chairs, wrists still bound above her, head down, toes dragging back and forth across the carpet, scarlet lines wrapping around her form, Bethany has been left to hang.

Part 5 will be out tomorrow...

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