Final Meetings - Part 5 of 6

Part Five - Accidental Orgasm

It is Mistress Haley’s turn to use me. Hers was the first pussy I tasted that evening and I have little doubt that a number of other tongues have dipped and swirled their way through her folds since. She is almost as voracious as I am. She is still wearing her black bustier and chaps, but her loins are no longer exposed. She is wearing a strap-on, sporting a thick, black rubber dildo sticking straight out.

“Breanne, are you ready to get fucked?” She says saucily. Morgan stands up behind her, her massive breasts hanging like ripe fruit. I can see a few bruises forming on her dark skin and she wraps her arms around her Mistress. Morgan’s hand goes down and I see that it is covered in some sort of gel. She begins stroking the strap-on and it glistens.

“Yes mistress,” I say in relief. I am tired. I have been stretched out on the iBench for over an hour, almost an hour and a half, and have been tortured in ten minute intervals. The pain has been, admittedly, inconsequential. My thighs ache from my legs being spread so far apart and my back is hurting. But worst of all has been the arousal. I’m craving sex in ways that go beyond my usual deviance. I want it hard and brutal and fast and painful. I want it repeatedly. I am sore and tender and sensitive and I am willing to beg for it.

“Please? Will you fuck me?” I plead, my voice high pitched and whiny. Mistress Haley smiles down at me, bending over at the waist to kiss me. It is a nice kiss and her tongue glides across my lips.

“Of course I will,” she assures me. She runs her hand down my body, her fingers gliding on the still oily surface of my skin. Morgan stays near my head, only to reach down and grab my breasts. I am right. Her hands are covered with some sort of gel that becomes even more slick as she begins to massage my breasts. Mistress Haley moves around my outstretched leg, drawing figures on my skin, little circles of pleasure. I look up, past Morgan’s arms, ignoring the kneading of my bosom, ready for that thick, wonderful cock to slide into my pussy. Mistress Haley moves to the perfect position, her strap-on pointed right at my depths. Morgan gives my nipples a little pinch and I groan in utter relief, in expectation, in total readiness.

And the cock presses against the wrong hole.

“Wait!” I blurt out, head snapping up. “Not there!” I gasp. But it is too late. Haley thrusts hard and the mixture of fluids on my body, the melted coconut oil left on my loins by Bethany’s popsicle, the flavored stuff put on me by Madeline, and now the jelly coated dick, make clenching tightly enough impossible. The thick rod slides into my ass with ease, spreading me open uncomfortably. I let out a wail. I am not in pain. It doesn’t really hurt. I’ve been used in such a manner so often that my bottom is accustomed to being violated. But it is so not what I want! Mistress Haley starts fucking my ass in earnest, pumping enthusiastically, her own voice making it clear that her pleasure, not mine, is at stake. I realize it must be a double sided dildo, and that just as I am stuffed to the brim, so is she.

Except I’m betting the other end of the dildo is in her cunt. Not her ass.

Morgan continues to play with my breasts as I lay there, teeth clenched, enduring my sodomization. I loosen, accepting the torment, allowing my bottom to relax. It is still difficult. It takes a special mental state to remain calm and composed while getting buttfucked and Morgan is trying to break my concentration. She squeezes, kneads, and caresses my breasts, everything centered on the pierced tips. She twists the hoops around, just a bit, back and forth, before cupping my breasts and drawing her fingers inward and up. She scratches lightly as my skin, her nails teasing the areola until my flesh tightens up. Then she bends down and suckles, licking and drawing on my tips until my back arches. 

Between my legs, Mistress Haley draws her fingers up and down my thighs, caressing me. It is inconsequential because I’ve got a thick, pumping, rubber rod being shoved repeatedly into my bottom. It is not where I want, or need it to be. My arousal remains the same, neither increasing or decreasing. I ache. I hurt. I want. I need. Yet… this is not as intense as the other torments. I am not confused about sensations. I can tell left from right and pain from pleasure. I sigh, enduring the anal sex with only minor whimpers. 

“Morgan?” Says Mistress Haley. “Her clit please.”

Morgan lifts her head up from my chest, her teeth marks still visible on my right breast. She grins and goes back down, only to run her tongue down through the flavored oil on my torso, down to my hip. She licks along where my leg meets my loin. It tickles and I yelp, giggling. Then Morgan’s tongue slides across the inch or so of flesh to the apex of my sex. I stiffen, gasping, words escaping from my lips.

“Oh… oh yes!” I whisper passionately as Morgan licks at my nub. The strap on continues sliding into my ass, but I am charged in a different direction. I tighten, pressure building in my bottom. Morgan sucks on my clitoris and I groan, eyes closed, head back. I tug on my bonds, stretching as fresh surges of lust blast through me. It is beautiful. It is perfect. I don’t care that my ass is being pumped any longer. Then Morgan bites me. It is not that painful. It is intense. It is hard. I cry out, jerking, my clit caught between her teeth, her tongue stabbing at the head, inside her mouth. If my legs had not been tied open I would have slammed my knees together to protect myself. As it is, I have no recourse. I am tortured. Morgan releases my clit and I shudder, trying to relax strained muscles. She licks. Haley thrusts. Morgan bites me again.

Once more my brain short circuits. Time becomes meaningless. I am barely cognizant of things going on around me. I am bitten and butt fucked. I cannot cum. Not like this. Instead I am driven closer to the edge, but lead in circles, the abyss hidden from me so that I get no relief. When I hear Mistress Charlotte’s voice, telling Haley that her time is up, I cry tears as the strap-on is pulled from my bottom. Morgan’s gives me one more nip, her fingers splayed across my belly. I am once more on edge, straining for release.

Mistress Charlotte looks down at me. Her submissive, the blonde and athletic Tiffany, stands behind her. I like Tiffany. She is a kind, sweet girl who shows kindness to everyone. What concerns me though, is that Tiffany is holding two leather saps. They are small paddles, three inches wide and four inches long - the perfect width and length for spanking a woman’s sex. Or bosoms. She moves behind her mistress, like a nurse ready to slap the appropriate tool into the surgeon’s hand. Mistress Charlotte puts her left hand on my breast, fingers encircling the soft globe. I brace myself, but she merely touches me, plumping my tit until the nipple is raised and pointed toward the warehouse ceiling.

“I’m guessing you haven’t been allowed to cum,” Mistress Charlotte says to me as she squeezes my boob. I shake my head as her thumb caresses my nipple. Shivers of pleasure stream through my chest.

“No mistress,” I croak. I am… not scared, but not at ease. I am expecting to be paddled. I know it is coming. 

Charlotte nods as Tiffany moves down to the end of the iBench, positioning herself between my legs. “I know you want to cum, but I am curious. Do you deserve to cum?” Mistress Charlotte asks.

The question confuses me. Have I not been tormented? Have I not suffered? Have I not given satisfaction to the other mistresses? Have I not been chastised for the things I’ve done wrong? Am I not a good little fuck slut? Have I not held myself back properly? Have I accepted all of the humiliation and pain and use? My eyes narrow quizzically in bewilderment. 

“Mistress?” I manage to blurt out. Her thumb continues to rub at my nipple. 

Charlotte holds out her other hand and sure enough, Tiffany gives her one of the two paddles. “Simple enough question, Bre. Do you deserve to cum?”

I stare at her. Now I am scared. If I answer yes, does that make me uncooperative? Or unwilling? Or disobedient? Or arrogant? Or something else? If I answer yes, will she spank me? Or allow me to cum? But if I go the other route, will she spank me? I waffle, even though were I in my right mind, thinking logically, the answer would have been easy. Finally I get there. 

“No, Mistress. I do not deserve to cum,” I manage to say. Charlotte smiles, beaming down on me. 

“No, you do not. Do you know why?” She asks, lifting the sap and positioning it over my breast. I tense, my chest starting to heave as my breathing quickens. I am about to have my breast spanked and I know it will sting and burn and hurt. I shake my head, my arms and legs straining against the bonds of the iBench. 

Charlotte looks right into my eyes. “Because you are you,” she whispers. I stare at her, watching her hand intently, bracing myself, which is why the impact comes as a complete and utter shock. The leather sap lands wetly, with a hard cracking noise. The jolt rocks upward through me, followed by the heat of the stinging. My gaze snaps downward, past the leather paddle in Mistress Charlotte’s hand, to the one in Tiffany’s. She lifts it up, the black leather wet, and I watch as she runs her tongue through the girl goo. I am shocked, my pussy clenched tight and tingling.

“Yum,” she says, eyes glittering. She moves her wrist back into position, holding the sap and I start blubbering. I managed three or four seconds, but then the beating commences. Mistress Charlotte leads, smacking my plumped up breast, striking the raised nipple. She uses steady, firm blows that sting horribly, turning my breast into a pin prickling cushion of pain. But between her strokes, Tiffany licks at my pussy, spanking my splayed petals and beating my clitoris. Tiffany doesn’t hit me as hard, which is a blessing, but the dual sensations, so close to each other, from opposite prurient points, rocks me. I clench my teeth, keening loudly as the spanks continue. Within a few strokes I lose control. I yank on my bonds, the iBench groaning beneath me. My toes curl and I yell, teeth gritting as the pain begins to build. I endure, twenty, maybe thirty blows to my right breast and pussy, only to have Mistress Charlotte move to the other side of my chest, plumping it up in similar fashion. 

But while Charlotte moves targets, Tiffany continues to beat my slit, her strokes firm, incessant, and increasingly difficult to cope with. My hips thrust upward, despite the leather band around my waist, or the straps on my thighs and she pushes her left thumb into my ass. I cry out at the penetration, but she has a perfect hold now, sensing my movements, and the firm taps on my slit become drum beats in a march toward orgasm. My clit swells with each impact, until the top of my cunt is red and inflamed. I lift my head, suddenly realizing that I am there. I am about to cum. I open my mouth to beg permission, to ask Mistress Charlotte if I can cum, and I see Tiffany looking at me, eyes bright, a smile on her face. For a second she shakes her head back and forth.

The words die on my throat. Tiffany pulls her thumb out of my ass and pushes two fingers into my sex. I tighten, the last ripples of resistance fading. It doesn’t matter that my right breast is hot and heavy and still blistering from the sapping. It doesn’t matter that Mistress Charlotte is beating my left breast into a raw and prickling mass. I am cumming. Finally. Terribly. Strongly. Completely. I clench my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut as the eruption overwhelms me and I cry out, squirting as every muscle vibrates and trembles. There is no doubt about what is happening, or the fact that I am in the throes of passion. Charlotte’s eyes widen and she looks at me in shock, only to turn her gaze downward to her submissive. I let out a gasp and then sigh, my body relaxing as the power surge ebbs. There are no more strokes to my breast and Tiffany pulls her fingers out of my pussy, licking at them wickedly.

“You little bitch,” Charlotte says, her voice slightly disbelieving. She is not talking to me. 

“I apologize, Mistress.” It is Tiffany. I breathe, feeling better than I have in hours. I sigh in happiness, in relief, in satisfaction. My brain is still locked in sexual euphoria, the drug I’ve been craving. I am barely aware as Charlotte leaves my side, moving down to the other end of the iBench. The mistress brings up her free hand, running her fingers into Tiffany’s blond locks. She bends her forward and for a moment, I feel a sense of panic, worried that Mistress Charlotte is truly mad. But there is a glimmer of amusement in Charlotte’s face. Tiffany bends, yielding, until her mouth is pressed to my wet and satisfied slit. I am still tender, still sensitive. I let out a tiny moan. 

“Lick her. Lick her until she’s on edge again,” Charlotte orders roughly. Tiffany laps at my petals, then my clit. I suck in a tender breath. I am… sore. Sensitive. Delicate. It feels intense, and not in an arousing way. At least, not yet. Tiffany senses my feelings and softens the pressure, not wanting to overwhelm me. A tingle begins, building until it is a pressure, and then it shoots up through me, causing my sex to squeeze. And with that I am ready again. Nowhere close to cumming, but aroused. I close my eyes. Why? Why does my body do this? How can it accept being like this over and over, taken to the edge? Why do I crave it so much?  

In the meantime, Mistress Charlotte has turned in her leather sap, as well as the one being wielded by Tiffany. A long-tail whip takes its place in her hand and I twitch as I expect her to flick it at my body. Instead, Mistress Charlotte snaps it down low, out of my sight. I hear it impact something. There is a soft gasp and then a vibration in my pussy. I lift my head. It is Tiffany. Her mistress strikes her again, somewhere beneath the chin. I do not know where, but from the way her body moves, I suspect her breasts. But Tiffany is focused on licking me and ignores the sting of the whip. Her tongue laps and strokes my pussy, flicking back and forth before suckling my tender nub deep. There is wetness and warmth and her pitiful little cries humming into my sex. It is working me back into a froth.

There is no surprise that I am wanton again, ready for another orgasm. I am multi-orgasmic under the worst of circumstances and I have been teased and tormented for over an hour and a half. I am aching in all the right spots and even the sensitivity I am feeling only adds to my arousal. Tiffany knows that, which is why she is focusing on my clitoris. I feel sympathy for her as I listen to the whip strike her flesh. Mistress Charlotte is not hitting her hard, but it has to sting. She is taking my punishment, my torment, in exchange for giving me a gift. I owe her.

“Mistress?” I whimper. I hear the pause and Tiffany rewards me by slipping a finger into my slit and wriggling it around. I tense, swallowing, trying not to reveal the pleasure.

“Yes Breanne?” Charlotte says, coming up to my side. Her fingers touch my skin, along my ribs. It tickles. I bite my lip, looking up at her.

“Please? Can I take the rest of Tiffany’s punishment?” I ask. Her eyebrow rises and she looks down at me.

“No,’ she says simply. “But I don’t want to neglect you either.” Her head looks up, past me and she calls out. “Sara? Do you have a moment?”

I look, turning my head. Red curls. It is Mistress Sara. She walks over, her black leather picking up the light. Behind her crawls star-bright Alissa, naked and beautiful. But there is something in her mouth. A cane of some sort. It is oddly shaped, thicker than I would have expected. It seems… bumpy, but I do not get a good view. As Mistress Sara comes up to my other side, on my right, Alissa disappears from my field of view. I am distracted then, as Mistress Sara places her left hand on my breast. I stiffen, expecting a pinch, or a twist, or a pull, or a squeeze, but there is nothing. Just the pressure of her touch. In some ways, the expectation is worse than the torment. And between my legs Tiffany’s tongue and finger swirl.

“Yes?” Sara asks Charlotte warmly. “Can I assist?”

Charlotte nods. “I know you’re next, but if you don’t mind, I need to punish Tiffany for allowing Breanne to cum. But that means…”

“That Breanne is being neglected,” Sara replies. She nods. “Of course. Do you have a preference?”

Charlotte smiles. “I know you have a vested interest. No preference, except I’ve instructed Tiffany to get her back into a state of need.”

Sara looks down at me. “I think she’s there already,” she says with a laugh. “Look at her. She’s practically shaking with desire. It’s one of the things I love about this girl. She cums so hard she almost passes out, then turns around and is ready to suffer through it all again.”

Charlotte smiles. “Would you care for the whip? Or can I get you a sap?”

Sara’s fingers finally begin to move, tightening on my breast. I gasp, unprepared. She looks at my bosom, considering. “I’ve brought something special actually.” She reaches down with her other hand and the strange cane Alissa was carrying in her mouth appears. It is only a centimeter thick. The cane is triangular and made of plastic. One side sports pyramid like studs, the tips sharp. Charlotte looks at the weapon intriguingly.

“My goodness, that is interesting,” she admits. Sara holds it up. I can see it perfectly now. Charlotte runs her fingertips down the studded side. “Will you hit her with it?”

Sara lets go of my breast. “This side is for a different sensation,” she explains, lowering the cane to my chest. She grabs my right breast around the base, bunching it up just as Charlotte had before. I gasp as the studs press against the underside of my nipple. Sara draws the rod toward her, as if my breast is the string of a violin, the can the bow. Each stud along the back strikes my tender nub like the teeth of a saw and within seconds I am overwhelmed. My back arches and I squeal. Mistress Sara finishes the length of the cane and I am wide-eyed and gasping. The studs are sharp, yet not cutting, and combined with what Tiffany is still doing between my legs? My God! It feels…

Mistress Sara twists the cane sideways and with a snap, smacks it firmly across my chest. An entirely different sensations surges through me – sharp pain and the cry that escapes from my throat seems to burn as much as my nipples do. Only the hard suckling of my clit keeps me from screaming. Then, to my consternation, Mistress Sara turns the cane again so that the plastic studs point at the tips of my breasts. Slowly, yet steadily, she draws the cane back toward her, each sharp, firm point drawn roughly across my nipples. When she gets to the end I get another stroke, strong and swift and my nerves are on fire.

“Very good,” Charlotte says in satisfaction. “I’ll deal with Tiffany now.” Mistress Charlotte moves away from my side I feel Tiffany stiffen. She is not scared, but she is bracing herself, her mouth still licking and lapping and sucking at my petals and clitoris. I am dripping wet, wanting to cum again. I endure another length of Mistress Sara’s cane, bouncing sharply against my breasts and I can see Mistress Charlotte position herself directly behind Tiffany.

“Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

My own legs are spread, bound to the iBench, and even strapped at the thigh to prevent me from closing them, so I know it is Tiffany who is to open herself. Again I feel her move, through her mouth, her tongue, and I know she has widened her stance. Mistress Charlotte flicks the whip, underhand, and the leather tip swings upward, fast between Tiffany’s legs. It strikes her sex and she jumps, letting out a gasp that goes into my sex. But by then I am distracted by Mistress Sara’s third stroke, a bright flare of pain shooting across my bosom. I hear Tiffany’s little yelp, but then it is time for the studded side of the cane to be dragged across my chest once more. I hear the whip this time, striking soft, wet, pink flesh. Poor Tiffany!

But as the seconds tick by I come to realize that I am still suffering more than Tiffany. Mistress Charlotte is only barely letting the whip lick at Tiffany’s pussy. She is squirming, it stings, she is dripping wet. But she is not having her nipples slowly sawn off her chest, in between light, sharp, burning strokes of the cane to the same spot. Mistress Sara is methodical, and cruel and only after twenty rounds – one stroke to one draw of the studs – does she change targets. I am panting, tense and desperate as Sara moves to my right foot. I look at her in sudden realization.

“Wait! No! Please! Not my foot!” I squeal. But it is too late. She slaps the cane against my arch with just the right amount of force to sting like a wasp. I squeal, my toes curling, my ankle rotating as I jerk my leg, only to have it stop as the bondage cuff locks me in place. I feel something sharp on my instep and realize that Mistress Sara is rubbing the pyramid studs along the sole of my foot. It is like being scratched with fingernails, or pins, and it both hurts and tickles. I cannot help myself. I pull hard, trying to get my foot away.

“Charlotte?” Asks Mistress Sara. “Do you mind?” The cane waves toward Tiffany’s head.

“Only if you’ll do Tiffany afterward,” Charlotte says curtly. Then she grabs Tiffany by the hair and pulls her mouth, and her fingers, away from my pussy. Tiffany gasps as she is hauled back and Sara takes her place. I am not expecting a soft tongue, or the warmth of Mistress Sara’s mouth. Instead she places the cane against my clitoris, running down into my slit, her knuckles rubbing my petals, and then draws it bouncing and jerking over my sex.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

It is a sensation I am not prepared for. It hurts and feels good, all at the same time. The tiny impacts and sharp points both prick and punch me, and my swollen clit yields. Again, I tighten, pressure building up inside me, my muscles hard and tense. We get to the end of the cane and without a word of warning Mistress Sara lifts the cane and snaps it back down, just enough to make me cry out. Then it is repositioned and dragged through my cunt again.

And again.

And then once more. Each pin point stud tugs at my clit and it drives me insane.

Behind Mistress Sara, Tiffany has been ordered to put her hands on her head, to spread her legs, and brace herself. Mistress Tiffany is merely swinging the whip back and forth, striking Tiffany’s breasts, her loins, and even her sex. I can already see red marks decorating her skin, some of them firm lines, others just a pink glow. But while I feel for her, it is the cane that keeps my attention. Mistress Sara snaps it again, leaving my pussy stinging from clit down to my ass. Then she drags the studded side through my sex once more.

I surge upward, thrusting, desperate and crazy. I am begging. I am pleading. I am needful and on edge. I hear the whip against Tiffany’s skin, but it is my own suffering that surges through my head. I lift up my bottom, tilting my hips, making a target of my sex so that Mistress Sara can hit me. It comes as expected and I scream, trembling. I am so close. I am ready. “Yes!” I squeal, shuddering. “Please! Please! Hit me!”

Mistress Sara chooses otherwise. Once more the cane is pulled across my pussy, the points tearing at my clit, scratching at my petals. Sara pulls slowly and I squeeze my eyes shut, my teeth clench, my back arches. I am raw and exposed. I am pressured and ready to pop. I feel the end of the cane and I brace myself.

Nothing happens. I wait. Nothing. I open my eyes. Sara is gone, as is Charlotte. No more cane. No more sharp little studs. No more whip. No more whimpering Tiffany. For a second I am lost, hungry and hurting, wanting more. Movement. Dark locks around a pixie face. I look up into the eyes of my mistress. Julie leans down, kisses me on the mouth, and pushes her hand up between my legs. She is holding a massager. One of the small, battery operated ones. It purrs to life as she presses it against my clitoris, buzzing in short bursts. I gasp as it brings me the rest of the way and I look up at Julie. She nods.

“Yes princess,” she whispers in my ear. “You may cum.”

I let out a whimper. An orgasm without consequence. I shudder and let myself go, giving into the moment as this slight woman brings me to a peak. I cry out, climaxing as she does nothing but pleasure me. She kisses my mouth, my breasts, and I am arching. Energy courses through me and I find my edge. I leap into the abyss, my heart racing, tense and electric and passionate. I am exploding.

“Breanne,” Julie whispers, her voice excited, afraid, worried. “Mike proposed. I’m getting married.”

And I go crashing down. 

Part 6 will be out tomorrow...

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