She looked at herself in the mirror as she dried off after showering. She was looking for the body that was lusted after so by two different men. She could just see the body that gave her such great pleasure. From the corner of her eye she saw the bottle of nair and that brought back the memory of how she came to be here now.
She had gotten a printed letter, no return address, non-descript post mark. The letter was instructions she had to follow. She had come to the hotel, and, as promised, there was another note. All that had been inside was a room key and the words "Open the suitcase." She entered the room, opened the plain suitcase and found it packed in layers, instructions on top. She was to order dinner in the room. There was a small bottle of bourbon to drink with dinner, permission to watch TV, denial of use of the radio. After dinner she was to remove the cardboard revealing the next layer of the suitcase.
The dinner had been adequate, the half pint bottle was empty. She hoped there would be another; the rush of curiosity was going to keep her from sleeping, she was sure.
She removed the cardboard that had hidden the next layer of the case and found the next note and the nair. She had followed those instructions and now, completely smooth and showered, she rushed to finish drying to get to the next layer. That layer revealed the hoped for liquid relaxer and instructions, a magazine, and a sleep mask. The instructions were simple; she was ordered to drink what she desired, read the magazine, (it was the pictures she would be studying) remove the last layer in the case, and sleep wearing only the mask.
She had a couple of drinks and studied the magazine thoroughly, envious of some of the bound, bruised models. She was certain that she would soon be assuming some of these positions.
She opened the last layer and found the last instructions. She saw the layer was protected by a layer of plastic. The visible contents reinforced her assumptions and sent a shiver through her. She stared at the items; she could not touch them without disturbing the plastic and the instructions had strictly prohibited that.
Dominating the lowest layer was a coil of soft rope. The next thing she noticed was a black leather crop. It was polished leather with a sturdy handle, thick shaft and a three inch knotted thong at the end. It appeared new and she was sure it had been purchased for the exclusive purpose of coloring her bottom. It looked as if it could raise a rainbow of color.
Her glance moved to the the nipple clamps - ornate, large, powerful looking clamps. She wanted to touch them, to feel the strength of the spring; to assure herself she could handle them. The chain that connected them looked heavy. Its weight alone would cause them to pull on her. A bag of clothes pins was simple enough and not that interesting; the handcuffs left anticipation, but not curiosity. But the last item from the case was still hidden from her. A box half the size of a shoe box contained something she could not see and could only wonder about. She retreated to the bed, her last drink of the night in hand. Sleeping mask in place, she lay stroking herself slowly. She had been forbidden by the instructions to masturbate directly but had been allowed to caress herself to her body's content. As she explored herself, trying to satisfy every part that longed for attention, her mind raced trying to figure exactly who had set up this elaborate rendezvous. She could scarcely believe that she could be here now, had really had no choice but to comply, and she still did not know which of her lovers would walk through the door in the morning.
She awoke to the sound of soft music and total darkness. The feelings of confusion had just cleared from her mind, recall of her location and position rushing in as she heard the door open. She lay perfectly still, waiting, trying to analyze the sounds she heard.
She felt his presence near the bed and suddenly the covers were pulled back off the bed, revealing her nakedness. The rush of cold air hardened her nipples; the urge to cower and cover up too much to resist. She felt his hand on her wrist pulling her over on her back. He placed her hand in the upper corner of the bed, then moved her other hand to the other corner; moving her ankles, she lay spread eagle, open and exposed.
She heard the sounds of him removing his clothing, heard the plastic being removed from the bottom layer of the case. She lay there holding the position he had placed her in, but insane with the anticipation of his next move, his location, perhaps more urgent, his identity. He had not spoken; she realized now he would not.
Fingers pinched her right nipple hard enough to cause excitement. Fingers pressed into her left armpit, pressure, then stroking. The hand on her nipple went to her right armpit, the other hand down to her mound. She realized he was examining her, checking the job she had done removing her hair.
He moved a hand back to her breasts and rubbed them hard, pinching and pulling the nipples. Rolling the breasts with a hard massaging motion, with the other hand he opened and explored her, checking her dampness, her excitement. She knew she had soaked his fingers. He stood up and left her empty, all touch removed, then grazed her lips with his wet finger and moved away.
She heard him stirring near the bed. He rolled her over and placed her in the spread position again, this time face down. He first tied her left hand, then then her left ankle. He moved around the bed; she was soon tied to its corners. The ropes where not overly tight on her, but she was stretched across the kingsize bed with little room for movement. His fingers tickled her sides, squeezed, spread and massaged her buttocks, teased down the inside of her thighs, tickled the soles of her feet.
She recalled the crop and knew it would soon be on her. She wanted to feel it and this teasing was disturbing; an interruption of what she really wanted. He was aware of this also, so lingered a little longer.
He laid the crop softly on the fleshiest part of her buttocks and slid the cold leather around her ass, just grazing her skin. Bringing it up to the base of her spine, he lifted the crop and traced it like a pointer down her crack, the knotted braid tickling softly behind the point of contact. He drew it down the back of her thigh, up again on the inside, and teased between her legs by tracing her opening and spreading her. He then continued back down the other thigh, up the inside and along the crack of her buttocks once again. As he pulled the crop slowly away from her, she raised herself into the the final parting touch. When she could no longer feel it on her, she held herself up to sooner meet it on the downstroke she anticipated with such longing.
It was not long in coming and was hard by contrast to the last caressing touches, but gentle when compared to what she would soon be feeling. Centered on her cheeks, she just had time to feel the shock and the presence when it was withdrawn. The next stroke, repeated in the same location, was harder still. She held herself up to him in her position of offering, exposed and begging for more. The strokes came faster, harder and louder. They were all in the same spot and she pressed away from them now. There was a line of fire across her bottom, one thin line of burning skin. He continued to brighten that line until he achieved the color he desired. Past the point of comfort for her, she no longer felt teased, but was well short of the point where she would have lost the desire for more.
Following the last hard stroke, the crop rested on the line it had created, then was stroked gently across it. She relaxed some now and no longer pressed away from the crop but rested, feeling the heat from the welt spread and ease. His fingers traced the line, gently soothing and then scratching to demonstrate the tenderness of that long narrow stripe.
The caresses with the crop began again. It came down just above the last stripe and was much harder initially this time. She could lean into it longer now as she had gained some confidence. This time he changed to two locations. Each stroke was at least as hard as the previous one and most were just slightly harder. They were being spread now, two new welts being raised; one above, one below, with an occasional lash across the original spot to keep it glowing.
He kept this up, knowing that he could increase the pace without having to unduly increase the force, until she was pushing and squirming trying to avoid the kisses of the crop. She wanted more, but those three stripes had become like bands of fire across her and she signaled her submission by cowering into the bed. He placed a few more hard strokes to assure she was not surrendering too easily and to demonstrate control; then she once again felt the gentle caress of the now hot crop. She began to relax immediately and was shocked by two unexpected hard strokes.
The caresses started again before she had time to flinch. His fingers explored the hot raised stripes, showing her the tenderness of them as they traced across her. The crop teased new areas and she realized he was warning her of where it would kiss her next; lower down her buttocks, high on each thigh, back across the tender stripes, between them and around in different patterns. She arched high into those tracings, waiting for the kisses to begin, begging for them with her position.
He raised his arm and started to satisfy her. The strokes were much harder now, faster also. She could almost detect his hard breathing over her own moans and the crack of the leather. The locations were random now, allowing the most damaged spots a brief respite, coloring a broader range. Just as she thought she could take no more, the location shifted slightly and she found she was still leaning into the leather kisses. Her whole bottom was on fire and the welts crossing each other had large swellings at their intersections; there was no place for rest anymore, he had given her as much as she could stand. She was using all her self control to avoid stopping him and knew she would not get more. This was the end; this is all her tender ass could take. She could not lean into him any longer and though squirming as much as the binds would allow, she desperately tried to get all she could out of this. The tempo increased and she retreated. He had won, but it was she who had really won. She pressed hard away from the lashes now; they continued only briefly, stopping just before she could scream the word of surrender.
Total shock. What word to scream? Whose code would she have used? It didn't matter. Hands were caressing her, absorbing the heat. Soft kisses from gentle lips replaced the kisses of leather. Hot breath traced her hot flesh and hands gently spread her cheeks as kisses moved over the bruises and then between her cheeks to the undamaged skin. She felt his tongue trace her crack and felt the gentle sucking and persistent probing. She knew who had just loved her with the leather utensil. He untied her, removed the blindfold and spread his kisses all over her. Her climax was sudden and thorough. As she relaxed, she heard the rattle of the chain, felt the cold metal trace across her. She had completely forgotten there were more toys in the case. Panic spread quickly, replaced slowly by lust as he teased and aroused her, pinches preparing her for the clamps.
The chain had been like ice across her breasts at first, but it was warmer now. He had both of her nipples fully erect and she knew the clamps would be on her shortly. She was ready. He reached over her and held her right wrist. Leaning lower, he started kissing her lips, her eyes, her whole face. He moved her right hand between her legs as he sucked her tongue in a deep kiss. She started digging at her clit fiercely, trying to get the orgasm she was on the verge of.
He covered her hand with his hand pushing hard and said his first words to her, "Slowly Dearest, slowly." The soothing effect worked. She started exploring more with her fingers; she was rolling her hips, dragging her raw, tender cheeks across the fabric of the sheets. The sheets felt like sandpaper on her welts, the sensations were wonderful. More kisses, down her neck, across her throat. He buried his face in her left armpit, probing and nibbling. His one hand covered hers, controlling her pace. The kisses moved lower with gentle bites across her breast, not so gentle bites on her nipples. He sat up and just stared down at her, drinking in her beauty, her excitement.
He removed the hand that covered hers, knowing he could control her pace in another manner now. He moved it to her right breast, squeezing so the nipple stood high. The clamp was in his other hand, opened and ready. She gasped as he placed the open clamp over her nipple. She dug hard with her fingers, knowing the higher her arousal, the easier the pain from that clamp would be to tolerate. He let it close slowly, biting a little, pulling the nipple, opening again to get a better grip, slowly letting the pressure increase. Her nipple was like a rock now, a very tender rock. He was finally satisfied with the placement and relaxed his grip on the clamp; it bit hard into her swollen flesh. He held it by the end and squeezed it tighter shut. The pain shot through her breast like a bolt of fire. She rubbed madly at her clit knowing arousal would douse the fire that had rolled down to the pit of her stomach.
He pulled and squeezed the clamp; she was gaining on the pain, loving it for the heights it let her reach. She was going higher again, the fire just a teasing as he pulled and squeezed the tortured nipple. He could see she was under control and suddenly attached the other clamp to her right nipple, letting it spring closed on her, opening it and closing it fully in several locations quickly, until satisfied with its location. It was a contest now; she was rubbing madly trying to keep the pleasure above the pain; he was squeezing and pulling on the clamps, always just ahead of her, always keeping the pain in front.
He leaned over and started kissing her again, almost suffocating her as she gasped for air. Her effort had brought a sheen of sweat to her body; her heart was pounding, she was close to her orgasm. He sat up and pulled hard on the chain. He couldn't lift her off the bed by it, but the biting pull was so hard she sat up suddenly to ease the pressure. He stood and pulled her to her feet by the chain. Her hand was still covering her mound, but she had lost the race; the orgasm had not been achieved.
She had no idea of the direction he was going to take her in now. She was still slightly disoriented from the sudden denial. He moved her to a narrow part of the hallway in front of the full length mirror. The room's wall mirror had been placed on the wall behind her and she could see the reflection of the stripes on her buttocks and the heavy chain dangling from her breasts at the same time. He left her there momentarily, letting her examine her body. He returned with the hand cuffs. He cuffed her hands behind her back, then raised her wrists slightly. She watched in the mirror as he traced the welts on her ass and thighs with his fingernail, irritating the tender skin, making the nerve endings sing.
He held the chain again; she watched as he lifted it, pulling her breasts up by the tender nipples, one arm around her shoulder to hold her steady, the other pulling the chain up, down, right and left. Pull harder on one side to torment that nipple, then change like the bridle on a horse. He controlled her direction with that chain. He led her to the bathroom and sat her on the toilet. He knew she was not into humiliation, but he stayed with her anyway. She was inhibited by his presence and by her own aroused state, but last night's bourbon had created a great pressure she was just beginning to recognize and she wasn't sure when he would repeat the opportunity. She finally relaxed enough to relieve the pressure inside her and he lead her back to the hallway between the mirrors. She stood there, hands cuffed behind her, legs spread.
He started kissing her again, a tour of her body by his lips and tongue. Roaming over her breasts, slight tugs on the chain, catching it with his chin and pulling it with his nose as his kisses roamed her belly. Lower now, kissing the top of her opening, moving down, spreading her with his tongue, cleaning the fluids that she had evoked with her finger earlier, stirring new juices from her. Around behind her, kissing her tender cheeks, biting the swollen blue intersections of the striped welts, up her back, kissing her neck under her hair. He pressed his hard erection into her cuffed hands and slid his arms around her to rub her breasts, tease her clamped nipples. She could feel his heat with her fingers, she used them on him and felt the wetness that had already started seeping from him. He moved away from her, turned her so her profile was reflected in the mirror then pushed her to her knees. He stepped in front of her and she began to suck on him. He watched her in the mirror. The contest was on again.
Neither of them knew the rules that determined the winner. Control was the game, orgasm the finish line, but who wins the game when the finish line may be crossed several times? It doesn't matter, play the game. Her mouth was the heaven he sought. He was excited and ready for her; she was superb. The limit to his arousal was the shaking of his knees and he wanted more. He watched her in the mirror and fought to keep his eyes open to watch. He now fought just to stand. He wanted her hands on him and this position no longer worked.
He stepped back from her, bent down and lifted her by the chain. He guided her to the bed, removed her handcuffs and lay on his back. She was on him instantly and it was his turn to surrender. He had never climaxed from oral caresses. He would give her a chance to break that record, confident in his control, but only needing the control to prolong the pleasure. She was down on him, sucking deeply, moving back to work the tender spot below the head, hands roaming the shaft, squeezing his balls, rubbing the swollen area below the sac, probing his ass. She heard him moaning, felt his hips straining towards her. He had a hand on her hip, but she could tell it was there to hold her; he could not rub her now, he lacked the will for anything but absorbing the sensations she gave him. She felt his excitement rise, felt him strain toward her, aching for relief from her. Then a subtle shift; she knew she had missed this time. A slight change of pace and try again.
She had no idea of how hard he was straining for the relief she was trying to to give him; perhaps too hard. It didn't matter that the sensations she was providing were beyond his belief; as long as she could continue to offer them he was going to enjoy them. Her mouth and hands worked feverishly over him, several times he thought he would explode in the reward of climax. She was swallowing the seepings of his pre-cum which had all but become a steady flow. He could stand it no longer; he wanted to taste his fluid in her mouth. He needed to fill her and feel her come. That was his secret; she knew it so well. His pleasure was based on her thrills.
He pushed her over on her back and was on her instantly, in her suddenly; no slowness, no tenderness, just deep in her, buried to the tickle that identified her, tongue as deep in her mouth as he was deep inside her body. Her first orgasm was instantaneous; she never recovered from it before he started building the second. Hard, long, fast strokes, deep pounding strokes; he was working as hard and as fast as he could. He needed to feel her come for him. His chest was heavy on her, pressing the metal clamps into her tender flesh. She felt the rush of impending orgasm. He sensed her approach and worked harder. The cry from her, the sudden desperate hug and he knew he had achieved his desire. He squeezed her to him, pushing into her with all his strength, trying to feel the spasm of her muscles while he felt the shudder of her body.
Calmness returned; he put his legs around her and held her with his whole body while she slowly returned from the heights. He had yet to come, but her orgasm gave him more pleasure then his own would have; there would be time for that later. As he withdrew from her, as her pleasure subsided, the pain of the clamps started to dominate her thoughts. Her nipples were flattened in their bite, the pain mounted quickly. He moved down on her again, kissing the flood of wetness from her thighs. She took him in her mouth again, tasting their mixed flavors, sucking the taste off him. She was trying to let him stir the fire in her to quench the fire from the clamps. He worked quickly, starting her, then more slowly sustaining her. When he felt she was rested and climbing again he sat up and placed her hand between her legs, letting her sustain her own level; he was about to start increasing the pain again.
He leaned over her and kissed her lips gently, softly, tenderly. At the same time he had taken the chain and started pulling straight up on it, not gently nor tenderly at all. Her breasts were stretched, pulled high off her chest, pulled by the clamps digging deeply into her flaming nipples. She tried to lean into the pull, but he held her down with his face, covering her moans with his kisses. They were much harder kisses now; fiercer, to match the fire at the tips of her breasts.
She dug furiously with her fingers, trying to catch up to the pain. She had started from such a calmed state and he had so suddenly brought that surge of pain, she was way behind. His hand moved in a large circle above her. Her breasts were stretched in rotating circles, dancing like matched puppets. The chain was the string and he was the puppeteer. This was a private showing, a play for the enjoyment of the actors. If asked at this moment how she was enjoying this play, she would have fled the theater; that was not her option, however.
He released the chain. It shot to her chest, propelled into her by the force of her strained breasts. He stood and looked down at her. She was still working, her fingers trying to catch the not yet subsiding pain. He walked to the foot of the bed, grabbed her ankles and pulled her lower on the bed. The fire caused by her welts being rubbed across the fabric actually helped divert attention from her burning nipples. He spread her legs wide apart; the ankles almost reached the corners of the bed as he tied them firmly in place. He took her hands and tied them straight over her head, wrists together; she was stretched out like an inverted "Y".
He went to the case and returned with the clothes pins. He dumped the bag on her belly and then started tracing the crop across her body, around her shoulders, tickling her armpits, caressing her stomach. He moved it lower, over her mound, down the inside of her thighs, back and forth over her thighs. He moved it to her opening and rubbed it there, stroking her, playing with her as he explained the new rules. "You have three words to remember: Dearest, Crop, Pins, Chain. Those are the words that will end the torment you are getting at that instant." She knew he did not mean end. The explanation was simple; the correct word was "transfer."
He laid the crop across her belly and began caressing her with two pins, dragging them slowly across her, teasing her, up her sides, across her neck. He placed them on each earlobe, squeezing them shut and pinching hard to hear her moan. Getting two more, he repeated the caress. These went on the upper sides of her breasts, again placed with a hard squeeze. The process was repeated with the next pair being placed on the bottoms of her breasts; another pair went on the soft skin at the sides of her armpits. His hands returned to the first pair. Squeezing them, pinching her earlobes and pulling at her, he moved to each pair randomly; squeezing, twisting, creating little spots of fire all over her. His pace and pressure increased and she was sweating now.
Finally the word he wanted came from her. "Crop", she moaned. He stood and moved down. Taking the crop, he immediately started on her left thigh, 2" down from the top. A hard stroke burned the inside of her thigh. She knew why she was spread so wide and rolled her leg slightly to more readily expose the tender skin on the inside of her thighs. He took full advantage of this exposure. Three bright red welts were soon inscribed on her left thigh. From his angle he could only work on this one thigh, but he was working on it passionately, five long welts now one already turning blue. The strokes were fast and were not meant to tease. They were meant to burn and mark, meant to drive her to the next word. It took very little time to get that word, "Pins", she almost screamed.
The crop was dropped and he returned to the placement of the small wooden clamps. Several more went on her breasts, down her sides. He doubled some, one pin pinching another. They finally were all placed and he just roamed over them, alternating between them to squeeze them all the tighter on her tender flesh. She wanted the fire in her other thigh. She could handle the pins, but wanted the fire on her thigh and finally begged for it. This was a slower beating; she rolled her right leg over and he tried to match the stripes to her other leg, but now he was also masturbating her with the crop; five or six very hard strokes then several minutes of caresses. She was squirming now, wanting the pain and fire, wanting the caress and tenderness. She would never come from the touch of the crop. She needed more now. The arousal had overcome the pain. She needed more pain to keep the climb of pleasure building. She moaned, "Chain."
He moved between her legs, covered her mound with his mouth, sought her clit with his tongue as his hands slid up her belly to her take hold of the chain just above the clamps. Each hand controlled the strain on one breast. The pins lept from her as he stretched her breasts pulled to attention by the clamps. His tongue rolled across her clit, his lips sucked it and his teeth gently nibbled on it.
This is what she needed. She was on her way now. He precisely balanced the pulling strain on the clamps against her climb up the hill of pleasure, working her higher, ever higher. She lost track of everything except the fire in her nipples and the tingling in her clit; higher, constantly higher. She knew no matter how hard he tried, he could not maintain this balance much longer. Her come was building and about to burst forth. He stood next to her and replaced the blindfold. She could not recover from the shock of his leaving. She was so close to coming, her orgasm almost released by itself.
She heard him moving about the room as her senses returned to her. He leaned over her and whispered, "I'll love you forever, Dearest." She felt a gentle kiss on her neck as he left the room.
She was in shock at what had happened, what would happen. She heard nothing in the room. The only sounds came from the outside. She held her breath trying to detect the breathing sounds that would assure her he was still with her. No sense of time passage at all; the remaining pins and the clamps were digging fire into her. She tested the ropes but they were secure. She felt panic rise. How long had it been since he left? 20 minutes, 5 minutes? She had no idea. Her mind raced, unrestrained and directionless.
He had stepped out the door, walked down the stairs and around the lobby, carefully watching the time. He knew 10 minutes would be more then enough time to achieve the desired effect. She heard a knock on the door; the knock repeated as the key turned in the lock. She was certain it was the maid and panicked completely.
His touch on her thigh was instantly recognized. She didn't even feel the scratching finger across the raised welts as relief surged through her. He removed the rest of the pins and placed them back in the case. He caressed her. It was getting closer to the time for his release. He untied her legs, but tightened the cord to her arms and moved her up on the bed. He climbed between her bruised thighs, rubbing his hips against the hot welts. She threw her legs around him squeezing her tender thighs against him. He propped himself above her, just grazing her clamped nipples with his chest. He covered her throat, neck and face with kisses. His hips started grinding; he dragged his cock across her, searching for the opening, the well from which her sweet fluids ran. He used his hand to guide himself into her, slowly, gently.
This was the lover she recalled; the tenderness and deliberateness, the control devoted to her pleasure. He was in control and he knew just where he was taking her, taking her beyond the peak he so recently denied her. Slowly building, quickly achieving the first ridge; no valley below, continue the climb. He was kissing her, hugging her, stroking in and out of her, harder, faster. He read her climb and was all consumed in taking her to the heights. She felt her third orgasm building. He had barely paused after the first two. He had a place he was taking her and the orgasms she was experiencing now where just steps along the path.
Slowly and methodically he moved over her, in her. She was like no other to him and this was the only way he knew to express this to her. She was unique; when he was with her he knew there had never been anyone who fit him like she did. He could work her to heights neither of them could reach alone. He didn't know why or how. Quite honestly, he didn't care. He just enjoyed the ride and right now he was taking them both for a ride he feared would be the last. He was going to make sure it was the ride they would both remember.
He was in love with making love to her. All that had lead to this point had been done to achieve this mood, this desire; it was time to reach for the places only dreamed of. He had been steadily moving deep inside her, minor variations in the pace to allow her to rise, calm slightly and keep rising. He felt his control slipping from him and also the beggings of exhaustion. He could not do this forever, but her moans, the caress of her body against him, the clutch of her as he slid into her would inspire the energy that would see this to the end. Harder now, all control gone, she sensed the change in him. She knew in the little bit of rationality that was left in her mind that control had left him. His body was working under primitive rhythms, but his basic drive was slightly different. In his last, lost moments it seemed that his ultimate lust had still not changed; it was still her pleasure. This contrasted with all that had happened, but was still consistent with it.
He worked at a pace beyond his control, straining for the release that would only come through her orgasm. The beauty to her was that it required no effort to satisfy him. Allowing him to take her on this trip would be his reward; her only task was to to be satisfied, to come, like she did not believe possible. She knew that she would have no trouble doing that. Those were her last rational thoughts; from there on she was lost in the pleasure of him and of herself. Ride the wave, the rocket, the surge, high and constant, everything gone from her except the pleasure of this feeling, the need to hold onto this moment, the need to pass higher. The peak was so high, so intense, it was painful in itself. It had to end, it had to stop; the release was more important now then the continued climb. It burst upon her, exploded through her. She felt him press to her, push into her as if trying to become part of her.
He held her so tightly she could feel nothing but him as she shuddered uncontrollably against him. As she settled slightly, he would move in her again, instantly sending another burst of spasms through her. She knew they were on their way down the mountain, but the orgasms, though each a little less intense than the last, were making the slide down almost as pleasurable as the climb had been. This was the part he particularly enjoyed. He was exhausted, heart pounding, gasping for breath, but clutching her to feel every reaction of her body. It was so easy to evoke these relaxing orgasms from her. Just slow movements, deeper thrusts as she tried to relax and he would feel her shudder again.
Slowly they rode together toward the sea of calmness at the end of this journey. A couple of fast, short excursions to harder orgasms along the way, but generally, gently down toward sanity and control. Finally he rolled off her and lay next to her stroking her, drinking in her beauty, the calmness and glow radiating from her. He moved down to kiss her heated, swollen mound. She was still coming down and while his lips and tongue sent shivers through her, they would not take her higher again. She became aware that he had tied her legs again and moved away from her briefly.
He was back on the bed, this time straddling her arms and facing her feet. He bent over, kissing her thighs, brushing himself against her lips. She opened her mouth and sucked him into it, tasting the mingled juices of their passion, feeling him grow again through her gentle ministering. His kisses roamed lightly over her. He was more interested in his own satisfaction for the moment. He savored the feel of her lips and tongue, the intensity with which she strained to bring on his still self denied climax.
He was not yet ready for that though and withdrew from her kisses as he moved higher on her. She felt his kisses move to her breast. His hand was tenderly caressing her and she realized that he was about to remove the clamps. They had been on for hours now. She had all but forgotten them, but knew that the sudden surging circulation would bring on a wave of pain she might not be ready for. She tried to set her mind for it, but as she waited he teased slowly, assuring she would feel the total sensations of this release. He watched her nipple carefully as he slowly squeezed the clamp open. One side released the bruised tissue and he twisted the other side free suddenly, dipping his head to suck the deformed nipple, to pinch it with his lips, to rush the fire into what she had thought was numbed nerves.
He had been wise to withdraw from her lips; she would have bitten him fiercely in the anguish of that distended nipple. She didn't realize it yet, but he was not done with that nipple. He sucked hard at it and pulled away from it causing a pop as it retreated from his kiss. She felt him stirring, but it was not until she felt the icy touch and smelled the odor of the alcohol that she realized what his intentions were, understood why she was still bound here. At last she knew the contents of the box.
He had placed the alcohol soaked swap on the nightstand after wiping the needle to insure it was sterile. He pinched her nipple again holding it by the end and pulling her breast high. She was rolling her head from side to side; she wanted to cry out, to stop him, but she could not. She was frightened, but could not stop him and did not want to whimper. She felt the the needle prick her several times, some times probing a little, others, just barely touching her. He was searching for the exact spot, just above the curve of her breast, exactly horizontal, perfectly centered. He found the spot, the angle, and increased the pressure. The tip disappeared, but that was all as the nipple resisted penetration. He could watch the distortion, the bulge on the opposite side as he continued to probe. He was pushing hard now, but still the skin and tissue resisted; he twisted the needle like a drill bit and it burst through exposing an inch of the gleaming tip. He pushed another inch through and and relaxed his grip on the nipple, letting it return to a normal position.
He removed the mask and she instantly moved to stare at her damaged breast. The sight of the long needle completely penetrating her was much more erotic than she had imagined. She stared, trying to realize that this was herself and not a picture or movie she was watching. He began teasing the remaining clamp. She felt detached; the surge of pain was almost more observed than experienced. She watched as he repeated the alcohol swabbing, more attention and twisting now. The pain was much more bearable as she observed it, so he increased it, several deep probings before the final twist that sent the needle through her. He stepped back to admire his handiwork to this point. She could still not separate the reality even as she looked at the two needles that penetrated her swollen nipples.
He opened a black jewelry box and showed her the pair of small gold rings that would soon adorn her. They were thin and only about a half inch in diameter. More swabbing and she felt the sting of the alcohol as he slid the needle back and forth, expanding the hole. He quickly removed the needle and rapidly replaced it with the ring before the damaged tissue could swell and close the hole designed to receive it. He elaborately repeated the process on the other breast, then placed the alcohol and some extra swabs in her purse. He picked up the toys of the day and replaced them all in the case as she stared down at her breasts, just beginning to realize these rings had become a permanent part of her now. They could be removed of course, but their significance could not. He untied her feet, and then released her hands. She caressed her breasts, examining the new adornments.
He returned to her and lay next to her. He rolled her over to her side and snuggled against her bruised bottom. He played with her breasts, twisting the rings and moving them around in the swelling holes, then moved his hands to her cheeks. She felt him apply the lotion and knew now how this day would end. He probed her sphincter with his rapidly swelling cock. He was teasing her with it and she was leaning hard into him, not realizing why he continued to play when she wanted to feel him open her, probe deep inside her. When he pushed into her, she was shocked. He was fully erect; he had always entered her gently and slowly, but now he was fully swollen and surged into her. If it had not been for all the teasing, she could never have taken him in this state, but she found herself pushing back hard into him, trying to swallow all of him. He started pumping hard and fast. She exploded instantly and he followed almost simultaneously, filling her ass with hot hard spasms; not the volume of the enemas she was used to, but a most unique fluid, not to mention the nozzle. She fell asleep in his arms, felt him shrink, but he remained snuggled comfortable and deep inside her.
As she slept, she dreamed of a gentle kiss as he left the room.
~~ Finis ~~
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