by Sean O'Kane
Janet stood up and stripped in front of me. She was the complete opposite of me, all curves and chubbiness where I was slender. Madam said that, but added that my ‘arse’ was pretty good nonetheless. Janet really had got the boobs - sorry - tits that I had always dreamed of having. Not that mine are small, but hers were really big and yet still high and firm. God! The men I could have had if I had had a pair like that! And their crowning glory was their teats, the nipples were incredibly long and pronounced. Madam made sure I noticed them and told me that they were ‘slavegirl teats’ and mine should be like that, in fact she would make it her business to work on them over the coming weeks.
Upstairs, I was sent to kneel against one wall, while Janet was spread out against the opposite one and her restraints clipped to some of the rings. She was spread out like a letter X with her back against the wall. And while Madam put a ball gag on her and then opened a cupboard which Ben had never used she talked to me.
“If I know Ben, he’ll have beaten you soundly enough by now. Right K?”
“Yes Madam.”
“What’s he used?”
I told her and she grunted approval while she laid out a range of steel clips, chains and clothes pegs on the whipping bench. Janet gave a muffled moan as the items appeared but Madam ignored her.
“He’s a good man with a whip but he neglects the more feminine areas. I think frequent and prolonged tit torture does a girl the world of good. And it’s high time you had some, so watch. It’ll be your turn next.”
I watched all right. I couldn’t take my eyes off what I was seeing. Evil little spring loaded clips with serrated jaws were clamped straight onto Janet’s nipples, making her heave and twist at her bonds. But then Madam slowly added clothes pegs. One by one. She gathered big pinches of breastflesh between finger and thumb before letting the jaws of the pegs close slowly onto them, while Janet sweated and moaned into her gag. At last Madam stood back and surveyed her handiwork on the left breast. An entire ring of pegs surrounded the areola, making the breast itself look like some bizarre sort of sunflower. There must have been about twenty of them, and she still hadn’t started on the right breast.
“Want to leave, K?” Madam asked. I wasn’t tied, I could walk out quite easily. And part of me wanted to walk as far and as fast as my shaking knees would carry me. But the K part of me was full of that reckless abandon which I got when I knew Ben was going to whip me. And I wasn’t going to back down in front of a woman. No way. Ben knew what he had sentenced me to and that was good enough. I told her I was staying and I watched the whole process slowly repeated until two tortured sunflowers adorned Janet’s chest.
“If I really want her to suffer, I whip them off,” Madam told me. “But it’s late and I’ve still got you to see to.”
She took the pegs off and Janet’s writhings became even more frantic as the blood flowed back into the squeezed flesh, but at last her tits were naked again, with livid red lines radiating out from her areolae, where the pegs had been. She gave Janet a slap on the rump and sent her off to get a cold flannel to cool her tits off and then beckoned to me. I could hardly stand and must have tottered over on my high heels, and by the time I was fastened as Janet had been I was openly crying in terror. Madam said nothing but once she had me chained she stripped off her suit and revealed a black leather basque and stockings underneath - no knickers, just a thick bush of dark hair at her pubis. Her body was in good shape, spare and muscular, and she looked so dominant and threatening that I very nearly wet myself.
“No gag for you, K,” she said. “I want to see how you perform. I like to hear a good bit of moaning and crying, but I get very angry if it’s loud enough to distract me, understand?”
I nodded and got another two hard slaps. They were a godsend, pulling me out of my terror and steeling my resolve as well as stoking up the dormant fires between my open legs.
“Yes Madam, I understand,” I managed to whisper.
And I reckon I did pretty well. I didn’t scream when the clamps bit into my ‘teats’ after Madam had played with them enough to harden them up. And I bit my lips and stifled the screams as peg after peg went on. I couldn’t help looking down in fascination as my tits sprouted brightly coloured plastic petals, but the pain was something else! Nothing like the whip, no violent, sexually charged imposition of dominance; just a slow build of throbbing aching pain, coupled with a slow burning fuse of excitement as the abuse grew worse and worse. At last I couldn’t stand anymore and began to let out cry after cry, shaking my head, looking up at the ceiling and wrenching at my wrist shackles. But then it was over and the agony reached a plateau. I realised my crotch was sodden and aching in its own way. I blinked away the tears and saw Janet on her knees with her head between her mistress’s legs. Madam had fistfuls of her hair and was forcing her pelvis against the girl’s face, her eyes were closed and her face had an expression of fierce concentration on it and I realised that for the first time I was watching another woman approach orgasm. I almost forgot the pain in my tits, the ache in my vulva was so strong as I watched her climax. I needed to come as well.
That was another step forward. I didn’t need Ben, or the whip in particular, just someone, anyone to tie me up and cause me pain and I did the rest myself! Submission for its own sake.
Janet chained me to the spare bed after I had experienced the entirely separate torment of having pegs taken off my tits. She gave me a chaste little kiss and told me she would be back soon. I heard her go into the master bedroom and then listened and counted twenty meaty smacks, it sounded like the riding crop and I visualised her broad expanse of buttock flesh rippling under the strokes. It made me more desperate than ever and I was squirming with urgency by the time Janet returned. I didn’t care about doing it with another girl by then, and when she knelt between my legs and put her fingers up me, my hips lifted and I went straight into overdrive. But when she really got down to it and used her tongue, she left every man I had ever known standing. Her tongue knew every crevice of the female anatomy and exactly how to excite it. I went off in blinding firework displays of ecstasy time and again. And then I got my first taste of woman. When Janet kissed me I got second-hand Clair mingled with second-hand me, but later, when Janet unchained me and lay down in her turn. Well I can’t pretend I hesitated. And I was fascinated by exploring another vagina
Mind you I was glad of the dark. Giving another girl oral with the lights on was still a bit advanced for me. But once I got used to the taste, it wasn’t so bad. Pungent and acrid but very animal and very sexy. Making her come was fun, a different challenge to making a man come but satisfying and afterwards I kissed her bottom all over to cool it down.
And so for a hectic few weeks I became Madam Clair’s slave. Sessions were hard to arrange as the election came closer and closer, but there were landmarks on the road I was now travelling down even so.
Clair had obviously decided to cram as much training into those few weeks as possible, after all none of us had any idea whether Ben would be back at all.
I got my first ‘tit trembler’ as Clair called it. I was tied backwards over the trestle, and very uncomfortable it was, although Janet did put a pillow under the small of my back to cushion me against chafing on the wooden crosspiece. I was left there for half an hour or so, staring, upside down at the multi-lashed whip which was going to be used on me, hanging from its hook on the wall. And by the time the actual flogging got underway, K was in her usual state of moist excitement and fear. A state which Madam confirmed by putting her fingers inside me before beating me. She worked them in me until I was squelching at one end and moaning with pain, lust and frustration at the other. But the really devilish thing was that she kept her hand there while she flogged my boobs. Even upside down and stretched because my arms were tied behind me, wrists to ankles, my tits still trembled all right. I could crane my head up and watch the leather lashes coming down bu
t I couldn’t watch the actual strike; that was too much. But I could feel the weight of the lashes smacking into the soft flesh and how it shuddered and swayed even through the blazes of pain. And all the time she kept her fingers working inside me until I howled my way to a shattering orgasm.
Then there was the night she took us to a club.
Janet and I were only dressed in ‘uniform’, collars, wrist restraints, a scarlet basque for Janet and just suspenders and stockings for me. It wasn’t until the following week that I was sent off to get my first basque. We both wore long coats with the collars up and the lapels held across to cover the slave collars. Madam and Janet exchanged smiles in the back of the taxi as I blushed and squirmed in embarrassment at my nakedness under the coat. But once we were in the club all my discomfort and shame vanished. Janet and I were led around by Madam, she held leashes attached to our collars, and I just gawped at everything around me. Although all I wore were high heels, stockings and suspenders, plus of course a generous rash of weals from my last beating, I was by no means alone.
There were leather-clad male and female dominants in weird and wonderful costumes, leading their own slaves around; some of whom wore less than I did. The music was thunderous and the light show made it hard to take in everything in detail as figures in extravagant concoctions of feathers, latex, leather and strange masks seemed to flicker about the place. Janet and Madam seemed quite at home though, but I pressed myself close to Janet as we trailed around behind her. I was truly glad of the collar and lead, just like when I was tied for beating, it allowed me to hide behind the dominance of someone else; I had no choice so it was okay for me to enjoy whatever was going to happen.
My eyes were particularly drawn to slavegirls who had piercings and from whose nipple rings weights and chains dangled and swung. But most of all I stared at the slaveboys. I had been so bound up in the exploration of my own submissiveness that I swear it had never crossed my mind that men too could enjoy the strange world of slavery. It shocked me to my naive little heart.
I was devoted to Ben and I instinctively felt that these slaves humbly following their mistresses and with horrible piercings in their genitals were an insult to him somehow, and to all the men I had ever known. But even as the carnival unfolded around my fearful and horrified gaze I felt an insidious response between my legs to this open display of the delights of domination and submission.
There was a voyeurs’ room and we paused to watch the pumping male buttocks between the soft skin of spread female thighs, the wide open mouths of girls on their knees with their masters’ penises deep in their throats and the smooth curves of female bodies intertwining. Then Clair dragged us on and we moved to an area where there was a whipping frame occupied by a slavegirl who had fresh traces of a beating on her back and buttocks. Her legs were well spread and her master was busy fisting her cunt. I had never seen that done before and frankly just couldn’t believe that a vagina could take a clenched fist and about four inches of forearm to boot. But there it was, the man’s arm was twisting, withdrawing; the fist pulled back to the point where it caused maximum distension of the vagina before pushing back up into her body while the girl herself looked down and watched with that expression of frowning concentration which I now recognised as the onset of female orgasm.
“I suppose Ben never did that to you?” Clair asked me.
“No Madam,” I replied without taking my eyes off the girl who was now beginning to rock and circle her hips as her stuffed vagina and her whipped back propelled her to those heights I was becoming so familiar with. Her groaning and writhing nakedness were having a real effect on me and I felt myself becoming increasingly warm and moist in sympathy.
“Hmm… we’ll have to see about that,” Clair said and before I could make any response she yanked my lead hard and I stumbled after her to where another scenario was being played out. A male slave was tied face down over a trestle and his mistress was whipping his buttocks with a suede flogger. She must have been at it for some time as his skin was an impressive shade of red by then.
Over the music I couldn’t hear the lashes land but I could see him jerk at each stroke. If it had been a girl I would have loved watching but instead it revolted me, seeing his tightly crinkled scrotum behind a stiff erection jutting forward under the crossbar he was tied over. His mistress had long, flaming red hair which clashed magnificently with her scarlet leather catsuit, and boots with stiletto heels. When she had finished whipping him she reached under him and using one gloved hand began to milk his erection like a dairymaid would milk a cow. I saw her hand clench his shaft and work up and down it until the slave’s body tensed, his head came up and I got a glimpse of fluid spurting down onto the floor.
I felt sick and would have turned away but Clair jerked me forward again and she approached the pair just as the man was standing up and I could just about hear him thank his mistress for wanking him. His humility revolted me. That wasn’t what a man should be - but the rest of him definitely was. He was powerfully built and even though his mistress was a tall woman he looked as though he could crush her with one hand, and yet he calmly let her turn his buttocks into a reddened mass of weals… just like I let Clair and Ben do to me, I thought to myself ruefully. His cock was softening now but still remained pretty impressive and what really fascinated me was the glint of steel at the helm - right in the slit. I couldn’t take my eyes off it and remained staring at it while Clair and the redhead chatted away like old friends, which they were as it turned out. Eventually I realised that beside me Janet was doing exactly the same as me, but far more obviously and was actually flirting with the man who stood in the classic eyes downcast slave position, seemingly ignoring Janet’s attempts to flaunt her boobs at him. For some reason she irritated me and I turned my attention to what the two dominants were discussing.
“If he’s as well trained as that,” Clair was saying, “bring him along.” Here she jerked my lead. “A dose of slave spunk will do this one good. Ben hasn’t really got her under control yet; she’s still a bit prissy.”
It was all I could do to suppress my outrage but when Clair turned to me and I saw her smile I knew she had been taunting me deliberately to test my obedience. I bit back the words I wanted to say and the other dominatrix came towards me. She reached out and caught my cheeks between a strong finger and thumb. It was the hand she had used to bring her slave off and I caught the strong aroma of sperm off it. I tried to twist my head away but she was too strong and forced me to meet her eyes.
“Hmm. She’s good material, spirited but submissive. And you’re right, I reckon she needs taking further; well my Danny’s the one for that alright.” She grinned maliciously and I had to gaze into her cold green eyes for a moment before she let me go and then ignored me completely.
For another hour or so we were led around, accompanied by the woman whose name it appeared was Mistress Scarlet and her slaveboy Danny. Janet contrived to get next to him and rub her thigh against his but he continued to ignore her. For my part I was still gazing around at the bizarre costumes which flickered before my eyes as people moved through the strobe lighting as the music pounded. Occasionally hands would grope our bottoms or boobs, mainly they were gloved ones, sometimes in smooth leather but sometimes in leather which was cruelly studded or spiked. I jumped and squeaked each time but Madam just turned and grinned at whoever had done it and passed the time of day with them. Sometimes Janet or I were lined up with another slavegirl and our figures compared while the dominants discussed our capabilities under the whip or tit torture.
I had never seen so many body piercings. It seemed as though Janet and I were the only girls without nipple rings at the very least. And there were plenty who had tongue studs, septum rings and labial rings; while the amount of steel some of the men carried on their genitals made my skin crawl at the thought of having a shaft of combined flesh and steel rammed into my tender vagina or rectum. But
as ever there was a tingle of excitement at the same time.
It wasn’t until we reclaimed our coats that it fully dawned on me that Scarlet and Danny were coming with us. We all shared a cab and I found myself wedged next to Danny who was encased in a long leather coat. I was horribly aware of Clair’s words earlier concerning ‘slave spunk’ and even my revulsion at Danny’s submissiveness and the crudity of the words couldn’t repress the tingles of arousal which ignited in my nipples as they rubbed against my coat. Janet just sat opposite and made cow eyes at the man while he himself continued to maintain a stoical disregard for everyone except his mistress, at whom he occasionally glanced. The two dominants chatted about acquaintances they had in common and seemed to ignore us. But once we were all back in Ben’s hall and we three slaves were virtually naked again, Madam rounded on Janet.
“You horny little slut!” she yelled and landed a stinging slap on her face. “Did you think I didn’t notice the disgraceful exhibition you made of yourself?!”
Janet rubbed at her cheek and stared, terrified at the bristling Madam.
“Hands on your head!” she snapped and once Janet had obeyed she landed a series of roundhouse slaps to her breasts. Left and then right. Left and then right again, drawing her arms right back and hitting the huge melons full on. They swung so hard they almost pulled Janet off her feet. And Madam didn’t stop until Janet was fidgeting from foot to foot, her eyes welling with tears and she was making little “Oow!” yelps at each thunderous impact. After that she was sent to stand facing the wall in the lounge in Position Five.
Meanwhile Danny and I were ordered into Position Two and served as footstools while our mistresses enjoyed a drink before starting work on us. They had us arranged so that Danny was behind me and his face was only inches away from my bottom. I could feel his breath between my buttocks, and the hot air tickled my anus and vulva. The dominatrixes made comments about us looking like a dog and a bitch on heat, the humiliation of which only served to make me behave like one. Madam chuckled when she removed her feet from my back and then bent over to put a couple of fingers into my sex and rummage about. Of course I was wide open and moist and I blushed with delicious shame as she made me squelch down there and then had me turn around to watch Danny lick her fingers clean.
