The Chicklet Outfit

That’s what Master calls the set-up He concocted to make my nipples all sore. Or, maybe from His perspective, to show me who is da Boss. 🙂

And I’d mentioned that I’d shown you all a pic of a “chicklet nipple” the other day… here.

We were talking, as we are wont to do, on His late drive home from work. It’s a lovely time for us to connect, and for Him to tease me, and for me to giggle, and to beg for an O.

But tonight He jumped over any attempts at conversation, and went into Master-mode from the get go (as opposed to any hint of vanilla conversation).

He thinks tonight (Monday night) would be an excellent time for me to get all juicy and ramped up for tomorrow’s orgasm. It’s Tuesday, which means a “free” o for me…but He wanted me to really, really want/need/crave it.

“Chicklet outfit” He orders. “And I think this is bloggable, nilla.”

“I already did, Master. Showed them the pic of my poor, dented nipple.”

“Your what?”

“My chicklet, Master. (sigh)”

He laughs. He is very much enjoying this “tenderizing” of my nipples, and I can only…actually…I can’t  imagine how sensitive they will be by the end of the month when we meet. That’s more than a week a way people! And some of you have said, wow, nilla, amazing that you can write and be creative, and I have to admit that the pain really makes the creative sparks fly…but don’t tell HIM that, okay?! And I type REALLY fast as I work my way through a story or a blogpost like now.

Yes, now.

I’m wearing the damn outfit. And He thinks you should see it. The “ingredients” to His painful chicklet recipe, as it were.

Really? That’s something bloggable?

Sigh.

This is not an art shot. This is not careful lighting and pretty backgrounds and “learning the angles”. This is not next top model. It’s slightly muffin-topped nilla, and her abused (I just typo’d that as “abusted” LOL) nipples. Who knows …maybe they’ll be “abusted” by the time we meet!

Okay, okay. Here it is….the “Chicklet Outfit”:

Snapshot_20121217How much do those 6 weights on the bottom of the clamps weigh? I have no idea. I don’t *want* to know, either. So I’ll just say “enough” or “plenty” or “a ton”…and of course, it depends on when you ask me.

At the start? The first shock of the drag is like being slapped. It’s abrupt, and painful. Then the shock ebbs and you kind of adjust to it. And my mind goes into this other mode, and I’m not fully feeling it.

And then the flames begin to lick around my nipple. I become aware of my breathing becoming deeper, my arousal increasing, usually my clit starts to throb softly. My nipples and clit are quite sympatico.  And the very moment I begin to notice the lick of fire around my tit, the pain doubles. The fire surges, the nipples begin to moan, and any breath is like taking a drag from a cigarette burnt too close to the filter. It’s raw and smokey and visceral, with a sharp hard bite that makes the eyes sting and water.

And my pussy begins to swell, and become wetter.

It’s the strangest thing, really.

So I’m ready for this. Ready for the set up. Ready to take the pain.

But …

He isn’t done yet.

“And you know what’s missing nilla?”

I’m gonna say this, and really you won’t believe me but whatever (waves hand in air at you)….

We have this connection. It goes beyond love and into something…else. I’m not going to go all pagan or otherworldly on you, but…

I knew.

We’ve not had a half-o torture, a stand-alone one, in a long, long while. It’s like He’s put it up on the shelf and it got pushed to the back by other things and got all dust-covered.

But somehow, I knew *instantly* that He was going to do it. I wanted to deny that I knew…but the moment I said “what’s missing, Master?” I already knew the answer.

And He knew that I knew.

And it was funny in a twisted and perverse way (and isn’t that what we do best? ohhhh yeah…). But He kept needling me with it. Setting my mind rolling and making my body respond. His voice does lovely things to my pussy, making me all wet, every time we talk. But the content sent it to a whole new level.

Yeah.

By the time we get to my Tuesday Orgasm?

He’s right.

I’ll be more’n ready.

He added one more twist to the “take-it-to-the-edge-but-don’t-you-fucking-dare-go-over-it” scenario of the dreaded “half-o”….

He’s BEEN torturing my clit as well, having me put my vibe on HIGH for the last week.

This does two things.

It torments my clit something fierce.

And it makes the orgasm fast, rocket fast. No squirty O’s with this sort of cumming…just ramp up fastfastfast and BOOM you’re done fucker.

I hate that!

I want my lovely orgasms to kinda roll on out there. But it’s a very subtle and perfect kind of torture for a slut, isn’t it? Sure, give the cunt an orgasm…but it will be so quick…you’ll hardly know you had one.

Bastard!

So tonight, He paused in His thoughts.

“Now, you know nilla, we don’t want an “oops” tonight.”

“Of course not Master. No “oops”.” I agree. Falling over the edge and into a full-on orgasm is NOT the point of a half-orgasm.

“And with that vibe on high, well, you’ll go up and over so fast.”

This confirms what I said before about the fast, turbo fast, orgasms that He has been giving me the last few weeks. Double Bastard! Sneaky. So fucking sneaky. I didn’t figure it out right away, that it was a fucking double torture. Torture the clit AND just a hint of a hit of release. No wonder I’ve been waking up soaked.

“So tonight, nilla, on your way to the half-o place? Half-power on the vibe.”

“But Master…it takes so long to climb the mountain that way…” It was a half-hearted semi-protest…

He laughs, that rich, wonderful laugh of His.  His tone is mock-rueful, but I sensed how pleased he was with Himself, beneath the faux-“oh, I’m so sorry” tone as He replied….

“I know, nilla. I know.”