A Memory Surfaces


His voice is  very, very firm. The bathroom door is ajar; I am pulling things out of my tote, preparing to dress for Him.

“Yes, Sir?”

“nipple clamps.”


The volume never goes up, only the firm intensity of His voice. He *never* yells. Ever. But this was definitely a strong directive.

“Yes, Sir.”

I feel the change come over me. We are no longer Master and nilla sharing a vanilla luncheon date, but Master and His property.

I swallow hard, and with hands shaking just a bit from nervous anticipation, fasten the clamps onto my nipples.


He bids me to sit on the edge of the bed while He unpacks. Some of it is done already, but I think the mindfuck aspect appeals to Him. I sit and watch things come out of that big black bag, trying to not see them, to not imagine them being used. He hits hard and every fucking tool in that bag carries its own stingy wallop.

Turning, He shows me the cane. Smiles that deadly sexy scary smile.

“Move your hair. Shoulders back.”

I sit up, tossing my hair over my shoulders.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Short hard quick raps on the tops of my tits.

I suck air in, holding it. It hurts, those damn deceptive little taps.

Hurts good.

Hurts intensely.

He takes the cane, lifts the dangling chain between my nipples, twists it around and lifts it up. I start to rise.

“Oh no. You sit.”

Biting my lip, I sit. I feel a bit like a trained pet. I feel a bit embarrassed. But the pain in my nipples swipes away that, and replaces it with a fiery burn as He lifts…higher, higher, higher, until I’m whimpering.

And then He drops the chain.