Tit

His hand cupped her chin, turning her attention to the assortment of things on the bed.

“I’m going to use you long and hard.”

The words, the tone of them, the actuality of them, sent shivers up her spine. Her pussy grew wetter and her nipples drew up tighter. Not everything on the bed appealed to her–and yet everything he did to her held appeal. Once again she was struck by the dichotomy of not loving all his choices, but loving that she could offer herself freely to his pleasure.

His pleasure was pain.

Her pleasure was service; receiving the gift of his pain, and later, reveling in the marks and wounds that lingered. Later, when she was down from her high, when she was surrounded by the mundane, suffering through the craziness of life with children and work and obligations, she could sneak off to the bathroom and look at those marks and remember that something wild and special lived inside of her.

But for now, there was his pleasure. His painful gifts. Some might not see it that way, but she knew the truth. He loved to hurt her. She loved the pain.

Mostly.

Turning her, he secured her arms to the ornate framework of the bed’s foot-board. It was heavy, with intertwined sinuous metal. He’d made it himself, her clever Dom, spending hour upon hour welding the joints, bending the rods into fanciful curls and twists. No one would guess that the bed doubled as his slut holder. In moments she was attached to it, his living toy. Legs spread, arms apart as well, she couldn’t have moved if her life depended upon it.

When he stood in front of her gently thwacking the thin cane in his palm, she quivered, shook her head ‘no’. His smile was gentle, the caress of the cane down her cheek almost tender. He was still smiling as he smacked the damned thing across her tits. Instantly her toes curled. Moving around her, he slapped her tits-horizontally, vertically, across the tops, along the tender sides and sloping bottom, and finally, across her nipples.

It was like molten fire, the kiss of the cane. Heat rippled across her tits, red welts rising. She gasped, moaned, cried out, yet he stroked and lashed her tender breasts relentlessly.

“Open your mouth.”

He placed the cane there. She knew she was to hold it in case he wanted it again. She would drool and her lips would hate the feeling of it there between, but the whole idea of holding the tool of her tit assault this way was–so humiliating–so erotically mean. Her pussy clenched, her toes curled.

The first clamp bit hard into her nipple, making her whimper behind clenched lips. Another and then another, making her realize that he’d taken her new bag of clothes pins.

“Zpsed to vee fur vah cwosewine”

“Either you just told me you had a furry pussy V, or you’re complaining that I’ve stolen your clothespins you just got”

His hand palmed her pussy, his middle finger dipping into her slit, stroking along her clit and making her moan as her hips swiveled for more of his touch.

“Well, I can certainly verify that your pussy is indeed smooth as silk, not furry at all. So you must be complaining about my use of these.”

He held up a peg, examining it, then pinched a bit of titty flesh and pegged the clothes pin onto it as she moaned.

“Aww. Poor slut. Yes. That does pinch, doesn’t it? And–as far as these sweet little torture sticks go, I hope that you remember that in reality…all of this is mine. And you are mine, ergo the clothespins are mine, too. Since I’m sticking my property on my property, all is well. Fret not, little slut.”

With a silly grin at her for his warped logic, he went back to sticking the pins all over her aching tits.

“When they’re all on, and your tits look like a porcupine, I’m going to smack every last one of them off of you. With luck, I’ll have some extra ones for your pussy. ”

With a hum and another cheeky grin, he went back to pegging her flesh.

So much to look forward to. She shivered, so turned on she doubted she could speak even if she wasn’t holding his cane in her mouth. And not a little nervous as she watched him, as he took careful  time to attach the pegs all over her big tits. Whimpers and spit slipped from between her lips as the fiery ache in her breasts began to consume her full attention. Yet one thought lingered for a moment.

Next time she replaced them, she would need to remember to not buy the 100-piece bag.

Maybe.

 

About vanillamom

For over 8 years--(EIGHT?!) nilla and M have been a D/s couple. I'm the "small s" side of that designation, as he often reminds me. I'm silly and prone to giggling at inopportune times. He's a wicked Sadist, who feeds me my drug of choice--pain. My brain is always spinning dirty and dark little fantasies, which I sometimes share with the world. Welcome to the nilla-verse. It's wet and slippery here...with a dragon or two lurking.
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One Response to Tit

  1. olivia says:

    Nilla!! Oh my. Wickedly, deliciously hot.

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