At her brisk nod, Zack quickly unfastened the sash holding her kimono closed. He made to set the belt to one side then stopped, folding it in his hands. He glanced at her, his eyes glinting, considering.
“I think we could use a blindfold. Don’t you?”
“I-I’m not sure. If you think so…”
“Oh yes, definitely.” He reached up, laid the satin across her eyes and tied it firmly at the back of her head. “Now, no peeping. Okay?”
Imogen sucked in a breath as the silk of her kimono slid down her arms to pool on the table top around her. She could feel his gaze on her breasts, raking her torso. And she loved it. He’d tied her hands such that her shoulders were pressed backwards slightly and her breasts thrust out, proudly presented to him.
“Are you cold?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Aroused then. Already. Your nipples are hard as pebbles. What a slutty sub you really are, Imogen. Who would have thought it?”
Who indeed?
But she kept that observation to herself.
“We’ll be going upstairs soon, your bedroom or mine, it doesn’t matter. First though…”
“Oh!” Imogen squealed as her left nipple was pinched sharply between his finger and thumb.
“Did I hurt you?”
“Yes. No. It was…all right.”
“I’m glad you think so. There’s going to be a lot more of that.” And by way of demonstration, he repeated the action, on the right side. This time he maintained the pressure, not releasing the sensitive tip when she whimpered. Instead, he took the other throbbing bud back between his fingers and proceeded to apply the same pressure there too.
Imogen lifted her chin. She was gasping through the pain, determined not to ask him to stop, but well beyond comfortable. Zack pulled lightly, drawing her torso forward by her nipples. It became unbearable, Imogen shifted her bottom forward on the table top, desperate now to relieve the intense pressure.
“Ask me if you want me to stop. Or slow down. Don’t struggle or try to resist. You need to give in, to surrender. Let me know your limits, and trust me.”
“Stop. Please.”
“Safe words. That’s all that’ll stop this.” His tone was firm now, unrelenting. Reminding Imogen that gone, at least for now, was her carefree companion of this morning. Now she was dealing with a stern Dom, who’d made the rules clear, got her agreement to them and was now enforcing them.
“Amber. Amber,” Imogen yelped the safe word, her tortured nipples throbbing under his cruel finger tips. And immediately the pressure relaxed. He still held the sensitive tips between his fingers and thumbs, but was now caressing them gently, rubbing to draw the blood back into the swollen buds. Despite the earlier discomfort, and the certain promise of more to come, Imogen could feel her nipples hardening still further, lengthening under his determined treatment.
“Good. That’s good. Now we repeat, but you safe word just before it becomes unbearable. Can you do that?”
Imogen nodded and stiffened, waiting for him to hurt her again. He didn’t, instead he continued to rub her nipples gently between his fingers, rolling them and tugging just enough to arouse her. Then, “If you don’t want me to do this, just say ‘red’.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“You’re cringing, trying to shrink away from me. You’re so tense, it’s coming off you in waves.” His tone softened, and he leaned in to drop a light kiss on her forehead. “You
can
do this, Imogen. And you’ll love it, I promise you. We’ll go as slow as you want, so there’s no need to be frightened. And you can say ‘amber’ any time. Okay?”
Imogen realised she’d been holding her breath, and exhaled slowly. Then, conscious of releasing the tension in her shoulders, she managed a tremulous smile. “Yes. Thank you, Sir. I’m better now. Please, continue.”
The pressure increased as he tightened his grip and squeezed once more, her nipples again becoming squashed and distended between his fingers. He pulled, but this time Imogen allowed it, let her head fall back and the pain build, until her murmured ‘amber’ brought it to a halt. Almost. This time he stopped and relaxed his hold, but not totally. The sensitive buds were still constrained, still uncomfortable, still stretched as he pulled them away from her body. Imogen chewed nervously on her lower lip. He saw.
“Is this still moving too fast, Gennie?”
“I… Gennie?”
“Sorry, Imogen if you prefer. Too fast?”
Another long exhale, followed by a deep, relaxing, grounding breath. Then, “I’m fine, really. And Gennie’s fine, too. If you like.”
“I do like. Gennie suits you, especially when your tits are in my hands. Let’s go again, yes?”
“Yes…” The whispered response was barely past Imogen’s lips when Zack squeezed again, using yet more force, pulling and now twisting, too. But it was better, at least, not too bad. Bearable. She remembered this newfound endurance was due to endorphins flooding her system in response to the pain, helping her, easing it. A good, skilled Dom would know, would be able to gauge how much pain to inflict to create that rush, and to maintain it. And she did seem to be in the hands of a skilled Dom. Glad of the blindfold, which excluded all other stimuli but his voice and the feel of his fingers on her body, Imogen relaxed into this moment. A faint smile danced on her lips as she gave herself wholly over to sensation, to the exquisite, excruciating ache delivered by Zack’s ruthless hands. She surrendered willingly now to his merciless assault on her delicate, swollen tips, thrusting her breasts forward into his hands.
Zack held her there for a few seconds more. Or was it hours? She realised afterwards she had no idea how long she’d sat, perfectly still on her table, as he’d pulled and shaped and moulded her sensitive peaks to his requirements. She only knew that she loved the sharp, intense sting, the sense that she was floating in a new space she’d never been in before. She mumbled in frustrated disappointment when he released her without warning, to quickly shiver at the ticklish drape of something soft, caressing the sensitive points. Then in the next moment she bit back her scream, the harsh bite of something hard and fierce gripping and tightening. First the left, then the right side, then Zack’s arms around her, his lips close to her ear as he murmured words of comfort and encouragement.
“Breathe, baby. Breathe in and out. Slowly. It’ll pass soon. You’ll be fine.”
Shivering, she was aware of her breasts pressed hard up against Zack’s chest, their tender peaks clasped in an agonising embrace. Her breasts felt heavy, and she was aware of the hard, alien presence between their bodies.
“What? What is that? What did you do? It hurts…”
“Your nipples are clamped. You can safe word if you need to, but if you wait a few seconds, you’ll adjust. Ride the pain, love, get past it, beyond it.”
“I can’t.” She could hear the whimper in her voice, detested herself for it.
“You can, you are. It won’t hurt any more than this, and you’ll soon be used to it. It’s already easing, yes?”
“I-I’m not sure…”
“Gennie?”
“Yes, perhaps. A little.”
“A little’s good. Good enough. Bearable now?” He firmly massaged her back, the circular pattern calming and grounding.
He sensed her start to relax, so he brought his left hand around to cup her breast, taking its weight tenderly. As her frantic shaking settled, he brought his right hand back around too, and stepped away from her to survey his work. Both Imogen’s nipples were swollen and stretched, the deep red tips just visible, poking between the jaws of two strong spring-action clothes pegs. He’d raided her utility room earlier, found the pair he intended to use and adjusted the springs to increase their bite. He’d protected her delicate skin with small strips of surgical lint from her first-aid box, before snapping his makeshift clamps into place. And they were working beautifully. Not the most aesthetic solution, but very effective. He watched as Imogen visibly relaxed and adjusted to the alien sensations, her body learning to endure, and to welcome the pain. With one fingertip he lightly grazed the exposed flesh of her left peak, and Imogen gasped, its sensitivity magnified by the clamp. He repeated the delicate exploration on the right and was gratified to see a similar reaction. She was ready.
“Okay, now please stand up and turn to face the table.”
“Why? What are you going to do?”
“I want to know how wet you are. So you’re going to show me. Stand, please.”
Zack made no move to help her from her perch, just watched as she wriggled awkwardly forward then dropped to the floor. The clamps caused her breasts to move as she stood up, and the pain was truly exquisite. Imogen was panting slightly, her head hanging forward as the waves of sensation washed through her, every nerve ending in her body standing at attention, all connected invisibly to her beautifully tortured nipples.
“Turn and lean forward. Press your breasts against the table top. I want your arse in the air where I can see what’s going on here.”
It would hurt. Imogen knew that as she leaned over the table, obeying without hesitation. She wanted it, welcomed it, Zack’s gift. Her moan was muffled within her hair as her weight settled on her helplessly distended peaks, the pegs digging into the soft mounds.
“Press down, and lift up your bum.”
Imogen obeyed, and Zack pushed a cushion under her stomach to raise her bottom up slightly more.
“Mmm, another I think. Lift up.”
The pain was excruciating now as Imogen could only use her breasts, crushed against the table, for leverage, her bound hands of no use at all. She managed to raise her bottom again with a soft groan, and he swiftly positioned a second cushion under her stomach.
God, he knows his business. Where do they learn this stuff?
Imogen resolved to ask later, if there was some school for Doms somewhere where they learnt their little tricks and practised their dark art. For now though, she was fully occupied.
“Open your legs. Show me how wet you are, little slutty sub.” The voice was soft and low, despite the crude words.
Imogen obeyed again, and was aware of the soft swish of fabric against the backs of her thighs and her buttocks as Zack lifted her kimono, still hanging from her bound wrists. She felt his gaze on her body as surely as his touch, and held still to allow him an uninterrupted view.
“Mmm, that’s one bonny pink tush you have here, Gennie. And I can see you’ve been enjoying yourself. May I…?
Imogen made no pretence of not understanding his request. Not that she felt for one moment it
was
a genuine request. He intended to touch her all right, but would have her acknowledgement that it was what she wanted, too. She was past playing games.
“Yes, please. Feel free.”
“Thank you.” He used his fingers to ease her buttocks apart to allow him to inspect her tender, engorged pussy lips. He reached farther, separating her labia to reveal her clit, swollen and throbbing and quivering to be touched. He didn’t oblige, though. Not yet. Instead, he turned his attention to her anus, the tight little opening nestling shyly between her buttocks, now exposed by his exploring hands.
“Lovely arse, Gennie. It looks tight. Have you been fucked here?”
His conversational tone was in sharp contrast to the exquisite intimacy of his words, and as he circled the pursed entrance with his finger, Imogen’s body jerked involuntarily.
“Sorry, did I make you jump? Well, have you?”
He continued to probe and prod at the tightly closed sphincter, and despite her not inconsiderable embarrassment at being examined in such fine detail, the opening started to relax, just a little, under his gentle testing. She gasped as he slid one fingertip inside. He made no attempt then to press farther, to burrow deeper. He just held her there, bent over her dining room table, open and exposed, knowing he was looking at her and totally aware of his finger inserted into her anus.
“You didn’t answer me, Gennie. Have you been fucked here before?” He wriggled his fingertip inside her arse and Imogen jerked again.
“No, no, never.”
“Never?”
“No.” Her voice was a broken whisper now as the pressure increased ever so slightly, as he twisted his finger to caress the inside of her rear entrance.
“So much pleasure yet to come then. Later. Upstairs, where it’s comfortable. And I can take my time over you. Because you’re a sexy little slut and you deserve to be savoured. Now though, I think you need something a little more—exhilarating—to take your mind off those nipple clamps for a while. So, I’m going to spank you until you ask me to stop. Are you ready?
Imogen lay silent, her body adjusting again as the questing finger withdrew from her body. Then, “Yes, I’m ready. Thank you.”
* * * *
The first ten or so strokes were exquisite, quite, quite delightful. Old habits die hard, and Imogen fell naturally into that old, ingrained rhythm of breathing in between the spanks and exhaling as each fell. She could feel each perfectly positioned stroke, and knew her bottom was starting to glow beautifully under Zack’s tireless palm. Her nipples were sore, incredibly sore, the clamps pinching and punishing, but she found that by pressing her body into the table she could gain some respite. The sharp throb could be dulled to an ache, and she found herself loving the quiet brutality of it, this sense of subduing her body, asserting her own will to surrender to her Dom’s demands.
By the time she’d counted to twenty, her bottom felt to be ablaze. Zack was unrelenting, the blows falling with rigid regularity, just a few seconds between each stroke. Not enough time for the sharp pain to dissipate, so the impact grew and built until it overwhelmed her. Zack said nothing, offered no words now of comfort or encouragement or advice. He just continued to drop spank after punishing spank across her smarting buttocks and the backs of her thighs. Imogen knew it would be a while before she could sit again, or even lie on her back probably. Well, she probably wouldn’t need to if he intended to fuck her arse…
At thirty, she knew she was close. Imogen’s body was no longer lifting in welcome, accepting each stroke. She lay still, her body limp, and counted to thirty five.