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Chapter 8
He had to stifle a yawn as he pulled the nipple clamps he had purchased out of the small black velvet bag they came in for safekeeping. Their evening hadn’t begun until eight, and they had been going for hours. He was not a young buck, and his body felt tired and spent, but excitement and anticipation coursed through his veins, keeping him present and alert. He was looking forward to her punishment and what would come after. He was also looking forward to bed.
Her breasts, which had been mostly hidden from him when she was on her knees, were now on full display, pointing toward him as she arched her back against her restraints. They were a pale handful, with pinkish brown nipples that had balled with arousal at the center of two perfectly pink areolas.
The perfection of them was a stark difference from her tear-stained, makeup- streaked face and the belt marks lashing her ass and thighs. A blank canvas for him to work with. He longed to mark her here too, longed to mark every part of her perfect body, so that when their time together was over—already it was passing much too quickly—she would still be thinking of him.
Cupping her breasts, one in each hand, he leaned forward and took one of her perfect nipples in his mouth, lapping it with his tongue as he squeezed gently at the base. He nipped, scraping the top of her areola with his front teeth, and listened for her reaction. Her knees bent, and she slid down the post, just a half inch, whimpering as she stared at the ceiling, straining against the ties that held her in place.
"Naughty kitten," he whispered, releasing her breast before taking the other into his mouth. "Do you like that? Enjoy it, pet. It's the pleasure before the pain."
He repeated the licking, the nipping and the scraping, and when he knew she was putty in his hands, released her again. The bag with the clamps was curled into his palm and he opened it, revealing two silver clamps, connected with a chain.
"It's time for your punishment, pet. Eyes on the ceiling, naughty kitten."
He squeezed the lever on the clamp, opening the mouth wide enough to slip her nipple between the vise and tightened it slowly, watching her face for her reaction so he’d know when it was just tight enough to be wholly unpleasant, then repeated the action with the second clamp. The mewl of discomfort and surprise that fell from her lips made his cock twitch and harden and he stepped closer, pressing it against the soft part of her belly above her pussy. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her body tensed. He could see she was forcing herself not to react. The clamps were connected by a thin silver chain, and he tugged it at the bottom, watching as her breasts move with the stress and her jaw tensed from the pain.
“Do you like that, kitten? Do you like it when Daddy punishes these pretty little nipples?”
With her face still turned toward the ceiling, she shook her head back and forth.
“Well,” he goaded, “that’s okay. It’s a punishment. You’re not supposed to like it, you’re supposed to learn from it.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Her agreement was a strained and thready whisper. He couldn’t help himself as he reached beyond the clamps vise-like grip and pinched the base of her areolas until she mewled and whimpered.
“Such pretty little nipples,” he teased. “I think they may bear little bruises after this. It will be a shame to have the rest of your breasts so milky white in contrast. Perhaps I should punish them as well.”
He didn’t expect an answer, and she didn’t give one as he reached for the flogger he had laid out on the bed. Picking it up, he ran his fingers through the soft falls. This flogger was thinner than others he had seen, with only a dozen or so thin leather falls cascading from the handle. It was designed for whipping sensitive and hard-to-reach areas such as breasts and bellies, and especially between the legs. It would leave stinging marks but wouldn’t do any serious damage should it hit somewhere it wasn’t supposed to.
“I’m going to whip your pretty little breasts,” he told her, letting the flogger dance across her cleavage. “I’m going to cover them in pretty little marks, and each time the flogger falls against them, you will ask me for another. You will beg me to whip your breasts and punish you for your earlier transgressions.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she answered with a breathy sigh. As soon as the consent left her lips, he twisted his wrist, flicking the flogger against the tops of her breasts where it knocked against the clamps, causing her to suck a sharp breath before crying out, "Daddy, may I have another?"
His response was a low and warm rumble, mixed with a pleased chuckle. "Very good, pet, and yes, you may."
He whipped the falls against her breasts once more, and this time, all she could feel was the sting of leather where the tips made their marks.
"Daddy," she cried when the sting faded, "may I have another?"
He obliged without giving a verbal response, flicking his wrist in such a way that the falls splayed, marking her from breast to breast, with a few falling against her cleavage and catching against the chain that dangled between her breasts. She sucked air between her teeth and winced, but she did what she knew she must, and asked for another through gritted teeth.
The pain of the flogger was uniquely delicious. Were it not for the clamps, and the chain that occasionally got in the way of the smacks, she might not have called it a punishment at all.
That was the thing about working with different Doms on Visitors’ Weekend. The rules broken were always dealt with swiftly and severely, but the mindset of a true punishment was rarely there, especially not when one was being punished for spilling milk on the floor while learning to drink like a cat from a crystal bowl. She understood that a rule had been broken, but guilt over breaking that rule was lacking. She could endure this punishment, because already her brain was racing ahead to what came after and the promises he’d made.
This felt nothing like the punishment he had given her that day in his classroom, or even the smaller ones that had followed each and every day they had worked together in the library. Those had felt real. But she knew there was a mindset in play that must be kept, a dance where the choreography had been preplanned, and only worked if both of them remembered their steps.
So he punished, and she asked for more. Wash, rinse, and repeat—the dance continued until it became nearly monotonous, a part of her, something she did without having to think about it. Until finally, when her breasts felt raw from tiny welts, and the stinging was continuous rather than instantaneous and fading, he stopped.
She thought he would untie her and throw her on the bed, finally giving her the relief she had been craving for hours, but instead he climbed up so that he was standing on the bed, with a foot on each side of the post she was tied to. He brought himself as close as he could to her without their bodies touching, towering over her with his cock fully erect and bulging. It was right next to her mouth. He shifted, letting it brush against her lips.
"Open," he commanded. "Daddy wants to fuck this pretty little mouth."
With a whimper, she obeyed, taking him in until the tip of his cock tickled her gag reflex. He was big.
He braced his hands on her head and the post, leaning his head back as he thrust in and out of her. With her hands tied, he had all the control. The rhythm, the depth, the motions—everything was up to him, and all she could do was keep her mouth open, a willing and obedient orifice.
In and out, he thrust. She kept her lips closed tightly around the shaft of his cock and did her best to give good head while lacking all control aside from what she did with her tongue and mouth. He seemed to be enjoying it, if the guttural moans were anything to go by. His last moan was almost feral, followed by thrusting so fast and hard that it lacked all control.
