My captor must have realized it as well, not that it could have been very difficult to tell, my whole body was jerking against my bonds and my skin fairly glowed with pink arousal beneath the bright lights. My eyes wide and begging for relief, shining with the desire that I was unable to voice aloud. She didn’t stop and her laughter was soft and high pitched when she brought me off with a finger thrust deep inside me, curling against my tender flesh and finding the most sensitive places imaginable. Her palm cupped my sex as she stood close to me, her lips brushing my cheek so that I could smell her perfumed hair and pale skin. I could feel her humid breath on my face and her finger wriggled inside me, scratching the desperate itch my excitement had become. My orgasm arrived quick and hard, crashing through me like a tidal wave of pleasure and I was swept away with it for several long minutes.
I could barely stand and the collar tugged insistently at my neck, but I had little mind for that, dazed and floating on a cloud of adrenalin and endorphins and all the good feelings the orgasm had delivered. I could feel the woman still fucking me with her hand, telling me how she could feel my pussy nursing on her finger like a baby while I came. She pumped me slowly until I’d recovered enough that I could focus on her beautiful face once more. She brought her fingers to her mouth, the leather glistening with my juices and she wanted me to see her lick them clean. The Dominatrix was sharing in my orgasm and telling me that soon enough I would do the same for her, but the time for tenderness was through.
The girl I was supposed to have whipped with the crop had reappeared and she was now given the task of whipping me. She looked like a Japanese angel, perhaps five feet tall with big brown eyes, small firm breasts, and a neatly trimmed V of black pubic hair between her delicate thighs. But she was a demon in disguise because she used the crop on me without mercy or sympathy. Not on my ass either, she whipped my breasts, taking a perverse delight in punishing them until they were covered with angry red welts, top to bottom and side to side. The girl struck me no place else, only on my tits, and the kiss of her crop was both unavoidable and very nearly unbearable.
I screamed as long and hard as I could against that gag, jerking and twisting, pulling against my bonds until I was bathed in sweat. I’d never been treated in such a way, not even by the most abusive of the Japanese men I fucked and so I had nothing to compare this to. There was no reference and so this whipping of my breasts seemed all the more terrible than perhaps it truly was. Much of my suffering, I must confess, was brought upon myself by my own feverish mind. I’d closed my eyes and I was afraid to open them for fear of what I’d see when I saw my tits, but when the girl had finished and I blinked through my tears, I could see that my worst fears were unrealized.
My breasts were crisscrossed with long, thin strips of white across the flushed skin. The welts were raised and my tits throbbed with pain, feeling swollen and burning and heavy as they tugged at the exhausted muscles beneath. But they were beautiful as well, although my mind tried to deny what I understood emotionally, that the girl had painted my tits with pain and though it had been terrible and frightening, now I was learning to accept it.
The girl was breathing hard after exertions which must have been the equal of my own, which seemed a curious revelation and only hinted at a true and deeper understanding which escaped me. Her own small body had turned pink and damp with sweat while whipping me and she wore a satisfied, petulant smile on her angelic face. She held the crop in her left hand and I watched as she stroked it between her thighs, sliding the short length of it between her thin pussy lips. I suddenly became aware that I’d been crying and this seemed to please her greatly. She told the hostess that my tears made me even prettier and she struck my breasts again, watching my eyes closely as I sobbed, I think she would have continued until I passed out if the hostess hadn’t stopped her. I wondered how anyone that lovely could be that cruel and winced instinctively when the girl brought a hand to my face, but she giggled softly and her touch was gentle as she gathered some of the wetness spilling from my eyes on her fingertips. She brought her hand to her mouth and licked my tears from her fingers with her tiny red tongue.
For the crowd’s benefit more than mine, I think, the hostess began playing with my pussy again and I should have been surprised to find that I was soaked down there. Being whipped like that had pushed me right to the edge and the woman brought me off again with very little effort taking much pleasure in announcing my condition to her customers, telling the men in a loud voice how wet my cunt had become and how easily I accepted three and then four of her fingers inside my slutty hole. If she meant to embarrass me further, it wasn’t possible. I was beyond humiliation, lost to everyone but the Dominatrix and her assistants, and my guilt and shame were gifts for her alone.
The men watching, laughing, and drinking and making their lewd observations mattered very little to me at that point. I was cumming hard and so soon after having my breasts whipped, as if the experience had been an aphrodisiac to render me truly helpless with desire. An orgasm tore through me, mixing with the pain in my tits, and it seemed as if the door to heaven had been cracked open, it was an experience that I couldn’t understand then, but the hostess knew. She understood completely, I think, and almost certainly the girl who had whipped me as well, they were like no one else.
At some point during my orgasm, the girl in the bikini had returned with some long, thin leather cords. I’d had some expectation of being released after being whipped by that lovely fallen angel, but I was mistaken and through the pleasant haze of my orgasm I realized that the hostess had no intention of letting me go so quickly. After all the effort and extravagance of binding me so thoroughly, I would be required to put on a good show for her well-paying customers and having my breasts whipped hadn’t been nearly enough to appease them.
Instead of losing my bonds, the Dominatrix had my tits bound, one at a time with the leather cords. The girl wound the leather tightly around the base of my left tit, over and over, ensuring the cord was painfully tight so that the tissue seemed to balloon outward as the flesh was narrowed beneath it and then did this to my right tit as well. After she’d finished my boobs looked obscene and strangely misshapen, red and marred by the welts which had not yet begun to fade, they soon began to turn darker as the blood inside them was trapped by the leather cords.
I groaned uselessly against the gag in my mouth when the girl stepped back so the Dominatrix and the audience could admire her handiwork. The hostess called out loudly in Japanese, using words I was unfamiliar with, and a moment later the bikini clad girl returned with a small bag of metal clips, like clothespins, only stronger with heavier springs and sharp teeth like large alligator clips. The hostess worked these onto my nipples first, which were hard and distended, dark with blood and swollen from the abuse they’d already suffered. It felt as an incredible, exquisite pain and my body jerked as my nipples were caught beneath those sharp teeth, the hostess positioning the open jaws over each nipple and then simply letting go, so that they snapped into place as if biting me.
A half dozen more were placed on each tit, the clips biting into the flesh and adding to the nearly overwhelming pain. But beneath I was shivering with excitement, some terrible, perverse part of me I’d never known existed was getting off on being abused in this way, being degraded, and humiliated in front of so many total strangers. I felt my pussy aching to be filled and I found the sudden desire to have the woman clip some of those pins to my labia, even my sensitive clitoris, to be an almost intoxicating thought. But this was to be strictly breast torture because they ignored every other part of me except when the hostess wished to give me another orgasm with her fingers.
With my breasts whipped, bound, and finally clamped as they were, it came time for the climax of our little scene. The hostess disappeared from my sight for a moment and this gave me time to fix my attention on the crowd, whom I could just make out through the bright lights that shone down upon the platform. It felt wonderfully strange to be helpless and in such a torturous mix of pleasure and pain, while only a few feet away from me men joked and laughed and played with the bar girls who kept them company. I saw my boss smiling and pointing as he discussed me with his two associates. He would be well pleased by what was happening, I was sure. This story too would make the rounds of my office and everyone I worked with would know what had happened to me. I felt thoroughly degraded, as if I were so much less than any of the men staring at me. I was barely even human now, I thought, but more like an animal to be abused for pleasure than a woman with an expensive education and a high paying job. How could anyone ever respect me after the things I’d been forced to do, I wondered. How could I even respect myself?
All of my thoughts were soon lost however, as I felt the hostess moving behind me. I could hear the men talking, some of them, and I understood from their excited words that I was about to be fucked. The Dominatrix had strapped on a dildo, a very large one judging from the comments I was able to hear, and I twisted my head to the left and right but was quite unable to see the woman or the cock she now sported. I was shaking violently and my heart refused to slow as it seemed ready to burst with anticipation. I could hear it beating in my ears, rushing hot blood through my body to feed adrenaline to my excited flesh. I wasn’t so much frightened by what was happening as I was desperate for more. My pussy had grown wet and tight with frustrating emptiness. my cunt was like a fist between my spread thighs, squeezing in on itself and begging to be filled. The idea of that beautiful, dominant woman taking me in front of those men was intoxicating and I felt another orgasm building in the depths of my taut belly.
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