The birds began their dawn chorus just as sheer physical exhaustion forced me to sleep.
“Swollen like a melon and just as hard.” Gentle pressure on my bladder made me shudder as it shocked me awake. She laughed an easy belly laugh and squeezed again a fraction harder.
My dry throat reduced my protest to little more than a squeak. She gently slid her filthy hand out of my bottom, wrinkling her nose. “Soon take care of that,” she fussed, and rinsed and scrubbed herself at the wash stand.
“Ah…” I moaned quietly, the ache in my bladder had sharpened to an insistent spasm.
She unfastened my hands, but the cold and stillness made my arms useless. My legs fared better. She helped me squat over the pot with one hand, deftly removing the plug with a quarter twist. It burned like the very devil. She held me as I shuddered, pink water flooding from me. I knew it, I thought, I knew she would damage me. These thoughtless games had me cast as some sturdy doll in a tyrant’s nursery.
“Oh pet, I bet that’s sore.” She stroked my hair as I sobbed through my cunt mouth.
She laid me back on the bed to inspect me. My breasts seemed bigger, if somewhat discolored. As soon as I could feel my hands I made to complete my morning ritual but she gently stayed my hand.
“Not today, pet. Today, I will take care of you.”
The awful, beautiful cups went back on. I’m afraid I howled at that, I couldn’t help it. The bruised flesh was forced relentlessly into the little vacuums. Then came the harness and ribbons. Then my pathetic hands bound back behind me.
She ungagged me to take some water, and fed me a little stale bread. My lean stomach growled in protest.
“Mmm,” she fed me by hand. “Such a gentle thing. Never would you bite the hand that feeds you, pet, I knew it the first day I laid eyes on you.”
I couldn’t have bitten anything that day, my jaw was as exhausted as the rest of me.
“I have a special mount to test today. Not like anything you’ve experienced so far my dear. Come.”
I padded obediently behind her. Through into her reading room, barely used for she preferred the hearth in her parlour. Then up a little private stairway into a narrow passage for servants, which I had never used before, then at last into what I would call a sunroom. It was at the very top of the house, looking out on the same view I’d had yesterday.
There was a chair by the window that looked medical and mechanical in nature. It was brand new, you could still smell the leather and polish. I sat, and set my feet into the stirrups. There was space for my bound arms to hook into place, naturally arching my back and my breasts seemed very prominent indeed. It was like nothing I’d seen. No penetration, no discomfort. My thighs were held open, but not graphically so.
Miss Alice tilted the assembly back with a lever and it became even more comfortable.
“Oh thank you, Miss Alice. I was beginning to think you were wearing me out on purpose.”
“I want you you have a lovely rest. I’ll bring my sewing up here once my duties are done. And my dear, you won’t be wearing the cups all day today. See beside you? There is space on either side for a servant to kneel. I will have a pair of girls sent up after luncheon, and they will soothe you.”
“So it’s a nursing chair?” I giggled a little hysterically.
“Oh yes. Indeed it will be, you shall see.”
Dread and anticipation aside, I slept like the dead for a few hours. When I woke I was warm enough, and the day was beautiful, but my breasts were awfully uncomfortable. When Helen and the other girl came up, I was resigned to my fate. They knelt either side of me, pulled off the glass cups, and got to work.
It hurt at first, of course it did. Their soft and eager tongues felt like sand paper, like needles. But as time passed I grew fond of the sensation. It was a terribly clever torture for there was absolutely nothing to stimulate my sex, the chair was completely open down there.
I felt so empty, so pathetic as my tits became the center of my little world. I couldn’t think a single coherent thought, as they were suckled tirelessly. Dimly I wondered what threats had been made to encourage the servants, but it was a fleeting fancy. No-one would dare refuse Miss Alice a thing.
Helen was not made of stone. This time I could see the hunger clearly written on her face. I longed so deeply for her to touch me between my legs; her mouth on my teat was almost enough in itself to push me over the edge. Almost. But never quite enough.
“That’s enough, girls. Well done. Sit back on your heels and observe.”
A pair of cups, a little larger, were already being warmed in the candle flame.
Helen and Mimi observed my well used breast meat slip into the glass shells with silent wonder.
For me, it was not so bad. So much stimulation had taken the edge off my suffering, and I dutifully and sincerely thanked Miss Alice. The true agony would come later when the cups were removed, and the blood ran back, engorging my nipples. Then she would tease them, maybe even clamp them. My eyes brimmed with tears at the very thought of it.
***
In my hours spent mounted, helpless, I had assumed that pain and suffering alone would be my new life. That I would be worn out in days, dead in weeks. Not so at all. Miss Alice did recognise my limits, a measured distance beyond them was as far as she went. She cared, in her own way, I’m certain of it.
There was a degree of solemnity when she removed my harness that night, wiped it down and put it away properly in its box. She unbound my wrists, rubbed the life back into them. Then, she dressed me in one of her own silk slips. The single layer of soft fabric was still too much on my poor breasts, but I made no complaint. She sat me on a footstool by the fire, and from behind her embroidery chest she drew out a gorgeous ebony and snakeskin case.
I looked up at her in confusion, pressed my bruised lips together, sat quietly on my tingling hands.
She opened the case, and inside was a set of silver marcasite jewelry. It looked innocent enough.
“My husband had this set custom made for me years ago,” she said. “Back when he saw me as his wife.”
“It’s very lovely, Miss Alice.”
“It’s far too young for me these days. But I love the design of the choker. Perfect for my designs on you, pet.”
“But it isn’t proper, Miss Alice.”
“I know that you silly thing,” she smirked and shook her head. “Imagine what people would say if they knew half of what goes on behind my closed doors but nevertheless, it is my wish that you wear something of mine.”
It was a beautiful thing. Contoured perfectly to my slender neck, it was shaped with a chevron pointing down at the front, and a long pair of delicate silver chains that ran down my back.
I couldn’t think of it as jewelry. Not at all. It was a collar, and it marked me as hers.
“You need a day or two, pet. Time to heal, to rest, to come to terms with things as they are, I know it. Busy yourself as you must in my rooms and on no account leave them. I must make preparations for my guests.”
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