Forbidden Fruit Pt. 02B

FORBIDDEN FRUIT.

PART TWO: ONE TRAP AFTER ANOTHER (continued).

Twelve.

Afraid.

Daniel T.

"SO YOU'VE ALREADY CONSENTED TO WHAT I'M ABOUT TO DO TO YOU?"

Lips quivering, my captive slave DS-929 nods, Yes.

I nod too, reaching for the clamps and the cane. "Then we'll begin..."

I set the timer to 5:00 and start the app.

I start the app, yes... but then I freeze.

*** ***

I freeze, and I know why. Once my devious mind sets itself on planning my next steps, the center of my thinking shifts from my groin back into my head. This is the tipping point, my head reminds me. This is the time when you have start hurting her. For real.

The bitch-slaps, spanks and manhandling, she likes those, they don't count. No, what's coming, this'll be a challenge for her...

... and for me.

Because, truth be told - the thought of all the power she's giving me, over her fear and her pain, I'm afraid of that. I wonder if I'm up to it. I doubt she is.

I breathe in, out ...Fun fact, Doms work on breath control too... The seconds are ticking away on my app, but that's not a bad thing. For one thing, I'll make up the lost time easily, once I decide on the crucial next step: Do I keep teasing her along to higher pain thresholds... or do I torture her into a quick submission, starting here and now? Once I figure that out, it'll be smooth sailing.

For another thing, the waiting is good for Mimi, too.

Slave-waiting, I call it. Blindfolded, her breath comes out in sharp, shallow pants and fearful sighs. Her body is tipped a little forward from the way I've tied her handcuffs to the chair back, she holds her chin up, 'whore-mouthed,' ears alert for clues to when and how it will begin. I watch the tension building up in her bound body and her racing mind. Her shoulders wiggle with anticipation and dread.

Her hips squirm, too - but that isn't isn't her mind, but her belly, processing the anticipation and dread differently, thinking with her cunt.

That's good, I observe. I'll play both off against each other, mind and cunt. She likes that tension, and she wants me to play with it.

Her legs are free, but she doesn't quite know what to do with them. Pump-heels clicking on concrete, they dance nervously -- torn between closing in to protect what's inside those sodden panties, or widening their stance to brace for what's to come. I let her marinate in that suspended lust and fear.... time well spent.

To gauge her state, I slide my hand inside her slick panties and grip her warm, bare mound. She spreads her legs to admit me. I thrust two fingers inside her folds.

"Oooh!" she gasps.

No resistance.

Haha, what a whore! -- that's my cock talking, trying to weasel back in on the conversation. Break the slut, break her.

I tell it to shut up. That's another thing the pause is good for -- my dick needs to calm down. It's still raging-hard inside my jeans after the thwarted blowjob. Under that tight pink cotton top, Mimi's luscious rack is calling to it, what with that yummy session of tittie-torment I'm due.

But, exhaling, I pump the brakes on that. So that's more time well spent.

Still... Break the slut? Not a bad suggestion.

During one of our training chats, Mimi had been been fascinated by the idea of 'breaking' a willful sub, then training her back up as a skilled and obedient, semi-mindless sex-slave.

My answers were vague. Don't get ahead of your skis, slut.... 'Breaking' is for the most willful and incorrigible brats who can't be trained gently... That's not you.

I was trying to be encouraging at the end of the chat; the aftercare. You've got promise... I'm not giving up on you... yet.

I was vague, but still, I trailed out enough breadcrumbs to give her a picture. A 'breaking' was something nasty, prolonged, painful, degrading...lots of non-consent... but if it went right, it was less a breaking of the body, than of the mind. The thought of that absolutely mesmerized her. I knew it then.

And I know it now: She wants to be broken.

The thought gives me a little chill. Am I up to that? Do I have permission? Impulsively I decide, what she needs right now -- and maybe I do, too -- is a quick visit from an old friend.

"Mimi," I whisper into her ear, my hand still stroking her pussy. "For what's coming... try and recall your training on fear and pain." My voice is calm, quiet, reassuring. "The four rules - hmm?"

She bobs her head ambiguously, I think struggling with her memory. I'm not going to help her out. "And the unwritten fifth rule," I chuckle, still making nice, "make me proud. Or else."

Exhale. There. That was it.

Visit over, DS-929. That was your brief spousal visit through a Plexiglas wall at the county lock-up. Now your pal Daniel is gone. But you're still in jail. Only, it's a jail where they use sexual abuse, bondage and torture...

And Master D. is your jailer.

I work her twat, delving deeper, harder, finding spots inside her gushing folds that make her hips spasm and buck. Her breath coming quicker, in raspy huffs. Then I ease off.

And pull away.

"Uhhhhhh," she whines like a bitch at the departure of my touch. Then she sobs a little, groans, ashamed of her need.

Shame.

I get it now. Shame is her subspace.

I can smell it. I smell it in the air and on my fingers. I've played enough 'humiliation-whore' games with my subs over the years, to know the scent of shame mixing with the other nectars that froth around inside a worked-up slut's panties. I smell it on this slut.

Yes. So, I decide, the 'Breaking of Mimi P.' is a road that will have to go through her core of Shame.

I check the app. I've lost 48 seconds to my inner monologue. Time well spent, though, I remind myself. I now have a bead not only on her tits, but on her mind... and her shame. Four minutes to go, that's plenty.

I lick my lips.

"Admit it, slave." Master Daniel is fully back in character. My voice hardens into a sarcastic, steely-edged taunt, "For a cheap, nasty whore like you, it's kind of disgraceful what a pitiful cocksucker you are."

A gasp and a nod, Yes.

I insert a sharp and well-aimed needle of verbal abuse, "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

Exhaling huskily, her blushing face dips with mortification, and slowly nods, Yes.

"Clearly, my suckslut is at square one, and in need of extensive oral training," I growl. "Cocksucking 101, remedial basics. But first, your flesh needs to pay for my disappointment -- because the price for a miserable performance like that, DS-929, is punishment."

And although it wasn't a question, I see her nod, Yes.

I have her answer. And I have mine.

And I needed that. That permission. Because, all preceding evidence to the contrary, I'm not a monster. I am her friend. I want to give her what she needs.

And if I'm going to do that, I have to be fearless.

Thirteen.

Molested and Tested.

Mimi P.

MASTER STARTS BY REACHING INTO MY V-NECK TOP, grabbing my bra where the cups join, and slicing through it with his knife. I feel him cut through the shoulders straps next, then drag the ruined undies out through the collar.

"Mmhh!" I bite my lip. For an instant, my mind flares with outrage at his casual destruction my favorite, expensive lacey black brassiere -- the violation, the unfairness of that -- then the next instant, it blames me for stupidly choosing to wear it, slut that I am, even after he'd warned me.

Stupid slut!

The instant after that -- as I feel my tits drop and bobble inside my shirt, a rough hand seizing my left boob, groping, squishing it -- my mind forgets the outrage and lets go, and my cunt takes over. That's the effect Master's strong, cruel hands have on me, even through the shirt -- the revelation and rush of his touch. Feeling overpowered by the force of it, taken, molested -- claimed.

"Oooooh," I hear myself moan. His hands yank the fabric of my top back over my shoulders, loudly ripping the seams. "Uggh!"

He slices through the V and tears the cloth open down the front -- not all the way, just enough to free The Girls, let them fall out -- large, bare and exposed. I feel deliciously vulnerable.

And Master wastes no time taking advantage of that. He grabs them with both hands and gropes them, mashes them -- then starts slapping!

*SMAK!* "Ooh!"

I hear his voice, grunting and chuckling, unmistakably aroused. A wave of sweet, shameful gratification washes over me, knowing I am doing that for him... knowing my body is a helpless, struggling toy for his punishing, sadistic pleasures...

...And knowing too, I deserve it.

I failed -- he told me that in no uncertain terms. I should be ashamed, and I am -- Why does that turn me on!? -- I couldn't satisfy my Master and the cock he offered me, because my mouth and throat are untrained, untalented and useless to him.

*SMAK!* "Ahh!"

*SMAK!* "Ahh!"

I am a stupid, worthless, undisciplined whore! I am a disgrace.

*SMAK-SMAK-SMAK!* "Aaggh!"

Yes! I know I deserve this, Master! The price of failing you is punishment! Punish your inadequate slave. YES!!

"Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!" I moan in time with the tittie-slaps. Noises not words.

No, I'm not allowed words. That's how I'll prove myself to him now, I know it, it's my only job. Suffer without complaint. God, I wish he would gag me! Why does he give me all this mental discipline work? It only keeps my head in the session, and doesn't Master know, I'm a much better sex-toy when I let my cunt do all the thinking for me?

*SMAK!* "Ahh!"

But that's not his game. He gave me a job. 'No words.' And if I'm going to prove myself to him, make him proud, I have to obey. Fuck it, with my head.

And I want to make Master proud! God, more than anything, I want that! Twenty years ago, I disgraced myself and frustrated him. This is how that could have gone back then, but didn't, and right now is payback time -- with interest.

*SMAK!* "Ahh!"

*SMAK!* "Ahh!"

I am grateful for a second chance to give him what he wants, and make him proud. Yes, thank you, Master! I didn't dare dream you would let my try again. I'll give you my moans and grunts of protest, but no words! Your captive slave's suffering voice and body turn you on, but her words are a nuisance.

Give him what he wants, Slave DS-929, your body for him to hurt -- and he'll give you his touch, his approval, his cock. Back in my mouth, where it belongs... deeper in my throat, showing him I can learn, I can improve, I can perform.

But that's for later. Now is my punishment.

I have to hold myself in this moment, where I am nothing but an object to him. A plaything for his wicked, gleeful sadism. That's how I feel in his hands -- I feel it this in my heart, belly and cunt -- In his hands I am just a thing.

And I want that. Master, make me a thing.

Daniel T.

THERE'S SOME HEFT TO THIS RACK. I like the weight of her soft, meaty udders, the way her heavy naturals flopped down once I tore off her shirt, how they squish in my hands. Now I'm slapping them around, and I am brutal about it. I grab the top of her hair with my left hand, bending and stretching her further forward, so that her tits dangle in front of her. That just makes me want to ramp up the force of my swats, seeing how her fun-bags jiggle and sway as I wallop them.

*SMAK!* "Ahh!"

*SMAK!* "Ahh!"

I switch hands in her hair, pull her farther out, and lay in on her right bag with my left palm.

Three quick, heavy smacks, then three more on her left. I treat her tits with contempt, objectifying them, and dehumanizing the slut connected to them. The blindfold helps with that, but God, I wish I had her faceless in a full hood, or a bit-muzzle, to dehumanize her even more -- but that's my dick talking again. I'm not going to get ahead of myself. It's time for me to speak to her shame.

"Miserable, useless suckslut," I taunt and degrade her, backhanding her left tit, laughing with sadistic glee while I do it. I grab her by the throat and push her back against the chair. My other hand seizes her left udder, mashing it up in merciless, twisting grip, while I growl, "...Waste of my time."

"UHHHH!" she moans with breathless suffering and frustration at the mauling grip of my hand. through sealed lips, she sobs.

Myself, as much as I'm feeling her up, I'm feeling her out. With on e hand on her boob and one on her throat, I suddenly diagnose the two obstacles she is throwing up between me and the shame I am trying to reach: fear and pride.

I'm thinking, those are tough, resilient barriers, and I can't just whip my way through them. Fear, fear of pain. In real-life play Mimi has never really been tested for the levels of pain she thinks she wants, and I know she needs. She's frightened she isn't ready.

Pride, that's her overdeveloped sense of fairness, or, hatred of unfairness. That's the micromanaging executive, the bitchy boss, and the brat. That pride is the bottle-neck in her gut that's preventing her from giving up all the control.

*SMAK!* "Ahh!" *SMAK!* "Ahh!"

Now, I think again - fear and pride aren't my obstacles, they're her burden. And she wants it lifted off of her. Or, no...

No, she wants it broken out of her. And that's what I'm going to do for Mimi, my Captive-Slave DS-929.

Break me, Master, I can already hear the breathy way she's going to beg for it. Because you know, I will make her beg for it. And by then, by the time I have her begging, that need of hers will have battered down her pride, embraced her shame, and overpowered her fear --

*SMAK!*

"Mmgh!" she groans behind gritted teeth.

Sweet. Her stifled agony is pleasing to my ear... but too restrained for my tastes... so it's time for the nipple-torture.

Mimi P.

"UGGHH!"

I HATE THE BLINDFOLD AND I LOVE THE BLINDFOLD. I didn't see the clover clamp coming before it arrived, hard rubber nubs biting into my tender nipple, yet the surprise and shock of it is a frantic thrill shooting down to my clit.

"Oooh!"

Already breathless, distressed and disoriented from the slapping-around, I have no time to feel or react, before he adds the second clamp. And then, the weights.

I snort and squeal, "Aaaahhh! P-p-pl-nuh-uhhhh..."

Close. I dodged a bullet just now, I know it, coming up just short of saying "please" and "no." Kept my voice down, too. I think I'm passing his test, and I may be a willful brat even to think it, but I believe Master has to feel proud of my performance.

Make me proud, or else, he'd said. I know about the 'or else,' but what about the flip side? If I succeed, Master, what's my reward?

Where am I? Halfway through the punishment, a quarter, a few seconds left? I have no sense of time. Just the immediacy of my suffering.

Wait, that's Rule Two, my mind prods me to remember. What was it Master said about the rules? Four rules for managing fear and pain. That was one of them. What are they?

I can't concentrate. Fuck, the clamps are a challenge! I think Master knows this isn't my first nipple-clamp rodeo, but I guess I'm rusty. Is that a disappointment to him, or a sadistic thrill?

*BZZZZZZ*

Shit, what's going on down at my pussy?

I know that shape, that sensation -- intimately. When he disappeared for a short spell after dragging me here into the garage, he must've gone into my bedroom and located my "reading companion," Dr. Hitachi. He slides the stim between my spread thighs and gives my pussy a few teasing strokes through the soaking gusset of my panties, medium setting. Then he jams it down the front of my thong, its business end hard and smooth against my pussy, dragging a coo of tender shock out of my mouth, *Oooh-AHHHH!*

I start to ride the vibe, mashing my pussy-lips around its head, trying to press my clit into it.

And he turns it up full blast.

"AHHHHHH!"

Daniel T.

IT'S A HUGE TURN-ON, WATCHING HER SQUIRM AND HEARING HER TORTURED ECSTASY. As I step back to let the Hitachi do my work for me inside the thong, I realize my cock is bulging in my jeans at the sound of it. The shape of her moaning mouth and the quivering of her lips wants me wants to unzip and face-fuck her right now... but that's not in the cards right now. Besides, the slut would take it as a reward. I can't have that.

"AHH!" The vowel lengthens as DS gapes her mouth, letting loose a low, continuous moaning, "AHHHHHH!"

While I torment, I taunt, "I told you about my Sadism, hmm, pain and pleasure to the maximum intensity? I've got a lot of lessons ahead for you, showing you what I mean by that."

To illustrate, I tug sharply on one of the clamps, lift the weight, and let it drop.

"AHHKK!" she yelps. Pain.

Her voice makes my point for me.

Then slut-moaning at the electronic assault on her cunt,

"Ahhh-OOOOH..."

Pleasure.

" Get used to this. It's how you'll experience pleasure and pain from now on. Together."

The vibe she's riding is driving her wild. She's swaying to and fro in the chair, dancing her spike-heeled feet, spreading her legs to try and ease the relentless assault of her inhuman, electric tormentor. I'm starting to wonder if this slut ever uses the max setting, the way she's carrying on.

"Ooooh! Uhhhh!"

I give the same nipple a hard twist and tweak of the clamp. "Oh, you can have your pleasures, slave, all you want. Just know, every pleasurable gratification comes with an equal measure of pain. You'll see, that's how I'm going to break you down --"

Yes, yes, yes! her head nods. Again not a question I asked, but an answer I get. Emphatically.

If I'm right it looks like she heard me say 'break you down,' and that's part of what she's saying yes to. I feel encouraged. Sadistically so.

I lift the other chain, drop the weight.

"Aaagh!"

But the next thing, I notice the pain doesn't seem to be taking much edge off the pleasure. She's grinding her clit into the head of the stim, and she's set to blow, nipple torture or no, if I don't watch out. I was planning to spare twenty seconds of my precious clock time to the pleasure-wand, before reasserting the pain side of the equation. But now I'm thinking I should end the fun early.

I reach in grab the vibe out of her slithery panties. She yowls like it's a third tit-clamp, what I just did -- fifth "O" thwarted -- then lowers her voice again to a whore-mouthed, animal groaning.

Pleasure over, now it's time for more pain. This is when I deploy the cane.

*Swik!*

Mimi P.

THE THIN LINE OF SENSATION COMES OUT OF NOWHERE, landing straight across both boobs at once, symmetrical in in its force of impact.

*Swik!*

My mouth drops open, a howl of pain coiled up inside it, but the breath catches in my throat and I can't make a sound. What happens next builds like a wave of heat, and then, I find my voice. "OHHH!"