Forbidden Fruit Pt. 02B

I can tell, the wood cane is thin, durable and flexible. That kind of caning. Oh God, I huff, Mimi, are you ready for this? Well, ready or not, what I get next is a flurry of stinging little swats along my side-boobs --

*swik! swik! swik!*

First on the left -- then on the right. Following the sound of his turned-on grunting, I sense he's swaying or dancing in front me, moving side to side to even out the assault on both tits.

*swik! swik! swik!*

"Uhh! Uhh! Uhh!"

Fuck, it hurts! I mean, not the side-swats so much, they're more pesky and maddening, but how I can't help but squirm and dance my upper body at the little impacts -- which makes me jiggle my boobs, which swings the weights, which tortures my clamped nips. I try to eroticize the outside picture of what this is doing for him -- but fuck!

The first stroke hurt like hell, the shock of it, the surprise. Feeing its afterglow, I suck in a hot breath, process the thin slice of pain creeping under my skin, and I am gripped with a fear -- no, certainty -- that this will get worse.

"Grrrr!" I seal my lips and bite my tongue.

Wait. The four rules. It's a jumble, but it starts coming back to me. The words in my head just now, echoed in his voice... The shock of it, Mimi... the fear it will get worse... eroticize it... breathe.

I recognize his training. Right, and he even tipped off just before we began: "Try and recall your training on fear and pain..."

Daniel's' voice. My friend's. My --

*swik! swik! swik! swik!*

"Uhh! Uhh! Uhh!"

Ugh, quick, the four rules! They're supposed to go in order, I remember that. Rule One is, breathe. That's right. Through the speakerphone, I hear his training in my memory.

"One, breathe through it. In through the nostrils, out through a relaxed, open mouth... concentrating on that rhythm, Mimi, keeping it steady, that'll help distract you from the pain."

I start doing that right away. Only, when I relax my jaw, I'm suddenly self-conscious that my 'whore-mouth' is even more whorish... which shames me... then motivates me.

In through the nose, out through the mouth, I pant. Breathe, you whore!

*snik-snik-snik-snik-snik-snik*

Argh, what the fuck is this? It's a volley of cane-percussion across the downward dip of my titties, methodically moving down toward my clamped nips. I squirm, whimpering, knowing what's coming at the end of this drumroll.

Shit, I need to be ready. Rule Two.

Daniel's voice, "Two, pain is 60% mental. Mostly it's the shock of it, Mimi, when it arrives unexpectedly, the surprise. So stay alert, expectant... dare I say, relaxed?"

Relax? I try it. Fuck, who am I kidding?

*snik-snik-snik*...Getting closer to my tortured nipples.

*SWIK!!*

"HUHHHNNHH!" I gasp and wheeze.

Fuck! Ohmigod, that stroke! The wave of stinging pain crests and crashes quicker with this one than the first.

And it is a revelation! His coup de grace, flat and true across both boobs -- top edge of my areolae, right above the clamps -- shoots two bolts of lightning through me at once. One to my jaw, where it sort of flares in my mind and floods it with endorphins. The second, straight to my clit. It's a breathless, electric thrill that tears through me. Yes! So that's what its's like!

"The other mental thing," he'd said, "the pain isn't so much your actual, immediate suffering, it's the fear that it will get worse. Control that with your mind, too. Just be in the moment with your suffering. Don't look ahead. Nothing else matters --"

*SWIK!!*

He lays in a second stripe of the same strength, painfully close to the last.

"HUHHHNNHH!"

I hear him grunt too, with arousal. I squeeze my legs, trying to rub my pussy. God, I am so hot... If it pleases you, Master, give me more!

Daniel's words keep coming back to me. "Stay in the moment with your suffering. Easier said than done, I know, but maybe it'll help you cope, later. When things get worse."

Nose-inhale, exhale through my 'whore-mouth.'

*SWIK!!* He stripes me a third time.

That one came soooo fast, no warning. This fucking blindfold!

Daniel's words. "Three, eroticize the pain. Feel the helplessness the bondage enforces... embrace your role of giving Master the satisfaction of hurting you... whatever works for you. Just find that place where you can eroticize your suffering, where you not only bear it... but welcome it."

*swik! swik! swik!*

The rapid, pesky side-boob swats again - crap!

"Uhh! Uhh! Uhh!"

Whatever works for you? I know what works. I invert my thinking from before, that my suffering is something I'm giving him to make him proud of me; no, it's what he's taking from me, to get himself off. No giving, no wishing, no wanting, slave! Just be his mindless, captive plaything. No slave-lessons to be learned, I can shut down my mind, make myself just a squirming, mewling torture-toy that takes pain and reacts. And by doing that, I please him. My body is a thing for his pleasure.

He grabs my right boob by the clamp and lifts it --

Breathe. Be ready. Fear and pain are in the mind. Eroticize it. Inhale.

-- and his cane lashes a line of fire across my under-boob.

*SWIK!!*

Exhale. Lightning! Fuck me! Again I squeeze my thighs into my craving cunt. If you touch me right this instant, Master, I might go off like a cluster bomb.

It worked! The four rules worked. That lit me up! But I didn't just bear it, I welcomed it. And that was only the first three rules, I realize -- breathe, mind-control, and eroticize. What was the fourth?

I don't have time to remember. Because next, he lifts my other boob by the other clamp, and --

*SWIK!!*

Lightning!

Daniel T.

I DIDN'T LIE BEFORE WHEN I TOLD HER, 'LIGHT' CANING. The force I've been using has ben all wrist, no arm. It'll leave stripes, not welts... or that matter, bruises or lacerations. Those I also know how to inflict, but this being new to her, she probably doesn't know the difference. I do, intimately, and that's what counts. I'm not going to waste my breath explaining it to her.

*SWAK!* One under-boob.

*SWAK!* The other.

"AAGH! Nnnn--"

The instinctive "no" dances at the tip of her tongue, but retreats, bitten off by gritted teeth. I'm impressed.

About a minute left.

*SWIK!* I lay a single, sharp stroke across her defenseless side-boob.

Her mouth widens, silent, as I watch the agony sneaking up and washing over her like a wave, and before she can get the reaction to the first stroke out of her quivering mouth, I lay in a second, right next to it.

*SWIK!*

*MMGH!* her muffled voice shrieks behind sealed lips. There's a tremor of brave determination in the set of her mouth, an intense focus on inner discipline. I get the idea that behind those lips, she's biting her tongue. That's one way to cope. For her sake, I hope it helps... although I doubt it will for much longer.

*SWIK!*

"UHHH!!"

A third red stripe along her side-boob is on its way.

Next, I gather the clamp-weights in one hand and hoist them high, stretching her tits up and away from her chest, distending her nipples.

"MM-MM-MMGGHH!" she grunts frantically.

And lay in three quick light swipes, across both her exposed under-boobs.

*swik-swik-swik!!*

More percussion next, warm-ups to the under-boobs. My eyes light up at the sight of the torture/after-torture of this cruel ploy. As she finches involuntarily at each impact, it only jiggles her tits and makes the clover-clamp mechanism squeeze in and bite even harder... The same way, my cock is getting harder in my jeans.

*SWIK!*

"AAGGHH!!" she shrieks suddenly, lips parting.

Her arms twist desperately behind her, and I hear the steel cuffs clatter against the wood of the chair. I recognize the motion. It's no longer a bondage-slut's testing of her restraints, luxuriating erotically in the helplessness; it's a genuine, though futile, struggle to get her hands free to protect herself. Any other other play-session, I'd take this as a cue to check in.

Not this session. Mimi needs me to press on. To be merciless. Fearless.

Twenty-eight seconds to go.

Now, if I really want her to fail, and further entrap her dwindling consent-shields, I know two ways to to get that. One way is merciless, and hopeless to resist; and the other gives her a fighting chance to succeed. But do I owe her that chance? Or do I owe her NO chance?

I know what she needs. And it isn't mercy.

Gripping and lifting up one boob to hold it steady, with my other hand... I ease off the clamp.

Mimi P.

LIGHTNING! STRAIGHT TO MY BRAIN AND MY CUNT. My mouth is gaping and trembling, but something is freezing up inside me that tells my voice, there is no sound adequate to express this pain.

That's because it's more than pain. It's a sizzling electricity that fires off a heaving spasm in my belly, shuddering through my gushing pussy, pinging off my clit. It feels like a kind of climax, though somehow not an orgasm, that rocks my hips hard in the chair and curls my fingers and toes. Ohmigod, I want more!

Careful what you wish for, my head reminds me. But I tell it to shut up. I'm processing this just fine down here, bitch, thank you!

Cruelly, his thumb and forefinger knead the indented flesh of my nipple, quickening the return of blood-flow... which is excruciating, but sends more electricity coursing through me.

"Oooo-OOOH!" I keen in a high-pitched squeal.

I hate it and I love it.

I feel him hoisting my other boob, his fingertips leave my left nipple, and next, I feel them grazing the flesh of my right, as they hold of the other clamp.

I know what's coming.

It's then that I remember Rule Four. He'd explained it a regretful voice, Oh, but when it gets to be more than you can humanly bear, well... nothing to do then but surrender, Mimi, and think ahead to the day when you can look back at what you endured, and feel proud of yourself for getting through it.

In the now, Master pauses. I think he is watching me process, reading me, asking me for something. The second explosion of nipple torture, for now, waits...

Look back at what you endured? How can I know what that will be, if I don't surrender to it and suffer for it? Is that what I want?

I assess my Demerits situation. If I fail him here, give him my nuisance-words, I will be down two Demerits. He can name his next punishment, pretty much, but I may have some say in it, bartering room, and at least I'll still have my consent.

Consent, my head chimes in. Let's not take that off the table.

Shut up, go away, I tell it. But secretly, inside my pussy, I know my head isn't wrong. If I fail him, he is going to make it harder on me. How much harder, I can't know, and I can't control. That terrifies me. Fear.

Pride. And he'll ramp up the humiliation and mental abuse, I know it, treat me like shit and make me feel like it too. Make me wallow in my worthlessness, like a used-up whore, while he strips away more and more of my pride...

...Make me eat my shame, all of it, off the floor under his boots.

Well, the thought of that lights me up... So I give up on making him proud. That's not what he wants. He wants me to fail. And all I want now -- all I know how to want -- is to give him that. To make up for twenty years ago, I have to give him that.

This is when I suddenly understand why his hand pauses on the nipple-clamp. The decision to take it off isn't his. It's mine. All he's waiting for is for me to make it.

"Nooo," I whimper, my whispering voice dry and cracking, "No, p-p-p-plee--"

His fingers ease off my skin, his touch disappearing, and I feel his breath catch, his erotically-charged anticipation.

Too softly, I chide myself, cowardly slut. If you're going to fail him, speak up about it.

I freeze, and in his casual, cruelly judgmental way, so does he. Maybe if I pull back here, we can both pretend I didn't use my words, and work together to get through to the end of the timer. Bite your tongue, seal your lips, give him the nod.

But that's not what I want. I want, or need, to fail...

... I remember now, how Master Daniel had ended his explanation of Rule Four, late June, in the aftercare of the phone-training session, while I still knelt on the carpet face-down and ass-up, naked and self-gagged, after two hours of hurting myself at his direction. I didn't want to get up or let his voice go away. He was indulgent with me that time, almost sweet... Like I'd earned it, I thought like a brat...

I listened, face to the floor and panting softly, to him telling me Rule Four was for when you can't bear it, but it isn't going to end. All you can do is give him your body for his dreadful, perfect tortures, survive it, and looking ahead to the day you can be proud of yourself for getting through it.

Honestly, he said with a little shrug in his voice, a regretful chuckle, it won't be much comfort at that point, Mimi... but it's the only comfort you'll have left.

I want that.

"Please ..."

My voice shapes the word clearly, though edged with fear.

"Please, Sir, st-t-t-" I stammer, trailing off.

No, not 'Stop.' That's the word that earns me an abrupt end to the scene, a pleasant lunch, and a pathetic peck on the cheek as he heads out the door for the Strip. I didn't come this far for that. No, there's only one way for me now, and it's forward, which is deeper into his little hell.

And I'm going there, not because I trust my friend not to harm me, but because I can't stand not knowing what it will be like, and I have to trust myself that I can endure it.

So the word I use instead is,

"Don't."

Silence. My whole world freezes, and so does my pussy. My head says, I told you so. My belly says, fuck your mind, fear and pride. You needed a leap of faith, and you took it. I surrender myself, I know, to whatever he wants to do to me.

And what he has to say about it, finally, is this. "Oh. That's unfortunate."

I hear him sigh, deeply and regretfully, "Bad slave. Another poor performance. Shame on you, shame, you're a miserable excuse for a paintoy, on top of being a useless sex-slave, and a disgrace. And," he pauses.

He laughs ironically. "You were sooo...fucking..."

*beep-beep-beep-beep*

"... close."

To be continued...