Nancy Mitchell's Other Life Ch. 04

Nancy started to get up for another cup of coffee, but Chris shook her head. "Fuck it," Chris thought to herself. If Nancy wanted to blur the lines between play and real life, if she wanted to be pushed, she'd give the cunt a push. After everything she'd been through, she could handle one little submissive office worker.

"Stay." It was a command a person would give a dog, issued in an unexpected and suddenly harsh tone. A word spoken with an implicit expectation of obedience and a tone of authority that wasn't used between equals. The tension in the room immediately shifted from playful to a vibrating sense of erotic tension and even danger.

Nancy immediately looked down, eased back into her chair, and set her coffee cup back down on the table. She was suddenly extremely aware of her nudity and vulnerability again, and intensely self aware of how exposed she was. Her self consciousness made her blush, and her vulnerability woke up her sleeping libido. She surrendered herself to her submissive feelings, put her hands at her side, and even moved her feet back and hooked them around the chair legs to expose her cunt. Chris couldn't see her wet snatch below the table, but Nancy knew she was even more exposed and vulnerable, her hot cunt on display with a well trimmed bush that wouldn't be enough to keep anyone from seeing her swelling pussy lips and clit. She blushed and briefly looked up into the eyes of the other woman before lowering her gaze again, her head down and her flat chest out. She whispered a soft, "Yes, Chris." A verbal, spoken acceptance and consent that the other woman was now in control.

Chris got up and began clearing plates, moving them from the table to the sink. Standing she towered over the sitting Nancy, and she began speaking as she moved across the room. "I had a lot of fun last night, Nancy, and I'd like to do it again sometime. How about you?"

Nancy could feel her brain getting foggy again. Her pussy was getting even wetter, and her nipples were turning hard again. Her voice seemed to come to her from very far away, and when she spoke it wasn't her voice. Instead it was a line she'd written in her stories a thousand times that had burned a permanent Pavlovian response in her synapses. "Yes Mistress, this tiny tittied slut deserves to be exposed in public again so more people can laugh at her pathetic mosquito bites. Please give her the humiliation she deserves!"

Chris moved behind Nancy, reached down, and took hold of Nancy's left nipple. She pulled up, causing an eruption of pain in the sensitive piece of skin. Nancy watched her small breast rise up, but forced herself to stay seated, to let the pain wash over her and mingle with the heat in her cunt. She deserved this pain, this humiliation, this loss of control over her own body.

Chris' harsh tone cut through the fog in her brain. "Don't give me that porn-site BDSM I'm just the submissive I don't have agency I'll do whatever you say crap Nancy!" Chris let go of the nipple and it snapped back down, settling on Nancy's chest but still throbbing and sore. Time to make those lines a little blurrier, to give Nancy the illusion of being in control but set her up for a fall later. The younger woman retreated into her fantasies too often, and she needed her to be present and horny in the real world and willing to accept real world consequences for her plan to work. "You have choices here, and I'm only going to make you do what you want to do anyway." Chris picked up the spatula. "Do you want me to punish your flat titties? Do you want me to hurt those mosquito bites on your chest? I'm not asking if you think I want to hurt them, I want to know if you, Nancy Mitchell, want me to make those pathetic little bumps sting and burn."

Nancy was forcing herself to stay upright in her chair. Her whole body was screaming at her to do something, anything, to tell Chris "yes," to tell her "no," to move things forward but she didn't know which way or where to or what to say. She had been exposed last night, but other than muscle fatigue in her arms there hadn't been any real pain. The woman's fingers stretching her tit and nipple hurt, and her brain was both panicking and getting hornier every second. She could easily let the pain drive her arousal and heighten her submission, mingle with her lust until she didn't have to think just let the pleasure wash over her. Fuck, it was so unfair, she didn't want to think, she didn't want to answer questions, she just wanted to let Chris and her cunt take control... but she couldn't because Chris didn't want her to, but she wanted to, but she couldn't, but she wanted to.

Chris could read the indecision in Nancy's posture. The brunette was clearly a humiliation slut, but Chris still wasn't sure if she was a masochist or not. She could work with her if Nancy was just into humiliation, but it would be a lot easier if she was at least a little bit of a pain pig too, and she needed her to be a willing participant in the real world consequences of acting out her fantasies. A little pain as positive reinforcement would complement her exhibitionist tendencies nicely, and let Chris work out her anger while indulging her own desires. The blond woman was getting inpatient and was tempted to dump a glass of water over Nancy's head to help clear her thought process, but maybe this could be accomplished in a different way. "Play with your cunt for me Nancy, but don't you dare come."

Nancy's hand shot to her pussy and began stroking herself. The "Yes Chris!" that came out of her mouth could have been from a raw recruit addressing a five-star general. She slid her fingers along her thigh then up her slit, getting them wet and rubbing them on her clit. She didn't have to think for now, she could just play with her pussy and enjoy the warm feeling of being a good little bitch for Chris.

Chris brought the spatula down on Nancy's left boob, and the smaller woman moaned. It stung, but didn't hurt much and the shame it added quickly worked its way to her pussy. Chris asked again, "Do you want me to punish your tits? Assuming I can even find them?"

Later Nancy would wonder if her brain or her cunt had made the decision, but for now there was no longer any question: There was real world pain but Nancy still wanted her tiny titties punished. The pain made it impossible for her to ignore them, forced her to focus on them and think about all the sexy shame they caused her even as he cunt heated up. "Yes I want you to punish my useless little tits!" Nancy spoke so quickly the sentence came out as one word, but it wasn't hushed or subdued. It was a clear, loud, and positive affirmation reinforced by the two fingers she slid inside of her pussy and began twisting. She rocked her head back to give Chris better access to her chest, and felt her chair being pulled away from the table and herself along with it.

"Why should I punish your tits, Mosquito Bites?" Chris smacked the spatula back into Nancy's breast, making sure to catch the nipple. It was just a cheap plastic spatula, and not particularly heavy, but Chris had a decent tennis game and could still make it sting. The little slut was clearly enjoying herself, and seemed to actually think more clearly when she was in a little pain. Or at least she was able to articulate her desires without her pesky higher brain functions getting in the way. That could definitely come in handy later, and created an interesting question: Which was the more dominant personality? Did Nancy Mitchell fantasize about being Mosquito Bites, or did Mosquito Bites pretend to be Nancy Mitchell?

This was a question Nancy had thought about enough she could easily answer it even while she played with her pussy. "Punish them because they're so small! Punish them because they're so fucking tiny, not even a handful! Punish them because I'm not a real woman, and no one would ever want to fuck me!" Nancy writhed in the chair while her fingers played with her pussy faster and harder. This was what she craved. Being a willing participant in her own degradation was sexy, but doing so in front of an audience who could and would punish and despise her for her twisted fantasies and sick desires was what really got her off.

The spatula slapped Nancy's right tit while Chris gave her further directions. "I want you to insult your little mosquito bites, and every time you do I'll hit one with this spatula. If you're creative enough, I'll even let you come."

"Mosquito bites!" Nancy didn't even have to think about it, and was rewarded with another slap and a stinging sensation in her boob. "Founding member itty-bitty-titty committee!" SLAP! "Bitchy McTitless!" SLAP! "Fried egg titties!" SLAP! "Pancake boobs!" SLAP! "If I fell on my face I'd break my nose before my tits hit the ground!" SLAP! "A carpenter's dream, flat as a board and never been nailed!" SLAP! "Not even a real woman!" SLAP! "Barely enough to pinch!" SLAP! "Negative A cup bra!" SLAP!

Nancy dredged up every humiliating insult she had ever heard or created about small breasts and moaned them while she finger banged herself and the spatula filled her chest with sharp, stinging pain. She deserved the pain, deserved to be punished, deserved to be humiliated and degraded, deserved all of this. The elaborate rationales she created in her fantasies to justify punishing the protagonists were irrelevant, she deserved all this here and now just because of the two little bumps on her chest and the building heat in her pussy. And then Chris' voice cut through the haze and Nancy heard a single word, "Come Mosquito Bites! Come now you flat-chested little cunt!"

Nancy's fingers slid out of her wet pussy and rubbed her clit harder and faster. She lifted her legs up and her toes curled and her orgasm ripped through her body. Then Chris' was leaning over and her lips were smashed into hers and she was riding the delicious orgasm, coming her brains out with a litany of insults about her shameful breasts still ringing in her ears and the two tiny mounds of flesh on her chest stinging. Her cunt throbbed and spasmed wonderfully and she would have woken up the whole building if Chris' mouth hadn't swallowed her cries of passion.

The orgasm slowly subsided. Chris let her go and Nancy slumped forward on the table with her head on her hands. She was panting, still unable to think, and barely noticed as Chris went into her bathroom and emerged a moment later. The agent picked up a pen and notepad off the counter that Nancy used to make her grocery lists and jot down random notes. Chris wrote for a minute or so, then dropped the notepad on the table in front of Nancy. Nancy raised her head up and blinked. Her eyes focused on the words and she read them automatically. "I hope I hear from you, Nancy. And I hope we can play with public humiliation some more, but only when you're thinking about it with a clear head and ready to accept your part in it. When you can do that for me, send me a bathroom mirror selfie. -C."

And then Chris was out her door and gone before Nancy could ask her to stay or even mumble a "See you later." Morning sunshine was streaming through her windows and the bitch hadn't even left her umbrella so she'd have an excuse to come back. Nancy noticed small bits of food detritus from the spatula on her tits, and walked over to the sink and wiped them down with a cool wash cloth. The pain faded quickly, more quickly than she would have liked, although they were still a little red. Then, her thighs wet and her cunt still twitching, she went into her bedroom where she fell back into bed and slept until noon.

She woke up slowly, still feeling relaxed and hazy from her earlier orgasm. Eventually she forced herself to get out of bed and walk to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She was still half-asleep when she looked in the mirror, and froze. There, written on her mirror in block letters with red lipstick, were the words MOSQUITO BITES. She heard Chris' voice in her head when she read the words. The first word was above the second, with blank vertical space between them. She moved in front of the mirror. They framed her breasts almost perfectly. The word MOSQUITO stretched just across the top of her little bumps, across her collar bones and her neck. Then her minuscule tits, and under them, just slightly off center, the word BITES underlined her inadequacy, her failure as a woman. A bright red accusation standing out against the reflection of her pale skin. Nancy blinked her eyes several times. Her reflection blinked back at her, then bit its lower lip and whimpered.

Wait. "Its lower lip?" Was she already thinking of herself as an "it?" A thing that was less than a person, or lower than an animal? Just a life support system for a greedy cunt that got off on humiliation and degradation? She wanted to surrender to that greedy hole, but she knew she couldn't. "Fantasies are fine, but sometimes they need to stay fantasies." There was a tinge of regret in her voice as her reflection mouthed the words back at her. For fuck's sake, Chris could already get her fired and she was just giving her more and more reasons to do so. How could she let this continue? Homelessness wasn't sexy. Not having health insurance wasn't sexy. Destroying your damn life for an orgasm or two wasn't sexy.

Still, Nancy stared at the words in front of her, paralyzed. Should she get some glass cleaner and paper towels, and wipe them off? Leave them? She had gotten off earlier and was thinking clearly now, when she obviously hadn't been last night, but there was still some part of her that craved dancing on the edge of that erotic danger and knew how to shut her brain up. Her fingers slid down to her cunt, and slowly circled her clit. She planted her other hand on the sink, but made herself keep standing upright so the words still framed her little titties while she played with her pussy. She even rose up on her toes to see if she the words were more humiliating when the top line ran across her inadequate feminine charms. She should definitely wipe the words off her mirror. But they weren't hurting anything right now. And she could erase them after she got off again. Or any time she wanted to, really.

But a voice whispered to her that if she erased them she couldn't send Chris the selfie. That door would be closed. Maybe she could explain and smooth things over, but maybe Chris would just shrug and ghost her, or tell her they were at different places in their lives, or she had met someone else and it had gotten exclusive, so sorry but you're great and you'll definitely meet someone. Maybe Chris would break up with her while she pleaded for a second chance and another woman with real tits sat on her lap and they laughed at Nancy's pleading texts to be given just one more chance.

She could leave the words on the mirror, just to have the option. She didn't have to send the selfie even if the bright red accusation was there every morning when she brushed her teeth, she would just have the choice to tell Chris that she was inferior, and deserved to be controlled and destroyed by a real woman with big, soft, glorious breasts that jiggled when she walked and hurt from bouncing around when she ran. And if she was the one making the choice, she was in control, and empowered. Nothing inferior or pathetic about that, she was the one really in control of the situation, even if they pretended otherwise sometimes because it felt good.

It would be her choice. Like her choice to not get implants, or to not wear padded bras. Instead of getting help for her little boobs she had flaunted her pancake tits and practically forced Chris to torment her for them. But she had made these choices, and she would make the choice to be "punished" for them or not.

Nancy's fingers rubbed her clit harder as she turned so her profile was reflected back at her. Her tits looked even smaller from the side than they did from the front. She had sporadically tried to make them bigger, ever since they had stopped growing while she was still in a training bra. She had done push-ups to tone her pectoral muscles to try to get herself up to a b-cup, gotten fitted for bras at a dozen different stores hoping one would finally tell her she was at least a small b-cup, but each had ultimately recommended an a-cup. She would thank them and gratefully buy one or two bras she didn't need, then flee the store and masturbate to the humiliation as soon as she could. She tried not to, but the sharp shame always got to her, and she would find herself jerking off as soon as she got home. She knew exactly what it was about the scenario that turned her on, that was why she never actually got bigger tits: she craved the judgment and derision she received or even only imagined for having small breasts. But it was still her choice dammit.

She would imagine the sales lady laughing at her as soon as she left, telling her co-worker about the dumb bitch with the minuscule boobs who had come in, clearly desperate for someone to tell her she had real breasts instead of tiny titties. She turned back to face herself in the mirror, the look of lust and desperation on her face increasing as she brought herself closer to orgasm. Should she come? Should she edge herself? Did a dumb slut with little boobs deserve to come? Should she wipe the words off the mirror, or leave them up as a constant reminder from Chris of what she was? What choice should she make now?

Nancy closed her eyes and whimpered, trying to decide what to do, how she could please her cunt and her brain too. Fuck, if only Chris were here to tell her what to do... Fuck, maybe choosing to let Chris have control was the right choice. If she didn't she'd just have to keep making choices but she could take one stupid selfie and send it to Chris and then she could just agree or disagree with rest of the choices Chris offered. Yes that was the best choice she would make... and ugggggggghhhhhh, she was coming. Hunched over and braced against her sink with her eyes staring at the words on the mirror and her pussy exploding in pleasure for the second time that day while she moaned and her thighs twitched.

After that, Nancy had taken another shower to clear her head. She had gone to her bedroom, put on a pair of comfortable granny panties and a t-shirt. Then walked back into the bathroom, took the shirt off, and snapped a quick picture. She looked at it, and the words framing her chest, then the double chin she had in the picture. She deleted it and took another. She looked sullen instead of sexy in that one. This was an invitation, she should look happy. Delete. She looked like an idiot in the next picture, a big dumb smile on her face while her tits were being mocked. Delete. A half dozen more bad photos and she said fuck it, she could wait until later, when the light was better. She had just gotten herself off and no longer felt a sense of urgency about fulfilling Chris' request. She could wait a little while, until she was horny again, without any harm. Besides sending the picture the same day would make her seem needy, which she definitely wasn't.

That was Saturday. Now it was Wednesday, and Nancy had taken and deleted dozens of additional selfies in front of her bathroom mirror. Stood in front of the reflective surface with its scarlet words proclaiming her inadequacy and smiled, pouted, grinned, and winked. She was trying to recapture the delicious feeling of shame and exposure she had felt in the hallway outside her apartment for the mirror selfie, but she kept jerking off and every time she orgasmed the memory became more elusive, faded further and further back in her mind. She would drape the ruined shirt and shorts over her body while she was laying on the bed, getting herself off. Staring at the picture, on her back with a vibrator mashed tight against her clit and teasing herself, trying to keep from coming until she remembered exactly how it felt to be standing there topless and submissive to someone who knew all her dirtiest secrets then rushing into the bathroom to stand in front of the mirror and take a picture at the exact moment she was at her sexiest, her most erotic and alluring, and failing every time.