When in Rome

"Remind me why I brought you along on this trip, Bernadette."

I regard the slut seated opposite me. Your immaculate hair and sparkling earrings. The nervous way your fingertip encircles the rim of your champagne flute. The darting way you have been avoiding eye contact all evening. The tension across the table is palpable. You pause, not looking up, and eventually, carefully, reply.

"To pleasure and amuse you Sir."

"That is correct. So explain to me, just how were you doing that when you were sitting in the cocktail lounge of the Mecenate Palace Hotel this afternoon?"

Your eyes widen with fear, a guilty flush consuming and betraying you.

"I...I was just so bored and lonely, Sir. I didn't want to wait for you to finish work. I wanted to get out and see some places, walk around....I'm sorry Sir, I should have asked you first."

"Stop gabbling. I saw what you were doing. Perching at the bar, enjoying the male attention a well dressed English woman gets, alone in Rome. Clothes bought on my credit card, martinis purchased from my allowance to you. What do you think Italian men think about single women, drinking in the afternoon? Women who sit in bars in low cut dresses with their tits hanging out for the world to see?"

"That...that they are sluts and whores, Sir."

"Correct. And they would be right, wouldn't they?"

Crestfallen, your gaze drops to the floor. Crestfallen, I wonder, because you have let me down, or because you got caught?

"Well?"

"Yes Sir, they would be right."

I stare at you for some time, watching your anxiety increase. Oh how you hate a pregnant pause, it's only certainty that whatever is germinating and burgeoning in my silence will be to your detriment. I sigh, then speak.

"Perhaps it is inevitable that a true slut will always revert to form, no matter how much her Master tries to better her. Maybe I should remind you that the only thing that raises you above the level of a common whore is my patronage."

"This slut is grateful for any lesson you choose to teach her, Sir."

"As long as she enjoys it too, hmm?"

Ashamed, you do not reply. You know I am right, that you are a selfish sub and a selfish lover. And that this conversation has been a long time coming.

Slowly, I reach across the table. My fingertips connect with the hollow of your throat, as your neck arches delicately against my touch. I watch your lips part under my caress, your head falling slightly back as I touch you just there, that secret place where only I can make you come without warning. Your long eyelashes drop luxuriously to your cheek, then sweep back up as my fingers trace a rapid trail down into your Chanel singlet. I feel your skin turn to gooseflesh, your eyes suddenly only too keen to connect with mine, silently demanding 'What the f*** are you doing, Master?'. You stiffen as my hand moves across your perfect cleavage, inside your white Rigby and Peller bra, caressing your firm flesh. Then I languorously pull your beautiful tits free, until my cool fingers have exposed them fully through the sheer fabric.

Glancing around nervously, you realise that the Japanese business men across the room have noticed my action, and are staring openly at your semi nudity. I sit back and watch as your breathing quickens, and your nipples delicately harden. You know better than to try to cover your exposure. But, poor little slut, your lip is trembling.

Eventually, maintaining my distance across the table, I pick up the tongs from the ice bucket and extend them towards you. At my leisure, I run them slowly and deliberately over your nipples until they stick out like bullets. I almost lose myself in the sight of the mesh of your top clinging to the straining buds, becoming slight transparent with the moisture from the tongs. Then viciously I close them on your right nipple and pull hard. Naturally you start to cry out, before remembering that this will draw even more attention, and manage to lose the sound in a deep breathy gasp. I lean forwards and speak lowly.

"Who's tits are these to show off, slut?"

"Yours, Master, Yours. These tits belong to you." Your answer is prompt, and urgent. But sadly I cannot help feel that your subservience is more calculated to terminate this public display than to appease me.

I release the tongs and calmly place them back in the ice bucket, before taking a sip of champagne. I survey your condition coldy. Then with deliberately evil slowness I reach in my breast pocket, and retrieve your hated clit clamp, two alligator clamps and a short chain. Your eyes widen as I thrown one clamp, then the other, then the third down on the table in front of you.

"Get your tits out. Clamp your nipples. Then ask me for your chain."

Under the gaze of our avidly watching fellow diners you comply, pulling the vest down over your tits until they leap into full view. Your nipples are still rock hard, and obediently you clamp them for your Master, a little too hurriedly for my taste. But in these circumstances I will let that pass. You know you will not be permitted to hide your tits from these strangers until the chain is also affixed to them. And so, almost inaudibly, you whisper "Please may I have the tit chain Sir."

"Sorry slut, I didn't quite catch that."

You swallow, your face a perfect sunset crimson, and repeat the ridiculous request. Silently I toss the chain onto the tablecloth before you, and watch with the rest of the room as you clip each end to the rings which decorate the steel clamps. The chain is tight, and pulls almost vertically between your bare tits. I watch as the warm, throbbing pain commences, enjoying your nipples' delicate transition from pink to angry scarlet. I know that the support of your bra, pushing your tits up for display, is providing some relief, and that the humiliation is so far worse than the pain.

But I like to see disobedient sluts in pain. With a simple downward glance I gesture at the remaining clamp.

"Now spread your legs, spread your cuntlips wide apart, and clamp your clit."

I notice you jolt with arousal at my words. In the correct order, you obey, moving your knees as wide as the table legs, picking up the bulldog clamp from your napkin, and reaching between your thighs. No one, including myself, can see as you release the clamp on your sensitive bud. But the strange, short hum of pain you emit as the metal bites into you tells me you are remembering the way. I know you are gritting your teeth behind those perfectly made up lips.

Eventually I give you the command you have been praying for;

"Cover your slut tits up again."

You speedily comply, knowing better than to return to the safety of your brassiere, and instead pulling the gauze singlet over the cumbersome metal. I toy with the lobster on my plate idly. As you stare at the table, your breathing telling me how much pain you are now experiencing, an age seems to pass as you await my next prompt. When it comes, you merely stare at me in confusion and terror, not knowing how to respond.

"You know, this is a very expensive restaurant. I think you should contribute something to the bill. I don't work hard all week to feed sluts like you in places like this."

Our waiter passes, and I motion for him to come over with another bottle of champagne. He is much shorter than me, and mediterranean in appearance, with greasy, gelled hair. As he pours, he stares unabashedly at the clamps, before looking questioningly at me. We exchange words in Italian, a language you have never bothered to learn, despite our frequent trips to Rome. During our quiet conversation, it is obvious to you that the waiter is being encouraged to appraise your body. You blush again, as he asks questions, and your Master replies. Then, grinning at you, the waiter hurries off. I address you curtly.

"You are to go downstairs to the washrooms, and wait in the staff WC. There is a marble surface next to the sink. Sit on it with your ass just on the edge, your tits out, and your legs spread wide. Put your heels on the edge of the marble on either side of your ass. And hold them."

You freeze, immobilised at this horrible demand.

"Go on. The waiters are busy. And don't pull your skirt or vest down, on your way there OR back."

I have shared you with other men many times before, but not for a while now. This really wasn't what you had in mind for this week away, or perhaps, for your future with me generally. But you know this is your chance to prove yourself to me again, that I must think you capable of completing this test of unquestioning obedience. You also know that you have pushed me so far recently, that if you do not perform I may no longer consider you worthy of serving me. Slowly you stand up. As if locked in some bizarre dream sequence, you leave the table and make your way to the stairs. Your skirt, having ridden up during the meal, just skims your fantastic ass. Your tits bob obscenely with the weight of the clamps as you pass the staring Japanese men.

When you reach the staff washroom, shaking with nerves, you position yourself as instructed, pull your tits out, and wait. You can't believe you are sitting in this place, with no idea of exactly what is about to happen to you. You hope you have the guts to go through with whatever your Master planned with the waiter upstairs, that it is nothing too intense. Maybe it will just be a light pussy slapping. Maybe I have asked them to masturbate you to orgasm. I know how shy you are about coming under a stranger's touch. That would explain your awkward and embarrassing position. You seem to sit there for at least ten minutes, dreading the door opening, the air conditioning tracing your bare tits and thighs with goosebumps, just as your Master's hand was what seems like an age ago. When you hear footsteps in the corridor, you pray that it is me, that this is all a test. But the door swings open, and a wave of nausea hits you as the waiter enters, followed by a tall black waiter you had seen serving at another table. Your Master is nowhere to be seen.

The two men stare at you incredulously, gawping at your lewdly revealed vulva and puckered asshole, talking quietly to each other in Italian. You avoid their gaze, eyes fixed on the wall ahead. If only you hadn't been such a brat! They move towards you, slightly unsure at first, making no attempt to speak to you. Then, with sudden confidence, they began to run their hands gingerly up your raised inner thighs, across your jutting tits. Realising you will make no attempt to stop them, that this is for real, their touch moves eagerly to your cunt, each pulling a shaven lip wide, exposing your fuckhole and clamped clit. You wince and tremble as one, then the other strokes then pinches the engorged bundle of nerves, clearly remarking on the clamp in amazement. Their bulging cocks leave no doubt as to how turned on they are at the chance to use a submissive, probably for the first time. And what man wouldn't take advantage of free, brazen cunt?

You close your eyes in shame as their fingers push painfully into your dry anus and tight pussy, poking and probing, stuffing you crudely as you display for them. The white waiter's sharp nails scratch the inside of your rectum painfully, as he twirls two fingers in wide circles, laughing. Then with fingers still wedged in your holes, their attention turns to your tits. You wince and stare straight ahead as they cup and knead them, feeling their weight then dropping them heavily. Gripping your heels tightly, you wince as your thighs strain apart, both men jostling between your spread legs, yet still no sounds escapes you. The black man pulls the chain between your slut tits, lifting them high by the nipples, causing you inhale sharply. They seem to be talking about the spectacle of the stretching flesh, as each pulls a clamp, roughly shaking them so your tits jiggle, suspended from the taut nipple flesh. You take the pain, almost enjoy it in the old familiar way, as it shoots from tit to brain and back again like lightening. One of them pushes the chain against your lips, and you take it into your mouth, holding your tits up for them in two straining peaks.

Still roughly pawing your now taut tit flesh, the first waiter eagerly unzips his pants and frees his cock. It is uncut and quite dark in colour, with a purple, bulbous head. You guess it is about 6". He pulls your hand down around it, and gasps softly as you obediently start wanking him. Being the brat you are, you are secretly hoping to get him off quickly, and return to the safety of My table. Sadly for you, that is not how this scene will play out. He fumbles for and slides on a condom, while his free hand plays with your cunt again, roughly pistoning it with two fingers, his knuckles angular and unforgiving. You are grateful that I have trained you to juice up to order, as there is no way this man would get you wet of your own volition.

It doesn't take long for him to be ready to fuck, and he pulls his dirty fingers out, replacing them gracelessly with his cock. You cry out for the first time as he remains buried for a second, then begins pumping in and out. Your vaginal walls contract involuntarily as he penetrates you, and ever the whore, you make sure he gets a good fuck, sucking his cock with your cunt muscles. You think back to the nights I have shared you with other Masters, knowing I will ask if you tried to bring him off well with your cunt, and that it will be punished with the belt if you sit motionless. The waiter realises you are fucking him back, despite what must be a hard to disguise expression of disgust. You hear the word slut amongst the Italian as he uses you, with some sort of expression of approval, and are relieved that so far you have managed to perform well for Me. You hang on tightly to your heels, spreading yourself as wide as you can for him. I don't send you to weekly yoga classes for the good of your health.

The white waiter starts to slam into you like an exuberant teenager, his balls slapping against your asscheeks as he grunts enthusiastically. Pulling the chain from your mouth, he rubs and squeezes your titmeat, his palms brushing and chafing your oversensitised nipples in circular motions until you grit your teeth. God, how you hate that feeling. As you bitchily remarked earlier, before I even dismantled your designer cleavage in the restaurant, it's as if he hasn't seen a woman's tits for months. He ruts with amateurish abandon for less than a minute then finishes, exclaiming loudly in Italian and yanking painfully on the tit chain as he shoots his load.

Then thankfully for you he pulls his flaccid cock out and grinning, takes off the condom, knotting it. He speaks again with his colleague, whose invasive black fingers are suddenly pinching your cunt lips, and spreading them apart again. The man who has just fucked you stuffs the rubber encased cum deep inside you, followed by a 20 Euro note which he leaves poking out obscenely. Horrified, you balk at what these strangers must think of you. As they pull you down from the marble, the feeling rushing back to your aching legs, your hopes soar that the black waiter has only been offered a blowjob. But as you start to drop to your knees he grips your shoulders, roughly turning you to face the mirror.

The black man is stroking his long cock through a condom which he must have put on while his friend was cumming in you. You watch him in horror as he squirts some soap onto his hand and rubs it slowly over his thick veiny meat, appalled at the thought of that thing might be going up your ass. Desperately, blindly, you hope that this part really is just a test, to see if you will struggle or try to leave. Roughly the waiter kicks apart your stockinged legs and pushes you down til your tits are mashed against the cold marble. By now they are aching badly from the incessant mauling and the biting clamps. You stare over your shoulder, transfixed at the huge dick, sticking out in front of the waiter like a flagpole. Big black hands roam over your back and the curves of your ass, then you feel him roughly pull apart your asscheeks. He examines your splayed anus, & both men laugh when it winks, as you involuntarily tense & try to shrink away. Then, his thumbs stretching the skin around your hole as wide as he can, he presses his huge cockhead against it.

It's too much, and you feel yourself zone out, and begin slipping into dark expanses of subspace. But the white waiter viciously yanks back on your hair, forcing you to meet their sarcastic gazes in the mirror as his friend begins taking your ass. He has to work hard to push what felt like a tennis ball sized head into your tiny opening, feeding his cock in with his hand. You try to breath deeply to manage the deep discomfort as the thin pink membrane stretches around his manhood, your lips forming silent gasps in your labours, your straining gaze forcibly locked with his. When he has worked the head past your sphincter he pauses and stares at you with an air of nonchalant power, letting you experience the acutely uncomfortable sensation of the black sphere stretching and impaling your anal ring. Then your hands are pulled behind you, placed on your buttocks, used to pull your ass wider for him. Holding your own ass open, you blush a deep crimson as he stands there, cockhead in your anus, hands on his hips. The language barrier does not diminish the meaning of his action: he is telling you what a cheap white slut you are, showing you the liberties he is happy to take with you which he would not dare with a decent woman, making you straddle the head of his cock like some sort of obscene puppet. Then, with a deep sigh of triumph, he pushes his groin forward, ramming his whole cock up your ass. As you whimper and try not to scream, your eyes rolling back, you hear his watching friend pissing in the urinal next to you.

Bam Bam Bam -- he finds his rhythm, slamming into you again and again, taking his pleasure with your ass while his friend encourages him in Italian. Your ass muscles convulse as the thick black cock is pulled completely out and then rammed back in to your now more pliant hole. Again, the waiter uses his thumbs to spread wide your burning skin, watching his black rod piston your bowels. Stars explode before your eyes, and the men laugh together as you moan with humiliation, your temporary master alternately slapping your ass cheeks hard with each thrust, his back straight, his crotch a powerhouse of pain. You let your face touch the cool marble as his force pushes your forehead against the mirror over and over again, your helpless body jettisoning forwards.

But he was promised a slut and wants you to be fully aware of what is happening -- he even wants you to appreciate the fact that he has deigned to sodomise you. Your wrists are pulled to the small of your back for leverage, forcing your face up and tits out, as he drives into you with even more force, your rectal muscles molding painfully to his solid mass as it reams your fuckhole. Like a good slut you hold your own wrists when he reaches around you to pinch and pull down on your clamped nipples.

Suddenly he drops your tits, the clamps clattering on the marble as he pulls out. You find yourself being spun round, and lifted back up onto the marble, both waiters pulling up your legs and pushing your stilettoed feet up to your asscheeks. You reel with relief, your open ass vacated, trying desperately to control the urge to expel as you grip your heels once more. The black man slaps your thighs wider apart before bringing the palm of his hand down brutally on your cuntlips, jarring the clit clamp agonisingly. Not daring to break with custom lest they report back to Me, you whimper 'Thank you Sir'. Naturally this makes the men laugh bemusedly, and take turns slapping your cunt some more to elicit your pathetic response. Then facing you as the white man had before him, the black waiter puts the too-short tit chain back in your mouth, pulling your nipples into long distended peaks. You groan in misery, your face a picture of pain as his black fingers push more soap into your hole. He begins feeding his cockhead into your ass once more, looking sneeringly into your pleading eyes as it pops inside.