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The Nature by Breanne Erickson

The Nature

Pain explodes through my breasts as he pulls me upward.  My bound hands writhe at the small of my back and even the relief I feel from no longer having so much of my weight on my own tied arms is nothing compared to the agony lancing through each nipple.  I can feel his cock inside me, thrusting, pumping as he pulls me up by my tits, each nipple caught delicately but firmly in the bite of the clover clamps.  His hand is on the chain between them, tugging, holding me up, pulling me.  He is near the edge, but so am I, and without permission I shake, crying out my release even as I feel him hardening inside me.  He grimaces at my weakness as he cums, his hand still tugging hard on my clamped tits and it is a combination of pain and pleasure as he explodes inside my pussy, filling me.

 He is finished, but I am not, and he rolls off me and then pulls me to my feet; by the nipple clamp chain.  Fire perforates each nipple and I stumble forward, almost unendurable pain shooting out from my breasts.  I’m led out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, hands still bound behind my back.  He lets loose the clamps, only to push me forward and down.  I fall to my knees, the hard tile floor hurting just a moment before he shoves me forward with a knee.  I straighten my back and feel the table top pressing into my ribs, just under my breasts.  But then he pushes down on my shoulders and I fold slightly to his touch.  My bosom rests on the table.

 “Don’t move,” he commands.  He picks up the cane and my eyes widen.  Oh my God! How could he?  But he does, swinging the thin rod downward to strike across the slopes of both breasts.  He seems to be aiming for my hardened nipples.  It’s only by sheer determination that I keep from pulling away, falling to the side, even as a line of hot white pain crosses across my chest.  I hang my head, eyes squeezed shut against the tears. 

 Another stroke, another welt, and my body stiffens, trembling against the strain.  I feel like I might fold, fall, curl up into a ball; anything to stop the sweet and terrible agony.  He swings again and this time I can not hold.  I scream out loud and yank away from the table, my breasts on fire, roasting along the length of his cane.  He snarls something I can not understand, my brain short-circuited by the sensations coming from my breasts.  But I comprehend he is unhappy about my outburst.  My panties, soaked from my earlier trials, still damp and scented with my orgasms, are shoved into my mouth.  A length of tape goes over them and I find myself dealing with the musty tangy taste of my own juice, unable to express myself beyond a muted moan.

 I am pushed back to the table and I burst into tears, knowing what is coming.   I shake my head but that doesn’t matter.  I can not refuse.  There are no safe-words.  No relent.  This is not torture, but punishment. I deserve this.  I know it.  But still, I can not bring myself to once more set my bosom on the table, knowing I will merely receive another stroke of the cane. 

 He senses my resistance and instead picks me up and drops me face down upon the table.  My bound arms pull my shoulders backward as he positions me.   I am lifted and then scooted forward.  I look down over the edge of the table as he moves me just enough.  My breasts dangle downward over the edge with everything below still on the table.  My feet move to find the edge behind me and I brace myself, legs spread to keep my balance and not tip forward.   I do not like it. Too much of me is not supported and I feel like I might fall.  Another rope appears and this time he folds my legs at the knees, binding my ankles.  The rope goes to my wrists and I am hogtied.  I feel my precarious perch wobble and am frightened.  If I fall… but then he takes the rope and ties it elsewhere, holding me in position.  I feel the tension on the rope and it lets me relax, just a bit.

 Then to my astonishment, he lies down beneath me, looking up, a small towel for a pillow, his naked body touching the tile floor.  In his hand is the cane and it comes up.  For a moment I don’t understand.  But then he reaches toward me and yanks hard on the chain of the clamps and my scream, though muted, is clearly heard through the gag.  The crushed nipples explode with agony as the blood rushes back into them.  I shake with the sensation but then he brings the tip of the cane against my left nipple, striking it with a sharp snick that seems to split the skin, cutting me to ribbons.  My skin is unharmed but it doesn’t feel that way to me.

 The cane moves to my other breast, snapping the tip against my nub with an accuracy and strength that moves me in a dance of agony.  It is pure and unadulterated.  I writhe on the table, never able to escape his strokes. Blow after blow, smack after smack, they land across my breasts, the cane moving in different ways to inflict the pain I know I deserve, the pain I know I need, the pain I know I want. 

 Hours later… or is it just minutes… it could even be seconds… he moves out from under me.  Tears fall, splattering against the tile as my brain tries to process the reports of frayed nerves, of welted skin, of heat and fire, of  want and pain.  I feel something new, something hard, but it is between my spread thighs.  It moves upward and I tilt my hips, hoping for penetration, wanting another orgasm to mitigate the burning torture I feel.  He plays with me, teasing the toy up and down my slit, even penetrating an inch or two.  Soon I am convulsing, wavering in a weird mixture of desire and agony, wanting to be fucked more than anything else.

 Without a word or warning, the tip of the toy moves upward, the lubricated tip touching my dark button.  I clench in reflex but then loosen as nothing happens.  As I relax it comes, the fast thrust, the immediate pressure, and the oiled dildo rams home, not in my pussy, giving in to my unwholesome desires, but into my ass, spearing me, tearing me, impaling me in a deep ache of anguish that nothing but time and resolution can overcome.  Long before the pain in my bottom recedes, he grabs my ankle.

 I hear the swish of the cane before I feel the sting, but there is nothing I can do.  A sudden line of conflagration burns across the arch of my foot, searing me and sending even more pain through me.  He swings again, harder this time, and I scream.  The sound never manages to go father than my own panty filled mouth.  I tug and pull, unable to resist, but trying with every fiber of my being.  The caning continues, leaving thin but angry looking red lines across both feet, only along the arch.  He knows how to hurt me.  I am sobbing, barely able to breath as the snot runs from my nose.  He wipes it away gently with a tissue, but this kindness is lost upon me.  My hair hides him from view.  Then he goes back to caning my feet, the bastard of bastinado flaying my sole.

 There is more movement behind me and I try to expel the butt plug in my ass.  It is unmoving, but something new has been slipped between my legs. It plays against my folds, slipping up and down.  Slowly it works its way deeper, penetrating me until I feel the full length and firmness of the object.  I can’t tell what it is; only that it is vaguely cock shaped.  I squeeze down, first merely from instinct, then with deliberate pressure.  It fills me completely but seems otherwise inert.  But a moment later it begins to vibrate wildly and my pussy contracts around it in rhythmic spasms. 

 I am left there… I know not how long.  Slowly the pain in my breasts, my feet, and my ass dulls to an ache, merging and mixing with the slow but intense pulse of pleasure in my pussy.  My hips begin to thrust as I try desperately to rub my clit against the table top.  Closer I get, my breath coming in rapid bursts as my body responds predictably.  This is what I am.  I hurt and then I cum.  Then I hurt again.   It is the life of a nympho humiliation pain slut.  I can feel it blossoming inside me, that ultimate release I crave, heightened and enhanced by the residual pain of my punishment.

 I never see it coming, but then… I rarely do.  Suddenly a crushing pain latches down on both nipples, a sharp pain, and a bit of weight.  I feel like teeth are cutting into me and my eyes fly open wide to see a white bucket hanging from a chain.  The chain is connected to the clamps now on my nipples, but unlike before, these clamps are not the painful yet benign clover clamps.  I can see the teeth, the steel spring, and know that both nipples are caught in the metal toothed bite of the alligator clamps.  Pain explodes through me with the realization, but the nerve pathways are already primed.  Rather than going directly to my brain, the pain rushes lower, straight to my pussy, which suddenly contracts so tightly around the vibrator that I feel a secondary twinge from my groin.  I keen out loud, the sharp bites on my nipples like pins being shoved through each nub. 

 He holds something in front of my face and I blink.  It is spherical and white, an off white, marked with bits of blue.  It takes my overloaded brain too long to identify, because before I can even think “cue ball” it falls from his fingertips.

 Into the bucket. 

 It jerks to a stop, sending vibrations up through the plastic sides of the pail and into the chain.  The force and weight translates through the chain and into my clamped nipples, throbbing in both crushing agony and sharp bite.  My welted and caned and bruised breasts are drawn downward.  I begin thrashing, every muscle in my body moving and struggling.  But the only thing that happens is that another ball appears, and falls from uncaring fingertips into the bucket.

 There is a point where pain becomes its own pleasure and as my body was overwhelmed the throbbing in my tits seemed to become something else, an animal needing to be fed even as my pussy needed that same kind of feeding.  My hips thrust, my loins tightened, and I screamed my longing out through my panties.  Another ball fell, increasing the weight and my nipples stretched.  I could see a bit of bright red and knew that it wouldn’t be long; another ball, another sharp pain.

 On the eleventh ball, though I wasn’t counting, the bucket fell, ripping the alligator clamps from my flesh.  Blood spilled, splattering the pool balls.  I screamed, my body clenching and even my panties weren’t enough to muted my agony.  In response my pussy throbbed against the vibrator and then it slammed into me, lifting me up, shoving me toward the climax of my torment and pleasure all at once.  I yelled, my body trembling and then there was this sudden light that seemed to burst from every part of me.  The hurts faded and became merged with the absolute pleasure of my release, every part of me feeling and hurting and straining and cumming in this bliss that can never be truly described, but only experienced.

 The cuts were shallow and not serious, more tears than slices.  But they still hurt.  As I came down from the heights of my orgasm he kicked the bucket away and untied my feet.  My hands were next but rather than revel in my release, all I could do was lay there, sobbing.  He pulled out the vibrator and the plug, leaving me empty in a way that was almost harmful.  I shuddered and he picked me up. 

 It was a short distance to the bed and he carried me there with strength and gentleness.  I was laid down upon the sheets on my back, nipples still smeared with just a touch of now drying blood.  My breasts were welted red; black and blue bruises had appeared along both the tops and undersides of my bosom.  I murmured through my gag.

 He stroked my legs, fingers moving downward and then he pulled the two leather ankle cuffs from under the bed.  I couldn’t move. I tried but couldn’t.  The leather cuffs encircled my lower limbs and then he grabbed the rope.  My legs were drawn upward, toward the headboard, and spread obscenely wide.  I groaned as I was moved into the new position. A set of handcuffs were brought out and my wrists were linked to the metal barred headboard above me.

 “Now it’s time for me to whip your pussy,” he leaned over and held up a cruel leather sap.  I tried to tell him no, through my gag, but it didn’t matter.  It never does.  A NHPS doesn’t have the right to say no.  Does she?  At least… not unless it violates her limits.  And is there a limit “I can’t take any more?”

 There isn’t.

 The sap came down on my clit with more force than I expected and I screamed.  The full blade of the leather paddle exploded against my folds, smashing and crushing and stinging and hurting me in ways I never thought I could take.  When he lifted the sap a second time we both could see the truth of my nature though.

The sap was wet; totally and completely soaked.

 I knew at that point, what would shortly be cumming.

 Me.

 

The End

 

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