Katrina’s Clamps by Master Ivan

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mrivan
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Katrina’s Clamps by Master Ivan

Post by mrivan »

Katrina’s Clamps

by Master Ivan

[Author’s note: This story is from my archives of erotic tales I had written some years ago and never published or put online. The name of the main character was taken from that of a lead character in a bondage video in my collection, that dating back even more years. It has no connection with the devastating hurricane that hit the gulf coast more than ten years after this story was written...M.I.]


I had gone to a store in the middle of the city which sold erotica, looking for some equipment. While I made most, if not all, of my leather gear, some items had to be purchased. I was looking at an unusual set of nipple clamps, a collector’s item, when she interrupted.

“Excuse me, are you Master Ivan?”

I turned and looked. She was attractive, with a full bust, narrow hips and a beautiful, pouting face. She had long blond hair, blue eyes and the kind of full lips that appeared made to be wrapped around my manhood. Still, in the second or so before I responded, I looked, as I usually do, for the subtle signs...

Her hair was tied back, tightly. It would pull back gently against her scalp as she moved her head.

Her face was made up in a way to appear natural while still being provocative. Delicate eye shades, just the right touch of rouge, all framing her mouth, the only overt provocation she displayed, as it was done in bright red lipstick, enhancing the fullness of her lips. From medieval times, that always symbolized a mouth offered for use by a man. Today, while the intent was rarely conscious, it often proved quite real.

She wore no bra. Her full breasts fought to escape her white knit sundress, needing no support. The dress was unbuttoned only low enough to expose a bit of her cleavage, yet her nipples, rock-hard, were explicitly displayed. I could tell she would be aroused by the friction of the thin cloth across her tightly held breasts.

The dress remained tight over her hips. While there was no panty-line, I could see she wore a garter belt and perhaps a tiny g-string panty. I knew they would also be tight on her flesh.

She wore black, sheer, seamed stockings, exposed to her upper thighs by the short skirt, and strapped sandals with three inch heels. I noted that the ankle straps were thick, heavy leather, and buckled tight, almost as a set of shackles would be. Her wrists, also, bore an assortment of jewelry, including a leather bracelet strapped around her right wrist.

All her accoutrements symbolized submission. Even her posture was consistent with the image: her feet were slightly separated, toes pointed out; her hands, at her sides, were held slightly behind her hips; her head was held upright, but her eyes somewhat lowered, and her back was arched, offering her body. Either she did so intentionally, which was possible, or she was a natural submissive. I thought the latter to be more likely.

After this brief but detailed analysis of her visual presentation, I looked into her eyes and answered her. “Yes, I am.”

She paused in turn. Her eyes lowered again, and a thrill seemed to pass through her body. She radiated sexuality, and she was very conscious of it.

“My name is Katrina. I’d like to talk with you a bit, if you’d permit me, about some very, er, personal things.”

She was uncomfortable asking me, yet surrounded by magazines and videos all featuring bound and enslaved females, and standing inches away from a wall covered with implements designed to restrain, train and punish slaves, there was very little ice left to break. I picked up a quirt, a poorly made and overpriced one, smiled, and looked at her.

“I find it disturbing that they expect people to pay these prices for the kind of trash that makes this place look like a tourist trap!” She smiled back, a bit more relaxed, as I suggested, “Let’s get a cup of coffee and talk.”

I did not forget the original purpose of my visit. I quickly picked up the clamps I had looked at, as well as a set of steel thumb-cuffs and a couple of hard to find bondage paperbacks. I noted the girl, as I selected the restraints, had quickly taken a breath, shuddering at the imagined pain they could cause. Unconsciously, she arched her back again, seemingly offering herself. She was hot for submission, and she was at least partly aware of it. I found myself pleased with her and wanted to find out how far she wished to go.

I took her to a small cafe nearby. It offered intimate privacy and was inhabited by a broad assortment of patrons, ranging from lawyers to streetwalkers. We were lucky enough to get a corner booth, offering some additional privacy.

Coffees in hand, I smiled at her again. “You are interested in enslavement. You have never had a Master and are afraid to talk with me about it, yet your hunger for sexual submission is driving you to seek me out. You are hoping I will make you feel more comfortable talking about it, yet you fear committing yourself.”

She stared at me, surprised at my arrogant presumptions about her, yet her face confirmed the truth of my words.

“You’re right, of course, although I didn’t intend to move quite so fast.”

I relaxed a bit and allowed her some maneuvering room. “Why don’t you just tell me, in your own words.”

She took a sip of coffee, thought for a moment, then spoke. “I’ve fantasized about bondage for years. I’ve read a great deal about it, and I’ve even had a bit of it rub off on my lifestyle, as you’ve noticed. On the street, I’ve tried to break habits like hiding my body; I haven’t worn a bra or jeans for ages, and I almost always wear heels.

“At home, I often spend hours alone, naked except for my heels, imagining my lover being there fully dressed, enjoying the sight of me. I masturbate a lot, often kneeling on the bare floor, sometimes even in front of a mirror, all the time fantasizing a Master teasing me, binding me, whipping me, torturing me, using me at will in any way he wants.

“All of it gets me hotter than anything, and I find myself trying to hold off on masturbating, delaying my orgasm as much as possible, just enjoying the frustration.”

I continued to smile back at her, understanding her feelings while not wanting to interrupt her thoughts.

“There are limits, though, on what I can do alone. I can’t whip myself, or hang myself by my wrists from the ceiling. I’ve used clothespins once or twice, on my nipples and elsewhere, but it’s not the same as when a Master is there forcing you to accept the pain. And of course, I can’t give pleasure to an imaginary Master.”

“So, you obviously need a real flesh and blood Master.”

“Yes.”

“And how far are you willing to go to please your Master?”

She hesitated, dropping her eyes again. “I don’t know. I fear the whip, the pain and helplessness scare me, yet the idea of them makes me hotter than anything. And if I am to be a real slave, I shouldn’t be making those decisions, anyway. Right?”

“Of course. It is the Master’s whims that rule the slave, not the other way around. Yet, in the real world, a competent Master must take a slave into enslavement in a way that will cause her to love her submission, not fear the Master. We must decide how fast you are to travel. You must be tested, as well as trained.”

At this first direct reference to her real training, she shuddered.

“How would you feel about a test, right now?”

Another tremor went through her body, her arousal now obvious.

“Yes, please.”

I thought for a moment, then took the new nipple clamps out of my coat pocket. I unwrapped them; then, removing the heavy weights from their connecting chain, I handed the clamps to her. Initially, I had considered having her apply them to her own nipples, but these clamps were large and bulky and would be too obvious beneath her current dress.

“Take them into the ladies room. Remove your panties and place them in your mouth. Then, hang the clamps from your cuntlips and return here.”

She hesitated for a moment, shuddering as she anticipated the pain and humiliation of her ordeal. Soon, though, she answered, “Yes, Master”, took the clamps and obeyed.

It took some minutes. I knew the clamps were an odd type that screwed tightly to attach them, and they weighed several ounces. She would have to get them painfully tight to make sure they stayed put. When she finally walked back to me, I saw her grimace with the pain of her clamped labia, and she made an effort to move more gracefully. She sat down, her mouth closed, concealing her panties. I could see that sitting down took some of the weight off the clamps, relieving some of her pain. When she arose, the pain would return.

I held out my hand. “Give me the panties.”

She removed them from her mouth, then handed them to me. I sniffed them briefly, savoring the odor of her juices, then put them in my pocket. I then asked her, “How do you feel?”

She paused for only a second, then said, “Hot. In some pain, but very hot. I feel like I’m under your control already.”

“And do you like the feeling?”

“Yes.” This time, the word was loaded with her arousal.

“I am considering a further test, one which would increase your pain and humiliation. Will you submit to it?”

She looked me straight in the eyes, almost defiantly, then said, “Yes!”

I slid next to her in the booth, then took one of the weights which came with the clamp set. I raised her skirt myself, then attached the weight to the center of the connecting chain. She shuddered, knowing the pain would be much greater.

I then noticed the service counter where a dozen people waited in line. I took some money out of my pocket and handed it to her.

“Buy me another coffee. Only one--you’ll do without.”

She stood, slowly and cautiously. When the added weight was picked up by the clamps on her labia, she moaned deeply with the pain. When she began to walk towards the line, she walked very carefully.

She took each step with care and precision, suppressing any expression of pain on her face. Beneath her short skirt, I could just make out the end of the weight as it swung painfully from the clamps’ chain. Once, another patron crossed paths with her, bearing two full cups of coffee, and she had to react quickly to avoid colliding with him. I saw the weight bounce hard off her thigh, and the pain in her face went well beyond the point where she could conceal it. She got into line and waited.

It took over ten minutes before her turn came. During that time, I noted a man in line behind her attempting to make small talk with her. She tried to remain immobile but was forced to turn periodically to face him as she answered. Each movement increased the pain in her labia as she stood there at my command. I could see her nipples hardening further, even from across the room.

Finally, she got my coffee and returned to my table.

“Do not sit down. Place the coffee on the table in front of me.”

She was fearful, somewhat taken back, but obeyed wordlessly.

“Now, add the sugar and creme, and stir it for me.”

Her muscles stiffened with every move, reacting to her continuous pain from the clamps. Still, she obeyed perfectly, her pained body a pleasure to watch as she leaned over the table.

“Now, unbutton one more button of your sundress.”

A shudder went through her at this. There was no way she could obey surreptitiously; this would be a blatant act on her part. Worse, the dress already revealed her. The loss of one more button would be a dramatic increase in her exposure. She obeyed, and a substantial portion of her breast-meat came into view, almost down to her aureoles. I noted that the light over the table focused on her exposed flesh like a spotlight, drawing the eye. I handed her panties back to her.

“Back in your mouth!”

Her eyes quickly scanned the surrounding tables as she stood, already revealed and in pain. Her hand moved to her face, almost as if to cover a yawn, but the still-wet panties went into her mouth.

“Now, clasp your hands behind your back, as if bound!”

Obeying this last command pulled her shoulders back and opened the front of her dress another inch, exposing still more of her breasts. She was fully conscious of this, and I could smell the odor of her arousal.

I said no more, but simply sipped a bit of my coffee. Without being told further, she held position, exposed and suffering. Her mouth was occupied by her panties; she would need no coffee. She stood, awaiting my pleasure.

It took me ten minutes to finish my cup. As I finished and looked at her, she spoke to me through the panties, aware of the risks.

“Master?”

“Yes, slut?”

“I need to use the bathroom.”

I said nothing at first, but just explored her body with my eyes. She shuddered a bit with her arousal, her pain and her full bladder. She was sweating, literally as well as figuratively, and I wondered if her dress would become even more revealing as it moistened. Finally, I told her, “Go to the ladies room. When you return, give me the clamps and your panties. The weight, however, you will insert in your cunt.”

There is something about the reactions of a woman’s body to verbal commands that arouses me greatly. As I gave her that last command, she closed her eyes, inhaled a short breath, and her face reddened. The shudder passed through her like a wave, as her shoulders, breasts and hips felt it in turn. And since it was in reaction to the command of a Master, one of a humiliating nature, it was clear that the reactions of her body were an echo of the similar waves of humiliation and arousal going through her mind. At those moments, the woman is transparent, revealed to her soul and completely enslaved by her Master. Better still, the truly submissive woman is usually aroused deeply by the sensation, proving her enslavement. For the Master, it is a heady trip, one I lived for every day.

She was equally arousing to watch as she walked, still suffering, to the bathroom. While raised heels normally display the female body to the great advantage of the Master, her clamped and weighted cuntlips further changed her walk, forcing her to move gracefully, flowing smoothly from step to step. She finished quickly, and I observed that now she walked with her thighs closer together to avoid losing the steel weight from within her cunt.

I took the clamps, then the panties, and returned them to my pocket. She returned to her seat, her arousal building visibly as she reacted to the weight within her. She smiled, enjoying the sensations.

We talked about her reactions. While the idea of submission was familiar to her, she had very limited knowledge of the wide variety of forms it could take. She was impressed with her brief ordeal so far, and she wanted more.

“If you wish, you could join me for the weekend. I could give you some intensive training and use, and you could feel out your reactions to enslavement. If you want to continue, you could stay on as a full slave.”

She smiled again, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Hmmm...I think I’d like that!”

“Of course, as a slave, you’d be subject to full discipline, you’d be required to serve me in any way I demanded of you, and your own pleasure would have to be earned, if I permitted it at all. Perhaps, you’d spend much of your time idle and in chains and remain denied for days at a time.”

Her arousal picked up another notch, and I noticed her grinding her hips into the seat beneath her. Now, she was moving deeper into a true slave heat, as the smile left her face and her breathing deepened.

“Perhaps on my next trip to town, you might remain chained naked in my dungeon, your nipples clamped, your ass plugged, left to suffer alone until I chose to return home and use you.”

She paused, then responded, “Of course, Master. As your slave, it would be only right.”

I briefly regretted not having a remote-controlled vibrator available with which to force her to a public orgasm. Still, she showed much promise. We left the restaurant and walked to my car, with Katrina walking very cautiously.

In my car, I had her sit in the front seat.

“Pull up your skirt in back--sit directly on the seat!”

She obeyed, and I was pleased to hear her gasp as her ass came down on the leather, heated by the sun. Her arousal continued to grow, and it seemed that she would be responsive to almost any physical stimulus. I decided to test that theory, along with her willingness to submit herself, with some additional surprises. I took out the second weight from the clamp set and handed it to her.

She looked back at me, concerned, as she took it. With her cunt occupied by the first weight, she knew the second one might test her resolve. I told her, “In your ass!”

Her face turned a darker shade of red and showed some fear as she obeyed. She knew enough to lubricate it by mouth first, then started working it into her ass. It was a struggle, requiring her to use both hands as she moved awkwardly in the car to gain access, but her efforts displayed her body well. By the time she succeeded, my arousal was building as fast as hers.

Seated again, with the car in motion, I watched her responses to the two weights. Each time we took a sharp turn or hit a bump, the weights would move within her lower openings, constantly stimulating her. She was finding it hard to avoid masturbating in front of me.

Smiling again, I ordered her, “Open another button on your dress!” She obeyed, and the dress parted further, in a wide vee, now exposing the bulk of her breasts to the edges of her aureoles.

“Pull your tits out of the dress altogether and squeeze your nipples with both hands!”

She obeyed quickly but still reacted strongly to her growing exposure and humiliation. It was still daylight, and the streets were far from deserted. I heard her breathing increasing rapidly--between the tit stimulation and the shifting weights within her, she could reach orgasm soon if allowed.

“Slave--I didn’t say to play with your tits, I want to see you squeeze them--hard!”

Now, she groaned audibly as she truly brutalized her own nipples at my command, squeezing them with force, pulling them, even twisting them viciously to increase her own pain. Even better, the material of the dress held her tits together while lifting them and thrusting them out, inviting more abuse.

She was doing very well, but another change was still in order. I handed her the clamps.

She took them, showing both fear and excitement.

“On your tits!”

She started with her right breast, tightening the clamp firmly at the base of the nipple. I noted, beyond her facial expressions of pain, that the flesh was well-compressed by the clamp, and she would suffer continuously as it remained attached. Before she moved to the left side, I admonished her, “A half-turn tighter! You don’t want to be punished if it slips off, do you?” She tightened the clamp further, producing a deep moan, then attached the other clamp to her left tit equally tight.

They stood out proudly, proclaiming her active submission. Her hands remained at her sides, afraid to move. It was now a true ordeal, of obedience, pain and humiliating exposure. I decided to give her a reality check, for safety’s sake.

“Katrina--how are you doing?”

She moaned again, closing her eyes briefly. She then said, “It hurts, Master. It hurts a great deal. But its turning me on like you wouldn’t believe! And those weights inside me, they’re gonna bring me off soon!”

Yes, she was doing fine, but an orgasm for her was still a long way off on my agenda.

“Slip the weight out of your cunt!”

It came out covered with her juice.

“Clean it, with your mouth!”

She moaned again in her heat as she obeyed, tasting her own juices. Pulling the car over, I then used my new thumbcuffs to lock her hands together behind her. I gave her a moment to get used to the helplessness and exposure, then hung the six ounce weight from the chain on her clamps.

Now, her moans were loud, dramatic, as her pain level rose another order of magnitude. She was in new territory now with her submission, truly helpless for the first time and feeling pain at a level she had never experienced. I found myself in awe of her courage and her trust of me, while the blatant display of her tortured breasts was bringing my arousal to a peak. As I pulled the car back out onto the road, she moaned yet again with the motion of the clamps. Now, the moans were tinged with her obvious and growing arousal.

“Katrina, tell me what you are feeling.”

She closed her eyes briefly, took a deep breath and shuddered with her pain. She then began, “I’m in pain, lots of pain. Every move I make with my body makes my nipples scream with it. I feel vulnerable, helpless. And yet, its all turning me on like you wouldn’t believe! Its what I’ve dreamed about for years, surrendering control, giving up my body, being subjected to humiliation, pain, knowing you could use me sexually anytime you wanted and I’d be helpless to stop you. My pussy is flooded already, and as hard as this is to endure, I feel like I never want it to stop!”

I smiled. She was indeed a natural. I answered her with one word: “Good!” I then drove on in silence, interrupted only by Katrina’s moans.

It took another twenty minutes to get home. Through it all, Katrina suffered the clamps, exposed to my view as well as to anyone who cared to look into the car. Her hands remained locked behind her by the thumbcuffs, also causing her generous breasts to thrust even further forward from her chest. The weight, hanging from the chain connecting her tit clamps, swung continuously as we drove, bringing forth her continuous moans. And I knew the second weight, still buried within her ass, reminded her constantly of its presence. Still, she remained silent, neither begging for mercy nor complaining. By the time we got to my place, the odors of her arousal were obvious.

In my garage, I had her rise and stand by the car to await me while I got more implements. I slipped her dress off her, revealing the rest of her body. Almost as an afterthought, I took her panties from my coat pocket again, wiped them once through her cunt-slit to saturate them with her juices, then returned them to her mouth. I told her, “If the weight falls from your ass, it will be added to your tit-chain. And if your panties leave your mouth, they will be replaced with something far more unpleasant.” I then turned and went into the house.

It took me less than five minutes to select a set of five-point lockable shackles for her, along with some padlocks and chain. Returning to the closed door, I observed her through the peephole. She seemed to have a high tolerance for pain. Indeed, as I watched unseen, she experimented with tit-clamps, moving in a way to swing the weight in various directions. At one point, she closed her eyes, smiled and moaned deeply in obvious pleasure. Another time, the weight made a sudden jerk to one side, and she grimaced briefly. All in all, she tolerated the clamps well, and she was clearly aroused by their torture.

I returned to her, and I quickly mounted the wrist and ankle shackles as well as a wide, stiff collar. Soon, her wrists were padlocked behind her, her elbows were strapped tightly together and her ankled were connected by a mere foot of chain. Attaching a leash, I told her, “Follow me!”

She took two steps, and the weight in her ass slipped out, bouncing loudly on the floor beneath her. She was angry at the mistake, as she quickly spit out the soiled panties and said, “Shit!”

I stood before her and smiled, waiting. She looked back, realizing I was waiting for her to do something. It took her only seconds to realize she was supposed to beg for her prescribed punishment.

“Please Master, hang the weight I dropped from my tit-chain, then gag me with whatever you feel appropriate.”

I picked up the weight. It was visibly soiled with residue from her ass. I held it at her mouth, commanding her, “Clean it!” Feeling the wave of humiliation pass through her, she opened her mouth, then used her lips and tongue to thoroughly clean the weight. I then hung it from the chain.

Now, with a good twelve ounces of weight hanging from a set of severe clamps, her nipples were in substantial pain. She bent over low at first, groaning loudly, then slowly rose again as she mastered the new level of pain. Again, I wiped her crotch with the panties and thrust them into her mouth. “That will do for now. When I get you properly restrained inside, you’ll get a proper punishment gag.”

Again, I enjoyed the way she walked, with both the hobbling effect of her ankle chain and her torturous nipple clamps. Now, with firm shackles locked upon her body, as well as her nudity and her clamps, her submission was enforced and real. The emotional effects of this registered dramatically on her face, as she walked, willingly, into her deepening submission.

I brought her into my den and stood her directly beneath the overhead winch. Moving her wrists to her front, I connected the hanging end of the winch rope to her shackles.

Seated in my lounge chair, I held the winch control in my hand. Katrina stood, looking straight into my eyes, on edge with anticipation. She was conscious of her total nudity, as well as in continuing pain from her tortured tits. She made no move to either cover herself or ease the pain, yet she remained tense.

After waiting silently for a moment, I engaged the winch. Slowly, her wrists were drawn up over her head, stretching her body. She gasped in surprise as the skin was tightened across her chest, increasing the pain from the clamps. I continued raising her wrists, watching the muscle group that bordered her armpits at the sides of her chest. When those muscles began to bulge, straining, I stopped the winch. I knew that all the slack in her arms was gone, her heels barely able to remain on the floor.

I walked to her and circled her slowly, visually exploring the lines of her body, noting the subtleties of her flesh. She was nearly free of fat, with a tight ass and flat tummy. Her legs were athletic, but not overly muscular. She was clearly well-conditioned, and with the training I would soon begin to give her, she would become a terrific pleasure slave.

I wanted a shower before I proceeded farther, but I didn’t want her to leave her with twelve ounces of weights on her tits.

I removed one weight, then inserted it deeply into her cunt once, then her ass. I brought it back up and reconnected it to her chain. I then told her, “Open your mouth!”

She opened, knowing what I intended. I placed the weight deep into her mouth. Now, the chain connecting her tit-clamps was drawn up sharply, with the second weight still hanging from it. Her clamped nipples were now pulled toward her mouth at a severe angle. Her head dropped down to relieve some of the new pain.

I took her by the hair and pulled her hair upright, causing her to gasp again as her nipples were pulled up in turn. I then told her, “I’m going to take a shower. If you keep that weight in your mouth, your tits will get a break. Drop it, and you’ll take all the weight on your clamps until I return. Understand, slut?”

Unable to speak with the soiled weight in her mouth, she nodded. Her resultant gasps of pain aroused me as I noted her tits following the motion of her head as they, too, nodded with the motion of the chain. To finish off her bondage, I took the winch control and raised her yet another inch in the air, drawing her up off her heels altogether. She moaned deeply, her suffering growing with each passing second. Finally, I noted her swallow, as she savored the tastes of her two lower holes on the soiled weight in her mouth. I turned and walked to the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, I had dried off and was putting on my best silk bathrobe when I heard her cry out sharply. I walked back to the den to discover she had dropped the weight from her mouth. Both weights now swung on their chain, pulling her clamped nipples to and fro as they moved.

She was in substantial pain. While some slaves could take much more, others, even experienced slaves, might be at their limits at this stage. So I simply asked, “How are you doing, slut?”

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. I could already tell, although her pain was severe, she was enjoying every minute. “Master--its bad, but its also my dream. I don’t know how much longer I can handle it, not too long, I think, but I don’t want to beg off yet.”

I decided to extend her ordeal, but to give it a new dimension. I went to a rack of implements nearby and took down a cat-o-nine tails. Commanding her to “Open!”, I placed it in her mouth. “You’ll do another twenty minutes, pig. If you want to beg off earlier, just drop the whip, and you’ll be given one stroke for every minute you fall short, before you’re let down. And just to make the experience complete, ...”

I raised her again, until her toes left the floor completely. I got myself a drink, lit a cigarette, then resumed my seat.

Now, she moaned in pain with her every breath. Every move she made caused her tits to shake and her tit clamps to renew the swinging of their weights. She could not see any clocks, so she would have to guess at the amount of time left, at the number of strokes she would have to pay for an end to her pain. Soon, her body shone with sweat, and I could see the very lips of her cunt open as her arousal built with her ordeal. Finally, ten minutes later, she dropped the cat.

Smiling, I rose, walked to her and picked up the cat. As she shuddered, I used the handle of the cat to gently caress various parts of her body. “I wonder, where should I whip you? On your breasts, perhaps?” I grazed the open side of one breast as she groaned, suffering, in fear. “Or maybe your ass?” The whip handle gently divided her ass-cheeks. “Perhaps I should whip your cunt?” As I slid the leather between her opened labia, she groaned more deeply than ever, in both fear and arousal. I had no doubt that if I decided to whip her cunt, it would bring her to orgasm by the third stroke. “No, slut. You would enjoy that far too much. I think your ass will taste the whip this time.”

I withdrew the whip and took position behind her. I saw her tense, anticipating the first stroke, so I waited a few more seconds before swinging. Finally, I let the whip fall with a hard stroke, crossing both her asscheeks.

I whipped her severely. She screamed on every stroke as the welts quckly rose. She marked well, and both her voice and her body’s undulations under the whip proved very entertaining indeed. I had not told her the number of strokes she had coming, so she didn’t know for sure it had ended until I lowered the winch and, for the first time in over half an hour, allowed her feet back onto the floor.

As expected, the removal of her clamps resulted in a pair of dramatic screams. I then had her kiss the cat as well as the clamps. She shuddered as she did so with a new respect for the pain they could cause. Finally, she spoke to me. Simple words, but heartfelt: “Oh, thank you, Master!”

Ordinarily at this juncture I would talk to a new slave trainee to do a reality check and to explore her own inclinations so as to train her most effectively. In this case, however, she seemed enthralled by it all, highly aroused by her pain and restraint and clearly hungering for more.

I ran a finger through her cunt. It came away with a substantial amount of her juice visible on it. I looked at it, inches from her face, and commented, “It appears that my new slave is a true slut!”

She groaned and admitted, “Yes, Master.”

“And it would appear that she wishes to beg for a slave-rape, to be fucked for her own pleasure.”

Now, her groan sounded like the edge of orgasm. “Oh, yes Master, please!”

I smiled, pleased at her responses. Now, however, was where her real training would begin.

“But my slave must know that her Master’s pleasure is her most important concern, and that a slut in training must not be spoiled with self-indulgence.”

At this, the smile left her face, and she looked at me with more fear than when she was threatened with her earlier pain. She whimpered now, “P-please, Master!”

I went to a nearby cabinet and found a chastity belt and a posture collar. Minutes later, her cunt was locked in leather, her throat collared and locked, her wrists locked behind her back and her leash in my hand as she knelt at my chair. I also kept the cat-o-nine tails close at hand.

“So tell me, slut. Do you wish to be trained as my slave?”

“Oh, yes Master!”

“And you would, no doubt, serve my every pleasure on demand and accept all your punishments without a hint of rebellion?”

“Yes, Master!”

“And I suppose that, in return, you would expect to receive pleasure whenever your arousal demanded satisfaction?”

Now she paused, exposed in her mistake. She lowered her eyes, the posture collar prohibiting her from lowering her head. “No, Master. I should only be given pleasure if it pleases you to do so. I am sorry.”

I smiled broadly, pleased. She knew her role instinctively, almost as if she had been trained already. Certainly, more work would be necessary, but she took to it as a natural slave. As I parted my robe, her eyes locked on my erect cock, and she licked her lips, her mouth watering in anticipation. Her nipples, also, seemed to grow more erect as I began to take up the slack on the leash, drawing her mouth to its rightful place on my cock.

She had already opened her mouth, preparing to begin her labor, when she suddenly stopped.

“Master?”

“Yes, cocksucker?”

“I want to tell you that I love all of this--the pain, the arousal, the mind trips, all of it turns me on like a firecracker, but could I beg something of you?”

“Yes?”

“I find myself growing attached to one part of this in particular. it seems to bring everything else into focus and makes things complete, Please Master, before I suck you, could you put back my nipple clamps?”

I was surprised, but quite pleased.

“Of course, slut. but, since you’ve interrupted and delayed my pleasure, you realize you’ll have to be punished by having the weights hung from them, as well.”

She gasped, but then smiled, “Of course, Master. It would be only right.”

As I pulled her down onto my cock, I smiled. She would suck me off once now, again at bedtime and a third time in the morning before I’d release her chastity belt. She was taking to training, use and punishment like a duck to water, and I would be pleased to give her as much of it as she wanted, and more. As a Master, I would be in paradise with such a slave. i would be sure to train her well.

But beyond her general talents as a suck-slave, which she was demonstrating to me now most persuasively, she had one proclivity which made us even more compatible, one which I would be sure to indulge for her whenever my cock drove down her throat. As I watched her now, in fact, as her mouth worked at pleasuring me, I didn’t just watch her face. I loved to see her breasts bobbing up and down, pulled by the weighted clamps on her nipples, knowing the resultant pain was something she herself loved to feel as she served my pleasure.

Yes, just that sight alone pushed me over the edge into orgasm. And as my hands tightened in her hair and my cock thrust all the way down into her throat, and as I finally shot my load into her willing mouth, I knew:

She loved her nipple clamps.

3/13/95 - 4/5/95

Copyright © 1995
Master Ivan Press
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