Chapter 8

 

“I have to admit — I wasn’t sure you’d go through with it.”

He found her exactly where he told her he expected her — back to one of the posts of their huge bed. Her naked, vulnerable breasts heaved with her quickened breathing, goosebumps upon her skin despite the comfortable heat of the room. Her gently curved belly sucked in and out rapidly as she waited anxiously for the discipline he’d decreed for her.

Her arousal, a spicy note on the air, was clear, the glistening blatantly visible between the lips of her sex. The glossy curls between her trembling thighs shone under the overhead light.

She’d cuffed one wrist behind her to the post, but left the other free as a precaution.

He’d quickly cuffed that one too as soon as he’d arrived in their bedroom. The position left her helpless, her bosom front and center — the target, the focus.

His obsession.

“I-I don’t know if I can do this, Troy.”

He gave her a cool look.

“Sir, I mean.”

“Why not? You knew what was coming, did you not? Don’t tell me you’re going to… you’ve never done it before.”

There was a first time for everything though, and just like this would be the first time he’d comprehensively disciplined her soft, generous breasts, perhaps this would be the first instance he’d pushed her to the brink.

Thus far, there didn’t seem to be a brink with Lacey. Each time he’d pushed her boundaries, she’d simply gone with it, no matter how uncertain she was.

No matter how much it hurt.

And this was likely to hurt quite a bit.

“I… I’m afraid. They’re so sensitive.”

He knew it too. Her nipples seemed perpetually erect now, and the mere whisper of his fingertips across their hard prominence had her practically panting. Even a mild pinch — something that used to turn her on like almost nothing else — was difficult to bear now. She’d confessed that it still felt good — very good. But it was a sensation that was almost overly intense.

There was such a thing as too much of a good thing, apparently.

“Like we’ve talked about before, Lacey girl. Never more than you can stand. Be brave for me.”

Her cheeks colored as she swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

“Anything you’d like to confess for this week? Or should we proceed?”

The length of soft rope in his hands swung languidly, Lacey’s wide-eyed gaze following the motion, then darting back up to watch him.

“I-I touched… it.”

“What, specifically, did you touch?”

Her face flushed a deep crimson. “My pussy.”

“Was it during your shower?” He knew the answer, of course, but he enjoyed drawing out her admissions of these little transgressions.

“No, sir. It was, in bed. While you were gone.”

He affected a scowl. “I know we’ve talked about this. Were my orders unclear?”

“No. But I missed you.”

“Do you think I’d have let you touch that pussy if I’d have been lying there next to you?”

He took great delight in denying her, something that still mortified her as much as it fired her desire even higher. He didn’t think she fully understood why that turned her on — but he liked it that way. It was a unique — and powerful — form of control. And one he intended to explore further with her as time went on.

“No, sir. Only if… I was very good.”

“Maybe not even then?”

She simply nodded, looking down. Her nipples were incredibly hard, her darkened areolas pulling tight, small bumps quite visible all over them. It was a fetching sight.

“Well, we’ll have to address that then, won’t we? What do you think should be done about that, bad girl?”

“I should be… punished. Sir.” Her voice threatened to crack, but she knew better than to do anything but speak clearly.

“I think so too. I’d intended on just disciplining those big tits of yours tonight, but maybe I’ll also need to give that greedy cunt of yours a reminder of whom it belongs to, hmm?”

She shuddered, but said nothing.

“We’ll see how good you are while we take care of these boobs for you.”

He didn’t let her say another word, stepping forward and taking their heavy weight in his hands, the glorious feeling of her soft breasts in his palms something that never failed to make his cock stand up high and hard. He’d chosen a pair of gray sweats and a black t-shirt for clothing tonight, wanting to be comfortable while he disciplined her — and wanting it to be obvious what her punishment was doing to him.

He knew full well she could already clearly see his erection.

That he had more than a little sadistic streak in him was something he was at peace with — and something they’d both discovered turned her on even more. That he was aroused by disciplining her, both heightened her mortification, and turbo-charged her own arousal. She’d confessed that knowing he took pleasure in bending her to his will made it harder and sweeter all at once.

It was just how things were — and as long as his wonderful, yielding Lacey would have him, it always would be that way.

“These aren’t too sore, are they? You pumped, yes?”

“Yes, sir.” Her cheeks blushed still more, the subject of her lactation never failing to amplify her embarrassment. She knew it made his cock hard simply watching her put the pump’s cups to her nipples, and though it had shocked her at first, she’d learned to at least tolerate it in silence, even though her blushing cheeks betrayed her embarrassment at his blatant enjoyment of her lactation.

“I’m glad they’re not too sore, dear — but they’re going to be sore shortly. Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes, sir.”

He slapped her breast. “Louder.”

“Yes, sir!”

Smacking both of them in turn, loving the way they moved, he growled at her. “Louder, bad girl.”

“Yes, SIR!” Her eyes where already brimming, her lips swollen and trembling, her eyes dilated.

“Good.” He held up the rope. “Stay still for this.”

Making quick work of it, he wrapped the rope around her chest, just under the heaving breasts, then using that as an anchor, proceeded to wrap each breast at the base using a figure eight pattern, finishing it up with smaller lengths of rope coiled individually around each heavy, swelling breast.

When he was finished, each one bulged, her soft flesh already pinkening, the curves now presented in even more dramatic, swollen prominence. Her breathing came in pants, her eyes wide as she looked down at her captive bosom.

Flipping open the leather-bound box he’d laid on the bed behind her, he drew out the gleaming steel, holding up the jaws so she could see what came next.

He’d chosen the smooth-jawed versions, the crocodile clamps reserved only for very serious punishment sessions. Though she probably considered this most serious indeed, he didn’t consider the crocodiles appropriate unless she’d truly transgressed in some profound way.

There would be time for those too, if he knew his wonderful — and sometimes delightfully obstinate — wife.

This time though, he’d made a small, but quite important, modification to the clamps. He’d added a wrap of eighty grit sandpaper to each set of jaws. They might not be crocodile teeth, but they’d make his Lacey tolerably uncomfortable.

She closed her eyes, her teeth gritting as he allowed the clamp to close over the first red nipple.

“Breathe through it, girl. Let it flow. It’s supposed to hurt — brave now.”

Her flesh was squeezed almost white under the cruel stricture, and he traced it with his fingertips, his cock feeling like it wanted to burst out from behind his sweats.

“Ready for the next one?”

She shook her head, but ground out the words anyway. “Yes… sir.”

He took firm hold of her breast, squeezing it harshly above the coil of rope at the base, the nipple swelling still more, upturned and throbbing a deep red.

A tight whimper escaped her clamped lips as he affixed the steel to her nipple.

“Oh, Jesus…”

“Fuck, you look incredible. Tits tied so tight and hurting. You poor girl.”

He tested the slickness between her pussy lips, her breath bursting out in a harsh gasp as he thrust two fingers deep, thrusting briskly, running his fingertips over the rough spot along the top of her vagina. It was already swollen too — no doubt made worse by denying her an orgasm for the past few days. He still hadn’t decided if he’d allow her to come tonight.

“Is this cunt needy? Do you want to come? Squirt all over my fingers?”

“Oh, fuck me, yes!”

The desperation in her voice, the frustration, and lust, and pain all intertwined, confusing her, and heightening every sense, was a sound he’d never tire of. He wanted her desperate. He wanted her to look to him for all of it — her pleasure, her pain, her relief, her solace.

Her Master.

It was title they’d only played with now and then, but more and more, it had come up, the subject one that he knew they both thought of. The meaning of it, the import of what it might signal for their dynamic.

She was becoming more than just his submissive wife. Lacey was becoming… what she really was deep down inside.

And he relished the idea of making her face the truth of it — whether she was ready for it or not.

Curling his fingertips against her, he had her hips bucking in seconds, her sex squeezing tight around his digits, the sounds of her wet pussy being plundered by his fingers bringing a selfish, evil grin to his face, her pretty blush darkening still more.

“So wet already, even with your nipples on fire. Do you like the pain, girl?”

He knew the real answer, the truth — but he enjoyed forcing her to confront it.

“No…yes. Oh God, it hurts!”

“I know it does, sweet girl. Be strong for me. You can do this.” He kissed her wet, feverish lips, and she kissed him right back, leaning into him as much as her tight bonds allowed, her tongue thrusting deep, belying her true feelings, her fervency matched by the juices dripping from his wrist as he continued working her helpless pussy.

He nipped her swollen lips, taking her tongue gently between his teeth, sucking on her, taking her there just as much at his fingers took her between the slippery lips of her cunt.

“I thought of you — of this — while I was there in White Valley, visiting. Seeing. I wanted you — right then and there. I wanted to take you, hard. Make you scream. Make you cry. Make you beg for it to stop. Hear you plead for me to never, ever, stop. I needed you, Lacey girl.”

“You…have me. Sir. Always…” Her tears began to flow then, wetting her cheeks, their salty trails touching his tongue as they met her lips. He savored them too, reveled in her surrender, her yielding to him in every way.

He leaned back slightly, taking in her tearful face, her brimming, bright eyes. “You’re so beautiful. Never more beautiful than when you have those sweet tears on your cheeks, Lacey. Never.”

She looked down, the tears coming harder, her voice a watery warble. “Please…”

“Ready for me to take these off?”

Her nod was quick, frantic.

“Be strong, Lacey girl. This won’t feel good.”

He took them off swiftly, and she sucked in a great breath. Then she sobbed, her head lolling as she dealt with the blood flow returning to the compressed tissues.

Caressing her cheek, he pressed soft kisses to her lips as she cried, cooing to her, stroking her hair. “You’re doing fine, girl. So strong, so brave. You can do it.”

It was the sweetest — and the most twisted — moment, savoring her dealing with such intense sensation. It was the fact that he forced her to endure it that spoke to both of them — if perhaps in different ways. The fact was, she liked the pain, even if it was so very hard to experience it. She needed him to force her to confront that need, to guide her deep into those waters — but never let her go.

She needed him to always be there for her, no matter how much it hurt, however hard it was to bear.

And Troy knew from the depths of his black heart, that he would never — ever — let her face it alone.

He brought her down slowly, reveling in her soft, wordless pleas as he gently caressed her hard, tortured nipples. Finally, only sniffles remained, and he smiled at her, smearing her tears across her cheek with his thumb.

“Let’s get these nasty ropes off too.”

She sighed as they were released, one after the other, and she whined a little as the circulation returned fully. He’d gone easy with binding her breasts, mindful of the fact she was still lactating, but he wanted her to know her days of him treating her with kid gloves were over.

They both needed to know that things were back to what they were before. To where they both wanted them, needed them to be.

She craned her head around, looking down at her bound hands, then back at him, her eyebrows raised slightly. “Sir…?”

“Oh, we’re not done yet, bad girl.”

“W-what?”

Troy picked up the other item he’d set on the mattress. He’d laid it on the comforter, directly behind her where she couldn’t see it.

Waving it before her, he grinned like a wolf. “One more little item to take care of.”

She went pale, her eyes wide as she understood what it was. “No… Troy. I…”

“Are you truly refusing?”

He waited patiently, loving the conflict he could see warring in her eyes as she looked at the thin steel implement, and then back up to him.

“No…sir.” She bit the corner of her lip, expression crestfallen.

“I thought so.” He tapped the thin metal tines against his palm. “Since you’re still lactating, I can’t give those big tits a nice spanking like I’d prefer to. They move so well as they’re being slapped around. So… this should do the trick. It’s nice and whippy — and stings like hell. But it’s safe for those soft titties of yours.”

He’d seen the implement referred to as a Titty Whisk before, and the name was one he found apt. Made of thin steel tines no thicker than linguine noodles, they spread out into a shape roughly resembling a narrow fan, no wider than a flyswatter. The tines ran down to an ornate etched metal handle, perfectly weighted to allow precise strikes without fatiguing the hand.

Though he’d never tried it on Lacey, he’d taken a few test smacks to the inside of his forearm, and he could attest it stung like fire.

“Now, stay very still.” He laid the tines against the side of her left breast, tapping her gently. “I don’t think you want to disrupt my aim.”

She froze, wide eyes watching in dread as he pulled the whisk away. Her heavy breast barely moved under the viper’s kiss of the implement, but she hissed loudly as he gave her the first smack.

“How’s it feel?”

“Oh, my God, it’s burning!”

He simply smiled, laying another stroke across her other breast. She yelped at that, shaking them a little as she dealt with the sting, her eyes closed tight as she blew out a labored breath.

Giving her a stroke every few seconds, he soon had her poor breasts laced with dozens and dozens of tiny, red lines, the marks especially livid where they crossed the sensitive areola.

Though she was freely weeping after only a dozen strikes across each heaving globe, he avoided her nipples. They were already hugely inflamed, and deep red. Her tears wetting the inside curves of her cleavage, he took each breast gently by the nipple in turn, lifting it gingerly, tapping the tender, white flesh below, and then slicing in with the whisk. She keened loud and long at the first one, a bitten off shriek accompanying the identical stroke under her other breast.

“There, there, all done with the punishment, sweetie.” He dropped the whisk on the bed, and untied her hands. She cleaved to him instantly, drawing a sharp breath through her teeth as she pressed her swollen, well-wealed breasts to his chest. He let her cry against him for a minute, stroking her hair gently, pressing soft kisses to her ear, hoping his wordless cooing and slow caresses would help calm her down. It had been a very stiff punishment indeed, and he was glad it was over — no matter how much he might have enjoyed it.

Her hips ground tentatively against the erection jutting from the front of his sweats, and he gave her a quiet growl. “Be careful, girl. Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

Intending the night to end without a fucking — he saw it as too close to a reward — he wasn’t sure she had the energy left in her, even if he were much more inclined to indulge her than he’d initially planned.

She looked up at him then, her tear-filled eyes, and the determined set of well-bitten lips illustrating anything but a young woman who’d reached her limit.

“Finish it. Sir.”

He took hold of her hair, giving her head a little shake, staring down into her liquid, brimming gaze. “Get your ass on that bed, bad girl.”

* * *

 

 

“On your hands and knees, head up,” he barked, standing before her, his massive erection stretching the fabric of his sweats tightly around it. The broad head was clearly outlined under the fabric, a wet spot already soaking through.

She wanted to take that penis in her hands, kiss it, take it in her mouth, give him everything. Her breasts were screaming, but all she wanted at that moment was for her stern, fearsome husband to take her — and hard.

He stalked around the bed, pacing back and forth, ordering her to turn this way and that, stopping to stoop down, commenting on the way her breasts hung, the way they swayed as she obeyed his growled directions. It seemed he was obsessed with them that night, and though it mortified her — she was certain she couldn’t possibly take more pain to their sensitive curves — it turned her on in a dark, twisted way. It was objectification, in its purest form. To him, at that moment, she was but a pair of breasts for him to enjoy — and enjoy them he had.

“Take them in your hands,” he said, his voice gravelly with lust. “Squeeze them.”

Her wealed skin stung against her palms, but she obeyed, her face burning almost as hot as her boobs as she met his gaze. He only looked up from her presented bosom long enough to bark out another order.

“Pinch your nipples, pull on them. More!”

She panted as she did it, the pain/pleasure making her head spin. It wasn’t possible for her nipples to be more sensitive, each touch, no matter how gentle, both a heaven and a hell.

“Keep going. Squeeze them, then pull down. More, girl!”

He took his cock out as he watched her hurting her own nipples, stroking the long, veined length as he forced her to practically milk her own breasts. Then she felt it, and she gasped.

His smile was one of triumph as he drank in her realization.

The letdown was so strong, she felt like she might actually squirt onto the sheets.

“Hands off!” He bent close, a hand on her back holding her still. Thick, blue-white beads formed on her inflamed, rock-hard nipples, the largest drop threatening to drip at any moment.

The mattress dipped as he knelt next to her, taking her hair in his fist, his grip twisting, forcing her head back, her face turned toward the ceiling. His flat, hard belly pressed to the side of her rib cage, his hair like sandpaper against her soft skin.

Then she froze at the first touch, realizing what he was doing.

“Stay still,” he murmured, his grip on her hair hurting a little now. The burning shaft of his cock eased back and forth against her hanging breast, the head collecting the wetness of her milk. “This is mine, girl. These big tits, this milk, this body. All of it. Don’t forget it.”

“Yes, sir,” she rasped, her mouth suddenly impossibly dry.

“Stay there,” he said, with a harsh slap to her ass, her hair blessedly freed. She looked down, her cheeks burning almost as hot as her punished boobs. The mattress moved as he got back to his feet, striding away.

Returning in moments, he laid a thick towel down upon the comforter behind her. “Turn around. I want your head down and that ass up. Scoot back until your knees are at the edge. Get those tits down on the towel and be still.”

Her heart pounding into overdrive, she scrambled to obey, the coolness of the fabric a blessing against her angry marks. She buried her face in the comforter to muffle her groan as he pushed deep, his thick cock spreading her wide as he sheathed himself as deeply as a man could go.

Holding himself there a minute, he grasped her hips. “You’re not to come. This is not a reward, bad girl. This is for me. Understand?”

She nodded against the mattress, unable to resist her hips circling slowly against him, his wiry pubic hair grinding against her.

The slap was immediate and harsh, the heat blooming across her right buttock. “Stop that.”

She shuddered as he took up an immediate, hard, even brutal thrusting, her pussy already so wet, her juices were running down, slickening her pubic hair with it.

His hard animal thrusts, the cruel, callous slaps to her bottom, the grunted, filthy language had her moaning faster than she wanted to admit. She didn’t care that he was going to deny her. This was right. She was being punished. This denial… it was part of it. It was unjust, yes, but that was the point.

He controlled all of it — even her pleasure.

As much as she wanted to come, especially with his cock stretching her wide with each moan-inducing slam of his hips against her ass, she knew the rightness of it, of surrendering all of it, all choice, all will, to this man.

This man who held in his hand much more than her heart.

With a long, soul-deep groan, he pressed close, his cock pulsing with each sharp jerk of his hips against her, his fingers like steel, digging into her hips, his grip as fierce as his final thrusts. His seed filled her to overflowing, dripping down onto the towel below her, thick, hot semen coursing slowly down her inner thigh.

His breath still coming fast and hard, he collapsed next to her, his impossibly strong arms pulling her atop him with ridiculous ease. She tried to speak, but he shook his head. This wasn’t a time for words — this was a time to feel.

Then he held her tight in the quiet, deepening evening, his penis warm and wet against her thigh, his kisses soft and gentle against her hair, Lacey wondering how it was possible she’d found herself with a husband straight from her darkest dreams.