Copyright 2002 Wanton Hussy, all rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced without permission.
WARNING: The following article is DIRTYDIRTYDIRTY! Do not read if this will disturb you!
Release
Part 2
She had me step out of my shoes, and moved them away. She snipped between my toes and stroked my feet and calves with the scissors. My head rested on my shoulder, eyes closed, trying not to move, having an out-of-body experience, or perhaps more accurately an in-body and out-of-mind experience. She stroked my thighs with the metal blades and gave a low melodious yet slightly cruel chuckle as she noted how sweaty my thighs were. She cut the stockings up to my belly, and they fell away so I stood in bra and panties. She sat on the floor between my feet, and I opened my eyes to see her looking at my face. I suddenly shivered, exposed, embarrassed, insecure. What if she thought me unattractive, heavy, old? She briefly smiled reassuringly and whispered simply, "Yes, you are desirable," as she turned the scissors into her hand and stroked the triangle of my silk panties with the rounded handles. She burrowed them into my lips, pressing the silk-covered metal right in between them, into my clit, which was hard and erect. I gasped and jerked as she stroked me, embarrassed at my arousal and need.
Now she did laugh at me and stood up chuckling, "Not so fast. You did well, but now you must be even more still. Do not think I will be to blame if you get hurt." She snipped away my bra and lightly stroked the roundness of my breasts, teasing, only occasionally passing lightly, maddeningly lightly, over my nipples. She moved behind me and stroked my ass, oh so lightly, with the flat of the blades, then cut my panties away, never moving to the front to touch my cunt or even my pubic mound at all.
She came back to the front of my breasts and I froze in terror as she opened the blades and gently closed the base of the scissors around my nipple. They must have been dull there, because I was not cut, but I certainly didn't think of that at the time. I was terrified. And aroused. She gently but firmly held my nipple between the blades, squeezing it into hardness beyond anything I'd ever felt before. With her other hand, she lightly stroked the tip, now so hard and full of blood, it was as if it were another clitoris, and even the lightest graze of her fingertip felt as if it would drive me into orgasm.
But it didn't. It held me there, on the edge, for what seemed an eternity, my nipple clamped in sharp, cold metal terror and the tip throbbing with pleasure. She leaned down and licked my nipple gently, then sucked harder and harder, biting and finally chewing as I gasped and moaned and twisted. I did not notice that she had removed the scissors until I felt them close over my other nipple, as she let go with her mouth. Then she did the same thing to my other breast, only if anything it was more intense because this nipple was engorged from the other's pleasure, and the first nipple throbbed and pulsed we the blood returned to it, as the toyed with the other.
I cried out as she withdrew; I couldn't help it. She slapped me, not hard, but it surprised me and I began to cry in earnest. "Don't make me gag that pretty mouth," she threatened, suddenly cold and terrifying. "No moving, no crying aloud. Your lips stay closed. Do you understand?" I nodded affirmative, but again she slapped me. "Always answer me with words. Speak when spoken to. Otherwise keep your mouth shut, or you will be gagged into silence." She waited a few moments for my crying to subside and me to catch my breath.
"You liked that, didn't you, my little sweeting, my little whore," her voice crooned, gloved fingers stroking my lips and cheek where it stung from her slaps. "Yes Mistress," I whispered. She stepped back from me, holding my eyes with hers. Again her beauty struck me, overwhelmed me with desire for her. I ached to kiss her, to stroke her body, feel the confining firmness of her corset, the soft fullness of her breasts and tautness of her nipples, to give her some of the pleasure she had given me. My hands flexed and closed, and she laughed at me again.
"You have been bad. In ways I don't even know," she whispered, moving behind me. She stroked my ass, both firmly and softly, and I felt my cunt expanding and opening, blooming, as my arousal returned. I was completely unprepared for the shock of pain as a paddle walloped my cheeks. She came around in front of me, holding up a leather paddle. "Kiss it." She commanded, holding it to my lips, and I did. "If you are very good during your punishment, I will reward you." She smiled mischievously, and again kissed my lips briefly and lightly. "Perhaps."
I braced myself for the next blow, but it was still more than I had expected. I supposed in this world of bondage and discipline, the spankings I received were rather tame, but to me they were overwhelming. It was humiliating, and far more painful than I had anticipated. It stung and burned and went on and on and on and on. My ass felt raw and the occasional slaps on my thighs and hips were shockingly painful. And yet at the same time, as I struggled to breathe or move out of the way and yet hold still and not cry out, to be good so she would stop, somewhere in my mind I heard myself think, "I deserve this. This is right. It's out of my control." And I knew my nipples and clitoris throbbed in arousal.
When it seemed that any memory of a time before this was a dream, when my breathing grew ragged and my body sagged in the chains and I had not even the energy to tense between blows, she stopped. Cool air moved over my steaming hot body and the tears coursed down my face and neck onto my chest. I sniffled. And breathed. And gradually came back into myself.
Where was she? She returned from the dressing table with a cool, damp towel, scented lightly with lemon. She washed my face and chest, arms and back, and thighs. She went away and came back with a stool, and the scissors, in their sheath. "You did well," she said simply. She drew the stool behind her and sat, and pulled me into her lap, still somewhat standing. The cool silk of her skirts seemed like a balm on my burning buttocks. She kissed the back of my neck, then bit and chewed, leaving what I knew would be a deep bruise. As she pressed her bare nipples into my naked back, I felt arousal fluid seeping out of my cunt and between my legs. I squirmed, trying to prevent it from getting on her skirt, and she reached around for my breasts. She pinched and twisted my nipples harshly, and alternated which hand was free to stroke my belly and hips and thighs.
Eventually one hand stayed toying with a nipple and the other gloved hand gently spread open my cunt. She stroked my lower lips, her gloved slick with my fluid, saturated. I was so aroused, spread open to her, my cunt throbbing, open, needy. I rested against her, in her lap, as she played with me. As I began to shake, she stopped. She held up before my face the sheathed scissors, then pressed them to my lips for me to kiss. She ran them down my chin and neck, between my breasts, over my belly, and stroked my clit with them once or twice. Then I felt them slowly enter me, smooth and cold and harder than any cock or dildo. Metal. No sharp edge or point anywhere, no fear of pain or injury. Somehow almost fulfilling, but too slim. I was so hungry for any penetration that I did not care. She plunged them in and out of my wetness, stroking my clit with her other hand until finally I shuddered and cried out with orgasm and release, muscles clenching around metal.
to be continued…