What’s a girl to do??
What happens when a slave’s pain tolerance and/or needs change yet Master’s remains the same?
I’ll tell ya what happens here.
The slave is fucked.
That’s what.
I used to be this huge nipple pain whore, right? I used to crave nipple pain. I’d make them bleed all by myself, not to mention what he could do to them.
Then one day, a couple few months ago I guess, my nipples, they changed! Seemingly overnight they went from hardened, calloused, greedy little (well, not so little actually) nubs of desire to chicken-shitted, inverted, over-sensitive pieces of worthless flesh.
I don’t know what happened.
They are, quite literally, raw nerves. The slightest flick has me climbing walls. I actually wear a bra now, on purpose, to keep my shirt from rubbing on them because I can’t stand the sensation.
It’s fingernails on a chalkboard, chewing on aluminum foil, 9-volt battery on the tongue, all at once, times ten.
So, of course Master is a nipple-tweaking freakazoid. I don’t get morning kisses or good bye hugs. I get morning tweaks and good bye pinches.
Now, I’ve told him several times that the nipples are broken and he just needs to leave them alone. And he nods and smiles and says “Okay, snooks.” and *tweaks* me as he does so.
Fucker.
I, when moving to within arm’s reach of him, subconsciously cup my hands over my tits now. He delights in pointing that out, tapping my hands and asking “Worried about something, cunt?” while grinning that grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.
And I look down, half-surprised to find my hands protectively covering the raw nerve of nipplehood and nod. “Well. Yes. Apparently I am.”
I dare say he’s enjoying this change a bit too much. There was a time when, during sex and hovering on the edge of orgasm, he’d have to twist and turn my nipples so much and so hard that his fingers would cramp and he’d snap at me. “Come already, you greedy cow!”
(Hee. Good times. *wistful sigh*)
Now, he need only breathe across them and I curl up like a frightened hedgehog.
But the worst? The very very worst part of this whole thing?
When he just holds his fingers up, forefinger and thumb in classic lobster-pinching readiness and says-
“Bring them here.”
Even as I stomp and pout and beg and ready myself for the upcoming climbing of the walls, I have to move forward and voluntarily place my nipples between his iron fingers.
Once there, as he smashes and twists and rolls them, pinning me in place by having already proven to me that should I try and pull away or dance out of reach he will only do it harder, quite literally until I drop to my knees and can’t breathe, and he laughs quite gleefully while I prance. And beg. And cuss.
Then he shows me the raging hard-on my whimpers bring him.
Because I am fucked.
I told you!
Uncategorized | kaya | 
Thursday June 4th, 2009 8:44am | 
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