He gripped the ball of hair at the back of her head and yanked her face so that her ear was a finger’s length from his mouth. Through gritted teeth, he seethed, “I am going to make you come… again and again, harder and harder, until you beg me to stop,” he seethed. “When I believe you really do want me to stop, I might relent. It will depend upon how obedient you are from this point forward. If I have to repeat myself, you will not like the result.” He paused. “Do you understand?”

He waited. Saying nothing, doing nothing, waiting. Her voice quavered when she realized the disrespect she had shown him.

“Sir… Yes, sir,” she said, her voice shaky and unsure of itself.

“Good girl,” he said, giving her a light pat on the cheek. He stepped away, returning. She felt two pieces of smooth wood clamping around one nipple and then the other, then tied into place with string at the ends of the wooden sticks and in the middle. As he wound the string, the grip became tighter and tighter at the base of her nipples, making the aching little members stiffen and swell. He bent and lightly touched the tip of one nipple with his tongue, then the other.

Her reaction to the tenderness overwhelmed her as cream began a trickle down her thigh. She involuntarily groaned.

He stopped, took her chin in his hand. “Did I grant permission to make noise?” She shook her head. “When I ask you a direct question, you will either answer yes sir or no, sir, if you are able to answer at all. Otherwise, shaking your head will serve as an answer, only if something is in your mouth or on your tongue. Understand me?”

“If you feel compelled to make a noise, ask me first. And do so in this manner: ‘Sir, may I please make a noise?’ or “Sir, may I please wiggle or squirm?’ To do any of those, making noise, wiggling, squirming, trying to avoid what is coming, will only result in much worse treatment. Do you understand me?”

“Finally, you may not come without my explicit permission. You must ask me permission to come with these words: ‘Sir, may I please relent to your touches and come.’ If I believe you are sincere, I may let you. If I deny you an orgasm and if you disobey me by coming, the penalty will be very severe, more severe than I would like to treat you today. Do you understand me?”

His voice was so confident, so slow and so low. It never wavered or faltered. Knowing that he was in complete control freed her of any responsibility except that of reacting to him and doing exactly as he commanded. Rather than being a burden, it was a release, an act of freedom. In his hands, she could give completely without fear. She could be who she was completely. She could be his Whore without fear of judgment. She could do anything without doubt entering her mind. She could simply be. Her nipples clamped in the grips of the two sticks and throbbing mercilessly, she had a hard time concentrating on his words. He spoke so low that she had to hang on every utterance, every syllable, every breath of his.

She was bound, blindfolded and her nipples were in the bite of a contraption she could not yet figure. Her dress fell in waves of fabric around her waist. She could hear