On Display

Flogged and edged for an appreciative audience

“Look at her” Kris says with admiration. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”

He’s talking about me. Appraising scrutiny from our audience brings forth nods of approval and encouraging smiles. I’m awkward, nervous at being so exposed in front of this many people. They’re all looking at my naked body. There’s nowhere to hide. Heat rises to my face in an embarrassed blush and rushes to the pit of my stomach in a flare of arousal.

Zara steps closer to me and runs one pale hand lightly over my hip. “Such soft skin” she sighs, happily. Reaches up and tweaks one nipple, chuckles when I jump in surprise. “So responsive”

He’s arranging his stall, implements of restraint, of pain and of sensuality. I can’t see which items he’s laying out, with the high posture collar around my neck I can only direct my gaze front and centre. That, and the cuffs locked at ankle and wrist are my only adornments.

“On your knees now” she says to me, and I lower myself as gracefully as I can to the floor. Their eyes follow me down.

I have only a vague idea of what they are going to do to me in front of all these people. There was a list; I crossed out some things, modified others. A buffet of possibilities, so delicious to contemplate at the time now looms over me with a touch of menace.

“Who wants to hear her squeal?” he asks and a murmur of appreciation runs through the throng of spectators. At a nod from him, Zara takes my wrists, hoists them high above my head and secures their cuffs to the frame at my back. In this posture, my breasts are thrust forward, offering the nubs of my nipples to the crowd.

He stands to my left side, she the other. She drops a reassuring hand on my hair, a welcome moment of connection between us. I am safe. I want this.

A soft slap of leather on my left breast. A slightly harder one from the knotted falls of the second flogger. He has two. She has two. They match their rhythms, raining a steady sequence of blows onto my jutting breasts, which bounce and judder under the onslaught. The watchers lean in, fascinated, admiring of the skill and timing being displayed by the performers, hungry for the reactions of their subject.

No pain, at first. Warmth, impact, sensation. Then as my skin begins to redden, every blow feels just a little more substantial than the last. They’re deliberately aiming for my nipples, the fullest and most sensitive part of my heavy breasts. I bite my lip, see Kris’s smirk from the corner of my eye, let it go again as my lips form a grin. The masochist’s joy in the sadist’s appreciation of my pain.

They stop, together. My skin is throbbing, the aching of my swollen nipples sending sympathy pangs through my drooling cunt. It hurts, but not nearly enough.

Somewhere behind me, a wand rumbles to life.

Kris reaches out, grasping one breast in both hands, squeezing firmly. I see Zara approaching brandishing the wand and flinch back a little. I know what they’re going to do, the evil, delicious, delightful sadists; they’re going to torture me until I beg for orgasm, make me plead in front of all these people. How humiliating. How thrilling. I have no idea whether they will allow me to come and make me do so with so many people watching; or edge me into desperation for their entertainment instead. I take a deep breath. I can take it. I resolve to hold for out as long as I can, knowing that eventually need will outweigh stubbornness or dignity; my stoicism will dissolve into desperation.

Here I am, hair tangled and mascara smudged, writhing helplessly in my restraints. Kris and Zara have trapped my hyper-sensitised nipples in metal clamps, screws slowly tightened down until I hissed with pain. Another clamp adorns my clit, the tiny steel weight it supports swinging as I twist and heave against the cuffs. The wand has been used on every part of me except the place where I need it most.

“Please” I moan “please Master, please Mistress, please let me come”

Kris grins in victory. Zara tuts in mock-disapproval. “Did we say you could beg for it, slut?” She turns to Kris. “Shall we let her?”

I already know what he’s going to say. “Let’s take a vote on it. Our friends can decide for us”. He raises his voice. “All in favour of letting our little slut have her orgasm say aye”

A resounding “Aye!” arises from the gathering. It’s a clear majority and I mouth a grateful “thank you” which is greeted with chuckles.

“She asked for it” observes Kris in an ominous tone. “Now let’s see how much she can take. You want to come baby? Let’s help you with that” and with that, Zara releases the weighted clamp and jams the wand against my clit instead. It doesn’t take long before a white-hot wash of sensation overcomes me; I throw back my head and scream my relief, hips jerking, muscles spasming to cheers and applause from the watchers.

“Again. Keep going” orders Kris, and winks at me;

“You should be careful what you wish for”

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