For weeks, we have been exploring your limits and My requirements. You have come to understand what you need, and how I can give it to you. You have accepted that My skill and knowledge are what you require to bring you to that special place, the place where your surrender brings release, where your submission brings contentment.
I have given you rules to follow, and instructions to obey, and so far you have done well. Now it is time for a test. My instructions are clear...dress in a mini skirt and Peasant blouse, heels, and of course no underwear, and come to Me at the appointed time. You shiver in anticipation as you dress, but just can't bring yourself to remain bare under your skirt, your shaven lips too sensitive to the cool air. As you pull on the thin, frilly nylon thigh cut bikini panties, you think, "Well, they are sexy and provocative, he won't mind." Little do you know what that decision will cost you.
The drive is uneventful, filled with thoughts of what is to come, and a slight disbelief that you are actually doing it! Soon you come to the house that My directions have indicated, and you leave the car and walk up the walk, palms wet, pussy moist, nipples tingling with lust.
You come in the door and stand there. I state at you, hard, and you flush, not able to believe that you forgot the most basic of My requirements. Hurriedly, you strip down, and I note the sheer nylon panties as they come off your ankles. That offending little wisp of nylon will cost you.
I step behind you and reach around to grab both tits at once, and squeeze, hard. You moan and lean back. Then, my hand drops between your legs, forcing them open. I reach in and pinch your lips, twist them, and find your clit already standing up at attention. A couple of pinches later, I release it and snarl. "These are in for some pain today." You sigh and acknowledge My statement with a humble nod, but secretly smile to yourself, since you know that your slut body craves the pain, and you really love how the pain brings unexpected, intense orgasms.
I direct you to the Captains chair in the middle of the floor. As I place you in it, I roughly grab both of your arms and pull them behind you, palms together. Quickly I tie them together at the wrists and the elbows, making them nice and tight and thrusting your tits out proudly for me to have. I don't resist the impulse to slap them each, once, hard, just to see them jiggle and hear you cry out. Your arms go over the back of the chair, the back pressing painfully into your armpits, as I secure them to the bottom rung of the crossbar. You are stretched taut, and then you gasp as I grab both legs and pull you forward, scooting your ass to the edge of the seat. Cruelly, I yank apart your ankles, exposing your cunt to me, and lift your thighs over the arms of the chair, spreading you wide open.
I tie each ankle firmly to the legs of the chair, keeping you spread wide, and tits out, and painfully immobile.
"Now the fun begins," I say, as I grab each nipple and twist it casually, as if to warm you up. Maintaining a hold on one nipple, I reach over to the table and open the bag there. What you see me pull out elicits a startled gasp of surprise. A tit press! Two flat slats of wood, about 6 inches long, with bolts and wing nuts at each end. I release your nipple long enough to loosen the wing nuts, then place the press on your right tit. I grab the nipple there, tightly, and pull it so your tit stretches nice and long for me, then tighten the press. Tighter and tighter it goes, until your tit is ballooned out, the nipple rigid and red, the tit flesh taut and tight. I experimentally squeeze that taut tit flesh to see if it takes the impression of my fingers. It does.
"Very nice" I remark, as I flick the nipple ever so stingingly with my fingertip. "But you don't match." Reaching into my bag of tricks I pull out an identical press, or at least it seems so at first glance. As you look further, however, you see the heads of upholstery tacks protruding from both inner surfaces. Not sharp per se, but the angular surfaces will have an interesting effect. As I pull your left nipple to stretch your tit for the press, you cry out "please, not the tacks." I look at you and very calmly slap you once, twice across your face, informing you thusly that you are NOT to speak or cry out, and that doing so brings punishment.