Return to Sessia

I was naked, panting, wrists bound above my head and covered in a fine sheen of sweat, while dozens of well-dressed women gazed openly at my heaving breasts and shaved pubic lips. And while I was still panting from my ordeal, Gretchen called out ceremoniously

, "Alright ladies! Intermission!!"

At Gretchen's announcement, several women got up from their seats. Some wandered off to the ladies room. Some headed for the bar. Some just stood and talked with other patrons of the club.

One of the well-dressed ladies got up from her seat and walked casually over to where I was bound as if she had all the time in the world. I nervously watched her approach. I was left panting, with my wrists bound tightly in leather, my naked body stretched taut and still on display and she was wearing a very stylish black sheath dress, expensive shoes and carrying a cocktail in one hand. The expression on her face was relaxed and upbeat. The contrasts between the two of us couldn't have been more obvious. I was a naked, helpless slave. She had clothes, freedom and money.

She stepped up onto the stage and smiled at me. Then she leisurely took a sip from her drink and said, "Hi."

"Hello, Mistress," I said nervously. This girl had kind eyes and a pleasant smile, however sometimes it's the girls with the kindest eyes who can be most cruel. My naked body trembled slightly as she looked into my eyes.

"You are so beautiful," the girl said, lovingly. "I've seen you on the television, but up close and bound like you are, you are absolutely fetching."

"Thank you, Mistress," I said. The girl seemed to adore me. She kept looking into my eyes like we were on a first date and she was absolutely infatuated with me.

"And the way she's got your arms bound way above your head, it makes your breasts rise up so high and proud. They look absolutely perfect when you're bound like that."

Then she set her drink down on the stage and began to fondle my nipples. When she first placed her hands on them, I assumed that she was going to pinch them and hurt them cruelly, but instead she gently stroked them and bent forward so that she could leisurely kiss them and lick them with her tongue.

I moaned and gasped as her lips and tongue found my nipples and drove me crazy with lust. The nerve endings in my nipples seemed to be connected directly to the nerve endings in my clit and couldn't help rubbing my naked thighs together as my pussy throbbed and begged for attention.

"She shouldn't do that," said a female voice from behind me.

"I'm not sure if it's written down in the official rule book, but slave-girls are always supposed to keep their legs apart. Rubbing her thighs together is a no-no."

The young lady who had been doing amazing things to my nipples, lifted her face up from my breasts and smiled up at me. "You should probably apologize," she whispered softly.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," I proclaimed to the woman behind me. "It won't happen again!"

I couldn't see the woman behind me, but suddenly I felt three smart smacks on my bare butt. I surmised that my apology was not accepted.

"When a slave-girl misbehaves, she has to be punished," the woman behind me said very matter-of-factly. Then I felt her smack my bare butt three more times.

"Aaaaaahh! Yes, Mistress," I said, afraid to disagree. Slaves who disagreed tended to get punished even more.

The girl who had been attending to my nipples, looked approvingly at me and said, "I love the look you get on your face when you're in pain. It makes you look so adorable."

"Really?"

the woman standing behind me asked, and the tone of her voice filled me with dread. I inferred that she intended to make me more beautiful by inflicting more pain upon me.

My inference turned out to be correct. Within seconds, two feminine hands reached around from behind me, cupped my round breasts and took hold of my exposed nipples. With my hands bound securely above my head, I was helpless to defend them from cruel fingers and thumbs.

"

Aaaaaahh,"

I screamed as my defenseless nipples were cruelly pinched and twisted.

"How does she look now," my tormenter asked as she abused my poor nipples mercilessly.

"She's gorgeous," said the girl in the sheath dress, "Absolutely gorgeous.

There was no cruelty on her face, just a look of rapt admiration. I panted, squirmed, cried out in pain and tears welled up in my eyes and the girl just watched me, engrossed and hypnotized. Everything I did was erotic to her.

The woman behind me finally released her sadistic hold on my nipples and just barely had time to whimper and sigh in relief before I felt a hand thrust roughly between my thighs and two fingers thrust roughly and disturbingly deep into my vagina.

"Uunghh,"

I gasped as the fingers maltreated my tender sex, thrusting, probing and stabbing deeply into the tenderest part of my anatomy.

I knew better than to beg for mercy, so I just made inarticulate sounds of distress while those cruel fingers raped me.

The girl in front of me looked into my eyes adoringly and enthused, "Those tears enhance your beauty even more than I would have thought possible. Please keep crying."

It wasn't as if I had a lot of choice in the matter. The woman with the cruel fingers pinched my labia, causing me to make anguished noises of pain and surprise. More tears fell down my face and the girl in front of me, reverently wiped them away.

A girl's pubic lips don't take up much space on a girl's body, however the woman who was standing behind me kept finding more and more spots on my pubic lips that she hadn't hurt yet and then proceeded to painfully pinch them.

My pubic lips were already swollen, red and tender before this woman began searching out every fold, curve and contour of my sex with her fingers. And I was reduced to a whimpering, breast-heaving, sobbing mess as she proceeded to mercilessly pinch and abuse every centimeter my poor, innocent vulva.

"If you were my slave-girl, I'd make sure that you cried like this every day," the cruel woman assured me as she rubbed her finger down the seam that separated my vulva. I moaned as her strong finger traced lines across the areas of my labia that she had so viciously pinched.

"Yes, Mistress," I said between sobs. The innocent-looking girl really seemed to enjoy the strained sound in my voice as I made my respectful reply to the cruel woman.

"A slave-girl never really knows her place, unless she's given punishments that she doesn't like. I'd learn what you dread the most and make certain that you were punished with it often. And if you have friends, family, rivals or co-workers that you'd hate to have them see you being enslaved, I'd invite them over to have them witness you being stripped naked, humiliated and punished."

As I was envisioning what my life would be like, serving as this cruel woman's slave-girl, she used her hand to knead my sore pubic lips in a way that had me moaning more with sexual heat than with pain. Then strong hands reached between my thighs and roughly forced my legs wide apart and then she placed herself in a position between my legs, preventing them from closing and placed herself in a very good position to tease my already wet, throbbing sex.

It was easy for me to predict what was to come next. The cruel woman with the strong hands proceeded to tease my exposed, vulnerable pussy until I was gasping and writhing in desperate sexual frustration. However when I struggled to impale my sex deeper on the fingers that had just

barely

penetrated my moist sex, the sadistic woman withdrew her hand and, with a laugh, slapped me hard across my naked buttocks.

I gasped with pain as the open-palmed slap had found already tenderized flesh and set new stinging fire to burn my poor bottom. A couple more slaps had me writhing even more. Then the teasing hand and very skilled fingers found my wet, throbbing sex again and evoked new gasps of libidinous passion. The cruel woman played with my throbbing sex until I was panting, soaked with sweat and feverish with lust. Then she removed her hand again and informed me that if I were her slave-girl that I would be teased like that every day, but she would never bring me to orgasm.

"A slave-girl's pussy should always be soaking wet and aching for satisfaction," the woman declared, "Knowing that her mistress controls her orgasms will inspire that girl to fervently serve her mistress and desperately try to gain her favor."

It was frustrating and a form of torture for me to be so desperately horny and unable to even touch myself, however I attempted to be respectful and reply, "Yes Mistress," to her commentary on the proper way to train a slave.

My pussy was still aching and I was still feverish with sexual frustration when Gretchen declared that intermission was over and all club patrons were urged to return to their seats.

Now that intermission was over, a hush fell over the crowd and they waited to see what Gretchen had in store for me next.

"Doesn't she look beautiful like that?" Gretchen asked the crowd, and then she pointed at me with a long, thin whip that she had in her right hand.

There was a general agreement from the women in the crowd that I looked beautiful bound the way I was.

I had an overwhelming sense of dread as Gretchen walked towards me with her whip, but once she was on stage with me, she didn't use the whip, but rather molded her lips to mine and kissed me warmly and passionately, eliciting muffled laughter and scattered applause from the crowd.

The kiss lasted for a long time and when Gretchen's mouth separated from mine, I was short of breath. I was panting and gazing at Gretchen with submissive adoration when it was over.

"Okay, I'm going to whip this gorgeous slavegirl over here," Gretchen announced to the crowd, "But I'm going to need some volunteers to assist me."

It seemed like every woman in the club jumped up out of their chair to offer their services to Gretchen. However, out of the scores of women who wanted to be on stage and assist in my whipping, Gretchen chose only two.

One girl had reddish-brown hair and wore a burgundy-colored V-neck dress with spaghetti straps. Her breasts were round and cute and barely concealed at all by her dress. She had a cheerful smile and a British accent. She thanked Gretchen for picking her and said she was really excited to be part of the show. She actually waved at me.

It was kind of a stupid thing to do, but she was so damn cheerful and friendly, I actually ended up feeling bad that I couldn't wave back.

The other woman was tall, had long dark hair and dressed all in black. She wore leather boots that came almost up to her knees and a black slip-dress. Her arms were unusually muscular for a woman and she looked me up and down as if taking an inventory. That look gave me the chills and made me feel very exposed and vulnerable. It was a cold, calculating look, as if she was sizing me up somehow. Maybe she was trying to guess how much pain I could take before I screamed.

Gretchen instructed the woman in black to stand behind me and grab me by the hair. She had no qualms about pulling my hair and when Gretchen told her to yank my head way back so that I was left staring at the ceiling. She did so without hesitation. Of course with my head yanked back, my breasts were pushed out even further and thus became even more vulnerable to the whip.

"Ow," I yelped as the lady in black yanked hard on my blonde hair and forced my head back, but nobody seemed to care if I was in pain.

Gretchen told the girl in the burgundy-colored dress to play with my nipples and get them as hard and erect as possible. The way my head was forced back I couldn't see what she was doing, however I could feel her hands holding my breasts and I could feel her mouth on my defenseless nipples. At first it felt as if they were being kissed by soft, feminine lips, but then she bit each nipple with a painful severity.

I cried out in pain and almost as if in response, the girl began to lick and suck on my nipples instead. Soon I was moaning in sexual vexation instead. Then when she started to pinch my nipples and pull on them, my breathing increased rapidly. Everything she did to my nipples got me excited. The throbbing in my nipples created a sympathetic reaction in my clit, which was soon throbbing just as intensely. And although I couldn't see my own nipples, Gretchen assured me that they red, swollen, erect and wet from the girl's saliva.

I moaned in response. I couldn't seem to remember how to form words anymore. My nipples were so hypersensitive I all I could do was moan and make inarticulate breathing noises.

When she finished, my nipples felt hypersensitive and painfully swollen. I panted and waited in dread for the first blow of the whip. It's a horrible thing for a girl's breasts to be whipped, and I just knew that was what Gretchen had in store for me.

The first blow snapped loudly across my right breast. I yelped at the sudden stinging sensation and some women in the audience cheered.

The next six blows came rapidly. The whip curled around my chest again and again to slap at one breast at a time, or both simultaneously, leaving me gasping and frantically yelping.

My breasts soon began to throb with burning pain. My skin began to feel raw and I suspected that my breasts were reddened by this point—or at least a disturbing shade of pink.

After twelve blows, Gretchen paused in the task of whipping my breasts and told the girl in burgundy to play with my nipples again.

I could feel the girl cupping my sore breasts and I moaned as she licked and sucked upon my poor nipples. I didn't want my breasts or my nipples to be touched. They were both too sensitive, however I was helpless to defend them, and hot, wet tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes as the girl with the cheerful smile played with my sore breasts.

The girl didn't get to play with my breasts forever though. Gretchen wasn't finished whipping them yet, so she told the girl to pull back and then suddenly I felt the harsh sting of the whip coming down across my right breast again.

I cried out in pain and the audience yelled out words of encouragement to Gretchen, urging her to punish my breasts some more and insisting that I was a naughty slavegirl.

Gretchen willingly gave the audience what they wanted.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

Gretchen hit one breast and then the other, leaving stinging marks across my already-sensitive bare skin. I cried out in pain, but I was just a naked slave-girl. Nobody cares about a slave-girl crying out in pain.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

When I cried out in pain, some of the women in the audience yelled out, "

Bad girl!"

The idea caught on and soon dozens of women were shouting out, "

Bad girl!"

every time I yelped in pain.

I lost count of the number of times that Gretchen whipped my breasts, however the sound of dozens of women shouting out,

"Bad girl!"

seemed to go and on forever.

My breasts were raw, beat up and throbbing like a sunburn by the time Gretchen had finished whipping them. The audience applauded and the woman who had yanked my head back, finally released my scalp and examined my punished breasts.

"I love the color," she said as she stroked my poor, throbbing tits. I looked down and saw that my breasts were sporting a mixture of pink and red coloration. It was hard to see any individual whip marks as Gretchen's whip had covered both of my breasts completely, each lash of the whip had been overlaid with many others.

There may have been some minor abrasions or welts, however it was impossible to check with my hands bound above my head. I resolved to examine my breasts later for such things, when my hands were free and scores of women weren't watching me.

The girl in black was allowed to fondle and stroke my poor, throbbing breasts for a while, while the audience watched, amused at the way I sobbed and panted. Eventually the rope was lowered and my wrists were untied.

I was told to kneel with my knees far apart, and while I knelt and rubbed my chafed wrists, Gretchen announced that it was time for the next phase of the show to begin.

"I'll be needing some more volunteers," Gretchen announced and immediately, every woman in the audience jumped up from their seats, eager to volunteer.

"Nobody that's already been on stage," Gretchen admonished. "There's a lot of ladies in the audience tonight. Let's give somebody else a chance."

Gretchen took her time choosing the next volunteers.

I heard a lot of murmurings of discussion as Gretchen interviewed at least two-dozen eager women. Everybody wanted to volunteer, but only Gretchen had the power to decide who could approach her naked slave-girl.

Gretchen stood a good twelve or thirteen feet away from the stage and I wasn't permitted to come any closer to where she was interviewing volunteers, so I couldn't hear everything that was said, however I caught snatches of conversation here and there.

The phrase, "not amendable to taking bribes" was heard. I also heard words like "photogenic" and "ratings" and "broadcast on television for millions of people to see".

In the end, Gretchen chose two women from the audience that I highly approved of...not that anybody ever asks a slave to pick who will be allowed to touch them.

The first woman that Gretchen chose was a beautiful female in her late teens with long dark hair that flowed down past her shoulders. She had very large, dark eyes that were wide with innocence and perhaps nervousness and stage fright. I heard Gretchen caution her "Don't look directly into the camera."

Her lips were sensuously full but not large and her features fine and delicate. Though not as tall as me, she was still taller than average for a female and her figure was long and slender with a tiny waist, slim hips and medium sized, firm breasts. She was obviously nervous, but looked me straight in the eyes and smiled a nervous smile, attempting to put on a brave face.

She stood over me, wearing a Grecian style high-split dress with spaghetti straps and a deep V-neck. She also wore expensive-looking shoes, expensive-looking earrings and an expensive-looking watch. Meanwhile, I was naked and barefoot and on my knees.

What did

she

have to look nervous about?

I

was the one who was being molested, whipped and punished for the entertainment of cheering sadists!

"Hi," she said in a soft, friendly tone. "My name is Nina."

"Hello, Mistress," I replied respectfully. I know that Gretchen expected this girl to do something to me, but I wasn't certain just yet what was going to happen.

"Enough friendly banter," Gretchen proclaimed as she stepped back onto the stage.

"Diane, you need to place your hands behind your back. I need to tie you up again before the next scene."

I submissively placed my hands behind my back and waited for Gretchen to make me helpless. I didn't have long to wait.

I could feel Gretchen's warm hands on my arms and wrists. She placed my arms above the small of my back, wrists against my elbows.

I could feel Gretchen's busy hands going to work on my naked flesh, making me helpless with her ropes. Even without being able to see the ropes, I could tell it was a box tie. Tight ropes were secured around my wrists and then each wrist was secured to the opposing forearm, just above the elbow.

"There," Gretchen said when my arms were helpless secured behind my back, "How does that look?"

Nina looked me over, still looking somewhat apprehensive, but smiling. "She looks sexy," Nina replied. "The way you've got her tied, her shoulders are pulled way back. That forces her to present her breasts, as if she's offering them up to me."