Room 315 -- A Stephanie Tale
© William D'Ark 2022
----------
Lie to me, deceive me, f ucking with my head
Lurid love is a potent drug pulling me to your bed.
Your vampire-manner wears me down
Though the clothing you pull away, revealing,
Blinds me, thrills and frees me.
Oh, I am lost, a yearling never to be found.
Reason shouts out -- Flee!
But longing w eighs like chains.
My gathered strength is useless, consumed
In your fierce bright flame.
That look, that predatory grin..?
Calls to me like agony dissolving my skin
'Till, pain no more, I'm hidden in your sin.
----------
Stephanie was finishing her makeup.
She had chosen a bloodmoon shade of lipstick to contrast with the multi-colored, hibiscus patterned, wrap-around skirt pulled from the closet just after her shower.
Topping the skirt was a deeply scooped black crepe top form fit to her ribs with a broad elastic band. The top's décolletage was loose, plunging low to reveal a portion of the wide areolas that capped braless breasts swaying to-and-fro. The thin material revealed the exact position and topography of pierced nipples tipping the heavy breasts barely covered below.
Perfect to suit her smoldering mood.
The areolas were nearly the same color as the rest of Stephanie's breast flesh, transitioning from desert sand to pale chestnut shades. So it took a discerning eye to see that the scoop-front top was bucking convention, maybe even breaking local ordinances, since it exposed
lots
of three-inch wide areolas.
Stephanie's retracted nipples lay flat against her skin unless she was aroused. Till she reached legal age, when she decided that piercings would give them more definition. She wanted the nipples to stand out and be seen. This required careful shopping for an artist who knew how to penetrate the actual base of each teat. Metal bars placed there would lift the nipple flesh during the rare occasions when she wasn't feeling sexual and the hard points gave her away.
The day of the piercing she wore the lightest weight sleeveless top she owned. She had chosen an artist who, the week before, had pulled the cotton top over her head -- before she even knew what was happening -- to determine where that nipple-breast boundary really was. He used forceps to distend the teat outwards where he circled the margin with his forefinger. She had nearly swooned, pressing together her thighs to hold back an orgasm.
She just didn't know the man that well.
On piercing day he once again pulled on each nipple, using gloved fingers to stroke the skin, applying a topical gel, a pain killer, right before pushing the needle through. She had hissed each time the needle
popped
the thick nipple skin -- reacting more to the sound than the pain.
Then she had laughed when it was over. The plyers, his fingers, the gel... the crunching sensation in that sensitive area, had almost made her cum again.
Maybe next time I see him
, she thought.
She was proud to walk home that day, breasts wagging beneath the airy sleeveless top. She was showing side boobs
and,
in the front, tight, metal-bearing nipples.
There was even a touch of blood on the cotton at the end of her walk. To mark the day, she decided.
Before the nipples had healed she found herself shopping for thicker bars and wider jeweled ends. It was only a matter of time before she leveled up to three millimeter caps and fourteen gauge stainless steel bars.
Or maybe gold, if Sir was in the right mood.
She liked that there was no clear boundary between her breasts and their areolas. She deliberately wore open front tops and swimsuits that challenged the norm, dropping far lower in front than was the convention. She hoped people would stare and wonder... what's this..? Is she showing...? Shouldn't she cover up more; why that's
indecent
.
Better still, she hoped they would stare and imagine fucking her. Making her cum.
With the stainless steel bars between their teeth
...
ssss...
The nipples were a not-so-secret erogenous zone Stephanie had carefully cultivated since high school. They responded to hands, lips, tongues, teeth and toys of many different tastes. Her wide, pear-shaped breasts invited fondling and nipple play. Cocks at her breasts could make her cum. Titty fucks led to lots of juices running, his
and
hers. But even a foreskin dragged back and forth across the sensitive pierced teats would take her into a series of small, low orgasms.
A man's expressions were just so fucking
gorgeous
to watch; forget the electricity running straight to her cunt!
Exposing her breasts in public... or surrendering to Sir's commands to show them off? That too would bring generous amounts of cream oozing between pouty thick labia.
The exhibitionist in her was thrilled to show; it made her feelings soar -- almost as much as sex itself.
The wrap-around hibiscus skirt had a scalloped front panel she liked to loosely tie. This allowed plenty of leg to show when she walked or sat down -- perfect for showing an inner thigh or, if she wanted to lure a cock, her freshly shaven pussy. Tonight she let the cord drape especially low to match the crescent shaped line of the belly-baring crepe top. This exposed a generous field of rounded tummy flesh, gleaming lily white between the top's elastic band and the skirt's black background graced with scarlet and tangerine flowers.
Stephanie's shadowy navel -- another erogenous zone -- peeked out at the nadir of the skirt's pirate-like swathe. This would invite more stares and, she hoped, clandestine fantasies. She could cum from there too -- the naval -- in the right circumstances. Held down, a man's low voice in her ear... his cock pricking the shallow bowl as if it would run her straight through...
Yeah, that could make her grunt-cum. She swallowed hard from the memory, feeling the hair on her neck prickle.
Breasts, nipples and navel were all on display tonight. Thighs and pussy crying out for it too. Exposure.
Oh, she was in a mood.
The darker toned lipstick, not quite the same shade as the skirt but in the same family... would bring people's gaze to her mouth. Exotic, Egyptian-kohl mascara highlighted her eyes. The night-black brows she had drawn were arched, their edges disappearing into curly blonde bangs framing her face. Eyelids had been brushed a subdued crimson to match the skirt. The hint of blush swiped across her cheeks was... pussy colored.
Her own particular hue.
She wondered if anyone would get close enough to make that comparison tonight
.
She was a bachelorette on the town. Time to herself while Sir was traveling. In a tie-me-down-and-fuck-me mood.
Her cunt had been humming since breakfast, calling for her own hands and fingers if no one else would volunteer. It would be hard not to play with it while she was spying victims sitting at the bar. But that was part of the plan. Or at least an acceptable alternative. Masturbating in public, discretely, was another secret thrill.
What wicked things can I get away with,
she found herself wondering.
...Things that didn't violate the Rules.
----------
Sir's recent plan for that part of her anatomy... his 'pussy preparation program'... had been in place for a while now. It was a mirror of the anal training he had engineered for her earlier. The outcome of those exercises had been straightforward. She now considered herself an anal slut... craving the feeling of cocks or toys inside there just as much the hand-smacking, flogging, crop-stopping
crying out
she did when Sir or one of their friends played with her broad bare bottom.
I want any of that tonight... ALL of that
!
She was Sir's slut in every way, simple as that. Her ass belonged to him. Her cunt. Her mouth. He owned all her parts. But the pussy needed to be trained too, he had insisted.
At first she couldn't imagine why. She was already quite happy with her sex. It responded well, came quickly, and was pretty to look at.
How she
loved
showing it off when doing so brought so many shocked smiles and randy compliments.
She had always been generous with her sex but spent years exploring the range of sensations there just for her own satisfaction. Self-pleasure. Masturbation. She wanted to be so skilled at self-pleasure she could win a Sex Olympics. She thought she knew everything there was to know about grooming it, dressing it, showing it off, happily sharing it and...most important of all... cumming from, truly, the
core of her being
. At home, at work, in the car, theaters, restaurants and bars...
Like the Red Tavern at the downtown Diamond Hotel...
Her pussy was already so good to her.
Sir begged to differ. Her pussy needed many weeks' work to expand the range of sensations. Shorten the response time. Broaden its availability. He wanted
his
pussy to be hair-trigger ready to cum, available anytime, anywhere, for anyone that suited his interests. He wanted them to enjoy it as much as he did. As much as he wanted
her
to enjoy showing it off and sharing it, didn't matter with whom -- strangers, friends... sometimes even relatives...
Mhm.
Stephanie blushed at those memories too.
So Sir instructed her exactly how to begin pussy training.
She was to start with more fingering of the vulva. Around the entryway and up deep inside. He taught her to spend long hours, especially before bed, caressing the clit and all its delicate parts -- the hood, the bulb and stem. There were secret glans to be touched, inside and out.
All the sensitive spots needed fine tuning.
She wasn't allowed to cum, but was encouraged to follow the changes in heart rate, breathing, the colors erupting behind her eyelids -- those kinds of things -- while teasing and pleasing her pussy parts,
their
pussy parts -- for hours at a time.
He would read a book, watch a movie or ball game while Stephanie did her 'homework.' Every now and then he would interrupt her, sliding between her legs to demonstrate a more delicate this, a firmer that, rubbing and stroking and sliding things in and out, making her fidget, squirm and whine.
She could not cum, after all, during pussy training.
He bought her a vaginal hook, diamond shaped on the outside so it laid just right atop her clit, letting the bulb poke through to be stimmed from the top while the polished metal licked the clit's base.
How does he know these things
, she asked herself, trying it on.
