"Sorry slut, I didn't quite catch that."
You swallow, your face a perfect sunset crimson, and repeat the ridiculous request. Silently I toss the chain onto the tablecloth before you, and watch with the rest of the room as you clip each end to the rings which decorate the steel clamps. The chain is tight, and pulls almost vertically between your bare tits. I watch as the warm, throbbing pain commences, enjoying your nipples' delicate transition from pink to angry scarlet. I know that the support of your bra, pushing your tits up for display, is providing some relief, and that the humiliation is so far worse than the pain.
But I like to see disobedient sluts in pain. With a simple downward glance I gesture at the remaining clamp.
"Now spread your legs, spread your cuntlips wide apart, and clamp your clit."
I notice you jolt with arousal at my words. In the correct order, you obey, moving your knees as wide as the table legs, picking up the bulldog clamp from your napkin, and reaching between your thighs. No one, including myself, can see as you release the clamp on your sensitive bud. But the strange, short hum of pain you emit as the metal bites into you tells me you are remembering the way. I know you are gritting your teeth behind those perfectly made up lips.
Eventually I give you the command you have been praying for;
"Cover your slut tits up again."
You speedily comply, knowing better than to return to the safety of your brassiere, and instead pulling the gauze singlet over the cumbersome metal. I toy with the lobster on my plate idly. As you stare at the table, your breathing telling me how much pain you are now experiencing, an age seems to pass as you await my next prompt. When it comes, you merely stare at me in confusion and terror, not knowing how to respond.
"You know, this is a very expensive restaurant. I think you should contribute something to the bill. I don't work hard all week to feed sluts like you in places like this."
Our waiter passes, and I motion for him to come over with another bottle of champagne. He is much shorter than me, and mediterranean in appearance, with greasy, gelled hair. As he pours, he stares unabashedly at the clamps, before looking questioningly at me. We exchange words in Italian, a language you have never bothered to learn, despite our frequent trips to Rome. During our quiet conversation, it is obvious to you that the waiter is being encouraged to appraise your body. You blush again, as he asks questions, and your Master replies. Then, grinning at you, the waiter hurries off. I address you curtly.
"You are to go downstairs to the washrooms, and wait in the staff WC. There is a marble surface next to the sink. Sit on it with your ass just on the edge, your tits out, and your legs spread wide. Put your heels on the edge of the marble on either side of your ass. And hold them."
You freeze, immobilised at this horrible demand.
"Go on. The waiters are busy. And don't pull your skirt or vest down, on your way there OR back."
I have shared you with other men many times before, but not for a while now. This really wasn't what you had in mind for this week away, or perhaps, for your future with me generally. But you know this is your chance to prove yourself to me again, that I must think you capable of completing this test of unquestioning obedience. You also know that you have pushed me so far recently, that if you do not perform I may no longer consider you worthy of serving me. Slowly you stand up. As if locked in some bizarre dream sequence, you leave the table and make your way to the stairs. Your skirt, having ridden up during the meal, just skims your fantastic ass. Your tits bob obscenely with the weight of the clamps as you pass the staring Japanese men.
When you reach the staff washroom, shaking with nerves, you position yourself as instructed, pull your tits out, and wait. You can't believe you are sitting in this place, with no idea of exactly what is about to happen to you. You hope you have the guts to go through with whatever your Master planned with the waiter upstairs, that it is nothing too intense. Maybe it will just be a light pussy slapping. Maybe I have asked them to masturbate you to orgasm. I know how shy you are about coming under a stranger's touch. That would explain your awkward and embarrassing position. You seem to sit there for at least ten minutes, dreading the door opening, the air conditioning tracing your bare tits and thighs with goosebumps, just as your Master's hand was what seems like an age ago. When you hear footsteps in the corridor, you pray that it is me, that this is all a test. But the door swings open, and a wave of nausea hits you as the waiter enters, followed by a tall black waiter you had seen serving at another table. Your Master is nowhere to be seen.
The two men stare at you incredulously, gawping at your lewdly revealed vulva and puckered asshole, talking quietly to each other in Italian. You avoid their gaze, eyes fixed on the wall ahead. If only you hadn't been such a brat! They move towards you, slightly unsure at first, making no attempt to speak to you. Then, with sudden confidence, they began to run their hands gingerly up your raised inner thighs, across your jutting tits. Realising you will make no attempt to stop them, that this is for real, their touch moves eagerly to your cunt, each pulling a shaven lip wide, exposing your fuckhole and clamped clit. You wince and tremble as one, then the other strokes then pinches the engorged bundle of nerves, clearly remarking on the clamp in amazement. Their bulging cocks leave no doubt as to how turned on they are at the chance to use a submissive, probably for the first time. And what man wouldn't take advantage of free, brazen cunt?
You close your eyes in shame as their fingers push painfully into your dry anus and tight pussy, poking and probing, stuffing you crudely as you display for them. The white waiter's sharp nails scratch the inside of your rectum painfully, as he twirls two fingers in wide circles, laughing. Then with fingers still wedged in your holes, their attention turns to your tits. You wince and stare straight ahead as they cup and knead them, feeling their weight then dropping them heavily. Gripping your heels tightly, you wince as your thighs strain apart, both men jostling between your spread legs, yet still no sounds escapes you. The black man pulls the chain between your slut tits, lifting them high by the nipples, causing you inhale sharply. They seem to be talking about the spectacle of the stretching flesh, as each pulls a clamp, roughly shaking them so your tits jiggle, suspended from the taut nipple flesh. You take the pain, almost enjoy it in the old familiar way, as it shoots from tit to brain and back again like lightening. One of them pushes the chain against your lips, and you take it into your mouth, holding your tits up for them in two straining peaks.
Still roughly pawing your now taut tit flesh, the first waiter eagerly unzips his pants and frees his cock. It is uncut and quite dark in colour, with a purple, bulbous head. You guess it is about 6". He pulls your hand down around it, and gasps softly as you obediently start wanking him. Being the brat you are, you are secretly hoping to get him off quickly, and return to the safety of My table. Sadly for you, that is not how this scene will play out. He fumbles for and slides on a condom, while his free hand plays with your cunt again, roughly pistoning it with two fingers, his knuckles angular and unforgiving. You are grateful that I have trained you to juice up to order, as there is no way this man would get you wet of your own volition.
It doesn't take long for him to be ready to fuck, and he pulls his dirty fingers out, replacing them gracelessly with his cock. You cry out for the first time as he remains buried for a second, then begins pumping in and out. Your vaginal walls contract involuntarily as he penetrates you, and ever the whore, you make sure he gets a good fuck, sucking his cock with your cunt muscles. You think back to the nights I have shared you with other Masters, knowing I will ask if you tried to bring him off well with your cunt, and that it will be punished with the belt if you sit motionless. The waiter realises you are fucking him back, despite what must be a hard to disguise expression of disgust. You hear the word slut amongst the Italian as he uses you, with some sort of expression of approval, and are relieved that so far you have managed to perform well for Me. You hang on tightly to your heels, spreading yourself as wide as you can for him. I don't send you to weekly yoga classes for the good of your health.
The white waiter starts to slam into you like an exuberant teenager, his balls slapping against your asscheeks as he grunts enthusiastically. Pulling the chain from your mouth, he rubs and squeezes your titmeat, his palms brushing and chafing your oversensitised nipples in circular motions until you grit your teeth. God, how you hate that feeling. As you bitchily remarked earlier, before I even dismantled your designer cleavage in the restaurant, it's as if he hasn't seen a woman's tits for months. He ruts with amateurish abandon for less than a minute then finishes, exclaiming loudly in Italian and yanking painfully on the tit chain as he shoots his load.
Then thankfully for you he pulls his flaccid cock out and grinning, takes off the condom, knotting it. He speaks again with his colleague, whose invasive black fingers are suddenly pinching your cunt lips, and spreading them apart again. The man who has just fucked you stuffs the rubber encased cum deep inside you, followed by a 20 Euro note which he leaves poking out obscenely. Horrified, you balk at what these strangers must think of you. As they pull you down from the marble, the feeling rushing back to your aching legs, your hopes soar that the black waiter has only been offered a blowjob. But as you start to drop to your knees he grips your shoulders, roughly turning you to face the mirror.
The black man is stroking his long cock through a condom which he must have put on while his friend was cumming in you. You watch him in horror as he squirts some soap onto his hand and rubs it slowly over his thick veiny meat, appalled at the thought of that thing might be going up your ass. Desperately, blindly, you hope that this part really is just a test, to see if you will struggle or try to leave. Roughly the waiter kicks apart your stockinged legs and pushes you down til your tits are mashed against the cold marble. By now they are aching badly from the incessant mauling and the biting clamps. You stare over your shoulder, transfixed at the huge dick, sticking out in front of the waiter like a flagpole. Big black hands roam over your back and the curves of your ass, then you feel him roughly pull apart your asscheeks. He examines your splayed anus, & both men laugh when it winks, as you involuntarily tense & try to shrink away. Then, his thumbs stretching the skin around your hole as wide as he can, he presses his huge cockhead against it.
It's too much, and you feel yourself zone out, and begin slipping into dark expanses of subspace. But the white waiter viciously yanks back on your hair, forcing you to meet their sarcastic gazes in the mirror as his friend begins taking your ass. He has to work hard to push what felt like a tennis ball sized head into your tiny opening, feeding his cock in with his hand. You try to breath deeply to manage the deep discomfort as the thin pink membrane stretches around his manhood, your lips forming silent gasps in your labours, your straining gaze forcibly locked with his. When he has worked the head past your sphincter he pauses and stares at you with an air of nonchalant power, letting you experience the acutely uncomfortable sensation of the black sphere stretching and impaling your anal ring. Then your hands are pulled behind you, placed on your buttocks, used to pull your ass wider for him. Holding your own ass open, you blush a deep crimson as he stands there, cockhead in your anus, hands on his hips. The language barrier does not diminish the meaning of his action: he is telling you what a cheap white slut you are, showing you the liberties he is happy to take with you which he would not dare with a decent woman, making you straddle the head of his cock like some sort of obscene puppet. Then, with a deep sigh of triumph, he pushes his groin forward, ramming his whole cock up your ass. As you whimper and try not to scream, your eyes rolling back, you hear his watching friend pissing in the urinal next to you.
Bam Bam Bam -- he finds his rhythm, slamming into you again and again, taking his pleasure with your ass while his friend encourages him in Italian. Your ass muscles convulse as the thick black cock is pulled completely out and then rammed back in to your now more pliant hole. Again, the waiter uses his thumbs to spread wide your burning skin, watching his black rod piston your bowels. Stars explode before your eyes, and the men laugh together as you moan with humiliation, your temporary master alternately slapping your ass cheeks hard with each thrust, his back straight, his crotch a powerhouse of pain. You let your face touch the cool marble as his force pushes your forehead against the mirror over and over again, your helpless body jettisoning forwards.
But he was promised a slut and wants you to be fully aware of what is happening -- he even wants you to appreciate the fact that he has deigned to sodomise you. Your wrists are pulled to the small of your back for leverage, forcing your face up and tits out, as he drives into you with even more force, your rectal muscles molding painfully to his solid mass as it reams your fuckhole. Like a good slut you hold your own wrists when he reaches around you to pinch and pull down on your clamped nipples.
Suddenly he drops your tits, the clamps clattering on the marble as he pulls out. You find yourself being spun round, and lifted back up onto the marble, both waiters pulling up your legs and pushing your stilettoed feet up to your asscheeks. You reel with relief, your open ass vacated, trying desperately to control the urge to expel as you grip your heels once more. The black man slaps your thighs wider apart before bringing the palm of his hand down brutally on your cuntlips, jarring the clit clamp agonisingly. Not daring to break with custom lest they report back to Me, you whimper 'Thank you Sir'. Naturally this makes the men laugh bemusedly, and take turns slapping your cunt some more to elicit your pathetic response. Then facing you as the white man had before him, the black waiter puts the too-short tit chain back in your mouth, pulling your nipples into long distended peaks. You groan in misery, your face a picture of pain as his black fingers push more soap into your hole. He begins feeding his cockhead into your ass once more, looking sneeringly into your pleading eyes as it pops inside.
