X-Ray Vision

She stands at the bus stop, her breath appearing to be wispy smoke as it leaves her lips on this icy winter night. Her face clearly displays her discomfort, but – despite the natural, inherent guesses of the few passersby and the people in the few vehicles driving past the bus stop – it is not due to the biting winter wind coming off the massive lake just a few block away.

...for hidden underneath her many layers of thick, heavy clothing are the heavy metal clamps, their jagged teeth biting painfully into the tender, sensitive flesh surrounding each hardened, erect, throbbing nipple.

No one else in the immediate vicinity can possibly know that she is also being kept on a constant edge, which is also not due to the cold, cold breath of the December blizzard. A pair of thick, lengthy vibrators fill her, each buzzing softly enough for the rare passerby to not be able to hear their incessant work, yet just powerful enough to leave her teeth clattering incessantly as she tries to hold back the desperate moans of frustration which she must somehow keep at bay at the base of her throat.

Only she and one other person on the planet know about the thick and heavy silver chain encircling her waist and holding the two vibrators deep within her. The massive chain also nicely – or, perhaps, depending upon one's point of view, torturously – transmits the perpetual motions of the vibrators up to her waist and slightly higher. In another situation, in another place, in another climate, she might be able to enjoy these sensations, especially since she almost always finds a deep thrill in being double-penetrated like this – but here, standing in the icy lake-chilled wind, and this at a bus stop with no shelter and absolutely nothing nearby to help block the wind trapped within the canyon of the business district's tall buildings, she simply cannot enjoy this most unusual predicament, despite her desperate, ever-growing need.

Even worse for the willing submissive, a thick, heavy black rope confines her chest, wrapping particularly tightly around each breast. Given that she had not been permitted to wear a bra on this desolate evening in the city, the rough rope bites into her skin, albeit not nearly as viciously as the nipple clamps. Each tentative move the submissive makes to try to generate a little additional body heat causes her breasts to jiggle just enough for the thick black rope and the heavy metal clamps to scrape and pull at her vulnerable skin with even more vigor.

Hidden by her lengthy gray scarf is the thick leather collar, its padlock heavy at the back of her neck and its front D-ring providing an attachment point for the chains leading down her front to the clamps which practically swallow her nipples whole. Attached to each of the collar's side D-rings is a lengthy, thin chain, leading down each arm to a slave ring on each hand.

Of course, no one driving or walking past her can see the collar, nor the chains, nor the rope, nor the slave rings, nor the vibrators, nor the clamps, nor the padlock.

All anyone else can see is a beautiful young woman who is definitely very, very cold despite her many layers of clothing.

Anyone else, that is, except for Him: her Master.

At last, He emerges from the nearby coffee shop, and hands her a much-desired, much-needed large mocha – with a double shot of mint, just the way she likes it. Master and slave both stand in silence, drinking the hot liquid, simply gazing at E/each O/other for a long time, and she is absolutely certain that despite all her clothing, the collar, the padlock, the thick and lengthy vibrators, the heavy metal clamps, the slave rings, the thick heavy rope, and the several chains are all plainly visible to her Master, as if He can lay claim to having the much-fabled x-ray vision.

But, as good as the mocha tastes and as wonderful and hot as it feels as it descends her throat and warms her from deep inside, the submissive is more than a little apprehensive about the next and very necessary element of the evening's plan: the long, dreary walk home along the icy sidewalks with the vibrators still busily, happily churning deep inside her, the rope abrasive against her breasts, the clamps tugging fiercely as her breasts jiggle with each step she takes. Yet, as her Master silently turns to return to the house, she has no choice but to follow and suffer the results of the long walk home.