It finally became too much to bear. Your fingers tremble as they glide across the glowing display of your phone. "Master. I need." Is all you write but something inside of you roars with glee. That itch that becomes need and slowly starts to rage inside you until there is no option but to yield. An ember burns inside you, always present, always searing at you in ways that make it impossible to ignore. That ember smolders, it waits with a patience that knows no limits and it feeds on the dark side of your desires because it is aware of its power.
You need.
Hours pass with no reply and with each passing minute you get more and more anxious. Pacing like a caged animal your mind reels at the possibilities. It's been three hours and still no word. Has it been to long? Has he found a new Pet? Those thoughts drive panic in your actions. You pick up the phone again. You know you are not allowed to text more. Master has been clear. One message, and wait like a good Slave, but what if he didn't get it? What if his number changed?
You need!
"Master... Please!!" and Send.
The reply is immediate. "Know your place!"
It's been a long time and your body reminds you what your memory forgets. You set the phone down and walk slowly to your room, head lowered and eyes prostate to the floor. you know what was wrong... what you did wrong. A shudder covers your body because the punishment for your sin will be severe. A small drawer in your dresser slides open and buried beneath hair clips and ties and other innocuous, everyday woman items are your toys, Your instruments that play to this dark desire inside you. You strip the house clothes you had been wearing and pull out your uniform. A corset all leather and brass. You hate it for the confinement, for the discomfort, but for those very reasons you cinch down each eyelet until it leaves you uncomfortable but looking in the mirror you see your breasts pushed up high and proud, your waist accented.
With a mind of their own your fingers and hands trace your curves and stop on your exposed nipples. You remember Master buying this for you at the Renaissance Festival. The look the mature lady dressed in medieval garb gave us as we carefully picked through each corset looking for the perfect one. The gleam in her eye as she came over to help guide us in or selection. You kept looking at her cotton frock, bunched up around her breasts, held up abnormally high by her own corset and she giggled a little at your obvious distraction. Settling on this black corset your slipping into now the wench stressed how important it was to try on your new garment to make sure it is what you want. Looking at me you defer, and I agree with our new partner in crime. "Perhaps a showing would be nice. Any chance you could help my Slave with her fitting?" You cringe at the use of your title out loud but an excitement seeps into you knowing your Master has marked you as his.
"Of course, my good Sir." She replies with a knowing smile and a curtsey, taking you by the hand. "We have a private room just to the back for these occasions."
You demur and she leads you by the hand just behind the register and through a plank door that has gaps between each board and little to offer for privacy. hanging our leather purchase on the wall she turns to me and bowing her head asks "My Good Lord. May I fit your Slave to assure the corset is to your liking?"
She reached for your shirt and as she unbuttons it your eyes are wide with fear looking at the shadows walking past or standing at the register. How can people not see inside! Panis grips you and you start to cover yourself.
"Remember Your Place!" I growl
Hands drop and your head. She smiles at me and exposes your breasts lingering on your nipples she touches each and rotates them in her fingers. Cupping each breast in her hands she massages you exciting you in so many delicious ways. A moan escapes your lips and you see me smile barely hearing me tell our new friend, "Her breasts are very sensitive, but she has not been given permission to enjoy herself today." A knowing smile passes between the wench and me.
She releases your tits leaving you feeling a need for more attention, more pleasure. "Well it is very important that the breasts be properly stimulated to reach their maximum fullness. The corset must fit..." looking into your eyes..."even when your slave is aroused." She takes a cotton shirt and drapes it over your shoulders. The cotton is light and seems only to amplify each draft blowing through the "fitting room". Tracing her hands across your back and over your left shoulder she moves to the front of you and grasping each side of the cover pulls it roughly out and down exposing each shoulder and your bare chest. Standing back with an appraising eye she shakes her head and asks your Master "Something is not right?"
I stand up from the half barrel where I was watching my Pet dressed and walk to you. I reach to your face and cup your cheek with my hand. Looking you in the eyes, " I know just the thing." Dropping my hands to the blouse just between your aroused breasts I play with each by running the back of my fingers over them. The fingernails scraping against your skin send chills over your body. "She has wonderful breasts, doesn't she?" I state more then ask
The wench appears beside you and lifts your left tit in her hand. "Yes, My Lord. She is a picture." whispers in your ear. Your eyes close. Your nipples harden to points as solid as limestone. Her lips press to your neck kissing you softly, gently, so tenderly that sometimes you think your imagining them. "A picture indeed."
RIPPPP!
You gasp as I tear the blouse about three inches down the center. Turning away from you and your tormenter I return to my seat. "Then it seems a shame to not share them with the world."
Her hand slips inside and against the nakedness of your full tit she twists a nipple hard enough to make you catch your breath and laughing says. "Yes, it does My Lord! These should be shared with all!"
Now, looking in the mirror, admiring your form in the leather and metal you know what you are and what you will do to prove it today. Shame darkens your cheeks as your pussy gets moist thinking about all the times before. You should walk away but instead your slip lacey panties over your womanhood and walk to the front door. Unlocking the door and kneeling on the cold tile of the front vestibule your type, "Your Slut is ready Master." Instantly you hear footsteps on the stop and your heart skips a flutters. Your breath catches in your throat, there is no turning back and your body reacts with a memory all its own. A muscle memory of pleasure and pain, of passion and shame.
