Continues from 19. New Skin
Madame wasn’t just someone who owned or wielded power. To me, she was the very personification of power.
Her hold over me was so strong that if she told me to lie naked on the floor I would do so immediately without thought or question.
She was charismatic – in the true sense of that word – there was something alluring and compelling about her that made you want to please her at any cost. Even if it was at the expense of your own comfort or pleasure.
There was also a sensual, feline quality in the way she walked and moved. She was an excellent swimmer and I saw her dive from the high board in the pool with a grace and a skill that was probably close to Olympic standards.
She was “cool” in the old fashioned sense. She had the charm and the wit of a classic 1940s movie star and the effortless elegance of an aristocrat.
Her words were few but always well-chosen – and for that they carried more weight. Her sparse conversation made her seem enigmatic and distant. Her real emotions, for the most part, were kept hidden from me.
I had a feeling – though I may be wrong about this – that she had been very shy when she was a girl or had suffered some kind of emotional loss that she’d been forced to overcome. And I think this is what gave her such a close bond with Silvie.
Although she was only a few years older than me, she seemed much older. I always felt like a little girl when I was with her – eager to please but often clumsy and flustered.
I was also convinced she had a mastery of some of the esoteric arts. She often seemed to know what I was thinking or feeling, or what I was going to say before I said it. And I swear to this day that she really did hypnotize me that day on the train to Paris even though she and Silvie deny it.
But these were just impressions and whenever I asked Silvie about her past she just shrugged her shoulders and said it was better that I asked her myself – something which of course Madame’s manner with me often ruled out. I was at Belos as her slave after all.
My submission to her power was made manifest in various ways. She used to set little duties and punishments for me. There were random morning whippings when I think she just used me for exercise and stress relief. She was writing a novel and spent most of her time holed up in her study and sometimes needed to let off steam.
However, there were also other occasions when my punishments seemed to take on a deeper significance.
Une âme d’esclave
One of my duties was to take an early morning coffee and croissant up to her when she was working in her study. One day, after placing the tray on her desk, she told me to kneel naked beside her.
Without a word she took some nipple clamps and a chain from a desk drawer and chained me by my nipples to the desk leg. Then she slowly pushed my head and torso back so the chain became taut and pulled tight on my nipples.
She added some heavy weights to the chain so that, despite any movement on my part, my nipples would remain stretched.
She told to wait and remain perfectly still with my hands behind my back.
More than a few minutes like this would bring an intense burning sensation to my nipples that would extend out to my breasts and become quite agonizing.
She kept me like that for about 20 minutes.
It was agonizing – but I knew I was meant to bear the pain for her.
And bear it I did.
And in silence too.
She completely ignored me and continued working on her laptop. She was lost in concentration and seemingly oblivious to my suffering. It was if I had ceased to exist for her.
It was exactly like the morning in Paris when Silvie had suspended me from the ceiling. So I understood that Madame was not just testing me but also her own self-control – as her attraction to me was quite evident.
Finally, she looked away from the screen and, as if she had suddenly remembered me, leaned forward to remove the clamps. There was a sharp flash of pain in each nipple as they were unclamped and she leaned closer into my to my face until her lips were an inch or so from mine.
She looked directly into my eyes, as if to closer examine my reaction, and then deliberately scratched, pinched and pulled at my burning nipples.
The cruelty was deliberate and I cried out. I was meant to. But she just told me shut up.
Then she made me lie face down over her lap. I obeyed and for some moments she softly stroked my back and shoulders, and then caressed the fullness of my ass cheeks.
Suddenly, she spanked me very hard five or six times in succession on each cheek.
Her hand dug between my legs to feel my wetness there, lingered a moment, and then she just said, “OK. Get up now. Go. Leave me.”
She returned to her work as if nothing had happened and I left the room.
She would often clamp my nipples and put weights on them – she seemed to have a fondness for nipple torture. At least with me anyway.
Maybe because she knew how much I love nipple play. It is the fastest way to get me into a state of surrender. With just a few tweaks of a nipple I seem to fall apart and become passive and inert. It’s like my will has two off switches.
It is such an intense pleasure that I am easily overwhelmed by it. I am also one of those people who have nipple orgasms. There is a direct connection – a heavenly highway that leads from my nipples to my pussy. It’s a fast track to ecstasy and the switch to the flood gates of heaven.
I don’t need the whip. My nipples will enslave me to you – to your tongue, to your teeth, and especially to your fingers.
That first moment when the clamps go on… Is there anything like it?
Lead me by the clamps. They only lead to one place…
Anyway, another day I went up to her study with the coffee and this time, after attaching the clamps, she made me kneel on all fours with heavy weights hanging down from my nipples.
Again I was not allowed to move or make any sound.
Yet again, she ignored me and went about her work. Her coolness towards me went beyond indifference. She seemed completely uninterested in my agony. It may have been feigned but I felt like I was just an experiment and she was a cruel scientist carrying out research on me.
After about 20 minutes she sent me for ice and told me to kneel with my legs parted and to rub the ice cubes all over me – especially into my pussy and over my breasts – she watched me closely as I did this and made sure I was wet all over.
Then I had to hold an ice cube against each of my aching nipples until the ice had completely melted – around 10 to 15 minutes – during which time she would occasionally ask me to describe the sensation.
The nipple burn had gone now, numbed by the ice, yet my nipples felt strange to the touch as if they belonged to someone else.
Maybe that was her point.
Then another pain began to emerge directly behind my nipples, inside my breasts. It was a cool refreshing pain, I could only describe it as “pepperminty” and, yes, it was very arousing.
She seemed pleased at this and sent me away again.
After a while I thought of these submissions as Madame’s little “epiphanies” and began to look forward to them.
An epiphany, for me, is “a sudden spiritual manifestation or realization.”
That was how I had understood them in the works of James Joyce, and I knew that I was meant to slow down and experience the revelation of that particular moment.
And during these epiphanies time seemed almost to stop, each moment was an eternity, and I felt so utterly and completely alive.
I know all this sounds a little philosophical but that’s what sex does for me. That’s what submission does for me. It is a life affirming moment. I experience the simple ecstasy of being selfless. And free.
I understood the truth of it. And her power to transmit this to me, often with no words being spoken at all, seemed to me to be the greatest of all her powers.
And the orgasms were fantastic. There was a release that really was like a flood. Like a dam breaking. And her power to do that to me made me her unquestioning slave.
There was another occasion when I took her coffee up to her she told me to cut the croissant into small pieces with the knife and fork and then to kneel at her feet holding up the tray to her so she could carry on working and take the pieces of croissant more easily.
When she’d finished, she stopped her work and turned to me. “Put the tray on the table now and take the fork. I want you to keep scratching your right nipple with it. Do it quickly. Don’t stop until I tell you.”
I did as I was told. The sharp tips of the fork flicked and scratched abrasively against the hardening nipple and it quickly began to burn in exquisite pleasure-pain. I looked up at her in gratitude and became very aroused. She looked so beautiful and I was overtaken by my desire for her.
I longed for her to touch me. Just a caress. But she just sat back in her chair sipping her coffee and watching me. As if it was a just break for her – something amusing to take her mind off her work.
“Faster,“ She said, “But make sure you don’t cut yourself. The pain needs to be constant. I want to see the nipple and the area around it turning deep red.”
I began to breathe quickly now as the incessant pleasure-pain – inflicted by my own hand in obeisance to her will – began to overcome me. My desire drove me on and my free hand instinctively fell to my pussy.
“You like it eh? OK. Go to the kitchen and get two larger forks. Quickly.”
I ran back and kneeled once more at my Mistress’ feet.
“Now use both forks on both nipples. Do it fast. Don’t stop.”
I was overcome with the sheer utter pleasure of it. It had a supercharged intensity that went beyond the extreme pleasure-pain of the clamps. It was like two tiny insects were feeding at my nipples and I cried out and shouted at the utter unbearable ecstasy of it.
It was so hard but I managed to obey her. I wanted this pleasure like nothing else. And I trusted her to lead me to whatever it was she had in store for me. My hands stopped and I remained still.
“Now scratch your breasts and belly with the forks. All over. Down to your pussy too. Quickly. Concentrate solely on the pain. Let it wash over you. Bathe in it. I want you engulfed in the fire of it…. My fire.”
I ran the forks all over my naked skin. They say you can’t tickle yourself. Well this is the closest you can get. I couldn’t stop myself now. It was like being devoured by disembodied fingernails.
“Stop! Now scratch only your nipples again.”
Oh yes. Yes… I was whimpering in pleasure and she continued to watch me amused by my increasing loss of self control.
The process was repeated. She would tell me to stop and scratch my breasts, belly and pussy. Then back to my nipples. And so on.
She made me continue until my breasts and nipples were bright red and there were scratch marks all over me.
I could feel the growing wetness between my legs and felt like I was seriously starting to lose control of myself. Her will and my desire had totally enslaved me. I was turning into an animal. I just wanted to howl. I sensed the high pitched scream of pleasure rising up from the depths of my diaphragm and very soon I was going to have to roar …
“Stop now with your left hand! Only scratch your right nipple!”
I obeyed and she put her coffee back on the table. She leaned forward to grab my aching left nipple and pulled on it, squeezing and twisting it very hard with her fingers. I cried out and flinched at the pain but she shouted, “Don’t stop! Concentrate on the pain. Scratch harder!”
I continued torturing my own nipple with the fork. It was burning up and I loved it and I wanted to scream and beg for it to stop but I loved it too much and my own hand would not stop, it could not. I was submerged in a never ending cycle of my own self inflicted pleasure-pain.”
Then I felt the wonder of her bare foot between my legs. Her toe was reaching up into my pussy, gently rubbing me there and I was desperate to come now. My hips and pussy danced with the gentle rhythmic movements of her foot and every now and again her toe would peek inside me, teasing me and giving me a hint of the glory to come. But she held me there, tormenting me…
I whimpered, overwhelmed. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Suddenly she snatched the fork from my hand and threw it aside and grabbed both my nipples and pulled me roughly toward her. I cried out only to be silenced by her mouth on mine. She sucked greedily at my tongue and I felt I was being absorbed into her flesh and I gasped and dived into the hot currents of her desire and her hand thrust at my pussy and possessed it and she overwhelmed me with her beautiful brutal violent love and I was engulfed
For some days after this, my nipples remained extraordinarily sensitive to both pain and pleasure. I couldn’t stop myself from touching and caressing them – they felt so tingly and alive. Like they’d been supercharged. Or as if there was something alive inside them.
Or as if someone was controlling them.
Continues 21.The Cross