Gradually I realised my vagina’s ache had not come from the clamps alone. I moaned, squirmed my pelvis, rocked and scraped the chair. I gulped and breathed harshly and called out, again tormented. Agonised minutes passed before they appeared and I cried, ‘You must let me go.’ My captors stared silently, as if unable to comprehend. ‘Please!’ They sat on chairs at both sides. ‘You’re heartless!’ I shrieked. They leaned forwards, watching intently. Choking, I cursed them both, the words broken by wracking sobs. They smiled sympathetically. Tears poured down my cheeks as a stream of scalding fluid burst out, splashed and sprayed over the tiles in all directions. The disgusting disgrace went on and on, thighs and cushion shamefully soaked. Immersed in hot acrid scent, I quivered with tension and fear until, drained of every shred of beauty or pride, I moaned miserably, ‘Why must I be so demeaned?’
‘Why does a powerful executive ask for restraint with no stipulations?’ Bernard’s reply hit me with the force of a sudden slap. ‘Is that due to naïve trust? Unlikely. Or does it allow you to claim, “I am not responsible?” ’
Numb and soiled, hurting more than when gripped by clamps, I lowered my head. Amber spurts accompanied the tears that flowed again.
‘Our time is almost up.’ Bernard glanced at me, supine on the bed, and completed knotting the left bond.
‘And you’ve never fucked me –’ I grumbled ‘– not once.’
‘Nor introduced you to the lash.’
I gasped in physical strain as he raised my right leg to match the left, forcing my body to a shallow V. My arms were stretched out from the shoulders and my wrists bound to the ankles. My feet, splayed out on either side of my head, had additional ties to the headboard. I had never experienced anything resembling the tough pull on my thigh muscles but worse, far worse, was to have my crotch opened to its absolute maximum. My genitals were completely unprotected from Maria’s avid gaze and her loathsome talons had free reign to clutch the pleats of my labia, spreading them out to display my sex as a blossoming flower.
Bernard joined the crone and both examined the position silently. ‘A beautiful sight needing no further decoration,’ he said. I gulped and tossed my head, humiliated utterly and feeling grotesque. ‘Maria can help with that.’
She came to my side, blotted out all sight by a thick mask over my eyes, and strapped it efficiently behind my head.
‘Think about what you’re presenting,’ Bernard continued. ‘Excellent tits. A gloriously stretched arse. A prominent cunt. A tempting anal ring.’
He had reduced me to some kind of basic object and moans of despair trembled my breasts like soft jellies. Later, I could hear no sounds and for a long blank time nothing occurred. My rigid pose allowed no opportunity to forget Bernard’s brutal description, or the fearful implications. He suggested –
I tensed and strained to catch the words of male voices, murmuring too low to hear. Did Bernard intend to give me to strangers? Were there two? More? With my stark invitations how could they avoid arousal? What were they planning? Then I clearly heard: ‘I guarantee she’s ready for it.’
I fought the implacable bonds while a leathery palm stifled my breath. I had no choice but to take the cocks, however many, wherever they came. The bed sagged. At the first touch, a palm clamped down on my scream.
The mobile’s muted chirrups interrupted discreetly. I checked the number, quietly excused myself from the meeting, and opened the line in the corridor.
‘Well?’ Elaine enquired mischievously. ‘Have you a good report? Aren’t I clever to find him?’
‘I have. You are. However, I’m reluctant to praise him too highly in case he becomes fully booked.’
‘It’s me you should worry about. I’m denying all access until you agree to my terms.’
‘Name them.’
‘I’m dying to see those photographs. Tomorrow evening, seven o’clock. Our table’s booked at the Savoy Grill.’
‘You were that sure I’d agree?’
‘We can discuss the merits of bondage, affecting our minds far more than a straightforward fuck can ever achieve.’
‘Seductive … insidious.’
‘Great antidote to the pressures of work.’
‘The exhilaration! To give up and simply obey!’
‘Remember my caution – be careful of what you start?’
‘Well, I have, and mean to continue. For me it’s just … perfect.’
– S.J., London, UK
Breastfed
Before anything else, I want to thank everyone at Nexus Books for making me realise I’m not alone in the world. I have the strangest fetish, and while I know there are men like me, for years I thought I had to be the only woman who’d ever had anything like it even enter her head. I’m twenty-nine, reasonably attractive I suppose, from a completely boring suburban background, and I like to be suckled at another woman’s breast.
I don’t know where it came from, or why, but it has been an important part of my sexuality for as long as I can remember. Not the most important part, maybe, and I’m not claiming I couldn’t live without it or anything, but it is something I crave. I prefer other women anyway, and I’m not really into vanilla sex, which is just boring. For me it’s all in my head, and when I come I like to feel completely relaxed and open, but above all, comforted. There is no greater comfort than lying in a strong woman’s arms while I suckle from her nipple and she brings me gently off with her fingers.
As you may well imagine, it’s not exactly easy to get what I want. It involves a lot of compromise for one thing, because while it’s easy for, say, a girl who likes to be tied up to find a woman who likes to do the tying, or a girl who likes to be spanked to find a woman who likes to do the spanking, with my needs I’ve never even come close. That doesn’t mean I don’t get it, but it does mean I have to compromise.
They always seem to want to spank me. Maybe it’s because of who I go for, or maybe it’s something about me, but it seems that every time I find a partner I really fancy the first thing she seems to want to do is smack my bottom. I suspect it’s something to do with fashion too, because of course if you want to find kinky people you need to go to kinky places, and it just seems to be assumed that bottom smacking is what you do.
So I get spanked a lot, and I tend to spend quite a bit of time in bondage or crawling around the floor in nothing but a spiky leather collar, or whatever it might be, simply as a compromise so that my own needs can be met in return for meeting the needs of my partner. Not that I mind the spankings so much if they’re in private, because it’s quite nice having a glowing bum while I’m breastfed, but it was never part of my original desire. Being naked was, and is. To be naked is to be protected, to me, and if that doesn’t make sense to you, try thinking about it this way. For me, the whole thing is to give myself over completely into a partner’s control, to have nothing hidden from them at all, which means not just having my body available to them, but having no clothes on whatsoever. My partner is my protection, and to hold her nipple in my mouth as she comforts me and brings me to ecstasy is incomparably better than anything I’ve ever experienced any other way.
Like I say, it’s not easy finding a partner and I have to put up with a lot, but I do have an ideal. She’s older than me, and a lot bigger, which is quite easy because I’m small, but when I say bigger I do mean bigger, and not just tall. She should be fifteen or maybe even twenty stone, and with a full, matronly figure, wide hips, a great big bottom and, of course, large breasts with big nipples, preferably big enough to get my whole mouth around when I suck. A big woman brings out the feeling of being cared for and protected, call it mothered if you like, in a way that nobody of even approximately my own size ever can.
There are two positions I like to be breastfed in, the original and best, and more recently, the post-punishment. For the original I am taken in my partner’s arms just exactly as if she were suckling a baby, with my body curled into her lap and my head cradled to her breast and supported by one hand
while she uses the other to feed me. After a while I let my legs come apart, exposing myself completely, which she should know is the signal to slip a hand between my thighs and bring me to ecstasy. The post-punishment position is how the woman who got me into spanking liked to feed me. First I’d go over her lap in the conventional punishment position to have my bottom smacked, before having my upper body lifted into her arms and my mouth put to her breast, still bum up, and she would cup my sex to masturbate me.
To come like that leaves me in a state of complete bliss, relaxed in a way no other technique can achieve, and believe me, I’ve tried plenty. It also leaves me feeling very pliant and grateful to the woman who’s fed me, and completely uninhibited. I like to be cuddled for a while, and then I’ll return the favour in absolutely any way she wishes. Most women are content with a nice slow lick, which I’m more than happy to give anyway, but after being suckled I’ve been put on a lead and treated like a puppy dog, given a milk enema, and worse, all of which I’ve accepted and even enjoyed, which I could never do normally.
My ideal is still to be taken to orgasm as I suckle, but some of my more inventive partners have added some wonderful details. One, who I shall call Ms X because too many people know her, and me (but not about our more intimate secrets), used to like to wrap a big fluffy towel around my middle and up between my thighs and pin it into place as if it was a giant nappy. That felt nice, soothing in a slightly different way to being cuddled while I’m naked, and especially when I’d let my legs come apart and her hand would steal down the front to give me my orgasm. She has lovely nipples too, very wide, and one of my happiest memories will always be of lying in her lap with my mouth completely full of her nipple and her hand pushed in down my nappy. Her great thing is to have me go about the house in just my nappy and a little top, and she loved to humiliate me by having me pee in my nappy and then clean up in the nude, all of which I’m happy to put up with for the pleasure of how she handles me. The only drawback is that we can only play when her husband’s away on business, because while he’s scene, neither of us feel we want any male involvement in our more private games.
I’m funny like that, because I do like men, but I can never achieve the same level of intimacy and relaxation as I can with a woman. Obviously they haven’t got the right equipment to suckle me with anyway, but it’s more than that, perhaps something to do with the way a woman’s flesh feels or how her skin smells, which is completely different and really important to me.
Only once have I achieved what must be the perfect expression of my fantasy and, while it gave me a level of pleasure I’ve never been able to equal, I still feel oddly guilty about it. I’d played with ‘Ms Z’ before, allowing her to spank me at a club and kneeling between her thighs to be suckled briefly, but that was all. About a year later she fell pregnant and stopped going out except to the occasional market or munch, but we were quite close friends anyway and I still saw her occasionally.
All went well with her pregnancy and birth, but with her new baby she wasn’t really in a position to go out at all and felt very tied down. I went round to cheer her up, and I swear it was only that, despite the fact that towards the end of her term I’d found her swollen breasts and the rich smell of her intensely exciting.
I did try to resist, but with nobody else around except the baby, who was upstairs asleep in his cot, it was absolute torture for me. She was producing so much milk that she was leaking, and had to change the pads in her bra every half hour or so. To see her nipples so dark and swollen, with the milk spots coming even as she removed the wet pads, was absolute torture, and in the end I offered to relieve her of some of the pressure. She was genuinely grateful, as having full breasts can be quite painful, so I came next to her and she fed me a nipple.
From the moment I tasted her milk I was completely lost to pleasure. To feel her milk flowing into my mouth as I suckled her was completely overwhelming, and I couldn’t hold back. I asked if she minded if I stripped off so that she could hold me to her breast and bring me off as she suckled me, and after a bit of hesitation she agreed. I couldn’t get my clothes off fast enough, and to curl myself naked into her lap and take her hard, milky nipple back into my mouth was ecstasy close to orgasm in itself.
She made me relieve both her breasts before she’d touch me, so I got a proper drink, not just a drop. Human milk is slightly sharp to the taste, and a bit odd after being used to cow’s milk, but the knowledge that I was drinking it made the taste and the feel of it in my mouth so special I couldn’t possibly put it into words. She held me perfectly too, cradling my head and putting her breasts to my mouth one by one, while she’d put on a lot of weight during pregnancy so she was lovely to cuddle.
My legs had been wide apart almost from the first moment I felt her milk squirt into my mouth, and I have never felt so completely surrendered and relaxed, or so badly in need of a touch. Her blouse was open and her bra cups unzipped, so that both her breasts were pressed to my bare skin, warm and naked and milky, so that my own breasts were a little wet with it as I suckled. She rubbed that in first, all around my breasts and over my nipples, then a bit more on the mound of my sex before she finally slid a finger between my lips and began to rub.
That moment was perfect bliss, held naked in her arms as she fed me her milk and masturbated me. While I came almost immediately, in my memory it seemed to last forever, and if I ever need to turn myself on or want to come in a hurry I only have to think back to that perfect moment and I’m there. She was very understanding, and gave me a lovely cuddle after I’d come, but she didn’t want anything in return and I’ve always felt a bit guilty, as if I was depriving her baby of his milk, although she had plenty to spare.
By then I’d already read several Nexus books, although the emphasis on sadism wasn’t really my thing, but I was delighted to discover Aishling Morgan’s weird and wonderful Devonshire fantasies with all those big-breasted, milk-bearing women feeding each other and their younger friends. I only wish I lived in that world.
– Zoë, London, UK
Under a Blanket in the Sky
When I dressed for my flight home that morning, I was thinking in terms of comfort. I opted for the short wrap dress – it was a long flight, and the dress was a fitted but stretchy fabric that clung to my curves without being in any way restrictive. The sun proved misleading when I stepped out onto the balcony overlooking London for the last time – the chill immediately caused my nipples to stand at attention.
I had already packed everything else, so another outfit was not an option; I needed to add some stockings to the ensemble to avoid freezing.
I sat on the edge of the bed and watched myself in the mirror as I leisurely drew the stockings up over my smooth legs. There was just something about wearing thigh-highs that always managed to make me feel super sexy. A final glance in the mirror and adjusting of my ample cleavage that seemed to slip out of the wrap dress with the slightest move, and I was off.
I hadn’t put that much effort into my appearance so it was a pleasant surprise when the cab driver, so distracted by me, almost ran over an airport security officer!
Standing in the check-in queue proved to be just as great for my ego as a couple of different men attempted to chat me up, though that may have had something to do with my breasts; clad in a black lacy bra, playing peek-a-boo every time I bent to pick up my suitcase. An older gentleman who stood behind me with his wife was the one I opted to speak to. He was a very pleasant and well-spoken man in his late fifties who was tall and dark skinned with very distinguished salt and pepper hair. He told me that he was raised in London but had been born in Sri Lanka in one of the Portuguese colonies, after having seen my last name on my bag tag and realising that I too was Portuguese. He had a couple of interesting stories to tell about his life while his seemingly subservient wife stood quietly behind. By the time it was my turn to check in, I knew that Raj – that was what he insisted I call him – was a retired banker with two sons and three grandch
ildren, along with what seemed like a hundred other things that I didn’t need to know. He was a sweet man, but the deeper he got into conversation, the more bored and agitated I became. With boarding pass finally in hand and luggage checked in, I turned to make my getaway to the duty-free shop only to slam directly into him. He must have been standing barely a couple of inches from me.
‘Have a nice flight!’ I called out, walking away quickly.
‘We’ll see you on board.’ He smiled excitedly.
I remained in the Skyline bar, sipping an early-afternoon Cosmo until the final boarding call announcement for my flight ran through for the second time. With dirty looks from the crew and annoyed glances from some of the passengers, I made my way to my row, only to find Raj and the missus sitting waiting.
‘Oh – what a coincidence!’ he gushed.
I faked a smile as I squeezed past his wife and then him over to my window seat, acutely aware of his eyes on my every move. I had thought he must just be lonely or something and that was to blame for his need to be long-winded, but I was beginning to get a different vibe. I struggled to fit my bag under the seat in front of me – even managing to work up a bit of a sweat. Sitting back up, I was immediately bombarded by Raj: ‘Why were you so late coming to the plane? I looked for you at the gate.’
‘I was at the bar,’ I said simply, trying not to give him anything more to go on.
He began to ramble on again and his accent began to ring through my ears like an irritating bell, so I grabbed my blanket and pillow from under me and was about to explain to him that I needed to sleep when I noticed his dark eyes bulging, homing right in on my chest. Following his gaze, I found my lace bra once again exposed for the world to see. When I reached to adjust my dress, Raj placed his hand on mine and whispered: ‘Don’t worry – you are beautiful. Do not cover them.’
Nexus Confessions: Volume Three Page 3