by Cherry Lee
Experimentation
By Cherry Lee
Experimentation
Published by Darker Pleasures at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Darker Pleasures. All rights reserved.
Revised June 2014.
Also published in the anthologies
Breaking the Ice: Erotic Stories of BDSM Between Strangers and
Treat Me Rough: Tales of Sexual Submission and Erotic Torment
Edited by Matt Nicholson
Beta read by Sue Foulkes
Cover image by andreykisilev/123RF Stock Photos
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This work contains graphic language and sexual depictions of sometimes extreme consensual and semi-consensual female bondage and sadomasochism. It is intended for mature audiences only and is not suitable for persons under eighteen years of age. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All characters depicted in this work are eighteen years of age or older. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce or redistribute this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Darker Pleasures, webmaster at darkerpleasures.com.
Published by Darker Pleasures at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Darker Pleasures
Smashword Edition, License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with other another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This work contains graphic language and sexual depictions with strong BDSM themes. It is intended for mature audiences only and is not suitable for persons under eighteen years of age. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Since I was old enough to realize that my own hand could give me pleasure, I found that playing with my nipples, pinching and squeezing viciously, moved me to climax as quickly as rubbing my clit. I didn’t know if what I did was ‘normal.’ I didn’t discuss it with my friends or ask my mother.
All I knew was I couldn’t stop doing it. The dark pain and exquisite pleasure that pressure on my nipples gave me was too great to surrender. As time went by, and my breasts grew larger and larger, my imagination grew more creative. I thought, if my fingers could hurt so good, maybe there were other things I could do to prolong the pain or magnify it. I took clothespins from my mother’s laundry room, snuck them to my bedroom and attached them to my nipples. Watching avidly as the rosy nubs turned purple, I manipulated my clit until I came. Sometimes I attached a clothespin to my clit as well and moved it back and forth, bringing myself to bliss.
The clothespin idea was great, but I wanted something I could wear for long parts of the day, hidden underneath my clothes. I thought hard then went to my father’s office and borrowed some large paper clips from his desk. They were black binder clips that slipped over my nipples then clamped down and stayed firmly in place while I covered them with my padded bra. It thrilled me that no one knew my secret torment. I went through hour after hour of my days with that dull ache radiating out from the sensitive nubs.
These were the games I played when I was younger, but as I grew I knew I needed more stimulation. In our backyard my father had a tool shed, and I thought I might explore what new toys it had to offer. One day, when I was home alone, I poked around until I found the perfect device. Clamped on the edge of the workbench was a vise meant for holding objects while he fixed them. I pictured my breast mashed in the slowly tightening vise. I imagined how I would control the pain and increase it incrementally with each turn of the handle, slowly acclimating until I had reached the top of my pain threshold.
Imagination quickly became fact. I stripped off my top, stepped up to the vise and inserted my full, soft breast into the cold metal. Stretching my tit out with one hand, I tightened with the other, until it was firmly clamped and I could let go. I tightened a quarter of a turn more and watched the smooth white skin turn slowly redder and redder. I masturbated, gasping with mingled pleasure and pain.
The idea that my father might come home and, for some unexplained reason, come out to the shed and catch me using the vise for my obscene pleasure only heightened my arousal. In seconds my cunt was wet, aching and dripping into my hand.
I wished I had someone else I could share this delight with. For so long I’d pursued my solitary self-torture, and it was no longer enough. I wanted a partner to assist me in my play, someone who would enjoy watching the distortion of my breasts as much as I did. I unclamped my sore breast from the vise and sighed as I rubbed the blood flow back into it and winced at the pain.
My other breast felt neglected, and I had just stepped back up to the vise, inserted it and tightened several turns when the shed door burst open. Sunlight flooded in and the person standing there was backlit so I couldn’t see who it was at first. I tried to scramble away from the vise but my breast was caught and held. There was no way to hide my nakedness or my trapped boob from the observer.
“Lydia?” The man stepped into the shed and out of the sunlight. My eyes adjusted, and I saw it was our neighbor, John Abbott. He was a little younger than my parents but a lot older than me. He was attractive and sexy and always had a different girlfriend with him every time I saw him. Not that I’d noticed him or anything. But I was on summer break from college and had quite a lot of time on my hands. It was hard not to notice my hot next door neighbor’s comings and goings.
“Hello,” I said casually, trying to act as if this was an everyday social occasion—like I had bumped into him on the street or something. At the same time I was quickly loosening the handle of the vise, releasing my breast.
“Jesus!” he breathed. “Doesn’t that hurt?”
As I moved to pick up my shirt without answering, he added gruffly, “Let me see it.”
I walked over to him and let him lift my heavy breast and run his hand over the raw red flesh. His thumb and forefinger grabbed my nipple and tweaked it—hard. I gasped and he did it again, twisting viciously this time. I moaned deep in my throat.
“Did that hurt?” he asked, coolly clinical.
“Not enough,” I told him.
2~~~
And that was how it began.
At last I had someone who understood my special sexual needs, and I took full advantage of the fact that John lived right next door. I thought of all the years he had lived there. He’d been a young man fresh out of college and embarking on his fledgling career while I was a schoolgirl totally involved in my own life. He was someone I’d thought of as a ‘grown up,’ more of my parents’ generation than of mine. I’d never noticed him and don’t expect he’d noticed me. But now we were both adults and that summer we both did a lot of noticing.
Starting with that afternoon.
John had come to borrow my dad’s pruning saw to trim some tree branches, but I had distracted him from the yard maintenance project. We soon became involved in a much more fulfilling project. He was as excited as I was to explore exactly how much pain my breasts could take.
John insisted on tying my wrists and drawing my hands up high over my head to put me under his complete control. As he bound my wrists with rope and fastened them to a hook in the pegboard on the wall behind me, I was thrilled at the feeling of surrendering my power to him. He drew my arms up taut and I felt the blood l
eave my hands almost right away. My crotch grew tight and slippery again as my naked body was displayed for his inspection.
My breasts were thrust out toward John. He took some fishing line from my dad’s dusty tackle box, pulled one of my breasts out firmly in front of my body and wound the almost invisible line around my tit—tight, tight and tighter. He lifted the other breast and did the same, fastening the invisible nylon securely. Soon both my tits were turning an alarming shade of brick red bordering on purple.
He stood back, arms folded, and just stared at his handiwork for a few moments then fished in the tackle box for more toys. When he stood up with a pair of hooks and feathered lures in each hand my heart pounded in actual fear.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I protested, although at the same time I was licking my lips in anticipation.
John set the hooks on the workbench and found an old grease-stained rag lying there. Before I could say anything more, he stuffed it in my mouth and tied my shirt around my head to keep it in place. He leaned in and whispered, “Just in case you start to scream too loud.” Then he went back to the bench and picked up the hooks with their brightly colored yellow and red feathers.
In all of my years of self-expression with my breasts you might have expected that I’d have had my nipples pierced. I hadn’t. As he approached me with those gleaming silver hooks, my heart raced so hard and my breathing grew so shallow I feared I might pass out. This was going to hurt beyond anything I’d ever experienced. I moaned steadily in anticipation.
But, I hadn’t counted on the fact that my breasts were almost completely numb from the cut off circulation. When he inserted the first barb into my nipple, it felt like a doctor giving me a shot. It certainly hurt but it wasn’t unbearable. He thrust it through hard and fast, before I could jerk or wriggle. As I looked down at the sharp hook stabbed through my nipple, he was already impaling me with the second one. For some reason, it hurt worse. It felt like a yellow jacket stinging me and I howled in pain, but all that came out was a muffled, ‘Hhhh!’ into the foul-tasting rag.
Tears prickled my eyes and coursed down my cheeks. My arms stretched over my head were beginning to ache, my hands had lost all sensation, and my nipples felt like they were on fire. I twisted and moaned and watched John watching me with evident satisfaction,. vVery evident. His cock was straining hard against his cotton pants.
He unbuttoned and pulled them down, releasing his thick, throbbing cock. At that moment all of my aches and pains receded. All I could think about was having that rock hard prick shoved up inside me. The head was as mottled purple and red as my bound tits, and I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like moving inside me. The truth was I had never had anything except my own fingers inside my body.
I had dated guys in high school but no one steady or serious enough to reach the point of penetration. I had sucked boys off and they had licked me to orgasm but I was still a virgin. I wanted to tell John, ask him to take it a little slow and easy, but with the gag filling my mouth, all I could do was grunt.
Pre-come was already dripping from his slit and his eyes were half-closed with immense pleasure as he moved close to me. He lifted my ass up against the wall and rammed deep inside me with one violent thrust. I wailed as he stretched my pussy beyond endurance and his chest brushed against my already screaming nipples.
As he pulled out and thrust into me over and over, I was enveloped in pain from every angle. My arms and hands were shaking with strain. My tied and pierced breasts were in absolute agony, and my cunt was filled to bursting with his big member. There was no pause to re-group. He came at me again and again, pounding into me with such vigor that the flimsy wall shook. And then he grabbed one of the garishly decorated hooks and pulled.
At first I thought I was going to pass out, but somewhere, in the middle of the excruciating pain, I reached a ‘zone’ like runners do. I transcended discomfort and reached a state of euphoria, crying out against my gag with pleasured ecstasy instead of wrenching pain. I felt the deep satisfaction of being completely filled.
Watching John’s enraptured face—eyes squeezed shut in concentration as he thrust into me—I had an epiphany. I might appear to be the vulnerable one, bound, tortured and physically at his command, but at this moment, my body controlled his pleasure and I was strangely empowered.
Hitting a place deep inside me, John’s cock brought me to the brink of orgasm. Scattered sparks of energy gathered in my cunt, coalescing into a fireball of desire that burst through my body. I twisted against my bonds, clamped my ankles around John’s hips and came with a muffled cry.
He thrust several more times then bucked up and spent deep inside me. He collapsed against my body, putting even more strain on my stretched arms. His chest pressed tight against my bound and pierced breasts, crushing them around the invading metal, adding a new level to my pain. I whimpered into the dirty cloth filling my mouth.
Afterward, he eased my legs off him and back down onto the floor. He untied the rope from the hook, bringing my arms down in front of me. As he untied my wrists, blood flooded back into them.
My hands and arms throbbed, but not near as much as my breasts when John unbound the fishing line and rubbed circulation back into them. He left the hooks protruding from my nipples while he located wire cutters. He carefully snipped the barb off each hook and deftly drew the wires out of the holes.
It hurt like hell and I bit my tongue to keep from screaming aloud. He bent his head to suck each nipple, trying to relieve the intense pain. Watching him stroke my tender breasts and suckle at my nipples raised a tender feeling in me. I placed my hand on the back of his head and held him there, feeling almost maternal – and aroused. His come was still dripping down my inner thighs, but already I wanted him inside me again.
My cunt felt insatiable. When his gentle sucking abruptly turned rough and he bit my tit hard, my crotch clenched and I came again. I was amazed. Without any clitoral stimulation, without even touching my cunt, simply with his control over my boobs, he’d made me come.
“Come over to my place tonight. Tell your family you’re going out,” he ordered as he put his clothes back on and picked up the pruning saw he’d come to borrow. “I want you there by ten thirty sharp and if you’re a second late you’ll be severely punished.”
I nodded and he left without saying another word.
At dinner that night, I sat at the table with my family, the wounds of my experience hidden from their sight and their knowledge. It thrilled me to keep that secret. My breasts throbbed steadily under my shirt. I’d snapped a leather wrist cuff on each wrist to hide the rope burns. John’s jism continued to seep from my pussy and onto my panties. I felt smug and content with my hidden badges of sex, all unknown to my family members.
I was excited by the knowledge that there was more to come—tonight for sure and probably for many days and nights to follow. John was obviously as intrigued as I was with torturing my tits.
I told my family I was going out and left the house by 10:15 but I stood outside John’s house, lurking near the bushes until 10:33. I wanted to be late. I wanted to see what he’d do to me.
When I rang the bell, he jerked the door open, obviously waiting there for me. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the house. Slamming the door behind me, he dragged me upstairs to his bedroom.
“I knew you’d be late, little slut.” He threw me on the bed.
He all but tore my clothing from me and tied me spread-eagled to the four posts, fastening my wrists and ankles so tightly that I couldn’t move my body an inch in any direction.
“Little girls who play with fire, get burned,” he said, and I knew I was in trouble.
He went to the dresser and picked up a fat, red, pillar candle that was burning there. He brought it back to the bed and held it over me, letting me watch the flickering flame. I anticipated the drizzle of hot wax on my torso, and he didn’t disappoint. In a moment, drops of red splashed onto my taut stomach, up my
rib cage and over my breasts. After the pain I’d experienced that afternoon, the hot wax was child’s play, but still it clung and burned slightly, especially on my already swollen nipples.
We both watched as he slowly coated my breasts in a steady trickle of hot wax. The wax hardened, creating a mold which John chipped off with his fingers. He examined the bright red marks it left behind.
“You think that’s all?” he asked, looking up with a lift of his eyebrow. “It’s only the beginning.”
He left me alone to speculate and fear while he went to another part of the house. By the time he returned with a knife in his hand, I was trembling with trepidation. It was only a butter knife, nothing sharp, but he held it in the candle flame to heat.
“Oh god!” I groaned.
He looked at me speculatively, put down the knife and got a T-shirt to tie around my mouth as a gag.
“This might hurt a little,” he said dryly as he heated the knife again. He held it poised over my shaking breast, giving me time to imagine the pain it would cause. Sweat poured from my forehead. I writhed against my bonds as he slowly touched the hot metal to my nipple. I heard the flesh sizzle and smelled it burn.
If those fish hooks had hurt, this was a raging inferno. I howled into my gag, begging him without words to stop. He bent toward the flame and inserted the knife once more. He didn’t heat the knife all that long, not wanting to do any serious damage, but I would bear his marks on my breasts for a long time to come.
“Does it hurt enough yet?” he asked, holding the knife poised over my other breast.
I defiantly shook my head and braced myself for the searing heat again. He pressed the metal against my tit again and again, leaving a pretty ring of burns around my aureoleareola. Apparently liking the circular pattern, he went back to the other breast and did the same.