Journal of Discipline and Desire

by Laurie Mann

  “I like Madam’s inexperienced lasses. Come cheaper. I do well enough but cheap tits and quim help keep costs down.” Thinking aloud really, like I wasn’t there, only utterly degraded.

  “Undress. Let’s look at you.”

  A shiver ran down my spine as the door closed with a solid clunk. Trembled and face my burned as his beady eyes watched. A workshop with bright lights, white walls and a long wooden workbench with tools, moulds and packets of who knows what.

  Dentist’s chair? Plastic covered, leather straps, bars with more straps extending from sides. But still a dentist’s chair, floodlit.

  Fingers probed my breasts, squeezed, moulded, stretched. Pussy also and a strong will was needed to resist fleeing his probing, intense eyes.

  “Stretch those tits.” Vacant words. Like his mind was elsewhere. Gripped nipples and pulled.

  “More.”

  Breasts ached, cone shaped with nipples alight with fire. My arms trembled as his beady eyes devoured from all angles.

  “Onto the chair.”

  Sat upright, legs outstretched just like at the dentist - quivering hands with rough touch guided my arms along the cold metal bars. Three leather bands. Wrists, elbows, shoulders buckled tight. I watched as more bands were buckled across my waist, thighs and ankles until movement was impossible. OOOHHH!

  A muslin wad filled my mouth until my cheeks bulged hamster-like before wide tape, which I was sure would hurt when it was pulled off, secured. Sweat formed little globules, which dribbled from my forehead to sting eyes. Excitement and fear raced hand in hand.

  Spotlight highlighted my breasts and pride joined the excitement and fear. Flawless, milky skin a backdrop for delicate rosebud nipples.

  “Nipple first.”

  My eyes widened and heart pumped the adrenaline faster as the mad scientist approached with a glass tube attached to the chair’s control box by a rubber pipe.

  Glass felt cold against my breast as it circled and enclosed my left nipple. His hand moved to a switch marked pump. Buzzing sucked air from the tube, pulling my nipple into the vacuum making eyes roll before being drawn hypnotically to throbbing bud. Disbelief, it couldn’t be! An inch long and still growing, surely it would be torn off. Body stiff, my lungs screamed silently into the wad and I felt seasick as the room swayed and greyness invaded. A sprung ring replaced the tube and circled my throbbing nipple, now a full two inches and unable to relax.

  Mad scientist leaning over his bench. Concentrate, I had to read the label on jar. Needed to distract my mind from the pain. Releasing Gel. What’s that? Cold - icy cold, that’s what. Rubbed into nipple, so cold it burned.

  White paste, smooth, applied by spatula. Then a gun pointed at my nipple. What next? Eyebrows knitted together as I watched his finger on the switch, U.V. said the label and a light glowed, like the dentist with fillings. Don’t like the dentist either. Mould was heavy before stubby fingers surprisingly delicately twisted and removed it for his intense eyes to inspect.

  Shards of agony ripped into my bud as the ring was removed and straining muscles fought the leather bands, but it was no contest.

  Right breast now. Adjustable ring slipped over and tightened. Swollen, milky perfection turned to blue cheese. The chair reclined, left breast subsided but right stood upright, pointing and throbbing. Grotesque crazed blue veins on a vivid pink canvas. Fingers prodded, caressed and further aroused.

  Icy cold releasing gel again, nipple wanted to shrivel and hide but it couldn’t. More paste, more U.V., more pain. Always with Madam it’s pain, causing my eyes to stream and the gag to dry my mouth. Everything ached. Even Rock, heartache. Another mould removed to encourage more pain. Screams, thankfully absorbed by the muslin making my voice and jaws hurt as the nipple ring was removed. How many different hurts are there? And my breast exploded into excruciating bittersweet passage from numbness to life.

  “Time for lunch. Give the tits time to rest.”

  Released from the straps, feeling could return to my torpid limbs. It will hurt, always does. But it’s worth it, the pulsating agony delights pussy so. Pussy knows best. Cares nothing for pain in legs, arms or anywhere - just absorbs and enjoys.

  A door closed and I twisted my head, first right then left. No good. Couldn’t see around chair back but he’d gone, I could tell. Left alone, strapped tight, waiting while he lunched. It was terrible, not knowing what torture awaited, for it surely must. He’s a breast man for sure, so more pain for breasts and I worried about damage.

  Fought the natural urge to squirm. Pussy liked and excitement grew while the straps, not me, controlled my squirming.

  “NO. NO. NO.” Muslin took the full brunt of my scream. Concentrate. It’s always worse afterwards. Until the excitement returns anyway, and my breathing, shallow and pained by straps and muslin, quickened. It’s beginning again, must stop it, fight the trembling and control it. Breasts, arms, legs, lungs, everything hurt. A delicious hurt that marched inexorably as pussy enticed and defied my mind.

  “No. No. Yeeessss.” Pussy enveloped all the hurt before hurling it to every extremity. Pleasure rampaged, forcing me against the straps until the gentle aftershocks mocked my helplessness. Pussy knows best, but you already know that, don’t you?

  Settled breathing, lifted my head to look along arms, dented by bands. Hands, not mine any more, just gruesome blackening appendages to a crucifix.

  “Oh, God. Turning black.” Terrified.

  Legs, once shapely before deformed by bands, now blotchy, red with blackening toes. Must move them. Couldn’t. It hurt so much when I tried. Muslin absorbed both cries and tears. And still Pussy craved more.

  Madam. WHAT have you done to me? Can I ever return to a life of normality, or will pain forever control?

  Chair stretched me horizontal and the mad scientist appeared through my tears. What’s he got? Long needle, pointed, scary. Fingers grabbed my nipple, still hurting from previous abuse and the point scratched, dimpled ....

  The pin seared through my nipple then ....

  Through the other - breast kebabs.

  A wire from the ceiling clipped to the pin made my eyes widen with terror and excitement as realisation dawned. Slowly the wire tightened, pulling my nipples and stretching the skin. Couldn’t look, only imagine as the pain subsided, as the stretching finally stopped, before settling into agony. Terrified of looking but my eyes were drawn like magnets to breasts, once round, full and proud but now standing tall. Pointed like dunce’s caps agonisingly hanging by my swollen nipples, so red and sore.

  Releasing gel. There’s a surprise! More freezing white paste and U.V. light before nipples protested at the pin’s withdrawal. Moulds were carefully lifted from my breasts, which returned to normal, but hurt, oh how they hurt! Pins, needles, fire, when will it end?

  Straps on legs were loosened. At last movement - or should have been. Then the blood, cruel blood bent on revenge began to flow. Tried to move them, speed the flow but couldn’t. Rough hands parted and dangled them over the sides. Had to lift them, close them to protect pussy. Wouldn’t lift, couldn’t close so tried to move hands, needed to cover pussy and stop beady eyes leering. Despaired, with tingling legs and feet agonised martyrs to pussy’s pleasure while the perspiration flowed. Phew, need a shower.

  He climbed onto me and his hairs, like sandpaper, tormented my sensitive breasts, while hard flesh invaded pussy. I hated - pussy loved and drew his rod in deep. Kept eyes screwed shut and allowed pussy’s pleasure, all I could do. Justify hate. How? Through Madam. Hate Madam. Pussy loves Madam. Thankfully it was soon over but it was cold, unfeeling like his mind was elsewhere.

  “You may go when ready. There’s a pot of tea on the bench, if you’d like.” Spoken with his mind elsewhere.

  I lay, no choice; bound by numbed limbs racked with pain despite pussy tempting movement back into my ha
nds with gentle whispers. Used by one of Madam’s clients who never even spoke, only instructed. Even then his mind was elsewhere like I didn’t exist. Only my breasts did - and he called them tits. I hate the word. Utter, utter dejection, all that’s left.

  Dark, nobody about and the station closed, like my mind. Slept during the expensive taxi ride home.

  That’s it, another of Madam’s assignments completed, so now back to the office. Modelling. Huh! I’d like to see those so called supermodels go through what I did. What am I saying? Would I really? Like to watch another’s torture, I mean. Surely not. Rock and Lisa. No! Remember he said he’d seen the same look in both of us. NO. NO. NO! Life’s become too confusing already. Oh, journal, where do these thoughts come from?

  Not good to think. Push it to back of mind and hope it never comes back.

  Yesterday, an obnoxious mad scientist treated me like I wasn’t there. Tortured my breasts but ignored me - even as he screwed me. I simply did not exist excepting my breasts for his precious moulds. Madam’s humiliated before, like when I had to work the streets, but never like this. Hate Madam. I must escape her clutches and retrieve my other journal to be safe again. Normal again? But must I? Escape I mean, for despite the hatred or maybe even because of it, I need her - pussy needs her. I need her excitement, especially now Rock’s failed me. How can he have failed me, just when my hopes were so high. You won’t betray me like the other one, will you? I need you, journal, even more than Madam, even more than Rock. He can’t really be gone, can he?

  Sorry about that. Had to stop, not enough fingers. It’s Madam, always sets the fire blazing, despite myself.

  Forget Madam, the mad scientist and whatever he will he use the moulds for. Rock’s due in the office to collect his lorry from service and plan his next trip, so I must work out what to do.

  ***

  Monday 11th January

  Last Wednesday I called Lisa and told her to send Rock in to see me when he arrived. Told Charles but not Monica, Charles can do that. I will not involve the police - no matter what. Heart felt full of tears.

  “Rock’s here. Just parking up and he’ll be in.” Lisa breezed into the office, perky as her perfume with a glint in her eye.

  “You’re looking forward to this aren’t you? After all the help he’s given you, I must say I’m surprised.” Scotland. Picture frozen. The first real evidence? I felt like I was about to pass judgement, only the sentence was the rest of my life. Work and pleasure never mix, my golden rule, but how I yearned to settle this without losing Rock, to keep him at Mildmay Fabrics and for myself. If only you knew how heavy my heart was. How can one person cause so much anguish? If only the evidence wasn’t so conclusive there might be a way.

  “Yes, you bet. Rock versus Charles and Monica. I know who my money’s on.”

  “Oh?” I was totally taken aback. It was the exact opposite to expectation and I couldn’t help wondering what she was up to. “The evidence looks pretty damning, Lisa.”

  “I know.”

  “Monica, Charles. Mr Hudson will be here soon. Coffee?” Smug faces, new Christmas present tie, cheap scent. Don’t like staff like this. They should be helping, not revelling.

  “Hello, Rock. Come in and sit down.” He languidly sat, looked around like he couldn’t care less. “Good Christmas?”

  “Cut the crap and get on with it.”

  “I’m sorry?” Flabbergasted.

  “I’m due out again tomorrow, the weather’s shit and I’ve plenty to do. You haven’t assembled this merry throng to ask if I’ve had a good Christmas. Now, get on with it.”

  Charles and Monica with startled eyes wide. Lisa trying to suppress a giggle. So that’s the look he saw in our eyes. Me, speechless but must regain the initiative he’s wrenched away but do I really want to?

  “Charles has been doing the accounts for your trips. He’s not happy with certain aspects.”

  “So?”

  “We’d like some of the points he’s raised clarified.” I hoped desperately that I didn’t give the impression that I thought he was fiddling. Silence was his only response. I waited. Give him time, I thought, while watching the others fidget. Smug, look at them, except Lisa. Still nothing, just his impassive face and steely eyes daring each of us in turn. Felt the power of his gaze alright, so did Lisa, I could see that even if I didn’t like it. Silence, atmosphere becoming electric. Must do something before I loose it, fall under his spell like I’d love to, but not now. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  Please don’t make this any harder Rock, I’m on your side. The others are against you enough without you helping them. I hoped desperately that somehow my thoughts reached him.

  “We need answers, Rock.”

  “Ask some questions, then. I can’t give an answer until a question’s been asked.”

  Tension fraught. Only one at ease is Rock. My eyes blazed at Charles and Monica. Who’ll react first? You started it, now do something.

  “We’ll start with professionalism.” It was Monica who spoke first. Strange comment, what’s her angle?

  “What?” Even Rock seemed taken aback. “You get me in here to talk about professionalism?”

  “Unprofessionalism, to be more accurate.” That’s not something that comes readily to mind where he’s concerned. Pride, bloody-minded, yes, but certainly not unprofessional. I hope you’re ready for the backlash, Monica. Lisa’s eyes wide. Will she jump to his defence. Rock, well, he just glared.

  “I’ve been doing this job since before you started nursery school, young lady. I’ve been called some things, but never unprofessional. Especially by someone barely out of nappies.” No anger, just quiet authority and his gaze never left her, even as she slunk back. Be careful he’s going to bury you, Monica.

  “It’s all here.” That was a pretty poor attempt to be indignant. Expected better from her, I must admit, but it wasn’t me trapped by his eyes.

  “What is?” Eyes still locked. Rock’s annoyed. Doesn’t show but it feels. Charles is thinking of helping but not sure. Wimp. Lisa’s flushed with excitement, her heart thumping like mine? Papers rustle. Expenses sheet. Neat, detailed. What’s she getting at? Come on, Monica.

  “Here. Bribes. Fines. We are a professional company. We don’t break the law and certainly don’t use bribes.”

  “What’s she talking about, Rock?” I felt that Monica needed rescuing, but also didn’t like her allegations. His gaze never left her and I sensed that he was about to tear her to shreds. Best deflect, atmosphere’s too electric. Too easy for things to get out of hand. Must always keep an escape route. Rock got there first.

  “I don’t break the law either. Not unless it’s necessary. Bribes are a way of life.” He chose his words carefully, speaking slowly with a tone that positively dared contradiction.

  “Not for this company and here, ten speeding fines claimed for. Speeding’s against the law, isn’t it? I’m sure Lisa will confirm that too many offences could go against us when our operator’s licence comes due for renewal.” Monica jumped in, papers in hand. Victorious, he’s hanged himself with his own expenses.

  “Will it?” I shot the question at Lisa, anxious to spike Monica’s attack but also worried about the possible affect on Mildmay Fabrics.

  “Yes, but the authorities will use tachograph evidence, not receipts. I have no complaint with Rock’s tachos.” Pleased Lisa’s defending Rock but Monica’s tack is worrying.

  “Listen, young lady, you get done for speeding while you’re stationary, when you’re sleeping even. Policemen have wives, children, dozens of bloody children, grandparents to feed on salaries that don’t last a week. They make up their money with speeding fines. What would you do? Let the kids starve or rob the foreigner? Bribes. Customs men, same as policemen, every time you do a border there’s another piece of paper needs sta
mping. Feed his kids or go back to Dover to get a stamp on a non-existent piece of paper. Five quid bribe or two weeks and a grand on the job. We are not talking suburbia, we are talking people desperate to feed and clothe their families. More bribes. Give a couple of quid to a park keeper and you’re safe but try to save that couple of quid and next morning your wheels and load have gone, probably your life as well. Don’t you dare talk to me about bribes and fines when you know sod all about life yet, let alone how to go about my job. These countries exist on bribes. It’s their biggest industry.”

  “But you should get receipts for fines. I don’t see how we can pay for anything without a receipt.” Charles obviously felt the need to help, although his tremulous whisper proved his reluctance to step into the firing line.

  “Look. You get a tug. Copper says speeding despite the tacho-disc showing stationary. Copper wants fifty quid and nobody’s going anywhere until it’s resolved. Packet of ciggies and he forgets about receipt. Haggle and get away with a couple of quid. In his pocket not the government’s. He’s happy, I’m happy, you’ve saved a fortune. You’re the accountant - you sort the receipts. It’s costing you three grand a trip and you’re worried about a few quid. You want receipts you can bloody have them. You’ve got ten for two quid, next time it’ll be ten for fifty quid. You decide, the number of fines won’t change, only get bigger.” He shot me a glance that would have melted whole glaciers. It was the nearest I’d seen to him becoming animated, except when I’d cleaned his tin cans, but there was almost anger now. That’ll teach you. Charles looked like a gambler who’d played his best shot and lost. Lisa’s turn to look smug but Monica’s poise had returned. Why? What next?

  “I think we can deal with the receipt issue, don’t you, Charles?” I interjected.

  “What about the fuel receipts, especially this one? You’ve got cards, why use cash, or is it you can’t fiddle cards?” Don’t you ever learn, Monica? He’s done you once and he’s about to do it again, I suspect - hope. No, I don’t really hope he buries Monica, she’s good and I like her but it is so important that Rock wins this battle.