Fire raced through my nipple as the clothespin clamped down. I heard myself cry out at the unexpected pain, the sound jarringly loud. I clenched my eyes shut, panting, struggling to keep control; then, before I could lose my nerve, I brought the second clothespin up to my other nipple and clamped it quickly in place.
I cried out again, the scream muffled through clenched teeth, my hands curling into tight balls. Finally, the fire faded to a dull ache, and I forced my eyes open.
You are so beautiful when you're in pain. We need to get you undressed, though.
He does not know about the things you've written on your body. I bet it will turn him on to see what filthy things you have written all over yourself, don't you think?
My face flushed again with embarrassment. I fought with the sudden shame, the urge to turn away from the camera, and willed my fingers to find the top button of my blouse...
No. Stop. Not like that. Look in the box of toys. Take out the scissors. Cut off your blouse and your bra. Do not remove the clothespins.
My protest died on my lips, even as I reached into the toy box and found the scissors. The blouse was one of my favorites...
Snip! and the first button went flying
...and I hated to ruin it, yet...
Snip! a second button dropped to the floor
...something about this felt so viscerally wanton, slutty...
Snip! the third button falling away, the blouse parting, revealing my bra
...and I could feel, through the pain in my nipples and the embarrassment, my pussy twitching...
Snip! another button lost
...and I found myself staring at my image in the mirror, my eyes following every move of the scissors...
Snip! the last button gone, my blouse hanging open
...and I felt almost hypnotized. I watched myself cut the blouse to ribbons, scissoring away large chunks of the silky fabric, working from the bottom up, revealing the words I SWALLOW written across my stomach in thick black marker, until finally the blouse hung from my body in tatters.
Entranced, I watched myself run the cool, hard metal blade of the scissors over the soft skin of my stomach. I drew the point of the blade slowly up my body, raising shivers, shuddering at the sensation, and hooked the tip of the blades beneath the clasp of my bra, between my breasts.
Snip!
The bra parted, revealing my. I slipped one blade beneath the cup of my bra, dragging the tip over my breast lightly, slowly; then, three quick snips and scraps of bra and blouse joined the growing pile of fabric on the couch. The hard steel blade of the scissors caressed my breast as it did its work; I cut a large, ragged hole in the front of my blouse, then slipped the blade beneath the strap of the bra, and...
Snip!
...it fell, bringing the upper curve of my breast, bringing the word "COCK" in its crude block letters into view. A few more slices, and the bottom part of the bra was gone, exposing the rest of my breast and the word "SUCKER."
I leaned back against the cushions of the sofa, closed my eyes, and let the points of the scissors play over my breast, a sharp counterpoint to the ongoing dull ache of the clothespins. I ran the blade ever so lightly over my neck, bringing shivers and raising goosebumps, then dragged the hard steel lightly over my cheek. My lips parted, and I licked the blade with the tip of my tongue, then brought it slowly down the other side of my neck and slipped it beneath the collar of the tattered blouse.
Snip! Snip! Snip!
A piece of the blouse, collar and shoulder, fell away, revealing the other bra strap.
Snip!
The strap gave way to hang loosely from my shoulder. I slipped the scissors beneath what was left of the bra and cut steadily, making a tight circle around my nipple; the scraps of cloth fell to the couch, revealing the words COME SLUT in black marker, leaving only tiny fragments, clamped to my nipple by the clothespin, behind. I shrugged off the last remnants of the blouse, naked now from the waist up, the clothespins on my nipples holding small scraps that were all that was left of the clothes.
You are such a sexy slut. Now do your pants.
I reached down to my belt and unbuckled it, then pulled it off and dropped it beside the couch. Eyes closed, I dragged the tip of the scissors in a lazy spiral around my breast, and pressed slightly harder, feeling the point dig slightly into my silky skin. Another shudder, and I sighed. I spread my legs wide, and watched myself in the mirror as I dragged the tip of the scissors down, between my breasts, over my stomach, then further down still, catching the hem of my slacks between the blades, feeling the hard metal on the soft, sensitive skin of my mound. A few quick cuts, and I sliced the crotch out of my slacks, to show the white cotton of my panties, already dark and moist with my arousal.
A quick minutes' work with the scissors, and the slacks fell off me in ribbons, leaving only my panties, socks, and shoes. I drew my feet up onto the couch, spreading my legs more widely still, exposing my inner thighs and the words written on them to the camera. I imagined my audience reacting, imagined Robin and Ranbir watching, imagined them growing stiff as they read the words scrawled all over my body, coveting me, wanting to make those words true...
Two snips, and the panties were gone. I slipped off the socks and shoes, then slid my hand over my smooth, hairless mound and spread myself open, exposing myself for the camera, and caught my breath as I saw in the mirror the white wetness of my arousal dripping from inside me. I arched my back, feeling wanton and slutty, a being of pure sexual heat; I slid one finger deep inside myself, seeking the wetness, then withdrew it and raised it to my lips. I caressed my lips lightly with the wet fingertip, parting them and leaving a trail of dampness behind.
Flush with arousal, I picked up the scissors again, and dragged the sharp tip of the blades slowly down my breast, then pressed it against the clothespin clamping my nipple. I shuddered and hissed at the sensation, the pain in my already aching nipple; the sensation, electric, reverberated down my body to the dripping wetness between my legs. Then, achingly slowly, I traced the sharp point along the underside of my breast, across the smooth skin of my stomach and along the outlines of the words written there, and over the velvety, sensitive skin of my bald, shaven mound.
I reached between my legs with one hand and parted the lips of my vulva, then slipped the flat back of the blades between them. I whimpered at the feel of the cold, unyielding metal, eyes closed, and pressed the dull metal hard against my aching, screaming, sensitive clit.
The sensation was an explosion deep within me, pleasure and pain entwined, inseparable. I almost came immediately, back arching and legs shaking, and I dug my fingernails hard into my thighs, struggling against the climax. I felt the wetness pour out of me, onto the blade of the scissors; heard desperate mewling and whimpering sounds escaping my throat.
I pressed the blade harder against me, until pain won out over pleasure and I was able to force back the orgasm, cage it, keep it at bay. I opened my eyes, panting, and brought the scissors away. The blades were dripping with my juices. I raised it to my lips and ran my tongue lovingly, sensuously over the sharp steel, filling myself with the familiar taste of my arousal.
You are the sexiest slut imaginable. When I get home the day after tomorrow, I am going to do things to you you won't even believe. Put down the scissors. Take out a stick of butter. Unwrap it.
I did as I was bidden, setting the scissors down on the coffee table and picking up the box of butter. I withdrew a stick and pulled the wax paper wrapping off. "Now what?"
I think you know.
I looked blankly at the laptop, holding the slightly greasy stick of butter between my fingers. "Hmm?"
You figure it out.
"But I don't-"
Do what you think is most appropriate with it.
I flushed, and felt my face and ears burn scarlet. I knew, or suspected I knew, precisely what he intended for me to do, and yet...
And yet he hadn't actually told me to do it, and that made the shame come rushing over me all at once. He hadn't actually old me to do it; anything I did would be my own idea, and he would know it...
Do it. Show us what you think the best use for that butter is. Now.
I flushed a deeper crimson, suddenly reminded that the eyes watching me belonged to more than just Robin.
Right now.
I looked fixedly at the reflection in the mirror, shutting out the camera watching me from the top edge of the laptop. A part of me felt detached; that was the person doing this, the filthy slut who would pleasure herself with anything, not me... I watched as she slid the stick of butter over her body, between her breasts, watched as she opened herself up, watched as she pressed it between her legs...
The butter was cool, slightly slippery, and shaped awkwardly for penetration. I shivered at the coldness, the hard but yielding stick spreading me open, slipping into me surprisingly easily, the corners already beginning to round as I impaled myself on it.
And it felt good, despite the shape and the cold. I pushed, my fingers digging into the sides as I pressed it in deeply. I heard a moan; my voice, not the reflection, my pleasure as I violated my most intimate place with a stick of butter. Another moan as I began working it, using it like a soft and slick dildo, in long slow strokes. I could feel it warming, softening, my body pressing it into a more pleasing shape; after the rough, relentless poundings I'd given myself with the dildos, it felt soft and gentle, erotic, slippery in my clenching grasp.
Another moan. The woman in the reflection was nearing orgasm...and I felt it within me, building, growing as I thrust the butter faster. I looked over at the computer, expecting to see Robin instructing me to stop.
I cried out again, the scream muffled through clenched teeth, my hands curling into tight balls. Finally, the fire faded to a dull ache, and I forced my eyes open.
You are so beautiful when you're in pain. We need to get you undressed, though.
He does not know about the things you've written on your body. I bet it will turn him on to see what filthy things you have written all over yourself, don't you think?
My face flushed again with embarrassment. I fought with the sudden shame, the urge to turn away from the camera, and willed my fingers to find the top button of my blouse...
No. Stop. Not like that. Look in the box of toys. Take out the scissors. Cut off your blouse and your bra. Do not remove the clothespins.
My protest died on my lips, even as I reached into the toy box and found the scissors. The blouse was one of my favorites...
Snip! and the first button went flying
...and I hated to ruin it, yet...
Snip! a second button dropped to the floor
...something about this felt so viscerally wanton, slutty...
Snip! the third button falling away, the blouse parting, revealing my bra
...and I could feel, through the pain in my nipples and the embarrassment, my pussy twitching...
Snip! another button lost
...and I found myself staring at my image in the mirror, my eyes following every move of the scissors...
Snip! the last button gone, my blouse hanging open
...and I felt almost hypnotized. I watched myself cut the blouse to ribbons, scissoring away large chunks of the silky fabric, working from the bottom up, revealing the words I SWALLOW written across my stomach in thick black marker, until finally the blouse hung from my body in tatters.
Entranced, I watched myself run the cool, hard metal blade of the scissors over the soft skin of my stomach. I drew the point of the blade slowly up my body, raising shivers, shuddering at the sensation, and hooked the tip of the blades beneath the clasp of my bra, between my breasts.
Snip!
The bra parted, revealing my. I slipped one blade beneath the cup of my bra, dragging the tip over my breast lightly, slowly; then, three quick snips and scraps of bra and blouse joined the growing pile of fabric on the couch. The hard steel blade of the scissors caressed my breast as it did its work; I cut a large, ragged hole in the front of my blouse, then slipped the blade beneath the strap of the bra, and...
Snip!
...it fell, bringing the upper curve of my breast, bringing the word "COCK" in its crude block letters into view. A few more slices, and the bottom part of the bra was gone, exposing the rest of my breast and the word "SUCKER."
I leaned back against the cushions of the sofa, closed my eyes, and let the points of the scissors play over my breast, a sharp counterpoint to the ongoing dull ache of the clothespins. I ran the blade ever so lightly over my neck, bringing shivers and raising goosebumps, then dragged the hard steel lightly over my cheek. My lips parted, and I licked the blade with the tip of my tongue, then brought it slowly down the other side of my neck and slipped it beneath the collar of the tattered blouse.
Snip! Snip! Snip!
A piece of the blouse, collar and shoulder, fell away, revealing the other bra strap.
Snip!
The strap gave way to hang loosely from my shoulder. I slipped the scissors beneath what was left of the bra and cut steadily, making a tight circle around my nipple; the scraps of cloth fell to the couch, revealing the words COME SLUT in black marker, leaving only tiny fragments, clamped to my nipple by the clothespin, behind. I shrugged off the last remnants of the blouse, naked now from the waist up, the clothespins on my nipples holding small scraps that were all that was left of the clothes.
You are such a sexy slut. Now do your pants.
I reached down to my belt and unbuckled it, then pulled it off and dropped it beside the couch. Eyes closed, I dragged the tip of the scissors in a lazy spiral around my breast, and pressed slightly harder, feeling the point dig slightly into my silky skin. Another shudder, and I sighed. I spread my legs wide, and watched myself in the mirror as I dragged the tip of the scissors down, between my breasts, over my stomach, then further down still, catching the hem of my slacks between the blades, feeling the hard metal on the soft, sensitive skin of my mound. A few quick cuts, and I sliced the crotch out of my slacks, to show the white cotton of my panties, already dark and moist with my arousal.
A quick minutes' work with the scissors, and the slacks fell off me in ribbons, leaving only my panties, socks, and shoes. I drew my feet up onto the couch, spreading my legs more widely still, exposing my inner thighs and the words written on them to the camera. I imagined my audience reacting, imagined Robin and Ranbir watching, imagined them growing stiff as they read the words scrawled all over my body, coveting me, wanting to make those words true...
Two snips, and the panties were gone. I slipped off the socks and shoes, then slid my hand over my smooth, hairless mound and spread myself open, exposing myself for the camera, and caught my breath as I saw in the mirror the white wetness of my arousal dripping from inside me. I arched my back, feeling wanton and slutty, a being of pure sexual heat; I slid one finger deep inside myself, seeking the wetness, then withdrew it and raised it to my lips. I caressed my lips lightly with the wet fingertip, parting them and leaving a trail of dampness behind.
Flush with arousal, I picked up the scissors again, and dragged the sharp tip of the blades slowly down my breast, then pressed it against the clothespin clamping my nipple. I shuddered and hissed at the sensation, the pain in my already aching nipple; the sensation, electric, reverberated down my body to the dripping wetness between my legs. Then, achingly slowly, I traced the sharp point along the underside of my breast, across the smooth skin of my stomach and along the outlines of the words written there, and over the velvety, sensitive skin of my bald, shaven mound.
I reached between my legs with one hand and parted the lips of my vulva, then slipped the flat back of the blades between them. I whimpered at the feel of the cold, unyielding metal, eyes closed, and pressed the dull metal hard against my aching, screaming, sensitive clit.
The sensation was an explosion deep within me, pleasure and pain entwined, inseparable. I almost came immediately, back arching and legs shaking, and I dug my fingernails hard into my thighs, struggling against the climax. I felt the wetness pour out of me, onto the blade of the scissors; heard desperate mewling and whimpering sounds escaping my throat.
I pressed the blade harder against me, until pain won out over pleasure and I was able to force back the orgasm, cage it, keep it at bay. I opened my eyes, panting, and brought the scissors away. The blades were dripping with my juices. I raised it to my lips and ran my tongue lovingly, sensuously over the sharp steel, filling myself with the familiar taste of my arousal.
You are the sexiest slut imaginable. When I get home the day after tomorrow, I am going to do things to you you won't even believe. Put down the scissors. Take out a stick of butter. Unwrap it.
I did as I was bidden, setting the scissors down on the coffee table and picking up the box of butter. I withdrew a stick and pulled the wax paper wrapping off. "Now what?"
I think you know.
I looked blankly at the laptop, holding the slightly greasy stick of butter between my fingers. "Hmm?"
You figure it out.
"But I don't-"
Do what you think is most appropriate with it.
I flushed, and felt my face and ears burn scarlet. I knew, or suspected I knew, precisely what he intended for me to do, and yet...
And yet he hadn't actually told me to do it, and that made the shame come rushing over me all at once. He hadn't actually old me to do it; anything I did would be my own idea, and he would know it...
Do it. Show us what you think the best use for that butter is. Now.
I flushed a deeper crimson, suddenly reminded that the eyes watching me belonged to more than just Robin.
Right now.
I looked fixedly at the reflection in the mirror, shutting out the camera watching me from the top edge of the laptop. A part of me felt detached; that was the person doing this, the filthy slut who would pleasure herself with anything, not me... I watched as she slid the stick of butter over her body, between her breasts, watched as she opened herself up, watched as she pressed it between her legs...
The butter was cool, slightly slippery, and shaped awkwardly for penetration. I shivered at the coldness, the hard but yielding stick spreading me open, slipping into me surprisingly easily, the corners already beginning to round as I impaled myself on it.
And it felt good, despite the shape and the cold. I pushed, my fingers digging into the sides as I pressed it in deeply. I heard a moan; my voice, not the reflection, my pleasure as I violated my most intimate place with a stick of butter. Another moan as I began working it, using it like a soft and slick dildo, in long slow strokes. I could feel it warming, softening, my body pressing it into a more pleasing shape; after the rough, relentless poundings I'd given myself with the dildos, it felt soft and gentle, erotic, slippery in my clenching grasp.
Another moan. The woman in the reflection was nearing orgasm...and I felt it within me, building, growing as I thrust the butter faster. I looked over at the computer, expecting to see Robin instructing me to stop.