Another little masterpiece!Please! Not my breasts!
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“Please Master! Not my breasts!”
Lisa’s Master was a kind man. His four slaves liked him, and he was gentle and kind to them. He was also strict, and rules where there to be obeyed, without exception.
“I tried, Master, I tried really hard, but he is so long, and so thick. It just would not go all the way in. Please, Master. I really tried!”
Her eyes flicked down, to the evil singletail whip in his hand. She couldn’t take it! She would die!
“What is the penalty for an unsatisfactory blowjob?” His voice was soft, gentle, implacable.
She knew the rules by heart. “Thirty lashes with an implement to be selected by the Master, delivered on the part of the body nominated by the Master.” She almost sobbed. “Please Master. Please. Not my breasts, not with the singletail. They are so small. They’ll be destroyed.” She had tried so hard, but she just couldn’t get her lips to be buried in his pubic hair, as the rules required. He was so big! Nine inches, perhaps more, and so thick!
She twisted, trying to take the strain off her shoulders, her toes barely touching the ground, her body taught as a bow, her little breasts thrust out. Her Master shook out the whip, making a frightening little hiss. “Do you have something to say to me, Lisa?”
Lisa took a deep, sobbing breath. “Master, I have been a bad slave. Please give me the punishment I deserve.” He braced himself, then the whip hissed, the thin leather lash striking herd, unerringly, exactly where she had expected it to strike. Like a snake, it sliced across both nipples, the tip whistling around to flick at even greater speed and force against the side of her left breast. “Oh my God!” She screamed, then remembered herself. “One! Master! Thank you for punishing this worthless slave, Master!” Her master moved to her left side, she steeled herself for the next lash. One of the disadvantages of having an ambidextrous Master. “Please, Master. Punish me as I deserve.” She whispered.
His wrist flicked, the lash flashed out, striking her breasts just above the nipples. God! He was so damned accurate! Again, the searing streak of pain. She screamed! Her three fellow slaves watched. Punishment was not a common occurrence; he was a kind master. Rita, the petite redhead, had one hand stuffed into her mouth, the other covering her own little breasts, as if they were the target. Her green eyes were wide and filled with tears. The giant black man, their visitor, watched, a concerned look on his face. He was the reason she was being punished. He hadn’t meant to complain, merely mentioned, in passing, that she had not been able to take all of him. The other two slaves watched, impassively.
“Two!” She screamed. “Thank you, Master! Please…oh God…please punish me as I deserve! Please, Master, be gentle. It hurts so much!”
Stroke after stroke, the leather lash bit into tender breasts. Lisa danced. She twisted. She cried. She sobbed. She begged. Yet after each agonising stroke, she counted, thanked her Master, and begged him to punish her.
“Twenty!” She gasped.
He put down the whip. “Jutta! I need a drink. Highland Park!” The tall, athletic Swedish slave hurried off to comply. The guest, Mustafa, was comforting a sobbing Rita, her head buried against his chest. He, and she, were both very aware of his erection, pushing against her belly.
Lisa hung from the ropes binding her wrists, sobbing and moaning. Her whole universe consisted of pain. “It hurts badly, doesn’t it, my little one?” She screamed as he, very gently, touched her nipple with a fingertip. Even his breath on her breasts hurt. “We are almost done. Only ten left to go. You can take another ten, can’t you?” She sobbed quietly for a few seconds. “Yes, Master. I failed. I deserve to be punished.” He nodded. “You know what you have to do as soon as we are done?” She nodded. She would have to go to the guest and beg to finish what she had started. This time she would take all of him, no matter what! The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.
Her Master took a sip of the fine whiskey. He offered her the glass. “Have some, it will help.” She coughed and spluttered as the neat spirit bit into her throat, raw from screaming. “You will sleep with me tonight.” She nodded, numbly. Being allowed to spend a whole night in the Master’s bed was an honour, but like all such things, there was a price to pay. The Master had chosen the two of them, herself, a ballerina, and Rita, a gymnast, for their petite, boyish figures, and he used them as if they were boys. She would be face down in his bed, her tortured breasts pressed against the silk sheets, as he buggered her. “Thank you, Master. Please, may I have the rest of my punishment?”
Ten more times the merciless lash sliced into tender breasts! Ten more times she screamed! Then it was over.
He released her hands, caught her as she collapsed. Unable to stand, she crawled over to the guest. “May I, sir? May I serve you as you deserve?”
Rita shuddered as she saw, for the first time, the size of him. It was her duty to entertain him that night, and she knew what lay in store for her. Lisa stretched her lips, ensuring no tooth touched the sacred organ. Try as she might, she could not get her lips to touch his pubic hair, trimmed short as it was. She was panicking, choking! A firm, gentle hand pushed the back of her head, the last inch entered her throat, she felt the coarse hair on her lips, then swallowed furiously as he ejaculated.
Mustafa smiled at Rita. “Sometimes a girl just needs a little helping hand.”