A Bed of Nails

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She followed her Sir into the room. She was wearing a brocade corset, long skirt, and high heels. She was hobbled and walked in small steps giving her pause to ensure she did not fall at any moment.

He introduced her to the Mistress and then he sat in an easy chair to watch. She knew he had high expectations of her and she did not want to let him down, however, she had no idea what was to happen and this increased her nervousness at disappointing him. His displeasure was not to be enjoyed; he was cruel when he thought she had not been all she could be in her pursuit of giving him pleasure.

She stood trembling in front of this beautiful Mistress. The Mistress also wore a tight corset, black and white with lines that brought the eye line directly into her cunt. She wore skin coloured rubber stockings, suspender belt and to compliment her long legs, six inch stiletto heels with steel tips.

The Mistress watched her face for a few seconds, it felt like hours. She wanted to move her eyes away, embarrassed at being examined so intently, but she did not. The Mistress pushed one of her hands down the brocade corset and sunk her fingers into the slave’s breast. She dug deeper and deeper into the flesh, watching how the slave tried to control her breathing through the intense pain, tried not to cry out or flinch away as the pain became white hot, piercing through her breast to her stomach and cunt.

The Mistress dove into the other breast and dragged both of them up and out of the corset. Deep red indentations which were already starting to bruise could be seen and pricks of blood from sharp rize escort nails glowed on her pale, white skin.

She knelt, as directed, in front of the table. The Mistress brought out two small pieces of wood about six inches across and placed them on the edge of the table. Each piece of wood had rows of six inch nails protruding upwards, tips sharp and glinting, and telling tales of pain yet to come.

The Mistress took a breast in each hand and carefully placed each of them on a bed of nails. Each breast lay easily atop of the nails, there was a slight pricking sensation but it was bearable and not too unpleasant. The Mistress stroked down each breast with her hand. Her fingers grazing over the nipples which became more and more erect with each passing of the hand.

“And now we begin.”

The voice of her Sir jarred the silence and brought the slave back into sharp knowledge that nothing yet had happened and already her thighs were soaking wet.

The Mistress picked up a crop and began lightly tapping it on the slaves left breast.

“Tap, Tap, Tap, Tap.”

The rhythm was quick, fast and did not leave time to become accustomed to the sensation before it landed again and again. With each tap the nails on the underside of the breast dug in slightly deeper, causing the slave to close her eyes in order to process the differing pain sensations. The Mistress moved to the right breast and started again

“Tap, Tap, Tap, Tap.”

A small whisper, barely a whimper issued from the slave’s mouth which was dry from anticipation, fear, and pain.

“Oh, come now bostnews.com Girl, I have barely started. I thought you wanted to please you Sir; not show him to be a poor trainer.”

The slave bit her lip and remained with her eyes closed, shame at letting her Sir down, washing through her.

The tapping stopped and blood began rushing in her breasts, she knew without opening her eyes that red marks from the end of the crop would have made patterns in red all over both breasts.

A few seconds past, she was drifting; she could here the low murmur of voices but could no longer make out the words.


The pain radiated through and around both her breasts instantly. Her eyes flew open, shock and fear etched on her face.

“This is not the time for sub space, I want you here, living, and breathing every element the Mistress wishes to give you. DO NOT vanish in your own head again. Do you understand me?”

His voice was stern, flat, cold and she immediately nodded saying Yes Sir as she did so.

The Mistress picked up the cane again; it was a Masters cane; fat, rounded and heavy. Again it landed heavily across both breasts, jarring the underside into the nails. She felt wetness; was it sweat with fear or blood. She did not know, regardless of the pain she was ashamed, sad and upset she had made him upset with her.

She kept her head back, away from the swishing cane and eyes open. Her hands were glued to the sides of the table with sweat. She pushed her palms down and gripped tightly. Her knuckles were white with the effort of remaining silent, absorbing every element of pain as the cane landed again and again. Six times in total across both breasts. She did not dare to look; the sensations confused her mind red hot sharp needle like pain underside her breasts and heavy dark thudding pain crashing down on top of them. The sharpness flooding into skin and screaming in her brain a second after the cane landed, a sob broke free of her lips and she worked to stifle others, afraid that once she started she would never stop.

Whimpers were very low in her throat and she felt she would not be able to take much more without moving away, screaming, or crying. As she thought the word “crying” silent tears began to pour down her face, unstopping, flooding down her neck and bathing the bruises made by the cane.

The Mistress bent low clamped her fingers around each nipple and pulled upwards. The slave rose, the boards of nails stuck briefly to the underside of her breasts before falling to the floor.

“Show Him.”

The slave crawled to her Sir, and presented her breasts to him. He looked at the swelling purple marks from the cane, lifted them and looked at the droplets of blood from the nails, moved his hands over them and finally looked her in the face.

“Bring me the brush.”

She crawled over to the metal wire brush and returned to him. Slowly and deliberately he dragged the brush down her breasts, over the swelling and underneath, where just a few minutes before nails had been embedded. He pulled each breast outwards by the nipple, stretching it to give a smooth line to draw the brush downwards.

She bit her lips and remained motionless, the pain intensifying each time it touched a tender area.

Finally he stopped.

“You are wet,” He announced, “And we still have much to explore.”

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