CRIPPLE NIPPLE

She gave me a Grand Tour of submission. Some foot worship, some doggy training, a couple of well-earned slaps to the face, a bit of whipping to warm up the skin (for the horrors that would soon follow) and some CBT to tame the beast and his great balls of fire. Well … in a manner of speaking. The pain was mild and I honestly began to believe I had special powers of some sorts (such a rookie mistake). Then She pinched my nipples with Her long, razor-sharp nails. My body twitched violently.
Aha, She grinned, found your weak spot.
And that was the start of a painful romance between my nipples on the one hand, and clamps on the other. Now, nipple clamps are not that bad during the first twenty minutes or so. You could do a summersault, if you wanted to. I wouldn’t recommend it, but you could. But then, after a while, pain sets in. The clamps start chewing through your flesh like piranha’s on the loose. The clamps restrict the blood flow and pain ripples through your body like a shockwave.¬†But that’s nothing compared to removing these man-eating things. I fear that moment more than anything. The blood rushes back into your nipples, like barbaric herds with a silence to kill. It’s an explosion of pain, there’s no better way to describe it. The more ruthless Ladies would then grab the dying nipples and squeeze them like grapes. Loved it, hated it, feared it, but most of all: felt it.

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