Brutal Breast Torture

 I was highly disappointed with Joan.  And she knew it. 
Joan comes to me to fulfill her submissive tendencies.  I met Joan at 
work, where she seemed to sense that I had the dominant nature that 
she desired. Although she is married, she has never asked that I 
make any attempts to hide the sexual damage that I do to her.  Her 
husband is a pathetic wimp who won't raise a hand against her, and 
never questions the various marks and bruises that she 
"mysteriously" obtains.  I have attained immense pleasure from 
sending her home with embarrassing welts and swellings, knowing 
that her husband will ignore them, but wonder about what activities 
could lead to such injuries to her precious body. 

Most of the men at the office are incredibly attracted to Joan, and 
with good reason. At 27, she still conveys an impressive glamour.  
She dresses impeccably, with her long, thick brown hair proudly 
worn down at all times.  Her face is curiously flat, and her lips form 
an appealing, pouting frown.  Her manner of dress downplays the size 
of her breasts, but cannot hide their fullness.  She has highly arched 
eyebrows, and a pert but relatively large nose.  Although only 5 ft, 2 
inches tall, her legs give an illusion of incredible length and grace. 
Many have noticed the creamy whiteness of her skin, and the slightly 
full look of the flesh on her arms.  She frustrates the men by 
walking very quickly, so that most never get the opportunity to drink 
in her full beauty. 
We maintain a very professional relationship at the office, although 
I occasionally like to put her in her place.   Usually, she submits to 
my will, but on this occasion, she displayed unacceptable resistance.  
My demands were modest enough:  I merely wished to slap her small 
ass once as her boss approached us from several feet down the hall. 
Evidently, she didn't want to be seen undergoing this by her superior, 
since he would consider her a slut for not protesting such a clearly 
insulting and illegal assault on her treasured body. 
When she refused, I left her immediately, returning to my office 
fuming.  An hour later, Joan entered my office whispering apologies 
and explanations. "Don't bother," I said coldly.  "Tonight you are to 
come to my house and make amends." 
"Anything," she hissed quietly. 
"No safe words tonight."  I told her.  "You come and take your 
punishment or you'll never receive my administrations again.  I don't 
need you.  There are thousands of women who will gladly submit to 
my will.  When will you ever find a man like me who will give you 
what you deserve?   Not for a long while.  How long can you live with 
the weak tenderness of that pussy you married without crying out 
for the pain you crave?  And how will he look at you then?  He's a 
good provider, but is he willing to subject you to what you need?  
No." Joan looked down sheepishly.  "I'll be there at 7:00," she said. 
"Make it 6:00," I demanded.  We need to be finished before the sun 
goes down." 
"Why?" she asked.  But she knew I wouldn't say. 
Joan was clearly repentant, since she arrived at 5:30.  I made her 
wait until the appointed time, preparing my equipment, and forcing 
her to anticipate the torment that awaited her.  She knew it would 
be the worst of our sessions.  I occasionally glanced at her through 
the one-way mirror, and I could see that she was highly aroused at 
the unknowable ordeal that lay ahead. 
Finally, I opened the door and led her into what was to be Hell for 
the afternoon. 
She seemed taken aback by the sparse furnishings of the "dungeon."  
The only furniture in the room was an ordinary coffee table.  I held a 
length of coarse rope, and I had set up a video camera to record the 
event.  There was also a cardboard box, but I didn't care to reveal its 
contents to Joan yet. 
Joan was still wearing the white silk blouse and blue skirt she had 
worn to work, as I had insisted.  I put my hands upon the collars, and 
ripped the blouse down her shoulders.  She winced, knowing she 
would have nothing else to wear home (she had long ago learned not 
to bring extra clothes with her in her car; she knew I would follow 
her home and be sure that she walked back into her house wearing 
whatever I wished. And of course I always insisted that she call her 
husband before she went home, with me listening on the extension, 
so that he would be awake to see her state when she returned to 
him). Next, I tucked my fingers under the beltline of her skirt and 
yanked with all my might.  Joan's lovely legs buckled under her and 
she fell to the floor, as her $80 skirt ripped off of her.  I held the 
remnants of the skirt in my hand, and looked at her lying on the 
carpet.  A sturdy bra held her soft breasts in place, and pantyhose 
covered her pale legs.  I kicked her in the ribs hard, and she let out a 
squeal. 
I didn't have to tell her to remove the panty hose.  She quickly doffed 
them, revealing her gorgeous legs.   Next she pulled down her 
panties, and tossed them away, knowing she would never see those 
again.  Finally, she released the hooks of her bra, and her 
magnificent tits fell into view. 
>From this point, she obeyed my commands without hesitation.  I 
ordered Joan to sit under the coffee table.  The table was the perfect 
height upon which to rest her tits.  I took the rope and tied it tightly 
above her knees, spreading her legs to fasten them to the opposite 
legs of the table.   I wound the rope about her arms, and tied them to 
the same table legs that secured her own legs, so that she was 
fastened to the table, unable to move, with her lovely boobs lying 
before her on the table top. 
Now I revealed my plan to her.  "I'm going to punish your left tit 
tonight. If all goes well, it will be twice as big as it was before!" 
Joan's eyes widened.  She was ungagged, as I wanted to her the 
inevitable screams of pain she would utter this afternoon. 
I undid my leather belt, and held it up threateningly.  I feasted on the 
fear in her eyes, and then let loose with a savage whip upon her left 
tit, which lay immobile, resting on the coffee table. 
She screamed, as expected and desired, as the belt lashed across the 
top of her breast.  Immediately, a violent red welt arose across that 
tender flesh.  I quickly followed with three more lashings against 
her lovely boob. 
I stopped to admire my handiwork.  The last stroke had lacerated the 
skin, and a raw strip appeared, oozing streaks of blood. 
"I hope you enjoyed that," I said.  Joan looked up at me with a 
mixture of loathing and desire.  She didn't protest. 
Then I opened the cardboard box.  From it, I retrieved an ordinary 
thumbtack. I brandished it before Joan.   She was accustomed to 
piercings from delicately slender hypodermic needles, but never 
anything like this.  She knew what she was in for, though. I held her 
nipple against the table and poised the tack above it.  I pressed the 
rather blunt point against the tender pink protuberance until she felt 
the pain.  Then, without warning, I pressed down against the head of 
the tack, forcing it through Joan's nipple into the tabletop.  Joan 
screamed, and began to cry from the pain. 
I'm strong, but this was a hardwood table, and the tack had simply 
pierced the nipple, not going into the table.  That wasn't good enough 
for me, so I returned to the cardboard box, returning with a 
carpenter's hammer.  Before she realized it, I slammed her pierced 
nipple with the metal hammerhead.  Blood spurted from her abused 
nipple as the tack was driven deeply into the wood. 
Her nipple turned purple and began to swell, but the punishment 
didn't satisfy me.  From the  box I took a rubber-headed mallet, used 
to hammer dents out of automobiles.  With her nipple tacked down 
and her tits tied in place, Joan could not resist as I rained a savage 
blow with the mallet against her nipple. Almost instantaneously,  
her ravaged nippled puffed up to the size of a marshmallow, purple 
and swollen.  I had knocked the tack free from the table, although it 
remained impaled in her damaged bud. In a  rage, I now began to 
hammer at the thick flesh of her bountiful tit, hitting it hard all 
over.  Black and blue bruises arose quickly as I pounded at the fatty 
mass of Joan's left tit.  Swelling occurred before my eyes, and after 
about 40 blows, her tit was an engorged mound of bruised purple 
flesh. 
In a frenzy, now, I slapped her face savagely, turning her left cheek a 
bright crimson.  Unable to contain myself, I slammed a fist against 
the left side of her face, quickly raising a swollen black eye. 
I sat back now and drank in the scene.  Joan's lovely face was marred 
with a huge bruise, and her left tit was swollen horrendously.  Now I 
was satisfied. But of course, I wanted her to display her punishment, 
so I released her, and handed her a bikini left behind by a previous 
girlfriend.  Without protest, she donned the skimpy bathing suit.   
Her hideously punished left tit swelled enormously from the tight 
confines of the bikini top, revealing her punishment to any who 
would observe.  And I knew no man would fail to observe such a 
beautiful girl as we proceeded to the beach. I must admit, Joan made 
amends for her offense, shamelessly strolling the sand with me, 
looking men right in the eye as they observed, with great shock, the 
tremendously swollen, black and blue tit amassing painfully about 
the tight white bikini top that barely held her abuse breast in place.  
She knew I'd forgiven her when I saw her smile at a shocked 
observer and grab her painful titty between her own two hands and 
squeeze viciously. 
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