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Nipple Torture
by Anonymous Author (no address provided)

***

A young woman is so driven by sexual desire that she is 
forced to torture herself by sticking pins through her 
nipples to try to diminish her sexual cravings. This is 
a self confession and a very true story. (F-solo, mast, 
s/m)

***

I am an attractive 29 year old professional woman with a 
reasonably good income. I live in New York City in a 
nice apartment near Washington Square. About four years 
ago I started having an insatiable craving for sex. 
That's a pretty dramatic way to start this little story 
but I might as well get right to the point. 

I have become obsessed with getting orgasmic relief. It 
seems that I can't go for more than a few hours without 
making myself cum or getting some male acquaintance to 
fuck me. 

I live with a persistent fullness and throbbing in my 
genitals. It has been this way most of my life. I 
thought that I was just a horny teen girl and it would 
pass when I became mature. But it didn't. It was always 
a joke between my former husband and I. When I started 
dating him I never needed a long foreplay session before 
making love. I was ready at a moment's notice. 

We joked that I could go from 0 to 60 in one second 
flat. I was not satisfied after having an orgasm. I 
could never get enough sex. The throbbing would begin a 
short time after lovemaking and build up once again to 
an unbearable level. 

Even when he and I had regular sex I still had the need 
to masturbate at least once a day, sometimes several 
times a day. This was not a desire for pleasure but a 
very large need. I had to masturbate frequently to be 
able to concentrate on my studies and lead what I 
assumed was a normal life.

As I aged my need for climaxes seemed to increase. By 
the time I finished college I was masturbating four, 
five, sometimes six times a day. There was no emotional 
gratification in these climaxes. They were just a 
physical necessity. I ran through the full muscle 
twitching, cunt filling, delightful agony of a climax 
but there was an empty feeling in my heart and my head.

My craving for climaxes cost me my marriage when my 
husband came home early and found me in bed with a man. 
He was our Puerto Rican doorman and he was short enough 
to fuck me and suck my tit at the same time. I was in 
the middle of a screaming orgasm and didn't even realize 
that my husband was in the room. 

He watched for a while, looked at me thrashing on the 
bed, then he turned and started packing his belongings. 
I tried to explain that I was being driven by an 
addiction but he turned a deaf ear. My only 
communication with him after that was through his 
lawyer.

I talked to several psychotherapists over the last two 
years. It appears that I am not a nymphomaniac in that I 
am not compelled to copulate with a variety of men to 
get assurance of my desirability. Rather I appear to 
have a case of PSAS, persistent sexual arousal syndrome. 
Some women with this condition have an almost constant 
need for sexual stimulation suffering up to 300 orgasms 
a day. 

It is not as erotic as you may think. It becomes almost 
impossible to get anything done. Tight clothes, car 
rides, casual touches trigger off an immediate need for 
sexual gratification. Women with a severe case of PSAS 
are held prisoner by their own genitals. I've heard that 
some women with PSAS have even contemplated committing 
suicide.

In my case my symptoms start with a feeling in my pubic 
region. Almost like an itch that no amount of scratching 
will relieve. It becomes increasingly intense, spreading 
throughout my body. My breasts become engorged and my 
nipples erect and become extremely sensitive. I can't 
function until I get relief. An orgasm is the only thing 
that helps.

But it is very difficult trying to lead a normal life 
when you have to give yourself six or more orgasms a 
day. Several years ago I only had to do it four times a 
day and I could handle that. I would rise, eat breakfast 
while still in my robe, and just before I dressed to go 
to work, I would suck my tits and finger fuck myself to 
a climax. That would hold me until the lunch break.

At lunch time I would excuse myself, lock myself in a 
stall in the woman's lavatory, and finger my cunt until 
I came again. I was so unemotional about masturbating 
that I could eat a sandwich with one hand while plunging 
the fingers of the other into my wet cunt. I even joked 
to myself that I was taking a "funch" break. 

About mid afternoon I would again head for the restroom 
and repeat the process. From then on it was a struggle 
to contain myself until I could get back to my 
apartment, plop myself in front of the TV, and watch 
stupid sitcoms with a vibrator buzzing away in my cunt, 
while I fingered my nipples until I climaxed.

That was fine when I only had to "do" myself four times 
a day. But I just couldn't fit more climaxes into my 
work schedule. For a while I took to haunting singles 
bars. I would sit at the bar and nurse a drink until 
some man took pity on me and offered to buy me a round. 
Invariably a proposition followed. I was very compliant. 
I would spread my legs for anyone as long as he looked 
reasonably clean and non threatening. My favorite 
hangouts were the student bars near the university. 

College students have the stamina to go a couple of 
rounds with a sex starved "older" woman. They caressed 
my legs, sucked my cunt, nibbled my nipples, and fucked 
me until I couldn't stand. But then they had to go back 
to the dorm and attend classes.

My psychotherapist suggested aversive therapy. Basically 
the idea was for me to excite myself sexually and then 
trigger off an unpleasant stimulus. Something that hurt. 
After a while I would begin to associate sex with pain. 
In the lab she said they flashed pictures of an 
attractive person on a screen and paired it with an 
electric shock. I would have to find an equally 
unpleasant stimulus to give to myself when I started to 
masturbate. But what?

I made a detailed inventory of the things I did to my 
body when I satisfied myself. The first thing I usually 
did was play with my breasts. My boobs are large. Big 
enough for me to suck my own nipples. I enjoy doing it 
and it starts my erotic motor. I can get enough breast 
flesh in my mouth to lightly chew the nipple and areola. 
My nipples are sensitive and I enjoy playing with them. 
I would probably do it even if it weren't a precursor to 
giving myself a climax. 

When I get hot enough I finger my labia and clitoris, 
gently at first, then harder and faster until my moving 
hand becomes a blur. If I don't cum right away I'll 
insert the fingers of my other hand into my vagina and 
finger fuck myself to a climax. 

But the critical thing is my breasts. If I can 
discourage myself from touching them I might have a 
chance of aborting the entire masturbation sequence. 
Perhaps if I associated touching my breasts with pain I 
could condition myself, sort of like Pavlov's dog. What 
I feared worst was mutilating my body. I needed a way of 
causing pain to my titties without actually damaging 
them. How about if I used my breasts as a pincushion? 

I know that people stick pins in themselves all the 
time. It hurts but it doesn't seem to leave any lasting 
effects. So when I felt the urge to masturbate I would 
try sticking pins through my turgid nipples in the hope 
that the pain would suppress my arousal. 

After a shower I sat on the stool in front of the 
bathroom mirror so that I could see what I intended to 
do from all angles. I rolled my nipples and watched them 
get stiff. Ever conscious of sanitation, I doused a 
sharp pin and my nipples in alcohol. When everything was 
ready I grasped the pin and put the point against the 
nipple intending to stick it in. But I couldn't do it. 

I knew it would hurt and I didn't have the guts. My 
nipple had gotten soft and the point slithered across 
the surface. Still I was determined. If my body was that 
afraid of pain, nipple torture might abort my desire to 
pleasure myself. What to do? 

Perhaps if my nipple was firmer, I could stick the pin 
in. Ice, that's it. My nipples got stiff in the cold. I 
could make one cold with an ice cube. After it got hard 
I could put a little tourniquet around the nipple that 
could keep it stiff long enough to stick a pin in it. I 
must confess that I got so caught up in the mechanics of 
the problem that I almost forgot that I was preparing to 
torture myself. 

I took an ice cube from the fridge and rubbed it over 
the end of my breast. The cold made the nipple firm but 
the moment it warmed it softened up. I stiffened the 
nipple with the ice cube again, then before it had a 
chance to get soft, I wrapped half a rubber band around 
the nipple two times, stretching it as I encircled the 
fleshy base, then tying it off. I did the same to the 
other nipple.

The contracting rubber bands squeezed the nipples and 
kept them hard and stiff even after they warmed. The 
nipples bulged out as big as I had ever seen them, each 
the size of a large grape. They begged to be played 
with, even sucked, but that was not my intention today.

Still, the bondage made them feel so good and they 
looked so inviting that I had to fondle them for a 
little while. Binding the nipples made them even more 
sensitive. I raised them to my mouth and sucked the 
hardened, swollen teats, biting and chewing the 
sensitive ends. The texture of the bulging flesh was 
resilient and my slight bites sent little sharp erotic 
twinges throughout my body. 

I must admit that I got caught up in playing with my 
beautiful tits. My boobies looked so good and my nipples 
were so erotically sensitive that they begged me to 
snack on them, sucking and biting while I squirmed in 
ecstasy.

This wasn't what I intended at all. I intended to hurt 
myself not pleasure myself. I realize now that I was 
still afraid and was just putting off the inevitable 
pain that I would feel. If that's how my body reacted to 
thoughts of torture my plan might work after all.

I had to do it. No putting it off any more. I moved a 
low stool right up to the edge of the bathroom counter. 
Leaning forward I rested both breasts on the edge near 
the sink. I was just being practical. If I bled I wanted 
the blood to run into the drain, not on the white rug on 
the bathroom floor. 

The bright lights and the sight of my full breasts with 
their bound, reddened and swollen nipples resting on the 
white formica counter top made me feel as if I was in an 
operating room or a medical laboratory. I tried to make 
believe that they were no longer my breasts. I wasn't 
was doing it to myself but to a lab specimen. Just like 
I did in biology class in college.

I gathered my courage put the point of the pin on the 
base of a nipple while I held it in position. The pin 
indented the skin. Then I pushed. The pin penetrated 
into the flesh with a little pop. I watched myself do it 
with a mixture of horror and fascination. It hurt when 
the pin pierced the skin but not as much as I feared. I 
pushed the point entirely through the nipple. I tried to 
make myself believe that It was like sticking a skewer 
through a hot dog. 

Once the pin had penetrated the skin it moved through 
the nipple flesh easily. I watched it bulge out the skin 
and come out the other side. That hurt. While I still 
had the courage, I did the same to the other nipple. I 
couldn't believe that I was actually sticking pins into 
myself, into my sensitive nipples, but I would do almost 
anything to get control of my desires. 

I took off the rubber band tourniquets and looked at my 
tortured boobies in the mirror. The nipples were blood 
red and each had a long pin sticking though it. I was my 
own S&M porn model. But instead of getting repelled by 
the scene, I was strangely excited. This wasn't working 
the way I expected. I was getting desperate. 

I needed to torture my tits so much that it would wipe 
away any thought of masturbation. I saw a long hat pin 
on the counter, raised my full breast with one hand, and 
with a single stroke shoved the pit entirely through the 
meat of the tit. I had skewered myself like a 
Thanksgiving turkey.

I simply couldn't believe what I had done. The pain 
simply excited me. It made my need for another orgasm 
even more intense. I didn't feel as if I was punishing 
my body but merely arousing it in a different way. It 
hurt more as I pulled the pins out of my nipples than 
when I put them in. One pin came out without incident 
but a bit of blood spurted out when I pulled the other. 
The hat pin took a little more effort. 

I raised the bloody breast to my mouth and sucked the 
nipple clean. I saw that in a vampire movie once. The 
blood simply tasted salty but seemed to have no effect. 
I didn't become a vampire. I could still see my image in 
the mirror.

I only did the pin through the nipple trick once for a 
couple of reasons. First, because it simply didn't work 
the way I wanted and second, because I cringed at the 
thought of mutilating myself. 

Overall, I discovered that while I couldn't turn off my 
insatiable craving for sex I learned to exercise some 
control, at least when my arousal was at a moderate 
state. But I still need some help in coping with my PSAS 
urges. So if you are in a bar in New York, near NYU, and 
you see an attractive 30ish lady seated by herself 
nursing a drink, it is probably me. 

Come over and introduce yourself. You will not be 
disappointed.

END

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
any way, shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any 
of the scenarios in this story should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 81