Free Madeleine by Stephen Rawlings Page B

seat, and that one, at least, would hang over the edge, keeping up the tension on the cruel claws in her labia.
    He spooned chocolate mouse into her mouth, and onto her face as she flinched from the aching twinges in her flesh. When she was done, and her make up augmented by streaks of darkest Africa, he ordered cognac and a cigar, and a cherry brandy for her.
    “And here’s something to grip your cherries with,” he added, passing over the pouch once more, “make sure they don’t slip.”
    The pain of the clips, and the humiliation of exposing herself, soiled and limping once again, to her fellow diners, especially those exquisitely groomed women in their elegant costumes, went through her like a knife. Still she took the ominous suede bag without protest and forced her tortured body to cross the floor, as all heads followed her anguished progress. In the privacy of the lavatory stall she took out the contents of the pouch. Nothing to worry about, surely, in two thin silver wire rings, each about an inch across. But these rings had to grip her cherries, and not slip, and there was only one meaning she could place on that. Well, at least it wasn’t another weight for her lips. A third would be rather more than difficult, though she didn’t suppose that what was coming was going to be a picnic. Her host seemed to have a very carefully calculated scale of torments, ranging from ‘difficult’ to ‘downright unbearable’, but ‘easy’ was definitely not on his list. She shrugged the shoelace straps of the gown off her shoulders, letting it fall to expose her breasts, her nipples hardened by the sexual arousal she always experienced, when subjected to treatment such as this.
    “You wouldn’t be so cocky if you knew what was coming to you,” she told them, “but then again, you do know, and you are,” she sighed.
    She pulled one ring open, springing it with difficulty until the rounded ends of the wire could be pushed over her right teat. Her nipples were quite large, and very well defined at any time. In their fear and lust hardened state they stood out like the cherries he had described, with a distinct neck joining them to the pink aureoles of her breasts. A nice decision, where best to place the ring, but she pushed the points until they trapped the fleshiest part, and slowly let them close. The pain was indescribable. She had never been pierced, yet, she somehow felt that it was inevitable one day, but she imagined that a quick clean pass of the needle would be preferable to this ongoing scorpion bite in her tender dug. She whined through her nose as she fought to avoid crying aloud, and being heard by other women in the stalls, or at the basins. Gradually the pain sank from unbearable to merely excruciating, and she realized that she still had to subject her other nipple to the same agony. Jaw clenched, she set about the task of inflicting the prescribed torture on the pouting morsel of pink flesh. God, how it hurt! This was going to be bad. She had worn nipple clips before, men seemed to find them irresistible, women did too but in a different sense, they had clamped the whole fleshy nub and cut off the circulation, so that the pain faded into numbness. Admittedly it was hell when the clips were released, and the blood rushed back into the starved tissue, but these rings, pressing as they did on mere points, seemed likely to maintain their cringe-inducing torment with undiminished venom indefinitely.
    She adjusted the top of her dress, trying to ignore the excruciating stabbing pain in her teats, and composed herself to face the long journey back to the table. It could not be said that she had actually forgotten the tearing grip on her pussy, but she’d had to give her best attention to the new problem in her nipples and while she was standing still, the aching bite on her labia had been sustainable. Now she had to move, and the agony down below could not be ignored. She tried to keep her head up and her