I feel a warm hand on the under-curve of my right breast. It squeezes – not gently.
“Nice,” Devlin murmurs.
His hand moves to my left breast, cupping my turgid nipple. He pinches it roughly.
I gasp.
“Nice, huge nipples you have. Wait till you see what I have in store for you.”
His palm grazes my buttocks, passes fleetingly over the wet, wet leaking tap that is the entrance of my vagina. I expect him to linger there, prize open my melting hot pussy lips. But he doesn’t. I feel a tug on my head and my entire dress comes off. Freedom! I can see again, breathe in the cool air of the damp bathroom. Watery, air freshener smells permeate my nostrils.
Devlin is beside me, his hand casually placed on the small of my back, just above the cleavage of my white buttocks.
“Stay here and don’t move.”
“Yes, master.” The undersides of my thighs are beginning to ache.
I watch as Devlin strides to the mirrored cabinet above the sink. He has nice, firm buttocks. No trace of a flab on them. Swimmer’s buttocks. His back is just as toned, as are the rippling muscles of his thighs. The back of his neck wears a light golden sheen.
He opens the door of the cabinet and removes something from the inside. As his back is to me, I cannot see what they are. Surreptitiously, I shift my right leg so that the heel digs firmly into the slight depression of the bidet seat.
“I said don’t move.”
I freeze. Could he have heard me?
“I’m sorry, master.”
He turns. In his palms are several metallic objects that catch the sunlight from the bathroom window.
My alarm rises as he walks back to me again, his swollen cock bouncing with every step.
Devlin stands before me again, palms splayed.
“Observe these,” he says.
In wonder, I behold the shiny objects. They are metal clamps – eight of them, jostling against one another in the creased flesh of his cupped large hands. Two of them are seashell-like in design while the rest remind me of small paper clips – the kind used to hold reams of officious paper from the dean’s office.
A shudder runs deep within me, commencing from my neck down to my groin. My tongue withers ever so slightly.
“Please . . . master.” I blink away the sudden tears in my eyes.
“Yes?” He observes my face. He is watchful, waiting.
“Please . . . don’t hurt me.”
“But discipline and humiliation are essential for your initiation.” His words are slow, carefully enunciated as though to make sure I understand every syllable. “I did ask you how far you are willing to go to enter Phi Kappa Omega. You said ‘anything’. If you want me to drop this right now, say but the word, and you’re free to go.”
I lick my dry lips. Had Karyn gone through this? If he drops this right now, I’ll never get the chance to enter the elite of the college elite. All my dreams gone to dust. No. That is not an option. I must grind my teeth and bear it.
“No, master,” I softly say, “I don’t want to go.”
“Then stay still.”
He kneels before my open legs. I can’t see my quivering vaginal lips but for the swell of my breasts. I have to struggle to keep my legs wide apart because every instinct warns me to close them. I can feel Devlin’s coarse thumb and finger peeling my right outer pussy lip from its sticky tether of my clitoris. The cold metal clamp seizes my skin, gathers the tender flesh of my labia and squeezes it firmly and intimately.
There is no pain – only an intense pressure. It’s chilly and it floods me immediately, sends a wave of dizzying pleasure up my groin and belly.
I gasp.
Devlin takes no notice. He repeats this with my left pussy lip, nudging the hot nub of my clit ever so carelessly. A paroxysm of intense sensation once again assaults me. I can feel the juices from my pussy pooling into a large drop that is hanging precariously from the tip of my vulva.
I am now clamped and spread apart – cold metal dividing hot flesh.
But Devlin doesn’t stop. He places two more clamps on either pussy lip. The clamps are not superficially placed either – they bite deep, snaring a large portion of my pussy flesh so that their tips graze the soft sides of my clit. The sharp intake of my breath sucks in my abdomen and causes the clamps to rub against one another in a low, clicking sound.
Devlin’s searing gaze meets mine.
“Punishment,” he says, “is often necessary for the soul.”
My lips part and my tongue dries as his finger runs up and down the tortured and wrinkled ribbon of flesh that is my clit. The pleasure begins to build again and I can’t stop a moan from escaping my throat. The moan turns into a cry as he suddenly plunges two fingers into the warm, wet tunnel of my vagina. Those two fingers probe and fill me, and attempt to stretch my walls.