Humiliation & Slavery of a High Profile Lawyer
Copyright© 2026 by MASTERRAJJ
Chapter 3
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 3 - Story of a Female lawyer blackmailed into becoming a sex slave
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult Blackmail Coercion Consensual Reluctant Slavery Lesbian BiSexual Fiction BDSM DomSub FemaleDom Humiliation Rough Sadistic Spanking Torture Group Sex Indian Male Indian Female Anal Sex Exhibitionism Facial Oral Sex Sex Toys Tit-Fucking Big Breasts Body Modification Foot Fetish Public Sex Indian Erotica
The Lawyer’s Humiliation - Continued
The rain hammered against the skylight of Shankar’s private shower room—a space he’d had renovated specifically for her. Manju knelt on the cold tiles, her wrists bound behind her back with leather cuffs, the chain anchored to a ring bolted into the floor. The water cascaded over her naked body, plastering her black hair to her shoulders, making her 38DD breasts glisten under the harsh fluorescent light.
Shankar stood over her, fully clothed, a coiled whip in his right hand. He didn’t speak at first. He just watched the water stream down her curves, pooling between her thighs where the thick silicone butt plug sat snug in her rectum, its base pressing against her perineum.
“Look at you,” he said finally, his voice low and calm. “My high-profile lawyer. On her knees. Ready.”
He stepped forward and grabbed her chin, tilting her face up. Her septum ring—the gold retainer he’d shoved through her flesh weeks ago—caught the light. But that wasn’t enough for him anymore.
“Tonight, we finish what we started,” he said, releasing her chin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather pouch. He opened it and laid out the contents on the edge of the shower bench: two sterile piercing needles, a pair of surgical clamps, and two small gold rings—each with a delicate stud on the inside.
Manju’s eyes widened. Her breath caught.
“Both nostrils,” Shankar said, running his thumb across the bridge of her nose. “I want to see a ring on each side. I want to see your nose decorated like the piggy you are.”
The Piercing
He didn’t give her time to protest. He knelt in front of her, water streaming over his shoulders, and pressed his thumb firmly into the middle of her nose, pushing upward. The pressure forced her nostrils to flare wide, the piggy-look he loved so much. Her eyes watered.
“Hold still,” he murmured.
He swabbed the left nostril with alcohol, the cold bite making her flinch. He clamped the tissue with the surgical forceps, pinching it tight. She whimpered, a desperate sound that only made him harder.
Then the needle pierced through.
The pain was sharp and immediate—a white-hot line of fire through the cartilage. Manju gasped, her body jerking, but the chain on her wrists held her in place. Shankar twisted the needle, opening the hole, then slid the gold ring through. He threaded the stud and tightened it. Blood mixed with the water, swirling down the drain.
He repeated the process on the right side. Same clamp, same needle, same exquisite pain. When he finished, both nostrils had fresh rings, the gold gleaming against her brown skin. He pressed his thumb into the middle of her nose again, this time using his forefinger and middle finger to hook into both rings, pulling upward so that her face tilted almost vertically.
“Beautiful,” he breathed. “Now you’re truly mine.”
The Whipping
He stood and picked up the whip. It was a short bullwhip, braided leather with a firm cracker at the tip. He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it aside, letting the water soak his torso. He wanted her to see him. To know who owned every inch of her flesh.
The first stroke landed across her left breast with a sharp crack. Manju screamed—a raw, throat-tearing sound that echoed off the tiles. A red welt rose immediately across the pale curve of her breast, the skin already beginning to bruise.
He struck again. This time across the right breast, the tip catching her nipple and flicking it so hard that she saw stars. The nipple clamp—still attached from earlier—swung wildly, the chain clinking against the tile.
“Count,” he ordered.
“One,” she sobbed.
Crack. Her left breast again, a cross-hatch over the first welt.
“Two—ahhhh!”
He didn’t stop. He moved behind her, and the next strike landed across the full curve of her big ass. The butt plug shifted inside her as the flesh jiggled from the impact, the silicone base pressing deeper into her rectum. The pain was immense—a spreading fire that radiated through her hips and thighs.
“Three,” she gasped.
Crack. Another stripe across her ass, lower this time, near the crease where her thighs met.
“Four!”
He worked methodically, painting her body with welts. Her breasts were a mess of red and purple, the flesh tender and swollen. Her ass was cross-hatched with lines, the skin raised and hot to the touch. He made her count each one until she lost track, until the numbers blended into a haze of pain and arousal that she couldn’t separate.
When he finally stopped, she was trembling, tears and rainwater mingling on her cheeks.
The Humiliation in the Shower
He knelt behind her and grabbed her hair, pulling her head back. Then he hooked his forefinger into both fresh nose rings and pulled upward, lifting her face until her throat was exposed and her nostrils flared open like an animal’s.
“This,” he said, “is what you are.”
He brought his other hand to his zipper and freed his cock—hard and thick from the sight of her suffering. He positioned himself above her face, the tip of his cock hovering just above her left nostril.
“Open.”
She had no choice. She parted her lips slightly, but he wasn’t aiming for her mouth. He pressed the head of his cock against her left nostril, the fresh piercing already sore and raw. The metal ring pressed into his shaft. He thrust shallowly, rubbing the tip against the inside of her nostril, the cartilage flexing.
“Breathe through your mouth,” he ordered.
Then he came.
Hot seed shot into her left nostril, thick and sticky, filling the cavity and dripping back out onto her upper lip. She gagged as the taste hit her tongue—salty, bitter, overwhelming. He didn’t move. He held her nose rings and waited for his cock to soften slightly, then he repositioned and did the same to her right nostril.
More cum filled the other side, spilling down her philtrum and chin. Her nose was overflowing, the air passages completely blocked. She had to breathe through her mouth, panting like a dog, while his seed dripped from her face like a grotesque decoration.
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