Chapter 2

Breasts

"You like to hurt me," It wasn't a question.

Helen stood in the bathroom observing her breasts on the mirror. The marks my fingers left on them, when they dug into her meat, radiated out from her areolas; dark pink sausages on her white skin. In the center of the pink areolas, the tortured nipples stood out in fiery red spotted, here and there, with dark spots where the steel jaws of the pliers had broken the skin.

From behind, I embraced her waist, my hands meeting under her belly button.

"I really did a number on them, didn't I?" I said. "But you asked for it."

She turned her face and kissed me. She touched her breast and grimaced.

"They still hurt," she said, "but yes, I asked for it."

"And came violently," she added.

"Be careful," she said, taking my hands and placing them over her sore mammaries.

Her lips kissed my neck.

"You do like hurting them, don't deny it."

"I don't," I answered, "deny it, I mean."

She was wearing only boy cut panties. She turned around to face me and supported her breasts with her hands.

"It hurt, a lot. But I can't deny that the orgasms were massive," she said.

"I'm glad you enjoyed them."

On the other hand, those two explosions left her so exhausted that she did not respond much when I finally had my turn at her yesterday. Not that I'm complaining. I almost creamed my shorts when I crushed her nipples with the pliers.

"I give them to you."

I looked at her in a stunned silence. Helen had always been reluctant to any hint of ownership in our relationship. Once, long ago, when her mother told her she belonged to me, she turned on her and stated that she belonged to no one. She was so firm and adamant about it that her mother had nothing more to say on the subject. Now, I thought I'd heard her say she was giving me her breasts.

"Come again?"

"My breasts," she said, "I give them to you. They are yours." her hands proffered the twin orbs, as if they were two loaves of bread.

"You can do what you like with them; hurt them, if you wish, as you wish, when you wish, as much as you wish."

I could not believe my ears.

"Those were the best two orgasms of my life," she said, "I'd sure love to have more of those."

Now I understood. It would be hard, almost impossible for her to ask me to treat her breasts as I did yesterday; not with any kind of frequency. By "giving" them to me, the breasts, so to speak, were on my court. She would be forced to respond, to enjoy it, without admitting to her need. She could thus yield control, and save face.

"I see," I said. "What is my reward when that happens?"