Niko

Mistress Cynthia led me upstairs to a sparsely furnished bedroom. “This will be your room. As far as we are concerned this is like your own foreign embassy. While you are living in this house, no one will enter this room without your permission. You may furnish it as you wish.” She pointed to a door. “That door leads to your own private bathroom. Follow me.”

She led me to an even sparser room which contained only a bed, a desk and chair, and a small couch. “This is your day room. If you are ‘on duty’, so to speak, or wish to remain available to serve or play with us, you may stay here.”

“If you are in here, the opposite rule applies. Anyone can enter at any time, without knocking, or any other warning. You may use your own bathroom, or you may use the one down the hall. Again, if you use the one down the hall, anyone can enter without warning.”

“I would really love for you to join us in bed tonight, however, because of your wedding rings, we’ll have to sleep apart. I will, however, adjust your corset.”

Before Mistress arrived home, her sister, Doctor Elizabeth (she’s not a doctor, she’s a physician’s assistant) and I had bathed. We’d removed my corset, and when the Doctor had refastened it, she’d been able to reduce my waist by almost a half inch.

When the corset was first placed on me, I measured 38-25-38. Now, without the corset, my waist measures twenty-four inches, and with the corset it measures twenty inches.

“If we’re ever going to get you down to seventeen inches, we’re going to have chinch things up a little. Elizabeth is being too soft on you.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I was already having trouble breathing. She managed to get the corset a little tighter.

“There, that’s better! Off to bed with you. Like I said, you may sleep in either bed. We’ll talk tomorrow morning about your wedding rings.”

“Yes, Mistress, thank you, Mistress.” Mistress and the Doctor both gave me extremely passionate kisses and left me alone.

While it felt like months, just ten days ago I, along with another four girls, consented to become completely submissive whores for a week at a men’s club called The Facility.

Doctor Elizabeth had installed Satan’s Wedding Rings onto my breasts. They were an updated version of ‘Satan’s Wedding Rings’ and ‘Turkish Nipple Baskets’ which had been used centuries ago to both punish witches and to deny their offspring access to their breast milk.

The wedding rings that the Doctor installed onto my breasts consisted of three disc shaped rings. The first was at the base of my breast. The second was at the middle of my breast, and the third was at the top. Thirteen wires connected the rings together. A hole in the top ‘wedding ring’ is slightly smaller than my nipple - about three sixteenths of an inch.

My nipples, along with the areolae, had been pulled through the hole by a powerful vacuum. Then four needles were pushed through holes in the rings piercing my breasts, keeping the rings in place. Then thirteen banana shaped needles were pushed through the bottom rings until they emerged near my nipples. Last, eight needles were pushed through my breasts at the middle ring. Basically, a spiked bra had been permanently installed onto my breasts.

The pièce de résistance of the operation was when the Doctor infused a half liter of inflammatory fluid into each of my breasts. This caused them to swell between the wires that connected the rings. It also resulted in a constant drone of pain to come from my breasts and caused them to be extremely sensitive to touch.

It took about ten hours to disfigure my beautiful breasts. I’d fallen into a deep pit of pain and despair. I’d felt that my breasts had been ruined forever. However, over the next week, I’d learned both crave the pain, and to use that pain to enhance the pleasure I achieved from other activities. I’d also found the wedding rings enhanced the beauty of my breasts, and that they gave me an incredibly unique look.

At first, all I wanted was for the pain to stop; now I welcomed the pain. I desired it so much that just this morning I begged the Doctor to re-inflate my breasts with a irritating fluid. I didn’t know that the doctor never used the same formula twice. This time my breasts had caught fire and had expanded so much that now my breasts bulged out almost an inch between the wires. In addition the skin of my breasts was as tight as a drum. Even the lightest touch caused waves of pain to ripple across the surface.

Because of the pain and uniqueness of my breasts, when Mistress offered to remove the rings, I begged her to leave them in. She pointed out that if she removed the rings, my breasts would heal and she could reinstall them, allowing us to experience the sensations more than once. Given that option, I decided to allow her to remove the wedding rings.

While it had been made clear to me that I was a companion, and not a slave, to these two beautiful women, I wanted to make myself as available as I could, so I carefully lay down on the bed in my day room. Once in bed I looked at myself in the mirrored ceiling.

My mother was an African-American sailor in the US Navy who met and married a Japanese government official while stationed in Japan. I’m tall - almost six feet high. I have Oriental features with beautiful cinnamon coloured light brown skin.

The stainless steel piercings accented my bare chest. My pussy was framed between the dark red corset and my six inch high stiletto heeled boots that reached to about four inches below my pussy. There were many spikes and rings on the boots.

Damn! You’re one hot whore, I thought to myself. I am so lucky that I have two beautiful Mistresses to serve!

I reached down and started to gently rub my mons. Since Mistress wasn’t here, I did the next best thing and tapped one of the bulges at the Wedding Ring with my fingertip. A wave of pain rippled across my breast, and a flash of pleasure warmed my pussy.

To better imagine Mistress playing with me, I closed my eyes and continued to play with myself. I could feel an orgasm building within me, then I felt feet position themselves on either side of my head. I stopped playing with myself and opened my eyes to find a hairy pussy about six inches away from my face.

“Were you given permission to play with yourself?” Asked Mistress Cynthia. She followed the question with a short blast of pee.

“No, Ma’am, sorry, Ma’am,” I replied.

“You certainly are sorry.” Another blast of pee. “Unless the Doctor or I give you permission, you are not to play with yourself, and you are certainly not to cum without permission.”

“Yes, Ma’am, sorry, Ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not. Now open up.”

I opened my mouth, but Mistress kept her pussy about six inches away from my mouth, so both my head and my bed covers were soon drenched in piss. “You certainly are a messy toilet. You better learn to do better.”

“Yes, Ma’am, I’ll do my best, Ma’am.”

She finished peeing on me, stood, and said, “Remember, you are not to play with yourself without permission!”

“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am,” I said as she left me alone.

After a half hour or so I was miserably cold. I’d just managed to drop off to sleep when the Doctor entered and squatted over me, waking me. “Cynthia doesn’t like her partners to get too comfortable.” She let me place my mouth at her urethra, then offered me her piss, which I gladly accepted.

“Remember, you may go into your bedroom at any time for a ‘time out’.” She cupped my pussy with her hand and rubbed softly. “In your room, you can even play with yourself without permission.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind, Ma’am.”

“I have a feeling that you won’t be taking many time outs, my little masochist.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

After kissing me, she left me alone. This time I fell asleep almost immediately.