Clamped Mrs Morgan

Bambi looked like her tongue had turned to shit in her mouth. Mrs. Morgan had her arms crossed over her breasts, imagining what it would have felt like to be hung by them. I was trying to think of some way this story could have come out differently. I had hurt too many innocent people tonight and I was wondering if I hadn't let the men who made it necessary off easy. I wondered if being a superheroine was something I should be doing after all.

"Don't you dare think that!" Neeka said to me. "Don't you dare! You saved us. You did the right thing. You did the best thing. I'm so proud of you."

I decided that since the story had been told, I might as well drag everything out in the open.

"The pain wasn't that bad, actually," I said. "For me, I mean. I'm sorry you were hurt, Neeka. I can take quite a lot of pain. Bambi warned me about the danger of becoming a pain slut, but that was before we knew it would actually be an advantage to have a high pain threshold." I looked at Mrs. Morgan. "Would you like to see what they did to me?"

She looked horrified, but I knew she was fascinated, because she did not say "no". Bambi could not say a word. She was too busy blaming herself for things that weren't her fault. I knew she could not object to a demonstration when she had used the same devices on me herself. She was the one I had to reach. I could not leave things as they were, with everyone unhappy or wallowing in guilt. When I recognized it in me, I knew that Bambi felt even worse and I had to do something to defuse the situation before it did any more emotional damage.

I got the clamps, with the rope still attached, and brought them back to show Mrs. Morgan. Neeka had been an intimate eyewitness and Bambi could not open her mouth without admitting that she had used them on me before the men did, even though her motives were very different from theirs.

Mrs. Morgan examined the clamps. She seemed fascinated with them. She kept closing and opening them, admiring the wide, rubber-coated jaws and the heavy steel construction.

"Would you like to try them?" I asked her. I heard Bambi flinch at the suggestion. Neeka, of course, knew what I was doing and why. I realized that I had acquired a live, walking, talking conscience. I could have no secrets from her. Every nasty look, every unkind, peevish, or unfair thought, she would know. Yet, I loved her dearly. I could never resent her. She was quickly becoming an essential part of my life. I imagined not having her by my side and the sharp pang of emptiness I felt made me turn to reassure myself that she was still there. She was, of course, and she looked at me with such an expression of love that I wanted to dive directly into her heart and live there forever. I saw a tear roll down her cheek and I tore my gaze away before I broke down and cried, too. You cannot imagine the feeling of having someone know all your secrets, all your guilt, all your thoughts, and love you anyway.

Mrs. Morgan handed back the clamps. She continued to look at them in my hand as she unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off of her shoulders. Her breasts were lovely. She had the same pale skin as her daughter and the same sprinkling of freckles across her chest. Her breasts were full and round and her puffy areola were dark red, almost the same color as her hair. She was breathing in short gasps, staring at the clamps as she anticipated their bite. I recognized the compulsion she felt to put her breasts into the jaws of the devices, the need to surrender her most tender parts to the cruel mechanical jaws.

I held out a clamp and she leaned forward and offered a breast.

"Put your hands behind your back," I told her. She took a sharp breath and complied quickly. "Get ready, this will hurt a lot at first, but you will get accustomed to it in a little while."

She nodded, and did not flinch when I took hold of her nipple and started to stretch it out away from her breast. When it was about an inch long, and she had begun to mewl with the pain and the anticipation of pain, I slipped the clamp into place and let the jaws snap shut on her flesh.

At first I thought she would scream. She drew in a deep ragged breath with her jaw hanging open, but she just held it before letting it out with a shudder. She worked her jaw and the muscles in her shoulders bunched, but she made no other sound. I held out the second clamp and she almost eagerly offered her other breast to it. I slid in into place as before and let it close on her breast, just at the border of her red areola and her milky while flesh. Her nipples bulged out under the clamps and were pulled downward by their weight. I held onto the cotton rope that connected them together.

When I thought she had had time to get used to them, I pulled on the cord, raising it up and pulling her breasts up with it. When the weight of her flesh was pulling down on the clamps, I stopped. She started to whimper and her face contorted as she savored the pain. I tugged upward very slightly as if to remind her of how much worse the pain could be. Her mind supplied the rest and she started to beg, "Please, please, no more. Take them off. Please take them off." Since all she had to do was take her hands out from behind her back and release the clamps herself, I knew she was indulging her fantasy. I wrapped the rope around my fist, as if to get a firm grip on it before I pulled as hard as I could. I pulled up just fractionally higher on the clamps. She screamed. It was a high wail. Not loud. Not as loud as I had screamed when Bubba hoisted me by the nipples, certainly. I released the tension on the rope and let her breasts fall back and the clamps drop to her chest, yanking her nipples downward. She fell back on the sofa and climaxed.