My world is a bit different from yours. Technology's the same; we have cell phones and computers and so forth. Men and women interact pretty much the same way, with a few major differences. One of the biggest is that BDSM is universally practiced; everyone is either a Dom/me, slave, or switch. We also have *lots* of customs, many of which I'll explain to you in due course. But for the purposes of our story right now, all you need to know is that I'm a Dom, and that at the time this story took place I was in my late 30's and reasonably well-off, with a career as a professional dominant.

I was out looking at high-end appliances, and observed a woman who was talking with a salesperson. Dominant women, in my world, show off their bodies for everyone to admire. This one was in her early 50's, I would guess, with white-blonde hair pulled back into a very tight ponytail, dead white skin, ruby red lipstick on full lips, and a body to die for. She was wearing a white longsleeved shirt over a bra with what must have been industrial-sized shoulder straps, given that they were supporting tits the size of bowling balls. The shirt was very tight, unbuttoned enough in front that I could see her cleavage and catch a glimpse of the bra itself, and it was tucked into the tightest pencil skirt I've ever seen, which ended just above her knees. Her feet were in boots with what must have been six-inch heels, stilettos at that, but she stood on them confidently, as if unaware of how difficult this must have been. She was, from the way she was dressed and the way she held herself, clearly a lesbian. She was having a considerable argument with the salesperson, a man who was obviously not submissive and who wasn't taking yes for an answer.

"I don't care if my credit card has expired," she said to him threateningly, "I wish to buy this washer and dryer combination. Since you'll be delivering them to my house, you can collect payment from me there."

Obviously, something had happened, and she was unable to pay for her purchases, and the salesperson wasn't accepting her personal guarantees. I stepped in and offered my card, which had the limit to handle her purchase. She was grateful once the transaction was completed.

"Thank you very much for that. Apparently one of my servants let my credit card expire. I'll be having a chat with them about it when I get home. My name is Lady Jessica Sharpe," she said.

"I'm Gabriel Stone, and my credit card happens to be up to date, so it seemed appropriate to assist a lady in distress. You can repay me at your convenience," I said in reply. "There's no hurry."

"Why don't you come by my house this Thursday for tea, so I can thank you properly?" She offered this with a smile, and this seemed like an interesting proposition, so I agreed, and showed up at her doorstep at the appropriate time.

She answered the door herself, dressed identically to the first time we had met, and led me into her parlor, where we sat opposite one another, drank tea, and munched on cookies. When the tea was finished she carried the tray to her kitchen, and was unbuttoning the cuffs of her shirt as she walked back into the room.

"I hope you don't mind, but I don't like to have surrogates pay my debts for me. I have several slavegirls we can call if you wish, but I thought you might enjoy an older woman," as she was saying this she was pulling her blouse out of her skirt and unbuttoning it, "who hasn't submitted in a good long time, certainly not to a man." With that the blouse came off and she reached behind her back, unbuttoning her bra. I should explain what was going on here.

We have many customs and traditions in my world, and they all must be religiously adhered to. When you invite someone to tea, well, on several days of the week it's just tea, but Tuesdays and Thursdays are different from the rest. Many years ago someone noticed that the words "Tuesday Tea" and "Thursday Tea" abbreviate to "T.T.", the same initials as "Tit Torture." From then on, it was considered polite, if you invited someone to your house on Tuesday or Thursday, to provide them with a pair of breasts to torture. Thursday was usually intended to be the harsher day of the two, because the "Thurs" part of Thursday was, if you switched the letters around, "hurts." Occasionally a switch would invite people over and provide herself as the entertainment; lesbian Dommes supposedly did this with each other, occasionally, but I'd never had one offer me the opportunity to enjoy something like this.

She removed her bra, and sat on the chair, opposite me. "There's rope, chains, cuffs, and other implements in the drawer of the table here, and that cabinet over there has more things in it. If you require it we can move to the dungeon, where I have other things for a woman to sit on, which are much less comfortable than this chair, if you'd like to see me in some real discomfort. I was going to suggest you start with Mammary Pincushion, but of course it's up to you." She tossed the bra aside, and let me have a look at what have to have been the largest pair of natural breasts I've ever seen.

I went to work immediately, and she and I began to chat as I tied her. We talked about how tough she was with her slaves (very), what she expected out of this afternoon (nothing less than she inflicted on others), and eventually she brought up that she usually did her best to exploit every opportunity, when she had a slave tied up. This I took to mean as an invitation to try and extort invitations to return, on Thursdays and other days, if I could manage it. Once I'd tied her wrists with rope, very tightly, hands palm-to-palm, I then tied her elbows also. She inhaled sharply when she felt the rope going around the elbows, and said "Yes, very proper, very strict." When I finished and her arms were very strictly, very harshly drawn behind her back, thrusting her breasts out incredibly, she looked down at them and nodded. I then pulled out a wide posture collar that I found in her cabinet on, noticing that this one had a chain threaded through a ratchet on the back. I knew what this was for, and of course she did too, so when she saw me pick the collar up her eyes widened. "You're really planning to make this hard on me, aren't you? Well, carry on." I buckled it around her neck, and attached the chain that hung through the ratchet to the rope that tied her wrists together. Then I began to pull on the other end of the chain, and her wrists began to rise towards her neck, her elbows canting out as this happened. When the hands reached the level of her elbows, I stopped for a minute, and went around in front of her. She was beginning to sweat, and her face was a bit red, but other than that she seeemed to be doing pretty well.

I said to her, "How are you doing?" She looked at me with these very cold eyes, and said, "Is this the best you can do? I wold have expected more from someone of your reputation."

Without speaking I went back around behind her, and finished tightening the chain, until her hands were just under her neck in back. She began to moan when the hands had almost reached their destination; when I stepped back around in front of her, she'd begun to cry a little. I opened the drawer she'd indicated, and took out a large box of long, large-gauge needles, which I set out open on the table. I turned to her and asked, "Do you have any irritant?" She indicated the other end of the drawer, where I found a bottle of very nasty stuff that would make every needle several times as painful as it otherwise would be. I dipped the first needle and pushed it into the upper slope of her left breast, watching her wince in pain as it penetrated her skin. I spent the next half an hour inserting one needle after another into her breasts, avoiding her nipples and aureolae, but leaving the rest of the enormous breasts covered in needles sticking out. By now she was quietly sobbing.

"What's your opinion about extortion, in terms of the Dom/me keeping their end of the bargain?" I asked. "Some believe it's proper to do, but others insist that the Dom/me should not be bound by any agreement with a slave, because the slave is of course inferior."

She looked at me, and smiles slightly through her tears. "A Dom/me should generally observe deals they make with slaves. However, I'm not a slave, so I'll extend to you the courtesy of allowing you to torment me with whether you'll live up to any of our agreements." I nodded as I began to work on her nipples and aureolae, making both of them dense pincushions, the needles going in one after the other. There was some blood, but not as much as you'd think; she began to whine and then beg after I'd inserted about 50 needles all told.

"What will you promise me?" I asked her, seriously. "And what do you wish in return, in the way of promises?"

"I'd like for you to leave my tits alone, and move to another portion of my anatomy for awhile. In return, I'll invite you to tea, next Thursday."

"I'm thinking I should have a standing invitation to tea on Thursdays, indefinitely."

"That seems reasonable, if you'll just leave my breasts alone for a bit."

"So we're agreed, I have a standing invitation to tea on Thursdays, here? I'll want you to be the entertainment, even if you have other women here as guests or even servants."

"Of course I'll be the entertainment," she gasped with exasperation, "I'd be insulted if I wasn't. I'll start inviting other women, with the understanding that you can involve any of them in the suffering, as you choose. Next week you'll have a variety."

"Then it's agreed, Thursdays from now on." I then attached a large pair of alligator clamps to her nipples, which had only been pierced from side-to-side; the clamps just bit down on her pierced nipples, making it even more painful. "You did say I could violate the agreement, as I chose." She howled in agony for several minutes, before finally calming down.

"So I did" she replied ruefully. "I expected nothing less."

"What's your feeling on rules? Should they have to be explained, or should the slave/victim just have to follow them, regardless of whether they know the rules or not?"

"I'm in favor of working things so that the victim earns the maximum amount of punishment that they can," she said firmly, "If you have a rule against carrying on like this, for instance, I'd insist on being made to suffer a punishment, in response. If you don't have such a rule, I'd pretty much insist you concoct one now, with a particularly dire punishment for me. Might I suggest Ashtray Pussy? I've always found it to have a salutory effect on slaves."

I helped her to her feet, and unzipped her skirt for her. It fell to her ankles, and she stepped out of it, sitting back down in the chair with her legs spread about as far wide as I've ever seen a woman do, and with her crotch on the edge of the chair. I got a box of cigars from the cabinet, cut off the end of one with a cigar cutter, and then lit it...and then held the glowing tip to her left cuntlip. This time she grimaced silently, her eyes closed and seemingly her mind lost in her own harsh world of pain.

"Oh yes," she said when I had withdrawn the cigar's tip for 10 seconds or so, "It has a marvelous effect on a woman's ability to control herself. Would you be so kind as to apply it to my other lip?" I of course obliged. Her grimace this time was exquisite to watch.

"And now perhaps you'd like to pay some attention to the little man in the boat? He's feeling neglected." I obliged; her clit was erect, and I held the cigar to it, and she howled silently, her face a rictus of pain.

"I'm curious what you'd promise me, to get me to stop this?" I said.

Her face was frozen in that rictus of pain until I pulled away the cigar, and then she began to regain her composure. Eventually, she looked me in the eye and said, "I'd promise to accompany you to Antoine's on a real date, as often as you wanted. Isn't that the goal of all men these days, to get a bitch to go with them to that place?" I looked at her speculatively.

"Yes, but one date seems rather paltry, don't you think?" I applied the cigar to her clit again, holding it there a bit longer this time. Her forehead broke out in a sweat, and she positively squirmed in place.

"You may invite me there as many times as you wish, for a year, and I'll promise to go whenever I can. Failure to accept a date with you will have serious consequences: a week's slavery, each time."

Tea on Thursday Chapter 2

I had to go out of town suddenly on business, leaving early Friday morning, and I didn’t return until the following Tuesday. By then I was so exhausted from the load of work that I slept most of Wednesday. Late in the afternoon, I got a call from Lady Jessica, reminding me that I had a standing invitation to her house for Tea on Thursday. She informed me that this week was her monthly punishment bridge game, so if I arrived at 4 pm there would certainly be two women tied up, and I’d be free to bind the other two, and abuse all four as I chose. I promised to be there on time.

At the appointed hour I presented myself at the door to Lady Jessica’s house. The maid opened it, clearly surprised to see me, and then smiled a conspiratorial smile at me. I asked her how she’d fared last week, releasing her mistress from the bonds I’d left her in, and she told me that she’d gotten herself a week’s pay and an hour of oral sex, the incentive being that some of Lady Jessica’s friends had been scheduled to arrive later in the evening for a small party. The maid, whose name was Persephone, said that the oral sex was among the best she’d ever received, and when I asked her she said she’d always wanted to get her own back on her Mistress, but had only ever been able to extort a bit of oral sex from her, in similar circumstances in the past. She led me back to the sitting room where the card game was just wrapping up, and then left us.

Seated around the games table were four women. All four were clearly Dominatrices, Lady Jessica being one. Directly across the table from her was her partner, a shorter Asian woman with a lithe body and one of those ageless Asian countenances that only rarely exhibits any expression at all, save contempt. Lady Jessica was dressed this afternoon in a whalebone corset that must have cinched her waist down to 20” or so, a pencil skirt to the knee, and skyscraper heels. Her breasts were encased in cups that apparently could be removed. The other lady, the Asian woman, was dressed in a red leather bra and hot pants, with seamed stockings, garters, and platform heels. The other two women were in their 30’s, a very tough-appearing dyke with a crew cut and a muscle t-shirt on, along with cargo pants and an enormous set of tits, and a very pretty, almost fashion-model woman with black hair and a very chilly expression on her face. The model was dressed in the most revealing black leather dress I’ve ever seen, short enough that her garters were hanging down below it, and cleavage so low and wide her breasts were visible, including the inside portion of each aureole. The two younger women, the Dyke and the model, had apparently won the game, because Lady Jessica and her partner were stripping themselves to the waist, preparatory to being punished in some fashion. However, my appearance stopped everything in its tracks, for a moment anyway.

Lady Jessica smiled at my entrance, and said to the other women: “I hope you ladies don’t mind, but I’ve invited my friend here for tea. Since he’s male, you’ll have to make him happy, but of course you came prepared to suffer a bit, didn’t you?”

The fashion model type stood from her chair and walked over to me, looking at me speculatively. She said, “Mother’s always pulling an interesting stunt at tea, but inviting a man over is a new one, even for her. I’m Lady Felicity, her daughter, and this,” she gestured to her partner, the Bulldyke, “is my husband, Frankie. My mom’s partner is Princess Kang, an old friend of ours. We were just about to administer their punishment for losing at Punishment Bridge, when you walked in; would you like to watch us inflict their penalties? This is the first time in the six months Mother has invited us that I’ve won and she’s lost, and Frankie is going to let me administer the punishment to my own mother!”

I nodded my acknowledgement of her proposal, and sat in a chair to one side of the room, to watch. Lady Jessica and Princess Kang, having stripped to the waist, went to the cabinet on the wall and removed some items from it, placing them on the table between their chairs, and then sat in the chairs themselves, patiently waiting. Lady Felicity continued to narrate as Frankie retrieved an armbinder from the stack of equipment in front of Princess Kang, drew her arms behind the back of her chair, and slid the armbinder up them. When she began to tighten the laces, so that Princess Kang’s forearms and eventually elbows were drawn together, the Asian women displayed an expression that looked remarkably like concentration, or perhaps the mental pressure involved in taking a good shit. Finally Frankie was satisfied, and retrieved another armbinder, which she similarly used to bind Lady Jessica.

“Mother devised this game, and especially the punishments used in it, about 20 years ago,” said Lady Felicity, “She’s a very good bridge player…have you ever lost, Mom, in the past?”

“Once, darling, when I first perfected the game,” replied Lady Jessica, “Since then I’ve always won. You’ve done me proud though, you’re almost as good a player as --- .” Her speech was cut off as Frankie inserted a penis gag into her mouth, and buckled it into place behind her head. As Frankie continued the bondage, moving to Princess Kang and similarly gagging her, Lady Felicity resumed her narration.

“Mother thought that allowing a Dominatrix to speak during this sort of penalty phase was just wrong. She often complained that Dominatrices are the most whiny and complaining of all when they’re the ones being tortured or humiliated, and that they often do everything from threaten to bluster to beg for mercy, constantly, so after a few years she insisted that the losers always be gagged during this game. This next part I need to participate in, but after that we can talk to Mother and discover her intentions with regards to you being invited to Thursday Tea. I’ve never seen a man here, on this day.”

She went back to her mother’s side and picked up a tit press off the table. It was made of steel, with leather straps, and it went around Lady Jessica’s torso, the straps tightening until they bit into her flesh. Lady Felicity seemed to be enjoying her mother’s torment a great deal, and when she began to tighten the press on her mother’s breasts, the older woman at first remained silent. Her brow furrowed in pain though, and she locked eyes with Princess Kang, who was receiving similar treatment from Lady Felicity’s “husband” on her own, somewhat smaller breasts. Both women were subjected to some serious tit torture, their breasts flattened to the point that they looked like they were growing through the presses.

Lady Felicity then said to her mother, “You’ve always taken extra pleasure in this part, mother dear, so I intend to do the same,” and with that she began to run very large needles through her mother’s breasts, one after another. The press had holes in it, and it soon became apparent that the needles could be fed right through the holes, or run through the part of her breasts that protruded from the far side of the press, away from her torso. When each of the women had perhaps 20 needles through their breasts, Frankie and Lady Felicity attached alligator clamps to the older women’s nipples. By now it was obvious from the expression on the two women’s faces that they were in serious pain.

“I guess I need to remove Mother’s gag, so she can instruct me on what should happen with our guest,” said Lady Felicity.

She removed her mother’s gag, and Lady Jessica spoke slowly and carefully, as if she was afraid she’d beg for mercy or something if she spoke carelessly.

“I thought that Princess Kang and I would win the bridge game, torture the two of you like this, and then the two of us would, in turn, torture one another, or be tortured, for Gabriel’s entertainment and arousal. He did a favor for me last week, I invited him to tea in response, and he was persuasive enough during our first session that he’ll be welcome in my house, on Thursdays, for a long long time.”

Frankie and Lady Felicity discussed the circumstances for a minute, and then they turned to me, and asked which one of them I’d like to torture personally. That girl would torture the other, and then I’d be free to do as I pleased with her afterwards. I asked which of them, if either, was more dominant, and was told that Frankie definitely wore the pants in the couple; so I decided to let her demonstrate her skills on her wife, and then have my fun with her.

Frankie tied Lady Felicity with her hands and then elbows behind her back, and then suspended them from a rope run through a pulley which in turn was suspended from the ceiling. She then pulled the rope through the pulley, not tying it off until Felicity’s hands were much higher than her head, which hung down so we couldn’t see the expression on her face. All we could hear were moans of pain. Frankie then tied her wife’s breasts around at the base with a piece of thin wire for each one, and then attached very harsh, very tight toothed clamps to the nipples. Lastly, she attached weights approximating half a pound to each clamp.

She then looked at her wife for a minute, and went and got some powder, which she sprinkled on her hand and patted along her victim’s torso, between her thighs and through her asscrack, and then over her cunt. She explained to me: “This is itching powder. In a minute or two she’ll have to move, and the weights will cause her excruciating pain, when she does…but she won’t be able to stay still, no matter what…Will you, dear?”

Finally she turned to me, looking at me speculatively. After a bit, she spoke:

“I haven’t submitted to a man, or had anything much to do with one, pretty much throughout my adult life. I grew up knowing I was a lesbian, and no one ever had the guts to try and kiss me, or anything like that. It was clear to everyone that making such an attempt would get them in a serious world of hurt. However, in the current circumstance, I’m pretty much required to let you do your worst. I’d like to issue you a challenge. If you can make me cry uncle within the next 2 hours, I’ll be willing to get serious and negotiate a long-term relationship with you. I’ve had relationships with a few other serious diesel dykes, over the years, and they always started with me giving the butch an opportunity to show me how tough she was. I don’t believe in mercy, kindness, gentleness, or anything like that, and I have a simple way to find out if a Dyke is tough enough to handle me as a submissive. I think it’ll appeal to you, too. Basically, you strip me completely, put my ankles in a spreader bar, cuff my hands behind my back, and then use your fists to beat me into submission. I generally recommend a good pair of leather gloves to protect your hands; this should be painful for me only. Usually I have the woman involved ballgag me to start, so that I can’t even protest or try and get them to stop; after a length of time, I’m usually willing to negotiate future service with them, and of course they have an advantage over me, in that they can continue the beating as long as they wish. What do you think of the idea?”

“I’m wearing a good heavy set of boots, which I’ve been known to use on a woman such as yourself, if you wouldn’t mind adding them to the game,” I responded. “I’ve found that on occasion kicking the shit out of a woman adds significantly to the eroticism of an episode.”

She looked at me speculatively. “Yes, I can see how that could work. Sure, why not?”

I waited while she went to the cabinet and got the spreader bar and the armbinder. She set these items down on the table, then removed her t-shirt and cargo pants, revealing a pair of boxer shorts, which she also removed. She was clean-shaven, and very well-muscled, but her breasts were just enormous, almost as large as Lady Jessica’s. After she had finished stripping, I picked up the armbinder and walked around behind her, and slid it up the arms she offered me wordlessly. When I began to tighten it she drew her breath in, and held it for a minute…when her elbows touched she groaned a bit. I retrieved the spreader bar then, and attached it to her ankles, spreading her feet almost 2’ apart. I then picked up a pair of gloves from the same cabinet that all of the other stuff had been stored in, and discovered to my surprise that they were weighted, so that my fists would be especially hard on her when I punched her. I looked at her to see if she knew this, and could guess by the look in her eye that she did, and that she thought it fitting.

With that she began to beat my fist with her face and body. Her tits, stomach, cheeks, mouth, nose, and even pussy pounded my fist repeatedly, and though she groaned and even squealed a time or two, it was apparent that she was enjoying how ruthless I’d been. When she finally fell over, it was decided that she would switch to hitting my boot, because she couldn’t reach my fist any more. After a few minutes of that, she signaled that she wanted to negotiate with me. When I ungagged her, she informed me that she was willing to sell her wife to me, with the understanding that I would let her visit the bitch, but of course only at a severe price.

I drove away with Lady Felicity bound in the trunk of my car…