She wished for a bra that would cup and hold her breasts firmly, protecting them.
But as the thought of her nipples being pierced took hold in her mind, her nipples themselves rose unhindered.
They poked up into the fabric of her nothing bra and made little points beneath her.
They were oblivious.
They did not know their fate.
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To her, being taken to a big castle, where she would be kept as a princess, was a grand adventure. She did not understand the vileness of men and their wicked thoughts. Her uncle wanted her pierced and branded. Our bedroom door was still open and she simply walked out, leaving me with her lipstick on my lips, swinging her hips and reaching back to cup her bottom. It must have hurt from all the blows I'd delivered. I looked at Jennifer. We were alone. We were bereft. Collette and John had simply used us and left. We were guests at an orgy, I realized. We were here to use each other's bodies, and nothing more. We were like children with a key to somebody's candy shop, except our own bodies were each other's candy. I climbed onto the bed. Jennifer, crying, offered me her bush. I kissed it. It was furry.
I looked at her, my nose buried in her bush, and gave her a polite little lick. Did she pictures of woman being raped wish for more? A bucking of her hips showed me she did. Children! I heard from the doorway. The better to see their marks when they whip us, I thought, though I'd never played such games. I looked over at Debbie. Had pictures of woman being raped she? Her bra showed little points in it where her nipples stuck up into the fabric. It was the dead of winter. Bundled in our winter things we rapped upon the wooden door. Debbie's boyfriend stood behind us, tall and forboding. I felt like a little faun caught by the hunter. Furtively I glanced around me. Behind us the snow betrayed our footprints where we'd crunched though it in our new boots. Trees, stripped bare by winter, then partially reclothed with frost, stood silently by. Rising cliff-like before us was the house, set deep in a wood, far away from town, witch-like, where no one could hear what transpired inside.
Lady Fontaine's Piercing Salon. I expected a gypsy woman to answer, gnarled hands with a time-worn face, her fingers clutching pincers and needles. The door swung open. A soft smile. Golden hair, full and wavy, down to her waist. The eyes, sparkling, dark green. She struck the girl hard where she'd been before, laying a stroke right over a previous line. She hit the underside of Missy's bottom. She'd feel it most there. Missy threw her head back and howled like a banshee. Kerri, pictures of woman being raped forever consoling her, fed at her nipples. Missy's tummy expanded, teddy bear-like, then contracted as she drew in her bottomcheeks. But she could not contain them for long, and they bounced out again, shaking and saucily showing themselves. Ooooh, feel!
Jasmine said to Leslie. But Leslie could not get at the girl for Jasmine placed her own palms there, right on Missy's little ass, feeling the warmth of the blows. Missy danced and bounced in Jasmine's hands. Her bottom rolled. Jasmine let her shake her pictures of woman being raped hinds against her palms and announced to us that it felt delightfully obscene. Poor little baby! You act like you've sat in a nest of hornets! Jasmine teased. Missy bawled and finally hung her head, defeated. Jasmine had Leslie squirt lotion onto her hands and then she palmed Missy's bottom again, letting the girl grind her poor smarting ass into the soothing lotion on her palms.