|
Breast Clipsa Loquiter
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
BREAST CLIPSA LOQUITUR
By: Dave Caracappa
After dinner, he looked at me with those beautiful eyes and
that evil smile.
"I'm sorry, not tonight, John. I've got a busy day tomor-
row, and have to prepare this evening." I know he was disap-
pointed, but we had agreed that jobs come before play, and it
doesn't happen that often. Even so, we both slept the sound
sleep of the just-after that night.
I should have seen it coming, though. I had brought some
papers home to work on. After dinner, I had pulled them out of
my briefcase, removed the binder clip, and started studying them,
making notes. I noticed once, when I looked up, that John was
playing with the binder clip. Deep in the middle of preparing
for the pre-trial conference, I didn't pay much attention. I'm
almost glad I didn't. Last night would have been unbearable.
The morning was intense. I was cramming for the conference
in the afternoon. At quarter past one, he called me. His in-
structions had been crystal clear. While I protested, I knew
that I had no choice but to obey. The conference with Judge
Schenkly and opposing counsel was scheduled for 2:00 pm, just a
half hour from now. I hung up the phone, and walked out to
Cheryl, my secretary.
"Cheryl, I need two of the small black paper binder clips."
Efficient as ever, she immediately opened a drawer, reached in,
pulled them out, and offered them to me. "Thanks," I murmured,
and turned back toward my office.
"Stacy, Don't forget. Judge Schenkly, two o'clock," she
said crisply.
"I'm on it, thanks." Cheryl was a gem.
I walked back into my office, and did what John had done
last night: really looked at the binder clips. They were made of
a stiff black metal piece, roughly square, and bent into a
triangular shape. The ends were rounded over where they touched.
Two roughly U-shaped handles of stiff wire were attached to the
ends of the metal plate. When the handles were squeezed togeth-
er, the jaws opened; when the handles were released, the jaws
closed. I placed a clip on my little finger. It hurt. I had to
look a little closer to see how to do what he had told me to do.
I played with one of the wire handles, and discovered that if I
squeezed it together, it would come off the clip. This was not
going to be pleasant.
I had no more time to dawdle. I closed the office door, and
leaned back against it. I didn't want Cheryl, or anyone else, to
come in right now. I opened the top four or five buttons of my
blouse, shrugged the shoulder pads down onto my back, and I
pushed my bra straps down over my arms. Then slipping the
fingers of my right hand between my left breast and bra cup, I
bared my left breast, then repeated this for my right breast.
The air conditioning in the office was cool, and I my nipples
became hard and crinkly. I really had to leave now. I took a
binder clip in my right hand, squeezed the handles to open the
jaws, and brought them up to surround my left nipple. He had
been quite explicit. I held the jaws just at the base of the
nipple, where it would cause the most pain, and began to let the
handles go. Slowly, slowly, I released the handles, trying to
let my nipple get used to the pain; each little movement of
release imparting a smidgen more pain. I almost stopped. But it
was Friday afternoon, and one of his punishment weekends was
definitely not what I wanted for the next two and a half days.
So I let it go. Time was running out, so I did the same for my
right nipple only more quickly. While removing the wire handles
from the clips, I had no choice but to pull and twist the clips
on my nipples. The fierce pains made me inspect my clipped
nipples as best as I could. But I could see no blood. Then I
quickly reencased my breasts in my bra, pulled the straps over my
shoulders, and rebuttoned my blouse. I put on my jacket, tossed
the wire handles into my desk drawer, as he had instructed,
grabbed my brief case, and walked out. I had absolutely no time
to spare now.
As soon as I slipped my bra back into position, I knew that
the clips were not going to come off until someone removed them.
When I first attached them, the pain was sharp and intense.
After the first few minutes, while heading down in the elevator,
I began to feel phantom pains, deep inside my body, sharp pains
that I couldn't reach to scratch. It was as if I had nipples
deep within my chest, in my stomach, in my buttocks. The two
real pains, I could reach, but couldn't comfort. I knew my
jacket would hide the clips from view, so I wasn't concerned that
someone might guess that they were there. But I could just
imagine the looks I would get, walking down the street caressing
my breasts.
The court building was only a few blocks away; just a few
minutes walk. But I had spent so much time following his direc-
tions that I was late. I had to walk fast, there was no time to
spare. I do not have large breasts, and jiggle was something,
until now, I did not have to worry about, or even be aware of.
But now, each step made my breasts bob, but the clips were held
steady by friction with the fabric of my bra. As my breasts
bobbed, and my clipped nipples didn't, I felt a painful pull with
each step.
Conscious contact with the outside world became hazy, I was
moving more on automatic pilot, than by volition. I walked
around a corner too fast, and ran headlong into an older gentle-
man. We collided chest to chest, and I saw stars. I screamed
bloody murder at him. He certainly didn't deserve the epithets I
spat at him. As I walked quickly away, I realized that he had
been a complete gentleman about it, and was trying to apologize
through my tirade. I know I left him completely bewildered at my
behavior.
By the time I arrived at the court building, the sharp pains
had turned to dull aches in my nipples and the various phantom
nipples within my body. "The judge sends his apologies, but he
will be a little bit late," the court clerk told me. "Why don't
you have a seat in the law library?" I almost screamed through
my aches, but I knew enough not to yell at the court clerk, so I
graciously accepted, and settled into an easy chair in the empty
library.
The law library was in the new wing of the court building,
or at least the newer wing, having been built in 1966. The air
conditioning in this wing was strong, and the cool air in the law
library was soothing, like a walk in the dusk of a brisk autumn
day. Here, alone, I did indulge myself. I pushed the lapels of
my jacket aside and rubbed my breasts all over, except the
nipples, trying to ease the pain. I gently stroked the outsides
of my breasts, barely touching them. I deeply massaged them.
Nothing seemed to assuage the pain, however. The pains were too
deep within my body to be reached via massage. The cool air
stiffened the pinched nipples. I simply closed my eyes, and
could do nothing but focus on the pains. It was like meditating.
As I relaxed, I concentrated on nothing but the pains. I felt
the pains deep in my body start to reach out to my vulva, and I
began to get excited. As I started to concentrate on the sexual
sensations, I slouched in the easy chair, opened my legs as far
as the chair and my skirt would allow, and began to rub my labia
through my skirt. Through a sensual haze, I heard a sound at the
door. I snapped back to attention, closed my legs, jerked my
hand away from my crotch, and sprang upright in the chair. I
must have had a guilty look on my face.
It was George, one of the bailiffs, "He's ready for you now.
Are you OK?" This latter after he saw me start. I assured him
that I was fine, and walked toward the door. George was young
and fairly new on the job. As he got to know me better, he would
flirt with me, although he did nothing which could ever be
considered improper: just some harmless words, and smiles.
George was holding the door for me. Only as I was walking past
him, on the way out the door, did I remember to pull the lapels
of my jacket back into place to cover the telltale angular little
black bulges in the middle of the cups of my lacy bra, which
seemed to me to be as obvious as one of Madonna's torpedo bras.
I don't know whether he noticed. When I turned to thank him,
and to try to discern whether he had seen anything, he was
staring intently at a Cassatt print at the far end of the
library, not at me. His face was impassive. If he did notice,
he didn't let on. It was a half-hour after I had entered the
library.
The judge's chambers were in the old section of the court
building. It was over a century old, and as with all such
buildings, the heating was much more efficient than the air
conditioning. The chambers were stifling. I had totally
forgotten just how oppressive the offices in the old section
could be. As I walked in, I was greeted by both Judge Schenkly
and Bob Harris. I walked over to shake hands with Judge
Schenkly. I had appeared before him before. He was a short
older man with a thick mop of gray hair, thick glasses and,
unless he was riled, a warm smile. I had always thought of him
as a fatherly sort. But when he was riled .... But, I did not
intend to do that.
"You know Mr. Harris?" the judge said. I turned to shake
hands with Bob.
"Yes, your honor. Hi Bob, how are you."
"Fine, Stacy, how are you," Bob Harris was a middle aged
man with a salt and pepper crew cut, and a little bit of a
paunch. He was a big man, who, in his younger days, I imagined,
played football.
"Mrs. Lambert, please sit down," the Judge invited, waving
his hand vaguely in the direction of one of the chairs around the
conference table.
"Thank you, your honor."
"Mr. Harris?" The judge waved at a chair on the other side
from me. He sat down with a nod to the judge. Then Judge
Schenkly sat at the head of the table between us.
"Before we get started, I know that it is damnably hot in
here. Let's stop being lawyers for a while and just be human
beings. I'd like to suggest that we all remove our jackets." he
said in a kindly manner. They both looked at me, as if for
permission. I froze.
"Please," I croaked through my tightened throat, "Don't mind
me, please go ahead."
They looked at each other, then both removed their jackets
and at the prompting of the judge, loosened their ties.
"Mrs. Lambert," the judge said kindly, "You must be hot in
that jacket. You are more than welcome to take it off for this
conference. You make me feel hot just to look at you. Why don't
you just take it off and cool off a bit."
I didn't dare. I was scrambling for an excuse which would
sound reasonable. "Well," I stammered, "The blouse I'm wearing
is not really appropriate for such a conference. It's a bit ...
shear."
"Mrs. Lambert," the judge smiled, "I'm seventy-two years
old, this year. I've been a judge for the last thirty-five of
those years. If you are afraid that your apparel may affect my
judgement ... well, I can assure you that it won't. And if I
know Mr. Harris, I know that it will not affect his."
"Yes, Mrs. Lambert." Bob added. "With all due respect, I
have a daughter your age. What you wear will not affect me in
the least."
"There now, you see. Go ahead and take your jacket off."
I smiled the prettiest smile I knew how to smile and
replied, "Thank you both, I didn't mean to imply anything. But I
would be very uncomfortable /* 'to say the least,' I thought to
myself */ if I were to take off my jacket. Please don't mind
me, I'll just keep it on."
"OK, Mrs. Lambert." Judge Schenkly said doubtfully, as he
arose from his chair, "Just let me see if I can open a window a
little." He went to the giant window in his conference room and
tugged it up till it opened a crack. "Sorry," he panted, "That's
the best I can do," and sat back down.
"It's fine, really. Thank you, your honor." I breathed a
little sigh of relief, and not because of the little zephyr of
not-quite-so-superheated air from the window.
Judge Schenkly was a good judge, and Bob Harris was a good
attorney. I knew that the conference would be a good one, but
neither was a pushover. I had to be in top form.
Today, I was better than ever. The heat was positively
overpowering. I could feel the drops of sweat run from my
underarms down my sides, tickling me; and soaking my back. But I
could do one thing they couldn't. Unseen by either of them, I
hiked the hem of my skirt up to the top of my thighs, and opened
my legs wide, letting the hot air circulate between my thighs.
For the most part, I concentrated my entire mind on what I had to
do. When a portion of my conscious mind was available for other
use, I felt the dull ache in all of my nipples, real and phantom.
But despite the heat and the pain, it seemed as if my mind was in
overdrive. I was on top of every request, and had every citation
ready for each point and counterpoint.
"You were good today," Bob complemented me after we
finished. This was something. Bob is not a Rambo lawyer, but
does not suffer fools easily. I felt good. But, now the ache
and sharp pains from my bobbing breasts returned, as we arose,
and started to walk out of the hell that was the judge's
chambers.
"Thanks, I appreciate that." I replied. As emerged from
chambers, there he was, sitting on a bench in the hall, waiting
for me.
"John! What are you doing here?"
I knew, though. I had had a feeling that he would check up
on me today. "Hi, sweetie," he said brightly, as we kissed.
"You remember Bob Harris," I said to him.
"Certainly. Pleased to see you again."
"Nice to see you, too. Going down?" Bob asked as he pressed
the elevator button.
"I've got to go the men's room first. Where is it, Babe?"
"Around the corner. I'll show you"
"Bob, see you again later." John was always affable.
"Yes Bob, see you at trial," I added.
"Bye John, Stacy." The elevator door opened and Bob disap-
peared.
John pushed the elevator button immediately after the eleva-
tor doors closed.
"I thought you had to go to the bathroom?"
"No. I just need to be alone with you a few minutes."
We waited wordlessly until the next elevator arrived. It
was empty, and we got on. John immediately pulled the stop
switch.
"Alright, show 'em to me."
I was reluctant, but his look was insistent. I repeated
what I had done in my office. He looked at my clipped nipples
with a big grin.
"I wasn't sure that you'd actually go through with it. I
had a little bet with myself that we were going to have a punish-
ment weekend. I'm disappointed. ... OK, come over here." I
moved closer. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair
of wire handles. He attached them to the clip on my left nipple,
creating new paroxysms of pains as it was pulled and twisted,
then he abruptly removed it. The dull ache I had been feeling
for the past hours became shooting pains again. They redoubled
when he repeated the procedure for the clip on my right nipple.
Then he immediately pushed the stop button back in. In a frenzy,
I started redressing. I was frantically rebuttoning the top few
buttons on my blouse when the door opened at the next floor.
Three busybody secretaries shuffled in. I blushed to my belly
button, and felt that they were each looking right through me to
my very soul as they got on. He stood just next to me with the
most beatific expression. Such innocence!
When the door opened on the ground floor, we walked out,
talking quietly.
"Let's go home now, I'll call Cheryl and tell her not to
expect me. We'll get a jump on the weekend." I said to him.
'And I'll get a jump at your bones,' I thought to myself.
"Nothing doing," he said, with a big smile. "You told me
last night you were very busy. So you're going back to work.
And I don't want you to go to the ladies room to masturbate.
Furthermore, any wet panties will be grounds for a nice long
punishment weekend. I'll pick you up at five. See ya then.
Remember what I told you."
I was dumbfounded. How did he know? Then I realized that
he knew me as well as I knew myself. It was four o'clock when I
got back to my office. Once I was inside, I closed the door
again, undid my top, and inspected my nipples. Even now, only a
few minutes after the clips had been removed, they looked normal.
But the pain had returned to a dull ache, which seemed to be
connected by a direct nerve to my clitoris. 'Don't think about
it,' I said to myself, as I started to feel the moisture in my
vaginal walls. 'Don't even think about it.' I didn't dare even
go to the ladies room. He might be sitting out in the lobby,
where I couldn't see him, just watching. No, it was safer to
stay in here.
'Don't think about it' But I knew that already my panties
were bedewed. In two hours, I knew I'd be worried about wetting
the outside of my skirt. 'Don't even think about it.' At five,
he'll walk in as bright and cheery as he could be. Everyone
liked John. He'll walk in, say hi to everyone, flirt with Cheryl
come into my office, and close the door. Everyone will assume
that we're doing a little heavy duty smooching. But he'll have
his hand down the waistband of my skirt, feeling the outside of
my pussy, and will know. He never says anything to me at such
moments; just shakes his finger at me and smiles his beautiful
smile. 'Just don't think about it.'
|
|
