Alyssa

I think a lot of us have that girl or guy in our heads, that we consider 'the one that got away'. Despite us ending and restarting our relationship a half dozen times over the course of two decades, Alyssa is, and always will be that one. In my mind at least. I suspect, with almost certainty, that fondness I feel for her is due in large part to her adventurous, and at times cruel, sexual tendencies.

She didn't look the part of unmerciful mistress. In fact, she looked, and still does look, the very picture of innocence. Standing at five foot even and 90 pounds soaking wet, with baby blue eyes, light blonde hair and the sweetest smile you could ever hope to see. Anyone looking at us together would have immediately clocked me as the dominant one in the relationship.

No one would have ever imagined that every evening, when she got me home alone, it would be HER mounting my face. Her asshole grinding on my tear-streaked nose as she rode my tongue. Who'd have guessed it was *my* swollen nipples captured between her grasping fingers, and more often than not, red marks from her hairbrush dotted all over my bottom?

If they could have heard the tiny voice that emerged, begging to be allowed to touch her own desperate slit, they'd never have suspected it came from me. But it always did. I was her pathetic, mewling little plaything, in every sense of the word.

It wasn't always like that.

In the beginning our relationship was normal enough. Two girls trying to navigate a lesbian relationship for the first time after only a minimal handful of experiences with men. She was my first girlfriend, and we were young. I never imagined she'd turn into the sadist who first indulged my fetish for nipple torture with real enthusiasm instead of the perfunctory nibbles and gentle tugs I'd gotten from most men who knew my secret.

I trusted her. More than I'd ever trusted anyone before. And so, one evening while we were fooling around, I decided to come clean. We were sitting face to face on her bed, my top and bra completely off, hers tugged down, soon to join mine on the floor. She had her lips around my nipple, treating it to a feather-light kiss, when I spoke up.

"You can pinch it, if you want."

"What?"

"My nipple, you can pinch it."

She smiled a little, and reached up to clasp it between her thumb and forefinger. She looked pleased at the idea, but she held it so gently, like it was fragile glass and might shatter if she weren't careful.

"Like this?"

"Harder."

I felt her grip tighten, and her smile got bigger.

"Is this okay?"

"Harder please. You can use your fingernails, if you want."

I watched as her manicure bit into my nipple, turning the flesh there white. I hissed, not from pain but from pleasure, and shifted in my seat. She dropped it, and I was ready to urge her to continue, but her lips found my nipple again before I could speak. Or rather, her teeth did.

They clenched onto my tender nipple fiercely. There was no warm-up. No slow build up of pressure applied to my throbbing breast. This was an immediate latch, and her teeth coming down hard, crushing the soft flesh between two unyielding, punishing forces. She was chewing it. She was actually chewing my delicate bud like a piece of beef jerky.

"Wait, stop. Please!"

I'd finally found my voice. But my protest did nothing to stop her. She continued her torture, oblivious to the tears that now trickled down my face as I begged her to stop and give me a break.

And then she released my nipple.

And immediately caught the other one in her mouth. While her teeth set to work decimating my left nipple she flicked the well-chewed right one, making the spongy flesh blaze with silent agony. I couldn't pull back, she had too firm a hold on it. It would have felt like I were ripping my own breast off if I tried to escape.

I sobbed and begged for mercy. I hadn't cried so hard in years. Not since my mom decided I'd outgrown her belt and taken to whipping the backs of my legs with a thick extension cord from the computer monitor whenever I misbehaved. I was getting dizzy from the pain, and Alyssa showed no signs of slowing. She didn't ease up until the longing between her own legs grew unbearable, and she dragged her underwear off and led my mouth to her dripping sex by a handful of hair. Grateful to finally be free of her unbearable nipple torture I lapped at her pussy with unbridled devotion.

I could barely stand the brush of my t-shirt against my punished nips on the drive home. They'd never been so sore before. And I'd never felt so in love.

I showed up the next night with a box of chocolates and a bottle of wine. I asked her for the same treatment, and she was happy to oblige. I fell asleep in her bed after, head buzzing from the endorphins. I'd made her cum, twice, with my tongue buried in her silky cunt. And she'd even been kind enough to rub me to completion with her mouth firmly fixed to my chest afterwards. Of course, when I came she waited several minutes to stop working over my nipples. In the post-orgasm haze it was hellishly painful, and I once again pleaded to deaf ears.

I was completely sated. But she wasn't finished with me yet.

She woke me up sometime after 2 in the morning. When the bars are all closed and the city shuts down completely for a few hours, before the earliest of risers get up and start their journeys to work. It was pitch black outside when I felt her nudging me awake, and encouraging me to put my pants back on so we could go for a walk.

It wasn't unlike her to have these odd flights of fancy, nor was it unlike me to indulge them. So I got myself up, wincing as my raw nipples scra ped across the bedsheet. I pulled my jeans on and was reaching for my top when she stopped me.

"No, leave it, I've got something else for you to wear."

The 'something else' wasn't a shirt, or a sweater. Hell, I would have settled for a bra at that point. Instead it was two binder clips, each with a long thin leash attached to the metal handle. I felt my stomach drop out underneath me. She couldn't possibly mean to affix those to my nipples, could she? They were so sore already, I wouldn't be able to bear it!

She laughed at me when I voiced my concerns, and then pushed me back onto the bed.

"That's exactly what I mean to do. And you're going to be an obedient little girl and do as I say, or you're going to get much worse."

I wish I could say I was so obedient, and that I laid back and let her apply the vicious little clips to my hard nipples without complaint. But really, it took several slaps across the mouth, the threat of being sent to bed with the clamps on until morning to finally convince me.

It wasn't just the pain I was scared of, it was being so exposed in a semi-public area. But in the end, like she always did, Alyssa got her way.

She led the way to the woods outside her house, to the small walking path we'd traversed a hundred times before. Only on this occasion I was stumbling and whining, half-naked, nipples pulled taut from my chest and yanked every few steps by my girlfriend as if I were a stubborn dog. I was certain with every step that we'd run into a neighbor, or some transient making himself at home in the woods for the evening. Or worse, the cops, and I'd be hauled away for public nudity and spend the night nursing my sore breasts from inside a jail cell.

But we didn't. My head swam from the pain of the metal clamps biting into my defenseless peaks, and I whimpered and groaned as I was pulled along at a near trotting pace. The last of my dignity was stripped away from me during that walk, but of all things, at least we retained our privacy. And I discovered her cruel treatment had the surprising side effect of leaving me dripping wet by the time we made it back home. I was almost sad when she removed the binder clips. And not just because the initial removal burned like hell.

I knew I wanted her fingers on my nipples, and my lips on her sex for the rest of my life. And she seemed just as happy as I was with that arrangement.

She quickly realized she could motivate my tongue to move in double time if she applied some painful 'encouragement' to my nipples while I was buried between her thighs. So a new daily routine was born. Me, lying on my back, chest bare and nipples already hard in anticipation. Salivating at the taste of salt and heat and girl. Sometimes I'd be allowed to attend to my needy pussy during, sometimes trying would result in a flurry of hard smacks to my exposed folds and a firm 'no'. My orgasms fell by the wayside and her pleasure became the focal point of both our attentions.

Actually, that's not fair to say. Her focus was OFTEN on my nipples, and how badly she could hurt them in new and creative ways.


She became a pro at digging her fingernails into the stiff, red peaks. Sometimes hard enough to draw blood. But always hard enough to leave them swollen, battered and sore for hours. The times she was super randy, and would use me three or four times a day, my nipples would get no time to recover. They'd still be screaming from her last mistreatment when she grabbed hold of them again, tugging them up with all her strength and laughing at my anguished wails.

But her pinches weren't just reserved for the bedroom. Far from it. she mastered the art of getting her way by hurting my achy little buds whenever she felt like it.

She needed money for something and I said I didn't have it? A series of brutal pinches would ensure my generosity. She wanted to go out and I didn't? I could expect my nipples to be tugged ferociously until I was feeling more sociable. Disagreement in front of friends, no matter how civil? A few hard bites would make me retract my statement in a hurry. Losing a video game against me? Twisting my nipple until I dropped the controller was a cheat code that always worked.

In public she would take advantage of the difference in height between us to pretend to hug me. She'd bury her face in my chest, not for comfort, but for the cover she needed to apply sharp, merciless bites to my tits. Sometimes hitting her target. Sometimes missing entirely and leaving my tits covered in deep purple bruises. For some reason the most painful ones were when she would catch only part of my areola, and part of the flesh surrounding it. Those would leave my legs weak and trembling, and I'd often need to find a place to sit down until the dizziness stopped and I could walk without tripping all over myself.

Even when I'd cry, or plead with her to give me a rest, or to take it a little easier on my tits, she never listened. She liked hurting me as much as I liked being hurt. Maybe more. And my discomfort wasn't her concern. Her pleasure took precedence over my feelings every time. I would have married her in a heartbeat, if circumstances had allowed it. But our lives just didn't fit together the way our sexual urges did. And we eventually went our own ways.

But, to this day she'll see me, and on occasion get this devious smile on her face. And sure enough next thing she's reaching for the hem of my shirt. And I know my nipples are in for some painful, if quick punishment. No, I've never told her no or shied away from her domineering touch.

I hope if i ever do she really gives me something to cry about.