Daniel
A few people I've talked to here have suggested I utilize the posts option to share a few of my thoughts and experiences that may be appreciated by the site members. I figured a good place to start would be my clear love of nipple torture, and the road I took to discovering my predisposition for it.
It's been a long journey, so this may have to be split into multiple parts.
*****
The catalyst for my love of nipple torture was, surprisingly enough, a completely vanilla boy I met on public transport named Daniel. Daniel and I had a slight language barrier going on, his grasp of English was tenuous, and my grasp of Spanish was limited to what I'd picked up in elementary school- where Spanish language courses were still mandatory.
Despite this bridge, he was a cute boy, and we managed mutual flirting well enough that he got off on his stop with my phone number tucked away in his pocket. It wasn't a week later and he was at my door, flowers in hand, and the two of us opted to stay in for our 'first date' instead of go out.
Now, I was still fairly new to the dating game and hadn't really had much experience outside of kissing other boys (and the occasional girl). When we started making out on the couch I was ready enough, but when his hand slipped underneath my shirt, and my bra, and starting playing with my nipple, this was an entirely new sensation for me.
I'd never had somebody else's hands on my nipples before. Hell, I'd never even touched them myself, short of brushing against them while washing in the shower or dressing. I'd certainly never played with them, as he was doing now. Pulling them between two hard fingers, jiggling them like he was adjusting the radio station on a stereo.
Each small movement sent a shockwave of pleasure through me. I pulled back, not to stop him, but to lift my own shirt free and give him better access to my now-bare chest. He took full advantage. Kneading my breasts in his palms, tweaking my cherry colored nipples as I moaned my appreciation, covering my tits in small kisses until he finally reached the tips and sucked them into his mouth, one by one.
I was nearly crawling out of my skin with excitement. My panties were soaked, and I could do little more than thrust my willing breasts towards him, urging him deeper and deeper into this uncharted territory. I could feel his teeth against my turgid flesh. Not biting, just scr****g as he suckled. He wasn't being cruel, or even rough. Just enthusiastic, and it threw my virgin senses into overdrive. I couldn't get enough, in the moment.
I discovered, the next morning, that our mutual enthusiasm would have lasting consequences on my young, inexperienced body. I woke up to find both nipples poking straight up, rock hard and sore to the touch. My whole chest felt sore, like my titties had been put through a wringer. But instead of being upset, or reaching for an aspirin, I slid one hand into my panties, and the other one went up to my aching nipples.
I plucked them, like delicate little flowers, feeling the echo of Daniel's hands on my body. I finally started pulling on them as I masturbated, harder and harder, desperate for pain as I tried to emulate the attention he had given me yesterday.
I looked down at my sweet, rounded breast- now pulled taut away from my ribcage. A pyramid, jutting out from my chest; the normally red tip now white from the pressure of my fingertips, and I came instantly.
In the days and weeks that followed I started scouring my apartment for anything I could use to punish my nipples. Anything to extend that dull, throbbing ache I was left with once the post-orgasm endorphins left me. They were subjected to clothespins, hair accesories, chip bag clips, even clothes hangers. Nothing was too painful for my willing, eager buds.
I would spank them with a wooden spoon, watching the rosy nubs wrinkle and stiffen as I rubbed my soaking wet slit. I would pinch them with eyelash curlers until I yelped and yank on them with the pliers from my dad's old hand-me-down toolbox. I even bought a couple small alligator clips with heavy stone cubes attached to them. They were supposed to sit on a flat surface and hold photographs. I put them to better use. The teeth bit into my swollen peaks ferociously, the added weight of the base nearly made me drool from the delicious agony. Sometimes, when I was feeling *very* naughty, I would bounce and juggle my tits until it became too much for the clips, and they pulled free with an excruciating snap.
I was addicted.
I wanted it rougher and rougher. I would guide Daniel to them, always hoping his hard fingertips or willing mouth would latch on even harder. To pinch or bite them firmly enough to make me squeal. He loved giving them attention and did so with boundless enthusiasm, but eventually my quest for sore nipples outpaced his appreciation for my perky young tits. And, as they will, our relationship fizzled out.
We weren't meant to be. But I will always be grateful for his intial enthusiasm, and the pair of aching nipples it left me with. He opened the door for me, and allowed me to discover who I truly am.
By the time I entered my next serious relationship I was more than willing to ask for what I wanted. And lucky for me, I found a girlfriend maybe even more willing than I was- to deliver the torture I so desperately craved. Alyssa dived headfirst into the sadistic, pulling my poor sensitive nipples along with her, literally and figuratively.
But that's a story for another day.
It's been a long journey, so this may have to be split into multiple parts.
*****
The catalyst for my love of nipple torture was, surprisingly enough, a completely vanilla boy I met on public transport named Daniel. Daniel and I had a slight language barrier going on, his grasp of English was tenuous, and my grasp of Spanish was limited to what I'd picked up in elementary school- where Spanish language courses were still mandatory.
Despite this bridge, he was a cute boy, and we managed mutual flirting well enough that he got off on his stop with my phone number tucked away in his pocket. It wasn't a week later and he was at my door, flowers in hand, and the two of us opted to stay in for our 'first date' instead of go out.
Now, I was still fairly new to the dating game and hadn't really had much experience outside of kissing other boys (and the occasional girl). When we started making out on the couch I was ready enough, but when his hand slipped underneath my shirt, and my bra, and starting playing with my nipple, this was an entirely new sensation for me.
I'd never had somebody else's hands on my nipples before. Hell, I'd never even touched them myself, short of brushing against them while washing in the shower or dressing. I'd certainly never played with them, as he was doing now. Pulling them between two hard fingers, jiggling them like he was adjusting the radio station on a stereo.
Each small movement sent a shockwave of pleasure through me. I pulled back, not to stop him, but to lift my own shirt free and give him better access to my now-bare chest. He took full advantage. Kneading my breasts in his palms, tweaking my cherry colored nipples as I moaned my appreciation, covering my tits in small kisses until he finally reached the tips and sucked them into his mouth, one by one.
I was nearly crawling out of my skin with excitement. My panties were soaked, and I could do little more than thrust my willing breasts towards him, urging him deeper and deeper into this uncharted territory. I could feel his teeth against my turgid flesh. Not biting, just scr****g as he suckled. He wasn't being cruel, or even rough. Just enthusiastic, and it threw my virgin senses into overdrive. I couldn't get enough, in the moment.
I discovered, the next morning, that our mutual enthusiasm would have lasting consequences on my young, inexperienced body. I woke up to find both nipples poking straight up, rock hard and sore to the touch. My whole chest felt sore, like my titties had been put through a wringer. But instead of being upset, or reaching for an aspirin, I slid one hand into my panties, and the other one went up to my aching nipples.
I plucked them, like delicate little flowers, feeling the echo of Daniel's hands on my body. I finally started pulling on them as I masturbated, harder and harder, desperate for pain as I tried to emulate the attention he had given me yesterday.
I looked down at my sweet, rounded breast- now pulled taut away from my ribcage. A pyramid, jutting out from my chest; the normally red tip now white from the pressure of my fingertips, and I came instantly.
In the days and weeks that followed I started scouring my apartment for anything I could use to punish my nipples. Anything to extend that dull, throbbing ache I was left with once the post-orgasm endorphins left me. They were subjected to clothespins, hair accesories, chip bag clips, even clothes hangers. Nothing was too painful for my willing, eager buds.
I would spank them with a wooden spoon, watching the rosy nubs wrinkle and stiffen as I rubbed my soaking wet slit. I would pinch them with eyelash curlers until I yelped and yank on them with the pliers from my dad's old hand-me-down toolbox. I even bought a couple small alligator clips with heavy stone cubes attached to them. They were supposed to sit on a flat surface and hold photographs. I put them to better use. The teeth bit into my swollen peaks ferociously, the added weight of the base nearly made me drool from the delicious agony. Sometimes, when I was feeling *very* naughty, I would bounce and juggle my tits until it became too much for the clips, and they pulled free with an excruciating snap.
I was addicted.
I wanted it rougher and rougher. I would guide Daniel to them, always hoping his hard fingertips or willing mouth would latch on even harder. To pinch or bite them firmly enough to make me squeal. He loved giving them attention and did so with boundless enthusiasm, but eventually my quest for sore nipples outpaced his appreciation for my perky young tits. And, as they will, our relationship fizzled out.
We weren't meant to be. But I will always be grateful for his intial enthusiasm, and the pair of aching nipples it left me with. He opened the door for me, and allowed me to discover who I truly am.
By the time I entered my next serious relationship I was more than willing to ask for what I wanted. And lucky for me, I found a girlfriend maybe even more willing than I was- to deliver the torture I so desperately craved. Alyssa dived headfirst into the sadistic, pulling my poor sensitive nipples along with her, literally and figuratively.
But that's a story for another day.
1 年 前
I do intend to continue the story, and part two is now up, titled Alyssa, in my blog, if you're interested.