"Would you like me to take some of the champagne away?" He asks.
"Yes, please," I say too fast.
He laughs and holds up a couple of clothespins, "Okay, well, the trade-off is that you will receive a set of these for every sip I take. I have to put them somewhere on your body."
"Can't they just stay in the box where they came from, Sir?" I ask.
"That's not how this works, you smart ass brat," he smacks my ass.
"It is possible that I may have to break my own rules with you.”
He pauses, drinking me in before continuing, “Do you accept this trade, kitten?"
"I’ll gladly accept the trade, Sir."
"Don't spill the champagne. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mr. North, please," I whine.
He laughs, "That's what I like to hear."
Mr. North carefully clips the worn-down gray clothespin to the side of my left breast. It smarts like hell but not as much as I thought, like an aggressive pinch.
"You have to tell me when you can't handle it. No time to be a hero," he mocks.
As if he thinks I'm going to go out that easy.
"I can handle it, Mr. North."
He then moves to clip the right side of my right breast.
We continue in this stilted silent routine of him sipping champagne and clipping clothespins to the entire underside of my breasts, like a makeshift underwire design of a cupless bra. Very kinky and inspired, indeed.
The underside of my breasts now sports at least ten clips. And while the trays are lighter, my arms are swaying from exertion.
"Only a few more left," he says.
Mr. North trails his empty hand from my throat down past my smooth, pale stomach to my shaved pussy. I choke on my breath as he moves his fingers expertly, spreading my lips so he can get a good handful.
"I had a feeling you would like this," he says.
I don't say anything because I don't need to. The evidence is there. I'm not ashamed of it. So instead, I eagerly thrust my hips out to meet Mr. North’s fingers.
"Oh no! You're going to be one of those!" he says, his voice finally showing excitement.
"You're going to have a hard time learning."
A slap cracks loudly against my left cheek. Immediately I lower the tray level to my head. He smacks me even harder. It takes all my strength to push the trays back up near my head.
Mr. North grabs the lips of my pussy and fastens the clothespins to each lip separately. It's an odd sensation that I've never experienced. It almost feels like a set of fingers holding it in place, pinching me. Next, he grabs another clothespin and fastens it to the other lip. And then soon, I have three on each side.
He leaves me for his briefcase again and returns with a whipping device, a soft and leathery thing with lots of leather tails.
"Flogger," he says as he drags it across my skin, teasing me. I am full of sensations now.
Mr. North captures my chin with this hand.
"This is important," he says sternly. All joking has left his face. "If these clothespins start causing you actual pain at any point, you have to tell me at once."