Punish Her Tits

Amandla just stared into the mirror for a moment, hands still lewdly displaying her breasts to the ... being ... inside her, nipples firming and lengthening in the cool air, her mind awhirl. How had he known? And what would some ... body? ... yes, somebody, for there was obviously a human intelligence there ... who could control her every action do to "punish" her?

She had no desire to find out.

"Ah, I will never grow tired of looking at those tits," the voice told her, "nor of feeling what you feel when somebody's playing with them."

Amandla felt her hands move ... without any choice on her part but also without a command by her invader ... from beneath her breasts to her dark, cold- stiffened nipples. "W- what ... ?"

"Your fat knockers, Amandla. Pay attention. I was talking about how I love the way they feel when someone ... your girlfriend, for example ... or anybody, really ... touches them."

While he was speaking ... and his speech seemed to slow as he did, or maybe her movements simply sped up ... Amandla's fingers progressed, brushing ghostlike against her sensitive skin, up and over her breasts until, tickling, they circled her areolas and then her nipples, which grew ever longer, stiffer and more sensitive. While the voice in her head continued speaking, her hands grasped her erect, sensitive nipples between her thumbs and the second knuckles of her index fingers, which were wrapped almost into fists with her remaining digits.

Then they started squeezing.

"You see," the voice continued while her thumbs squeezed her nipples harder, and then harder still, "I enjoy watching your funbags. I like watching ... feeling ... people play with them."

Her hands were now pinching her nipples painfully. So painfully, in fact, that the bruising pain seemed to spread out beyond the nipples themselves, into her areolas and even farther, into her breast flesh itself. "Puh ... Please ..."

"I thought I told you to. Pay. Attention, Amandla. Didn't I say that to you just a moment ago?"

Amandla didn't want to answer; she certainly didn't want to submit to the intruder in her head, but the combination of the growing pain in her chest and the imperiously demanding tone of the intruder's mental voice demanded compliance. "I'm ... I'm sorry, but ..." she nodded towards her breasts, "... Hurts ..."

There was mirth in the voice as it answered, "Do they? Because I must tell you, they feel just fine from here. Your discomfort is ... enticing."

Her thumbs began to squeeze even harder, eliciting a long, shuddering breath that she wanted to turn into a scream but refused to in the last second. Her eyes, however, began to water. "P - please. Please stop ..."

"Oh, but you're being punished, don't you remember? Punishment hurts. Or at least, my punishments hurt ... at least when I'm punishing you."

Amandla's breath shuddered again. She thought she might cry, and not just from the pain, though that was now the worst pain she'd ever felt. The entire morning, which at that point had lasted significantly less than half an hour, had been so beyond her experience, so flatly unbelievable, that she feared she might go mad ... if she wasn't already.

"Yes, there is that, isn't there?" asked the amused voice in her head, "I might just be the voice of your own mental illness, mightn't I? In which case, you're torturing yourself. What a delicious conundrum! And it's given me an equally delicious idea.

"We can either stand here 'punishing' you until your sweet Mikaela notices your absence and finds you here ... which could take all day, couldn't it? Isn't she going to the studio to work on her next album today? Or I could let you punish your own cantaloupes foooor ... let's say five minutes of acceptably sharpened and deepened pain."

Amandla started to nod; there was no way she could possibly tolerate hours of this ****, and being found like this by Mikaela? Unacceptable. But then the exact words her molester had just used registered.

"'Acceptably?' So I could ..." the pain in her breasts was making it hard to speak. And think. "... could end up here all day anyway?"

She could almost see the smile on her molester's nonexistent lips. "Well, aren't you the clever one. Playing with you is going to be all sorts of fun. Very well, if your ... performance ... can't produce five minutes of pain sharp and deep enough to satisfy me in the next fifteen, your ... correction will last only forty-five more after that, long enough to give you a memorable session and a real chance of being caught by your little girlfriend, but not long enough to cause lasting damage to your body or mind.

"Or I can make you hurt yourself in humiliating and potentially maddening ways until your lesbian lover finds you. Which will it be?"