He was becoming much attuned to that colour on her skin. “What is it, my love?” he said. “It’s just that – it’s just…” she blinked and hesitated, her heart rate picking up. Get a grip, Ariana! She thought angrily, swallowing hard. “It’s just… I haven’t – been,” she began. His eyes narrowed and she thought she saw a flash of intuition flare through his eyes. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” he stroked her face. Her eyes widened and she suddenly giggled, looking like a young carefree spirit. “No! No – I’m not a virgin, but,” the smile faded from her face. “I don’t want to sound like I’m feeling sorry for myself, because I don’t. But I do know… I mean, my last boyfriend, he wasn’t very…” A new look came into his eyes, and she was surprised to identify a hint of anger, that was quickly replaced by tenderness. He resumed the stroking of her face. “I won’t hurt you, Ariana,” he said, his voice turning soft, his face serious, and his eyes begging her to believe him. “I promise.” Her wide eyes. The pain increases, and the tip of my nipple grows numb for a moment, until an ache from deep within my left breast begins growing outward, being pulled toward the suction with each loud rasping suction blast of the machine pump. Mistress, watching carefully, bits my mouth again and ruffles my hair as one would a prized a****l, and then sets back to work observing. Which is good because in seconds I’m crying from the effort. A very small, little pin point orgasm, almost erupts from my left breast, but is enveloped in a wash of pain so overwhelming that a red haze fills my eyes. I swoon – but they catch me. In short order, the machine is removed and, with some adjustment, affixed to my other tit. Mistress is right there now, on her knees, having stripped out of much of her garments for the evening, slicking her fingers up with cocoa butter even as the same pain begins to build in my right breast. I look down, vaguely, noting a small amount of blood on my nipple. Feeling.
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