THE WONDERFUL BRASSIERE
The black limousine pulled up at the gate of the Waterview Country Club,
and the chauffeur jumped quickly out to open the rear door. Hirsch emerged,
followed by Sarah, whom he helpled politely out of the car. Hirsch wore a
tuxedo, and Sarah a modestly-cut but very becoming green evening gown which set
off the deep gold of her hair to perfection.
"Thank you, Peter," Hirsch said to the chauffeur. "We will be leaving
about midnight, I expect."
"Yes, sir," Peter said. He got back behind the wheel and the car rolled
noiselessly away.
The Waterview Country Club was an elegant and exclusive establishment
whose modern yet rustic-looking main building was set on rolling acres of land
which contained the usual golf course, tennis courts and other appurtenances of
the wealthy. Tonight the club was holding its annual Charity Ball. The building
was alight, music drifting from the windows. Beautifully dressed people were
arriving in couples or groups. The smells of perfume and money were in the air.
Hirsch and Sarah walked slowly up the broad flagstone path from the gate
to the building.
"Remember, my dear," Hirsch said in a low tone, "you must be as charming
and delightful as ever this evening. You must smile brightly, laugh in the right
places, make animated conversation. No one who does not know is to even remotely
suspect your--secret."
"Yes, father," the girl said. There was something a trifle strange about
her voice--as there was something a little stiff, a bit too careful, in her
walk. But as they reached the door of the building all such traces disappeared,
and her smile was indeed bright as she entered on her father's arm, nodding and
exchanging greetings with friends and acquaintances.
They moved along a brightly lighted halway to the ballroom. It was a
huge, high-ceilinged room, with a raised platform on one side on which the dance
orchestra was playing. There was a bar set up to the left of the entrance, and
tables of various sizes were spaced around the floor, leaving a large area in
the center for dancing.
Hirsch and Sarah mingled with a group near the bar, chatting about the
weather and the ballroom decorations, until they were hailed by a short,
sandy-haired man at the end of the bar. They excused themselves and went to join
him. He was with a plump, pleasant-looking woman with ringletted hair dyed to a
light blonde shade. They were both in their late forties.
"Hi!" The man said. "We've been waiting for you."
"Frank, how are you?" Hirsch said. "Hello, Amy." He shook hands with the
man and kissed the woman.
"Sarah, it's nice to see you," the man said. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine, thank you, Mr. Bradley," Sarah said, smiling. "Good evening, Mrs.
Bradley."
"Good evening, Sarah," the woman said. "You're looking lovely tonight.
Just lovely. Isn't she, Frank?"
"She certainly is," the man said. He was looking at Sarah closely.
"Thank you," Sarah said.
"Well!" Bradley said. "Our table's right over there. Shall we?"
They made their way along the floor. Mrs. Bradley and Sarah led the way,
talking vivaciously, while Hirsch and Bradley followed behind.
"Is she wearing it?" Bradley asked Hirsch softly.
"Yes."
"My god! That's amazing. You'd never know it."
"She has been well trained," Hirsch said.
They reached their table and were seated. In a moment the waiter
appeared and took their order for drinks. When he had gone, Mrs. Bradley leaned
forward eagerly and turned to Sarah.
"Well now," she said. "Out with it! I'm just dying to know. Frank has
been saying all day that you had a lovely treat in store for us this evening,
but he's absolutely refused to tell me what it is, the brute! So come on, let me
in on it. What have you cooked up this time?"
Hirsch took out a cigar and carefully unwrapped it. The woman watched
impatiently as he lit it and took a satisfied puff before answering. "I think
you'll enjoy it, Amy," he said. "Don't you think so, Sarah?"
"I'm sure she will, father," Sarah said.
"Well, TELL me!"
"Sarah is wearing a special garment which I personally designed and had
manufactured," Hirsch said. "It is a brassiere, fitted especially and precisely
to her measurements. It is quite snug, and the insides of the cups are studded
with a number of tiny steel spikes."
Mrs. Bradley drew in her breath sharply. Her eyes shone. "But that's
marvelous!" she breathed. "Simply marvelous! Spikes!" She turned avidly toward
the girl. "Oh, it must be torture! Sarah, my dear, you must be suffering
terribly!"
"Yes, I am," Sarah said.
"How delightful! How DO you think of these things?" she said to Hirsch.
"And then he brings her here and makes her socialize like there isn't a
thing wrong in the world," Bradley said, chuckling. "Fantastic."
"Oh, it's delicious!" Mrs. Bradley said. "And she carries it off so
well, too! Imagine! Spikes! But won't they make her bleed an awful lot?" she
asked Hirsch.
"They are extremely small, though sharp, and are precisely calculated to
prick the skin, even to puncture it under pressure, without really drawing
blood. There could at times be some blood, of course; the brassiere is treated
with an absorbant. In any case they are quite painful, particularly if the
garment is worn for any length of time."
"I'll bet they are!" Mrs. Bradley shivered. "Oh god, I just love it! But
how can she stand it?"
"She has to."
The woman leaned toward Sarah confindentially. "Tell me, dear--Don't you
really like it, just as little bit, deep down? Hmmm?"
"No, I don't," Sarah said simply.
"Wouldn't be much point to it if she did," Bradley said.
"Exactly," Hirsch murmured.
At this point the waiter came with their drinks, and there was silence
until he had gone.
"Does anyone else know?" Bradley asked then.
"Only John Ralston," Hirsch said. "As a matter of fact, it was at his
suggestion that I had Sarah wear the garment this evening. He is very fond of
Sarah, you know."
"Really? I thought he hated her."
"On the contrary--he wants to marry her."
"Don't blame him. No offense, dear," Bradley said, patting his wife's
hand. "But he certainly seems to like to see her--ah--uncomfortable."
"Yes," Hirsch agreed. "But don't we all?"
"That's a point."
"He does have something of a grudge against her, of course. He has never
forgiven her for refusing his marriage offer a few years ago. That was while she
was still with her mother, before she came to live with me."
"Umm. And what are his chances now?"
Hirsch shrugged. "I have told him that I have no objections to his
marrying her, except one--that I have no inclination to give her up. Once I pass
on, she is his if he wants her; but not before. And as I intend to go on living
for some time, he does not find this very satisfactory."
"Speak of the devil," Mrs. Bradley said in a low voice. "There he is
now. I think he's coming over."
In a moment a tall young man approached their table. He was about
thirty, dark-haired and good-looking, with a self-assured air. "Good evening,
Mr. Hirsch, Mr. and Mrs. Bradley," he said politely. "Hello, Sarah."
"Hello, John."
"You look beautiful this evening, Sarah."
"Thank you."
"Would you care to dance?"
"Well, I--"
"Of course she would," Hirsch said. "Go ahead, Sarah."
"All right," the girl said, and rose.
As the young man guided her between the tables to the dance floor, he
whispered into her ear. "Are you wearing it, Sarah?"
"Yes."
"Does it hurt?"
"Yes."
"Good," he said.
Once on the floor, he took her in his arms. The orchestra was playing a
romantic tune. He was a good dancer, and she followed him easily, lightly, with
no sign of what she was going through.
He smiled down into her eyes as they danced. "It's so nice that you're
hurting, Sarah. It's good to see you suffer."
She said nothing.
"So lovely. So beautiful and in such pain. I love to see you in pain,
Sarah. It turns me on, do you know that?"
"Yes," she said. "I know that."
"It really turns me on," he said, and pulled her closer. Sarah tried
unobtrusively to maintain the space between their bodies, but he held her with a
strong arm about her waist. Her breasts were touching his chest.
After a few more steps, John slid his arm just an inch or so higher, so
that it encircled her lower back, and pulled her more tightly against him. Sarah
gasped softly as her breasts pressed into the front of his tuxedo jacket, and
sweat broke out on her forehead. In a tightly controlled voice, she spoke into
his ear.
"Don't, John, please. People will notice...."
"Relax, Sarah. People will think we're a nice romantic couple, holding
each other close, dancing cheek to cheek. You wouldn't let them think anything
else, would you?" And he tightened his arm around her even more, pulling her
body into his until her breasts were nearly flattened against his chest.
A small whining sound forced itself out between Sarah's tight lips and
gritted teeth, a sound that only John could hear. It made him smile against her
hair.
"That REALLY hurts, doesn't it, Sarah?" he whispered. "Of course it
does. You're trembling, poor pain-wracked child. Oh-oh, be careful, Sarah.
You're beginning to squirm. It's lovely to have you in my arms squirming with
pain, but what if people took it for passion? We'd better get over on the side,
where we won't be so noticeable."
Still holding her tightly, John danced her toward a spot near one corner
which was less brightly lit than most of the room. Sarah's face was nearly
expressionless, but she was whimpering softly, and she could not control the
reflexive writhing of her pain-dominated body.
"You're giving me a hard-on, Sarah. Your beautiful suffering is giving
me a hard-on. Can you feel it?"
"Yes," she gritted.
"You can't blame me, can you? How can I help it when you're rubbing
against me this way? When I can feel your thighs with my legs, and your
wonderful tortured breasts feel so good against my chest, and your sexy little
stomach is rubbing my cock. Do you realize that, Sarah? Your stomach, just above
your pussy, is rubbing right on my cock. If you keep this up, I'm going to just
come right here. Is that what you want, Sarah?"
The girl shook herhead jerkily. "Please let me go," she moaned.
"No, Sarah. Keep dancing. Keep hurting, Sarah, keep squirming. It's
agony, isn't it? It's lovely for me though. I hope people aren't watching us,
because I'm really going to come. I love you, Sarah, do you know that? I love
you most of all when you're like this, helpless and squirming and nearly out of
your mind with pain. I'm going to come. I'd like to hold you even tighter,
Sarah, but I'm afraid you'd scream and we can't have that, can we? I'm going to
come. You beautiful thing, you gorgeous...wonderful...pain-filled...thing...."
John closed his eyes as his body stiffened and his hips made a series of
short, spasmodic movements against the girl's stomach. Five, six, seven times
his loins twitched. Then he opened his eyes, took a deep shuddering breath, and
slowly released his partner. He looked around casually. No one seemed to have
noticed anything out of the ordinary.
"Come on," he said. "I'll take you back now."
They returned to the table. "You're looking pale, my dear," Hirsch
remarked as he pulled out Sarah's chair for her. "Did you have a nice dance?"
"Yes, father."
"John?"
"She made me come in my pants," John said.
"Did she indeed?" Hirsch murmured. "That was naughty of her, wasn't it?
What do you think I should do about it?"
"Well, sir, I would suggest that the next time you tie her on her
stomach for the day, you make her wear that brassiere."
Sarah's eyes, just for a moment, flickered.
"An interesting idea, John. I will consider it."
"Well, if you'll excuse me now, I'd better rejoin my friends. Thank you
for the dance, Sarah. Perhaps we can have another one, later on."
The girl made a heroic effort to smile. "Perhaps," she said.
With a final round of goodbyes, John went off.
Bradley chuckled. "Made him come in his pants, eh?" He shook his head.
"By god, all this stuff has given me a boner like you wouldn't believe." He
turned to Hirsch. "Do you think she could...."
"Of course," Hirsch said. "How do you want to manage it? Would you like
to dance with her too?"
"No, no," Bradley said. "I'm not much of a dancer."
"If only these damn tablecloths were a little longer," Mrs. Bradley put
in, "she could get right under the table and service the both of us."
Hirsch smiled slightly. "I shall have to speak to the Board about buying
longer tablecloths," he said. "However, since we haven't got them now, why don't
we take a stroll around the grounds?"
"That's a great idea," Bradley said. "If I can get out of here without
this hard-on causing a riot."
"Come, my dear."
They rose and made their way to the door, Bradley keeping one hand in
his pocket. Outside, the fresh air was bracing. The quartet strolled around to
the side of the building, then headed out beyond the lighted area.
They stopped at a darkly shadowed spot by the side of the tennis courts.
There was only a dim wash of moonlight. The now-distant music could be heard
faintly, under the noise of crickets.
"This ought to do it, I guess," Bradley said. "Don't guess anybody else
will be coming out here."
"Go ahead," Mrs. Bradley said. "We'll keep watch, just in case."
Bradley walked a few yards off to stand with his back against a large
tree. He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers, and dropped them, and his
shorts, down around his ankles.
"Sarah?" he called.
The blonde girl glanced at her father, who nodded. She walked to where
Bradley was standing; then, lifting her gown around her thighs to avoid getting
it dirty, she knelt in front of him, her bare knees touching the ground.
Hirsch and Mrs. Bradley watched as Sarah took Bradley's blatantly erect
cock in her hands and guided it directly into her mouth, then proceeded to suck
it expertly. They heard Bradley's soft groans of ecstasy gradually mounting in
intensity, saw his body bend forward from the waist, his hands come up to gently
caress the steadily moving blonde head. It wasn't very long before they heard a
hoarse, unmistakable cry of climax, and saw the man slump back against the tree.
Before Bradley had even pulled his pants up, Mrs. Bradley was hastening
toward the spot. "Don't get up, you dear girl!" she cried. "My turn!"
Mrs. Bradley pulled up her long, loose gown to remove her panties,
displaying better legs than one might have expected. When the gown came down
again, Sarah's head--and indeed, nearly all the rest of her--was beneath it. In
a moment the plump woman gave a loud groan, then began a series of moans and
squeals that had Bradley looking around worriedly. She kept Sarah at it longer
than the man had, but finally achieved a babbling, wriggling climax that left a
dazed look in her eyes as she came to join the men.
"My god," she said pantingly. "That girl is a marvel! And she's still
wearing that--Ohh, it's just TOO delicious!"
Sarah was still on her knees, sitting quietly, her eyes closed. She rose
slowly when Hirsch called her, shook down her dress, and joined them.
"Let us get back," Hirsch said. "John is undoubtedly anxious for that
other dance."
They left the ball a little after midnight. They walked down the
flagstone path, having left the Bradleys at the door, chatting with friends.
"You did very well tonight, Sarah," Hirsch said.
"Thank you," the girl said. "May I take it off in the car, father?"
Hirsch stopped in his tracks and looked at her expressionlessly.
The girl hung her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
When they came out at the gate, the limousine was waiting. The chauffeur
sprang around to open the rear door, and started to help Sarah in.
"Just a moment, Sarah," Hirsch said.
The girl waited.
"As a punishment for impatience," Hirsch said, "you will ride with
Peter. You will lie down on the seat on your front--flat on your front, Sarah,
with your hands clasped behind you--and perform fellatio on Peter while he
drives. You will not remove his penis from your mouth, nor change your position,
until we arrive home."
"Yes, father," Sarah said softly.
"Peter, drive slowly."
"Yes, SIR!" the chauffeur said.
Hirsch got into the rear. Peter closed the door, opened the front door
and helped Sarah in, then ran quickly around to get behind the wheel.
The car pulled away.
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