“I don’t need a training bra,” Charlotte complained. “I’m 22. I wear real bras. My tits are fully grown.”
And indeed they were – she was a natural E-cup, which was a constant source of embarrassment for her.
“It’s not that kind of training bra,” Dylan told her. “You need to be trained in other things now. For one thing, you’re far too mouthy. I don’t need to hear my bitch speak.”
Charlotte coloured with anger and humiliation – but she submitted. Her boyfriend Dylan treated her like an animal – but the sex was amazing, and in her quiet moments she could almost admit that every degradation made her deliciously, squirmingly wet.
She almost rebelled again when she found out how the “training bra” worked – but when she opened her mouth, Dylan slapped her across the face, and she was so shocked by that – and so suddenly, gushing wet between her legs – that she didn’t resist any further, and then after that, of course, it was hard to say anything at all.
Charlotte shuffled red-faced through the mall. She couldn’t believe she was out in public like this.
Oh, most of it was subtle. It’s not like her hands were *cuffed* behind her back. To the world, it looked like she was just holding her wrists together at the small of her back. Of course, the world couldn’t see the thin metal bracelets on each wrist, and didn’t know that the thin black collar around her neck was a shock collar. If the bracelets didn’t stay in contact with each other, and with the small metal plate attached to the back waistline of her skirt, she’d get a shock – and keep getting shocks until contact was reacquired. It was worse than cuffs, because the longer she wore it, the harder it was to stop the posture. Even with the collar deactivated, she would find herself flinching when moving her hands away from each other.
And nobody could see that she wasn’t wearing a bra – at least, not a traditional bra. Dylan had mercifully let her wear a reasonably thick jumper. And nobody could see the metal contact plates on her chest – one on the underboob of each tit, and one on her ribs, just under the breast.
What they could see was the length of chain in her mouth. She needed to keep her mouth closed to hold onto it. The chain ran down her jaw on each side, and vanished into the neckline of her jumper.
Beneath the cloth, the chain connected to two tight clamps – one on each of her nipples. The chain was short enough that, by holding it in her mouth, the chain was supporting the full weight of each of her tits, lifting them upwards from where they would normally sit.
It was agonisingly painful. She was pulling her large tits up via nipple clamps – and each step made her tits jiggle, and pull against the clamps. The agony was eye-watering.
But she didn’t dare open her mouth and let go of the chain – because if the plates on the underside of her tits made contact with the ones on her chest, she would get an agonising jolt of electricity in her neck – through the collar – in each of her tits, and into her clitoris through the small clamp attached to her love-nubbin.
She had to keep pulling on her tits constantly. And to do that, she needed to keep her mouth closed.
Dylan had had a great time taking her around the mall. At each shop, he had made a show of attempting to buy her something. “If I ask you a question, just nod yes or shake your head no,” he had told her.
He had taken her into a lingerie shop, and told the woman at the counter, “My girlfriend is trying to get her father to fuck her. What’s your sluttiest lingerie? What would you recommend for someone trying to tempt their father into a little incestuous sex?”
The girl had looked at Charlotte in horror and disgust. “Is he for real?” she asked.
Charlotte had wanted to let go of the chain and tell her of course not – but she had done that earlier today when Dylan had told her to say nothing if it was okay for him to take a photo of her pussy with the clit clamp on and send it to her friends, and the resulting explosion of electro-shocks had convinced her she didn’t ever want to do that again.
So instead she just blushed and nodded her head, “Yes” – each nod tugging excruciatingly on her nipples.
He took her to the supermarket and asked a worker stocking shelves which foods would be best for his girlfriend to masturbate with and then eat afterwards. The worker asked Charlotte a series of questions like, “Is this big enough?” and “Will you like the taste of this?” as he held up cucumbers, zucchinis, and deli meats, and Charlotte had to tug on her nipples for each “yes” and “no” as she blushed and tried to pretend that her pussy wasn’t so wet that she was literally drooling pussy juices down her inner thighs.
He took her to a pet shop and told the attendant that his girlfriend wanted to know which puppies would have the biggest cocks when they grew up, and then got her a dog-tag for her collar that said “SEX-DOLL”.
He took her to a hardware store and asked if they thought his girlfriend would be able to carry their hammers handle-first in her cunt without dropping them. They said it depended on how tight her cunt was – and then he made her TRY, right there in the store, in front of the store workers. “Say anything at all if you don’t consent,” he told her, and she just glared daggers at him, and then let him raise her skirt – revealing her complete lack of panties – and shove the handle of a hammer up inside her fuckhole. To her intense shame, after a day of humiliation and sexual stimulation, she orgasmed, right there, in front of everyone…
… and then he temporarily removed the clamp from her clitoris, and the blood rushed back into it in a wave of overwhelming agony. She felt herself orgasming again, from the pain. She opened her mouth to scream – and her tits dropped down and made contact with her chest, and the electric shocks went off in her tits and neck, and then she *was* screaming, and orgasming again, and her cunt clenched so hard on the hammer that it squirted out of her pussy like a gunshot and landed on her toes, causing another jolt of pain.
When she realised that the store workers were *laughing* at her – laughing at her for orgasming like a slut from having a hammer shoved up her twat – she orgasmed again. She looked up at Dylan with pleading eyes. She wasn’t this person. This shouldn’t be happening to her. It was so humiliating. But when she opened her mouth to vocalise these thoughts, he pulled on her tit chain, lifting it up and shoving it back into her mouth, and that was the end of her trying to speak.
If she had thought that the trip to the mall would be the whole game, though, she was wrong. From then on, Dylan made her wear the rig constantly while she was awake. He would remove her clamps four times a day to allow circulation, inevitably making her orgasm from the pain.
After two weeks, he stopped – but by then, the “training bra” had done its work. Charlotte found herself keeping her hands behind her back by habit – a pose that thrust her tits forward and left her vulnerable and defenceless. She found it difficult to open her mouth to speak – she had a deep reluctance, and when she was forced to speak, she unconsciously flinched, and kept her words brief.
And, of course, she found it immensely uncomfortable to feel her tits resting against her chest. In time, Dylan bought her a new collar, with a D-ring in front, and Charlotte would blushingly attach the clamps to her own nipples, and then chain them to the D-ring, permanently pulled up into a 90-degree angle from her body.
No part of the conditioning, of course, made Charlotte wear clitoris clamps every day, and none of it forced her to visit hardware stores from time to time and surreptitiously masturbate in the aisles using the wooden handle of a tool. That was all her – and she knew it – and it’s just as well she felt the full force of shame and humiliation for her slutty behaviour, because without it she was not at all sure she could have orgasmed fast enough to avoid getting caught…
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