The Bra Punishment Society

by Qu

Chapter 1

Despite all my misgivings my father-in-law listened gravely to what I was saying and didn't interrupt. I figured he might: I was talking about his daughter after all. Part of me was adamant I shouldn't even have approached him about the matter, however serious I felt it was, but the truth was he was just about the only person I knew who would give me a sensible answer. I may have had a few good friends in the past but marriage had distanced me from them. In short, he was the only person I felt I could turn to. To his credit he listened carefully to what I was saying and he didn't shout. Nor did he accuse me of failing his girl or somehow even being the cause of the trouble. He didn't interrupt me and silently let me get it all off my chest.

While I knew I simply needed to say what was worrying me, there was a danger of too much emotion getting into it on both sides. Mine because I felt hurt and him because he always said Cindy was "his princess." Some people take up arms for their princess, I knew. How he'd react to this I wasn't sure. I mean, it's a shock to find out your wife has been flirting with other men -- possibly even screwing around -- and naturally I was both angry and hurt. I just couldn't guess how he would react.

But let me explain the background to this conversation I was having with Stan. Or rather, the monologue he was listening to so carefully. I had married Cindy three years before. She was a good looking girl, barely 21 when we were wed, and we were happy enough I guess. We had our own home, both had jobs with prospects. I was happy with her because she was good in bed and I will confess (though not even to Stan) she looked like her mother. You couldn't help but notice Shirley with her hefty bust and I suppose I had hopes her daughter would look just as good when my wife got to 45 too. If Cindy was as well-endowed and as cheerful as Shirley I would be very satisfied. Blonde, large blue eyes, a good pair of legs and great boobs: Shirley was the sort of woman I'd like to be fucking for years. Now everything was all in doubt.

As it happened Cindy and I lived not far from Stan and Shirley, and I regarded them as fondly as my own parents. I always got on well with them, especially my father-in-law. I guess as my folks live a long way out of town it was only to be expected I would tell Stan what I had worried about, what I feared his daughter was going to do.

Stan didn't get upset when I told him my fears, or revealed the evidence I had of her unfaithfulness. The unexpected phone calls, her suddenly rushing out after a secretive call she didn't want to discuss with me. Unexpected journeys in the car to places she wouldn't tell me. Even the way she dressed in rather provocative outfits. She worked in a bank and I knew she was popular, and I imagined particularly so with some of her male co-workers. Before you ask, not every business has strict no-socialising rules as some do. Her workplace clearly didn't.

Now Stan and I were alone in his basement den and her father listened to me thoughtfully, nodding as if he understood fully while he smoked his familiar pipe, and only when after the best part of an hour I had made all the points I could did he then begin to talk. "First of all, Jack," he said, "You have my full support. It is a man's right and duty to control his wife. His woman, if you prefer."

I stared at him. I had never heard him say anything like that before. But he said a lot more.

"If Cindy is contemplating having an affair she needs to be watched, and yes, she needs to be controlled to make sure it doesn't happen. Now if she has already erred, son, then she needs to be punished. Simple as that, and punishment for errors is the cornerstone of our society. More importantly we men cannot tolerate our females stepping out of line. As I say, our duty is clear."

My jaw dropped open as I sat and listened.

"My daughter is, obviously, an attractive girl and I am pleased she chose you as a husband," the man continued calmly. "But women I am sorry to say do have a tendency to stray and we males must be on our guard against it happening. However, with the best will in the world, you cannot be with Cindy everywhere. In which case, we must assume the worst had happened or is in imminent danger of happening. So you need to take steps to control and punish your wife."

I could hardly believe he was talking about his daughter. "Punish?" I asked, my mouth dry. "I can't!"

The man shook his head. "Sad to say but... Punishment is what is needed. Indeed, pre-emptive punishment for errors not yet made is a sound policy here, and yes you can. I have to say you are able to administer a firm punishment too. One that will ensure she does not forget ever again. Strict is the only way, Jack. You may object and claim to be 'modern' and have some innate understanding, but reality is that erring women need to be put in their place. The leash can only extend so far and it seems to me your wife has been straining on it for too long."

I noted that he said 'my wife' and not 'his daughter.' Did he regard Cindy as my property now?

My cock stirred at what the man was saying. I admit I have always had fantasies about punishing women. Perhaps it was my own strict upbringing, or some long held resentment, but in the quiet of the shower I often masturbated thinking of women being punished. Cindy just thought I liked long showers. She didn't know I was shooting my cum up the shower's glass screen thinking of women like her tied, gagged, spanked and even whipped. Still, I had to be careful here. I was getting a green light but I wasn't sure of the intersection. I dared to speak what I felt was true, or at least acceptable. "Stan, I have to say it isn't right to punish a woman," I began, trying to play the sober, respectable, law-abiding modern male who would be horrified by such outmoded and offensive ideas. My father-in-law saw through my posturing straight away.

"Really, son, you don't believe that do you?" He was smiling a little as he drew on his pipe. "You strike me as the kind of man who earnestly believes women are there to be controlled, and if necessary punished." He paused and studied me. "Agreed?"

I knew there was no point in lying any more. Some games run out of play very quickly. "Agreed," I said, and nodded. In an odd way it was like a weight being lifted off my mind; here was a man who didn't need such pretences. Now neither did I. "Yes, I'd like to punish women," I said, feeling relief and my cock stir a little more too. It's always good to talk to another man about these important things.

"Good," the man said and put down his pipe. "Now, listen carefully, son. Most men want to punish their women, though some are loathe to admit it. So now we have cleared out the trash in our position, we both know what to do. What we want."

"Um... we both?" I gulped. My head suddenly felt light and my hearts as pounding hard.

"Yes, Jack, both. So, we have to make plans." He stood up briskly. "I want you to come with me and find out what I do with Shirley to keep her from straying."

"Your wife?" I stared up at him. "But surely she is... uh, faithful, right?"

Stan grinned. "Wrong. Once she wasn't, but she has learned now. And is still learning. I make sure of it because repetition of important principles means that no error can be made."

I stood up too. "But... how? When?"

Stan took me up to his and Shirley's bedroom. I was trembling a little, half-expecting him to show me some switch or rod that he used to punish his wife. She had a good round (and I imagined, firm despite her age) rear and I imagined it being striped every week, to remind her to behave. But there was nothing like that. Not even any ropes that I could see. Nothing to tie her over the chair back or better still, have her spreadeagled on the bed, either face up or face down and helpless either way. Instead the middle-aged man went to a drawer and opened it. At first I thought it was just women's underwear -- his wife's lingerie -- and I again expected him to bring something like a flogger or a tawse out. But all he did was lift out a bra. I admit I was confused, but he laid it down on the top and asked me to examine it.

To me it just looked like an everyday white bra with the usual satin straps and elasticated sides, a little lace on the cups. I could imagine Shirley's heavy breasts in it but nothing else. With a shrug I picked it up.

The first thing I noticed was it was heavier than any bra I had ever known. The second thing was the inside of bra cups were lined with small studs. Several dozen sharp studs at that, as I found out when I ran my fingertips over them. I stared at Stan. "I'm not sure I know what this is." In fact I had a very good idea and my cock had hardened at once at a dark yet delicious thought.

He grinned. "If you didn't know, it is a punishment bra. The sort of thing Shirley wears every day."

"But why?" I asked, my voice cracking a little with excitement.

"Quite a few years ago my wife had an affair with a man she knew. However it proved to be a short-lived business and she felt guilty. Shirley confessed to me, and of course promised me she had ended the relationship after a couple of weeks. Naturally, I was angry -- much like you feel about Cindy. Shirley begged me not to divorce her, but I told her I would need to think about it. I admit I was torn; I loved her and I was hurt, but also I saw there was an opportunity to re-assert myself. You see, Jack, I have always believed in the control of women, so I was determined to control my bitch. So what I did--"

"Bitch?" I interrupted.

"Yes, bitch. You see, once a woman had erred, once she has crossed that line, she becomes a bitch." The man shrugged as if that was how it was. "Wife before, bitch afterwards. No matter how much you care and want the relationship to continue, she has earned the title bitch. Plus, my bitch had earned the right to be punished. I felt it was my duty to discipline her. The best way was not to waste energy beating her because that would be explosive pain but she would get over it shortly after. She would cry maybe, but the effect would have been brief. No, I needed to do something to her that reminded her every moment not to make the same mistake again." Stan paused and grinned. "A woman's tits are tender and soft and sensitive. Having something causing her discomfort there that she couldn't escape was pleasing to me. Also I have to admit that if some man inadvertently or otherwise touched or squeezed her boobs she would be in pain. Some men's hands do wander and this was a good way to keep her in line."

I nodded. "So this is it, what you do to her. How often does she wear this bra?"

Stan smiled. "All the time. At present she is out visiting with her sister. Right now she has a punishment bra on like this. She isn't permitted to remove it." He smiled and then added. "Her unfaithfulness is unlikely to happen again but if anyone -- male or female -- grabs her tits imagining they would have some fun with her she would scream. Even a gentle caress hurts her. Sometimes I like to curl up with her and just play with her tits while she is dressed. Believe me, son, a gag is a good idea when we do that. A good ball gag at that."

"Wow," I breathed, my cock getting even harder at the thought of all this.

"But there's more." The man reached back into the drawer and pulled out another bra. A black one, and that too was heavy as I found when he passed it to me. "This bra is, like all her bras now, a full cup. It has to be that because I need to make sure the punishment inside it works."

I examined inside the cups: they were disappointingly free of studs, but I did notice the wire that often ran under the bra cup extended all the way round the full cup. More, a light but strong chain ran between the cups and hung down between them. "This," said my father-in-law, "was the next stage. As you can see here the wire encompasses each tit. Underneath each cup -- see there -- is a small screw arrangement. Once the bitch puts that bra on I adjust the screw and the wire tightens all round her boob. The nice thing it is both a punishment and an enhancer. I love taking her out with that bra under her dress. I turn the screw so her tits jut out more. It makes men look at the bitch more, and I've even seen a quite a few women looking enviously at my bitch's tortured tits, though of course no one knows what's in her bra. When she wears this she is under orders to smile all the time or else I wheel her out to a quiet place and tighten the screw a little more. That feeling is one she does not like!"

I grinned. "And during the evening you take her to one side and do a little more tightening anyway, just for fun?"

Stan laughed. "Got it in one. She really does have to behave to avoid that. Being very subservient to me, listening quietly when I tell which women I want to fuck, anything I want."

I swallowed. "So she knows you want other women?"

"She knows, and has to assist. It amazes me how the bitch will dutifully go off and talk to the woman I want and then report back, telling me if the other woman wants sex with me and if so where I can meet the whore for a screw."

I laughed. "A screw as in your wife's bra?"

We shared the joke and then he got serious. "Part of Shirley bitch's punishment is of course in her bra. It's there continually whenever she is dressed. As for me and fucking other women I take the direct view it was her who stepped over the line in the first place. Once she became a bitch, I was free to do what I wanted. So I torment her by hurting her tits and by fucking other women -- whores really, though I don't pay -- and thus ensure my bitch stays punished. The wire in this bra though has an extra function. While I am off having some fun, bitch is secured by this chain attached to each wire, one that I can pull up so it emerges from her substantial cleavage. I find some place to hook her up so she has to stand and wait for me while I have sex. Ideally it is somewhere she can stand and watch me have the whore of my choosing, though the small chain is adjustable so I can even make her stand on her toes."

"Which you do," I gulped as I said it. "Bitch has to suffer."

"She does -- and really does."

I nodded, ideas forming in my head about Cindy. "And this is what I will do to your daughter. My bitch now."

"Your bitch," he confirmed. "But before you do anything, consider this." Stan rooted in the drawer again and pulled out a pink coloured, full cup bra. But no studs, no wire cups. Just a thin but tough membrane of plastic inside the bra cups.

"I don't understand," I said. "Is the plastic uncomfortable?"

"A little, but that isn't the reason." The man picked up a small jar, unlabelled. "This was developed by a friend of mine. And it hurts. You see, I got talking to people online, people who have similar ideas to me. We had a range of experts in all sorts of fields, and we all formed a sort of society. We call it the Bra Punishment Society though we have no formal identity. Mostly we go by the initials BPS; those who know understand. What we share is a complete and total desire to hurt our bitches, and do it through their tits. Gradually we exchanged ideas, and this one guy -- Paul -- is a chemist who works for a cosmetics company. They have to know what makes women or bitches as they are smell good or enhance their looks with creams that do not irritate the skin."

I grinned again as I understood. "Of course they also know what does irritate."

"Correct! This cream burns like crazy. So when bitch is told to wear her pink bra, she knows what's coming. Believe me, son, she really begs not to be made to wear the pink bra."

"But you always insist." I gurgled a laugh. "You never back down."

"Always insist, never change my mind. The cream goes on and then the bra. Now depending on how cruel I am feeling it is either on one tit or both, and if I am very cruel on her nipples too. The plastic lining in the cups stops the cream from soaking through to her outerwear. I have no problem with people laughing at her if she had large oily stains on her tits, but it's nice that people don't know the bitch is suffering. Only me and her. Her especially." He paused. "The great thing about this is this special concoction takes twenty minutes to start to burn, and then gets worse. After four hours she is in agony, which I really like as she is begging me for relief."

"Which is never available."

"Never."

"So I have visited with you and all the time bitch -- your bitch -- has been suffering." I shook my head in amazement. "And to think I never knew." I thought back to the times I had seen her looking as if she was in pain, but assumed it was some 'women's trouble.' Well, it was in a way.

Stan laughed. "At your wedding I am happy to say bitch was in pain. I had a special bra for her that day. Cream on nipples, plus tacks inside. I figured it was a special day so she should really suffer."

I cast my mind back to the ceremony. "I remember now! I thought she was just... off colour. She looked ill at times. Or that she was so overcome with emotion at seeing me and Cindy married. I thought the cunt--" I shot Stan a look and blushed. "I mean, sorry, that slipped out."

"Don't worry, Jack. Cunt she is. Just as your botch is a cunt too, make no mistake about it."

"Thanks Stan, I appreciate the honesty."

"Honesty is important when we control them. Shirley was having a different sort of feeling on your wedding day, I can assure you." Stan nodded. "Now I think from now on, son, you should call Cindy by her new name."

"Yes... Sorry. I meant when me and bitch were married."

"Good. Now we have to get you into our little Society and begin punishing your bitch's tits. And trust me, shopping for a bra for her is going to be so much fun now."

At the computer in the basement Stan showed me the web site that his Society had created. It was secure and the URL gave no clues as to its purpose, but the pages were a revelation. "We have lots of bitches being punished," my father-in-law said as we looked at the web pages and all the images and contributions from the Society members.

"This looks huge," I gasped.

"Indeed it is. A lot of men want their females punished. Not all are bitches, of course, but most are. So they are controlled by breast punishment and amendments." The man seemed pleased I was appreciating all this, which I definitely was. "We even have our own monthly print magazine featuring punished bitches. It's called 'Busted.'"

"But not all of these look like just bras." I pointed to one picture which showed a curious cantilever support over a mature woman's shoulders. It was, the front a back pictures revealed, attached to a corset like garment with straps to hold it tight. The woman, who was in her fifties, looked moderately unhappy but she wasn't resisting, even though the straps at her waist had hauled her figure in. From the back of the corset two rods went up and then angled over her shoulders, alongside her face. It looked as if they might also prevent her turning her head too much, but that wasn't the point of it; the ends of the rods had hooks and a light chain dropped from each of them. At the end of each chain was a spring-loaded clamp, and this was tight on the bitch's nipples. The result was it hauled the tits up so they jutted straight out. I could see the chain could be shortened to make the bitch's tits lift up more, almost I imagined to her chin level.

As my father-in-law showed me, he pointed out there was also an embedded movie. It showed this woman walking round, her tits bouncing because of the springiness of the shoulder rods. Yet the clamps held firm, and another part of the movie showed the hapless bitch jogging on the spot so she was really suffering from the protracted bouncing. Apparently it was something she was made to do every day for the entertainment of her husband and apparently, their sons.

"Once men realise that they want to punish women, and especially their fat udders, they soon join in. This woman has had her husband and three sons all playing with her tits for years, and punishing them." The man smiled. "She is very lucky."

"This could be a haven for inventors," I said.

"Of course we have those too., They're not all conventional bra fans as such, but we men are united by our love of punished tits. We have some guys who are engineers and love crafting devices like this, or simply men who love the practical side of punishing their bitches. Like this one." Stan clicked to another page, showing a woman in a clear plastic (or for all I knew, glass) bra. It was almost conventional in all aspects except it had transparent and pointed bra cups. The point was the points; these cone-like cups were covered in holes and needles were being inserted through the holes and pressed down into the bitch's tits. Trickles of blood showed up in the clear bra 'cups.' Again there was another movie and plenty of close ups of needles and pins being inserted, and the bitch had been restrained and gagged to stop her struggling.

A third set of images showed another (and quite young but full-breasted) bitch receiving treatment from a series of 'conventional' tit presses; shaped pieces of wood squeezing the female's tits together. The screw arrangement was being tightened and the bitch was clearly suffering, her boobs squashed until flat and just her engorged nipples poking out. More pictures from the same guy showed vertical tit presses, so the bitch had her tits squeezed into narrow uprights, again with red and swollen nipples protruding.

"This man loves working with wood," explained Stan, "and spends hours crafting these devices and then getting his bitch to polish and smooth the shape of them. It pleases him that she is helping," he said. "Like a number of men who love getting their bitches to sew needles or tacks in their own bras, or even the men will design a new idea in punishment bras and get their bitches to make them, cutting out the patterns and sewing them, knowing they will be wearing these painful bras later and suffering. The thing is a woman's tits are sensitive, and can be trained to be more sensitive."

More pictures on the site showed mature women's breasts forced into bras that were obviously too small for them, tits encased with wire cages -- some with electrical connections -- and others that had screws and adjustable clamps to squeeze and distort. There were diagrams and plans too as well as pictures and movies. One of the plans had the whole bitch's body encased in steel with only her boobs free. But they were free only so a stretched device could be placed between her tits and with the nipples clamped to it, and they could be extended agonisingly outward. "The main aspect of all this," said Stan, enjoying seeing me enjoying the ideas and images, "is that the bitch suffers. One guy wanted to make a portable heater under his wife's tits so that once strapped to her she could walk round and have her boobs cooking slowly." He laughed. "I am not sure it would work but there are hundreds of ideas out there and a dozens of successful devices and brassieres."

"And there's a whole lot of bitches suffering," I said as I looked at more pictures, including one of a woman almost sagging under the weight of her tits sealed in what looked like cement.

Stan smiled. "Our only rule is that these females should have their breasts punished in a mobile way. Sure, there are plenty of on-line places where men just secure a woman down and apply some tit torture. Can be good, but we say the female must be able to move around. She may be in chains or have her hands tied in back, but she ought to be able to walk round with her tits being punished all the time in some way."

There was another set from a lesbian couple. The older, dominant female had a pair of large tits but the younger bitch (possibly being punished for daring to look at another female) stood behind the mistress and had to follow her. The younger one had her hands cuffed to a special bra the older one was wearing, one that it had no cups. The younger female was acting as a human bra, reaching round her lover and supporting the woman's boobs. As the dominant woman moved round her home, the younger one had to hurry behind her just holding her boobs up. The older one was shown with another female, kissing her, and still the younger one supported the tits, even holding them out so other female could play with the mistress's nipples. The younger one had her mouth taped up, so she couldn't object to her breast-carrying duties.

I nodded, feeling excited about all this. But I also felt anxious. "But how do I persuade Cindy-bitch to agree to me doing any of this to her tits?"

Stan sighed. "I'm not sure she has any choice. She has made a bad mistake and it has to be dealt with. Your way. If she wants the marriage to continue she must submit." He paused. "I think she will, but there is no guarantee of course. But I believe if I tell my bitch to have a heart-to-heart with your bitch, show her the bras, explain what has to be done, it will work out. But more than that, I think she needs advice from another bitch."

"Okay. But who?"

"There's a friend of mine who lives close by. We will go and talk to his bitch and she will add her weight to the argument if we need it. I'll call and arrange a visit."

"We will speak to a female?"

"Yes," grinned my father-in-law. "And you'll be surprised who. Go and wait for me while I make phone call," he said.

***

The wife of the reverend who married bitch and me a few years ago was pleased to see both of us when we turned up at her place. She introduced herself as Maureen and remembered me too. She gave me a broad welcoming smile. "Jim is out right now, visiting his flock," she said as she showed us into the large living room of their neat house, right next to the church. She invited us to sit, and we did so we faced each other round a small coffee table with church magazines on it. I was relieved, and equally disappointed I admit, to not see a cop of 'Busted' on there.

As I settled I stared at the woman. She was about my mother-in-law's age and looked pretty much like a solid member of the community. A prim button-front navy dress, with large spectacles and not a hair out of place on her head; she looked ready to meet any eventuality her husband's job -- his calling -- could demand. I couldn't figure how she was part of this. If anything, she had no boobs at all.

She spoke to me in kindly, almost soothing tones. "Stan told me on the phone of what had happened to you and I am so sorry. Bitches do need to be punished, of course, but I feel for your pain."

I nodded, unable to believe I was in this house talking to a pillar of the local community who understood and accepted. "I can see," she smiled at me, "that my appearance is confusing you. I suspect you feel I shouldn't know about this. But the Bra Punishment Society relies on women like me, bitches, some of us you may say, to assist in counselling and advising."

"Are you a bitch, ma'am?" I asked, feeling astonished I had the courage to ask that.

"Actually no. I am just one of a number of females who enjoy being punished. Jim, my husband, is very good at making me suffer. But when he joined the Society naturally he wanted me to help out too."

"Naturally," I said, still astonished.

"So I get involved in discussing issues with women and bitches who need to be punished." Maureen spoke so smoothly and so confidently I could see she was experienced. "I guess I am almost an honorary member of the male part of the Society."

"We also have lesbians who have bitches," said Stan from where he sat. "Women who like to punish other women, often their lovers."

"People stray," sighed Maureen. "The straight and narrow isn't wide enough for some."

"So they are punished," I said, feeling slightly aroused by this.

"Absolutely, as it should be," said Maureen. "We have to spend time on this earth being loyal to those we love. But while we preach and practice tolerance and forgiveness we have to remember that we cannot make progress on any level unless we endure pain. Forgiveness does not mean ignoring or forgetting."

"And," I said, "forgiveness is not throwing them out, not divorcing them for an error."

Maureen looked very pleased I understood. "I am so glad you have grasped that very important aspect. Bitches are hurt but forgiven, they pay recompense for their mistakes and endure pain to please their husband. Or master or mistress, or whoever."

I nodded. It made so much sense, and I was glad this woman would be available to counsel my bitch. Just as, apparently, she had helped lots of men like me. She had even talked to Sheila-bitch, helping her come to terms with her pain and suffering. Stan had told me that on the way across town. In fact, she had consoled my mother-in-law at my wedding, taking the pained bitch to one side and comforting her so she could get through the day without too many tears of joy, or pain. "I wish my bitch had been bra punished when I was married," I said.

"She can be." The woman looked at me and smiled. "There is nothing to stop you having a second wedding, a confirmation of vows if you like, with her in a lovely wedding dress and a suitable bra underneath. She would certainly suffer as she promised to love and obey you." Maureen's eye's sparkled behind her large glasses.

"It is pretty common," said Stan. "I think it would be good to re-affirm your vows with your bitch's tits wired up."

Maureen agreed, and I felt my cock grow hard at the thought of Cindy-bitch resplendent in a wonderful, flowing wedding dress and an agony bra fitted tightly under it. Needles in the wired cups, or that cream on her sore nipples. Maybe she could even sew her own pain bra up beforehand... I felt like flipping my cock out and masturbating but this wasn't the time or place.

I looked at the reverend's wife, at her flat chest. "One thing I am confused about," I said, feeling bold. "You said your husband likes to punish you, but with respect, your breasts..."

Both Stan and Maureen laughed. "Ah," said my father-in-law, "now there's a story."

Without a word the woman stood up, grinning, and started unbuttoning her dress to her waist. It came open as she said: "I am normally a 38D, but thanks to Jim, my husband, I wear special bras. Like this one." She slipped the dress off her shoulders so I could get a better view. She wore what seemed to be a conventional, full cup bra. The sort older women wear. Nothing fussy about it, save for a small embroidered pink rose between the cups. But the cups were quite flat. "Many of my bras have this." She tapped one cup hard, and the sound echoed round the room. "Steel," she smiled.

"Your... Your tits are flattened?" I gasped.

Maureen nodded. "Totally. Jim likes them to play with my boobs in bed -- oh don't look shocked; even men of the church and their very proper wives like to have sex. Usually not the missionary position though," she laughed. "But in the day he feels his wife sporting a large pair of tits would excite people improperly, so he makes me wear these brassieres with fitted steel plates that squash me flat."

"That must be uncomfortable," I gulped, unable to take my eyes off her.

"Not as much as the ones with studs on the inside," she said matter-of-factly. "This one fortunately is plain steel. Just pressure."

"And you... You don't mind?"

The woman shook her head. "Of course not. I admit it hurts, but that's what my loving husband wants, so I am happy. I endure for him and submit to his control. At night my bra is removed and we play; he loves to massage them back to fullness, as he says." She stood and made no effort to cover herself up. I felt aroused and embarrassed. I looked across at my father-in-law and he had his cock out, stroking it. Maureen had seen him too but wasn't reacting.

"Oh God," I moaned, and flipped my own stiff cock out. Maureen smiled at me and put her hands behind her back and waited, on display, until we both came and Stan told her to smarten herself up. He added the word 'bitch' to make the woman feel at home.

***

The Punishment Bra Society party was in full swing when we arrived at the reverend's house. Maureen greeted us at the door and ushered us all in. She was stripped to the waist and apparently had a new, studded steel plate bras on in an attractive peach colour -- but only one cup. The other was normal and the woman's large tit sat in a lace, unaltered bra cup. It made an arresting sight, seeing her with only one boob punished, though I had no doubt it was hurting a lot. She showed us into the large living room where she had talked to me and Stan a few weeks ago and where she had spent time counselling Cindy-Bitch. It was full of couples. Mostly male and females but a few lesbian pairs. Half the females there had some sort of punishment bra on, ranging from wire cages to tit extenders to clear plastic cups and presses to a host of other exciting designs. People stood in groups chatting and examining the punishment bras of bitches, and a good number of females were bound in some way and even some gagged.

I walked in with Stan and his bra punished bitch (she wore the black bra, made special with inserted nipple screws), and with my gagged bitch followed me on a leash. I admit I stood and stared at the scene but Maureen insisted I meet some "interesting people" as she said. As she threaded her arm through mine and led me off with my bitch following behind (her own tits in a wire cup bra, liberally smeared with irritant cream) the reverend's wife whispered that she had a surprise for me.

I looked back, past my finally accepting if hurting wife, to see Stan and my mother-in-law bitch talking to an old couple where the bitch there had her droopy tits secured in what looked like barbed wire harness. Then I was being introduced to a couple who had their backs to me, a middle aged pair who were talking to a young lesbian couple -- the lesbian bitch's tits were actually wired together and supported by cords from her nipples to a nose ring.

The older man and woman turned, and I was astonished: it was my own mother and father. My father was attired as he usually did for these events in slacks and casual shirt. Mum was however quite naked. Her tits were covered in a thin, sheer smoky-black fabric halter top that looked like something from a harem. Almost completely see through, and I gasped. Under the fine fabric were dozens of small glittering jewels on my mother's substantial boobs, catching the light. The bra cups however had peep holes, and small gold rings through her nipples. A leash was attached to one and my father held it lightly in his hand. Mum's hands were bound behind her to a rope round her neck but she looked happy.

Suddenly I understood what the jewels were. They wire decorative pin heads, and the pins had been pressed into my mum's heavy tits and any spots of blood carefully cleaned off.

"Welcome to the Society, son," grinned my dad with his trademark wink as I got over my shock.

"You took your time getting here," said my bitch mother, her face split into a huge smile as she looked at me and at my wife. "And believe me, honey, I am so very glad you brought your tit-punished bitch along too."

And I knew my mother really meant it. I glanced at Cindy-bitch and she looked suitably ashamed of herself, and suitably in pain. The gag ensured she was silent, as I liked it. I caught the eye of an attractive woman whose own tits were bound up with wire so they jutted out at each side. She smiled at me as if she approved of what I was doing. Life, I reflected, was about to get very good. More so if I could fuck the woman looking at me and I could examine her tit-wire bondage up close.

No harm in asking, I thought and my cock hardened anew as I tugged my bitch over to the smiling woman.