The Baubling of Bethy's BitsbyBethyboo©
Single in my forties. Not a state I'd recommend to anyone. Dating has changed in the last 20 + years, and with the slew of internet dating sites, doors have opened up that maybe should have remained closed.
I am going to share a story with you, true to every word, and let you sort out for yourself if maybe I had suffered a temporary bout of insanity.
I hit the internet of course, because that's where I have been vicariously living my life, and well the keyboard was on my lap.
I had met a man, in cyber speak only, and he was challenging me to do something different. I giggled as I told him I had always fantasized about a piercing in my private bits. So look into it was his reply. Actually more like, just do it.
So I researched, well, my research consisted of dropping into two of the larger piercing parlours, explaining what I wanted. The first place, loud, dark, flashing lights. My forty something ears straining to hear what the young man was telling me. He had dozens, no maybe more like hundreds of piercings. It was hard to concentrate as the light reflected off his shiny rings and things and blinded me, they picked up the flashing lights and seemed to magnify them.
Well, at least he knows how to pierce himself I think to myself. But no, he says he is the tattoo artist and he waves to a man in the back to come forward. This is our piercing specialist. The piercing specialist is covered in tattoos, no natural skin showing anywhere but on his face.
Blushing, but sure that no one notices, I again explain what I want done. No problem he says, quotes a price and says follow me. WAIT! I explain to him that I am just asking and that when I am ready I will call and make an appointment. No need for an appointment, it only takes 5 minutes, drop in anytime.
Shaking I return to my car, and drive to the next tattoo parlour, across the bridge in the next city.
This place is bright, white walls and a 'normal' looking young man at the desk. Blushing again, but in bright lights this time, I explain to him what I want pierced. He quotes me a price and tells me that I will need an appointment, the process takes about 30 minutes. He gestures to a photo on the wall, he is our piercing expert, over 30 years experience.
That is more than the other freaks have been alive. The price is half and I say make me an appointment. As an after thought, I ask if I can bring a friend to video tape the procedure. I am sure my cyber friend would love to see that.
Sure he says, see you tomorrow.
Sitting in my car, my hands visually shaking, wondering if I have truly lost my mind. I run through my list of friends, rejecting each in turn. Who can I possibly get to come with me and operate a camera?
As if someone was listening to my thoughts my phone lights up and I smile as I see who the caller is. I answer hello and engage him in small talk for a few minutes before blurting out, "I need a favour."
"Sure!" he answers.
I explain to him all the nasty dirty details and he assures me that he would love to watch and tape my private piercing.
The next day I pay particular attention as I bathe and shave my pubes, adding a dab of baby powder to soak up any embarrassing moisture.
We enter the tattoo parlour and the piercer himself greets me as I enter. He is 60ish, grey hair and a lovely British accent, making me feel relaxed and comfortable. I sign the required waiver and he takes me back for a consultation....alone. He needs to assure himself that this is my idea and that I am not being coerced. He turns his back as I slip off my boots, jeans and panties, swiping the fabric quickly through my nether lips to make sure that he has a relatively dry working surface.
I have to admit that the whole experience is making me as horny as hell.
Up on the table, feet in stirrups, he pokes and prods, checking to make sure my clitoral hood is large enough to support a piercing. Although he calls it by it's proper name, the prepuce. Assuring me that I have a wonderful prepuce for a piercing, he tells me that it's such a sensitive area, that he will freeze the tissue for me. He dabs and pokes with a cotton swab dipped in a topical anaesthetic for about 10 minutes, then lightly slaps my thigh and instructs me to get dressed and return to the waiting room. It takes about 30 minutes for the freezing to take effect.
On the way, we look at the jewellery and he suggests a simple barbell for a starter piercing. I can only nod as I rub my legs together, my clit itself seems to be trying to wriggle off my body. I talk to my friend to ease the passage of time, wriggling in my seat and when it was time to go back in...the piercer refused entry to the camera, my friend could accompany for moral support, but no pictures and he would have to sit behind me so as not to get in the way.
We were both disappointed and he opted to wait in the waiting room. So off I went with the fatherly English bloke to have my bits pierced.
Naked once again, the stirrups cold under my stockinged clad feet, I lay back as he prepared his instruments, and wiped the wet from my naughty crotch.
He explained that clamping the hood was near impossible and that a free hand piercing was much better, less painful.
So with a deep breath, my knuckles white on the arms of the piercing chair, my thigh muscles straining as I pushed my heels down hard to keep from moving...he pushed the needle through. The pain was as intense as any I had ever felt and it literally took me a minute to start breathing again...and then...
The piercer, this gentlemanly, soft spoken man peeks up from between my spread thighs, looks me in the eye and says, "Oops!"
The sweat trickling off my brow and into my eyes, I can only stare open mouthed at him, finally saying , "What?"
He tells me that I must have wiggled when he pierced me..no shit Sherlock.. it hurt like hell. And that he didn't get enough tissue and would have to do it again.
I begged him not to, no...it was fine the way it was and then, yank, out it came.
I panted laying back in the chair. Every nerve ending in my body on fire, sweat pouring freely, making me blink rapidly and scrub at my tear filled eyes.
For the next 30 minutes, he dabbed and worked to get the bleeding stopped, then offered me a minute or two to catch my breath while he went and got a new sterilized needle for part two of my torture.
Groaning aloud as the door opened again, I wondered why I hadn't just gotten dressed and ran screaming from the building.
But I am nothing if not stubborn, and I sat waiting, I will not leave without that piece of surgical steel nestled above my most sensitive of flesh.
Willing myself to stay still, don't move this time, I concentrate on breathing, ignoring his hands on my labia, the pressure as he swabs the disinfectant, smiling sweetly as he says, "Now take a deep breath."
Oh my fuck...I screamed like a banshee, the pain, was too much to bear...he kept pushing through, this was taking so long, the pain slicing through me. My feet stamping so hard into the stirrups, I bit my bottom lip and was rewarded with the metallic taste of blood and then...
"I'm in. You can relax now."
Slumping back in the chair, my ass sliding as the sweat pooling under me made the surface slick.
No longer looking fatherly, I am sure I can see the horns peeking out of that grey hair, he tells me that now he has to push the barbell through.
"WHAT? I thought you were done."
"Just the piercing part, this won't hurt, you'll just feel a little pull."
Steeling myself, feet hard in the stirrups again, knuckles gripping the arms, I hold my breath, sighing as he says, "All done."
Smiling, the pain starting to fade to a dull throbbing ache, no sexual sensations at all, at least I won't leak all over his chair. I may not have a sexual thought for a year after this.
He grabs the screw-on-top to the barbell and within seconds is again looking up at me from between my thighs and saying. "Uh oh!"
"Come on," I wail at him, "What can possibly be wrong now?" the fear and frustration in my voice is a palpable thing in the room.
"Well, occasionally the jewellery is defective, I'm hoping its the ball that screws on and not the barbell itself."
"Explain please." my teeth are grinding so loudly as I spit the words at him, I am unsure if they were even coherent.
He looks at me with his evil red rimmed eyes, how did I ever think he was gentlemanly and answers, "If it's just the ball, I screw a new one on, if it's the barbell, I have to take it out and put a new one in."
Tears of frustration pour over my cheeks, "If it's the barbell, forget it, take it out, I'm going home." my voice quivery and sulky.
There he goes again, leaving me alone. He comes back with a couple of balls which he then sterilizes, and voila! I am pierced at last. He grabs the pliers, two pair, and twists those end caps on with a vengeance. Pierced, and staying that way it might appear.
Now you may think that this is the end of my tale, and I truly wish it was, but...this is my life, there is never an end to the agony.
I limp around painfully for the next few days, wincing with every step, and no...it is not my tender bits causing me to walk like this, but the bruises on the bottoms of my soles from stamping so hard into the metal stirrups.
I am very careful to avoid any activity over the next couple of weeks that would aggravate my new adornment, and I am anxious to give it a test run. Will it really enhance the sexual experience for me?
It healed wonderfully, and sooner than I thought I could move it back and forth without any pain at all, but sadly without any extra stimulation either. But maybe with a partner, it would be different.
Maybe you have already figured out that I am unlucky, but now I will also explain how foolish I am too.
40 something, single and I arrange the first threesome of my life, shortly after the piercing is fully healed. I am so naughty, so excited as I dress for the occasion.
One of the men I already know, the other is his friend and coworker, so away we go. As first experiences go it was a rousing success. The men were truly awed by my decorated prepuce, and took pictures. The sex was incredible until about hour three, when the skin around my barbell started to ache, sting , ah hell, it just hurt.
So I am whispering, easy, go slow, ouch...to the chagrin of my eager partners. At one point in the evening they decided that if it was going to hurt like that, they should just take it out so that I could fully enjoy their ministrations.
Remembering the horror of getting it done, I begged them no and held my tongue, barely wincing as a tongue rocked over it, a finger prodded it or a cock grazed with its sawing motion, in and out.
Life was good, a few months of having my clit proudly adorned and again I engage in a threesome. Only the second one of my life and sadly the last to date. The piercing is barely noticeable now, just a pretty bauble that neither hurts nor enhances, but it looks great in photos.
My friend from before and another newer friend...and away we go again. The evening is amazing, I strongly recommend a threesome to the uninitiated. There is nothing better than being taken care of by not one but two sexy men. But again, this is my life, so as my dear friend is paying homage to the bucking nub between my legs, the other avails himself of my mouth, and as I have an amazing orgasm I once again feel searing pain and the word "Oops!" from between my parted thighs.
It seems a tooth got caught, I pulled one way, he pulled the other way...and well let's just say, the only metal attached to my body now is in my earlobes.
And I think it will remain that way.