Accredited Sadist

"No. But watch out in case I do get light-headed." I did use to faint easily.

"Course. Here goes."

I'd never have expected to get my breasts held firmly for being sterilised. Nor considered how fun it might be, the ethanol evaporating, cold, off my sensitive skin. I matched his small smile.

"Right. Hold still. I'm going to go in and out across here," -- he tapped on the upper part of my left breast with his gloved hand -- "and depending how that goes, try a couple of circles of needles." He gestured round each breast. "Blue gauge."

I couldn't bring myself to look, until he said "There," and I saw the hypodermic neatly tucked under the thinnest layer of skin, over, then under another, point just out the end. "OK? Takes a few to build up the effect."

"Go on." I couldn't say it was doing anything for me. This quietly-confident man,

enjoying playing with my breasts, however -- that was turning me on no end. I anticipated what might happen later, or rather, I tried to. It's never really possible to believe in pain until it happens.

Another needle went through the underside of my breast, near the base. Then he did the right one, to match. After that he considered, a finger vertical next to my nipple, tutted, moved it to an angle. Two more needles on the outside of my left breast, two on the outside of the right. Then mirrored, four more on the sides of my breasts next to each other.

He spoke. "Hexagons. I like that." I couldn't see. A warm feeling was spreading all round the area, though. It was quite pleasant. "One moment." He opened the wardrobe, which was almost opposite the bathroom door. "Can you see yourself in that mirror?"

"Only one side. But it's nice. Feels warm."

"Good. I'll do some more, then." He took up some finer needles, yellow gauge. "Going closer in. No, not the nipples, don't worry. Got other ideas for those."

It was a shock when he punctuated that with sucking one nipple, biting gently, then the other. And blowing on them.

"That's cold! You bastard!"

"Yup. Good, you figured that out. You said these were warming you up, so stop worrying. I'll be gentle..."

He knew, and I was realising, that while he was avoiding my areolae, the skin nearer my nipples was more delicate. Even with finer needles, I felt the piercings more. I exhaled slowly and carefully, staying as still as I could.

"Seven. You're doing so well." Did he suspect I would respond to praise, or was it just a casual observation?

I continued to let him fondle my breasts, his long delicate fingers brushing over my nipples occasionally. On purpose, for sure. A hundred-odd years earlier, he might have become Sherlock Holmes, experimenting. I supposed kinky sex was a healthier outlet than cocaine. How might Holmes have enjoyed the rush of modern scientific discovery and getting to be first to publication? Printing a monograph really wasn't the same.

"Nearly finished." He'd completed the inner circles, hexagons rather, of yellow-topped needles.

"Ah!" This needle was a classic sharp scratch, as nurses always warned you to expect. I looked down. It was a shorter, white-ended needle, through the puckered skin half an inch from my nipple.

"Just one more, I think. Other side."

I clenched my jaw shut, trying to think about the overall effect. Warmth, I confirmed, flowing all round my breasts. And general sensation, making their existence known. Like the few days before my period, when my breasts would feel heavy, while I constantly wanted to fuck or fight. Or both.

"There. Beautiful. Not that you weren't before, of course," he added, as if he'd learned he should say that. "May I take a photo? Just of your torso. Thank you." He showed me his screen.

"Geometric colourful patterns. I like that."

"Mm. How do you feel now?"

"Good," I told him, not wanting to say, Wanting. Needing.

He reached for my nipples again, rolling them between his fingers. I groaned. It was wonderful, but I was getting desperate for the lower half of my body to get attention, too. My pussy being filled, ideally, though I'd take any orifice, or a firm hand on my backside...

"Wanting more? Good idea." He returned with his nipple clamps in his hand. He raised an eyebrow, giving me a chance to object. While I'd want to lower my arms soon, I didn't need to refuse yet. I gave him the tiniest nod possible.

A pull on my nipple, then a firm grip behind it. A moment of pinching pain, which mellowed into a heavy, satisfying feeling. The sequence repeated.

Two comfortably-clamped tits. "Oh," I breathed.

"You happy? Good." He poked the clamps so they'd swing a little. I let my arms sag, the links to the wrist cuffs taking the strain. I wasn't sure how strong a Sleepylodge bathroom door might be, but any wood should be able to take my dead weight. I'd have to be careful not to bash my wrists against it.

Richie watched silently as I squirmed, my breasts throbbing and tingling all over, my pussy getting wetter by the second. At least he didn't know about the latter, yet.

Except he must have guessed. He pushed his hand between my legs, and rubbed, feeling the moist heat of my clothes there. Fuck it. I rubbed back, thrusting against his strong palm and fingers.

"Aroused already? We've hardly begun."

Was that his idea of humour? I suspected so. Bastard. I wasn't telling him that yet, either.

Even when he removed his hand. He pulled something from his pocket. Another pair of clamps? They were. They clipped onto the first set. Twice as much weight on each side.

I groaned. It felt wonderful, these weights squeezing my tits. I didn't know how long I could take it for, but for now...

More groping. "Yes," I told him. Not that that got him to get his hands inside my pants.

"Oh, these clamps vibrate," he mentioned, faking casualness.

When he flipped a tiny switch on each battery pack, I turned into a moaning wreck, hanging from the door-frame. I needed to get fucked five ways to Christmas, in the next few seconds! A desperate groan was the only way I could get the message across.

My buzzing breasts were signalling to my pussy: Need sex, now!

"God, please?" I pleaded, when I could gasp a couple words.

"You like?" He tapped the weight attached behind one nipple, then the other. I groaned. Yes, I liked, but it made me need.

"You want more?" He gestured at my jeans. "Time to get rid of these?"

"God, yeah. Aaah..." I was dancing on the spot, thrusting my pelvis wildly. Any dignity was long gone.

"Now, now. Don't take the Lord's name in vain." He wagged his finger, not in the least bit serious. He turned the vibrations off.

I nearly cried, I missed the sensation so much.

He unbuckled my belt, pulled my jeans down six inches. Then he decided my boots had to go, too, and knelt to remove them. It wasn't as if I could help, after all. I felt a strain in my shoulders as I tried to look down at him.

"Practical, for the lab." He meant my walking boots. Ancient, but sturdy.

"Yeah. I've got good boots, but don't want to risk getting phenol or anything on them." His DM boots had survived the day unscathed.

"Another reason to move from wet bench work to computers."

I bent my knee so he could remove the boot, then lifted the other foot for him. As he removed my black jeans, he put his face in my crotch. So nearly what I needed, but not nearly enough! I whimpered, so desperate for sexual contact.

My frantic hopping back and forth against his face might have reminded him to remove the clamps on my breasts.

First the extra weights went. I felt so light, I might float away.

Then he took off both clamps, simultaneously. He laughed, anticipating my screams, when blood flowed back into my nipples. Even once I managed to stifle my yells, I moaned thanks to him massaging both squashed teats. I felt every heartbeat pulsing through them, while my pussy prayed for attention of its own.

Socks came off my feet along with my trouser legs. Then he pulled down my pants, with reverence. I stepped out of them, not yet too out of it to comply. He picked up the damp material, and held the stickiest part to his nose to smell. It must reek of my scent.

"Oh, yeah." He loved it. No attempt to hide what he was doing.

Without my nipples being overstimulated, I could speak again. "You're getting off, on sniffing my dirty knickers? You weirdo!"

"'Sniffing' always sounds so judgemental." He dismissed the idea. "I'm inhaling, thank you." He massaged the fabric about, held a different part to his face. "Mm. Nice." He ran his tongue along the moist gusset. "Tasty."

He was exaggerating his fetish, I could tell. "You do you, love."

"Oh, I will. And, point: you're currently naked and tied helpless to a door-frame by some bloke you've known for less than six hours. And got twenty needles stuck through your tits. I don't think you get to call me weird."

"Never said I wasn't."

"Oh. Suppose that's all right, then. We can enjoy being weird."

He knelt back down on the floor, so as to get his face in my crotch. "Yeah. Nice." He added a couple fingers before I could kick him. Just as well.

Only, moments later, despite his fingers inside my pussy and tongue finding my clit, it wasn't enough.

"More?" My voice had a begging tone.

"Demanding, aren't you? Don't get me wrong, that's a good thing in women! Right, I'll have to get you down from there."

Absent-minded, he sucked his fingers idly as he stood up, liking my taste. He pulled on my sore nipples, again, before opening the door and letting my arms fall down. I had to keep them wide, so as not to poke the needles. Or be poked. It was difficult.

I was relieved he put a strong arm round me, to lead me back to the bed without my light-headed body falling over. "Lie down. I'd better remove these. Or you can. Here, stick them in this box." He held out an empty, hinged, plastic pipette-tip box. "I'll put them in a sharps bin in the lab, tomorrow."

Sliding the needles out from under my skin didn't hurt, but the warm feeling returned. Once done, dozens of tiny white spots of separated skin being the only visible difference, my breasts felt lighter, free, as well as tingly. Like they might fly away at any moment.

"Well. How do you feel?"

I didn't answer. He gave a wry laugh. "Sorry. Horrible question! Do you want to run away, or just stop there, or want more?"

"More." I knew that.

"Excellent. You're fun. Enjoying yourself?"

"Yes."

"Good. But I promised to make you cry, so the next bit won't be so much fun. Still want that?"

"Do it."

"Here goes, then."

***

I sat on the edge of the hotel bed, awaiting instruction. It was hard to believe I'd only met Richie a few hours ago.

People with credentials confirming they were safe to do kink with were rare as hen's teeth. I knew a few women for the purpose, but no men. Most men I encountered at fetish clubs or munches were snivelling wannabe-subs. Or else, they paraded their Big Bad Dom personas so obviously, that one detected more and more wannabe-rapist vibes. There was one great top I sometimes played with, but, as advised by multiple women, only in public, with a friend watching carefully.

But my trusted mentor Laura had recommended Richie, for being 'totally trustworthy', as well as having 'compatible interests'. I'd be a fool not to take advantage.

I hadn't had a good scene in a couple months. Nor sex, actually, depending how you defined that. I'd had one interesting evening when the local petrol station worker, a young gay Bangladeshi lad, had mistaken me for a man, in the dark. How much bodily fluid swapping do you need for it to be 'sex', anyway?

I'd assumed Richie wanted sex, because tops always did. If he actually didn't, I'd be seriously surprised.

And somewhat miffed, depending on what he'd done with me, by then. I'd take any variety of satisfaction!

I was naked, apart from my leather wrist cuffs. Richie, still clothed, rolled up his sleeves further. Contrasts like that, my nudity compared to a respectable-looking clothed top, always turned me on.

I got the impression he wasn't turned on: not yet. Just enjoying indulging in his favourite hobby. Fine by me.

Richie ran his hands up my sides, then over each of my breasts. I shivered. He smiled. He pressed his long fingers down my arms, to the black leather cuffs.

He spoke. "Right. See those pillows in the middle of the bed? Stick your arse over them, would you? Are you all right with your hands locked together, or you want them apart before I tie them down?"

I decided I was content with both arms over my head, off the edge of the bed. Richie looped soft rope behind the metal feet at both corners, through the carrying handles on the side of the mattress, and brought both ends up through my wrist cuffs.

"Get comfy, cos you ain't going to be moving for a while. There? Let's tie this up, then. What? Never leave home without twenty feet of cotton rope in your bag. You wouldn't believe how useful it can be! More than I was hoping, today; got to admit."

I had to chuckle, while testing the rope's tension. I wasn't leaving the bed, that was for sure.

Richie continued conversationally, "Rope, and a roll of gaffer tape. Vital for car repairs, clothes repairs, and bondage. What's not to like?"

I couldn't help laughing. I got the impression he hadn't intended to be funny, even though he appreciated the incongruity in his statement.

"Oi. Kink is a serious business!" He slapped my arse, to make his point.

"Yeah, right."

He grinned at my sarcasm. "Yeah. It's fucking mental, isn't it, the things we do to get off? Well, more your end."

"What gets you off, then?"

He seemed surprised. "The usual. I'm a bloke! But kink is all about reactions. Luring my play partner into getting off from all sorts of strange things. Watching them, seeing how they respond, getting a person to fall under my control... OK, I admit, I get off from that! Mm, yeah. Pretty people, in pretty subspace..."

More of a kinky scientist than a fetishist? I imagined it was a fuzzy boundary, if one at all.

"Have at. See how I respond, then."

He rubbed his hands, grinning in glee, parodying a mad professor. "I will. Seeing as you're here and can't escape...

The guy started running his hands all over my naked body. Possessive touch, firm, squeezing.

I parted my legs, at least the three inches that I could. A hint!

Richie sat down, straddling my thighs. Perfectly comfortable. The soft worn denim on my bare skin was fabulous. Though it precluded any attempts to nudge his hand to between my legs where I wanted it. Fucker.

His palms revolved over my buttocks. Gentle, getting my attention. I focused on the feelings, easing myself into the right, accepting, headspace. When he slid the heels of his hands up my back, it felt more like he was giving me a massage.

After more bum-circling and slow presses up each side of my spine, I realised that was exactly what it was. I wasn't complaining about a free massage. To be honest, after too many hours in tissue culture rooms, the air-con blowing down my neck, I could do with one!

He used his weight well, leaning over my shoulders. I groaned as he pressed into the knots under my shoulder blade, which had been there for months.

"Too much hunching over a computer, I bet," he admonished me. "You should look after yourself better. Watch your posture. Labs are shit for ergonomics, I'm warning you."

"OK!" I squeaked, as he forced the muscles on the other side to comply.

That was the most painful part. The rest of the massage was forceful but soothing, almost lulling me to sleep, until he returned to my backside. That got my attention again.

Was this all some fancy foreplay?

If it was, it was working.

He centred his bodyweight over me. Force of many kilos, on a small area. His brisk massage switched to something firmer.

Those rolling circles on my arse were fists, now. Half his mass weighed on them. Then more pressure, centred on smaller areas, via his knuckles.

Richie was stronger than he looked. More to the point, he knew what he was doing. His pushes into my flesh with his fists changed, becoming gentle punches. All his force was being concentrated on my bottom, maybe four, five hits on one side, then making the other buttock match; going further, make it hurt more, before switching to even me up again.

I slowed my breathing to cope with the sensations. Thump. Thump. His fist landed on my backside again. I forced my body to relax as much as possible. Accepting it all.

The world narrowed. To me, there was the bed beneath, and the blows falling from above. And the warm weight of the stranger's body across my thighs. Nothing else existed.

"Ohh..." I moaned quietly, exhaling, controlling my response.

"Yes, he agreed. "Starting to notice something?"

"Mm," I said, admitting nothing.

"Good. I'll keep going, then."

He did. I could feel bruises starting to form. The sensations of pressure changed to being subtly painful, dull aches under the warm touch. I concentrated on breathing through it. If I got through this, I'd get the pleasure at the end.

Or -- would I?

Would Richie touch me and get me off? Would he help me through the pain to reach that sublime satisfaction?

He'd had his fingers in me already. Surely he'd finish the job, wanting to prove he could make me come. Wouldn't he?

He's a bastard rang in my ears.

All I could do was hope.

He covered my entire arse, and the top few inches of my thighs, with his fist. Those knuckles, rolling in my tender inside thighs, were exquisite. I opened my knees as wide as I could, hating the rope holding them still, loving the restriction.

My bottom was warm all over. Probably a healthy shade of pink. Sensitised, and waiting for whatever might happen next. Something to complement a sexual touch, I hoped.

I heard clunks behind me. He'd brought wooden spatulas, I remembered. Were they sanded to smoothness, or would the impact be of rough raw wood? I couldn't remember.

I didn't know how to ask.

The blunt sting of flat wood. It hurt, albeit still in an erotic way. Yes, I'm a masochist. A sensation-seeker. I'll go along with domination, sometimes even enjoy it, but making someone else feel powerful isn't what gets me off.

"Ah!" The slap of hard wood on my reddening arse stung. A shock. But then Richie rubbed the area with his fingers, relaxing me. This was exactly the tactile combo I was here for.

Whacks. Rubbing. Slaps. Massage. The side of the wooden tool, harsher, harder, with his fingers, hard and around -- but not in -- my cunt.

"Oh..." I let happy little moaning noises escape. This was good. The rest of the world was well beyond my consciousness, now. Nothing for me to do, but breathe in, and breathe out, accepting the slow build-up of sensations.

Hard and soft. Sweet and sour. Pain spicing up pleasure, pleasure encouraging me to tolerate pain.

The sensation of overlapping slaps started to get a bit much. I squirmed, and squeaked.

Richie chuckled, as he switched to my flogger. Clearly a favourite tool; he idly landed figures-of-eight on my arse, the bundle of falls hitting together as one. He knew how to wield it to create heavy impacts rather than ouchy stings. Slowly, he added more strength to the blows, running the fronds through his hand to neaten them, before swinging with increasing force. It was hard, but I was determined to last the course. The leather nap on my wrists held me in its loving grip.

Then some blunt-cut tips of the flogger caught on a sore raised ridge on my bum. A sudden sharp, horrific, pain.

"No!" I wailed.

I felt sudden terror, that this stranger wouldn't care; wouldn't ease up to ensure I could cope.

His arm was already high above me, the falls of the flogger released.