Disclaimer: The type of play depicted in this story could do you permanent harm, physically and/or emotionally. Don't try this or any other blood play without a piercing professional somewhere nearby. Special thanks to KM for editing beyond the call of duty. All the errors you encounter are mine.
He smiled at me from across the small round table. It was a smile of loving regard, of slowly building desire.
I reached out to clasp one of his hands between both of mine. “I love you,” I told him for the millionth time, meaning it as surely as I had the first time I’d said it.
He walked his fingers up the outside of my arm, past my elbow and then back down the inside, stroking over my wrist lightly where my veins showed through the fine skin. Leaning in, he cupped my cheek in his strong hand and smiled again.
“I love you, too,” he told me tenderly. “I can’t imagine my life without you.”
Without haste, he came around the table to me and drew me up against his body. He pressed my back gently against the wall and fitted himself to me. Fisting his hand into my hair, he pulled my head back and looked down at me for a few long wordless moments, his eyes stroking over my face almost tactilely.
As his lips closed over mine, I shivered. Hot spikes of desire shot through my skin and traveled to my core. My tongue slipped and sparred with his and I felt the familiar drugging addiction of his need calling mine.
We were shaking with reaction, our breathing labored, when he broke the kiss. We’d never been able to explain to each other the arousal ignited by this intensely intimate act. We cherished it, though, and never took for granted the heat that flared between us at the smallest of touches.
His hands eased out of my hair and he looked deeply into my eyes, his fingers smoothing fine blonde strands away from my face. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, rising desire making his voice a little rough while concern colored the nuances.
“I am, Master,” I answered him, my hands running lightly, freely, over his arms and up to his shoulders. I loved the feel of his skin under my fingers. “We’ve wanted it for a long time and we’re ready for it, both of us. We’ve got the needles. We’ve got the antiseptic stuff.” I paused a moment, sighing, and reminded him, “We only have four of the rings, though.”
“I think four rings is enough for you, little pain slut,” he teased in a laughing whisper, his hands caressing down over my throat and my breasts, stroking my nipples into erect points. “I’ll put the slave bars in your nipples another time, okay? Four rings is enough for you today.”
Leaning, he fastened his wet, warm mouth over one nipple and sucked hard. At the same time, he squeezed the other nipple tightly between his thumb and forefinger. I cried out quietly and my knees buckled a little, a fierce wash of heat roiling through my body at the sudden sensation.
He checked on me, assessing my emotions and feelings by virtue of long habit, noting the heat as it rose through my body and into my face to stain my cheeks a telltale pink.
“I love you when you’re strong and centered and in charge of the world.” He murmured the words, his lips tickling across my throat, “and I love you when you’re not. But it’s the masochist in you that calls to me most loudly right now, my slave.”
Pointing, he named the items laid out on the small table. “Needles. Rings. Soft cloth for the blood. Antiseptic lotion.”
He picked up one of the rings and held it out toward me on the palm of his hand. His face was somber and his eyes asked a question. The ring looked small and delicate lying against his skin.
I bent over his hand and kissed it, the ring between my lips and his palm. “Please,” I asked, correctly interpreting what he wanted from me, the words coming easily from my suddenly dry mouth. “Use your needle on me. Pierce me. Put your rings into me.” I raised my eyes to meet his and whispered the last words. “Hurt me, Master, as only you can, as only you want to, as I must have from you. Please.”
He nodded and his hand closed on the ring. His lips descended to mine for another searing kiss, a kiss that left us both breathless and shaking. And then he moved to the bed and laid a white towel over the patterned spread. “Come here.”
I obeyed, my nipples stiff from his touches, the blush of arousal heating my skin. When I was close, he reached for my hand.
“On your back,” he instructed, positioning me as he spoke, his hands gentle on my body. “Butt centered on the towel. Spread your legs and keep them spread. Yes, like that. Good. Very good.”
The towel was thick and warm against my skin but I was suddenly cold and insecure. I wanted something in my hands, something to hold and to jam into my mouth when the sharpness came trailing the pain. Fingers reaching, I searched blindly over my head for the pillow and clutched into its softness.
He spread my legs a little more widely and lightly touched my bare pussy lips. One finger caressed my skin, his warmth bleeding into mine. I stilled, the spare eroticism of his touch inciting tendrils of heat along the path his finger chose. Pulling gently at the small patch of light hair atop my pubic mound, he leaned over to kiss just below my navel and asked, “Scared?”
“Yes, Master,” I answered honestly. My eyes slid closed as he parted my labia with one finger.
His finger pressed my clit. “Here,” he told me, circling it, smiling when I inhaled sharply and my eyes flew open. He gently pinched one of my outer lips, “here,” and then pinched the other one, “and here.”
He leaned toward me and I saw that his nipples were erect. He, too, was feeling the undeniable heat of the sexuality that curled and flexed between us like a living thing. His blue eyes met mine and I moaned, responding to the flare of hunger in their depths. “This is the last time I’ll ask it: are you ready for this? It’s going to be very intense, my little slave. I’m going to do the piercings slowly and take everything I can from you in the process.”
Drawn by his heat, caught and held by his intensity, I nodded. He leaned over and kissed me lightly, and I released my pillow to touch through his hair, my fingers combing through its thick wildness.
“I love you,” he whispered against my lips, flowing away from me. With easy fingers and a sure touch, he cleaned my labia with antiseptic solution, paying special attention to the place into which he would put the first ring. I reached for my pillow again, suddenly unsure.
He’s done a lot of piercings, I chanted to myself, holding tightly to the pillow. He’s good at this. It excites him. You trust him. He’s your Master. I took a steadying breath, reaching for calm. It was too late. Red fear bloomed violently in the back of my brain and raced to overthrow the trust I’d so faithfully tended. The fear grappled with the trust and they wrestled, screaming obscenities, to the floor.
I felt the piercing forceps squeeze tightly and I jumped, stiffening. He slid a finger between my pussy lips, just a light gliding touch, as his other hand stroked down my leg, reassuring me. “Slippery,” he observed softly, licking his wet finger. He smiled into my eyes. “You’re such a masochist,” he told me. The words nestled into my heart, another declaration of love.
“I’m scared,” I whispered, clinging to the warm emotion he’d offered, my words barely loud enough to be heard above the war being waged inside my mind. “Please, Master, please... “ My words trailed off into silence.
“Do you want to stop?”
He would stop if I asked it of him. I knew he would. We’d never had a safe word for me and I’d never needed one. He’d devoted himself to learning my limits, my fantasies, my fears and secrets. I trusted him to push me to where we both wanted to go. Did I want to stop now? We’d been anticipating this experience for a long time and to stop now would be a huge disappointment for both of us. “No, Master. No. Please…just do it.”
He stroked the inside of my leg, knee to groin. “I want this for you as much as I want it for me. You know that.” He reached to the side and held a needle up so I could see it. “No bondage, my slave, just obedience and trust. It’s only you and me and the pain.” His eyes held mine and reflected the edged need that raced between us crying for consummation. “I want you to be very still. Keep your legs spread widely.”
I took a deep breath as the 14-gauge needle pressed against the outside of my skin. It popped through the relatively tough layer of my epidermis and into the much softer, far more fragile tissue below. He moved it into me very slowly, taking his time. He was using the needle as a means of reaching for my reaction, for my strength, for the heat, the fear, and wild truth I would give him in the face of this pain. He was piercing me as a means of giving voice to the sadism that ran hotly in his veins, the sadism that dovetailed perfectly into my requirement for pain and my obedience to the one who could hurt me in the way I needed to be hurt.
I screamed, jamming the pillow over my face so its softness would absorb some of my sounds, but I held my legs immobile, too, forcing their compliance with his instructions. Heat washed over my body; trembling followed. The first sharp hot pop was followed by finely focused pain. I moaned, sliding the pillow off my face, begging him for something. More? Less? Stop? Go faster? Heat centered low in my belly and gathered slickly between my legs. As always, the pain aroused me in a wildly immediate manner.
“It’s through,” he said after a long few minutes, his voice oddly strained, “and with only a little bit of blood.” He sawed the needle through my labia a couple times before removing it and the forceps. “Now the ring.” I sucked in another deep breath and held it while he pushed the ring through the new hole and captured the bead into the ends of the ring.
“It’s beautiful,” he whispered me, his voice deepening. “You’re beautiful. Touch it.”
With slightly shaking fingers, I reached down between my spread legs and traced the ring where it plunged into my skin and then touched where it came back out. “I like it,” I told him as his fingers moved to twine with mine, to touch the ring with me. Together we stroked the softness of my bare pussy lips, touching the ring repeatedly, both of us moving it through my labia, back and forth, back and forth. Then he put my hand to the side. “Now the next one,” he murmured, his lips tracing lightly over the place where the ring plunged into my skin, kissing and licking.
The fear came galloping back, trampling the eroticism under its sharp panicked alarm. Could I do it again? Again? Knowing the pain, the heat, and the fear? Oh God, how? How could I do it again? How could I let him use his needle on me, there, again?
Scared, I shot a quick glance into his face. He was looking back at me steadily. His focused competence reassured me. His obvious arousal incited mine. He required my obedience, my faith, my responsiveness, and my trust. I needed to give him what he wanted. I willed myself to relax. I would give all that I could to him. Again, yes. "As you wish, Master,” I answered quietly, reaching to graze his face with my shaking fingertips and promising myself not to scream this time.
His hands were steady when he touched me, inspecting the first piercing for the placement of the second. He spread my labia open, adjusting his plans to insure the rings would mirror each other. He cleaned me again and slipped the forceps tightly over my skin. “For us,” he said to me, meeting my eyes again, “for what lies between us, for our shared need.” He pressed the tip of the needle against my skin. “Be still, my slave,” he reminded me, sure of my obedience.
Hot. Pointed. Pain. I screamed again, heedless of my resolve to the contrary, and clutched the bedspread at both sides of my body. The pillow fell off to one side, forgotten. I didn’t move my legs but my hands gripped desperately into the fabric beneath them. Digging pain, slowly burrowing. He gasped, his eyes intent, his pupils enlarged with arousal. Slowly, over long minutes, he pushed the needle through and out the other side of my labia.
“It’s done,” he told me, his words rough with the stress of his arousal. “Open your eyes. Breathe.” I pressed my palms flat against the bunched-up bedspread and panted lightly. My body felt slick, like it was coated with a light film of sweat. A thicker film of far more slippery moisture was pooled between my now-pierced labia.
His fingers moved the needle back and forth in the new hole a few times before pulling it out and removing the forceps. The ring went through the bloody hole easily, and then he slipped the bead into place between the ends of the ring. I was trembling, reaction and arousal raging through my body.
“God, I love the way you sound when you’re open to me like that,” he exclaimed hotly, sweeping up my body to kiss me, his hands holding my face still while his lips and tongue plundered deeply. Almost as suddenly, he resumed his place in the chair at my feet and looked between my legs again. “They’re beautiful. Touch them,” he insisted, using a soft cloth to dab at the blood that was welling from both of the piercings.
Reaching, I touched the first then moved a finger to the second. The two silver rings were close, so close that they rested lightly against each other. His fingers joined mine and we explored their placement. He dabbed at the blood again, reassuring me that though the second was bleeding more than the first, it wasn’t anything to worry about. His fingers moved on mine as if mine were puppets, moving my fingers against my clit, circling and pressing.
“The bleeding will soon stop. It’s not unusual and nothing to worry about.” He leaned forward, licking the inside of my thigh, smiling a little when I shivered in response. “They’re beautiful, those rings. I want to pull them with my teeth, just to watch you while I do it. I want to lick your skin through them. I want to see what they look like with weights and locks hung from them.”
I sucked in a hard breath at his words, my body a thing of flame and aching arousal. Lifting my hand, I saw that my fingers were coated, red and shiny wet. My pussy contracted hard and I moaned, then slipped the fingers into my mouth and sucked the blood off them. In all our play, he’d never made me bleed like this, never pierced into me so deeply, literally or emotionally.
We looked at each other across the few feet that separated us, my bent and raised knees framing our faces. In his I saw the erotic intensity he could summon almost from the air and felt it pull an answering shiver of obedience and desire from me.
“I’m going to do your clit hood now,” he told me, holding my gaze with naked honesty of his passion. “The other piercings may be taken out as we wish but this one will stay in forever, a symbol of your submission to me and my love for you.” He stroked up my leg, ankle to pussy, and cupped his hand over the new rings. “This will hurt.”
He dropped his eyes and parted my labia. This time his fingers found my clit and pulled at the loose ridge of skin above it. I moaned as he poked and swirled and caressed the area, and my clit throbbed in an almost unbearable manner.
“You won’t touch my clit during this, will you, Master?”
“I won’t touch your clit with the needle,” he promised. Sincerity laced his words. It was the same assurance he’d given me every other time I’d asked the question.
He directed me to hold my labia open while he pulled and rubbed at the skin immediately above my clit. “You’ll have to hold yourself open while I do this, my slave,” he directed. “You can’t let go and you can’t move your fingers.” He looked up at me. “Will you do that?”
I nodded and my words were raspy with hot desire and cold fear when I answered. “I won’t move. I won’t let go.” I was scared at the thought of not having my pillow or the bedspread to clutch.
He smiled and leaned to kiss the inside of my knee, his teeth biting lightly and sending a shock of sensation skittering away from the spot. I knew he trusted and believed me as much as I trusted and believed him.
For a long moment he was still, his fierce desire to control me rampaging across his face. He needed me obey him in this even though I wasn’t bound. He needed to kindle in my body the twin fires of consuming pain and desire. Mastering the violence of his lust, he turned to his preparations and I felt the now-familiar cool wash of antiseptic solution over my clit. Pinching the place gently, he fed my clit hood into the forceps.
I closed my eyes and tried to focus on his movements, so sure and steady, but the fear returned, dragging a great slavering horror with it. All the pictures I’d seen and stories I’d read of horrible female mutilation crowded into my mind. I fought it, reaching toward the devotion that bound me to him, touching the deep well of utter trust and love I felt in him and for him. Fear and horror receded to the edges of my awareness. Acceptance replaced it, crowded closely by flaming desire. I waited, floating, my legs and fingers still, my emotions reverberating with the intensity that flowed unchecked between us.
“Take a deep breath, baby,” he cautioned, his words sounding quiet and far away. “This is the one we’ve both wanted. This is for us, between us, you and me, me and you.”
And it began. Deeply digging, wickedly pointed, needle-sharp pain. Slowly pushing, slowly parting, slowly pressing into me, my nerves screaming, my throat and mouth screaming. Protest, welcome, and savage desire seeped from my body's cells and exited with my screams.
It went on and on, long minutes of soul-scraping pain and wildly exultant obedience. “Finish it,” I gasped, my words bald, pain bleeding them of nuance. “Finish it, God, finish it. Please. Please. Master, please!”
“Almost done,” he promised me raggedly, his words hoarse with exultant pleasure at his utter mastery of my body and soul. “Keep your hands still and your legs open.”
He continued, intent, focused, aroused, and tightly in control. He was spearing for my reaction and fishing for the depths of my submission. He was pushing me further than I’d ever been in terms of my obedience to him.
“FINISH IT!” I shrieked at the end of a series of wordless screams that his slow needle pulled from me. I was at the limit of my ability to be still, obey, and accept.
“Almost done,” he promised again, sounding distant. The needle and the pain were my sole focus, my sole reality. His words skimmed lightly over the top of my awareness with the solidity of dust motes in a sunbeam.
And then it was done. The pain flowed out of my body like the spiraling of water down a bathtub drain. A bubbling, joyful eroticism replaced it. I felt him push the small silver ring through the hole, and felt him capture the silver bead to secure it, but none of that hurt. Maybe nothing will ever hurt again, I thought irrationally, half in relief, half in horror.
“Oh God,” I moaned when he pushed my fingers between the folds of my labia to feel the new ring. I pressed it and white sparks of acute sensation seared into my clit. I moaned again, and again, walking the hard edge of the pain-pleasure fence as my fingers twirled and danced over my new ring.
He laughed, the sound at odds with the severity of the driving passion lashing us. “Wait,” he told me, holding up the fourth ring, a match to the one in my clit hood. “I was going to put this in your perineum but I’ve decided it should go below the hood ring instead, into your inner labia.”
I smiled at him, awash with the kind of floating pleasure that the sudden absence of intense pain brings. “It’s yours to choose, my Master,” I replied, lifting my fingers from their fascination with my new rings and sucking them clean.