Straight Laced


Tom held her face with his hands, turning Rachel away from the man who was in the process of permanently modifying her pussy. He told her about trips they had taken, the fun time they had when they went to Europe, sitting in cafes, shopping for dresses for her, exploring castles and drinking wine. Every once in a while, she would wince, her face scrunching up in pain, and he would reassure her how brave she was being.

Brandon was a professional, and his rapid but assured movements did somehow comfort her. He got into a rhythm: align the punch, a rapid strong squeeze, measure the depth of the tunnels, cut and polish them to fit, replace the two halves in the hole, squeeze them together, and wipe off the blood. Even with the Valium, her pussy was throbbing, pulsing pain, punctuated by the occasional sharp pain of the punch, a digging pain of the insertion of the eyelet, or the ratcheting sound of the two halves being fused together.

Half-way through, he briefly paused. "One lip is done," he said. Her lover paused in the story, letting her admire the handiwork. One entire labia was finished: it was beautiful with its gleaming golden circles, perfectly decorating her. The lip was swollen and angry, puffed up and streaked with little traces of blood. She looked over and the man was busy cleaning out the leather punch's hole with a toothpick. Tiny little nibblets that were formerly part of her pussy were falling out the end of the punch onto the table. She gazed at that, wondering at the sight, almost disconnected what she was seeing.

"Okay, now the other lip."

Her lover continued his story, about that train they had missed and the strangely wonderful taxi ride that was the result, about that time they got caught in the rain and wandered into the best bakery in Prague, when they walked the halls of the El Prado museum in Madrid after having delicious tortillas for breakfast. She willingly bore the pain, and with great concentration managed to listen to him and not to cry out. Rachel's winces and the silent tears rolling down her cheek flooded opened Tom's heart and he grasped the back of her neck, kissing her passionately, drawing her mouth up to his.

Finally, the piercer was done. The whole process had taken only about twenty minutes once started, but to her it seemed much longer. He gave her pussy a final wipe down with an antiseptic cloth to clean up remaining streaks of blood. The alum had stopped almost all of the bleeding, but her pussy was still red and swollen, and now perforated by two neat rows of eyelets running along the edge of each lip.

He handed the couple a single sheet of paper with care instructions. "Take as much time as you need to recover before you leave," he advised her, and left the room.

She sat there on the table, shaking, almost in unbelief of what had just happened. She took a hand mirror off the table and examined her pussy. Each outer lip now sported six golden eyelets. She gingerly ran her fingertip across herself. Her fingertip caused a small jolt of pain on each circle it encountered, but they didn't catch. The golden edge of each eyelet was rounded under so they were very smooth to the touch. She opened her labia to see the job from the inside. They looked similarly rounded and beautiful. The eyelets were placed about a half-inch from the edge of her lip. They started about three-quarters of an inch from the top of her slit, so the first pair was a little higher than half-way down her clit. The last pair was just below her vaginal opening.

"It looks beautiful," she said.

"I think so too. Let's get you home."

Tom carefully helped her put her skirt back on, but she stuffed her panties in her purse, not wanting to get blood on them. He guided her outside, opening the car door and helping her sit down. They drove back home, and she slept off the remainder of the drug.

The next day, Rachel didn't remember a lot of what had happened. The Valium had dulled the pain, and had also somewhat wiped her memory. She knew what she had done, and she remembered vague and hazy bits and pieces of the actual installation, but she didn't remember the tattooing, or the pain, or the blood. She dutifully cleaned herself being very careful not to leave any suds, and was very careful when she peed, keeping herself spread wide apart with her fingers so it wouldn't spray on her eyelet holes. She took the next few days off work because it was sore when she walked. She was glad about one thing; the very tight fit of the eyelets in the holes kept it from bleeding much. Tom waited on her hand and foot, fixing her breakfast in bed, doing household chores, keeping her off her feet.

After about three days, she felt better enough to walk around more. Her pussy was still puffy and swollen, but the swelling had started to go down. When she walked, she could feel every minute change in her position—her lips would move back and forth almost imperceptibly, yet the golden eyelets made her aware of every motion. It didn't feel painful, but she was unused to the sensation.

She looked at her pussy often, imagining what it would be like to have sex with the eyelets, and imaging what it would look like when she could finally lace them. The recommendations from the piercer were to avoid wearing panties and jeans for two months, to avoid vaginal sex for three months, and to avoid lacing for at least four months while the tunnels healed.

At the beginning, Rachel had worn panties just to make sure she didn't bleed. But the panties felt uncomfortable against her piercings with the pressure they provided, so as soon as she could she started exclusively wearing skirts and dresses. She felt like an object of beauty—in taking the radical step of modifying herself, she had become a goddess, and she exuded confidence and sex appeal. She became very feminine in her attire, doing things that were quite unusual for her, like wearing scarves or fashion belts, large flashy earrings, or dresses with low cut cleavage.

The changes in Rachel were very apparent to him. The prohibition on access to her pussy for two months was like dangling a steak in front of a starving man. Tom gave her full body massages at any opportunity, just so he could touch her body. He bought her flowers and candies. He kissed her long and deep, and when he got to second base, he would play with her breasts incessantly, fondling and suckling at them, playing with her nipple rings.

Rachel soaked up the attention, and it fed her transformation. She could feel the metal under her skirt always against her, touching her, reminding her of her eroticism. She felt it when she walked, and when she sat. After uncomfort came tolerance; after tolerance came familiarity. After longer still, it had became comfortable, the little rounded metal rings embedded in her flesh were just another constant part of her.

She felt them when she showered. She luxuriated under the water like a cat, letting soapy water run down her curvy female body. Her hand would seek them, brushing over them, mapping the new alterations that she had created.

Rachel's newfound sexual awareness had opened other doors. She had never really enjoyed giving him head—it was a little pleasantry she did for Tom, taking nothing of the act for herself. Now that her pussy was quarantined, she took it upon herself to initiate blowjobs. The first time, she dropped on her knees in front of him, unzipped his pants, and pulled them down. Of course, he was desperate for sex, and eagerly assisted. Once Tom was naked from the waist down, she licked his shaft tantalizingly for a long while, dipping her head from time to time to lick and suck on his balls. She drew his balls completely into her mouth, rolling them over with her tongue, holding his rigid cock in his hand while she did. She finally took him in her mouth, sucking him forcefully and deeply. He came quickly in her mouth, and she drank his come, relishing the taste. She provided other repeat performances, coming to truly desire having his cock in her mouth, enjoying draining it down her throat. Rachel felt wanton and slutty and she wasn't ashamed of it any more.

She also let Tom try anal sex. She knew she didn't want him entering her pussy yet—there was still too much time needed for healing. She had never tried anal sex, and never really had wanted to. But she became desperate to have him inside her. Even if that meant that he would be entering in strange new places. Rachel propositioned Tom for sex one night, and he readily accepted. She handed him a tube of lubricant, and lay down on the bed with her ass high in the air.

"Please take my ass," she said.

He almost couldn't believe his ears, but he didn't hesitate. He used the lubricant to wet her generously, using his finger to spread the liquid inside her rear. She hadn't had his penis inside her for six weeks at that point, and although she was nervous, her body tingled with anticipation. He placed his cock at the opening of her asshole, and very slowly pushed inside. He entered her, slowly and carefully, asking her at each step before he pushed in further. Once he was past her sphincter, Rachel was gradually able to relax and she fully opened herself, softly pushing backwards to meet him. He started pumping her slowly, and she surprised herself by actually enjoying it. It felt different—not as natural as when he was in her pussy, but he still filled her. The feeling of being full again comforted her after their long drought.

Tom was ecstatic to be inside her again, especially in this new and thrilling way. He kept control of himself, slowing down the action so he wouldn't come before her. He wasn't sure if she could come through anal sex, but he was gentle yet persistent, telling her how much he loved her, petting her back as he thrust deep inside her, and frequently stopping himself to regain control. His patience paid off, and she eventually did come. For her, it was quite unexpected, and her orgasmic cry was long and loud. Hearing her come brought him over the top, and he came into her ass, pumping it full of his semen. He was very careful when he withdrew, making sure that he kept himself far away from her lower eyelets.

Now that they had opened up new vistas in their sexuality, every day was new and exciting. She came to appreciate her ass as a sexual organ as well as a functional one. Rachel and Tom experimented more with anal sex, trying different positions, and she found that she actually enjoyed it.

Rachel kept careful track of the calendar. The first milestone of panties and jeans came and went without much fanfare. Although she had worn panties with a pantyliner for the first couple weeks for spotting, she was now far more used to not wearing panties and preferred to keep them off. She had once tried wearing a pair of jeans as soon as Brandon's schedule permitted, but she discovered she was still a little too tender for the rough canvas. She had adjusted herself to the more traditionally feminine attire of dresses and skirts.

The next month was her sex deadline. Rachel surprised Tom by coming downstairs nude while he was watching TV. He pounced on her, and immediately started playing with her ass.

"Not tonight honey. In the front," she reproached cheerfully.

"Is it already time?"

"Tonight's the night."

He turned her to face him directly. She stood in front of him, her perfect gold nipple rings now a fixture of her body. She almost didn't remember when she didn't have nipple rings. He looked down at her pussy. She had been trying to keep her pussy shaved, although it had become much more difficult with the eyelets. He thought her cunt looked perfect, and he saw the rows of golden circles catching glints of light.

"May I touch them?"

"Yes, gently."

He ran the pad of his fingertip down her belly, and across her mound. When he got to her labia, he slowed, savoring each moment. He felt down one lip and up the other. He gently grasped her lips, looking inside, moving the skin and watching the fixed metal eyelets move against her soft yielding skin. She had played with herself frequently, looking at herself often in a mirror, cleaning and shaving herself. But this was the first opportunity she had given him to really examine her since the procedure. Having someone else feel her was heavenly.

Tom had become much more attentive to shoes lately, examining how they were laced, looking at the eyelets and imagining them to be his lovely woman. He pressed Rachel's labia close together, and examined the rows of eyelets. He marveled that they did look like a shoe, but instead of hardened leather it was soft living female perfection: his wonderful Rachel who had sacrificed her body for his pleasure.

She soaked up his touch. It had been long ago that the eyelets had stopped being painful and tender. Now, they were antennas, picking up movements and transmitting them directly to her, making her wet.

He played with her, examining her, gently touching and petting her labia, watching how her soft pink inner lips and clit nestled in between the formidable looking golden decorated rows of her outer labia. He looked through the small holes in her lips, gently blowing through the perforations.

Eventually, she couldn't take it any more. "Please, fuck me," she begged. He was ready to oblige, and led her to the bedroom. They played and screwed for hours, finally falling asleep after neither of them could remain awake, covered with sweat, pussy juice, and semen.

Rachel had been fanaticizing about laces ever since the procedure. She had gone to many shoe stores, and she ended up buying quite a few pairs of shoes, the majority of them laced. Tom readily funded her new habit, knowing that her newly escalated passion for shoes was letting her explore this new aspect of her sexuality. She had bought many pairs of laces (they didn't sell singles), of all different colors, materials, and finishes. She didn't know for certain how long they would need to be, but she bought them just as she would her shoes—she always asked for laces that fit shoes with six pairs of eyelets. Her pussy would twinge when she mentioned this, and she'd usually go right home and masturbate, with her shoeboxes thrown haphazardly around the foyer in her rush to satiate herself.

The night of her fourth month was an eventful one. Any puffiness or tenderness had subsided long ago. The holes had healed perfectly, and the eyelets were all seated beautifully and comfortable. She could stretch her lips, moving them about without any pain or twinges. She was ready.

Tom came into the bedroom after work, and she was lying on the bed, nude. In front of her, she had laid out all the laces that she had bought. There were at least four dozen, of all different shapes and colors. He quickly picked up on the evening's activity.

"You can go ahead and pick the first," she said.

He scanned the rows of laces: black, white, pink, brown, red, blue, yellow. Some had glittery threads running through them, or were striped with multiple colors. Some were flat and wide, some flat and narrow, some round. He picked up a pair of narrow flat pink laces, and slipped off a small paper ring that held the two laces together. He dropped one of the laces to the bed.

She stretched her legs over the edge of the bed, and spread herself. He knelt before her, and tenderly grasped her left labia. He threaded the lace through the back of the lowest hole, and then did the same with the other side on the other lip. Once they were through, he pulled the strings both out far from her body, making sure they were equal length. Then he started to lace her up, threading one side through the back, crossing over, threading the other side. He laced her carefully, making sure the laces were perfectly presenting, not twisted or unequal. He tugged on each lace once it was through the hole, making sure it was tight.

All the time he was lacing, she watched with fascination. She had been waiting months for this moment, and it did not disappoint. She felt her pussy being sutured up, locked away like a treasure, and being decorated, all at the same time. The feeling of having her labia tugged and manipulated to thread the laces through the eyelets and pulled snug was maddening—she softly bit her lip. The lacing trapped her inner labia and clit: she felt them being constrained by the laces as he laced higher and higher.

He finally laced up the final holes at the top. He went back to the bottom, pulling each lace snug to use up any remaining slack, firmly tying each pussy lip to its mate, pulling and gathering all the slack until the laces were perfectly tight, binding her labia together. He topped it off with a small pink bow. Done! Her clit and inner lips were completely hidden, firmly pressed within their pink lace cage. Her pussy looked like a perfect little present. She got up from the bed and strode over to a full-length mirror.

As she walked, Rachel could definitely tell she was laced up—her cunt felt tighter, and the felt her labia strain against the laces as she walked. The motion of her body was softly rubbing her clit in its cage. She admired herself in the mirror. Her pussy looked like it wore a beautiful feminine dress, a miniature corset. She had imagined what this would be like over and over, but was pleasantly surprised by how it finally looked. Rachel loved the little present she had created: for Tom, and for herself.

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