The Modified Slave Ch. 02

Author's note: This chapter is also mostly setup; it contains escalating dirty talk, descriptions of body modifications, mild exhibitionism, and mild power exchange.

Blue

BDSM in general and power dynamics in specific have a lot of rules, particularly among heterosexual folk. They exist to keep everyone involved physically and mentally unharmed. The most frequent discussions in the M/s and 24/7 communities are about healthy and sustainable relationships. I didn't necessarily disagree with any of that, it's just that I approached those two concepts in a way that scared the shit outta most people. They were entangled in the vagaries of romance, kids, career--normal life nonsense. I wanted a blank canvas. One I could control down to the most detailed brushstrokes, not cover up with hasty stripes of a roller. There would be no passing in polite society, no life outside of the one I provided.

Obviously, I hadn't found anyone willing to give up that level of bodily autonomy, and I doubted the girl I'd been calling Red in my thoughts would be any different. She was in college, which I had to assume meant she had ambitions outside of having a dominant boyfriend. I snorted. I was the opposite of boyfriend material. But managing my expectations didn't mean I couldn't have fun with her. Redheads tended to have a higher tolerance for stimulus-based pain. I'd stick her like a pin cushion, and if that went well, maybe add a couple play piercings.

The problem I'd been mulling over in the week since I'd asked for her phone number was that I didn't want to negotiate with her--not really. Red probably didn't have enough working knowledge of the lifestyle to know better, and I didn't have to take on the responsibility of educating her. Despite what my profession might suggest, I hated constraints when it came to my creative process. Giving her agency that she may not otherwise know she had felt like a missed opportunity. If I was the first person to introduce her to subspace, she'd either run for the hills or be back begging for more.

I gave her a call that Friday night. I was old, but not old enough that I didn't know how to work a smartphone. Text messages were too easy, too impersonal. A phone call would make her uncomfortable, her generation being what it was. As I held the receiver to my ear, I realized that she probably screened all her calls. No one picked up unknown numbers anymore--

"Hello?" she answered on the second ring, as if she'd been doing exactly that all week.

I chuckled, listening to the noise of what was probably a party get quieter when she realized I wasn't a spam call launching into an automated spiel as soon as a live person picked up. "Midnight at the shop. I'll take you for coffee."

She paused before responding, "I can't have coffee that late, I'll never fall asleep."

"You'll have it because you've been drinking, and I won't do anything with you if you're not sober," I clarified as if I was talking to a five year.

"Okay--" she started, but I was already hanging up. She'd either be there or she wouldn't. I'd have to wait and see.

Red walked in on the dot of 12, but the security camera had shown her loitering outside for a good five minutes. She was wearing the same boots and leather jacket as before, but this time there was a plunging v-neck bodysuit and a pair of stupidly short shorts. Her tits were bigger than I'd judged, full b-cups with a nice amount of freckled cleavage. Naturally that skinny, then. She had narrow hips, though the dip in her waist gave off the illusion of curves. I wondered what her ass looked like, but her jacket went to mid-thigh and made it was impossible to tell.

"Hi," she smiled shyly.

"This way," I cocked my head down the street, locking the front door. I took her to a 24-hour diner within walking distance--a bougie one that called fries frites and charged $18 for shit like brisket sweet potato hash. It was the only place you could get a cup this late. If the french-pressed beans from the local artisanal coffee roasters they served also happened to be a guilty pleasure of mine, I'd never admit to it. I ordered one for each of us, and Red proceeded to desecrate it with about five packets of raw sugar. I couldn't tell if she actually took it like that, or she just had no idea what to do with her hands.

"Tell me about the fantasy boyfriend."

Sasha

The strangled noise that emerged from the back of my throat was not cute. He was obviously a man of few words, but I figured we'd at least start with exchanging names. "I'm Sasha," I said with what was probably a pretty transparent attempt at diversion.

He grunted. "Red."

"What?"

"If I'm calling you anything, it's gonna be Red. I'm Blue." He scowled at his black coffee, and I guessed that he in absolutely no way had intended to give us adorable matching nicknames.

"Okay," I shrugged. His eyes narrowed, and I got the sense that he wanted to say something but was choosing to bite his tongue instead. I thought about asking him to tell me anyway, but couldn't quite work up the gumption. Guys didn't leave me tongue tied, that wasn't a thing. Then again, they also didn't usually look at me with such undivided intensity. I sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"What's he piercing?"

I shuddered, and noticed that he noticed. "Whatever he wants."

"Let me clarify. What do you want him to pierce?"

"Whatever he wants," I underscored. "Well, maybe not so much on my face. My nipples, though--I don't care if they get bigger. My clit, my pussy." I could feel heat rising to my face--one of the major downsides of being a ginger, but at least I didn't go splotchy all over. "The specific location doesn't really matter, as long as they're used to control and..."

"And?" he prompted, looking more intrigued--not that I could keep my eyes on his face for very long.

"Humiliate," I whispered, looking around like anyone would be able to hear us over the the racket of the open kitchen and their own conversations. "Control and humiliate me."

He smiled, then. Not a smirk, or a chuckle, or a twitch of his lips. A real smile, with dimples where piercings used to be. It was sexy as hell. "I can think of a few things, but I'd have to see more of you. Show me your tits."

My mouth dropped open in surprise, even as my pussy slicked from the command. I was, for the most part, facing away from the room. It was unlikely anyone would notice. Before I knew it, my fingers were pulling the sides of my shirt apart and giving him a perfect view.

"Your nipples are small," he observed, not looking up from my chest. "Areolas too. I'd want to focus on making them longer, not wider. Make it so they're always visible through your shirt. Maybe color them a darker pink, or--hmm--a bright red to match your hair." A spasm swept through me, and I lost my ability to breathe. Yes, please! "You like that idea," he nodded to himself. "Good. You can put them away now, little slut."

This was the man I'd been looking for, he had to be. Tattooing my nipples? I'd never even thought of that. I pictured him taking me to dinner, only this time I was wearing a tight white t-shirt with the circle of my areola clearly visible and my nipples sticking out like little fingers. That was getting added to the spank bank, though I doubted I could actually go out in public like that. Then again, I'd just let a total stranger inspect my tits at a public restaurant. Maybe I had no idea what I could do.

"And your cunt?" he asked.

"Uh--" I stuttered, "you want me to--?"

"No. Just tell me about it. What does it look like? How do you cum?"

Oh. Oh. That was way worse than just showing him, but I did it anyway. "Big hood, fleshy, but with a small clit. I don't really orgasm from direct stimulation, just pressure on the exterior. Especially," I blushed again, like an idiot, "when I need to pee. I guess medium outer labia, kinda plump, and my inner lips stick out some. More when I'm wet. I can come from penetration too, but usually it's a combination of both. I had an ex who could make me squirt a ton so that's... possible. And I've come from anal, but only once."

Now he looked amused--which was a little horrifying but mostly still sexy.

Fuck.

Me.

Blue

Women didn't usually have the most accurate picture of their own anatomy; I'd have to appraise what was between her legs myself to really start making more plans. It sounded like she had an outie, which were a little more difficult to pierce shut. Not impossible. If she came from anal, I could make her pussy purely for decoration--and wouldn't that be fun? I was getting way, way ahead of myself though.

"If you've never had a piercing, how do you know you'll like it?" I asked.

"Oh," she said, and I admired the flush across her high cheekbones. She was even prettier like this, glowing with embarrassment and stumbling over her words. "I guess I don't, but I kind of think I'd like that too." Fuck, this girl sounded too good to be true.

"I guess we'll find out," I smiled, again. This one more intentional than the first; I liked the way it made her eyes lose focus for a couple seconds. If Asher were here, he'd be shitting himself.

"Nothing permanent until--" she started, but I understood where she was going. Good to know her head was still attached to her shoulders. "Well, I mean, this would be more than once, right?"

"Nothing permanent for now. We'll meet once a week for the next three weeks, starting tomorrow. If you're still interested after that, we'll talk about a six month trial period."

"Okay," she nodded, which I hated. What the hell, a little introduction to protocol wouldn't hurt.

"Don't do that," I corrected as gently as possible. "You'll use yes or no; I don't like imprecise language. No nodding, shaking, or shrugging either. If--when--I own you, your body won't even twitch without my permission. And I do not permit superfluous non-verbal communication."

She shivered and went to nod again before halting the movement with a grimace. "Yes--" she agreed, pausing where an honorific ought to be and looking at me expectantly.

This time I smirked as I shook my head. "That, you'll have to earn."