The Modified Slave Ch. 03

Author's note: Contains needle play (including genitals), orgasm denial, mentions of drugs, and some power exchange.

Sasha

I was back in front of Blue's parlor not 24 hours later. It'd struck me how conscientious he was being, not asking me into his car or inviting me into his home. A closed business before noon on a Saturday wasn't exactly a public place, but it was safer than the alternatives. Not that I thought this was unsafe per se, but it was risky and he was right--what if I totally hated it? What if I wasn't as much as a masochist as I thought I was? Better to be downtown where there were people and Uber drivers around than stranded who-knows-where because my brain was too busy deferring to my pussy.

I tried the door, and it yielded to let me inside. Blue looked up from whatever he was doing behind the counter--paperwork? Was he for real? "Lock it," he instructed. I flipped the deadbolt, the strength of the mechanism vibrating in my fingers. "Your clothes," came the follow up.

I looked around. The blinds were shut tight, but the overhead lighting and concrete flooring made me feel much more exposed than I would have with a couple more partitions between me and the street. As the A/C clunked on, I realized he was probably trying to make me uncomfortable by design. I shucked off my boots and jacket before letting my loose dress slip off my shoulders to reveal a distinct lack of undergarments.

"Jacket goes there," he nodded his head toward a coat rack in the corner behind me. "Boots underneath. Standing on their soles, Red. Fold the dress, lay it on the chair. Good." He'd ruined my sexy striptease by forcing me to scramble about picking up after myself. I couldn't possibly look good nude and crouched over, but maybe that was the point. When he was satisfied, I stood in front of him with my arms at my sides while he made a show of inspecting me. His gaze colder than usual, clinical even. A finger tracing the curve of my waist. A hand grasping my breast, squeezing until the nipple distended. A fist grasping the thatch of orange hair between my legs, tugging until I was on my tip toes. "This will be lasered off," he told me, "along with everything else below your neck."

"I can't--"

"I'll pay for it," he cut me off. "Later."

So much for nothing permanent, but I'd happily let him foot the bill on that particular cosmetic procedure, even if this thing between us turned out to be nothing. I wasn't the kind of girl who went on dates just to get a free meal or complained when the menu wasn't fancy enough to serve lobster. I didn't have it in me to play those kind of power games, to withhold sex like it was some precious commodity. But I wouldn't say no if someone offered.

He tucked my hair behind my ears and then grasped it at the nape of my neck, using it to guide me to the last station in the back room. The piercing chair wasn't bondage furniture by any means, but he made it work. Blue tied my wrists and bound them behind the seat. He bent each leg and immobilized it with rope before attaching loops at the knees and ankles to the arms of the chair with zip-ties. Then he stuffed a bolster pillow at my lower back. It wasn't comfortable, but it was definitely secure.

He disappeared from my line of sight. After a couple minutes, he rolled out a small table with a single-use plastic razor, a generic can of men's shaving cream, a bowl of warm water, and a stack of disposable cloths. It's not like I was sporting a full bush--three strokes and the tuft was totally gone, but he peeled off one of his gloves and ran his pointer finger on the inside of my lips, across my taint, and around my asshole looking for stubble.

He dumped and reset his sterile field, putting on another set of gloves. "These are hypodermic needles with Luer connectors," he said, showing me a row of individually packed sharps. "Orange is 25 gauge, gray is 22, and cream is 19." I watched with wide eyes as he unwrapped one with a gray end, but after a tense moment he placed back on his tray still in in the plastic. Instead, he ripped open an alcohol prep pad and started wiping down my left breast, pinching and playing with the nipple while I gasped and then working his way from the center in concentric circles. "Most nipple piercings are 14 gauge," he continued conversationally, "this is nothing." Before I could blink, he had the needle straight through the base of my nipple.

"Ah!" I wheezed, but more out of surprise than pain. He was right; it was nothing. I could see the needle stuck through my skin, but after the initial pinch it didn't feel like much of anything. When I looked up, Blue was ready with a second needle, this one inserted vertically into the same nipple. I felt that one more, the blood starting to pulse beneath my skewered flesh. He jostled the needles to and fro, and I arched my back for more. "Unh," I panted when he used them as anchor points to start twisting my nipple.

"They hurt more the second time," he said, pulling out the first needle. I wasn't sure what he meant until he started pushing it back in, this time on the diagonal and at a much slower pace. Yeah, the dull needle hurt more but it also felt fucking amazing, and I felt my pussy gush it's enthusiasm. I must of glanced down, because Blue refocused his attention between my legs. "Most girls are high as a fucking kite by this point," he noted, running a knuckle through my slick.

"I've done a lot of party drugs," I told him honestly. "Serotonin and I have kind of a rocky relationship."

"Hmm," he acknowledged. "Do you want to know what the 19s feel like?"

"Yes," I agreed, and he got to work on my other nipple. I liked those better, and by the time he'd threaded four into a starburst pattern I was moaning like a whore.

Blue

She was such a good girl. A pretty little pain slut. Her nipples were already fat and engorged, a dusky purple-pink that looked lovely against the lighter color of her areolas. I liked that she wasn't totally out of it. She wasn't trying to pretend like she was out of it, either. Sure, she whimpered, and drooled, and shimmied her hips. At least until she came back to herself, gasping for breath and begging for more.

"The 25s are thin enough to go straight into flesh," I continued, sinking four into her breast tissue to form a compass around her nipple. There were lots of fun things you could do with them from a bondage perspective, but she wouldn't find out about that today. "Personally, I prefer them right..." I found the duct at the center of her nipple and shunted the needle home, "...here."

Finally, she screamed, and it was music to my ears. I thrust two fingers into her cunt to gage whether she was coming or not. Not. But she made a valiant attempt at trying to grind into my hand. "Please," she beseeched, "please, fuck me."

I chuckled as I removed my fingers, reaching up to thumb her meaty clit hood. "My poor little slut thinks she's getting an orgasm today."

"What?" she looked aghast. "No! Please!"

"You," I pinched her nipples with a stern glare, "do not get to say no." She shut her mouth and averted her eyes, looking thoroughly chastised. I really was impressed with her. She was a natural. "I'll tell you what," I amended, sitting down and adjusting my stool until I was eye-level with her hole, "if you cum from the pain, I won't punish you."

I'd positioned her so she could stare down at her pussy while I worked it over. I started with the 25s, driving the needles through her skin until the insides of her outer pussy lips were studded with orange. I used my fingers to push against the connectors until the shafts were parallel with her thighs, and then threaded 22s to keep them in place. Pinned butterfly wings spread so I could see the rest of her private pinkness. Her inner lips were next, from the outside in this time, the needles pointing down to scratch and stick at all that sensitive skin. That seemed to do it, rendering her dumb at last. Her head thrashed, her tongue lolled, and her eyes glossed over. Her taint was fucking tempting, but I didn't want to push my luck.

I pushed back her hood. She was right; her clit was itsy bitsy. I'd have to do something about that, but for now there was no way I was getting anything through it. Instead, I pushed two needles diagonally in through her hood so the barbs pricked against her glans. For the grand finale, I speared Red with one last needle, right into the tip of her clit. Not all the way, just enough for it to stay embedded on its own. She wailed.

Gorgeous. I snapped a few pics, and then ran my fingers over the sleek metal lines, pressing and pulling to agitate more blood to the surface. This was exactly what Red's female flesh ought to look like: exposed and tenderized, yielding to pain. I flicked the needle in her clit, and watched her hole spasm, inviting beveled spikes into it's depths. Still, she didn't cum.

I certainly did, leaving her trussed and transfixed to go jerk myself off in the bathroom. When I got back, I removed all the sharps from her skin and cleaned her up with warm water. The trauma was minimal; no liquid stitches required. I wasn't much for aftercare--I specifically vetted my play partners to exclude anyone who needed cuddling and compliments after a scene--but gathered Red's prone body and held her in my lap while she sobbed. Not because she was in pain, but because she was mindless with the desire orgasm. I kept her arms behind her back and thighs draped over my forearms so she couldn't pleasure herself, until she cried herself to sleep.