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Message-ID: <35810asstr$1016629803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: cymsubmits@hotmail.com (cymbidia)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 20 Mar 2002 09:53:02 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Pierced (bdsm, piercing, mutual mast)
Date: Wed, 20 Mar 2002 08:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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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.

He patted my cheek tenderly and then dabbed the pooling blood from my
hood ring, before rinsing the whole area with antiseptic wash. My hood
was bleeding far more heavily than the other piercings had; normal, he
told me, for this area. He fastened the forceps to my inner labia, a
procedure I barely felt. My body was suffused with a wild mix of
pleasure and hard arousal; I was overflowing with intensity.

"Do you want me to hold them this time?" My hands were already sliding
down my hips in readiness.

"No," he answered, "not this time."

The needle slid in and I stilled. My breath caught in my throat when
baby fingers of pain reached out to grab at me, trying to scratch into
places that had been hollowed and cauterized by the crashing giant
hands of pain that had defined the hood pierce. My inner labia, so
delicate, so tender and fine, allowed the needle through as if it were
passing through water. In a moment, it was done.

My Master closed and secured the last ring then parted my labia to
look at the four rings he had attached into my flesh and made a part
of my body. Almost quivering with the severity of the control he had
kept himself under, his hand touched lightly up and down the urgent
fullness of his cock as it strained against his pants.

"Touch yourself," he ordered me quietly, his voice shaking. 

I moaned, obeying him, my hands sliding slowly down over my breasts.
Raging need burned unchecked through my body.

"Make yourself cum, baby." 

My hands jumped to my hips, shaking. 

"I want to see it," he groaned, his hands moving on his body
restlessly.

I slipped a fingertip into my pussy. Shaking a little, I felt the
ready pool of slippery secretions there. I lifted the finger to my
mouth and again tasted my heat and my blood. My finger moved down my
body again and brushed against the new ring on my clit hood.

"Now," he ordered me, panting, his voice rough, "do it now, baby."

Pushing lightly, my fingertip circled the ring. Pain and pleasure
battled fiercely, tearing at each other with teeth and claws. I
followed the pleasure, my finger moving faster as streaks of fire
began running up and down the insides of my legs.

I pressed harder on the ring, and screamed at the sudden bursting of
sensation, at the slow-motion explosion at my core that threatened to
push away and out beyond my control.

"Now Master, please now now..." I panted the words, needing permission
to finish it. "Let me, let me, Master, oh God please, let me now
please now..."

"Yes," he said hoarsely, his fingers pulling and twisting the small
rings in his own nipples, rings he'd put in himself, "yes. Now."

by cymbidia (C) 2001

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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