Isn’t it funny when people say something and you tuck it away in the back of your mind. Like it is always there but you aren’t sure when it will surface again or even if it ever will.It started several weeks back, really the very first time Richard put a needle against my skin and slid it inside. It was over and he had already untied me. He was holding me and I was lost in that floaty deeply connected space where nothing can touch me except for him. Although he speaks to me in whispers and caresses no words are necessary to maintain the level of intimacy that sharing pleasure and pain deliver.
I remember feeling amazingly safe and nurtured. I felt quite small and vulnerable as I often do after an intense experience. Cherished and precious to him. I allow myself to get lost in feelings like that.
I was on my back and he had an arm under me and his other arm was exploring my body. He cupped his hand between my legs and pressed into me for a moment before drawing back slightly and opening my lips. He allowed his fingers to pull on my cunt lips ever so slightly. He whispered that one day he would put needles here…and here..and he showed me exactly where as he pulled on me again opening my pink secrets to his exploring fingers before kissing me in the soft spots where soon he would torture.
Like I said, I put it out of my mind. It was a few weeks later before it surfaced again. And when it did my first reaction was a settled feeling, like this was just another boundary he would cross, another limit that was no longer my own. I was calm.
Strangely I was calm. I had an inner calm that settled my heart and kept me focused. I was intently watching Richard, listening to his words and feeling his hands on my skin. It was as clear as anything I have ever known how much I trusted the man in front of me. Maybe I was startled by that not that it was new to me. When I think of the things he has done to me..the fact I trust him is nothing new. It was the raw intensity of that emotion and how it calmed me and pulled my core together even if it was only so he could break it down.
I would leave out the mundane details of him preparing me for the needles yet it is part of what makes me able to take it. As I am tied there he leaves me to wash his hands, I hear the water running, smell the soap in the air. He returns to my side pulling on latex gloves, their snap causes me to turn my head away. My heart feels faster and I am being lured away from the calmness around me. For an instant I feel overwhelmed by my powerlessness and hear the familiar call that I whisper to myself that I can’t do this. I am not ready for this. Yet I must be, he feels as if I am and that decision is not one that is mine to make.
His fingers feel strange, alien on my skin when he touches me. In my head I don’t like the distance that even this smallest piece of artificial skin puts between us. When he hurts me I want to feel his skin on mine…I like knowing he feels my responses and my wetness on his fingertips. I imagine the very juice of my womanhood being absorbed through his fingers just as I absorb so much of him. I grow frustrated at the necessity of barriers designed to keep infection out of my body.
I wrap more of his words around me as I close my eyes. I feel that he has moved lower down the bed. I feel his eyes, I know his eyes. I see his eyes although my own are squeezed tightly shut. They are eyes consuming the flesh before him… warm helpless skin.. not unlike myself, ready to be forever changed by his touch.
I feel the alcohol cold on my skin, such a contrast beside his warm touch. I am scared and long to watch but can not. I feel him wanting to hurt me, it is restrained but I feel it from his fingers as he opens me up to prepare me for what he is about to do. I know that he is speaking and his words sound like a gentle hum against my skin. It carries me to where I feel held and safe and although I have lost his words they bring safety back to my vulnerability and I strain to listen.
I hear a slight fumbling with the needles, they are individually wrapped and I hear him open two. His soft words confirm that and I hear him tell me he is going to use two needles, only two this time. He tells me he is ready to start. He makes me open my eyes, makes me look at him, makes me tell him I am alright.
“Yes Sir, I am alright, I am ready.” I meant that too. When he asks me if I am alright he expects honesty. If I had said no he would have slowed the process and continued when I was ready.
I wish I could describe the way it felt. I expected a great searing, tearing pain. That is what you imagine when you think of having a needle slid into your labia. Yet it wasn’t a harsh pain, it was a gliding heat in quickly and then out again. A soft burn started quickly and then smoldered there. The imagery was what hurt the most, I have a needle piercing my labia. I said that to myself and imaigned how it must look. He told me it was beautiful, that I was beautiful. I was excited and slightly frightnened at the same time. Again, “Are you alright, look at me.”
“Yes Sir, I am OK…can I see? I want to see it.”
Only I didn’t really want to see it…I almost wanted it to be over but I knew it was going to happen again. Nothing but pure submission kept me still…it seemed scarier to me somehow after the first needle was in. It was something that to me seemed so extreme…a year ago I would have read about having a temporary labia piercing and thought…I will never do that.
The second needle going in hurt more and he told me later it was harder to get in. I wonder what it must feel like to press metal into someone’s skin. Just to know that he can. That feeling must be overwhelmingly powerful.
I like that my submission can make him feel that way.
This was hard for me, it was once a hard limit of mine. I am not sure what my limits are anymore. Once both needles were in I was amazed at my calmness. I felt a strong desire for him that was only rivaled by the deepness of my submission. I told him later that he could have done anything to me at that point, my head was in the perfect place. He knew that, he said. I think he always knows. I remember wanting his hands to touch me everywhere, as if the needles had marked me somehow, made me more his.
I like that his Dominance can make me feel that way.