~ Sunday night at The Floating World ~
I saw him walking through the Dungeon dragging his kit behind him. I popped up from the floor, leaving my things behind, and walked towards him.
He looked left, outstretched his arm, and extended his index finger towards me.
"Well, I guess I'm getting needles then."
Amethyst followed close behind Lynk as we all assembled in the medical play area.
I disrobed and hopped onto the massage table they'd covered with chux for our scene. As I looked up at them, Amethyst warned me, "Him Sadist."
"Please be nice," I begged.
"I'll be nice," he answered.
His first needle in, I screeched.
"You said you would be nice."
"That's about as nice as I can be."
Amethyst explained needles in the thigh hurt more.
One in towards the left, one in towards the right, both buried, and cherry topped with a half inch needle stuck straight in at the center of the two. The configuration was matched on both my thigh.
On my chest, Amethyst practiced layering needles for the first time. Hint for all you needle tops: a great way to mindfuck a needle bottom is to mention how something you are about to do to them is your first attempt at it. I know that was not Amethyst's intention, but it worked quite well.
Each breast received a button, three layered needles, the tips buried.
It was not long before I was floaty.
Amethyst tapped on my buttons. Lynk took great joy in flicking the cherries. I high-pitched-low-volume screamed. And each time they stopped, and I took a breath, the endorphins washed over me.
The meter of my voice slowed. Sentences elongated in time to deliver, while also shortening in number of words.
Lynk often flicked at my cherries, my high pitch calls piercing my ears. Amethyst redded for me on those, ceasing his evil fun.
To spice things up, Lynk practiced some of the sadistic massage he taught in a class session earlier that day.
Choosing the meaty sides of my thighs, he pressed in and ran his fingers down the length. I guttural screamed and wailed from the pain. I cried, tears welling up. I never told him to stop.
A little worried, in my slow half speak I assured him my crying was good. Sobbing was a good sign. He assured me he had no intention of stopping his manipulations unless I told him too.
Switching spots, Amethyst tapped my thigh pricks while Lynk sunk his finger tips into my chest, working the muscles above my needles, an area sore from previous play. (Punching my chest is a pretty popular activity.)
Later, our scene over, Lynk hugged me hard, pressing into my chest, my ow-ing groans inciting his glee. To reiterate Amethyst concise description, "Him sadist."
As we finished up, a trickle of blood tickled my ribs. Since we'd played with the needles more in this session that in my first with Amethyst, I bled quite a bit.
With a mirror, I saw my pretty buttons. When I sat up, I saw my boxed cherries. In all, twelve needles were stuck in me, twice the amount of my first scene with Amethyst.
I still like being a pretty pincushion.
"Yes, this will work great."
Having taken off his gloves, Gray again pulled out his butterfly knife. After examing my gag and approving of his plan, he cut two slits into the very damp piece of fabric.
He then pulled out the pepper.
I had heard the story earlier. One of my cabinmates had taken a class, presented by Dart earlier that day, in which Gray had on the spot volunteered for a demo.
It started with Gray doing pushups, but that proved too easy. Dart had Gray stop, holding plank position. Dart then pulled out a pepper, that pepper, and put it into Gray's mouth. Dart then used two long pieces of duct tape to keep Gray's mouth closed and the pepper in place.
For added measure, some mousetraps below Gray were also thrown in. Dart called this "introducing stimuli." For his troubles, Gray received the pepper. Lucky me.
"This is a habenro pepper." He slipped the pepper into the slits he'd created in my gag.
"Don't bite down. And don't drop this. If you drop this, I will use these." Gray unzipped his little green pouch and pulled out one of its many treats, two very mean looking pincers.
"And if not the pincers, I have large gauge needles. You know how those work. I go in at the top lip, out, through the bottom lip, out, and I bend up the needle, so you can't open your mouth."
There was no way I was dropping that fucking pepper.
"How's that support leg?" Gray, ever the nice guy, kicked my left leg multiple times. I took the pain, bopped around, and then made myself stand up tall in an attempt to breathe easier.
The one thing I had going for me was the heat, so thick you could cut it with Gray's blade. For as long as I stood, with most of my weight on my left leg, I should have been in more pain. And though my treadmill time probably was also an aid, I'm sure the extreme heat helped keep my left leg from cramping.
But wait, there is always more...
Seeing me stand up, balacing on my heel, Gray wanted to add one more layer of stimulus. When he came back with the nipples clamps, the cursing began even before he put them on.
As soon as he attached the clamp to my right nipple, I immediately started sobbing. My cries before from his blows were yelps and grunts, moans and sighs. This now was just straight tears and snot running down my face. It was some of the worst pain of my life.
For an added bonus, Gray looped the chain of the clamps around my gag before attaching to my left nipple. Now if I bent my head forward I pulled on the ass hook, but if I bent my head backward I pulled on the nipple clamps.
"Don't worry. Your nipples will go numb in about ten minutes."
They never went numb.
Such a sadistic fuck. And we weren't done yet.
1) "Do you know how to coil rigging rope?"
Do I know how to coil rope? Hmm...
One of my projects at work today was, simply, to coil rope. But not just any rope. 3/4 inch braided black nylon, with a blue accent. Two coils. 150' in length, each.
They sat on the warehouse's concrete floor, two mangled piles waiting for my manipulations.
I picked up the first, the less messy of the two, and began to unwind it. The coil was semi in tact, but would have still been a nuisance to the riggers if I'd just chucked it into a bin for them to deal with later.
Finding an end, I pulled. I ran the rope through my hands, knowing full well no part of this chord would be touching anyone's sensitive skin. But still, I remembered my training.
Getting to the other end, I began my coil. I grasped the end while creating a large loop that extended all the way down to my knee. I carefully matched my next loops to this same length. As I worked, the rope began to twist. With my free hand, I spun the rope, pushing the twist along as I went.
After about fifty feet, I transferred the rope to my fore arm, creating the loops still, the nylon draping across so much of my skin. I was just barely able to hold all the loops the long length required before it was time to finish off the coil.
With about fifteen feet of tail, I wrapped the end around the entire coil. The coil was so large, though, that I had to wrap half way, hold the tail between my thighs, and grab it from the other side. I wrapped around the coil about eight times. I then brought the tail up through the top of the coil and cinched off twice.
"This about what you were looking for?"
"Yes. God, the riggers are going to feel like they're spoiled."
I repeated the process for the other length, sat it next to its match, and took a picture for posterity.
2) As soon as I walked into the house, I recognized the sweet smokey smell. DeepEnd was home.
He'd been away for a few days, and had returned the night before while I was asleep. I heard the thump of his drums before I entered the house. As I set my things down, I could feel the rhythm he played on his drums in the basement through the floor. The music, along with the cigar scent, made me smile; it felt like my home was back to normal.
As I headed upstairs, DeepEnd finished his set.
In my room, I disrobed, wanting to get out of my work clothes. Thursday meant DO Happy Hour, and I didn't want to socialize in my work blacks. As I took my clothes off, I heard DeepEnd say my name.
Yelling from at the top of the steps, I asked him if he'd called me. Actually DeepEnd had been talking to the dog, hoping I was home instead of someone in the house trying to rob us. I then pointed out we had nothing worth stealing. He concurred.
"Oh, and by the way, welcome home."
As I finished undressing, DeepEnd called for me. Throwing my robe on and stuffing my cellphone and its charger into a pocket, I headed into his bedroom.
On his bed, there was an impressive array: about a dozen cigars in a few different bags, a small Tortuga wooden cigar box, and a large empty humidor.
He showed me his new humidor, which needed to air our before he could use it, as well as all the sticks he purchased while on his trip. I marveled at the display.
DeepEnd also pointed out his minor boo-boo. While looking at this humidor, the lid to the box closed, striking him on the bridge of his nose. A small red line, about a half inch long, graced his face between his eyes.
DeepEnd talked about the different cigars he purchased, most notably a few rather large diameter sticks and a Rocky Patel 15th Anniversary, the #5 cigar of the year.
As we had stood there for a bit, talking shop and my marveling his stash, I asked DeepEnd the time. It was 5:20pm. Play time over. We both rushed about. He needed to go pick up SkinnyBitch and I didn't want to be late for Happy Hour.
3) "So I need someone to be co-topped by Lynk and myself for needles. They..."
"Yes."
FancyDancer, HoopFlyBurn, and N3rddom all snickered. We sat in the McDonald's just a stone's throw from our weekly happy hour bar. Both HoopFlyBurn and I snacked on french fries. N3rddom and FancyDancer enjoyed milkshakes. Big Sis ate a chicken sandwich.
"Hey, she just spent how much time back at Happy Hour telling me how hot he is."
And we were in the middle of a conversation about blood play, how I'm so easy, and the endorphin highs to come from Big Sis upping the ante with our needle play.
What else was I suppose to say:
Maybe, after I've seen your work, I'll think about it.
Possibly, if my dance card isn't too full, and I'm not feeling itchy.
I don't know; blood weirds me out.
Fuck that shit. Hot people AND endorphins. I'm surprised I didn't say, "Fuck yes."
"Oh you're easy."
"So I've been told."
It felt like I was moving through water. It felt like new... fuller... a dull electricity.
Touching my hands as I slowly lifted them to my face.
Touching my chin as I rested my head on my hands.
Everything was slower. I swayed, as if I were floating in water. Though my shirt was off, my skin was warm, especially near where Big Sis had put the needles in me.
There were two in each arm and one in each of my breasts.
"Deep breath in." I held it.
"Deep breath out." I let it go.
The pain was sharp, but not as I had imagined it. It was pinpoint. A spot. A single spot on my skin that hurt. The one needle tip she buried was on my right breast. As she hit it, I felt that one spot, the one point where the needle rested, burst forth with exact pain. It grew, escalating to a scream in my mind. Make that one spot stop! After some more hits, I called yellow.
But I didn't want them out. I didn't want them gone, even as she removed them from me about fifteen minutes later.
I sat on the couch. Dreamy. Dazed. Delighted. I smiled. Tears softly ran down my cheek. My breathing was slow, metered, but not deliberate. My body slowed. My speech slowed. Everything was slow.
My voice was soft. I could not yell. I could barely speak full sentences.
I have one photo on my phone of me, turned to the side, glancing down at the pretty holes in my arm. Big Sis captured a moment of my bliss.
Before she removed them, she asked me if I wanted them out nice or mean.
"Nice please."
They quickly slid from my flesh, as if they were never there.
"I guess I'm not a bleeder... Oops, spoke too soon."
I did not bleed, not even as she hit me, until they came out. I watched as a small dot of red formed in one of the holes on my right breast. I wanted to dip my head down, spread my tongue wide, and lap the droplet up, but even in my haze I knew that would seem a bit odd.
My left arm, which had needles in the longest, to a depth away from my skin, and therefore received the brunt of Big Sis's pats, bled the most. After cleaning the holes, she had me hold a paper towel over the wounds. The bleeding stopped. I sat, coming down.
Big Sis will eventually move into our home. When she does, she has already said she will use me as her practice pincushion.
I will definitely be doing needles again.
