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The Piercing All
Rights Reserved By Mistress Steel (Prologue: she got his call at noon and performed the ritual of preparing herself for her master...) He kissed her warmly in greeting, touched her cheek and the smooth skin at her shoulder. He smiled and complimented her appearance; her heart surged under his approval. Her focus was tight, completely on him, on any signal he might send. They sat next to one another in the booth at the restaurant; he ordered wine and appetizers for them to share. Her heightened senses found the wine exotic, the sauce sweet and tangy, the quiet music hypnotic, the linen napkins cool and smooth. He saw all this in her and his focused gaze approved. His hand surfaced from under the table holding a small fabric bag, which he placed in her hand. No different from talk of the workday, his voice said, "Go to the ladies' room. Follow the instructions." He bent to kiss her, assured that she would not fail to do so. The instructions were specific; no relief yet from the pressure of coffee and wine. Only to insert the buttplug and place the clamps on her nipples, place her panties in the bag, and return to the table. He knew her well, knew how to touch her without touching her. Breathless, delighting in the near-pain pressure she felt, knowing the flush would show in her cheeks, she walked back to the table and handed him the bag. She sat carefully; she must be a lady, in public, always. It wouldn't do to sigh or moan at the table... She half feared and half craved the whispered word, him leaning to say, "Cum now." That simple, and she would, in this state. She felt drugged, euphoric, and not at all from the wine. Later, she would have no memory of what they ate that night, no recall of the conversation except that tonight would mark a new level of her submission to him. She questioned only with a quirk of her brow, and received no reply to that. He changed the subject; told her a joke. He placed the blindfold on her in the car, as always. Never a gag, she was grateful; he liked the sound of her voice, liked her pleading, her whispered yearnings. She heard classical music, maybe Vivaldi, from the stereo, and his voice: "Knees apart, dear. Touch yourself and cum for me." Her sigh sounded loud in her own ears as she complied. She felt his hand on her thigh, a little teasing pinch just where her stocking ended. Her hand touched and played over wet folds; it would take only a moment, aroused as she was already. She was seething with it, arching against the seat, hearing her own voice. "Now," she heard, and exploded. Subsiding in silence, his hand laying over hers, she felt, as always, the searing agony that came from the clamps as she receded from the passionate peak. She wouldn't complain; he knew, and would tell her to release the clamps if that suited him. His hand slid over her dress, upward; found the aching spot with a gentle touch. Her reaction was invisible except to him. "Take off the right one, love." This was something new, but then there was always something new: something new to test her limits, to stretch her endurance. Once it involved submitting, while he watched, to a woman; once, fellating another man; often there were whippings and new kinds of torture. Anal play, almost always. She could hardly, even now, confess her love of that even to herself, but she found it delirious and delicious. The car stopped and she waited. The gentle hand at her elbow, guiding her; blindly, she walked, concentrating on not being clumsy. It was cool inside;there was a smell of something musky. She heard music; felt her heels tap on a hard floor; a door opening, and he guided her down the steps. Her heart hammered -- somehow descending the stairs made the pressures on her body more acute. Silence then, but a sense of another presence. Then hands on her face, gentle/firm, lips on hers, avid. "Are you mine?" Always, came that question. "Yes, Master." Always, came the handslap to her face, not hard but commanding her attention, and the pressure on her shoulder, forcing her to her knees. "My slut. Willing to wear my mark on you." It was not a question. "Yes, Master." She wondered at that, but she responded automatically, opening her mouth when she felt the touch on her lip; he was hard and big and she used her hands and her mouth as he'd shown her he liked, until he pulled away. His hands stripped her dress away in a flurry of action. Her left nipple ached and burned, clamped; it was just a focus of the sensations that flowed and churned in her. Another voice, a man: "She's lovely." No response, except to be yanked up to her feet. The table, this night; secured hand and foot and only silence preceeding the whistle of the leather crop as it bit her thigh, belly, and breasts in a spate, urging cries and moans from her. Tears dampened the blindfold as she thrashed against her bonds. Then the cool gentle fingers tracing the welts, stroking; a word of praise. Lips, his lips, kissing the pain away. Sighs and sobs. Paralyzed with wonder, she felt the hands lift her head and untie the blindfold, pulling it away. The light was bright to her; she blinked but the room barely focused around her. "You will watch this, love, and remember." Then he dropped out the lower end of the table, resecuring her legs, knees up, open wide to him; as she felt him plunge inside her, she saw the other man. Nondescript; she would have no memory of him later. He was on her right side, standing by the table, with a tray of instruments. A thrust deep inside her and her eyes flashed to her Master; a cold touch at her left nipple, a smell of alcohol, and her eyes flashed there. Another thrust, with a hand pressing low on her belly, adding to the pressure, and her eyes there again; then back to the tug of cold surgical steel pulling her nipple up and away from her body. Frantic; then back to her Master as he plunged into her again. Ripples of sensation, the burning of her welts, her moans rose. "Look. Now." She saw the needle poised at her nipple, saw it plunge through, in a single motion but slowly... The scream that rose from her throat was half pain, half pleasure; then the small gold ring; a tiny droplet of blood, wiped away, and the thrusting of her Master, hard and hot and deep within her. Ecstasy overtook her, roaring waves of orgasm carrying her beyond pain, riding the crests, utterly possessed; her only awareness beyond the rapture was her knowledge of her Master's pleasure, the sensation of his throbbing release, the grip of his hands at her hips as he filled her. Later, freed from the restraints, allowed, finally, to release the pressure in her bladder, bathed and pampered and caressed, she held the little silver hand mirror to admire her new jewelry, the mark of her Master. It ached yet, throbbed; but it was gorgeous to her eyes, as she knew it was to his. |