Bonus story from the Mystic Rose edition of The Slave
Robin lay supine, looking up at the ceiling, and thought that it could really use a coat of paint. As she added that task to her eternal list of projects, she felt a twinge of sharp pressure alongside her clitoris, and winced.
“OK, that’s not right,” murmured the woman whose gloved hands were rummaging through Robin’s genitalia. “How about here?”
The sharpness eased into the firm, but not-painful grip that the thumb and forefinger had just a moment before, and Robin sighed and nodded before remembering that with her knees up and the woman’s head down, it might be hard to see.
“That―doesn’t hurt,” she said cautiously. “But it feels―pinchy.”
The young woman prodded a little more, moving her fingers up. “How does it compare to here?”
Robin ground her teeth before she snapped out, “The same as it felt a minute before!” Instead, she counted to a brief three, and said, “It feels better lower.”
“OK, OK, let’s see. You’re a borderline case, I think. Your clit is huge, though. Must be nice!”
It is, Robin thought, when it’s not being poked and pinched by a teenager.
Which was not exactly true. Although her current tormentor had the ink-black hair of the teen goth crowd and the sweet face of a middle-class former Catholic school girl, she was solidly in her twenties, just a few years behind Robin herself. Surely, it just seemed that they were from different generations.
“Well, can you do it?” Monica asked, impatiently. Robin’s owner had taken a keen interest in the proceedings until about fifteen minutes ago, when watching had probably become as boring for her as feeling it all had become tedious for Robin. She had taken a break and come back, expecting to see the clamp in place, and her voice was just slightly testy.
“Sure, sure!” The young piercer pulled her hands away and nodded. “It’ll be a little tight, that’s all. Close to the nerve bundle. But I’ve done them like this before. I’m gonna change gloves and start unwrapping the tools.” As she snapped her latex gloves off and pitched them into the trash, Robin sighed. It was a relief to get away from the tight, probing fingertips.
And yet, perversely, it had also been erotic, to a point. Even though she was on her back on the kitchen table, staring up at the lazily turning ceiling fan and thinking that just maybe her mistress should have considered a shop, instead of bringing a piercer home.
But it had been so exciting, the night Monica came home from a party and announced that she had found the woman to do the long-awaited triangle piercing that she had wanted to adorn Robin’s clit. Monica didn’t always take Robin out with her when she went to parties, whether they were very vanilla fundraisers, staid lesbian-only gatherings, or even the Marketplace and non-Marketplace SM play parties. Sometimes, it depended on whether Monica had another date, and sometimes on what role she needed or wanted Robin to play for a night. But it was not a hardship to skip any of them, especially the non-Marketplace leather events. Robin had had quite enough of those in her life, and didn’t miss them. Plus, the lack of direction from Monica about exactly what protocol to follow when at one of those events was problematic. There were times when Monica just didn’t understand how much a Marketplace slave stuck out.
But that night, she had gone with some mutual friends, leaving Robin home to welcome her back with hot tea and a warmed bed. And when she had settled comfortably, she looked at her slave with a sparkle in her eye and said, “I think it’s time to get you ringed, slave!”
Robin had gasped, even as she felt a tingle spread down between her legs. “Did you find a piercer, Monica?”
“Yep! Cute little thing, too, if you like goth chicks with tattoos and eyebrow piercings. She turned this other girl into a work of art at the party―you should have seen it! Needles everywhere, in patterns. Her name, if you can believe it, is Arcadia. She works at some funky store called Radiance, and she says she can do triangles, no problem, right here; we don’t have to go to some parlor somewhere. She’s sending me a catalog of jewelry, said it’ll take about three weeks to order something special.” Monica’s eyes brightened at the sight of Robin’s deepening blush and the slight look of fear in her eyes.
“Yes, that’s right,” she crooned, snapping her fingers to call Robin to her side. “Three weeks, give or take a few days, and at last I’ll have that handy-dandy little attachment point right down where it counts.”
Her fingers stroked between Robin’s legs, to the shaved and already swollen and damp pubic mound. Her fingers slipped up, and up, to the protective fold of flesh over her slave’s clitoris, and gave the whole area a tweak. Robin gasped and flushed as her owner toyed with her, imagining a delicate gold ring tucked up there, a tiny ball resting over the exposed portion of her clit.
“Oh,” she said out loud, helpless in her thoughts. “Oh yes, Monica, please, mark me! Put your ring in me!”
“Oh I will,” Monica assured her. “And if I like that one, maybe we’ll get your nipples done, too. Now it’s time to show me how grateful you are, slavegirl. Get some of those plastic clamps―they’re going all around your pussy while you go down on me. And they don’t come off until I get off, understood?”
Robin understood very well. She worked hard to please, as she always did, and thrilled to Monica’s easy arousal and quick orgasm.
No matter how scary getting pierced was, anything that turned her owner on this much had to be worth doing.
Of course, when you are on your back on the kitchen table, watching a woman with her hair dyed almost matte black tear open a plastic bag with a large and scary looking clamp in it while moving her head up and down to some sort of music that was playing only in her head, the aspect of what turned an owner on seemed to fade.
Arcadia had brought scented candles with her, samples from the store she worked at, but they had done nothing but make Robin sneeze, much to her embarrassment.
“All right!” the young woman said, as she positioned herself and her new tools between Robin’s legs. “I’m going to mark off the points for the needle and set the clamp. Now, it might tickle a little, and the clamp is a lot of pressure, OK? Let’s see...”
She leaned forward again, and Monica moved in closer, taking Robin’s left hand in both of hers. Robin felt grateful for the touch, especially as she felt those blunt fingers prodding her again, pinching the area behind the long bundle of nerves that formed her clitoris.
“Really close,” Arcadia murmured, more to herself. “Looks like here.... and here...” Robin felt something scratchy and soft for a second, and then again, and she could see Arcadia’s head bobbing as she moved it from side to side to examine her marks. Then, she saw a glint of something shiny.
“Here’s the part people hate the most,” Arcadia said, as something cool grazed Robin’s sensitive, bare flesh. “But don’t get too stressed, there’s not much more to go.”
“Owww,” Robin said, as the clamp tightened. “Oh―lower, lower, please!”
“Oh! Well―OK―just a sec...” The clamp loosened, and the tightness in Robin’s stomach released along with the pain around her clit. She saw little balls of light dancing in her peripheral vision, and blinked to clear her eyes. To her humiliation, she felt them dampen with tears.
“Heh-heh, just a little off, I guess. Here we go, this should do it.”
The second time was much better, even though it was still very harsh. She dimly heard a minute clicking sound, breaking through the agony that was flooding her brain. No clamp on her labia ever felt as scary as this one, pressing upward against her clit, forcing the tip out of the hood, making her feel exposed to danger. And it hurt, really hurt! Like some sort of tiny vicious animal grinding down on her between the legs, capable of ripping out her flesh in a single mouthful. Robin gasped for breath, and then panted it out, struggling to slow it down the way she had been taught.
“That’s it!” Arcadia cried. “Hey, you’re good at this!”
“Such a good girl,” Monica whispered into Robin’s ear, and Robin sniffed and sighed, and the pounding in her ears lessened. She was a good girl. Her mistress was proud of her. This was nothing, nothing! Just a little pain, and then it would be all over....
“OK, here comes the needle―take a deep breath... Hold it... let it out... now!” Arcadia had to move the clamp slightly and that tiny jar made Robin freeze as red and orange sparks seemed to shoot from behind her eyelids. Then, Robin’s eyes flew open as a brand new sharp pain hit, and by the time she moaned, Arcadia was already laughing. “It’s in! The worst is done, now. Monica, you wanna come and see, before I get the ring in?”
“Oh yeah!” Monica exclaimed. She dropped Robin’s hand and moved down between her legs, and whistled. “Oh, that is so hot!”
“Isn’t it? I love seeing the needle poking through there; it looks like it’s actually going through the clit.”
Robin shook slightly, and gripped the edges of the sheet-covered table. It was so very hard not to tell her to just hurry up! The removal of the clamp made her bite her lip sharply to keep from screaming out something profane. But there was still more poking near her crotch, and then a cool sensation that tickled slightly, and then she heard Monica gasp.
“Oh my God, that is beautiful! Oh Robin! It’s perfect!”
Robin smiled weakly as she felt something tap her clit and realized that the ring was in at last and that would be the gold ball that was supposed to be positioned over it at all times from now on. The sound of Monica’s genuine glee helped her recover from the shocking intensity of the needle passing through her flesh, and already, she could feel her muscles relaxing again, barely aware at how tense she had been.
“Good deal,” Arcadia said, snapping her gloves off again. “I already gave you the talk about how to take care of it; are you still clear on everything?”
“Yes, thank you,” Robin said shakily.
“Excellent! Don’t be hanging weights from it or anything until it’s fully healed, OK?” She chattered on for about a minute or two as Robin tried to stay focused, but her words seemed to run into each other.
Pierced, Robin thought. I’m really pierced. If I put my hands down there right now, there will be metal going through my body. But she couldn’t make her hands move. She did finally shift her heels over the edge of the table so she could let her legs dangle, and the pressure eased from her knees and upper thighs. But even as she thought about sitting up, she had a slight panic reaction―would she crush the thing? Would it hurt?
“You probably want to see it,” Arcadia said with a laugh. “Oh shit, I left my mirror home. Monica, do you have a hand-held mirror I can borrow?”
Robin pushed herself up on her elbows. There was a mirror upstairs―but it would be improper to send her owner to fetch it! But even as she moved, Monica was already on her way out of the kitchen, and Robin bit her lip again in frustration.
This just didn’t feel right, she thought, as Arcadia threw her tools into a plastic container and snapped it closed. As if to support that thought, the new piercing seemed to suddenly throb.
* * * *
A week later, it was still tender and red around the edges, as she saw every day when she examined it in the mirror she placed on the floor between her legs. She dutifully washed the site and avoided doing anything that might irritate the area. It continued to throb from time to time, especially at night for some reason, when she was trying to sleep.
After the second week, she found a hard little spot right next to one of the holes, and although it didn’t hurt, it bothered her. Arcadia was not very helpful when she called her at work―she suggested putting ice on it. When Robin insisted that it wasn’t swelling, but something hard and finite that she could feel under her fingertips, Arcadia made some vague comments about seeing a doctor and said she had to go, because a customer was there.
Robin decided to wait before calling a doctor, and by the end of a month, it seemed all right. The little lump didn’t go away, and it still felt uncomfortable. But it didn’t hurt. Not much, at any rate. And the piercing itself wasn’t infected; she was keeping an eye out for that, too.
But neither did it heal the way that Monica had seen and heard about on other women. It remained tender to the touch. The very motion of walking was often enough to make the area sore, and when her clit was sore, Robin was not very amenable to intense play, although she tried very hard to mask it.
Robin felt crushed. Here was her owner’s big fantasy, and her body wasn’t living up to it. Before her new hardware was installed, the worst case scenario had been that the ring’s placement would make her horny all the time. Instead, it made her either ache, or become too sensitive to touch. It didn’t seem fair.
At six weeks, Monica gave the ring an experimental tug, and Robin winced in a bad way.
At two months, it seemed to be much the same.
“Funny,” Monica said one night, running a gentle finger along the side of the ring. “I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be this sensitive. Your clit can take a hell of a lot of stuff. I guess we should give it a little more time.”
Maybe we should take it out, Robin thought, grinding her teeth at the echo of the twinge of pain. It frustrated her, this contradictory desire to both have and get rid of the damn thing. Every morning as she examined it, she was starting to wish it would become infected. Then, she could honestly say that something was wrong and it was damaging her, and safely remove it.
But it wasn’t that bad! Yes, it was uncomfortable, and sometimes painful, but no more than a bruised toe or a loose tooth. And it did indeed look beautiful. Even before she had gotten over the strange feeling of nausea that would strike her every time she realized that a needle had passed a metal ring this close to the nerves that made having sex so much fun, she had to admit that it was a decoration beyond compare.
But when she tried to jerk off for Monica’s voyeuristic entertainment, her fingers had to be really gentle, and stay away from putting any pressure downward on her clit. If she pressed down and in at all, the underside of the ring seemed to stab into her, and it just disrupted her search for pleasure as well as a splash of cold water would. Plus, when she did get close to orgasm, it felt like a very slender little noose, sometimes almost pleasurable in its discomfort, but usually just a distraction.
A little hand-held vibrator made her explode in orgasm in seconds, but left her feeling sore as the pleasure faded and her swollen clit pressed against the edge of the ring.
Hanging weights from it was out of the question. Tweaking it, even flipping it up and down was just an annoyance, and not a shortcut to arousal.
But it wasn’t bad enough to call for its removal!
Monica was as disappointed as her slave, but never suggested that they take the damned thing out. She insisted that in another month or so, it would get better, and that in the meantime, Robin would simply have to deal with the inconvenience.
Of course, Monica’s love life wasn’t going to be impaired by a little discomfort that her treasured slave was experiencing, and Robin was grateful for every opportunity to please her owner. It became rather one-sided very fast, and if she had to admit it, Robin was less displeased with that situation than she ever would have thought herself to be.
After all, it just seemed natural! In fact, without Monica’s insistence upon getting Robin off as many times as possible before exhaustion set in, Robin was free to explore how many times her owner could take pleasure. And there had been many times when Robin had collapsed into sleep feeling a little odd at having been the center of erotic attention on a night when Monica hadn’t seemed very interested in the same herself. It smacked of being catered to, in a way that reminded her sadly of some of her older relationships.
But with her clit off limits (or brought into use specifically for genitorture), Monica seemed perfectly comfortable taking her own pleasure and then sending Robin off to her own room or keeping her for the night. And that was wonderful. It was o
ne thing to be useful in terms of housekeeping and business. It was another thing entirely to be a living sex toy.
* * * *
One evening, Monica handed Robin a sheaf of papers about a conference on the West Coast. “I’m going to go to this,” she said. “Register me, and book me a nice room, a suite, I’m going to throw a party or two. I’ll be staying in town afterwards, though, for about a week, so book me a return flight the following Friday―no, make it Monday. Might as well have an extra weekend for fun and games.”
“Yes, Monica,” Robin replied automatically. “Staying at the same hotel?”
“At their rack rate? No way! I’ll be moving out on Sunday and staying with, um, a friend. I’ll get you the address so you can get me the rides I need.” Monica turned away abruptly and Robin cursed herself for asking―even though she needed to know.
Monica had a lot of “um, friends” in her past, present, and likely, her future as well. This was not a problem for Robin. After all, Robin thought, if she tricked with me when I belonged to Eric and Jimmy, why the hell wouldn’t she have other girls, too? A slave was never in the position of dictating how their owner should arrange their sex life, period, and Robin had known that way before she even entered the Marketplace.
But there were times when Monica acted as though her various tricks and girlfriends and lovers were something to be avoided in discussion with her slave. Which was awkward, especially when Monica wanted to arrange threesomes and little sex parties with her various partners and friends, some of whom knew Robin was a slave, and some of whom thought she was a girlfriend and some of whom thought―well, who knew what they thought?
The important thing was what Monica wanted; didn’t she see that? Monica had owned at least one other slave, and she had a lot of business associates among Marketplace owners. She should know that there was no need to hide or feel ashamed about her relationships for the sake of her property.
The Slave Page 36