“Someday you will,” he said with absolute confidence, but he let go of my nipple. I thought perhaps he was done, until I felt him jostling and tugging on the hubs of the needles—not withdrawing them, but doing something that increased the pressure on them.
“Thread,” he explained. “Gonna lace you up like a shoe.” And then I could feel it. He’d loop it around the hub of one side of a row, and then around the other side, so that a movement in one direction tugged in the opposite direction. Suddenly there was no escaping the escalation of pain, no matter how still I tried to be. Especially when he stopped lacing them together and started toying with them.
And as he played, he spoke to me, muttering low, growly threats and promises.
“Maybe I’ll fuck you while they’re in. That’ll feel real good. Your ass will be so fucking tight with all that pain riding you. I’ll have to ream you open like you’re still a virgin just to get it up in there.” His hand stroked my dick, which was only half-hard at that point, bringing it up to full arousal. I moaned, a glorious wave of bliss washing over me as I thought of the way those needles would feel, jolted by every hard slam of his body into mine.
He leaned close to my ear, menacing. “Oh, you like that thought? I must be doing something wrong, then. I said it would feel good. I didn’t say it would feel good for you.”
My entire body bowed, the motion pulling on every damned needle, awakening a tidal wave of pain that surged through me. A paroxysm of fear and arousal so keen, it stopped me short of coming. It knocked me completely out of my head, divorced me from any awareness of myself. The world consisted of nothing more than Robin’s voice and the burn and tug and sting of those needles.
“Please!” I whispered, trembling, desperate. I didn’t know if I was asking for him to stop or keep going or both.
I couldn’t bear it.
I wanted it never to end.
What the pain of the needles couldn’t accomplish alone, the terror inspired by his threats handled easily. Each writhing movement I made pulled on the needles, and yet I was powerless to keep still, hard in his hand and begging for something I couldn’t name. And so he kept pushing.
After a swipe of lube shoved roughly into my ass with two fingers, he was inside me, groaning his pleasure while I whimpered my pain. He used me; there was no other word for it. Every crude thrust and derisive sneer dismissed the possibility of concern for whether I enjoyed what he was doing. It kept me flying, aware of but untroubled by the ordeal my body was going through. It was so damned good. I’d spent so much of my life intimately familiar with agony, but this . . . this was sublime.
“Sounds like you’re enjoying yourself more than you should be.” I was too far gone to be gratified by his labored panting and the harsh rasp of his voice speaking of his struggle to keep control. “Maybe we need more needles, but I’m running out of skin to use.”
His hand seized my dick, pumping firmly, rolling the foreskin up tight over the head.
“Well, huh. Here’s some we haven’t stuck any needles in yet.”
I think I might have screamed. I know I begged, and this time there was no doubt that I was asking Robin to stop. Sobbing, I pleaded for mercy, and still my safeword never so much as occurred to me. I didn’t fight him, didn’t even try to push him away. I didn’t want it, and scratching at the edge of my awareness was some niggling thought there wasn’t really any reason to be afraid, but I couldn’t remember why. I knew if it came down to that, I would let him do it to me. I’d let him do anything at all.
He released me. I felt him shift and heard the wrapper of another needle tearing. Cool alcohol spritzed my dick, and then he resumed rolling my foreskin up and down. “That’s it, baby. Yell for me. Beg me not to stick this needle through the skin of your cock.”
“Please-please-nononono-ohGodplease . . .” My voice came in a reedy, breathless torrent, the sort of cry you silently make in your nightmares when you’re trying to scream and nothing but a whisper emerges. He sat there, rocking his dick in and out of my clenching asshole while I begged and begged.
“What, don’t want me to?”
“Nono-please-no-don’t!”
“That’s very touching, but you seem to be forgetting something.” Robin’s voice dropped to a wicked purr, his breath brushing my ear. “What you want doesn’t matter.”
I felt a pinch on my foreskin, and I shrieked and flew apart.
When I came back to myself, the blindfold was gone and Robin was murmuring softly to me. My ass was aching and empty, wet with his cum, and I could feel the weird rasp of latex gloves and the tug of the needles being drawn out, one after the other, clicking as he dropped them into the sharps container.
Tiny, hot trickles of blood streamed down my ribs, cooling as they rolled along my skin. My face was already wet with sweat and tears I hadn’t even realized I’d shed.
“There’s a little more bleeding and bruising than you usually see with needle play,” Robin murmured calmly. “But I expected that.”
“My dick—” I couldn’t seem to raise my voice above a whisper. My screamer seemed to be broken. I reached down to seize my cock, finding it still mostly hard. I hadn’t come yet, I realized with some astonishment, and as far as I could tell, the skin was unpunctured.
I looked askance at Robin, who simply shrugged and continued with his task, removing each needle with slow calm.
Another mind-fuck. I should have known, after the stunt with the wax. But then, he’d made good on his threat to drip hot wax on my dick the second time we did wax play, so I knew when he made a threat like that, he was perfectly willing and able to carry it out. If I’d been too complacent, I had no doubt he would have truly stuck that needle through my foreskin.
My traitorous cock hardened more at the thought, and the insatiable part of my mind whispered promises of next time.
I let myself drift away again on the tug and sting of the needles coming out, the heat-then-cool of blood streaming and drying on my skin. I was alive to it all in a way I’d never been before, each sound and sensation enormous, seemingly too big for my senses to contain.
“Look, baby.” Robin touched my jaw, compelling my eyes to open. I could see rusty streaks of blood smeared along the side of his gloved hand. “Look at yourself.”
I lifted my head to gaze down the length of my torso, moaning softly to see my skin lined with tiny crimson rivulets. The white and red played against one another in a shocking contrast that was painterly.
Something about the swirls of pinpricks and tiny bruises caught my eye.
“Wait, is that—” I glanced over, and sure enough, there was my sketch pad, open to a page with a simple, quasi-tribal pattern that very closely mirrored the marks on my skin. “You used my design,” I said, my eyes tingling.
My body was finally the piece of art I’d wanted it to be. My art had been injected into my skin. Even the streaks of my blood, with which I had such an ambivalent, adversarial relationship, made me beautiful.
Robin ran his fingertip through the russet trails, creating swirls and variations, shades of pink between the light and dark. He formed all his fingers into claws and raked them down the length of my chest, scraping through the whorls. My back arched, my body thrusting toward him, and he seized the opportunity to swallow my cock to the root. I came, screaming, pulsing down his throat, with his fingertips smearing my blood down my skin.
I lay floating as he cleaned me up and swabbed alcohol on the tiny punctures. I felt like I’d climbed the Matterhorn, triumphant and blissed out of my mind.
We could do this. Robin truly was willing to do this with me, regardless of the concerns my hemophilia might raise. And I was capable of doing it. Yeah, maybe we’d have to refine the approach. We’d never be able to do the whips-and-chains thing most people would think of. I’d never be able to take the brutal beatings I loved to watch in porn. Ours would need to be precision play—a scalpel approach, rather than a hatchet. But we could get what we needed out of this.<
br />
He could make me feel like I was anything but delicate.
He could make me fly.
Afterward, I curled up in his bed because the neediness that happened after we played was upon me again. It didn’t throw me the way it had in the summer. Robin stroked my hair and skin like he was petting me, until I lay half-asleep and completely unconcerned about anything.
“I was thinking of seeing if you might sleep all wrapped up and mummified tonight.” He slid his body along mine from behind, spooning against my back as he kissed my temple. “But I think you’ve had enough for today.”
My voice was a sleepy slur. “You may be right.”
He breathed a soft laugh that ruffled my hair and warmed the back of my neck. “Have you looked at yourself since the bleeding stopped?”
I shook my head and opened my eyes to glance down. Blotchy, uneven hematomas were beginning to form in relatively parallel rows across my chest and down my arms and both sides of my torso. Even so, the design was still discernible. If I couldn’t be bruised from a beating, it was an acceptable alternative. I smiled and closed my eyes again. “I like it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Next summer, I want to take you out on the water and do it up on deck, out in the sunlight, and have you wear them for hours while we cruise up and down the shoreline.”
That sounded downright idyllic . . . in a very kinky way, of course. “I’d like that.”
Sometimes in the aftermath like this, he mused quite a bit. I didn’t mind it.
“You know, it’s strange. Circumstances being what they are, we’re doing this all backward. We’ve jumped right to things other people might consider edge play. They take months, years working up to it. The stuff most people would cut their teeth on are the things we have to take slowly and carefully.” His body moved away, and he dragged his lips down the bumps of my spine. “Week after next, we’ll play at my house.”
“Your house?” My head came up, surprise piercing my lassitude. Since I’d moved to Saugatuck, he’d only let me see the outside of his house. The inside, he said, was still being worked on.
“Mmm, yes. No more maneuvering down here where it’s so cramped. Or hauling all our gear to your place, which isn’t much larger.”
“I’m eager to find out what the big secret is.” I lay back down, relishing the ache as each movement pulled on the dozens of sensitive little punctures in my skin. “I mean, I’m assuming you’ve been making some sort of playroom or dungeon . . .”
He snorted, rolling me onto my front as his lips reached the dip in my waist. “I think you can take that as a given. Let’s just say I’ve been arranging it with our particular situation in mind. I’m eager to try out some of my ideas.”
“Sounds fun.” I quickly forgot any other rejoinder I might have made when his thumbs slipped between my ass cheeks and pried them apart, his moist breath wafting down my cleft. His tongue darted out to flick against my hole, and if he objected to the taste of lube or his own semen, he gave no indication. I was exquisitely tender after the rough fucking he’d given me earlier, and even those light caresses made me catch my breath and writhe.
He had me begging before he slid his body over mine and drove into me again, grabbing my hands and pinning them to the bed to keep me pliant beneath him. Even stretched out like that, I tried to lift my ass, let him plunge a bit deeper.
I loved the feeling of him draped over me, pumping away at me. I don’t know how it was possible to feel sheltered while at the same time being victoriously aware that he didn’t consider me weak or fragile, that he wasn’t holding back with me. But that was how it felt. More and more, I was coming to crave that feeling, the sense that he engulfed and surrounded me. And not just on an evening like this, when I was still coming down off the endorphin high.
I loved the feeling of him going still above me, pulsing inside me, his weight getting heavier as he relaxed in the aftermath.
But, in a twist I could never have anticipated, I realized this sex wasn’t any better than it had been any other time these last four weeks since we’d started seeing each other again. As rewarding as everything we’d done tonight had been, it didn’t trump the simple, thorough pleasure of him making love to me.
Robin
If I had needed any more evidence that I’d been bullshitting myself the previous spring and summer with my ideas of giving up the leather scene entirely, the playroom in my house would have been it.
I’d started the renovations after I bolted from Geoff in Chicago, and I’d continued them even after I lost the balls to contact him and try to fix things. If he hadn’t shown up with Jace at my gallery, the playroom would have gathered dust indefinitely.
Now, though . . . now I had a definite purpose in mind for it. We were still going to take the kink slow; I didn’t plan on us scening or even having particularly rough sex more than once or twice a week. But here in my house, we could really begin to experiment and explore things we couldn’t have on the boat or in Geoff’s small apartment.
Weekends were particularly important times for both our businesses, even in the off-season. Once he opened his studio, Geoff and I didn’t see each other much from Friday onward. But Mondays we both were closed, and that was going to be a very important day for us, no matter what direction we took our relationship in. So Sunday evening, after we’d closed up for the day, I picked him up at his shop and took him to my house.
It was a gorgeous, updated historic home on top of a hill overlooking downtown Saugatuck and Kalamazoo Lake. Being a trust-fund brat had its perks, and I wasn’t ashamed to enjoy them. I’d kept the decor simple, comfortable but utilitarian, because whether it was Geoff or not, I hoped someday to have a partner and family in this house who would put their own stamp on it. The playroom was the one room I’d applied my own sense of aesthetics to.
I gave Geoff a quick tour. The large bedroom downstairs with the attached bath was clearly meant to be the master suite, but I’d chosen one of the smaller bedrooms upstairs to be mine instead. In the corner, I had a dorm-sized refrigerator stocked with water, electrolyte-laden sports drinks, and high-protein snacks. Everything I’d need to take care of my sub after a scene. I watched Geoff take a quick inventory of what I’d stored there before stowing his factor. As he straightened, I rested my hands on his shoulders, kissing the back of his neck.
“Want to see the playroom?”
He nodded, his bluish-gray eyes wide and eager.
I kissed him again, lightly, on the lips. “Okay, but first we need to talk, and I need to let you know my ground rules. Let’s sit down.”
Geoff perched on the edge of the bed. I sat farther up toward the headboard, crossing my legs in front of me. After a moment, he turned to face me fully and mirrored the position.
“I don’t think either of us has any plans to make our BDSM play a 24/7 type of arrangement, right?” I asked. “Even if someday we decide to move in together, I don’t think we want that, do we?”
He gave me a wry smile. “Oh, please. Can you see me letting anyone tell me what to do 24/7?”
He made the remark without any of the defensiveness I might have expected from him a few months ago. He was mellowing. I didn’t flatter myself that it was—as he’d quipped—getting laid regularly that was responsible for it, but something had changed. The bitter shell had cracked and started to peel off sometime over the course of the summer and fall.
I chuckled, unable to stop myself from reaching for his hand. “I really can’t, but I want to make sure we’re on the same page with this. When we play—if we play—there’s going to be a beginning and an end to it. And I’d really like to delineate those boundaries as clearly as we can.”
“Like starting off with you infusing me,” he said with a slow nod.
“That’s one way, yes. You’re not really a sub, so I’m never going to require much in the way of obedience training with you. But one of the problems we’ve run into quite a bit is your issues around feeling vulnerable or
being in a position you think might give someone the impression you’re weak.” I ran my finger over his knuckles, feeling the twitch as his hand tried to tense up.
I spoke slowly, choosing my words with care. If he was going to get his back up, this was the point at which it would happen. “When we’re doing a scene, I’d like you to get used to me seeing even the things you usually keep private. Get used to the idea of there being no secrets, nothing you can hold back. So when you’re here with the intention of playing, I want you nude, like last weekend on my boat. Even if we’re just making dinner or watching TV, you won’t be dressed.”
Geoff licked his lips, frowning, but then he nodded again. “Okay. I can do that. Now?”
“No, we need to finish talking first before we get into that.” I waited, studying him to make sure he understood the purpose behind that, then continued, pointing at an open door on the other side of the room. “That’s the bathroom. It adjoins both this bedroom and the playroom. When we’re playing, the door always stays open, no matter what you’re doing in there.”
He gave an incredulous laugh. “Wow. You weren’t kidding with that whole ‘no secrets’ bit.” I watched him struggle with that. Not surprising. A lot of people—myself included—were raised with a hefty sense of modesty relating to tasks performed in the bathroom.
“Okay, fine,” he said finally, setting his jaw. “But you know, I’m getting a lot of you laying down ground rules for me. I assume we’ll be amending our contract now that we’re playing here, but I have to ask: what’s your part going to be in making sure we’ve got all this trust and open communication happening?”
“That’s a fair question. I’m the one who bolted rather than talking something through, so I suppose I don’t have much of a moral high ground here, do I?” I frowned. “It won’t happen again. I was still raw about a lot of stuff that summer. Dashing out like that isn’t normally my style. I’m not sure I can do much else to reassure you. I’m typically more of a dominant than a sadist. I’d expect a certain level of unquestioning obedience from most people I’ve played with. For you, though, I’m willing to give you full leeway to require me to explain myself, especially if you feel I’m doing something that hits your buttons.”
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