Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
There’s something about needles that freaks me out. I’m glad I’m shackled upright, because my legs are literally quaking right now. I’m lightheaded as I hear more rustling, wondering what is coming next.
“Let’s get you ready, slut,” he says. “What a stunning canvas you’re going to make with these beautiful big tits bound tight.”
The twine he uses is so fine that it digs into my flesh like wire as he binds my tits, one after the other. It’s ribbon that comes next as he crushes them together and binds them as one.
I adore this sensation. The throb of my tits is a painful delight. I can imagine them swelling pink as my master buckles a collar around my neck. I can feel the O-ring against my throat, just underneath the hood binding. I love the way he attaches a hook and binds my tits with one more round of ribbon and hoists them up.
This is perfection. Not only are my tits roped and swelling, but they are hung by my collar, pressure rising. It sends ripples of nerves all the way down my body. The throb of my tits makes my clit throb in tandem, and he’s already got me. I’m desperate.
“Fuck, yes,” I say through the fabric, and tip my head back as he flicks my swelling nipples.
“Beautiful,” he tells me. “Now, to turn you into a piece of sparkling, needled art. Do you want that, dirty girl? To be speared by metal thorns, and bleed tiny rivers? You’ll be laddered by so many pretty silver spears that you’ll shimmer under the lights. Do you want that?”
I’m so consumed by the pulse in my tits, that needle phobia suddenly doesn’t feel so bad.
“Yes, please, Master. I want to be a canvas for you.”
I gasp as he slides his fingers against my pussy. Just the slightest glance against my clit makes me groan.
“How about this tender cunt?” he asks. “How many needles do you think you’ll be able to take through those gorgeous pussy lips?”
My nerves buzz alongside my horniness at that. It’s so intense it makes me squirm in my shackles.
I know what I should say. I know what I want to say, but I have to take a deep breath before I can manage it.
“I’ll take as many as you’ll give me, Master. Use my cunt however you want.”
I cry out as he pinches my clit. Just a tease but enough to have me panting.
“And your most sacred places? How about just here?”
I can’t deny the damn nerves at that. I pause and stiffen, and he chuckles.
“Have I found a limit, Holly? Will you use your safe word if I want to force a needle through your swollen clit?”
I don’t want limits. I never do.
I breathe. I calm myself. I trust in the power of submission.
And then I spread my legs as wide as my shackled ankles allow, swaying in my bonds.
“No, Master. My clit is yours.”
“Really? We’ll see, shall we?”
Sensory deprivation is a beast for heightening disorientation. I flinch as fresh hands take hold of me from either side to keep me firmly in position. My tits are throbbing like hell, beginning to ache as well as spark, and I figure the needles will start there. I brace myself for it.
The hood makes it such a shock when my master targets my ribcage instead. His pinch is savage as he grabs enough flesh for a decent piercing on my left side. The jab of the needle makes me hiss in pain, but he gives me no time to recover, just pinches my flesh in a meticulous routine, going downwards, spearing me with fine needles and leaving them threaded through. They must be barely a centimetre apart. So many of them, I lose count. The train of pain they leave behind is nasty. Prickles of throbbing hot pain that blur as one.
My master may have been right, even though I don’t want to admit it. I may not make it through this to the very end… the idea of him stabbing my swollen clit with a needle is insane…
I’m so relieved when my pain slut instincts begin to truly take over, and the endorphins start to flow. By the time my master has pierced far enough down to reach my hip bone, I’m ready for every evil little spear. I murmur, but don’t cry out as he starts up on the other side of my ribcage. He creates another ladder of silver thorns from the underside of my heaving bound tit, all the way down, in parallel. Two columns of glinting sin.
I must be bleeding. Trickling blood from tiny wounds.
There are shuffles and groans around me once my master is done with the second round. I feel eyes on the work in progress, and arch my back to stretch for them, even though it makes the tiny spears sting even worse.