A few nights ago I went out for a drink with my friend Mag after we’d been playing at her place for a while. It was still fairly early and we both needed to go out and get some air. Cool, spring nights are nice just to walk in.

We fetched up in a bar in the city. A woman who introduced herself just as J asked to sit with us. (I never did find out if J was short for something or actually her name.) Her head was shaved and she wore leather pants and a torn t-shirt, very punk.

When Mag went for some drinks J and I had a conversation. I looks stilted on the page but it’s precisely or as close as I can get, to what was said. It went like this:

J: You see how she keeps looking back at us?

Me: Why is she?

J: She’s jealous because she knows I’m going to fuck you.

Me: Are you?

J: Of course I am, you know I am and you’re going to love it. She’s looking back and thinking, that bald bitch is going to fuck my girl and I’ll be forgotten. I’m too old. I can’t compete.

Me: But she’s smiling at us.

J: Sure she is, she’s hiding her hurt but you can see it in her eyes, even from here. She knows what I’ll do with you and she’s afraid she’ll lose you.

Me: What are you going to do to me?

J: You know and you want it so badly.

Me: What if I walk away now?

J: You won’t. You can’t. You belong to it. It owns you despite how much you struggle to be free of it.

Me: And you think you can control me?

J: You know I can and tonight I will.

Me: Will you hurt me?

J: Of course.

Mag came back with the drinks, we drank, we chatted, not much, it must be said. The air had become chilly and more than a little uncomfortable. Mag and J eyed each other like two animals before a fight but nothing happened, just more silence.

Ten minutes of this and J stood. She held her hand out to me and said, “You coming?”

I answered, almost whispered, “Yes” and I stood as well.

“I’ll call you Mag, ok?”, I said and J lead me to the door.

****

God, what a night followed! The moment we entered her flat, J told me to strip then when I had she pushed me to the floor.

You know how gay people can spot each other in a room full of people? Gaydar it’s known as and it’s almost infallible. Well, there’s a similar thing with Dominants and submissives. J knew from the moment she saw me at that bar, an ordinary bar mind you, not a BDSM bar, that she could behave this way and I’d submit to her. From the moment I took her hand to walk out of the bar, I was her toy, for the evening at least, and she meant to take full advantage of me.

Every Dominant has their own methods, their own set of actions, as individual as them.

J’s methods were not grand acts of violence or torture like the whip or the chain, or the rack. J was into the subtle method of precisely directed pain, administered to a masked subject. Her means of torture are slow, deliberate, and exquisitely painful.

After we agreed on a safe-word (in BDSM this is our way for a sub to stop if a line is crossed or it becomes unbearable, and the Dom will stop) I was tied, feet to the bottom of the bed and hands, above my head, to the top of the bed, spread-eagled. The mask was fixed to my head with only small breathing holes, no eye-holes. Then J left me for a while. This is a part of it, to build tension, to attenuate the senses so that when the pain comes, it will be that much sharper.

I could hear her moving about, cupboard doors being opened then closed, metallic clinking sounds, glass against glass, a faint tearing sound, like material being ripped into strips maybe. There was a sound of liquid being poured. Moments after, there was a clunk on the floor beside me, beside the bed; I guessed it was a table. Then a slightly weaker clunk, most likely a chair.

Then silence again. Almost silence, just boots walking on carpet. Then absolute silence. I could hear occasional sounds from the street below but nothing in the flat. Minutes passed. And more minutes. I could feel a presence near me but nothing more. The strips of fabric binding me to the bed pulled a little. I felt the weight of my body on the bed, pressing down. There was a lump, maybe a broken spring, pressing against my skin, just below my left shoulder-blade. Not sharp, just a little uncomfortable, like sitting in an uncomfortable chair for too long. You feel every bit of wear in it. It’s small but it begins to bother you more as time passes.

Beside me I hear a slight rustling and the unmistakable creak of leather. J is there, beside me, sitting I guess. Then a tiny sound, minute, something I can’t recognize.

Two fingers take hold of my nipple and pull, then twist, then untwist. I gasp. The tension is released, my nipple lowered but the fingers still hold it. The it is pulled again, pulled taught, stretched seemingly as far as it can be stretched.

I hear a tinkling sound like tea being stirred in a cup, the sound like a spoon against crockery, but not as strong. Then a sting, a sharp, painful sting that spreads pain through every nerve in my body, right to the bottom of my feet. Something sharp and thin has been inserted into my breast, just below my nipple. It pierces one side then out the other side. A needle, a fine needle. I smell the very medical aroma of alcohol in the air. That tinkling sound again then another piercing, through my breast again. I groan.

“Quiet! Not a sound!” It is the whispered voice of J, my capture and torturer.

I nod my assent and forced myself to control my breathing.

Several more needles are inserted into my breast, as many as seven but I can’t be sure. Minutes more pass in silence, I feel something wet running down my breast. The alcohol would have dried by now so it must be blood, just a little, but my blood, running down my breast onto the bed. More minutes pass in silence. The pain loses some of its sharpness and reduces to a stinging.

Fingers grasp my other nipple and once again, pull. After the tinkling sound comes I hear the creaking of leather, J’s pants as she leans forward I guess, then I feel exquisite pain race around my body but concentrated in my already pierced breast. J has brushed some of the needles in my breast with her arm as she reaches across me. Even as that pain is still rising, the fingers on my other nipple stretch the breast more and I feel the agony of the first needle as it breaks the surface of my skin. More tinkling and more needles follow. In under five minutes J is finished and both of my breasts are throbbing and stinging, blood runs down both then she pours something else on them, it burns and stings like fire. I smell lemons.

I am left for minutes and minutes and minutes, the pain subsiding bit by bit, to be sharpened again when all at once J begins tweaking and twisting the needles, one by one. The feeling is beyond belief. Despite the pain, my nipples are as hard as stones. I love this so much! J knows it too.

There is a dragging sound, muffled by the carpet but it is the table being dragged, followed by the chair.

Then nothing for more minutes.

Perhaps five minutes pass, maybe ten, when I feel fingers at my cunt. On one side my outer lip is pulled tightly down. I forget myself and draw in a loud breath, I know what’s coming. As punishment for my making the forbidden sound, J’s hand covers the breathing hole in my mask. Suddenly I have no air. The miniscule amount of air already in the mask is gone in milliseconds and I feel my face grow hotter. I hold my breath as long as I can but it’s useless, I let it out and try to take a breath. But there’s no air. Within seconds I feel light-headed then my body spasms as panic hits me, that involuntary panic of a body fighting to survive. When the thrashing lessens a little, J uncovers the breathing hole in my mask and I rasp in huge lungs-full of air. It takes a few minutes but the beating of my heart lowers again and I feel a slight headache starting, but I’m ok.

Then J’s voice, “I told you, not a sound. Do you get it now?”

I nod yes.

Then there is silence again for maybe ten minutes again.

I relax a little, used to the stinging from my breasts now and enjoying it.

Fingers take hold of one of my cunt’s lips again, then I hear the tinkling. Moments, then sharp agonizing pain as the first needle goes through my flesh. In all, there must be ten or maybe even more needles through the lips of my cunt by the time J is done, lemon juice poured over them again and my body wracked by the stabbing pain of it.

Even as the pain is stabilizing and most of my attention is focussed on keeping my legs far enough apart to not brush the needles, I hear a tinkling once again. J pulls my legs apart, wider, then her weight is on my legs, holding me. Before I can imagine what might be next I feel the greatest, most intense pain I can remember ever experiencing. J is sliding one of her needles into my clitoris.

I remember the first surge of agony, my breath drawing in, hard, then nothing. I had passed out.

When I came around it was to that intense pain still being there. As quietly as I could, I gasped air in and out while the pain in my clitoris didn’t subside but continued on and on. Heat and pain flushed all over my body, my face was burning.

Then, when my breathing settled a little, J dripped the lemon juice onto my clit. I screamed, I couldn’t help it. There was no way I could stop myself, it was so much, so very much. Over the sound of my own voice I heard J growl, really growl, and my breathing hole was covered again. This time she held it closed until I passed out.

When I came around again I was able to adjust to the pain from all the needles and begin to enjoy the stinging once more. Pain is something you can grow to love, or maybe that’s just me. But anyway, I love it although when it’s happening, it seems I don’t.

A minute or so after I awoke, I heard movement beside me again then the familiar tinkling sound again. J said, “Hold very still”, which of course I did.

Between my breasts I felt a slight pricking then a pressing. It took every bit of discipline I was capable of not to move as a blade, superfine, began to move down my body from my breasts. Slowly, carefully, millimetre by millimetre, it moved, not deep but slicing into my skin. It stung as it went. Tears streamed from my eyes, some gathered in my ears and the rest, into my hair, gathering at the back of the mask.

The slicing continued for minutes and more minutes as J carefully edged her way down my body. She stopped when she reached my navel. The I heard a gentle sound of a cloth being dunked and squeezed then the dripping began and the pain followed immediately with it. I will never smell lemons again without remembering this night.

So skillful, J had managed to slice into just one or two layers of flesh as she drew the scalpel down my chest and stomach. She had drawn blood but she’d not penetrated deeply enough to bring any danger. Had I moved, she later told me, it could have been a different story. But she’d judged me well. She knew that when she told me not to move, I wouldn’t.

J left me for a while to rest then she lifted my head, reach around the back and unfastened the buckles, then slid the mask off my head.

“Take a look.” she said, and I did.

What a glorious sight! Arranged in a beautiful, symmetrical order around my breasts were a series of long, very fine needles, penetrating all the way through. She tweaked one or two and I gasped. The pain was perfect. It was the first time I’d seen her smile.

With me still tied down, the material now quite painful around my wrists and ankles, probably from the thrashing when my breathing hole had been blocked, and my body panicked, J began, one by one, to withdraw each needle from my breasts. It wasn’t as painful as when they’d gone in but it stung a lot. I just lay back and enjoyed every second of that wondrous feeling.

When she finished with my breasts J moved on to my cunt. It would be impossible to describe how it felt when each needle was extracted from the lips of my cunt. I felt so high I was almost in a dream state, jerking just a little as each needle was drawn out.

And then it was the turn of the final needle, the one through my clitoris. When I felt J’s fingers touch the tip of the needle I braced myself. Air streamed into my lungs when she drew the final needle out, slowly, slower than was necessary. She wanted me to feel every millimetre. When I let out the air, it came in one long stream as a long, “aaaaaaaaaaa”.

I was a little disappointed when all the needles had gone but I was reminded of them for days afterwards as each tiny wound healed itself.

When all were removed, J unbound my hands and feet, then told me to stand. I was shaky but I complied. Then she lead me to a full-length mirror mounted on the wall. She stood me facing the mirror and it was then I saw the incision she’d made on my body. It was long and streaked with a little blood but I’d rarely seen anything as beautiful. I felt so special. Not many people have this experience to treasure. I could also see tiny pin-pricks around my breasts each with a tony amount of blood around it.

When a minute or so had passed, J told me to go and shower then when I came back, she dabbed my wounds with disinfectant, then ordered me to dress.

Then she kissed me, biting into my neck, enough to leave a decent mark.

Then she said, “You have money to get home?”

“Yes.”

“Then go.”

J opened the door, I walked out into the hallway, and the door closed behind me.

Finding it awkward to walk, my cunt hurt when I moved, I descended the three flights of stairs to the street, found a taxi, and went home.