“Your tits are ready now,” my master says. “Absolutely beautiful. It’s a shame we have to hood you. If only you could see the state of yourself.”
When he pinches the swollen, bruised flesh at the side of a nipple I cry out. The needle burns like a demon when he slides it through.
He works in a circle this time. A lattice of needlework surrounding the swollen bullet at the centre, and fuck how it makes my head spin.
I lose track of numbers, just murmur and curse and take a hitched breath with each pinch and spear. The prickles are on a different level here, but so are my endorphins. When he starts work on my other tit, I’m flying high.
“You’ve earnt a little relief,” my master says when he’s done. “You’ve been such a good slut for me.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“One of you in her pussy, either side,” he directs people. “Three fingers each. Stretch her open.”
People raise my legs to get to me. They support me, frog legged in my shackles as a hand reaches in from either side. My master’s instruction comes to life. Two sets of three fingers push their way into my sopping pussy. Six thick fingers at once, from two different angles. It aches as they plunge inside, but damn, I’m ready for it.
The fingers in my pussy distract me as my master takes hold of one of my swollen bullet nipples. It’s a shock of epic proportions when he stabs one of his vicious little needles all the way through.
This one makes me cry after I yell, despite the fact I’m still rocking like a whore against the six fingers in my cunt, wanting more. My master hears me choke with tears under my hood when he takes the other nipple and pinches me.
“Want to use your safe word, Holly?” he asks, but no. I don’t.
I’m far from my safe word.
“Never,” I say, and let out a long, feral groan as he pushes the next needle through slowly. Savagely. Piercing my second nipple with a cold little spear.
My tits must be a fucking state. Bruised, battered, swollen and speared. My nipples throb to a whole new insane tune.
“Enjoying having your pussy used?” my master asks, and I nod for him.
“Yes. Please, don’t make it stop.Please.”
“Anything but,” he replies, and clears his throat. “Position her ankles,” he says. “Legs up, in the swing position. Let’s have that pretty little cunt spread.”
I moan in protest as the fingers leave my pussy. I need the sensation. I need to be filled.
Strong hands raise me higher, chains jangling as they’re unclipped from my ankle cuffs. Fresh jangles sound from overhead, and my legs are spread wide, chains jangling afresh as each ankle is hung high, positioning me in a spread swing of chains, with my pussy exposed wide.
Yes. This is perfect. I want to be fucked. Stretched. Ploughed. I’m ready for it. I’ll take every dick they can give me.
Oh, how I curse in protest as my master pinches the very top of my left inner thigh, my head lolling back as he pierces more unsuspecting flesh. Holy shit. He’s on sensitive terrain here, laddering my sensitive skin with more needles. Two more lines of metal thorns, one on each thigh, and my tears run freely down my cheeks under my thick fabric hood.
I must look like a butchered pincushion, trembling but willing as I accept my fate. Tensing my muscles only makes it hurt more, so I let myself hang limp in my bonds, accepting every sliver of pain.
This is what being a true hardcorer is.
This is what being a true pain slut is.
This isme.
Every single needle is stinging, a choir of evil thorns when Master is done with my thighs. My tits are such a mess of sensations, I don’t even know what’s what anymore. All I know is they hurt. They really fucking hurt.
But it’s so fucking good, it’s insane.
I’m grinning like mad under my hood, tears still rolling.
“Time to give you a reward,” Master says, and I feel the head of a cock against my sopping slit. The head is nice and thick. Meaty.
That’s what I need.
