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His green eyes tell me everything, darting from the metal tray that is poised so close to his head that he cannot view the needles that await his body, to my face, the Domina he has pledged himself to months ago, accepting my collar, vowing to utter his safeword only in fatal situations. Fear and trust are contending with one another: the former with the rage of a bull, the latter with the skill of the matador. Filled with the anticipation of pain, his stomach tightens; his hands try to clench but only strain against the thick layers of electrical tape that I have bound around his fingers, reducing his hands into black, shiny paws. HD is sleek, his shaven torso is strapped down with a series of simple leather belts; dense, metal shackles lock his wrists and ankles down. His feet, too, are bonded in black tape. With my own feet laced into leather stiletto boots, I take great pleasure in binding my pet's into the hooves of a Dionysian animal. Keep your eyes on me, I command him, my voice is smooth and low.
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Hungry for comfort and strength, his eyes lock onto my long, dark hair, my red-stained lips; they feed on every stitch of my tight leathers. His eyes devour the softness of my long neck and lick at the boning of the tight, black corset. Breathe, I lean close to him, drawing in deep, warm air and pushing it into his lips so he can taste my breath, sip my saliva.
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I take the first needle from the medical tray. It is like a long, silver thorn, barely visible to his eyes.
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I take the first needle from the medical tray. It is like a long, silver thorn, barely visible to his eyes. He has been prepared- his skin swabbed and cleansed, his mind prepped with exact details. Eight needles perfectly aligned across his chest, from one nipple to the other, pointing down to his hooves. Ten needles down the insides of his arms. Twenty-eight in all. It will be beautiful, I had assured him before, while my petite slave-girl was shaving his body. Even then, he swallowed his nod nervously, trying to concentrate on the straight blade that was scraping along the inside of his thigh. I know of HD's immense fear of needles. He had confessed it to me during our first meeting and I stored it away for the perfect moment: the moment that HD was at my feet, his lips on my toes, breathlessly proposing, I would do anything for you, Domina Yin.
The last two needles are saved for his nipples, the most sensitive points. They are red and hard from excitement, ripe berries. I play with the right one, teasing it with my fingernail.
HD breathes in accord with me so I know that he is connected beyond the leathers, steel, and tape. I start at the center of his chest, pushing the needle through. My pet gasps and I gasp with him, I take the look from his eyes with a grin. He smiles back, relieved by my pleasure. I work steadily, slipping each needle through his flesh like a secret that needs to be told. Deep enough into the fascia that the opening brings the sensation from within to the surface, pushing in and letting out. The last two needles are saved for his nipples, the most sensitive points. They are red and hard from excitement, ripe berries. I play with the right one, teasing it with my fingernail. His head falls back even further and his chest strains forward, offering, pleading with his body. His eyes catch the sight of the needle and squeeze shut. It is so much to understand: for me, this whisper of steel, to be under his skin. I pierce deep into his berry and his moan turns into a high cry. He sobs in air and, after a few moments, breaths steady, whimpering in wait for the left nipple.
The needles are in place. I unreel sterile white thread from a small spool, delicately lacing the needles in cross patterns, almost like stitching the openings together. With thicker string, I tie the laced patterns up to the bed's posts. HD can see himself in the mirror above him. He is nestled into a cat's cradle, the strings reach up to his own image and for a few moments, he only hears my whispers as company, for his eyes are on his own.
You are beautiful, I tell him.
You make me beautiful, my Domina, he replies instantly, Thank you, Domina Yin.
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I let him soak in the needles, the taut pull of the strings, the webbed image and move on to electricity. I snap a band around his cock and balls and push a lubed plug into his open hole. The wires lead down to the erostek unit, an electrical box that sends out a range of pulses, throbs, and prickles into HD's genitals and anus.
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And all the while, I am laughing, delighted by the beauty of the masterpiece.
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His cock twitches and grows hard with the electricity traveling up in waves and down to his tightening anus. HD moans, his skin is hot with sensations. Careful of the wires and web, I crawl in to crouch above his face, my heels firmly stamped on either side of his head. The blacks of his eyes have almost disappeared into the green. A delirious glaze veils his sight. I keep my eyes on him; it is through his body that we meet- the Sado-Masochist Dance.
Drink from me, I begin to gather the leather skirt.
Yes, please, HD begs.
With the offering, he focuses back onto me, imploring a blessing with gaping lips. I release into his open mouth. His head strains toward my source of hot fluid; his arms gravitate down; the skin pulling at the piercings; and electricity pulses, jerking his bottom and genitals into a synonymous climax. And all the while, I am laughing, delighted by the beauty of the masterpiece.
Salutations, I am Mistress Yin. I invite you to kneel before me, to offer me your body as my canvas. Come to me if you are a true masochist, a bondage enthusiast, and/or a sincere submissive prepared for real training. What some people think of as "fantasy" is really a true part of their self that is hidden, restrained, or denied altogether. Sometimes, these secrets are even kept from our own self- understanding. If you tell me that you are looking for a light, quick session that bears no weight or consequence, I will send you to the movies. The most important element of a session to me is the rapport between us. The previous memoir piece was about a personal submissive I knew very well. I always honor safe words and hard limits. Trust must net your surrender. Be honest with yourself, as well as honest to the Domina- with that clarity, the limits can be pushed.
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