I Go Swimming

Twenty four hours ago, I was in the middle of this:

The One Hundred Needles of Miss Mitsu

I don’t even know where to begin. We began last night with a bit of corporal punishment. We don’t do that too much, but my limits on markings were temporarily suspended.

So she tied me up, commanded me to the floor, then thrashed me. There was the initial pain, then she built up through “this is ok” to “this fucking HURTS” then on to “why are you doing this to me?” She pushed me a little farther than before with a cane at the end. I don’t know if I could have taken any more, but I’m really glad she stopped when she did.

Then it was onto the bed where she roped me up and held me down. I had a bit of wiggle room. I have no desire to escape, but I do like to see what the range of motion is for any particular rigging. I like having something there to hold me up; something utterly solid on which I can rely during the coming test.

I haven’t mentioned yet how spare the setting of the room at first appeared to be. The Silver Room felt quite empty when I arrived. When Mitsu came in she almost immediately ordered me to strip. “Don’t you want your presents first?” I asked. She allowed me to give her gifts, but then we moved right along. We often talk for a good long time, but last night, she seemed eager to get down to business.

And the business of the night was piercing.

Once I was fully restrained, Mitsu pulled boxes and boxes of needles from the cupboards, set up a tray with the requisite supplies, then set to work on my body. My body. Mine Mine Mine! I get to do whatever the fuck I want to do with it. And what I want to do with it is turn it over to Mitsu.

She sat on top of me and surveyed her blank canvas. She picked up a needle, opened a packet of lube, and started pushing needles into my tender juicy flesh.

My brain got into a thought loop: whenever a needle went in, I thought “wow, that feels like electricity.” Then I would think “But people describe electricity as feeling like pinpricks.” Over and over. Maybe you had to be there.

Three through each nipple. Fucking brilliant.

Mitsu worked her way down my torso.

The first needle in the Crown of Thorns hurts like a dog-fucking bitch. The next fifteen felt better and better.

The neglected angle on this scene is that I got to spend the better part of two hours flat on my back watching Mitsu do her thing. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s a rather attractive young woman. And there she was, carefully regarding her specimen to insure symmetry of design in her needlework. My body was entirely hers. Her canvas. Her sandbox.

After the Crown of Thorns was done she paused to admire her handiwork. Mitsu counted 57 needles. That wasn’t nearly enough.

I was seriously trying to keep count of the number of needles Mitsu put through me as she worked her way down my cock and beyond. She really got a rhythm going — flipping off the caps, dipping into the lube, sliding through the skin. I remember asking her how many there were — I thought we were around 62; she said 69. I for real cannot keep numbers in my head when people are pushing needles through my dick.

Mitsu came up for air at number 80. It was decreed that we would go to one hundred — a nice round number. It only meant ten more needles on each leg. What could be finer?

At long last, Mitsu completed her design. I was released and allowed to stand to admire myself in the mirror. It was rather delicate maneuvering, but I stood and gazed and was greatly pleased. Then I returned to the bed and Mitsu began removing the needles.

That’s when the blood starts.

And now we are in an entirely new category. A completely different reality. The place we are is the place in which the command “Masturbate with your own blood” is met with eager compliance.

Just incase you don’t recall how an erection works, let me remind you. Your dick gets hard when chambers in the penis are swollen with blood. If someone has poked a bunch of holes in the end of your cock, it might get a little messy if you find yourself aroused. And what better aid to arousal than asphyxiation and face/neck pressure points? It seems to work well for me.

My cock was a dancing fountain of blood.

The horrific smear of blood and come across my torso at the conclusion of this affair truly blew my mind. This experience has left what Flagg might call an “irrevocable boot print” on my mind. I’m holding back a few details, which truly threw me over the far horizon.

And cleaning up afterward was a bitch. There exists some variety of spray bandage. Mitsu hit me with it after I showered and was about to get dressed. That stuff burns like a motherfucker. It seals up your holes and you won’t be weeping blood on your way home, but it hurts real bad. Just when you thought you were done.

I sure am glad I had the whole day off to recover today. Here’s a shot of the aftermath:

The Morning After

Not so bad, really. Not on the outside.

On the inside, there’s all sorts of chaos and confusion. There was, anyway. That has settled substantially over the last few hours.

This is what I like to do.

End transmission.