This is the second of a series of "Session Diaries" inspired by sessions with pro-Dommes in Manhattan in the late 1990s.
I waited, naked, on my knees leaning forward with my head and hands on the floor. The room was a windowless space in an industrial loft in Midtown. One harsh light shone down from the high ceiling.
When the sound of her boots clicking across the floor announced her arrival, I sat up.
"How have you been?" Lady Vick asked.
"I have been well. And you, my lady?"
She cocked an eyebrow and said, "It has been a rough week."
Whatever type of week she may have had, to my eyes, she still looked stunning. Jet black hair, pulled back in a pony tail. Pale skin. Flashing obsidian eyes, a sharp jaw and beautiful full red lips. She was built solidly with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Her muscled arms and shoulders were decorated with elaborate tattoos of serpents and sea monsters in lush scarlet, greens, and blues.
She wore all black. A leather bodice, tight black leather pants and boots. The bodice was festooned with straps and rings and was cut just low enough to accent her ample cleavage.
She always wore leather. She rocked the role of a Leather Daddy, rough and hard edged, yet somehow managed to gracefully blend the beautiful and the butch. She looked a bit like a goth, dark-haired Marilyn Monroe with just a hint of Marilyn Manson, heading off to slay a dragon in her leather armor.
But there was no dragon to be slayed. Just a naked man kneeling on the floor, ready to accept whatever torment she had in mind.
One thing caught my eye, which gave me a hint of what might be in store. She wore a single-tail, braided in black and red leather, held by a strap coiled on her hip. Specifically, by the braided handle I knew that it was what is called a snake whip. It went well with the tattoos on her arms. Seeing the whip, I felt both threatened and excited.
She looked down at me. "Are you up for some intense play?"
"I noticed the whip," I replied.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Whatever you like, my lady. The choice is always yours."
Again, she lifted an eyebrow. Small creases formed on her forehead. I could tell that she was becoming impatient with me. It occurred to me that when kneeling naked before a powerful woman with a dangerous whip on her hip, annoying her might not be the best approach.
She asked, "Do you want to play hard?"
I took a deep breath. "Yes, my lady," I replied.
She grasped the whip and unhooked the strap with her thumb. The coil fell to the floor. In a quick flick of her wrist, the whip went from being a fashion accessory to a dangerous extension of her arm. The crack of the whip sounded like a gunshot and reverberated in the enclosed space.
"Its new," she said. "You'll be the first for me to test it on."
"Thank you, my lady, I think."
She smiled. "But not yet." She walked over to one of the cabinets along the wall and in a few minutes came back to the center of the room with a rolling cart. Having expected to be be being beaten immediately with her new whip, I was surprised when she put on latex gloves and started wiping my nipples with an alcohol swab.
"We haven't played with needles in a while," she said with a wicked smile. She picked up a package of sterile hypodermic needles and opened one, pulling off the cover.
What made Lady Vick so special was that she knew both sides of the whip. Or perhaps, in this case, both sides of the needle. It was no secret that she spent several years as a professional submissive before becoming a pro-Domme. She literally knew the joy and the pain that I was experiencing and it excited her as both a top and a bottom. Too many Dommes were only sadists and could be either too cautious or not cautious enough, because they did not understand first hand what the bottom was experiencing.
Lady Vick had been on both sides and knew exactly what the bottom felt. She understood the pain and the pain excited her. As the bottom, I fed off her energy, which always seemed to push me further. And it was clear, the farther I was pushed the more she energy she felt.
She stepped toward me, smiling, holding the needle in one hand. With the other hand she reached out and squeezed my left nipple, pulling it away from my chest. She deftly pushed the needle through near the base.
I felt a blinding white searing light as the steel penetrated sensitive flesh. If the feeling could have been a sound it would have been a high shriek. I exhaled deeply.
"Thank you, my lady."
She pulled the wrapping from the next needle and pushed it though my right nipple. The flame of the pain was brighter now, but I could feel the ground spring of endorphins rising from my core.
The next needles were 90 degrees to the first set, up and down, making a cross. The next were at 45 degrees.
The pain in my nipples sent blood surging to my cock, which now stood at attention. Lady Vick glanced down, then looked at the needle in her hand.
"Perhaps I should stick the next one right through the head of your cock." She chuckled. "Nah. Maybe next time. Let's stick with your nipples, so to speak." She slid the needle between the others in my left nipple then turned to the cart for another.
I watched - both observer and recipient - as she worked from one side to the other, pushing another needle through one nipple and then the other other. With each, the pain crested and then subsided. Soon there were four needles in each nipple, then six, then eight, radiating around like the petals of a flower. The needle hubs were a pale blue, so my nipples looked incongruously like twin daisies with blue petals and pink centers.
At eight needles in each, she stopped, although she wasn't quite finished with me. She looked deeply into my eyes and then put her palms, one each on my aching nipples. She pushed against my chest. The dull, aching, pain erupted like a volcano and I both gasped for air and cried out.
