In dedication to the one who was ....
"..Like a mirror, only one that you reach thru to touch the other side, instead of seeing the reflection."
Let the story begin....
She sat cross legged, coffee in hand. Her tone was serious, and her posture direct and reactive. "I truly believe that it's a sign of advanced knowledge of one's self."
"Come stand over here."
She complied, continuing her litany of newly charted theory. He listened vaguely, enough as to be able to drill her thru the obvious mistakes in logic and human nature later. His more acute focus was on the way her body was reacting to his command even as her mind continued its thoughts. She stood with a slight tremble, the nerves preparing for the inevitable. He walked behind her, and gathered something into his hands. The movement caused her to pause.
"Continue, susan, you were not quite done with your thought, were you?"
She sighed a deep breath, and tried to recapture the dissolving mental process. A moment of panic set in when she realized that her thoughts were breaking apart, that the body was claiming control and the irresistible draw to give way was intoxicating.
"And what comes next, susan? You believe there to be something beyond simple pleasure and pain? You have not been given permission to withdraw from the conversation."
He watched her shake thru her body's grasp, and pick up the thread of thought. "It is a cleansing action that gives an opportunity to start fresh in feeling the most intimate and sensual details of touching another, of reacting to another's mind and desire. When I am craving pain, I am but at one end of a wide pendulum swing. Sir."
The Sir came out a bit muffled, as he was slipping a rather large ball gag into her mouth. He immediately admired the stretch to her lips, the instant reaction in the pupils of her eyes, and the way her entire body tensed with realization.
"Now you are dismissed from the conversation, pet."
His voice became a part of her thought, and his hands brought alive every nerve ending. He swept her sweater over her head, and let his fingers linger on the lace of her lingerie. The lace, when twisted, worked as a thousand little points of sharp pain, the fibers cutting into the tender nipples. Her body responded with twisting of its own, as if it could squirm away from the pain. Her head knew better, his creativity knew no bounds.
His hand ran down her shoulder, gathering one arm behind her. Propelling her forward, he felt the reaction of her body to his movements, as if each muscle had a slight tic. They came to a halt in front of the mirror.
"Look in the mirror, pet. See a familiar face? A face destined to whimper and cry? You are about to find out how far you will go to end the pain, or how far you will endure it."
She could see his grin behind her in the mirror. The room was bright, and colorful. The warmth of the light had everything in brilliant detail. The whole ambiance belied the darkness of the moment, the peril. The two of them danced in that peril with a tenuous trust.
"There isn't any room to beat you here. That is such a shame."
He was still grinning as he positioned her to lean over the counter, putting her face very near the mirror, and her tits swaying. His fingers would reposition her chin as it dropped, ensuring that her eyes met the reflection.
"Stay."
He pulled at her nipples, listening to the quick intake of breath. As his fingers gripped more tightly, her body shivered, pulsing electricity that was already pulling her focus.
"Binder clip or needle?"
He held the objects up behind her, watching her eyes in the mirror as she watched his face.
"Look at your own eyes, pet, not mine. Understood?"
She nodded her head and picked up the contact of her own stare even as he reached for her left breast. He ran his hand under, feeling the weight of it in his hand, allowing his fingers the pleasure of the soft skin. His right made a stealth approach with a binder clip. He was hardly prepared for the sudden lurch of her body when the pain connected. The silent scream tightened every sinew, and made her at once completely overtaken. His hand stole into her hair and held her head where he wanted.
"Open your eyes" "now, susan, open your eyes. Remind yourself that it is your whole being that is here, your whole being is giving up every ability to refuse, surrendering to the exuberance of my desires. And be still while I push this needle thru your right tit. No jerking. Focus. Be still. Watch your eyes."
She remembered back to earlier in the day. She'd walked out of the kitchen to see him unfolding some heavy brown paper. "His new toys" caught the light. The tiniest long needles she's ever seen. He'd held one up, discussing its qualities. The pain would be most concentrated, he assured her.
He'd noticed that she gave no visible reaction to his toy display. He'd seen her eyes narrow a bit, and he was fairly sure her breath went shallow. The expression he saw was raw conflict of desire and denial.
The moment was flashing in front of her as she felt him prick her tit with the needle. Time changed at that moment. Like the brief seconds of a drag racer seem to suspend time, so did the moments of him forcing the tiny needle thru her nipple. Images of the look in his eyes, the reflection of her own horror, the light in the room and the feel of the scream building in a throat with no way to come out, all these elements raced in inevitable collision with the rush of adrenalin and desire flooding her cunt, and jerking her body into an undeniable reaction of lust and passion.
Her nipples were throbbing, the pain building, not subsiding. He pulled her to standing and then turned her around.
"Here, pet, let me hold you, soothe you."
He was pulling her into his chest even as she whimpered and wailed behind the gag in protest. His chest pressed into hers and the pain was suddenly of an entirely new level, agony suffered to be in his arms. The torment was balanced with the reward of feeling him hold her, the nurturing keeping the rush of pain in check. The pleading in her eyes made him hard, made him grind against her, furthering the pain in her tits even as his body felt the heat of her cunt against his hard cock.
"Horny bitch," he whispered as he felt her body relaxing in its pain.
They moved into an open area. Guided to kneel on the floor, he directed her to sit back on her heels, her hands obediently behind her back while he admired her nipples. He toyed with the binder clip.
"Does it hurt much?"
She flashed her eyes, carefully avoiding a direct contact. She was left to kneel there while he sank down on the couch, watching her drift. He couldn't resolve within himself where she was looking, or at what.
"What are you thinking about?"
The only response was a murmur, a moan.
"Your cunt is very swollen. I can see it from here. Would you like to touch it for me?"
The same quiet moan sang back at him through her fog.
"Do you want to be marked while your tits are in torture?
Her cry became somewhat negative in tone, and he felt her coming back to him. Her eyes began to focus with a whimpering plea. Contemplating the notion that he could always put the needle back in, he let loose the binder clip and when the silent scream set in, he removed the needle from her tit. As she struggled to catch her breath, his fingers found her clit and sent her over the edge. He felt the sudden gush of pleasure from her constricting cunt.
