Trying out the piercings

The return to Master Felipe’s mansion that night was marked by the sepulchral silence of the car and the constant, burning, unified throbbing of my three piercings. The tattoo on the nape of my neck, covered by a protective dressing, tugged slightly every time I tilted my head, perpetually reminding me who I belonged to. My freshly pierced nipples reacted with sharp pain at the slightest brush of the loose fabric of my T-shirt, while the Prince Albert sent waves of heat to my lower belly.

Upon crossing the threshold of his private sanctuary, the scent of wax, fine wood, and leather abruptly returned me to my submissive reality. Felipe did not take off his suit immediately; he merely unbuttoned his jacket and sat in his imposing black leather armchair. He looked at me with that implacable fixity that completely disarmed me.

“Undress, edumiso. Slowly. Let me contemplate my work,” he ordered in his deep voice.

I obeyed the command with trembling fingers. I let the clothes fall until I was completely naked in the center of the room, beneath the dim light of the candelabras. My pectorals were inflamed and the surgical steel of the bars shone with an aggressive hue, contrasting with the dark titanium ring at my crotch. Felipe smiled with cold, possessive satisfaction. He got up and walked to the steel cabinet where he kept his tools of domination. I heard the finest, sharpest metallic tinkling I had ever heard in that room.

When he returned, he held in his hands a jewel of BDSM engineering: a harness of fine stainless-steel chains, polished and gleaming. At the upper ends, the structure had small medical-precision carabiners; at the lower end, a slightly thicker chain ended in a connector designed specifically to attach to the ring of my Prince Albert.

“Tonight we are going to inaugurate your new connectivity network, edumiso,” Felipe said, forcing me to kneel before him. “From now on, every movement of your torso, every time you try to straighten up or hunch over, will have a direct consequence on your three points of pleasure and pain.”

With a meticulous delicacy that was more frightening than roughness, Felipe crouched down. First, he attached the upper carabiners with extreme gentleness to the spheres of my nipple piercings. The simple weight of the chain hanging downward made a muffled moan escape my lips; the traction on the freshly pierced flesh was an exquisite torment. Then he guided the central chain toward my crotch. With firm fingers, he fixed the connector to the titanium ring of my urethra.

Instantly, I was trapped in a web of metal. The length of the chain had been calculated to the millimeter by Felipe: if I tried to fully straighten my torso, the chain pulled downward on my nipples; if I tried to hunch over to relieve my chest, the tension transferred directly to the Prince Albert, stretching the sensitive flesh of the genital piercing. It was a perfect geomet...