New piercings

Several months had passed since that intense night at the estate in Madrid. My body had completely adapted to the geometry of submission that Master Felipe had designed for me: the gothic initials on the nape of my neck were now an indissoluble mark of his ownership, the bars in my nipples felt natural, and the dark titanium Prince Albert marked each of my steps with its cold, constant reminder. However, in Master Felipe’s vocabulary, complacency did not exist. For him, the training of a property was a living process, a constant evolution toward an ever deeper and more absolute surrender. One autumn afternoon, upon returning to the mansion after a long day at the office, I found Felipe waiting for me in his study. On the fine wooden desk there were no contracts or computers, but a black leather case I knew very well, alongside several gauzes, antiseptics, and a methacrylate display containing medical-grade titanium jewelry. My heart skipped a beat; my pulse quickened from pure submissive anticipation.

“Undress, edumiso. Keep only your collar on and get on your knees,” he ordered in that deep, measured voice that erased any hint of will of my own.

I obeyed the command immediately. I let my executive suit fall to the floor and knelt before him, placing my palms on the carpet. Felipe stood, walked toward me, and placed his warm fingers on the nape of my neck, right over his tattoo, forcing me to lift my face and look directly at him.

“You have shown impeccable loyalty during these months, edumiso. Your mind has absorbed the rules, but your body needs new anchors to remind you who you belong to when I am not present,” he said, running his thumb along my jaw. “Today we are going to add symmetry and control to your face and your back.”

Felipe ordered me to sit on the table in his private sanctuary. The piercer he trusted completely, the same one who had pierced my nipples, entered the room discreetly. Felipe had already selected the pieces and the exact locations.

“First, the face. I want every time you speak, every time you eat, to remember who governs your mouth,” Felipe pronounced.

They laid me on my back. The professional disinfected the lower area of my lip. Felipe stood at my head, allowing me to fix my eyes on his to seek psychological anchoring. I felt the cold clamps seize the flesh just beneath my lower lip, in the center.

“Don’t move, good boy,” Felipe whispered.

The thick cannula needle pierced the skin from outside to inside. A sharp, stinging, tear-inducing pain blurred my vision for a second. A muffled moan caught in my throat, but I kept my body completely still. The piercer slid in a titanium labret with a small black ball on the outside. As the metal brushed against my gums on the inside, I felt a shiver of pure submission; my face now bore a visible and public mark of his control.

However, the true test of endurance that afternoon...