The nipple clamps had needle point teeth that bit into my hard tits like so many lovers past. When he secured them, I winced as they drew blood. Little red rivers, caressing my soft skin; from my perky tits, down my smooth belly, right down over my narrow little hips. Until my own blood slips down over my tight shaved pussy. I could feel the heat flow over my clit, which just adds to the sloppy wet mess my cunt had become.
They attached to my posture collar, pulling them consistently as I struggled to keep my chin up and my back straight. The blood turns me on like little else does. When he approaches my with a stainless steel scalpel, I don’t flinch. My cunt clenches up, and he drags it across my skin. “Slut” is what he carves into my left tit, “pain” into my right. He’s right. I watch the blood trickle down my sweating, bound body, and nearly cum from just that.
Any pain he gifts me is just that; arousal and relief from the pain of true existence. I exist only to serve him, for him to use me. I am his play thing, his fuck toy, his punching bag, his carving board, his target practice. Every suture after a scene, every scar, is what keeps me cumming back for more.
Erin
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