back to the matter of whose territory the waiting room was. There was one exotic looking creature who kept reaching the end of its leash with a start, as if surprised, returning to its owner and then prowling forward again. By the end of half an hour it was looking only slightly less surprised when the leash stopped it. Not the brightest star in the galaxy.
I had calmed down by the time we were finally called in. I was quite cheerful, actually. My catastrophic fears from the aircar were obviously unjustified. I decided I was there for a checkup of some sort. It’s always a mistake to anticipate. In the examining room there was a youngish man with dark skin and close-cropped hair, dealing with something metallic over at a sink. My master lifted me to a high table and to my surprise began to fasten me down tightly. He even strapped my head down to the table, using a blindfold and heavy gag. I couldn’t move at all, barely a twitch. My limbs were tight and trembling now, and I could hear my heart thumping. The two men talked a little, and fingers examined and pinched me here and there. I felt my nipple being swabbed and clamped, and then a very sharp pain and a pull, making me sob with fear and confusion. A big hand was stroking me gently, calming me down, before the next nipple was subjected to the same painful treatment.
While my labia were being pierced, my master continued stroking me and speaking soothingly in my ear. I knew what was happening by that time, but I couldn’t help crying into the gag, it hurt so much. Worst of all was the tiny nose ring, however, right through the septum. The others were mostly sexy, if painful. That one, in addition to stinging like hell, was simply humiliating. The nose is not an erogenous zone, as far as I’m concerned.
But I lie. Not about my nose not being an erogenous zone; it’s not. I mean about anything being ‘simply’ humiliating. Being led through the streets by that ring is awful, degrading and often painful, and there is nothing in that pain that excites me and thus alters the experience. Pain – in the right places – is like the yeast that ferments the moment, transforms it into the heady intoxicant of arousal. But humiliation, for creatures like me, has the same effect, without the need for direct contact with erogenous zones. I hate being led by my nose ring; I cry and whimper every time he clips the leash to it. I would resist if I could, but of course that’s impossible – it just hurts too damned much to do anything but follow. Nothing makes me feel lower than being led by the nose ring. Nothing makes me wetter, either.
He didn’t lead me back to the aircar by the nose ring that day, of course – just by my collar. I was shaky with pain and the shock of it all, and walking nudged the labia rings. I felt literally pinned, like a lab specimen, for the edification of gigantic crowds. Still, the leash tugged and I followed, responding to the occasional upward jerk by straightening my back and thrusting out my glinting, bouncing nipples, trying not to look at the heads all swiveling to stare at me. It was a great relief to be locked back up in my crate for the ride home.
The piercings all healed remarkably quickly. For a week they were treated with a cream and the rings were turned, and then they were fine. I think the cream was some kind of healing accelerator. We had just begun to hear about such things on Raniz before I left. I once saw Pav get a bad burn on his arm. A few days later there was barely a mark, so I think I’m right about what they used.
As a result, the rings rapidly became part of the usable equipment. My master often fastened me to the wall by my nipples. If I had fallen there was always a strap to catch me, but I would have had to hurt my nipples a fair amount to lean on it. He particularly liked me kneeling face down and bottom up, with my nipple rings chained tightly to my labia rings, and my labia rings chained to the bedpost. If I was
I had calmed down by the time we were finally called in. I was quite cheerful, actually. My catastrophic fears from the aircar were obviously unjustified. I decided I was there for a checkup of some sort. It’s always a mistake to anticipate. In the examining room there was a youngish man with dark skin and close-cropped hair, dealing with something metallic over at a sink. My master lifted me to a high table and to my surprise began to fasten me down tightly. He even strapped my head down to the table, using a blindfold and heavy gag. I couldn’t move at all, barely a twitch. My limbs were tight and trembling now, and I could hear my heart thumping. The two men talked a little, and fingers examined and pinched me here and there. I felt my nipple being swabbed and clamped, and then a very sharp pain and a pull, making me sob with fear and confusion. A big hand was stroking me gently, calming me down, before the next nipple was subjected to the same painful treatment.
While my labia were being pierced, my master continued stroking me and speaking soothingly in my ear. I knew what was happening by that time, but I couldn’t help crying into the gag, it hurt so much. Worst of all was the tiny nose ring, however, right through the septum. The others were mostly sexy, if painful. That one, in addition to stinging like hell, was simply humiliating. The nose is not an erogenous zone, as far as I’m concerned.
But I lie. Not about my nose not being an erogenous zone; it’s not. I mean about anything being ‘simply’ humiliating. Being led through the streets by that ring is awful, degrading and often painful, and there is nothing in that pain that excites me and thus alters the experience. Pain – in the right places – is like the yeast that ferments the moment, transforms it into the heady intoxicant of arousal. But humiliation, for creatures like me, has the same effect, without the need for direct contact with erogenous zones. I hate being led by my nose ring; I cry and whimper every time he clips the leash to it. I would resist if I could, but of course that’s impossible – it just hurts too damned much to do anything but follow. Nothing makes me feel lower than being led by the nose ring. Nothing makes me wetter, either.
He didn’t lead me back to the aircar by the nose ring that day, of course – just by my collar. I was shaky with pain and the shock of it all, and walking nudged the labia rings. I felt literally pinned, like a lab specimen, for the edification of gigantic crowds. Still, the leash tugged and I followed, responding to the occasional upward jerk by straightening my back and thrusting out my glinting, bouncing nipples, trying not to look at the heads all swiveling to stare at me. It was a great relief to be locked back up in my crate for the ride home.
The piercings all healed remarkably quickly. For a week they were treated with a cream and the rings were turned, and then they were fine. I think the cream was some kind of healing accelerator. We had just begun to hear about such things on Raniz before I left. I once saw Pav get a bad burn on his arm. A few days later there was barely a mark, so I think I’m right about what they used.
As a result, the rings rapidly became part of the usable equipment. My master often fastened me to the wall by my nipples. If I had fallen there was always a strap to catch me, but I would have had to hurt my nipples a fair amount to lean on it. He particularly liked me kneeling face down and bottom up, with my nipple rings chained tightly to my labia rings, and my labia rings chained to the bedpost. If I was
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