I’m Thinking of Being Mean

"I'm thinking of being mean to you tonight."

I freeze. The plans for tonight already include stapling, needle play, and a surprise she's alluded to but hasn't disclosed. Now she's thinking of being meaner? I turn my gaze to her face, questioning, mentally running through a variety of painful scenarios she may be intending to inflict on me.

"I think you don't get to cum till we get home tonight."

My face drops. It's mid-afternoon, I've just gotten her off, and I'm absolutely ready to go. I've been wildly horny all week, waiting for her to arrive all morning, and "when we get home tonight" is hours and hours away. She laughs at my facial expression. "I told you it was mean."

It is. But I like her when she's mean.

By the time she's cooked us dinner and is ready to staple my legs I'm a mess, and we haven't even gotten the stapler out yet. It's the first time I've been stapled and I've been a mix of anxious anticipation and eager excitement all week. When she first suggested the stapler I recoiled but after days of looking at pictures and reading accounts I found myself ordering a medical stapler and removal tool.

The staple gun comes loaded with 35 staples. The plan is to make four rows of eight, 32 total, with white ribbon laced into a corset on each thigh. She's soaked the ribbon to sterilize it. "It might sting," she told me earlier this week, "but I'm okay with that."

Of course she is.

I watch her setting up, awash in anticipatory delight. She's focusing on her kit, I'm focusing on her face. She's sanitizing a pen, I'm focusing on her face. She's marking off rows on my thighs, I'm focusing on her face. She's asking me if I'm ready, I'm wondering how I got this lucky.

clink

I'm surprised by the first staple. Not that it's painful, but that it's not. Tension I didn't realize I was holding ebbs from my body. This is going to be a mild experience, a warm-up for later.

clink

She tugs the ribbons as she goes. Now that's a spicier sensation. The pinch and stretch of my skin as she pulls the ribbon taut is a far more intense feeling than the staple itself. Until she gets closer to my knee.

clink

I hiss a sharp intake of breath. She tugs, I hiss harder. I definitely feel the bottom few but they remain quite tolerable. She ties a bow at the bottom, smacking my thigh over the staples. We grin at each other, she is tells me it's pretty.

She placed the ribbon under the stapler for the first thigh, but muses that there is definitely enough space under the staples to simply lace them and this would be an easier approach for the second thigh. I agree.

clink clink clink clink clink clink clink clink "FUCK!"

She rapid fires off eight staples in rapid succession. "Okay babe, doing it in a row like that is wor..." clink clink clink clink clink clink clink clink

I'm sweating a little as she laces the ribbon through the 16 staples on my right thigh, stopping to tug at every pair, relieved as she reaches the bottom. I'm activated now and fully alert to her movements. She's dissatisfied.

"These aren't straight."

She's tugging again, going in from the top and pulling the ribbon against every pair till I'm wiggling, the ribbons are even, and she's happy.

All in all it's been a fun experience with a pretty result and with largely mild discomfort overall. Then I try and move.

"Fuck."

She laughs as I painstakingly wiggle across my bed. What had been relatively gentle going in is pulling, stretching, and pinching with every move I make. Heat rises in my belly. I wonder if I should even bother asking if she might change her mind about me cumming before we go out. It's futile. I don't ask. Instead I change my outfit plans for the evening, opting out of the black and gold playsuit I had laid aside and grabbing a white frilly dress to match the ribbons.

Sitting makes me wince in pain as the staples pull. I realize that I will have no escape from this as I will be sitting in my wheelchair for most of the night. I mention this to her. She laughs again.

She laughs in the car ride to the play party, this time apropos of nothing apparent to me. I ask why she's laughing and she responds by laughing harder. I'm afraid of her in a way that makes me indescribably wet and desperate. She tells me I better top first tonight, because I'm not going to be able to after she's done with me. I tell her I was going to remind her I have to be able to walk out of there at the end of the night, but I'm using my wheelchair tonight so that's not actually a consideration. She enjoys this.

"I hope you're ready, because I'm going to fuck you absolutely silly tonight."

I top her first, somewhat distracted by the stretch and pull of my skin every time I move. I don't mention this to her. Plenty of time for that later.

When we switch, we choose a massage table for me to lay down on as my illness prevents me from being upright for periods of time. I disrobe, climb up, and ask for assistance with my boots. She grins.

Feet have been a hard limit for me my entire life. I don't like being touched by other peoples feet and I don't like my feet being touched. It squicks me out and makes me feel gross. I've told every partner I've ever had never to touch my feet. But we play at the edges of boundaries a little bit her and I, and a month previously I allowed her to touch my feet. Which she did so, utterly delighting in my nauseous face as she sucked my toes into her mouth. "It's not that I'm a foot fetishist in general," she explained. "It's just that you hate it so much."

I've asked for assistance with my boots because bending over will make me dizzy and not as an invitation to touch my feet but she takes it as one anyways, making sure to slide her fingers under the sole of my foot as she removes my boots. I shudder as she makes eye contact with me. It's been a bit of exposure therapy but every time I think I'm getting a little bit used to it she caresses me in a way that triggers my disgust response. Knowing she's turned on by my revulsion somehow makes me hornier than I've been all day. I wonder why I'm wired like this. I think about her promise to fuck me silly. I recall her ominous laughter in the car. I hold my wrists and ankles out for her to cuff.

"Lay down. No. The other way."

The other way. On my front. With my thighs on the table. I wiggle myself over and gasp as the staples stretch and pull, wincing as they press into the table.

"Move down a bit."

I wiggle down, little sounds escaping me as the staples catch on the table and pull harder. She places a 2x4 under my face. As I'm pondering the presence of the 2x4, she runs rope through the cuffs and restrains me to the table by my ankles and wrists. My nerves ratchet up a notch. I rest my hands on the 2x4 and my head on my hands, working to surrender to the experience. She walks up to my face.

Shes holding a stapler. Not the medical stapler she had earlier, made for skin. An industrial stapler. I'm not worried yet. She's trying to get in my head. Roughly grabbing one of my wrists, she separates it from my other hand, places a piece of rope over it, and rapid fire staples the rope into the 2x4 beside my face.

bang bang bang bang

My wrist is now pinned to the 2x4, held in place by the stapled rope.

bang bang bang bang

It wasn't a fake out, she had loaded the stapler. Before my brain could catch up with my thoughts she was at my feet, she was lifting my foot, she was shoving the cold metal on the sole of my foot as I futilely tried to jerk away

bang bang bang bang

Panic then laughter. Both of ours. I'm giggling. I assume she had either pre-loaded the stapler with just four staples, or had managed to unload it in the time it took to walk from my head to my feet. She later tells me she had two prepared--one loaded and one empty. After the first stapler I'm well aware she isn't actually driving industrial staplers into my foot but she continues on both feet as I wiggle, uncomfortable with my feet being handled, tension broken by the silly and playful moment. I grin at her as she rejoins me at my head.

"I love you," she mouths as she opens a box. I crane my neck, trying to figure out what she is taking out of it. I don't recognize the box, and I don't recognize what is in it. It looks almost like a walkie talkie. I wonder briefly if it is a walkie talkie, perhaps so she can hear me over the loud music? Then I see the second piece.

This isn't a walkie talkie. It's a shock collar with remote control. My eyes widen. Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not sure how I feel about a shock...

bzzzzt

My whole body involuntarily jerks away from the zap. The pain surprises me, this is somehow worse than I was expecting and

bzzzzt

I'm writhing away from the shock and dragging the staples across the table as I do so and

bzzzzt

it's a combination of pain and electricity through my skin that makes me jerk uncontrollably away from the source of the shock. Determined I slow my breathing and

bzzzt

find myself completely unable to relax into it, the shock overwhelming my

bzzzt

nervous system. It's not that the pain is so bad but the shock so intense that despite my efforts to

bzzzt

slow my breathing I can't. I'm sweating profusely causing my thighs to stick to the plastic cover on the table which is pulling at the staples and

bzzzt

she isn't stopping and I rock the table, which she steadies with a hand. She places the shock collar on the tender undersides of arms and I moan, trying to wiggle away from the

bzzzt

It's useless. I can't get away and she's systematically finding the most delicate parts of me. Each time I think it can't get worse she finds a new spot to

bzzzt

torment. I'm panting, sweaty hair stuck to my face, barely able to see under the mass of hair I've flailed over my eyes in my involuntary attempts to jerk away from the sensation. She looks at me. She places it in on the back of my hand. I'm shaking my head no while trying to say it and...

bzzzt

white hot pain rushes through the bony part of the back of my hand and I think I've been yelping but I'm not entirely sure.

I don't know how long it goes on, maybe only a few minutes. My thighs are burning, I'm slick and hot, buzzing with energy, panting quickly. I'm trying to process this new sensation, not yet sure if I hate-loved it, or love-hated it. I'm feeling high-strung and moderately panicked.

"I think it's time for us to start with the needles."

Right. The needles. The main part of tonight's plans. In the chaos of the shock collar I had forgotten all about the main event.

Once again, I focus on her while she focuses on preparing. I wonder if she notices me staring at her face. I wonder if she's thinking about fucking me tonight, as she opens needle after needle and lays them down. I'm trying to bring my breathing back under control, slowing down each breath. I'm cooling down and feel chilled and sticky, damp with sweat. As she wipes my ass with alcohol, I think I'm prepared for what comes next.

I'm not. I try to exhale on the insertion but I can't see what she's doing and she doesn't deign to tell me. The sensation is hot and sharp and awful. It's only the first one, she hasn't even woven it under anything yet. The second one momentarily takes my breath away. The third increases my panic--I'm not relaxing into these like usual.

"Now I'm getting the larger needles."

I assume this is another fake out. I know she has two gauges in her kit, and last time we played she only used the smaller ones. I had sighed dreamily through the experience, sleepy and snuggly feeling, wincing a couple of times on the exit while largely feeling floaty and calm.

I do not feel calm or floaty, I feel like someone has stuck sharp objects through my flesh. These can't be the smaller gauges, I'm in pain.

It isn't another fake out.

She's shoved three needles through my ass in a row. Smaller needles. Now she's weaving a larger one over and under the three smaller ones. I'm sweating again. Each time she weaves around a needle I want to shriek. I don't. I think. I gasp when the needle exits on the other side. I wonder why I decide to do these things. I wonder why I told her I enjoy this. I don't notice the pain in my thighs anymore. She grabs a second larger needle. I try to exhale on the insertion. She's fucking around with the needle under my skin. I don't want to stop but I don't want to continue.

"I need a break," I mange to get out after the second needle exits my skin. She's at my face in an instant, gloves off, stroking my hair. Shes telling me she loves me, that I've been such a good girl. My ass cheek is full of heat and pain, but my head is full of her. Fuck I love this woman.

She's squicked out by blood and needle play, but I'm into it, and she's into me. She pulls a squick face when I talk about it. I figure we're about even since I've let her touch my feet with her mouth. She's crouched down me, watching me intently. God I wish I could kiss her right now.

"We can go again. But I don't think I can take any more weaving tonight. And not on the same ass cheek." She puts on a new pair of gloves.

I lose track of how many she puts on the other side. Sliding them in side by side, she doesn't fuck around with these under my skin or stack them on top of one another. I start to relax into it. It's not that it stops hurting, just that I feel calmer, more ready to embrace the sensation.

"I think I'm going to abandon the rest of the needles I had open, I think you're getting near your limit."

Later I ask what I did that made her perceive that I was at my limit, since I had felt calmer. She replies that the sounds I was making sounded like I was coping less. Besides, she could place more needles till I tapped out, or should could stop before I got there and fuck around. And she wanted to fuck around.

When she pulled out the shock collar a second time I was filled with dread. Knowing what was coming made it worse.

bzzzt

This time when I jerked, the waffled needles in my ass pulled in multiple directions. Pain through my thighs, pain under the shock collar, pain through my ass.

bzzzt

Once again she attacked my tender bits, making me buck and rock on the table. Once again, this did absolutely nothing to get me away from the end of the shock collar.

bzzzt

Back in a sweaty, pained panic, I watched as she walked over to her sharps kit. I thought we were done with sharps for the night. Then I watched as she took out an alcohol swab to clean the bottom of the shock collar. There was only one reason to do this. Fear ran through my body, into my pussy, and I moaned quietly as I once again wondered why I was wired this way.

She smiled at me. Let me watch her turn the dial on the intensity down. Put it on the back of my hand as I flinched. Showed me that it was no longer set to fuck you full intensity. Murmured "I love you."

I'm not sure how to describe the sensation of being gently shocked over needles other than that it was somehow tight and ticklish and hurt without being overwhelming painful. I couldn't decide if I was relieved or disappointed that she had turned the intensity down. Probably a little bit of both. bzzt bzzt bzzt

When she decides to take the needle out, she does it quickly. I swear as she rips out the larger needles that have been woven around the smaller ones in my left cheek. Warm blood trickles down my ass as she moves to the other side and I melt happily into the table as she cleans me up and unties my legs and wrists. I have jerked the staples clear out of the 2x4 and my damp hair clings to my cheeks. As I gingerly try to get up, the plastic drop cloth sticks to my sweaty skin and rips at the staples as I detach myself from the drop cloth. I'm dazed and in love and horny beyond all reason, dripping wet and eager to get home.

"You ready to get fucked, hard?"

When she takes me with her strap, she does it face to face, my thighs resting at her sides, giving her easy access to pull. And pull she does, yanking at the ribbons on my legs as she thrusts into me. I think about the people who roll their eyes at "ornamental sharps" as she uses the ribbon to tear at my thighs. Ornamental my ass. My ass, which aches as she drives it into the mattress.

"Aren't you glad I made you wait for this?"

I am. After all, I like it when she's mean.