“How many, baby?”

You struggle to comprehend what I am asking, I see the shadow of confusion pass over your face as you try to focus, try to remember the last number, try to recall what we are up to…

“Ten?” Your voice raised in a question.

I shake my head, and I flick the ones I have thrust through the skin of your balls and cock one at a time, making you flinch as I count them slowly, there are eleven needles piercing you.

“There are already eleven there,” I tell you.

You nod, barely cognisant, “Eleven, yes Ma’am.”

I reach for another one, the crackle of the plastic sounds loud in the room and you look up at me, blinking slowly, trying to pay attention (‘are you paying attention, boy?’). I take my time, stroking your cock gently, feeling the ridges of the needles through your skin, watching your face, blissed and trusting and beautiful.

I pinch the skin of your cock, bring the tip of the needle to it and penetrate you again, you gasp, your muscles tense and you let out a moan as your body accepts the violation.

I continue, relentlessly sliding needles into you, and when I am finished, there are five needles in your balls, ten in your cock, one through each of your nipples.

Seventeen needles, baby.

I lean over to kiss you, gentle, soft against your lips, you are laid open, everything splayed, I hover over you, avoiding the needle points and you are melting under me, into my mouth, you reach for me when I pull back, the restraints preventing you lifting up far enough to stay with me.

“Seventeen needles, baby.”

Your eyes meet mine, “Seventeen, Ma’am.”

There are sixty-seven needles left in the box.

We have time. You know that eventually we will use them all.

My boy has written his perspective of this experience here:
More needles

Loves: 5
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    1. I don’t remember how many boxes she burned through. I think there were fifty to the box. There was a lot of careful cleanup that day. I never told her to stop.

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