Pierced nipples : I'd been secretly desiring this for years, sometimes more intensely than others, sometimes projected with a D. I wanted it to be meaningful, if I were to do this. I just couldn't see doing it by myself. I had a recent plan to share this with Choupinette, as a friendly complicity, but nothing materialized.
Then D/Ange entered my life, slowly at first. We ignited, and by the end of three weeks, he declared I was his soumise, /seXteen. And, for a birthday present, to crystallize our link, he decided to offer me the piercing of His rings.
Breathlessly, excitedly, we made our date. We counted the hours. And it was done, I was at his side, the stainless steel rings in my flesh. I was His.
Suddenly, the realization hit me that I had spent so much time focusing on the pain that the actual moment of the piercing would bring, that I had never considered the first 24 hours, the first days. Never. Not once while watching a few piercing videos on YouTube, or looking at photos of nipple jewelry on the net.
And I was surprised by my reaction.
The morning after, I almost fainted in the shower, squeamish young girl that I am. After taking off the bandages, seeing myself in the mirror, I didn't recognize my breasts. I could hardly look at the oversized rings (as it seemed, 25 mm diameter by 2,4 mm thick — the necessary diameter so that the hole would heal horizontally). The blueblack color of the entry and exit marks turned my stomach.
After washing in the shower & almost fainting, I had to lie down for awhile with D/Ange. He accompanied me for steps 2 & 3 (saline solution, spray disinfectant, wiped with sterile compresses), as I gingerly turned the rings thru the holes in my nipples.
I learned finally to wash them in the shower in the morning, and gently over the basin at night.
Going to work, I would tape a compress over my breasts so the piercings wouldn't touch my bra, so the rings would stay firmly put during the day. At night, I slept with a nuisette so that the rings wouldn't catch on something.
The initial pain was over after a day or so, but the movement of the rings, or a sudden touching of them, would set off electric sparks.
Not knowing if this sensitivity would fade once healed, or if I would always feel this.
After a week, the wound seemed to be healing well; at the end of the second, the skin was tightening, light scabs formed at the entry/exit points, and I would gently turn the ring slightly right & left after splashing some water on it, to loosen the ring from my flesh.
The shock lasted three days. I came out of it on the fourth, a slight case of the blues. I finally was able to look at myself in the mirror.
What had I done to my body ? Not that I didn't know what I was doing, but I hadn't expected my reaction.
Tapping deep into my subconscious, back to the edge of pubescence, 11-12 years old. Feeling embarrassed, almost ashamed, about this change to my body, covering it, hiding it, while needing to find the confidence, to assume my new condition...
A deep undercurrent of my BDSM experience is this direct link to my adolescent self, this young girl witnessing the transformation of her body to womanhood, and other adolescent reactions : rebellion, sulking...
I've always wondered why I have this trigger that hits like a double-whammy, always when I least expect it.
And I think I finally know it's because my BDSM is so strongly linked to my sexuality.
Did I feel like His slave ? His captive ? This metal embedded in my flesh 24/7, these rings that got in the way of my natural movements, at least while healing, this symbol of my condition, and living it alone, as it was two weeks before we could meet again.
He alone has the right to touch these rings, His rings. For the moment, gently embracing them, lightly lifting one with his tongue or his finger as he caresses my clit.
Our rings. This promise, this act, this link.
photo © SpyPrincesse 2012
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