Zippers

PART 27

‘I’m Anita, I was told to……’

‘Wait there’ fizzed the speaker abruptly.

I scanned away from the little camera next to the pokey back-door; there was nothing but cars, concrete and weather. A freezing gust caught me, forcing me to grasp my hands around myself and bend my bare legs tightly together. There was never a ‘right’ time to be out dressed like I was but this was certainly not it. I shook, bare-legged in a white leather miniskirt.

‘Come in’, it snapped me back to the door

I recognised her as I hurried inside; she had been the one who had installed the cameras in my flat. She was disinterested as I passed her. She slammed the thick metal door against its mate and then pointed down the stairs, now the only route. I grasped the handrail, worrying about going over on one of my towering stilettos and breaking an ankle. Down was always so much harder than up.

‘You’d better get used to those shoes I think’, there was no affection in her German accent. The stairs were wide and well worn in the rheumy yellow light. She passed me before I was halfway down, not slowing as she reached the bottom and disappeared around the corner. I went as fast as I could, barely finding my balance with each teetering descent. By the time I was standing at the bottom, the corridor was empty. Through the dull hum, I could hear music and the faint sounds of girl’s voices. Carefully, I hurried after her.

‘Hello slut. No that’s ok’

I stopped my hurried journey across the room towards Vivienne’s feet as she held her palm up.

‘Thank you Mistress’

Her smile was wintery.

‘Strip and put these on’ she said, businesslike.

Suspiciously, I lifted some lacy white material from the little bag and stretched it out, I shivered.

‘It’s not summer any more is it slut, I’m sure you want something to help keep you a little warmer’

I dropped my bag. The white leather jacket, matching tight skirt and purple boob-tube lay on the chair as I drew the garter belt around my waist and clipped it shut behind. Little white bows rested above as the loose straps bounced lightly against the tops of my legs. I sat down and unbuckled the ankle straps of my pumps; I had to grip each heel as the shoe popped off. I reached inside the bag again. I could see the designs jumping out of the white nylon, loud stringy flowers and gaudy heart shapes; I could feel my skin crawl.

Inexcusable as it was to keep my Mistress waiting, I tore open the packaging, ruffled the stocking up my thumbs and passed it over my toes. As I drew it up my leg I watched the patterns emerging, growing until my whole leg was tightly bound in the white nylon. A giant heart and piercing arrow dominated the side of my thigh. I screwed up my face internally, feeling the embarrassment that would surely come each time I was seen. I was now firmly into porn star territory I thought; women with taste simply didn’t wear things like that, not even in the bedroom.

I clipped the suspenders onto the stocking and put the other one on. A snap of Vivienne’s fingers and I was seated again, the toes of one foot nestling back into the white point of their shoe. Again, grabbing the long white stiletto for leverage, I forced my heel in. As I rested against the floor to wind the little strap around my ankle, I could feel the thick lines against my foot pad.

She beckoned me up and looped her finger. I stood, held my arms against my body, fanning my hands outwards and made a little twirl for her.

‘Little Slut’ came her caustic laugh.

I hated how I looked, naked except for the cheap slutty lingerie and high heels. Yes, I was a slut, you only had to get a glimpse of me to see that, but it was not out of choice! It was not something that I had planned for myself or decided that I wanted to be!

Of course, nobody looking at me would know that; that’s what made the whole thing so utterly frustrating and so damnably humiliating.

They sat me, naked save for my new stockings and shoes, on the bench. I started crying as the German girl pushed me back against the padded rest and scooped one of my legs up under her forearm. She swept it up and over a vertical support, resting my spike-heeled foot into a stirrup.

‘Please’ I sobbed, the fear starting to grow within me.

She completely ignored me.

I looked desperately at my Mistress, pleading for mercy with my eyes, knowing that it was futile. I dropped my head and wept as my other foot was hung, wide, to the other side. My newly patterned legs were held, splayed open. The thick lacy top of my stockings curtained either side of my smooth, naked sex which gaped open towards the two women.

Vivienne was standing below me, fiddling with a camcorder. The sterile white of the floor and walls emphasized the black of her tight clothes and boots and the dark lines of her make-up. Her full lips wore a deep burgundy velvet. Her hair was pulled tightly up to a spout at the very top of her head, it fountained over and downwards in thick arcs of straight dark silk. The other girl was also in black, a tight sleeveless top and leather trousers, the short crop of her blonde hair gelled into chaotic spikes. I cried out again.

‘Stop being such a fucking baby’

The tall blonde girl stared at me, her inch of patience had just snapped. She slapped me hard around the face. As the snap echoed, I felt the sting-wave hit, jolting me out of my self pity and back to the horror of the moment.

‘I’ll give you something to cry about’ she muttered

My head swam a little as she pulled a trolley over and came around to my side. I thought that I might be sick.

‘Now we make you like the other girls’

Vivienne stepped up, between my legs, squaring the lens at my face. Self conscious, I sniffed and tried to stem the tears. As I looked down and saw the top of the trolley. I couldn’t stop myself. I screamed.

‘Oh No! Mistress, please! Please not that! Please….. No Mistress!!!’

My breathing became irregular. I stopped caring about the camera and appearances and struggled for air. I scrabbled desperately to sit up. I saw the blonde girl’s wiry muscles tense as she grabbed my wrists and had them yanked behind me and controlled. She wrenched me back into the seat. Vivienne was totally absorbed by the view from the camera; it was like I was alone with the blonde girl, as if her voyeurism somehow detached her from the reality.

‘No’ I had whispered to myself, shaking my head.

I felt cold metal digging at my wrist. Then clicking as I felt the circle of the cuff close on me; I was terrified. I had never been restrained before. I had never before felt the helplessness of handcuffs.

‘No don’t, you don’t have to do that…..! Oh Please!’

After a second clicking I felt both of my wrists stretched securely behind me, holding me back against the padding. I screamed again and jerked against the cuffs. The metal bit painfully into my wrists, refusing to yield even a millimetre. I sobbed unrestrainedly, not daring to think about what they would do to me, trying to cloud my brain with my own tears.

My makeup must have been streaming down my face as I blubbered incoherently, the camera in my face, recording my nightmare, capturing my misery for Vivienne’s sick museum.

My face was surely bright red and strained as she snapped on a pair of gloves and picked up a soaking purple gauze. My tears flowed freely as she raised the dripping antiseptic slowly towards me, I just couldn’t believe what they were now doing to me. Even after all the surgery Vivienne had put me through, this had somehow seemed more degrading. It was a toxic mixture of fear from the pain of having my sensitive body needled and the torment of the knowledge that the whole process was for the permanent addition of some new and awful humiliations.

I started to panic as she settled the swab against my nipple and started to work the cold liquid around it.

‘No, not there, surely this can’t happen’ I told myself

My throat was parched, bone dry. She wasted no time. In a second, she had my nipple crushed in a pair of stout forceps. She ripped it up and outwards with a deliberate brutality, she had every intention of hurting me. It was quite the most violent thing anyone had ever done. It took a split second, but when it hit, the pain was impossible. I screamed my lungs out showering her and the camera.

My vision started to blank as she grinned and raised the piercing needle, sure to make sure I appreciated the whole thing. I was sure I’d have passed out when I saw the thick cutting shank of the bevel. But I remember everything, so vividly.

Somehow, strangely, when Vivienne had injected my breasts, it hadn’t hurt so much; it had been more the idea of it that had been so unthinkable. Maybe it was because the needle had only slipped through a thin layer of skin before entering the numb implants inside me, and that had protected me. My vulnerable, throbbing nipple was entirely different. It was a button, rich and bursting with nerve endings, bubbling with tenderness, a vulnerable nexus of feminine sensation. I tore at the cuffs as I felt the sharp prick. This couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t. I sobbed and choked insanely, tensing my head and neck as she pushed. I screamed and tore my head away. She drove the icy point clean through, lancing right through. My most tender bud exploded.

Part of me was still clinging to the belief that this wasn’t happening. The sight of the thick steel wobbling in my flesh as she unclipped the forceps and my skewered nipple snapped back was totally undeniable though. I hung my head as I saw her go to the other side. I was shrieking dementedly as she did the same to my other nipple. The tears sailed down my cheeks, dripping onto my chest and running down around my punished mounds. She opened a sterile paper packet. I watched, detached, pathologically transfixed as she revealed my new jewellery, my rings.

The thick gold gleamed as she held the inch-and-a-half wide loop between her pale latex covered thumb and forefinger. Instead of a little ball where the ends of the ring screwed together, it was shaped like a tiny heart. I wept in despair when I saw them, Vivienne and Trisha had recreated every possible detail to best humiliate me. I knew I would have to wear them and I didn’t know how I would be able to face another human being if they knew. I filled up with shame.

My skin had crawled as she had slid precise metal grommets, tubes barely wider than the needles themselves, along each of my nipple-needles so that they rested just inside the skin, holding the piercings open. She deftly removed the needles and then took up a strange syringe-shaped tool and slid the thin end of it into the new grommet. As she depressed the plunger, I winced; it griped sharply. She pulled the tool out but it left me stinging inside.

‘No, that really hurts’ I pleaded. Maybe she hadn’t realised. She chuckled.

I so wanted to free my hands so that I could massage myself and try to dull the pain. I implored her silently as she pushed the tool into the other nipple and then, smiling directly at me, squeezed the trigger again. I yelped, hanging my head in resignation, gritting my teeth to take the pain again. I sobbed quietly, trying to ignore it, trying to think of something else as she unscrewed and opened the rings. One by one she fitted me with them, sliding them into the new grommets before squeezing the ends together. She screwed them both closed and tightened them with another little tool. She hung them, heart-closure down and stepped back, pleased with herself.

‘Now then’ Vivienne triumphed ‘don’t you look special now’

She reached forward and stroked my cheek and then kissed the side of my head.

‘So special. I just love them. Imagine how you will feel showing them to your boyfriends’

I wept at the thought. She reached forward and, with the tip of her finger, lightly flicked the ring so it bounced up easily and swung back. I tried to shrink back away from the awful things; I wanted absolutely no part of them.

‘Slut’ she mouthed slowly at me, whispering the word into my face.

Reaching forward again she held the ring. Slowly, she twisted it, just a little, just enough to suggest the sensation. As it tightened against me, I glimpsed how these new, unwelcome intruders could be made to punish me. I looked at her through my tears, aghast, my nipples were not supposed to instruments of pain! I sat fearfully still, not wanting to hurt myself.

Her eyes were almost loving, warm and tender as she threaded her finger through the ring and rubbed gently against the end of my nipple. It felt sore and sharp; all I could feel was the constant ache of the uncompromising steel that now filled me and the fear of Vivienne even slightly twisting.

‘Beautiful’ she said kissing me again, keeping me on a knife edge with her finger,  ‘I love you confused, frightened and utterly controlled’

I was surprised when she withdrew her finger from my nipple ring.

‘You’ll need to behave now; we can’t have any more thrashing about’

She whispered something in my ear. I felt myself stiffen.

PART 28

It was probably the worst night I had ever had. The blonde girl, ‘Suka’ Vivienne had called her, had taken me home and left me in my bedroom with a can of spray, some ointment and an instruction sheet on how to care for my piercings. The only thing that she said to me, the whole way back, was that if they got infected and she had to take them out, she would whip my cunt, hard.

I’d spent the evening curled up and crying, waiting for Lisa to come back, needing her to make me feel like a person again. I hadn’t dared undress in case I saw what they had put in my flesh; what they had put into my body. I was not comfortable, curled up, clasping my hands in front of my stockingged shins and lying on my side. The tight leather mini nipped the top of my legs and the tiny jacket held my breathing. I didn’t even take my shoes off.

Every movement of my head caused my earrings to jingle against each other. Every time I looked at my fingers, I saw Trisha’s wicked ‘SLUT’ looking back at me. And every time I looked down I saw my huge, plump breasts bubbling upwards, reminding me of the huge implants they reluctantly housed. 

I wanted to wish it all away. If it had been an option, I would have died right there. I would have taken a suicide pill, cut my wrists or thrown myself from the window. I knew that I had been programmed against all of those things and that I had absolutely no option but to go trough with whatever Vivienne and Trisha had planned. I wanted my friend, she was the only thing in the world that could help. Until Lisa came home though, I was alone. I ran my tongue along the roof of my mouth.

All the way back, I had swallowed and played with my lips and teeth, as if that would help. Every time I felt the metal ball against the roof of my mouth I felt the terrible memory. I was sitting, frozen, stiff in the chair sticking my tongue out as far as it would go waiting for the pain. Needles and scalpels had flashed past my staring eyes.

The stud that ran through my tongue was my greatest humiliation. It conjured up depraved images of tongues, mouths and men’s cocks, images of woman pleasing. That was what it was for. It was a device, installed in my tongue, to feel good on someone else’s genitals. It was a sign of my apparent devotion to oral sex, a commitment to its practice and a badge that made sure everyone knew it.

Worse than that, after the stud was secured, she had injected me under my tongue and then nicked me painlessly with her scalpel. I wasn’t sure what she had done but I worried about it bleeding. My mouth was even more personal than my nipples, it was an even more intimate violation. It was a thick, dull ache in my tongue and a bloody nuisance. I had to think about everything my mouth did and every word I spoke so that I didn’t hurt myself. I hated what they had done so much.

I let the tears flow, hoping that crying would cleanse my mind of the pain and the crushing emotional blackness they had inflicted upon me. My nipples throbbed, rubbed and aggravated by the course lycra of my purple boob tube. I wasn’t going to remove it though.

Gingerly I had slid my finger down, stopping at the thin wall of leather between my legs. I felt the numb stinging inside there too. I snatched the quickest of smiles at the mercy that I didn’t have some vulgar adornment in my clitoris or my vaginal lips. It could have been even worse I told myself.

After they had sited the tongue stud and moved down between my legs I had feared for the worst. After the pain of the nipple piercings I don’t think I could have coped with a piercing down there and I was completely distraught, fearing that my mind would cave in. They had pierced me, but not how I had expected it. At the time I just felt the sting, mild compared to the nipples and tongue. They made me look at what they had done as Suka held a mirror up. There were two little balls, the first one poking out in the centre, directly above my clitoral hood; and the second one a little above the first. There must have been a thin shank of steel inside the skin connecting them both so that they both held each other in place.