Clit piercing

When we were in college, I got a tattoo and he pierced his ear. I wanted to pierce my tongue, too, but he told me if I put a piece of metal in my mouth like that he’d never kiss me again. He’d still love me, but he wasn’t interested in kissing me with metal in my mouth.

I grumped, but I didn’t pierce my tongue, or anything else for that matter, although I continued piercing my ears – I have 4 on each ear.

And for the next ten years, I really didn’t think about them at all. I saw them in porn, particularly BDSM porn, but really didn’t commit too many brain cells to thinking about them in any way shape or form. There was no point in my mind, he’d never mentioned them again in any capacity so why waste energy? I knew what the different piercings were and knew a lot of female slaves had labial piercings or hood piercings or sometimes even clit piercings but I didn’t really let my mind wander beyond the fact that they exist.

So of course, he sent me an email this morning saying he’d spent the train ride into the city looking into getting my clit pierced. What the hell?

So, I’ve spent my day in a nervous flutter. Half of me is convinced this about the same level of serious-ness as the email I woke up toback in August about branding me, which I have pretty much ruled was a mindfuck…I think.

But half of me is also a little worried…well worried isn’t the right word but…unsure, because he actually gave me a time frame and that’s usually a sign he’s made up his mind to do something. We did talk about the differences between a clit piercing and a hood piercing and a triangle piercing that goes –under- the clit and…I guess what happens will depend on what I’m anatomically suited for?

And when I asked him if I got a say, his reply was hot. He said I could say what I wanted, so yes, but the decision was his. Which has me all colours of confused because I’m torn between feeling like – hey, don’t break my clit, it works fine tyvwm! and feeling like – swoon!

And granted, at the time, I thought he was serious about branding me. I doubt he’s ruled it out for the future but at the same time until we’ve firmly agreed on what our roles are, I am equally doubtful he’d actually do it.

But I don’t know. And I don’t really understand why I’m not arguing with him, either.

3 hours...

He popped home from lunch to sentence me to 3 hours, and then went back to work.

Sounds like not much, until you consider, that’s how long I was “sentenced” to wear a plug made of ginger for.

I watched him carve it, protesting.

“Why?” I asked.

He shrugged in response. “Because I can.”

And that...is enough. He can.

As I sit here writing, I have plug carved from ginger root inserted into my asshole. I can’t sit still, I’m wriggling. It’s hot, it stings like hell, my bottom feels heated, and I swear he picked the biggest ginger root we had to force inside me. Walking feels funny and there isn’t a moment I don’t remember I’m wearing it. (T-minus 2 ½ hours…)

As he forced it into my protesting sphincter, he apologized that it was so cold but told me I’d warm up. He told me the rules. I can remove it at 4pm unless he calls and gives me permission to remove it earlier. I can remove it if I need to use the restroom, but then need to replace it. I can remove it if for some reason it interferes with my ability to care for the baby.

I protested that he wasn’t even here to enjoy it, and he put my hand against his very erect cock, telling me he was enjoying it whether or not he was home.  He told me to think often about how he'd fuck my ass tonight, filling it with something much bigger than the ginger, and that he was pondering making me carve a second plug for later. He told me he hoped I was looking forward to our anniversary on the 15th when the vaginal sex ban will be lifted...and hinted it might go back into effect on the 16th.

And then he told me to thank him for the reminder he’d given me that my ass belonged to him.

“Thank you,” I whispered quietly. I was confused. I didn’t like the ginger, but I didn’t feel resentful even if it made walking a bizarre ordeal. It burned like hell and he wasn’t even here to enjoy it.But him forcing me to thank him...

When did he learn how to push my buttons so well? (T-minus 2 hours 5 minutes…)