Article_15645_of_alt.sex.bondage:
From: [email protected]
Subject: Nurse Jones gets pierced
From Nurse Jones,
5:45 pm, 6 Dec, 1991.
Well, the piercing needle arrived a week ago. It has been sitting on
the mantle, waiting, and the day has come. This will be a different
kind of post from my usual. Many of you know me now, a little. Try to
imagine me in my "List" mode: when I wrote The List I wasn't
communicating with ANY of you. I was writing because it was part of
the process, and because I wanted to, with very little thought to
readership.
I'll tell you a secret about the way my tiny little mind works: if I
were typing this stuff directly into the mailer I'd be seriously
embarrassed. But I usually do it into a PC and send it after a day or
two when I've forgotten what's in the file.
But I'm not doing that tonight. I know I'll post this tomorrow. I'm
still writing it for me, for selfish reasons. It's just that wanting
to do it this way, semipublically, is one of those selfish reasons.
I told you some very personal stuff in The List, and I'm going to do
that again, I guess, but right now I'm talking to my pc, the way it
used to be, before I knew any of you. Except it's a little more
exciting for me because I know it'll go out almost immediately.
We are about to do it. At a little before 6:30 I will make my little "
-*- " symbol the way I always did to end myy session on the machine.
Then I'm going to go into the bedroom where Jay will tie me down and
pierce me. Part of the scene is this little pit stop, to write this,
because I'm a closet exhibitionist, and I like writing about what we
do. Odd thought, that. Writing like this is an intensely personal and
private act that I enjoy partly because I know I will make it public.
You are here because I need a closet audience. I get a little frissant
when I think about you reading this tomorrow.
Thought: exhibitionism is a very private and personal act. Is there
irony there?
I feel kind of silly, making such a big deal out of it. People get
pierced all the time. Even _I_ have seven piercings. I would have had
eight if I hadn't had to let my nostril heal over to get a job.
But I got those piercings for the piercings. This one is for the pain.
This is my first experience with pain, deliberately inflicted pain. I
keep writing the word, as though that were the same as confronting the
act.
6:05
How I feel, what it's like to be me right now, sitting here:
It's sundown.
I'm not wearing anything. It's a little chilly, but the bedroom will
be warm.
I'm not wearing any toys, no dress-up, no shoes, no black lace,
nothing.
Just makeup. I wanted makeup. A kind of ritual preparation, I guess. I
started putting it on almost an hour ago. Not that I put a lot on, I
just took a lot of care. It's meditation.
This stupid computer desk on wheels has the printer right where my
knees should go, so I have to sit with my knees apart. Which makes me
intensely aware of my um, anatomy, especially when I'm not wearing
anything. I get the feeling you are looking back at me through my
monitor.
And, the way I have to sit, I can feel myself against the upholstery.
And one thing I'm feeling right now is the place where I am not yet
pierced. I'm sitting on it. On the upholstery of the chair. And I'm
very aware that it's going to feel different in a few minutes.
6:11
A fire is burning in the fireplace, for after.
Two glasses of red wine waiting, poured.
Cosy white terrycloth bathrobe waiting, for after.
My heart is beating like crazy, respiration up.
My hands are shaking, too. Deep breathing doesn't seem to help.
Jay is standing at the bedroom door. It's time.
-*-
I'm back, I lived through it. I had expected to wait until tomorrow to
sit at the machine again, but I feel fine.
What it feels like to be me now, after:
A little tired. I pulled pretty hard against the restraints, but I
think it was the apprehension that made me tired rather than exercise.
I'm wearing a cloudlike terrycloth bathrobe, white cotton panties and
a panty shield. Fluffy slippers. There was a little blood, just a drop
or two.
I can feel it Down There. I hope it's in exactly the right place,
where I wanted it. I haven't looked yet. It feels right. Jay says it's
right. I was thinking mostly about how this would affect our sex life,
and I didn't really consider how it would feel when I sat on it. I'm
going to be, well, _aware_ of it. Even after I heal.
Second glass of wine on top of the monitor.
Jay standing behind me, rubbing my shoulders, reading these very words
and I can tell he's about to kiss me on the neck. Hmm. None of that.
It'll be a while before we can do that. How about some popcorn?
That is totally weird, talking to someone who's right behind you by
typing on a monitor rather than with words. He didn't say a thing. I
can hear him in the kitchen, getting out the popcorn fixin's.
I just chugged the rest of my wine. I hate wine with popcorn.
I'm going to wheel the computer table in near the fireplace. Your
regularly scheduled stream of consciousness will resume shortly.
-*-
All set. Popcorn is popping even as my keyboard chirps. That wine is
starting to work. Here comes the big event:
I went into the bedroom where everything was set up. There were
candles everywhere. We are creatures of ritual, Jay and I. He had a
little high- intensity desk lamp to see by. Well, I wouldn't want him
to miss.
He had planned how to restrain me beforehand. I won't bother you with
the details, but if you read The List you'll know we have a LOT of
leather straps and chains, spreader bars, eye rings around the bed,
etc. Jay makes toys as a kind of hobby. In fact, I'm a kind of hobby,
too.
Funny, I would expect most often the husband's hobby gets in the way
of a relationship. But in this case, well, you get the idea. I like
being the center of his attention.
I was in more or less the position I would be for a gynecological
exam, except I couldn't move.
Which was good, because I tried.
He had elevated my hips on pillows to make it easy for him to work. It
was at my hips that the restraints were concentrated. I couldn't move
them much at all. Not up, back, forward, side to side, nowhere. Even
when my back arched, my hips stayed put, more or less. We sort of
field tested the restraints before going on.
My arms were stretched out toward the corners of the bed; he left my
head and neck free, but I couldn't really see what he was doing. I
kind of strained to see, but flopped back to look at the ceiling.
There was a strap around my chest, above my breasts. No gag, no
blindfold. I wanted to be free to scream. This sounds so silly for a
simple piercing, I know. But I had to keep myself under control for my
other piercings, and I think it spoiled the experiences. I treated
this differently. I concentrated on the pain rather than ignoring it.
My heart was still going like crazy.
I thought a lot about this beforehand: rather than doing it as quickly
as possible, I wanted him to take four seconds to go through my labia
majora and then stop for a breather to see how I felt about passing
the ring through.
(Mmmmmf.) Jay just put some popcorn in my mouth.
More, please.
He's reading over my shoulder again, in case you were wondering. Funny
how he never makes suggestions now. He just watches. I couldn't resist
making suggestions if I were he.
Sorry, slight ripple on my stream of consciousness.
Anyway, four seconds of pain: I practice-counted those four seconds
over and over, imagining how I felt when I got my nipples done. Three
seconds, I knew I could stand, so I asked for four. I had Jay practice
counting four chimpanzees a few times while I imagined. I tried
clothsepins Down There, too, just to see.
We had some rip-roaring nookie earlier, on the theory that it might be
a while until we can again. Then I showered, washed well, scrubbed, in
fact, douched, and just before he started, Jay swabbed my naughty bits
with a topical disinfectant. He has kept me plucked clean Down There,
while we were doing Column Two, such as it was (I PROMISE, I'll post
the Exciting Conclusion. Real soon now.) I much prefer plucking to
depilatory or shaving. It's a ritual and Jay gets to play.
Oh yeah. There was music. There is a thread going that deals with
music for, um, during. The Magnificat (Toccata and Fugue in D minor,
Bach) was mentioned. Yes, in fact that is a major old favorite of
ours. Pasicaglia and Fugue in C minor, too; the slow beginning is
great, but they are both too short. E. Power Biggs must have felt like
God when he played, though. BTW, I had lessons on piano, once. Does
anyone know of an affordable electronic organ that truly simulates a
big pipe organ in a big cathedral? Wheezes, echos, stops, and all?
Bach had 20 children, you know. No stops on _that_ organ....
God, I love popcorn.
Anyway, we have adopted Ravi Shankar, Vilayat Kahn, Imrat Kahn, and
Nikil Bannerjee. The sitar is an acquired taste, I know. If you
haven't acquired it, there is a great album to start with: RAVI. It
has two ragas: Abhogi-Kanada, and Tilak-Shyam. They are Nurse Jonses'
Crash Course in Eine Kleine Nookiemusik Appreciation. Listen to the
second one first until you can hum along with the melody. The first is
harder going but more rewarding. There is a lot of sex-related
structure in the music that I could talk about if anyone is
interested. Those of you that read my posts can tell I've made friends
with "Dr. Calcutta" at the hospital, I bet.
The point is, for the piercing we put on one of the Brandenburg
Concerti. The 5th, I think.
Sorry, my stream of consciousness got diverted.
He tied/strapped me down. That took him a few minutes. I was watching
the digital clock while he worked. We had about three minutes to
spare, and after he swabbed me with disinfectant, he sat next to me,
just being near me until the clock read 6:29.
There is a setting on the clock that makes it show seconds, which he
pushed. 6:29:05
He put on his rubber gloves and took his place between my legs. We
both watched the clock. At the last second, we looked at each other. I
nodded and he looked down to his work. I let my head fall back on the
bed, took a deep breath, and stared at the ceiling.
I wasn't quite through with that breath when he started. I jerked
against the restraints, trying to pull myself away, toward the head of
the bed. I gasped when it started in -- sounds melodramatic, I know,
but I did. That initial deep breath turned into a sound like a
hiccough but longer. And not as funny. When I came to the end of the
restraints, which was almost instantly, my back arched and I was
trying not to cry out. I started making a little whining noise, a kind
of "Nnnnn!" noise, getting ready to yell but still trying not to. I
could feel it going through, and yes, it hurt. My toes curled. I tried
to pull my knees together. I let myself go somewhere in the middle of
the third second, just as he was finishing. I didn't really scream;
just at the end I said "Ooooh!" but it came out kind of loud. If it
had gone on a fraction of a second longer .... well, I was taking a
deep breath to really let go when it was suddenly over. It seemed to
hurt most just at the very end. That caught me by surprise, a little.
I kept my eyes open all the way through. I don't know why I'm telling
you that, but I did, looking at the ceiling, unfocused.
Suddenly, he was through and I was panting and starting to perspire,
and it was only stinging, not hurting.
"It's through," he said. I knew, believe me.
Now I had to decide how much more I could take when he put the ring
through on the end of the piercing needle.
"Two seconds." Pant, pant. "Do it now." I tensed for the next part,
clenched my teeth, determined not to whine any more, but it was an
anticlimax. That part didn't hurt.
It was all over.
7:50
Exactly one hour and twenty minutes ago, by the clock in the upper-
right corner of this monitor, he was pressing Bactine-soaked sterile
cotton against me and holding it for a minute while I got used to the
idea that I had been pierced there.
There was something special about that moment. It was something I had
missed in the piercing clinics and department stores, having that
moment afterward to reflect on how I felt. I felt changed. I don't
know how to describe it. I like to tinker with myself, change things
about myself. Makeup etc. is just playing. This feels like a real
change. Something real and permanent. I have changed my body. I can
feel it Down There, being Not The Same, even while I'm typing. My
nipples got erect in those moments after, thinking about the fact that
I was changed. They didn't become erect during the piercing, when you
would think they should have been cringing. Just after. And again just
now, writing about that feeling of being changed. Terrycloth makes me
feel sexy, sometimes.
Anyway, I'm different now. Not the same any more.
He showed me the cotton that he had pressed against me. Just a little
spot of blood. He started unstrapping, unbuckling, unclipping,
unhooking, etc. etc. I felt great. I am going to be the focus of his
attention for the rest of the evening. Fire in the fireplace, cuddles,
dinner
(fed to me piece by piece if I want?)
Yes, he says. And a movie waiting in the VCR that we don't even have
to watch.
(More cuddles, please.)
(You may put your hand back in there, and more popcorn would be nice.)
The only thing left is to look at myself, which I haven't done yet. I
may write a little more, later. We'll see.
Ciao fer niao. Haiku warning! Rookout!
Nurse Jones,
Whose life is her art,
Puts a dab on the canvas,
Steps back to admire.
On to the next posting
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