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“How’s the pain?” he asks.
I’m panting now, my heart racing, because the pins are headed for my breasts. “Bearable.”
He responds with a dark chuckle that makes the fine hairs on the back of my neck rise.
“You’re taking it like a good girl,” he muses. “Yes, a wonderful little pain slut.”
The pulse behind my clit throbs in unison with the mounting panic, and my greedy pussy hungers for more. A strange part of me enjoys the terror.
It’s like having my own personal horror movie, and I’m the heroine at the mercy of the bad guy. And he wants to make me scream.
Professor Segul runs the device over my ribs, each pinprick sending sparks of sensation everywhere—down my belly, over my breasts, even in the depths of my lungs. I would thrash about but I don’t want to get punctured.
As the wheel reaches my bra’s underband, the terror mounts to an intensity that makes my teeth chatter.
“Aaah…”
“Do you have something to share, Miss Stahl?” he taunts the way a teacher might address a student whispering in class.
“N-no…” I lengthen the syllable.
He isn’t. He wouldn’t. He bloody well is.
Professor Segul pushes the wheel over the cup of my bra, only I’m wearing lace, so the fabric offers zero cushion. Tiny explosions of pain and pleasure detonate across my breasts, increasing in severity as it reaches my nipple.
“Please,” I say from between clenched teeth.
He pauses. “Red, amber, or green?”
I’m panting so hard I can’t form the words. My hips jerk up and down, trying to graze something, anything, to get some friction against my swollen clit.
Professor Segul inches away because the black-hearted bastard wants to leave me humping the air.
“Your words, Miss Stahl,” he says, sounding as strict as he is sadistic. “They exist for a purpose.”
He knows. Knows the effect his pins are having on me. Knows exactly what I need. Knows he’s teased me to a point beyond rationality. Yet he stares down at me, his features a mask of indifferent intrigue.
“For fuck’s sake. Green!” I cry.
At the first prick that pierces my areola, my back arches.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It’s like being electrocuted, only there’s no current.
For a second, although it could be more, everything goes still. I can’t move, I can’t breathe, I’m not sure I can even see. Then air whooshes back into my lungs and my consciousness drops back onto the leather gyno chair with a thud.
“Yes, Miss Stahl?” Professor Segul says.
I clench my teeth. “Touch me,” I growl. “Please.”
“That’s precisely what I’m doing.” He slides the wheel up my nipple.
“Eeeeee.” I suck in a noisy breath, my eyes widening.
He stares down at me with this blank expression, but I know he’s laughing from the way his chest moves up and down in rapid bursts.
“You have the most delightful responses,” he says without a trace of amusement, even though the corners of his eyes crinkle.
