CW: this post contains a picture with blood in it.

The first time I tried any form of needle play, I was a naive little 18-year-old girl. It was exactly one needle, underneath the ring finger of my left hand. It fucking hurt, and made me cry out in pain. It is one of the very few things that ever had that effect.

(Note that this was my first time ever really playing; I will write more about this experience later, but suffice to say it is still a favorite to this day and cemented my masochism as something as real as I’d always imagined in fantasy.)

The second time was years and years later. I was 26 and my now-husband and I were at an “exploratorium” educational which featured many types of play. He’d refused to allow me to try needles before as he felt they were too invasive, but decided to allow it now that he was confident in the abilities of the friend of ours heading needles. She stuck quite a few in my back, using my extensive back piece (I have more than 80 hours of tattoo work on my body; perhaps I’ll do a tattoo piece and explain them all at some point) as a guide.

She’d stuck quite a few in me before finally asking how many I wanted. I told her ten (she’d already done ten by this point), then said, “I don’t know. A few more, I guess.” She then asked how I felt about being stapled. I’d been stapled before; I quite like running my fingers over staples, so I was happy to try it.

The third time was during a friend’s house party. He stuck a few in my upper chest. It produced a fine little buzz, but that was about it. I was 28.needles

Only the first time thus far had given me any real pleasure. I am a masochist and pain is nearly a necessity for me. The second and third times had been pleasant and all, but more about gaining experience than anything else.

It was the fourth time that I came to love needles.

I was playing with a sadist who was good at particularly extreme play, but otherwise an ass. He wanted to draw forth blood, and so he used needles on my arms (with hardly a reaction from me), then on my thighs. And, oh God, the 16g needles in my thighs were heaven. They sent heat through me, tingling in my extremities. He then decided to up the gauge of the needles in my arms to match my thighs. And suggested something both terrifying and thrilling.

He grasped the meat of my labia majora and pulled with one hand, then smoothly slid in one of those frighteningly large looking needle. The wave that crashed over me, ripped through me, was like nothing I had ever experienced before (the closest thing to it was a g-spot orgasm, and those are rare and difficult for me to achieve). I readily agreed to another and another, until I was dizzy with pleasurable pain.

After that, I was addicted. I allowed that same top to teach needles to another person using me, and thus learned for myself.

Eventually, I ordered myself needles and now sometimes I’ll them out to practice sticking them into my own breasts and thighs. I have gladly taught others how to stick needles into my tender flesh, though that is a story for another day.


2 thoughts on “Needles

  1. You do look beautiful. It is fascinating. I don’t like pain, but I don’t fear it. As an endurance athlete, I deal with it all the time. I’ve run the last 30 miles of a 100 miler on an ankle puffed up like a balloon, and I once got bit by a dog a mile into a training run and continued 10 more miles of hill work with blood dripping down my leg. I almost always trip and bloody myself in trail ultras longer than 50 miles at some point. That isn’t even something special for an endurance athlete, it’s just a part of the sport. But I think of pain as an annoyance and distraction from my focus and bleeding also as an annoyance, fluid loss, and infection concern I just don’t want to deal with. I’ve never viewed it as a positive, and won’t due to the factors I’ve mentioned. But it is interesting to see and read about people who do.


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