After feeling that my pussy was ‘not quite right’ all the way to work, I finally arrived at the office, went to the toilet and there in my underwear was my barbell and ball that should of been in my right labia.
My first reaction was, ‘Oh, fuck!’
My second reaction was, ‘Oh, fuck, fuck fuck!’
I stripped off, put down the toilet seat and sat down while I attempted to push it back in. I pushed and it hurt like a mother fucker and it just wasn’t going anywhere. This was looking like an emergency trip to the piercer’s after work…in seven hours. I had a bad feeling about it. It’s been fifteen years since my ears were pierced and they still manage to close over if I leave out my earrings for a little while.
Seven hours of mortification at having to bare my pussy without any ‘preparation’ whatsoever later, I walked into the piercer’s to be assailed with blood-curdling screams,
“I’ve been there and done that,” I said to the girl. She laughed and led me into a cubicle next to the screaming woman.
I hopped up on the bench and my worst fears were to be realised: the piercing site had closed over sufficiently that the barbell just wouldn’t go in without a fight. She asked me what gauge my piercing was, pulled out the necessary needle and pushed it through.
This time the screams were mine.
Five minutes later I hobbled out to the car where Master was waiting and I burst into tears. It was just throbbing and throbbing, and I blubbered and moaned all the way home. Master saw me blubbering and gave me his white handkerchief from his pocket:
“Your body is just so funky, isn’t it? I think I might donate you to science.”
Normally I would of said something as equally as amusing to Master, but all I could manage through my gritted teeth was:
“See? See what I do for you!”
In fact, it’s still throbbing….I need a stiff drink….or several…
With a day like that, the universe is going to have to give me some balance by presenting me with Anthony Warlow tonight in the Phantom of the Opera. Come on universe, I’m counting on you!