Needle Play Pictures
In the time I’ve been writing this blog and relating some D/s experiences with my domme, I’ve maintained a level of discretion as to who she is. It’s not that I’ve hidden things, the breadcrumbs have always been there and some curious readers have followed them and worked out who she is.
For the last nearly three years she has been the owner of the Barnet Bastille dungeon, located, surprisingly, in Barnet. My first session there was not long after she took it over and before she started modifying and evolving the space. The way I would describe it then was 1970’s dark goth. Over the years I have enjoyed watching the evolution of the dungeon into a light uncluttered space in which I’ve spent considerable time.
When I arrived this week it was more sparse and empty than I expected, just the essentials to be used in the session. She’d made a hefty start on clearing everything. There were slight emotional overtones in that I had the privilege of being the final session ever in the Barnet Bastille. Seeing it that sparse really brought it home that this was the end of the chapter.
You might say that the only thing I can predict about a session is that she will challenge me to go further than I have done before, whatever the specific activities of her choosing. And given that this was the last ever session in the Barnet Bastille there was a good chance of something being pulled out of the hat.
She directed me to the needle bench a lot earlier than normal.
I’ve become quite used to being the pin cushion. There’s a great deal of control required to remain as still and as relaxed as possible. Tense up and it will hurt more. Move whilst a needle is being inserted and it might go somewhere it shouldn’t. When someone asks me if hypnosis works and what it does for me, this is one of those subtle effects.
What I had got used to was needles to the relatively taut skin of the upper back. This was now the time for her to spread out in to more delicate fleshy areas.
Phase 1 is pictured below. Most of the needles are in familiar areas. The ones at the top by the fleshy part of the neck were a taster of what was to come.
Even in familiar areas every puncture is a trauma to the skin, though it may just feel to be a temporary sting. It releases endorphins in to the system. One is negligible but it’s cumulative.
Driving a needle through skin with flesh under it is a new level – it hurts. And when needle follows needle, the pain becomes cumulative, just as much as the endorphins.
I felt her working lower and lower down my back, well into territory that had not previously been touched. The pain isn’t like the sharp pain of a cane that flares and dies as it dissipates. In it’s way it can be called unpleasant. Many readers will have had a cannula inserted, imagine it to be something like that – only dozens of them, one after the other.
It’s a strange experience to realise that you’re experiencing adrenaline / endorphin overload in slow increments without the stimulus of sharp pain from CP. The top of my head started to feel it was going to explode.
It’s impossible to guess what patterns she’s creating purely from feeling the needles entering. And by the time I get to see the pictures the needles have all been withdrawn.
The full pattern was extraordinary. Well worth the mental struggle to remain calm and controlled. She really excelled this time. A work of art as a gala tribute to the Barnet Bastille.
That my head was ready to explode is no real surprise. I’ve counted 200 needles in these pictures, which at a rate of three per minute means at least an hour and a quarter of accumulating endorphins exacerbated by the more painful nature of those lower down (i.e. most of the blue ones).
I’m sat there afterwards with a coffee, admiring the pictures, starting to feel warmly smug for the endurance and all I can say is “Wow !!” When she laughingly calls me a needle bunny, it’s increasingly true.
Yes it’s sad that this was the definitive end to the Barnet Bastille. It went out in style and I’m very glad to have played my part in it.
She seemed to think so when she put out a tweet afterwards. Thank you Barnet Bastille and Miss Kitty Bliss for so many great memories. Onward to the next chapter in a new location.