Page 26 of Whatever Lola Wants

The catsuit was painted on, the lean muscles in her arms, her shoulders visibly bunched with effort as she leaned into the man under her. He outweighed her by at least fifty pounds, probably more, but she was holding him down with a combination of muscle and will. He could hear her now, her voice pitched over the music, over the Jamie’s wails, making sure he heard her.

“Don’t you stop singing, boy.” The growl in her voice, the primal grate of it, made his palms itch. He wanted to snatch her up, throw her down on the nearest flat surface, and fuck her blind.

Which was a new one for him. Submissive women had always been his thing. The ones who submitted easily, gave over control to him without question. Who begged for his attention and mercy.

This woman would not beg.

No, she’d take. Take what she needed, what she wanted. And the certainty of that turned the itch into a craving. He was going to have her. Somehow, someway, he’d have her.

Watching the lights dance over her platinum hair, her sweat slicked skin, he wondered if she knew it.

Lola set her teeth and pressed down, leaning into Jamie’s chest. He continued to sing, his eyes blazing now as they stared into hers. Pain slid over his face, then pleasure, then pain again as she twisted and pulled and pressed at the needles in his chest.

She let go, giving him a chance to breathe, and his body sagged in relief. “Keep singing, Jamie. Still plenty of song left.”

His lips were forming the words, but barely any sound emerged. She grinned and put her thumbs over the lowest set of needles, the ones that formed a cross just above his nipples on either side. And she pushed.

His eyes went wide when she leaned in, the pressure bending the steel embedded in his skin. “I’m making paperclips, here, Jamie,” she told him with a laugh, and pressed harder.

The harder she pressed, the louder he sang. She could feel the quiver of his muscles under her, noted the strain in his arms when he pulled on the straps. She was sweating with effort, almost her entire body weight pressed down on his chest, but she wanted more.

“Jamie.” Her voice was a lash, a sharp crack, and his eyes widened at the tone. “Don’t move. Not a muscle.”

His wide eyes grew panicked when she leaned forward even more, pressing steadily harder into his chest. Slowly, carefully, she tightened her core muscles. She kept her thumbs pressed on the needles, spreading her fingers to wrap around the side of his rib cage. Slowly, carefully, she lifted her knees so instead of kneeling on either side of his hips, she was crouched.

Dimly she heard the murmur of the spectators lining the gallery, but she paid them no mind. All her concentration, all her effort, was focused on Jamie and the connection between his body and hers. She tightened her core and lifted her feet so only the toes of her boots were balanced on the table, putting almost all of her weight on her hands. On her thumbs. On the metal embedded into the boy under her.

Pain flared in his eyes, his voice rising in a wail. “Don’t move,” she reminded him, her voice a sharp snap, and he quivered under her, fighting to keep still.

She was sweating, her own muscles vibrating with the effort of holding the pose. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stay there for long, five seconds at most. She counted them down in her head, watching Jamie’s face contort with the effort of staying still as he struggled to keep singing.

She lowered herself down slowly and carefully, concentrating on keeping her balance. Falling on the floor would be not only painful, but a horrible end to the scene. She let out a slow breath as her knees once again met the table on either side of his hips, and eased the pressure on his chest.

His breath whooshed out on a sob, and a single tear leaked from his eye to roll back into his hair. She sent a quick, questioning glance at Richard; she’d neglected to ask if tears were a common occurrence for Jamie during play, and felt a surge of relief when Richard simply stroked the tear away, an affectionate and possessive look on his face.

“Almost done, Jamie,” she told him, knowing the song was winding down. She had maybe thirty seconds before it cut off, and there was one more thing she wanted to do. She reached for the small spray bottle on the tray marked isopropyl alcohol.

She laid a light mist over his chest, making sure to direct it over each of the needles and paying close attention to the sets of two. It would feel cool at first, a soothing balm on fevered skin, but when the liquid hit the tiny punctures, the burn would set in.

Sure enough, Jamie’s initial sigh of relief was short-lived. He gritted his teeth as the alcohol slid into the open wounds, a burning blast of agony that once again had his body vibrating beneath hers.

“Keep singing,” she crooned, and reached up to twist the needles under the skin again. Gently this time, almost a caress, though she knew it wouldn’t feel like it to him.

As the final moments of the song played out, she lifted her hands to his cheeks. “Well done, Jamie. You did very well. I’m proud of you, and your Daddy is proud of you, too.”

Jamie blinked back tears as Richard bent to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you, boy,” he whispered, and Lola blinked back tears of her own.

She let Richard continue to croon and stroke as she reached for the sharps container, then simply waited, holding her weight completely off Jamie now. She knelt quietly until Richard lifted his head, until Jamie’s eyes, drenched and dazed, met hers again.

“Ready for them to come out?” she asked.

He drew a deep breath and nodded, and she felt his body brace.

“I’ll be nice and slow,” she told him, and slid the first one free.

Little dots of blood bloomed where the needle had been. She dropped it into the sharps container and moved on to the next. She slid them out, one by one, disposing of them into the container until the only ones that remained were the crossed pairs she’d leaned on so heavily. “Jamie, Richard,” she said and waited until they looked at her. “You both might like to see these.”

She pulled the next one free and held it up. It was bent nearly in half by the pressure she’d put on it. She watched Jamie’s eyes widen and winked at him. “Making paperclips, remember?”. She glanced at Richard, noted the gleam in his eye as she dropped it into the container.

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