She’s wed to them.
Two tiny, shiny, bity snaps of steel.
And they certainly love her as much as she loves them. Their touch is constant, firm. The vice-like grip of adoration. They’re generous to a fault in what they give her. Asking nothing in return but the yielding tug of soft flesh. The dry catch of breath in her throat as they embrace her.
Just thinking about them makes her sigh.
Her breasts ache. Her nipples clamour for the caress of their teeth.
When he applies them—slowly, slowly letting them bite—sometimes she gasps. But usually she smiles or laughs, and kisses him appreciatively, mouth ripe with need as the steel-trap sting makes its presence felt. Pain blossoms, sharp and hot, intensifying every other sensation he bestows upon her body. When he tugs on the heavy chain between them while he fucks her, she lets loose the sound of her pleasure.
She comes too quickly. But that’s what they do to her.
When she’s alone, she puts them on herself. Every bit as reverentially, every bit as deliberately as he does. First one, making her blink as it catches, then the other. She leans back against the pillow. She lets herself sink into the pain. It blossoms. It burns. She presses her body up against it. It washes through her, cleansing her of stress. Damping the low grind of anxiety in her gut. Bringing her comfort, but more than that.
It feels so good. So perfect. A seam running through her, from breast end to cunt. A torrent. A charge.
She breathes deeply, allowing it free rein. The sweet, sharp fire skitters along her nerves.
Of course, she understands the biology of it. Pain and endorphins. But that takes nothing away from its magic. Their magic. The two of them, glinting on her chest in the half light of the silent room.
She touches herself and comes too fast. But that’s what they do to her.
The two tiny, shiny bity snaps of steel salvation.