In her defense, her idea of a BDSM club party was much more aggressive than she initially expected. Sure, people were whipped, paddled, spanked, prodded, and even coerced into screaming orgasms by way of various vibes, but she figured there was a more forceful nature to the scene. A fantasy she had, before her thoughts were overflowed with images of her punk mistress, was being corralled through a dungeon and made use of while her gagged protests were ignored.
Not that she hadn’t tried that. Helga and Amy let her play out that fantasy once and surprisingly few people took her up on it. Consent may have been important, but so was comfort of both parties, and not every guy or gal was comfortable fucking a stranger in the open just because they labeled themselves as free-use. When she complained about it, Allison pointed out that some people probably found it too dubious or close to non-consent.
She still had fun despite this. Fantasies were fine and all, but few things beat the enjoyment of her ass being beat blue or being made to eat out her mistress’s ass in front of a passing crowd.
Then there were the vendors. Every play party had at least one, usually set up near the bar and away from the play furniture. Sometimes it’d be a woman selling custom paddles, examples including D4 dice glued on or various colors from pride to personal favorites. Other times it was more creative nicknacks, like homemade jewelry. Helga told her that the dungeon area hosted an annual community market for leatherwear, gear, and toys, but Rebecca had yet to see it.
Tonight sat a layout of piercings from the local piercing studio. She’d been considering changing her look, though she more liked the act of changing it than knew what she wanted. Being raised by a single-minded parent for so long gave her little autonomy.
Rebecca chuckled to herself when she realized she had more freedom under a collar than she ever had before.
Naturally, her mistress was an inspiration. Amethyst went from a nerdy valedictorian to a smart punk with her dyed green hair, various piercings from her ears, tongue, and nipples, and that tramp stamp tattoo claiming who she belonged to. Trouble was for Rebecca that she liked her natural red hair, and was too indecisive on a tattoo.
That left her with piercings, as laid out by the grungy crocodile sitting opposite of her.
“Piercings are another hold for your opponent,” her father would say. “In a fight, they’ll just grab them and rip. Sure, you can take some off before going in the ring, but it’s not worth the hassle.”
She still heard his voice. His thick accent scratched her brain like nails to a chalkboard. Worse, she still agreed with the logic. If she got into a fight, a nose ring like the one in her hand was a weakness.
But she wasn’t a fighter anymore. She never was; she was just a pacifist forced into it. A girl who had no say in how to shape her body unless it fell in line with her father’s wishes. But he is gone now. To where she didn’t know, and she didn’t care. This was her body, and she got to decide what to do with it.
“How much for this ring?”
***
I'm not a very descriptive person when I write so I try not to change up character designs that much. But I've floated with the idea of giving Rebecca a nose ring. For character reasons, as explained above, it helps her bodily autonomy a bit more. For context, Rebecca was basically groomed to be an MMA by her former boxer father, but she's a pacifist and hated it. You can read more about how that went in my "Into the Pit" folder which details her introduction.
For aesthetic reasons, I thing nose rings are hot. Especially when used in bondage as it adds another layer of immobility, except instead of it holding you down it's often yourself keeping it loose.
Idk. I find it hot. Might see her with one in the future.
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