Ancilla: SOUNDBITE EDITION. (SERIALIZED, MATURE SECTIONS MARKED)

*Gevurah (PART 8, has 1443 words)

"You're not going to like hearing this. The next easiest spot, due to the looseness and shape of your skin in that area and the relative ease I have in manipulating it, is going to be along the edge of your labia. If I really wanted to cause pain, I'd target a point a little further in, where the tissue is thicker; as it is, the outer edge will definitely hurt, but not as much, and not as much as other parts of the body. I think I'll target just two points, on either side. I promise to not turn you into a pincushion."

He's right. I don't like the sound of this. I feel my stomach start to tie itself in knots.

"And again, I am very sorry, but this will hurt. I think it would be best from now on if you had something to bite down on." He casts his gaze about, then starts rooting in one of the counter drawers. "Here. Wooden stirring spoon. It's smooth enough that it shouldn't give you splinters."

He puts the handle against my mouth; I bite down.

"Move forward a little, so that you are just a little closer to the edge of the chair, please."

I comply.

"There. Stop. That's a good place. All right," he says with a sigh, "brace yourself. You don't need to watch if you can't force yourself to do it, although I do recommend you watch me work if you are able. You might want to count each needle as it goes in, to remind yourself that this won't go on forever. There will be four."

Counting would involve acknowledging the needles as they enter me. No, please no.

He was right. This hurts. I bite down and whimper, but I somehow manage to avoid flinching. Eventually, tears start flowing out of me in a soft, steady torrent.

He rests his hand gently on the top of my thigh. "You aren't moving from this position until the needles come out. Open your eyes and look down."

I look, and instantly regret it.

He's pinned me to the chair by my labia.

"I hope you are as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. None of what I do next will be painless, and I apologize, because I know this isn't the sort of pain you usually welcome." He reaches up and strokes my cheek. "If it's any consolation, from here on I can hold you or lean you against me for support for most of what I do, even when I'm putting needles into you."

"Yes, please," I sob. The spoon falls out of my mouth, clattering to the floor.

"There, now. I have you. I won't let you go. It's all right." He drinks in more of my tears with kisses. "You're dealing with this very well, you know."

"I am?" I manage a half-laugh. "I think I'm a wreck."

"You're doing better than you think you are. I've seen people break down much more dramatically from playing with sharps, and none of them had your extreme fear of needles. Phobias are serious things. Working with them requires bravery, especially if you face your phobia head-on without any prior desensitization. I might also point out that up until now, you've been holding yourself in place of your own volition. That takes an incredible amount of willpower, especially when you are terrified. Most of the other people I've subjected to this, or seen subjected to it, were well restrained; and that was simply to immobilize them while they were enduring something painful. None of them had phobias of needles, or of any other sharp things - although most of them were a little nervous, which was to be expected." His hand strokes my hair as he continues kissing me, and eventually, my need to weep subsides. I sag into his arms, exhausted.