Reyna's Anniversary Part 6 (Patreon)

***

You wake up when Mr. Perez slams the door shut behind him. There’s drool on your chin. You try to gather your wits, but he’s yelling at you in Spanish. You used to speak the language, but you’ve forgotten all the words. 

And your clothes? 

You don’t blush as you sit up and wipe the drool. Mr. Perez stops yelling and points at your bare breasts. Slowly the words make sense, like coming into focus. “Whore,” he’s saying over and over. You think you should cover your breasts, but you’re too concerned with your breath and your hair and the strange tattoo on your forearm. You’re trying to take stock of your body, and Mr. Perez keeps calling you a whore. 

And you don’t stop him. 

Then he changes the subject. Something about money. He wants his money. He was never paid for being your client. You blush at your stupidity. You were always so disorganized. Could you really forget to pay Mr. Perez after doing all the paperwork for his wife’s license? 

You open the drawer and rummage, looking for money, for a check, for a card, for anything, but the drawer is filled with tiny bits of silver: bars and stakes and nubs and circles. Mr. Perez sees them and his eyes widen. 

He speaks quickly, his words tumbling over each other. He wants you to get pierced. That’s the payment he’ll take. 

You try to shake your head, but stay still, looking at him stupid as more drool dribbles over your lips and down your chin. 

He takes one of the silver bars and raises it in front of you. He presses it against your nipple, and you moan. It’s electric. No. More than electric. It’s snow. It’s a hot shower over frozen skin. It’s steam in the veins. Your moan is quickly a whimper, and Mr. Perez licks his lips, nodding. 

This. He pushes the bar into your hand. Pierce this with this. That is his payment. That’s the price. 

You reach into another drawer and find the equipment. Your hands go through familiar motions, sterilizing and cleaning. They’ve done this before for dozens of clients. Your body remembers what your mind can’t: you’ve been pierced here before. You pay them all in piercings and then let the wound heal until the next client. They pick the metal, the place. You do it yourself. 

And each time you do it, they leave you alone, a job well done. 

And each time you do it, you think about doing it again. 

And each time you do it, you crave the cold metal against your skin. 

And each time you do it, you hunger for the sharp sting and hard ache. 

And each time you do it, it’s like making love, to have something forced inside you. 

And each time you do it, it’s like fucking, to have something forced through you. 

And each time you do it, you cum. 

And you do it. 

And you cum. 

***

Grace woke up and her hands went to her breasts and find clothes. They find her nipples, stiff and aching, but just flesh and flesh. No metal. Nothing hard. No piercing. 

But it’s morning. She slept through the night, fitfully as it may have been. She reaches for her phone and checks her messages. Nothing. No one cared that she bailed at work. No one is worried about seeing her at the Gold Club. This is all just between her and Reyna. 

Reyna. 

Grace shakes her head and gets out of bed. She takes a hot shower, a long one, cleaning everything twice. She rubs like she can get the reek of Reyna off her, as though she can make this all go away if she was clean and smelled like lavender. 

But when she’s dry and standing in front of her wardrobe, wondering what to wear for the day, there is only one thought in her mind: what will Reyna think of it? 

And will she want Reyna’s approval? Does she want to look professional to Reyna? Adult? Sexy? Lawyer-y? Intimidating? The only meeting today was with Reyna, and even if it happened over the phone, some part of her knew Reyna would know what she was wearing, or would ask her. 

And she would tell her. 

There’s just no saying ‘no’ to that woman. Grace pulled out three different outfits and laid them on the bed. She paced back and forth, trying to set the tone for her day, and potentially her career. All she had to do was - 

Her phone rang. 

Grace froze. 

***

Who is calling Grace?