I slam the door shut and fumble for the lock, dismayed to find that none existed. If Master Grigori wanted in tonight, nothing would stop him. The thought of him entering at will and having his way with me sends me gasping in arousal. My skin exudes heat as erotic energy flows through my body. Ripping off my shirt and pants, I race over to the bed and fling back the sheets. Cool satin is a balm to my overheated body as I wiggly my back into the decadent fabric. Spreading my legs, I let the cool air swirl about, sending goosebumps over my body. I reach down, my brain fixated on Master Grigori, just like he threatened. I hate that my body wants him even though my brain wants nothing to do with him.
All I need is a few good orgasms, and he'll be out of my brain and my body. I'll be able to go back to the status quo of bending over and letting him rut out his frustrations into me. Nothing more, nothing less. The moment my fingers skim lower, I realize something is very wrong. Panic sends my brain into overdrive, sending the need to hurl racing through my gut. He said he didn't remove my clit, yet as I'm pushing down, there's nothing. No nub, no sensation other than pressure. He maimed me. The monster actually maimed me.
Racing to the bathroom, I empty out drawers until I finally find a mirror. Better to get this over with and know the damage now than to be left wondering. With trembling fingers, I bring the mirror lower, battling within myself whether or not ignorance is bliss. A low whine fills the bathroom as I force myself to face the music and see the damage. As the area where my clit should be comes into view, relief buckles my knees, nearly sending me to the floor if I didn't have such a tight grip on the counter. A shield of sorts covers the area with silicone around the edges to protect the delicate flesh. It goes from the top ridge of the clit down to just above where I pee.
My heart pounds as I maneuver my fingers around, trying to gain access. Nothing. Anything more than a cursory touch sends a jolt of pain through the area, reminding me that, since it's freshly pierced, if I mess it up, it could mean big trouble. Once the adrenaline has a chance to wear off, frustration sets in. My arousal is off the charts, and there's nothing I can do to tamp it down. Growling, I stomp over the bed, flinging the pillows about. It's not as much destruction as I'd like, but it's enough to let me vent my anger without getting into trouble.
Snatching one from off the floor, I flop it onto the bed before punching it several times. The feeling of my fists smacking the thick foam eases some of the tension in me but does nothing for the arousal. I lower my head to the pillow and scream as hard and long as I can. Hoarse and wrung out, I sag against the pillow, unable to even cry at this point. Besides, what's the use? Crying isn't going to magically unlock my clit. Turning over to my back, I try again, seeing if soft, delicate touches will do anything. With the shield in place, I can only get the barest of touches. Enough to stoke the fire, but not nearly enough to extinguish it.
Groaning, I slide my fingers further down, inserting them deep within me. I thrust back and forth, desperate for any sort of relief. Irritation claws its way through my body as I finger myself as best I can without jostling the piercing. No matter how deep I go, it only makes things worse. I keep climbing, the needed orgasm swirling just out of reach. Everything feels so good - so amazing - but I keep plateauing. Without stimulation to my clit, everything just becomes more frustrating.
Flipping around, I punch the pillow again, gripping at the sheets as I try in vain to hump the bed. Sleep takes forever to reach me, and when it does, it's fitful. I wake up several times throughout the night, drenched and aching. Each time, my brain is brought back to Master Grigori. His threats ring in my ears. I want anything but to think about him, but the more I ache, the more I want him here to soothe me and make me come over and over again. I am so fucked.