Chapter 15: Body Modes
The warehouse air tasted of rust and forgotten things. Sam stood before Eleanor, the cracked leather album under one arm, her body humming with a new, volatile electricity. “The rules stand,” Sam said, her voice echoing slightly in the vast space. “But within them, we decide what happens to this.” She gestured at her own form with chilling detachment. “Piercings first,” Eleanor stated, her photographer’s eye already assessing. “Nipples. A captive bead 10 gauge ring through each.” Plus a Vertical and horizontal barbell Sam nodded. “Green. Do it after the tattoo.” She opened the album page showing a design a subservient blonde being whipped by a dominating redhead. Here. Across my shoulders. The scars need covering.” Eleanor traced the design, then Sam’s skin. “And my decision?”
Sam’s smile was thin. “Your hair. That neat red pageboy goes. I want it shaved bald on one side, long on the other. Dyed black. Eyebrows are also dyed black” A pause hung between them, charged. “And weight?” Eleanor asked. Sam’s gaze was flat. “You’ll gain fifteen pounds. I want more to hold onto.” The clinical words ignited them. Eleanor shoved Sam against a steel pillar, her mouth claiming Sam’s with brutal force. Her hand ripped open Sam’s jeans, fingers diving into wet heat. “This is the contract,” Eleanor snarled, fucking her with rough, urgent strokes. Sam gasped, biting Eleanor’s lip until she tasted blood. “Yes,” Sam hissed, “mark it all.”
The agreement hung between them, a live wire. Eleanor’s fingers, still slick from Sam’s cunt, smeared the wetness across Sam’s bottom lip. “The tattoo first,” Eleanor whispered, her breath hot, “I want you feeling every second of it.” She led Sam to a cleared space where a single worklight glared, its cord snaking into shadows. The artist, a silent woman with knuckle tattoos, waited beside her humming machine.
Sam stripped to the waist, the warehouse cold on her skin, and lay face-down on the stained leather table. The stencil of fractured stars was placed, a universe of broken lines across her shoulder blades. The needle’s bite was instant, a hot, precise vibration that Sam absorbed with a sharp intake of breath. “Green,” she muttered into the leather, her fists clenching.
Eleanor watched, lens-less, as the needle chewed into the old scar tissue, black ink swallowing the pale, raised flesh. She didn’t photograph it. She studied the tightening of Sam’s back muscles, the sheen of sweat forming at her nape. Each pass of the needle was a punctuation in their silent dialogue. “It hurts more over the scars,” the artist said quietly, and Sam’s answering laugh was a cracked thing.
“Good,” Sam breathed. Two hours later, the raw, black design complete, Eleanor helped her sit up. Sam was trembling, adrenaline and endorphins buzzing in her veins. Eleanor kissed her then, a deep, claiming kiss that tasted of shared metal. “Now the piercings,” Eleanor said, her voice low and thick.
She produced a sterile kit from her bag, laying out the shining, sharpened steel. “Hands on the table, arch your back,” Eleanor instructed, swabbing Sam’s left nipple with cold alcohol. Sam obeyed, presenting her chest, the peaked flesh tight and sensitive. Eleanor lined up the receiving tube, the hollow needle glinting under the light.
“This is for the album they never finished,” Eleanor said, and punched the needle through in one clean, brutal motion. Next were the origami vertical po piercings. Sam’s cry echoed off the high ceiling, a raw sound of pain and triumph. The captive bead ring followed, clicked into place, a cold, heavy weight on her burning flesh. “Again,” Sam demanded, her eyes streaming, and Eleanor repeated the act on the right side, her own hands steady.
Blood welled in perfect, crimson beads. Eleanor leaned down and licked one clean, the copper tang mixing with the taste of Sam’s sweat. Sam grabbed Eleanor’s hair, pulling her into another savage kiss. “Fuck me with the pain still fresh,” Sam growled against her mouth, already fumbling for the buckle of Eleanor’s pants.
Eleanor’s belt clattered to the concrete as Sam yanked her jeans and underwear down in one frantic motion. “You’re a fucking animal,” Eleanor gasped, her own need a throbbing answer to Sam’s savage tone. Sam turned, bracing her hands on the cold steel table, the fresh ink and metal on her back a map of their collision.
She guided Eleanor’s cock into her with a ragged, impaling push, taking its full length in one brutal stroke. The invasion was scalding, a deep, punishing stretch that made Sam’s vision blur. “Harder,” Sam choked out, her new rings pulling taut against her tender flesh with every reverberating impact.
Eleanor obeyed, her hips slamming forward, each thrust jolting the table. The rhythmic, wet slap of skin echoed off the distant walls. Sam could feel the raised welts from the warehouse cane grinding against the hard edge of the table with every drive forward.
“Is this covering the scars?” Eleanor grunted, her fingers digging into the fresh tattoo. Sam cried out, a sharp mix of agony and blinding pleasure coiling in her gut. “It’s making new ones,” she panted, pushing back to meet each punishing advance.
Eleanor’s hand snaked around, fingers finding Sam’s clit, rubbing rough, urgent circles. The dual assault was relentless, overwhelming. Sam’s climax hit her like a system crash, a silent, shuddering convulsion that milked Eleanor deep inside her.
Elearon followed, a low groan escaping her as she pumped her release into Sam’s clutching heat. For a long minute, the only sound was their ragged breathing merging with the distant drip of water. Eleanor slowly pulled out, and Sam winced, feeling the slick, aching aftermath.
She turned, her gaze falling to the leather album on a nearby crate. “The weight,” Sam said, her voice hoarse. “Start tonight.” Eleanor nodded, wiping her hand on her thigh, her eyes dark with a possession that had finally, fully, cracked her open.
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Eleanor’s fingers, still damp, traced the fresh black ink on Sam’s shoulders. “The kitchen,” she said, her voice a rough whisper against Sam’s ear. They drove back in a silence thick with the smell of sex and antiseptic.
In the stark white light, Eleanor moved with a new, frightening purpose. She pulled a gallon of whole milk from the fridge, then a tub of protein powder from a high shelf. “Open,” she commanded, her eyes locking onto Sam’s.
Sam parted her lips, a faint tremor in her jaw. Eleanor mixed the thick, chalky slurry in a large blender bottle. “You wanted more to hold,” Eleanor murmured, tilting the spout to Sam’s mouth. “So drink.”
The cold, cloying liquid flooded Sam’s tongue, forcing her to swallow convulsively. Some spilled, tracing a white line down her chin to her new piercings. Eleanor watched her throat work, her own breath coming faster. “All of it,” she growled, tipping the bottle higher.
Sam’s stomach protested, a dull ache blooming beneath her ribs. She drained the last of it, her eyes watering. Eleanor discarded the bottle, her hands going to Sam’s belt. “My turn,” Sam slurred, a surge of defiance cutting through the bloated haze.
She pushed Eleanor onto the kitchen table, the cold marble biting through her shirt. Sam yanked her jeans down, her mouth descending on Eleanor’s cunt with a frantic, hungry pressure. Her tongue lapped at the swollen flesh, greedy for the taste of their earlier fuck.
“Use your fucking words,” Sam growled, her voice muffled against Eleanor’s skin. “Green,” Eleanor gasped, her hands tangling in Sam’s ponytail, yanking her closer. Sam responded by driving two fingers deep inside Eleanor’s wet heat, curling them sharply.
“You’ll take everything I give you,” Sam panted, fucking her with a hard, steady rhythm. Eleanor’s hips bucked, her heels digging into Sam’s fresh tattoo, sending spikes of brilliant pain up her spine. Sam came untouched, her orgasm triggered by the agony, pulsing around her own invading fingers.
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Sam slumped against Eleanor’s thigh, her breathing a ragged symphony in the quiet kitchen. Eleanor’s fingers, sticky with Sam’s release, gently extracted themselves. “The hair,” Eleanor stated, her voice still husky but firm, leading Sam by the hand to a stool in the center of the room. Eleanor tells sam that she wants to cut her hair over a long period of time sometime beautiful some other time embarrassing vibrant colors eventually BALD
She draped a towel around Sam’s shoulders, the fabric stark white against the new, violent tattoo.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Eleanor growled, her palm stinging. She grabbed Sam’s wrist, forcing it down between their bodies. “You want to feel equal?” Eleanor’s other hand dug into Sam’s jeans, fingers pushing past the waistband. “Then feel this.” She found Sam’s cunt, soaked and hot, and shoved two fingers inside without ceremony. Sam’s gasp was raw, her hips bucking against the intrusion. “Fuck you,” Sam choked out, but her body arched, seeking more. Eleanor fucked her with hard, punishing strokes, her thumb grinding against Sam’s clit. “Come for me,” Eleanor commanded, her voice guttural. Sam’s climax ripped through her, a silent, convulsive wave that left her trembling against the counter.
Sam’s climax ripped through her, a silent, convulsive wave that left her trembling against the counter. Eleanor withdrew her fingers slowly, slick and gleaming, and wiped them on the jagged black tufts of Sam’s new haircut. “The rules,” Sam panted, her chest heaving, “said we decide everything.”
“We are,” Eleanor said, her own breath hot and quick. She grabbed the half-empty bag of protein powder, scooped a chalky handful, and mixed it with water in a filthy glass. “Drink.” Sam took the glass, her knuckles white, and forced the thick paste down her throat. It coated her mouth, a gritty, wretched swallow that made her stomach clench.
Eleanor watched, her eyes glinting. “More,” she commanded, and Sam drank again, a trickle of white sludge escaping her lips. Her distended belly ached under the fresh tattoo. “Now you,” Sam gasped, slamming the empty glass down. She pulled Eleanor’s hips roughly against the counter’s edge, her hands yanking down her jeans. Sam’s mouth found Eleanor’s cunt, her tongue lapping at the wet, swollen flesh with a frantic, starving pressure.
“Fuck, just like that,” Eleanor groaned, her fingers twisting in Sam’s shorn hair. Sam pushed two fingers inside, curling them upward, her tongue circling Eleanor’s clit with a ruthless rhythm. “You’re mine,” Sam growled, her words vibrating against Eleanor’s skin, “this ruined, greedy cunt is mine.” Eleanor’s thighs tightened around Sam’s head as she came, a sharp, gasping release that Sam drank down until she shuddered and pushed her away.
They slid to the floor together, a tangled heap of new wounds and old sweat.
They slid to the floor together, a tangled heap of new wounds and old sweat. Eleanor’s hand, wandering across the cool tile, found the small, sterile pouch she’d dropped earlier. “You missed one,” she whispered, her voice shredded.
She tore the packet open with her teeth. The steel barbell gleamed in her palm. “The hood,” Eleanor stated, her eyes locked on Sam’s. “Right above the clit.” Sam’s legs fell open in a silent, fluid motion of consent, exposing the slick, swollen flesh. Eleanor’s fingers parted her, finding the thin fold of skin. “This is for the green-walled room,” she breathed, her other hand positioning the needle. She pierced her. The steel punched through in one clean, brutal motion. Sam’s whole body jerked, a punched-out gasp escaping her as the sharp, singular pain blossomed into a deep, throbbing ache. Eleanor slid the barbell home, the cold metal ball settling heavily against Sam’s hypersensitive nerve endings. “Fuck,” Sam whimpered, her hips lifting involuntarily, the new presence a constant, shocking claim. Eleanor lowered her head, her tongue circling the fresh metal, tasting blood and salt. Sam’s hands scrabbled at Eleanor’s shorn head, her back arching off the floor. The pain was a bright, clarifying wire, connecting directly to the residue in her bones. It felt like an answer.
It felt like an answer.
"Tattoo next," Sam slurred, her voice thick with pain and arousal, her fingers tracing the fresh ink on her own shoulders.
Eleanor pulled back, her eyes dark with understanding.
"Where?" she asked, her hand still resting on Sam's trembling stomach.
"Your cunt," Sam said, the words a brutal command.
"I want my name inked right above it, where everyone can see."
Eleanor didn't hesitate, rising to fetch the tattoo machine from her bag.
The buzz of the needle filled the room again, a sound now as familiar as their breathing.
Sam guided Eleanor onto the cold tiles, spreading her legs wide.
The stencil was a simple, stark script: "Sam's".
Eleanor flinched as the needle bit into the delicate skin of her mons pubis.
"Fuck," she hissed, her knuckles white against the floor.
Sam watched, enthralled, as each letter was carved into Eleanor's flesh, a permanent claim.
The pain made Eleanor's cunt weep, a slickness that Sam couldn't ignore.
"You like that?" Sam murmured, her fingers dipping into the wetness.
"Green," Eleanor gasped, her hips lifting off the floor.
Sam fucked her with three fingers, hard and fast, matching the rhythm of the needle.
The artist, a silent participant, continued her work, ink and blood mixing.
Eleanor came with a raw scream, her body convulsing under the dual assaults.
The last buzz of the machine sealed it; they were bound now, in every possible way.
The buzz ceased, leaving a silence that rang in their ears. Eleanor looked down at the raw, smeared script on her pubis, then up at Sam’s shattered expression. "It's done," she said, her voice hoarse.
Sam’s fingers, trembling slightly, touched the fresh ink, smearing a drop of blood. "It's leaking," she observed, her tone curiously detached. She brought her stained fingers to her mouth, sucking them clean with a hollow-eyed stare.
The artist packed her machine away without a word, her footsteps receding into the house. They were alone on the kitchen floor, surrounded by the carnage of their transformation—hanks of hair, empty dye tubes, the lingering chemical stench. Eleanor’s stomach groaned, painfully full from the forced protein drink.
"More," Sam murmured, not looking at her, but at the half-empty bag of powder. "You’re not soft enough yet." She dragged the bag over, tearing it open with her teeth, and scooped another lump of chalky mix into a dirty bowl.
She only added a splash of water, creating a thick, nearly solid paste. "Eat it," Sam commanded, pushing the bowl toward Eleanor. Eleanor took a glob on two fingers, her gorge rising, and forced it into her mouth.
It stuck to her palate, dry and cloying. She gagged, but swallowed. Sam watched, her hand drifting between her own legs to touch the new steel in her hood. A sharp hiss escaped her lips, pain and pleasure knotting together in her gut.
"Your turn," Eleanor choked out, paste on her chin, and shoved the bowl back. Sam took a handful, shoveling the concrete-like mixture into her own mouth, her jaw working mechanically. They fed each other in silence, a grotesque communion, until the bag was empty and their bellies were hard, distended drums under their marked skin.
Sam lunged first, her mouth finding Eleanor’s, tasting of chalk and bile. They bit at each other’s lips, a fight more than a kiss. Eleanor rolled on top, her knee pressing into Sam’s full stomach, making her grunt.
"Feel that?" Eleanor rasped, grinding her knee deeper. "That’s what you wanted." She grabbed Sam’s wrists, pinning them above her head on the cold tile, and slammed her cunt down onto Sam’s face. "Clean the ink off your name."
Sam’s tongue, rough and urgent, laved at the sore, weeping tattoo. Eleanor rode her mouth, grinding against her nose and chin, her own fingers digging into the fresh ink on Sam’s shoulders. "Deeper," Eleanor commanded, and Sam obeyed, her tongue pushing into Eleanor’s cunt, fucking her with it as the taste of blood and plasma mixed with their shared salt.
Eleanor came with a broken shout, her thighs clamping around Sam’s head. When she rolled off, gasping, she saw Sam’s eyes were wet. Not from pain. "The green-walled room," Sam whispered, staring at the ceiling. "Tomorrow."
The word hung between them, a cold stone in the gut. Sam’s hand remained between her legs, fingertips resting lightly on the new steel in her hood, a faint thrumming ache that echoed the deeper one in her full, leaden stomach. Eleanor studied the raw, black script on her own pubis, the letters still slick with a mix of blood and Sam’s saliva. “It needs a seal,” Eleanor said, her voice scratchy from screaming. She pushed herself up from the tile, legs unsteady, and fetched the small black case containing the remaining sterile jewelry. “The contract didn’t cover my tits.” Sam watched her, eyes dark. “Your rules, your body.” Eleanor popped the cap on a small antiseptic wipe, the astringent smell cutting through the kitchen’s musk. “Then it’s green.” She swabbed her own left nipple, the pink flesh puckering tight under the cold liquid, and lined up the hollow needle. Sam rose to watch, her shadow falling over Eleanor’s hands. “For every scar you showed me,” Eleanor whispered, and punched the steel through her own flesh. A sharp, bright gasp escaped her, her knuckles whitening on the forceps. The ring followed, cold and heavy, a twin to Sam’s. She repeated the process on the right side, her breath hissing through clenched teeth as the metal breached skin, a second jewel of pain. Blood beaded in perfect spheres along the curves of silver. “Now we match,” Sam said, her voice low, and leaned in to lick the crimson streaks from Eleanor’s chest, the copper salt on her tongue a final, binding oath.
The coppery taste was a sacrament. Eleanor’s hand fisted in Sam’s ragged hair, holding her there. “You’re bleeding on the floor,” Sam mumbled against her skin, her tongue circling a silver ring.
“Let it stain,” Eleanor breathed, her head falling back. The distended ache in her gut from the protein paste was a dull, possessive throb. Sam’s own full stomach pressed against her thigh as they kneeled together in the kitchen wreckage.
“Tomorrow,” Sam said, the word vibrating into Eleanor’s sternum. “The green-walled room.” It wasn’t a question. Eleanor’s grip tightened. “You’ll tell me everything there.” Sam nodded, her nose brushing the fresh ink on Eleanor’s pubis. “And then you’ll fuck me in it.”
She pushed Eleanor backward onto the cold, sticky tiles. “Show me you can handle what’s coming.” Sam straddled her face, lowering her cunt, the new steel barbell catching the light. “Open.” Eleanor’s tongue met the swollen, pierced flesh, and Sam ground down, a low groan tearing from her throat. Eleanor’s hands clutched at Sam’s heavy hips, her tongue working in rough, desperate strokes as if to erase the very memory of Claire. Sam fucked her mouth with a punishing rhythm, her own fingers pinching and twisting Eleanor’s new nipple rings until their shared pain was a single, bright wire. “You take it,” Sam chanted, her voice breaking, “you take all of it.” She came with a shudder, her juices flooding Eleanor’s mouth, and collapsed sideways, their bodies a tangled, spent covenant on the floor. The green walls were waiting.