There's only you tonight

I sit on his back. There is always a lot of skin on skin, but today I opt to wear a few choice pieces: latex gloves, a hair bow, and the thinnest of sheer panties and a matching lace bra. The side of one calf is nestled into his side, the curl of my toes just barely grazing his cocked thigh. The other leg is bent, and my foot rests comfortably on his arm.
I lean down, kissing the back of his neck, keeping my hands from touching anything by holding my arms out so the kiss looks like a swan dive. I kiss over and over, up his neck and down his shoulder. I can feel his breath, as every time his chest rises it grazes my nipples. I can feel it slowing as he relaxes into the bed, into my body, and into what is about to happen
I slowly grind my hips into him, letting him feel how wet I am getting as my cunt begins to drip over his back. I can feel his hips rise slightly, knowing he is getting hard into the comforter. This only gets me wetter. I imagine his cock swelling, I picture taking it into my mouth as I open my lips and bite the skin of his neck and then shoulder. Holding it in my teeth, I tighten and softly lick, stroking his flesh with the tip of my tongue.
After a long moment, where I will either have to stop this or fuck him I sit up.
His skin is prepped and cleaned, ready for me to do what I love. I slowly pinch his skin in my fingers, rolling it slowly between my fingers until it is ready for me.
I pull the needle from its casing and drop the shell with an empty clink onto the metal tray beside us.
"Breathe in, Love." I feel his chest rise, holding it for a second. As he begins to let his breath out I slide the needle through the soft skin of his shoulder, right where wings would sprout from his back if only he freed them. He feel him shudder and then relax. I place the palm of my hand on him back.
I move slightly down, pinching more skin, telling him to breathe, repeating this ritual over and over. I poke and prod him, letting metal slip through this thin shell of his body, feeling him shudder and shake and growl each time. I feel every place of hesitancy of the needle. I try and push each through smoothly, but now and then there is a bit of resistance and I notice my breath catching with each stubborn needle. I push them in, tapping them all the way once they poke through the other side.
I place five and then six, ten and then fifteen and then twenty needles into a fan over his back. I decorate the canvas of beautiful curves and valleys over muscle and sinew with pretty silver tipped in blue. I string a gloved finger over the bumps that the metal lines create in his back. They are tiny bits of braille covering him in a wide, sparkling semi circle.
I slowly stroke the other side of his back, feeling the muscles tense and flex and relax, rippling from the slightest of touches. I stroke his hair, softly twirling it with one hand as I strum over the needles with the other.
And then I begin to tap them, making sure they are all securely in their place. I then sit back, bracing myself, planting a hand on the small of his back. I pull back and make a fist, coming down hard on the needles. I gasp at my own release of pent energy. I can feel him tense in desperate pain and I shiver at the thought of causing it. I swallow, trying to regain the calm and composure I need to finish this as precisely as I started. I punch again.
I hear him cry out, tensing his fingers tightly around the pillow and tensing every muscle at once. I do it again, punching over the needles, knowing there will be blood and bruises and a beautiful sun red and purple marks which I will stroke and touch and help to heal. Right now, though, they must be caused.
I punch down over and over, making sure every single needle gets hard smack, making sure the semi circle is complete before stopping. I am teetering on reckless as I pound over and over, feeling my body pulse only when my fist comes down. My heart beats in time, squeezing out more of my blood as I demand more of his.
He is crying out, wincing and groaning with each smack. Even when I stop I can hear his breath ragged and enraged. He is holding back everything which tells him to turn over and destroy me. With his size and strength, I know he could without a thought, needles still sticking from him.
I pause, placing the flat of my palm on his un-mangled skin. Finished punching, my skin is tingling with energy.  I feel like I've just cum with a hand tight on my throat. I stroke, running the tips of my fingers over his arm, strumming the length of it like a harp. I pull off my glove and run my fingers through his hair. I slide off his back and lean forward to kiss his shoulder.
I wait until his breathing calms, kissing softly across his neck, shoulder, down his arm. I lay next to him, fingers stroking over his side, leg wrapped around his, cheek resting calmly on his bicep. His heart slows, his breathing slows, his body relaxes.
I climb back on top of him. There is a crescent moon of pure pain and violent destruction rounding over his skin. There are already pricks of blood forming, and I know there will be cascading red streaks as soon as I begin to pull the needles.
I grab a new pair of gloves and paper towels and begin to slow process of pulling them out one by one. I pull quickly and slowly, feeling him writhe under me. As his hips rise and fall, it only makes me wetter. I slip needle by needle out of his skin as blood waterfalls down his side and into the waiting towel and what is revealed is the most beautiful sunset of reds and purples I have ever seen.