Pain Slut(3)

By: J.A. Rock



I hissed. “It feels so weird.”

What the hell kind of father? Seriously, Miles.

Cheryl Callahan from the Beacon Center was going to call any day now to schedule my first home visit, and here I was definitively proving that I had no business being a parent.

“It looks amazing.” Bowser lifted my balls. “Hurt?”

I shook my head. “Not— Ah!” I closed my eyes briefly as Bowser continued to heft. He flicked lightly, and I dragged air through my teeth.

I looked at the wall again. Bowser had a pleasant, quiet house. It was one of the reasons I continued to play with him. That and his formidable knowledge of erotic medical torture.

He poked my balls again. “Just sensitive, huh?”

“Yes.”

This was always how Bowser and I played—he didn’t do any of the hard-ass–dom posturing, and I didn’t do any of the submissive yes sir, please sir. I was here for pain, and he was here to give it to me.

He moved to his minifridge. Opened it and took out the tray of metal tools. Oh fuck. Yes.

He picked up a scalpel, which gleamed in the dim light. My dick throbbed, and my throat tightened.

“Oh God,” I whispered, as the saline stretched my balls further. The bag was nearly empty now, but my sac was still swelling. I’d worn loose sweatpants, but I was nervous about putting even those on when we were done. And underwear was simply not an option.

Bowser held the scalpel a few inches above my balls. I got a flash of fear that made my lungs seize, my ears ring, the inside of my skull ache. I caught the words between my teeth and crushed them: Don’t, please, please, don’t. God, no . . .

“I know you know this,” he said quietly, “but don’t move.”

“No shit.” I took a deep breath and let it out as he pressed the side of the scalpel flat against my balls. It was cold, but I didn’t let myself jump. I moaned, feeling all of the stress over Beacon Center and my iniquity vanish as I gave myself over to the thrill of this moment. If I moved, even a little bit, he could slit my skin. Blood would pour over my balls, a hot rush over cold metal, and . . . Shit, shit, shit, just the idea made me want to squirm.

I kept my breathing steady and even. Closed my eyes for a second so I could concentrate on the chill of the metal. The way it both numbed my nerves and roused them. I opened my eyes again so I could watch. Bowser dragged the flat of the scalpel lightly over my scrotum. Tilted it just slightly, for a fraction of an instant. Almost immediately, a thin line of blood appeared. I watched in fascination. Bowser put down the scalpel, unwrapped another alcohol pad, and wiped the blood away. The sting of the alcohol made me arch against the table. He held the pad against the wound until the bleeding stopped.

He gave me another small cut with the scalpel, and I closed my eyes, hoping to feel the blood run a little before he wiped it away. I sighed, all at once deeply peaceful.

“There you go,” Bowser whispered, keeping a light pressure on the cut.

I smiled.

“You look really good.”

I opened my eyes. “You don’t have to say things like that.”

He leaned over and sucked my left nipple. It surprised me—he was rarely sexual with me. But it felt so damn good. Warm and wet, his beard scraping my pecs, his teeth catching my nipple for the barest sliver of a moment, making me gasp. He walked around the table and sucked the other one too, until I was almost sore, until my cock was tapping my belly every few seconds, leaving a damp spot on the skin.

He threw the alcohol pad away, wrapped the scalpel for sterilization, and applied a clear dressing on the cuts before bandaging them. He changed his gloves and picked up a genital whip. My stomach constricted. That thing hurt even when my balls weren’t five times their normal size. It looked like a miniature flogger—about the length of my hand. But the falls were strands of plastic beads.

He brushed the plastic falls down my chest, over my stomach. Whacked each nipple, making me jump as the tiny beads stung the swollen peaks. He stopped just under my navel to lightly flog the area above my groin. Since my dick was still pressed against my belly, the falls struck the head a couple of times, and I gulped, tears of sheer pain streaming from my eyes.

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