Pain Slut(5)

By: J.A. Rock



He was staring at my balls, his own breathing harsh, one hand hovering at the front of his pants. I wanted to invite him to touch himself.

When I did come, it was sort of a pathetic drizzle. I lay back against the steel table, relieved.

He drew the needle out of my balls and disposed of it in the sharps container. Removed his gloves, then undid the wrist cuffs. I slid my feet from the stirrups and let them dangle off the sides of the table.

“Do you wanna . . .?” I tipped my head toward his crotch. “Or want me to . . .?”

He shook his head. “It’s okay.”

He tried to help me clean up the needle entry site, but I took the alcohol pad and did it myself. I felt awkward now that we were finished.

He took the pad from me and tossed it in the trash. “So how’d that stack up to the injection?”

“Better.” I glanced down at my balls. “They look a lot more even. I don’t know how I’m supposed to stand up, though.”

“You can hang out here as long as you want.” He paused. “But I know you like to bolt as soon as we’re done.”

“You know me too well.”

“You need anything? Tylenol? Water? A hug?”

Part of me wanted to accept. And part of me shut down the idea immediately. “I’m good. I think I’ll just head home.”

There was something forced about his smile. “Some things don’t change.”

I laughed. “We really have been doing this a long time.”

“Uh-huh.”

I folded my hands over my belly. “Sometimes it just feels so comfortable that I wish I didn’t have to . . .”

“What?”

“Seek out new partners. Explain myself to them.”

He pulled a rolling chair over to the exam table and sat.

I looked at him. “Do you ever feel like that?”

“Commitment’s not really for me. Sorry.”

“Oh no. No, no, I didn’t mean that I want to—” I stopped before I could say something truly insensitive. “Not that you’re not . . . I just wasn’t thinking about that. I prefer that things remain casual.”

But every once in a while I wanted something passionate with someone who was just mine.

Bowser flicked my balls affectionately. “Well, anytime you wanna get off, you know you can come here.”

I snorted. “I appreciate that. And will most likely take you up on that. Many times.”

He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again.

“What?” I asked.

“We’ve been playin’ for years. I guess I always hoped one of these days, you’d actually submit to me.”

I raised my brows. “I was just tied to a table while you stuck a needle in my balls and cut my scrotum.”

He offered a hint of the Mario laugh. “I know. You do a real good job takin’ what I give you. You’re just a little clinical about it. Even when you’re cryin’ from the pain, you feel kinda removed from me.”

That actually hurt. But I forced a grin. “Yeah, well. You can’t have it both ways. You want to keep it casual, you can’t expect me to cry in your arms and sleep in your bed.”

“I know. I oughta shut up.”

“I’ve never felt like much of a submissive. A bottom and a pain pig, more like.”

“Well, hey. That’s—”

My phone buzzed. I sat up and tried, not quite successfully, to move my lower body. “Could you . . .?”

Bowser walked over to my bag and retrieved the phone. Handed it to me.

Texts from Jason, one of my employees at A2A Wear. Frantic and past the point of coherency.

Problem with the rush order I don’t know what to do please come in shirts are wrong too late to do anything its team funeral they’ll freak out omg omg.

Jason must have been sincerely distressed to forego punctuation. My heart started pounding as I realized there was no way I could go into the shop when my balls were the size of a melon.

“I’m sorry,” I told Bowser. “I have to make a call.”

And so I sat naked on the exam table with my balloon balls resting on my thighs and called Jason. His story was even less coherent over the phone. Apparently a very large and important shipment of T-shirts had a spelling error. I started to ask if he could text me pictures of the disaster, but his voice got half an octave higher, and I said, “Forget it. I’m coming in.”

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