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My dick and nuts were trussed up with leather ties so tight that they were aching with constricted blood. My nipples were hurtingin the teeth of some very wicked clamps that Sir had put on me just before he’d taken my breath away with the first flick of his fingers to my tight balls.
He’d started out just flicking them with his fingers, shockingly hurtful with them tied to bursting. Then he’d moved on to swatting them with his palm—which was gaggingly painful. Then he’d taken a riding crop down from the wall of implements, and now I had no idea where I ended and where pain began. I was riding on an endless loop of it, shocked I could still breathe. But I did, the breaths coming out dressed in screeches and screams, and all the while Sir kept on tapping my balls with that crop until I thought I’d throw up or die, or both.
Eventually, like hitting a wall, I felt that dizzying drop from my usual consciousness followed by wild, soaring flight. Up, up, up. High as I could possibly go. Pain wracked me, but my mind was elsewhere, dripping with honey and bliss. Pain transformed into pleasure, and the pleasure back to pain in an infinite pattern that I could feel, but barely understand.
“That’s it,” Sir said gruffly. “Been waiting for this. Look at you. Just look at you.”
He sounded happy about it, like he was praising me, but I didn’t dwell on that. I focused on the pain. I wanted him to spit on me again, call me names, hit me, and demean me. I needed it. I begged.
Sir, like a god on high, answered my prayers. “Filthy slut. Nasty cum-dumpster. Begging like a pig for more. You want more, bitch? I’ll give you more.”
I moaned as he tugged on my ankle restraints, and then knelt on the short platform of leather padding I’d used to climb onto the bench. The position put his cock level with my hole. After a quick spit and a swipe of my pre-cum gathered in a pool on my belly, he nudged his cockhead inside my hole. I grunted as he pushed harderagainst my tender rim, still aching from his earlier bite.
“Sir,” I whimpered. “It hurts.”
He slapped my bruised ass, and I yelped. “It’s gonna hurt more,” he said, shoving in harder, and I shuddered all over.
I loved being rough-fucked. I loved it so much, possibly more than most anything else in life. I’d gone to hideous lengths to get boys to put their dicks in me like this, and yet none of them had ever had the creativity to tie my balls up while doing it. It took the pain to a whole other level.
Sir got fully seated inside me, and then he smirked. I’d already learned that was a dangerous expression on him, and I wanted to cover my genitals, prevent whatever was ahead now. But I couldn’t.
He didn’t go for them at first. Instead, he removed the clamps from my nipples, tossing them aside as I shouted at the sting of blood rushing back into my tender tissues. I jerked at the restraints, wanting to rub my nipples and grab my cock, torn between needing to soothe the pain and jerk off to the pleasure.
But Sir chose for me.
He took hold of my dick, stroking at the same tempo as his thrusts into me. With his other hand, he flicked my sore balls at random. I screamed, gagged again, and heaved. I almost threw up, but the sensations were far too entrancing for me to even consider saying poodle. I wanted this pain. I wanted to hurt.
I wanted Sir to own me body and soul, to make me his plaything, and for my body to be at his service. I stared up at him, seeing him as a god, as the godI’dbeen to Kyle—and found myself fascinated by his manly form. He was my master. I was his boy. I was going to suffer as long as he found it entertaining to make me scream and cry.
I loved it.
Here, split on his dick and enduring his pain, I was free. Just me, agony, and his thick cock in my ass rubbing against my prostateand making my insides sing in opposition to the breathtaking pain. It was stunning, and I wasstunned.
“Filthy slut,” Sir bit out between thrusts. “Look at your cum-hungry hole. You’re just taking my cock like you were made for it.Fuck. You’re a greedy whore.”
“Spit on me,” I pleaded. “Please, Sir. Please.”
“You think you deserve my spit?” Sir snorted. “No, you only deserve this.” He pulled out of my ass, stood up, and while I panted desperately, horny and empty and aching from head to toe, he pinched the head of his dick until his hard-on eased, and then he pissed on me.
Tied down like I was, I couldn’t move, couldn’t resist. The word poodle came to mind, but I didn’t say it. Warm piss flowed over my hard cock, my throbbing balls, my heaving stomach, and filled my belly button. It was thicker than water, denser, and I was shocked to be so degraded, so used. He’d told me he would do it—and I’d checked the box on the list—but I hadn’t known how it’d make me feel. Like trash. Like a dirty, used boy for Sir to humiliate. As I struggled through the feelings, he pissed up over my chest, and then into my gaping, shocked mouth. I sputtered, spitting it out.
“Swallow it,” he ordered, gripping my jaw, re-aiming his dick and pissing the last of his stream inside. It tasted salty-sour, tangy and overwhelming, and I gagged again, but I managed to get it down.
“Mitchell,” he said with a sneer. “You’re going to regret spitting my piss out.”
I gasped as he twisted my nipples brutally and then moved back down between my legs. I thought he’d fuck into me again, but instead I screamed as he ran something sharp over my balls. A knife? A fucking knife on my balls? I’d ticked off knife play, but hadn’t he crossed it off again? When? How? I hadn’t seen him get a knife.
I stared at the ceiling, my breath hitching in and out. Terrorpooled in my gut. I felt like I was going to die or levitate from my body.
Looming over me, the bastard smiled—no, he fuckinggrinnedlike he was a demented monster, and I felt the stinging sensation across my balls again. Was he cutting them? Cuttingme?
“Thereit is,” he said with a sadistic tone. “There’s the true fear I love to see. Been waiting for it to show up.”
“Sir,” I gasped. “Please…”
“You don’t need your balls, do you, boy?”
I sobbed, fear wrenching through me so hard I rattled the bench with my shaking.
