TW: Noncon Extreme Ballbusting, Cults, Torture, Mentions of Murder
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Marlea waved at Devon when he came in. “I have an odd one here for you today.”
“Oh?” he mused, but he didn’t ask her to share. Marlea was a talker. She would.
“Says she’s a member of one of those cults or another. She blabbered too much for me to really hear which one.”
Cults did less sacrificing now that it was so common, so he told himself not to think too much of it. Just another client. “I’ll let you know if I find out. Which room?”
“Basement.”
Devon froze for just a fraction of a second, nodded, then descended into the basement.
“If you need me—well, I won’t know what your scream means,” Marlea said with an uncomfortable laugh.
Devon laughed back as he opened the thick stone door. The lights were on, which may or may not be a good sign. The basement was the most severe of the rooms in the brothel. Chains everywhere, electric chairs, places to hang men by their balls. He could be caused pain anywhere, but the people who brought him here were the true, oddest, sadists. Not just the curious girls. Not just the angry guys. The sadists.
The woman in front of him was in a black dress with her hair tied back under a hood so tight he wasn’t sure what color it was. She might have been pretty underneath, but he had no way of having any idea.
“Hello Devon.”
“Hello miss.”
“Call me Morgana.”
“Hello Morgana.”
“Thank you. I have a special job for you. It’s going to be very important. I’m trying to raise up brothel boys—brothel men, as it were—to fight and help men take back over the world.”
“Back?” Devon said, confused. “Men were never in charge of the world.”
“Oh, but they were, many moons ago.”
The moon thing made Devon think she was the craziest. “Well—uh—what do you need me to do? Do you need me to strip Morgana?”
“I need you to kill Marlea.”
“But—” his mind raced. “I can’t kill her. She’s always been perfectly nice to me.”
“Nice to you while keeping you here?”
“That’s her job, and it’s a lot better here than other brothels.”
“Oh really? Have you ever been to another brothel to see?”
“Well, no, but she tells me.”
“Oh, she tells you. If you continue to be a brothel boy, it’ll only get worse.”
“I might get bought.”
“Or you could start a revolution.”
He laughed. He wasn’t supposed to laugh at clients, but it all seemed so ridiculous.
“If you’re going to treat me that way, I can show you exactly what I mean. I need just your balls out of your pants, while you lay on the ground.”
He listened, unsure where this was going. She grabbed a heavy chain from the ceiling, one with a little ball-holder on it. She shoved his large, aching balls through the metal circle meant to hold them, and he grimaced but remained silent. She seemed to do it without any pleasure, but with a lot of determination.
“Now, are you ready to kill Marlea?”
“No Morgana,” he said, a small smile on his face.
“I hate this, you know,” she said. “You do too. I can see it on you. You’re not one of the ones who enjoy it. And you’ll never get away. You’ll feel this—” She gave a wicked crank of the wheel on the wall to pull up the chain— “Forever.”
His balls were yanked hard, so much that his ass wasn’t on the ground, and he yelped, but then fell silent, breathing hard. He didn’t want this forever, but killing Marlea would just get him in a brothel for punishment instead of slavery—and that had to be worse, right?
“Are you ready to kill her?”
“I’m not going to kill her Morgana.”
She spun it again, and he yanked up, this time only a bit of feet, a bit of hand, and the back of his head on the ground. He yelped, then groaned, leaning his head back, trying to put more weight on it. He knew, from experience, that he could hang his body from his balls, but he didn’t like the feeling.
“Is doing this every day really better than killing her?”
“I’m not going to kill her.”
She spun it again, and then he was completely hanging by his balls. He screamed, his scrotum feeling so tight and his body feeling so heavy he must have gained loads of weight.
“This is just the beginning,” she said, and he wasn’t sure if she meant the beginning of his torment or the beginning of the revolution. She leaned forward and gave him a shove so he was swinging by his balls. “Kill her,” she said, then walked off.
He saw her go out the back door and swore loudly, no one there to hear. He screamed, the feeling on his balls exploding through his body. He was shaking, and it only made things worse.
“Miss Marlea,” he screamed. “Miss Marlea, help. She’s gone. Help.” He wasn’t sure how long he was screaming for, covered in sweat and sobbing, before he felt gentle hands on his balls and collapsed on the ground.
“I’m sorry, it never gets any easier, does it? Was she too crazy?”
“Very,” he said, as she gently checked over his sore balls.
“They’re pretty beat up after this one, but no doctors will be available before work tomorrow, so I’m sure you’ll be fine. You can go home, if you need to.”
“Whatever you want Miss Marlea.”
“Then why don’t you do one more client?”
“Thank you, Miss Marlea.”
Smut For Sinners 