Smut For Sinners

TW: Ballbusting, Slavery, Noncon

“She’s here again,” Merlea said when Devon walked in. He had a lot of repeat customers, so he tried not to think much of it, and passively said, “Who?”

“Oh, I don’t think she wants you to know her name. The newbie who smashed your testicles with a hammer pretty badly.”

He had hoped she wouldn’t be back. It had been three weeks since the last time he saw her. Three weeks of constant, unending pain. Three weeks that made the rest of his journey seem easy.

“Oh,” he said, hanging up his rain-wet coat. He tried to sound nonchalant.

“We agreed on a price for you, if you do well today.”

He didn’t think he had ever had anyone get that far for him, and he didn’t know that he really wanted her to buy him. Once he was hers, she could do whatever she wanted to him. And he had a feeling she wouldn’t be nice. “Which room Miss Merlea?” he asked, not ready to comment on that.

“Room 3.”

He nodded, and when he got there the woman was already there. Her red hair showed her, as well as the pale skin and freckles, but everything else seemed to be different—she was in full black lingerie and had her own bag of toys next to her—either she wasn’t a newbie last time, or she had done a lot of training since then. “Hello Devon. Balls out, on the bed.”

“Yes Miss.” He unzipped his pants and pulled out his balls, so beaten and enlarged they barely fit out of his deep zipper. He got on the bed and laid his arms and legs out to the corners.

She chained him up. “Tell me Devon, has your cock every been inside a pussy?”

Devon’s eyes got wide at her. It was probably some game. “No Miss.”

“Well there’s a first time for everything. First time for me too, if you’d believe it.” He didn’t believe it, not after three weeks ago. He didn’t say anything, so she said, “Don’t you think you’ll like that?”

“Yes Miss.” He could see his cock twitching into attention, even as he told it not to.

“Okay, well, here we are.” She climbed on the bed and he realized that her panties were crotchless. He knew women like foreplay, had helped women with it, ate women out constantly, fingers, strap-ons, everything, but the newbie didn’t seem to think anything of that, and as she grabbed his cock firmly and immediately pushed it into her pussy, she was already wet. A momentary focus passed over her face, then it was in.

He had had fingers, tongue, strap-ons in pussies, but he had never realized how hot, tight, and wet they were until one gripped around his most sensitive member. He moaned so loud Marlea must have been able to hear it, it started out deep and guttural, but quickly becoming a high-pitched whine.

Then she started moving, her pussy milking him, seeming to contract with each upward and downward slide. He only lasted two.

“Miss—Miss I’m close—Miss.”

She stopped moving. “Breathe. In out, in out. Don’t come.”

He counted his breath, closed his eyes, and thought of the dead nun he had seen as a kid. He needed to keep calm, because that glorious, all-encompassing pussy was still around him.

“Ready?” she said. He thought if she even sneezed he would come. He took another deep breath.

“Yes Miss.” All she had to do was move up once. “Miss I’m close.”

She stopped moving. “Breathe. In out, in out. Don’t come.”

“I can’t Miss!”

“Are you begging me to stop? Because you know you can’t beg.”

“No miss,” he said with a sigh. He didn’t want her to stop, but he also didn’t want to be castrated.

“Ready?”

He squealed when she moved on him, his read rolling from side to side. “Close Miss!”

She stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Clearly you can’t handle this. Pity. I thought maybe you’d actually be able to make me come.” She pulled off him with a little pop. His cock twitched and jumped, feeling the chill of the air and open space. He groaned, writhing around the bed.

“Okay, if you can handle this, maybe I’ll let you come home with me. Maybe I’ll even let you come someday.” His cock twitched again, but he was breathing so hard he could barely hear her. He didn’t even feel the tears coming down his face.

She walked over to her bag and pulled out a studded mallet. The one probably cost a lot extra to use. Normally, no one could afford it. He had a feeling she could.

He kept his eyes on her, but wasn’t entirely sure he could see.

“We’re going to try something different today,” she said. He barely kept himself from groaning. “Every time I hit you, you’re going to tell you why I should take you home. Every time you stumble over it, I get three free hits. Once you get up to the right number of hits, minus the free hits, without begging, I’ll take you home.”

He wanted to ask how how many hits that was but knew that would not help. It was also much too confusing, he could barely count around her.

“Yes Miss.”

She held up the mallet, all the way over her head, and any thought he had about why he should go home with her was lost, even before she hit him. She swung it hard and fast, and he felt his balls not only be smashed, but also have the metal spikes blast into them. They weren’t razor sharp, but they were thick and heavy and he could feel the indents immediately. He barely remembered what he was supposed to do.

“I—I—I—I have thick hair.” It was the oddest fact about himself he knew, having nothing to do with sex, but Marlea had told him that once, and he wanted a mistress like Marlea.

“I wouldn’t mind coming in it.” She said, then brought the mallet up. All the way up, swing down, smash. He shrieked, it somehow hurting worse than the last one. He forgot to even think of one thing. After a wicked little giggle she said, “Okay, you didn’t say anything else.”

She brought the mallet up again and smashed it down. “I’m—submissive.” He said.

“All boys are. Not impressive. Anyway, these are free.” She brought it up and hit him again, and as he screeched he realized what he had to do.

“Stop, stop, please stop.”

She dropped the mallet. “Oh, honey, that wasn’t smart. Do you want to be castrated?”

“If it means you will stop.”

She took out the knife and pressed it against his balls, harder. For once, he closed his eyes. When he felt the cut start, he didn’t even scream. This was what he needed. Or, at the very least, he couldn’t be her personal slave. He couldn’t survive it.

He felt the blade turn and twist, slicing through skin, but not slicing off.

“The S is for me,” she said. “See you another time. Or not.” He didn’t open his eyes even when she left.