Smut For Sinners

TW: Ballbusting, Slavery, Non-con

Devon walked into the ballbusting brothel with a bit of uncertainty. It felt different that day, though he didn’t know why. Marlea greeted him at the door with a little wave. “I have something new for you today.”

He paused. There was pain, day after day, but new wasn’t entirely common. He didn’t have to ask what it was though, Marlea always told him. “Okay Ms. Marlea.”

“She is going to give you a medicine that will make your balls more sensitive. She came with the paperw ork promising that it will not hurt you. It will last all day though, so hopefully you don’t have anyone particularly brutal today. But don’t worry, she said it doesn’t make your balls anymore likely to rupture.”

He liked to think his balls couldn’t be any more sensitive, but he did know a day after a particularly rough day meant more sensitive balls, so it was possible. He swallowed. “Okay, thank you.”

“Room 3.”

He walked into room 3 and saw a petite young woman with a thin frame, a brown bob, and large plaid glasses. “You can strip completely,” she said calmly.. In her hand was a test tube full of an odd green liquid and and a syringe with a large needle. He swallowed again, as someone who had had needles put in his balls before, but he would be just fine.

He took all his clothes off, and even the littlest brush against his cock alit a collection of desire, but he looked at the needle and it immediately went down.

“Lay on the bed, spread eagle.” He complied and she got him cuffed up. Then the woman stuck the needle in the test tube and sucked up the liquid. All of it. When the needle first entered his left testicle he jumped a bit, but she didn’t twist it or otherwise make it worse. She did half of the liquid then pulled the needle out. He expected her to do the other testicle, but instead she set it on a small side table near the bed.

He expected her to explain something about what she was doing, but she didn’t. He was relieved Marlea did. When the syringe and test tube were set down, she grabbed his ball, roughly, and with how bruised and beaten it was, it hurt, but still normal hurt. She kneeded them in her fist, and he watched her. She didn’t make any real effort to focus on the bruises or anything, and he would have thought she were bored if not for the way her eyes were studying every part of his body.

It didn’t get worse all at once, but in stages. He would have assumed she was digging in her thumb, hard, into a bruise, but she wasn’t. Then, it felt as if she was squeezing with some sort of vice, but she wasn’t. Just a gentle kneeding. Soon, he was shrieking.

She let go and stepped off the bed. He instinctively tried curling up, but he was still tied up. He needed a way out of this. If she was going to do anything harder, he couldn’t hand it.

She reached into a toy chest and grabbed a paddle. She climbed back on the bed again, and her knee scrapped his balls as she straddled him. He screamed, and the woman looked at him quizzically before realizing what she had done. Still, there was no emotion in her features. She took the paddle and spent a little bit gently paddling his balls, tapping on them lightly like they were ping pong balls. In fact, as she did it, Devon was positive he could see his balls bouncing up and down in his ballsack until his vision erupted into stars as he screamed. When he did that, she paused, pulling back the paddle all the way. She waited though, while he caught his breath, panting, as if wanting to make sure he wasn’t in too much pain to be unable to realize what was going on.

When his eyesight and breathing were as calm as they could be, she took it from as far back as she could get it, and the smack of wood on the delicate flesh of his balls, and his balls against the flesh of his crotch echoed. He shrieked. The pain radiated throughout his  testicles, both of them, to his body, and then past his body, as if the bed was pain, the room was pain, the world was pain. The only thing not in pain was her, and that was because she was the cause of it.

Once again, she let him calm down, though this time it was a lot longer. “Okay, slave,” she said calmly, without a modicum of pleasure in her voice, “I am going to use two different tools on you. You are going to tell me which one hurts worse and why. Once you are able to correctly identify that, I will be done with experiments for the day.

He paused. Experiments? For the day? What was happening? He watched her walk towards the chest, dig around, then grab the steel headed mallet, the one without the spikes.

He wasn’t allowed to beg, he knew that, but at this point, casteration seemed better. “Please,” he rasped, his voice more pain then word. She lifted up all the way above her head. He was afraid he couldn’t hear her. “Please,” he rasped louder, sobs wracking his voice. “Please, ma’am, please no.”

It was as if she was completely deaf, and he screamed even as the mallet came down, with lightening speed, and swung with strength, not just let fall.

He stopped existing for a moment. It wasn’t just his balls crushed, but his whole body. Bruises were even on his brain, on his insides, on his soul. He shrieked and shrieked, but it was mostly, screaming, horrible sobs.

He didn’t even realize she was digging through the toy box till he finally calmed down and a whip was over him, high up once again, but with the right arm and hand placement. Surely it couldn’t be worse than the mallet. Still, he knew it was thin and that it often left welts on his balls, sometimes to the point of bleeding.

“They’re already broken,” he whispered. “I can feel it. There’s none left. There’s nothing to do.” The whip came up and cracked down.

The cut from the whip must have broken his whole body in two. Not just welts, but splitting his body apart. It seemed now like his tears would be able to drip all the way down to his crushed, split open balls and made them worse.

Finally, he was able to look at them. His balls looked bad, but there wasn’t blood, wasn’t anything.

“Which one was worse?” she asked.

“I—I—They were both—oh fuck,” he groaned—“Bad. Both bad.” The pain was coming over him in waves.

“Very well, you must need to feel the mallet again as a reminder.”  She grabbed the mallet.

“No, no, please no. Just cut them off. Just rip them off. Just bite them off. Please. Not that.”

The mallet swung down and hit him again. He shrieked. She stood patiently. “The mallet,” he screamed. “Worse, worse, whole body, smashed, worse.”

“Very well. I will be back next week with a new serum.” Then she grabbed the test tube and the syringe, studied him for a second, grabbed the same testicle, put the rest of the serum in, and walked out of the room.