Sweet suffering

Really I’m quite terrified at the idea of testicle torture but a small metal device in the Stockroom catalog inspired the second half.

For a long time she said she had no interest in testicle torture. But always fresh with energy to explore what she sometimes called ‘compositions in pain’ (mine) her enthusiasm tended to branch beyond her original expectations. Not that she called it torture. No, it was testicle manipulation, part of her larger body of work, male manipulation. We got to it by a complicated route.

On the night I’m recalling she began by making me suffer very sweetly.

Some days I come home to find her look especially fetching. It may just be how she feels like looking, a loving desire to please my fancy or, well, a very different kind of loving. On that afternoon she looked a bit of the tart. Understand, I had a weakness for her in hot pants and little too much makeup. What hopes her stunning appearance inspired were modified when she handed me my collar. Willingly I dropped into my role as property, lucky if I were merely a pet for the rest of the day or perhaps a slightly abused toy

On my knees and humble I followed the pull of my leash as she led me to a big wooden chair and strapped me into place. I shuddered slightly as the metal bands known as the Seven Gates of Hell were locked into place along what at this point could only laughingly be called my ‘manhood.’

She sat in my lap and, well, wriggled. My now imprisoned manhood sought to expand as my favorite part of her body touched mine. Only to find itself crushing into the rings. And her weight crushed the rings down. My penis might’ve quickly surrendered but she gently caressed my cheek with her fingers. I groaned and sighed, no way to tell when one started and the other left off.

She pulled out a joint, lit it and shoved her lips against mine and exhaled. Her lips and the marijuana conspired to keep me greatly aroused. Her shifting weight made my body fight two wars, neither of which it could win. The pot left me wanting her badly but feeling as if I’d become something she’d happily smother into oblivion. Bending me with her sexual power was crueler really than lashes with a whip.

She sat on me, alternately chiding me for wanting her and laughing at my helpless need. And it was very helpless. After the combined pressure of the gates and her body even if she were to let me free and offer herself to me I wouldn’t be able to do anything.

As the high faded I grew weary. I saw a quick flash of satisfaction in her eyes.

Then she brought in the small set of steel bars.

Having reduced me to impotent neediness she was ready push me down abject helplessness. That shining instrument was for my balls.

My testicles are hopelessly sensitive. She’d never been happy about that but understood. One night a swift kick had moved too low. I savagely cursed her in a way I’ve never done before or since. It isn’t smart to curse your Owner. But the wise Owner knows when it is time to quickly put you back into freedom and protect you. She held an nursed me until I’d recovered.

After that night she’d been careful to confine herself to soft taps. They were enough to make me whimper. Ten of them were enough to make me beg.

But she wanted more.

So she made The Deal. I’d sometimes admitted I’d love to see what she’d look like as a redhead. She had no desire to color her hair.

One day she told me she’d try a bit of henna if I’d consent to six months with the little steel bars. I could pretend that I just wanted to please her. But very selfishly I wanted to see her with reddish hair. Funny isn’t it what you’ll do to satisfy even the most vanilla fixation?

She used the ball crusher with great care. She’d lock my testicles snug with it. Then she’d just tap lightly.

By the night I write of she’d mastered the crusher. I don’t know if you could’ve seen the lever move each time she touched it. But I was visibly moved. Maybe each tap was only a millimeter. But each one brought a new whimper from me. Sometimes she’d tell me to “sing pretty” for her.

Caringly she’d strap me tightly in the chair so my writhings wouldn’t cause me more pain. Since the tiniest adjustment would leave me begging for a few minutes she could work me for a long, long time. When my quavering “please please please” were satisfactory enough she’d stop.

On that night I she took it just one infinitesimal point further. A blend of vamp and vampire she grinned at me.

“Do you remember that this clamp came with little magnets that work as weighs? Time for us to try one, don’t you think?”

I didn’t. Much less as that tiny extra downward pull left me begging to do any other horrible thing she wanted if only she would let me go.