“No sir, please.”
“Should I cut them off? What do you think? Don’t answer that, no one cares what slaves think.” Walter planted a boot on them, crushing them back against Donny’s body with enough pressure to keep him from replying. “You see–here’s my dilemma. As a lying, cheating, fuckhole, there’s simply no way that I can possibly trust you around other men, is there?”
Donny was just shaking his head, but whether he was agreeing with the statement, disagreeing, or simply more terrified at what might happen to his nuts, it wasn’t clear.
“Castration would be a simple solution. Remove your cock too–after all, it’s not like you’ll be using it in the future. Nothing left but a nice, gigantic, ugly scar to remind you that you got yourself into this mess, that you did this to yourself. I wonder if it would feel good, rubbing it? Then again, I’m not convinced that this would really solve everything. After all, your cheating ways are only part of the problem. Maybe it would be best if we simply removed the other part of the equation–maybe you just need to be unfuckable. After all, even removing this,” he emphasized with a hard tap of his boot to his balls “at the root doesn’t get to the root of the problem, does it? Besides–I might need the leverage later.”
He took his boot away, and Donny let out a sob of relief.
“Tell me Donny–exactly how many men have you slept with behind my back? And how many times?”
Donny didn’t think he’d be able to produce an exact figure, but his mouth spoke for him. Twenty-seven men. Sixty-three times.”
Walter whistled. “Goodness, that is a lot. That…that really hurts, more than I was expecting it to. Here I was, thinking it was you just unable to keep your body for me a couple of times, but sixty-fucking-three.”
“Please Master, I’m sorry.”
“The second condition–you’re never going to have another ejaculation, as long as you live.”
Something clamped down on his cock and balls–he reached for them, but instead of flesh he only hit metal…his cock and balls were still there, but encased in a metal chastity device secured around them all. Just like the collar, there was a locking mechanism and a padlock, but no keyhole, no combo, no way out. He felt nothing in there–no sensation at all, when he touched them. It was a disturbing sensation, but one he realized he was already getting used to. After all, he’d been locked in this metal cage for…for years? That didn’t seem possible, but again, like his collar and tattoo…he could remember them clearly, the day Master had locked him in permanently, the day he’d…thanked him for the honor, of all things.
“I’ve only left them attached to your body, because it will be fun to use them to hurt you, to turn them against you,” Walter said, knelt down, and placed the lit end of the cigar to the metal surrounding one of his balls. A few seconds later, he could feel the heat–a gentle warmth at first, but soon it was causing actual discomfort–not quite like setting his balls on a hot stovetop, but he had no doubt that Master could do worse if he so desired. “I’m looking forward to hurting you, substantially, like you’ve hurt me. Did you even care about me at all? About this?” Walter shook his head–those were sentimental questions–they didn’t need to be asked. The curse didn’t care about them, and scrubbed them away–Walter needed to be focused, focused on punishing his slave above all else. “Sixty-three. When was the last time?”
“Yesterday, sir. I…I’ve been seeing another man regularly, two or three times a month for the last five months or so.”
“Does he love you?”
“M-Maybe, sir.”
“And you don’t love him?”
“I just like fucking him, sir. It was just a fuck.”
“Did you ever love me?” Walter could feel the curse growing frustrated with him, angry that he was so caught up in his personal injury, but Walter pressed anyway.
“I was afraid to, sir. I was worried I’d…you’d change me.”
“Well, funny you say that slave, because you are going to have to change. Because even if your cock is locked up, you can still get fucked. Other men are still going to want you, and desire you, but I can’t fucking have that. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to be desired. You don’t deserve to be loved. You’re a thing, you’re my property. Mine, and no one is ever going to want you, no one’s going to desire you ever again.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“That’s my third condition, slave. One by one, you’re going to give up everything about yourself that all, of those men found attractive in you, and we’re going to make you disgust them instead.”
“I don’t–that doesn’t…” but Donny stopped himself. Nothing that was happening made any sense any more.
“That man you were seeing. What was his name.”
“Leave him out of this.”
“Oh trust me slave, I have no bone to pick with him–this is your responsibility. What was his name?”
“A-Adam.”
“Alright. Adam. What did Adam like about you? Why did he want you? What kept him coming back to you, month after month?”
“He was just a good lay!”
“What, he never once gave you a compliment? He never once liked something about you?”
“My hair, alright, sir? He always liked how I styled my hair!” Donny said, but as soon as he did, he felt something…strange. He always kept his hair perfectly styled, every day. He went to the barber for a trim every two weeks on the dot. But when he reached up, that wasn’t what he felt. His slick backed look was gone–no gel or pomade, just coarse, long, stringy hair hanging down in every direction. Lank and greasy, a grungy grey brown in color, like soot. “No, what the…how did…”
“What else did he like about you, Slave?” Walter, asked, “Tell…me…everything,” leaning slightly on each word, sneering at Donny’s terrified face.
Bracken's Corner 