***Warning*** Extreme violence, castration, torture, extreme body modification and amputation. Probably shouldn’t be read by anyone–I’m in a weird mood this month.
Ivan awoke. He couldn’t quite be sure, but he thought he was probably somewhere else now. That said, he had only fuzzy memories of the night before, of being raped. He tried to move, but his arms and legs were secured, spread eagle on some hard, metal table. He could lift his head, however, to look around, and he noticed something terrifying. His cock. His balls. They were so blue that they almost looked black.He could see tight rubber bands around them, he could feel them cutting into his skin, but they must have been on so long he’d begun to go numb. He started shouting for help, desperate, muttering to himself in terror, and he heard a door open behind him–something heavy, a steel door scraping against concrete–more than one person entered, and the door shut again.
“You’re finally awake. Good, I was hoping you’d get to see this.”
It was the man’s voice, from the club. Master, or at least, that’s the only name Ivan had for him. He pleaded, but the man just talked over him.
“You know, I was only going to use you for a night, and then send you on your way. Just a bit of harmless fun had at your expense. But then you had to go and bite my fucking cock, you fucking bitch! You’re fucking lucky you didn’t do any real damage, but fuck you, I’m gonna fuck you up anyway. I didn’t really want another slave in my life, but I’d say that you fucking earned it.” He came around into Ivan’s field of vision, and there was a second man with him, a short, pudgy man in a polo shirt, glasses and a mustache. “This here is Trevor. He’s trained as a veterinarian, but that’s all the expertise we really need here, don’t you think? Now, how about one last shot of cum before we nut you for good?”
Master wrapped one gloved hand around Ivan’s cock, but much to his terror, he couldn’t feel him. He could see the hand moving up and down the stiff shaft, but it might as well have been a piece of literal wood–he had no sensation at all. He was sobbing now, and Master kept at it, taunting him.
“No? You don’t want to cum one last time? Are you sure? Or is it that you can’t? Trevor tells me that at some point there is simply too much nerve death for the penis to be stimulated enough for orgasm. If so, you must be one unlucky whore. Still, if you won’t cum, we might as well get on with it.”
There was no anesthesia. His nerves were dying, but not so dead that he couldn’t feel the scalpel cutting into his sack, his balls tugged out and cut away from his body, the excess sack skin trimmed away, and what remained was sewn up tight. Then the vet began on his cock, cutting through it at the base, saving a bit of skin as a graft. It would be like he’d never had a cock or balls at all, just a mutilated genital scar where his manhood had been. Master watched all this in a rather detached manner. As Trevor was finishing up, he finally spoke.
“Now, here is my offer, slave. You can either eat your own dead cock and balls, raw, in their entirety, or Trevor and I will extract every single one of your teeth, one by one.”
Ivan begged and pleaded. He denied it, he attempted to bargain. Master held the bloody head of his cooling cock to his lips, suggesting he give himself a blowjob, that if he thinks cocks are meant to be bitten, then he should bite his own to bits. He couldn’t do it. He wanted to, he tried, but he vomited to the side, gasping.
“Pity, I wanted to see you eat it so badly,” Master said. Trevor handed him a set of pliers. “If it’s any consolation at all, we were going to pull out your teeth no matter what.”
Trevor held Ivan’s screaming mouth wide, Master got a good grip on a tooth and yanked it free by the root, and then another, and another. When he grew tired, the two men switched positions. All Ivan could taste was blood. Finally, two hours later, their work was finished. Ivan was lightheaded from the blood he’d lost, and Trevor was hard at work stitching up the worst wounds in his mouth. Master leaned over him, speaking.
“Part of me wants to go further, you know. Take out your tongue. Snap off your fingers. Cut off your nipples. But I think I’m done for now. I feel…much better. But if you displease me, or any man I order you to serve, like Trevor here, who will be fucking that toothless maw of yours tonight I think, then know that the cost of disappointing me is losing yet another bit of your body–and they will be bits of body you will miss dearly.”
Ivan nodded eagerly. Master pulled on a rubber glove and adjusted his slave’s legs so that they were hauled up into the air.
“Now, since I can’t very well fuck you with five stitches in my cock, I suppose the only option I have left is to fist your hole, slave. Hole–heh, I like that. How about we make that your new name? Tomorrow I’ll have a tattooist friend of mine come over and etch it across your forehead.”
He didn’t use lube. The worst part, for Ivan, was that the act of having his hole abused was still intensely pleasurable, but now he had no outlet. He could feel his body trying to spasm some phantom cock, but with no hope of release, he only became hornier and hornier, ever more desperate for more of Master’s arm to be buried in his ass. Trevor eventually finished his stitches, and then he did, as Master had suggested, fuck his toothless mouth. He was gentle, to keep from ripping open the wounds he’d just closed, but he seemed to care little about what he’d just done. Truely, his luck had been terrible, but certainly it couldn’t be worse that this, right?
He was wrong. A year later, Master finally decided to sell him to a permanent home. Hole had had his eyes plucked out. His fingers, and then his hands, and then his arms up to his elbows had been removed. His legs had been lopped off at the knee. He hadn’t done anything wrong–Master had simple become obsessed with how much he could alter. He had no idea what his new Master looked like. He sounded old. His cock was thick, but short. He enjoyed Hole’s mouth more than his loose, well worn ass, but many of his friends preferred to fuck him, passing him around the room at the orgies he could hear but never see, just a toy for sexual perversion. And that was the worst luck, and woe to any man who is cursed by the wizard on Friday the Thirteenth.