We have a pleasant enough dinner, but you're in one of your untalkative moods, so we're largely surrounded by silence. By now I know better than to break the calm with words. I say absolutely nothing unless speaking in some manner is directly solicited by you.
Then, in compliance with your wishes, we have an edging session. I get down on my knees before you as you sit in a chair and go to work on your cock and balls with my mouth and hands. You tell me you want it to last for an hour --- my task is to keep you rock hard at every moment without allowing your dick to ever be anything less fully aroused and maximally stiff while at the same time not stimulate you enough to cause you to cum until the hour's up. Success requires concentration and full attention to the details of what you're doing and how the body you're doing it to reacts. You set a timer and I know you'd better not cum before it rings or I'll be in BIG trouble with a new surname --- Mud.
My skills have been improving since I came under your mantle, and after the hour of controlled stimulation passes and I eventually hear the timer go off I set out to end it once and for all. You're so worked up by now that it doesn't take much effort at all to push you over the edge (once it's safe to do so, timewise). You flood my mouth with a torrent of white lava and I make sure to swallow each drop (fearing the wrath and punishment that'll be upon me if I don't). Similarly, I well know better than to touch my own hardon.
A few minutes after you recover and your body settles down from the exhilaration it's just experienced I hear the words I dread: "It's time." I wonder if this will be a repeat lesson at a more intense level or something completely new. Either way the end result will be the same: massive levels of severe pain, agony, suffering, misery, and screams.
Already naked except for leather straps around my wrists and ankles, --- along with a leather collar around my neck --- I approach you and place my hands behind my back while you secure them together there. The leash is attached to the collar and you calmly lead me down the stairs into the basement. We enter your special room called "the learning center" where I'm supposedly learning to take pain like a real man (really, of course, it's a spacious, modern, well-equipped, soundproof dungeon and torture chamber --- I imagine it must have been extremely expensive). What kind of lesson has the teacher prepared for the student today? I wonder. My progress in learning to handle pain is monumentally slow and infinitesimally small, and I marvel at your patience in sticking with it and not declaring me hopeless.
You bring me over to a table I've been secured to many times before. In a medical office it'd be an exam table but here it's a torture table. After detaching the leash and freeing my hands you snap your fingers and in response (I've been trained like a dog, I think to myself) I lie down on the table on my back. You set to work attaching me to the table, and you're whistling a tune at the same time--- the edging blow job's improved your spirits. Of course you're probably also happy knowing soon I'll be in agony --- something you always enjoy. I wonder if it's no accident that you've chosen the melody to "Whistle While You Work" for your whistling while you work.
My limbs are spread and you tie them down once. And then again -- and then yet again --- in more places along their length. You've never spent so much time tying me down before, doing it at so many different levels. You also make sure my body trunk's heavily secured. By the time you're done I can't move at all. And I'm filled with severe anxiety. What's going to happen must be sheer agony at a never before experienced level if it means the victim has to be secured so strongly.
It's about time for you to start your psychological terror exercise --- casually filling me in on what I'm in store for --- giving me all the juicy details of how the pain'll be produced --- in a straight-forward, matter of fact way that can also be rippled with little undercurrents of sarcasm at times. It all amounts to playing mind manipulation games --- getting inside my head and installing fear there. You're quite good at this.
And just as I think that you start in. "You've probably noticed I'm taking extra time and tying you down more tightly than I ever have before. Quite necessary for what'll be happening --- this torture produces pain so extraordinary your body'll involuntarily be inspired to fight with super-human strength in its effort to break free of the restraints and flee. It'll be out of your control --- your body will just do it."
You pause to let that pleasant (depending on one's point of view, I suppose) thought sink in. "It isn't possible for any man to take this torture in silence --- the screaming starts immediately. The screams will be astounding --- unparalleled in intensity and duration. But it's another one of those situations where your screaming will eventually come to an end --- not because you've gained control of yourself and started taking the pain like a real man --- and not because you're unconscious. No, your screams will cease because your vocal cords will be all screamed out --- incapable of doing it any more, they'll fail you. You'll scream for as long as you can `till you simply can't do it any longer. And for what's about to happen to your body soon, for most men their screams are more shrill and piercing than normal. Eventually I may even find it too irritating to continue listening to them, so I've brought along powerful ear plugs just in case I need them --- and you know me --- normally the sound of my victim screaming is music to my ears."
You're following your usual pattern now --- words to instill fear followed by a pause to let them be fully digested, after which more dread-inspiring words flow out of your mouth. "This is an amazing torture that very few seem to know about. All kinds of accomplished masters and sadists have never heard of it and consequently it isn't in their trick bags. It's not that complicated to administer --- as long as you can get a hold of one vital ingredient. And it produces pain at a level far beyond which anyone would imagine. And at the same time it causes no damage to the body and leaves behind no scars. So in many respects it's ideal. I'm just glad I'm one of the few who do know about it and how to do it. Aren't you lucky?"
And of course it's working --- your words are having the desired effect. Try as I can to block them out, I find that impossible. And it's more than just the words --- it's the way you speak them, the tone of your voice, the way certain key words are emphasized. I'm very scared now --- very.
"By now you're just dying to know what's going to happen --- aren't you? Even if you won't admit it I know you are. I should have mentioned that once it's over while your body physically will be none the worse for it, emotionally it's a completely different story --- you'll never be the same again. At the mere mention of the possibility of experiencing this torture again you'll totally lose it. And let me remind you that we --- you and me together as a team --- you to feel the pain and me to make you feel the pain --- never do anything just once. What takes place here now will happen again."
You pause for effect and then go on. "It's all about chili peppers --- the spicy, super hot ones. Some ethnic groups in other areas of the world use a lot of them in their cuisine --- we don't use them as much here in the States. Actually it's very simple. A thick paste --- not a sauce --- is made from the hottest peppers known on earth and applied to the end of your dick, directly rubbing it into the tender, sensitive skin found where the head meets the shaft (the corona, with particular attention to the glans). The paste can also be smeared elsewhere --- like your balls. It'll be easier to coat the paste on if your dick's erect so we're going to make that happen, too --- in a novel way. Anyway, the paste is left on and gradually --- very, very slowly --- with time the pain subsides --- and then it can be applied again --- and again --- indefinitely. This can go on for hours. The pain would go away quicker, of course, if someone flooded the area with copious amounts of water to wash the paste off --- but that's not about to happen --- not here, not now."
Another pause and then more follows. "This rarely applied, highly unusual, and little known torture produces extremely high levels of intense pain in the adult male body when the strongest, most potent, powerful chili peppers are used. The pain it evokes is incredible --- thus the need for having the victim tied down extremely well. Anyone who's ever had the good fortune to see a man subjected to the supreme suffering elicited by this novel treatment will never forget it. It's quite breath-taking --- absolutely stunning, really. Even the most experienced pain-solicitors will say they've never seen anything so instantly effective. No doubt if more torturers knew of it, they'd eagerly rush to add it to their sadistic repertoires."
Now you set out to educate me about the actual peppers you'll be using. "Here are more of the details --- they'll help you understand why this is such an exotic, exciting, and exquisite agony-producer. It turns out in 1912 an American chemist named Wilbur Scoville developed a test for rating the pungency of chili peppers --- the scale he used is named for him and measures the degree of hotness found in a chili pepper, assigning it a number value. Bell peppers are so mild they have zero Scoville Heat Units --- abbreviated SHU. New Mexico green chilis come in at about 1,500 SHU, jalapeños at 3,000--6,000 SHU, and habaneros at 300,000 SHU. The hottest chili pepper known to man --- the Naga Jolokia from India --- measures a mind-boggling one-million Scoville Heat Units. So a thick paste made of them rubbed onto a man's dick is going to induce immense agony. Naturally those are the ones we'll be using."
This seems unreal --- I've never heard of heat units and know nothing about peppers being measured. Once again you're making up for a deficiency in my basic education.
"I've tried to grow the Naga Jolokias myself from seeds, but I guess the natural growing conditions of the Himalaya foothills are necessary for them to reach full potency. So I order them now --- costs more but it's definitely worth it. I mix the paste myself in the kitchen with the blender. I started out using water, which works --- but I experimented a bit and found I prefer olive oil. The desirable consistency is quite thick. When you're mixing it's tempting to test a bit of it and be sure it's effective, but I learned once the hard way not to do that. It'll be tested soon enough when it's on your cock."
You move on to more details about another matter you mentioned earlier. "You may be wondering how I'm going to keep your dick hard since torture in a man's body normally works against that. I've found a method that works much better than the usual things like a tight cock ring, viagra, or a battery-operated anal vibrator stimulating the prostate. Injecting something called Caverject directly into your dick will do the trick. That's the brand name for a substance called alprostadil. I'm giving you a dose that should keep you completely hard --- no matter what else is happening anywhere else in your body --- for two full hours."
And now that you've pretty much filled me in on everything it's time to get on with it. You roll a cart over and put on gloves, a mask, and eye goggles. A large bowl with a cover has the pepper paste in it. It must be seriously potent, dangerous stuff if you're inspired to take such precautions with it. You're silent and efficient now as you go about your tasks. I'm silent too --- for once I'm not begging you not to do what you're going to do --- it's always been a total waste of time, effort, and energy and never stopped anything from happening. I guess I've learned that it's pointless, undignified, and ultimately embarrassing to beg in desperation that way.
You wipe a spot on my soft dick clean with an alcohol-saturated gauze pad, stick in the needle, and proceed to administer the Caverject. I've never had an injection in my cock before and it's certainly not pleasant --- but you're smooth and efficient and know what you're doing. I wonder if I could do this to myself if I couldn't get it up on my own any longer and reach no conclusion about that. Whatever's in the solution in the syringe is very effective and fast-acting --- probably within one minute I'm as hard as can be.
There's not much more to say now beyond what you've already said without being redundant. It all happens exactly as you described. You grab the middle of my cock shaft with one hand and hold it tight while the other --- loaded with a good-sized glob of the paste --- begins rubbing it on and into --- including into the foreskin --- and all around the end of my cock.. I'm in instant agony --- my dick's on fire, burning with an intensity beyond belief. And my screams begin immediately --- the only time they stop is briefly for a few seconds whenever I have to take in a breath. My body revolts, struggling with all its might against the restraints --- they're so effective that in spite of all my efforts I'm not moving at all. Only my head is free for motion, and it violently jerks from side to side as copious tears flow nonstop down my cheeks. It takes perhaps twenty-five minutes --- in the time range you predicted --- for the pain to diminish and subside to a level of mere throbbing.
And now I'm no longer silent, instead begging desperately for this to end, that there be no more of it, endlessly and repeatedly saying no!' and please'. You merely laugh and tell me "we've hardly started --- it'd be a waste of the Caverject to quit while your dick is still hard. There's something immensely gratifying and satisfying," you continue, "when you hear your terror-filled victim endlessly shouting `no' and then desperately pleading and energetically begging you to be merciful and have pity and reconsider and not do to his body what you --- with a cold, hard, unmoved heart --- have every intention of immediately doing, knowing nothing is going to stop or prevent it from happening --- and realizing how much you're going to enjoy watching and hearing the suffering and knowing you're the cause of it."
For the second round you grab a mass of the pepper paste from the bowl with each hand and liberally coat and rub it into and on the surface of not just the tip but my entire cock this time. I shouldn't be surprised --- since applying the powerful pepper paste to the entire cock seems much more extensive, horrendous, vicious, sinister, evil, perverse, cruel, mean, sadistic, severe, and devilishly diabolical than merely placing and rubbing some on only the penile glans, of course you'd be doing that. And when you do the immediate agony is so immense it's beyond describing. My screaming becomes even more shrill and intense (if that's possible).
After about another half hour --- when the paste has largely dissipated and things have finally calmed down --- we move on to round three. This time after drenching my cock with the potent, powerful pepper paste, both of your hands return to the bowl for second loads to rub into and on my balls. If I wasn't so tightly tied down I'd be thrashing up a storm. And very shortly after this the screams end --- I can scream no more today (it turns out you never used the ear plugs). But it doesn't mean I'm no longer screaming 'cause it doesn't hurt any more --- that's not the case at all. After about forty minutes it's time to re-apply the paste. Unfortunately for me you've made plenty of it --- there's no danger of running out. In spite of all the agony the pepper paste has produced in it my dick is still rock hard.
"I'm gonna try something new now," you tell me. I watch in fascination and horror as you're filling up what must be a condom with the paste. "I'm hoping totally surrounding and bathing your dick surface with the paste this way --- without air pockets --- will mean the pain won't gradually fade but instead will last indefinitely at the high initial level --- continuing full strength for as long as the condom remains on. We'll see. I'm working on coming up with some kind of similar form-fitting stretch pouch like a draw string bag that can be filled with the paste, tightly wrapped over your ball sac, and then remain in place to leave you in even more continuous agony. Sorry I don't have one ready to try out today."
You can be so diabolical and fiendish --- if there's a way to make something you're already doing hurt even more you'll find it. You're thoroughly enjoying this, making and watching me suffer and hearing my screams. Even if there were no other reasons to be doing it, you'd subject a victim to agonizing torture like this just for the fun of it' --- fun for you, anyway. It reminds me of those who go out and climb one of the world's tallest and most challenging mountains and when later are asked why can't come up with anything to say back except because it's there'.
The condom performs as desired. The searing pain just lasts and lasts and lasts --- only by now I have no screams left in me --- but my body wants to give them and still goes through the motions, so it's like I'm producing soundless screams (is that an oxymoron?). After a half hour you remove the condom --- carefully discarding it --- and finally the entire ordeal ends after approximately two solid hours of immensely effective torture.
You change your gloves, bring out fresh wet towels, and proceed to thoroughly clean the remains of the paste off of my genitals. You're careful to place the towels with any remnants of paste on them in a thick plastic bag --- properly laundered they're reusable. I'm whimpering, heaving, and quietly sobbing --- an emotional basket case. And my dick's still hard.
And now you're talking again. "No doubt you're thinking this can't get any worse, but actually it can. With any torture that's usually the case. Often the limiting factor becomes when will you cross the line and be operating in a realm where death is a serious possibility."
The coolness of the thick, soft, plush wet towels feels wonderful. "Your cock and balls are quite red, sensitive, and a bit swollen," you tell me. "Still, overall they're none the worse for the wear and tear --- tomorrow they'll look and feel and function as good as new. Isn't that amazing?" You've dried them and you gently rub a soothing, healing, relief-providing ointment of some kind on them and I'm grateful.
I say nothing and you nonchalantly prattle on. "Another thing I hope to try is making a smaller batch that's more like sauce --- not as thick as the paste --- and fill a plastic syringe with it and inject in into and fill up your urethra with it. That should really set off some fireworks! In case it's not a familiar term, the urethra is the tube in the center of a man's dick that his piss and cum travel through to reach the outside world."
Finally my hardon is beginning to fade --- and then it's gone, disappearing about as quickly as the injection inspired its presence. And you're still talking. "It turns out the active ingredient in any pepper responsible for its hotness is a chemical called capsaicin. At room temperature it's a solid, waxy substance. The more of it a pepper contains, the higher its number on the Scoville scale. Pure capsaicin has a SHU value of sixteen million --- that's sixteen times as potent as these Naga Jolokia peppers we've been using today!"
That seems unimaginable, totally unfathomable --- I can't even begin to contemplate how severe using it would be. "So the absolute maximum ultimate situation," you continue, "would be for the paste being rubbed onto your cock to be made with pure capsaicin. Just imagine the potential results! That would have to be the zenith of pain production possible in a male body!"
Now you're starting to untie the ropes and release the straps holding me down. Since there're so many it takes longer than usual to be set free. When I consider that at last this terrible trial is truly over I become very emotional, crying and blubbering like a baby for a few moments. I'm a grown man supposedly in his prime and the unique torture you've inflicted has reduced me to this.
And seemingly oblivious to that your one-way chatter goes on. "Pure capsaicin won't dissolve in water --- to make it into a paste you'd have to find a liquid it's soluble in --- although if the amount you have to work with is minimal you wouldn't need much liquid at all." Not surprisingly, it seems you've given the matter considerable research and thought.
I want to be out of this unpleasant room (my mind certainly associates nothing positive with it) and back in my bedroom, not having to listen to this any longer --- yet I have no choice as you still go on. "Apparently it isn't easy to obtain the pure form. It's expensive and it's also a controlled substance --- that means it's basically limited to serious medical and academic researchers. Most likely if you could get some at all it'd only be very small amount. But this is one of those situations where a little bit goes a long way. The real question is could a man survive it? The possibility has to be seriously considered that torturing a man with pure capsaicin on his cock could be fatal. So disappointing as it might be I don't think we're going to try it."
You say it as if I'm expected to bow down and fawn over you in gratitude upon hearing it. What I do consider for a fleeting moment is that there's no limit to the ways a man can be made to feel pain by an expert like you. You enjoy it so much, where would you be without someone like me? What will it be the next time you lead me down here? And how soon will it be?
After what I've been through I'm in no shape to walk back up the stairs. You throw me over one of your shoulders in a firefighter's body-carrying position, take me upstairs, and deposit me on my bed. My body begins the process of repairing itself with the difficult sleep I immediately fall into. But what's the point? As soon as I recover from something horribly painful then something else equally if not more painful is done to me that requires recovering all over again. How long can this go on? And when will I start to handle what happens to me like a real man? Sometimes I think the answer to that is simply `never' --- perhaps I'm too old now to change. I just don't know.