Based on a prompt by u/SnooWords1252
I always felt more free on vacation. Free to explore, transgress my boundaries. Too bad the women didn’t like me any better. The things I would say probably didn’t help.
“On devrait t’arrêter pour excès de beauté sur la voie publique!”
A cheesy line memorized from an advice web page, but is there any chance I’ll come up with something better on my own?
“Salaud! Partez.”
Of course, always the same… I never stand a chance…
Dejected I turned to the trade. The oldest trade. I’m not rich, but any prostitute is still gonna cost less than rent, so affordable, right? After the humiliation of today, I wonder how it would be. Wonder how things would progress if one of them really took advantage. Used me to fulfill dark desires.
Google’s handy, handy for everything. It even knows the den of sin, L'antre du péché, even such places in small French towns.
Heading in the place felt musky. The wooden floors older than me, far older. The lady on the counter asked
“Qu'est-ce que ce sera?
A harsh voice. A little shimmer down my spine, but it fit so well with what I wanted to do here, to be done to me. But what did she say… It’s so basic, but my French is so rusty.
“Tu parle anglaise?”
I hope, hope. My body tenses up. In a place like this, all foreign, all unfamiliar… all
“Un peu.”
Yes! Un peu… she might understand.
”You asked me what I wanted, right?”
The lady nods. Her eyes glare disapproval. Now I had to ask for it. Tell her how fucked up I am, what I want…
“Could I get some time with a dominatrix, please?”
Shy and nervous, my voice higher than normal.
“Que voulez-vous… hmm she do to you?”
“Could she hurt me? I don’t really care about how. Let her do as she wishes.”
It felt liberating to get it out.
“Un safeword?”
Did I want one? My fantasy was to be abused by one of those girls. One of those women who knew she could get away with anything with me.
“hhhmm… No. Whatever she wants.”
“Ok. Ce sera 200 euros. Uhm she’s name is Charlotte.”
hhm that’s 200 euros, is it? Cheap, for a dominatrix perhaps… but still… but this experience… this night, I want it…
Money changes hands and the lady gestures me to sit at one of the tables. She brings me a drink, lemonade, still with that glare. I almost wonder if someone pissed in it. Mess with the obnoxious foreigner.
20 minutes later Charlotte walks in. Cruel leather top, black stilettos, the point split into three. Three splitting needles anchoring the heel to the ground. As she walked, she almost broke the floor. I looked, is that a red stain?
“Vous, avec moi!” A sinister feminine voice. One who could seduce you just by tone. She’s commanding me, right? Yes, she guides me to her room. As we walk, I notice I am a lot taller than her. Her head only reached my shoulders. She noticed too.
“J'adore torturer les hommes de grande taille.”
I barely grasp what she said, but torture, yeah that’s what I want, I nod and hope that’s enough. The door opens. A small room, a dungeon with shelves and instruments.
“Tu ici!
Ici meant here, reminding myself of the few French words I know. Her finger points towards an old wooden chair.
I sit down, the wood is rough. A splinter sticks out just under my ass… I almost let out a grunt, just in time stopping myself. Well, this is what I came here for, pain.
She slams her ass down on my lap. The splinter digs in! I let out a slight “uhh”. She notices, looks at my face, gives it a slap. She grabs it and holds my mouth open. She spits on my tongue. She knows what she’s doing, she got the instructions, make the foreigner suffer.
“Garçon dégoûtant” Garcon means boy, but hhhmm. I am lost, it sounded mean.
“Sale bâtard” She slaps my face and pulls out my tongue. Her nails pressing painfully on my taste buds, nail polish leaving a bitter taste. She’s not done with my face yet; her nails start their assault on my cheeks. Scratches, too many to count.
She gets off me. In harsh tones she asks “T'es prêt?” I’ve got no clue. My French lost in different times. I just shrug and nod.
“Vous ne parlez pas [français]()?” Her eyes twinkle, her mouth betrays her with a wicked smile. Does she like torturing buffoonish foreigners? Idiots, like me, who never realized they should learn the tongue before going to France.
At least I know this one. “Je ne parlez français.” Her eyes light up even more as the words leave my mouth.
“Oui, oui, oui! Les porcs étrangers méritent de souffrir.” She slaps my face hard and points to a spot on the wall where 4 ropes dangle. “ICI!” Two ropes hang from the ceiling, two more lie in circles on the floor, two pairs of iron shackles pinned to the wall.
I feel my throat tighten. The order, the sight of the cold and rough restrains makes the situation sink in. Lost in translation, at her mercy, At HER mercy. I still remember the red stain on her shoes. Am I ready? I ignore my fear. I wanted to see what one of those girls rejecting me would do to me, do to me if they could get their untampered revenge, if they were sadistic too. I walk towards the ropes and shackles. I bent my back, making me the same height as her. I am ready!
“Bon salaud” her voice filled with anticipation.
She walks towards me, each footstep a show of force. Her rands reach for my body, another slap to the face. They glide down, touching me everywhere, my trousers come undone, to the floor. My short flies, my briefs down. She steps on my toes, then a push. I fall over and gone are my socks. A first punch, first of many, I think. She slides her hands onto the shackles. Before I know it, my hands are locked, cold iron touching my wrists. She forces me up. My ankles join my hands in rough iron.
”Êtes-vous prêt pour la corde? Elle va brûler.”
Her voice becomes rusty with a gleaming smile. I’ve got no clue, but I want to find out? Do I?
“Oui, yes, you can do everything you want!”
A slight tremor in my voice as I answer.
“Je ne comprends pas. Je m'en fiche. Tu regretteras d'être venu ici.” The sound of her voice, she knows how to make it scary. She laughs.
I summon the courage to encourage her. “Hurt me!” My eyes squint as the words leaving my mouth, as if expecting immediate reprisal, expecting her to understand.
“Quel garçon impatient ! La douleur viendra, mon garçon, la douleur viendra.”
She looks at me for a second. Her eyes filled with flames, gloss over my body, flames of old wounds or just sadistic glee?
Her knee flies up, against my crotch in less than a seconds. My balls almost burst. I want to fall over, but I’m locked. I’m gonna puke, but no I can hold it! My face contorts and my mouth opens, dry gagging as I try to push the acid, burning my throat, back down.
“Tête de linotte! Tête de lard! Tête vide!” The insults pass right over my empty head, only the tone sinks in. Her foot zips up, stilettos smashing my balls right up against my cock. The pain… I think I’m getting hard.
Kicks fly in and knock against my balls as my eyes struggle to form tears. Held back so long, the water works only start when after her foot fury, her knee, for the second time, pushes my balls into a very new shape.
“Des larmes? Pathétique!”
She slaps my face. A red print as a reminder for the next hours.
“Pathétique!”
She looks at my balls again. She looks!
With a smile she bends and bites my balls. The teeth sink in. The pain. The pain. This will be it. My balls destroyed…
“ Perdant pathétique!”
She grabs my cock and starts stroking. My balls hurt, but are they ok? They’re not popped open, not destroyed?
She starts stroking faster and faster. I can feel it coming. My eyes close as the pleasure starts washing over me.
“Non! Non! Non!”
She stops and slaps my cock, slaps my face, punches my balls. The pain from the bite, make the punch into a searing pain, my face strains and contorts. She walks away, garbs ten clamps from the shelves.
“Tu es prêt pour plus. Peu importe, tu l'auras.”
The first clamp presses down on my left ball. Already battered, too close to cracking. My mouth opens, a sissing sound, trying to hold back, hold back as my ball gets crushed by the clamp.
She puts on the second, the third. I scream, the pain is becoming too much. Of course, she doesn't stop. All ten clamps, pressing, crushing. My eyes force themselves shut, as I scream and scream louder and louder.
”Tu n'en as pas assez!”
She picks up another ten clamps. The first ten just sinking in. The pain ebbs a little, just a little. A temporary reprieve, though the clamps don’t stop, the pain is still intense.
One by one the new clamps join. Every clamp I scream. She likes it, another ten clamps. My balls are starting to look more like a clump of clamps than they do balls.
She grabs my cock and starts stroking again. The pleasure does little to sooth the pain, the movement of the clamps is excruciating. I start to cry again.
“C'est trop ? Dommage ! Tu en prendras plus.”
I again barely understood a word she said. She stops stroking and grabs a chainmail flogger.
I can’t take anymore. I have to beg, beg for mercy.
“No, no, no. Too much. Please don’t! Please!”
Her eyes meet mine. She looks stern, determined. The flogger comes down on my balls. The hit, the clamps. I am in hell. I chose this. Why did I think I could handle this.
“Les perdants n'ont aucune pitié, seulement de la douleur.”
The flogger strikes and strikes my balls. The time I bought stretches out, seconds unrecognizable, minutes vast deserts filled with suffering. Toys come and go, paddles, whips, candles, pliers… a sounding rod.
By the end of the session I’m completely broken, wondering how I’ll make it back to my hotel room.