Breaking Benjamin (NSFW, 18+)

Ben gives an agonized sob, cringing at the ice of her touch, the way the movement jostles his dislocated hip. "... please don't go," he whispers.

 

"You haven't earned the right to my constant company yet, Gingersnap," she says affectionately, leaning over to play with his piercing. "Be good, and maybe I'll let you sleep upstairs."

 

He closes his eyes, breathing fast. The pain in his lip hardly even registers anymore, after everything.

"... upstairs?" he asks. He can barely even recognize his own voice, hoarse from screaming as it is.

 

"Up. Stairs." She replies, turning calmly and heading for the steps.

"Goodnight, Halverson."

 

He can't bring himself to return the pleasantry. He's too exhausted and aching even to cry.

Eventually, he sleeps again.

It takes a long time.

 

When he wakes, it's with a screaming pain as the woman forces his joints back into place.

 

He spent the night dreaming about death again, and for a moment, he almost doesn't remember where he is. He's so cold. The hands on him feel like they're chilling him to the bone.

Then she pops his elbow back in, and he remembers, throat burning as he screams.

 

The woman's laughter is musical as she slides down to work on his hip, long, thin fingers digging into his skin.

 

He doesn't fight anymore, doesn't try to argue. He just tries to endure, sobbing and screaming as she goes. He almost wishes she'd just kill him and get it over with, but... He remembers what death feels like. The cold rising up, the tearing pain, whiting out every sense. So he keeps trying to endure, as his voice starts to give out.

 

She finishes with his shoulder, rustles through a bag, and tapes a crazy straw to the side of his cheek, sticking the end into his mouth.

 

Ben stares at it, clearly baffled. Um. What?

 

She ruffles his hair and sticks maneuvers the other end into a large water bottle... that done, she pulls a small metal table over, then pulls a box from her bag.

She's silent as she unfolds the covering from the small box and starts fiddling with the contents.

 

He leans into the touch without even thinking about it, comforted by it. It takes a few long seconds for him to catch himself and flinch from her touch.

"... are you... leaving again?" he whispers.

 

She works wordlessly, taking a syringe of iodine and spreading it over cotton balls before pouring a measure of lube into a little slot. The now-empty tools are dropped into a garbage can, and then she pulls on gloves, pulling up a long loop of crinkly plastic covering that she works away from a small, thin plastic length.

She sets it back into the box.

 

He falls quiet again, watching with wide eyes. He has no idea what she's planning, but he's pretty sure it's going to hurt.

 

She pulls the box over, walking to the table, and pulls out a pair of tweezers, firmly gripping Ben's cock. She begins swabbing his cockhead with the iodine-soaked cotton.

 

He squeaks, staring, starting to hyperventilate in panic. "Um. M...istress?"

That's... that's what they do when you're going to donate blood, right? Oh god, please don't stick a needle in his cock, oh god.

 

Oh god.

It is a needle.

The woman calmly lubes the end of the needle-like tube then turns, carefully inserting it into his urethra with a gentle turn of the tube.

 

Oh god. Oh, god.

It feels huge, unnatural, uncomfortable like a buzzing fly that he can't brush away.

"Please... please don't... Oh, god..."

He's not even sure if this is what she gets off on, or if it's because she's going to be leaving him alone for even longer.

 

She carefully straps the bag attached to the tube to the table, humming absently, then smacks his thigh and cleans him up. "There, that should hold you over."