“I never understood,” the waif was saying, “how these things came to symbolize courage. It’s the one part of your body you’re absolutely squeamish about.”
She was refreshingly articulate for a working girl, but he was in no mood to speculate on the origins of testicular fortitude, and she was already pushing the joke too far.
“I mean, I could cut off your arm and it wouldn’t scare you half as much a little squeeze right here.”
Her grip tightened around the roots of his sack. A touch more torque and she would have hurt him.
“Cut it out,” he said.
“Shhh. Don’t worry.”
And, cradling him in her cool hand, she licked the double bulge of his balls.
She went to work, lapping at the bristly skin, digging into the soft depression at the base of his erection. Her tongue glittered red in the light from the nightstand — absurdly red, as though she’d been eating cherry Kool-Aid right from the packet. Her lips and nipples were a muddy garnet, the only spots of color on skin so white she had, for an instant after she had stripped, vanished against the walls of his bedroom. It seemed that every drop of blood had leeched from her veins into those three small pools. She had not opened her legs for him yet, and he wondered what final vividness he’d find there. For the moment, he pictured the great red spot of Jupiter in miniature.
But that revelation could wait. The wet touch on his scrotum robbed him of any inclination to hurry things along, and when she covered his cock with her mouth, his paralysis was complete. Time lost meaning. Only the bobbing of her black hair suggested it was passing at all. She held him up between her thumb and fingertips, her black-lacquered nails gleaming like a row of onyx buttons along the dorsal vein. The skin tightened deliciously as she tugged downward and her tongue coiled about the shaft, tracing the inner seal of her lips. Then it paused and went into reverse. All the while, a constant wet pressure, like a ribbon of silken scales, circled the rim of his glans. It was impossible, but if pressed to describe the feeling, he’d have sworn a snake was wrapping and unwrapping itself around his dick.
“How do you do that?”
“Oh,” she said, coming up for air, “I’m going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”
“Do it again.”
The silken serpent descended once more. It was too much this time. She sensed it and rescued him by squeezing the base of his cock.
“Not yet,” she said.
She had one more trick left to perform. Her lips burrowed into the crease between his scrotum and his thigh, and that impossibly long tongue slithered down into his asshole. The touch was like ice, the pleasure maddening.
“Mm?” she asked, the husky grunt buzzing through the gel-pouch that cushioned his balls. It didn’t matter what the question was. He had the answer ready.
“Yes,” he said. “Please.”
The pain, when it started, was nearly imperceptible — four needle-fine pricks behind the left testicle, each one the corner of a tiny box. He said nothing, unsure if the discomfort was merely a prelude to some new and unimagined thrill. But she only bore down, as though preparing him for greater pain to come.