Work Text:
Vasu lifted the long strand of the pain-implant towards the side of the twitching anus. The translucent thing looked like a cross between a long, elastic needle and a very delicate feather. Once inserted, its soft, microscopically thin barbs will spread through the tissue and connect to the muscles and nerves, causing Vasu’s patient unimaginable torment whenever the slightest pressure was applied. It’ll be manageable as long as the boy’s hole was left alone—merely a discomfort at the back of the mind—and he would be given a device which would make the bathroom visits quick and only mildly unpleasant, but any attempt at anal sex would cause him to suffer. And not only during the act—the implant was designed to cause a deep, lasting ache after it has been properly disturbed, and the effect was going to be proportional in both strength and longevity to how hard the boy had been fucked.
Carefully, Vasu touched the sharp tip to the flesh just off the rim and pressed. A lone drop of blood bloomed when the skin gave, but that was all. Handled precisely—guiding itself by its tiny, single-purpose pseudo-AI—the implant penetrated along the anal wall millimeter by millimeter.
It was eight inches long. An overkill, in Vasu’s opinion, but the client was always right. This client wanted his pet thoroughly punished, and he had an impressive cock—he wanted the boy to feel pain as far as his cock could go.
Vasu usually only did up to six inches, as that was the typical length of the rectum, but there were always those few clients who insisted. They didn’t listen when Vasu explained that, at more depth, the implant caused the muscles to unduly clench, which would need to be counteracted with regular—incredibly painful—massages.
In fact, when they had heard that, some of those clients insisted harder.
Vasu sighed. He was making his living off sadists; he shouldn’t be appalled at their sadistic ways.
The implant buried all the way in, and Vasu wiped off the single drop of blood with a piece of sterile gauze. Then he sat back and waited.
Soon, the boy, who, until now, was just twitching and whining softly into his ball gag, made a loud nasal sound and struggled. He had no hope of getting free, of course, as he was screwed to Vasu’s workbench with plastic-covered steel, conveniently bent over, with his thighs and buttocks spread and held open by thin, curving bars that were perfectly adjusted to his body’s shape. He had no hope of moving; nevertheless, he tried. The implant’s tendrils were spreading, giving him the first taste of the pain he’d have to endure from now on any time his master—or anyone else—would fuck his now-improved ass.
Vasu waited. He could, of course, continue despite the boy’s distress, since the part of him which Vasu was working on was perfectly immobilized, but Vasu preferred to work in the quiet. Besides, he’d rather the sphincter stopped its desperate spasms. The implants were self-guiding, but it was still Vasu who had to first breach the clenching flesh.
It took this one whole fifteen minutes to calm.
Vasu sighed. He glanced at his watch.
He’d better hurry. He had his next client scheduled in just half an hour.
He picked up the second implant.
There were three—two to the sides and a bit up, and one on the bottom and running past the prostate. The last one’s tendrils were extra long and abundant, as per the client’s wishes, so they could connect with as many of the boy’s nerves there as possible. Vasu had explained to the man that, while it wouldn’t influence the boy’s ability to ejaculate, the regular orgasms may no longer be achievable. The implant would overload the neural impulses too much, and instead of a satisfying burst of pleasure, the boy would, from now on, experience an explosion of overwhelming pain, which may not even result in quelling his frustration. The pain could last for minutes, too, and cause intense spasms which would additionally oversensitize the nerves and tire the muscles, and for each such not-orgasm, the boy would pay for hours.
The client had only smiled at the explanation.
Then, he asked if Vasu could do something so his pet couldn’t faint from the pain.
Vasu couldn’t, but he gave the client the contact information of a colleague who could.
Vasu lightly pushed on the second implant so it would go in faster.
Reluctantly, he started on the third when the boy still trashed—he had no time.
That one caused even more of a reaction. The boy’s insteps wrinkled and spasmed. His fingernails dug deep into his palms. The muffled sounds he was making were made of pure animal pain.
Focused on his work, Vasu paid him no mind. With a handheld sensor, he checked if all three implants had found their place. The third one was still burrowing in, since its tendrils were more abundant and longer, and attaching to the numerous nerves around and inside the prostate always took time. Vasu patiently waited, then, after all was settled, he palpated the rim from the inside—again, the boy reacted—to squeeze the potential blood out of the entry points. The implants were designed to avoid blood vessels, so there were nothing but a few drops. Satisfied, Vasu wiped them out, then sprayed the boy’s skin with a sealant.
He teased the anus—the boy whined—but there were no imperfections, no sign that anything had been done. The boy’s master would probably want to use him right away, so it was imperative everything was sound and safe. Aside from the torturous anal pain, the boy would suffer no side effects. For the first week or two, he’d experience a bit of additional baseline soreness, but it would be nothing compared to what the implants themselves would purposefully cause; trapped in his new private hell, he may not even notice. The clients were always overly enthusiastic right after the visit to Vasu’s clinic. Considering the manic glint in this boy’s master’s eyes, Vasu suspected the hole he was working on would know no peace for quite a while.
Vasu reached for a long vibe, turned it on, and slid it up the boy’s hole. New sweat beaded on rosy skin, and Vasu told himself to remind the client to make the boy drink water. He pushed the vibe deeper into the rectum, then deeper still, into the colon. He encountered some obstruction—as expected, the deep muscles had already cramped—which necessitated a bit more pressure to traverse, but the strong vibrations soon loosened what needed loosening. Vasu hummed, satisfied, and left the vibe in, secured in place with a piece of surgical tape so the boy’s spasming muscles couldn’t eject it prematurely. The client would be here to pick up his pet in another half an hour; by then, the boy’s anus should be sufficiently lax and primed. For an additional fee, Vasu allowed for a test run of his patients’ holes while they were still mounted on his workbench, and most clients indulged, so it was imperative that the boy’s anus was perfectly pliant and usable right after the procedure.
He stood up and, with a snap, took off his soiled gloves. He then tidied what needed tidying, turned off the light—there was no need to inflate his electrical bill, with only the boy still in there—and stepped across the corridor for his second consulting room.
His assistant had already let the next client in; now, he was busy strapping the client’s already naked, nervous charge to another of Vasu’s workbenches.
“Good afternoon,” Vasu greeted. “Forgive me for being late.” It was only three minutes, but, in Vasu’s opinion, lateness of any sort was unacceptable. “My last appointment ran a tad longer than expected.”
“No, no, doctor, that’s no problem at all,” the client said, laughing. Then he grew serious. “Before you start.”
“Yes?”
In the background, Vasu’s assistant was expertly gagging the patient.
“I thought about it some more,” said the client. “I don’t think three will be enough, after all. Dolly is such an unruly pet. At this point, he enjoys his punishments far too much for them to be any good. I want him to fear my cock.”
Vasu sighed. “I advise against more than three at once.”
Honestly, these people.
“But—”
“If you are unsatisfied, you can always make another appointment. We can install three additional implants then.”
“But the cost…” The man pouted.
“Wouldn’t be that much higher than if we do six at once.” Vasu felt the need to sigh again but refrained. He unlocked the cabinet where the implants were stored and pulled out a packet marked, unlike the others, with three red stripes. “If you’re worried about the effectiveness, instead of the standard ones, I would recommend these. It’s the new generation. The nerve connectors are thinner, and there are almost five times as many of them. It allows for more acute sensations. They also employ a new type of muscle connectors which greatly improve tightness without the muscle locking issue the regular ones have.”
“Oh.”
“They are more costly, though. Almost twice the price, I’m afraid.”
Even before the man opened his mouth, Vasu already knew he’d pay.
“Okay, I’ll take those.”
To the side, Vasu heard a muffled huff of his assistant stifling a laugh. He pointedly did not glare.
“But,” the client said, “if, later, I’d want another appointment after all?”
“That would still be possible. Three at a time, and no more than twelve in total.”
The man swallowed. “T-twelve?” His eyes shone.
Vasu turned away from him, so the man couldn’t see him fight another sigh.
He looked at the boy helplessly trembling on his table. He pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. “Now. If you would leave me to my work…?”
“Ah, yes, of course.”
The man left.
“In a month or two,” Vasu’s assistant said absentmindedly as he fixed the last restraints, “they’ll be back, you know.”
Vasu stared at his new patient’s tense back. At the nervous flutter between his buttocks.
This time, he released the sigh.
“Just open the packet.”