Keith whined, his body writhing on the table that he was strapped to. He subconsciously lifted his hips as something thin and sharp dragged tortuously across his prostate. "Say you want it," a voice, husky with lust and anticipation, snarled as Keith thrashed blindly. "I'm not going to beg for release from you," he growled, but it only made the voice laugh. Another stab at his hot spot had his swollen cock jerking involuntarily.
Bill -- or Hair Gel, as Keith had referred to him as before he'd learnt his name -- had begun by experimenting on him to see his reactions for 'advanced knowledge of his nervous system for the good and progression of medical science' or something long like that. Keith had completely ignored his bullshit excuse and had been preoccupied with wondering how the fuck someone so sick in the head could have such a normal name. Call him stereotypical, but he'd been expecting Doctor Von Something-or-other. But now Bill was just playing with him. Harsh, perverted eyes gazed down at his tender 18-year-old body as he fondled his senses and his prick.
He laughed again. "Don't you want to come? I could just tie you up and leave you, if that's what you'd prefer. Be a good boy, Keith, this is for you and-" "-the good of fucking medical science." "Don't be sarcastic, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit." "It's the highest form of intelligence." Bill, who had seemingly had enough, let out an abrupt sigh, which acted as a warning to tell Keith he was pushing too far. Keith's erection had started to wane, and despite Keith's praying-to-God-the-bastard-didn't-notice, he did.
Keith screamed, with pain this time, as the sharp thin instrument was removed and he felt the cold sting of a scalpel biting into his skin.
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