Brandon, or "Meat", as Mistress Jyousama called him--really, he had lately begun to think of his "real" name as Meat, and his Christian name as merely the moniker that the rest of the world knew him by--gasped audibly around his gag as his Mistress took him into her mouth.  This was the sensation that made it all worthwhile.  This was why he endured the pain, the humiliation, the pain, the degradation, and the pain.  This was why he strove so hard to keep stoic and rigid when the repeated blows to his testicles made him want to curl up in a fetal position on the floor, whimpering.  When the Japanese woman took his 9 inches into her mouth, her tongue moulding to the underside of his penis, it was ecstasy incarnate.  Her fingers, her lips, her throat were pure magic to his abused organ.<br/><br/>He knew she liked to hear his reaction, and so he did not even try to constrain the moan of pleasure that rose automatically from his throat.  Slurping on his ball gag, he grunted and purred, a deep, gutteral expression of bliss.  His girth looked impossibly huge in her tiny mouth, and sometimes he wondered how she could take it all in--but she did.  It was all he could do to keep his back straight.<br/><br/>Through half-lidded eyes, most of his attention was focused on Mistress Jyousama's pretty head bobbing up and down, but the flash of light on metal points attracted his peripheral vision.  He found himself watching out of morbid fascination, and shuddered in involuntary sympathy as Mistress Xanyelle's needles pierced her slave's nipple and clit.  The nipple was bad enough, but he groaned aloud as the razor-sharp point pierced the hooded pearl, producing a droplet of crimson.  He couldn't help it.  He had gladly endured a large amount of abuse of his penis and balls at Mistress Jyousama's capable hands, but her bruising, slapping, even kicking them was one thing; actually piercing the skin was quite another. If she ever decided she wanted to try a needle...well, he would find out exactly how much he really trusted her.