My father would not do any damage to my body that might still be visible when I would be handed over to the Khan, so the pain I had to bear was mostly...that of needles, even if my father knew how to use them with good effect, upon my nipples, my clitoris, or underneath my toe- and fingernails. I had to learn, he told me, to stay still, without movement, without a sound, when the pain threatened, when it approached, when it set in, when it grew and lasted and did not stop growing, but staying. He often tore holes in his school trouser pockets so he could massage his sensitive tip at leisure, but one French lesson, the teacher throw him out of the class and into an adjacent box room, she said she'd be back to check, well he thought to himself, you'll catch me fucking myself at 15 years old he was a cum machine and rampant, he slowly got out his hard cock from his pants and as if in private wanked like fuck, when Miss Dentford walked in he shielded his wank with his Blazer, her eyes. More

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