One Shots (MxM)

Fizzle’s Pre-Sub Life

Fizzle's Pre Sub Life-

TW: Violence

Fizzle

I wince at the pain shooting through my body as I walk through the front door of the house. They never notice when I'm gone which I guess is a good thing. It's better than them asking about the hundreds of bruises all over me.

"Fizzle, honey? Is that you?"

"Yeah, mom." I respond, making sure that my clothes are covering me pretty well.

"I'm glad you're home." She tells me, not bothering to really look at me. She does glance at me and giggle softly. "You're so silly. Why are you wearing a turtleneck in summer?"

She doesn't really notice when I smile and ignore her to go to my room. She's always high. I don't mind much because she doesn't hurt me or anything. She just doesn't notice me.

Then again, nobody else really does either. Being invisible means that I can do whatever I want without anyone caring.

I check my messages, smiling slightly at the one from the man today.

'I had fun with you. You should come over again sometime, baby.'

It's not going to happen. I can't risk sleeping with any of them more than once because then they'd find out that I'm not as old as I said. I dig in my pocket to pull out the ID I've been using for anyone who asks my age. 20 years old. I'm not. I'm only 16, and I've been at this for 2 years.

Getting into fights at school stressed my mom out, so I got online, looking for someone who could hit me and satisfy my needs.

I stumbled upon a website full of sadists and masochists wanting to play together. Last night I went to one of their houses. He asked if a few friends could join and I agreed. They listened when I refused to do two at a time, but they did take full advantage of my mouth.

I sigh and pull my shirt over my head before walking to the bathroom to check the damages. I've got bruises on my cheeks from the smacking and punching. Hand prints practically branded into my neck from all of the choking.

I open my mouth and wince. The corners are torn a bit from them forcing it open so wide. I sigh and take a step back, cringing as I trail my fingers over the dark purple bruises all over my chest. Hickeys and bite marks also liter my skin.

I turn slightly, looking at my back where they hit me with a whip. The gashes are red and have dry blood caked on them, but I think I'll be fine.

From the looks of me, anyone would think I got jumped and beat in an alley or something. I know it's f****d up to like what I do, but this is the only way I can get what I really want. I can't exactly ask kids at school to do this to me.

I walk to my closet to get a hoodie, starting to pull it over my head when my brother comes in. He's a lot younger. 7 years old, but still old enough to worry.

"Woah. Why does your back look like that. Are you okay?"

I pull the hoodie down before turning to face him with a glare. I can't have him blabbing to everyone or I won't be able to do this anymore.

"I'm fine. Now mind your own business and get out of my room."

"Mom said I can come in whenever I want."

"Mom's a pothead. Get out."

"You should go to a hospital."

"I'm not arguing about this. Get the hell out of my room!"

He huffs and turns around to storm out, slamming the door behind him, leaving me to let out a soft sigh. God, I hope he doesn't end up like me. People can pretend it's normal all they want, but it's sick to like that stuff. It's sick to get off on getting beat up. I'm sick, and I don't know how to fix it.

I sigh and grab my phone, getting on the website to search through the sadists around the area. I stop when I find a cute one I haven't seen before.

I send him a quick message. Waiting for him to respond. When he does, I ask about a meeting place, smiling when he sends an address that isn't far from me.

I grab my things and leave again, not the slightest bit shocked that nobody noticed me walking out of the front door. I walk down the street, taking deep breaths to ease my nerves.

I've done this a thousand times, but I'm still waiting for one of them to be a cannibal or someone who just wants to kill me.

"Fizzle, right?" I hear someone say when I stop outside of the building.

I turn to him, smiling when it's actually the guy in the photos. "Yeah. You're Emmanuel?"

"I go by Manny. Let me show you to the apartment."

We walk inside and I shift awkwardly when we step onto the elevator, listening to the numbers beep without saying a word. Eventually Manny breaks the silence.

"You look younger in person. How old are you again?"

"20. I get that a lot though. Usually along with 'I thought you'd be taller' and 'can I see your ID?'"

Manny laughs softly and leads me off when we get to his floor. "I won't do all that. I was just making sure."

When we get inside, he takes me straight to his bedroom. Hm... he doesn't play around I guess. I start to take my clothes of when he shuts the door, only looking back at him when I'm naked.

His eyes are wide as he looks at me, making me tilt my head. "What's wrong?"

"The guy shouldn't have hurt you that bad." He mentions, walking closer to trail his fingers over my hickeys and bruises. He cringes when he touches my neck, but I just shrug.

"Guys. Plural. Besides, I can take whatever anyone decides to do." I say with finality. As he walks around to the back of me, he gently touches the cuts that the whip left.

"You may think that, but it's not true. You need stitches." He goes into his bathroom and brings a few things out. "Lay on the bed on your stomach."

I do as I'm told and sigh. "I'm fine, Manny. Can you just beat me and f**k me like everyone else?"

"I'm a dom before I'm a sadist, Fizzle. Aftercare is important and the people you've been with clearly don't understand that."

"What the hell is aftercare?" I ask, hissing when he starts to pour rubbing alcohol in the open cuts. I shift my hips on the bed, feeling my c**k grow due to the stinging sensation.

"Aftercare is when you take care of a sub after a scene. You make them comfortable, tend to their wounds, and make them feel good because if you don't then the sub could get depressed or come down with an infection. They should've at least cleaned your cuts."

I've heard of dominants and submissives. Most of the men that I sleep with are dominants, and from what they've done, I always thought it was just s*x. They tie me up, hit me, and f**k me. Then they leave. This is different though. Aftercare?

Maybe those other guys aren't really doms. They never thought to take care of me after we finished.

I shrug, turning to him when he grabs a curved needle. "Are you trained to do that?"

"I'm a nurse, so yes." He answers, sticking it into the skin on my back. I hiss again before letting out a soft moan. "You're a pretty intense masochist, aren't you?"

"I guess I am. That feels good." I answer, moaning louder and louder each time the needle stabs me. I shift slightly and move my hips against the bed to give myself at least some of the pleasure I want.

"You shouldn't keep doing this if this is the condition those guys leave you in. Go to a club and try becoming a member. You can easily find a sadist who will hurt you how you want, and won't leave you this beat up. Someone who hurts you without the proper training could do serious damage to you or even kill you if you're not safe." He reaches down to touch my neck.

I stop my movements and listen closer. "Whoever choked you hard enough to leave those bruises obviously doesn't understand how dangerous it is to cut oxygen off from your brain. You easily could've died. Please be careful from now on."

I sigh softly and sit up when he finishes. I ignore my raging b***r in order to focus on him. "I don't know any places like that."

"I'll give you some addresses. Just be safe. There's guys out there just waiting for a kid like you to fall into their grasp so they can cross the line between b**m and abuse." He warns.

I nod, getting dressed again as he writes the numbers down. I assumed he didn't want to have s*x. So I guess I'll have to get myself off when I get back home. He hands me the paper, making me smile at him. "Thanks."

"I wrote my number as well. Call me in a few weeks to take your stitches out."

I nod again, turning to walk out, reaching up to touch my neck. Maybe I should start being more careful.

My phone buzzes, alerting me of a message. I open it, smiling down at it. I'll start being more careful tomorrow.