Damaged Alpha (Jasonn)
Kilani was standing in front of a full length mirror, casting his orange eyes along himself. Upward they went first, fixing on the small horns protruding from the fur on his head. He reached up and touched at the points on each one, pushing down a little until he winced from the pressure on his skull. He leaned in to get a better look, parting his fur at the base of the right horn to see where it pushed out of his skull. It wouldn't have been so bad just to grind his horns down to stumps, would it?
A grunt left his muzzle as he cast his eyes down to his muzzle and the fang-tooth that pushed out too far from the left side of his muzzle. He used a fingertip to push at the tip, feeling the texture of his finger underneath. His horn could be filed down, but his teeth would have been too much work to take care of.
Was exile still the only answer?
There had to have been another way.
His eyes drifted lower now, past his chest and belly to rest on the ebony protrusion between his thighs. His penis. Well, what was left of it anyway. The damage done to his penis was irreparable and he knew it, but it had to have also been unnecessary. What kind of otter didn't have his foreskin? He grasped at his glans in his palm, curled his fingers tight, and yanked outward on his flaccid prick.
That way he could see his scar. It showed itself as a thick line of discoloration where black and brown skin met, his shaft versus his inner foreskin. The punctures from the stitches showed even, if he looked in the right light. He rolled his cock with his fingers so he could see the underside and he trailed the tip of his claw along the underside, closing his eyes and desperately hoping for some tickle of sensation to show up this time. As always, nothing came. They'd taken that from him, too.
His paw drifted lower and cradled his balls. When his fingers wrapped around his brown sack he curled his toes and nearly had to let them go. They were so sensitive since the day of his exile, when they'd taken his ability to proper empty himself when he wanted. He'd been frustrated so long, and he could hardly remember a time when he wasn't blue-balled. The lightest touch to his testes felt like a squeeze, and if he accidentally squeezed them in his thighs while sitting he could make himself yelp. Then he'd be trying not to groan for the next hour.
He snarled and turned away from the mirror. It had been a long day after all, and he flopped down onto his bed. When his eyes finally closed for good, he wasn't in the land of forgotten pain and dreams. Instead, he was back home, and he'd just turned fourteen.
For a minute, the hug of the ocean around his body was all there was. Then he opened his eyes and dove the floor, filling his net with as many shells he could find. One of them managed to get away before he could grasp it in his claws, but he didn't watch it swim, instead his attention turned to the one thing he wanted. More. There was an abundance of fish anyway, waiting for them all to eat. But not a single shell was open and waiting, and Kilani knew exactly where they would be. He must have been down for ten minutes before he kicked off the floor to the surface, swimming toward the light until the world exploded in his ears, and he flicked the water off of his face.
When his eyes focused he was left slack-jawed. The whole of his tribe was standing over him and two sets of arms reached down to pull him out of the water. More hands grabbed at him and lifted him into the air. He could feel their fingers on his feet and legs, his thighs. Someone was drying off his privates! He squeaked and tried to crane his head, only to find fingers holding his forehead into place so he could look no further than the sky! His eyes followed those fingers to his mother's face, and his eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak, and more fingers covered his lips.
Kilani was only just realizing how much trouble he was in. This was something that never happened unless it was something bad! He felt a hand combing through his hair and caught some words in his ear. "...these horns? Gross."
Those words were enough to cause him to start to panic. He couldn't move, couldn't kick or fight his way out! He couldn't find an exit no matter how quickly he moved. He worked his arms and legs and even tried to curl his tail, but nothing worked to break free of his tribe's grip. Unceremoniously he was pushed down against a rock table and a rolled cloth was pushed underneath his head. He could look down now, his eyes widened at what he saw. The tribe's medic was standing between his spread legs and he held a shark's tooth in his hand.
"Kilani," he spoke, shaking his head slowly. "You were brought in with us when you were just a pup, too young to remember. But you are impure. It probably isn't your fault, how could you have known? But still, traditions must be upheld. You are never to return to us after today. Ever." He held that tooth high, brandishing it for all to see. His little brother grinned wide at the sight.
"You're aware how important your foreskin is, little Kilani. You will not leave here without it!"
Kilani couldn't find the words to speak them. His heart felt like was going to jump right out of his chest as the older otter reached for his foreskin and yanked up on it, holding the ebony skin tight. That tooth came closer and closer until it was touching, and with a sawing motion Kilani was screaming, watching in horror while blood trickled down his shaft. The next sounds to reach his ears however were...
He couldn't believe it, at first. His eyes scanned upward to where his adoptive parents were watching and laughing. His brother was laughing. Everyone he set his eyes on was enjoying his suffering, mocking the tears that leaked down his face. His voice climbed higher in pitch as the shark tooth that was cutting into his flesh sliced cleanly through the topside with a sickening ripping sound, pain exploding from his crotch. The medic plopped what he was holding down between Kilani's legs with a wet splat. His whole penis felt like it was on fire! When he looked down at it all he could see was a bloody mess, and raw flesh where skin was supposed to be.
"Not done quite yet, little one."
The older otter picked up the tooth again and pushed Kilani's dick against his belly so it was pointed at himself. He could see his glans and knew he'd never cover it back up again! The medic pointed to the sensitive band of tissue that was supposed to attach Kilani's foreskin to his glans, and his eyes widened while he shook his head. "Please, not that! No!" he begged, but the tooth came closer.
He took his time while cutting it off too, almost longer than he had slicing off Kilani's foreskin. The little otter felt every movement made, his toes curling while pain shot up his spine and down to his toes. He couldn't muster the strength to scream anymore, a weak groan coming instead while his tribemates giggled. One boy pushed his foreskin down and then waggled his cock at Kilani's face to show off what he no longer had.
Kilani found the strength to scream again when the makeshift knife sliced through his frenulum, working it off as easy as skinning a fish. He tried to pull his hips away but he couldn't move an inch with all the hands on him, holding him firm to the rock as they took everything good about his dick away from him. The otter waggled the bloody strip like a trophy in Kilani's face, a sick grin on his muzzle.
"There we are. Just gotta stitch you up. Now you'll never forget your place among us purebred otters."
Kilani was helpless, and he realized it way too late. What would his ancestors have thought about this? He shook the thoughts from his head in time to see a needle and surgical thread passed to the evil otter between his legs. Even while soft, the medic had to pull each stitch as tightly as he could to make sure the skin was securely together. While his foreskin was taken, the last thing the tribe would do is send someone out to lose his entire organ.
Kilani woke with a start, gasping for his breath and with his paw, grasping at his dick. It was stiff and leaky and his balls were sore because he hadn't been able to cum yet this week. He turned on his lamp with his free paw and looked down to his ebony shaft. The shaft was covered in scars from where his claws had dug in or slipped while he was stroking himself, or both at once. Some were deeper than others and some were new even, that he'd given himself earlier in the week.
He grasped at his shaft again, his fingers resting just below his shaft. He yanked downward, forcing a tiny moan as he pumped as quickly as he could. He was careful not to let his grip slip so he wouldn't bash his fist into his balls accidentally and start crying. His claws dug into his shaft and made tiny points in his flesh. His chest heaved as he took in a breath.
He leaned back on his bed, wincing as his arm started to get tired. He switched, tugging downward as harshly as he could. Sometimes it could take hours for him to cum. He just wanted to get rid of his blue balls before had to go to work in the morning! His eyes rolled back as he surrendered to his thoughts, but the images rolling through his mind kept drifting toward the dream he'd had. The laughter. The way they stared at him and mocked him as he thrashed under their paws and screamed from the pain. As if he wasn't one of them anymore. As if he hadn't been their friend once.
He did his best to push the images out of his head, to focus on something else, anything. They wouldn't go away. The sound of their laughter while he was mutilated in front of them. His hips pushed outward and his moan tickled his ears as he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his heart beat faster and he bit his lower lip. His arm was burning from the effort, hotter and hotter until he couldn't feel it anymore and his grip started to get lax.
He changed paws again, hissing out and thinking of the ocean. The serenity he felt each time he dove in and got hugged by the other world. His cock throbbed again and he felt his pre-cum sticking to his fingers. He felt the tingle of orgasm again slowly approaching and he ground his fang against his chin. He whimpered and grunted bucking his hips in counter to his strokes. Again, his arm was burning. By the time he swapped hands the tingle he was seeking melted away again. He growled in frustration and stroked himself even faster, groaning louder as if it would trick his body into flipping the switch and sending him over. He had to swap paws again, chasing the tail of his orgasm until the first light of morning.