Baccano!, Fermet/Czeslaw, the mental torture is worse than the physical
It hurt when Fermet experimented. Czeslaw tried to gauge the pain at first, after the first few times he died and he realised that Fermet wasn't going to stop. He's not sure when he gave up. Nerves were simple things, they turned on and off, and pleasure and pain were not so different when pushed to the very extreme. It hurt, the things Fermet did to him, and that was all that Czeslaw knew.
"Again, Czes?" Fermet asked. "Shall we play some more?"
Fermet lifted Czeslaw's penis with the flat edge of a knife. The blade had been glowing red when Fermet had last touched him with it, driven it into his belly and pulled his guts out steaming and sizzling.
Fermet had done it after he'd come. "Shh," he'd said, mouth smiling around Czeslaw's seizing prick and Czeslaw remembered the iron smell of the knife as it heated in the brazier. "This feels good, right? See, I can still make you feel good."
Czeslaw squirmed as Fermet kissed it hard again, made promises Czeslaw couldn't hope he'd keep. Czeslaw didn't have to watch, but he couldn't keep still. The chains at his wrist rattled, scraping the skin raw with new wounds that would never scar.
Helpless, he blinked away tears when Fermet kissed the inside of his thigh, and the shape of Fermet's smile pressed to his skin was sharper and more painful than the scrape of the knife on his ribs.
"A little more," Fermet said, deciding for them both. "It'll feel good again soon."