Rupture Fest 2013: Market Mashup

The fifty businessmen who had gathered for Rupture Fest had broken into smaller groups of 16 or so for the next activities. Greg Robins, a financial executive in his late thirties with neatly styled black hair, was standing with 15 other men in a small room, four posts protruded from the ground along the back wall. At the front of the room one of the hosts, a friendly looking young man in his early twenties and dressed entirely in black, was explaining the rules of the game called Market Mash Up.

"Welcome to Market Mash Up gentleman, I see a lot of familiar faces but a few of you are new so let me just go over this activity,"

As he was speaking, his voice cool and professional, his audience clad in their finest business-casual attire as if preparing for a power lunch, no one seemed phased as a door on the side of the room opened and a line of four young men, gagged and with hands bound behind their backs, was lead in. Each young man was being led into position by one of the events ubiquitous, ruthlessly efficient men in black, mysterious, relatively short men dressed in black suits and black sunglasses who -- while never appearing to speak or signal to each other -- executed all of the event's setups flawlessly.

"Each of you signed up for this event after last year's Rupture Fest and we've been tracking the stock performance of your companies since then to see who had the largest gains..."

The host continued calming talking as the struggling young men were each placed against one of the posts along the room, their arms and hands secured behind their backs and their legs spread apart by a metal bar at the ankles. Each was naked, and all were sporting -- as was a specific requirement to be involved -- massive sets of nuts. The men were gagged and their restraints given a final inspection by the men in black, who stepped away from and to the side of each, as if guarding against the unlikely event of an escape.

The first young man was an athletic, tall blonde with powerful runners legs, a broad chest and ample dangling nuts. The next was a muscular Latino man in his early thirties with scruffy facial hair and truly donkey sized nuts between his tree trunk legs, bulging invitingly in a tight, unyielding sack. The Latin's sack was so stuffed, his scrotum glistened from being so taught. To his side was a skinny, lanky skater type who couldn't have been older than 25 with jet black hair and a pair of modest nuts that hung down a ridiculous, almost comical distance from his body. And lastly there was a bear-cub, scruffy man in his early thirties with fiery red hair, a mustache, huge broad shoulders and arms and a huge, oval shaped nuts protruding from his fire red crotch.

"Well the results are in... having gained the most for the year the representative from Omnicorp gets to be this year's masher! Congratulations, Greg Robins!'

The crowd of men applauded wildly, patting Greg on the back as he made his way toward the host.

"Thank you! This is gonna be a blast."

Greg's Armani slacks strained to contain his growing erection. He had participated in Rupture Fest for three years now and had never been able to personally rupture any of the donkey-balled studs he'd watched get nutted in increasingly creative and splattering ways. This was the chance of a lifetime.

"Now, in the past for Market Mash Up we let the winning executive nut four guys for our amusement using this old fashioned thing," the host held up a heavy, metal mallet and flung it indifferently toward one of the bound young men, the mallet bouncing off his thigh.

"But our friends over at weapons contractor Consolidated Iridium AG have let us try out this..."

The host help up a gray, somewhat bulky glove. The audience's confusion was apparent.

"Anyone ever seen Iron Man? Well this is a real-life exoskeleton - like that movie - there are servos and gyros and lord knows what else..."

"All soon-to-be available from Consolidated Iridium," a white-haired executive in the crowd -- presumably a senior player at the company -- interjected to polite chuckles from his colleagues.

"The workings are straight forward, whatever force you exert, will be amplified by the glove. Let me show you,"

The host slipped on the glow and tapped it rapidly with his other hand, there was a whirring sound as the glove apparently came to life. He motioned for one of the men in black to bring him something, which turned out to be a walnut.

He took the nut in his ungloved hand and squeezed futility as the rigid object barely noticed. Then he put it in his gloved had and, with the slightest effort, crushed the nut to powder.

The men all laughed, eying the captives hungrily, eying the balls they knew were about to face the same fate. The captive's eyes bugged out and all four began to squirm wildly, trying to protect their nuts.

"So, Mr. Robins, I present to you the Inifitrex 76-G, the combat glove for the next generation of soldiers.

Greg took the glove from the host and put it on. It wasn't as bulky in feeling as it looked, but was much heavier than he expected considering it appeared to weight as much as a normal\ leather glove. Greg took a few minutes to flex his fingers and get a feel for the glove, making sure to squeeze and punch the air while making eye contact with each captive, as if to say "kiss your sack goodbye."

The gathered executives were eager to see just how much damage this glove would do to the eight baby makers on display.

"Let's start with you, blondie." Greg walked up to the blonde kid and gave his nuts a playful squeeze with his ungloved hand. The blonde pleaded and struggled.

The blonde's nuts were about the size of large walnuts -- a perfect size considering that day's demonstration -- and hung loosely in their sack. The left hung slightly lower, and was more oblong, so Greg decided to focus on that one first.

Gregory reached out, positioning the dangling left nut between his thumb and forefinger and began to squeeze. Through the glove he could feel the warm, pulsing organ being squeezed between his fingers. It was almost perfectly round, firm to the touch and... SQUISH! To Greg's surprise, his thumb and forefinger were now virtually touching, separated only by a thin piece of scrotum.

The young stud screamed hysterically through his gag and his legs convulsed wildly attempting to protect his manhood. Although Greg thought he was only barely touching the boy's nuts, the added strength provided by the glove proved otherwise. He opened his finger and observed his handy work. The left nut had been totally blown apart, crushed effortlessly by only two fingers. Greg grinned.

"Ooops!" he said mockingly to the crowds delight.

He reached for the right nut and again trapped it between his thumb and finger. Not wanting the end to come quite so quickly, or unexpectedly less he miss the sensation, he was mindful to close his fingers slowly. He met eyes with the quivering stud and he felt in great detail the membranes and tissues of the doomed nut crumpling and exploding until again his thumb and finger were touching. The whole thing took less than a few seconds, but to the trapped young man it felt like a thousand years. His eyes shot open in bright panic, then his head went limp. He was out.

"This thing is great!" Greg said grinding this thumb and finger together, feeling the already cracked nut being turned into paste inside the sack. "Whose next!"

"Pop the Latin kid!"

"Crush the skater!"

Greg stepped back from the comatose blonde and eyed the remaining three men. He was incredibly aroused by the power this seemingly incurious glove gave him over the six ample baby makers before him. He paced back and forth, making telling gestures such as clenching his hand and making fists which he fired into the air -- a hit that would almost certainly destroy a pair of genitals. He eyed each man, licking his lips and imagining the best way to wreck someone's sex life.

"Let's pop these balloons" he said laughing as he stopped in front of the taller, lanky skater type kid.

The kid was trembling, tears streaming from his eyes. He knew he only had mere moments to remain a full man.

"Hmm how should be burst these bad boys?"

The crowd went wild calling out suggestions. Punching them, squeezing them. Ripping them off.

"Ah, I know, these things are already hanging so low, I might as well get in some sparring practice."

The skater's eyes shot open in sheer terror and he screamed uncontrollably into his gag. Greg, ignoring the muffled pleas for mercy, knelt down so that he was at eye level with the skater boy's large, swinging nutsack. The skater's nuts were big and were by far the lowest hanging. They swung nearly six inches in the loose, hanging bag, resting at the bottom like two fleshy eggs. Greg balled his gloved hand into a fist and positioned the knuckle directly at the seam of the boy's sack, he wanted to make sure his aim was dead on.

"Count down with me!" he encouraged the crowd as he began moving his fist away from the swinging targets.

"Five... four.... three..."

Greg's fist was as far back as it would go, as if such preparation was hardly necessary considering the glove could likely have cracked his nuts with the equivalent effort of a light slap, but Greg wanted to be especially sure these nuts were mushed. The boy was writhing and screaming, his nut sack bouncing from the movement but still in harms way. The excitement in the room was palpable. Would the boy's nuts be mushed totally in the sack on impact? Would the sack split open? Would the dangling sack be knocked clear off like a sparring target hit off its supports?

"... two... one!"

There was an audible whoosh as the fist sailed through the air, followed by a satisfying, echoing wet splat. Greg's fist collided full force with the swinging sack which promptly exploded open like a pinata. Since the brunt of the force was directly between the trapped nuts, the outward force forced each nut -- each instantly turned to goo on impact -- to explode out of the left and right sides. the nut goop sprayed out in both directions for several feet, and Greg's cock twitched in his dress pants as he replayed the feeling of so viciously snuffing out any hope skater boy would ever have kids. Skater boy's head instantly rolled to the side and he was out, the liquefied remains of his nuts now dripping out of the holes in his sack.

And then there were four nuts.

"Latin boy next!" Greg shouted to the crowd's approval as he sprung to his feel and stood face to face with the Latino captive. Although he had tried to remain defiantly stoic through the affair, watching two sets of huge, proud nuts be totally annihilated in a matter of seconds had turned the Latin stud into a quivering mess as it became clear that --in just a few moments -- he would never be able to spew any of his rich, creamy salsa.

"Please! Don't!" the young man screamed, muffled unintelligibly by the gag.

Ignoring him, Greg reached down until he could feel the warm, throbbing balls in his fist. By now, Greg was getting the hang of the glove so was able to cradle the Latin's donkey balls in his fist without instantly crushing them like he had done to the blonde. The two made eye contact for what -- to the Latin -- seemed to be a long time. His pleading eyes ostensibly having no effect on Greg.

"Ya' know what guys," Greg started, not taking his eyes off his victim.

"I think these balls might be too nice to just be burst open, at least not yet."

As he spoke, Greg bounced the balls in his fist, squeezing them and sizing them up. They were by far the largest in the room and firm. They were tight in their sack, so bulged invitingly, especially with the added pressure from Greg's gloved hand. In different circumstances, Greg would have been on his knees licking and sucking such beautiful baby makers, but this was Rupture Fest and popping them would be much more fun, Greg concluded.

"Why don't we give this guy a break..."

SPLOSH! CRUNCH!

"... or not!"

The Latin stud, who actually had believed he was going to be shown mercy, opened his eyes wide and screamed in genuine surprise and horror. He looked down to see that his liquefied nuts had exploded in the now clenched fist, Latin sperm and nut gunk oozing from between Greg's fingers. Greg clenched his fist so tightly that his biceps bulged and his face became red in effort. He watched -- and felt -- as the destroyed nuts were mushed further and further, oozing between his fingers and dripping to the floor. The sight was too much and Greg explosively came, coating the inside of his slacks with ropes of jizz he could feel running down his leg.

With a quick twist of his wrist, Greg pulled his still closed fist away from the young man, ripping off his entire squashed scrotum in one quick motion. The screaming and writhing were at a fever pitch as Greg help up the bloody glob, which had mostly already dripped through his fingers, then proceeded to smear it all over the Latino's face.

"Great new moisturizer!"

"It really does wonders for the skin!"

The businessmen cat called as the now passed out stud stood suspended on the pole, his face dripping with the innards of his nuts.

Then there was just one pair to destroy.

The last young man, a burly, bearish red head with meaty oblong testicles was beyond hysterics. He was attempting to close his legs so hard that for a moment it looked as though he may actually be successful, though the same men in black who had secured him stood silently in the background ready to restrain him if he did.

"Hmm.. a fire crotch. What oh what shall we do with these..." Greg mused, giving the boy's nuts a slap with his gloved hand.

SQUISH!

Although there was virtually no effort on Greg's part, the red head's right nut instantly burst from the blow.

"Damn it! I wasn't ready yet! You piece of shit! Lousy weak balls!"

Greg was enraged. Getting the chance to be the Crusher during Market Mash Up was a once in a lifetime chance, and here this prick was ruining his last moments to savior crushing testicles by having one blow apart at the slightest hit. Greg grabbed the now mushy right side of the sack and began to squeeze, splitting the sack open instantly and letting the mashed ball squirt out.

The red head's eyes rolled in horror and pain and he promptly passed out.

"Oh no you don't, fucking prick!"

Greg punched the boy in the face -- with his gloved hand -- shattering most of his teeth and breaking his jaw like glass. Several of the watching businessmen winced in feigned sympathy.

"Wake him up! Wake him up!" Greg shouted at the men in black, who came over and calmly administered smelling salts to the red head. They removed his gag so that he could spit out his shattered teeth and blood.

"Please! Please!" he wailed, though he knew it was hopeless.

Greg grabbed the left nut with the glove and was about to simply rip it off as he had done with the Latino but stopped. He had a better idea. He inserted his gloved finger into the hole made by the exploded right nut and began to rip and tear the remaining scrotum. The red head writhed and pleaded, screamed and begged, his head rolling in a desperate effort to pass out and escape the pain, but Greg kept instructing for the men in black to keep him awake with salts.

When the scrotum had been ripped to shreds, Greg removed the glove and placed it gently on the ground. He then knelt down and examined the now totally exposed left nut with his bare hands. It was firm, large and a greyish-reddish color. Even the slightest touch to the sensitive, vulnerable organ made the red head scream in pain. Greg grabbed the orb in his bare hand and squeezed as hard as he could. Although such an action would have caused the red head's sex life to instantly explode had he been wearing the glove, Greg was annoyed to find that the organ resisted any deformation when using just his hand.

Greg then proceeded to place the red head's last, whole nut in one palm while pounding into it with this fist, hammering the rapidly swelling nut mercilessly. The red head's squeals were now inhuman sobs, which only helped arouse the crow even more, many of them had already creamed their pants from the nut bursting spectacle.

"Break damn thing..."

WHACK WHACK WHACK

"Break!' Greg shouted as he attempted to mush the poor nut with his bare hands.. but it didn't crack.
Greg continued pounding the nut until it eventually started to get softer, and softer ... and softer....

SQUICK.!

Though it wasn't nearly as explosive as when he had blown apart balls with the glove, the wet popping sound and satisfying, membrane crunching sensation told Greg that this red head bear wouldn't be siring anymore children.

Awake for his entire, slow denutting the red head was mercilessly allowed to finally pass out.

Greg felt the nut in his hands, it had split open down the middle and was oozing nut guts.

"Look, just like a cracked nut."

The gathered executives laughed.

Greg took one final look back at the line of destroyed, nutless studs and thought to himself  "This is a helluva lot better than a weekend at the office."

Rupture Fest 2013: The Game Show

It was Friday. The beautiful, sophisticated and most well-heeled women in the City were prattling among themselves at a charity ball at an art museum, absent their powerful, businessmen husbands who usually accompanied them to such things. While they sipped champagne and pretended to be experts on cancer, world hunger or whatever other cause celebre their family's charitable foundations were championing, their husbands were off at their annual 'boys weekend' at the City Country Club. Cocktails, gossip and society magazine photo ops for the ladies. Golf, backroom politicking and brandy for the men. It was all a decidedly sexist affair, but it was a tradition among the City's elite power couples that continued with hardly any debate, lest they upset a social order that had allowed them to maintain their shiny images for generations.

However, the golf courses and parlors of the City's secluded country club were markedly quiet considering a group of fifty bombastic men were supposedly on holiday there. Most of the support staff waited around in perfectly-pressed uniforms in these empty venues, not speaking a word of the oddity at the risk of losing what was clearly an easy job. All of the day's activities were taking place in a building at the edge of the club's grounds whose vaulted ceiling and old world architectural touches made it look more like a stately manor house than a modern pole barn.

Inside the large empty building bleachers had been erected facing a stage. Behind the stage was a white wall outlined in various colored lights. In the center of the wall was a mural, an artistic conglomeration of the world-famous logos of the various companies whose top executives were at the club for the weekend. On stage right was a glass and metal podium as modern as it was pretentious, with a small remote-control type device attached to its top. The stage was awash with light from array of ceiling lights and gels would have rivaled a Hollywood movie set. And above the middle of the stage suspended from the ceiling by two massive metal beams, a strange contraption hung. It was a long box shaped object about the size of a refrigerator resting on its side, covered in a silky black cloth. Whatever the object was, it was humming slightly, barely perceptible in the empty auditorium.

Moments later, the businessman filed in coolly as if attending a board meeting. They were all dressed in tailored suits, some wearing jackets but most without, and were sharply groomed. Even the oldest of the group, a banker in his 60s, had the vigor and youthfulness of a man twenty-years his junior - the reward of a privileged, comfortable life. The men took their seats and a hush came over the crowd. The lights in the auditorium dimmed so that only the stage was lit, the lights along the wall began to flash in rhythm to thumping techno that was playing from nowhere but everywhere at once. As the crowd began clapping in rhythm, the music got louder, the lights flashed faster and the lights shinnying down on the staged shuddered and flashed to add an air of almost game show excitement to the scene.

"Are you ready?" came a disembodied male voice.

"YES!" the men chanted in unison.

"I said are you ready?" the voice asked again.

"HELL YES!" the crowd, again in unison, answered more soundly and started to clap and cheer.

"Let's play!” the announcer said waving as he emerged as if from nowhere and took his spot behind the podium.

The announcer was a middle-aged, well dressed man with slicked black hair and was holding a stack of note cards the backs of which all had the same amalgamated logo that was over the stage. He had a toothy grin and exuded charm like a professional TV game show host, pointing to various executives in the gathered crowd to greet them by name . This was clearly not the first time he had seen this crowd. When the crowd quieted down again, the stage lights dimmed, the techno faded out and a spotlight shone on the announcer.

"Gentleman, welcome to the 2013 Annual City Club Rupture Fest!"

The crowd went into hysterical cheers, an older weapons contractor executive in the front row threw his tie and jokingly cat called "We love you!" to the announcer. The techno music briefly roused before fading again, and the audience quieted back down, leaning in as if hung on the announcers every word.+

"I'm Jack and I'm glad to be your host again this year. We have a busy agenda as you saw in invite letters you all received, and a lot more events so fella's this is gonna be the only time all of you are at the same event until the banquet Sunday night."

The sound of paper shuffling could be heard as men pulled out the invitations Jack had alluded to and briefly glanced over the itinerary. Friday, Saturday and Sunday were each broken into three sections 'Morning', 'Afternoon' and 'Evening'. Friday's 'morning' slot was marked simply 'Arrival, guests settling into their rooms', and Friday afternoon was marked 'The Game Show', its font red to indicate that it was new for this year. The executives had already RSVP'd in advance which events throughout the weekend they wanted to attend. Friday evening had three listed events -- 'Market Mash Up', ˜Darts and 'Power Grab'. No further explanatory text or information was given as if the attendees already had long-standing knowledge of what these events were... Saturday and Sunday's three slots each listed three more events each with names such as "Intern Interview" and "Golf", but Sunday evening only listed one event "The Banquet". After a few moments, and some excited whispering amongst themselves, the men put their programs away and turned their attention back to the stage.

Jack continued, "You're probably all wondering what The Game show is this year. It's not as hands on as 'Power Grab'..." a few of the executive chuckled knowingly, "But we're sure you're going to like it. Let's just give these boys a few minutes to get everything setup."

While Jack made chit chat and poked playful fun at the executives, strikingly-efficient men dressed entirely in black and wearing mirror-lenses sunglasses were busily setting up the stage of the 'game show'. Two waist-high white tables, supported by only one slightly curved, elegant leg that seemed ostensibly insufficient to hold the table top's weight were put on the stage a few feet from each other. On the table tops, as could been seen more clearly by the executives on the higher tier seats, were red circles at the middle. Behind the table, a sleek white pole at least eight feet tall was erected, each bolted to the ground and tested for strength by being shoved and pushed on by three of the men in black at once. Meanwhile, the shroud was removed from the object suspended over the stage, and a man in black seemed to take a quick measurement to verify that the tables were positioned equally under the thing. Compared to the sleekness of the rest of the stage props, the box over the stage was an unpolished mess of visible gears and pulleys. Audible murmurs of confusion filled the crowd.

Finally, the last man in black to leave the stage, stopped, turned around and reached into his pocket for something. He placed two large walnuts -- one each --inside the red circles on the tables, looked up one last time to verify everything was in position, and then left the stage giving Jack a thumbs up.

"Here's how the game works," Jack pressed a button on the podium and two black chains slowly descended from the box toward the tables.

At the end of the chains were small black weights, about the size of a grapefruit, and perfectly round. There was no indication of how much the balls weighed, but given the elaborate contraption needed to keep it and the chains aloft it could be concluded that it was heavier than it appear. The chains descended until the weights touched the walnuts slightly, then -- without any input from Jack's control panel -- the chains retracted slightly as if it was able to sense it had touched something, until the weight was just barely touching the top of each nut.

Jack continued "In a moment we're going to bring out two of the boys you're companies so graciously volunteered and set them up just so, " he indicated to the tables, "so that their family jewels are on the table like these walnuts. Then I'm going to ask each of them a series of trivia questions, some hard some easy."

The crowd nodded.

"If he gets it wrong, this happens..." Jack pushed a button. The contraption holding up the chain made an odd series of clicking sounds but nothing appeared to happen; the crowd's confusion was palpable.

"And if he gets it right, this happens..." jack pushed another button. The chain above the left table rose slightly.

"The object is to answer as many questions right as you can..." Jack pressed a button multiple times until the chain above the left table was nearly twenty feet in the air -- the chain nearly totally retracted back into the mechanism.

"That way you place your opponent in the most peril if his weight were to, say... drop."

A chuckle erupted from the crowd.

"However, if you get cocky and the other player starts answering questions right too..." Jack pressed some buttons and the chain over the right table rose until the weight was five feet above that table's walnut.

"And if you get nervous and start answering questions wrong." Jack pressed another button. The strange clicking sound filled the theatre until the chain above the right table quite suddenly was released, sending the weight crashing onto the walnut, cracking it into two pieces.

"You see, when a player answers a question wrong, the mechanism holding his chain is loosened until... well you see what happens. So the object of the game is to answer as many answers right as you can to make sure opponent's nuts are in the most danger. Oh, and to make it more interesting, the higher the weight goes for a player, the harder his questions become making it more and more likely that he'll answer wrong and..." Jack smiled wickedly as he pressed another button on his control panel.

The weight above the left table was released, the weight fell from nearly twenty feet, colliding with the walnut below so hard fragments of shell hit some of the men watching in the front row.

The crowd erupted into cheers. This was going to be a fun game.

The men in black bough out two strapping, naked young men, and tied their hands and feet behind the poles at the tables, holding them firmly in place. They then proceeded to roughly grab and tug out each set of balls, binding their sacks with athletic tape until the contents of each sack bulged obscenely, pulled ten inches from their bodies, the skin so taught on each set that it seemed to shine.

Each set of nuts was then placed inside the red circle on their respective table and held in place by an Upside down U shaped clamp. Each young man struggled and tugged, but their balls were totally trapped, inside the strike zone of the hanging weights. Meanwhile, above, the contraption was making all manner of noise as an elaborate reloading system was readying another set of chains and weights. The chains slowly descended until the weight made contact with each pair of balls, like it did with the walnuts.

"So, let's meet our players, Rob and Abner, graciously um... donated, by the ninety-nine percent. After all, there's 99 of them for every one of us, so who'll miss them?"

The gathered executives erupted into laughter, as if totally undisturbed at the macabre nature of Jack's statement.

Rob, a fairly tall, pale skinned lad couldn't have been more than 25. He had an average build, no strongly-defined muscles, but not quite flabby either. He had dusty brown hair that partly covered his eyebrows and boyishly handsome looks. To this right was Abner, shorter than Rob by a good twelve inches, but in superior physical condition. His Latin complexion glistened under the studio lights. His pectoral muscles where perfectly chiseled, his legs powerful and well defined and his arms, even taught from being pulled behind his back, were rippling with muscles.  

Each 'contestant' had amply large nuts, Robs coming in slightly larger, but each having balls each the size of small eggs. Abner's were more round, Rob's, more oblong, but both were at serious risk of being neither large or round...

Jack dramatically cleared his throat and started the game "Let's begin!"

A dramatic orchestral strike filled the auditorium, the spot light lifted from the announcer's podium and focused instead on Rob and Abner. The intensity of the lights was already causing the two to begin to sweat.

The sight of the two helpless handsome lads -- one an 'every man', the other a hunky 'alpha jock' being held captive, knowing that at any moment all signs of their masculinity could be turned into goo, was too much for some in the audience. The sound of multiple zippers being unzipped filled the air as some of the men began pulling out their own tools to play with while they watched.

"Question one goes to Abner. What color is a red fire truck."

"Red! Please let us go..."

"Correct!" Jack pushed a button and the chain above Rob's bulging sack rose slightly.

"Question two, Rob. What color is a blueberry?"

"Blue! Please..."

The chain above Abner's huge nuts rose.

The crowd erupted into laughter at the boy's plight.

"We just wanted to test out everything, and make sure each guy is at least in a little danger! Now to the real questions..."

Abner and Rob each answered their respective next two questions correctly, making each weight about 5 feet above the doomed sacks. After answering each one correctly, the men would give the other a sidelong pleading glance as if to say "I'm sorry I'm pretty much guaranteeing your nuts are toast by answering this question right."

It was now the seventh overall question, and Abner's fourth. He glanced up nervously, by now sweat profusely dripping from his forehead, and watched the weight dangling five feet over his bloated Latin baby makers, waiting for its moment to squash them to mush.

"Question 7, Abner. What element discovered in 1950 is named after the most populous U.S state?"

A hush gathered over the crowd, some of the men leaning in in breathless anticipation that Abner would answer incorrectly and in turn goo his balls. Up to that point the questions had been getting harder but were still within the realm of 'common' knowledge. Not any more.

"Um..."

"Clock is ticking..." Jack laughed, his hand hovering dangerously close to Abner's penalty button.

"Californium. It's Californium."

"Correct!" there was a cranking of gears and the ball waiting to mush Rob's eggs rose ever higher. A portion of the crowd erupted into cheers, with those who were eager to see Rob's skater boy nuts turned to peanut butter approving of Abner's right answer.

"Now Rob, we always see the same side of the moon. Why is that?"

A hush befell the audience.

"Um... gravity?"

Jack paused, and placed his hand over his right ear as if listening to a hidden speaker there.

"That is incorrect. We were looking for 'tidal locking'. Tidal locking is the answer."

The crowd gasped as a grinding of gears indicated that the mechanism holding up Rob's weight was loosening...

"Okay, looks like you're safe for another round. Next question for Abner.

The announcer went on to ask Abner a surprisingly convoluted question about some obscure accounting rule. Many in the audience assumed the street smart stud would get it wrong and there was a collective audible gasp when the announcer declared.

"Correct!"

The weight above Rob's sack rose ever higher. It was not nearly to the ceiling. There wouldn't be anything left of his nuts if it fell now...

"Okay Rob”

Rob, clearly flustered, was more concentrated on the weight than getting the question he had just been given right. He responded in a rush, realizing he was wrong before the buzzer had even gone off. The gears cranked and ground, but nothing happened. The announcer had just turned to ask Abner the next question when....

"It's dropping!" someone in the first row screamed in giddy excitement.

Rob looked up as the heavy weight fell from the sky toward his nuts. He screamed, begged struggled, and the weight fell as if in slow motion, mocking the end of his manhood.

The weight dropped lower and lower, picking up speed as it fell until

SPLOOOSH!

The weight collided with Rob's nuts and didn't even slow down until it hit the table top with a wet thud. Rob's nuts didn t gradually compress upon impact, they exploded instantly into chunks that showered the audience as if two fleshy cherry bombs had popped. The men in the first two rows were covered with nut meat, which had been turned to chunks of goo. Rob's pent up sperm and pieces of liquefied ball gunk splashed the back row. Rob's eyes were locked in horrified gaze at the weight resting on a pile of gooey mess that once been his huge, firm balls. There was simply nothing left of them now, except the splattered nut goo that was now being wiped off the faces of the City's elite businessmen.

"Well, I guess Abner is the winner!" the announcer said coolly and dramatic music began to play over flashing lights.

By now Rob was in hysterics as the well-rehearsed men in black swooped the stage to clean up the mess. Abner was roughly freed from his constraints and lead off stage. Meanwhile, one of the men lifted the heavy ball weight from Rob's totally deflated sack, dropping it nearly on his foot it was so slick with ball guts. The audience laughed.

Without being prompted a few of the men came to the stage to examine the damage up close. Rob was comatose, freed from his constraints, his limp body being held up by a man in black.

"They're totally flattened," one of the businessmen said grabbing the totally squashed sack in his hands, its mushed contents had been completely squeezed out like a burst sausage.

"I can't believe it! There's nothing left!"

"Just mush"

The men continued to fondle the ruined equipment, totally amazed at how absolute the destruction was. The gooey mess hardly even resembled balls.

"Gentleman, gentleman. This is just a taste of the weekend to come!"

The crowd cheered as the ruined skater was lifted and carried off stage. As they dispersed, a middle age executive named Greg Robins was tapped on the shoulder,

"So Robins, where are you headed this evening?" asked a wide-eyed man in his fifties, a bit of Rob's goop still visible on his forehead.

Greg smiled, "Market Mashup sounded fun. I heard they totally changed it up this year,"

"I would hope so, that damn whack-a-mole mallet thing was so hard to use last year,"

Greg laughed.

This was gearing up to be the best Rupture Fest ever... and it was only the first day.