Don Fucks Himself

Don nearly snatched the large package out of the delivery man's hands, barely scribbling a delivery signature before slamming the door. Don had just turned thirty and had treated himself to a birthday present. The newly-middle aged man made his way through his house to the bedroom, leaving a trail of wrapping material in his wake. He entered just as he had finished unwrapping the Violator, a powerful butt fucking machine he had seen on a fetish website. it was a rather bland looking black metal box, the size of a shoe box that held the counter weight, gears and electronics, with a piston about twelve inches long protruding from its front. The piston itself wasn't particularly thick, designed instead to act as a mount for the user's favorite dildo. Don, however, was a top and had no interest in using the machine for its intended purpose.

He set the machine on his night stand and turned it on. He watched as the piston came to life pumping back and forth at a snails pace. He gathered the speed regulator, a control box the size of a deck of cards that was attached to the machine by a cable. He turned the knob to intensity 2 and the piston's speed increased. He kept going, until the piston was moving as fast as intended by the manufacturer; level 10 which would have been a gut busting fuck for even the hungriest bottom had there been a dildo attached. But it wasn't quite fast enough for what he needed. He turned off the device and went to leave the room. He caught a glimpse of himself in his bedroom mirror and smiled.

Don wasn't particularly vain, but was instead genuinely impressed that he had been able to stick to his diet and exercise regime for a year and counting, and the results were starting to show in earnest. Don was a taller man who had always been fairly husky, but in his early twenties he had stopped working out and drank fairly heavily. The weight piled on, slowly at first, but by the time he was 28 he was six foot eight and over three hundred pounds. Now, however, he was back down to a beefy, muscular two hundred pounds. His college years muscles were starting to reemerge, outlined even under his oversized t-shirt and ill-fitting jeans. He winked at himself as he took the machine into the garage.

There, he flipped the machine upside down and unscrewed the bottom plate, immediately greeted by a warning plaque from the manufacture warning that they 'shall not be responsible for damage or injury caused by modification, failure to follow instructions...' bla bla. Don removed the warning plaque and tossed it in the trash. The innards of the machine were shockingly simple and he was able to quickly find a logic circuit marked 'SAFETY'. He carefully got to work removing it, replacing it instead with a dummy circuit from the local Radio Shack. Satisfied by his work, he reattached the bottom and set the machine upright. He set the speed knob back to 'Intensity 1' and plugged it in. The machine whirred to life, but made a strange series of noises from its gears. The piston retracted back and forth slowly, then appeared to stop. He was about to reach for it, thinking it had gotten jammed whilst it was upside when the machine sprung to life. The piston -- at level 1 -- was now moving with the same intensity as it had shown at Level 10 before the safety circuit was removed.

Don beamed at his accomplished and turned the knob to Intensity 2. The piston surged forward and back with even more power and by the time he moved it to Intensity 3, the piston was moving so quickly it was nearly a blur. He could hear one of the cooling fans hissing it was slowly so quickly in an attempt to cool down the over clocked motor. By Intensity 4, the piston was moving with such ferocity Don was sure that even the toughest bottom would have literally been ripped open had they attempted to use it. The machine was also becoming unstable, the counterweight insufficient to halt the inertia the piston was now throwing its way. He looked around the garage and found a large heavy brick. When he placed it on the machine, the added weight was enough to put it back in balance and the base stopped rocking to the rhythm of the piston.

Satisfied, Don took the device into his room. He positioned the Violator on his night stand, then positioned the night stand in front of a pedestrian looking folding chair he had grabbed from the garage. He positioned the chair so that the back was against a wall, preventing it from tipping over. Now came the relatively tricky part. He stripped to his underwear, stopping again to admire himself in the mirror. He had a beefy, solid build. A slight six pack was poking through his stomach fat and his legs were thick and powerful. He ran a hair through his thick black, though thinning , hair and turned to stand in a flexing pose. Don's large tanned arms were the paradigm of raw male power. He was especially pleased by his mounding briefs. The briefs were deliberately two sizes too small so as to huge every inch of his massive, meaty testicles and his cock, which was snaking down his leg at nearly 7 inches completely flaccid. Don's sexual package was truly huge and magnificent, solid and powerful like the rest of his body, and he never wasted a moment to show it off.

He took a seat in the chair, making sure to spread his legs wide, exposing his bulging crotch to waiting piston of the Violator. He reached for the remote, the wire just barely long enough to reach, and turned the machine on, his stomach tensing in anticipation.

The piston collided with his left nut with a THUD. He yelped, more from pent up anticipation than pain, and leaped to his feet, quickly turning the machine off before it could strike again. He realized then that the piston, without a dildo or anything attached, was too narrow to strike both of his large balls at once. He had also easily overturned the chair in the process of getting up. If he really wanted a good busting, he was going to have to modify his setup a bit...

Don  got dressed and drove to the nearest home improvement store. He surgically picked out some bolts and nuts then made his way over to the millwork desk. He selected a large, round wooden finial, the size of grapefruit and was pleased to see that the predrilled hole was approximately the same width as the piston; this should work great, he thought. Don left the hardware store clearly anxious to get back home and had barely gotten back into his house when he stripped in the foyer back down to his underwear. He made a pit stop in the garage for a few tools then back to the bedroom.

He wedged the large wooden ball onto the end of the piston and turned the machine on low. The finial ball was rammed forward like a giant wooden fist, clearly wide enough to impact both of his balls at once. When he was satisfied, he got to work bolting the chair's legs to the floor. He was careful to make sure that the bolts could be removed when he wasn't playing with his new toy, leaving only small, seemingly innocent holes in his otherwise pristine oak floor. After all, he concluded, he was going to be doing this several times a week. Virtually no one knew of Don's busting fetish, and those he had found didn't mesh well with his upper middle-class, ostensibly conservative lifestyle, so he had gotten rather inventive at busting himself.

When the chair was bolted to the floor, he gave it several hard shoves and attempted to lift it from the floor, but it didn't budge. He was satisfied. The final step was to get three pair of trick handcuffs. He again took his seat, making sure the remote was resting on his crotch since he wouldn't be able to use his hands fully in a moment. First, he cuffed his ankles to the chair legs, forcing his legs wide. Then, holding the remote behind his back with one hand, he self-latched the cuffs around his writs. Don's experience with self-bondage was more extensive than his conservative facade would suggest, but the task was made slightly more difficult by the fact he was holding the wired remote, the chord just barely reaching around to this back. He rocked back and forth as much as he could and nodded in satisfaction when he realized he was securely tied to the chair.

He inhaled deeply and turned the knob to intensity one. The machine false started and Don's eyebrows curled in annoyance. He was about to twist his wrist and undue the cuffs so he could repair the machine when suddenly the Violator came to life.

 WHOOMP! CRUNCH

 The large wooden finial slammed forward, painfully compressing both of his meaty bollacks with the force and impact of a large fist striking. Don gasped, his mind awash with pleasure in pain. He had just barely recovered before the piston struck again, and again.

CRUNCH! CRUNCH!

 Don's balls were taking quite a beating. His cock, snaked out of the way down his leg, started to stir. He was imagining that the wooden ball colliding with this package was the large fist of a powerful, ball busting college jock. The visual, and the feeling having his balls crunched, was driving him wild.
 He moaned slightly as the machine struck again ... and again. Each time making a soft, yet solid SMACK as the finial collided with his balls.

Without breaking the visual of the hot college jock who was pounding his balls, Don turned the knob to intensity 2 and inhaled deeply in anticipation.

CRUUUNCH

The finial slammed into his junk with nearly double the force of before. Don was winded and, as he writhed in pain, he dropped the remote which fell to the floor with a clang. HIs fingers wiggled in the air futilely as if trying to reach for the fallen remote...

CRUUNCH!

The finial again slammed into his sack. Don was sweating in anticipation, pain and pleasure. The wooden ball was really...

CRUUUNCH!

Slamming into his junk good. This was the hardest he had ever taken...

CRUUNCH..

In the balls, by a machine or otherwise and it was actually starting to....

CRUU---SPLAT!

Don let out a howl of pain as the wooden ball impacted with his swelling, bulging underwear with such force that tears instantly formed tears in his eyes. Out of instinct, he attempted to stand out of harm's way but was stopped cold by the bolted down chair. He twisted his wrist to loosen the cuffs but...

CRUU-SPLAT! CRUU-SPLAT!

The piston was driving in harder... and faster, than it had been just a moment before. Don let out a guttural scream as his defenseless balls were being crushed by the machine.

CRU---SPLOSH!

Don was screaming at the top of his lungs, tears were streaming down his face and the fire like pain coming from his crotch was far beyond anything he had ever experienced. He was in too much pain, and panic, to be having any sexual fantasies, but if he had still been imagining the hot jock busting his balls, the jock would now have been swinging a baseball bat with a wicked gleam in his eye.

CRUUUU-SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT

The machine was now slamming the wooden ball into Don's crotch so quickly, and so hard, he was sure his precious balls were on the verge of being seriously damaged. What was happening? Don, in his fits of pain, looked behind him on the floor and screamed at what he saw. The remote had landed on its dial and the flimsy control was actually rotating as the pads weight rested on it. He wasn't sure what intensity it was on now, but knew that if it kept going it would eventually get to intensity 10... and he had seen the machine practically shake itself apart with force several levels before that...

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT! CRUUUU-SPLOSH!

The sound the piston was making with each hit was now turning into a softer thud than before. Don looked down in horror as his visibly swelling pouch was being literally pulverized. He struggled against the cuffs, but the lock was jammed. He couldn't get free! He struggled and writhed, but his attempts were frequently interrupted by the sickening CRUUUNCH of the piston crashing into his nads.

"OH GOD!" he screamed as the machine lurched into an even higher gear.

He was going hysterical, but his struggling was useless. He was trapped, unable to save his now softening balls.

CRUNCH! CRU-SPLOSH! WHAM!

Don was starting to fade in and out of consciousness, his brain simply unable to deal with what he had gotten himself into. The piston was mercilessly laying waste to his manhood, the wooden finial was driving further and further into the softening, bloated nuts with each hit. As it continued to power drive into his nuts, the sound the finial made with each hit was getting wetter and softer...

WHAM... CRUUUUU-SPLOOOSH! Don's head rolled and his eyes bugged out as the piston slammed into his crotch so hard he honestly thought his pelvis was going to break. This impact felt, and sounded much different. It was noticeably wetter, sloshier. And infinitely more painful. In his haze, he looked down at his crotch and saw the white briefs were turning red.

CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH!

"OOOOOH!" Don screamed as his battered, ridiculously swollen left nut imploded on impact.

CRUNCH! CRUNCH! SQUIIIIISH!

Don blacked out totally two impacts later when his last, meaty testicle imploded like a collapsing soufflé. Both nuts, swollen to bursting, had now been crushed, but the merciless machine just kept pounding, the wooden ball sinking further and further into Don's ruined sack, pulping the contents further.

SPLOSH! SPLOSH! Hideous, wet, sploshing sounds came with each rapid fire impact, any vestige of the once firm, enormous testicles was now reduced to a liquefied pulped that was sloshing with each impact... Without a user to stop it, the machine kept pounding and pounding, reducing the goop and barely recognizable membranes to a fine puree. The scrotum had long ago burst open, and the boxers were soaked with a gooey sheen, blood mixed with totally pulverized manhood. But the machine kept going...

SPLOSH! SPLOSH! SPLOOOSH... SPLOOOSH

After having totally destroyed Don's balls, the piston kept driving further, no longer encountering any resistance. The wooden ball was now mashing into the base of Don's cock. It was just barely out of range, but it was impacting just enough to make a sick CRUNCH as it mushed the softening penis shaft.

CRUNCH! CRUUU---SPLIISH-SQUIISH!

Don moaned, still blacked out, and rolled his head to the side. After nearly a minute of being pounded, the once sturdy base of his huge dong had been totally ruined. The remaining 6 inches of his cock, which had been snaked down his leg protected from the earlier assault, was now only attached by a partially ruptured base.

Another fifteen minutes passed and the machine just kept going. There was literally nothing left of Don's balls that hadn't dripped onto the floor or was laying in a mushy heap in the chair. Don was slowly starting to stir, at first thinking he had only had a terrible nightmare...

SPLOSH! SPLOSH! The pounding of the wood ball into his pelvis quickly alerted him that this as no dream. He sprang to life, resuming his struggling under the near constant assault of the Violator. Finally the trick cuffs around his hands released, and he was able to outstretch a hand to stop the maniacal machine before it could do any more damage . As the finial pounded into his fist, he undid his leg restraints, in too much panic and shock for the pain from his ruined balls to fully register and stood up...

He knew his balls were history, but slowly peeled off his underwear, hoping that there would be at least something left... there wasn't. The empty scrotum had been ripped to shreds by the constant pounding and...

RIIIPP – SPLAT!

Don screamed in horror as his heavy cock fell to the ground with a splat. The damage to the base had been too much and, when he stood up allowing his thick cock to hang unsupported, it was too much for the last chords still connecting it and it ripped off. Don looked at himself in the mirror, he could feel he was going to pass out. Here was this beautiful, beefy stud with nicely defined muscles, a tight ass and bulging pecs... but with absolutely nothing left at his crotch.

Don took a few haggard steps, his brain starting to shut down from the horror and pain of it all, and collapsed in a heap in front of the vanity. Goop continued to drip from the wooden ball busting finial as it continued pumping into the air uninterrupted.

Rupture Fest: The Banquet

The large, cavernous interior of the Country Club pole barn had been totally transformed into a posh banquet hall.  Delicate white and canary yellow bolts of silk fabric were suspended from ornate Corinthian columns to give the vaulted ceilings a softer depth.  The concrete floor had been covered over in white marble tiles.  A string quartet of men dressed all in black played softly in the corner, their music combined with the glow of huge candelabras giving the banquet hall an air of sophistication.  Evenly spaced throughout the hall were five large, semi circular tables draped in red fabric, a black column bolted to the floor at each table. The place settings complete with fine china dishes with platinum accents and solid silver flatware.  The water goblets were Italian crystal.  Indeed, the whole setup was so refined that the fifty well dressed gathered businessmen, ten per table, hardly seemed to notice - or care -- that the atmosphere was in stark contrast of what was about to happen there.


When everyone was settled, the string quartet fell silent and an announcer, dressed entirely in black with slicked black hair, took to the middle of the room and began to speak.

"Good evening, gentleman.  I hope everyone enjoyed this year's Rupture Fest,"

The crowd broke into riotous applause.

"As always, we are going to be dispatching of the last... candidates... in our annual banquet."

The announcer had barely finished his statement when five men in black suits emerged from the sides of the venue, each roughly escorting a naked bound and gagged young man.  The captive men ranged from their early twenties to late thirties, and covered a range of body types and races, but the thing each had in common was a large, dangling pair of testicles swinging helplessly between his legs.  The men were struggling fruitlessly as the men in black effortlessly lead each one to a table and shackled them tightly to the black column.  Their arms were tied behind their backs and their ankles were shackled to the bottom of the column in such a manner that the men couldn't close their legs.

They were all trapped, legs spread wide, balls swinging in full view of the ten men gathered around their respective tables.  When the men were all secured, the men in black silently left the room, replaced almost immediately by ten men in white chef's uniforms. The ten chefs were all wheeling in small wooden prep carts, the tops were filled with a variety of knives, tenderizing mallets, seasons and other cooking paraphernalia.  Some of the chef's carts had hot plates. Some had open flame burners. One of the carts had a black box the size of a large microwave oven, but its function was not immediately clear.  The chefs took their stations, one per table, in front of the bound men, and quickly got to work setting up their work stations.  The gathered executives licked their lips an asked questions casually about the mallets and knives and what the chefs were planning on doing with the huge nuts offered up for the banquet.

At the first table, a Latin man in his mid twenties with heavy, firm balls the size of eggs that hung a few inches from his body was struggling valiantly against his bonds. He was tall, with perfectly tanned skin and well defined but not overwhelming muscles, his shoulder length black hair was styled carefully to frame his handsome face.  Despite his struggling, the black column didn't budge. Instead, his efforts only made his large bollocks swing wildly between his legs.  His cock, totally limp, was quite thick but only a small nub against the base of his balls. The chef readied a hot plate directly under the dangling sack and placed a large cast iron frying pan on it.  He turned on the plate and applied a small amount of extra virgin olive oil to it with a brush.  After a few moments, he held a hand over the pan, nodded in approval and turned to address the businessmen.

"At this table we're going to be making scrambled eggs," he said laughing.

The gathered executives, all of them growing hard in their designer suits, nodded in approval. 

Meanwhile, the heat wafting up from the plate several inches below the base of his sack was starting to heat up the Latino's balls.  Beads of sweat formed all along the length of his scrotum, and the heavy balls sank further in their sack from the heat.

"First, we need to thoroughly scramble the eggs," said the chef picking up a spatula.

He began brutally beating the Latin man's sack like an overstuffed piñata.  He screamed into his gag as his defenseless nuts were batted with blow after blow, bouncing wildly in a vain attempt to escape.  The chef was raining down blow after devastating blow, purplish welts and bruises were appearing all over the once pristine scrotal skin.  After ten minutes of non stop pounding, the chef calmly put down the spatula and examined the now swollen, red nuts with his hands.

"Hmm.. not quite scrambled. With hard eggs like this , I sometimes use something a bit harder."

The chef reached for a wooden mallet with a large head and started hitting the Latin's left nut repeatedly. The entire sack bounced as the left ball was thoroughly mashed in the sack. The Latin was sobbing and rolling his head back as half of his man hood was being pulverized. The chef was drawing his arm back as far as he could each time before striking the nut. 

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

The chef continued this for several minutes before changing his focus to the right nut...

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

The man's balls were swelling and the impact sounds were getting softer and wetter.  The chef set down the mallet and again examined the man's eggs, rolling them roughly in the sack.

"Hmm.. they're starting to crack," the chef said smiling letting go of the beet red sack, "This should do it,"

The chef reached for an immersion blender and turned it on. The plastic blades whirred to live, spinning so fast it looked like a blur.  The chef moved the blades with deliberate slowness toward the hanging sack and the Latin's eyes bugged out in anticipation.

"See, I've dulled the blades on this model, we wouldn't want to cut the eggs, so they'll just beat them until they crack in their shell."

As he spoke the blades made contact with the bulging left nut.  The Latin stud threw his head back and screamed, though it was barely audible through the gag.  Spinning and hundreds of revolutions per minute, the blades beat relentless into the quickly swelling, bruising organ.   He then moved to the right, then the left.  The chef alternated which nut was beaten for nearly ten minutes.  By then it was obvious that the man's balls had ruptured.  He had long since passed out, by the time the chef put the blender down and again reached for the clearly deflating organs.

"Mmm, almost there."

He picked up two wooden mallets and positioned one on each side of the man's sack, then slammed them together..

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

The Latin sack was now totally flat, filled with nothing but nut mush.  The chef put down the mallets an again examined his eggs. The contents were thoroughly scrambled, just a few small chunks could be felt through the mush.   Without a word, the chef diced tomatoes, shredded cheese and mixed spices, adding them into the pan.  He then reached for a large knife and, in one swoop sliced through the bottom of the man's sack. The Latino groaned slightly as the chef proceeded to grab the top of the sack and squeeze downward, squeezing out the gooey innards like chunky salsa.  The remains of the bull nuts landed with wet splats into the pan, where they were quickly mixed with the other ingredients.  When the gooey mass had cooked thoroughly, the chef removed the omelet from the pan onto a serving plate adorned with parsley sprigs. 

"Those were some rather large eggs," he joked as he looked as the enormous nut omelet.  He portioned it up and served it to the ten waiting executives.

Meanwhile,  at the second table a short, lanky man in his late twenties with shaggy blonde hair was awaiting his fate.  Between his then legs two truly enormous testicles hung several inches from his body.  The young man had boyishly good looks, and gorgeous deep blue eyes.  His vaguely defined abs were tensing intensely from fear and panic.

The chef at this table had brought a large, clear pot of water to rolling boil immediately under the hanging sack and was casually dicing carrots, onions and other vegetables into the water.  He was casually sprinkling in salt as he spoke.

"Today I'm going to be making a nut soup for you," 

The executives at the table applauded politely; the young captive struggled and cried.

"First, we need to thoroughly boil the nuts to firm up the insides."

Without ceremony, the chef pressed a button on his prep table and the black column that was holding up the blonde began to lower into the ground.  The blonde screamed as he was forced into a squatting position.  His dangling nuts inched closer, and closer, and closer to the boiling liquid until they just breached the rolling surface.

The entire bloated sack turned instantly red and the blonde's eyes grew wide and he passed out.  He continued to be lowered until his balls were totally submerged, then the column stopped lowering.  The blonde man was now squatting, his large nuts totally covered in boiling water, visible through the transparent glass. The executives took sick pleasure peering into the pot and watching the balls turn blood red, bobbling slightly in the rolling bubbles.

"How long do you boil them?" one of them asked casually after five minutes.

"Just a bit longer..." The chef answered as he calmly mixed together beef broth in a nearby bowl.

As he continued to prep the rest of the ingredients for his soup, the blonde's balls, now swollen to bursting, were fiery red, blisters were appearing all over the scrotum, but the balls inside looked to be getting more firm.  The chef looked into the water and nodded in approval. He reached for a spoon and jammed it into the pot, striking the boy's right nut viciously.  Through the clear pot, the impact was clearly visible, the spoon colliding with the now cooked, tough nut with a thud.

"Ah, they're ready."  the chef said, putting down the spoon and reaching for a butcher knife. 

The executives leaned in, breathless in anticipation, when the chef stopped the knife in mid swing.

"Oops, almost forgot something,"

He turned on a  second hot plate and picked up a large flat branding iron with his free hand. He warmed it until it was glowing red.  He then lopped off the blonde man's balls at the base and quickly pushed the brand into the gaping hole, sealing it and stopping too much blood from entering the water.  The men watched as the heavy round balls sank to the bottom, and then were bobbled to the top by the rolling liquid. 

"Now we blend,"

The chef grabbed a rather large blender and put it into the pot. At first, the huge red ball sack simply spun around the resultant vortex.  The chef repositioned it slightly and grinned cruelly as the balls were snagged by the whirling blades.  The bloated sack was sliced cleanly in two, and as the chef expected, they were now totally firm. It looked like a large piece of meat had been split in half, not gooey, mashed nuts.  As the blender continued, the balls were pulverized further, bursting into meaty chunks.  When he was satisfied, he poured in the beef broth and a few spiced, blended the soup further -- totally turning the tough nuts into small chunks -- then ladled the steaming hot mixture out to the gathered executives.

"Bon apetit!" he said, as the men slurped down the rich, flavorful nut soup.

At the third table, a beefy red headed man in his early thirties with scruffy facial hair was sobbing and trying to beg for mercy through his gag.  He had powerful, muscular arms and powerful tree trunk like legs and thighs, his well defined, if a bit pudgy stomach as heaving as he breathed.  Despite himself, his cock was fully erect, protruding nearly nine inches from his body, the thick organ culminating in a mushroom head.  His pendulous nuts, oblong golf ball sized things, had been shaved clean. The gathered executives couldn't help but be impressed by the sheer size of them.

"I think we're going to get full!" one of them joked.

The chef turned on a flaming burner just inches from the doomed balls and began,

"Today, we're just going to be doing an old fashioned nut roast,"
.
He then rose the burner so that the top of the flame was literally a quarter inch from the man's large balls. The red head was screaming horribly, blisters appearing on his nuts and cock shaft.

"I like mine barbequed,"  the chef said applying a thick coating of barbeque sauce over the roasting ball sack and over the entire length of the man's cock.  The red head's cock stayed hard, pulsing with each heart beat as his nuts were slowly boiled in their sack.  After a few minutes, the chef looked at the sack, the right side starting to bulge, and rolled his eyes.

"This sometimes happens, usually the sack splits when heated this long, releasing the steam. But sometimes it doesn't, so it builds up until..."

POP!

As if on cue the man's right nut suddenly exploded violently, spraying some of the executives with hot nut meat.  The red head looked down in horror before passing out.

"Damn, what a waste of a meaty nut, Oh well," the chef said coolly as he watched the remaining nut be roasted. 

"For the last part, I usually remove them..."

He picked up a long, sharp rod, about six inches long and rammed it into the man's mushroom head, impaling the still hard organ. He then took a butcher knife and sliced off the red headed stud's entire sexual package at the base.  He motioned for a man in black to come to the table, he quickly removed the bleeding red head, getting him out of the way.  The chef then held the man's last nut, via the rod sticking out of his cock, rotating it slowly over the flame until both the nutsack and the cock were charred black.

He placed the large meaty cock and thoroughly roasted nut on a serving plate, ,dicing it into ten pieces, applying more sauce and giving one of the bite sized pieces to the executives. 

"Mmm, this was meaty," one of the executives remarked finishing his section of the man's ball before feasting on the charred wedge of cock he'd been served.

Meanwhile at the fourth table, a powerfully built black man in his mid twenties was struggling against his bounds.  His large, almost perfectly round nuts were stretched several inches from his body by rubber rings.  He were dangling above a microwave-oven sized black box.  The gathered executives were openly confused by what they were seeing.

"At this table, we'll be making dessert.  Testicle and vanilla bean ice cream,"

Some of the men licked their lips.

"First, I like to soften the testicles to release the flavor,"

The chef took two heavy mallets, and positioned them on either side of the nuts bulging at the bottom of the sack...

SPLAT! SPLAT!

The chef slammed the mallets together as hard as he could, squashing the firm black nuts between the mallet heads.  The executives thought the man's balls were going to burst....

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLOSH!

The man writhed and screamed into his gag as the chef brutally flattened his sack.  By the tenth blow, it was obvious the man's left nut had totally ruptured, that side of the sack mushy and lumpy. 

"That should do it," said the chef putting down his mallets. 

He then pushed a button on his table that lowered the man until he was in a squatting position.  His sack was now resting directly on top of the black box. 

"This is a blast chiller," the chef explained, "We use it in the kitchen when we have to instantly freeze ice into water, and things like that." 

He opened a small round door at the top of this specially made blast chiller and stuffed the man's half mashed sack inside.  He then closed the opening as tightly as he could around the sack and pressed a button. The man let out a howl of agony and passed out.  The machine whirred quietly as the chef proceeded to produce pre-made vanilla ice cream in a large bowl, blending in a few other ingredients like heavy cream and mint while he waited for the machine to finish.  There was a ding, and the door opened. The cycle was done.

The chef pulled the man's balls out of the machine, his large black balls covered in frost. The sack as hard as a rock.  With his knife, he sliced the balls at the base and motioned for a man in black to remove the nutted stud lest he bleed all over the pristine white ice cream.  The chef handed the frozen balls to the executive on the far side of the semi circle.

"Feel it, pass it around,"  he said openly.

The men took delight fondling the rock hard, cold sex organs in their hands, remarking on their size and how perfectly preserved the blast chilling had left them.

When the chef had the balls again, he proceeded to coat them in chocolate syrup, then put them on the table top where he proceeded to pound them with the same mallet he had used earlier. The severed, frozen organs shattered like glass as the chef continued to beat and bound them into frozen chunks of testicle. He then scooped the chocolate, crushed nuts and mixed them into the ice cream.

"Enjoy!" he said smiling as he handed the ten executives their vanilla ice cream with chocolate nuts.

Elsewhere, at the last table a gorgeous, svelte yet well defined Italian man in his mid twenties, his chiseled facial features outlined by his slick black hair, was awaiting his fate. He wasn't the largest of the men, but was clearly the best defined.  His abs were like a washboard. His biceps and pecs were clearly defined on his taught frame.  His swimmers legs were perfectly sculpted.  And between his legs two of the largest testicles of that year's rupture rest were tightly held against his body.  The executives were amazed at the sheer size of his balls. They were large even compared to the others they had seen -- and flattened.

"At this table, we're going to be making a classic. Mashed Testicles with butter."

The chef wasted no time roughly grabbing the Italian's meaty balls and pulling them forward to the prep table.  The Italian screamed as the chef tightly bound the sack with tape, trapping them several inches from his body onto the table.  They bulged obscenely against the skin, veins clearly visible.

"The other chefs get a little elaborate with their preparation but I like to take it back to basics."

The chef produced a very large metal mallet used for tenderizing steaks, rose it over the enormous left testicle and sent it down.

SPLAT!

The Italian's head threw back as he hollered into his gag.

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

The chef's face was red from effort as he laid waste to the huge ball.  It didn't take too many blows before the left nut totally collapsed, quite suddenly, like a balloon that had popped

SPLOSH!


"That's one down," the chef remarked and immediately go to work on the last nut.

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

Amazingly the Italian was still conscious, looking down in terror as he watched his ridiculously large nut pounded over and over until...

SPLOOOOOOOSH!

There was a loud wet sploshing as his testicle ruptured under the mallet's assault.  The Italian finally passed out as the chef reached for a slightly smaller wooden mallet. 

"Now we just beat until smooth,"


"Yeah, make sure to get all the lumps out," one of the executives joked.

SPLAT! SPLOSH! SPLAT! SPLAT!

The chef brought the mallet down dozens of time, being sure to strike every inch of the now totally flat sack.  The enormous scrotum was now flattened to a quarter inch, no sign they had ever been filled with testicles that were each almost twice as large as eggs.

"Now we just mixed them in with butter, heat and serve."

The chef sliced into the scrotum right at the seam and squeezed until the nut goop inside was in a large bowl.  The sheer volume of goo in the bowl was a testament to how large this Italian's nuts actually were. The chef then casually mixed in butter and herbs, put the mixture into a pot on his hot plate and cooked until the smell of burning meat was evident.

"Enjoy!" the said as he scooped the mixture, with a consistency of corned beef, into ten waiting bowls for the executives.

When all five tables were done, the remaining desexed men were lead out of the hall so the executives could enjoy their novel dinner in peace without the moaning and sobbing spoiling the atmosphere.

When everyone was done, wait staff cleared the dishes and set down another course for the executives, this time consisting of much more traditional giant lobster tails and steaks.  As the men dined, chatting causally about business, ten more attractive, muscular hunks, ranging in age from early to late twenties were lead. They were stripped naked and were chained to each other at the ankles. Their powerful arms tied behind their backs and their mouths gagged.  Each man's huge nuts were swinging defenselessly between their legs.

"No need to stop enjoying your dinner," came an announcer, "We should thought you'd enjoy some dinner entertainment."

The executives leaned in, eye fucking and examining the muscular, helpless young men
.
"There aren't enough to go around, but if you haven't personally gotten to mash a pair this weekend, step right up and take your pick." the announcer instructed.

Meanwhile a man in black wheeled out a cart with knives, mallets, hammers, large fireworks, lighters, pliers and other instruments of nut torture and placed it in front of the ten hysterical men.

"Oh, I'll go,"  an executive in his late forties said wiping his mouth and standing from his table.

He approached the table and grabbed a wood working clamp, usually used to hold pieces of wood together while glue was drying. The clamp had a squeeze trigger, that got tighter as the user pumped it with his hand.  He carefully positioned the right nut of a sobbing, muscular Asian in his early twenties and pumped the trigger as fast as he could. He didn't break eye contact with the large nut  as it flattened between the clamp plates, The flattening organ bulge between the clamps, dimpled, got flatter...

SPLOSH!

The young man's nut burst open as it collapsed under the pressure. The front of the businessman's slacks were slick with precum as he quickly opened the clamp and placed it over the man's last nut...

Meanwhile, another executive had taken position in front of a relatively short, sandy haired blonde with rippling abs and oblong, large testicles.  He slowly skewered the organs -- as the victim writhed and screamed -- with long, thick metal rods.  When he had shoved three of them completely through the man's testicles he slowly retracted them.  The man was barely conscious to feel the executive finish off his organs with a mallet.

The brutal destruction of the remaining sacks rounded out the evening.  Balls were flattened in vices, blown into shredded gore with fireworks, roasted into charred husks with burners, crushed and mangled by hand and splattered into goop with heavy mallets.  By the end of it there was literally nothing resembling a whole testicle among the line of men. As they were dragged out of the banquet hall, the announcer took his place in the center of the venue and declared.

"Now that was an amazing Rupture Fest! See you all next year."