Last Man Standing

It was a lazy Tuesday afternoon at the palatial Tau Upsilon fraternity house a few miles from the main campus of Quintero University. It was the week before spring break and the mood on campus, and by extension, fraternity row, was one of barely subdued excitement at the prospect of getting away for a week. That week's regular fraternity meeting was postponed, but that didn't stop Connor Lakeman, a husky red-haired senior, from calling a special meeting in the house's anteroom. The invite had gone out to only a select few. No one was keeping minutes. No record of the meeting was kept in the fraternity log and even cell phones were checked at the door.

When the dozen invitees, only a fraction of the total fraternity, were settled, Connor closed and locked the anteroom door.

"Gentleman, I'd like to call this meeting of the Revenge Committee to order," Connor said rapping a gavel on the desk.

The onlookers laughed at the ironically serious, official manner in which Connor was conducting this nefarious 'committee' meeting.

"There's only one item on the agenda, gentleman. Revenge for what these ass wipes did to us,"

Connor held up a collage of three handsome fraternity brothers and proceeded to tear it to shreds to the applause of the crowd.

"Now, how do you suppose we do that?"

--

Several days later the mansion was virtually abandoned for spring break, except for the handful of brothers who had elected to stay over break. This included Connor and everyone from the so-called 'Revenge Committee, as well as the three young men from the photograph, blissfully unaware that the others were conspiring against them. It was Wednesday and night was beginning to fall. Loud music and movies echoed through the Victorian-inspired halls and men in their underwear did cannon balls into the frigid pool. By midnight, most of the men had gathered in the large anteroom, a roaring fire audible even over the din of chatter.

Conner nodded at another frat boy, who nodded to another. It was time. Although it seemed like a spontaneous, jovial response to a proverbial pissing match amongst the alpha males of the fraternity, someone's suggestion that that the boys play 'Last Man Standing' was entirely calculated.

'Last Man Standing' was a relatively brutal contest, in which three brothers put their balls on the line, taking more and more brutal punishment until only one was left standing and not in a pained heap on the floor. No one remembered how or when the contest started, but it had been going on at least since the late 1970's. Originally three contestants were forced to take continual kicks or punches to the nuts until all but one finally gave up. By the twenty-first century, however, the means of busting had gotten considerably more high tech...

"So let's play!" someone shouted to applause.

Connor took to the front of the room and was about to announce that 'Last Man Standing' had begun when a pleasant chiming came from the hall. Connor tried to disguise his dismay as he made his way to the front door.

The double doors opened with a whoosh and Connor had to fake a convincing smile at who he saw..

Zach, a thin senior whose boyish face made him look much younger than he was, stood in the doorway holding a suitcase.

"Zach? What are you doing here?" Connor asked barely able to mask his displeasure that an unknown element had just appeared in the group's plan.

Zach made his way into the house's ostentatious foyer and dropped his bag with a thud.

"What am I doing here? I live here, goofus. Where is everyone?"

The two made their way toward the anteroom, apparently the only activity in the empty house. Connor's mind raced for excuses to stop Zach, but had only parted his lips to speak before Zach was already in the room.

"Ah, sweet! You guys are playing Last Man Standing! Awesome," Zach laughed playfully.

He had spotted a young man placing slips of paper into an ornately carved wooden box that ordinarily stayed amongst the other decorative artifacts on a high shelf. Through tradition, the only time the box was ever used was to draw names for 'Last Man Standing'.

Zach reached over and plucked the box out of the young man's hands and proceeded to pull a slip and pass it on. When everyone had a slip of paper, three students held up their marked slips and approached the front of the room.

Alfred, the youngest among them was a somewhat tall, muscular jock with closely cut blond hair and a thick mustache and goatee that aged his handsome face. He was wearing loose fitting jeans and a T-shirt that hugged his well-exercised upper body. Even through the lose fitting jeans, a slight mound was obvious between his legs. Next was Byron, an Italian junior who was shorter and less muscular than Alfred, though his tight Armani jeans sported an obscenely large bulge at the intersection of his svelte legs. His slick, black hair came to a stylish point just beyond his ruggedly handsome, round face. Last up was Clinton, a senior like Connor who was as tall as Alfred but noticeably bulkier, his rippling muscles barely contained by his conservative cardigan and khakis. Clinton tussled his uncombed, shaggy brown hair and smiled broadly as he approached the other two chosen ones at the front of the room, his self-esteem at his unquestionably good looks straddling the line to outright self indulgence. Zach, having taken command over the game, summonsed three other brothers as volunteers, presumably to hold the chosen ones in place during their punishment.

The mood in the grand fraternity anteroom was one of thinly veiled excitement as Alfred, Byron and Clinton stood in front of the other young men, the three brothers Zach had summoned had taken their places behind the the three chosen brothers, standing just inches behind them. The frat brother who was standing behind Alfred was forming an obvious tented bulge in his pants as he inhaled the muscular jock's cologne.

Meanwhile, Zach left the room, the sound of him rustling through a far off closet echoed through the abandoned mansion. He returned a few minutes later awkwardly carrying a large plastic tote that looked quite heavy and a cheap plastic mannequin under his arm. He set them down with a loud clang in front of the room and got to work sorting out the contents. First he pulled out a two relatively small, almost perfectly round oranges and held them up for the crowd. He then produced a small flesh colored sack that appeared to be made out of an old pair of nylons and shoved the oranges inside so that they bulged at the bottom of the sack like an engorged scrotum. Some of the men giggled at the visual as he affixed the proxy scrotum to the mannequin so that it was hanging several inches between its legs.

"I think you all know the rules , but just in case our friend Mr. Mannequin here is going to demonstrate how the game works."

Zach got to work assembling an odd contraption at the base of the mannequin's feet. It consisted of a large wooden cube as a base, an iPad which was affixed to the front, facing the crowd, acted
like a display, its large screen was totally black except for two large red zeros. Coming up from the wooden base were two metal rods with large metal balls at their ends. they looked like mallets with disproportionately long handles. The mallet heads were positioned so that the mannequin's swinging sack was positioned between them.

Zack took a moment to examine everything then stepped back to admire his handiwork. He then pulled out his cell phone and entered in several commands, the screen of the iPad at the base of the contraption changed from 00 to 01.

"So this is level one..." Zach said, pressing another button on his phone.

The mallets came together, gently compressing the oranges between them before quickly retracting. The iPad's screen flashed red and reset to 00.

Zach entered more commands into his phone and the iPad's screen changed from 00 to 10, causing several of the watching boys to lean in for a closer look.

"And this is level ten..."

The mallets came together rapidly, smashing into the oranges with such force that the nylon bag split and the oranges burst open, spraying the first row of onlookers with the mushed innards. As the mallets retracted, the onlooking crowd erupted into applause. Alfred, Byron and Clinton gulped nervously, looking on at the now split oranges.

"And this is level ten again," Zach said pressing more buttons on his phone.

The mallets came together again, further pulping the oranges and sending bits of pulp flying into the audience. Everyone was laughing, except for the three chosen brothers who were visualizing their own 'oranges' between the mallets. The onlookers were clearly getting the same visual and many of them were openly rubbing the crotches of their slacks and jeans at the prospect.

If Clinton or the other two had wanted to flee they were stopped as the three boys behind them secured their hands behind their backs with zip ties. Before Alfred or the others could protest, their legs were shackled at the waste with spreader bars. The three studly frat boys, while fully clothes, were now totally restrained, paraded in front of the increasingly rowdy crowd like bulls to slaughter.

Alfred's turn was first. The tall jock was guided in front of the contraption, his bulging crotch just inches from the mallet heads.

"Let's take these off, shall we," Zach laughed as he walked up to Alfred.

He pulled a pocket knife out of his jeans pocket and proceeded to cut away Alfred's jeans. Then his tight T-shirt, revealing his now sweat soaked, rippling chest. The crowd spent several moments jeering at the stud who was now only in his overflowing, tight underwear. Zach smiled at him as he cut away the elastic band of Alfred's shorts, totally exposing his low hanging, large nuts which were covered in thick blond hair. They swung defenselessly between the two mallets.

"Now let's make this interesting," Zach said swiping his finger across the screen of his phone.

The screen on the iPad flashed through several random numbers, like an animated roulette wheel, before settling on 01. From their positions, neither Alfred, Bryon or Clinton could see what was on the display but it was obvious to the onlooking crowd, who erupted into laughter and cheers.

"Oh yeah, that's gonna' sting!" one of the boys yelled, clutching his own crotch in mock sympathy.

"Now Alfred, you can't see what the screen says. You can only guess what level it's on based on what the crowd reacts." Zach explained, his finger hovering over the launch button on his phone.

"So you either have the choice of taking the hit as it is, or getting a second spin that might be harder or softer, or simply giving up. Your choice..."

"Do another spin!" some called.

"It's way too high man, don't risk it! Spin again!"

The crowd's attempts to convince Alfred that some dangerously high number was on the display were almost convincing, and for a moment Alfred thought he'd take his chances with a second spin.

"Tick tock. What's it gonna' be?" Zach asked, his finger prepared to press the button that would send the mallets crashing into Alfred's dangling scrotum.

"Um... I dunno. Um, Just do it!"

SPLAT!

The mallets came together, barely making contact with Alfred's large sack before retracting. Alred winced, mostly from dread than from actual pain, and his eyes were tightly shut. He let out a sign of relief has he felt that the mallets had barely closed.

"Good call, Alred. And now for our next contestant."

Byron was lead up to the machine next and his clothes were stripped off of him like Alfred's were. Byron's chest and muscles weren't as defined as Alfred's, but his naked olive skinned body was still quite a sight, especially the enormous testicles swinging beneath his thick, flaccid penis. Even the straight brothers in the crowd gasped as the truly huge organs were positioned between the mallets.

Zach swiped his finger over his phone, making a roulette style animation appear on the iPad's screen. When the numbers finally stopped cycling, a prominent 08 appeared on the screen.

"Uh oh!" one of the boys called out in sincere dismay.

"Take it, it's only a one!" another boy called out.

"Spin again! It's too high."

"No it's not!"

The crowd was going wild shouting out suggestions and counter suggestions. Some of the boys trying to trick Bryon into taking the devastating blow and others trying to warn him to take his chances with another turn.

Byron's handsome face turned from side to side through the crowd, trying to discern which of the factions was telling the truth....

"Spin it again," he finally called out.

"As you wish," Zach said cooling, flicking his finger across the screen of his phone.

The controlling iPad cycled through the numbers again before landing on 10. There was a collective gasp from the crowd and a nervous Byron attempted to close his legs , but couldn't.

"Here it goes," Zach said winking at the helpless young man.

SPL--AA--T!

The mallets crashed toward each other in one quick snap, crushing Byron's nuts between them in the process. Even Zach shuddered and looked away and the huge orbs were instantly compressed to a collective width of less than an inch. For a brief minute it looked like the mallets were going to touch -- totally blowing apart Byron's sex life in the process-- before they retracted just as violently.

The crowd was silent for a moment before erupting cheers, several of the onlookers were giving themselves high fives.

Bryon's whose mouth was open in a comical 'O', let out a high pitched squeal as he attempted to buckle at the knees, but Quinn, the husky junior who was holding him up, kept the sobbing Byron upright as he walked him back to the queue.

"Now remember guys, you can give up at any time, but only one of your will be the last man standing." Zach instructed.

"Or only one of you will be the last man period," someone joked to riotous applause.

As Byron was lined up for his next turn, he looked down to see that his now beet red balls were slowly plumping back to their original shape. He nodded his head 'yes', as if he wanted to continue playing, though his mind was still unable to form any words.

Next up was Clinton, who swaggered to the machine with a look of incongruent calm. He spread his legs wide as Zach cut away his clothing, revealing his beautifully rippled, muscular chest, bulging arms and powerful, thick legs. Between them were two relatively modest, but quite full looking nuts than bulged at the bottom of his sack Clinton's balls weren't the biggest and didn't hang the lowest, but they were definitely much denser and heavier than Alfred or Byron's.

Clinton tussled his thick, shaggy hair as the iPad's screen flipped through the numbers before landing on 04. The crowd instantly starting warning Clinton to take his chances with a different number..

"Dude! Seriously, don't do it."

"Back out, man. It's not a big deal,"

Clinton sneered, seeing easily through the rouse.

"Crush 'em," he instructed to Zach who complied by pressing the launch button on his phone.

The mallet heads collided with moderate force, smashing Clinton's heavy testicles between them. He let out an exaggerated scream and turned to look at Byron, who was still catching his breath, to laugh mockingly.

When Clinton was back in the queue, and Alfred was up again, Zach looked at the three and asked -- his voice taking on a disquieting, serious tone -- if anyone wanted to back out.

"Now is the time, gentleman. This thing doesn't have a safety...."

The crowd laughed as Zach spun the numbers again. The machine landed on 10, the mallets ready to crush Alfred's plump balls into mush.

Alfred's head turned from side to side trying to read the audience's reaction.

"Um, I'll um... Do it. Push the button!"

SP--L---AA--T!

Alfred's tall, muscular frame attempted to double over in agony but was being held up by the equally well built Christopher. The mallets had crashed into each other, compressing Alfred's balls nearly totally flat. For a moment Alfred was afraid his nuts had actually cracked, and he looked down with relief as his swollen nuts started to plump back to shape, though they were beet red and throbbed painfully with each step.

The crowd cat called and teased the limping jock as he made his way back to the line. He was barely back in line when Byron was placed back in position. His knees were shaking as Zach swiped his finger over his phone making the display cycled through the numbers. It landed on 01.

"Uh oh!" someone shouted.

"They're gonna pop!"

"Walk away, man!"

"They're lying! Take the hit, it's just a one!"

The shouting match started in the crowd. Some of the boys, who were clearly not going to be satisfied by anything short of a total testicular rupture, were doing their best to convince Byron to take his chances with another number. After all, they concluded, anything would be harder than a 01,

"Spin it again!" Byron shouted frantically to the crowds delight.

Zach smiled as the display cycled through the numbers again, this time landing on 09.

"Uh oh!" someone called out, only this time deadly serious.

Byron's eyes grew wide as the heavy mallets crashed into his huge nuts. They were again compressed dangerously thin, merely an inch, before the mallets retracted. There was a devastating, wet Splat as his sack was assaulted from both sides. Byron screamed girlishly as he felt his testicles being mashed together in his sack. The delicate membranes that separated them were pushed to their limits as the mallets attempted to turn Byron's two nuts into one...

Quinn was struggling to keep the smaller Byron upright as he guided him back to the line. He was sobbing and his hands were flaying, instinctively trying to cup his injured genitals but stopped short by his restraints. His nuts were pulsing painfully as they slowly plumped back to their shape.

"Ouch, two tens in a row for Byron. That has got to hurt." Zach said laughing as Clinton was put into position over the machine.

He gave the crowd a cocky smirk, winking at a tall red head in the back who was openly rubbing his crotch at the sight of the handsome, bound jock. Zach spun the wheel and the number settled on 09.

"Seriously! How the fuck does he keep getting so lucky?" one of the watching frat boys called out in disgust.

"Come on, give us a ten!"

Clinton couldn't tell if his fraternity brothers were trying to trick him into thinking he had a low number -- hoping he'd spin again and get a higher one -- or if he actually did have a low number. After several moments, he smiled broadly and called out "Smash 'em flat!"

The mallets came together with an audible whoosh, then a sickening, CRUNCH as Clinton's meaty balls were crushed together. His smaller nuts, clearly more dense than the others, didn't compress as readily, which seemed to only multiply the pain. Clinton screamed in an inhumane drone as his rippled abs tensed. He struggled against his captor, a short yet powerfully build young man named Victor, who seemed to be taking particular pleasure in his role in keeping Clinton hostage. Clinton's cool facade totally crumbled as fiery pain radiated from his nuts.

Clinton, Byron and Alfred, all panting heavily from their ball smashing, stood by whilst Zach gave them a moment to catch their breath.

"So, does anyone want to bow out. Last chance before things be interesting..." Zach's voice trailed and a hush came over the crowd.

What did he mean "before things get interesting."...

After letting the three bound studs recover for a bit, Zach motioned to Christopher to lead Alfred back up to the stage. When Alfred's juicy plums were dangling between the mallets, Zach's finger was just about to swipe the screen of his phone -- setting the roulette wheel spinning -- but stopped. He walked up between Alfred's legs - admiring the swollen, red sack - and knelt down. He tapped the iPad screen and it turned back into its normal desktop. He swiped a few screens over and grinned broadly as he tapped an icon to launch what was ostensibly another number generating app.

It looked the same as the other round, only the numbers were blue instead of red.

He stood up and proceeded to spin the virtual wheel using his phone. Despite the conflicting, often false, tones of surprise that had been coming from the crowd, there was a collective gasp of legitimate shock at what was displayed in burning blue on the iPad screen: 12.

"That can't be right. That can't be right," someone said shaking his head.

"How is that even... no, it's a joke or something,"

Poor Alfred was totally lost trying to read the crowd. Were they only pretending that the wheel had landed on some impossibly high number -- when in actuality it was really only on 1 or 2 -- or had it actually landed on some shockingly high value? He tried to read the faces of the few fraternity brothers he genuinely trusted, but even that was proving inconclusive.

"Tick tock, Alfy. What's if gonna' be?' Zach said, his finger teetering dangerously close to the launch button on his phone.

Alfred, figuring he had already endured a ten -- the highest the machine could do -- swallowed hard as he called out "Push it!"

Zach turned away and winced in sincere sympathy as he pressed the button. The mallets crashed together with such force that the gears hidden in the wooden box screeched loudly in effort. The mallets collided with a squishy, echoing SPLAAAT into the trapped orbs.

Alfred convulsed so hard that Christopher struggled to keep him upright. He felt a tremendous, burning sensation coming from between his legs and a warm, wet feeling. As if something were gushing or oozing in his sack.

"Oh God! They popped!" Alfred screamed between sobs.

Zach knelt between his thrashing legs and grabbed each of the large red nuts in his hands, rolling them around roughly before announcing to the crowd "They're okay, still whole!"

Zach was only being half truthful. While Alfred's balls were still whole, they were terribly swollen and felt softer and mushier than they should. Zach gulped at the prospect that his macabre contraption might actually hurt someone, but he put on his best game show host smile and called Byron back to the stand.

Bryon, whose throbbing balls were still recovering from the last two rounds, didn't even try to conceal his tears as his spuds were placed between the mashers.

"Anyone want to give up yet?" Zach asked as he sent the wheel spinning.

The iPad's screen seemed to take longer than normal to finish cycling through the numbers before finally landing on 10.

"Oh shit! They're gonna blow!" one of the boys shrieked in genuine delight, pulling out his penis and shamelessly stroking at the prospect of watching Byron's truly huge nuts explode like the oranges from earlier.

The crowd shouted and shrieked, the collective tone being for Byron to either drop out or pick another number.

"Spin it again," Bryon called out, his chest heaving and his heavy balls throbbing between the mallets.

"As you wish,"

Zach swiped his finger over the screen of his phone and the iPad's displayed cycled through the blue numbers before finally landing on 19.

"Oh shit!" someone near the back screamed.

"Wholly fuck! Wholy fuck! Aaah!" the young man who had been stroking blew a thick, sticky load all over the floor in front of him, unable to hold back his excitement at seeing Byron's doomed balls about to be hammered by a force nearly twice what had already nearly caused them to rupture.

"Okay. Here it goes, three, two... one." Zach pressed the button and winced, though was unable to look away from Byron's huge, throbbing balls.

SPLOSH! The mallets collided into each other violently, crushing Bryon's spuds nearly flat. The sound they made was much wetter, and more stomach turning than the previous two hits. Despite their massive size, Byron's nuts were instantly compressed to less than an inch thick, the compressed ball meat bulging out from between the plates before they retracted just as quickly.

Byron let out a blood curdling scream and seemed to pass out, though he was held upright by Quinn who was slowly walking him away from the machine. Sweat poured from Bryon's forehead, which was now matted with his thick black hair. The handsome stud was barely coming to when Zach stopped them and knelt down to examine the damage to Byron's now very swollen, blood red balls. Blotchy purplish marks marred his scrotum, clear indicators that blood vessels had been ruptured. Zach rolled Byron's heavy nuts in his hands and prodded them so hard that Byron winced in pain.

"Dude, not so rough," Byron managed to say through gritted teeth.

"They're still whole, just barely though." Zach called out.

Byron's nuts were turning soft to the touch, and weren't as round as before he had started the game, but they were -- as far as Zach could tell - still whole .

Clinton was lead to the machine by Victor, who was thoroughly enjoying dragging the helpless stud into position to have his eggs scrambled.

"Say bye to your nuts, ass hole." Victor hissed into Clinton's ear.

Clinton shuddered at the prospect, and became increasingly alarmed that the person holding him legitimately didn't like him and probably wouldn't care if his balls actually did get permanently flattened. He struggled a bit, but Victor held steady, keeping Clinton's pendulous, red nuts between the mallets.

Zach spun the wheel which cycled even longer than normal before slowly settling on a number. Zach gasped.

"Wait wait, something must be wrong, it's not supposed to go that high," Zach said spinning the wheel again, only to have it land on the same number.

Sweat was beading on Zach's forehead as he and the other brothers -- most of which were cheering -- looked at the sapphire blue number glowing on the iPad's screen: 30.

The watching fraternity brothers had started into their usual attempts to either trick Clinton, or warn him, depending on how they felt about him. If Victor's comment from early was any indication, it seemed like Clinton was the one most of them sincerely wanted to see nutted.

"Fuck, say bye to your boys, Clint," someone called out.

Clinton couldn't tell it Zach's earlier dismay at the apparently large number was a rouse to make his pick another number or if something had actually gone wrong with the machine.

"Wait, wait. Something's wrong," Zach said, approaching the iPad.

"No, no, no. Rules are rules," Victor shot back,

Zach ignored him and tapped the tablet's screen, clearing the ominous 30 and returning to the home screen.

"He said rules are rules, Zach." Connor said grabbing Zach from behind and pulling him away from the machine. Zach shrieked in surprise as he was lifted by his collar and flung aside like a rag doll.

Conner, pressed an icon that resembled a clock and yellow double-zeroes appeared on the screen. Zach was gaining his feet, still clutching his cell phone when Victor yelled 'Grab it!"

Conner lunged at the much smaller, still dazed Zach and grabbed his phone. Zach reached for it before being punched viciously on the side of the head by the redhead. Zach let out a scream before blacking out.

The basement was now in full hysterics, everyone focused on Clinton, who was now struggling and begging to be let go. He could see the blood lust in his fraternity brother's eyes as they eye fucked his gorgeous body, focusing on his about-to-be pulverized nuts.

Conner casually swiped his finger on the phone's screen and the iPad again cycled through a set of numbers. The yellow numbers seemed to cycle more than the blue, as if there were more of them, before landing on 42.

"Hmm, I think we should go higher," he laughed wickedly, giving the screen another swipe.

The screen landed on on 01, then 10 then 36. Connor, clearly frustrated, gave the screen a final swipe and shrieked in delight: It had landed on 50.

"Pop! Pop! Pop!" the watching crowd chanted.

"Go ahead, push it. Make 'em burst!" Victor said egging him on.

"No! Noo!" Clinton pleaded, "I give! I give!"

Clinton's once cool, collected devil-may-care attitude was totally dissolved now, the hunky stud sobbing and thrashing as Victor kept him held tightly. Clinton could feel Victor's pre-cum slicked cock head rubbing against his back.

"Please! Please! I give! I give!" Clinton screamed as the red head's fat finger hovered over the launch button on the phone at a tauntingly slow speed.

"No!" Clinton screamed as Connor's fat finger finally tapped the screen.

The mallets came together with so much force that the wooden box housing the gears actually bounced upward. Clinton's tight left nut instantly burst in the sack with a loud SPLOSH upon impact, then a split second later his right nut imploded with a sickening SPLISH. Clinton screamed and blacked out as the mallets continued toward each other, only stopping when they were literally touching, only a thin flap of scrotum separating them.

Chunks of the arrogant jock's once beefy nuts splattered outward, landing with wet plops on the basement floor.

For a moment, the basement fell silent, the de-sexed Clinton writhing in subconscious agony as Victor continued to hold him tightly. Then suddenly a loud cheer went up.

"Whose next?" a wickedly gleeful Connor called toward Alfred and Christopher. Christopher held Alfred, who was now hysterical with fear, tightly and forced him into position in front of the machine. Alfred's tone body glistened with sweat as his pendulous balls were placed between the mallets.

"I give up! I give up!" he shrieked, trying to escape Christopher's grasp.

Connor spun the virtual wheel which landed on 24. He didn't even give the crowd a moment to react before pressing the launch button... over and over..

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLOSH! The mallets crunched together three times as Alfred screamed like a tortured girl and tired to escape. Each time he could feel his pulsing nuts being crushed flatter and flatter, and with no time to recover, the damage was only being compounded.

"Chris! For God's sake, let me go," Alfred pleaded directly to his captor.

Christopher only sneered, precum dripping from the head of his cock that was now poking from the top of his jeans.

"Do it again," Christopher shouted.

CRUNCH!

The mallet heads came together once more, this time totally destroying Alfred's abused left nut which shattered into meaty chunks inside the sack.

"Oh fuck!"

Christopher let out a guttural groan and spewed several thick globs of semen all over the passed out Alfred's muscular back. Several other onlookers threw their heads back and moaned as they pumped equally large loads at the sight of the emasculated stud.

Christopher, his knees still weak from his explosive orgasm, dragged the blacked out, half de-sexed stud out of the way so that Quinn could bring Byron into position.

"Please! Guys! What the fuck! Let me go!" Byron sobbed and tried to get away from Quinn, but he was the smallest of the three captives as it was, and was still dizzy and weak from this previous testicle pounding.

Quinn's thick penis throbbed against Bryon's back as the red head spun the virtual wheel. The yellow numbers hovered in the 1 to 10 range for several spins before finally landing on 50.

The crowd applauded, the wet twacking sound of multiple cocks being stroked filled the room. Two more onlookers spilled their seed with guttural moans as Connor's finger danced over the launch button. He was sure it would only take one blow at such a high level to totally annihilate Byron's enormous nards, but he was going to press the button multiple times to make sure there was absolutely nothing left between Byron's legs.

Byron was sobbing and streaming piss out of his flaccid, yet still thick, penis as Zach, who had been all but forgotten in the heap where he landed, started coming to.

"Ten, nine, eight..."t he started counting down dramatically.

"No! No! Please! I give up!"

"...seven, six, five."

"Stop! No! Nooo!"

"four, three..."

"What the hell is going ... Holy Fuck! What did you do ? Zach screamed hysterically. Zach nearly threw up at the sight of Alfred and Clinton's destroyed genitals and he raced for Bryon.

"Zach! Help me!" Byron screamed as the red head pushed the button.

Zach lunged, attempting to knock Byron away from the machine..

SPLA---AA---TCH!

Zach, who was in mid lunge, and Byron made eye contact as the mallets crashed together so hard that the mallet on the right actually dented the mallet on the left. Meanwhile, Byron's over stuffed scrotum was instantly flattened to less than a quarter inch which was simply too flat for his enormous gonads which both instantly crushed into each other, the membranes separating them rupturing. The right ball went totally inside the left, forming one grotesque, massive, flattened ball that only survived for a split second before being ground into a gooey paste.

Zack knocked over Byron and Quinn, the three landing in a heap. Byron, who was sandwiched between was hollering and thrashing.

"What the..." Zach shouted as he felt himself being lifted to his feet by his collar.

He turned to see an uncharacteristically angry looking Connor was holding him up by his color.

"Connor? Connor dude, what the fuck? What the fuck did you do?" Zach screamed out, his voice choking back tears.

Connor let Zach go, and he stumbled backward toward the crowd, that was now forming a circle around him. Zach thought he was going to be sick as we looked at his three ruined frat brothers. His head was spinning with fear, confusion, shock, sadness....

"What... what the hell! WHAT THE HELL!" Zach screamed, unable to comprehend what was going on. He hoped this was some kind of joke, but it was obvious that this was actually happening.

Zach had tuned out the commotion in the room, his eyes fixated on the still flaying Byron and his wrecked, crushed sack, so barely heard someone yell 'Grab him!"

He turned in time to see two men lunging at him. Before he could react he was being held tightly by the two, his hands helplessly behind his back. While Zach struggled, a third boy pulled down his jeans and underwear, letting his medium sized, shaved sack flop out.

"Please, what're you doing?" Zach sobbed as he was lead toward the machine.

"Spread his legs,"

Two brothers crouched on either side of Zach and held his ankles out so that his legs were forced open, leaving his now totally defenseless balls dangling between the mallets, which were still covered in blood and goop.

Zach struggled wildly, his balls bouncing to and from, but wasn't able to escape. The boys holding him were snickering as Connor picked up the phone and spun the wheel. It landed on 25.

Zach couldn't see what the iPad was displaying, but could tell by the applause and whoops from the crowd that it must have been a high number. His head was pounding from the sound of his panicked heart beat. What was happening? This was the kind of plot from a horror movie, not something that actually happened at Quintero University. He was starting to black out from panic...

"No! No! Please!"

Connor smirked and ran his finger dangerously close to the launch button.

"You weren't supposed to be here, Zach." Connor said coldly.

"What? I live here, what the..."

SPLAT!

Connor had pressed the button midway during Zach's plea, instantly quieting the blubbering stud as his nuts were mercilessly crushed between the mallets. Zach thought he was going to be sick. He had never experienced anything so painful. He looked down to see that his balls had turned a fiery red and were throbbing painfully with each heart beat. Were they seriously going to nut him...?

"Connor! Connor dude we're friends," Zach pleaded before he dry heaved.

The watching crowd laughed so evilly at Zach's retching he was instantly filled with an icy chill. When he recovered, he tried to speak but was silenced by the mallets coming together again..

CRUNCH!

Zach's spuds were already starting to rupture, his sack swelling heavily from the brutal smashing. They couldn't possibly take much more of this, he thought.

"Connor! Connor, dude, we're friends! We're friends! I've sucked your dick, man. What the fuck!"

If the apparently straight Zach was trying to make an emotional connection to Connor by publicly sharing this intimate detail, it fell on deaf ears.

"Like I said, you weren't supposed to be here," Connor started motioning toward the three now blacked out, crushed studs.

"Those guys, deserved it. They had to pay. We had everything planned out and then you showed back up."

"Wha---?" Zach couldn't even finish the thought, his mind was so wracked with fear, panic and now incomprehensible confusion.

It was no secret that not every Tau Upsilon brother liked each other, which would be expected in any large group of people, but what on Earth could Alfred, Byron and Clinton have done to this particular group of men that would have justified such a brutal response? Zach's mind raced, trying to piece together what the hell was going on.

Connor swiped his finger over the phone's screen and the roulette animation spun again, landing on 52.

"Yes!" someone shouted gleefully, knowing Zach's nards were about to be utterly crushed.

"Ten, nine, eight..." Connor and the others started counting down.

Zach struggled, his swollen, half ruptured nuts swinging wildly between his legs, but couldn’t get out of harm's way. He just couldn't believe what was happening, and couldn't think of anything that would have prompted this from Connor or any of the others. It was totally disgusting. Zach looked down in wide eyed terror as the countdown neared one.

A primal terror beyond anything Zach had ever experienced nearly paralyzed him, and his thrashing ironically stopped as the countdown reached five. He spent the remainder of the countdown staring at his about-to-be destroyed sex organs, his heart pounding so hard his ears hurt. He was hyperventilating from fear, he was getting dizzy...

"...three, two... "

Zach mercilessly passed out from sheer terror just moments before Conner pressed the button...

The Federation: False Witness

Three scientists in plain white lab coats, their faces aged beyond their years and heads shaved bald, sat quietly in a small control room. There were a few buttons protruding from a plain white console in the middle of the room. As was customary in the Federation, startling advanced technology was often disguised in bland, unimaginative and utilitarian machinery.

One wall of the control room was entirely made of glass, looking into a smaller white room which was empty except for a single narrow door with no knob.

"Ah, good day Lieutenant Armstrong," one of the scientists greeted warmly as a tall, dignified gentleman in a blue Navy uniform entered the room.

All of the scientists stood, raising their right fist in front of their left eye in salute. The Lieutenant returned the gesture and, with a wave of this hand, the scientists sat back down at ease.

"Dr. Alexander, Federation Medical." the lead scientist introduced himself. "This is Dr. Kirby and Dr. Mayweather,"

There was the usual round of formal introductions. The Lieutenant had only had brief run ins with the highly secretive Federation Medical, and almost none of them involved actual medical technology as it would have been defined in the pre-Federation world. Federation Medical's main goal, the Lieutenant concluded, was to devise more and more sadistic ways of torture, presumably to better extract information from Rebels and to punish disloyal citizens. If they happened to make an actual medical discovery along the way, it was just another feather in their cap.

"So what will you be demonstrating today, Dr. Alexander?"

The scientist beamed with pride "It's a rather ingenious contraption..." without pausing, the good doctor pushed a button on his control panel. In the next room, a white chair materialized from the ground as if it was growing from the bland white material. Federation technology was truly advanced.

"Bring in the prisoner,"

The door leading into the room with the chair opened with a whoosh and a Federation guard entered holding a naked, struggling man. The man was dirty, as if he had been recently plucked from the Badlands, those unmentionable regions just beyond the glimmer and influence of Federation cities. He was just over six feet tall, with dusty brown hair and a wide face that was friendly looking even under the mask of fear. He was in decent shape, though hardly the rippling, muscular physiques of typical Federal citizens.

"We raided a Rebel camp the other day, but unfortunately they had burned or destroyed anything of value before we arrived. Maps, optical discs, everything. So all the intelligence is in their heads..."

As Dr. Alexander spoke, the guard sat the man down in the chair, his legs outstretched wide. Shackles appeared from the floor in similar fashion to the chair, as if out of nowhere, and secured the man's ankles. The guard finished up by tying the man's hands behind his back. He then took a long, rather blunt looking metal rod out of this holster and proceeded to ram it into the back of the man's neck. The prisoner hollered as the guard nodded toward the waiting scientists.

"We've isolated the parts of the brain that are active when deception is at play," Dr. Alexander began, "and that probe will light up this display whenever the prisoner tells a lie."
The Lieutenant nodded.

"It will also activate a microwave beam, effectively making the prisoner responsible for his own torture."

The scientist slipped a switch and a red, circular glow appeared on the prisoner's heaving chest.

"That light is the aiming beam. Let me just adjust..."

The scientists coldly fidgeted some knobs until the red glow had wandered down the man's soft six pack onto his testicles where were sitting lazily in the seat of the chair When he was satisfied at the aim, he directed the Lieutenant to ask the man a question.
The Lieutenant spoke through the glass and could hear his voice repeated on the other side after a short delay.

"What was the nature of your camp?"

The sobbing prisoner blurted out "It was just a farm camp, we don't have hydroponics like you Federation... AAH!"

The monitor in front of the scientists flashed blue at the lie and the man jumped, the heat from the microwave beam clearly starting to be felt.

The Lieutenant smiled cruelly.

"I'll ask again. What was the nature of the camp? What were you doing so close to a Federation city?"

The prisoner heaved, catching his breath before he spoke "We were plotting..."

This time the screen did nothing; the prisoner was telling the truth.

"Plotting what?"

"To blow up the Old Republic Bridge,"

The Lieutenantâ's eyebrow curled in disgust and a quick glance at the monitored proved his suspicion. The man was lying.

"Aaaah! OH GOD!" The prison wailed, red blisters starting to appear all over this boiling scrotum.

"I'll ask you again. What were you plotting,"

"I told you .... AHHH!!"

The man's head drooped back as the microwave beam intensified.

"The ... Old Republic.... Bridge... AAAAAH!" the man let out a blood curdling scream as the lie indicator flashed rapidly. It seemed that the more disingenuous the lie, the more the system reacted.

"The Old...."

SPLAAAAT!

Without warning, the prisoner's ball sack exploded into a shower of shredded gore. The boiling contents had blown apart the sack from the inside out. The stunned prisoner took several moments to fully comprehend what had happened, but then opened his mouth in a large 'O' and screamed non stop while the guard unshackled him and let him out of the room.
When he was cleared from the room, the Lieutenant turned toward the scientists, nodding his head tin approval

"Very impressive technology. So they were plotting something... hmm. Bring in the next."

The door to the interrogation room again opened, this time the guard was leading in a short pale skinned young man who couldn't have been more than twenty and very well built. His arms bulged with muscle, this chest was taught and well defined. His pecs were perfectly sculpted. His stony face showed no emotion, though he did let out a single tear as he was put into position. The red glow appeared over his large genitals to verify the aim was still on. His very thick, flaccid cock was lazily flopped over his balls as if acting as a sacrificial shield. The young man's icy resolve was finally cracked when he felt the probe boring into the base of his neck. He screamed and struggled futility and the begging started with such earnest he almost missed the Lieutenants request.

"I really don't want to hurt you," the Lieutenant sounded almost sincere, "I just need to know what you were plotting against the Federation."

"We... we were going to blow up the Old Republic Brid---- AAAAH!"

The lie monitor flashed rapidly, the man's cock began to swell and blister. A trickle of blood appeared from the piss slit.

Lieutenant Armstrong shook his head in disgust "Here we are with that same old song. So what were you doing?"

The prison pleaded, shaking his head violently as he shouted "We got ahold of some Prefed tech, a type of bomb..." the prisoner said sobbing, unable to finish this sentence through gasps for air.

The scientists and the Lieutenant glanced at the lie detector. It wasn't flashing. The Lieutenant phrased his next question deliberately; he wanted to be sure to get as much real information from this man as he could before he castrated himself.

"So, where did you find Pre-Federation Era weapons technology?"

The young prisoner's chest heaved, still trying to recover from the earlier roasting his cock and balls had received.

"We stole it from.... AAAAH!" the lie indicator flashed.

The prisoner's thick cock split in multiple places from the intensifying heat. His nuts were starting to sweat and blister. He tried to keep speaking, but the more he went on about the supposedly stolen weapon, the more intense the microwave became until...

SPLI----PS-Ssssss

The man's huge cock exploded into shreds and steam began to escape his boiling nuts with a loud hiss. The man, no longer able to speak, was not letting out one continuous drone but the lie indicator kept flashing.

"He must be, even in his fits of pain, still thinking about something deceptive. Otherwise..."

Mr. Kirby chimed in, his frail voice barely able to be make it over the inhuman screaming.

Lieutenant Armstrong smiled maniacally as the man's testicles burst into flames, then exploded with such force that the glass looking into the interrogation room was splattered with flaming bits of nut guts.

"He must have really been trying to hold something back. So they didn't steal the tech... hmm. Send in the next one,"

Without ceremony the guard roughly led the ruined young man out of the room and was followed by another guard. This guard was leading in a svelte, yet well-defined dark haired rebel who was crying and begging for mercy. He had only caught a glimpse of the mutilated crotch of his comrade, but it was enough to make the scared young man hysterical. Lieutenant Armstrong eyed the attractive twenty-something year old longingly, his eyes stopping on the enormous genitals swinging between his legs with each step.

"What a shame," the Lieutenant remarked sincerely as the red glow of the aiming laser engulfed the young prisoner's huge testicles and six inch, thick flaccid penis.

"What's your name?" asked the Lieutenant coldly, the young handsome man squirming in his chair.

"I'm Barrow,"

"Just Barrow?"

"Yes,"

"Heavens, no surname. How primitive," remarked one of the scientists with sincere derision.

"So, Barrow, where did you get the Prefed weapon?"

"Uh, um. We found it."

The Lieutenantâ's eyebrow furled but, to his surprise, the lie indicator stayed quiet.

"Hmm. So you're saying you just found it, abandoned?"

The young man thought carefully before he spoke "Yes, well, um. No, we were told where to find it."

To the Lieutenantâ's surprise the huge genitals weren't burned.

"Who told you?"

"I don't know his name..... AAH!"

The prisoner's handsome face was contorted in pain as his thick cock and testicles began to blister and bleed from the invisible heat. The lie indicator flashed slowly, and the Lieutenant, wanting to take advantage of the young man's pain wrought vulnerability asked the next question over the inhuman screams.

"Who pointed you to the tech?"

"Admiral Wallace....Ahh!" the prisoner sighed heavily as the heat suddenly dissipated. The lie indicator fell silent.

All three of the scientists audibly gasped, whispering among themselves in shocked disbelief. Even the usually stoic Federation guard had to bite his lip to avoid a response. Admiral Wallace was, after all, the head of Rebel Counter Intelligence, a respected Federation citizen. Yet here he was being called out, apparently truthfully, as a source of information for the Rebels. 

The fact that this was all taking place inside of the Wallace Building for Federation Research was simply too thick for words.

The Lieutenant, his face growing red with rage, locked eyes at handsome young rebel, his pecs heaving as he caught his breath.

"Leave us,"

Dr. Kirby was about to protest that the scientists, as acting-Admirals, technically outranked the Lieutenant, but he was silenced by Dr. Alexander before the thought was spoken.

Before he left, the Lieutenant tapped Dr. Mayweather on the shoulder and asked if there was a manual override, a way to roast the prisoner's nuts without the need for the poor chap to be lying. Mayweather pointed to a plain looking black button on the far side of the control panel as he and the other scientists made their leave without saying another word.

"I said leave us, "the Lieutenant barked at the lone guard in the interrogation room.

The guard saluted then left the room in silence.

The Lieutenant eyed the prisoner for several minutes, not saying a word. He was truly breath takingly gorgeous, and -- as it had turned out -- had been quite helpful in helping to unearth a conspiracy that struck to the very heart of the Federation. In different circumstance, the Lieutenant would have taken this handsome Rebel on as a house boy servant, as was becoming vogue among officers in Federation cities. Surely it would be cruel to finish the task of turning the young stud's reproductive organs into flaming chunks of flesh... cruel, yet fun.

"AAAAH!" The prisoner screamed as Lieutenant Armstrong pressed -- and held -- the manual control button.

The microwave beam mercilessly sizzled the young man's package as he writhed in pain.

His donkey cock split and hissed as steam exploded from erupted pockets up and down its veiny length. His left testicle in particular was sweating and starting to bleed as the boiling contents were swelling and splitting the sack.

"Please! Stop! I'm telling the...."

Szzzz--SPLOSH!

The prisoner's left nut exploded, the enormous gonad showering his sculpted chest and abs with hot goop. The Lieutenant kept his hand on the button, continuing to roast the remaining nut and this cock .As the young prisoner screamed and begged for mercy, the Lieutenant licked his lips and smiled maniacally as he watched the huge genitals literally melting and boiling into soup.

The young man's cock was the next organ to go, bursting violently like an overcooked sausage, the bloody contents boiling even more and bubbling out of the thick vein as it continued to roast. The Lieutenant pressed down as hard as he could, although he wasn't entirely sure if that was actually having any effect on the intensity.

By now, mercifully, the prisoner had passed out. He gave out a weak whimper has this last ball exploded, burst from the inside out by the steaming pressure of the now liquefied, boiling contents. When the Lieutenant was satisfied by his work, he pressed a button on the communication console and summoned the guard back. The guard slipped on a pile of nut goop and nearly fell, which caused the Lieutenant to giggle slightly. While the comatose hunk was lead out of the room, the Lieutenant called the three scientists back into the room.

For a moment no one spoke.

"So, what are we going to do with this information?" Dr. Kirby spoke breaking the silence.
"I believe it's time for Admiral Wallace to try out your latest invention," Lieutenant Armstrong replied.

"If he's innocent, he's got nothing to fear."

----

Admiral Wallace had been dragged down to Central Interrogation and strapped into the seat within an hour. He was a powerfully built, tall man in his mid forties with large, hairy testicles and a thick, yet short penis.

Lieutenant Armstrong, this time joined by Admirals and others of much higher rank than himself, asked the question: "Was Barrow telling the truth?"

The watching crowd was silent. A reporter from the Media Bureau was filming the interrogation, streaming it liveto Federation households across the globe as a Media Bureau Breaking Alert. It had been decided that this forceful rooting out of sedition should be broadcast as a warning for all to see.

"No, he's lying," Admiral Wallace responded, his voice ripe with indignation.

  The lie detector was silent, it appeared he was telling the truth.

"Manual override, now!" someone of a rank higher than High Admiral barked and Dr. Mayweather obliged.

Suddenly the captive Admiral began to scream and writhe, totally confused by the response to what was a legitimately true statement. As the microwave beam heated up, the destruction of his proud balls was captured in stunning high-definition holographic color by the Media Bureau cameras. His dark hair began to smoke, then erupted into flame like kindling. As he screamed his cock suddenly and violently split open, his right testicle exploded from the steam pressure. He was still awake, hollering like a demon, when his left testicle, though still whole, erupted into flames. The beams kept raosting and roasting until the Admiral's entire sexual package burst into flames, kept boiling and then...

SPLOOOOOSH! SPLASH

The Admiral's sex lifeerupted into a horrible, flaming explosion of splattered mess. The Federation viewers at home cheered as the traitorâ's manhood splattered in front of them in living color.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Armstrong looked on in bewilderment. It didn't seem possible that both Barrow and the Admiral were both correct...

"Someone must have been posing as Admiral Wallace. Our technology is infallible. Barrow, as far as he was concerned, wasn't lying." came a voice, a scientist Lieutenant Armstrong did not know.

"Well, we had to put on a show to make whoever was posing as the Admiral think they'd gotten away with it," a High Admiral said coldly.

Lieutenant Armstrong looked on at the ruined Admiral Wallace, a still flaming pile of goo sitting on the chair where his balls and cock had been just moments before.

"How unfortunate," Lieutenant Armstrong remarked to no one in particular and filed calmly out of the room with the others.