Thief's Lament

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POPS! - Travis the Intern

POPS! is going to be a series of short n' sweet stories inspired by hot photos I see across the web.  No character development. No recurring characters. No fluff (I don't even have to waste words on describing the dudes since there's always a pic!) 

Think of it as the 'money shot' version of my longer stories.  Want to be featured in a POPS! vignette? Shoot your photo over to TrumanSmith@gmail.com (you can include story ideas of just let me fill in the blanks!)

Thanks to Alex for the inspiration (here's a link to his outstanding blog in case you've been living under a rock and are unfamiliar with it) 

Travis

Mr. Westbrook's intern, Travis, knew he had fucked up, royally.  It had been his job to ensure that the financial analysis in Mr. Westbrook's presentation to the investors was flawless but glaring mistakes throughout the hour-long presentation made the watching investors uneasy and put Mr. Westbrook in the unusual position of playing defense.

The investors clapped politely and filed out of the room, ignoring Mr. Westbrook's request for a firm commitment to his pitch.  They had seen enough.  When the last investor filed out of the room, Mr. Westbrook ran a hand coolly through his slick black hair, closed the door to the conference room and closed the shades.

Mr. Westbrook seemed calm and for a second Travis thought he might get away with it...

"What the Hell was that?"  Mr. Westbrook bellowed.

Before Travis could even speak the middle-aged businessman had come across the room and pinned Travis against the wall, his forearm forcing Travis' head upward to keep eye contact with his irate boss.

"I'm sorry, I don't..."  Travis could barely speak as Mr.Westbrook's arm pressed against his windpipe.

"I shouldn't have even hired you, snot-nosed prick.  You think you're such a hot shot?"

Travis shook his head no.

"You made me look like a financial eunuch in front of the investors!"

Travis gasped in pain as he felt Mr. Westbrook's knee crashing into the crotch of his slacks.  Mr. Westbrook's aim was perfect, crushing Travis' ample balls between his strong knee and his pelvic bone.  Travis had just registered the pain when Mr. Westbrook's knee slammed upward again, and again.

"I'll teach you to fuck with my reputation."

Slam. Slam.

Travis' nuts were rapidly swelling and Travis clawed and scratched in vain, desperate for his muscular boss to let him go.

Slam. Slam. Slam.

"My balls!"

An intense pain radiated from Travis' crotch, seemingly collecting in this belly.  Mr. Westbrrok was enjoying finally taking out months of frustration on his cocky intern.  He could feel Travis' gonads flatten violently with each knee and knew he was doing serious damage but he didn't care.  Someone had to teach this cocky prick a lesson.

"Please..."

CRUNCH! CRUNCH!

Mr. Westbrook's leg was a blur as he slammed into Travis so hard and fast his kneecap hurt.  Travis' tight underwear kept his bloated nuts trapped in place, forced to take every horrible blow and the feeling of crushing  Travis' nuts was making Mr. Westbrook tent his slacks.

"I'm gonna' knock you down a peg!"  Mr. Westbrook roared as his knee slammed again and again into Travis' swollen sack. Travis desperately tried to escape...

The intern's balls ruptured in unison with a loud crunch.

Travis blacked out with a look of terror on his face and Mr. Westbrook nearly creamed in his slacks as he felt Travis' big bag permanently flatten under his knee.  He kneed Travis one more time, grinding into the intern's slacks, feeling the mushy bag fold around his knee like putty.  Travis' days as the handsome office stud were over.

Mr. Westbrook stepped away and let the handsome intern's limp body slide to the floor.

"Damn, I went through another intern."

Mr. Westbrook sighed, pulled his hard cock out of his slacks, gave it a few strokes and -- in a final indignity -- plastered Travis' blacked out face with jizz.

Oops - The Mammogram

It was just after three in the morning when the large glass doors of the Westwood Oncology Clinic opened with a whoosh, flooding the dark parking lot with light.  Two masked figures made their way into the entryway, silhouetted like two angels returning to heaven, one of them holding a GoPro and both of them peering around nervously as they walked through the brightly lit, but abandoned halls.

“They don’t have an alarm or anything?”  one of the figures asked incredulously.

“Nah, just key cards.”  the other, Trevor Palmer, responded.

Trevor was a strikingly charismatic upperclassman at Amajor University and his friend, fellow student Josh Trager had done the swiping.  Trevor and Josh were brothers from another mother, practically joined at the hip since they had met freshman year, and constantly engaging in outlandish pranks and stunts which they filmed on their GoPro and shared with their friends. Most of them were as outrageous as they were harmless, just skirting the line of good taste and avoiding breaking any serious laws, but tonight was different.  

Trevor was as tech savvy as he was averse to student loans, so he spent the time he wasn’t in class or pulling pranks with Josh doing freelance I.T work for small businesses.  One of whom was the Westwood Oncology Clinic where he had happened across a pamphlet for mammograms which gave him the devious idea to film Josh getting checked for lumps... only they weren’t going to checking his chiseled pecs.  The plan was almost comically easy to pull off; Trevor used his boyishly handsome looks to flirt with one of the nurses who happened to go to his gym after work and distracted her just long enough for Josh to lift her pocketbook out of her bag. Trevor was still clutching the nurse’s card in his hands as the two young men made their way down halls.

“Cameras!”  Josh said as he froze in his step, staring blankly toward a ceiling mounted camera looking directly at him.

Trevor laughed;  he knew the only functioning camera was in the lobby, which they had slipped by still in their masks, and the others had been disconnected long ago.

“Oh relax, bro.  I won’t let anything happen,”

Trevor removed his mask and gave his friend a wink, in full view of the decoy camera, as he opened a door marked ‘Examination - 5’.

Despite Trevor’s assurances, Josh waited until the door closed behind him before removing his own mask revealing his sweaty but still handsome face.  His shaggy blonde hair was matted by the ski mask and his face was flush with a mix of excitement and heat. Josh was strikingly good looking with a chiseled jaw, firm pecs and a washboard stomach that tapered at his relatively slim waist.  He was fit yet not overly muscular in contrast to Trevor who was similar to Josh’s height but noticeably bulkier, his biceps almost tearing his sleeves and his powerful legs making his shorts look more like tight running gear than the baggy basketball shorts they were.

Trevor gave Josh a coy wink as he motioned toward the mammogram machine in the center of the room and without hesitation Josh broke into laughter and stepped out of his jeans.  He had purposefully not worn underwear -- why bother -- so his thick cock and pendulous balls swung freely as he made his way to the machine.  It was apparent why Josh was the chosen to be the model in this particular stunt; his balls were exceptionally large and almost comically round, like two billiards stuffed into his fuzzy low-hanging sack.  Trevor couldn’t help but admire his friend’s pornagraphc equipment as his balls bounced nearly a foot from his body.

“Okay, how are we gonna’ do this?”

The machine consisted of a white pillar, attached to which was control panel, and a flat metallic plate protruding midway down the shaft. Above it was a thick piece of what appeared to be plexiglass attached to a hydraulic mechanism that could lower the glass plate so that it pressed into the metal surface.  It took the two a few minutes to figure out how to lower the metallic plate and position Josh on a stool so that by squatting slightly his dangling nuts could rest on the metal surface.

While Josh acclimated to the cold surface, Trevor quickly setup a tripod so that the camera captured his handsome friend’s torso and sculpted legs and of course his balls resting less than a foot from the crushing plate.

“Okay, we’re ready. Let’s roll.”

Trevor pushed a button on the GoPro and a pulsing red light indicated it was recording.  Trevor walked back to the machine, tapped a few commands into the touch panel attached to the central pillar and -- to their surprise -- nothing happened.  Trevor tapped again, there was a beep and the sound of motors coming from the hydraulic press but again nothing happened.

“Man hurry up; we’re gonna’ get caught,”  Josh complained.

“Hang on, hang on,”  Trevor said assuredly desperately tapping away at the control panel.  

What Josh couldn’t see is that Trevor had been presented with a password screen.  He hadn’t anticipated that and none of the security codes he knew from the other equipment were working.  He was just about to call off the stunt when he noticed the brand of the touch panel was the same as the new digital clipboards he had set up for the clinic the week before.  

“Worth a shot,” he thought aloud as he positioned his thumbs and index fingers in an uncomfortable position on the screen, tapped his left thumb three times and waited.

Just like the clipboards, the sequence unlocked a backdoor to the mammogram machine with only one option.

“What do you think ‘diagnostic calibration mode’ means?”  he asked Josh.

The handsome jock shrugged.

Trevor tapped to start the diagnostic, whatever that meant, tapping so quickly that he totally skipped past the ostentatious warning screen that appeared.

“I wonder what that...”

“Oh shit!”  

Josh groaned as the gap between the top of his sack and the glass plate was almost instantly closed.  The plate continued to lower slightly until, just as abruptly as it had fallen, the plate stopped.

“Calibrating. Lower plate not detected.” came a pleasant female voice from control panel.

Trevor and Josh looked down at Josh’s slightly flattened balls, they were turning white where the glass surface was touching.  The machine was making a humming but didn’t appear to be moving, much to Josh’s relief.  Although the pressure was evenly distributed and his balls were actually not being compressed too much they were starting to hurt a little.

“Okay, okay, turn it off. My balls are.... “  Josh’s sentence was cut short as the plate unexpectedly lurched lower.

Trevor’s eyes grew wide as he watched Josh’s large balls suddenly compressed to half their girth, flattening between the glass and the metal surface.  Josh’s eyes watered and he instinctively reached for the glass plate and tried to pry it open but he was no match for the hydraulics.

“Oooh! Trevor help me!”  Josh screamed as the plates lowered again.

“Calibrating. Lower plate not detected.  Fault.”  came the disembodied voice again.

“Attempting to calibrate.  Lower plate not detected. Fault”

“Oooh!”  Josh screamed as the plates lowered again.

His balls were now being compressed dangerously flat, less than half their normally meaty girth and though it was slight he could tell the plates were still coming together.

“Turn it off! Turn it off!”

Josh hysterically tried to get a firm grip on the slippery glass plate but couldn’t. Trevor tapped at the panel frantically but could not get the word ‘calibrating’ to disappear from the screen.  

“Oooh!”  

“Calibrating.  Lower plate not detected. Fault.”

The glass plate lowered again.  Josh’s balls were now a quarter flat, turning into two red meat patties bulging under the glass plate.  Josh could only look down in horror watching in exquisite detail as his hefty balls got flatter and flatter.  Trevor looked around frantically, trying to see where the machine was plugged into the wall but there was no cord. No cables.  In a moment of desperation he threw his muscular frame against the central pillar and was immediately knocked to the ground.  The machine, though sleek and futuristic, was heavier and sturdier than it looked.  It was bolted in place.

“Calibrating. Lower plate not detected. Fault.”

Josh screamed at the top of his lungs, begging for Trevor to turn off the machine but it was no use.  Now the plate, that had been lurching and stopping, was coming down at a slow but steady pace mercilessly flattening Josh’s balls.

“Calibrating. Lower plate not detected. Fault.”

Trevor and Josh were both screaming, Trevor in panic and Josh in pain, as they two tried desperately to grab ahold of the moving plate and pry it upward.

“Calibrating. Lower plate not detected. Fault.”

“Oh God!”  Josh bellowed.

There was a sick, wet splashing like a water balloon full of something viscous had just burst.  He looked down to see blood pooling between the plates and his nuts were nearly totally flat...

“Calibrating. Lower plate not detected. Fault.”

With a lurch, the plate closed even more and Josh’s flatten nuts both exploded in his sack.  Josh’s eyes bugged out and he screamed so loud that Trevor was stunned into silence.  The two boys looked down in helpless terror as Josh’s crushed nuts were flattened further and further.  Wet crunching signalled the end of Josh’s manhood as his once round nuts were pasted into a stain, a chunky pile of gooey reddish-gray matter that a terror-stricken Josh couldn’t help but stare at blankly.

Trevor was equally transfixed by the sheer horror, ripped back to reality by the sound of wet sploshing hitting the ground.  He looked down to see that chunks of Josh’s balls were landing in a heap, pushed out from between the now virtually-touching plates.  Some of the goo landed on his muscular legs.

“Calibration complete. Lower plate detected.”  came the control panel.

Indeed, the heavy glass plate was now touching the lower metal surface, most of Josh’s nuts either ground into a gooey paste or in a puddle at Trevor’s feet.

Josh... before his 'mammogram'