Rupture Fest 2020: High Striker (Poll Results)

 

Hey guys! The results of the last Whistle illustration poll "Where should the next story take place?" are in and the Country Club (location of the Rupture Fest series) won out. Here is the story featuring artwork by Whistle. Enjoy :) 

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Location: City Country Club, 2 weeks before Rupture Fest 2020

Although it usually took only minutes for the elaborate set pieces and custom machines to destroy a pair of testicles in Rupture Fest 2020, in reality it took months of design and testing to actually create them. Some concepts turned out to be too difficult to build in time. Others were too unsafe, safety being a relative term, especially since Rupture Fest had adopted a strict volunteer-only system for who could participate. And others were cut because they didn’t offer the spectacle the organizers expected.

It was two weeks before Rupture Fest 2020 and technicians had finished building a prototype for the High Striker in one of the Country Club’s pole barns, one of the only buildings tall enough to house the contraption. Since it was a prototype, it was made of plain materials and its mechanical parts were clearly visible. If it was chosen to be used, the production team would quickly build modern, shiny versions fit for the show. The High Striker was the brainchild of Ismo, a talented technician of Fantasy Castration Services, the organization who hosted Rupture Fest, who had also designed a brutal mechanism to tear apart scrotums with magnets and shred cocks and pulp balls while hot couples fucked.

Today was the day that Ismo was going to give a final demonstration to the inspector. The High Striker was a fifteen-foot tall wooden tower with a seat bolted at the top, positioned so that the guy would be facing the audience with his legs straddling the tower. There was a strategically drilled hole drilled at crotch level he would put his nuts through to protrude out of the top of the tower. The machine was a giant version of a carnival ‘ring the bell’ game. At the base was a red target where the audience players would strike the hammer that would send a large metal object rocketing upward.

Ismo excitedly explained to the inspector how it worked. At the ground was the bottom hemisphere of a large metal ball. At the top of the tower, just above the crotch hole, was the other half. He pulled out his tablet and gave a command to the machine and the bottom half rocketed upward slamming into the top. For a brief moment they two halves looked like a single heavy metal ball, before the bottom half fell back down. 

“As you can see, whatever... material... is between the two halves will be crushed when the ball is put back together.   

Ismo picked up the mallet that would be used and the inspector looked at it. It was quite large, but surprisingly light; it was clearly more for spectacle than actual strength. Ismo explained that a sensor in the target registered the force of the hit and the bottom half of the sphere would be guided by a motorized track, rather than the physical strength of the hammer strike. That was how Ismo was able to control it remotely. The inspector was pleased that the sensitivity of the target could be adjusted so that everyone from frail businessmen to ripped jocks would have a fair shot.

“Can we try it with an actual set of... material?” the inspector, a bookish brunette asked, his slacks tightening at the idea.

“Of course!” 

Within minutes Spencer, one of the volunteers to be a stagehand, was in position. It had been quite a production for him to climb into the seat with a ladder and Ismo assured the inspector that in the final version the chair would have a mechanical lift.

“Safety first, we don’t want anyone falling and getting hurt,” the inspector said not sarcastically as Spencer strapped himself in.

Spencer was twenty-four, muscular and fit. His dyed red hair was cut in a neat crop top and his green eyes looked down at Ismo and the inspector as his chiseled jaw was agape with excitement. His heart was pounding in his chest, bracing for impact. He had shoved his large, shaved nuts through the hole and they were trapped in place by a rubber gasket. They were positioned just under the top half of the metal ball. Although the inspector knew nothing about Spencer, something about seeing the cocky jock so vulnerable filled him with glee; Spencer looked like exactly the type of prick who used to pick on the nerdy inspector relentlessly in highschool but now the tables were turned. 

“So there would just be one volunteer and the material would be swapped out?” the inspector asked.

Ismo explained that if the final version of the High Striker was built there would be four on a rotating platform so that four volunteers could be strapped in all at once with only one facing the audience at any given time. The rules of such a game would be up to the emcee. The inspector seemed dubious that such a large moving object could be built and tested in time, but Ismo reminded him that another team was working on a space-age microwave energy weapon in less time. 

The inspector looked up at Spencer, who was waiting patiently for whatever test of the machine was about to happen. The frail inspector, still holding the large hammer took his position.

“Please set the sensitivity to it’s lowest setting,” the inspector asked and Ismo obliged with a few taps on his tablet.

The Inspector lined up his aim and sent the hammer down on the target as hard as he could. The heavy metal hemisphere barely made it halfway up the tower, safely away from Spencer’s nuts. Ismo adjusted the machine and the inspector sent the hammer down again. Even with the machine’s help, the ball barely made it up the track. Spencer chuckled as he looked down at the inspector and Ismo.

“Come on, weakling, I know you can do better than that,” he laughed. 

Spencer had tested out the machine several times and his fat nuts had been brutally squished every time, leaving him with a delightful ache in his guts. He sneered at the inspector; even with the assistance of the motorized track, the nerdy inspector couldn’t even get close to hitting the target. Spencer smiled knowing that he was going to survive the test with his heavy sperm filled nuts intact.

The inspector tried again and again but the ball was nowhere near hitting Spencer.

Spencer looked out over the pole barn. He saw several other muscular stage hands who were setting up other ball crushing machines busily working. He suggested that one of them try out the machine instead.

Spencer shouted down “Hey, you might have a better example of this sweet machine if you let a real man take the hammer,”

The inspector correctly deduced that Spencer was as arrogant as he was buff which filled the inspector with rage. The relatively weak inspector tried over and over and was met with more and more taunting by Spencer. Spencer assumed Ismo was just showing the nerdy inspector the overall workings of the machine and not actually trying to crush his nuts. He wondered why they even bothered having him strap in at all.

The inspector adjusted his glasses and snatched the tablet from Ismo. The interface was straight forward and he adjusted the sensitivity of the target to maximum before handing it back. Ismo was slightly alarmed, he hadn’t tested the machine at that setting yet; it was designed to make the target so sensitive that a fly landing on it would send the ball rocketing upward, let alone a hammer blow.

“We haven’t tested that setting yet...” he explained.

The inspector looked up at the bully sitting in the chair above him and grinned as he sent the hammer crashing down. Spencer’s grin was replaced with a look of shock and pain as the bottom of the metal weight rocketed up, sandwiching his balls between the top bell. 

“Fuck!” Spencer screamed.

“Inspector...”

 Ismo tried to stop the inspector but he sent the hammer crashing down again. Spencer’s fat nuggets were violently compressed and his body tensed up. These blows were much harder than the tests.

“Okay, I think we know that it works, nerd,” Spencer said through gritted teeth.

CRUNCH

CRUNCH

Spencer thought he felt his nuts crack as they were crushed two more times. The inspector was swinging wildly and Spencer’s nuts were slammed between the two metal pieces that were getting closer and closer to each other with each blow. Spencer’s balls were sandwiched a quarter of their girth and he let out a horrified scream.

“As you can see, the machine works quite well. Perhaps we should adjust the sensitivity down before...” Ismo wasn’t able to finish his thought before the inspector hammered again.

CROOOOTCH

Spencer’s eyes crossed and he screamed like a banshee, attracting looks from all around the barn, as this testicles were flattened past their redline. Both of his nuts cracked in the bag, breaking into a dozen chunks and the two halves of the metal ball were only a quarter inch apart. The inspector seemed pleased by Spencer’s howling as he hammered again.

Spencer through his head back and screamed wildly, his arms flailing as he desperately tried to undo the buckles holding him in place.

SCROOORLTCH

The two halves of the metal ball were barely a separated on the next blow, pulping Spencer’s ruined nuts in his sack. The inspector seemed annoyed that the two halves of the weight weren’t touching yet so hammered over and over and over. Spencer was in a world of hurt as his bag was crushed flatter and flatter, pulping the contents and utterly pulverizing any chunks that had survived.  The inspector looked up at the screaming hunk and glared, pulling the hammer back as far as he could before striking a final time.

BLOOOOSH

The sensor at the bottom of the machine shattered under the inspector’s overkill blow but not before transmitting one final command to the motors. The bottom of the metal ball screamed up the tower, not stopping until it was fully touching the top half. Spencer’s sack ruptured open and every ounce of his former testicles squirted out, showering Ismo and the inspector with a rain of unborn kids, nut tendrils and gore.

Spencer was hysterical as the two halves of the weight ball stayed attached. The mechanism controlling the bottom half had broken, keeping it at the top of the track, totally ruining even the smallest micro chunk of testicle that had survived.

The inspector looked up at the writhing, screaming desexed jock as he threw down the hammer. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and casually wiped Spencer’s balls from his face.

“We will definitely need safety goggles with this one,” the inspector remarked.

“Agreed. Safety first,” Ismo smiled.

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Ultimately, the High Striker wasn’t built for Rupture Fest 2020 due to not having enough technicians to build and test the final version in time. The inspector found the news disheartening, as he had thoroughly enjoyed the visceral experience of being literally showered in testicle rain. Maybe next year, he thought.