My Balls Are Splattered Everywhere!

Author's Note: Yes, I am going out of sequence this week ;) The story 'Fake Teacher' scheduled for this week will be published later.

Rooty’s Gym was a dingy little boxing club in a bad part of town. The brutish members engaged in brutal no-holds-barred bouts when they weren’t working out of the gym’s crumbling equipment. A new boxer, a cocky Latin guy who wore a ridiculous lucha libre mask and went by the name El Ganador had been boxing at the gym for a month. No one really knew much about him other than he was twenty-eight, cocky as fuck and dumb as box of rocks.

When someone tried to explain that wrestlers - which is what he was dressed as - and boxers were not the same thing, he just laughed. “The mask looks cool!” he would sneer. To add insult to injury El Ganador wasn’t even a very good boxer. The only way he even held is own was due to his massive size, nearly three hundred pounds of rock hard, bronze muscle with corrugated abs, thick legs and thighs and massive deltoids. His biceps by themselves were enough to knock most guys dizzy  but when coupled with his powerful upper body, he was basically unstoppable.

El Ganador always wore his mask and a pair of tight blue underwear that showed off his obscenely huge nuts and thick cock that was barely contained. He seemed to like blows to the crotch, mocking boxers who wore cups in the ring. El Ganador was just a dumb hunk of muscle that most of the guys just ignored but his antics seemed to really bother another especially mysterious boxer everyone just called Brute.

Brute was nearly six and half feet of solid muscle, a beast of man who barely spoke, and when he did it was in stilted sentences in a disturbingly deep, off-sounding voice. He had a perpetual scowl on his face that always seemed not quite right. So few men dared to get the ring with him that Brute usually spent his time alone destroying punching bags or maxing out weights.

It was just after midnight at Rooty’s Gym and a small crowd was gathered. Diehards. The grungiest of the grunge. They were there to see a match between Brute and El Ganador. Before the fight the handsome Latin was parading about the ring with his hands triumphantly in the air soaking in the jeers with a smile. He was so vapid, he probably thought the crowd was cheering for him.

DING

Whoosh! CRU-SPLOOOSH!

El Ganador hadn’t stood a chance. Brute’s enormous left fist slammed into his crotch like a bulldozer. The dumb jock’s knees instinctively closed and his face made a peculiar, pained expression, his lips pursed and his eyes crossed as he stood shaking for a moment. 

The blow had sandwiched El Ganador between Brute’s fist and a ringside pole that bent slightly from the force. His huge fat Latin nuts were dangerously compressed under Brute’s fist in a fraction of a second. It was too much pressure too quickly and they both exploded like water balloons. His cock was permanently flattened, its chunked contents erupting out of the end like a toothpaste tube.

In seconds, his once overstuffed shorts were full of nothing but mush. El Gandador reached in and felt the hot gooey disaster, screaming and unable to believe the total devastation. It was like a hydraulic machine had slammed into his junk.

The crowd erupted into panicked screams, some of the same guys who regularly made fun of El Gandador, jumped into the ring to help him. Loud wet plops echoed from the mat as more and more of the contents of his shorts splattered out. 

“His balls are fucking everywhere!” someone shouted.

Brute exited the ring and no one dared get in his way as he headed toward the exit. He needed to blow off more steam but Rooty’s was in too much chaos thanks to his one-punch castration. He headed to another late night gym he frequented and was going to get in a nice long workout.

Brute hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with any of the annoying twinks who used the gym to cruise late at night. No matter, he thought, if one showed up he’d teach him a lesson.

Trevor swiped his key card and let himself into the small 24/7 gym. It was just after three in the morning and he was still wearing his waiter’s uniform from his restaurant job, a pair of white slacks and a neat button up white shirt with a black tie. As expected, the gym appeared empty. 

The twenty-five year old was five-foot nine, bookish and somewhat heavy, not at all like the muscle studs who worked out during the day, which is why he worked out early in the morning to avoid becoming the butt of jokes by some muscle head. As he made his way to the locker room he heard loud, solid impacts and grunting. He sighed as he noticed a huge brute of a man slamming his massive fists into a swinging punching bag. The two made slight eye contact before Trevor diverted his eyes from the man’s scowling face; the punching stud seemed annoyed that a pion like Trevor even dared to look at him.

In the locker room, Trevor dropped his bag in front of a locker and had just started to unbutton his shirt when he heard the locker room door open behind him. He turned to see the massive brute stomping toward him. He was easily a foot taller than Trevor and looked like he weighed hundreds of pounds of pure muscle. Muscles Trevor didn’t even know existed were bulging in his torso and arms, his legs made the normally baggy shorts look almost tight. He was a beast.

Trevor had seen guys like him on posters and in roided out muscle competitions on TV but never in real life. Most disturbingly, the man’s face looked enraged yet calm, a deranged combination that gave Trevor a bad feeling. He turned back toward his locker but wasn’t fast enough.

“Hey, punk!” the man roared in an unnaturally deep horribly unsettling tone.

Trevor had just parted his lips to speak when suddenly he heard a whoosh - like something heavy moving through the air at speed. The weird sound was followed immediately by the most intense agony he had ever felt in his life. Trevor’s eyes crossed and he couldn’t even scream from shock. The brute’s huge fist had slammed into the modest bulge in the front of his slacks, not losing any momentum until colliding with his pelvic bone. 

Trevor’s plump nuts and cock were pancaked instantly flat with obvious consequences. His cock was the first to go followed a microsecond later by his nuts. The blow had been so inhumanly strong that his testicles were pulverized, suspended in goo for a fraction of a second before his wafer thin sack burst open. He let out howl and reached his hands into his pants, a crimson stain starting to form on the crotch of his pristine uniform.

He was in horrible pain but his brain was short circuiting, he couldn’t even scream properly.

“What the fuck... my...."

"MY NUTS!"

Trevor could only feel shapeless, gelatinous gunk where his package should have been and the white legs of his trousers were stained red as thick slugs of meat and potato gravy ran down his thighs. If it hadn’t been for his pants, his sexual organs would have painted the brute’s fist and the locker room floor. 

His sperm tanks were utterly destroyed.

Trevor fell to his knees, clutching his crotch and let out one more incredulous scream before blacking out.

“My balls are fucking everywhere!”