Trimming the Family Tree

Publishing this here for guys who missed this on Twitter.

Justin Geneman and Greg Geneman were twenty-five year old fraternal twins. They were both handsome and athletic and though they weren’t identical twins, they looked strikingly similar except for Greg was slightly taller, standing an inch taller than his already tall six-foot brother. Both of them had black hair and looked permanently tan; they were quintessentially tall, dark and handsome. To differentiate himself from his brother, Greg usually wore a full trimmed beard and mustache which made him look much older.

The two were heirs of the massive Genecontreo Biotechnologies fortune and they were both extremely prodigal, spending lavishly on cars, vacations and homes. It wasn’t unusual for Justin to walk into a nightclub and buy rounds for everyone - for the entire weekend - paid ahead. Their trust funds had lasted them since they got access on their eighteenth birthdays but the funds were starting to run out. But even when the trusts were exhausted, their passive income from dividends, rental properties and investments would provide each of them income most people would consider living richly for the rest of their lives. The snobbish brothers actually laughed when their accountants presented the figures. It was living well money, not Bugatti Centodieci money.

One day Justin and Greg were summoned to their father’s lavish country estate. They both already knew that the house and property was already promised to charity upon his death, but as for the rest of the fortune, that was up for grabs. The Genemans hadn’t been majority shareholders in Genecontreo for decades and were no longer involved in the conglomerate that bore their name. The entire family’s fortune was tied up in the brothers’ trust funds and their father’s accounts. Their mother had died when they were too young to remember her so the future of the Geneman legacy rested with them.

Alex Geneman, their father, explained that he was going to continue the family legacy by immediately giving three quarters of his fortune to the Alex Geneman Foundation, a philanthropic entity rivaled only by the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation. The remaining quarter would be bequeathed equally to the brothers. The two brothers sat wide eyed, ignoring their father’s droning about the family legacy as they did a quick calculation in their heads. Even with so much going to the Foundation, that still meant the inherence would be in the tens of billions. 

Greg was nearly drooling as he imagined the giant payday; he was literally plotting out which private island he was going to buy when his daydream was interrupted by Justin shouting.

“What! A child!” 

Justin loved falling in love so was constantly out of one red-hot relationship after another leaving a string of broken hearted women in his wake. Children were not in the picture.

“Yes, I want the Geneman name to mean something for generations, and that can’t happen without grandchildren,”

Alex stipulated that, upon his death, the fortune would be divided between his sons based on the number of children they had when he died. If none of them had children at the time of his passing, he would donate the balance to the Foundation.

“What about adoption?” Justin asked.

“No, only genetically-related offspring count,”

Justin rolled his eyes, not even trying to hide his annoyance at his quirky father’s ridiculous demand. Alex had let his two sons run wild for decades, ignoring their more selfish tendencies, so it seemed preposterous that all of a sudden the two would have to agree to take on the life-altering responsibility of children.

Suddenly he grinned. Since he didn’t want children anyway he asked what would happen if he was sterile.

“You’re not,” Alex shot back. He had already had both of his sons tested during their last physical to make sure their swimmers were healthy and both twins were spotting a pair of extremely productive gonads. Their sperms counts were so high that the lab thought it was an error.

“So that’s why they needed a sperm sample, I thought that was weird but I didn’t argue because the doctor was hot and gave me a hand,” Greg said with a chuckle.

The three had a light supper before parting ways. That night the twins discussed the strange stipulation over cocktails at Greg’s penthouse. Neither one of them  wanted to be burdened with children but both knew that there would be no way to carry on their extravagant lifestyles in perpetuity without the money.

“How much longer do you think the old man has?” Justin asked more of an aside than an actual question.

Greg grinned, “Actually, not long. He has cancer. The treatments are not working,”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Justin joked.

Greg sipped his drink.

“I’m being serious. His oncologist and I hook up. He has three, maybe four years max. We should start seeing deterioration pretty soon,”

Justin felt like someone had stomped on his soul. He dropped his cocktail glass with a crash. It had barely hit the ground before a maid swooped in as if out of nowhere to clean it up. Justin craved the fortune but wasn’t in a hurry if it meant losing his best friend so soon.

“Jesus this sucks! Fuck this sucks,” Justin started crying but Greg just rolled his eyes.

“Don’t act upset, I know you want the money,”

“I do, but fuck. It's dad, asshole,” 

Justin wasn’t going to win any awards of empathy but even he was appalled by Greg’s coldness. Not the type of man who should be carrying on the family legacy, he thought. Besides, he had already mapped out all kinds of ways to spend the cash and having it split two or more ways wasn’t going to fit into his plans. What if Greg managed to have six kids and he had one? He shuddered at the thought of the office buildings he wouldn't be able to invest in. And the more he thought about it, the concept of a true Geneman legacy helmed by him and his sons became more appealing. The children wouldn't be a burden, they would be vehicles to ensure the Geneman name, specifically Justin Geneman, became synonymous with wealth for generations.

He wiped his eyes as a butler handed him a replacement cocktail. The two continued chatting and drinking but Greg was having similar thoughts. What if Justin cranks out ten kids? He was a stud after all, so finding the mother would not be a problem. And the more martinis he drank, the more his delusions of grandeur swelled until he was imagining the logo of a future Greg Geneman Foundation helmed by him and his children, each of them helicoptering into board meetings from their island estates. He had even started picking out names! Heather Geneman and Travis Geneman sounded good, but Greg Geneman the Second had a nice ring to it.

By the end of the evening the two had both come to the same conclusion; it was imperative that the other twin not have kids. For about a month the two brothers tried logic and reason to convince the other one to reconsider. They shared articles about the cost and burden of raising children and how having kids is a major lifestyle cramp. 

When that didn’t work, Greg took advantage of the fact Justin was a bit of a softy and went right for the emotional jugular, sending Justin articles about children and teenagers who had died tragically along with links to books like ‘How to Survive the Loss of A Child’. 

“You wouldn’t wanna’ go through that, right? Especially after dad passes,” Greg said. Justin did cry - a lot - just at the prospect of losing a child that didn’t even exist. Unfortunately for Greg, that just made Justin want children more, and it wasn't entirely about the money anymore.

When it became clear convincing wasn’t going to work, Greg and Justin decided that the only way to stop the other would be to permanently decommission his sperm tanks. They knew they couldn’t just buy a shotgun and blast the other one’s junk off, or pound them with their fists. Not only would it be hard to spend any money in prison, it was highly likely that their father would disown them or worst - especially for Justin - the nutted brother might be grievously injured, or even die. Neither wanted the other out of existence, just out of the gene pool.

Each brother had seen the other naked countless times so had intimate knowledge of their targets. Both of them had fairly massive, beefy nuts that were quite oval. At least the targets wouldn’t be hard to miss. Greg’s tended to hang looser in the bag and Justin’s were tighter to his body. Both of them had nearly identical thick cocks that were five inches totally flaccid. Justin and Greg openly talked about their sex lives to each other so both knew that the other could go all night, sometimes fucking multiple women at once but neither cared that his soon-to-be-neutered brother might end up loosing his ability to do even that if their cock was ruined. They were both okay with the idea of the other’s cock being collateral damage. It was just hard to avoid hitting that big of a cock especially since it was always protecting the boys. 

Greg struck first.

The two were meeting for their weekly tennis game on the rooftop court of Greg’s condo tower. Greg had been practicing his targeting for days on a dummy on which he had affixed a plastic baggie with two jumbo eggs at the crotch. By the time of the match, Greg could pulverize the eggs from anywhere on the court. He had also upgraded his racket and had been working on his power swing.

The first serve was flawless, slamming into the lump in Justin’s shorts. Justin clutched his junk and collapsed to his knees, letting out a high pitch squeal so loud it seemed to ricochet off the surrounding skyscrapers. 

“Oh fuck! Man, I’m so sorry!” Greg almost convinced himself he was sincere as he jumped over  the net and helped his brother to his feet.

Justin recovered and prepared for the next service. Greg aimed and swung.

CRUNCH

The tennis ball slammed into Justin’s crotch, catching his beefy right nut. Then his left twice. Justin was struggling to keep up by the time the game was full on. The tennis match continued on like normal for a while because Greg wanted Justin to think the opening hits were just flukes from being out of practice. When Justin’s guard was down Greg took his shot. Justin screamed and fell to the ground holding his battered nuts. Greg had put everything he had into the last blow and the ball was a yellow blur as it slammed into his brother’s babymakers. Justin was in so much pain he couldn't believe it. His nuts were starting to swell and Greg was standing over him pretending to care.

“You’re doing this on purpose!” Justin said through sobs. 

Greg almost felt bad that his brother was literally crying from ball pain, but then he got a vision of his future super yacht off the coast of the French Riviera while Tiesto DJ’d a private party. Suddenly Greg didn’t  feel so bad. As soon as the match resumed, Justin’s nuts were pulverized by another accident. The ball had slammed into his sack so hard that the vibration was making his actual testicles bounce into each other like billiards.  Justin could barely stand so decided to call it quits. As they made their way to the elevator, Greg was swinging his racket as he walked, accidentally-on-purpose slicing the narrow edge into Justin’s balls. Justin let out a shriek. Greg was definitely doing this on purpose. Justin pretended to accept Greg’s weak apologies but declined a post match snack in case Greg ‘accidentally’ dropped a cheese knife in his lap.

Fuck, Justin thought, I need to get a move on. The next day Greg went out for an early morning bike ride in the city park. He always took the same route and Justin was waiting for him. Greg would always park his bike at a certain spot at the top of a hill and run a mile loop before continuing his bike ride. As soon as he was out of sight, Justin got out of his hiding spot, and squirted the seat with a generous amount of slick grease and hid behind a tree. Greg sweat like an animal, so by the time he got back to his bike his shorts were soaked. They were so wet he didn’t notice the seat was also wet and started pedaling away. As soon as he was midway down the hill and gaining speed, a jogger - whom Justin had paid - ‘accidentally’ ran in front of him.

“What the... FUCK!”

Greg slammed on the breaks. The bike stopped. He didn’t.  Inertia carried him forward, sliding off the seat until he slammed into the center handlebar post. Greg’s nuts were squashed painfully between the bar and his toned body and he squealed as he hit the ground, clutching his balls. Greg had been moving at speed when he slammed on the brakes and all of that energy went into crushing his nuts. His balls had been compressed dangerously flat by the post. When he finally recovered, he noticed the grease on his seat and was immediately suspicious.

Greg was in so much pain he cut his bike ride short and headed home to shower. Justin had crashed at Greg’s a lot and it wasn’t unusual for Justin to be brushing his teeth while his brother was taking a shower in the morning so Justin knew his habits. Greg would always take the handheld shower wand in one hand, hold it over his balls, and turn on the water. The gentle cold water was a delight to his boys while he waited for the water to warm. That wasn’t going to be the case this time.

Justin had paid Greg’s private maintenance contractor to adjust the shower. The water would always turn on full blast and would always start scalding hot. Greg peeled out of his sweaty clothes and stepped into this shower,  holding the shower sprayer just inches from his swinging  nut sack. He examined his swollen nuts and was alarmed by a slight bruise from the bike accident. Greg turned the valve and screamed as a powerful jet of steaming hot water slammed into his balls so hard that the pressure alone caused a bruise to erupt on his left nut. His entire sack was lobster red as it was instantly headed. He screamed and dropped the wand, which  landed between his legs pointed straight up.

“Oooh!” his nuts were blasted from underneath by the scalding hot water. By the time Greg jumped out of the shower, his scrotum and thighs had suffered pretty bad burns and his sack was swollen. Greg rolled around screaming and crying in panic has he felt the skin of his sack blistering from the burn. I have to call maintenance, Greg thought. He dismissed the freak incident as an accident.

The next day Justin was having lunch at Greg’s and feigned surprise that his brother was sitting with his legs spread and an icepack on his screaming balls. Greg explained the incident with the shower and Justin looked shocked. He was secretly pleased; the shower trick must’ve really done some damage if it was still throbbing the next day.

The following day, Justin did the greased bike seat trick again only this time Greg was moving too fast and actually struck the jogger, suspiciously the same one from the other day. Like before, Greg went sailing forward - his balls moving at full speed - slamming in the handlebar stem. There was a sickening crunch as Greg’s balls were horribly flattened, getting down to half their girth before the compression stopped. Greg’s eyes crossed and his brain rightly interpreted the alarm bells coming from his crotch as signs of serious danger.

The poor jogger was knocked to the ground.

Greg was rolling in a ball, screaming as the jogger got to his feet looking down at him.

“You dumb fuck! You were supposed to stop like last time!” the irritated jogger sent his running shoe slamming into Greg’s crotch eliciting a soprano scream from the injured heir. The jogger limped away, lucky to have survived serious injury but something he had said piqued Greg.

“You were supposed to stop like last time.” It was very suspicious, kind of like the jogger had done it on purpose. Greg went back home and took a bath instead of a shower, his nuts swollen and bruised and skin still peeling from the hideous burn. As he soaked, Greg had an inkling that Justin was behind his balls’ recent brushes with death.

Several days past with no shots fired. Greg struck next. They were at Justin’s condo bowling at the mini-lane in his living room. Justin was walking behind Greg carrying drinks and Greg accidentally swung his arm back way too far, slamming into Justin’s crotch like a wrecking ball. Greg could feel his twin’s nuts compressing extremely flat and Justin let out a yodel. He dropped the drinks and Greg rotated his torso to see if Justin was okay. Of course he was still holding the bowling ball which crushed Justin’s balls again. The impact was full force - Greg might as well have thrown the ball. Justin’s testicles were dangerously compressed and the handsome twin’s eyes crossed as he slumped to his knees.  He was sobbing and his right nut had nearly cracked, though neither knew how close it had gotten.

Justin was down for nearly fifteen minutes. Greg offered his hand to help Justin to his feet. That gave Justin a wicked idea. He pretended to be more dazed than he actually was and instead of grabbing Greg’s hand, he grabbed Greg’s swinging ball bag through his shorts. Greg gasped and screamed and Justin grabbed his bag with his other hand, using them to pull himself up. Greg was drooling as his brother’s athletic weight was yanking on his balls. Justin pretended to fall, pulling Greg’s orbs violently toward the ground. Greg screamed and landed on top of Justin in a heap. They two were red in the face with very sore balls but Justin was first to his feet. 

“Let me help you up,” Justin reached for Greg’s hand but accidentally missed, grabbing the bulge of his shorts instead.

“Justin no that’s my.... OOOOH!”

Greg was lifted slightly off the ground before Justin let go. “Oops, sorry bro! I’m really dazed!” he lied. Greg rolled, clutching his balls and making all kinds of funny high pitched noises. They felt like they had been only seconds from being pulled off. Justin went into the kitchen to fetch plastic bags to fill with ice for each of them. By the time he got back, Greg was sitting on the bowling bench still clutching his junk. He looked up toe see the ice pack - a peace offering - and reached for it. Justin had other plans.

CRUNCH

He rammed the ice pack, that might as well have been a ball of ice, into Greg’s crotch, feeling his nuts flatten. “You want to keep pressure on it,” Justin said, grinding Greg’s crotch as he pretended to be helpful.

“Okay, okay, I got it!” Greg snatched the ice pack and they both sat moaning and enjoying the numbing cold. 

A few days later they were at Alex’s estate. He seemed tired but was happy to see them both. After lunch, the three went into the garden for a game of skeet shooting. Although it was tempting, Greg knew he couldn’t just blow his brother’s balls off with the shotgun. Luckily, he had time to set something else up. Their dad only lasted a round before he retired for a nap. Greg could tell Justin was sick with worry, which made him distracted and an easy target.

“Fuck, the damn thing’s jammed,” 

Still worried about his dad, Justin just agreed to fix the skeet launcher. As he was approaching it, Greg suddenly figured out the problem - it was unplugged - and plugged it back in. Justin heard the machine spring to life but it was too late. CRUUUNCH. A clay birdie slammed full force into his crotch with devastating consequences. His right nut felt like it had exploded and ... CRUUUNCH. Another clay target. Justin let out a blood curdling scream and sank to his knees, clutching his swollen, puffy nuts. Greg unplugged the machine and not a moment too soon; on his knees, Justin’s handsome face was in the line of fire and Greg actually would have felt bad about knocking out Justin’s perfect teeth.  Justin was balling, rolling in the grass clutching his junk. They felt soft and lumpy and Justin panicked that his baby makers - and shot at billions - was gone. Greg helped Justin to his feet, fawning as he apologized.

The two went back and forth with increasingly creative and devastating setups. Speed was a factor; they had both figured out what the other was trying to do so it was a race to the finish. They still had to be careful to make the linage-ending blows seem like accidents. After a week both of them had horribly swollen, awful looking sacks and Greg called a truce. One night where they could enjoy each other’s company without fear of losing a nut. Of course Greg was lying but he knew Justin was sentimental enough to fall for it. Justin was going to use the evening to declare an actual permanent truce. All of the run-ins with almost losing his baby makers had made Justin acutely aware of how vulnerable he was, and he really wanted kids. He was going to have his dad take him completely out of the inheritance so that Greg wouldn't feel compelled to compete anymore. Greg's future fortune would no longer be dependent on Justin's ability to have kids and maybe, finally, the two antagonistic brothers could finally be a bit more normal. After all, Justin didn't want his future kids growing up resentful of their Uncle Greg.

Unfortunately, Greg wasn't quite so forward thinking.

It had taken him several practice runs, and a ton of champagne, to get the timing and aim down for Greg's next trick.  He proposed that the two give a toast and Greg fetched a bottle of campaign from this collection. It was no ordinary bottle though. It had already been uncorked and then recorked with a metal cork under so much pressure the glass was bulging slightly. It took quite a bit to position himself just right relative to Justin but when he finally popped the cork the results were exactly as he expected.

POP! The bottle explosively released the metal cork like a projectile, perfectly aimed at Justin’s crotch just a few feet away. 

POP! Justin’s right nut burst in his sack. Justin’s eyes crossed as he reached for his balls. He knew something serious had happened. His right nut was swelling rapidly and felt broken! He could make out two... no three distinct chunks floating on that side of his bag. Justin opened his jaw as wide as it could go and screamed before blacking out. 

Justin’s right testicle was toast. All they could do at the hospital was remove and clean out the scar tissue left over from their antics. Greg was sure he had convinced his father that it was a horrible accident. Everyone at the hospital, who were used to seeing legitimate freak accidents all the time, believed the sobbing, apologetic brother. Justin, of course knew better, and vowed to exact horrible revenge on Greg. A tiny voice in the back of his head, perhaps the whispers of his unborn kids, begged him to reconsider and just go forward with the permanent truce he had planned, but Justin had made up his mind. Greg's balls needed to be snuffed out.

When he was released from the hospital, Justin knew he had to pluck Greg off the family tree decisively. Greg had taken to wearing cups and the two avoided each other except for their visits with their father. And when they were there, they were never out of his sight so there would be a witness for any ‘accidents’. Luckily, having money meant that Justin could just pay others to do his dirty work for him.

Greg had been frequenting a high end strip club and had a favorite dancer we would take to a private room for a lap dance. It  was actually quite sad, really. Greg would pay the women to give him a lap dance in the private room but at the end instead of letting her get him off, he would just sit and talk like the dancer was a long lost friend. It was like an extremely expensive confession booth but with scantily clad women and music. In a more normal family not obsessed with an inheritance, Justin would have seen Greg’s pretend friendships as a sign of a serious problem. But the Genemans were not normal. 

Justin knew Greg’s favorite dancer and had paid her enough to make sure she would keep herself free until Greg arrived. As soon as he was in the room with Trixy, he took off his cup and took a seat. She was wearing stilettos, at Justin’s request, and gave the horny heir a great lap dance until his cock was throbbing hard. The club had a strict no touching policy and Greg obediently kept his hands behind his back. 

Trixy had very specific instructions, and a large check, from Justin. They had even rehearsed the little maneuver. Midway through the dance, Trixy whispered into Greg’s ear for him to stand up for a special treat. Of course he obliged and she moved the chair so that it was in front of the dancing pole in the middle of the room. Greg sat back down, his legs wide, as he stepped onto the seat of the chair between his legs and grabbed the pole for stability. Her pussy was right at Greg’s face and it was all he could do not to release his hands and explore. The club was no-touch but that only applied to the men. Trixy grabbed the back of his head with one hand and pulled his face into her crotch and Greg thought he was going to bust his nut in his slacks.

Trixy was gyrating and dancing when suddenly she lost her footing. To recover she lifted her stiletto and slammed it down into the chair, accidentally landing on Greg’s left nut. Greg let out a loud high pitched scream as the heel pressed into the middle of his ball like someone trying to make a donut hole within a ball of dough. Not wanting to panic, he tried to tell Trixy to lift her foot but she pretended not to notice.

“My ball!”

Trixy pretended to be a clumsy bimbo, raising and stomping her foot as he pretended to be trying to regain her balance. Greg went to stand but couldn’t since all of her weight was concentrated on a very small portion of his nut.

“My nut! Trixy! My nut!”

Trixy ground her foot in, still pretending it was a wild accident, but more determined. She had never seen a check with  as many zeroes as the one Justin had written her and she wasn’t about to blow it.

“Oh babe, I’m sorry, I just keep slipping!”

CRUNCH

Greg’s eyes crossed and he screamed. The space under Trixy’s heel was getting smaller and smaller and smaller. Greg, in desperation, pushed Trixy forward causing her to actually lose her balance, she twisted her foot reflexively.

SQUICK

Greg was a screaming, drooling mess as Trixy’s heel was separated by a fraction of an inch from the seat. Greg’s nut had exploded, then pinpoint pressure was just too much. As he sat cupping his ruined junk and feeling like he was going to vomit, Trixy hopped down and screamed for the bouncer.

The door opened with a whoosh and a scary looking thug burst in. “He tried to push me,” Trixy screamed. She wasn’t lying, though she didn’t give the crucial context that would have made Greg’s push seem perfectly reasonable. Greg yelled as the giant bouncer effortlessly lifted him to his feet and slammed him against the wall. The bouncer was surprised to see that Greg was the one causing problems, but Trixy seemed horrified. Her acting was suburb. The bouncer hated rich guys who thought they could whatever they wanted to the dancers just because they had money.

CRUNCH CRUNCH

Greg screamed and pleaded as the bouncer’s knee slammed into his crotch, his already burst nut was turned into heir sauce in the bag and his last nut was quivering on the edge. The bouncer could feel that the impact on Greg’s nut felt very different than normal, but to be sure he slammed his knee in one more time and ground it into Greg’s lumps. Yup, there was definitely something wrong. Greg was clawing and scratching at the giant man who was holding him up. He knew his chance at having kids was dwindling with each impact. CRUNCH.

“My balls!” 

CRUNCH. His fractured nut was turned into rich boy soup and the structural integrity of his last whole nut was failing. 

“Not my...”

BLOOSH

Greg blacked out with a look of stunned horror on his face.

Greg’s shattered nut had been so thoroughly destroyed by the bouncer’s knee that it wasn’t just removed, it was suctioned out. It was just gunky liquid. His last nut had ruptured but the damage was repairable and he was out of the hospital and back home within days with one missing nut and one that had literally cracked but healed. He knew he had to be extremely careful if he was going to have any hope for kids. 

The two brothers plotted for their final strike, but neither one could set up a convincing accident that would be devastating enough. Justin considered just hiring a mugger to end his brother’s sperm making days but that would have probably been suspicious. The two avoided each other so couldn’t physically do it themselves either. They were at a stalemate. It was a Friday evening and both of them had come up with the perfect end game, unbeknownst to the other, they were launching the final attach at the same time.

Justin was preparing to go for an evening jog burn off stress. He made sure to put on his athletic cup before heading out. As he approached a specific part of the trail teenagers playing with squirt guns accidentally hosed Justin's crotch He immediately though it was a trap, but the liquid was just... water. It smelled bad, was just water The kids seemed sorry and Justin was just about to continue on his way when suddenly a huge Rottweiler jumped on him. The person who had been walking him half-heartedly pretended to catch his dog but it was too late. The dog, which the owner had accidentally forgotten to feed that morning, sank its jaws into Justin's crotch. It bit again, salivating over the wet stain. The liquid had actually been drippings from a cooking steak mixed with water, making it look otherwise clear when diluted. The the dog could taste it. Justin punched at the giant animal but it was no use. CRACK

The cup cracked in the dogs jaws. Justin looked down and screamed as the beast chomped on his crotch, destroying the cup and crushing Justin's nut and cock. The dog pawed at Justin's crotch while the owner gave a lame attempt at stopping until Justin's nut was freed from his shorts. The dog sank its jaws into Justin's cock, totally severing it. Justin exploded in agony shrieking so loud that the dog was temporarily stunned before chewing Justin's cock into dog food. "Not my kids!" Justin screamed - though all that came out were incomprehensibly babbles. The dog took another bite, ensnaring Justin's big fat nut in his mouth.

Justin, the more sentimental twin, couldn't believe that he was actually about to be yanked out of the gene pool. He didn't even care about the inheritance, and actually hadn't for a while. He just wanted to feel the unconditional love of a little Justin Jr. As the dog's jaw clamped around his testicle, compressing it horribly, Justin thought back with dread on how ridiculous his contest with Greg had gotten. The dog's jaws were nearly closed... Justin knew he was about to completely miss out on having kids of his own - the one desire no amount of money could ever satiate. He truly wished he had just called a truce with Greg and sobbed as he thought about the horrible trap Greg was going to stumble into later that night. Justin was so overwhelmed with grief over a future that would never exist that he blacked out, though anyone watching probably assumed it was because the dog had closed its jaws completely, making Justin's last nut explode like a tomato.

Meanwhile, Greg had stumbled upon Justin's final trap. Justin had intercepted a parcel in Greg's mailroom. It was a self-administered syringe with a mixture of pain medication and antibiotics. His nut had suffered a pretty bad rupture and the doctors had been having him inject the solution directly into his sack once a week. The needle was so sharp that it barely hurt, then he would depressed the plunger and pull out, the pain medication numbing immediately. Unfortunately, Justin had swapped out the normal harmless solution with acid. It wasn't going to dissolve Greg's nut like a horror movie but the damage would be too severe to fix. Greg cleaned his scrotum with an alcohol swap and pricked his skin with the syringe. As soon as he plunged it in he immediately knew something was wrong. The shell of his last nut started bubbling in his sack, dissolving around its internal structure. He quickly withdrew the needle but it was too late. All of the acid was now sloshing around his last nut, slowly weakening it. Greg screamed, it felt like his nut was on fire. The top layer of membranes was disappearing, allowing the acid to creep deeper and deeper into his fat nugget. He raced through his condo wearing just his boxers. If he could get to the hospital fast enough they could suction out whatever evil liquid Justin had put in the vial.

He was in horrible agony, unable to see clearly. His grand plan of making it to the hospital ended before he even got out of the door. As he opened the front door, the side of the door hit his crotch. His nut, which was barely holding on as it was slowly dissolved, burst into a million gooey pieces upon impact. Greg fell on his back hollering like a banshee, barely having the presence of mind to have Alexa call for help before he lost all track of the world around him and started sobbing into the floor. His hands desperately fondled his jelly-filled bag. It was gone, ruined. Along with his shot at his father's fortune.

The Geneman family line was over.