The Ghost Network: New Year Fireworks 2023

  

A maniacal showman nicknamed The Ghost devises clever ways to brutally castrate helpless studs live on the web to the delight of his globe-spanning throng of fans.  All of his past adventures can be seen with the tag Series: The Ghost Network.

 

The Ghost's last show had been brutal even by his standards. Brothers had been forced to battle between themselves in twisted games of tug of war. Several fat sacks were crushed and two exceptionally hot twin brothers ended up having their massive dicks ripped off by some overzealous fans. It had been several months since that live stream and as December drew to a close, Ghost’s network of fans figured they wouldn’t see another show until at least 2023. 

 

Early the morning of New Year’s Eve an encrypted message was sent out telling everyone to log in around midnight for an explosive celebration to mark the new year....

 

Ladies and gentlemen mark your calendars and click on the attached encrypted link at 22:00 hundred hours Pacific Time on 31 January 2022 for a live performance  to bring in the new year with a bang! 

 

- Eternally Yours, The Ghost

---

The year 2022 had less than two hours left and around the world thousands of Ghost’s fans were skipping crowded parties to gather in front of their computer displays instead. 

Somewhere in a generic warehouse in California’s Inland Empire region, preparations were underway to ring in the new year with incredible brutality and flare. A large section of the warehouse had been walled off and painted stark white, bright lights shining overhead. Against one wall was a table covered in various random tools such as mallets, bats and even a screwdriver, along with several computer screens displaying cryptic statistics like ‘viewer count’ and ‘security status’. There were also multiple professional grade cameras on tripods facing toward the opposite wall, ready to show the night’s main attraction in multiple angles. 

Ten handsome, fit men wearing only soccer jerseys and no shorts were standing in front of the cameras with their arms tied over their heads and their legs spread extremely wide - metal spreader bars were secured to their ankles - turning their muscular bodies into X shapes. The men ranged from nineteen to forty-five, all from different countries as depicted on their jerseys  and all of them sporting enormous, heavy, dangling nuts that swung between their legs like pendulums, especially as they all tried desperately to escape. 

Suddenly there was a whoosh and a door opened then quickly closed, blending back seamlessly with the wall. A tall, unassuming middle aged man appeared from the doorway and several of the captive men gasped in surprise. Part of their surprise was the almost magical way the man had ‘materialized’ into the well constructed room, but most of it was because several of them recognized the man, though they couldn’t pinpoint from where...

As Ghost casually paced the room, all of the players were screaming into their gags in fear and confusion.

Despite their nationality and age differences, all of the ten had something in common. They were all exceptionally fit, each of them were soccer players and all of them had huge nuts. A young man wearing a jersey from Brazil had the ‘smallest’ nuts slightly smaller than two hen’s eggs. The largest were swinging beneith a middle aged man wearing a French jersey which were ridiculously huge and low hanging. The other eight men fell somewhere between that range. They also shared something else in common; the horrifying realization that none of them recalled how they ended up in their current predicament and had only started gaining consciousness shortly before the mystery man appeared.

Ghost walked the line of men and nodded in approval at each of them, a few times reaching out to gently grasp an especially meaty pair of nuts. He was especially pleased by the massive set of French-dad nuts. He checked his watch and headed toward his computers and typed in some commands. As the live stream was booting up, Ghost pulled a generic looking Mardi Gras mask out of his back pocket and put it on. It was show time. 

Ghost explained to the increasingly frantic men that he was a sadistic showman primarily focusing on absolutely destroying testicles for a huge live audience on the dark web. As Ghost recounted his many tales of depravity, the men began screaming into their gags, struggling more frantically than ever. A few of the younger ones recognized Ghost’s modus operandi as the stuff of urban legend but never believed any of it could be real. But this was very real.

“So, as 2022 comes to an end, my fans want to see 2023 come in with a bang. Lots of bangs. So many bangs! And luckily I was able to pull out all the stops to make this happen!”

Neither the terrified captives or Ghost could hear it, but around the world nearly twenty-thousand people, mostly men, were cheering as they watched the live video feed of the captives and Ghost in real time.

Ghost went on to give a high level explanation of how the ten men had been abducted and transported by his increasingly sophisticated network of depraved men willing to do their part for the greater good. Everything from Fortune 500 executives giving cash donations for the operation to border patrol agents helping to sneak the captives across borders and doctors keeping the men sedated throughout their journey. Ghost and his fans had managed to round up ten minor league football (soccer) players one each from final bracket teams of the 2022 World Cup bracket. France, Argentina, Croatia, Morocco, Brazil, England, the Netherlands, Portugal, Spain and Poland were all represented by strapping examples of some of the best athletes they had to offer. None of them had actually played in the World Cup (Ghost’s network wasn’t that powerful... yet) but all of them were at least regionally famous in their home countries for their football skills. Not like those skills would help now.

“Ladies and gentleman! As you can see I’ve gathered ten absolutely delicious specimens to ring in the new year...”

Ghost gently squeezed the balls of the British athlete in his hands, smiling as he felt the warmth of the fat organs in his grasp.

“...To ring in 2023 we’re going to have one Hell of a countdown!”

Ghost motioned toward the floor and the cameras panned to follow. The ten struggling, gagged footballers had been too disoriented to really pay attention to the ten black boxes on the floor between their legs. Each one was about the size of a shoe box, made of lustrous black metal with a small tube pointing up. The devices were slick, proving Ghost was all about style as well as substance. Ghost knelt down at each athlete’s feet - enjoying the view of their packages dangling in front of his face - and activated each of the mystery machines. As each one was turned on there was whirring, as if a small motor had activated, then silence. The only indication the machines were ‘on’ was a beam of red laser light coming from the black tubes, making small red dots like a laser pointer on each athlete. Ghost carefully adjusted each tube until the red dots they were emitting were perfectly targeted on their sacks. But to keep it interesting, Ghost adjusted some so that the point of light was right between the two nuts, on others it was aimed entirely on one nut or the other. Some of the red dots were on cocks. When he was satisfied with his work, Ghost stood up and stepped in front of the handsome Frenchman with the absolutely huge nuts.

Ghost smiled before slamming his fist into the French daddy’s nuts. The hot athlete’s cries were barely muffled by his gag. Ghost went down the line, slamming each pair of nuts with his bare fist. He knew he couldn’t break them with a single punch but the visual of the ten pristine sacks swaying from brutal punches all at once was definitely priming his audience for what was to come. Despite the pain, all of the players were more concerned by the mystery laser dot on their junk. No one knew what it actually meant and Ghost didn’t seem keen to say anything specific just yet lest he give away the grand finale. 

Ghost looked at his watch. It was now an hour until 2023. He explained that as soon as the ten second countdown started the audience was in for a treat, but they’d have to wait...

“So gentlemen, that leaves me with sixty minutes and twenty big, fat, football player testicles. What should I do?” Ghost asked into the camera.

Ghost acted like the gagged, horrified men were nothing more than props as he continued talking directly into the cameras and pacing slowly. He was quite the showman. 

“You all have the tools menu in the chat. Just drop those Bitcoin to have your final wishes of 2022 play out in real life!” Ghost cackled. 

Suddenly, the chat on the monitors started to explode with comments. Ghost squinted to read them, pleased at the amount of money (and by extension resources for next time) were pouring in.

“Okay! The crowd has spoken... the Portuguese player gets it first!”

Ghost fetched a heavy wooden bat from the table and wasted no time slamming it over and over into the Portuguese player’s nut. The handsome twenty year old’s heavy nuts went flying as a cackling Ghost just kept using them for target practice. Despite their wild swinging they always settled back to be perfectly in line with the laser dot, which was pointed at the sheathed head of his fat, shriveled cock. After a few minutes, Ghost stepped away from the sobbing footballer.

Next up, Ghost took a mallet to the oversized baby makers of the middle aged bloke from the Netherlands, pounding them so hard the adorable footballer thought they had to be cracking already.

The hot nineteen year old from Poland was next. He would have vomited if not for his gag as Ghost used the bat to reduce one of his big fat nuts into paste. Ghost was panting and sweating from effort and seemed genuinely pleased as the Polish lad’s right nut burst in his sack. 

The Moroccan’s right nut burst next after being squeezed one too many times in a pair of pliers. 

The Spanish player’s forty year old nuts both exploded in his bag after Ghost - at the urging of the audience - used a mallet, bat, pliers and his boots mercilessly on the huge man eggs until they just couldn’t take any more abuse. The Spaniard screamed and sobbed as all chances of him having any more children were utterly destroyed, his swollen bloated sack looked awful.

Ghost continued to violently abuse all ten men up and down the line. The Argentinian’s left nut was punctured by a screwdriver’s head that Ghost used like a skewer. The English player’s plump, enormous right nut burst in the jaws of a nutcracker.

The Frenchman’s nuts - the largest of the group - suffered twin partial ruptures inside a lemon squeezer which was barely able to hold the bloated things.

By the time the countdown to 2023 had reached two minutes, all ten bags were swollen and purple and several nuts had cracked in their bags. The ridiculously handsome twenty-five year old Croatian’s testicles had both cracked so completely that only chunky slurry was floating in his swollen bag. Ghost had slammed two mallets into each other over and over with the young man’s sex pods sandwiched between them with predictable results.

Ghost dropped the mallet before he could turn those Croatian testicles into even more slurry as he addressed the camera.

“I hope you’ve all enjoyed the show so far! Just look at those sacks!” Ghost motioned toward the line of partially and fully destroyed genitals.

“But it’s getting close to midnight so time for the grand finale!”

Ghost explained that the black boxes at the feet of each of the ten athletes had one purpose; to launch an explosive charge up the tube and toward the waiting, defenseless crotches of the men above. The laser dots Ghost had meticulously set earlier were to ensure proper aim. 

Each explosive charge was about the size of a small grape with a razor sharp tip designed to borrow into the respective nut sack before detonating. As Ghost teased the audience with details about how overpowered the tiny explosives were he was successful in working his fans into a fervor and the ten trapped athletes into throes of horror.

Finally it was thirty seconds to midnight.

“This is it everyone! These cannons are going to start firing off in one second intervals right when the countdown hits ten seconds. This is going to be a huge fucking mess!”

In a last act of cruelty - which the audience loved - Ghost pulled off all ten gags, allowing the stark white studio to be filled with frantic screams from multiple languages. Ghost stepped behind the cameras so that he could enjoy the show too...

12...

The Moroccan passed out, too horrified by what was about to happen.

11... 

The hot Brazilian with the egg sized nuts struggled desperately, but the tube near his feet stayed right on target. 2023 was about to start with a bang indeed...

TEN...

A small explosive charge perfectly aimed at what was left of the youngest player’s nuts, the nineteen year old from Poland, rocketed upward, the sharp tip piercing his sack and obliterated his right nut. A microsecond later it exploded, turning his teenaged overripe nuts into a disgusting spray of chunks. Luckily for him, his cock was pushed upward by the explosive and left mostly in tact... maybe there was a future of fucking left for him after all.

NINE...

BLOOOSH! The Croatian’s titanic nut sack erupted into a shower of goo, spraying several of the cameras in the process. The watching audience no doubt loved the point-of-view shot!

EIGHT...

The Brazilian's heavy DILF sack burst. First from the impact of the sharp projectile then a microsecond later from the detonation. His huge nuts were turned into pulp and his cock exploded, turning into big meaty pieces that covered the floor.

SEVEN...

The English stud passed out as his half-ruined sack exploded so violently even Ghost was stunned. The massive organs must have been weakened by Ghost’s earlier assaults and couldn’t even try to hold back the explosion. Nothing was left of his balls or cock but gross slop that painted his toned thighs, the wall and the floor. 

SIX...

The Argentinian sack was next to go, mutilated beyond recognition, turned into big weighty chunks that hit the ground with gross splats. Half of his dick was blown off leaving only an inch stub jutting out of his destroyed crotch.

FIVE...

An explosive, gory mess marked the end of the huge Moroccan nuts swinging between that player’s hewn thighs. They weren’t the biggest but from the size of the chunks and the loud, wet splats they made when hitting the wall, the floor and the other players, his nuts were clearly the beefiest to be destroyed so far. 

FOUR...

The blisteringly hot twenty-something from Portugal was the next to be taken out of the baby-making game. The explosive plunged into the head of his fat dick, exploding a microsecond later. His rotund spuds and cock were instantly turned into a mist of unrecognizable splatter. It was as if a manhood shaped water balloon had exploded.

THREE...

The Spanish daddy’s already ruined balls made quite a mess. His massive, shattered testicles erupted as if someone had stomped two balls of raw hamburger and his thick cock was blown in two. The wall behind him and the floor were totally drenched with the remains of his nuts. 

TWO...

The jock from the Netherland’s low hangers were turned into spaghetti-like streamers. His nuts were turned inside out with thick fibrous stands flying everywhere, unfurling to over a foot long as they flew. The other de-nutted players were drenched and the horrified athlete actually ended up reflexively swallowing some of his own home-made ‘pasta’ that splattered up into his screaming mouth.

ONE...

The final explosive charge slammed into the hot middle-aged French nuts, the tip puncturing his sagging left nut. And then... nothing. Although his left nut was utterly destroyed, the explosive charge had failed to detonate. It was as if his nutsack had just been pierced with a heavy dart; painful but not nearly as catastrophic as what had happened to the others.

“Happy New Year!” Ghost shouted, still behind the camera. 

He let the cameras pan the scene of the graphically de-sexed athletes as his audience rang in the new year. The whole place was a mess. The floor, walls, cameras, the athletes themselves and even Ghost were covered in chunks, goo and streamers of everything that had once been safely inside nine very huge nuts. Only a few of them still had anything resembling a penis still attached.

Ghost approached the sobbing Frenchman. His fractured balls had apparently been spared. Doctors, who were already standing by to sew up the mess, would put the pieces back together after the explosive was plucked out. Ghost was annoyed that the huge French nuts hadn’t burst like the others, but apparently fate had other plans for them. The Frenchman was delirious; he could  feel the small round explosive charge in his sack like a third testicle. 

Ghost admired the site of the punctured French sack. The footballer’s nuts were huge. Not just huge, enormous. And that was before they had swollen even bigger during the pre-New Years pounding. They were low hanging, sweaty and incredibly dense looking. They were the kind of balls Ghost and his audience knew the handsome Frenchman probably paraded around the locker room, proudly knowing that even the straightest athlete would gawk at them in admiration. They were so large, they almost looked fake. Disproportionate even against the French athlete’s large, muscular frame. Slumped over them was a meaty, bruised seven inch cock that probably would have grown into a monster in the right circumstance.

“Well, this sucks!” Ghost lamented into the camera as he knelt down, the sweaty un-destroyed sack just inches from his face.

“As you all know, these custom contraptions sometimes just don’t work as planned, which is too bad because these balls are probably the biggest that I’ve ever...”

BOOOM-SPOOOOOOTCH

Without warning the explosive lodged in the gargantuan nut sack finally exploded. It had missed midnight but no one watching on the live stream was complaining. Ghost was plastered, literally showered, with the piping hot insides of the player’s sack and chunks of cock, dripping off his face and shirt and glooping his hair. Lumps flew in all directions along with more spaghetti-like tendrils, seemingly gallons of slop, countless smaller pieces and at least six inch-long mushy tube-shaped pieces formerly known as his dick. 

Ghost was stunned.

He had performed some pretty gnarly castrations in his day but the catastrophic, explosive end of the French football player was among the goriest. Unspent sperm, testicular tissue, nut guts, membranes, dick chunks and viscera splattered everything. All of the players, the walls, floor, Ghost’s computers and cameras and the ceiling were dripping with procreate goo. 

A chunk of the testicle dropped from the ceiling and landed on Ghost’s head. He looked up and chuckled to see that a huge amount of sludge had painted the ceiling, French goop and unborn kids were starting to drip down like stalactites.

“What a fucking mess! Welcome to 2023!” Ghost said into the camera, the French jock’s manhood literally dripping off his mask.

The screaming and whimpering studs, who had all been unmanned over the course of just an hour, were in urgent need of medical care, lest their castrations turn into something even worse. Ghost ended the livestream with a flourish and opened the door. Several medical volunteers - all of which had been watching the live stream - came into the room to attend to the mutilated players. The whole operation ran with amazing precision. In less than a day the patched up studs would find themselves deposited safely back in their home countries.

After the last player had been removed from the room, Ghost restarted the livestream one more time. Without commentary he panned a single camera along the wall where the ten captives had been held. It was an absolute mess. Testicle gunk was dripping down walls. Blown off penises lay in piles of gunk. Baby-making factories had been blown all over the room. It was gory. It was messy. It was glorious.

Ghost’s live stream hadn't been interrupted by the authorities this time, which was great since it allowed everyone to enjoy the show and the post-show gore fest.

Ghost ended the live stream and smiled as the plans for his next show ran through his head.

... Status 426 Upgrade Required

---

An awesome artist I've met online with the pen name Whistle illustrated some of the messier scenes of this story. Enjoy :)  (PS: Be sure to click on the images to see them in their full sized glory) 

French nuts ready for cracking.

A Brazilian package exploding.

Ref... is this a legal move? A jock from France has his family tree snipped.

Foul on the field! A poor Pole suffers a testicular technical difficulty.

This deserves a yellow card... A Portuguese package turned to goo. 

-----

A Serious Note from Buster:

Hey guys! I know the world seems like it has gone off the rails since 2020 and unfortunately 2023 doesn't seem to be on a better course. I hope my little blog has served as a fun escape hatch for you. I love hearing from you guys either from emails (trumansmith@gmail.com), the suggestion box or on Twitter. Just because I don't respond right away doesn't mean I don't see your messages.

A lot of us have been living in a nearly constant state of anxiety for nearly three years. Remember that it is okay to admit you're not okay. Please ask for help if you need it :) Finally, remember that self-love requires courage; have the strength to be who you are in a world that tries desperately to make you different...

Naughty Santa

 

Merry Christmas :) I hope you enjoy this short story about a malevolent entity who uses the spirit of the holidays to disguise himself as Naughty Santa, a magical daddy (or at least that's his human form...) with a love of teaching young men on the naughty list a lesson they'll never forget.  Illustrations by Whistle :) 

---

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, three burglars were fleeing because Naughty Santa was aroused. 

Stockings that had been hung by the chimney with care, were now torn to the ground as if nobody cared. Upstairs, the family was nestled, all snug in their beds, unaware that downstairs their presents were being pilfered instead.

“What was that!” one of the burglars screamed out in a panic, no longer concerned about being detected. 

Naughty Santa, a magical brute of a man, had appeared out of nowhere with lumps of coal in his hands. Before the three thieves could react or reply, the vengeful Naughty Santa and pegged all three in their eyes. They stumbled and panicked and dropped their stolen loot, and each one had a run in with Naughty Santa’s boot. It crashed into their tightly packed pouches with deadly precision, one by one, blurring their vision.

“Who is that!” one screamed, totally panicked. It was clear that Naughty Santa was not kidding around. 

The three thieves raced toward the window they had used to break-in in the first place, desperate to escape, but the bumbling idiots only managed to get themselves stuck, wedged on top of each other with their muscular asses and legs stuck inside the house and their heads buried in a bush outside.

Naughty Santa snapped his fingers and to the burglars’ surprise, their quivering nuts nearly tripled in size.

The three were screaming and writhing and making such a clatter that Naughty Santa knew any moment the family would come racing down to see what was the matter. 

Away to the Christmas tree he ran in a flash, tore open some presents and smiled at the cache. 

The first was a race car with eight tiny wheels, it was shiny and metal and lively and quick. Naughty Santa snapped his fingers and to one of the burglar’s surprise, piano wire suddenly ensnared his bulging nuts, crisscrossing their clear outline in his leggings. Very real engine noises started coming from the now-enchanted race car and the burglar screamed as Naughty Santa took the controls and started driving the car across the room. 

Unfortunately for the burglar, the wire was attached to the back of the car and the powerful, demonic toy made quick work tugging on the wire, which sliced and diced the guy's massive sack into chunky ribbons. 

Naughty Santa wasted no time, he dropped the remote and reached for his next present, an immersion blender which - with a snap of his fingers - suddenly turned into a beast of a machine with ultra sharp blades and motor that would have pulverized concrete.

“Is that a blender...?” the second thief screamed. He recognized the sound from earlier when he had used a stick blender to make a protein shake...

Bzzz.. splotch!

The stick blender tore through the jock’s bulge like a hot knife through Christmas cookie dough, instantly turning it into a spray of gore that painted all three of the stuck burglars' legs.

“Whose there?” a frightened voice came from the top of the stairs. 

Naughty Santa had to act fast. He grabbed the last thief by his thighs as he opened his powerful jaws unnaturally wide. His pearly white teeth became fang-like as he bit straight down on the last dude's bulging sack, effortlessly slicing through his leggings. Naughty Santa chomped down over and over while pulling the magically enlarged organs away from the burglar’s crotch...

“No! Please! Not my...”

SPLORTCH

Naughty Santa cackled as the thief's sack exploded into a gooey mixture in his mouth moments before...

RIIIIP

His ruined sack tore from his body. Naughty Santa spat out them out and they landed at his feet with a splat. 

Naughty Santa surveyed the room. The thieves had made a mess with ransacked presents and destroyed decorations, but the biggest mess was between their toned legs. They wouldn’t be having a Merry Christmas, Naughty Santa thought. 

Suddenly Naughty Santa heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He surveyed his handiwork before snapping this fingers. All of the stolen presents magically were back under the tree, the stockings rehung themselves. The oozing testicle matter that painted the floor under the pile of passed out burglars disappeared. 

It was as if nothing had happened. Finally Naughty Santa lifted his boot and violently kicked the three idiot burglars out of the window. He snapped his fingers and the window instantly - yet silently - slammed shut. With another snap of his fingers Naughty Santa disappeared.

The confused family looked around their pristine living room. Despite all the commotion they had heard, everything looked fine.

Meanwhile, the three nutted burglars stumbled through the darkened street leaving a trail of broken nut guts in the snow. 

A passing red sports car slammed on the breaks, the driver clearly alarmed at the three injured random men out on the street in the middle of the night.

“Help us!” one of the burglars shouted as he fell to this knees.

“HOLY FUCK!” 

The other two tried to run away when they realized the driver was Naughty Santa. With a snap of his fingers the three were sitting shoulder to shoulder in the sports car’s small back seat, tightly buckled in. To their shock, their once bleeding crotches looked totally fine, bulging and healthy though their nuts were still magically enlarged. 

Naughty Santa looked back at his captives and eyed their holiday packages evilly.

“Don’t look so glum, boys. You wanted big packages for Christmas and now I’m going to have fun with them over and over and over...”

The three screamed as the car vanished from the street, leaving behind nothing but tire tracks and its license plate: SLEIGH 

---

Merry Christmas everyone, see you in 2023. Enjoy this red and green (very festive) brutal nut kick.

The DILF Bet

 

Vince had been an avid football fan since he had accidentally stumbled upon clips on YouTube in highschool when a search for ‘football shocking last minute upsets’ bought up videos from a World Cup, which features a sport most Americans like himself would not have called ‘football’. Lucky for Vince, the linguistic quirk was a blessing in disguise and he quickly became a super fan.

Vince had been excited for the 2022 World Cup for months so was surprised when his dad Mike had suggested he’d throw a viewing party with his college buddy Nolan. Neither Nolan or Mike knew the first thing about the sport. However, Mike had found himself swept up in his son’s growing excitement, plus he hadn’t hung out properly with his good mate in some time and his wife was going to be out of town the day of the match so - regardless of genuine interest in the World Cup - it was the perfect opportunity to get drunk, cheer at sports (an American pass time regardless of sport) and throw in some bonding time with his son.

Though Vince fancied Belgium, who wasn’t playing this particular match, the two goofy man-children on the couch had chosen the team to cheer for seemingly at random, literally basing their decisions on their color preference of the team’s uniforms. Mike had picked one team and a jocular Nolan, always the contrarian, had picked the other. After thirty minutes of no scoring in the match, but lots of drinking by the two men, Nolan stood up during a commercial break and made a sophomoric bet.

“If my team loses, you can kick me in the nuts... “ 

He pretended to count on his fingers, “Fifty times!” 

It wasn’t a random number; Nolan had just turned fifty and his version of a midlife crisis meant leaning even harder into his juvenile tendencies in an attempt to fight back the hands of time. Time, as it always does, was winning. Even though Nolan’s body still rivaled even twenty-somethings under his shirt, he was starting to feel the time slipping away, all the more reason he jumped at the chance to just hang out in Mike’s basement and pretend that they were young again. Mike’s bar stocked with premium liquor and his fabulous 80” television with immerse surround sound was an added bonus.

Mike roared with laughter as the usually-buttoned up Nolan threw back another shot of vodka before lifting his shirt and striking a victory pose he imagined the scoring player on his chosen team would eventually make. Nolan was in much better shape than Mike due to his near obsession with the gym and serendipitous genes, but he wasn’t showing off. He was genuinely just being goofy but the brief glimpse of Nolan’s rippled, fuzzy abs got Vince excited. He awkwardly shifted his popcorn bowl to hide the bulge growing in his shorts.

As the game neared its end, Vince was offered drinks every time his father or Nolan went to the bar for a refill, but declined.

“I’m only twenty, so I’m underage,” he said politely to Nolan as he headed to grab yet another beer.

Nolan noticed that Vince was blushing uncontrollably, and though he was tempted to poke good-humored fun, he remembered he was the literal adult in the situation so took the mature route and ignored it.

“Right, only twenty. But it’s the World Cup and most of these countries have a drinking age of 18 so...”

“Stop corrupting my son, Nolan!” Mike laughed, “That’s my wife's job!” 

Everyone erupted into laughter just as the game took a sudden turn.

Nolan sat at the bar holding a half-empty beer, draped in the flag of his team, his gaze fixated on the giant screen in front of him as he shouted out totally random advice at the players on the screen. The final moments of the match slipped away and at the absolute last moment there was a goal. The stadium, and pubs around the globe, exploded into cheers and groans. The final buzzer marked the end of the match.

“What the fuck was that!?” Mike screamed in excitement.

“Are you kidding me!” Vince, the only actual football enthusiast in the room, frantically rewound the scene to watch the miracle kick over and over. Even though Vince's dad and Nolan didn’t fully grasp the technical aspects of the shocking win, they couldn’t help but be swept up in the moment. 

“Not going to lie, I didn’t; know what I was watching most of the time but that was awesome!” Mike said with zero sarcasm, the slurring forty-seven year old heading to the bar for a refill.

Vince continued to sip on his soda chuckling in bemusement as the two middle aged men jumped around and cheered and did celebratory tequila shots.

“See, dad! I told you you’d like it.”

Mike smiled warmly. He had actually enjoyed watching the match with his friend and his son even if the World Cup hadn’t been top on his list of priorities.

“You did say I’d like it! I love you, Vince!”

Mike stammered over to Vince and gave him a big hug, practically pinning his still-sitting son to the recliner. 

The three men stood around talking about the match, everyone but Vince just repeating the announcer’s analysis in an attempt to sound smart on the subject. Suddenly Mike jabbed Nolan in his chest with his pudgy finger and couldn’t help but nod in honest admiration at Nolan’s rock-hard abs. But that didn’t take away from the momentous announcement he was about to make.

“Hey! Don’t forget, Nolan, you said you’d take fifty to the bag if your team lost... and they just lost!” Mike roared. 

Nolan blushed and his hand hovered instinctively over the front of his jeans.

“I mean, I was just being silly. I was drunk...” Nolan stammered.

Mike only gave a telling smile as he took a step closer to his buddy.

Vince looked on quizzically as his dad stepped forward, sometimes stumbling, until he was face to face with Nolan secretly wishing he was in his dad’s place. 

“So? Are you going to pay up?” Mike laughed.

Nolan winced as his inebriated friend reached out and clutched the bulge in his jeans. Vince’s cock twitched at the site of his long-time, DILF crush having his goods grabbed, even if it was by his own father.

Nolan gulped and tried to take a step back but Mike’s surprisingly strong grip on his boys only made him wince. The two middle-aged men stood in silence for a moment, almost forgetting another young man - Mike’s son - was still watching.

Mike, whose alcohol fueled brain suddenly became aware that his son was watching, released the huge bulge in his hands and smiled. Mike wasn’t nearly as ripped as Nolan but his job as a construction worker meant he still had a decent amount of physical strength. Vince could feel a weird tension building so wanted to call an end before things got weird.

“Hey guys, you both literally randomly picked teams. My dad just got lucky! Why don’t you just forget about the stupid bet?”

Vince finished his self righteous speech without being able to pull his gaze away from the bulge in Nolan’s crotch. Vince had been hard ever since Nolan had shown off his body in his boastful dance.

Mike laughed as he went to the bar and poured three shots of premium tequila. He returned and handed one to his buddy Nolan and his son.

Vince grimaced at the site of it and the look suddenly reinforced the fact that Mike was a dad. He snatched the shot glass from his son and handed it to Nolan.

“Bottom’s up!”

Vince snickered as he watched his dad and his crush getting more and more drunk. Just seeing Nolan, a usually conservative DILF, showing off his body, drinking and acting half his age was getting Vince rock hard. Nolan, and Mike, noticed.  Although Vince thought he wasn’t obvious, it wasn’t a secret to his dad or Nolan that Vince had a crush on Nolan, his father’s bestie and family friend, since highschool.

After a bit more chatting and laughter, Mike made a random, drunk proclamation, “Actually, son, I think Nolan oughta pay up. It would be a good life lesson on keeping your word... or something,”

Vince gulped as his eyes darted to the bulge in Nolan’s jeans.

“So was that fifty kicks total or fifty kicks from each of us?” Mike laughed.

Mike wrapped his arm around his son’s shoulder as he playfully poked Nolan’s pec with his free hand.

“Dad!” Vince recoiled in feigned disgust. He wasn’t so much grossed out at his dad’s toilet humor than the fact that the conversation was revolving around Nolan’s package; the same package Vince had spent years dreaming about.

Nolan took another sip of his drink before taking a wide-footed stance, as if he was just waiting to be kicked.

“I guess fifty each!” Nolan shrugged. Alcohol is often called liquid courage and it couldn’t have been a more appropriate moniker in this situation. Nolan knew he was a stud, and often showed off in the gym locker room. He knew he was strong. He knew he was tough. And now he was feeling cocky enough to literally put his balls on the line against his dad-bod best friend and his scrawny son.

Before Vince could change the topic, his dad smiled and chortled “Okay man, it’s your funeral!”

Mike reared back his foot and sent it sailing between his friend’s beefy legs. Nolan winced slightly at the less than powerful kick. Mike had been more focused on not spilling his drink than actually hurting Nolan so the well-aimed kick barely connected. 

Nolan collapsed to the ground clutching his jeans-clad balls faking fits of hysterics. Mike laughed as he helped his friend back to his feet as if he had taken a truly devastating blow. The theatrics were adorable and Vince almost forgot he was watching men in their late forties and early fifties, one of which was his dad.

“Okay, your turn!” Nolan chuckled and he put his hands behind his back and resumed a spread-legged stance.

Vince tried to joke his way out of the increasingly off-the-rails situation but his inebriated dad and Nolan were able to coax him into playing along. Vince gave Nolan’s balls a half-hearted kick. Whereas Mike’s first kick had been weak from a combination of alcohol-induced inattention, Vince was willing himself not to unleash his full strength. With his clothes on the twenty-year-old Vince still looked like a scrawny high schooler, but in actuality he was a ripped, svelte young man who was as adept at streaming on Twitch as he was hitting the gym and his accelerated metabolism only helped him keep off fat.

Nolan barely winced as Mike and his son let out a few more playful kicks. Nolan could tell his best friend and his son were holding out, and his earlier tequila shots were clouding his judgment so he spread his legs wider. He was starting to get hot so ditched the flag and scarf he had been wearing, then his sweater until he was only wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Vince’s mouth was watering but his dad and Mike were totally obvious to how turned on the young man was getting.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize two sorority girls were invited. These kicks are so weak!” Nolan roared in laughter.

Mike acted offended, though his smile made it obvious he was joking, as he unleashed his first true kick. He wasn’t as fit as Nolan and especially not as fit as his son, but he was strong enough to do some real damage with his kicks if he wanted to. Nolan’s eyes crossed and he clutched his bulging nuts. Mike and Vince laughed as if Nolan was still joking but the handsome daddy wasn’t kidding. He had been totally taken aback by the impact of Mike’s shoe colliding with his junk in the game’s first sincere, actual kick that wasn’t just played for laughs.

Vince was up next and unleashed a devastating blow to his crush’s groin, his own cock twitching as he felt Nolan’s meaty bulge deform under the blow. Nolan pretended to laugh off the pain and stood again with his arms behind his back, legs spread, bulge on full display. Mike had seen Nolan naked dozens of times over the years so new his DILF friend was packing an extremely hefty set of sperm pods, though they were smaller than the monster pair of nuts Vince had always imagined Nolan having.

Father and son took alternating turns on Nolan’s bulge until, after Mike’s fifteenth kick, Nolan’s eyes crossed and he slumped to his knees clutching his sore nuts through his jeans. In that position he just happened to be eye-to-eye with Vince and Mike’s crotches and Vince couldn’t help but imagine the hunky man ripping open both their jeans and going to town with his mouth. Afterall, he had seen porn where father-son pairs had tag-teamed some bimbo, so why not swap out the woman with Nolan?

After Nolan got to his feet, Vince grabbed his shoulders and slammed his knee into Nolan’s jeans, feeling the beefy bulge flatten from the impact. Nolan gasped and reached out for Vince’s shoulders for support. Vince was aroused - and alarmed - by the studly man’s reaction.

“My turn!”

CRUNCH

Mike wasted no time kicking Nolan’s balls so hard that Mike’s leg ached. It reminded him of their crazy roshambo games in college.

“Hey fellas, I may need a break,”

Nolan laughed to cover the increasing pain in his groin. He and Mike headed to the bar for another drink and Vince stood there barely trying to conceal his boner. He had been hard nearly the entire game so it was too late to hide anyway.

Nolan took the next twenty blows - ten per kicker - like a champ thanks to a combination of true bravado, alcohol and a playful need to ‘win’ the silly game he was was playing with his best friend Mike.

Vince opted to use another knee for his thirty-seventh turn. It has hard. Really hard.

Really, really hard.

Vince instantly felt terrible as he watched Nolan’s eyes roll into his head as he screamed, a genuine, pained scream, and collapsed to the ground. Mike chuckled, holding a beer, as he watched Nolan fall. He knew him and his son weren’t really going to hurt Nolan... on purpose at least.

“Mr. Matson!” 

Vince dropped to his knees to make eye contact with the writhing stud. Vince’s cock twitched as he helped Nolan to the couch.

“Aww, does the baby need an ice pack?” Mike joked.

Vince cut his drunk dad a look of annoyance.

Nolan jumped to his feet and approached Mike and for a moment Vince thought the two were going to fight. Instead Nolan let out a deep laugh and gave his friend a bear hug and a kiss on the cheek. Vince had never seen his father kissed, even on the cheek, by another man and was relieved that his one-hundred percent straight dad didn’t have an unhelpful reaction. Instead, Mike laughed and gave Nolan a peck on the forehead. 

“Okay, no holds barred, I guess, since these are the final kicks!” 

Nolan had grossly underestimated how many more kicks he had agreed to. Both mike and Vince had over ten each.

Unfortunately for Nolan, Mike’s thirty-eighth kick hit a nerve. Literally. Nolan felt like Mike’s shoe was going to keep crushing into his jeans until his swelling right nut literally burst. His eyes bugged out as he again slumped to the ground clutching his crotch. Only this time he couldn’t joke his way out of the tears running down his face, an automatic reaction to the nut crushing blows.

Mike laughed but Vince was genuinely concerned, especially after Nolan swatted again his hand when he tried to help him up. Nolan was in real pain; Vince was naturally stronger than he looked - and wasn’t holding back at this point - and Mike was too intoxicated to regulate his kicks. They had stopped being friendly roshambo blows and were now full-force, membrane warping blows. And Nolan was too drunk to fully register the severity of the situation, letting his ego and the overall good vibes force him to take blow after blow.

Vince, the only sober one in the bunch, could tell that Nolan was in serious pain, and maybe being injured despite the levity. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Nolan, his dad’s bestie and a friend to the family from before Vince was born.

“Mr. Matson, lemme’ get you some ice..” Vince started.

Nolan chuckled through gritted teeth.

“No, I’m fine,”

Nolan went to stand but was stricken with pain. That’s it, Vince thought.

“Okay, guys. Funs over!” Vince said in a serious tone but trying to laugh it off.

Nolan wasn’t having it. Despite the pain, he was still too sauced up to think straight. He was a stud, afterall. He could take some kicks from his dad-body buddy and a scrawny twenty-year old. 

“I’m fine! Look!”

Nolan stood up and pulled his jeans to his ankles before kicking them off with a flourish. Vince licked his lips instinctively as he drank in the sight of Nolan’s over-stuffed briefs. It looked like someone was smuggling two jumbo hen’s eggs in them. Meanwhile Nolan was getting hot from pain so casually peeled off his shirt too. He was now standing just in his tight underwear, his chest glistening with sweat. Vince’s heart was pounding.

Mike respectively pretended not to notice how turned on Vince was getting and was grateful how classy Nolan was being just treating the whole event as ‘bros being bros’ instead of making a joke out of Vince’s increasingly aroused state. 

On Mike’s fortieth kick Nolan dropped to the ground. And stayed there. He was grasping his swollen nuts and gasping. Mike and his son weren’t holding back at this point and he knew he still had a combined twenty more kicks. His nuts felt like they were going to explode despite the fact they were far from real danger. Fifty years of experience had taught him it took more than a few dozen kicks to actually pop a testicle. Vince, however, didn't’ know any better and was convinced he and his father were doing actual damage to Mr. Matson’s crotch Nolan stood up, arms obediently behind his back and braced for Vince’s kick.

“What are you waiting for, son? It’s your turn?” Mike encouraged; he’d been impressed at the powerful kicks Vince was delivering. Powerful impacts that filled the basement with their loud echoing crunches. 

“I think Mr. Matson’s had enough, dad. This is getting out of..."

Mike didn’t let his concerned son finish his thought before he reached out and pulled Nolan’s underwear to his feet. Vince was mortified as his cock twitched in his jeans; Nolan was totally naked and ridiculously hot, much hotter than Vince had ever imagined all the times he had wanked off thinking about him. His swollen nuts were bigger and puffier than normal, red and hanging quite low after they were freed from his underwear. Above them his completely flaccid cock was an astonishing six inches and thick and Vince couldn’t help but imagine how big it would get fully hard. Vince’s cock was throbbing, his heart was racing and he was finding it hard to focus on the game. Nolan picked up on how uncomfortable Vince was getting and bent down to pull up his shorts but Mike stopped him.

“What? We’re all guys here, just a couple of bros. A couple of drunk bros!” Mike laughed as he grabbed Nolan’s underwear, not letting go until Nolan reluctantly stepped out of them and they were tossed across the room.

Mike and Nolan had been friends literally longer than they could remember so Mike had no qualms about teasing his naked gay friend and was totally comfortable with his clearly enamored son having a chance to sneak a peek. Vince wasn’t feeling so progressive and his hands were getting clammy as the reality of the situation collided with his fantasy... though he was still rock hard.

Nolan chuckled.

“It’s okay, Vince. They’re fine, see?”

Nolan took one of his large nuts in each hand and gave them a playful squeeze, doing his best to disguise his wincing. 

“So, by my count, we each have ten more kicks left,” Mike sneered. 

From the outside it may have looked as if Mike was being menacing but Nolan had known Mike too long and they both burst out laughing.

Mike took a running start for this forty-first kick, nearly launching his hunky friend off his feet on impact.

“Fuck, man!”

Nolan struggled to stay upright.

Vince figured he would just give Nolan another knee. He grabbed Nolan’s shoulders for leverage but before he could strike his dad spat out a joke.

“Don’t worry, Vince. Guys like him don’t want kids anyway!”

Vince, his arms still around Nolan’s shoulder, turned to his father in disgust.

“Guys like him? Like him? You mean, like me? Gay? You meant gay, right?”

Nolan’s heart sank. Mike stammered for a response. He actually hadn’t meant that at all. Mike’s comment was a drunken jab at Nolan’s Devil-may-care, go-it-alone attitude and not any kind of veiled insult. Mike’s face flushed red, he was so embarrassed he didn’t know what to say.

Suddenly Vince burst out laughing. He’d finally succeeded in making the two of them feel almost as awkward as he felt and smiled smugly as he became ‘one of the guys’. His dad and Nolan had only just realized Vince had been feigning his indignation before Vince’s knee slammed into Nolan’s crotch with a disturbing, wet splat. 

Nolan’s eyes crossed and he would have collapsed to his knees if Vince hadn’t been holding him up. 

CRUNCH

CRUNCH 

Nolan’s deep screams made Vince nearly shoot his load as he slammed his kneed over and over into Nolan’s crotch, slamming his heavy balls into his pelvis until he had completed all fifty of his kicks, with a few extra. Vince had lost count. 

“Yeah, I don’t think Mr. Matson wants kids,”

Vince let Nolan slump slightly after the rapid fire knees but just before Nolan could fall to the ground Vince held him up, feeling Nolan’s sweaty chest against his as he whispered one more thing into Nolan’s ear.

“I really hope you don’t want kids, Mr. Matson,”

Nolan’s eyes crossed as he slumped to his knees, mildly disturbed by the indifference in Vince’s voice. Vince really didn’t want to actually hurt Nolan- or at least not unless his dad was on board. After all he was a close family friend, but the act of threatening him nearly made Vince blow his load by itself.

Mike gave his son a drunken high five.

“That’s my boy!”

Mike reached down and took one of Nolan’s ankles in each fist before rising to his feet. Mike looked down as his stud best friend, whose legs were wrenched into the air, leading down in a perfect V shape with Nolan’s fat, swollen balls at the intersection.

Nolan knew instantly what was about to happen and shouted - in genuine terror - begging. But a bet’s a bet, Mike thought.

CRUNCH

CRUNCH

CRUNCH

Nolan thought he was was going to vomit as Mike slammed his shoe down onto his bare nuts over and over, grinding each time. Nolan was certain Mike wasn’t trying to actually ruin him or anything, but Mike also wasn’t going easy on him as he stomped out the last ten or so of his turns.

Finally, Mike let Nolan’s legs go and the hunky man grabbed his balls and curled into a fetal position. Mike laughed but Vince was incredibly turned off at the site of the naked, muscular daddy on the ground.

It took Nolan a long time to compose himself enough to stand. His nuts were swollen and bruised and he was glad Mike and Vince were just playing a friendly - albeit unrestrained - game. He didn’t even want to imagine the outcome if the father-son team had actually been trying to really hurt him.

“Cover yourself up, idiot!” Mike roared in laughter as he threw Nolan’s underwear at his face.

Nolan rolled his eyes in comic annoyance, “Ugh, Mike you’re such a loser!” he laughed as he put his underwear on and rose to his feet. Even though the mood was jovial, Mike and Vince both winced, and were kind of turned on, at the look of pain on Nolan’s face as his swollen nuts were compressed by the fabric of his tight underwear. Nolan smiled trying to play off his autonomic response lest he make his best friend or his best friend’s son uncomfortable. 

At that moment Mike’s phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. 

Mike’s son and Nolan were impressed at how the clearly drunk DILF was able to sound totally sober over the brief conversation with someone who was clearly from Mike’s job. 

“... Yeah, I’ll send you the file right now. Gimme’ a bit.”

“I’ll be right back, duty calls.” Mike headed up the basement stairs to send whatever file his work colleague was asking about but before he disappeared up the stairs he shouted for Nolan to make him another cocktail.

Nolan headed to the bar, still only wearing his underwear, and Vince followed behind. As he made himself and Mike a drink Vince laughed.

“Wow, you two are tanks! You’ve been drinking all day!” 

Nolan smiled and winked “We’re very experienced,”

They made their way back to the couch. Nolan smiled as he eyed his best friend’s son up and down and Vince bit his lip at the site of the sweaty, busted stud. Finally Vince blurted out.

“Wow, Mr. Matson, you’re a DILF!” 

Nolan raised his eyebrow.

“I’m... umm.. I’m not a dad, Vince. But thanks! I don'ts want kids anyway,” 

Nolan took a sip of his drink.

“Well then maybe next time we need to make sure you can’t be,”

Vince gave an evil laugh as he bought his hand down - hard - onto the two oval lumps in Nolan’s briefs. Nolan gasped, spilling some of his and Mike’s drink on his crotch and the sofa. 

It was just in time for Mike to reappear down the basement steps.

“My couch!” You ruined it!” Mike declared dramatically, racing to the piece of furniture as if an actual person had died. Nolan laughed at his friend’s theatrics.

The two DILFs were laughing so hard that at first they didn’t hear Vince, whose cock was dripping as the literal man of his dreams was sitting almost naked on the couch. 

“Mr. Matson, my mom just got this couch. She’s gonna’ be pissed. I think that’s worth at least fifty more kicks...” Vince said half joking.

Nolan laughed, but started to get nervous as Mike and his son stood over him on the couch. They wouldn’t really hurt him, right?

“Oh, dad! Fun fact, when you were upstairs Mr. Matson told me he really doesn’t want kids,”

“Not a problem at all!” Mike laughed, still drunk and eyeing his buddy’s mounding crotch.

Nolan smiled as he started to stand, trying to diffuse the weird tension that was building, but was stopped by Mike pressing down on one shoulder and Vince on the other.

“Wha... what’re you guys doing?”

There was a brief pause with all three giving darting glances between themselves.

“What do you think? We’re gonna stop you from having kids!” Mike chuckled.

Nolan again tried to stand but was held in place. Then he noticed Mike and Vince were both eyeing the massive lumps in his briefs with different perspectives - admiration from a drunken Mike and lust from Vince - but the same goal; destruction.

“Umm.. guys...” Nolan said through a smile but was becoming increasingly nervous by how vulnerable he was wearing only his underwear as two strong blokes held him sitting on the couch.

“...Guys!” Nolan screamed dramatically, trying to use humor to break the spell his semi-busted nuts were having on his best friend and his young admirer.

It didn't work.

Family-line-ending commotion ensued in Mike’s basement while the next match of the World Cup played on in the background.

In the end, it was a good thing Nolan really didn't' want kids...