Cue the Pulse: The Ghost Network II

EXTREME VIOLENCE. Reader discretion advised.  This story is not for everyone. Please do not ignore this warning and then complain in the comments section.

This is a direct sequel to 'The Ghost Network' (the backstory of which is summed up in the first few paragraphs, so you don't necessarily have to have read the first part, but if you'd like to the link is here).

INTRODUCTION: The Comfortable Canadian

It had been nearly three years since Mark York a Canadian college athlete who had gone missing for two weeks turned up - quite inexplicitly - resting soundly in a Four Seasons hotel thousands of miles away in the United States.

The media sensationalized the tale, nicknaming him the 'Comfortable Canadian' on account of the luxurious accommodations of the hotel he had been found in, though the moniker was misleading. He had been sexually assaulted and mutilated, though the public was spared the full details of the abuse.

Few believed such a heinous torture session could have occurred in the first place, let alone been broadcast live on the web without so much as a shred of evidence. The video feed had been brazenly routed through the secure servers of some of America's largest corporations and even the FBI as if the assailant was taunting the authorities. Not even the posh hotel's internet-enabled security cameras could explain how the unconscious rugby player had managed up to the hotel's tenth floor. The whole affair read like a 'hacker' movie wherein a brilliant computer wizard covered and scrambled his electronic tracks completely.

It was the first time most of the world outside of seedy backwater websites and urban legend mongering bulletin boards had ever heard of The Ghost, a shadowy figure who tortured and mutilated young men live on the web to anonymous, equally difficult to track viewers.

And it was the first time INTERPOL had ever found one of his alleged victims alive. But even that seemed to just be Ghost playing with them. Years of debriefing Mark had yielded no useful information in helping to uncover The Ghost. Authorities couldn't even be certain if the Comfortable Canadian had actually been in the United States at all while he was being tortured, or if the digital clues indicating that were just red hearings. The world was intrigued... but with no evidence of any new Ghost victims and the authorities being tight-lipped, the media's attention waned and fell onto the next celebrity of the moment….

…

At exactly ten minutes after midnight, Greenwich Mean Time, four years to the day after Mark had been found castrated but otherwise healed, an encrypted email linking to a web video feed was broadcast around the globe. Within minutes, dozens of businessmen, house wives, students, scientists, government officials, celebrities and religious leaders scattered in fifteen counties were logging into their computers. It was a message, at long last, from Ghost. A show was starting...

Jacque rolled his head, his mind incredibly groggy as if he had been a sleep for a long time. The last he could remember he had been riding his bike home from a bistro on the outskirts of Paris. It had been a little after sunset, but the streets were still relatively abuzz. There was a blue van, like a delivery truck, that had just barely managed to wedge into one of the city's centuries old alley ways. He vaguely remembered thinking "How is he going to get out of there without hitting his mirrors,"... then that was all. He couldn't remember anything beyond that, and even those last few memories of that twilight evening in Paris were fluid and fleeting, as if he was trying to remember a dream that was quickly fading.

His head was pounding and his eyes were struggling to accommodate to the near-total darkness around him. There appeared to be only a few light sources, and those were faint almost like the indicator lights on machines. He shook his head as if trying to shake the groggy feeling. He was standing up, his bare feet standing on something rubbery,, and had been slouched over something hard and metal, like a bar, though he couldn’t tell what it was in the darkness. He felt quite cold, and realized that he was naked. But why? As he gained his bearings, he began feeling around for anything familiar, but all he could feel was the metal bar in front of him. He still couldn’t see enough to move and was afraid to wander without knowing what was going on.

"Hello?" he called out hesitantly, the sound of his own voice booming in his head.

There was no answer.

Just then he felt something tickling his nose. He reached and felt he had grown at least two or three days’ worth of facial hair. What was going on? Suddenly, Jacque heard a faint groaning coming from the distance, somewhere behind him. He turned his head to look but could only make out more darkness.

"Hello?" He called again.

A deep voice that sounded heavy with sleep called out something in a language Jacque didn't recognize. The voice seemed to be only a few feet away, but Jacques couldn't see anything that far out. It sounded Russian, but he couldn't be for certain. He tried calling out to the voice in his native French, then English and finally German but the man didn't seem to be able to understand him. It was as frustrating as it was frightening.

Finally Jacque got the resolve to step away from the relative familiarity of the metal bar into the unknown darkness.

"I'm coming toward you, okay?" he called out in each language, and then turned to walk away.

"Ow!" he howled as soon as he attempted to take a step. His head was still cloudy but there was an unmistakable, sharp pain in his testicles when he had tried to move.

Confused, he attempted to step backward again but again felt a tugging on his balls. In a panic, he froze to his spot, hesitantly running his hands down to this nut sack. He could feel that he had been shaved clean. He also felt a rope or chord tied tightly around the base of his balls. The noose was quite tight, but not painful. He ran his hand along the chord, and could feel that it extended forward and was attached to a vertical metal bar just barely within arm's reach ahead of him. As he approached the bar, the chord's slack loosened, as he attempted to move away, it tightened until the noose started to become quite painful. He was surprised at how quickly the pain increased. He took a step backward and the noose transitioned from simply being 'too tight' to a painful tugging on his balls. He shuddered to think what would happen if he kept moving away.

He had just figured out the bizarre trap he was in when he heard the unseen man in the distance shout out. Although Jacque didn't recognize the man's language, the under lying appeal for help was universal.

"I can't get to you," Jacques replied back helplessly, this time throwing in what little Russian he could remember from school.

The man seemed to understand him and Jacques sighed in relief. At least something was starting to come together...

"Rise and shine!" suddenly boomed a slightly high pitched male voice that seemed to be coming from nowhere but everywhere at once. The voice was speaking in perfect German.

"So you're finally awake," came the voice again, this time in French.

Jacques strained his eyes, desperate to see anything in the darkness. He thought he had just caught a glimpse of a tall figure approaching when suddenly the entire area was bathed in an obnoxious, glaring white light. Jacques instantly covered his eyes as the voice continued, this time in English "I couldn't tell from your earlier attempt to talk to our friend here which language you prefer. If you don't mind, I'll be staying with English. It's my audience’s language of choice," the man chuckled.

Jacques eyes were slowing adjusting to the bright lights, and he lowered his hands. He could see he was in a relatively small, white walled room. He looked up to see the entire vaulted ceiling was lighted end to end with florescent tubes. The walls were pristine with no apparent openings, windows or doors. He looked about himself and could see that the bar he had been slouched on was the control panel of a treadmill and the chord leading from his balls was anchored to the support mast that was holding the treadmill's instrument panel up. That would explain the strange 'rubber' texture under his feet. The length of the treadmill seemed longer than usual, but it was hard for Jacque to tell in his still groggy state.

He turned in the direction of the voice and saw a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties standing against a pole, his arms and legs tied so tightly behind his back he could barely move. He was only four or five feet away, so Jacque could clearly make out the man's appearance. He as relatively tall, well over six feet, with thick brown disheveled hair that framed his round, craggy face, a sharp jaw line and small, dark eyes making him look menacing even though his face was contorted in pain. He was wearing a black policeman's cap, the markings of which made it apparent to Jacques that he was indeed Russian. A dirty, ripped light blue button up shirt with what Jacques presumed was the Russian word for 'POLICE' printed across the right breast hugged the man's well developed upper body. His biceps were quite large, almost too big for the shirt's short sleeves. The man wasn't gagged, but seemed too terrified to speak, instead only looking at Jacque pleadingly.

The Russian officer was wearing his traditional black boots, but his pants were totally missing, revealing a pair of thick, muscular legs. Jacques, despite the situation, found himself getting aroused at the truly massive, shaved testicles swinging several inches below the man's legs. They were egg shaped, but larger than eggs and the scrotum skin was a bit darker than the rest of his otherwise pale skin. The officer's genitals truly looked like they belonged on an animal, not a human, they were so large. The Russian was a broad muscular, powerfully built man but even his large frame didn’t seem big enough to make his testicles look proportionate. A thick, flaccid penis hung over them, snaking down only a few inches, though Jacques was sure it probably got much, much larger with the right stimulation. This was one good looking police officer.

Jacques turned his attention to the mysterious man who seemed to be in control of this strange setup. He was tall, with a medium frame and was dressed entirely in black, including slick black leather gloves. His face was obscured by a ghastly pale white mask, like a 'gray alien' from the movies.

Behind the man, Jacques could see two cameras setup, their red recording lights blinking. These were the faint lights he had seen earlier. One seemed to be directed at him and the other at the Russian policeman. They were connected with cables to an old-looking desktop computer on a rolling cart. The computer's lone monitor was all black, except for four columns of what appeared to be I.P addresses in a blocky font.

The man in the alien mask approached Jacques and was just feet away when he pivoted on one foot toward the cameras and began to speak.

"Welcome back everyone, I know it has been a while! It is I, Ghost, to amuse and confuse, to delight and excite..."

Jacques tuned out the rest of the man's rather ridiculous sounding introduction. To hear him talk he was introducing a circus act, not setting the stage for two men who were clearly being held against their will in vulnerable positions. Jacques remembered the news coverage of 'The Ghost' and at the mention of the name was filled with both profound terror and disbelief. He knew from the start he was in trouble, but couldn't even wrap his mind around the fact that here he was, a lowly delivery boy from Paris, caught up in the clutches of a psychopath literally out of the movies. The realization was too grave and Jacques put his face in hands and started sobbing. Ghost interrupted his introduction and turned toward Jacque.

"Aww, it looks like someone doesn’t want to play."

Ghost closed the gap between himself and Jacques until he was so close Jacques could smell Ghost's peppermint gum.

Jacques stopped sobbing and tried to show resolve, though he refused to look at the hideous mask, instead shifting his eyes straight down at the instrument panel of the treadmill.

"What did I tell you? Isn't he a perfect specimen?" Ghost said alluding to Jacques’s body, stepping briefly out of the way presumably to give the camera a better view.

Jacques had just turned twenty-five, though his dark mustache and goatee that had filled in since his abduction aged his boyish face, which was framed by his long thick black hair. His tall, slender frame was just starting to fill out, his muscles well defined. His body fat was so low it made what would have otherwise been an unimpressive set of abdominal muscles look particularly defined as they rippled against the skin. Jacques's legs, however, were very well developed and muscular, almost out of proportion to his twink upper body. Between them swung two modest-sized, now shaved, balls that hung quite low on hot days and a thick, veiny cock that shocked his sex partners with its pornographic length. Now, however, it was shriveled from fear. Handsome Jacques was an attractive amalgam; the boyishness of a twink with the muscular definition of a jock.

"Now, now. Don't be sad. Everyone's excited to see you play..." Ghost made his way over to the Russian.

"Wave to the camera, my sweet Frenchman."

Jacques stood frozen, his arms on at his sides.

"I said wave!" Ghost shouted, his voice boiling with anger.

The Russian let out a blood curding scream and his begging was discernible as such to Jacques even though he didn't understand the words. Jacques turned to see Ghost had grabbed both of giant Russian balls, one per hand, and was viciously squeezing.

"Wave!" he barked again as he gave the Russian's left testicle a hard twist.

Jacque continued to stay frozen in terror. The Russian's screaming was now a disheartening drone.

"Wave!"

Jacques slowly rose his arm and waved meekly at the camera. The Russian signed in pained relief as Ghost release his balls and walked back toward Jacque.

"See, you're going to be in charge of torturing our policeman friend,"

Jacques looked at Ghost in bewilderment. What did he mean?

Without a word, Ghost made his way to the rolling cart and grabbed a small crate full of jangling metal objects. He nodded at Jacques as he walked passed him on his way to the Russian. He set down the crate and began pulling out all manner of equipment. Jacques turned to watch as Ghost erected a strange contraption on the ground directly below the Russian's massive swinging testicles. The Russian was breathing heavily, pleading to be let go. "I won't tell," he pieced together in broken English.

Ghost just laughed and continued setting up the contraption. When he was finished a few minutes later two metal bars rose from a heavy metal base up to the height of the man's nuts. At the top of each pole were two flat black metal plates that were opened with some sort of hinge. Ghost had positioned it so that each huge nut was sandwiched between two plates which were just barely touching the overflowing sack.

"Oh my God! Are those vices?" Jacques screamed in shocked disbelief.

"Correct," Ghost replied chillingly as he ran a cable away from the base of the double vice to the treadmill. By now both Jacques and the Russian were pleading and crying, the large Russian security officer attempting to break free but held tightly to the pole. Ghost pulled what appeared to be a large white piece of tape with a wire attached.

"This, boys and soon to be girls, is a heart rate monitor," he carefully attached the adhesive sensor to Jacques’s chest, right above his heart.

Finally, Ghost attached the chord leading to the heart rate sensor to the cable he had bought over from the double vice. Jacques became quiet, desperate to catch any clues that might help him escape.

"Now comes the fun part," came Ghost's voice, filled with genuine happiness.

"When I activate the connection between the sensor on your heart and the vices on our friend’s over stuffed sack something very fun is going to happen."

Jacques cocked his head at a peculiar angle and turned to speak directly to Jacque, ignoring the cameras for a moment, the ethereal black eyes of the alien mask peering into Jacque's eyes. Ghost's voice dropped to just above a whisper so that only Jacque could hear.

"You see, the vices will close one after another based on how fast your heart beats. As it beats faster, the first vice will close more, and more, and more until splish! There goes one policeman nut. And if you keep pumping blood too fast the next vice will close further and further until... well you get the point. Oh, and if you get smart and remove the sensor they'll both close shut instantly." Ghost finished clapping his hands together as a visual for what would happen to the Russian man's balls.

"But to be fair, we'll only go on for..." Ghost turned toward the computer monitor where a prominent countdown had appeared.

"We'll only get to go about thirty minutes,"

Jacques shook his head, overwhelmed by incredulity.

"I won't do it. I won't hurt him."

"Oh? Well I figured you'd say that,"

Ghost pulled a small remote out of his pocket and pressed a button. The tread beneath Jacques’s feet began to move slowly and he instinctively started walking to keep pace.

"See, this treadmill is going to go faster and faster. and if you don't keep up, this chord is going to get very, very tight."

Ghost paused and tugged on the chord that was connecting Jacque's sack to the frame.

"And you can just imagine what would happen if you, say, stopped keeping up and fell off the back. Riiiiip!" Ghost laughed maniacally and turned back toward the camera.

"Okay, audience at home. Are you ready to play? Our Russian friend already knows the rules, the same as our last treadmill session. We only have a short time to play, damn police." Ghost turned toward the Russian, no doubt giving a cocky smile of self-satisfaction under his mask.

He pressed another button on his remote and a mechanical clunking came from the base of the vice towers. The vice around the Russian's enormous right ball closed slightly, activated by Jacque's standing heart rate, and stopped just as it had barely compressed the ball meat. The Russian hollered more from sheer terror than pain.

Jacques kept up a walking pace, closing his eyes and pretending he was merely walking down a city boulevard. He was trying to stay calm lest his heart rate increase and he indirectly castrate the poor policeman.

The treadmill became slightly faster and Jacques panicked for a moment.

"Aaah!" the Russian man screamed. The burst of adrenaline must have caused Jacque's heart to beat faster and the plates surrounding the doomed right nut compressed further...

Stay calm. Stay calm. Just walk for a half hour... Jacques kept telling himself.

The machine lurched into a higher gear and suddenly Jacques was finding a casual walking pace wasn't fast enough to stop him from being moved away from the front of the machine. The chord attached to his balls got taught and he winced in pain. The Russian let out a wail as the plates compressed another half inch.

Jacque had just settled into a slow jog when the machine again increased in speed. He was being carried further from the front of the machine and the chord was now painfully tugging his balls nearly four inches from his body. It was unbearable, but he was still unwilling to increase his pace and make his heart beat faster. The Russian was already sobbing hysterically as the plate around his bloated right nut compressed the organ cruelly just at the relatively slight increase in his heart rate. The enormous Russian nut was now compressed to half its normal thickness and was turning red, the veins along the right of his sack bulging.

Wrrrr... The treadmill's pace increased yet again and Jacques let out a howl of pain. His nuts were now stretched further than he had ever seen them and he could feel the chords connecting his testicles to his body being strained as the defenseless orbs bulged obscenely at the furthest point of the sack. If he allowed himself to drift much further down the treadmill belt, it felt like his balls were going to burst out of their sack...

He increased his pace slightly, just enough to loosen the tug on his nuts, his mind was starting to fill with fear.

"AAAAAAAAAAH!" the Russian erupted in pain as his head thrashed violently.

His right nut was getting crushed. The nutmeat bulged grossly against the stretched scrotum skin. Jacques couldn't believe such an enormous ball had been so totally flattened...

"OOOOOOO! Please!" The Russian screamed, pleading in mispronounced English.

The treadmill had lurched into a higher gear and Jacques was now in a moderate run just to maintain the painful distance he was keeping. He knew his well-developed legs could have picked up the pace, sparing him further pain. But as the beads of sweat already forming on his forehead suggested, he was really starting to be worked out as it was and he could feel his heart starting to pound.

"Oh this is getting good, boys and girls," Ghost commented as he stood in front of the Russian, mindful to stand slightly aside to avoid blocking the camera.

From his front row seat, Ghost watched as the plates slowly closed tighter and tighter around the swelling and flattening organ. The sack was bulging obscenely as the nut was flattened and pushed to its absolute limit. The once huge gonad was now compressed to a meaty patty barely a quarter inch thick... and it was still compressing.

Ghost pushed a button on his remote and the treadmill got even faster. The Russian howled as Jacques was forced to increase his speed to a moderate run, but even at that his sack was being horribly stretched. Jacques knew he wasn't going to last much longer so he began sprinting in place. Despite the pleas of the Russian, his legs effortlessly caught up to the speed of the machine and the tension on his balls rapidly lessened as he moved toward the front of the machine. His heart rate quickened.

"Oh yeah, save your own balls by bursting his," Ghost said mockingly. Jacques shuddered. He was truly sorry, but he just couldn't bare the pain as his own testicles were about to be ripped from his body.

SQUICK! The right side of the Russian's sack burst open in multiple places as the plates continued to compress. He let out a howl of pain just as the treadmill increased in speed, forcing Jacque to run even harder. The plates now closed faster, quickly closing the small gap between them.

“OOOOOOOH!" the Russian howled.

SQUISH! SPLOSH! The plates mercilessly flattened the now ruptured ball meat. The squished innards landed with sickening, wet splats on the ground as the closing plates forced the crushed ball guts out of the tears in the sack. The Russian's head was thrashing so violently it seemed like his neck was going to break as he looked down in horror at his emasculation. Jacques tried to ignore the inhuman shrieks and the wet, sploshing sounds that were obviously the once huge nut being pulped to goo. Meanwhile the treadmill was now going so fast that even a relatively brisk run wasn't enough to stop Jacque from losing ground to the machine. Totally ignoring the plight of the other captive, Jacques tore into a full out sprint to make up ground, before settling on a more sustainable, but still fierce running speed. His hair matted to his forehead from sweat and he could feel his heart pounding rapidly. He knew the Russian was being totally destroyed, but since anything slower than his current speed would almost certainly cause him to be thrown off the treadmill -- leaving his balls behind- -- he didn't care.

"Oh that ball is history!!" Ghost shouted gleefully as the plates totally touched. Only two flaps of skin -- either side of the ruined scrotum -- separated them. Every ounce of pulped genital and fluid that had been in that side of the sack was now either on the floor or still oozing from between the plates.

"Uh-oh!" Ghost remarked callously as the plates around the left nut started to close.

"Oooh!" Jacques cried out. Despite this now foot-race like running he was losing ground to the machine. He was now so far out his sack was again stretched to nearly six inches, the testicles within bulging at the very end of the sack.

"OH GOD!" Jacques screamed as he put everything he had into keeping his legs moving. The tension on his nuts was now so tremendous, he could literally feel them being crushed between the chord wrapped around their base and the front of his scrotum... the machine lurched into an even higher gear. Jacques was sobbing horribly as his balls were stretched even further, turning a purplish blue as they continued to be compressed and stretched. He began to panic; he was literally running as fast as his muscular legs could go but it still wasn't enough... and he could feel his testicles starting to rip away from his body...

Jacques's and the Russian stud's screams combined to fill the room with an atrocious drone that would have made even the most callous person cringe, but Ghost seemed to be genuinely enjoying it. Jacques's heart pumped furiously to feed his straining legs, and as a result the Russian's left nut was now only a half an inch thick. It was blood red and dimples were forming all along the taught scrotum skin. The plates kept closing and the once enormous, round and firm nut was further compressed... flatter and flatter... until it was only three quarter inches wide. It looked as if a huge, red pancake had been wedged between the plates.

"Please... don't run!" The Russian wailed in broken English as he looked down in mortal terror. His last nut, the only remains of his once comically large manhood was being utterly crushed.

Despite his own fear, Jacques was struck by the plea. What was he doing to that poor man? What made Jacques's balls more important than the Russian's. Jacques started sobbing as he slowly stopped running and started jogging instead. He could feel his heart rate lower ever slightly as he lost ground to the machine. He could feel his testicles were starting to be ripped off his bod, but he didn't care. He tried to think of the most peaceful thing he could, which was a feat considering his situation. His mouth opened in a wide 'O' and a constant, high pitched squeal escaped his lips.

"Oh what is this?" Ghost said suddenly leaving the Russian, his left nut still dangerously compressed, but the plates no longer moving together.

Ghost arrived at Jacques just in time to see trickles of blood forming around where his stretch sack was attached to his pelvis. Behind his mask, Ghost was cutting Jacques genuinely quizzical looks. He pressed a button on the remote and the machine beeped to indicate it was now at the highest speed.

Jacques’s sack was starting to tear away from this body, the lateral force on his balls was compressing them into bulging oblong masses at the top of the sack...

"If you don't keep running, they'll rip right off,"

"I know!" Jacque got out between screams, feeling oddly satisfied with himself.

Even in his pain and terror wracked mine, Jacque had figured something out. If he simply stopped letting his heart beat faster, the plates wouldn't necessarily retract, but they wouldn't close further, either. Like Ghost had said the plates moved as the heart beat faster, not necessarily just because it was already beating fast.

Ghost looked on in confusion while Jacques cut him a 'fuck you' look, then blacked out. His legs instantly stopped running and he slumped forward, held up by his balls. As the conveyor belt moved him further away, his scrotum continued to tear…

SPLOOO---OOSH! Jacques's right nut imploded from the stress. Ghost looked on, satisfied with the drama this unexpected turn of events was adding to this webcast.

Suddenly there was a hideous, moist tearing sound, like meat being ripped from a bone.

RIII---IIII---P! SPLOSH!

Jacque's entire scrotum finally came free of his body right as this last, tortured nut exploded from the force. Jacques's tone body fell backward and -- no longer tethered to anything -- simply rolled off the back of the belt where he landed in a heap. Ghost grabbed the swinging ball bag and squeezed, and didn't stop until he was sure he had thoroughly pasted the already ruined organs. He then held the flattened bag up to the camera and began to tear it open like a wild animal. The skin made disgusting, wet tearing sounds as the liquefied innards splattered all over Ghost's mask. When he was done, there was nothing left of Jacques's one proud, modest balls but shredded skin and a slimy sheen of goop on the studio floor. When he was satisfied, and with the timer at just over one minute, Ghost threw down the shredded scrotum and walked to Jacques.

His face had relaxed to the point it looked like he was merely sleeping. Ghost put a hand on Jacque's still chest and could feel that his heart rate was rapidly slowing. He looked down at Jacque's crotch where blood was flowing uninterrupted. Jacques was dying, the drop in blood pressure slowing his heart.

Thirty seconds...

Through his wails of agony, the Russian screamed in his native language, pleading for Ghost to help Jacques.

"Please. Please help him," the Russian pleaded as he looked down with incomprehensible gratitude at the dying young man. The plates had stopped crushing his nut, but it was still being horribly compressed and starved of oxygen.

Twenty seconds...

Ghost stood to face the Russian, then turned to the cameras, "Well, fair is fair. "

He pressed a button on his remote, severing the telemetry between Jacques’s heart rate monitor and the vices. Ghost was unaware he had terminated the link just in time. Jacques heart had just stopped and had the sensor still been active the 'penalty' would have been initiated, totally squashing the Russian's last nut with one powerful slam.

Ghost stood and began dismantling the vices. The right nut was totally pulverized, the sack flattened on that side. But when the plates were removed from the left flattened nut, it slowly -- and painfully -- started to plump back to its normal, enormous size and shape. The Russian looked down with relief at his barely-spared titanic organ as wailed in agony from the pain radiating from his crotch. He let out a yowl of fright as he watched Ghost move toward him quickly, holding a white cloth which was rammed over his face. Then all was dark…

--

EPILOGUE

Officer Bulgakov was found in Valencia, Spain three weeks later. Like the 'Comfortable Canadian' he had been secreted into an upscale hotel, the timing of his arrival occurring just as the hotel's 'smart', remotely monitored security cameras were offline for maintenance. He was dressed all in white, his scrotum crudely mended, but his left testicle otherwise healed. It took some time for the staff – who spoke no Russian – and the officer – who spoke no Spanish – to figure out what was going on. But once they finally pieced together who it was the media blitz began almost instantaneously.

A week later, Bulgakov returned to Russia, but not before a stop in Paris the express his condolences to Jacques's husband Pierre. INTERPOL had identified Jacques’s from the video, but his role in the Russian’s story was kept secret to all but his immediate family lest they give away too much of their admittedly flimsy investigation. Consequently, the media, who was still following the every move of this latest Ghost victim, was perplexed what he was doing visiting France so soon after his harrowing ordeal.

Bulgakov, through tears, managed to get out in nearly-perfect French that he had been practicing obsessively for this very meeting: "Jacques was a good man. I am very sorry for your loss."

Pierre smiled and put his hand on Bulgakov’s knee.

"Thank you," he began, waiting for the translator to parot him in Russian.

"Although I wonder when he'll stop wearing that ridiculous alien mask. And the camera angles this time..."

The translator repeated the message in Russian, confusion etched across her face as she did so.

It took Bulgakov a minute to comprehend what he had just heard. The alien mask was one of the Ghost details that hadn't been dropped to the public... Bulgakov’s eyes bugged open in stunned realization, and he was about to speak before the translator repeated another message "He says he's very distraught. He's grateful you came, Mr. Bulgakov, but thinks it best you return home now."

Pierre motioned toward the apartment's front door and the Russian officer -- in blank, detached disillusionment -- left the apartment and walked back to his hotel in the rain.

...STATUS 409 - Conflict

The story continues... here

A New Home for Cracked Nuts

Hello!  I've moved my blog 'Cracked Nuts' from SensualWriter.com to Blogger.  The old address crackednuts.sensualwriter.com is no longer valid. Please update any bookmarks to this new page. 

Thank you, and  I apologize for any confusion.

Sincerely,
Sack Stomper

Jesse's Fantasy

Yolk and egg whites splattered everywhere as the hen’s egg exploded in Carl’s large, clenched fist. The handful of other men standing nearby grinned.

“Nice! I wonder if the real thing will do that,” one of the men asked laughing.

“Let’s hope so, that was hot,”

Carl and the other men were gathered at the Lux Hotel for the International Iron Guy competition, an exhibition of brute muscle strength and endurance. All of the men were hulking body builders with arms as thick as most normal mens’ thighs. Every muscle on their over developed, rippling bodies was extraordinarily proportioned and hard as a rock. They were the type of body builders who made ordinary ‘jocks’ look skinny in comparison.

Over the preceding week, they had competed in such events as pulling small planes with a rope, one-arm curls with dumbbells that weighed hundreds of pounds and, of course, posing in barely-there speedos, their absurdly muscular bodies glistening with oil. And among these men, Carl was the largest having won the overall competition handily. Carl’s fiery mess of red hair, perpetually scowled face and small set eyes would have made him seem menacing even without his three hundred pounds of muscle.

Now the official competition was over and the top contenders had gathered in their hotel room for their final, unofficial event….

There was a soft knock on the door. Carl wiped his still slimy hand on his jeans and went to the door, giving an evil half smile at the man on the other side.

At six foot three, the man was slightly taller than the body builders. He was in his late twenties, dressed in the formal uniform of the upscale hotel’s wait staff. As he was beckoned into the room, his hazel eyes scanned the seven hulking body builders wearily, the door closing softly behind him. He was quite handsome, with a toned swimmers build that was defined, though not overly muscular, even under his well-fitting uniform. His well groomed goatee and mustache gave his youthful face a sophisticated edge and his brown hair was neatly cut. He looked like he could have been a distance runner or swimmer, his thick legs straining his dress slacks and his dress shirt clinging to his taught upper body. By the standards of most of the world, he was in amazingly good shape– but to the men in the room he was a ’small guy’. A wanna be.

When he was in the middle of the suite, the seven body builders encircled him tightly. The waiter was starting to feel very intimidated being surrounded by so much raw muscle, but this was after all what he wanted when responded to Carl’s ad online. He was longing to be absolutely owned by these muscle studs.

“So, Jesse. You got your money I take it?” Carl asked.

Jesse nodded timidly.

“Good. Well then, let’s get to it then. Hold him!”

Before Jesse could react, a hulking Latin body builder was behind him, holding him in place with a bear hug so tight it almost made it hard for the waiter to breath. The six other men lined up in front of him, laughing as he flayed pathetically against the hold of the much heavier man.

Each man took turns punching Jesse’s muscular abs and pecs as hard as they could. Although the agreement was for to stay quiet while the seven horny body builders had their way with him, Jesse couldn’t help but cry out after the third punch to his gut felt like a fist had gone through his stomach.

“Shut him up!” Carl barked as another man, a well build Asian, stuffed a jock strap into Jesse’s mouth, tying a knot behind his head so he couldn’t spit it out.

Jesse gagged as the odor of the obviously used jock filled his mouth and nose.

THUMP! THUMP!

The remaining three men took their turns tenderizing the handsome waiter’s muscles. He was doing his best to contain himself, but cried out after each hit, his eyes starting to water from the brutal assault. Jesse could have easily taken on most normal men, but any other man would have been child’s play compared to these behemoths — and this was considering they were obviously holding back from their full potential. He was sure that, if they had wanted, they could have broken his ribs with their punching alone. The feeling of being so dominated was stating to turn Jesse on.

The men reformed a line and one of them suggested they give Jesse, whose chest was heaving from having the wind knocked out of him, a break. It took the poor brunet several minutes to get anywhere near ‘normal’ breathing. The six men were lined up again, ready to take their turns tenderizing Jesse’s muscles.

Carl drew his tree-trunk like fist back and was about to connect squarely with Jesse’s right pec when he stopped, putting a hand gently on Jesse’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?”, Carl asked softly, “You know if we have to stop, we get our money back.”

Jesse blinked the tears out of his eyes and nodded ‘yes’.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

Jesse could feel his muscles softening under the continued assault as the line of men worked him over several more rounds. The Latin body builder holding him was getting very aroused by the site of this muscular mini jock being pulverized, and his thick seven inch penis was rubbing Jesse’s back.

Holy shit, these studs could totally fuck me right now and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. They’d tare me apart! The thought was driving Jesse crazy and despite the numbing pain in his chest and stomach, he could start to feel his own cock stirring in his slacks.

“Oh, I think the wanna’ he likes being used as a punching bag,” one of the men commented, noticing Jesse’s slacks were now tenting outward. Jesse’s cock was now at its full eight inch length, and from the look of it was quite thick . The tent in his pants jerked slightly every few seconds, his heavy cock pulsing with each heart beat.

“So you like when we hurt you, you punk ass bitch?” Carl snarled, standing just inches from Jesse, his fiery hair making his expression even angrier looking.

Jesse nodded his head up and down to the crowd’s amusement.

“Well let’s get these off then”

Carl and the Asian body builder grabbed a leg of the young waiter’s slacks and effortlessly ripped them off as if they were made of paper, the buttons and zipper flying into the distance.

Oh fuck! Of fuck! I’m about to get plowed! If they’re all hung like the Latin, I’m gonna’ end up with cum on the back of my teeth. Contrary to his dominating appearance, Jesse’s mind was awash with the image of him being the one brutally dominated. He had toyed around with it with other dominate jocks his own size, but never with a true body builder and certainly not with seven at once. This was going to blow any fantasy he had ever had out of the water…

When Jesse was stripped to his underwear, his entire sexual package was on full display. The bulging outline of two nicely sized balls was visible under the tenting silhouette of his penis.

“They’re the size of eggs,” one of the men joked, though Jesse was totally unaware what the man was truly getting at.

The men took another round softening Jesse’s upper body before Carl stepped up to him, grabbed his tie and pulled it tightly as another man proceeded to rip off his shirt. Though it only took a few seconds, to Jesse it felt much longer. Carl was strangling him with the tie ,giving him an evil grin as Jesse’s eyes grew wide and he gasped for air.

“Ahhhh!” Jesse inhaled deeply, his eyes watering, when Carl finally let go of the tie. That was amazing. Jesse had never felt so totally dominated.

The waiter’s rippling abs were starting to bruise from the non stop assault and dark welts and bruises marred his moderately hairy chest and abs. Even the dragon tattoo on his shoulder was turning red and bruised. He looked like he had taken quite a beating, but his cock still raged in his underwear.

“You want us to hurt you some more?” Carl asked, whispering into Jesse’s ear.

Jesse eagerly shook his head yes, desperate to be totally owned by these muscular gods.

“Good boy,”

Carl reached for the boy’s left bicep, grabbing it in his huge hand and began to squeeze. Jesse gasped into his gag… then screamed as Carl’s fingers dug into his tender arm muscles.

“Oh, this is a firm one,” Carl said mockingly as he continued to roughly knead and massage the throbbing muscle. He could feel the connecting tissues and fibers being crushed and bruised in his hands.

“You guys should try this!”

The Asian, a dark haired man and a large black body builder each took Jesse’s other arm and both of his thighs and kneaded the muscles mercilessly. Jesse was crying and screaming out, but the intense pain felt incredible. Here he was, this handsome jock, being put in his place like the little bitch he was.

“Hurt me,” he muttered through his gag.

After several moments, the fiery pain pulsing from nearly ever muscle in his body was making Jesse start to turn numb. Dark, painful bruises marred his biceps, triceps and thighs, the damaged muscles and tissues would likely take several weeks to recover, as least. The Asian felt like he was literally trying to rip his arm off of his body. Jesse’s head writhed from side to side as the four men mercilessly destroyed him, but he loved it. He really wanted the Latin, who was still holding him steadfastly, to plunge his thick cock into him as he was assaulted. Then maybe be forced on all fours so his athletic body could be plowed from both ends…. Despite the fact Jesse had never been so turned on, the pain was starting to soften his erection.

“Stop, stop.” Carl barked and the other three immediately stopped and stepped back.

“Our waiter needs service,”

Without prompting, the dark haired man who had been destroying one of his legs with a brutal massage got to his knees, ripped off Jesse’s underwear and inhaled all eight inches into his mouth. The beefy body builder’s head bobbed expertly up and down the entire length of Jesse’s veiny cock until it was fully hard and throbbing again.

Jesse was moaning in pleasure as the man abruptly stopped and got to his feet.

“Would you look at these,’ said the man as he cupped Jesse’s enormous, furry testicles in his hands. They were the size of eggs, but much rounder and hung loosely in the sack.

The man bounced them in his hands a few times before asking, “You want me to squeeze ‘em?”

Oh shit! Jesse had seen these guys crush building blocks with their bare hands during the competition. His nuts would probably crack… The thought of this ultimate domination made Jesse squirt precum with such force it almost looked like he was cumming.

“I’ll take that as yes,”

“MMMhhmMMM!” Jesse screamed into his gag as the man’s powerful hand squeezed tightly, compressing his entire bloated ball bag.

The man’s fist got tighter and tighter, and Jesse’s eyes bugged out as he looked at the man pleading for him to stop., but the man’s face flushed red with effort.

“MMmhhmMMmmm!” Jesse pleaded, tears streaming from his eyes.
“That’s enough, Blake,” Carl instructed and Blake released the trapped genitals, that had been compressed to only an inch wide.

Jesse cried out as his heavy balls fell to the bottom of the sack. They were bright red and were starting to swell from the man’s grip. It was obvious some bruising and damage had already occurred to his defenseless testicles in just the few seconds they had been in his grip. What were these guys going to do to him? He wondered…

“Form a line,” Carl instructed and the six men lined up for their turn to crush the waiter’s balls.
“MMMMMMMMhhmmmM! MMMhmmM!” Jesse screamed, genuine fear in his voice as the first of the six men clutched his large balls.

All six took their turns grabbing and kneading his vulnerable nuts. Jesse was sure he was going to be permanently damaged and was screaming and trying to get free, but they just kept coming. On the next go, the men decided to only focus on Jesse’s left nut since it was now the most swollen.

“MMMMhhmmMM!” Jesse yelled into his gag, the pain from his crotch was overwhelming, but his cock was still hard at the feeling of being so totally dominated.

His mega size gonad was crushed to less than a half inch thick six times and the last man, Carl, could feel that the membranes were starting to rupture. Jesse’s nut was still whole, but would be bruised for weeks at least. And if they kept going…

“Okay, men. Let’s see if you’ve been working out your legs,”

The men lined up again. The first man took careful aim before sending his tree thunk leg flying into Jesse’s balls…

SPLAT!

Jesse thought he was going to be sick…

SPALT! SPLAT!

The next two kicks were in rapid succession. Jesse was crying and shaking his head ‘no’ as the fourth man took his spot. He laughed cruelly at the pleading stud as his foot connected with a sickening, wet SPLAT into Jesse’s now black and blue scrotum.

The fifth man took a slightly different approach, stomping his foot into Jesse’s crotch with such force that Jesse could feel his pelvic bone being struck. His eyes grew wide and he looked down in horror and fear at his now black balls. They were swollen to twice their usual size and hurt just from breathing..

SPA—AT! Carl’s foot collided viciously with the bouncing sack, connecting solidly with the bloated right nut.

Jesse was hysterical, screaming and crying and trying to break free but the Latin’s grip was absolute. He could feel the sticky sheen of the Latin’s precum pooling on his back and wondered when they were going to stop assaulting him and get on with the brutal gang bang he’d been promised…

“You want us to keep hurting them?” Carl whispered into Jesse’s ear as he cupped his ridiculously swollen balls.

“Mmmmhmmm!” Jesse tried to scream ‘no’, but only a muffled noise came out. He was shaking his head ‘no’ and giving Carl pleading looks to stop. He was now honestly afraid they were going to permanently damage his nuts…

“I think that’s a yes” Carl said giving Jesse’s battered right nut a viscous squeeze.

Jesse gasped and writhed in the Latin’s arms, but Carl just kept squeezing… and squeezing… and squeezing…

“Oh yea! Crack that egg!” the Asian man cheered.

Jesse, in a world of hurt and fear, looked around to see all of the men except Carl — whose hand was still busy on his nut — had pulled their cocks out of their flies and were stroking furiously.

Jesse desperately tried to get Carl to release his throbbing nut, but he wouldn’t. The huge ball was compressed to half and inch… a quarter inch… flatter… and flatter…

“STOP! STOP!” Jesse, now totally hysterically tried to scream out as Carl finally released the battered nut.
It plumped back to its original shape, but seemed slightly flatter. Carl quickly reached for the left nut and squeezed it the same way.

Carl would feel the membranes and tissues of this nut were much, much softer than the other one. “Uh-oh. I’m about to pop this egg,”

Carl’s face was red with determination as his massive bicep flexed in effort. His hand Jesse pleaded and cried as his nad was turned into a pancake in the body builders hand. Carl released his grip just when he was sure he was about to crush the sex organ.

He stepped back and gave Jesse a moment to recover, pulling out his own enormous ten inch penis and stroking it with both hands, joining the others. Carl’s tone chest was heaving heavily, the pain coming from everywhere on his body — especially his balls — making it hard to breath. His body hair, drenched in sweat, clung to his body. His eyes were nearly matted shut from crying, but he could still look down and see his massive genitals now dangerously swollen and black. His cock had long since gone flaccid. He looked around the room at the seven throbbing cocks, hoping that when he’d caught his breath they would leave his aching balls alone and just destroy his ass. He was fantasizing about being brutally fucked — maybe two or three at a time — and his cock started to stir again.

“You want us to destroy you?” Carl said, his voice shaking as his building climax boiled in his bull nuts.
Jesse shook his head yes, his ass twitching with anticipation.

“Good. Line up gents. Punching bag time,”

Punching bag? What did they…

SPLAT! The first man’s fist connected with Jesse’s swollen ball bag with so much force Jesse thought he was going to pass out…

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT! Each man’s brick-like fist plowed into the fleshy orbs with wet, echoing splats. The membranes of his testicles just weren’t designed to handle anything so rough and were already starting to fail when…

SPLA—AAT!

The sixth fist was particularly powerful, the impact crushing Jesse’s nuts into his pelvic bone.
“Oh yeah, I think they’re about to go bye bye” the man said to laughter.

Jesse’s muffled screams were gut wrenching. This isn’t what he had agreed to. These guys were seriously going to destroy him if he couldn’t get away…

“Aww, you want us to stop,” Carl asked, the last one to get a punch this turn.

“MMmhmmm!” Jesse pleaded, his head shaking ‘yes’ so violently his neck hurt. He was pleading with his eyes, begging Carl to just let him go…

Carl drew his fist back…
`
“MMmhmm!” Jesse screamed.

Whoosh! — SPLOSH! Carl nearly blew his load as he felt his fist connect with — and blow apart — Jesse’s battered right nut.

Jesse’s eyes grew huge and he screamed in one inhumane, continuous drone.
“Oh yeah, that’s one.”

The handsome waiter, half de-sexed, thrashed his legs in a vain effort to escape, but he knew it was hopeless. There was no way he could escape the clutches of seven internationally known body builders. It just wasn’t possible… Jesse began to sob as he knew he was about to lose his last nut.

Carl clutched the still whole, though very swollen and bruised, left nut in his fist.

“You guys wanna see me crush this egg?”

The men cheered and Jesse’s head shook ‘no’ wildly. He was pleading through his gag, hopping that he was just in a horrible nightmare…

“Crush it!”

“Make it splatter!”

Carl clenched his fist tightly until the testicle nearly burst. Jesse howled.

Carl opened his fist and quickly clenched his fist again. He did this a dozen times, feeling the about-to-burst testicle getting soft and mushy in the sack.

“Oh yeah, it’s getting scrambled!” Carl announced as he clenched his fist again, only this time not stopping until the poor orb was so compressed that even the slightest bit more pressure would have caused it to collapse…

“You guys wanna’ see this dude’s yolk fly?”

Everyone cheered. Jesse’s eyes shot open in horror, hoping they’d spare him or that this was some kind of joke..

“Five… four… three…” the men counted down slowly as Carl’s wide open hand sat steady to crush Jesse’s last testicle into mush.

“…two… one.”

“MMMmmhhhhmmph!”

SPLO–OO–OOSH!

Carl closed his mighty fist so quickly, and with such force around the enormous, sagging nard that it violently exploded, bursting open the scrotum and causing nut goop to ooze from between Carl’s totally clenched hand. Bits of what were once large, meaty balls sprayed Carl’s face and splattered upward, coating Jesse’s chest and the dragon tattoo on his shoulder. It was a macabre recreation of the egg crush from early that evening.

Carl knew — from experience — that he had the strength in his hand to annihilate a testicle, but the earlier ’softening up’ everyone had done to it helped add to the explosive, splattering ending.

Jesse let out a blood curdling scream before his head went limp and he passed out.
--

He awoke to the stinging odor of smelling salts some time later. He could tell even through the suite’s closed drapes that it was daylight out, but he couldn’t tell how much time had passed. He was laying spread eagle on his back on the bed and, to his surprise, wasn’t being held down.

“Wakey, wakey,” Carl said putting the salts away on the night stand and straddling Jesse’s still naked body. The other six body builders were standing around the bed, naked their bulging muscular bodies glistening with sweat and all of their cocks sticking straight out. There was also another man, a sheepish looking man in a suit standing near the door.

“Is he good to go, doc?” Carl asked the man.

“Yes. I was um, able to remove most of the damaged tissue. The stitches are fresh so you’ll need to be careful with him…” the doctor , whose skills usually went no further than patching up and helping body builders train, instructed.

“Thanks doc,” Carl said, his voice implying that it was time for the good doctor to leave, which he did silently.

“Now, are you ready for your ass to be ripped apart?” Carl said, bending his head down to softly nuzzle Jesse’s neck.

Jesse was able to reach a hand around the massive body builder on top of him. His scrotum was a very sore, flattened husk. He could feel the fresh stitches. His balls were totally gone… mercilessly crushed by these beefy studs. He was in too much shock to cry, or gasp or even react to the feeling of a total void where his once egg sized sperm tanks has been. And what a load he would have blown for them, he thought. He had been abstinent for a week in anticipation of his gang rape… to Jesse’s surprise his cock was starting to stir a bit.

“Well?” Carl asked again softly.

The circle of men, their cocks hard and dripping with precum closed in around the bed. The smallest, the term being relative, was easily seven inches long and the largest was Carl’s ten inch horse cock. The thought of being fucked like an animal and degraded by these men as their nut-less sex slave was — despite everything — making Jesse feel hornier than he had ever been. All of those nights in the gym, all of his careful dieting, His obsession with biking, running and swimming to sculpt his body had been leading up to this moment. To be totally used by these amazing specimens of male power. They had, Jesse concluded, already shown their total, ultimate dominance over his manhood by effortlessly crushing it. He knew his only purpose now was to service these beautiful men. He longed to complete their conquest and reached up, locking lips with Carl.

“Fuck me! FUCK MY BRAINS OUT!” Jesse screamed as the six other body builders began to pile on top of him.

And contrary to the doctor’s advice, they were not at all gentle with the studly brunette as a combined five feet of cock stretched his guts in every conceivable position…. and Jesse loved it.

LINK - Ball Busting Tales

Hello everyone! I’m hoping you’re enjoying my blog. I hope to have a new story up next week (I’ve been busy turning all of your suggestions into stories, so please, keep them coming!).  In the meantime, I think you’ll get a ‘kick’ out of the stories over at Ball Busting Tales (link below)  a very well done busting story blog over at Blogger.  I’ve gotten countless hours of enjoyment from there and hope you do the same.

http://ballbustingtales.blogspot.com/

Shattering Clay

Hey Guys!: This story contains explicit depictions of a consensual encounter turning more brutal than the bustee wanted which can be uncomfortable for some. Reader discretion advised.

EXTREME VIOLENCE. Reader discretion advised.  This story is not for everyone. Please do not ignore this warning and then complain in the comments section.

Clay’s hulking frame easily towered over most of the other men, and all of the women, at The Firm. The Firm was a relatively upscale martini bar in the neighboring town that catered to up and coming professionals and was quite the departure from the blue collar bars 21 year old Clay typically visited. But this particular Saturday night, the small town jock was up for something, and someone, new and fresh and new instantly upon walking in he had found it.

The Firm was filled with attractive, confident-looking young men and women, dressed in stylish blazers and form fitting cocktail dresses, laughing and dancing while drinking expensive martinis. Clay made his way to the bar, a brightly lit steel and glass affair that wrapped along every wall of the club, trying his best to sway his hulking frame in rhythm to the blaring pop music.

When he got to the bar, he ordered a cocktail and sipped it as he surveyed his surroundings. He was well dressed, by his standards, but wasn't nearly as gentlemen quarterly as the other young men. But he exuded such an air of border-line cocky self confidence, that he seemed right at home at The Firm nonetheless. Clay was six foot six with a strong, husky build. He wasn't particularly muscular, but his well filled, proportioned frame still made him quite intimidating. His face was youthful, still in transition between being ‘boyishly handsome’ and ‘ruggedly handsome’. He had a fairly large nose, but most people looked beyond that, captivated by his alluring, piercing blue eyes. His head was bald, and along with a seemingly permanent - though not intentionally threatening - scowl on his face, made him look like a marine or police officer. Overall Clay was reasonably attractive, his large size and confidence making up for his lack of a gorgeous face.

But despite his cockiness, Clay was feeling out of his element among the beautiful people at The Firm, though you would have never been able to tell from the sly, devil-may-care grin he had as he people watched.
He had come to The Firm with a mission: find and fuck the hottest girl in Central City, another notch in his belt, without the hookup becoming fodder for the rumor mill back home. Although Jamestown was only an hour’s drive from Central City, they were worlds apart. Everyone knew everyone in small Jamestown. No one knew anyone in Central City. If tonight went well, he concluded, this could very well be the beginning of a new chapter in his sexual life. He’d be the cute ‘farm boy’ who would take home and ravage a different big city bimbo every night of the week, all without his girlfriend in Jamestown ever finding out. This was a perfect plan.

Although not every woman at The Firm was Clay’s type, he couldn’t deny they were all very pretty. All of them were well dressed, had flawless faces and shapely bodies. But Clay fixated the most on the women who had the quality he liked best in a women; large breasts. Clay had been a breast man for as long as he could remember. He didn’t know exactly what it was about breasts that turned him on so much, but if it were ever between fucking a relatively unattractive girl with large breasts, or a smokin’ hot one with small breasts, Clay would chose the big boobed option every time. But even small breasts were a turn on in a pinch; feeling a nice firm pair of tits in his big, strong hands always got Clay hard, as did swirling his tongue over the nipples of large breasts , or sandwiching his dick between two mounding breasts and pumping away until he blew a load all over her face. Luckily for Clay, The Firm had no shortage of large breasted women.

The first woman who caught his eyes was a breathtakingly gorgeous red head in a skin tight black dress, she smiled at him as she danced with her friends. Another, a shapely short blond with flowing hair and enormous breasts relative to her small frame was suggestively licking her finger and beckoning Clay toward her. Clay had stood to walk toward her but instantly sat back down when a black man who was even larger than he wrapped his arm around her and ushered the drunken young lady off the dance floor. This long distance flirting and eye contact with various girls continued while Clay finished his second drink. By his third cocktail, he was feeling loose enough to make his move. He had been catching the eye of a well dressed brunette in an attractive white dress with a plunging neckline that showed off her over flowing cleavage. A slit on the leg of her dress revealed a luscious, perfectly tanned thigh and Clay could only imagine what it would be like to lick and suck his way up her thigh, stopping briefly at her pussy, before plunging his face into her chest while fucking her brains out, her svelte form pinned against the bed by his powerful body as she screamed and begged for more…. Clay felt his short, yet comically thick, cock stiffen in his slacks as he eye fucked her from across the bar. Let’s go for it! He chanted to himself as he swigged the last of his martini and made his way over to her, his walk even more of a swagger than usual.

–

“Oh God, he’s coming this way,” Chelsea sighed, laughing as she sipped her cocktail.

“Well you’ve been flirting with him for like an hour. What did you expect,” Zelda laughed.

Zelda and Chelsea were also out in Central City for a change of pace from their home a short drive away. But unlike Clay, their intentions were far less focused on sex. Instead the two single twenty-five year olds were just out to people watch, have a few drinks and pretend to be big city divas for a night before returning to their day to day lives.

Chelsea had recognized Clay immediately when he entered the club as her friend’s boyfriend, but it was obvious Clay didn’t recognize her, probably because the few times they had met Clay had been his usual drunken self. Chelsea and Zelda were surprised that Heather, Clay’s girlfriend, wasn’t’ with him but they quickly realized why. From their perch at a high top table along a wall, they had watched Clay dance and make out with at least a dozen large chested women before finally landing at the bar, which is where Chelsea and Clay first made eye contact.

Chelsea had been flirting with him, literally playing with his emotions, just waiting for the moment he would have he epiphany that not only did he already know her, but that she was one of his girlfriend’s good friends. But Clay, in usual fashion, was too obtuse to make the connection. Instead, he misinterpreted Chelsea and Zelda’s giggling at his dense ignorance as flirting.

“What a block head, he has to realize I’m going to tell Heather about this…”

Chelsea’s voice trailed off as her mind began to formulate a plan.

“He doesn’t recognize you. Go ahead, mind fuck him a bit before you drop the bomb.” Zelda chuckled, unable to believe Clay was so stupid.

“Shh. Here he comes,”

Chelsea straightened her skirt and gave Clay a coy smile as he approached, looking — even she had to admit — quite dapper in his filled out blazer and slacks.

“Hi. I’m Clay. Can I say what a pleasure it is to meet you…”

“Chelsea. Nice to meet you too, Clay.”

Clay was surprisingly adept at conversation despite - or perhaps because of - the three martinis he had. Zelda stayed mostly out of the conversation, confident any minute Clay would realize the trouble he was in for hitting on his girlfriend’s friend. Chelsea and Clay went on for nearly twenty minutes, Clay becoming slowly more and more forward as he at times openly licked his lips while looking down into her shirt. Chelsea even went to far as to drop hints, such as mentioning a party she had attended at Sleepy Hallow State Park where she and Clay had met a year earlier, but Clay was still oblivious, chatting up Chelsea like she was fresh meat ripe for the taking.

Zedla growing tired of the charade, politely excused herself and disappeared into the crowd to mingle.
“Your friend is nice. Very pretty. Not as nice as you, though,” Clay started when Zelda was barely out of earshot.

Chelsea found herself growing embarrassed that she was actually falling for Clay’s cliche, yet charming, pickup lines despite the fact that she knew he was an unequivocal man whore. As their chat stretched to nearly an hour, Chelsea decided that the free drinks from Clay and mildly amusing, albeit shallow conversation weren’t enough to keep her at the table any more. She was just about to blurt out “I know Heather, dumb ass” when Clay abruptly changed the topic of conversation.

“So, whadda’ ya’ say? Do you live around here? How about a night cap?”

Chelsea was incredulous. Clay, a partnered man, was blatantly hitting on his girlfriend’s friend and was now asking her to sleep with him. It was beyond ridiculous.

“Oh, I thought you said you were seeing someone,” she lied, hoping Clay would show some shred of dignity and back away.

Clay’s lips curled into a goofy grin and he laughed casually, “Nah, I’m a free man. Playing the field, for lack of a better phrase. Just trying to find my Mrs. Right,”

Chelsea had to bite her lip not to call him a whore and end the conversation, but she only nodded and smiled, concealing the growing anger she was feeling toward Clay. Even Chelsea had to admit her friend Heather could be a bit crass at times and, in different circumstances she could even have sympathized with Clay wanting to move on. But he could have at least had the courtesy to tell Heather before going out to fuck half the county. How long had this been going on? How many diseases had Clay recklessly exposed Heather to? It was a appalling. Chelsea’s blood was boiling as she tried her best to keep up the pretty, vapid bimbo persona Clay seemed to like so much.

“So, Clay. A handsome, strong man like you. I’m sure you don’t stay single very long,”

She reached across the table and put her hand on his strong bicep.

“Well yeah, I’ve been broken up with my girl for a while now though. Been dating off on and on a few years,”

Chelsea had to look away to avoid Clay seeing her uncontrollable eye roll. So he had been ‘dating’, as in fucking around, for a few years at least. Chelsea felt a deep rage building against the handsome blue eyed man sitting across from her.

“Yeah, her name was Heather. Such a pretty name for such a slut. I had to let her go,” Clay finished the last part laughing and finishing his beer.

Chelsea couldn’t believe it. Heather was alone in Jamestown whilst Clay was out living it up in Central City while calling her a slut. The irony was too thick for words. Chelsea was becoming more upset with Clay as he prattled on. He was perfectly good looking and could carry on a decent conversation. Why on Earth would be feel the need to be such a sleaze. Typical man… Her growing anger coalesced around a single word: Revenge.

“So, what do you say we go back to my place,” Chelsea nearly blurted out.
Her subconscious mind had been hatching a plan that her conscious mind was only just now aware of. No doubt all the alcohol was helping to weaken her brain-to-mouth filter.
Clay’s blue eyes lit up and his cock jumped.
“Sure, let’s blow this Popsicle stand,” Clay said standing, extending his arm to Chelsea and escorting her out of the club in true gentlemanly fashion. How pathetically ironic, she thought.

–

Chelsea’s apartment door had barely closed before Clay grabbed an arm in each of his large hands and pulled her in for a kiss. Although he lacked well defined musculature, his large size still meant he was quite strong especially compared to the five foot five Chelsea. She yelped and he instantly let go, realizing that in his drunken state he was being too rough. He let go of her and a look of genuine concern came across his face.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” he had barely finished his sincere apology before she had jumped into his open arms. He caught her and she wrapped her legs around his torso.

“I like it rough,” she whispered as she licked his ear.

Clay smiled, precum leaking from the head of his cock, and he carried her into the bedroom, not parting lips until she was laying on the bed.

“Oh, you’re so pretty,” Clay gasped breathlessly as he peeled off her dress.

Her breasts were large, quite perky and utterly delicious. He was literally drooling as he leaned in to suck her nipples. Meanwhile, she removed his pants, letting his cock flop freely. It was now completely hard, only four inches long but literally as thick as a beer car. A pair of heavy, oblong nuts hanging in a bag covered in dense blonde hair. Although he was sweaty, Clay actually smelled very good and for a moment Chelsea almost found herself forgetting her master plan…

“Oh baby!” Clay moaned as they progressed from heavy petting to all out fucking.

Cheleas’s pussy opened up completely to take his fat cock and, once he was in, she expertly contracted her muscles, squeezing and milking Clay. He usually lasted quite a while, but Chelsea seemed determined to make him cum as quickly and as hard as possible.

“Oh … you’re so… hot”

Clay and Chelsea fucked like animals, Clay’s deep voice reduced to guttural, squealing moans of pleasure as Chelsea went to town servicing the beefy stud.

“Oh? What’s this now?” Clay stopped his piston like slamming into Chelsea to pick up a shiny pair of hand cuffs on the night stand.

He had been so occupied at trying to nut in the attractive young woman, he hadn’t really noticed the furniture or decorations in the room around him. Chelsea’s face flushed in embarrassment as he held up the trick hand cuffs. She grabbed them from him and quickly closed one around his wrist, then the post of the bed. Clay smiled and willingly offered up his other wrist that she quickly shackled to the other post.

“Oh yeah, baby. I’ve been a naughty boy.”

Clay’s cock was rock hard at the prospect of being at the ‘mercy’ of this petite woman. Despite his imposing stature, Clay was very submissive in the bedroom, willing to do pretty much anything — within reason — as long as it meant he got to feel a handful of tit and his cock inside a warm, wet pussy. There was also something weirdly hot to him about being restrained, totally at the mercy of another person, though he didn’t’ know why.

“Yeah you have, Mr. Ward. Now you’ve gotta eat out my dripping wet pussy until I gush,”

Clay’s cock twitched as Chelsea squatted over Clay’s handsome face until her pussy was right over his mouth.

“Mmmm. So what happens if I can’t make you squirt,” Clay licked his lips and inhaled Chelsea's sweet odor.

“Oh, I’ll think of something,”

Clay stuck out his tongue and sent it plunging into Chelsea. He was in heaven as his thick tongue played inside the same hole his cock had been slamming just moments ago. His arms instinctively tried to reach up to grab her tits while he tongued her, but he couldn’t move them from the posts. Chelsea, figuring she might as well enjoy Clay’s truly talented tongue before proceeding with her plan, threw her head back and enjoyed the ride, bobbing slightly up and down effectively fucking herself with Clay’s tongue.

“Mmm baby!” she moaned; Clay was very good at this.

Clay plunged his tongue all the way into her pussy, licking and swirling and giving her so much pleasure she nearly forgot her plan. She focused, trying to ignore her growing orgasm , as she balled her fists and rose them, one each, over Clay’s huge, harry nuts. She counted down in her mind from ten and, when she hit one, sent both fists crashing down into Clay’s balls. There was a loud, wet SPLAT as her fists collided with and slightly compressed the sweaty orbs. Clayton gasped, but didn’t stop his tonguing, though his back did arch in pain.

She slammed her fist into his balls again and this time Clayton pulled his tongue out and yelped.
“Not so rough, baby,” he said gasping, a sickening knot had formed in the pit of his stomach from the pain.

Chelsea didn’t’ turn to see it, but knew Clay’s blue eyes were probably scrunched in pain.

“Uh oh, you’d better make me squirt,” she said, her tone soft yet threatening.

SPALT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

“Oh God!” Clay screamed, his legs bucking, though he was careful not to kick her lest he spoil the sex game.

“Please, not so hard,”

SPLAT! SPLAT!

I’d better hurry and make her cum, Clay thought to himself sticking his tongue back inside her. Chelsea continued to pound into Clay’s nuts with her fists, enjoying the sensation of feeling them flatten against the firm mattress. Clay, for his part, was trying to ignore the pain, concentrating all his focus on the gorgeous, delicious pussy right in front of his face. His face was contorted in pain though as his stomach knotted into a dull, painful ache with each blow. Clay actually liked having his balls squeezed and tugged during sex, but this was much, much harder. It almost seemed like she was really trying to hurt him.

“Oh! Baby please!” He shrieked as she suddenly began slamming her fists one after another, focusing on his swelling right nut.

Chelsea, despite her disgust toward Clay, was getting incredibly aroused by his expert tongue and the feeling of mashing his balls. The harder she struck them, the more turned on she was. How hot would it be to crush his nuts right as I’m cumming? She thought.

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

“Oh God!” Clay said, starting to struggle against his bonds as Chelsea continued to drive her fists into his defenseless nuts.

She stopped briefly and grabbed his still hard, dripping cock and used his precum as a lube as she stroked with one hand while grabbing his left nut with the other. Clay sighed at the reprieve and could tell he was close to getting Chelsea off. Little did he know though, it wasn’t his tongue that was doing it for her the most , it was the feeling of having his vulnerable, squishy nuts right in front of her that was getting her off.

She gently squeezed his left nut, which was more Clay’s liking, and he knew he was close to spewing his load. Meanwhile, Chelsea was carefully examining Clay’s left nut in her fingers, squeezing here and there to see if any part of the enormous ball was softer or firmer than others. It seemed uniformly firm, and very dense. Clays’ nuts were the heaviest, densest balls she had ever felt. She squeezed a bit harder, then harder and almost exploded on Clay’s face when she felt her fingers starting to flatten the unyielding orb. Clay moaned at the ball play, which was continuing while Chelsea was continuing to stroke his cock…

“Oh… oh… I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” they both screamed in near unison.

A jet of cum exploded upward from Clay’s cock nearly three feet into the air, leaving a gooey sticky mess all over his broad torso when it landed with a splatter. He shot again, and again — each larger than the last - - as he felt Chelsea orgasming all over his face. Clay’s back arched and his legs convulsed as a powerful orgasm overtook him. Chelsea could feel Clay’s bloated left nut contracting with each spurt and thought how nice it would have been to simply crush it in her hands right then and there.. but that would wait.

“Oh baby,” Clay said gasping for breath after his explosive cum shots subsided.

Chelsea let Clay lick her pussy clean before laying in the bed next to him.

“Let’s do that again,” she said breathlessly, still grasping his swelling nut in her hand.

She applied a quick squeeze that caused the still panting hunk to yelp. These are going to be so much fun to crack, she thought, as she rolled his nut in her hands.
-
It had been a week since Clay and Chelsea first met and he had made a trip to visit her each night, despite the drive from Jamestown, in order to get his hands on her breasts and his tongue in her hole. He fucked Chelsea in every position imaginable, and despite pounding her like his life depended on it, always held her tenderly in his arms. it was as if he knew his large size meant he had to treat everyone gingerly. Chelsea on the other hand, squeezed, tugged and beat Clay’s nuts relentlessly, Clay thinking it was only rough play , but being too smitten by her to forcefully ask her to stop. During their multiple meetings, he never once mentioned Heather or too many details about his life Chelsea hadn’t already gleaned from their conversation at The Firm.

It was now Friday night and Chelsea, playing on what appeared to be genuine attachment Clay was developing for her, convinced him to rent a romantic cabin in the woods outside of town. Clay left without telling anyone where he was going; for all anyone knew he had gone to Central City for one of his ‘work’ trips.

“This is a cute place…” Clay had barely closed the cabin door before Chelsea was down on her knees unbuckling his jeans.

“Oh yeah, baby,” he leaned against the door as Chelsea proceeded to lick and stroke his cock until it was fully hard.

Despite being relatively short, it was so thick she had trouble getting the whole thing in her mouth at once, but Clay appreciated the effort nonetheless and rewarded her with a spurt of steamy precum. The two went on for hours, Clay getting so horny from the marathon foreplay that he eventually simply picked Chelsea up like a sack of potatoes and carried her into the bedroom as she laughed and pretended to fight back. He threw her on the bed in feigned dominance and proceeded to climb on top of her. His leaking, fat cock was just about to penetrate her well stretched hole when she put a finger on his lips and said, “I think you should be on the bottom. I want to ride you.”

“Yes ma’am”! Clay flopped places with her and was soon on his back, spread eagle. His broad, husky body was incredibly vulnerable, Chelsea thought. What a shame though. Clay actually was a tiger in bed, and despite not being very muscular, his broad, well proportioned and powerful body was still very hot.

“Wait, I want to get something,”

She left the room returned with her overnight bag. She pulled out four pair of what Clay assumed were trick hand cuffs and Clay readily let himself be tied to the bed posts, only this time even his legs were tied,forcing his thick legs wide apart and totally exposing his sex life to Chelsea's every whim.

“You know what I’m gonna’ do to you, Clay?” she said in an airy voice.

Clay’s cock jumped

“Mmm, what’re you gonna’ do to me, ma’am?” he licked his lips and winked at her, wanting desperately for her to lean in and kiss him, letting her breasts rub against his pecs.

“Well, for starters I’m going to teach you a lesson about cheating on Heather. And how many other women have you done that to?”

It took Clay a moment to realize what she had said, then his face went pale.

“What? What are you talking about? How do you know… AAAH!”

Clay’s back arched in pain Chelsea proceeding to slam her fist into his totally defenseless right ball with a loud SPLAT. She could feel the ball comperes slightly under her fist and he could feel a dull ache building in his stomach coupled with a sharp, stinging pain.

“You’re a pig, Clay. Always will be. We can’t have that,”

SPLAT! SPLAT!

Tears were streaming down Clay’s face as the dull ache became a shooting pain. Who was this woman and how did she know Heather. Clay went to twist his wrist, that normally unlocked the handcuffs but they stayed tightly shut.

“Oh, those are real, Clay.” she said laughing as she left the room.

Clay, now in a panic, struggled to get free, or at least close his legs but the handcuffs stopped him from doing anything. Chelsea was gone for what seemed like a long time and he could here her rustling around the cabin as if gathering supplies, though for what Clay couldn’t be sure. Clay’s arms were growing tired from his fruitless struggling, but the handcuffs didn’t budge.

Finally, she emerged carrying her overnight bag which was obviously now stuffed with much more than clothes.

“Wha-what is that?” Clay asked, his voice shaking in genuine fear.

Chelsea laughed at the look of terror that seemed to be sapping the life out of his usually sparklingly, playful blue eyes.

“Oh, just a few things.”

Chelsea let the bag drop with a loud clank, the mystery objects within rattling about. She bent down and fetched a meat tenderizer from the bag along with a spool of bandages she had swiped from the bathroom. She approached him with slow, deliberate steps, thoroughly enjoying the shameless terror in Clay’s eyes.
Without saying a word, she straddled his midsection facing his waist and proceeded to tightly bandage his nuts at the base of the sack so that the huge organs bulged obscenely against the pale skin of his sack. The resulting tugging was uncomfortable, but not particularly painful to Clay, his heart pounding as she wound the bandage tighter and tighter.

“Wha- please. Please don’t hurt me,”

Every ounce of tough guy bravado was gone as Clay whimpered and pleaded. Even the tone of his voice seemed different, a higher octave, like a frightened teenager instead of the confident young man from moments before. Despite his size, Clay was shaking like a leaf under the petite Chelsea.

“Ah, that should do. Wouldn’t want them to get away,” Chelsea admired her handiwork as she set the bandages aside.

Clay’s hens egg sized nuts were both so tightly bound at the base that they were turning beet red. There was no way the defenseless baby makers would be able to retreat back into the safety of Clay’s body…
She chuckled as she picked up the meat tenderizer and positioned it over Clay’s bloated sack.

“You know, Clay. All you had to do was not be pig,”

She didn’t give the helpless stud a chance to react before she sent the mallet plunging into his sack. The over sized head of the tenderizer violently compressed Clay’s testicles, the membranes of which were struggling to stay firm.

“OH GOD!” Clay screamed, barely registering the deep, radiating pain of the first blow before the mallet came down again, biased toward his left nut.

SPL-A-T!

SPLAT!

Chelsea was enjoying the ride of Clay’s bucking body as he tried desperately to free himself, but she didn’t let it distract her from sending the mallet down into the abused organs again and again and again, with barely no time between blows to give poor Clay a chance to recover. Clay was sobbing and begging Chelsea to stop, to show mercy, but that only seemed to make Chelsea more determined to crush his balls. A deep, throbbing pain built up in Clay’s stomach and he thought he was going to heave. He had never experienced anything so terrible in his life…

SPLAT! SPLAT!

Chelsea could feel that Clay’s balls were starting to flatten, becoming less resistant with each blow, but she couldn’t stop. Clay bucked like a wild animal under her, but his strength was starting to wane as his brain started shutting down, unable to process the tremendous, throbbing pain coming from between his legs.

“Please! Please don’t hurt me no more,” he barely managed to get out in a voice hoarse from inhumane screaming.

Chelsea threw down the mallet and grabbed one of Clay’s swollen balls in each hand. She had been pounding them flat for ten minutes and it was obvious permanent damage was starting to happen. His right ball in particular was much softer and easier to compress than the left, and welts now marred the surface of his once proud, flawless sack. Clay’s nuts were swollen to twice their regular size and Chelsea could feel them throbbing with each heart beat. As she rolled and squeezed his gonads in her examination, a whimpering Clay pleaded with her to let him go.

“Please, I don’t — let me go,”

His sobbing was starting to annoy Chelsea and she was able to quickly replace it with a loud yelp as she started squeezing her hands. Her petite hands pressed and crushed into Clay’s collapsing nuts as hard as she could, but it was obvious even the assaulted nut tissue was too sturdy for her. She briefly released them as she plotted her next move, smiling evilly as she recalled their first night together and how hot she imagined it would be to crush his junk in her bare hands. She grabbed Clay’s battered right nut and sandwiched it between both hands and squeezed like she was trying to juice a lemon.

Clay’s mouth formed a large ‘O’, though no sound came out as he struggled to even comprehend the pain. His beautiful blue eyes crossed in agony as she pressed and squeezed, determined to feel the satisfying sensation of Clay’s ball splitting in her hands. She was getting wet imagining what it would be like to feel half of Clay’s manhood literally bursting in her hands.

“Ooooh!” he wailed approaching unconsciousness.

Chelsea’s twat got wet as she felt her hands starting to compress further together. She had been relentlessly squashing Clay’s nut for nearly five minutes and was sure she was starting to feel it breaking under the pressure. Her face was red with effort, and frustration, as his ball flattened noticeably but didn’t break. Just when Clay thought he was going to pass out, he felt a rush of relief as she let go of his aching testicle and hopped off the bed. He was panting heavily, unsure what was going to happen next, as she fetched something out of her bag.

“No! Please God! No!” Clay begged, his voice shaking in terror when he saw what she was carrying.
Chelsea was on her knees between Clay’s wide spread legs holding a pair of pliers. She held them, jaws open, in front of her breasts licking her lips as she closed the jaws, showing Clay that they wouldn’t stop until they were touching all the way. He sobbed, not even trying to beg, as he felt the jaws ensnare his engorged right nut. Chelsea slowly tighten the pressure around the huge ball, feeling the pliers effortlessly compressing the ball meat. She kept closing the jaws, making Clay’s ball get flatter and flatter, dimpling at the peripheries as the contents of the sack were compressed to their limit.

Clay’s mind was going hazy. Chelsea was looking directly into his eyes… and laughing. How could she be laughing? He thought. Here he was, totally at her mercy, sobbing, begging. Pleading. His eyes were begging for mercy and all she could do was laugh? What kind of monster was this?

He could feel his nut getting dangerously flat and expected it would suddenly burst from the pressure. Then it stopped. Chelsea let the right nut go and quickly had the pliers around the swollen left ball. She alternated from ball to ball, enjoying the feeling of the ball meat flattening and compressing like overstuffed water balloons that were about to pop. She looked down at the helpless, hulking young man and enjoyed how utterly she was able to dominate him. Chelsea knew his left nut wasn’t going to last much longer, so she purposefully let it go, wanting the torture to proceed for a while.

“I’m going to give you a bit to rest,” she said casually leaving the room.

She left Clay to stew in his thoughts for what seemed like hours, though Clay couldn’t be for certain. He cried softly to himself, panicked that he would never see his mom or his brothers or any of his friends again. And would anyone even know to look for him? He had left town without telling anyone where he was going. Was this monstrous bitch going to kill him quickly or keep torturing him? Would it hurt to die? Clay was reduced to a blubbering, exhausted wretch by the time a still-naked Chelsea finally returned to the bedroom.

“Ready for round two?” she grinned to herself.

Clay, who had had some time to compose himself, was able to get out a relatively calm, articulate plea for mercy.

“Chelsea. Please don’t hurt me. I don’t wanna’ die. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m so sorry…”

Clay had never been more sincere in his life, but she ignored him as she rummaged around in the bag. She grabbed a cheese grater and the mallet from earlier and climbed onto the bed, straddling his face with her pussy.

Despite himself, Clay was getting turned on by the smell of her wet pussy in his face.

“Mmm. You’d better use that tongue of yours if you know what’s good for you,”

Clay’s tongue plunged into Chelsea and he licked, sucked and swirled his tongue like his life literally depended on it.

SPLAT! SPLAT!

Clay gagged as he felt his testicles being pounded under the mallet.

“Did I say you could stop?”

SPLAT! SPL-A-T!

Clay tried his best to satisfy Chelsea despite the fiery pain in his balls. He knew she was really doing permanent damage to him and his brain was cloudy with pain and fear. But he kept going, hoping she’d show him mercy if he got her to gush like he was able to so many times before. To his relief, it seemed to be working. The time between hits to the balls was getting longer as his excerpt tongue was distracting Chelsea.

“Oh you like that, baby?” he said breathlessly, trying his best to sound sexy, hoping to win sympathy from her.

“Oh! Oh yea!” she screamed in  ecstasy as she rose the mallet far above her head and sent it crashing down.

“No! Nooooo!”

SP-L-A-A-T!

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

Clay was getting sick to his stomach. He was trying desperately to make her cum, but it seemed the more turned on she got, the harder and more determined she was to destroy his manhood. Clay could feel his nuts were cracking. The left was taking longer to plump back up and the right had taken on a permanently flattened look.

“Oh, I don’t wanna’ be having all the fun,”

She set down the mallet and grabbed Clay’s short, thick cock with her hand and started stroking. Although he felt like his balls had literally been flattened, Clay quickly got hard. He sobbed in embarrassment as his cock betrayed him, growing its full rock hard length in a matter of minutes. Chelsea grabbed the cheese grater and held it against the length of Clay’s fat cock. Clay twitched at the feeling of the icy metal against his skin and had barely registered what it was before Chelsea started slowly grinding it back and forth.

“Aaaaagh!” Clay screamed.

Chelsea nearly squirted on Clay’s face as she felt the grater slicing into Clay’s proud cock. Clay was screaming and writhing under her like a dying animal, each back and forth of the cheese grater being interjected with a sensual stroke of his now bloody cock by her hand. His blood made an effective, and macabre, lubricant, as she jerked him closer and closer to cumming. Clay was sure he was going to black out as the grater lay waste to his truly beautiful, fat cock, digging in with its sharpened blades like teeth.

“Oh hey, I think you’re close,”

Chelsea had held Clay’s cumming cock enough to know when he was about to blow. Driven totally by instinct, and with no pleasure whatsoever, Clay’s cock, half of which was now reduced to shredded gore by the grater, was starting to twitch.

“Oh! OOOh!”

Clay screamed as a small, pink tortured load erupted from his half destroyed cock. His still bound nuts throbbed horribly as they attempted to contract into his body with the cum shot. While his cock was still spurting, Chelsea fetched the bandages from earlier and tightly wrapped his bloody cock in it, wrapping it tightly to stem the bleeding. After all, she concluded, she didn’t want him bleeding out… yet. Clay’s brain was awash in the pleasure of an orgasm and the pain of having his cock grated. He prayed to black out or for Chelsea to be satisfied with what she’d done so far and just leave him alone…

Clay’s head was thrashing back and forth violently, desperately looking for a way out as Chelsea casually fetched a length of twine from her bag. She tied the twine tightly around the base of Clay’s nuts and proceeded to walk slowly away from the bed, tugging on his balls as she went.. Clay instinctively arched his back to try to lesson the tension, but tied to the bed as he was, could barely move.

The twine was starting to dig into the flesh of his balls as she pulled the length further and further, causing Clay’s bloated sack to be tugged several inches from his body. Clay’s eyes bugged and he screamed continuously, knowing now that Chelsea wasn’t going to stop until his nuts were history. When his nuts were stretched nearly five inches further out than normal, Chelsea casually released the twine. The feeling of blood rushing back into his testicles was a burning relief to the now nearly unconscious Clay. Chelsea walked over to the bed to inspect the damage.

The twine was sharp, and had started to bite into the skin of his scrotum, but it hadn’t done significant damage. She realized that Clay was starting to black out so she, not wanting him to miss out on the finale, left the room to give him time to rest. Clay couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but it felt to be at least an hour. He had fallen asleep, exhausted from his struggling and overwhelmed with pain. His dream was a calming phantasmagoria, as if he was mentally preparing for another round of torture. He was back in his apartment, his dog Max begging for attention at his feet. He bent down and swooped up the little brown mutt and giggled as he felt Max’s tongue lick his face. Clay set down the dog after what seemed to be a few minutes and began looking over pictures on his mantle. The dream mantle was impossibly long, lined with photographs of seemingly every person, pet and sentimental object Clay had ever met or seen.

“Oh, Josh. I love you so much, buddy,” dream Clay started crying softly when he happened across a picture of his teenage brother. A wave of dread washed over him as he remembered that the last words he had said to Josh were ‘I hate you’ over what was in the grand scheme a totally trivial argument.

This is it, isn’t it? Clay thought to himself as he started to wake up, “She’s gonna’ kill me and I’ll never see any of them again,”

Clay awoke some time later, his head almost too groggy to immediately register the now fiery, burning pain coming from between his legs. He looked over to see Chelsea standing over the bed holding the mallet.

“No…” he whimpered.

“Ah, you’re awake. I thought you were dead,”

Clay shuddered at the casualness she was taking about his immanent death.

“Please. Please don’t…. AAAH!”

Chelsea unceremoniously sent the mallet crashing into his still bound ball sack, particularly flattening the left nut.

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPL—A–T!

She pounded on his nuts with the forcefulness of pounding a nail into a board, for five minutes until she could feel his ridiculously swollen, blue-black right ball seemed to burst in the sack with a barely audible, but still satisfying wet CRUNCH.

“OH GOD!”

Clay wasn’t even granted the mercy of passing out from the incredible pain. Meanwhile Chelsea threw down the mallet and grasped the right side of his sack with both hands, kneading and squeezing the ruined orb. It had fractured into two, still firm halves. But that wasn’t enough damage, she thought.

She ran from the room and returned a short while later with the small clothes iron from the cabin’s bathroom. She plugged it in and set it to high, holding the heating metal plate just inches from Clay’s sack.

Clay was convulsing from the pain of his fractured right nut, his brain too overwhelmed to even processes the new sensation as heat waves radiated from the metal plate that Chelsea was bringing closer. Closer and closer…

SSSSIIIIIISSSSSS–

“OOOOH!” Clay screamed so loud that for a moment even Chelsea was taken aback, but she continued to hold the plate firmly against Clay’s roasting scrotum.

The metal plate made a high pitched hissing and sizzling as the smell of singed hair and burning flesh filled the room. It seemed like the hulking, trapped jock was going to rip the bed apart he was pulling so hard on the constraints, but he remained firmly at Chelsea’s mercy. She could feel her twat getting wet, but ignored her pleasure to stay concentrated on the task at hand.

SSSSIIISSS….

She held the heavy, scalding hot iron on his balls for several minutes, though to Clay it felt like eternity, before withdrawing it quickly and tossing it to the floor. She smiled wickedly at the results of the nut roasting; his once beautiful sack was now free of the top several layers of skin. The patch of blonde hair was completely gone, singed away by the iron. Oozing wounds marred the entire surface of his still hot to the touch ball sack. Clay was reduced to a whimpering, nearly comatose mess and for a brief moment Chelsea – sure he was already sterilized – considered simply leaving the cabin. But the thought was banished and she literally laughed to herself when she remembered what else she had thrown into her bag of impromptu torture devices.

Ignoring Clay’s begging, Chelsea pulled a tube of Bengay from the bag and squirted nearly the entire amount onto her hand. She balled her petite hand into a fist, climbed on the bed between Clay’s legs, made cruel eye contact with his desperate, handsome eyes and rammed her fist straight between his legs into his asshole.
Clay had never been fucked, and certainly never fisted, so the painful stretching was almost too much for him to bare. He had just registered the violating, sickening plunging of her fist when the wave of burning pain from the Bengay started to set in.

“AAAAAH! MY ASS!”

It felt as if Clay’s entire digestive system; from his anus up to his throat, was on fire. Even counting the pain his balls had gone through, he had never experienced anything so brutal. He was sobbing and pleading as Chelsea mercilessly fist fucked him until her arm was sore. When she finally pulled out, the damage was done. Blood trickled from between his tight ass cheeks and the Bengay that had been deposited up through his guts was still burning. Chelsea calmly wiped her slimy, bloodied fist and forearm on the bed sheets and picked up the mallet again.

Clay barely got out a whimper as he looked down, watching her pound his already charred sack over and over.

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT! CRUNCH!

Clay blacked out again and Chelsea almost orgasmed as she felt the already cracked right nut totally burst.
SP-A-A-T! SPLOSH SPLOSH

To be sure she focused the mallet head so that it came down directly on just the right ball and didn’t stop until the testicle was obviously reduced to a lumpy mush. She again threw down the mallet and grabbed the right side of the sack with her hands, squeezing and compressing, relishing in the feeling as she felt chunk after tortured chunk burst and collapse in her hands. The feeling was so incredible, she could hardly believe it, and she still had one more left.

Clay awoke to the stinging odor of smelling salts. The temporary rush of alertness only heightening the pain in his crotch. Chelsea looked down at him and smiled before climbing on top of him, straddling his chest facing his crotch. He could feel that she was rubbing a cold, gooey liquid all over his still-plump left nut. He couldn’t tell what it was but it had an oddly familiar odor he thought he recognized as…

“OH SHIT! NO! NOOOO!”

Chelsea ignored him as she picked up a match and lit his left nut on fire. She had rubbed it with fire starting gel, that Clay had brought with him in case he wanted to make a romantic fire, and she just sat and watched as his left nut bubbled and burned.

Clay’s bucking nearly knocked Chelsea off, but she just sat there continuing to watch his nut being roasted. The sperm and liquids inside were boiling and expanding rapidly.. too rapidly..

POP! TISSSSS! TISSS!

Ruptures started to appear all over Clay’s sack as the boiling contents started oozing out, forced out by the building steam.

“That should do,”

She began pounding the left nut with the large mallet. Although it was effectively putting out the small flames, it was also crushing Clay’s barely in tact last ball.

“Break! Break!”

She screamed in a rage as she sent the mallet into his last nut over and over. Clay’s manhood was entirely at her mercy. She could have stopped pounding the defenseless orb any time, but she wanted to feel the amazing sensation of a testicle rupturing under her mallet again…

Clay was screaming and struggling to get free but it was no use, Chelsea wasn’t going to stop pounding until…

CR-UU—NCH!

Clay nearly choked on vomit as he felt his last, huge ball finally implode.

Chelsea thought she was going to orgasm right then, but still had some things she wanted to do with Clay. She positioned herself so that she was literally fucking herself with his large nose. Clay, despite being delirious with pain, was getting aroused by the smell – though it was purely instinct. As she bobbed up and down, nearly suffocating him, he wasn’t getting any pleasure whatsoever. His entire world was now reduced to his two crushed balls. But Chelsea wasn’t done.

She moaned in pleasure, and he in delirious pain, with each plunge of her pussy onto his face, pounding his flattened sack with the mallet full force as she did.

“Oh! Oh! Yeah!”

She knew she was close and was now sending the mallet down so hard and so fast it was barely a blur. Clay’s nut sack split open as she continued to near orgasm. SPLAT! SPLOSH!

The mallet was now directly smashing Clay’s exposed, shattered testicles, sending chunks of the destroyed sex organs splattering upward. Clay passed out as his abs were covered by the gory remains of his ounce proud balls. His nuts reduced to a pulpy mess, Chelsea focused her attention on his cock.

SPLAT! SPLAT! SQUISH! SPLAT!

The defenseless, fat tool was still wrapped in bandages, but they did little to protect it as she pounded down on it like a giant nail. The thick, fat dong lasted only a few blows before she could feel it snap at the base. Then she just started hammering indiscriminately all over his crotch. There was literally nothing left. She kept comparing the splattered, unrecognizable mess in front of her to the once plump, huge eggs and thick, throbbing penis… the visual was so hot that she squirted all over Clay’s still blacked out face.

It took Chelsea several minutes to regain herself after what had been the most intense orgasm of her life. She hopped off just long enough to fetch a small chain, like a bicycle lock, from the bag, then returned to straddle his chest, only this time she was facing Clay’s face.

Clay looked like a handsome young man who was only sleeping, not passed out from the pain of being utterly de-sexed. She wrapped the chain around his neck, his well-built, beefy muscles powerless to stop her, and pulled. She could feel his throat being crushed, but he just lay there lifeless for a moment before jolting awake from a rush of adrenaline. His eyes bugged out and he struggled with renewed vigor, every ounce of strength going toward saving himself.

Chelsea only smirked and laughed, turned on at how utterly powerless the studly young man now was. She looked down at the dying bald idiot on the bed under her, her face red with determination as she held the chain loop tight against his throat. The whites of his eyes were turning pink and red from bursting blood vessels and his valiant bucking and attempts at escape were slowly starting to die down. Clay’s young, piercing blue eyes stared into hers pleadingly as they started to gloss over and lose their luster.

“Please! Please let me go,” Clay thought he was crying out, though in actuality his last breaths were making only gurgled, barely intelligible noises.

Tears of unimaginable sadness over everything he was about to lose ran down Clay’s pale cheek as he finally stopped struggling and went limp.

Chelsea snorted in contempt at the pathetic man under her perplexed by the coy, almost joyous grin his lifeless face was contorted in as his eyes stared up into nothing. She could only imagine what kind of sick final fantasy was playing in his mind… … …

Clay suddenly felt a rush of warm relief as Chelsea loosened the chain around his neck. He gasped, struggling to get enough air to satisfy his starved lungs and between gasped the bound jock could only get out muffled ‘thank yous’, as Chelsea undid his bounds.

“Thank you,” he gasped, holding his throat.

Chelsea lowered slightly, putting her luscious, firm tits just inches above Clay’s face. He smiled and reached out, gently rubbing and massaging each of her pert breasts in his strong hands. Despite everything, her breasts still felt amazing. He absolutely loved breasts and now, finally, he was getting to play with hers again.

Clay smiled, still weak from his earlier strangulation, and closed his eyes as Chelsea leaned in to kiss him. Clay’s lips curled into a coy, joyous grin as the world around him collapsed into black.