Tuesday, July 20, 2010

(MM/MM) For a fan.

Here's a little story I did for BBCrusher. It's heavy on the Japanese, so I'll see if I can't whip up a lexicon to go with it. Enjoy!



Gisei (Sacrifice)

Bull pumped his dick into Husky’s tight hole slowly, but firmly. Each thrust was purposeful; considered yet decisive. While Husky moaned with each thrust, Bull just kept his focus on the task at hand – plowing this young stud who was on all fours, head buried in a pillow, ass in the air. Bull delivered some slaps to Husky’s perfectly formed, fuzzy ass and continued his steady pace. It wouldn’t do to have his reputation as the ultimate top be tarnished.

They were a half an hour into their lovemaking, and Bull pulled Husky up for a few moments of kissing, Husky’s back arched as he kissed the stud who was balls deep in his ass. Husky’s tongue wrapped around Bull’s, and they sucked on each other for several minutes before releasing. Now Husky’s head dropped and he moaned louder. It hurt so good.

The sounds that he made went no further than the little log cabin they were fucking in, and that cabin was nestled deep in the woods. They were alone, just one muscular top, and one muscular cub, getting his nightly dose of deep loving. Or, at least they thought they were alone.

Bull pulled his dick out for moment and shoved in two fingers instead, letting the mixture of sweat, precum and hole juices coat his hand, and then reached around to make Husky suck it all off. Just as Husky was savoring the tangy mixture, the side window crashed open. Before either of the men could react a black figure streaked across the room. The pommel of a katana smashed down on Husky’s head, knocking him out cold, and the razor sharp blade of the sword suddenly appeared under Bully’s neck, pressing against it. Ready to slice in. A heavily accented Japanese voice whispered in Bull’s ear while the intruder’s hand closed around Bull’s ball sack.

“It’s so nice to see you at work, Mr. Dy-son. You must be very proud.” The hand squeezing Bull’s balls tightened.

“Pleeeaassse,” Bull stuttered. “I promise, your boss will get his money. I just need some time. Make a few more sales.” Bull could feel the hand on his balls, and the blade at his neck, but whoever the Family had sent to get repayment seemed to add no weight to the bed at all.

“Oyabun do not care about repayment, little brother. It is your head they want. You have disappointed them for the last time.” Now Bull was beginning to sweat, his dick had gone flaccid and he began to shiver in terror.

“No, no, no, please don’t kill me. I promise. The Family will get everything, and more. I promise. I don’t want to die!”

The cruel, cold voice whispered in his ear, “You’re not going to die. Not yet. I’m going to have my fun with you first. Then you shall die.” The edge of the blade dug into Bull’s neck and a thin rivulet of blood dripped onto Husky’s still form.

“Wwwwhat are you going to do to me?” stammered Bull.

Sasuke looked down at the two ripe onions that were in his grasp. “Those who dishonor our name have no right to die as men. You won’t be needing these anymore.” Sasuke was stronger than men three times his size, and his favorite thing to do to a mark was crush his testicles before killing him.

“No, no please, not my balls,” Bull was now in a veritable panic. All those years building up a drug running business for the Russian mafia, the Bratva, and laundering money for the Mob was now seeming like a bad career choice.

“Quiet yourself, Al-ex Dy-son. Do not dishonor yourself with cowardice. Let me crush your balls, and I might let your little pony here live.”

Still quivering, Bull decided it was the only good thing he could do. He didn’t love Husky, but he loved fucking him. The cub deserved to bottom for someone else. Bull closed his eyes, and steeled himself.

“Good. You have courage after all.” Sasuke rolled the two fat orbs he had in his hand firmly, assessing how much effort it would take to pop them. They were dense and heavy, bloated with sperm. This would be fun. “Move, and I will kill you both.” Sasuke isolated the furry, muscular man’s larger left testicle and began to crush it between his fingers. After two decades of intense martial arts training, and a lifetime devoted to perfecting the art of assassination, Sasuke had fingers of steel. The helpless testicle began to buckle under the pressure. A high keening noise erupted from Alex as he felt his jewel being crushed, but he kept himself still and let the assassin do his work.

The ball began to distort and warp. Sasuke pushed his thumb into the nut and pressed in deep, as deep as it would go. The pain welled up in Alex’s stomach and he choked down the vomit that threatened to spill forth from his mouth. He heard the assassin’s voice again. “How is to know you will die no better than a woman? You surely have not made children with these, little Kuma. The end of your bloodline must be a great humiliation.” Sasuke grinned to himself (something no would see when he wore his kuro shozoku – the black outfit covered him from head to toe). This was the best part of his job, crushing men’s testicles. Alex just whimpered.

The ball was beginning to bulge out at both ends, and Sasuke focused his concentration, his ki, to make that large testicle go “squick”, which . . . it did after a few more seconds. The sound was music to Sasuke’s ears. All the essence of this man gone, in a little over a minute. Turned to mush by his hand. Alex began to foam at the mouth, and his body shuddered, but amazingly, he kept his head still. Sasuke was impressed. He told his victim so.

“Very good, little Kuma. You are a man after all. Perhaps it is a pity that I have to end your life, and not just your sex life. You could be fun to play with.”

Rivers of molten pain coursed through Bull’s body, but even so, some part of him realized that his tormentor was getting off on this. Remarkably, Bully’s thick penis began to harden again. In life, pain is often closely linked to pleasure.

Sasuke ran his fingers through the pulpy, squishy remains of Bully’s busted ball, and then he reached in to caress the erection he felt growing. Interesting. Bull’s ball bag was also still loose and slack, and not shriveled in terror like they so often were.

“Perhaps Kuma likes to have his manhood taken from him? Too bad it can only happen twice.” Sasuke used his index and middle finger to gently rub Bull’s dick and used his last two fingers and thumb to begin squeezing the life out of Bull’s right ball (which just hung there, loosely). The remaining nut didn’t seem the least bit afraid of its own destruction, and where so many men’s scrotums shrivel at Sasuke’s touch, this ball-bag seemed eager for torture.

With his two strongest fingers taken out of play, Sasuke had to really concentrate to pop this one. He gritted his teeth, jaw muscle pulsing. “Squeal for me, Gaijin!” Bull did indeed start to squeal. His sex life was being ruined in the hands of a Yakuza assassin, and he was about to die soon. He couldn’t have imagined a more horrible and humiliating end to his life. Justin was going to wake up with a naked, decapitated, ball-less man lying on top him. If Justin woke up at all.

Bull’s squealing turned into an open mouthed cry. If only the cabin wasn’t within 50 miles of the next habitation, perhaps someone might come to his aid! Sadly . . . it wasn’t.

Sasuke was really squeezing the goolie now, plump ball-flesh oozing out between his fingers, and as the nut-meat was approaching destruction, Sasuke began to chuckle darkly. “Too bad, little Kuma. Your time is up!” Sasuke put all his might behind it, and this time the ball exploded in its sack, a pleasant, crisp “pop”, like crushing a large seed-pod. Alex screamed, but his crazy dick pulsed and let out a splatter of spunk which coated Justin’s ass, and Alex’s hips instinctively bucked out the last of his seed. Bull’s body was slick with fear-sweat and sex-sweat. He was a mound of glistening muscle, his ripped, hairy chest heaving with the intensity of the situation

Sasuke groped the bag of nut-mush for while, both to torture Bull some more, and to savor the ruined manhood. When his victim seemed about to pass out, Sasuke dropped the squishy bag, grabbed a fistful of Bull’s hair and pulling back his head as he stood up.

Sasuke bent down to whisper into the doomed man’s ear. “That was good for me, Okama. Perhaps it was good for you, too?” Sasuke raised his ninja-to, preparing to complete his assignment. “Good bye, Kuma-san. May your journey be swift.”

The last thing Alex thought as his deflating cock dribbled jizz onto the bed was that, despite the ungodly pain, that had been the most intense orgasm he’d ever had. Then, there was the keening whine of slashing steel, and everything went black.

* * *

In the pitch black, Sasuke jumped down onto the roof of his home. The boarded up warehouse was only accessible from the rooftop, and Sasuke quietly opened the hatch. Appearing to be a boarded up, abandoned industrial space, Sasuke’s home was part dojo, part living space and part S&M dungeon, and only those invited new how to enter.

The assassin dropped down into the upper hall and made his way to his living quarters. He stopped in front of a screened partition, and sank down onto both knees, one knee at-a-time. For a few minutes he meditated, finding his calm center, and entered fudoshin, immovable mind - calm and serene.

With one hand he slid the panel back, revealing a display of ancient assassin weapons mounted on the wall. Armor, weapons, tools of the trade, all inherited from his father and each a part of his ancestral heritage. He bowed his head low to the floor as he contemplated each one. His father’s ninja-to, so sharp it could decapitate a man in one stroke. The two kusari-gama, tools for disarming and then bisecting a human being. A bō staff, with detachable blow gun in one end, and a concealed knife in the other. Shuriken, each hand-cast in steel, deadly sharp and made even more deadly with its coating of tetanus bacteria. Two sai, ready to trap an enemy’s weapon, snap it in twain, and then follow it up with a stab to the heart. And finally the kyoketsu-shogei, which he held in his hand – a ridiculously sharp knife attached to the end of a long chain.

He had used the vorpal chain less than an hour ago to first slice a woman’s chest open, letting her bleed to death (twitching and moaning), and then, after tripping her husband (as the coward tried to flee), Sasuke’d used it to slice open her husbands privates, allowing Sasuke to crush the man’s naked balls as they quivered on the floor. He so enjoyed watching the man grovel and blubber as his testicles popped like ripe grapes under Sasuke’s tabi. Sasuke had ended those protestations by cutting the coward’s neck from ear to ear, almost decapitating him. The woman, who was the mark, died before she could even process what was happening to her, and her husband wasn’t even able to get three feet before Sasuke took him down. Pathetic.

As Sasuke cleaned the kyoketsu-shogei, he mused on how little had changed in the art of killing people. The weapons before him were weapons of power, precision and lethality, and just as effective at murder as they were five hundred years ago when they were originally forged. So much potential for mayhem, and Sasuke had inherited them all.

Each day, the tough, wiry man tried to live up to the ideals laid down by his father: fear no pain, live without regret, show no mercy and give no quarter. Practice immovable mind. With discipline and strenuous repetition, sculpt the body into an elegant weapon of death. And each day, Sasuke did just that. In his private sanctum he practiced his arts.

As Sasuke contemplated his life, being taught marital art since he could walk, enduring beatings and starvation and psychological brutality at the hands of his father, he suddenly heard the soft chime indicating someone had entered his home. Sasuke smiled grimly to himself. His student had arrived early for the night’s lesson. ‘Excellent,’ thought Sasuke. He got up and went to take a shower and change into his sparring outfit. He took his time. He did not hurry. The student would wait.

Fourteen minutes later, the refreshed man entered the sparring room. There, in the center of the floor, kneeled a man, naked, with his eyes closed, waiting for his sensei. The man was burly, hairy, and built like a bouncer. His naked genitals hung loosely down between his legs, and his hairy sack was so long it partially rested on the mat. The student’s breathing was calm and measured, and he just sat there, waiting. Meditating.

Sasuke walked over to stand in front of his student. Then, he kneeled also. Both sat calmly, eyes closed, emptying their minds, waiting for the right moment . . . to strike.

With a flash of movement, Sasuke leapt from his kneeling position straight into a roundhouse kick at the student’s bald head, practically levitating as he did so. The student was already moving into a backwards roll, avoiding the kick entirely and ending in a crouching position ready to retaliate. They both sprang at each other and traded a series of punches, blocks and jabs trying to seriously wound the other. The student’s naked genitals slapped back and forth as they fought, and as usual, Sasuke made him suffer for it. With a distracting backhand to the man’s neck, Sasuke turned, twisted, and drove his instep right into the student’s testicles. They smashed up into the man’s pelvis and caused him to groan in pain. Instead of withdrawing his leg, Sasuke grabbed the man’s hands with his own and pulled, drawing the man towards him while Sasuke ground his foot into the man’s vulnerable bits and pieces. He pulled and twisted with all his might, making is student finally collapse into a fetal ball of pain. Sasuke smiled grimly as he stood over the man.

“You have not strengthened your manhood as I told you too. You are now paying the price. Overcome all pain, and you will be able to do anything.”

“Yes, sensei,” groaned the strong man, his overbuilt chest coated with sweat and heaving in pain.

“Get up! We go again.”

The man steeled himself, got up and set himself to fight. Sasuke delivered two punches aimed at the head, which were appropriately intercepted, but followed it up with a kick to the stomach. His heel connected with the man’s abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. While the student stood there, legs spread, bent over at the waist, trying to recover, Sasuke moved behind him, crouched and smacked the man’s hanging balls between his two palms. Twice. The student collapsed in a heap, unable to breath and needing to vomit.

“Again!” insisted Sasuke.

Tom made the first move, this time, after he’d overcome the nut-pain, He opened with a perfect angled kick to Sasuke’s right knee, but Sasuke caught the leg, at the ankle, pushed on it, and made the student grunt as the pressure tweaked his knee. Tom, however, rolled with the push, returning to a standing position and delivered an expert finger-strike to Sasuke’s throat, trying to incapacitate him.

Sasuke merely melted backwards in the same direction, doing a backwards flip/handstand and let his leading foot smash into Tom’s dangling nuts and the following foot strike Tom’s chin, snapping the man’s head back like a cantaloupe.

For two hours this went on. Sasuke, as usual, was pleased with Tom’s overall improvement. Each session the man seemed able to handle more and more pain and react ever more quickly to punches and kicks. His tumbling skills were without peer, and once he’d toughened his testicles, would make a formidable martial artist.

When Sasuke’s own body glistened with a sheen of sweat, and his student’s body was drenched with it, it was time stop.

“Yamete kudasai!” He commanded.

“HAI!” replied the badly bruised Tom.

Sasuke kneeled and so did Tom, whose ball sack was now an angry red from all the abused it had received.

After ten minutes of silent contemplation, Sasuke bowed his head low to Tom. “Master,” he said, “I am ready.”

Tom smiled evilly. In his deep, sexy voice he said: “Very well, go into the dungeon and strip.”

Tom was a master sadist, and was highly trained in the art of bondage and torture. This was the balance of the trade they made every sparring session.

“Hai!” Sasuke got up and walked down the corridor into the dungeon. He stripped and collected the ropes Tom would soon be tying him up with. As well as being a master sadist, Tom was also a practitioner of Kinbaku, the Japanese art of erotic bondage. The ropes Sasuke retrieved were made of thick, bleach-white jute, and were both incredibly strong and sensually smooth.

Sasuke waited patiently. Tom finally entered, but Sasuke kept his eyes lowered, showing humility and subservience. Tom stood before him and gently took the asanawa, the rope, from his pupil. Tom ran the rope under his nose, inhaling its scent, then he held it out for Sasuke to kiss. Sasuke obliged, eyes still lowered. Slaves must always show gratitude for the pain they were about to receive.

Tom whispered in his slave’s ear. “How much shall I hurt you tonight, little dorei? Can you stand the pain? Or will you falter?”

“I will serve you well, kinbaku-shi. Always.” Sasuke’s eyes never left the floor.

“Good answer, little dorei.” Tom’s gentle whisper turned into a firm bite on Sasuke’s earlobe. A small amount of blood oozed out. The pain was only a teaser for what was to come.

Tom began to wrap the rope about Sasuke’s body, tying knots at crucial points, and surrounding his slave in an elegant cocoon. The knots were tied with reverence. With ritual. And each one was done to emphasize Sasuke’s submission. Willing submission.

Tonight, Tom was going to suspend his slave from the chains above, so that Sasuke was upright, his hands tied behind him, and his legs bent at the knees (also hanging behind him). In other words, kotori. Sasuke would swing above the floor, his knees spread, and unable to protect himself.

Eventually, Sasuke’s torso was appropriately bound, a beautiful series of knots running up his hard, slim chest, and behind him, up his smooth, muscular back. Tom attached the hanging hooks and hoisted his slave, his dorei, into the air. Sasuke kept quiet throughout, even though he was now mostly hanging by his bound arms, and the weight of his own body threatened to dislocate his shoulders.

Then Tom walked behind him and used the white rope to string his victim’s bent legs behind him, making sure they were tied out to the sides as well, leaving his groin open to assault. And the rest of him too.

Tom moved around to the front. Now to deal with Sasuke’s manhood. Tom took a smaller length of silk rope and first tied up the rigid dick that had grown out of Sasuke’s bush. The small ninja was well hung, and Tom aimed to make it even larger. Sasuke’s prick swelled as Tom tied it at the base and then around the balls. The testicles he tied up independently, letting them glow red in their rope nests. Tom cinched the whole lot *just tight enough to make everything ache, but not so much that they would go numb.

Tom stepped back to assess his work. It was perfect. Flawless. White ropes on smooth white Asian skin. And the Asian – as helpless as a newborn calf. Excellent. So it would begin.

“What do you crave, little dorei?” Tom growled.

“Kotsu!” At this point in his life, the only way Sasuke could feel any pleasure was through torture. Through pain.

Tom slapped Sasuke’s face from the left.

“What do you crave?”

“Kotsu!”

Tom slapped Sasuke’s face from the right.

“Who owns you?”

“Kinbaku-shi!”

Tom made a vicious uppercut straight into Sasuke’s bound bollocks. Then his other fist connected with them. Then back to the first. SLAM. SLAM. SLAM. Pounding uppercuts to bulging testes. Sasuke jolted, but didn’t cry out. The pain meant everything to him.

Tom moved even closer and took hold of Sasuke’s dick, and then twisted it to the left, cruelly, letting the rigid tumescence fill with even more blood and its purple head swell massively. The torquing of his prick hurt like hell. Then Sasuke felt his master grab the right testicle and twist it in the opposite direction, squeezing at the same time. Tom’s massive ham fingers wrenching Sasuke’s manhood . . . it was like having your equipment rolled over by a car. Pain swelled in the pit of Sasuke’s stomach, and he suppressed a groan.

Tom continued to squeeze and twist Sasuke’s privates, at one point switching to the other ball, and twisting his dick in the other direction. He kept this up for five minutes. Then ten. Then fifteen. Good torture required patience and persistence, and Tom was the master of both.

Finally, when Sasuke was sweating and trembling slightly, Tom released his bits and instead reached up to tweak Sasuke’s hard little nipples, in opposite directions. A moment later, Tom also drove his right kneecap straight into Sasuke’s balls. As hard as he could. Sasuke would pay for his busts on the dojo floor. Tom rammed his massive thigh between Sasuke’s legs so hard that it began to bruise the pubic bone. Were it not for years of this sort of thing, it would have completely pulped the small assassin’s reproductive organs.

Tom actually pulled Sasuke’s body into his knee thrusts by pulling down on his nipples while he twisted them. Sasuke’s nuts were trapped between the two.

Suddenly the crotch-to-thigh uplifts stopped, and Tom picked up another length of rope. He tied one end around the purple mushroom head of Sasuke’s dick and created a short leash. Then he stood next to his victim, and unbound Sasuke’s testicles. They hung there, swollen and mangled.

Standing to one side of Sasuke, Tom grasped the dangling nuts with one massive hand, and the leash with the other, and pulled them in opposite directions – the dick being pulled forward, the balls being pulled back. Tom was trying to pull off Sasuke’s dickhead. The purple helmet bulged to the size of a golf ball, and Tom had pulled the nutsack so far back that he probably could have stuffed it up Sasuke’s hole. Tom held this position for almost fifteen minutes, until he could hear his slave snorting through his nostrils like a racehorse. Tom looked down. Sasuke was dripping small pearls of precum onto the pinewood floor. Perfect.

Tom stepped back. Now for some kicks. He first punched the slave in the pit of his stomach, just to intensify the pain that was there, and then he started punting Sasuke’s hanging nads. Like they were ripe fruit. Asian plums. Tangy and delicate. Tom’s toes were digging deeply into the little misshapen orbs, warping them, swelling them, brutalizing them. No mercy was shown, no quarter given. This was the best part, for both of them.

But did Sasuke make a noise? No. It was Tom who was grunting, yelling with each kick, giving in to the intense brutality that coursed through his veins. He would have dearly loved to scramble this little slave’s eggs tonight. Actually, castrating Sasuke would be wonderful anytime. During any session an exploded or squashed testicle would be welcome. No pain was too great for Tom to inflict.

Sasuke, meanwhile, wasn’t making any noise but his body was jumping and jolting with each kick, and his ball bag was quivering with each blow. But Sasuke didn’t resist the kicks, he sank into them, into the pain, and accepted each testicle mangling kick with gratitude. Suffering was good for him, his soul needed it. It made him stronger. No one could give it to him like Tom could. Sasuke exalted in the pain, letting it run through him like liquid fire. It burned in every nerve and pooled in the pit of his belly. Maybe tonight would be the night Tom emasculated him, maybe not, but the very thought made Sasuke’s dick actually spurt out lengths of precum, some of which splattered his tormentor.

When this happened, Tom momentarily paused to rub the semen all over his hairy chest, squeezing his own nipples as hard as he could, and kneading his pecs. He lifted a cum-coated finger to his lips and tasted the “essence” of his slave, his little dorei. So sweet, so frothy. How much more would he kick out of his victim? Only one way to tell . . .

Tom was about to back up and really paste Sasuke’s dangling nuts when a shot rang out from the doorway. A bullet ripped through Tom’s left temple and splattered his brains all over the wall. In stepped several Asian men in tailored black suits. One looked down at the dead sadomasochist, smiled, and then walked up to Sasuke. Sasuke was unphased. He just looked at the man with cold eyes. The man held a gun to Sasuke’s head, teasingly.

“Sorry to interrupt, little ansatsusha, but the boss wants to see you.” The young thug had a smirk dripping off his face.

“Of course,” was the reply. Sasuke didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed by the situation, but the young man seemed highly amused. The man traced a line with the tip of his gun down from the side of Sasuke’s head all the way to his hanging bollocks.

“You like pain, don’t you little assassin. Perhaps I should blow your big balls off right now and see how much you like it?” The thug cocked the gun, and rubbed its barrel all around the soft sack. He whispered in Sasuke’s ear. “Would you like me to blow your nuts off, little pony? I could do it, you know. I could tell boss that it was an accident, that you struggled.”

Sasuke didn’t answer, but the other young Yakuza in the room chuckled. The thug moved his gun barrel to point at Sasuke’s obscenely purple dick head, which was still dripping spunk.

“Mmm. Quite the faucet you have there. How about I blow off just the head? Want to feel your dickhead splatter all over your lover? I bet he would have liked that.”

No response. “No? Well, since you’re already strung up . . .” The low-life delivered a punch to the assassin’s dangling genitalia. Then, he invited the rest of his gang to do likewise. It was a long time before they let Sasuke’s bruised and distorted testicles drop back into their pouch, and let the marital arts master free of his restraints.

* * *

Deep in the bowels of a 100 story commercial tower was a perfectly square room. It was as large as half a football field, and it was the abode of the Jinryu-kai Clan. The front half of the space, a large hall, served as the audience chamber for clan socializing and rituals, the back half was the private quarters of the clan leaders.

Tonight, everyone was in attendance. At the back of the room sat all the lower level members, seated or standing in rows. In the middle of the hall was Sasuke, all eyes on him as he sat, kneeling, in his $3000 pure white Versace suit. In front of him was a small table which held a single cup of sake. In front of him, along the sides the hall sat the eight komon, advisers to the clan head. Each wore a kimono and all were seated on cushions which in turn rested upon tatami mats.

And finally, at the head of the room, cloaked in darkness was the Kumicho – clan head, and leader of the Jinryu-kai. He sat there, fat and sedate, like a Daimyo of old. Only a single light shined down on him, just enough to illuminate his face, and it hovered there, a fat oval of corruption and putrefaction. A man so steeped in the depravity of humanity that his eyes had a dead quality to them, like black beetles. Eyes completely devoid of sympathy or human empathy. His white face hung there, in the darkness, looking down from his dais at Sasuke, and when he spoke, it was as if gravel and smoke had taken shape and begun issuing demands.

“Young Kobun. You have served our family for so long and so well. You have made us proud many times in the past.”

Sasuke bowed his head to the floor.

“Your missions have brought honor to the clan. Your brothers and sisters whisper your praises.”

Sasuke bowed again.

“But now you have brought shame to us all. You are arrogant. You allowed a young man to survive and be a witness to your work. Our associates in Moscow are seiged by the Bratva. This is your failure.”

This time Sasuke felt a chill of terror run through him, and he kept his head pressed to the floor..

“The Russian’s have declared war on our clan, and it is all because of your fondness for men. Your weakness for shudō.”

There was a tittering of affirmation and derision from the komon. They also looked down at Sasuke, distain for his failure etched in their faces.

“Forgive me, father!” came Sasuke’s anguished voice from the floor.

“We do not forgive, young Kobun. We do not forget. Failure must be sown into the flesh. Pain is what you will find tonight.” The Kumicho’s face was like a pale moon, hovering in space. His skin had a gray cast to it, pitted with pox marks and the skin sagging and heavy.

“Hai!” replied Sasuke. What else could happen now, but Gisei – “the sacrifice”? Sasuke wasn’t really afraid of the pain, only the loss of face.

From the side of the room, a short woman in a blue butterfly patterned kimono shuffled towards him, carrying a very low, small table and a tantō, the Japanese ritual knife. She laid the table down in front of Sasuke, placed the knife on the table, picked up the other table with the sake on it and shuffled off into the darkness. Curiously there was no white handkerchief. Usually when a member was obliged to cut off part of his finger, he wrapped in a white cloth to present to the Kumicho.

Tradition demanded he show no fear. Sasuke steeled himself and immediately began the ritual to dismember his finger. He slid the tantō out from its scabbard, and placed his left hand, palm down on the table. He was about place the knife over his pinkie when he heard the Kumicho speak.

“Yamero! Foolish young Kobun. It is not a finger I want. You will crush your precious right kintama instead, as you have done to your victims countless times. Did you think we did not know of your activities? You will leave this room as half a man, or not at all. Kintama wo Tsubuse!”

Sasuke went pale. It was one thing to lop off his pinkie finger, quite another to smash his right ball. The humiliation of this cruelty was extreme. Then his thoughts paused . . . the method of his humiliation, however, was also perversely erotic. All of a sudden, his basic instincts were at war with each other

Again, Sasuke clenched his jaw. What could he do? He was going to have to present his nut and humiliate himself in front of his brothers and sisters. From now on they would muttering and giggle amongst themselves, behind his back, knowing he was only half a man. All the same, Sasuke’s dick twitched violently. Perhaps his chinpo was eager to lose one of its companions?

Slowly Sasuke reached to unzip his fly. He reached in and fished out his right nut. It was big. It was pink, and it was pulsing with life. It was a shame that he was going to lose it tonight instead of at the hands of some burly sadist. He pulled the bulbous gland into the open for everyone to see, and he rose on his knees so that the nut could lay the smooth, lacquered surface.

Then he took the blade and first pressed it against the table to test its flexibility. It was pliable but strong. Then, with a controlled flourish, he placed the flat of the blade on top of the chosen ball. He placed the palm of his left hand on the blade, and looked up at his Kumicho, his adopted father, the head of his clan, and waited for the go-ahead to destroy his family jewel.

The Kumicho looked at him impassively for a few moments, and then slowly nodded.

Sasuke grimaced and then began to press on the nut with all his might. The flat of the blade began to squash his testicle, causing it to flatten out. Sasuke pressed harder. He could feel his nut pancake. The pain shot up through his groin and into the pit of his stomach. He pressed harder. The nut was turning white under his hand, its veins bulging. Sasuke began to sweat, began to tremble slightly from the pain, but the harder he pressed, the harder his dick became. Yet another humiliation.

Sasuke discovered it was difficult to pop one’s own ball. As one increased the pressure, one naturally wanted to let up, to lessen the pain. Bile was rising in the back of his throat, and he was loosing the fight.

“Do not disgrace me, Kobun. Give up your manhood. You must reclaim your honor!” The grim, husky voice of the Kumicho could barely be heard over the pounding of blood in his ears. Sasuke began to press with all his might. He filled himself with rage: rage at his hard life, his loveless life, his brutal life, and he used this rage to overcome the most basic instinct a man possessed – to protect his livelihood. But his dick? It was as hard as a lodge-pole, and it strained at the fabric of Sasuke’s white slacks.

The flat of his hand was almost touching the table, and the ball-meat was reaching critical mass. Sasuke gave it one last ounce of effort.

In a single moment, in the dead silence of the room came . . . .

CRUNCH

, as Sasuke’s nut cracked under the pressure. The sound echoed against the walls. It echoed in Sasuke’s own ears, but being a dutiful Jinryu-kai, he didn’t stop at mere crushing..

To make sure the thing was destroyed, he pressed the blade as far as he could into the mass of flesh that had once been his ball, crushing and smooshing the gonad until all the remained of it was pure jelly. Sasuke’s body jolted with each press, like he was having one continuous seizure.

He squashed his scrotum as hard as he could, sweat running rivlets down his face. The ball was ruined. Pure spermatic soup, with no hope of recovery. If it were not for a lifetime of inhuman discipline, Sasuke would have passed out. Or vomited. Or both. Instead he just pressed his right testicle into goo.

“You have done well, little Kobun. Come and show us your plucked cherry.”

Still sweating and holding back a cry of agony, Sasuke rose from seiza to stand, and tottered up the length of his hall, his hanging scrotum having swollen into a big, red balloon.

He stopped in front of the dais, and felt a warm, fat set of fingers reach out. It grasped Sasuke’s offering. Sasuke felt the fist clench around his busted ball and begin squeezing the remains as if trying to juicing it. Sasuke moaned. He couldn’t help himself. It was pain unlike anything he’d every experienced. But the hand didn’t stop. It kneaded and squished the ruined nut for several minutes.

Sasuke started to pass out, and as he did so several other members of the clan ran up to catch him. The Kumicho finally let the ball bag go, but as he looked at his little assassin’s crotch he noticed a large wet spot, dripping Sasuke’s actual juice. As Sasuke was dragged away, the boss realized that sometime during the ball busting, Sasuke had cum. The Kumicho chuckled to himself. Honorable sacrifice was always worth watching, but ironic justice? That was even better.

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