cheers,
nicholas
BLAM
Scott
fiddled with the knobs until the shower was full of steam and steamy water. He
stepped in. Scott was tall, ripped and handsome, but he had some hair he wanted
to get rid of. His legs, arms, thighs, groin, even his ass. He razored himself
for a forty-five minutes until he was as smooth as a baby's bottom. Then he washed
himself with soothing soap and lather, and made himself squeaky clean. He
shampooed his short brown hair, and then turned everything off. He stepped out of the shower, his lanky body
matched by his lanky ballsack which swung between his legs totally carefree.
Only Scott knew what was in store for them.
He
went into the bedroom and pulled on two white socks and a white tee-shirt. He
checked himself in a mirror. His muscles where hard, his nipples erect, his
cock was tall and pulsing, and his balls loose and droopy. He was ready. He
walked over to the wooden chair, in front of camera #1 which was itself in front
of a full length mirror, and began to jack himself off with one hand and punch
his nutsack with the other. This first stage was to swell his testes a bit.
WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM as he breathed hard and leaked some precum, jamming his
fist into his solid nuts. He loved watching his gonads bounce around in the
mirror. He also loved the way the pain made his abs ripple. And the camera was
picking up every twitch of his body.
Scott
licked his lips in pleasure and doubled the fury with which he pile drove his
fist into his naked groin. WHAM WHAM WHAM Harder and harder he pummeled them
until they had doubled in size. Small spurts of prejack jumped out of his piss
slit and he fingered his dick-head so that he could bring the jizz to his mouth
and taste his last issue. With his pounding fist he started to pile drive it
downward so that he was punching his two balls into the hard surface of the
wooden chair. SMACK SMACK SMACK. The two testicles slipped around and warped
under the pressure of his huge male fist. If he didn't have other plans for
them tonight, Scott might have just continued pounding his puds until they
ruptured completely and he would have creamed into his own fist at that. But he had
something more exciting in mind.
With
reluctance the mostly naked sado-masochist stopped and moved to the next area. There
was a second camera set up, and he strapped himself into the makeshift chair.
It was designed so that when he reclined in it he was able to put his legs in
stirrups, and then spread them. Between his legs was a mechanized paddle on a
timer and it lifted and then smacked down on his groin every three minutes
pummeling his whole scrotum to mush.
Scott tied himself up, laid back, spread his legs, and then flipped on
the switch. The white paddle began to lift, one rachet at a time until it was
almost perpendicular and then SMACK it came crashing down on his two swollen
aggates. Then it began to rise again, inexorably, unfeelingly. It was the
anticipation of the next smack that made this such a horribly pleasurable
torture. Three more minutes and SMACK. The power of the paddle left Scot's
groin quivering like mutilated jelly and it made a deliciously sharp ache in
the pit of his stomach. Scott closed his eyes, relaxed his whole body and just
let the pain happen to him. The grown man drifted on the currents of agony and
ecstasy. There was something so transcendent about testicle pain. It was
primal, yet personal. Intimate but revealing. Scott visualized being some
medieval surf getting his genitals tortured in public for some horrible crime and then after
all his torture being hung by his scrotum until his balls were ripped from his
body, and the sexually exited crowd running up , ripping off his cock, and roasting
it over an open fire, dividing it up for everyone to eat.
SMACK.
Each sudden whap of pain between his legs interrupted his imaginings, each one
bringing him back to reality. He looked at the clock. It had been a half-hour
of this and it was time for the final phase of his plan. He let himself have
one last paddle. Up, up, up, he watched the paddle click to its full height and
then THWAP straight down on his naked nads. FUCK it hurt. But that was the
point, really.
Scott
flipped the machine off and untied himself. He was a little wobbly, but still
up to ensuring his balls' final demise. He went into the living room and closed
the curtains, the lights were on, and soft jazz was playing on the stereo. In
the center of the room was a super comfy recliner with two c tables on either
arm. One c table had white twine, a syringe and medicine bottle, several empty ampoules,
a sexy black handgun with six bullets in its cartridge. The other c table had a
small bucket filled with dry ice and water, a very sharp garrote, a pill, a
tumbler full of whiskey, a bottle of whiskey, a cell phone, a lighter and a single cigarette. Scott
had three cameras set up for this final event. One low between his legs, one
medium high on the left, and one up way high on the right. Across from him was
a couch which he'd draped with a pure white sheet which would catch and display
all the action. There was also a white sheet covering the recliner and a white
sheet on the floor. Scott was leaving nothing to chance. He sat down.
The
first thing to do was to take the Viagra. He swallowed it with some of the
whisky. Next he took the syringe and filled it with the anesthetic. He was
going to use it three places. The first two was to plunge the needle directly
into the heart of each testicle and empty a third of it into them. The last
third he injected into the base of his 9 inch dick. Scott sat back a little and
let the meds do their work. His hard dick became even harder, and his aching
balls went numb, although they still seemed to register basic pressure. He
experimentally squeezed his balls quite firmly and all he felt was an
uncomfortable pressure. Perfect. The ex-athlete stood up and took the six feet
of twine and began to bind up his balls. But it was a binding so tight that it
could be considered a tourniquet. First his whole package, then each individual
ball, then back to the whole package and finally just his engorged dick. His
cock and balls were huge, purple and standing out proudly from the pressure.
Perfect. He flicked his bound balls just to see them jiggle. They were roughly
the size of peaches now, and a more than easy target. He lit the cigarette and
took a long slow puff. He looked down at his purple package, pulsing with life.
Which should he kill first? The right one should go first of course. Scott languidly
put the ciggy down and picked up the gun. His left hand wrapped around the orb
and brought it up to the light. With his right hand he nuzzled the tip of the barrel
all round the smooth ball - the tool of destruction touring the soon to be
disaster sight. Scott's purple dick head gave off a spurt of pre-jizz in
anticipation, and Scott brought the muzzle up to it, and coated it with the
sperm, which he then brought to his mouth and licked it all off, tasting the
sweet musky, sticky mess that his livelihood was. Scott lifted the ball higher, so it could be
clearly seen in the cameras. Then he took the gun. He held the tip to the left
side of the ball and cocked the hammer. The tension was intoxicating. Would he
actually blow one of his own balls away? Would he make himself half a man in
the flash of an eye? With his left hand he picked up an empty ampoule and
covered his piss slit with it. There was no need to stroke himself at this
point, the very act of blowing away one of his own balls would be enough to make
him cum.
Another
swig of whisky, and another pull on the ciggy, and that little whisper in his brain which
said, "Aww. you're not going to go through with this you big woose,
you're such a looser anyway, no one's ever gonna fuck you and . . "
then
BLAM
As
the smoke cleared Scott saw bits of testicle and sperm splattered all over the
white sheets, both on the floor and on the couch. Big orange smears were
everywhere. And the ampoule was full of cum. Apparently he had spontaneously
ejaculated when his right ball had been blow apart. Excellent!
The
ampoule he closed and dropped into the bucket of dry ice. He took several lazy
pulls on his cigarette and another shot of whisky. He pondered his bigger left
nut. Yup, time for it to go, as well. This time he was going to shoot it length
wise, so he grasped his left ball with his left hand and made it stand up
right. In fact he stretched the whole thing to the arm chair so that Scott's
big left nut stood proudly along on the arm rest, tall and in charge, pulsing
pinkish-purple in the evening air. Scott picked up the gun and brought it to point
straight down onto the egg. The bullet would travel the whole length of the
gland and make it explode in all directions equally. Just for fun Scott pressed
down onto the ball to see if it caused any pain, but all he felt was pressure.
OK.
Time to do this one too. He looked over at the camera to his left to make sure
it was still recording and then
BLAM
The
bullet shredded his last morsel of manhood and sperm had splattered everything
he was wearing, the chair, the carpet and all the white sheets. Very little blood,
just lots and lots of tan sperm. Scott smiled with deep satisfaction. He looked
around as the mess he'd made and closed the second ampoule that his left hand
had kept over his piss slit to catch his second spurt of spunk. Scott stroked
his still whole penis a few times, and then used his gun to blow away any last
chunks of still whole nut meat BLAM BLAM BLAM
until his two lifelong friends were nothing more than cords and tubes which
disappeared up into his abdomen. Now is was time for the final phase.
Taking
a swig of whisky, and using both hands Scott began to jack his rigid member for
all he was worth, using semen as a lubricant and try to squeeze out one last
ejaculation. Faster and faster his two slick hands pistoning up and down until
he could feel the cum boiling up in his prostate and it spurted out into the
last ampoule which went from empty to overflowing with fizzy sperm in less than
a second. The orgasms from it rocked Scott's hard body and he moaned and
screamed at this, his last orgasm for life. It left him breathing hard and
shivering from exertion, though he didn't forget to close the ampoule and drop
it in with the others.
With
deep breaths he relaxed and took another smoke break. The warm cloud entered
his lungs and induced calm. Another shot of whisky and what the heck a little
dribbled of it onto his rigid member. Scott looked for a long while at the pulsing
purple dick head in front of him, and then picked up his gun, ran its tip round
the contours of the organ, trying to remember it shape and its color and its
density. Just when Scott had decided that the male glans was probably the most glorious
development of natural selection and the most beautiful part of the male
physique, Scott cocked the hammer and BLAM,
Scott blew his own dick-head right off. Part of it flew down the hall, still
partially intact, while the rest of it ended up as little bits of hamburger
that covered the sperm-stained white sheets. Scott now had a clean, headless
dick, which was amazing to look at. A smooth long shaft pulsing with life.
Scott gleefully picked up the garrote and wrapped it around the base of the shaft,
just above the twine. and with one swift pull, the garrote lopped of his whole
shaft which landed on the chair with a thud. Scott picked up the pink, veined
shaft and admired it, and then dropped it into the Whisky bottle, giving new
life to the term "Whisky Dick." Then he stood up and using the garrote,
sliced off what was left of his scrotum which landed on the floor with a squishy
"SPLAT". Scott broke out laughing. He couldn't help himself. Such a
huge weight to be lifted from his shoulders about "being the man" and
"towing the line" and "taking it like a man". Now he could
take it any fucking way he wanted to, and fuck everyone else. He was an
"it" now, and subject to no external pressures from society. When his
laughter died down. He sat back down, poured himself another whisky, and sucked
on his ciggy. Eventually he turned on his cell phone and called 911."Man
in his home, who's accidentally blown off his privates in a gun accident."
"Yes, we'll have an ambulance there right way, sir. Stay warm and don't
move." *click
Scott
just laid back in the chair, at peace with the world, smiled, and smoked his
cigarette until the ambulance came. It had been a good night. And he and his
friends would have endless nights to watch it all over again. Over and over and
over.
