(M/self) BLAM -( a mini story) (somewhat violent) - NEW!

Lots of you will find this offensive, I'm sure, but I'm an artist and I feel compelled  to show you the things effecting my life as I create these stories, so. SUCK IT UP. lol. and I hope at least some of you enjoy it.

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.