Warning: contains castration

Brandon was sitting on his couch, wearing a blank t-shirt and boxer briefs. The day was peaceful, quiet, and just starting. He didn’t care about the things he had just been through anymore but still took the opportunity to use them as an excuse to get drunk, so while he sat waiting for the sun to finish rising, he kept drinking from the glass he wouldn’t finish until he physically could not pour anymore. He had just left his girlfriend over her cheating, he took a few days off from his job to “process things”. During his processing, he heard a knock at the door. He got up, didn’t care enough to check the peephole, and opened it.

His testicles were greeted with a full-force punch, and his knees kissed the ground. The pain was excruciating, and he looked up to see his ex-girlfriend, Callie, kneeling and pouting at him. She had on a black miniskirt, a tank top that had what looked like wet spots all over it, and thigh high socks under heavy Doc Martens. She pushed him into the doorway, and walked in. He tried to get up and pursue her, but collapsed again.

“Y-you need to leave,” he said.

She rushed back over, shut the door, and slapped him across the face. The slap caused one hand to instinctively fly to his face, which was her opportunity to rush downwards and push the other from his bruised nuts. She sent her hand up the leg of his briefs and grabbed his testicles, digging her nails into them and forcing a sharp yelp out of his mouth. She grabbed his hair with her other hand and dragged him into the living room, squeezing harder and harder.

“P-PLEASE STOP P-PLEASE PLEASE STOP,” he begged, struggling against her grips. She pushed him down, punched him in the gut to knock the wind out of him, and the in the nuts. He didn’t even know how to react, where to hold, where to protect, but it wouldn’t matter because Callie would twist his arm behind him, and quickly grab the other to put real handcuffs around his wrists. She grabbed his left foot and wrapped tape around his ankle, then wrapped the same tape to the far left leg of his couch, and back up to his ankle. She did the same with his right foot and far right couch leg, effectively immobilizing his legs, but he could still turn and thrash which would be a problem.

A bigger problem was the amount of noise he was making. Callie needed a gag and did not have one available, so she stood over Brandon, pulled her panties down with her delicate pussy in full view of her victim. She knelt down right up against his face.

“Please, p-please I’m sorry I’ll do whatever you want, please stop this pl-,” she grabbed his testicles hard causing him to squeal.

“Open your mouth,” she whispered in his ear. He complied, if only to spare his nuts from the searing pressure she was applying. She gently stuffed the panties in his mouth. “If you spit these out, I will stomp on your balls,” they were already soaked, but they didn’t exactly taste like her pussy. Callie taped over his mouth a few times, ensuring her panties would stay in his mouth, gagging him.

“They’re soaked in cum, by the way. I made sure to get fucked real good before coming here, and I didn’t wipe a bit of it out,” she said, smiling at him. He started to gag, but couldn’t. The pussy juice, cum, and spit mixed together and would slide down his throat. Brandon started to tear up and thrash harder, though he couldn’t break any of the restraints. Callie grabbed a chair from his table, placed it over his chest, and broke his left leg’s restraint. She held firmly onto the leg, pushed it in and under the chair, then through the side hole, so his leg bent around the leg of the chair. She re-restrained him and also secured his thigh to the chair leg, and then did the same on the other side. His legs were up and spread, presenting a completely soft dick and two swelling balls to her. He could still thrash his upper body, but this wouldn’t matter so much.

“It’s okay, it’ll be okay I promise,” she said, sitting next to him, legs spread so her pussy could still be seen when he turned his head to her. “Look, I know I cheated on you, but I was horny, and you weren’t there. What was I supposed to do?! But, you were the one that left, and I don't just get left. We were together for five months Brandon, you think I’m just gonna waste all that time? I can’t force you to stay, but I can make you regret leaving,” as she talked, she opened a small canvas backpack. She dropped a few tools, scissors, knives, a hammer, nails, a jar, a first aid kit, and a small bag with a few different colored pills. “Look, honey, I’m gonna make you really regret this, and there’s no going back after this point,” she grabbed his face violently and pushed it into the ground facing her, so his face was on level with her pussy which was still dripping cum. “I’m gonna let you choose, fast, or slow? Just shake your head for slow, and nod for fast,” but what she said didn’t matter as she grabbed his chin and shook it. “Slow it is!”

She put a few pillows under his head, but his thrashing kept pushing them aside, so she dragged his heavy armchair and struggled against him to have him sit up. She taped around the chair, securing his chest to it. He was unable to thrash, unable to move, only able to watch as she grabbed a pair of scissors and cut his boxers off. Brandon started to sob, but this did nothing for Callie. She enjoyed it even.

Once his boxers were removed, she started gently rubbing both his dick and balls, and once it was hard, she revealed a small, thin key with a long rope tied to it. “This is for your handcuffs, now you’ll have to get yourself out of them when I’m done so I’ll put it somewhere safe,” she tied the end of the rope tightly around his dick, then spit on the tip, and slowly inserted the key into his urethra.

She sat in front of him, and just looked at him crying, begging with his eyes for it to end. “You know, this sucks because I actually liked you a lot. Really liked your dick too.” She continued to just watch him. “You know, you should save those tears for when it really starts to hurt,” she teased. She reached for his balls, which caused him to flinch as much as he could in this state, and started rolling them around in her hand. She slowly started to add pressure, watching him writhe in the restraints. “You know what? I’ll let you choose, right or left?” He was terrified of what this choice would be, and just started rapidly shaking his head. “You know, that looks like you’re saying ‘both’, is that what you want? This is your only chance, right, or left?”

He took a moment, but eventually turned his head only to the left. She jumped up with joy, started dancing with excitement, moving her hips wildly up and down. Still standing, she put her hands to her knees and eyed her targets. He watched as she braced against the chair, lifted her leg as high as she could behind her, and slammed it faster than he thought possible into his testicles. The world seemed to slow down, it felt like he was watching her foot connect with his bare testicles for an eternity, then he felt the searing pain, nothing like he’d ever felt before. He screamed into the gag, but there might as well have been nothing coming out.

“Hmm, making a little too much noise for me. Let’s fix that,” she said, grabbing his phone, putting on his favorite playlist over his home speakers. “I want you to always associate these songs you love with what I’m about to do to your testicles, understand?” She grabbed his chin and made him nod, then reared up and kicked his testicles again, and again, and again. She did this for six minutes, over and over and over. Tears were streaming down his face, his balls were swelling, they had become black and blue, and he was in more pain than he thought possible.

She looked at him, crying, heaving, clearly just praying he could get out of here as soon as possible. She looked at his balls, swollen, misshapen, resting against the ground. She looked at him one more time, started snapping to grab his attention. “I want you to lock eyes with me,” she said, raising her boot high above the ground. She held it there for a second, just looking into his red, puffy eyes, then slammed her foot on his balls faster than lightning could strike the ground. She smashed his balls into the carpet while he screamed into his gag, as if she was putting out a cigarette. She slapped him, punched him in his stomach, chest, and face, even kicked his face. He was there to take her anger out on, every guy who fucked her over, every man who hurt her, he was all of them, and she felt relief, she felt empowerment, she felt like no man could fuck with her again.

She dug into the bag, and pulled out four rings, they didn’t have jewels but they were thick, and had intricate designs on them. She looked at Brandon, seeing him still sobbing, his head slumped over. She put the rings on each finger of her right hand, then with her left grabbed the base of his testicles. She looked at him once again, then started pounding his nuts into the carpet. Every punch got a squirm and shout out of him, but that didn’t matter to her. She had tunnel vision, only focusing on causing pain to this guy who, admittedly didn’t do anything fucked up to her, but was the straw that broke the camel’s back, or more fittingly the pound of force that caused the nut to rupture.

She punched over and over, and noticed he stopped squirming. She put a finger under his nose and felt breath, reassured that he only fell unconscious, she continued to beat his balls. After a few seconds he stirred awake again, and she knew it was probably time to start the second phase of her plan.

She grabbed a knife and held it to Brandon’s balls. His eyes grew wider and he started to shake his head violently to either side. His whole body was shaking, he was screaming against the gag but there was nothing he could do. “I’m going to remove the gag for just a moment, if you make any noise I will cut them off and they’ll be your new gag, do you understand?” She asked, with the knife pressing against his nutsack harder and harder, he locked onto her and nodded his head. “I mean it, any sound and I will cut them off. Beg, cry, scream, even whine, and I will make you swallow them,” she pointed the knife at him, he nodded again, and she ripped the tape off, pulled out the soaked panties, and turned around. He sat there, lips sealed, shaking uncontrollably, tears still streaming down his face.

She turned back around, and put the panties back in his mouth, retaped his mouth, and sat looking at him. The panties had a small object inserted into them that Brandon recognized as a pill. “Don’t worry, it’s just a roofie. It’ll kick in soon, but first, you chose lefty earlier, right?” He stared at her, shaking. “Who cares anyways, I promised you one, I’ll take one.” She separated the left testicle, tying just it off while the right hung freely. The roofie worked quickly, he was still conscious but she could tell this would change soon. She cut the restraints against the chair, and pushed it aside. She positioned the testicle under her knee, and leaned up against him, looking him in the eyes from just inches away. She grabbed his head, and just looked into the eyes she hoped she could look into every night. She put more and more pressure, until she felt the nut give. It was almost like she was gently kneeling on a grape, it eventually just gave out and ruptured in the sack. Unlike a grape, it swelled, the internals of the testicle flooded the sack but it was still one testicle, not turned to bits or mush like she thought it might.

Brandon’s face scrunched up and he wailed into the gag, she kept hold of his head and rubbed it gently while digging her knee into the remains of the nut. His wails turned to sobs and she removed her knee from the nut, looking at the huge misshapen mass inside his scrotum. She mounted him, his semi-soft cock, practically purple from the string, rubbed against her pussy. She rubbed his face and his head, and grabbed his chin. “Look at me,” she snapped, slapping him every few seconds until he managed to look at her. “Remember, I said I was only gonna take the one,” she looked him up and down for a second, then leaned in close into his ear and sharply whispered “I lied.”

She quickly reached down and started squeezing both of his nuts, which caused him to thrash more and more. She squeezed, slapped, and punched them until he slowed down, falling unconscious.

He awoke later, his hands cuffed in front of him, the tape ripped off. His wallet was on the ground, ransacked. He sat up, slowly pulled the key out of his dick and uncuffed himself, but as he was doing the second hand he looked up, and just in front of him was a jar full of a yellowish-red liquid. In the jar were two testicles, floating. Both had been ruptured, they had nails driven through them from multiple angles, Brandon reach down and his fears were confirmed. His balls were floating in this jar, his sack was empty, stitched, and sore. What he didn’t notice, was the camera behind him, recording him start to sob, drop back into a fetal position and cry. His breaths became short and fast, “My b-balls, my, m-my balls, p-please no I w-w-want m-my balls, p-please,” he sobbed and sobbed all while Callie recorded him.

Doctors could do nothing to save his balls, it had been too long and there had been too much damage. Even law enforcement was useless, when they did finally show up for a statement, Brandon would only hear from them when he called to ask about the case, which was always in progress with no serious leads.

For years, every few weeks he would get pictures, audio, videos sent to him, of him waking up and finding his testicles in a jar. From random numbers, emails, as normal files or even as TikTok or Instagram posts which would quickly be taken down. Callie would continue on with her life as normal. No evidence of it being her could be brought forth, while Brandon would walk life as a eunuch, afraid of women, and always with a testosterone patch just out of sight.