u/Remote_Protection512

She replaced his clipboard, set the chair behind the next man, sat and picked up his. "Walter Palmer! DDS!" She lowered it and looked him over. "Dentist, huh?" He didn't answer, just breathed fast and deep through his nose. "I'd expect someone so well educated to know better than to fucking resist." She cleared her throat. "49 years old! Six feet two inches! Hair brown slash graying! Eyes hazel brown! Crimes! Sedition, one! Sexual molestation! Three hundred forty-seven!" He heard paper flip. "Detailed! Sedition! Officer! General staff! Responsible for large-scale strategic planning! Ohio River Valley Offensive! Great Lakes Counter-offensive! Reorganization of defensive perimeter! Minnesota! Iowa! Illinois! Wisconsin! Michigan! Indiana! Ohio! Pennsylvania! Sexual molestation! Three hundred forty-seven different women complained of being groped while under general anesthesia during dental surgeries! Suspect groped their breasts! Buttocks! Thighs! Vaginas! Feet!" She tossed the clipboard clattering to her left and stood. She knelt before him with a look of simple legality on her face.

He glared at her. Her expression did not change. He scrunched up his nose, snorted, and spat in her face. It slimed over her nose, upper lip and left cheek. She did not blink. She had not flinched. Her expression remained the same. It was as if he had spat on a statue. She looked up beyond him to the long table behind Flynn, stood without glancing back down at Walter Palmer and walked away from him. He blinked to the floor. Flynn heard the fridge open, close, and then she returned to Walter Palmer, knelt before him and held up an extra-large garlic press. He didn't know what he was looking at and she didn't say a word. Her face was dry and clean.

She unfolded the steel handles and turned the cup toward him. Its bottom was filled with tiny holes like a salt shaker. She held up two large, freshly-peeled cloves of garlic, reached and held them under his nose. He winced and turned away. She dropped them into the cup, flipped down a pestle, then closed the handles. She turned the cup toward him and squeezed the handles together fast. The garlic crunched loudly through the holes. Her eyes never left his. His did leave hers and watched the garlic mince out as yellow goo. His eyes widened and looked back into hers. Hers blazed fiery rage. Walter Palmer could no longer mask his terror. He knew she would do it. He knew there was nothing he could say or do to dissuade her. And his tough exterior collapsed in that instant. He started shaking and his lips drew wide across his face, shut tight in a trembling frown. Tears dripped from his right eye to the floor. He had cocked his head to the right, and the tears of his left eye pooled at its inner corner until they welled over the bridge of his nose and streamed down his right cheek.

She stood and his eyes opened bright white as she disappeared behind him. His panting shuddered up and he yelled, "HELP!!! HELP!!!" The echoes circled and banged into each other. "HELP!!!! JESUS CHRIST SOMEBODY HELP ME!!! GET THIS GODDAMN PSYCHO AWAY FROM ME!!!" She sat and pulled his balls up and to his right. She was not sitting directly behind him. "PLEEEEEASE!!!! FOR CHRIST'S SAKE HELP ME!!!!" He felt fingertips stuff his right nut into the cup, and it spread snugly to all sides. He heard the pestle flap down and then felt it press cold against his nut. It rested against his epididymis. "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST DON'T FUCKING DO THIS JESUS!!!! NO!!! NOOOO!!!!!!" Walter Palmer had been a tenor in his youth. Now he was what Italians called a "pushed-up baritone" but he had by far the loudest voice yet of her victims. She looked up and saw Flynn gritting his beautiful teeth and wincing away, eyes shut but blinking narrowly. She winked and he opened them. He watched her slowly clench the press's handles in her left hand. "NOOO!!!! NOOOOOO!!!!! JESUS FUCK STOP!!!!" The handles came slowly closer. "NO!!! DON'T!!!! STOP!!! STOP IT!!!!!" Closer.

The first mild twinge of ache rose from his nut to the spermatic plexus in his lower belly. She closed the handles a little more. "AAAGGHHH!!! STOP IT!!! GODDAMMIT!! YOU FUCKING CUNT!! STOP!!!!" Flynn would not have been able to hear the bright mirth in her laughter amid the deafening resonance of Walter Palmer's voice, but he saw her pretty teeth open wide as she threw her head back. He watched her shake with it. She squeezed the handles a little more. His nut flattened a little more and he shrieked. She scraped the chair back, scraped it again, reached over and yanked his head up to the right, and grinned at his expression. Unbridled, overwhelming terror. She squeezed a little more. His ball yelped and the yelp did not stop. "AAIEE!!!" Now it was that awful, churning anguish as his testicular wall stretched. It had not reached the level of pain caused by a full-force kick, but it would in only a second or two and the pain would not diminish as it does when a man crumples with his hands cradling them between his thighs and rocks over and over. "I'LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING!!! I'LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING!!!" His heart was holding steady at 150 beats per minute and he was now breathing at the same rate.

She squeezed a little harder. He howled straight in her face in a ragged falsetto as his testicle began to deform into the holes of the garlic press just like a balloon. He didn't notice his sack begin to rip apart because his testicular wall's pain far outweighed his scrotum's. His eyes were shut tight, his lips sucked in and his howl rang back down into a chest-voiced soprano. He pissed down his right thigh into the drain and then shit blasted across the entire room. She and Flynn both turned their heads to watch it go and she laughed inaudibly as it spattered the legs of two of the four men at the opposite wall. She squeezed a little harder and his howl shrieked up into sobbing falsetto wails, intermittent between deep gasps. Blood dripped from the garlic press. If she applied the slightest amount of pressure more than his ball was now held at, its walls, stretched into little bubbles through the holes, would finally shatter open.

Flynn saw her open her mouth, recline in the chair, and her inner thighs rippled heavily as she bucked her hips. Walter Palmer was thrashing wildly, knees and ankles chafing against their shackles and Cassandra, holding the press in her left hand and Palmer's hair in her right, screamed at the ceiling and came so hard a fat stream of juice spewed from her pussy straight at Flynn. She sat twenty-five feet away and her cum spattered warm over his face, throat and chest. For five seconds a single thick spurt of cum jetted in a high arc from her pussy to his skin. If she was screaming, he couldn't hear her over Walter Palmer's frantic gasping wails. She still had not squeezed the press any harder. Her orgasm bombarded her whole body and she slid down in the chair, raised her knees to her breasts, writhing and shaking. The chair rattled against the floor and cum spewed again from her puffy lips, a great, fat arcing jet for four seconds, twenty-five feet through the air, splattering warm all over Flynn. He stood stock-still in awe.

As her orgasm began to subside she blinked her eyes clear and slowly lowered her knees, feet shaking as they found the floor. She shuddered as she pushed herself back up in the chair. Her nipples stood out a fourth of an inch from her areolas, a fourth of an inch thick, rich pink and pointing slightly aside, huge tits jiggling with a last surge of euphoria. Walter Palmer's screeching sobs of agony flooded the room. She looked over at him, eyes shut, mouth wide. Now his tongue was curled up to the roof. She squeezed the press shut.

His right ball squished with very much the same sound as the garlic through the holes of the cup and minced out in bloody orange goo. A crunchy squelch as air rushed into the holes where his tunica albuginea was splitting open and then rushed back out with bubbly blood and his nut's contents. Only she heard it. Blood sprayed the floor. She would tell Flynn later that the contents are called "seminiferous tubules" and they are what manufacture sperm. They do not have any nerve endings. It is the gristly tunica albuginea's job to protect them and it will not tolerate being damaged. Walter Palmer's plangent yells shut off in that instant and his eyes flew wide, pouring tears, but he didn't look at her. He was looking all around, trying to find a way out from the pain. His lips were both sucked in and his tongue spasmed forward then. Drool splashed out and dripped from his chin.

She squeezed the press as hard as she could. The echoes died away and Flynn heard a popping crackle. Palmer's tunica albuginea was fracturing apart through the holes. Flynn shut his eyes and gagged. He now realized that a testicle's walls had the very same texture and toughness as the gristle in a steak, and his teeth felt the phantom slippery rending of gristle as he heard Walter Palmer's testicle rivening into pieces.

She opened the press and shook out his ragged sack. The pulp plopped at her feet as she took a last look at his face, eyes and mouth wide, drool coating his chin and sliming to the floor. She smiled and sat up behind him, stuffed his left testicle into the cup and closed the press. The room was now horridly silent as she looked up to Flynn. Her eyes gleamed pure happiness and he whimpered, "Just do it quickly." She closed her eyes as she shook her head, then chuckled as she started squeezing. Perhaps crushing it quickly would have spared Walter Palmer a little pain, but three hundred and forty-seven counts of sexual molestation are a lot to answer for. He had to pay to the last penny.

She took about the same amount of time, some three full minutes, to crush his left testicle, but Palmer did not scream again. He only gasped and whimpered weakly, faster, faster, as the press deformed his nut through the holes. When she squeezed it as tightly as it could withstand, scrotum split apart and dripping, she held it there for ninety seconds, admiring how the walls were bulging out of the holes. Palmer writhed and whimpered like a whining dog, shackles jangling a little.

And then she squeezed the garlic press shut and the whole room now heard what only she had heard before, that squelching burbling crunch. Then the crackling grinding of the testicle's walls. The man to Palmer's left threw up into his drain. She winked at Flynn and his horror hitched up in his breath. The sound had made him nauseous, but he fought it down. He would have to keep whatever food and liquid she gave him inside for as long as he could.

She opened the press and shook out the pulp, set the press on Palmer's back and retrieved the burdizzo, staple gun and razor from behind Lee Bradley. He watched her go and then looked back at Palmer's contorted face. "Jesus..." Bradley whispered. It was as if Walter Palmer had just seen the true face of God and been driven instantly insane. Then Bradley winced his eyes shut at those celery crunches, three per cord. Palmer didn't react. He just lowered his head, mouth wide and drooling into the drain. Three more crunches. The man to Palmer's left threw up again and she laughed. He dry-heaved a loud groan and started spitting.

The staple gun clacked clacked clacked clacked clacked. She stood and set her tools in a pool of her cum in the center of the chair, picked up the hose and rinsed the center of the room back toward Palmer, into his drain. Shit, blood, and two pulped testicles. Then she walked back to him, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Flynn licked his lips. He hadn't thought to do so until then. Her cum was delicious. Tangy, sweet, musky.

She stood and said to the room, "Three hundred and forty-seven counts of sexual molestation! I already looked over your dossiers yesterday, men!" She turned to Flynn and growled, "And Walter Palmer will not suffer the worst pain in this punishment cell today!"

She took a deep breath, sighed, and said, "Lunch Break!" She passed Flynn and he heard something open. "You hungry?"

"Yeah."

"You like Chinese food?"

"Yeah," he said over his shoulder. He couldn't see her.

"Won ton soup?"

"Uh, yeah...it's...one of my favorites."

"Me, too." The door shut. It was a fridge. Another opened and clacked shut, and he heard a long whir. A microwave. She returned to his side.

"If you really can ejaculate a whole quart of cum, that means they gave you the full treatment. Your genetic enhancement form was signed off on by your parents or guardian and there was an optional procedure next to which they checked the "yes" box. A fairly minor surgery. You know what I'm getting at?"

"My seminal vesicles?"

"Right. They made an incision above them in the bottom of your abdominal wall. Now did you take the hormone supplements they gave you?"

"Yes."

She grinned. "Then your vesicles have grown to accommodate all the extra space they could take. One quart sounds possible, although I really do think your're exaggerating."

He shook his head. "I wouldn't lie to you after what I've seen. I promise, I really did cum a whole quart one time. Only once. And never more than that. But one pint is a genuine average."

She smiled merrily at him. "Alright! Well, it's gonna be great to find out! But you're going to need a TON of water and salt. Both. And just like you said, a couple days of rest to...replenish." She suddenly widened and narrowed her eyes at him. It was the most terrifying expression he had yet seen from her. The microwave dinged. She walked behind him. He took a deep breath, looking around the room at the results of her debaucherous savagery. He swallowed as he heard her return. She held up a quart pitcher filled almost to the brim with steaming won ton soup, dumplings at the bottom. "I tasted it and it's the perfect amount of hot! But let it touch your lips first, then let me know."

He nodded and tilted his head up. She held the rim to his lips and when the soup touched, she lowered it. He licked and said, "That's fine. Tastes good." She slowly tipped the pitcher at his mouth and steadied it on his lips while he drank. She held the bottom with her right. He gulped down half of it in one breath then paused and she heard him breathe long through his nose, then slowly drank the rest. Four dumplings slid up to his lips. He gulped each one, chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed. He finished it all.

She lowered the pitcher to her side and stroked his throat. "Good?"

He panted a little to catch his breath and nodded. "Yeah. Thanks. I was...hungrier than I thought."

"You want some water? You know, 'cause it was salty?"

He took a deep breath and shook his head. "I think I'm good for now." She smiled and leaned in, kissed him, and he tilted his head, opened his mouth, and they French kissed for one minute, enjoying the taste. She slurped away and her eyes had taken on their familiar malignant coquetry, a sadistic narcissism, and she went behind him. She loved herself as much as he loved himself. But she also loved torturing people and this dungeon was a candy store to her. He heard the fridge and the microwave again. Then her hands gently patted against his asscheeks and began massaging them, kneading into their soft muscle, squeezing, hefting them up. He felt her breath on his left trapezius and she kissed it slowly up his neck, licked his ear. Flynn Fitzherbert's cock started rising. Now it was a few degrees above horizontal, thirteen inches long, three and a half inches thick, and while her left hand rolled around in his asscheek, he felt her right fingers ease up between his thighs and knead into his taint, pressing hard, no nails, just fingers, pinching his urethra and massaging it up into the root of his sack. He opened his mouth and closed his eyes. His head turned up to the ceiling and he started slowly, gently thrusting his hips forward. She grinned and massaged up at the base of his cock. It stood fourteen inches long, over three and a half inches thick at an upward 45-degree angle. The microwave dinged. Her hands left him.

He stood panting, heart pounding and opened his eyes. His cock held at about fourteen inches, glans rich purplish red. He felt his balls begin to lower, and then his sack stretch tight. She reappeared with the pitcher at her lips, chugging soup. He realized he felt nothing running down his mouth. He hadn't spilled a drop and now he saw why. She wasn't spilling a drop, and drinking that much of anything from a pitcher without letting it seep around the corners of your mouth is virtually impossible, but she was doing it and the soup was slowly disappearing. It was her control of the pitcher. She tilted her head back farther, eyes closed, farther, full, wavy brown hair brushing the top of her voluptuous ass, throat rolling down and up, down and up. She swallowed the dumplings whole in four voiced gulps, throat flexing wide, narrowing, flexing, narrowing. She finished it with a quick breath out and a long gasp in, panting toward the men in cages, belched, and turned to Flynn licking her lips. She didn't falter when she looked at his cock. She didn't have to look down at it, just looked him in the eyes and could see it fine, almost vertical in front of him. She chuckled and the chuckling turned to giddy laughter. She walked to him, set the pitcher to the left of his head on top of his cage and grinned into his eyes. Her lush, green irises purred ruthless bloodlust. His cock began to soften.

"Something tells me you won't last very long," she murmured from a gurgling throat wet with soup. "So I'm going to make your balls two nice achy distractions for you!" He licked his lips. Then nodded humbly. Those green, malevolent eyes finally turned away from his and he sighed as she walked away. His cock was still softening, despite her ass. She took the chair from Robert Gentzel's cage and set it behind the next, this one the last of those facing the opposite wall. Five faced that wall, five faced the left wall, and four faced the right wall. This last one was angled diagonally into the corner.

She sat and held up the clipboard. "Lee Bradley! 36 years old! Hair brown. Eyes brown. Crimes! Sedition! One! Breaking and entering! Nine!" She flipped the page. They all waited. "No violence against other people. Alright." She set the clipboard on Gentzel's back. He shuddered, then went back to silent pants. He farted blood and shit gurgling to the floor. "Nothing to say?" she asked. Lee Bradley didn't respond. "Bradley?"

"Oh. Um...well, since you asked..."

She stood and knelt onto her right knee before him, hair wild to the floor. He watched it all spill over and then looked back to her. "Yes?" she asked. Her eyes were vibrantly emerald. She didn't look angry, but her head was almost upside down to him, so he wasn't sure.

"Um...I enjoy ball torture." He swallowed and waited. She shrugged. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Whatever you do to me, I'm going to enjoy it." He bravely glared. He was terrified. "So go right ahead! Do your worst!" She smirked immediately.

"You think I haven't heard shit like that before?" she asked. "Good old reverse psychology? Well, unfortunately, it doesn't work that way to begin with. Even if you're telling the truth, everyone has limits! Pain is a great equalizer! Eventually, it humanizes all of us! No matter how tough you are, or how sexually perverse, in the end, there can be 'too much'! Okay? And when that happens? You're going to scream just as musically as the rest!" She closed her eyes at the word "musically." She watched him. He sighed, swallowed and looked at the floor under him. A single tear dripped from his right eye. He didn't blink. His mouth didn't quiver.

She stood and sat behind him. "That being said, you're not much worse an offender than John Fulp, so this will be...fairly quick." She put her right hand on his ass and looked him over. His dick was totally limp but dangled quite a ways from him. His balls were plump and heavy. She stood and padded away a few steps, then padded back. He heard tape unrolling, then a rip, and felt her warm hands. His balls raised and tape firmly smoothed between them, around his left one and firm to the sling he hung in, then firm back between his balls along his taint, stopping just before his asshole. She patted both his asscheeks. His cock was stiffening slowly, and she laughed a little as she watched his pulse hastening in it, throbbing up harder, faster.

She stood, moved the chair aside, and backed up a few steps. "Your balls are nice and big, but as low as they hung, I'd never rupture them. And I do have to rupture them, Lee Bradley! To teach you a lesson about breaking and entering!"

She heard him sigh. "Just..." he said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what I did. Guess that means..." she heard him gulp, "just...be as gentle as you can...please."

"Well that's about as polite as I've heard so far," she said. "You got it, bud." And she snapped her right foot up between his thighs as hard as she could, every muscle in that leg flexed huge, ass rippling up to her waist, and smashed Lee Bradley's balls flat and warm across from thigh to thigh. The smack reverberated five times and Flynn heard Lee Bradley growl out a long, bass groan. He shook in his sling but did not scream. She was already drawing her leg back, stood on her toes and didn't wait. She snapped it forward again and this impact was more of a splash, louder and meatier. Lee Bradley bellowed in his bass voice and it took one full second for his voice to change. It rose with his head from bass through tenor and alto into a falsetto howl as his squirming erupted fiercely. His howl was immediately desperate and rapid-fire, warbling higher between his pants.

"There went your right one!" she shouted over him. "Felt the pop on the right side! It's not bad though! Here comes the left!" She stepped to her right, measured back in the swirling, metal ringing of his frantic screams, and snapped her left up so hard his cage left the floor four inches. The splash hurt Flynn's ears more than the cage crashing down. Lee Bradley's screaming yiped silent and then a low, trembling groan whimpered up as the pain bloomed into his belly and wrenched everything tight, squeezed around him and he flopped his head up and down, the only part of his body he could move. "There we go! I had to make sure with that one, Lee! If it hadn't popped, your right nut would have had to take another!"

She replaced the chair and sat behind his shaking body, shackles jangling. "But, I'm sorry, kiddo. The ruptures were just for the first two counts of breaking and entering. This is for the other seven. Try to think about those while I do this!" She yanked the tape off and his balls flopped down, cock completely limp. She seized one ball in each hand, rolled them around until she felt the ruptures yield in weakly and Lee Bradley screeched back to life around the dungeon as she dug her thumbs into the spots where his testicular walls had ripped open and the contents were protruding. She jiggled and kneaded hard, massaging inward while he screeched as high as a hawk, ragged and gasping, head pointed at the ceiling. Flynn could hear how she played the music out of his voice and envisioned what she was doing, stretching the ruptures wider, pushing her thumbs in deeper, squeezing the pulp back into his balls. Flynn listened to his voice suddenly gasp and pant higher still, a terrified quavering wail and that was Cassandra squeezing his balls tight around in her fists so the pulp would burst out through the ruptures again. Then she dug her thumbs in some more and Lee Bradley felt his testicular walls tearing open wider. His wail crested over into a quiet keening bleat, he lowered his head parallel to the floor and she slid the chair farther to the right out from behind him, stretching his balls around with her. Now Flynn could see her thumbs dug in to their first knuckles inside his balls, wriggling them around in slow circles, then up and down, and Lee Bradley's mewling bleat suddenly croaked and he vomited with a loud shrieking quake into the drain, a full stomach's worth.

"There we go!" she sang and released his nuts. His dry-heaving began and would have continued for several minutes had she not put him out of his misery. She reached behind her, took the razor from Gentzel's back, snatched Lee Bradley's nuts up in her left hand, he puked a mighty wave of nausea, and she brought the razor up beneath them, sawing back and forth just above her knuckles. Flynn groaned and shut his eyes. He heard the scrotum ripping. Lee Bradley puked again and then diarrhea splashed out three feet behind him across the floor. That was why she had moved aside. She remained totally clean. "Ready?" she asked Bradley brightly, and yanked the blade back to her once more. Blood splattered her right arm up to her biceps, all over her left forearm, and she held Lee Bradley's balls in her left hand as she stood. Shit blasted from him again and he heaved a weak, plaintive whimper as stomach acid dribbled from his lips and nose.

"Ten seconds and it'll start dying down!" she said. She set the bloody razor open on Gentzel's back and walked out and around behind Robert Fulp toward the door. She knelt on both knees in front of his face and he looked up. His eyes were still deep red and full of tears but his face was calm. She held up Lee Bradley's nutsack.

"I'll make you a deal, John! You eat both of these, and I'll give you a nice, long handjob right now!"

He swallowed, glanced at them, then back to her. He was now fully attentive but frowned.

"Your seminal vesicles are still completely full of cum. And your body still has all its testosterone. When you get back to your cell, if you want, you can still jerk off one last time! Fully ejaculatory! It'll feel just as good as usual! The effort won't hurt your spermatic cords! Or!" She grinned. "You can eat both of Lee Bradley's balls right now, and I mean chew them up well and swallow them! Don't spit them out! Don't puke! And I promise, I'll jerk you off right here, right now!"

His lips quivered. He panted deep and fast through his nose. He bared his teeth at her and swallowed. She blinked and shook her head with a smile, still holding a severed nutsack by her face, "Don't say something you're gonna regret!"

He sighed shakily, blinked down to the floor, and then shook his head. He looked back up and nodded. He didn't want to do it, but he was a 17-year-old virgin being offered his final ejaculation by the most gloriously beautiful woman he had ever seen, even if he did hate her. "Oh, boy!" she squealed and dropped the balls into her hand, tossed the sack to the floor beneath David Andersen's drooling lips and clenched eyes, and dangled the first testicle before John Fulp's trembling lips. He gazed at it dully, a jagged hole mangled inward to the size of a dime, orange contents hanging over the bluish white skin, then breathed deep and opened his mouth. She set it on his tongue and he closed his lips. "No! No! Show me your teeth!"

He grinned emotionless at her. "Put the nut between your molars and show me!" He slowly opened his mouth and rolled the nut in between his left molars. "Now bite down hard but keep your lips open!" He breathed deep, shut his eyes, and crunched. The nut exploded like bloody putty across his tongue, filling the space between his teeth and his cheek, bursting over his bottom lip and streaming down his chin. He shivered his eyes tighter. "Chew! Keep those lips open!" He gulped without moving anything. All his food remained in his mouth. He gulped again. "Chew! You can do it!" He opened his teeth and clenched again. The tunica albuginea clung to his upper teeth. He opened them and it plopped onto his lowers. "Use your tongue! Swish it around!" He did so, not closing his lips. Orange meat juiced with saliva dribbled onto his chin. She fingered it back in. "Alright, close your lips and swallow!"

He quickly closed his lips and gulped with a growl. He gulped again, shutting his eyes as the bitter pulp of a man's nut swished out from his cheeks and slid over the back of his tongue. The sudden increase in bitterness made him grunt. He swallowed but his stomach started churning. He bucked, heaved hard over, chin to his chest, screaming a growl through his nose. It was irate, raging fury as he fought to keep it down.

Then his stomach gurgled, she saw his abs ripple and he quickly calmed into rapid panting. He retched, gulped, and carefully let out a burp.

He opened his eyes and there was another testicle dangling before them, a mangled hole twirling by with orange guts protruding. She was spinning it by the cord. He shook his head in disbelief. He slowly opened his mouth. It lowered onto his tongue and he closed his left molars around it with his lips open. "No. This time your right molars," she said. He glared up at her. That only made her cock her smile wider at him. He quickly swished it across his tongue under his right molars, opened his lips wider and glared angrily at her as he bit down. It burst into ooey-gooey bitterness, the consistency of oatmeal, all over his mouth. He felt it splash the backs of his incisors. He panted and never left her gaze as he chewed it up, swished it around, wincing at its flavor but not closing his eyes from hers, and then she said, "Alright." He quickly swallowed.

But it was the same problem as before. His bitter taste buds didn't have to deal with the worst of its flavor until the end and the saliva that slimed over them, mixed with mashed testicle was too much bitterness all at once. His stomach retched hard before it was all the way down, so he gulped hard against it. He gagged. He barfed into his mouth with his lips shut tight. Vomit drooled from his nostrils. He gulped all of it back down again, but now he tasted testicles and vomit. He retched it all back into his mouth. His nose slimed to the floor. He growled and shuddered against his cage, opened his eyes and glared at the floor as he gulped it all down again. She chuckled as she listened to it wash down his throat. And it would have stayed this time. Except the last thing he felt was one of the testicular walls, flat and tattered, ooze in the bitter, acidic sludge over the back of his tongue. Its jagged shape tickled his throat, and he heaved in a huge wave up to his jaws and puked everything in a long gargling slurry into the drain. He coughed, gagged, and blew his nose. The vomit just slimed longer. He couldn't see through his tears and he didn't need to. He slowly shook his head.

Then he felt the towel wiping his mouth, his chin. She fluffed it and found a clean spot, wiped his eyes, and then pinched his nose shut. He blew it and she cleaned it for him. Then she tossed it up onto his back and smiled at him. "Plenty of chances left!" Then she stood and walked behind him. He whimpered at the floor and spat.

Lee Bradley was no longer squealing or puking, just shivering out his breaths as slowly as he could, trying to calm down. "See?" she said as she walked to the back. "Pain's already gone for the most part!" She returned with the hose and rinsed his ass and thighs, then set the hose down, picked up the burdizzo from behind Gentzel and raised it inside Lee Bradley's open sack, settled it around his right cord and said, "Unfortunately, this next part is required so you don't bleed to death. And most men concur that it feels exactly the same as their balls being crushed." Lee Bradley whimpered heavily. "Yeah, well, you'll only feel it once in each cord. I promise the pain will be almost completely gone in about ten minutes!" Crunch.

He shrieked his head at the ceiling again and his shriek didn't stop, just wavered on and on after she let go. She crunched beneath the first crimp. His shriek did not change. She shook her head with a smirk and crunched his left cord. His shriek shot up in pitch and stopped as the agony blasted through his bowels to his diaphragm. He flexed tight and undulated from his groin slowly up to his shoulders, head slowly lifting. Then she let go and crunched again. He lowered his head as slowly as his body began to relax. "There we go," she soothed. "Already going away. Just keep breathing and be patient."

Then a fiery pinch made him jerk up into a feeble whine. His chains rattled. Another fiery pinch and the pinch did not release. Four more pinches and his whine sniffled down into soft weeping. "There we go! It's over, kiddo! Well done!" She set the stapler on the floor and patted both his asscheeks, squeezed and massaged them, smearing them with blood. "You got a great ass! You do squats!" She gently stroked them while he squirmed and shuddered out his sobs. "Great dick, too! I'll bet it was ten inches, right? Nine or ten?" He moaned, gulped and burped, spattered drool to the floor. "Shame about it." She kneaded her fingers around in the smooth softness. "Well!" She slapped both cheeks as she stood, "You think about that when you get back to your cell!"

Flynn listened to the sink run for a couple minutes. When she reappeared, her body was clean and she had the hose. She picked up and rinsed the paddle first, tossed it by the chair, and then rinsed David Andersen's upturned ass until he was soaked all over. Flynn could then see clearly that his scrotum had been torn open into a ragged gaping hole, and it immediately bled anew. The paddle had exploded everything inside and out. Andersen was shuddering weakly and made no sound except for quick hitches of breath. John Fulp and the next man watched his face. Andersen could not open his eyes.

She returned the hose and padded back, splashing through water and blood. Her footsteps made the dungeon sound dank. She picked up Andersen's clipboard and replaced it, then set the chair behind the next man. "Miss?" he spoke quietly.

"Shut the fuck up till I've read this," she muttered and picked up his clipboard. The man shivered. "Robert Gentzel. 26 years old. 5 feet 11 inches. Hair black. Eyes brown. Crimes. Sedition, one. Rape, three. Sexual assault, one. Burglary, one." She tossed the clipboard over her head and stood with a sigh.

"Miss, I just have a last request! It isn't much." He sounded perfectly calm, but this wasn't her first rodeo. He wasn't calm. He was trying to calm her with his voice so perhaps she'd be a little merciful.

She walked around and leaned over. "What is it?" She didn't sound or look angry. But she didn't really sound like she was going to grant his request either.

He swallowed and took a deep breath. "Um...I know you're going to castrate me. I won't try to beg my way out of that. But whatever you do to me...um..." his lips quivered and he wept his next words, "could you just cut them off quickly? Like that guy Fulp? Please?"

She looked at him for a moment, then walked back and picked up his clipboard. He heard the page flip. "Detailed. Sedition, infantry. Rape. Victims aged 57, 61, and 71. Sexual assault. Suspect, armed with a hammer, forcibly entered the home of a 71-year-old widow, fought with and overpowered her, shoved her to the floor and violated her vaginally with the handle of the hammer." She returned to him, squatted and showed him the page. "See? I didn't make that up." She scowled. "Ask me that question again."

He regarded her with what he had hoped was well-hidden fear, but the more he beheld her scowling eyes, the less he could hide it. And then the fear took over. His jaw and lips began quivering strongly and great fat tears welled in his eyes. They finally dripped down his cheeks, one each. Her first thought was that he looked exactly like a 6-year-old child whose parents force him to watch them burn his favorite stuffed animal to ash as punishment.

She finally smiled. She had been trying not to, but she looked at his terror too long. She suddenly widened her eyes and then narrowed them. His silent quivering became a quiet whimper. Then he opened his mouth and it rose a little in volume. Barely louder than a whisper. "You know why you're crying, Robert Gentzel?" He couldn't answer. He couldn't make his mouth do anything but twitch. "You're crying because you've got a pretty good idea of what I'm about to do to you." She disappeared behind him. He was sobbing now in broken, irregular gasps.

She passed Flynn and returned with the black rubber end of the dildo, disconnected from the steel vibrator, and a board about three feet long, eight inches wide and one inch thick. In her right hand she held a large black rubber mallet. She glanced up at David Andersen's ass. His scrotum was covered in blood again, but she dismissed it, set the board and mallet down behind Gentzel, retrieved the chair from in front of him, set it behind him, then took the rubber mat from behind Steve Alexander, who still squirmed, and laid it behind Gentzel's left leg. She knelt on it, grabbed the dildo by a horizontal handle just inside its back end, set it at his asshole and shoved it to the hilt as hard as she could. He yelled and the yell quickly rose in fear as the dildo stretched deeper and deeper.

She did all this without hesitation, yanked it out to the tip and shoved it in again with a grunt. He screamed. She growled, "How does one hundred sound, Robert Gentzel!? That sound merciful to you?!" She yanked it out again and shoved all 12 inches up his ass. He screamed like a banshee. Out and in as hard and fast as she could, Cassandra violated Robert Gentzel's ass, straightening the crook of his sigmoid colon and stretching his intestine 4 inches wide all the way to the crook of his transverse colon. Flynn watched her right upper arm flex huge on all sides. She held the cage with her left and by the fiftieth thrust, he could see the vein standing out down the center of her biceps.

By the fiftieth thrust, Cassandra was snarling almost as loud as Robert Gentzel's repeated shrieks. Flynn could see his head lifted straight up and knew his mouth was wide open and his eyes were shut tight. By the sixtieth thrust, his shrieks had risen in volume, pitch, and timbre to a pig's squeal. They sounded identical to Flynn. Cassandra bellowed just loudly enough for Flynn to hear, "HOW DOES IT FEEL, MOTHERFUCKER!?!?" She shoved and yanked, shoved and yanked, faster now. Robert Gentzel pissed down both his thighs. His cage was thumping the floor. Cassandra suddenly began trembling and nearly fell over forward. Flynn saw her right thigh rippling. She was cumming intensely, but she did not stop or slow down. Now she shoved it 12 inches in then shoved it deeper still, shoved again, yanked it out with a twist and shoved it in until her fist was halfway inside his anus and rattled it around in every direction, twisted it, yanked it to the tip and shoved it past the hilt. Robert Gentzel was now sobbing that pig's squeal.

Flynn lost count but she didn't, and she suddenly shoved it in, shoved some more, rolled it around in a lateral circle, shoved it until her fist disappeared to the wrist, and then slowly withdrew her hand. She left the dildo in him and stood. Juice streamed to the floor from her pussy. Both her inner thighs were glossy to her knees. She didn't sit. She didn't pause to let Robert Gentzel's screaming squeal rise or fall. She picked up the board and mallet, strode her left leg over his back, straddled him and lay the board across his hamstrings, just below his ass. She flopped his balls over the board and left his dick hanging over the other side. She stood and stepped over the board with her right leg, then her left, and sat so her calves held the board firmly against his thighs. She stretched his balls down in his sack, yanked them several times and slowly let them up. They settled in the center of the board.

She looked up at Flynn and with her hair wildly unkempt around her clenched teeth she looked like the villain in a cheap slasher film. She slowly raised the mallet high over her head. Flynn's mouth quivered and he accidentally shook his head. He had been careful not to disagree with her. She wasn't offended. She just nodded her head. She swung the mallet down fast, landed it squarely onto Robert Gentzel's right testicle and splattered it like a balloon. Robert Gentzel's screaming squeal shut off in that instant. Blood sprayed all over her, the board, Gentzel's legs and the floor. His cage rose half an inch from the floor with her sitting on him, and Flynn couldn't figure out how this was possible, since the men didn't appear to be touching the floor, only the bottoms of the cages. But it happened.

Robert Gentzel's scream stopped but that awful bucking writhing began. The sling held him so tightly he could hardly move anything, but not so tightly that he couldn't look like he was riding a bucking bronco. Flynn heard his wet, coughing gags. Cassandra raised the mallet again, glared into Flynn's eyes. He shut his mouth tight and swallowed. Robert Gentzel threw up loudly into his drain. She chuckled through bared teeth and swung the mallet down as hard as she could. Robert Gentzel's left testicle exploded with a squelching squeak. What Flynn heard reminded him of a chair scraping the floor instantly followed by a water balloon bursting instantly followed by a wooden bonk. Blood and chunks of testicle splattered all around them again. Flynn Fitzherbert's dick was now eleven inches long and over three inches thick. It was half-soft and dangled at a downward 45-degree angle. His massive balls still swung four inches from his taint.

Cassandra stood, stepped away from Robert Gentzel and the board fell to the floor. Blood had sprayed all the way to the ends of it. He began dry heaving and did not stop for four minutes. Without the cocktail he had been given, the pain would have brought him sweet death by a number of causes, but the first drug of that cocktail kept his heart and breathing calm enough for him to survive. She dropped the mallet and purred, "There's your mercy, Robert Gentzel!" but she was looking at Flynn as she spoke. She walked to him. The look on her face was no longer rage. It was unbridled lust and it was satisfaction at having done her job. Robert Gentzel needed to learn his lesson. She had taught it to him.

She stood before Flynn and smoothed her wild hair back. She looked down at herself, sprayed with blood, tatters of testicular walls, and their pumpkin-colored guts. Then she looked up with only her eyes and met his horrified gaze. She picked up his dick in both hands and gently squeezed it, massaged it up and down. It quickly began to plump and she grinned wider as it spread her hands open. Then she let it flop down. It hung almost horizontal. His glans was as big as her palm. It stopped growing. It would get rock-hard, but Flynn was too afraid of her then. It did not go limp.

"We've got about 10 minutes to talk before I have to crush some cords," she purred. "You're scared of me and you should be. But I'm not going to give you the same treatment. I only give a man what he deserves." She reached behind him and brought up a clipboard. It had hung where he couldn't see. "Flynn Fitzherbert," she read in a quiet voice. The two or three men nearest them on his left could probably hear, but only they. "26 years old. Six feet three inches. Hair brown. Eyes hazel brown. Crimes. Sedition, one." She flipped over to the next sheet. "Detailed. Sedition. Corpsman slash medic." She glanced up with just her eyes. He swallowed. She glanced back down. "Genetic enhancement injection, age 8." She put the clipboard back and spoke calmly and plainly now, "You're a criminal and I am going to make your nuts suffer today, but nowhere near as much as you've seen. I'm a captain and that rank gives me pretty good perks. I'm allowed to take a new sex slave every year on my birthday. Today is my birthday, Flynn Fitzherbert. Seventeen May 2081. 22 years old. Your birthday is two months to the day from now. You'll be 27. We're both in our primes, Flynn Fitzherbert. I have chosen you to be my new, and hopefully final, sex slave. I have enslaved four different men up to now. Eventually they got out of line in this way or that and I had to put an end to their enslavement. Can you guess how I do that?"

He immediately nodded.

"You're extremely intelligent. I can tell that better by looking at you than by reading your dossier. Medical student. Johns Hopkins. Dropped out in 2076 when the Uprising began. Joined the Resistance in order to save men's lives. Refused armaments. Entered combat zones equipped only with medical supplies. D.C., where it all started. Baltimore. Chicago. The Nebraska Campaign. Now Denver." She sighed and turned without moving her feet. She glanced at David Andersen then Robert Gentzel, then turned back.

"Five minutes. Provided that you obey my every command and those of any of my friends, I'm not going to castrate you. I was also genetically enhanced. Age 9. Same drugs. They work differently in a woman. My vagina lengthened. Its muscles strengthened. I can pack on lean muscle and burn fat very easily. My tits are all mine, though. I have the libido of a fucking antelope, and your genetic enhancement means you do, too." She licked her lips. "I'm going to fuck your brains out every. Single. Day. For hours." He wanted to smile, but he expected to hear bad news next. "I'm also going to work those fat, meaty balls over. Every. Single. Day. For hours." His eyes glossed with tears. She grinned her teeth at them. "You'll take the pain. Because I will never cause your balls any permanent or lasting damage. No contusions, no fractures or ruptures. As you can see, I know what I'm doing. I am a Level 10 Black Belt Master Instructor in Krav Maga, so please, never try to fight back. Not that you'll want to. Your punishment is a great mercy. Don't ruin it for yourself. It will be Heaven for me. And my friends. It will be Heaven and Hell for you. Every day, at least once, I will push you beyond your pain threshold. I will not stop torturing your balls until you either vomit or black out. That is your punishment, Flynn. Do you understand me?"

He nodded and a little smile flickered to life. She sighed and chuckled. "I have no children, don't want any and my tubes are tied. My genetic enhancement has erased my refractory period. You know what that is?" He nodded. "I can cum almost nonstop for about one hour. Provided I'm well hydrated. Do you have a refractory period?"

He cleared his throat, but his voice was still mucusy when he spoke, "It's...very brief. Five minutes maybe. But I can keep my dick rock-hard for about an hour. Even after three orgasms. That's...that's my record anyway."

She smiled and her countenance was suddenly shockingly sweet, polite. "How much do you cum?"

"Um...on average about...I'd - I'd say about one pint."

"What's the most you ever ejaculated?"

"A quart. Thereabout. Pretty sure. But I had to be hospitalized due to dehydration. I was a hundred percent in four days."

"Why so much?"

He shrugged a little. "She was very good with her mouth."

She nodded. "I'm willing to bet you've had very little vaginal intercourse."

"Only four women. None of them took more than half of it, about eight or nine inches."

Her eyes brightened. "Your cock is going to be sixteen inches long?"

"And four inches thick." The narcissist in him made him smile then. And his teeth were perfect, too.

She arched an eyebrow, looked down at it, still horizontal, no larger or softer, then up along his body. She reached out and picked an orange chunk of nut meat out of his chest hair, licked it off her fingertip and swallowed it. "Then we're going to have a lot of fun, Flynn Fitzherbert!"

She turned and padded back, splashing in blood when she got to them. She took a deep breath looking around, picked up the burdizzo and the razor, set the chair by David Andersen and climbed. She sliced his ragged sack cleanly out of the way, and Flynn winced at those awful crunches. Andersen jolted at each one, which meant she was working her way up his cords, not down. He made no noise but smooth, deep gasps in and out. He would not bleed to death. Three solid crunches per cord. Then she sawed the razor beneath the last crimps and held both his balls in her left hand as she descended. She looked at Flynn. "You want one?"

"Uh, I'm - I'm good, thanks." She laughed and tossed what was left of them in, chewed, and swallowed with a smack of her mouth.

"You know what a firecracker looks like after it goes off?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"That's what they looked like. I should have shown you." She shrugged, surveying the rest of the men in their cages. "Well, anyway, there's plenty more." Several men started crying again. Robert Gentzel wasn't breathing as easily as David Andersen, but he wasn't gagging or coughing anymore. Just silent, deep and rapid pants. Flynn could hear his guts rumbling from thirty feet. She yanked the dildo out of his ass and a torrent of bloody diarrhea poured out after. He groaned up high. She tossed the dildo aside, sat and cut open his sack better. He whined and she could hear what he meant by it. "No sense begging, Robert. They're already destroyed. You wanted mercy, right?" Crunch. His head flew up with a weak wail. Crunch. He keened a pathetically weak pitch, unwavering, almost like a dog whistle. "Mm-hmm!" She smiled. Crunch. Then the other cord. He was writhing vigorously as the pain just kept going, worse and worse. He retched brown stomach acid. No blood.

She sliced them off, stood and walked around, squatted and yanked his head up by his hair, shoved what little was left of his balls into his gaping mouth, squeezed it shut with both hands and massaged his throat downward again and again. Then stopped and walked back out. She picked up the staple gun and sat behind him. He was whimpering now. She had completely broken him. But she had been more merciful to him than to Andersen. He was still conscious, upside down, but he was now totally insane, and would be for the rest of his life, a drooling idiot led in shambling gait to a 20 foot by 20 foot concrete exercise yard and back to his cell. He would be bathed twice a week via hose. He would be dressed and force fed by other prisoners, who would receive extra exercise time or visitations as a reward. She had broken him physically, mentally, emotionally, and psychologically.

She stapled up Gentzel's scrotum and patted his ass while he squealed, replaced his clipboard, then stepped back up and stapled Andersen's shut. His breath shook a little but that was all. She stepped down, pulled his cage back over and let it crash. His sling held him tight. She found and replaced his clipboard.

David Andersen had not suffered nearly as much as some of the other men would.

She looked at her hands, smiled and held them up. Flynn still tasted bitter nut mush. He smacked his tongue, swallowed and suddenly shivered, then looked at her hands. He hadn't noticed till now that they were streaming with dry blood from reaching up inside John Fulp's ballsack. She walked behind and he heard a sink run briefly. She slapped his left ass cheek hard as she returned to the cages drying her hands with a towel. John Fulp was weeping and sniffling quietly to himself. Just then a fresh round of heaves rose from his gut and he whined just like a dog. He was trying to come to terms with what had just happened, but it would take him a very long time, maybe never. They would all certainly be on suicide watch for the durations of their sentences. Their cells removed almost all possibility of this.

She smirked at him, took the razor from the chair and set the chair behind the next cage. She sat and then John Fulp groaned in a shrill, weak voice, "How COULD you!?" She turned. He sniffled, started to speak but had to swallow. "You...you ffuckin bitch!!" And then he started crying hard again. She watched him for a moment, then stood and walked between his cage and Steve Alexander's, whose bowels were rumbling louder than his squirming moans.

She squatted and he looked up. His nose was running to the floor, slime had drooled to the floor from his entire bottom lip, and his red eyes were actually trickling tears into a pool. His lips quivered at her. He swallowed. She laughed a little through her nose, brought the towel up and dried his face, eyes first, then down across his nose and mouth. Now she could clearly see the tightness of his grimace. He was overwhelmed with disbelieving despair. Maybe he was having a nightmare. He'd wake up in his cell and be all there. He'd immediately jerk off in relief. The look on his face told her that he was shackled there actually hoping for all this. She took a deep breath, swallowed it, let out a long belch and blew it in his face. He shut his eyes and whimpered away. "Did that smell like Gatorade and chewed-up testicle?" she asked. He sniffled his gaze back to hers. She smiled. "Because I just ate one. I think they're delicious." His whole chin quivered. "Would you like me to cut your throat?" she asked. He sniffled in for a moment. Then nodded. She grinned her perfect teeth at him. "I know. And I won't." She winked and stood.

His heaving sobs rang around the room again, pure sorrow, grief, despair, bereavement. He had just lost his two best friends.

She tossed the towel onto his back, picked up his clipboard and replaced it, then sat behind the third man, took his clipboard and read loudly to be heard over John Fulp, "David Andersen!"

"Miss!" David Andersen shouted.

She looked over. "Hmm?"

"Please! You don't have to do this!"

"Everybody always says that. Yes, I do."

She turned back to the clipboard but he spoke again and he sounded very calm, "No! No! I mean, I'm! I'm worth well over five million dollars and I will give it ALL to you right now! Please! We get my lawyer on the phone and he'll bring it to you in cash! I swear to God! Just - just - I mean, you can beat me within an inch of my life! Pound on me! Break my bones! Put me in the hospital! Please! I'm not asking to be set free from prison!!"

She blinked, looking him over. Lean, muscular physique. Nice-sized balls, taut against his taint. Average dick. He was already rock hard.

Then they all heard, "David Andersen! 28 years old!" David Andersen sighed and gulped vocally. "Six feet one inch! Hair dark brown. Eyes hazel green." David Andersen started growling and shaking as hard as he could side to side. His cage moved a little, but neither side left the floor. His shackles held him tight and the frame was iron. He started bellowing in fury and shaking in every direction to get free but his chains held him to his fate. "Crimes! Sedition, one! Aggravated assault, three! Arson, two hundred twe - TWO HUNDRED TWELVE!?" She stood and walked between Fulp's cage and his, squatted and what he saw frightened him completely still. His anger and color bleached from his face. Her fiery green eyes radiated fury far beyond any level he could manage. Fury incarnate. Fury with power.

"TWO HUNDRED AND TWELVE!?" She spat thick, slimy saliva into his eyes and he winced them shut. He shook his head but the spit stuck like glue. If he opened his eyes, it would run right onto his eyeballs. He wouldn't open his eyes. He heard paper flip up. "Detailed! Arson! Businesses! Residences! Landscapes!" She lowered the clipboard. "FOREST FIRES, DAVID ANDERSEN!"

"JUST FUCKING DO IT!!!" he roared in a bass voice so loud he clenched his eyes tight. She did not blink. "YOU GODDAMN FUCKING CUNT!!!!" His voice broke into a shrill raggedness. Both his statements resounded like atonal brass bands playing different songs at once. He panted and swallowed, and slowly opened his eyes. She was still there and he looked up to her glare.

"You got it!" she growled and disappeared behind him. The clipboard clattered to the floor. Two seconds later he heard the wind of her leg rushing up, gasped and quickly looked under himself to see it smash his balls flat as pancakes into his crotch. The rear of his cage popped five inches off the floor and he barked a guttural yelp as it crashed down. If Flynn had been able to back away from her, he would have. In terror. He was quite certain he would never have had the power to lift one of those iron cages with a man's weight in it that high that easily.

David Andersen's nuts had drawn up tight against his pelvis and his dick had gotten hard because he was a sadist and had been thoroughly enjoying the sounds of torture. Sadists can't help this. Even if they know certainly that their turn is coming terrifyingly soon, the enjoyment is still there. And because David Andersen's nuts were not hanging loose, his left one had just fractured. It wasn't completely ruptured, but it would be in a moment. The fracture was a minor tear on the outside of the testicular wall, and the instant his cage crashed to the floor, his yelp rose like a siren from bass smoothly to a full-chest soprano, not falsetto. That was so far out of his range that the siren quickly tore into a strident, bawling screech, and now Cassandra knew what David Andersen had just learned.

He gasped and screeched and gasped and screeched. Then his mouth was forced shut. She held it with her right hand under his chin and her left on his head and snot blasted from his nose as he continued that jagged screech with his eyes clenched. It sounded almost like a distant train whistle. His face was already scarlet. "That was my left! My left leg is my weak leg, fucko!! Here's my right!!" She let go and the screech filled the room again. David Andersen had strong abs and big lungs. It was painful in Flynn's ears at first, but slowly softened. That was not because David Andersen's voice was weakening but because Flynn's ears were ringing.

He watched her right leg snap forward and it was the most perfectly performed kick he had ever seen, a thing of beauty. The contact of her foot with his balls was louder than his screaming and Flynn briefly spotted blood between her foot and his balls. They flattened completely across his crotch from thigh to thigh, Flynn saw Andersen's head fly up, and then bore witness to the most awe-inspiring, terrifying display of brute, savage strength he would ever see in his life. The rear of the cage lifted off the floor, but did not fall back. It rose and rose and Flynn's eyes and mouth widened and widened, and it settled, rocking back and forth once each on its end. David Andersen was now shackled in a sling upside down, screaming directly at the floor. Cassandra lowered her leg without even losing her balance in the slightest.

Both Flynn and the man to Andersen's left shouted, "Holy shit!" but could barely hear their own voices over his screaming.

She didn't pause. She turned and Flynn watched her go by without looking at him, tits bouncing, hair flying. David Andersen's scream was actually writhing the same way he was in his bonds. Flynn could hear the way the agony was exploding from his balls into his guts and his voice rose and wavered as the agony swirled and ground and chewed away in his balls and belly. Cassandra reappeared carrying a round wood paddle about the size of a large frying pan and a roll of clear tape. She took the chair around between Andersen's and the next man's cages. His upended ass was now at eye-level. She yanked his balls up behind him and there was blood all over them. His ragged, strident scream was only interrupted by quick gasps. She drew a length of tape across his ass from hip to hip behind his sack, pressed it down and tossed the tape back toward Flynn. David Andersen's balls were now resting on the center of his ass.

She stood in the chair and his ass was now at waist-level. She raised the paddle over her head with both hands like an axe. John Fulp could see both of them and he wasn't crying anymore. Tears dripped from his eyes but he didn't blink. He watched with the same incredulous terror all over Flynn's face. The look on hers was livid rage, her lips snarled back from clenched teeth. She brought the paddle down and the thunderclap was so loud every man in the room except Steve Alexander and David Andersen tried to cover his ears but they couldn't.

She didn't wait. She raised the paddle again and the men still could not hear David Andersen's screeching bellow in the single-second intervals between spanks. She brought it down as hard as she possibly could, raised and brought it down. Flynn grunted as he shied and blinked his eyes. Again and again, with only a second between them, she unleashed Hell on David Andersen's already ruptured balls with thunderous, deafening smacks flat against his ass. John Fulp and the man on Andersen's other side could not hear him. Only the paddle bashing his balls and ass, but they could see his face, and they watched him jerking his head in every direction, trying frantically to get away, to protect his nuts, jolting at each smack, both lips sucked over his teeth. Then his mouth changed to a look of surprise. Spit streamed to a bubbly puddle and he flexed tight all over. They saw every cord and blood vessel strain out of his neck and he vomited a full stomachful of food directly into the drain. He vomited again without a pause. Then he dry heaved almost in time to the paddle smashing against him.

There were seven separate thunderclaps resounding throughout the room at any one time. Then she stopped. It took four seconds for the echoes to die away. David Andersen wasn't screaming anymore. He was mewling and retching stomach acid. He sounded like a broken animal whining for death. She grabbed his balls and looked them over. Blood had splatted across his entire ass. His shuddering got no worse. Flynn now knew his ears were ringing. He couldn't be sure before. The walls of this room were metal and every sound he heard was percussively raucous.

She shook her head and snarled, "Not yet, David Andersen!" then brought the paddle up with frenzious, bloodthirsty murder dazzling in her eyes and Flynn grimaced for David Andersen's sake as she brought it down. He would have put his hand to his mouth if he could have. She smashed the paddle flat against his balls and ass eleven more times. The eleventh crash shattered David Andersen's balls into pieces that sprayed forty feet in every direction. Blood spattered Cassandra. Flynn saw something fly at him and it stuck to his chest. He now knew what he was looking at. It was the light orange insides of a testicle and it smeared red as it slid down into his hair. His chin quivered and he had to catch his breath as he looked up. At that moment David Andersen's bowels released in a brown geyser straight up and down all over him.

Cassandra stepped down, her fluffy mane of hair disheveled across her face, picked up the chair, flipped her hair out of her eyes and padded out breathing fast and deep toward Flynn. John Fulp threw up. She turned to him, watched him puke again, then looked at the blood sprayed on the wall beyond him. She held up the bloody paddle and flipped it. The other side was fairly clean.

Then she started laughing. Wildly. Full-voiced and bright with merriment. She looked beautiful doing it as she bent over facing Flynn and put her hands on her knees to keep from falling over. Flynn Fitzherbert's 9-inch dick began to plump. He looked down at it, then back to her. It was plumping and lengthening. Cassandra caught her breath, spat, laughed a little more and then half-turned and said, "How do they feel, Davey?" David Andersen was barely breathing. He was coughing weakly, gagging, and dragging in sips of air. The agony had flooded his entire abdomen and reached his diaphragm. His heart still beat at 150 and was now falling thanks to the drugs he had been given. His brain still worked perfectly in one regard. It was wailing at him that he was feeling more pain than any human male had ever felt at one time. It was telling him his balls had just been blasted apart, that his ass was blistered, and his tail bone was shattered.

She turned and said, "Anyone else wanna mouth off?" She listened to their breathing. She had filled the room with panicking terror and shook out a clotted, curdly chuckle. She limply dropped the paddle to the floor at her right foot. "David Andersen," she said without turning to look at him. She started walking past Flynn. "In that position, you will not bleed to death for about 20 to 25 minutes." She passed Flynn. Besides the blood there was orange ball meat and blue-white chunks of tunica albuginea spackled all over her legs, abs, tits. She flicked something from her left cheek. "I will not put your balls out of your misery..." She growled and it burbled with the thick slime in her throat, "Until then!"

Cassandra put her hands on Flynn's chest, squeezed his pecs upward and massaged them around his nipples, then unwrapped her legs from him and pushed away with a hop to the floor. She lightly slapped him and smiled as she walked behind him. He heard a door open, shut, and then her chugging. She walked back into view with a large bottle of grape Gatorade upended at her mouth, face tilted to the ceiling and throat rolling down and up. She drank half of it, lowered the bottle and said, "You want some?"

He nodded quickly. He was thirsty but even if he weren't, something told him he was going to need water and electrolytes later. She put the bottle to his lips and he slowly turned up, closed his eyes at the bright light and she stroked his throat as he swallowed. He finished it, about 32 ounces, and she tossed the bottle behind him bouncing on the floor, then walked back to Steve Alexander, still shivering and squirming in agony that refused to end. That part of his brain was possibly the only part still functioning as it was meant to. She picked up the chair and walked to the next man. He was shaking and sniffling in his cage.

She sat and picked up his clipboard and cleared her throat. "John Fulp!" she announced to the room. "18 years old. Five feet six inches. Hair blond. Eyes pale blue. Crimes. Sedition, one. That's it?" She looked down at him. Every movement she made caused his shivering to increase. He sniffed, then swallowed, then coughed several times. He looked to have hit the gym a few times, but not much. A little muscular and very lanky. No fat at all. She flipped the first page of his dossier over and said, "Detailed. Sniper." He shook in his sling through a long pause, and then heard the clipboard clatter to the floor. She stood and padded away to the far end of the room where she had been talking to someone.

She returned past Flynn with a coffee cup in her left hand and something yellow in her right but didn't bother to show him. She sat by John Fulp again, took a deep breath and sighed. "Hmm." She set the cup down behind him, set the yellow thing on his back, and cupped his balls up behind him in her left hand. He whimpered loudly but she only caressed them, both hands gently, warmly covering them on all sides. Average. A pretty rose-pink. Average dick. Circumcised. She tugged them gently and he was so scared she could see his side shaking to match his breathing. He finally worked up the courage or despair to speak. "Please! I'm sorry! I - it was a stupid move! I swear I won't ever do it again! Resistance is fucking stupid, okay!? I'm just a young kid! I'm not - I - I didn't know any better!" He was sniffling. He still had a boy's voice. A pretty, soft tenor. She did not let his balls go. His sniffles turned into frantic whimpers. He wept in a breaking voice, "I'm sorry! I won't do it again! Keep me in prison for the rest of my life!! I understand that! I mean, I deserve it! You don't have to! Please!! Please!! Miss! Please don't crush my balls!! Pleeeease!!!" His voice died away to blubbering. She knew that sound. He was so scared he had sucked his lips in over his teeth and his breath was rattling them.

But she only stroked his balls with her fingers, her palms, all around, tickled his scrotum, slowly slid her fingers up to his taint and kneaded its whole length, from his asshole to his scrotum and down its backside and frontside, fondling his balls. And she got what she wanted. Regardless of his terror, regardless that he had just watched Steve Alexander's face contort through all his Hell - the only man in the room who had seen this - John Fulp's dick had swelled to life and was now rock hard, pointing straight at the floor as she cradled his balls up. She let his balls flop down and his dick sprang up to his belly where it throbbed. "Not a bad dick, John Fulp," she purred. John Fulp was not good at reading tone of voice. He calmed down quite a bit just from those few words. Flynn did not. Flynn had a huge edge. He had seen this woman's eyes. Sex was not the only thing that made her orgasm.

"Too late for genetic enhancement, but a solid seven thick inches. All natural. That impresses me." She paused, then pulled his balls back up and tickled them with her nails, cuddled them, gently stretched his sack, tugging it. His cock was dripping pre-cum now. She could easily get him off just doing this. John Fulp had calmed down very much now. She saw the sudden stillness of his body and laughed a little through her nose. She let his balls drop again and stood, took the yellow thing from his back and walked around between his cage and the next, squatted, giving the next man a view of her ass 3 inches from his nose, a pungent smell of her pussy dripping the floor. John Fulp looked up and met her eyes. What he saw in them told him most of what Flynn knew about her. And John Fulp started shaking again as if he were freezing to death. 

She calmly brought up the yellow thing before his eyes and he watched her unfold it. It was a straight razor with a yellow handle. His eyes widened and his rapid whimpering resumed. He looked up into her eyes and she grinned a little wider. What he saw in her eyes made his heart skip two full beats in spite of the drugs he had been given. She was glaring at him but not in rage. What he beheld in them was brightly gleeful, psychopathic malevolence. Then she winked. 

She stood and padded back behind him.

"NO!! NO!!!! PLEASE!! JESUS CHRIST! LADY!! I'M SORRY!!! I'M SORRY!!!" Adrenaline was enabling him to speak with good coherence while sobbing at the same time. "LOOK! LOOK! LOOK! LOOK!! I NEVER - I WENT - I ONLY WENT ON THREE OR FOUR ROAMING PATROLS!!!" He was screaming up high and thinly like a girl now. "I NEVER KILLED ANYBODY!!! LADY!! LADY!!!!!" She sat in the chair. "I ONLY FIRED LIKE SIX SHOTS AND I DIDN'T FUCKING HIT ANYTHING!!!" She gently cradled up his balls in her left hand. His cock was so hard now that she could see every single vein. Pre-cum streamed in a long line of slime to a quarter-size pool on the floor.

"FOR CHRIST JESUS'S SAKE!!! FUCK!! LADY!! I'M A VIRGIN!!! ALRIGHT!?!?! I'M A GODDAMN VIRGIN!!!! PLEASE!!! GODDAMMIT!!! PLEASE DON'T CUT MY BALLS OFF!!!" His adrenaline reserves ran out just then and everything else he said quaked and rolled through panting blubbery. "P-p-p-LEASE!!! Don't - don't - NO - NNOO! - NNOO! - I WANT MY BALLS!!! P-P-P-PLEASE!!! JESUS FUCK!! M-M-MAKE THE WHOLE FUCKING PRISON RAPE ME!! ANYTHING!! F-F-FFUCKIN F-FEED ME GLASS!! JUST PLEASE DON'T CUT OFF MY BALLS!!! I DIDN'T KILL ANYONE! I SWEAR TO GOD!!!!!!"

The torture Flynn saw her perform most expertly up to this point was when she spoke during the instant of silence between "I SWEAR TO GOD!!!!!" and whatever John Fulp was about to shout next. As if she had known he would say it. As if she were waiting for him to say those words.

Flynn, with wide eyes and shaking head, bore witness to this exchange: 

"I DIDN'T KILL ANYONE! I SWEAR TO GOD!!!!!!"

She quietly purred, "Swear to me," and sliced off John Fulp's balls.

He howled as he felt the first fiery entry of the blade, but in less than half a second the cutting was done. The blade was through and under. The weight of his blood-filled dick swung free and his open mouth of sack trailed after. His dick bopped against his belly. Blood trickled across the floor. 17-year-old virgin John Fulp roared in his dainty tenor voice and the roar reverberated powerfully around the dungeon. All the men's hands were bound too far from their ears so they shied away. His memory played it over in his head and he did not want it to. He had felt a fiery slice, then for only an instant, the fire sparked shockingly electric in his left cord, then in the next instant sparked shockingly electric in his right, then dulled to a searing fiery slice that carried out of his body. That electric, menthol anguish in his cords was overhwelmingly severe but within five seconds was almost gone. What was left was mostly a deep, roasting burn in a straight line across his scrotum.

John Fulp was the right-most victim of this horrible woman. The man to his left had watched her ass leave and John Fulp's face change until now, and now he watched in dismay, disbelief, surreality. This next man had heard the razor blade passing through flesh, the very same sound it would have made passing through a stack of soaking-wet paper. That was the moment the third man winced away, shut his eyes, and now shied from John Fulp's thunderous, adolescent voice.

John Fulp was wailing now, the pitch rising fast from tenor to alto in his chest voice to a softer soprano falsetto. Cassandra stood holding in her left palm his severed balls, sitting half-immersed in blood in the bottom of his severed scrotum, laid the bloody razor open in the chair, then walked around between his cage and the next, squatted, smiled her bright teeth at his guffawing grimace, eyes clenched tight, tears streaming in sheets across his cheeks, bottom lip sucked over his teeth. He wasn't roaring at the height of his falsetto voice in pain or fear. The pain was almost completely gone already. He was roaring in falsetto because the instant the fire finished passing across his scrotum he no longer felt her hand holding his balls. And when his dick flopped back to his belly, he no longer felt the weight of his balls. All he felt down there now was a faint running of fluid.

John Fulp knew certainly that he was a eunuch. A virgin eunuch. He had never had sex. He had never had any kind of sex. And now he never would.

She scrunched up her nose like a rabbit and giggled. She could hear in his weakening falsetto roar why he was crying. Despondent grief. He would never again be able to orgasm. His dick was now a waste of flesh and she chuckled brightly in his face. He heard it and opened his bleary eyes. He could barely discern her shape through his tears. Then he saw her grow larger. His voice stopped. She leaned in, held the top of his cage, and slowly licked her whole tongue across his left eye, licked down his left cheek, swallowed, and then licked his right. He heard a burbly gulp, blinked, and saw her clearly. She blinked him a flirty smile, then pinched his severed sack shut with her right fingers and held it up like a coin purse in front of his eyes.

The entire countenance of his face switched from the disconnected, exhausted interest in why she was there smiling at him to a shocked, dismayed, open-mouthed grimace. His lips drew in and his eyes flooded fresh tears pouring down his face, trickling from his nose, his mouth and his chin, and he screamed a full-voiced, falsetto shatter of great heaves, slowly billowing his voice with his breath, a roiling undulation of sobs. She put her left hand on his head and stroked his hair for a couple seconds, then stood and walked behind him. "Too bad, kiddo."

It took two full minutes for his roaring to dwindle into silent, quaking sorrow filled with tears, but no sound at all. His throat was open as wide as his mouth all the way to his lungs and his face had turned fuschia. He was crying like a little child whose world had come to an end because that is precisely what he was. He sucked in narrow gasps of air and then continued sobbing. His balls were gone. He had never fucked. He had no idea what the inside of a vagina felt like, and now never would.

It was not until he went silent that she resumed. She had plopped his ball sack into the coffee cup near his foot, walked back to Flynn and retrieved the burdizzo, and now sat in the chair waiting. When his sorrow was just heaving silence interspersed with gasps, she spread the maw of his sack wide, reached up in with the burdizzo and settled it around his right cord flush against his pelvis.

He whimpered a little then. He was despondent at his new life: his new life was an absolute absence of sex at an age when that was all he really wanted; and he had never had any. She clamped down. A celery crunch. John Fulp's quiet heaves shuddered up to a soft squeal. He was inhaling. His body jolted in the cage and his lower legs rattled the open tubes they were shackled in. She opened the burdizzo slid it down one inch and clamped it shut again. That horrid crunch made Flynn grit his teeth. John Fulp's keening squeal remained the same. His shuddering remained the same. He didn't feel that one.

She opened the burdizzo and set it up high against his pelvis around his left cord, clamped it shut and he yowled. Flynn sighed away at the sound of Fulp's voice then. That yowling sound he had made was one of pure pain. His desperate horror at now being a eunuch, a virgin eunuch, had just then been disrupted by exquisitely severe agony searing with a minty blaze out of his left spermatic cord.

She opened and slid it down one inch and crunched his cord shut. His bleeding had stopped for the most part. His sack still dripped the floor. She stood and padded past Flynn who, in petrified fear, moved only his eyes, mouth ajar, as he watched her go, and reappeared with a triage staple gun. She sat behind John Fulp, folded in the bloody edges of his sack, then folded them up, pinched it shut with her left fingers and stapled it at the right corner. The grieving sorrow in his voice was interrupted by a weak yelp. She stapled again. Another yelp. And so on until she closed his sack around the bare ends of his spermatic cords. He would bleed for two to three hours, but not much.

Cassandra set the staple gun on the floor, picked up the coffee cup and walked back to Flynn. Her eyes exuded pure, raging vibrance. A fuming, emotionless joy. This woman was in her element and could not possibly be happier. She stooped before him, tipped the cup into her left hand, set the cup on the floor, then stood and held her hand open before him. Flynn saw what was inside a man's scrotum. He saw two bluish-white testicles sitting in the blood at the bottom of John Fulp's nutsack. Cassandra smiled and picked one out by its cord. "I'll eat one. You eat the other."

He gasped...then slowly realized that it would be okay for him to shake his head. He shook his head. 

She nodded with a blink and said, "Yes, you will." He slowly exhaled a shaky breath and shivered. He gulped and pleaded with his eyes.

"It's an acquired taste you haven't acquired, but it won't kill you. I want you to chew it up really well before you swallow it. The outer part is called the tunica albuginea and it's like gristle. You can chew it and chew it and chew it, but when the insides burst out, they'll taste like bitter milk. You don't have to eat the skin!" She squeezed the testicles into her right palm then tossed the bottom of John Fulp's scrotum away to the left. Flynn heard it hit the floor. He regarded her as a prey animal in a snare regards its approaching captor. His stomach rumbled. She glanced at it then sighed and said, "If you swallow it whole or spit it out, or if you throw it up, I promise I'll make you VERY sorry." She grinned. He knew she meant it, but she seemed as if she didn't mean anything by it. He got the feeling that punishment was business to her, even if she did enjoy it. If he didn't break her rules, she wouldn't punish him. She took one testicle by the stump of cord and held it in front of his lips. "Open, Flynn."

He took a deep, wincing breath, and finally nodded. Her grin widened. He opened his mouth and she set a human testicle on his tongue. He closed his mouth. "I'll be right here with you."

He tasted coppery blood but nothing else. The testicle rested on his tongue. He did not dare move. She laughed and dropped the other one in her mouth, swished it under her right molars, crunched down and he heard a hideous splashing sound in her mouth. Her ball had popped like a tomato. She chewed it a few times, then opened her mouth so he could see what nut mush looked like. It was light orange, almost like a pureed sweet potato. He didn't expect that. She closed her eyes and swallowed. He shook his head a little and suddenly quivered down to his feet as he watched her throat roll down then up. She licked her lips. The hair of his forearms was on end.

Then she almost sang, "Go ahead and chew it up!" She batted her eyes and giggled.

He felt his throat convulsing in a gag and quickly leaned forward a little to do so. He curled his tongue up to hold the ball on it. He didn't want it to plop against his teeth. "It's going to be disgusting, but you can do it!" He panted through his nose as the nut rested on his tongue. He couldn't taste it. 

He shivered. He lurched forward again and gagged. He didn't want to swallow it by accident. The ball rested on his tongue. He closed his eyes, shifted it between his right molars, drew a slow, deep breath, and chomped down. It deformed to about one-third its normal size, then splatted apart like a very tough-walled fruit. Whatever was inside a testicle squirted across his tongue. It was abhorrently bitter. It almost reminded him of Southern Comfort and pure Everclear mixed. He had tried both straight so he could imagine the mixture. Neither tasted good. He gagged, lurched over, scrunched up his face and grunted through his nose.

"Don't spit!" she purred. "Don't puke!" She chuckled as he took another deep breath and then boldly chewed and chewed and chewed, juicy smacking noises muffled by his lips.

"There you go! Swish it around! I want you to really taste it!" His eyes watered but he swished his tongue through the vile, bitter pulp of John Fulp's testicle, and then she said, "Alright, that's enough. Swallow! Take a deep breath first then swallow it as fast as you can!"

He did just that before she finished speaking, and as his food passed over the back of his tongue where the bitter taste buds are, he grimaced and grunted hard. The ground-up, ragged gristle that was John Fulp's testicular wall tickled its way down his esophagus. She frowned as his abs flexed and she quickly turned his mouth straight up at the ceiling and held him steady with both hands. "Keep your mouth shut no matter what happens! It's coming back up but only a little! You just keep swallowing! Do NOT open your mouth!" The gag was so heavy he clenched his eyes shut and tears squirted over his cheeks. He'd gotten it down but it was trying hard to come back up. She pinched his nose shut tight and massaged his throat downward. His Adam's Apple came up just past halfway and he shivered out a high-pitched groan.

Then his stomach finally rumbled and she sighed a grin as his Adam's Apple slowly descended.

It was over. He swallowed four more times but felt no reaction. "Open your mouth!" she purred and he did. He lifted his tongue. There was nothing inside. Flynn Fitzherbert had eaten a man's testicle. He met her eyes and his mouth quivered. He really was about to burst into shrill, whimpery tears. "D'awww!" she said and kissed him, slathering her bitter tongue over his. He didn't gag. His stomach made no noise. She pressed her hands to his cheeks and held him to her and they tasted each other's tongues, their cheeks, their teeth and swished their salivas together until his trembling stilled.

Then she sucked away and gazed into his pretty eyes. She was smiling but what she said came out in a clotted, throaty growl. "Time for Number Three!"

He swallowed and felt thick, slimy mucus coating his throat, thicker and slimier than if he had swallowed raw eggs, and then realized it wasn't mucus. It was why her growl sounded so gargly. Their throats were coated with testicle mash.

The door ratcheted open with a long creak. Someone flip-flopped in and the fluorescent lights hummed on. They were on their hands and knees in a dungeon of sorts. All of them were facing the walls about one foot from them. They could turn their heads well enough to see the man on their left and the man on their right, but no better. They did not know how many of them were in here or how long they had been waiting in the dark. There had been whispered conversations, but no one knew anything. They had been brought in blindfolded, one after another, by silent captors over the course of the morning. Several hours in the dark. They had been stripped and strapped into open, box-framed slings that held them horizontal from the waist to the shoulders. Their heads were free to hang. Their arms were straight behind at their sides, shackled at the wrists to their iron frames. The shackles were lined with the same fabric their slings were made of, seat-belt fabric. The slings held them tightly to the tops of their frames and their knees were shackled wide apart to the legs of the frame, about an inch off the floor, and their lower legs out behind them in half-tubes large enough to hold them, shackled at the ankles. They were hanging in the slings but could not move at all. They had been afraid and bewildered before. Now they were terrified.

There was a man shackled and locked in an iron frame tall enough for him to stand up straight on his feet. When he got tired of standing, he let his weight down and hung from his arms. They were held in half-tubes at the top of the frame and shackled down at the elbows and wrists. His legs were shackled wide apart at the knees to the sides of the frame, and his ankles shackled to the frame's legs. He was completely naked, his genitals freshly shaved and when the light came on he had counted 14 other men chained and locked into smaller frames around the outsides of the room, all facing the walls, all naked, and all their genitals freshly shaved. There was a large, grated drain recessed in the floor beneath each one of them. They were all Caucasian as he was. But he didn't look at them for more than 2 seconds.

A Caucasian woman had walked in completely naked and stood surveying them all. No one spoke. Only the two men closest to the door could turn their heads well enough to see her. The last man she looked at was the one standing toward the rear. She could see he was terrified of her, and his flaccid cock, all 9 inches of it, did not twitch, just hung totally limp straight down, circumcised. His balls were the size of jumbo chicken eggs and hung loose a good 4 inches down between his thighs. He was 6 feet 3 inches and saw that she was about 5 feet 10 inches. He had short, wavy brown hair and a scruffy brown goatee, neatly trimmed close to his chin. She saw again that he was beautiful. He saw for the first time that she was beautiful. She had a gorgeous mane of wavy brown hair, and as she put a hand to the wall to kick her flip-flops off, he saw that her hair fell full and fluffy to the center of her back. She was not porcelain white, but not very tan. Her skin was a healthy, light mocha color.

Her breasts were solid D-cups. They did not hang very low, but jiggled and swayed, heavy with fat. They were real. They were perfection. She could have dialed a phone with her nipples. She swung the door shut to a heavy clang without turning her back to him, then started walking and as she approached, she grinned a little. She had huge, emerald eyes and her clit was already as red as her lips and swollen out of its hood. She was clean-shaven down there, too, and her pussy lips were puffy. She had just been fucking someone. He estimated the room to be about 60 by 60 feet, and as she padded toward him on beautiful bare feet with high arches he saw that she lifted weights. Heavy weights. Her upper arms were almost as big as his and he had never in his life seen a woman whose biceps displayed that big blue vein down the center like a man's. She had an 8-pack of abs that he could just barely see when she breathed out. Her thighs were gigantic and rippled muscle all over as she walked. He watched her quads flex up to her abs. They weren't freakishly cut, just massive and even from the front, he could see her calves were huge, too. And yet, she had somehow not lost her breasts with all her strength training. He guessed she weighed 150 lbs and it was all smooth, firm muscle. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. 6 feet 3 inches, about 195 lbs. She had yet to see his cock hard, but if it was 9 inches long and 2 and a half inches wide while totally soft, she estimated it would be at least 13 inches long if he could get it up all the way. She hoped he could do so naturally. If not, he would with the proper cocktail of drugs. She had no idea how thick it would be. She padded up to him and he loved the sound of her feet, but in spite of everything he saw and heard, he was terrified of her and his cock wasn't reacting to any of it. She stopped just in front of him and surveyed his face very calmly with a hint of a smile. Big, brown eyes, a slender nose. She flatly looked down at his dick, cocked her head a bit, then slowly looked up along his 8-pack to his huge, wide chest, over his shoulders and down his thick upper arms to his forearms. His chest hair grew soft and fine in a wide spot in the center almost to his nipples, and down in a slender trail to just above his navel.

She backed up a step and started walking around him without looking up. He lost sight of her and focused on her footsteps. Then he gasped and almost whimpered as she gently placed her hands on his ass cheeks. They were cold but her hands were warm and she caressed him, squeezing as she walked around to his right side, then stopped and squeezed both hands at the top of his right thigh, the quad and hamstring, and kneaded it firmly as she drew her hands down to his knee. She was enjoying the feel of his muscle. Then she slid her left hand back up and cupped his right cheek, pushed it up, and squeezed, rolling her fingers in its softness, then let go and patted it twice. All this time, no one in the room had said a word and he was shocked at how loud the echoes were of her patting him.

She walked around in front of him again with a big smile, not showing her teeth, and whispered, "What is your name?"

He swallowed. "Flynn Fitzherbert." He cleared his throat.

She smiled and now showed her perfect teeth. "How old are you, Flynn?"

"Twenty-six."

She nodded. "I'm 22. My name is Cassandra." Her smile fell sharply away and she turned her back to him, surveying the men on their hands and knees around the room. Flynn immediately looked down and saw the ass of Aphrodite. It was the most astoundingly beautiful ass any woman had ever sported around him. Wide hips and a great, round ass of tight, solid muscle. His cock still did not twitch. He knew full well - they all did - that something very bad was about to happen to every one of them. And that there was absolutely nothing in the world they could do about it.

"Hello, men," she said and this was the first any of them had heard her voice. It was a sonorous contralto. Flynn's heart was speeding up a little. "You are all guilty," she said, "at least of being members of the Resistance. Both FAMD and the House of Ladies concur that this constitutes sedition, and therefore high treason, the punishment for which is castration."

The men all gasped or whimpered or began muttering very quietly under their breaths, but no one spoke up. Flynn's heart and breathing were hastening more. She heard this and turned around. "Calm down. You're last," she whispered, and winked at him. He did calm down, but did not smile. He frowned, confused. She saw that, smirked and turned back to the others.

"There is a clipboard on each of your cages," she said. Flynn noticed them then, looked down, but could not see one on his. She began padding slowly around behind them. They could not see her. "They are dossiers of your crimes. I have been assigned to punish you for them and your punishments will vary according to your crimes." Whimpers got louder as she neared them. "If you are only guilty of sedition your punishment will be castration, and perhaps a quick one." Most of the men were panting now, whimpering, some almost whining like dogs. "If you are guilty of worse crimes, I am authorized to make you wish you did not have testicles." Several men burst into rapid sobs. Flynn could hear them. Her voice had been steadily lowering and now she nearly growled, "And I am exceedingly. Effective. At this!"

He heard sniffles and low, moaning whimpers from every one of them now. He did not whimper because she had told him he would be last, and except for sedition, he knew he was guilty of nothing. The thought of operating as a medic for the Resistance did suddenly fill his gut with a burst of terror, since she had threatened castration, and a dick and balls as gigantic and beautiful as his make a man narcissistic. Take them away and you take away much more than his pride. He looked in mirrors and felt he was the apotheosis of narcissism, even if he hadn't had sex in over a year. A 16-inch long, 4-inch wide dick scares the ladies away. He'd only had sex 4 times, and none of them had taken more than 8 inches before freaking out and telling him to get off. He had never cum in a pussy or ass. He had to content himself with several hundred blowjobs, and his bucketload ejaculations had strangely turned every woman off, not aroused them. He was built like Captain America, just as good-looking as that old actor from almost a century ago, and his narcissism was one of two reasons he was not quite so terrified as he had been before she spoke. His narcissism told him to hope that she wanted sex.

The other reason was that he was the only one shackled in a standing position. He was the only anomaly in the room. She had positioned him so she could face him, but none of the others. He didn't know what she was going to do to him so he thought hopeful thoughts. And what did her wink mean?

She turned and walked back behind him, he heard a scrape, and she returned with a wide, canvas bench in her left hand, strong enough to carry it effortlessly. It was wood and must have weighed 40 pounds but she balanced it on her upturned palm and he opened his mouth in awe at her flexed biceps. She carried a folding chair in the other, set the bench down to her left, behind three men, then walked to the man closest to the door and sat in the chair behind him. She picked up the clipboard. That man was shivering.

"Steve Alexander. 31 years old. 5 feet 10 inches." She read loudly enough for all to hear and her lusty voice echoed around and around. "Hair brown. Eyes brown. Crimes. Sedition, one, rape, one, assault, four, aggravated battery, two, grand theft auto, two, grand larceny, one, petty - Jesus, that's enough!" She tossed the clipboard out of the way. It clattered off the door as she stood and slid the chair away to the same spot and padded around behind him some ten steps in a semi-circle. Steve Alexander was breathing in deep, rapid gasps, and then yelped loud as she snapped her right foot up between his thighs. The smack was as shockingly loud as his yelp and reverberated through two more kicks. She drew her leg back quickly and Flynn saw Alexander squirming in his chains. His sling would not let him move anything. She snapped her leg forward again and drew it back with expert grace. The smack was much louder and Flynn watched his balls bounce. Alexander yelped in a much higher pitch and started sipping little hitches of breath. Her third kick was so powerful it spot-lifted his cage, with him in it, two inches off the floor and he howled. Flynn listened to the room rise around him in whimpers and moaning. The men were thinking of their crimes.

"Before I remove them," she growled like a wild animal, "I'm going to tenderize them! Do you hear me, Steve Alexander?" She unleashed another kick that lifted his cage off the floor. He shrieked and his voice whined down to a tenor whimper. He sounded just like a dog. He groaned and belched. She slammed her foot up between his thighs and felt both his balls flatten across the top of it, against his pelvis. He howled and his hitchy, uncertain breath made the howl break up and skitter. Then he was mewling, drooling, and as she drew her leg back, Flynn saw he was writhing and bucking against his chains as the pain roiled up into his gut. He tilted his head back, straight up, and Flynn listened to him groan up high as the pain welled and welled. His head flopped out of view and he belched again. Flynn heard him spit. It dribbled the floor. He spat again. Just as much dribble.

She padded around between his cage and the next, bent over, grabbed his hair and yanked his face up to hers. "Puke for me!" she seethed, shoved his head down, walked back behind him and Flynn watched the perfection in her kick. She didn't straight-leg it from her hip. She lifted her thigh first until her knee was almost parallel to the floor, then snapped her lower leg out like a spring and smashed Steve Alexander's dangling nuts flat against pelvis again and this time he didn't scream. Flynn heard an initial squeal that cut short and he knew why. Alexander could no longer breathe well enough to make much noise. She drew her leg back and he was convulsing vehemently, his feet twisting inward, toes curled up. Flynn didn't know what the end result of such agony was, but Alexander didn't look like he could take much more.

She didn't give a fuck. He was spitting and spitting and still she swung her foot up and flattened his balls as hard as she could, the cage lifted from the floor, settled, and that was the one that did it. Steve Alexander gasped and Flynn watched his whole body stiffen, back arch, and Steve Alexander vomited the large prison lunch he had eaten some hours ago directly into the drain beneath him. He vomited again, a great heaving, ragged moan of a little food and a lot of stomach acid. He spat and saliva and snot dangled form his face. And then the pain set in. He groaned and writhed as it worsened, but he couldn't breathe well enough now to be loud.

She turned around, facing Flynn for a moment, glanced at his dick, still flaccid, grinned and padded around. "You're probably wondering how much pain I'm going to make your balls cause you before you black out or go into shock and die!" She wasn't sweating. Not a hair out of place. She reminded him of Wonder Woman. Who was that woman who portrayed her in those old movies? Gal Gadot! That was she! But Cassandra looked like Gal Gadot in steroidal beast mode. And impossibly just as beautiful. "That's the bad news, fuckers! You were all injected with the latest cocktail available to prisons for corporal punishment! Three drugs! The first you may think of as a muscle relaxant just for your heart! It prevents your heart rate from surpassing 160! So you won't suffer fibrillations, arrhythmia, or a heart attack! The other two drugs work together in your brain! The first blocks any and all releases of endorphins! Endorphins are natural painkillers, much more powerful than morphine! And you will miss them! The second drug operates in your cerebellum! It prevents the cerebellum from realizing that there is too much pain, too much of a problem with the body! The cerebellum will, thus, NOT shut off your brain! This cocktail is my fucking favorite because of cunts like you! It prohibits you from escaping the agony! You will experience ZERO relief! No matter how I work you the fuck over! How long! Or how badly!"

Flynn smelled Steve Alexander's vomit. She turned back with her hands on her hips to Alexander, still writhing and groaning, lowered her hands and growled as she snapped a ninth kick up between his thighs. She had yet to miss either of them. Every kick flattened them both and this one made him shriek and the shriek died away only a little to a ragged whine, his head flew up, he grunted and shit all over himself, a spray of diarrhea that jetted a foot away to the floor, splattered his thighs, his calves and feet, and she started chuckling, turned and padded up past Flynn, he heard a spigot squeak, and she returned with a hose. Alexander was dry heaving, his whole body visibly waving pain up and down in the sling, as she rinsed him clean and rinsed it into the drain. She walked past Flynn replaced the hose, then returned to Alexander. Nine kicks. All full force. Based on his screams, his vomiting and shitting, Flynn was sure Cassandra's method of castration, at least for Alexander, was going to consist of kicking him until both his balls ruptured. Flynn was wrong.

She set the chair behind him with her left profile to Flynn so he could see Alexander's balls and what she was about to do them. She grabbed them both, swollen almost to the size of Flynn's, and Alexander gasped, his breath cut off, and he keened a thin, weak, high-pitched wail as she squeezed the right one, yanked it down, then slowly let it squirt up out of her grip. He bucked violently as she let it go. She squeezed the left one in her other hand, yanked it down, and slowly let it squirt out of her grip up toward his taint. It looked just like she was milking a cow, except she wasn't squeezing the teats of an udder. She was squeezing his balls and Flynn could see the muscles of her forearms rippling. She was squeezing as hard as she could.

"If you're worried that they're ruptured, Steve Alexander, don't," she growled. She let his left nut squirt out of her grip and he shrieked and started shuddering. "I could kick your naked, dangling balls all day and they wouldn't!" Flynn watched her dig her thumbnail into his right nut, Alexander's dry heaving began again, he let out a giant fart as his body attempted to cope with the hellish agony by voiding his stomach and bowels again, then she slowly let it squirt up and out as he finally found his voice again and let out a long, falsetto wail. It squirted out of her grip and he barked like a little rat dog, then started sobbing in great, rolling heaves. Sobbing because now the pain had finally become overwhelming. When that happens and you have not been injected with whatever cocktail she had described, you mercifully black out. Or your heart stops. Steve Alexander was about to experience only the most horrific mercy she would allow.

She gave both his nuts one final, powerful squeeze each at the same time, digging her nails in on all sides as his wail rose and rose in pitch, not volume, and his shuddering turned to frantic bucking, jingling the chains a little, but he was solidly trapped and as she slowly let them squirt out of her grip, his wail broke into sections of plaintive bleats, exactly the noise a lamb or a goat makes. He jolted hard upward against his bonds and settled back into waves of writhing anguish. He belched and farted a good five times as she stood and walked back toward Flynn. She didn't smile at him, but what he saw in her eyes made him catch his breath as she passed: unbridled malevolence. This woman was sadistic and having the time of her life.

She reappeared and stood a few feet from Flynn with a double-sided dildo and a padded black rubber mat, about 3 inches thick. One end of the dildo, 10 inches long and 3 inches wide, was chrome-plated steel. The other end was 12 inches long, 4 inches wide and made of hard, black rubber. There was a harness fitted to the center, and she began strapping it to her. She looked up at Flynn and slowly pushed the steel end into her pussy. Her eyes never left his as she smoothly pushed it all the way in without hesitation. She winked at him and smiled, then stood and tightened the harness, stretching it and letting it smack back against her beautiful ass. There was a small, concave shaped knob at the hilt of the steel end and she straightened it snugly over her clit.

She returned to Steve Alexander, dropped the mat behind him, walked between the cages and yanked his sweaty head up and Flynn could see the look in her eyes from 30 feet. She glared at Alexander, who whimpered and panted beneath, with vibrant green eyes and a perfect, bright white grin, but that grin said "helpless." That look told Alexander and Flynn that she was cold and unsympathetic to their pleas because their pleas were sexually gratifying her. She placed her hand over his mouth to shut him up and said, "Steve Alexander." It was a growling purr. "Rape. One count." Her eyes and smile widened. Tears were streaming hot over her fingers and Alexander's eyes widened. Then he sniffled and shut them tight. She chuckled, let his head down, walked behind him, adjusted the mat and knelt on it. She flipped a switch through several settings and her steel end of the dildo hummed to life, a bass tone, about the same register Flynn would hum in, and she moaned. Flynn would never know if she had done it deliberately, but she was humming the same tone, just several octaves higher. He saw her ass jiggle. Not long, not really an orgasm, just an initial thank-you hiccup from her pussy.

She pressed the tip of the 12-inch end to Alexander's asshole. He shivered. He knew what was coming. The pain in his balls was still severe, but not quite as bad as the churning misery in his belly. "I could make this a lot worse," she growled and Flynn heard unsteadiness in her voice. Her vibrator was working her good. She waited for one last sniffling whimper from Alexander, and there it was. He didn't disappoint. "Oh. By the way. No lube."

She shoved 4 inches by 4 inches hard into his ass. He yelled but quickly stopped and began panting. It hurt but not as much as he had expected. It was nothing compared to his balls. She gripped the sides of his ass with her nails and shoved another inches in. He howled and his howl subsided to whining bleats, almost squelching whistles. She leaned forward, grabbed both his shoulders and muttered, "Welcome to my world, BITCH!!" and with the last word, shoved the last 4 inches in to a loud, meaty smack. Steve Alexander shrieked high and long with ragged breaks in his voice. It was precisely the sound a comic book or an author of pulp fiction would spell with a variation of "AAAAAIIIIEEEE!!!" Flynn winced for the first time. The last of it quickly trailed off to a weak squeal. With each rapid breath, he squealed weakly. He and Flynn both heard her chortle. Then, instead of pulling out, she wrapped those massive legs around the legs of his cage, curling her calves against his inner thighs, and shove herself as deep as she could, pulling back on his shoulders with all her strength. He shrieked again, much louder than before.

Flynn could hear in her voice that her teeth were clenched. He had a good idea of her facial expression, too. Raging aggression. She was the Alpha Female. She shoved again just as mightily. he shrieked again. He sounded like a very loud, squawking bird echoing for several seconds each time around the room. It was starting to hurt Flynn's ears. She uncurled her lower legs, set them on either side of the drain, pulled out about 5 or 6 inches and Steve Alexander panted and whimpered. He spoke then, "No. Please," very quietly, and Flynn heard her snarl, "HELL yeah..." then grunted and pounded the dildo balls deep again. Alexander shrieked that comic book sound effect eight times, rapidly, much higher, more ragged, and Flynn was shying away from it.

He almost had to close his eyes but he saw Cassandra grind her crotch sideways while buried to the hilt, and he kept his eyes open for that. She was grinding all 12 inches of that dildo in Steve Alexander's rectum, deep in his colon, and she was doing it to keep his screams going. They changed timbre 40 seconds into it, from the squawking of some huge bird to a much more strident ululation, like Tarzan's yell, but shredded, and now far beyond desperate or frantic. Flynn wouldn't understand until she explained a few moments later that if Alexander's brain could not shut off and his body could not die, there was no real respite, no relief, but there was a reckoning, and he had reached it.

She pulled out about 5 or 6 inches and paused to let his screaming slowly subside. Flynn honestly didn't think it would. He had never heard a man make this noise, not from a bullet through the kneecap, a broken femur, nothing. But it did slowly subside, over the course of 90 seconds, a long time to hear it. When Alexander was finally breathing quietly again, Flynn heard what he had been watching for the last several minutes. Cassandra's pussy was streaming juice and it was spattering the tile floor in a puddle the diameter of a basketball. She steadied her feet and Flynn shook his head. He winced ahead of it. She shoved the dildo right back to the hilt and Alexander wailed that awful, shredded Tarzan yell anew, ripped up, rising and falling and rising in pitch, in volume, falling, rising, and then he began to sob in great, retching heaves, full-voiced agony, misery, and sorrow, the sobbing of a child who has just seen his parents die. She ground away in him some more to play with his voice. She was using it like a musical instrument.

Then she pulled out halfway, unwrapped her legs from him, stood and pulled the rest out. She stepped shakily away from him. Flynn knew that walk. She had just had an extraordinarily powerful orgasm. Her face was beautifully flushed and she started laughing uncontrollably as she looked Alexander over. He wasn't whimpering, just giving voice to his panting. Dozens of breaths per minute but it quickly began slowing and Flynn knew full well that could not have been his constitution, his toughness. That was the drug she mentioned keeping his heart calm.

Cassandra unstrapped the dildo, switched it off, and pulled her end out in a long, sucking slurp. Pussy juice flooded out after it, splattering the floor, her feet, her shins. At least a cup of it, maybe a pint, and as it did, she moaned a long, loud, "Oh!" and started laughing again. She looked back at Steve Alexander, writhing and heaving gasps, and purred, "Was it good for you, too, babe?" She snorted some giggles and staggered back past Flynn. He heard her set the dildo down, then metal rattling in a pan. She reappeared with large pliers of some sort. She paused and looked at him. "This is a burdizzo. It's used for gelding livestock." Her pussy was still streaming down both legs.

She brought the chair back behind him, dropped the burdizzo to the floor, then padded around to his head. She pulled him up by his hair with her left hand and said, "Assault! Four counts! Aggravated battery! Two counts!" Then she reared back her right and punched him as hard as she could right across the mouth. He grunted, almost shouted, then groaned. She still held his hair. He wouldn't look back up, so she yanked him up, growled and punched him again, so hard Flynn winced away with his own groan. Facial bones are much harder than fingers and he was sure she had just broken one. He could have sworn he heard some kind of cracking noise, but she didn't shake her hand. She didn't seem to mind. Alexander spat and Flynn heard a tooth tinkle over the tile. She reared back and punched him again just as powerfully as she possibly could and Flynn was honestly unsure if he could punch any harder. He heard a much louder, sharper crack and Steve Alexander screamed for an instant, then shouted, "AH!! Ah!! Ah!! Ah!!" This dwindled into a long groan.

Cassandra walked back around behind him. "Enjoy your soup, fucker. How's that jaw feel?" Without a pause, she strode her left leg high over his ass and straddled him, sat down on his lumbar, reached down and grabbed his balls, one in each hand. They were swollen almost to the size of plums, now, and just as purple. Alexander mewled quietly, shivering as she separated them into her hands and gripped them. She looked up at Flynn with that bright smile. If he had been a sadist who was not at her mercy, he probably would have smiled back. Hers was one of pure joy, elation, not ecstasy. Ecstasy was what she had just enjoyed at the expense of Steve Alexander's colon. Elation was what she was about to enjoy at the final expense of his testicles.

She winked at Flynn, then carefully positioned Alexander's testicles each between the middle and ring fingers of each hand. Then she started squeezing. She didn't hesitate to enjoy the sound of his suffering. This was the beginning of the end of his sex life. It had long since become the beginning of the end of his mental well-being. He started whimpering more loudly. The old familiar hurt was rising inexorably again, but her squeeze was different. His balls were trapped between the muscles of the second and third joints of her fingers and the muscle of the tops of her palms. Everything around them was unyieldingly tight and he felt this immediately. Now he knew this was the end and his retching sobs hastened and increased in volume.

On and on, tighter and tighter, she squeezed. Steve Alexander had perhaps not seen or noted the muscle of her forearms, but Flynn had and he knew she had more than enough strength to go all the way. Testicles are incredibly tough, resilient. Perhaps Nature had made a mistake placing them outside most male animals' bodies, but it had compensated by making them nearly impervious. but they were not impervious and Steve Alexander was discovering this little by little, but fast, steadily. She was now squeezing them with all three joints of all four fingers, the tips carefully rolling into his soft, but gristly organs without her nails. Her nails seated themselves harmlessly in her palms. There would be no sharpness to this. Only dull, merciless pressure. His balls were not flattening out. She was keeping them round, more or less, with her fingers. They were becoming longer, more ovoid. She felt this, and shaped her palms to counter it. She drew her index and little fingers inward, pressing his balls back in, fatter, closer to their normal shape.

Flynn wasn't watching her hands so much as her pussy, flooding juice over Alexander's back, his ass, streaming from both sides of his waist, down both asscheeks, his hamstrings to the backs of his knees, pooling, dripping, streaming and dribbling onto the floor. She looked up at him. Flynn was now so horrified of her bestial wantonness that he dropped his gaze from her beautiful face. Alexander's whimpering had risen as steadily as her pressure. She was in total control of it. She was deciding how much he had to hurt in answer for his crimes. Flynn glanced up at a squawk in Alexander's voice. Cassandra was still glaring at him, eyes wide, filled with delectably rich euphoria. Her smile was slightly open and askew. If she'd been wearing facepaint, he would have thought of her as a female iteration of that clown from the old Stephen King book.

She had squeezed Steve Alexander's balls down to one-third their normal girth. But a tiny bit closer, a micron, an angstrom, that was all her fists had to close, and his balls would pop, and Alexander knew this by feel. She squeezed harder then, and his screaming whine became a screaming, bawling wail again, only now he really was no longer a human being. The agony she was wreaking in his balls had caused his brain to make him something new to science. Something bizarre to Flynn.

His wail rose and fell as before, but was now pure, not ragged or in his chest. It was falsetto, as plaintive and beseeching as ever, but singing clear as a bell, and his voice was now legitimately as perfect as that of a coloratura soprano in a professional opera. Then Flynn saw something that made him heave hard over. He didn't vomit, but he gagged strongly 4 times, then looked again in horrid disbelief. He shook his head but what he saw remained.

Cassandra's grips suddenly completed. All at once, she finished making fists. Her fingers plunged in. Her fists became as small as they were going to become.

Steve Alexander puled. It was all he had left. To him it was a roar, but to the room it was a pule, a weak, soft, bleating cry. His balls had just popped in her grips, the left one first because it was in her strong hand, then his right. Flynn could not hear the sound from his distance, but Cassandra could and lifted her head up and back with a laughing smile. Her hips bucked and bucked. Pussy juice sprayed high, 20 feet across the floor and Flynn knew it was 20 feet because he was good at eyeballing distance. He stood 10 feet from it. She sprayed again, and now she began to yipe in that beautiful contralto. Purring, falsetto squeals, while Steve Alexander bucked and writhed in overwhelming agony. His head lolled in every direction as he tried to get away from it. But there was no escape.

Cassandra bucked and writhed in overwhelming ecstasy as she came and came, wave after wave. Fat spurts of cum rolled out of her vagina to join the others shot into the air. Flynn did not realize it, but their splatters were music to his lust. His cock made its first twitch. Her pussy's smell was deliciously disgusting, intoxicatingly rich and full. He wanted to chug her cum. He wanted to slurp the last of it from her lips.

Steve Alexander's whining, soprano squeal went on and on as she shifted her grips and made sure that his balls were a homogeneous jelly. They were. And she released them. His whining squeal droned on. She took a deep breath and sighed...long.

Then stood high off him. She enjoyed his bucking squirming for a moment. She reached for the chair, sat in it. She leaned over and picked up the burdizzo. Alexander began dry heaving again. He ripped a massive fart and it was a cloud of blood. She burst out laughing. Flynn beheld all this with an air of simple horror. He knew he would be last, and he knew he would not be able to withstand it. None of them would. This dungeon was Hell. She was Satan Herself. And they waited at her mercy. No one was whimpering or moaning or muttering anymore. He noticed this then. No one but Steve Alexander.

She opened the burdizzo, settled it above Alexander's balls, then above his right ball. He didn't feel this. He only felt the still-detonating agony in his balls and the misery ravaging gleefully in his bowels. His brain could not fathom the intensity of it because without the drugs he had been injected with his brain would have shut off a long time ago. Now it was in no-man's land. No one knows what to do in no-man's land. All a mind can do is observe and record. She did not hesitate. She had had her fun with Steve Alexander. There were 14 more men in this room.

She clamped the burdizzo down on Alexander's right spermatic cord. His sack had already swelled to the size of a softball with blood. He would have bled to death in 15 minutes, but death would have been a blessing. He wouldn't have learned anything. Now he was in the process of learning that every crime he had committed was a crime and he had committed them. What little vestige of sanity remained understood that it was sorry. She had made her point. She had won.

He gasped, paused, and started keening again, that sickening, high-pitched note that was no longer an aspect of a voice. It was just a noise. Some sound a goat might make for the same reason. Flynn heard the cord crunch and shut his eyes tight at it, a crunch as strong as that of a celery stick, but there was a popping sound as well, something like a whole head of celery wrapped in rubber bands. The rubber had to pop free and that was Steve Alexander's tunica albuginea releasing its hold from the artery and vein in his right spermatic cord. The tunica albuginea, with which Flynn would become intimately familiar later, was a gristly sheet of pure nerve fiber that wrapped the balls and their cords, all the way up into the abdomen to the spermatic plexus. Cassandra had just crushed Steve Alexander's right spermatic cord, stopping all blood flow and nerve stimulus to that testicle. It no longer caused him pain. But the spermatic cord did, the same pain as his crushed ball.

He no longer made any noise but sips of breath. She orgasmed and Flynn saw that this was because of Alexander's bucking, his writhing, his desperate squirming against his shackles. Flynn had seen women orgasm this many times this quickly, but he had never in his life seen so much cum involved. Cup after cup of it streamed, sprayed, dribbled, flooded out of her, splattering the floor and her feet, the musk so thick in the air that he could taste it now on the back of his tongue with each breath. She had to be dying of thirst.

She clamped down again on his right spermatic cord, above the first crimp. She could have crushed his cord higher first, then lower afterward and this would have spared him some pain, but she had not and Flynn knew why. She wasn't done torturing him. This second crimp made Alexander burst alive with fresh thrashing in his bonds. It seemed impossible to Flynn that he could still have this energy, but he demonstrated it. Alexander made no noise except cavernous panting. His throat was open all the way to his stomach and if there had been anything in it, he would have puked. But he was past this. Flynn dimly considered that what he was witnessing was worse than Hell.

Cassandra released his right spermatic cord, then settled the burdizzo around his left cord and clamped it shut. Alexander yowled only once, a quick, tenor bark. Then he was back to his gasping and dribbling spit. She twisted the burdizzo around to see what she was doing, opened it, pushed it an inch higher and clamped it shut again. Flynn winced at the celery crunch. Steve Alexander shrieked, quite the full-voiced shriek given his condition. She would tell Flynn later that this was because whatever was left of his mind still understood that this fourth and last crunch signalled the end of his nuts, the end of his sex life, the last time he would ever have an orgasm.

She squeezed the burdizzo a little harder to be sure, then opened it, stood, and brought it with her, walking to Flynn. She wasn't going to pass him by, and he shied backward, eyes suddenly wider. She grinned, eyes suddenly wider, stepped face to face with him. And she kissed him. A slathering, slurpy French kiss. He hesitated and backed off at first, but she didn't bite, and when he heard the burdizzo clatter on the floor, he kissed her back, sucked her tongue, she sucked his, wrapped her arms around his back, he felt her jump and then her legs were locked tight around his lumbar. She sucked his tongue out to the root, smacking and slurping at the insides of his cheeks, then his lips, then sucked away from him and looked him in the eyes.

He stood looking into the eyes of an Alpha Female wolf. He was sure of this now. And she confirmed it: "I'm going to make you my bitch!"