Thursday, March 12, 2015

Two Young Men

I watched the two boys as they played their one-on-one game of basketball. One of them was obviously better than the other. He was a few inches taller and handled the ball with much more skill. I could tell that his arms and legs were more thickly layered with muscle too. He looked 18 years old, much older than his opponent, who looked only 15. It was late, and class should have ended long ago. Perhaps he is an upperclassman at this high school, showing off to his younger underclassman in an after-class game. The younger boy struggled to keep up with his pace.

By the time the game ended, the younger boy had not scored even once. They were both dressed only in basketball shorts, and their torsos were shone with sweat under the orange light of the setting sun.

I followed them as they entered the school building. They seemed very friendly with each other. the older boy was giving pointers to the younger one, critiquing his game play. The younger boy evidently looked up to the older one a lot, and payed close attention to everything he said. As they entered the empty shower room, I quickly zapped the older boy with a stun gun from behind, and zapped the younger one before he had time to react. They both fell to the floor, and I secured their arms behind their backs and tied their ankles up with zip-ties.

I lay them side by side on the floor. They were both lean and finely muscled, but the older boy had at least twice as much muscle mass as the younger one. His chest was much thicker, shoulders were broader, and his six-pack abs were well defined, while the younger one’s stomach was covered by a soft layer of baby fat. He was also more tanned, with a more defined jaw. The younger one’s body was obviously still a boy’s, but the older one was well on his way to becoming a man.

But maybe he wasn’t older after all. Maybe he had simply worked harder, and spent more hours in the gym than his smaller friend. Maybe his better physique was a result of his greater dedication, rather than his age.

I took a pair of scissors out of my bag and snipped off both their basketball shorts. The younger boy had a pair of boxers on underneath, but the older one had nothing on at all under his shorts. His balls and cock lay exposed on the floor. I stuffed the boys’ shorts into their mouths to gag them. I then tied the two boys to adjacent benches before the effects of the stun gun wore off. The older one was naked, while the younger still had his boxers on.
I examined the older boys’ exposed package. His cock was actually quite unimpressive relative to his well-developed body. It was four inches long flaccid, a good size, but nothing to be too proud about. His balls were nice and plump. I lifted them up, and they felt quite heavy in my hand.

He was shouting something into his gag, and looked quite terrified. His hard, young muscles flexed against his restraints in a futile attempt to escape. I ran my hand over his striated pecs and abs. He really had no body fat on him at all. It was all lean muscle.

I took up his left testicle between my thumb and index finger, and squeezed. His eyes bulged out from the pain and he double his struggles. His ball was firm, like a very large grape: ripe and juicy. I increased the pressure, and his testicle slipped from between my two fingers.
I searched in my bag for my scalpel, and took it out. I carefully cupped his scrotum in my hands and lay the edge of the blade against his warm skin. He could feel the cold surgical steel against his flesh, and he could see what I was about to do to his testicles, but instead of struggling even more, the young man just froze. Perhaps he was too afraid.

I ran the scalpel vertically down the middle of his sac. The blade parted the skin like a hot knife through butter. I squeezed his scrotum, and out popped his left testicle. I reached my finger inside and fished out the right one too.

Now both his testicles were hanging outside of their sac. I don’t suppose either of them have ever seen a naked testicle before. The grey orbs looked very vulnerable and exposed, tethered only by very thin cords to his body. I quickly tied up both his cords with very thin nylon threads.

He started to struggle again. I let his balls go. They flopped around as he thrashed about the heavy bench. His arm and leg muscles bulged uselessly against the restraints. He was already soaked with sweat from his basketball game, and now even more sweat was dripping from every inch of his body. A puddle was beginning to form underneath the bench, and each mound of each individual muscle stood out against his shiny, sweaty skin. When he finally exhausted himself, he lay motionless on the bench. His deep chest undulated up and down, panting from his futile struggles.

I picked up both his testicles in one hand. He did not resist me. He only looked at me as tears streamed out of his eyes. I admired his muscled body one last time. He wasn’t even fully grown yet, and was already so strong and well-developed. Given time to grow and right training, he has the potential to become a powerful specimen of a man in the future. With one flick of the scalpel, I sever his balls from his body. Too bad for him, I thought, and snickered.

I dropped his useless organs to the floor and turned my attention now to the younger boy. He was trembling with fear, and had pissed himself. I can’t blame him. He just saw his much bigger upperclassman get castrated.

I pulled down his boxer shorts and exposed his package too. His cock and balls were more pathetic than I could ever have imagined. I am sure even fifteen-year-olds should have bigger endowments than this! His penis had retracted into a little nub, and his balls were the size of little glass marbles. He had only the smallest tuft of hair around his crotch.

I rubbed the head of his small, uncircumcised cock. He was a teenager, and so despite his fear his cock rapidly grew to its full size. It was surprisingly long at about five inches, but was incredibly thin. I toyed with the idea of snapping his young cock in two. It seemed so simple, and so tempting, but I thought better of it.

Instead, I stroked the length of his skinny shaft, and tried to milk him of his sperm. Within half a minute, he started arching his back, and I held his cock in such a way that his spurts of cum would land on the naked body of the older boy tied down right next to him. The first wad landed on the older boy’s chest, splattering right in between his thick mounds of pec muscle. The second wad landed on his solar plexus, right where his washboard abdominals began, ad the third landed right inside his belly button.

The young boy’s orgasm started to peter out as quickly as it had begun, and soon it was only a dribble resting on my fist. I rubbed my soiled hand on the older boy’s face and in his hair. He was still crying, and made no sound of protest even as I smeared his cheeks with his friend’s young cum.

I started stroking the younger boy’s pencil dick again. It was still hard and eager, like all teenage penises, and within another minute another volley of juvenile sperm erupted from his cock. I directed this one over the older boy’s body as well, and the white gobs of cum stained his chest, arms and stomach once more.

I never gave the young boy’s penis any rest and tried to stroke out a third load. But when he reached orgasm, only one gob of sperm came out and dribbled onto my hand. I knew then that he has reached the end of his reserve of semen, and was deeply unimpressed. Most young boys should be able to squirt out twice as much as this. This boy really had a lot of catching up to do.

I smeared his last load on to the older boy’s emptied and deflated scrotum, then used one finger to massage the cooling gobs of sperm that had landed on the rest of his body into his skin. My index finger went in little circles, spreading out the semen into a thin layer all over his sweaty body. I felt his firm and powerful muscles underneath my finger as I rubbed another boy’s sperm over them. This boy was by far the better man, bigger, stronger, much more masculine. Too bad I just sliced the source of that masculinity from his body, and his manhood was now lying on the dirty floor in front of me, cold and dead.

The younger boy was still trembling, probably fearing that any time now I was going to take away his testicles too.

“No, you ket to keep these,” I reassured him, tapping against his minuscule endowment with my slimy fingertip. I wondered if he will still be able to look up to his upperclassman in the future. He just saw me castrate the older boy with his own eyes, and had his sperm rubbed all over the older boy’s body. His own manhood, however meagre it was, was now infinitely more virile than that of the older boy’s. He was the inferior man, but of the two only he will be able to father children and mature into the fullness of manhood.

The upperclassman still looked like a strong young man, even now, without his balls. He was smeared all over with the sperm of an inferior man and had his manhood taken from him, but his body still bulged with the developed musculature of a man. I wonder how long he will be able to keep in shape without his balls. He really could have grown into a huge beast of a man, if not for that fateful flick of my knife.

I picked up his balls from the floor. They were still heavy, but were cold and dead. Nothing more than two useless lumps of meat now. I dangled them by their severed cords in front of the older boy’s face, and laughed.

I left the boys tied up on the benches to spend the night. By morning, they will be found, and the underclassman’s young balls would have replenished their sperm, ready to shoot their load again. But the upperclassman will still be an eunuch, utterly unmanned and missing his balls, and will still reek of the younger boy’s semen.

Muscle and Meat

His balls feel hot in my hand. They are firm, like hard boiled eggs. I roll them around their sac. His scrotum is moist from sweat.

He is a fine specimen of a man. Six feet tall and dense with muscle, his pecs are like thick slabs of lean chocolate-colored plates of armor. God, he must weigh at least twice as much as I do. I prod at his stomach with a finger, and it tenses up into a well-defined six pack. I’ve blindfolded him, tying a thick strip of cloth around his eyes. He must be in his twenties, or even younger. His hair is closely cropped into a buzz cut. Maybe he is a military man.

He was running in the streets when I spotted him, running shirtless. His shorts hugged against his thighs as his feet pounded the sidewalk, and his muscled torso was dripping with sweat. I followed him in my car, and stunned him when we were in a secluded place. His big arms and legs were immobilized by a few plastic zip-ties, and I stuffed one of his sweaty socks into his mouth as a gag. I then dragged him into my car and drove off to my house. I savor the irony that I caught him as he was running. He was conditioning his body to become better, stronger and faster. But now, no amount of exercise or training is going to do him good any more, not after what I’m about to do to him.

He is awake now, and tied down to a table in my garage. He is screaming something into his gag, but I don’t care for what he says. The man is struggling against the zip-ties. His large, bulbous biceps flex as he struggle. They’re so big and round, like a young watermelon. I find it funny how such a skinny zip-tie can serve to restrain such thick arms.

I admire him as he struggles. The veins in his neck and forearms bulge from his efforts. I squeeze his biceps between my thumb and index finger, and run my finger down his sweat-soaked chest and abs. This guy has a body like a full-grown bull’s, covered in tough meat.

I reach my hand down again and cup his balls. They were large balls, but still fit nicely within my hand. I feel the rubbery texture the cords connecting them to his body between my fingers, then prod at his testicle with the fingernail of my thumb. This man had firm and meaty balls. His flaccid cock lay against his washboard stomach like a short section of dense black rubber hose.

I squeeze his balls and feel them deform in my hand. They are a lot softer than the man’s biceps. Nothing but two orbs of warm and tender meat, really. This man looked every bit like the paragon of masculinity, obviously as virile and as strong as any human male can hope be. He has obviously trained a lot, spent a lot of time training in the gym, to get a body like that. And yet, all that manly strength is neutralized by only a few lengths of zip-ties, and all the source of that masculinity lay in these few ounces of vulnerable meat. I squeeze harder. The man is screaming into his gag. His balls are getting mushier, but I know I can’t crush them with my hand alone.

I stuff his scrotum into my mouth. His balls fill my cheeks to the brim. I roll them around with my tongue, and feel his ball cords between my teeth. I position each meaty testicle on each side of my mouth, between my molars, and bite down hard. His balls make a loud crunching sound inside my head. The man is struggling even harder now, pulling at his restraints, stretching his scrotum away from my mouth, but there is no escape for his balls.

They’re now split into large chunks inside their sac. I swirl them around in my mouth, then bite again. I chew them thoroughly, reducing his manhood into mincemeat. Only when I feel they have an even liquid consistency do I pop his ruined testicles out of my mouth. His scrotum is now dark and swollen, and completely flat. Nothing remotely resembling testicles remain inside them. Just moments ago, this hulking guy was twice the man I was, bigger, stronger, and better-endowed. Now he is nothing.

I pick up his sac. It is full of mush and slick with my saliva, and I play around with it in my hand. There’s nothing but chewed-up meat left inside. His balls are definitely gone forever, I think, and smirk to myself.

New Blog

Someone has been using my alias without my permission and posting my stories here  (here http://ballmeat.blogspot.com/ ), so I've decided to start a blog of my own in order to reclaim my stories.

- ballmeat