Deadwood - The Unmanning of Angus Johansen - Part 3

Deadwood - The Unmanning of Angus Johansen - Part 3

Original story by TripWire (called “Deadwood”)

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“No!” Chloe and Angus shout. “Samson!” they cry next. 

Angus begs. 

“Samson, friend, you promised I could do her, get off one more time. I haven’t done that yet.” 

The crowd agrees, but the Reverend does not. 

“Finish it, Samson,” he says. “All this whoring wasn’t part of our agreement, which I and God must remind you was made long before you promised anything to this brute criminal.” 

“The preacher has a point, champ,” Samson says, stroking his chin in mock contemplation. “I did make certain promises prior to granting you this minor mercy.” 

Abe Tanner, a garrulous panner known for his love of a good argument, speaks up. 

“Ain’t no mercy. We all saw what was done to those twins, and it weren’t rape. I doubt a lesser man could have satisfied those little chippies.” 

“LIES!!” The Rev. Olsen rounds on ol’ Tanner, who’s unfazed. “You are damned to Hell if you side with this demon,” he says, shaking his cane at the miner. 

“Yeah?” Tanner replies. “Maybe ‘fore you send me there, you explain to me why Billy Young’s jizz is runnin’ down the neck of sweet an’ innocent, just-got-raped Carrie Kate.” 

All heads turn to look at the alluring waif. Billy tries to retreat into the center of the crowd. Several arms extend and drive him back to stand behind the guilty girl. Her hands are smearing the splatters of semen in an unsuccessful attempt to wipe away the evidence. 

“Father, no. It’s not ... I’ve been crying, you see, after what was done to me...” 

“Kinda sticky tears, all globbed up in your hair there, too, missy,” Abe observes dryly. The mood in the saloon, except among the scattering of Bible thumpers and betrayed husbands, swings decidedly in Angus’ favor. 

The Reverend can’t believe his eyes. The boy’s cum is shining on her neck and dripping from her curls. His daughter can’t be this much of a slut, to fornicate where anyone could see when he’s risking his reputation to save hers? It can’t be natural; therefore, the answer must be supernatural, which fits nicely with what he’s been saying all along. 

“Demons!” he cries. “Demons are possessing our children, our daughters and sons! Our wives! And all brought here by this creature, this so-called champion. The monstrosity between his legs is clear evidence, proof of what I say. Even now it stands forth after punishments that would make a mortal man lose consciousness.” 

Angus dares to speak despite the threat of Kwenimo’s knife. 

“Balls!” he shouts. “If I’m a demon, shouldn’t flaming jism shoot out of my prick or some other nonsense? Where’s my tail, where’s my horns?” He laughs bravely, considering his cock is nailed to a board. “Well, maybe I’ve got one horn,” he says, looking down at the still stiff rod. “But I oughta have at least two, hadn’t I, if what the preacher says is true?” 

The Eights erupts in laughter. 

Samson steps forward, arms raised to his patrons as he meets the Reverend’s hate-filled eyes. He has an idea. He wills the preacher to stay silent and succeeds. 

“I say ol’ Angus is probably right about the demon aspect of this little argument, and Abe, can’t believe I’m saying this, he may be right too about the goings-on here earlier tonight. But you know and I know, my fellow Deadwooders, that our good looking, studly champion from back East has been cutting a pretty wide swath through the womenfolk in the camp — and not just my whores. He’s got more to answer for than just ruining the twins’ pure reputations.” 

Shouts of encouragement come from the handful of cuckolded men whose pretty wives flocked to fuck the big boned boxer. 

“So I propose,” the saloonkeeper and whoremaster continues, “that you allow me to keep my promise to Angus, and let him get his nut off, and keep at least part of my promise to the Reverend — and a new promise to the husbands of Deadwood — by allowing Kwenimo to take a nut off. Angus can keep the other. What do you say?” 

Assent comes so fast and from so many corners of the Eights, Angus doesn’t have time to appeal for a lesser sentence. Everyone but Chloe and the champ have judged the one-ball proposal an acceptable compromise and good reason for more entertainment. Nobody appears ready to answer the question of whether the boxer’s remaining testicle will be able to survive without a scrotum to contain it. 

“Well there’s only one hole you haven’t fucked on little Chloe,” Samson says to Angus while the cute teen begins again to lick and nibble at the oversized glans. “Here’s your last chance to blow both balls, champ. 

“But before you do, Kwenimo would like to provide you with a sort of apology, a special potion of his that will make you fire off more joy juice than you ever have in your life.” 

“That’s a mighty nice offer, Samson, but I don’t...” 

“No, no, I insist. Kwenimo?” 

Nailed down as he is and still roped to the bartenders, Angus is helpless to resist the “apology.” The Sioux approaches with a huge hypodermic needle, although no one in Deadwood has seen such an instrument. He grabs one nut and pulls it out behind the defenseless stud as Deirdre did before. The crowd leans forward. The long needle pierces the testicle. Angus winces as the needle is pressed into the very heart of his thick ball meat. Kwenimo depresses the plunger, filling the giant gonad with the mysterious potion. 

A fiery warmth begins to burn in the left nut. It’s not unpleasant, and the suffering from Deirdre’s pounding, squeezing and pulling departs on that side. The sensation increases with a second injection through the opposite wall of the ball. The right sperm maker is needled twice in turn, bringing a smile to the boxer’s face. Samson smiles as well. Only Chloe recognizes that it’s his evil smile. 

The “potion” swirling into the nooks and crannies of the fighter’s gargantuan orbs contains opium and alcohol — lots and lots of alcohol. 

Angus’ comment about flaming jism gave Samson his best idea of the night. While the debate over justice for the boxer was bending toward leniency, Samson had asked Kwenimo if he knew a brew that would in fact generate fiery semen. A practical sort, the Lakota witch had quickly come up with the dope and alcohol mix, but he warned that an ignition source would be needed. And there were no guarantees as to the outcome. 

Samson believes flying gobs of burning goo will seal Johansen’s fate beyond any argument even if a few guess the truth. The crowd will demand that the boxer be nullified. Samson bends down to whisper part of his new plan to perky-titted Chloe. He doesn’t explain how it will once again reverse the champ’s revived fortunes. 

Kwenimo hands the syringe to the girl and points to Angus’ piss slit. She slips the sharp point cautiously into the thick bone’s urethra and squirts the contents down the tube. The Indian demands two more doses before he’s content and gestures for her to insert the needle fully, even jamming the tapered cone of the syringe into the cum spout. Only once does she nick the inside of the urethra. 

After each filling, she drags her thumb firmly along the outside of the big vessel to pump the liquid deep into the recesses of the genitals. She doesn’t understand Kwenimo’s “apology,” but if it will make Angus cum more, she’s eager to help. She loves watching the thick, gooey stuff shoot out of Angus’ big gun, and since he already came more copiously and vigorously than any 10 other men she knew, she was eager to see what one of Angus’ augmented ejaculations would look like. 

Deirdre is demonstrating her throating technique to Billy Young’s father off to one side of the stage, so Chloe must lubricate the giant prick herself before Angus stuffs it in her ass. She applies the goop generously, knowing it will add to the narcotic overload Angus feels. Hopefully, with all of Kwenimo’s doping, the boxer won’t even be aware that the cord has been cut when the time comes. 

With practiced moves, Kwenimo unbends the nails and yanks them loose without touching the wounded penis. The heavyweight champ is free to begin butt fucking the tiny whore. 

Gently, Angus presses the hot head of his 19-inch cock against her opening. She cries a little before the hurt truly begins, just to please the crowd. The pain becomes real when the enormous glans bulls past the sphincter muscle. Small girl, small holes. The boxer keeps one hand on her hip. Chloe covers it with her own, digging her nails in when she needs him to slow down. 

They establish a rhythm, the girl wincing, grimacing and yelping at intervals as he pushes deeper with each stroke. Some of the suffering is faked, and the pain may in fact be less because of the primitive anesthetic in the lubricant. But the crowd expects a little noise from the girl if only to reinforce their thrill at seeing her so hugely penetrated. She obliges. 

Four big racks of candles are trotted out to help light the scene, although some would argue it’s not necessary. One of the blazing stands winds up next to the copulating couple. They can both see the scowling visage of the Right Reverend Olsen over the tops of the flames. 

Angus senses a pending climax far sooner than he would like. He tries to relax but the sensation is so good and his organs are so full of jism and opiates that control slips away. The gigantic balls begin to rise as their cords contract. The crowd sees it, and so does Samson. Chloe detects it in the extra swell of the penis assaulting her. 

“Shoot where they can see you, baby,” she coos to him. Samson has warned her not to let the fighter blow inside her. 

Angus withdraws proudly and lets her take the foot-and-a-half of slick cock in both hands as she rises to a sitting position on her board, slender legs dangling prettily on either side. She puts both thumbs on the ganglia of nerves just underneath the glans, urging the gorgeous organ to release its doctored load. 

The trembling begins in Angus’ feet and climbs his legs to encompass the entire handsome frame of the long-tormented stud. Casually, Chloe aims his cum cannon at the candles and directly at the hateful preacher. This she does according to instruction. The boxer roars with the power of the first blast. 

An incredibly long string of spunk erupts from the penis. The alcohol vapors are potent, stinging Chloe’s eyes. When the jet of altered man juice tickles a candle wick, it explodes into flame, illuminating the stunned faces of the crowd. Some of the long squirt burns away as it arcs toward the Reverend, but a huge jelly-like core lands with a loud sizzling splat across his left cheek and eye, trailing away into the widow’s peak of his hair. He screams, leaping to his feet. 

Whirling, fiery ropes of jism burst in rapid succession from Angus’ cock. Each massive blast of cum is bigger than what a normal man could produce in a week. Four more massive wads streak the preacher’s black frock coat as the crowd bolts in every direction away from the howling man. A sixth glob of burning wad sears the other side of the Reverend’s face. Chloe unrepentantly keeps jacking the rest of the powerful load from the fire hose that is Angus Johansen’s 19-inch dick. A dozen spurts more are ignited by the candle flames before the ejaculate begins to fall short of the little fellow, who rolls on the floor slapping at the blazing lines of fire crisscrossing his clothing and face. He cries, “Demon! Demon! Demon!” uninterrupted until his son throws a coat over him to smother the seminal flames. 

The boy has time to extinguish his father completely in the long moments it takes for Angus to finish his promised orgasm. A puddle of unburned alcohol cum spreads at the base of Chloe’s teeter-totter. The last spasms, though generous, lacked the impetus to cross the candles. The caustic smell of the accelerant fills the air along with that of charred flesh. The goliath organ feels warm and fuzzy with the dope now seeping through the walls of the urethra. 

Chloe squeezes unshot drops of alcohol and opium semen from Angus’ penis, dipping her pinky finger into the wide opening to scoop out a last bit of goo so she can taste it. The flavor is like a too-strong drink, but still sweet enough to savor. For brief seconds, her terror loses its place to sexual exploration. 

And the joy of seeing that hateful man burning... 

Looking past the stage, the girl beams triumphantly at the vanquished preacher. Her expression is not lost on the eldest son, or the daughters who have come tentatively forward to aid the injured man. Chloe observes none of their anger. 

Angus wears the same shocked face as most of the Eights’ patrons until he perceives Samson’s clever plan for turning the crowd against him once more. Never able to resist a good fuck, Angus has unwittingly cast himself as the demon that the pastor named him — with a little help. 

“You evil, fucking sonofabitch,” he says thickly to Samson through the drug haze. 

“Me?” Samson mouths the word mockingly, pointing at his chest. 

The saloonkeeper shouts to the bartenders still holding Angus’ ropes. 

“Quick, boys! Tie him to the barrel again before he sets the whole place afire! My God, he really is a demon!” 

Hobbled, the fighter can’t use his powerful physique to counter the pull on his wrists. He’s dragged yelling back to the barrel and stretched out once more as the forever hard penis finally begins to droop a little. Chloe’s gloating reverts to terror again. She thought they’d won when the mean little man went down. 

Once the champ appears to present no further threat, the crowd reassembles in front of the stage and around the mewling preacher who no longer is capable of coherent speech. The camp’s excuse for a doctor comes forward when the Olsen children refuse Kwenimo’s offer of assistance. No heathen will touch their father, especially one who has had such a suspicious role in all that’s gone wrong this evening. 

The boy rises, his father’s former strength seemingly transferred to him. He points at Samson. 

“I see your hand in this, you purveyor of filth and debauchery. No more deals, no more delays, no more fornication. Finish this devil now or we burn this House of Lies to the ground!” 

The angry eyes of the crowd back up the threat. No one understands exactly how Samson has arranged this disaster, but they presume rightly that his hands are dirty. Their looks say if they could prove anything, the whores and their pimp would be burned out before sunrise. 

Samson turns to the grinning Kwenimo and jerks his head toward the boxer. The bright little blade is already in his two-finger grip. 

“Wait,” Lashly says, not content to be quiet this time. “Her too. The whore. She should be punished with him. She aimed the devil’s thing at papa. And she was glad.” 

Chloe’s jaw drops. 

“But ... no, Samson told me...” 

The slap that takes her across the face makes the doe eyes roll up in her head as she pitches off the board. Samson half catches her, then picks up the limp lovely and deposits her in front of Kwenimo and the boxer. Once again, he whispers in the Indian’s ear. 

A pinch of stinking something is held under the girl’s nose. She revives, a bit less alert than before but still afraid. Kwenimo boosts her from the floor to a seat astraddle her teeter-totter directly in front of the bound boxer. The momentarily drooping dong throbs now under a fresh measure of aphrodisiac poured quickly down the already dopey Angus. Clem and Calhoun scoot Chloe’s seat even closer to the condemned tumescence. 

The unguided cockhead pushes against her left breast then the Indian slides her over so it rests between the two darling boobs. Even with a four-inch section of skin torn away near its base and even with the balls banging around without a bag to hold them, the beautiful package still thrills her. Two coral colored nipples rise in response. 

Kwenimo smiles; he was worried he would have to smear the sensitive titty tips with an irritant to make them stand up. This is better. He hopes to fuck this whore as his reward for his service today. It will be a rare pleasure. He hasn’t savaged any white pussy since raping a settler’s wife and daughter down in Kansas 12 years ago. 

Samson warns Chloe not to move no matter what happens. She turns her adorable eyes at him but fails to draw any sympathy with the vulnerable look. She nods. She’s only a whore. What can she do against strong men when even the best fighter in the world has been subdued and humiliated? 

“Arch your back,” Samson tells her. 

Kwenimo holds up a long loop of thin silver wire. The end next to her taut nipple has been sharpened beyond a fine point. The delicate girl gasps when the fragile skin is pierced by the wire. She struggles not to pull back. Kwenimo smoothly drives the point through the pretty nipple, a tiny amount of blood showing on either side. Its erect state falters a bit. This is her punishment. 

The big, thumping cock head is threaded next on the wire. The glans is holed close to its middle but not deep enough to intersect the hard cavernosa. Angus has been gagged again, so his only reaction is a tightening around the eyes and a few grunts. 

The left nipple is lanced less smoothly, prompting a tiny cry from Chloe. More wire is pulled through all three pieces of erectile tissue so that the ends can be looped behind the girl’s neck. The purpose of the loop isn’t immediately clear. 

Lashly steps forward unbidden and tugs at the silver, bringing tears to Chloe’s cheeks. Angus growls at the twin through his gag. 

“Like that, whore? Better than burning isn’t it? Or losing an eye? Papa may be blinded and this is all they do to you? I hope it tears them off when they take the demon’s pretty horn from him.” 

Clem, who likes Chloe, gently draws the angry Olsen girl away from her less fortunate counterpart. Lashly shrugs him off but sits again. 

Below the metal circle joining nipples to glans, Kwenimo has returned his attention to the swinging balls. Sitting cross legged, he brings the huge left nut into full view of the crowd and stretches the cord to the snapping point while Angus’ muffled protests rise in volume and level of alarm. He squeezes the enormous man fruit just to see the fighter bang his head against the barrel. Destroying this man has been most enjoyable. 

He puts the blade edge against the cords close to the body, lightly testing the spring of the flesh and playing with the doomed he-man. Then he rests his thumb on the other side and cuts. Angus throws his head back and bellows into his gag as the severed ends jump apart, and the crowd ooohs and ahhhs again. Kwenimo holds the first detached nut high by the cords before lowering it into the big glass bowl beside the scrotum and floating rectangles of cock skin. 

Maybe the preacher was right. Maybe such a bulky, bloated ball doesn’t belong on a man. The cut nut appeared huge when it hung from the boxer. It seems truly gigantic now, half-submerged and displacing enough fluid to raise the level in the bowl almost to the point of overflow. Angus is indeed a bull of a man. Half a bull, now. 

The testicle is given a quick massage. Milky sperm is stripped out of the wrinkled cord into the clear liquid of the bowl. The hypodermic, cleared of its first fiery mixture, has been loaded with the same preservative surrounding the suspended genital tissues. The spermatic cord is fitted over the longest needle Kwenimo has available before the pickling solution is shot down the tube. Again the ball is kneaded then more juice is fired into the cord. 

Chloe closes her eyes rather than look, but look is all Angus can do as the long horror of this night becomes permanent. He is helpless to stop the removal of his masculinity. 

The second ball gets placed atop the penis upright, the intact cords curving over and down the side of the testicle then below the base of the penis to loop up and disappear inside Angus’ groin. A torturer’s smile becomes fixed on the Sioux’s face. Instead of snapping the cord, he sets his blade against the bottom of the huge nut, facing the onlookers. Angus jerks and bucks against his restraints, trying to throw his last remaining ball off its unsteady perch as if that might save it from the Lakota knife. Kwenimo waits. 

When Angus quiets, the blade is pushed deep, almost to the other side of the nut, effectively splitting the organ as the knife is drawn upward. The effect resembles a butterfly cut for pork chops. As the blue-white fruit is opened, milky goo drains out of the small chambers and fissures inside. The boxer is banging his head again and screaming into his gag. Blood comes from his mouth where he has bitten himself through the gag. 

Chloe weeps, but Lashly and Carrie Kate approach to peer at the organic architecture of the seed pod. 

“Demon. We can be sure now,” Carrie Kate says matter-of-factly. “A true man’s seed makers would look more ...” 

“Holy?” Lashly suggests. 

“Yes, exactly. These are too ugly.” 

Kwenimo extends the halved nut minutely towards the girls, gesturing for them to touch the tender tissues. Lashly puts forth her index finger and explores to see the champion’s reaction. He still has full feeling through the big nerve in the spermatic cord. The touch is agony, as much mental as physical. She is playing with his opened organ as if he were less than an animal. Carrie Kate takes in the horror in Angus’ eyes and tenderly pulls her sister’s hand away. 

“Let it be done,” she says. 

Two golden threads are used to hold the split testicle closed and make it ready for detachment. Kwenimo stretches the cords tight as before, but now he strops the blade along a one-inch length of the connection, wearing away fine layers of flesh. The three swipes necessary to scrape away the main nerve stimulate involuntary spasms in Angus. When only a remnant holds, Kwenimo tugs sharply and the cord snaps. The filleted nut joins its fellow in the bowl. 

Chloe’s eyes track it this time, disbelieving. Such things shouldn’t be done, they just shouldn’t, she thinks. She despairs. Her madly-hung lover is now a eunuch, but it’s not enough for Samson or the Indian. 

Kwenimo happily dry shaves the pubic hair surrounding Angus’ turgid penis. That done, he probes with his fingers above the base of the shaft, locating the pelvic bone. He digs lower to find the suspensory ligament that holds up the legendary cock. Satisfied, he cuts shallowly from the right edge of the scrotal wound up and over the penis and down the left side. Twice more he follows the same path, trimming away slivers of flesh that will only look ragged when the flesh bone is freed from its moorings. He pauses now and then when the fighter struggles futilely against his bonds. New grease is smeared over the growing wound around the penis to halt the obscuring blood. 

At last, the way is clear to the suspensory ligament. It is huge, as is everything connected with the bafflingly large organs. Kwenimo has amputated the dicks of other well-endowed men. None so large, but on them the supporting structure was feeble in comparison with the cocks they were required to suspend. The bigger the dicks were, the lower the angle when hard. Kwenimo had always been disappointed by the extremely large ones. Johansen, on the other hand, wears his erection proudly, thrusting up into the air when not encased in mouth, pussy, or ass. He has a truly champion cock to go with the champion fists. 

Despite the grand nature of the boxer’s ligament, the knife parts it all the same, and the giant penis sags abruptly, jerking on Chloe’s nipples where the fine wire connects her to him. A sharp, short scream comes from her. She doesn’t dare look down to see the damage, but it’s not much. The bulk of the weight was absorbed by the loop around her neck as Kwenimo and Samson intended. Despite Lashly’s demands, they’re not about to damage the earning potential of a fine, young whore. 

Eighteen inches lower, the immense dick wavers with much of its raw root revealed after the cutting of its main anchor. Kwenimo pulls at the cock, drawing three inches of bloody root into the candlelight, letting Chloe’s nipples and neck hold up the front end. Deirdre has wedged a pillow behind Angus’ head to keep him from breaking his skull. She means it for a kindness, but it only prolongs the boxer’s pain. 

Once more, Kwenimo strips the covering from the cock, this time at the newly exposed root. When the cavernosa and urethra are bared, the Indian pauses for the flicker of an eye, then bisects the cum tube with a quick flash of the knife. Men who haven’t shivered before, quaver now as they imagine themselves in the champion’s place. 

Thicker wire is selected for the next phase of the mutilation. Silver again because Kwenimo believes in the ceremony of sacrifice. He forces a sharpened end between the dividing cavernosa of the exposed root. The wire is cinched around one barrel of meat. The other engorged tube is accorded its own wire noose. With two pairs of pliers, the Indian begins to tighten the loops, choking off the blood flow and crushing the two cavernosa. When the hardness is compressed to the tearing point, he loops smaller gauge wire behind the first pair and repeats the process. The long dick is staying hard, the wires trapping the blood inside them. Two pencil-thin channels of bottlenecked cock are all that connects the American Casanova to what’s left of his fuckmeat. 

A third set of wires are tied loosely to finish the job. 

Kwenimo winks at Chloe, a sincere attempt to reassure her. The weight of the penis when it comes off won’t tear her delicate flesh, he means to say. She doesn’t understand. 

He spins the wires tight quickly. They’re fine enough to rip easily through the flesh, but that’s not what Kwenimo has in mind. He’ll cut behind them with his knife, then tighten the wires on the suddenly flaccid flesh. Without the pressure of the blood, the cut ends will close instead of rip the tissues beneath the fine wire. If the Sioux is quick enough, Johansen’s severed pole won’t soften a bit. 

Samson comes forward and removes the gag from Angus mouth. The boxer breathes heavily but says nothing. 

“Any last words before you’re cut, demon?” 

“I’ll see you and the fucking heathen in Hell,” he says. His next sentence is lost because Kwenimo chooses that instant to slice through the pinched cavernosa. 

Blood sprays from Angus’ groin as both barrels are cut in two. The choked end of the enormous cock swings free of its owner to thud between Chloe’s thighs. He screams and so does she, although she reacts mostly from fright and the shock of having the boxer’s suddenly detached penis hanging from her nipples and neck. 

Kwenimo has been inhumanly quick. A miniscule drip of blood flows from the right cavernosa, but no more. The Indian waves a candle under it, searing the flesh together before turning back to stop the fountain of blood coming from the nullified hero. 

As if on cue, both Angus and Chloe faint. He loses consciousness from blood loss. She passes out from stress and terror. 

Samson catches the girl before she can roll to the floor with the bloody trophy around her neck. He lays her gently back on the board and positions the erect severed manhood carefully on her belly and chest. He calls Deirdre over to make a prettier arrangement of the unconscious girl’s hair. 

The crowd is already surging forward to see the bloody gap in Angus’ groin and his sundered cock on Chloe’s beautiful pierced bosom. Clem and Calhoun try to hold back the press so Samson can organize a queue and assess a fee for the viewing. There are grumblings but no talk of torching the place, for which Samson counts himself lucky. 

Chloe wakes after a dozen men have passed, daring to touch her punctured nipples instead of the real object of their fascination — the unjustly cleaved but justly famous and tremendously oversized penis of Angus Johansen. She starts to rise but Samson threatens her life and forces her to recline with the hot cock slowly growing cold against her. 

Angus she can see, head lolling, as Kwenimo unties him from the barrel and lays him out on another board. Most of the bleeding from the gaping wound has been halted. He may survive the shock or die, either one. 

He hasn’t much reason to live. Chloe pities him with all her heart. For such a virile male to become less than a man will hurt beyond any physical sensation of pain. No doubt he too will wake on display. Staring faces will watch the horror rush back into his eyes as he sees himself without his huge genitals for the first time. Kwenimo will wait until the crowd clears to sew him up properly. 

After the entire line has passed by once, Samson allows the crowd to mill around, approaching the little whore and the big boxer at will. The other whores are commanded to suck and fuck openly if their customers want to dispense with the privacy of upstairs rooms. He orders this mostly to offend the eldest son of the Rev. Olsen, hoping he will leave with his blinded father and his sisters now that the doctor has finished tending the burned preacher. They only depart, however, when Billy Young starts making eye contact with Carrie Kate and nodding toward a dark and unoccupied corner of the saloon. 

The crowd gathers close a few minutes later when the Indian unthreads the silver wire from Chloe’s nipples and the head of the clipped cock. He smears her points quickly with an unguent and wraps a clean white bandage about her chest. It’s not strictly necessary, given the small size of the holes in her teats, but Kwenimo has become enamored of the young girl and hopes to win her favor and Samson’s permission to fuck her brains out. The aging warrior is no Angus, but he fancies his prick big enough to make most women walk carefully the morning after. 

Freed from her attachment to Angus’ culled bone, Chloe waits for Kwenimo to turn away then she hops off her board, dodges Samson’s grasp and flees up the stairs to her room. Samson lets her go, figuring it’s more trouble than it’s worth to drag her back before the crowd. He decides he’ll fetch her in an hour or so and charge double the normal price for anyone who wants to plug her holes and gnaw the perforated nipples while they’ll still bleed. 

A broad table is dragged onto the stage for Kwenimo to initiate his taxidermy on the fantastic fuck rod so recently attached to the former heavyweight champion of the world. Former now because what man could possibly summon the desire to fight when all desire has been hacked from his powerfully muscular physique? Deirdre doesn’t argue when Kwenimo directs her to wash the champion bone, which is smeared with pussy juice, spit, Angus’ own cum and Kwenimo’s narcotic lubricants. 

True to form, Johansen wakes from the shock of nullification sooner than expected. Kwenimo identifies an opportunity and mixes a concoction to clear the fuddled brain of the gelded fighter. He should have stayed senseless for hours with the blood loss and the opiates. No matter. He can watch with dismay as his privates are converted to public curiosities. 

Chloe imagined it much as it happens. Recall comes slowly to Angus. The mental fog lifts in a few nodding swings of the head. The transformation, when it begins, is horrible. Full-fledged terror distorts the handsome face, and his howl of despair as his eyes find his dismembered dick swivels every head in the saloon. Kwenimo smiles. He guesses the decocked cocksman will go mad soon. 

To business. 

The rigid cock is laid on its back, so plug full of blood that it balances on its wide head and wider base, the sweeping arc of the bone allowing nothing of the shaft to touch the table. The silver-tied ends of the trophy meat hang an inch or so over the edge. Clem positions a bucket under the twin cylinders of the corpora cavernosa. 

Kwenimo aligns his knife over the narrow gap between the second and third sets of wires and slices a quarter-inch from the exposed root. The fine hoops of silver clink at the bottom of the bucket an eye blink before the pressurized surge of blood splats over them. The penis wilts quickly, shrinking and drawing in on itself while the fluid drains. The flayed area almost disappears in the accordion bunching of flaccid cock. Where two heartbeats ago 19 inches of solid male wood held itself up, only 10 inches cringes now. The head twists over lazily on its side, too tired to ever punish another pussy. The smaller crowd now gathered round the table are almost saddened by the deflation. 

The obnoxious, overweight whore who called for blood sausage earlier in the evening assists the Indian with squeezing more blood from the meat. Rhoda stretches the shrunken sausage to its erect length while Kwenimo limbers up the fat end of a pool cue that Samson keeps for a billy club against rowdy patrons. He flattens the very tip of the wide cockhead under the cue, rolling it up to Rhoda’s fingers just behind the glans. She moves her fingers quickly to pinch the tip of the knob, and Kwenimo crushes down the length of the taut hose. An unexpected amount of blood streams out of the two spouts over the bucket. 

Angus vomits, sickened by the sight of his famous penis being prepared for stuffing like the main course at Sunday supper. 

Kwenimo squeegees the organ several times more, turning it thrice to make sure the alternating pressures force out all of its natural fluid. 

With every last drop of blood pressed out, the mammoth prick shrinks to a pale, withdrawn 8 inches. To Angus’ eyes, his renowned rod looks insignificant. He passes out again. 

************* 

Three weeks later Angus has suffered through an infection and long fever. An amused assemblage of bar patrons awaits him as he staggers down the stairs toward a waiting stagecoach. Chloe props him up. The Eights’ patrons make a path for the couple that directs them close to the long bar where a purple silk covering glows over a towering glass cylinder. Samson pulls the cover off as Angus passes. The weakened man tries not to see, but his head turns and his eyes travel up and down the fluid-filled tube, noting the perfect pink coloring, the bulging veins, the restored skin, the pendant testicles. With the thick root added to its length, the tremendous cock seems larger and prouder than ever. The swollen, purple head appears to be straining to shoot new globs of rich, creamy cum, but it will not. 

Angus lowers his head as the laughter herds him out the door. 

************** 

“Quite a story,” the handsome young cowboy tells Samson. The barkeep blows out the lamps above the tall cylinder, casting the preserved penis into shadow. He holsters the display case inside its silk covering and replaces it on the shelf behind the bar. 

“Worth a quarter?” Samson asks with a smile. 

“Worth your balls,” the suddenly angry cowboy says. “How do ya do? My name is Pete Johansen.” As if to prove his heritage, the young blond cowboy opens the fly to his pants and hauls out a truly gigantic cock, over 12 inches long completely flaccid and nearly as thick as a baseball bat. Samson suddenly recognizes the young man, who has the stature, musculature, and chiseled features of the defeated, deballed, and decocked warrior, as well as the stunning beauty of his long-lost favorite whore, Chloe. It looked like Angus’ last fuck with Chloe hadn’t been for naught after all. 

Samson reaches for the sawed-off pool cue he keeps under the bard. The muscular cowboy has been waiting with the reflexes of the young son of a very quick boxer. He thumps Samson between the eyes with the butt of his revolver. 

Later, bleeding unchecked from his blank groin, Samson tells Pete where Kwenimo lives.