Friday, September 30, 2016

Hercules and the Temple of Torture - Part 1

Here's the first installment of a 3-part series featuring one of the hottest heroes of all time -- the mighty Hercules! :D

Hercules and the Temple of Torture - Part 1
Based on an original story by dbeverly

Part One – A Crisis Brews

Hercules approached the valley of the Egyptian priest known only as Hem Netjer, Egyptian for servant of the gods. King Eurytus of the Greek land of Oechalia, open-minded and generous to a fault, had allowed the stranger refuge from persecution in his homeland but was not comfortable with the man inside the royal city. So, the king sent the priest to a valley at the far reaches of his kingdom to live in peace and relative seclusion. However, not long after that, reports of young men mysteriously disappearing made their way to the king. He sent his son, Prince Iphytus, the strongest and bravest young man in the land, to investigate the disappearances. When Iphytus failed to return and word made its way to Eurytus of a magnificent temple having appeared almost overnight in the valley, the King asked Hercules to investigate and bring home his son. Hercules could not deny his former mentor and friend or the lust for adventure that ruled his soul. 

Cresting the final hill of his journey, Hercules saw a massive and majestic temple in the distance and knew that no mortal men could have built such a structure in years let alone in days…but there it stood, ominous and pulsing with an energy the demigod recognized immediately as pure evil. The awesome structure glowed with power, seeming to suck the very light from the valley, and at the same time emitting a mist that permeated the valley floor with an eerie luminosity. Even in the heat of the Greek sun, an unaccustomed chill caused the huge muscles of Hercules’ massive and powerful body to tighten in the presence of malevolence like none he had encountered in all his adventures and travels before. 

While the temple still held its secrets close, the mystery of the disappearing young men was quickly answered. Looking down into the valley, Hercules saw small groups of young men making their way across the valley and into the mist surrounding the priest’s temple…and to his surprise, as he smelled a cloying scent on the air, he too felt a peculiar pull toward the temple. However, fearing no man, no beast, and no priest, and trusting in the blood of the gods running through his veins to protect him as it always had, Hercules joined a pair of young men on their dark journey toward the temple. 

Hercules could immediately see from the young men's dazed expressions that they were under some wicked spell. The trance-like state of these men, and his own troubled senses, were signs to the mighty muscle man to move with care as the priest’s magic was obviously strong. The powerful demigod bravely moved with the two young men on their strange journey toward the Egyptian temple and a fate he could not yet imagine. 

Part Two – Hercules Enters the Valley

Hem Netjer had cast another spell over the surrounding countryside, calling yet more young men to their new fate and their new master. He would sacrifice their virile, male essence to the gods for greater power over this humble land that was his temporary home. Then he would add their strong, soulless bodies to his growing army. His limitless ambition had been the priest’s downfall when he had underestimated the combined power of the other priests of his homeland. In Greece, there were no powerful servants of his gods to challenge him; therefore, he would build his magic with the very life of this land’s unusually physically powerful young men and create an army of undefeatable warriors. Then, one day, Hem Netjer would return to his homeland stronger than ever and take vengeance on those who had moved against him.

Moving to a window at the highest point of his temple, the priest peered through a golden looking glass just in time to see the most magnificent man-beast he had ever seen make his way down the far hill. The powerful servant of the gods immediately knew that this man was not pulled by the mist but instead followed it like a predator to its prey. Hem Netjer's temper -- a very dark and dangerous temper -- stirred at the intrusion into his new domain, but that anger was tinged with something else the priest could not quite place. 

No mortal man could resist the mist’s magic, and yet this mighty Greek obviously did. The priest did not need the long golden tube fitted with pieces of special glass to see that this near-naked creature was a giant among men, easily a head taller and vastly more powerfully built than any of the formidable men of this land who had already so impressed Hem Netjer with their physical stature and strength. This Greek moving into the mist of his own free will was strikingly, almost painfully handsome and more massively muscled than any two of the most powerfully built warrior slaves combined. The giant’s proportions were so extreme that just the sight of such a mighty man made the priest’s heart pound. 

He suddenly recognized that not-quite-placed something that tinged his anger as a mixture of lust and fear. Lust he knew all too well, though never so strongly as that which this gigantic creature stirred. Fear, however, he was unaccustomed to and its presence inflamed his anger to even greater levels. How could this man, giant that he was, NOT be under the power of mist?! No man was strong enough to resist its call and controlling powers, yet this rippling giant was, and this man intruded into Hem Netjer's domain with the boldness only a hunter possessed. The dark priest knew he was the only prey worth risking everything for in this temple, and he began making plans to trap this Greek foe, this god in human form who was striding so boldly with purpose and courage among the enchanted men who were already little more than cattle.

The sheer physical power the Greek exuded caused the priest’s anger to flare even more strongly as Hem Netjer caught himself being mesmerized by the giant’s fluid and yet powerful movement, taking in every ripple and every massive bulge of unbelievable muscle. 

  • With each bold stride, huge slabs of sinew on draft-horse thighs flowed like liquid marble, snapping tight and hard into pillars of solid, bronze-colored rock, only to release and roll again. 

  • With every contraction of tremendous thigh muscle, a melon-sized leather pouch attached to his narrow hips simply by thin leather strips -- this giant’s only covering save his sandals -- bounced from one mighty leg to the other like a child’s ball…a very large child’s ball. 

  • With every twist of his mighty body, this huge man’s narrow waist, smaller than either thigh, rippled and danced under the hairless bronze skin so dramatically that the priest was amazed. Through the looking glass, the Egyptian could nearly trace with his finger the deeply chiseled, perfectly symmetrical bricks of muscle stacked four to a side and framed by the intricately carved sinew of this titan’s torso. 

  • With every swing of arms the size of a normal warrior’s thighs and every bulge of magnificent muscle, this huge man exuded a sense of strength like no man before him. The priest marveled as those arms swung from shoulders so broad and so massive they would block any doorway. 

  • With every awesome breath, the giant’s enormous barrel of a chest could easily be seen to expand to nearly three times the size of his waist. Even more magnificent were the two colossal blocks of pectoral muscle jutting out from his barrel of a rib cage to form an overhang of hard, square man-meat easily as thick as a grown man’s hand was wide. The evil observer’s lust multiplied as those slabs bounced and rolled sensually with the rhythm of the Greek’s proud stride. To add to the Egyptian’s lust even more, those mammoth slabs of hairless muscle were capped with reddish-brown cones twice the size of a gold coin and those cones glistened like eyes in the sun on that huge chest. 

If this Greek had carried the battle scars of a soldier or a slave, or the ugly visage of an ogre, Hem Netjer may possibly have been able to control his lust. But no, every inch of this glorious man-among-men’s body was covered with hairless, sun-bronzed skin, unblemished and stretched to near bursting over muscles twice the size of the largest warrior’s. Worse, the sheer beauty of this man with the face of an angel and a devil with his wavy dark hair, his piercing blue eyes that were fixed so boldly on the Egyptian’s temple, and his smooth skin accentuated by several day's-worth of dark stubble, all combined to take the priest’s breath away. No mere man had affected Hem Netjer in this manner before. No mere man had struck the cord in his heart or his loins as had this near-naked giant. For this creature to have such an effect on the priest, to have such power to push the priest to the point of distraction, was unforgivable. The added insult of entering into Hem Netjer's world uninvited and uncalled was punishable by the most extreme means. 

“I know not who you are, Greek man of muscle, but you will pay for trespassing in my world and you will pay dearly. No man, giant or not, can withstand the full power of Hem Netjer.”

Part Three – Discovery

Hercules, spotting guards at the entrance to the temple and not yet ready to make his presence known or to be challenged by his own enchanted countrymen, slipped away from his spellbound companions and followed the wall that was the dark temple’s base. Several yards away from the gate, the demigod noticed a strange vine, foreign to this land, growing up the wall as if it had been growing for years instead of the few days since the temple had mysteriously appeared. Nevertheless, Hercules accepted what he saw before him as an opportunity to exploit instead of the trap that was one of many secrets of this temple. 

A few more yards farther on and he moved around a corner and out of sight of the great doors and those who guarded them. On the north wall, he found the vine strong enough to hold even the weight of his massive frame and he began climbing. Hercules used his phenomenal strength to quickly reach the top of the wall, and he saw that the wall was actually the side of the base of the strange temple, forming a 15-foot ledge all the way around the pyramid structure. The strange vine covered the ledge all the way to the pyramid’s walls and also covered at least the lower third of the temple. Hercules hesitated, aware of a low rustling noise among the large green leaves and thick vine stalks. Seeing nothing but vegetation, he looked up toward the receding wall of the pyramid to where the vines grew well above a row of 3 windows some 20 feet above him. Though this seemed too easy and he was on his guard for a trap, Hercules began to climb, never imaging just what kind of trap into which he was stepping.

Muscle forged by the gods made light work of the climb up the strong vines, and Hercules positioned himself outside the large center window and looked down into the temple. His blood ran hot with anger at the sight of so many Greeks enthralled to this priest called Hem Netjer. There must have been hundreds of young muscular men, obviously Greeks but dressed as Egyptians, performing all manner of chores and tasks within the temple, their glazed eyes telling Hercules they did not perform these duties of their own choice.

“What power must this dark priest have to enslave so many men and call even more into his service?” the demigod wondered.

Looking for the perpetrator of this wrong, Hercules spotted a man who stood above the others at a raised alter directly below this middle window. The man was decorated much more ornately than his thralls and yet wore only a white covering about his narrow hips. Powerfully built with his head and body shaved and his eyes painted, the man would have been handsome if not for his sinister expression. 

This priest stood above a huge urn the size of an ox cart and waved his hand over its eerily glowing contents, whispering strange words. The urn resembled the cauldron of the three blind witches of lore and was obviously the source of the glowing mist that saturated the valley and called to its young Greek men, for the strange glowing fog poured out of the urn in continuous waves, pouring out another set of windows and into the valley below. Stranger than the mist, there was no fire beneath the great urn to make its contents bubble and churn, yet, bubble and churn they did. The contents of the urn were a thick, milky, and eerily iridescent white, and the mist was released into the air above with the bursting of each new bubble that came to the surface. 

Hercules knew that only the blood of the gods saved him thus far from the call of that evil mist, but that call was stronger than ever now, and the demigod wondered how close he could get to that wicked cauldron before even his more-than-mortal blood could no longer protect him.

At that moment, the prince Iphytus entered through a doorway guarded by two great, golden serpents of stone rearing their hooded heads to stand twice the height of the young, strangely garbed man. Hercules nearly cried out to warn the prince, as he would swear the onyx eyes of the huge snakes followed his every move. But they made no move to attack and the prince moved to the priest’s side. To his great sadness, Hercules could see from the glazed eyes of his dear friend that the prince was no threat to the Egyptian. The evil mist had done its magic and enslaved the young ruler to his new master. 

“This will not go unpunished,” Hercules growled to himself, an anger stirring in his heart that rivaled any before it.

Then, to the surprise of Hercules, the priest looked directly up at his perch in the window as if having heard the vow and smiled an evil smile. For all his stealth, the Greek giant’s presence had been known all along.

“Welcome to my temple, giant man of muscle…join us!” With that, the Egyptian shouted some strange words and suddenly the rustling noise Hercules had heard before became louder. 

Something encircled his left wrist and something else took hold of his right ankle. To his amazement, it was the vines themselves coming to life!!! Quickly, the demigod tore the vine from his wrist, only to immediately have it replaced by half a dozen larger ones. Even as he tore free from these new vines, dozens more encircled his free wrist and his other ankle and pulled his mighty limbs wide. Within seconds, all four of his limbs were encased in hundreds of vines, which lifted the massive muscle giant into the air as if he weighed nothing, rendering Hercules bound and helpless. 

Hercules was stunned by the sudden turn of events, and he could not get any traction to pull at the vines and free himself. Every time he tugged one of his limbs, the vines gave enough so that they wouldn't tear, but they held fast and kept the huge man trapped. Hercules' awesome strength was rendered useless. 

The vines lifted Hercules higher into the air, and then brought him through the large open window. Before he knew it, Hercules, son of Zeus, was hanging helplessly in the air directly over the huge and glowing urn. He struggled in vain to free himself, all too aware of an increase in the sickening sweetness of the vapor rising from the glowing urn. Hercules fought even harder to free himself, pulling mightily at the living evil that bound him. The great vines gave just enough under the strength of his awesome power to prevent his breaking their hold, only to immediately pull his limbs back into a widespread and vulnerable position. The more he struggled, the harder he breathed, his massive chest inhaling too much of the evil mist. The great Hercules could feel that awful vapor cling to his face and seep into his muscled body. The harder he fought, the brighter the vapor glowed, and the weaker Hercules’s great sinews became, his mind clouding so that he could no longer focus clearly.

Intrigued by the strength of this mighty Greek and amazed at his resistance to the powers of the mist, Hem Netjer's heart pounded all the way down to his loins at the sight of this magnificent being twisting with the power of 100 men in his living restraints. Every enormous muscle in this man’s body quivered and bulged and fought against the vines even as his mind struggled to fight against the call of the mist, but the priest could see the battle waning. 

A gasp from the spellbound prince drew the priest’s attention and surprise, for the sight of this near-naked giant under his power had somehow pierced the veil of young Iphytus’ clouded mind.

“You know this man, slave?”

“Yes… master,” Iphytus answered, Hem Netjer not missing the hesitation.

“Your reaction to his capture is strong enough to give you some measure of strength against my power…only a momentary lapse, let me assure you, my pet. Now tell me…who is this giant man of muscle?” asked the dark priest.

“He is the mighty Hercules, son of the god Zeus and a mortal woman, half-man, half-god,” answered the prince, unable to hold back or protect Hercules in any way, though the sight of his dear friend stirred his mind strongly against its magical bonds. 

“Something tells me this man is more than just a hero to you. I can see his great strength, slave prince. Now tell me, what is his weakness?” hissed Hem Netjer.

The sight of the great Hercules captured, his huge limbs drawn wide and bulging with power, his great torso with his humbling musculature writhing spectacularly against the possessed vines, and the demigod held vulnerably in the air by the Egyptian’s magic…this sight affected the enslaved mind of Iphytus so greatly, the struggle was visible on the face of the young prince even through the priest’s black magic.

“SPEAK!” Hem Netjer commanded, re-enforcing his hold on the prince’s mind with a wave of his hand that sent the mist circling about the handsome young man’s head.

The struggle ceased and the prince said, “His human half can be harmed and caused pain but he cannot be killed or permanently maimed. His god-like strength allows him to protect himself from injury…control his mind and his strength and you can cause physical harm…but his body will heal itself. My father, the king, has sent him here to destroy you, evil priest.”

“We’ll see about that, slave prince. Your king’s champion, Hercules, is already succumbing to my power. Once defeated, he will pay dearly for daring to enter my temple. I will enjoy causing your hero GREAT PAIN and testing his healing powers. If he survives his punishment, I will drain your half-man, half-god of his superhuman essence and offer it to MY gods. His essence added to my magic will give me more than enough power to end your father’s rule and take these lands for my own. Then I will return to my home and DESTROY THOSE WHO BETRAYED ME!!!” cried Hem Netjer.

Friday, September 23, 2016

Starfleet Academy

I've gone into my vaults and pulled out one of my earliest story rewrites...

Starfleet Academy
Based on an original story by an unknown author


Craig was in a training simulation when it happened. Two teams of Starfleet cadets were conducting a simulated attack on each other. Everyone had their phasers set on a light stun setting -- not enough to make knock someone unconscious unless it was a headshot, but enough to cause real pain. Of course, the cadets were supposed to have their weapons deactivated and allow the computer to record hits, but they were in a rowdy mood, so they decided to up the stakes a little. Besides, phaser hits on this level were painful, but altogether harmless. 

Craig’s team had been very successful so far. The battle was taking place in wooded terrain, and Craig was moving elegantly in and out of hiding, his lithe, muscular form moving effortlessly through the underbrush with a grace that belied his massive size. Craig was one of the finest, most promising cadets the Academy had ever seen. And at 21 years old, 6’2” in height, and a massive 350 pounds of pure Grade-AAA choice Academy beef, he was also one of the most enormously built young men ever to pass through the Academy’s training program. 

The enormously beefy cadet had the face of an all-American super hero to match his extraordinarily muscular body. He had a very square jaw, powerful chin, high cheekbones, full lips, and stunning blue eyes framed by close cropped thick blond hair. Craig was breathtakingly handsome, and was pursued by men and women, human and non-human, alike. 

But this stud’s beauty certainly didn’t end with his face, for Craig had the body of an Adonis. From his thick neck flared two of the widest shoulders imaginable, each the size of cannon balls, from which extended two of the most powerful arms in the Federation. Each of Craig’s massive arms measured in at over 26 ½ inches, some of the largest arms ever developed on a man. Craig’s chest was legendary, two mighty plates of wide, square muscle of eye-popping thickness and density, topped by two large, succulent nipples. The stud’s back was just as muscular and powerful as his front, his tremendous lats all but blocking out the sun. This spectacular upper body tapered majestically down to an equally incredibly narrow and tight waist. The stud’s waist measured no more than 32 inches, making it only slightly larger than his enormous arms, and was corrugated with rippling, tightly packed muscle. Craig’s awesome legs were a perfect match for his upper body, with thighs like tree trunks and calves like bowling balls, all extending from an ass that was mouthwateringly beautiful, two tight, firm globes of perfectly molded muscle. 

And to top it all off, Craig had one of the largest sexual endowments to grace a human being, a set of genitals so large that the other men in the Academy showers couldn’t help but stare. 

Craig’s extraordinary gifts weren’t just limited to the physical, for he was also an extremely intelligent young man. He excelled in all of his studies, particularly in engineering, diplomacy, and languages, and his greatest dilemma was going to be deciding where to focus his efforts in his Federation career. One thing was certain - Craig was expected to rise high among the Federation ranks, regardless of the career path he eventually chose. 

Such an extraordinarily gifted young man would normally have engendered a tremendous amount of jealousy and envy among his fellows, but Craig was also gifted with a great deal of charisma and charm. The handsome young cadet was known for being an all-around nice guy, and he had charmed and won over every cadet and instructor at the Academy. Well, almost every cadet...

The handsome young stud now put his incredible body to good work, leaping through the trees and undergrowth like a stag, and had already eliminated several members of the opposing team. He was doing exceptionally well in this particular training exercise. But then he made the mistake of approaching a large tree dead on, unaware that there was a person behind it.
The first shot hit him in the upper abdomen – close to vital organs – so the stun effect was rather large. His beautiful blue eyes became dim and he experienced the feeling that he had just gotten up too fast. Craig was still standing, but was temporarily stunned and unable to react. His attacker then took complete advantage of this situation. 

The next shot woke Craig up in a hurry, for it was right to his tightly packed crotch. What’s more, the assailant had obviously turned the phaser power level up several notches, delivering a terrific pain to Craig’s huge genitals. It was a bad situation for him -- he could barely move at all because of the previous stun, and he was now having a powerful phaser beam mercilessly pound away at his defenseless nuts. 

A look of extreme agony and shock was on Craig’s handsome face, and his hidden attacker kept his thumb on the button and the phaser beam, continuing to assault Craig’s balls for a seeming eternity. His tight black Starfleet pants were meant to be inflammable, but steam began rising from the area where his bulge was showing through. Craig was moaning, but the stun effects prevented him from crying out in pain or for help. Tears welled in his beautiful blue eyes. His powerfully muscled body crumpled up at the waist, but his attacker still found the angle to shoot him between the legs. Starfleet training was hard, but this was by far the most intense pain young Craig had ever felt. 

Finally, as Craig began to show signs of falling forward, the beam ceased. The attacker did not want to risk hitting Craig in the head, so he finally ceased his phaser assault. As Craig fell forward to his knees, and then over on the ground to his side, he could hear his assailant scurry away in the woods. Warm steam was blowing towards his face, and he knew from the feeling in his crotch that more than just his uniform had been burnt. The burn pain was insignificant, however, to the intensity of the beam that had assaulted his huge ‘nads. Craig cupped his battered balls with his hands, but could only let out a little moan. He was barely even functioning; all he could feel were his burned and wounded nuts. 

Finally, the rest of his team discovered him. It was quite a sight. The muscular golden  boy Craig was lying in the mud in his tight black uniform, desperately holding his crotch as steam was still rising through his fingers. A look of total agony was etched on his face. And of course, being the upstanding cadets that they were, his team all broke out in laughter, making the usual derogatory and taunting comments. Craig was totally humiliated.

Craig quickly recovered physically from the incident, but he never determined who was responsible. He wasn’t even entirely sure that it was a member of the opposing team who had so cruelly shot him in the nuts, but he didn’t want to think about members of his own team betraying him like that, not even for a painful prank. After a while, he just forgot about the incident, although he became notorious at the Academy for his “hot roast nuts” and he had to endure several taunting nicknames. He showed good humor at all the ribbing, and actually came to enjoy the attention that was paid to his massive genitals. The incident certainly hadn’t hurt his interactions with the ladies - or with the men - so in the end he decided that there was no real harm done. 

Then one evening, several weeks later, Craig was doing some reading while alone in his room. Deciding to get comfortable, he wore only a pair of black, shiny silk bikini briefs as he was lying in bed, the thin material barely able to contain his prodigious endowment. Craig knew he was a stud boy, and enjoyed looking at himself in skimpy clothing … which was part of the reason why he ended up jerking off at least a few times every day. As he turned a page, his doorbell chimed. Contemplating his near-naked state, Craig asked, “Who is it?”

“It’s Dylan.”

“Come in.” Dylan was a good friend of his, and so Craig didn’t particularly care about being nearly nude in from of him. 

“Hey hot nuts.” Dylan had been on Craig’s team, and witnessed the after effects of the phasering of his friend’s huge nuts. Dylan was a handsome guy as well -- black hair, blue-green eyes, and an impressive musculature -- and the two men were known to frequently hang out as pals. Dylan dropped something by the door as he came in the room, but Craig couldn’t see what it was. 

“Shut up,” Craig said with a smile, more than used to the teasing at this point.
“Get up for a second, there is something I want to show you,” Dylan said mischievously. Craig got up, and Dylan noticed how Craig’s massive package bulged obscenely in his skimpy underwear, giving Dylan an almost instant erection. 

“What is it, Dylan?”
Dylan smiled wickedly and moved towards Craig, who was now standing near his bed. “I just wanted to tell you that it was me who shot you in the nuts with my phaser.” Before he was even finished, Dylan brought his knee up violently into Craig’s easily identifiable sack. Craig looked totally shocked, but it was difficult to tell if it was by the news or by the pain exploding in his balls. Probably both. 

Craig made faint, moaning sounds as he looked down at his bikini underwear. He started to grasp himself, but Dylan forced his massively muscled arms out of the way and kneed him again, even harder. This time, Craig fell back onto his bed. Only his back was on the bed, however, and his legs slumped down to the floor and spread out. He was starting to slide all of the way down … but Dylan wasn’t going to let that happen just yet.
“You see,” Dylan explained to the moaning and temporarily paralyzed young muscle man, “I’ve always wanted to do this to you, Stud Boy. I’ve wanted to bust those bull balls of yours for a long, long time” With that, Dylan delivered a massive kick right between Craig’s sliding legs. The mighty kick connected with such force that it moved the big cadet back up on the bed, and Craig cried out feebly, feeling as if his balls had been destroyed. He couldn’t breathe from the intensity of the pain, and his vision became blurred from tears. 

“It’s OK. Don’t worry. There is more to come.” Dylan grabbed Craig’s heavy, limp body and placed him properly on the bed. Craig could only cough and gasp. “Let’s get these off of you,” Dylan said, indicating Craig’s skimpy underwear. From the way he handled them, Craig thought maybe Dylan had been talking about his balls … Dylan fiercely grabbed at Craig’s huge gonads as he pulled off the underwear, nearly pulling some other things off too. 

With the underwear off, Craig’s genitals were displayed in all their awesome glory. Craig’s heroic cock was almost like a third leg, hanging heavy and thick and stretching halfway down his muscular thigh. His balls were truly colossal, each weighty orb the size of a large fist, and so dense and heavy that they hung over four full inches from the base of his enormous horse cock. 

Craig just barely managed to say in his deep baritone voice, “Stop! Oh God, please, Dylan! Stop!” His beautiful blue eyes pleaded with his friend. Then he went into another coughing fit as the pain in his crotch reminded him that he couldn’t talk. 

“It is almost over. Just one more thing …” With that, Dylan moved back near the door to the room, where he had dropped the object he had entered with. “Do you know what this is?” he asked as he activated the device. “It is a Ferengi phaser whip. It fires high-energy plasma discharges at a target. It normally just stuns the victim a bit, but if I were to make direct contact on your body with this whip, the effects would be somewhat more … painful. ”

Craig watched in horror as Dylan flung the whip about a bit. It was producing a green-colored energy field, and appeared to be highly powerful. It looked much like an actual whip, accept for the phased energy it was producing. Dylan approached Craig on the bed. Craig’s crotch was already badly traumatized, and it froze the rest of his body in agony. As Dylan swung the whip at him, Craig gathered what was left of his strength and tried to roll a bit to one side …


No luck. Dylan simply changed the angle of the whip’s assault and landed a powerful shot directly on Craig’s exposed genitals. All of the energy of the powerful weapon was completely directed at those two huge orbs that made Craig a man, and he felt as if his giant gonads had exploded from the blow. His hips bucked and he began to spasm wildly. 


Dylan struck again, and again, and again, high energy and force all directed at Craig’s awesome manhood, his gargantuan balls swinging and bouncing wildly with each devastating blow. Dylan watched in awe as Craig’s horse cock began to grow larger, swelling to greater and greater dimensions despite (or perhaps because of) the terrible agony in his colossal bull balls. In very little time, the stud’s huge cock had grown to its full, eye-popping 13+ inches, the thick shaft throbbing majestically, and with a constant stream of thick precum oozing from the apple-sized head. Dylan cranked up the whip to full power, and began to lay into Craig with greater intensity, truly battering the young cadet’s already brutalized nuts. 




Dylan couldn’t believe that any man’s nuts could survive such brutal treatment, but Craig’s monstrous bull balls not only endured, they began to build what would be sure to be a massive, earth shattering load. Just when it was clear that Craig was about to cum, Dylan wrapped the whip around the aching nuts and pulled with all his might. Craig bellowed in pain, not just from the pulling that threatened to rip his mighty nuts clean from his body, but also from the unbelievable bolts of energy coursing from the Ferengi phaser whip into his massive, screaming orbs. Craig felt like his balls would burst from all the energy flowing through them, and in truth they were very close to doing just that. Dylan pulled harder and harder still, and managed to yank the huge nuts to over eight fantastic inches from his crotch, where they quivered on the edge of ripping from his body. 

Finally, the moment came. Craig’s monster cock grew another inch, shuddered, and began throbbing with incredible force, threatening to finish the job of ripping his own nuts off. The cock shaft was so long that it took a couple of throbs before the stud began to shoot. And shoot he did. Where other men cum in ribbons and spurts, Craig came in ropes and blasts, huge thick wads of white hot spunk rocketing out of his thundering prick and blasting across the room. The hyper masculine stud began to white wash the walls with his own cum, quickly drenching himself and Dylan in the process. His genitals  were no longer under the control of his own nervous system, but were now commanded by the phaser whip. He came in countless long ropes, surpassing all bounds of human ability, until finally, several minutes later, the titanic orgasm ebbed to a slow dribble, and the final dregs of his gargantuan load burped out of his still rock-solid cock. 

When Craig’s load finally ended, Dylan kicked with all his might into the still whip-bound balls, all but turning the gigantic orbs into a jellied pulpy mass of broken ball flesh. Another huge blast of cum was forced from his pulsing cock, landing squarely on the headboard behind Craig where it mingled with dozens of similar shots and slowly oozed down the smooth surface. The brutal pain finally knocked the young stud cadet unconscious, and his hips bucked so violently that he fell off of the bed onto the cum-soaked floor. 

Dylan looked down at Craig’s limp body, and in particular at his beautiful muscular ass. He turned off the phaser whip. Dylan himself was very well endowed, though nowhere near as spectacularly as Craig, and his huge organ was bulging through his tight cadet pants. 

He couldn’t resist. He whipped out his own big cock and masturbated all over Craig. Dylan was so turned on that it only took a few seconds for him to blast his own huge load all over the ball busted muscle stud. He pulled his pants back up, and left the big guy unconscious on the floor in a pool of his own cum. He would be awakening in a few hours to the worst case of blue balls he had ever had, and the thought made Dylan smile. And as a side benefit of the Ferengi phaser whip, Craig would have no memory of the assault or who attacked him, only the brutal pounding ache in his enormous bull nuts to let him know he had once again had his huge baby makers beaten to within an inch of rupturing.

Dylan remembered that he had a training class with Craig where they were learning how to use the Klingon bat’telh sword. He walked out of the room and smiled as he thought of the possibilities...

Thursday, September 22, 2016

The Walking Mountain - Original Version

The Walking Mountain

Originally intended to be part of a series of very short "snufflets," this one became long enough to post on its own. It was written in one sitting, and includes blood and vicious wounding that may not be to everyone's tastes.

It began with an idle boast, roared to the tavern after too many ales. By the end of the night, Calvagh was on his way to the northern forest, on a drunken quest to hunt and kill the bear known as the Walking Mountain. At some point, Calvagh agreed to the added stipulation that he would do it naked like a true warrior; he assumed he did, anyway, for he now found himself standing on a bed of needles in the ancient forest, surrounded by tall pines and bird songs, the morning breeze against his fist-sized balls. He couldn’t remember much of the night before, but he regretted every minute of it all the same. Thankfully, his companions had departed at some point, or sent him ahead alone. Though he was solid and muscular, his uncovered body shamed him, and he blushed when he realized he had stripped for some drunk farmers. He groaned at the thought that the blue war paint that now adorned his arms, pecs, and the right half of his shaft was applied by someone other than himself. Haunted by the implications of his nudity, he kept one hand cupped lightly over his manhood as he walked.

Town was nowhere to be found, and the forest was unfamiliar. Calvagh could find no roads or beaten trails, and the pine floor was too chaotic for his untrained and groggy mind to discern any tracks. Calvagh soon realized that he was hopelessly lost. He ran his free hand over his bald, half-blue head and stared in bewilderment at the foreboding shadows around him. 

“Hello?” The brute bellowed. A flock of birds started into the air, frightened by his powerful voice. He listened for a response, though a part of him dreaded explaining his situation to a stranger. 

Bushes rustled, and Calvagh soon forgot his embarrassment. A dark mound the color of wood emerged from the shrubbery, and Calvagh’s heart pounded. The bear, fittingly named, looked like a boulder, unusually wide with muscle and bristled fur. It glared at him with eyes that were no stranger to the human form, eyes that had seen the deaths of many hunters. The Mountain grumbled, sizing up the naked thug.

He knew he couldn’t run from it, but Calvagh stumbled back anyway. His mind raced, sorting out escape plans, but unless he learned the arcane arts of conjuration and transposition in the next few moments, he would have no choice but to face his idle boast. He was a towering colossus of a man, seven feet tall and over three hundred pounds of tone meat, and had never known an opponent larger than himself. Now, he stared down a monster easily three times his weight without even the comfort of pants to aid him. The fact that all of his confidence relied on ale and the advantage of size soon became apparent.

“Please, I-” He stuttered, pleading to its feral form. It growled and rumbled like heavy stones, and his tongue stilled.

With a roar, the Walking Mountain surged forward, pounding the earth with its massive paws. Needles and twigs pierced the human’s soles as he ran, and soon the bear was upon him. He lunged to the side, narrowly dodging its swipe. The heavy animal slid to a stop and turned, charging again. Calvagh staggered to his feet, but the Mountain’s paw forced him to the dirt with a bone-crushing thud. The man groaned and pushed himself up, only to be thrown to his back by a second impact. His ribs ached as if he had been struck with a warrior’s hammer. He stared up at the blurry sky and coughed. Curling forward, and fearful of the next blow, the muscular drunkard found his rippling torso rent by streaks of red. The animal part of him realized with horror that he was wounded.

He felt the hot breath of the bear upon his shoulder, and turned in time to see its massive teeth and the dark hole of its throat beyond. “No!” He screamed, and threw his hands up. He wrapped his own powerful paws around its head, taking hold of its jaws and forcing them away. It took every ounce of his considerable strength just to keep the deadly teeth at bay.

Needles jabbed his skin as Calvagh wrestled for his life. He tried not to think of the stings and pricks he felt, for he knew the pain of a pinprick on his testicles paled in comparison to the pain he would experience should his grip fail. “Help!” He cried between grunts. “Anybody, please!” He heard nothing but the aggravated huffs of the bear and the quiet drip of its drool against his rounded pecs.

The Mountain grumbled and shook its head, pushing forward at different angles as if it meant to literally find its way around his defenses. It grew frustrated with its musclebound food. Its claws slid beneath his flexed body and lifted him upright against its chest. The bear stood on its hind legs, a monstrous twelve feet of fur and power, and wrapped its arms around its prey. Calvagh had no chance to escape; to release his hold, even for a moment, would be death. He strained and whimpered, wincing with each slop of hot saliva against his beard, as the bear began to squeeze him.

The brute screamed. Air rushed from his lungs in a gurgled wheeze despite his efforts. He tried to struggle, and mistakenly removed his hand from the bear’s jaw. The teeth were an inch from his bull neck when he replaced it. “Help!” Calvagh gurgled once more. The Mountain rumbled as if to taunt him, reminding him of his fate and of his ignorant claims. His bare feet kicked in the air and wrapped around the beast’s torso, desperately searching for some foothold to relieve the pressure in his chest. Its warm pelt tickled his exposed body, and he soon found his cock throbbing and full despite the fear he felt. The animal struggle, the battle of naked beast against naked beast, armed with nothing but their savagery and strength, awakened something primal in him. For the first time in his life, he understood the emotions and the thoughts that the blue paint on his chest, face, and cock embodied.

The man had never felt pain and helplessness as he did in the bear’s clutches. He was familiar with the hold, a classic and simple expression of overwhelming strength. Many farmers, a few hunters, and even the occasional guardsman had found themselves trapped by Calvagh’s bulging biceps and vascular pectorals. The big man’s familiarity with the hold did nothing to raise his hopes; every man Calvagh squeezed submitted to his superior strength or turned blue and fell limp in his arms. Now, Calvagh found himself in his victims’ position without even a previous failure to go on.

The muscleman flexed and squirmed. Every bulge of his physique swelled, and his face grew red and feral with strain. Drool foamed from the sides of his mouth. Though every inch of his torso was like a wall of stone, the Mountain had little difficulty wringing more air from his body. His spine began to contort and send shocks of pain through him. Any other man would have already found their fate, whether with a broken spine or a quiet asphyxiation, but Calvagh’s strength ensured that his fate would be slower and more torturous. Soon its hold was so tight that he could feel every muscle of the freakish bear, every rope-like cord in its arms and armor-like plate in its chest. The muscles of its neck were as thick as most men’s arms.

Calvagh’s final breath escaped his lips. His vision blurred, and his eyes welled with tears. Like a true warrior, the thug struggled with the last ounces of his strength, his painted body shimmering with sweat in the shafts of morning light. His thrashing grew less violent until his legs merely dangled, twitching and trembling. As the strength in his muscular frame faded, the agony in his spine transitioned into a cold numbness. His whole body shook as he slid towards unconsciousness. Stimulated by the primal struggle and his final rush, Calvagh’s manhood erupted, emptying his balls into the killer bear’s fur and marking it as the dominant beast. Within seconds of his submission, a jerk from the bear’s overwhelming arms severed his spine with a thunderous snap. His legs fell still.

The man’s green and fearful eyes glazed and dilated. His meaty hands slid down the bear’s muzzle, hooked and hung for a moment from its lips and teeth, then fell to rest on its deadly arms. Instantly its jaws clamped down, piercing the brute’s artery and shooting blood onto the animal’s tongue. It relished the taste of the prey who had resisted it for so long, flying into a frenzy. It squeezed his lifeless body tighter, milking him for every fluid he could offer. A second bite tore his throat from his thick and muscular neck, while a third snapped it.

Raging and hungry, the Mountain threw Calvagh to the ground with a thud. It clambered atop and bit into him, lifting his herculean body and tearing chunks from it with a violent shake. Most men who felt his flexed chest and mountainous bicep described it as stone or metal, but to the massive bear’s teeth and claws, his barrel chest was like butter. He was strong, but the grizzly showed beyond any doubt that it was stronger, and it earned the right to his meat by the laws of nature.

Calvagh’s companions exchanged theories as they searched the woods, calling his name. Some of them imagined that he had wandered to some other village, or that he was picked up by a rich noblewoman smitten with his physique. They laughed about his huge cock and how arrogantly he showed it off on the trail. None of them considered that he had actually encountered the mythical Walking Mountain until they stumbled onto his remains. Shredded, broken, and exposed, he was almost unidentifiable save for his height and the very physique they joked with ensure his victory. Staring at the brute, killed by his own boast, they gained a renewed fear of the legend, and added the most powerful man they knew to the list of the Walking Mountain’s victims.

Friday, September 16, 2016

The Walking Mountain

The Walking Mountain
Based on an original story by Tuff Snuff


It began with an idle boast, roared in the tavern after too many ales. By the end of the night, Galen was on his way to the northern forest, on a drunken quest to hunt and kill the great dire bear known as the Walking Mountain. Galen couldn’t remember much of the night before, but he now found that he regretted every minute of it all the same. His companions had obviously departed during the night, or sent him ahead alone, for the young brute of a man had awoken in the morning without another soul in sight and a raging hangover pounding in his head. 

At some point, the young man had agreed to the added stipulation that he would battle the beast while naked and unarmed like a true warrior; he assumed he did, anyway, for the massively muscular man now found himself standing naked on a bed of needles in the ancient forest, surrounded by tall pines and bird songs, the morning breeze caressing his fist-sized balls. 

Galen was an enormous bull of a man, easily a head taller than any other man in a room and weighing more than any three men combined. The young warrior was heroically muscular, his colossal physique honed by years of swordplay and warfare, giving him a bulging, chiseled body that was the envy of any man. Nevertheless, Galen’s uncovered body shamed him, and he blushed when he realized he had stripped of his clothes and weapons by some drunk farmers. He groaned at the sight of the blue war paint that now adorned his bulging and behemoth arms, swollen and muscle-girded pecs, and even the right half of his colossal cock shaft, and blushed even deeper when he realized that this paint had been applied by someone other than himself. Haunted by the implications of his nudity, Galen kept one hand cupped lightly over his manhood as he explored his surroundings. The young man had massive hands, each easily large enough to palm a man’s skull, but even both hands wouldn’t have been up to the task of shielding from view the overabundance of man meat that sprung huge and heavy from Galen’s lean and muscular crotch. 

The forest was completely unfamiliar, and there were no signs of civilization in any direction. Galen could find no roads or beaten trails, and the pine floor was too chaotic for his untrained and groggy mind to discern any tracks. The handsome young warrior soon came to the conclusion that he was hopelessly lost. He ran his free hand through his thick and wavy hair, the dark chestnut locks falling to his boulder-sized shoulders, as he stared in bewilderment at the foreboding shadows around him. 

“HELLO!!” the handsome young brute bellowed into the surrounding forest. A startled flock of birds took to the air, frightened by his deep and powerful voice. Galen’s ears strained for a response, though a part of him dreaded trying to explain his embarrassing and naked situation to a stranger. 

Bushes rustled, and Galen soon forgot his embarrassment. A gargantuan, shambling mound the color of dark wood emerged from the thick underbrush, and Galen’s strong heart began to pound with fear. The beast entered the small clearing only a dozen long strides away from the muscular warrior, and as the shaggy creature reared back onto its thick hind legs, Galen realized that the dire bear had been aptly named; the beast looked like some massive brown boulder, unnaturally wide with gargantuan muscles and bristling fur. It glared at him with malevolent dark eyes that were no stranger to the human form, eyes that had seen the deaths of many dozens of hunters, woodsmen, and soldier. The Walking Mountain grumbled deep in its colossal chest, sizing up the puny naked man standing before it. 

Galen knew he couldn’t hope to outrun such a powerful beast, but he stumbled backward anyway. His quick and agile mind raced, sorting out possible escape plans, but unless he learned the arcane arts of conjuration and teleportation in the next few moments, Galen knew that he would have no choice but to live up to his idle and foolish boast. The handsome young warrior was a towering colossus of a man, nearly seven feet tall and weighing over four hundred pounds of swollen, toned, and battle-hardened muscle. He was so enormous that he had never known an opponent larger than himself. Now, he stared down a monster nearly twice his height and easily five times his weight, without even the comfort of a loincloth — let alone a weapon — to aid him. The fact that all of his confidence relied on ale and the advantage of size instantly became terrifyingly apparent. 

“Please, I..,” he stuttered, pleading to the massive feral form rearing up before him. It growled and rumbled with a sound like heavy stones rubbing together, and the warrior’s tongue stilled. 

With a deafening and ferocious roar, the Walking Mountain suddenly surged forward, pounding the earth with its massive legs. The beast cleared the distance between them in moments, its massive right paw making a deadly arc as it hurled toward the young man’s naked body. Galen lunged to the side with an agility belied by his hugely muscular form, narrowly dodging the beast’s swipe. 

The heavy animal slid to a stop and turned, immediately charging again. Galen sprang to his feet, his massive muscles like coiled springs, but the Mountain was almost impossibly fast, and this time its massive left paw connected with the young man’s form, knocking him sideways and into the dirt with a bone-crushing thud. The young man groaned and quickly pushed himself up, only to be thrown to his back by a second and even more powerful impact. Galen sailed more than a dozen feet through the air before landing heavily on his back, his ribs aching as if he had been struck full force with a warrior’s heavy hammer. Temporarily stunned by the blow, Galen stared up at the blurry blue sky and coughed, intensifying the ache in his battered ribs. He recovered quickly, however, and leapt to his feet, fearful of the next blow. The mighty warrior then discovered that the right flank of his rippling and muscular torso was rent by parallel streaks of red. The animal part of him realized with horror that he was wounded. 

Galen then felt the hot and fetid breath of the gigantic bear upon his shoulder, and turned just in time to see its massive teeth and the dark hole of its throat beyond. “NO!!!” he bellowed, throwing his hands up to ward off the massive beast. He grabbed either side of the bear’s impossibly wide head with both of his powerful hands, taking hold of its jaws and forcing them away from his own face and neck. It took every ounce of his own awesome strength just to keep the deadly teeth at bay, so he was unable to prevent the beast from wrapping both insanely powerful arms around his naked torso. 

Sharp claws jabbed his skin as Galen wrestled for his very life. He tried not to think of the stings and pricks he felt in his muscular sides, for he knew the pain of the beast’s talons paled in comparison to the pain he would experience should his vise-like grip fail. “HELP!!!” he cried between grunts. “Anybody, please!!!” But he heard nothing but the aggravated huffs of the bear and the quiet drip of its copious drool against his own rounded pecs. 

The Walking Mountain grumbled and shook its massive, shaggy head, pushing forward at different angles as it tried to find its way around Galen’s defenses. It grew frustrated with its musclebound food, and its claws slid beneath his flexed body and lifted the giant warrior into the air as if he weighed next to nothing. The dire bear stood on its hind legs, a monstrous twelve feet of fur and power, wrapping its arms around its prey and crushing the young man to its barrel chest. Galen had no chance to escape; to release his hold on the beast’s jaws, even for a moment, would spell instant death. He strained and whimpered, wincing with each slop of hot saliva against his bull-like neck and heroically muscular pecs, as the bear began to squeeze him. 

The massively muscular and inhumanly strong warrior screamed in agony. Air rushed from his lungs in a gurgled wheeze despite his efforts. He struggled mightily, and accidentally removed one of his hands from the bear’s jaw. The beast’s teeth snapped an inch from his thick bull neck by the time he got his hand back against the creature’s massive head. “HELP!!” Galen gurgled once more, his voice wheezing from his depleted lungs. 

The Walking Mountain rumbled as if to taunt its squirming prey, reminding him of his fate and of his ignorant, utterly foolish claims. His bare feet kicked in the air before his powerful legs wrapped around the beast’s torso, desperately searching for some foothold to relieve the pressure in his chest. Its thick, warm pelt tickled his exposed body, a soft caress of fur over the beast’s rock hard muscles. Despite his fear and agony, Galen soon found his huge cock throbbing and full, the hot tube of male flesh pressed tightly between two phenomenally muscular bodies. The animal struggle, the battle of naked beast against naked beast, armed with nothing but their savagery and strength, awakened something primal in Galen, and his massive cock throbbed powerfully against the beast’s chest. For the first time in his life, the young warrior understood the emotions and primal needs embodied by the blue paint decorating his chest, arms, and rampant, quivering cock. 

The handsome young man had never felt such pain and utter helplessness as he now did in the dire bear’s clutches. He was very familiar with the hold, a classic and simple expression of overwhelming strength. Many soldiers and enemy warriors had found themselves trapped by Galen’s own iron embrace, his bulging biceps and vascular pectorals forcing all previous opponents into submission. But the big man’s familiarity with the hold did nothing to raise his hopes. Every man Galen had ever squeezed either submitted to his superior strength or turned blue and fell limp in his arms. Now, Galen found himself in his victims’ position, and with despair he knew that a mere submission to this beast wasn’t going to be possible. No, this beast wanted to feast on his flesh, and nothing short of the warrior’s violent death would satisfy the mighty dire bear. 

The huge muscle man continued to struggle, his mighty physique flexing spectacularly as he fought with all of his awesome strength. Every massive bulge of his glorious physique swelled and strained, and his handsome face grew red and feral with desperation and agony. Drool foamed from the sides of his mouth as he fought for air, and though every inch of his massive torso was flexing like a wall of stone, the Walking Mountain had little difficulty wringing even more air from his body. 

Any other man would have long since already found his fate, whether with a broken spine or a quiet asphyxiation, but Galen’s phenomenal and almost super human strength ensured that his fate would be slower and far more torturous. But now even Galen’s spine began to contort and his powerful ribs began to cave in, sending shockwaves of pain throughout his body. Soon, the beast’s hold was so tight that Galen could feel every corded, freakish muscle of the great bear, every rope-like cord in its arms and armor-like plate in its chest. Even the muscles of the beast’s neck were as thick as Galen’s own muscle-corded waist! Galen knew that he could not hope to hold out against such impossible strength for much longer.  

Galen’s final reserves of breath escaped his lips. His vision began to blur, and his eyes welled with tears. But like a true warrior, the young muscular bull struggled with the last ounces of his waning strength, his painted body shimmering with sweat in the shafts of morning light. His thrashing grew less violent until his thickly-sinewed legs merely dangled, twitching and trembling. As the incredible strength in his muscular frame faded, the agony in his spine transitioned from a blazing heat into a cold numbness. Galen’s whole body shook as he slid towards unconsciousness. 

The handsome lad was keenly aware of the aching need boiling inside his mammoth balls, his colossal testicles trapped against the beast’s corrugated belly and crushed so brutally hard that he was certain that they must explode. Galen’s cock had swollen even larger and harder than it had ever been in the young man’s life, bloated so fantastically huge that it hurt. The apple-sized knob of his colossal cock was wedged in the valley between two sets of gigantic pecs, squeezed so hard between these massive plates of muscle that its very shape had begun to distort. All of Galen’s being seemed to narrow down to his cum-bloated balls and overinflated cock. 

The Walking Mountain roared, clutching its prey even harder still, and that final motion sent Galen over the edge. Stimulated by the primal struggle and his dwindling consciousness, Galen’s mighty manhood erupted in an incredible geyser of sperm. Bolt after colossal bolt of prime warrior seed spurted from the young man’s convulsing cock, each slug of cum as incredibly thick as it was impossibly copious. The mighty warrior somehow found the strength to continue holding the beast’s deadly jaws at bay as his massive balls emptied themselves into the killer bear’s thick fur, and marking it as the dominant beast. 

The colossal orgasm churned on and on, a truly astounding amount of splooge vomiting out of Galen’s hyper-swollen cock and painting thick, chunky lines of baby batter across his opponent’s mammoth chest. Galen had a moment to regret that he had not yet fathered any children, that his most impressive genetic heritage was about to die with him. The young man’s beautiful eyes began to glaze and dilate. His meaty hands slid limply down the bear’s muzzle, hooked and hung for a moment from its lips and teeth, then fell to rest on its deadly arms. As his straining cock burped out the final remains of its gargantuan, monumental load, Galen knew that his young life was at an end. Any moment now, and a final jerk from the bear’s overwhelming arms would sever his spine with a thunderous snap, and then that fang-filled muzzle would tear out his convulsing throat. 

The Walking Mountain prepared to finish his limp and nearly lifeless prey. It squeezed the young man’s muscular body even tighter, enjoying the sound of the warrior’s bones and joints creaking as they prepared to snap. The ravening beast preferred prey that fought back, and no previous meal had put up as much of a fight as this thick and enormously meaty human. The young man had been strong, ferociously strong, but the dire bear was beyond the shadow of a doubt the stronger, and it had earned the right to his meat by the laws of nature. The Mountain would dine like a king this day. 

Raging and hungry, the Walking Mountain threw Galen’s limp form to the ground with a thud. If all air hadn’t already been forced from the young man’s powerful lungs, then the force of his impact with the hard forest floor would have done the trick. It clambered atop its victim, opening its jaws wide as it prepared to bite down and start ripping chunks of flesh from the young man’s herculean body. 


A trio of bowstrings sounded in rapid succession, and moments later, three arrows erupted from the beast’s gigantic neck. The bear roared and reared backward in pain and fury, locking eyes on the terrified archers, who even now were reloading their bows and pulling back for another volley. 


Three more arrows were now protruding from the beast’s slavering form, but the bolts seemed to only enrage the beast, who thundered his most deafening bellow yet. An answering battle cry was issued by the more than a dozen soldiers who now charged the beast from every side, wielding swords and spears and pikes, and hoping to end the man-killing beasts reign of terror once and for all. 

The small clearing was soon the scene of gruesome carnage. The enraged beast lashed out with his massive and deadly paws, shattering rib cages and disemboweling brave men in every direction. Blood and gore showered down onto Galen’s unmoving form, still lying motionless on his back between the beast’s widespread legs. In less than a minute, nearly half of the soldiers surrounding the bear were dead or dying, and the beast was not beginning to tire in the least. The Walking Mountain was a pure killing machine, and it was clear that it would soon claim more than a dozen more human lives in the next few minutes. 

Galen’s eyes snapped open and his spectacular body suddenly arched up off the forest floor as he drew in one long, shuddering breath, his lungs burning and his ribcage screaming with the effort. He looked up to see the towering and terrifying form of the Walking Mountain looming above him, roaring in primal fury, more than a dozen arrows and broken spears protruding from its massive form as it continued to slaughter the soldiers. The young man glanced to his side, and saw the gaping, lifeless form of one of the soldiers lying beside him, his body nearly torn in half by one of the beast’s claws. Galen saw the bastard sword still clutched in the man’s gloved hand, and with a lightning move, he grasped the sword’s pommel. 

The Walking Mountain immediately noticed that his initial prey had once again begun to move and struggle, and with a mighty roar, it pounced on the young man, intending to end his struggles once and for all. The gigantic beast fell like some sort of mighty tree, slamming into the young wounded warrior with such force that the ground shuddered and the surrounding trees shook. 

The few surviving soldiers expected the huge beast to start tearing the young muscle man’s form limb from limb, but instead, the beast’s entire body gave one convulsive shudder, and then was still. There was virtually no sound in the entire forest for a few moments, and all was still except for the leaves and pine needles slowly drifting to the ground, shaken loose from the trees by the force of the beast’s fall. 

The terrified soldiers gasped as the gigantic mound of muscle and fur began to move once again, and they stumbled backward in fear. But they quickly realized that the beast wasn’t moving, it was something under the beast that was moving. After a few quivering shakes, the entire 2,000-pound beast slowly and lumberingly rolled to its side, accompanied by a great bellow of fury. And there, wounded and bleeding and struggling to stand, was the form of the muscular young warrior! 

As Galen gave the final heave to roll the beast’s corpse off of him, the other soldiers could see the hilt of the sword buried in the beast’s massive chest. The young warrior had gotten the sword upright just in time to have the Walking Mountain impale itself upon its deadly blade. Just the force of the beast’s collision with his body should have killed the young lad, but he had proven to be made of truly stern stuff. He had slain the mighty beast, and lived to tell the tale. 

Galen fought his way to his feet. The naked muscle man was covered in blood (only some of it his own), sweat, blue paint, and his own thick cum, and his torso was rent with more than a dozen deep claw marks, but the surviving soldiers had never seen anything more powerful and masculine in their lives. The young man’s massive cock was — inexplicably — rock hard and drooling a thick rope of slimy cum, looking like another mighty sword springing powerfully between the man’s stupendously muscular legs. All of the surviving men present in the clearing knew that they had just witnessed the birth of a legend. 

A weary but relieved Galen faced the gaping and awestruck soldiers, and a wry smile spread across his handsome face. In his deep and reverberating voice, the mighty warrior said, “Any chance I can convince you all to return to the tavern for another ale?”

Thursday, September 15, 2016

Swinging Beef - Original Version

Swinging Beef
Original story by an unknown author

Author's Foreword
I got the idea for this story whilst I was on holiday on a remote Scottish island. I was eating in a pub when I noticed a very busty young waitress and her colleagues setting tables. They really weren't the most professional group, as in front of me the other girls began teasing the busty girl about the size of her boobs which, from the way they were talking, were recent developments.
I remember they made various jibes about her 'big boobs', but the one quote that got me thinking was this:
'If I squeezed them, would milk come out?' which one girl asked causing the blonde to giggle with discomfort and embarrassment and maybe, I thought, perhaps a little curiosity...

In the uppermost bedroom of a lighthouse on a remote Scottish island, a blonde teenager was excitedly packing her bag in preparation for one of the few nights each year she got to escape the suffocating supervision of her parents and actually have some fun.
She was a slim girl with supermodel-long legs made well-toned from the many stairs she had to ascend daily and, again much like a supermodel, she had little to boast about up top, though she was by no means through developing. In fact, much to her prudish parents’ dismay, puberty had really begun to work its magic and her body grew more curvaceous and womanly with every passing day.
‘Melanie,’ came her mother’s voice echoing up the endlessly winding staircase. ‘Time to go.’ 
‘Coming!’ she called back giddily. Still zipping her bag, she raced down the stairs, out of the lighthouse and into the car. She fell into the back seat; buzzing with excitement.
‘Melanie, what have I told you?’ chided her mother. ‘Good girls keep their knees together.’
Disheartened, Melanie pressed her knees together and said, ‘Sorry, Mum.’
‘And seatbelt on,’ came her mother’s disapproving reply.
Melanie was being taken to a sleepover at her best and only friend Siobhan’s house. Siobhan (pronounced Sh-vaun) lived on a cattle farm and though it was many miles away it was still the closest house with a girl her age living in it.
To say Melanie lived a sheltered life was an understatement; Siobhan and her family were the only outside contact Melanie ever got, what with being home-schooled by her puritanical parents in a lighthouse on a jutting peninsula of a windswept and sparsely inhabited island.
Quite why her parents even allowed her this brief chance to enjoy herself Melanie couldn’t imagine; especially since this would put their little girl in close proximity of Siobhan’s rakish older brother, Farley, who grew more cocky with every visit.
Melanie’s mother drew the car up alongside Siobhan’s house and, before the vehicle had even come to a full stop, Melanie was throwing open the door. She grabbed her bag and raced to the driver’s door to kiss her mother goodbye through the wound down window.
‘Just remember what I told you,’ said her mother as Melanie pecked her on the cheek.
‘Good girls bend at the knees, bad girls bend at the waist?’
‘Well, yes, but about your visit. If I hear you’ve been anything but ladylike you will not stay over again.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
She heard the front door of Siobhan’s house open and looked over the roof of the car to see Siobhan racing down the garden path towards her, giddy with excitement. As her mother pulled away, the pair met in a joyful embrace.
‘I missed you so much!’ cried Siobhan only to stop squeezing her friend suddenly. ‘I have to show you something,’ she said. She took Melanie’s hand and led her through the house and into her bedroom, making sure to shut the door firmly behind them.
‘Look what I found,’ she said, presenting Melanie with a torn out page from a magazine. Melanie gasped. Upon the torn page stood a young woman so breathtakingly top-heavy that it seemed incredible that she didn’t just topple forward. But the young woman’s measurements weren’t the only thing which shocked Melanie as the woman’s breasts were left completely uncovered.
Can you believe it?’ asked Siobhan excitedly. Melanie couldn’t. She had never seen such a scandalous image in her young life. The young woman was bearing her breasts! And not only that, but from the shameless pout on her face she seemed to be taking pride in it. It was this which horrified Melanie’s modest sensibilities the most.
‘She gets paid for showing her boobs!’ 
Siobhan gripped her friend by the shoulders and, with her green eyes twinkling like emeralds, she asked, ‘Can you imagine?’
Melanie could imagine and it filled her with horror, shame and humiliation and left her feeling quite queasy. Yet Siobhan seemed positively thrilled by the notion; Melanie could tell from the way the young redhead’s nipples poked obviously through her T-shirt; the same way hers did whenever she thought about her friend’s brother, Farley.
‘Can we... do something else?’ asked Melanie.
‘Okay,’ said Siobhan; a little hurt that her friend hadn’t shown the slightest interest in her find. ‘Oh,’ she said, her eyes lighting up once more, ‘I have just the game. Wait here!’ She rushed out of the room leaving Melanie holding the torn page.
Melanie wanted desperately to drop the offensive photograph, but there was something about the young woman’s breasts which rendered her unable to stop staring. They were so immense and bloated that the skin was stretched and shiny with tension.
When Siobhan returned a few minutes later, Melanie finally snapped out of her trance and set the page down on the sideboard. Siobhan was carrying a basket containing several variously filled water-balloons and a garment of clothing which Melanie recognised as a bra, but which had proportions unlike any she had ever seen.
‘Whose bra is that?’ she asked, her eyes locked on the gigantic cups.
‘It’s my mum’s old maternity bra,’ she told her.
‘Your mum’s boobs aren’t that big.’
‘Not anymore, but they get really big when they fill with milk.’
‘When they what?’ asked Melanie, horrified.
‘Fill with milk,’ repeated Siobhan with a frown. 
Siobhan’s understanding of how and why boobs filled with milk had been gleaned from references her mother had made to breastfeeding her and her brother, and the rest was wild speculation on the young girl’s part.
‘All girls’ boobs fill with milk, Melanie,’ she continued confidently. ‘It’s to feed their babies and what she doesn’t use just stays in her boobs.’
The news came as a worrying revelation to Melanie who clutched her tiny breasts protectively.
‘The minute I get my milk I’m going to run away and become a model in one of those magazines,’ said Siobhan with an assured grin. She lifted from the basket two extremely over-filled water-balloons and dropped them into the cups of her mother’s bra before unexpectedly lifting her top up to her chin and hoisting the bra and its sloshing contents to her bare chest. When she stood upright the near transparent, bloated orbs which spilled out of the top of the bra bore a shocking likeness to the bloated breasts of young woman from the magazine page.
‘What do you think?’ she asked Melanie, seductively jiggling them with her hands.
‘Um, Siobhan...’ said Melanie, shocked by the young girl’s degrading aspiration, but noticing a dark circle expanding across one of the bra’s cups.
‘Oh no!’ cried Siobhan, pulling the cup out to peer inside only to be sprayed in the face by a fine jet of water. ‘My boob has a puncture!’
Melanie watched as the young redhead raced to the set of heavy wooden drawers and began tugging insistently on one of the stubborn drawers until it was open enough for her to push her hand in and fish around desperately for what it was she was searching for. When she withdrew her hand it was holding a sheet of tiny star-shaped stickers, one of which she quickly peeled off and stuck over the infinitesimal puncture in her pretend boob.
With the flow stemmed, she turned back to Melanie who was surprised to find the leaking breast reduced to half its size. ‘Phew,’ said Siobhan, ‘saved most of it.’ She walked back to the basket and lifted out the remaining clutch of water-balloons which had been arranged in such a way to make them instantly obscene to anyone even slightly familiar with the male genitalia, which Melanie most certainly was not.
‘What are these?’ she asked as they were thrust into her hand. 
‘Well, I’m the woman,’ she said cupping her lop-sided boobs. ‘So that means you’re...’ she pushed Melanie’s hand lower until the drooping balloons were held at groin height, ‘...the man.’
Melanie’s eyes widened as she began to comprehend what she held in her hand. ‘Is this what boys’ parts look like?’ she asked in a shocked whisper.
‘It’s what Farley’s look like,’ said Siobhan with a shrug which jostled her balloons. This was true as far as proportions went, but the scale was wildly optimistic. The cucumber-thick penis was almost ten inches long and each sagging, water-laden testicle was the size of an orange.
‘You’ve seen his parts?’ asked Melanie, suddenly enthused.
‘Of course I have,’ scoffed Siobhan.
Having never noticed the lack of bath or shower in the bathroom, Melanie was surprised when Siobhan told her that her family bathed in an old tin tub by the fireplace in the living room. She was even more surprised to hear that, as neither sibling had any respect for the other’s privacy, there had been numerous occasions that Siobhan had seen Farley naked and, shockingly, vice versa.
As Siobhan finished telling her blushing friend the sordid details, a sudden devilish grin spread across her pretty face. ‘Hey, Melanie,’ she said. ‘Do you want to see them?’
That evening Siobhan’s parents left on an unscheduled cattle delivery which would see them gone all night. Being the oldest, Farley was left in charge and, having been out in the pastures all day, he was not on the mood for his annoying sister and her sweet, but simple friend so he banished them to their bedroom for the rest of the night whilst he took a nice long bath.
When Melanie heard him drag an old tin bath across the living room and set it down indelicately on the stone in front of the fireplace she asked Siobhan impatiently, ‘Can we watch yet?’
‘No, he’ll catch you looking. Wait until he gets out. He’ll have forgotten we’re here by then.’
Melanie groaned impatiently, but remained by the door listening intently as Farley continued to prepare his bath by dragging over a heavy oak coat stand upon which he hung his towel.
The girls had changed into their pyjamas. They both wore strappy vest tops of white cotton and woollen pyjama bottoms in differing tartans. Due to the coldness of the farmhouse’s mainly uncovered stone floors, the girls also wore thick woollen socks which made their footsteps almost silent.
‘Are you really going to stand there all night?’ asked Siobhan with a sigh. She fell onto her bed heavily; the water-balloons rolling up her chest to crash against her chin. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth and enveloping softness of the by now body-temperature balloons against her chest and neck. Feels so good, she thought. Like a real woman. She found herself squeezing the squeaking balloon breasts with a groan of satisfaction. 
‘I think I can hear him unbuckling his belt,’ whispered Melanie, excitedly. Siobhan ignored her and, slipping her right hand under the waistband of her pyjama bottoms, set her fingers to work. Though only recently discovered, Siobhan had quickly become so practiced at masturbating in silence that Melanie didn’t even notice. With her ear pressed to the door, she mistook the wet noises of the redhead’s furious fingering for the sounds of Farley splashing as he bathed.
‘I think he’s getting out of the bath!’ she hissed. She looked back to find Siobhan on the bed with her legs hitched up and breathing in sharp pants.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked with concern.
Siobhan stopped what she was doing immediately and said guiltily, ‘Nothing.’ She carefully withdrew her hand and sat upright; sending her sloshing balloons falling back into the waiting cups of her bra. 
‘He’s getting out you say?’ 
Melanie nodded excitedly so, with a groan of effort, Siobhan pushed herself up off the bed and dragged herself over to the door. Silently, she pushed it open crack and peered out across the expansive living room of the old farmhouse.
Farley had indeed lifted himself from the steaming water, but this (she knew from watching him many times) was only the start of a set of strange rituals he went through before stepping out of the tub. She motioned for Melanie to join her. The young blonde dropped to her knees and shuffled in beneath her friend and barely noticed the heavy water-balloons which came to rest on her head as she was too busy gasping at the sight of Farley who stood in the tub with his wide, powerful back to the girls as he brushed the water from his hair.
Despite his impressive body, the only thing Melanie noticed was his pale white bum. She looked up at Siobhan and the pair shared a titter. Melanie’s laughter trailed off, however, when she caught sight of what dangled beneath his pasty cheeks.
‘What is that thing?’ she asked, referring to the sagging pink sac which swayed hypnotically in-between the young man’s well-muscled thighs as he went on to brush the excess water from his thick arms.
‘What thing?’ whispered Siobhan. 
Stooping next to brush the water from his legs, Farley inadvertently exposed the curious appendage further, though only when he was near grabbing his ankles did light fall over the flapping sac to make suddenly apparent the pair of large orbs which filled it.
Melanie had no idea what she was looking at and nothing to judge them against, but something deep down told her that what she was seeing was extremely impressive.
‘Oh, those,’ said Siobhan, appreciating suddenly the plump and hefty nuts which, over the years, had drawn his supply scrotum down to hang some several inches from his crotch. ‘Those are the parts Mum takes from the bulls so they don’t annoy the cows. She calls it their “swinging beef”.’ She chuckled and whispered mischievously, ‘Maybe if I take Farley’s swinging beef he’ll stop annoying me.’
Her words struck a chord with Melanie who looked back at Farley’s “swinging beef” and asked seriously, ‘How would you take them?’
‘Same way Mum does,’ said Siobhan with a shrug, ‘smash them between two bricks.’ She held out her hands and brought them together savagely. ‘Splat!’ 
Melanie stared up at her friend with wide, twinkling eyes and let the image sink in as something stirred inside her.
Done removing the excess water from his naked body, Farley half-turned and reached for the towel hanging from the antique coat rack stood at the head of the bath. He tugged it indelicately from the hook and, turning back, stepped out of the tub unaware that he had unbalanced the top-heavy rack enough to send it toppling after him. 
As Farley lifted the towel to his face, the large, decorative acorn which sat atop the coat rack fell a fraction too short to strike him in the coccyx and instead slipped between his buttocks to strike him on the back of the low-hanging left nut.
The impact send his bollock swinging up into the air, taking with it his meaty sausage cock so that his entire genitalia was flipped up on itself in a shocking display that had both the girls gasping out loud.
Farley did not hear their surprised intakes of breath, however, as he was too preoccupied with the unexpected shock of an assault on his bollocks, the recognition of which he had barely processed before the malevolent coat rack hit the rim of the tin bath and rebounded to smash the testicle it had missed in its first strike as it flopped back down into its path.
Knocked backwards by the impact, the girls watched wide-eyed as Farley’s lengthy scrotum disappeared between his legs only to reappear once more to curl up around his arse with a slap!
It was all too much for Siobhan. She covered her mouth and raced to her bed where she leapt on top of the covers and buried her face in her pillow to let out her mirth. 
Farley too was overwhelmed by the event, but in an entirely different way. As the coat rack returning to upright and settled back on its feet as if nothing had happened, the towel fell from his hands to reveal his face with its fixed expression of shock and distress. With his eyes wide open and his mouth silently screaming, he curled slowly forward and reached down with trembling hands for his battered manhood. 
Melanie watched with twinkling eyes as his fingers curled around the swinging organs and delicately cupped them whilst his knees turned slowly inwards before finally giving to send him toppling backward into the tub. Though greatly amused by the young man’s misfortune, another feeling was overriding her mirth; a feeling which Melanie had never before experienced. It was like butterflies in her tummy, but she had never felt them fluttering as far south as they were currently. She traced the sensation with her fingers; down her flat stomach and lower until she came to a place, she realised suddenly, that she should not be touching. She withdrew her hand quickly and squeezed her thighs together in an attempt to smother the shameful tingling.
When finally able to control her laughter enough to speak, Siobhan lifted her face from her pillow to ask, ‘Did you see his face, Melanie?’ Then she noticed the huge wet patch which radiated out from around her chest and soaked her duvet. 
‘My boobs!’ she cried, jumping up to grip at the empty, sodden cup of her bra. ‘I popped my boobs.’
Melanie looked suddenly at the water-balloon representation of the male genitalia which she had set down on the sideboard earlier. Tossing aside the thick penis balloon she took hold of one of the testicles and tested its resilience with a few squeezes. The balloon’s stretched rubber gave with surprising ease; showering her hand in water and leaving it clutching only a few shrivelled scraps.
‘Siobhan,’ she said in a thrilled whisper, ‘do you think one of Farley’s swinging beef might have popped?’
Siobhan gasped with genuine concern. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Maybe.’
‘He’ll be okay though, right.’ said Melanie; her words a statement, not a question. She scrunched up her nose and added reasonably, ‘I mean, what does he even need them for anyway?’
Siobhan’s eyes widened as she pondered the question. ‘You’re right,’ she said, suddenly livid. ‘I’ve never seen him do anything with them!’
Realising she was on a roll, Melanie pressed on, asking, ‘And didn’t your mum say that they’re the reason he’s so annoying?’
Siobhan gasped. ‘She said that’s why she takes them from the bulls.’
Seeing that her friend was visibly bristling with indignation, Melanie decided to go for broke. ‘Siobhan,’ she whispered fiendishly, ‘we should totally take Farley’s swinging beef.’ Though she had no idea what “taking” Farley’s boy parts would entail, the mere thought of it caused the tingling in her naughty parts spread to her budding breasts and stiffen her nipples into bullets.
Siobhan looked up at the blonde wearing a dark expression and without breaking eye contact she snatched up the remaining balloon testicle from the sideboard and held it out in front of her. Melanie’s lustful eyes flickered between the swollen orb and the heavy penis which swung after it and flopped around comically beneath. With a flash of rage, Siobhan clenched her fist. The turgid rubber ballooned out from between her fingers briefly before bursting over the two girls to drench their cotton vests. The wet fabric clung to the outline of the girls’ chests, making apparent their exceptionally erect nipples. But while arousal was the cause of Melanie’s stiffness, it was fury which hardened Siobhan’s pink nubs. 
‘Let’s do it,’ she growled.
There came a sudden loud clang and splash of rushing water. 
The girls rushed over to the crack in the door to investigate. They peered out to find that Farley had managed to tip the bath on its side and now lay motionless, face down in an expanding puddle of water.
Melanie excitedly pulled open the door, but Siobhan caught it before she could exit. The young blonde looked back at her friend quizzically.
‘Maybe they popped already,’ said Siobhan.
The pair looked back at Farley as he let out a pitiful moan and began to lift himself onto his hands. His legs appeared to be uncooperative so, with a whimper, he began to crawl towards his bedroom, simply dragging his legs limply after him. His legs were not the only thing dragging limply against the floor. The girls ducked down to get a better look at the pink meat which dangled from his groin.
‘I can’t tell,’ said Siobhan; her squinting eyes searching for trace of shape in the loose trailing sac.
All of a sudden he collapsed, exhausted, to the floor. 
‘We should just go out there and make sure,’ insisted Melanie, becoming frustrated with her friend’s reticence.
With another piteous groan, Farley rolled onto his side. Siobhan gasped and went to close the door, but this time Melanie caught it. Farley was far too intent on his intimate agony to notice the girls in the doorway, and, in full view of the pair, took hold of his scrotum and began to probe it tentatively with both hands. 
The girls watched in suspense as his fingers traced the full, round shapes of his individual testicles with what little pressure he applied to check their integrity drawing much wincing and high-pitched squeaking, until, satisfied he was intact, he curled slowly into a ball and went to sleep to escape the torment.
Melanie shoved Siobhan aside and marching through the puddle towards him, but before she reached him the living room was unexpectedly illuminated by headlights as a car pulled into the drive.
‘It’s Mum and Dad! They’re back!’ hissed Siobhan, rushing past Melanie who had frozen on the spot to take her unconscious brother by the wrists. With a grunt of exertion, Siobhan hauled him a few inches toward his bedroom. 
‘Help me, Melanie!’ she pleaded. The terrified blonde quickly complied and took Farley by the ankles. His body sagged in the middle as they hauled him up. This left his poor eggs dangling low enough to be bounced painfully off the floor’s uneven flagstones.
The girls had him at the threshold of his room when Siobhan told Melanie, ‘Get him inside,’ and lowered her end to the floor.
‘Where are you going?’ demanded Melanie as he friend carefully stepped around the naked obstacle filling the doorway.
‘I need to fetch the mop,’ the young redhead called back as she dashed across the room into the kitchen; her waterlogged socks splashing with every hurried step.
‘But...’ began Melanie, hopelessly. Realising her protests were pointless, she looked down at Farley’s hulking frame. She doubted she could budge him even an inch on her own, but with no other option, she gave a growl and made sure to set the sock-clad ball of her foot down on the plump pink eggs which peeked out from between Farley’s buttocks as she stepped over him.
Even in his insensible state, Farley’s back arched and he let out a strangled mewling noise as Melanie transferred her entire weight onto his tender testes.
Melanie took a moment to enjoy the sensation of his eggs flattening beneath her foot. Even through her thick woollen socks she could feel the protests of the rubbery flesh and what she would come to know as her female intuition was telling her that it wouldn’t take much more. 
She imagined Farley’s eggs popping beneath her. It would barely affect her at all, she would merely drop a couple centimetres as the orbs gave way, but that same intuition told her that the effect on Farley would be life-changing. 
The yearning in her rude bits grew once more; urging her hand to see to it, but before her fingers had slipped far beneath her waistband, the sound of car doors being slammed snapped her back to reality. 
She set the foot she had purposely held raised down on Farley’s still arching back and forced him back into the floor before, ever-so-grudgingly, removing the other foot from his swinging beef.
Melanie had him held by both wrists when the sound of the key twisting in the lock echoed around the room. With her adrenaline flowing, she made light work of hauling his carcass into the room and quickly raced for the exit, but as she reached the doorway she saw the farmhouse’s front door swing open and caught herself. As Siobhan’s parents walked in she swung the door shut and pressed herself against it breathlessly.
Siobhan rushed back into the living room clutching a mop and smiled guiltily at her mother who was shocked by the pool of water with filled her lounge. ‘Siobhan, did you do this?’ her mother demanded.
‘Sorry, Mum. I’ll mop it all up.’
‘It’s late,’ said her mother with an irritated sigh. ‘Get to bed – I’ll sort this out.’
Siobhan crossed the room and hugged her mother, before handing her the mop and retiring to her bedroom where she was shocked to discover Melanie wasn’t.
‘Crap!’ she hissed.
Melanie was frozen against the door for fear of Siobhan’s mother trying to enter. In front of her Farley began to stir. Feeling she might faint, the young blonde slid down the door until her ass hit the floor.
Without questioning how it was he had come to be in his bedroom, Farley reached for the frame of his bed and hauled himself halfway onto the mattress before collapsing with exhaustion. The wooden slats groaned beneath his weight. With a wretched sigh he closed his eyes and fell asleep once more.
Melanie, who had had held her breath the entire time, was finally able to exhale with relief. She put her hands to her chest and felt her heart trying to beat its way out through her ribcage. Only when it settled was she able to climb to her knees and cautiously open the door a crack. She peered out into the living room to find Siobhan’s mother mopping the expansive puddle of bath water.
Siobhan’s mother was a redhead like her daughter and her fiery locks were set swinging by her energetic sweeping motions. Her locks weren’t the only parts which swung as she leaned forward and worked the mop vigorously; her large breasts could be seen clattering left and right down the gaping front of her camisole, which she had stripped down to given the heat of working in front of the raging fire. Melanie’s twinkling eyes followed their fluctuations. She watched open-mouthed as Siobhan’s mother wrung the mop into the bucket, her huge boobs squashing together and rising out of the camisole like baking dough. They were beautiful. Nothing like the bloated, shining spheres flaunted by the big-boobed women in Farley’s magazines.
All of a sudden, as if conscious she was being watched, Siobhan’s mother stopped what she was doing and looked about the room causing Melanie to silently push the door shut once more. Realising she would be trapped in Farley’s room for quite a while, she decided she would pass the time by satisfying her lingering curiosity about boys’ parts.
On her hands and knees she crawled over to where Farley lay sprawled on the bed. The way he was positioned, with one leg on the bed and the other hanging limply over the edge, left his genitals dangling exposed between. It was too good of an invitation for Melanie to refuse. She pushed her face up close to the sac of pink skin. It sagged from his crotch under the weight of its contents which she eyed with fascination. 
‘They’re like eggs,’ she said of the curious orbs, before recoiling slightly when she noticed they were moving. The big eggs-shaped things squirmed and rolled about the loose, pink pouch with surprising animation given their owner’s stillness. 
With her chest tightening and her breaths coming in shallow little pants, Melanie found herself reaching out a trembling finger to touch one of the bulging eggs. Her soft fingertip made only the slightest contact with the sticky skin of the sac, but the eggs reacted like they had received an almighty flick; they lurched high up the sac causing Melanie to gasp with fright. She covered her mouth and watched with wide eyes as the hefty organs reached the pinnacle of their ascent only to plummet back down. They struck the bottom of the springy sac and bobbled about for a time before settling back into their subtle squirming.
Their sudden overreaction was, it seemed, entirely independent of the rest of Farley which had remained completely unperturbed by her probing finger. He continued to sleep deeply. Seeing this, Melanie plucked up the courage to go further; gently curling her fingers around the neck of his scrotum, she delicately drew her fingers down the loose, lightly-haired skin until they caught on his fat orbs. Farley let out a gentle groan and though his eggs did attempt another retreat, Melanie’s grasp prevented them from going anywhere. The young blonde bristled with delight at the sensation of the orbs jerking helplessly against her grip.
With her confidence and lust growing, she tightened her grip around Farley’s sac further to force the eggs into an ever more compacted and shining bunch. This drew a more aggrieved groan from Farley, but he remained unconscious.
Melanie was pleased to see that her grasp subdued the squirming of the eggs and allowed her to make out more details in the curious shape of the organs. They were indeed similar in size and shape to chicken eggs, though slightly longer and less plump. They were also not as smooth; having a lumpy protrusion from the aspect in which she studied them.
It was at that moment that Melanie became aware of her desire to squeeze the organs, to test their resilience to its limits and even beyond. Wrapping her free hand around the tight package of rubbery meat, she began to squeeze and found that her urges only grew with every increase in pressure she applied.
Her squeezing put an end to Farley’s stillness. His legs began to twitch, sporadically at first, but as the impetuous young blonde’s fingers sunk deeper into his testicles the twitches turned into sustained writhing, and, as a wave of pleasure swept Melanie’s loins, he woke with a start. Panicking, Melanie released his gonads and threw herself under the bed.
‘My balls,’ sobbed Farley, immediately curling himself into a ball to rock himself gently whilst clutching them. 
They seemed to him to be bigger than usual. This worried him so, sitting up, he scooted over to the edge of the bed and went about examining them in the light of the full moon which poured through his window. 
With his thick cock held aside in one hand, he probed his jewels one-by-one with the other. They had indeed swollen noticeably, but were at least unruptured. He sighed with relief, but relief alone wouldn’t allay his pain. Taking a firmer hold of the flaccid length in his other hand he decided to take his mind off the discomfort by causing his genitals the type of swelling he enjoyed.
Whilst stroking his shaft lovingly, he reached blindly under the bed for his usual wanking paraphernalia. Melanie stifled a scream as his hand curled under the bed almost copped a feel of her boob. Luckily, his fingertips set down on one of the magazine she was lying on top of. She quickly lifted herself off the obscene material as he slid it out from under her.
Over the soft, rhythmic sound of him pumping his stiffening rod, Melanie heard him open the magazine and purr, ‘Oh, you filthy slut.’ Though the innocent young blonde’s ears had never before heard the derogatory and hurtful word, the disrespectful way in which he said it made her shudder. 
She found she was actually lying on top of a small pile of similar magazines. She slid out the top one which she didn’t realise was upside down and flicked through its pages. As the magazine’s latter half consisted mainly of advertisements for a bewildering array of terrifying-looking “toys” it was several pages in before she reached the first photograph. Its obscenity caused her to recoil with a gasp. 
Not only did the model have her breasts bared, but, spread with her fingers as if eager to display every nook, the barely-legal babe presented her most intimate part. Melanie recoiled, but couldn’t take her eyes off the part which she had never had a chance to study in such detail, due to her father having purposely secured every mirror in the lighthouse at an inconvenient height on the wall.
Melanie closed the magazine. The old wooden bed frame was creaking furiously as above her Farley subjected himself to some form of violence.
Desperate to know what he was doing whilst looking at such offensive material, Melanie shuffled forward and peered up through the slats of the bed frame. 
While his mattress obscured most of the scene, a gap of about two inches was left and between two of the slats she could see the tantalising bulge of one of his eggs. She pressed her eye closer. The heavy orb was just narrow enough to fit through the gap, only its partner was resting happily on one of the slats and held it from falling through.
Eager to get her hands on the plump pair, Melanie tested each slat and found to her delight that the one upon which the stubborn egg was rested was loose enough to slide aside. She was unprepared for the avalanche of hairy pink meat which plummeted toward her face the moment the slat was shifted. She dropped to her elbows and braced herself for the impact, but when, after a few anxious seconds, she was not struck in the face by his heavy swingers, she opened her eyes to find them swinging a literal pubic-hair’s-length from her nose.
Relieved, she took in a deep breath of the pungent salty scent of his sweat-glistening, rhythmically swaying testicles.
Above her, Farley continued to abuse himself. Oblivious to the peril in which his treasured testicles were in he worked himself to the edge of climax. 
Melanie watched with agitation as his swinging beef began to rise with urgency. It was clear to her that within seconds they would withdraw back through the gap and out of her reach so she quickly slid the loose slat back the way it came. The gap it left wasn’t tight enough to pinch his sac, bit was easily tight enough to prevent his fat eggs from slipping back through. Farley was too lost in throws of ecstasy to notice the abrupt halt in the rise of his testicles as they met the wood. 
The sight of his trapped testes satisfied Melanie immensely, but it was clear from the quickening sounds of his pumping that Farley’s self-abuse was building up to a crescendo and this filled her with an inexplicable feeling of resentment.
He shouldn’t be looking at girls’ parts! she thought and, in a sudden flash of rage, she was overcome by the urge to punch him square in the plump organs. She thought briefly of her mother’s warning not to be anything but ladylike, but smashing his fat eggs felt like the most ladylike thing in the world to do under the circumstances. She balled her fist and pumped it upward, her knuckles striking the spongy orbs with a soft thud and flattening them wide across the wooden slats.
The room fell silent; the violent pumping ceasing instantly. For what felt to Melanie like a long moment, nothing happened. Then suddenly everything happened.
Farley leapt from the bed as if a fire had be lit under him only to be yanked abruptly short when his fat testicles refused to slip back through the gap in the slats. The incredibly heavy bed was jerked almost an inch off the floor and the cords which held Farley’s reproductive organs suspended tore at their anchorage and sent lightning bolts of pain through his guts.
‘Nngh-zzzzt!’ cried Farley, his voice reaching new heights of pitch. But instead of doing the sensible thing of dropping back to the bed, Farley’s agony consumed brain spurred him to put as much distance between himself and the pain as possible.
Melanie could barely believe her eyes as Farley began to stagger forward. It was at the same time moronic and genuinely impressive and Melanie couldn’t help but be awed by the Herculean effort which saw him wrestle control of his powerful, but shaking legs and actually succeed in taking a few steps forward with the solid oak bed under which she was hid being dragged several inches after him.
Though scared, she couldn’t take her eyes off his bright red eggs which shone in the moonlight as the skin was pulled tight around them.
Despite Farley’s pig-headed determination, it was only a matter of seconds before he could no longer ignore the excruciating pain that came from lifting an oak-framed double bed with only your nerve-packed nut cords. Sensibility having finally caught up with him, he was knocked immediately insensible. 
His legs gave out from under him and he fell to the floor only to bungee ruinously on his stretched scrotum. The sudden stop folded him in the middle and meant Melanie was suddenly confronted by his upside-down sweat-soaked face. She held her breath and awaited his cry, but his eyes were crossed and showed no trace of recognition. As she studied him, still dreading him noticing her, he let out a strangled mewl and the thick sausage, which pointed down at the floor and seemed both longer and more terrifying than she remembered, gave a sudden jerk and issued forth a torrent of thick steaming goo. It hit the floor and spattered noisily to form a glistening puddle with the look and the consistency of water mixed with lots of corn flour. Melanie eyed it with disgust and gave it a wide berth as she crawled out from under the bed.
She climbed to her knees and watched with interest as the long leaking appendage returned to its less intimidating sausage state; its pulsing veins sinking back into the flesh whilst its shining purple mushroom head softened and retreated slightly beneath its foreskin. It was all very interesting but still nowhere near as interesting to her as the parts which he remained suspended by.
Farley hung from the sac which contained his eggs; his body swaying side-to-side slowly. There was an audible sound of creaking, the source of which Melanie couldn’t place. It was either coming from the straining wooden slats or his impossibly stretched scrotum which was twice, if not three times as long as it had been in at bath time.
She was imagining taking a pair of scissors to the stretched flesh and putting him out of his misery for good when the door burst open and the light from the fire illuminated the scene. She spun around with a gasp and fund to her horror that without her knowledge her hand had crept down the front of her pyjama bottoms.
Thankfully it was Siobhan in the doorway. ‘What did you do to him?’ she demanded as Melanie retracted her suspiciously slick fingers with embarrassment. 
‘It was an accident, I swear,’ she told her shocked friend, unsure of her reaction. Much to her relief, Siobhan’s mouth slowly began to turn up at the corners and she quickly placed her hand over it in order to stifle a giggle.
‘We have to get back to my room,’ Siobhan said through her smile, without taking her eyes off her tortured brother. ‘Mum will be back any minute.’
‘What about Farley?’ asked Melanie turning back to her swaying victim.
‘What about him?’ said Siobhan, turning to leave.
With Siobhan’s back turned, Melanie quickly picked up the obscene magazine which Farley had left on the bed. She folded it and stuffed it down the back of her pyjama bottoms. She gave Farley’s scrotum one last, longing look and then hurried after her friend.
Unsurprisingly, Farley failed to make an appearance at breakfast, but the two boiled eggs which awaited him caused the girls much amusement.
After breakfast, Siobhan’s mother shooed them out of the house so she could go about the housework in peace. They were only allowed back in when it was time for Melanie to be picked up by her mother.
She had her bag packed and was sat on the sofa with Siobhan and her mother waiting her mother’s arrival when there came the first signs of life from Farley’s bedroom. Miserable groans were followed by pained squeaks and the sound of him hitting the ground. Then it went silent once more.
‘What is he up to?’ asked Siobhan’s mother with irritation. ‘He hasn’t moved all day, the lazy so-and-so.’ She got up from her chair and stormed over to his door which she knocked on furiously.
‘Farley! Get out here,’ she snapped. ‘Melanie will be leaving soon and you can make yourself useful by carrying her bag to the car.’
Farley’s response was unintelligible.
‘Do I have to come in there?’ demanded his mother.
‘No!’ he squeaked. His movements, however laboured, assured his mother and she returned to her seat.
‘Men,’ she said, rolling her eyes.
When Melanie’s mother pulled up outside and honked her horn, Siobhan threw her arms around Melanie and sniffled sadly.
‘Farley,’ called his mother. ‘Get out here.’ Slowly his door opened and he shuffled out, his legs spread awkwardly far apart.
‘Wearing your kilt for a change,’ remarked his mother with approval. He grunted miserably.
The girls knew exactly why he was wearing his kilt: freedom to swing. 
Melanie imagined that, having spent the night and most of the day hanging from them, Farley’s testicles would be dangling mere inches from the hem of the kilt, but she was keen to prove it.
‘Be a gentleman and carry Melanie’s bag out to the car,’ his mother told him.
He tried to protest, but his voice cracked as soon as he spoke and an embarrassingly high pitched squeak came out instead of words. Grudgingly, he shuffled over to Melanie, but as he was about to snatch the bag from her hand she dropped it.
‘Whoops,’ she said. Farley eyed her angrily and, grunting with exertion, he widened his stance further, hitched his kilt and gradually lowered himself after the bag on bending knees. Melanie grabbed Siobhan’s hand and, after leading her around behind Farley, silently urged her to join her in sneaking a look up her brother’s kilt.
With her mother only in the next room, Siobhan was reluctant, but Melanie had no such reticence. She ducked down and could barely restrain her glee when his big red eggs came into view; bigger and redder than ever. Her laughter caused Farley to straighten up quickly and look back, angry and suspicious. Melanie quickly wrestled away her smile and gave him an expectant look. He grunted and, with bag in hand, began his waddle to the front door.
‘Did you see them?’ Melanie hissed.
‘No,’ said Siobhan distraught.
Melanie looked back at Farley as he staggered through across the room. Her eyes fell on his kilt once more and a devious grin spread across her face. Siobhan recognised it immediately.
‘What are you thinking?’ she asked excitedly.
‘You’ll see,’ Melanie told her.
The girls said their emotional goodbyes and by the time they stepped outside, Farley had made his way to the waiting car. He pulled open the back door and tossed the bag in.
‘Hello, Farley,’ said Melanie’s mother. ‘You look smart in your kilt.’
He nodded, unwilling to speak in case he embarrassed himself again although he did let a squeak of surprise when he was rudely shoved aside by Melanie who pushed past him to get in the car.
‘I enjoyed seeing so much of you, Farley,’ she whispered devilishly, as she leaned back out to take hold of the door and slam it shut.
Farley failed to register the implied slight, being completely unaware of her participation in either of his accidents, but the way she said it made him uncomfortable enough to want to make a quick exit. Seeing him turn to leave, Melanie told her mother, ‘Okay, we can go.’ 
When Farley tried to retreat back to the house he was quite perturbed to discover he was held back. He looked around and found to his horror that the loose corner of his kilt had become caught in the car door and that Melanie was giddily winding down her window as the car’s engine rumbled into life. His eyes filled with dread. ‘No,’ he whimpered as the young blonde grinned out at him.
‘I guess I’m about to see a little bit more of you,’ she quipped, before the car pulled away and Farley was twirled violently around on the spot by his unravelling kilt until he was left spinning without a stitch to cover the sausage and eggs which flapped comically after him.
Melanie heard Siobhan’s shriek of riotous laughter, but kept her eyes on Farley as he caught his balance only to have his swinging beef slap at speed into his the side of his knee. She watched with twinkling eyes as, dizzy and crippled by pain and humiliation, Farley sank to the ground and lay there in a gently rocking ball until he vanished from view.
‘Did you have fun?’ asked her mother, unaware that Melanie hand one hand down her trousers and was furiously working her fingers.

‘Oh, yes,’ she answered, breathlessly. ‘So much.’