Deconstructing Toxic Masculinity - Part 1

The photographer adjusted her lens, her eyes coldly calculating as she watched her model settle into his first pose. This wasn’t just another photoshoot for her; it was revenge. She’d spent most of her career coercing impressionable young women into demeaning themselves in indecent poses and she hated herself for it. It was time men received the same barbaric treatment and she was starting with the biggest in the industry, at least in terms of cock length.

Poor Greg. He was an easy target. He was infamous in the business of glamour modelling. A fourteen inch cock and a ludicrous set of low hanging balls, yet lacking the confidence that should come with such immodest appendages. His meekness was a real turn-off for the women that photographed him and as such, he was nowhere near as sought-after as he should have been, used mostly for close-up shots of his indecent length.

Desperate for cash and eager for exposure, he would be as easy to pressure as the naive girls she usually took advantage of.

“Alright, let’s start simple,” she said, her voice carrying a professional detachment. “Hands on hips, chest out.”

He immediately complied, setting his jaw and puffing out his chest, flexing the oiled and glistening muscle he’d spent years building. His arms, sculpted and thick, bulged as he positioned his hands on his hips. His abs tightened, showing off the defined ridges of his stomach. He thrust his hips forward just enough to emphasise the cock that hung prominently, thick and weighty between his legs. It was undeniably impressive and yet Gail's pussy was unresponsive, he just lacked the brutish, big-dick energy a length like that should bestow upon a man. When she imagined him fucking her, he was constantly apologising for hurting her before going soft and bursting into tears.

“Perfect," she said, wanting to get him to relax before the exploitative stuff really started. "Lift your arms above your head,” she instructed, snapping several photos as he obeyed. His muscles rippled with each movement, his biceps flexing as he reached up, elongating his torso. His cock swayed slightly as he adjusted, its foreskin still sheltering the majority of its shapely, but disproportionately bulbous head.

“Show off those muscles,” she said, encouraging him to flex and tighten, yet ignoring any part of his body not swinging between his legs as she snapped away.

Believing she had established enough of a sense of ease and trust, she instructed him, "Okay, now squat."

Caught off-guard, Greg's cock twitched as he squeaked, "Squat?"

"Yeah," she said, pretending to check her camera with disinterest. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, I've just never been asked to before."

"It's a common pose," she said, neglecting to add this was only the case for female models.

"Right," he said, widening his stance before reluctantly lowering himself into the vulnerable position. "Like this?"

"Lower," she told him, as she looked down the lens. "I want to see your cock touch the ground."

Greg balked at her lack of tact, but timidly complied, sinking low enough to make the exposed tip of his bell-end touch the floor. His legs immediately began to shake from the strain and the stress of the indignity.

"Great," she said impassively as she walked around him documenting his pose. When she was behind him, she laid down on her back and began taking photos of a portion of Greg's body that he had never explicitly agreed to have photographed and left him feeling violated and extremely uncomfortable. His discomfort only grew as she asked, "Can you go lower?"

"But it's already touching the floor..." he said hopefully.

"I want to see your balls on the floor too," she said matter-of-factly.

"Oh," he said weakly, as if accepting her request as reasonable. He pushed himself lower, his thighs beginning to burn and tremble with effort. Thanks to the heat of the studio's lights, his goose egg-sized bollocks dangled only a couple inches above his cock, gently squirming with embarrassment. His lower-hanging left nut hit the floor first with a soft pat.

"Hold it there," Gail told him, making sure to get a few shots of how comically lopsided his sack was. "Perfect, now set the other down too."

As he did as instructed, he felt his waxed arse hole begin to gape and trying not to come across as difficult, he asked, "Do women find this kind of shot attractive?"

Gail let out a shriek of laughter, startling him and making his balls jump and plop down once more on the floor. After letting off another few more flashes, she answered with brutal honesty, "I won't lie, I've never seen anything less attractive. Although It's pretty impressive to me that the backside of your ball-bag is somehow even more repulsive than the front." The flashes stopped and she added, "I can see exactly how they're attached from back here. It really is quite sickening..."

Feeling indescribably hurt by her scathing critique and queasy at the thought of thousands of women getting to see the intimate plumbing he himself had never even laid eyes on, Greg squeaked, "Why are you taking pictures of it then?"

Gail paused to consider her response. "Morbid curiosity?" she answered finally. "You'd be surprised what weird shit women share with their friends. This could go viral."

Greg let out a whimper and Gail swore she saw his balls sag dejectedly as they accepted their fate as objects of disdain and ridicule. Giddy at the lack of fight he was putting up, the photographer decided to ramp up his debasement and seeing how shaky his legs were gave her a wicked idea.

"Your sack needs more oil,' she told him, jumping up from the ground. "It looks like an old piece of leather back there." She picked up a bottle of baby oil and squeezed it in a carefully aimed arc which started at the heel of one foot and ended at the other, only briefly spraying the back of his scrotum on its purposeful journey. "Oopsie!" she lied, grinning with satisfaction on seeing the slippery substance pooling perilously around his heels. She walked around front once more and readied her camera as she said, "Now, can you lift your cock out of the way and shuffle your feet out a little wider, I want to see your nuts flat on the floor."

In all the years that Greg had been modelling he had never had anyone even comment on his balls, let alone make them the focus of a shot. He knew they were a good size, but he was self-conscious about the amount they drooped. It was only when accompanied by his monstrous cock that they looked anywhere like in proportion so it was with great reluctance that he lifted it out of the way to expose his big nuts resting on the floor and began to shuffle his aching legs wider apart.

With a squeak, his oil-slicked heels slipped out from under him, leaving him to land heavily on top of his defenceless balls with a fleshy thud. His slippery orbs popped out from under him instantly, but not without suffering a brief but traumatic compression beforehand.

With his eyes bulging, Greg let out a wail of anguish and toppled onto his back to hike his knees up to his chest and leave Gail with a shot which perfectly captured male frailty as, with legs kicking feebly in the air, Greg's hands pawed gingerly at his battered balls until their slipperiness left them falling from his hands to hang down and completely obscure his puckering arse hole.

Gail's lips curled back over her teeth as she tried desperately not to burst into laughter at his uniquely male misfortune, but her finger did not stop hammering the shutter button and suddenly her pussy had started to pay attention.

"My balls!" he cried. "Oh, my fucking balls!"

"What happened?" she asked, feigning innocence while grinning.

"Oh, fuck!" he squealed, his body shuddering from the trauma.

"Are you okay?"

"No!" he yelled, displaying the only sign of fire she'd seen in him. "I fucking crushed my balls!"

"Crushed?" she asked, acting shocked. Then, unable to resist the wicked temptation, she reached out to seize one of the draped danglers and sink her thumb into its rubbery meat, instantly silencing Greg's cries as he fell deathly still to look down at her as she delivered her verdict with a faint smirk, "Feels pretty solid to me..."

"Please..." he begged in a desperate whisper. "Let go."

She let out a theatrical sigh and, as she gently rolled the compressed orb beneath her thumb, said evenly, "We don't have this studio all night so if you know what's good for your career you better man-up and finish the shoot."

Rendered speechless by her thinly veiled threat to tarnish his livelihood, he blinked a few times as his racing mind weighed his options. Finally, realising he had none, he nodded sadly.

"Good boy," she cooed. She inspected the spunk-filled orb between her digits for a few seconds more then cruelly let it squirt out of her grip.

He let out a yelp and sat up to cup his smashed low-hangers protectively.

"Up you get," Gail instructed glibly, patting his inner thigh as she stood. Then, spotting a folding metal chair resting against the wall, she said, "You can even sit down for the next ones." Leaving her model to pick himself off the floor, she casually sauntered over and set the chair down.

Grunting with effort, Greg kept his balls clutched with one hand while he clambered to his debilitated, trembling legs and though he remained distrustful of her, he was relieved when she set the chair down beside him.

"Thanks," he said warily, and carefully lowered himself onto the cool metal seat. The surprising coldness against his bare cheeks caused his huge cock to twitch, but the stalwart serpent refused to shrink.

Gail reprised her spot and lifted her camera once more only to pause as she looked down the lens. "Dude," she said sharply, lowering the camera to glare at him. "I'm not paying you to sit there playing with your balls."

Grimacing with pain and discomfort, he asked hopefully, "Can I just have a minute?"

"No," she fired back. "Drop your balls and smile for fuck's sake."

Crestfallen, Greg released his aching bollocks with the care and tenderness of a mother laying down her newborn. He had been prudent not to sit too far back in the seat and risk another injury, a constant peril for a man cursed with such huge hangers. His perch on the chair left his cock and balls dangling over the front, but his legs were closed defensively either side only allowing the photographer a glimpse in-between.

Gail cleared her throat and looked at him expectantly. He looked back oblivious. "Do I really have to spell it out for you?" she asked tersely. "I get girls in here, barely eighteen, who haven't modelled a day in their life and even they know what to do." He shook his head, clueless. "Spread your legs, dipshit!" she barked with despair in her voice.

"Oh!" said Greg, before sheepishly parting his legs and looking back at Gail for approval.

"Do you have hip problems?" she asked. He looked at her perplexed. "Spread wider. Pretend you're one of those girls desperate to show me what filling's in your taco."

"Taco?" he repeated, scandalised by her colourful language. Gulping, he pushed his legs out as wide as he could.

"And tilt forward," she said. "I want to see your fat eggs drooping."

Greg had been posing nude all his adult life and yet he'd never felt so naked as he did tilting his hips to let his limp lengths of genitalia slither over the edge of the seat to hang pendulous.

"You know what, lift that thing out of the way, let's give your sack the spotlight."

Well used to photographers fixating on his cock, Greg would often feel frustrated that they never paid any attention to what else he had to offer. However, Gail's unnerving focus on the vulnerable flesh of his hanging balls had him wishing she’d redirect that intense scrutiny to his prick like everyone else.

With discomfort etched on his face, he curled his fingers under his shaft and raised it to drape it over his thigh.

Freshly waxed, his hairless scrotum had the pimpled texture of plucked chicken skin and under the unforgiving studio lights it appeared eerily transparent. Shadows pooled in the deep creases drawn taut by the weight of its squirming cargo.

Gail snapped photo after photo, circling him slowly, capturing every angle. With each flash of the camera, he felt more exposed, his unease growing as she zoomed in, taking close-ups that left his bollocks squirming even more.

"Okay..." said the photographer. Scrutinising the screen on the back of her camera, she added with a grimace, "Grim." Shaking off her revulsion, she looked to him and raised her eyebrows as she said, "Alright, now drop the cock again and lose the balls."

"Sorry?" asked Greg, understandably anxious for clarification.

"Your bollocks, tuck them out of sight. They're too distracting, constantly writhing like that."

Greg looked about himself with confusion. "How...?"

"Sit on them. For all I care you can..." She let out a gleeful squeak and told him, suddenly giddy, "Shove them up your arse!"

To be continued...