Castration Without Return (part 1)
Lucas had long since ceased to be a man in Master Victor's eyes. He was nothing more than an object, a future empty shell, a toy to be broken once and for all. After years of training—forced poppers until he blacked out, fistings that had torn his anus raw, electro-torture on his testicles until he pissed himself in agony—Victor had decided the time had come. No more half measures. He was going to castrate him like a farm animal: without anesthesia, without mercy, live.
The dungeon reeked of sweat, dried blood, and cigar smoke. Lucas was dragged naked, chained, blindfolded. Victor strapped him firmly to the cold steel table: legs raised and spread wide by gynecological stirrups, arms stretched out in a cross shape, neck immobilized by a strap. His penis and testicles hung loose, exposed, already swollen with fear.
Victor barely spoke. He lit his cigar, took a long drag, and exhaled the smoke in Lucas's face.
"Today, I'm taking what's left of your manhood. You're going to scream like the piece of shit you are." No tranquilizers. No poppers to soften the blow. Victor wanted him to feel absolutely everything. He began with a sadistic preparation: he injected a highly concentrated saline solution directly into each testicle to make them swell enormously, until the scrotal skin was stretched taut, glistening, ready to burst. Lucas was already screaming; the pain was unbearable, as if his balls were being burned from the inside.
Victor sneered. "Look at these. Real bull's balls. Perfect for being ripped off." He took an electrified alligator clip and snapped it shut on the thin skin of Lucas's scrotum. The current shot through him like lightning. He convulsed violently, pissing himself in terror. Victor repeated the operation ten times, alternating left and right, until the testicles were black with burns.
Then came the banding. But not just any rubber band: Victor used an agricultural band-breaker, the kind used on rams. He forced both testicles into the ultra-tight metal ring and released it with a sharp jerk. The cracking of the crushed tissue echoed in the room. Lucas vomited in pain, his cry turning into a continuous animal moan.
"They're dying, you dirty whore. Can you feel the gangrene starting?" For the next two hours, Victor amused himself. He kissed Lucas's throat until he choked, spitting in his mouth between each thrust. He whipped the dead testicles with a leather riding crop, each blow causing a trickle of blood to spurt. He poured 90-proof alcohol directly onto the area, making Lucas scream so loudly his voice broke.
When the testicles were completely black, necrotic, hanging like rotten fruit, Victor took a sharp butcher's knife. No clean scalpel: he wanted it dirty, barbaric.
He sliced slowly, without haste. First the foreskin, which tore with a wet sound. Then the spermatic cords, one by one, twisting them like cables before severing them. Blood was spurting out now, hot and thick. Lucas had no voice left, only spasms, tears, and drool. His body trembled in a state of total shock.
Victor ripped off the last cord with a sharp tug, holding the two dead testicles in his bloodied hand. He held them up in front of Lucas's face.
"Open your mouth, female dog." “He forced them down Lucas’s throat, making him chew them, half-swallow them. Lucas choked, vomited blood and bits of flesh, but Victor held him until he obeyed.
Then he stitched him up raw, with thick fishing line, without disinfecting. Wide, uneven stitches that would leave monstrous scars. He finished by injecting a mega-dose of estrogen and branding his pubic area with his initials: V.
Lucas lay in a pool of blood, urine, and vomit, barely conscious.
Victor crouched near his ear and whispered:
“You’re nothing anymore. Neither man nor woman. Just a hole to fuck and a mouth to fill. And that’s for life.” He stubbed out his cigar on the bloody stump