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The door ratcheted open with a long creak. Someone flip-flopped in and the fluorescent lights hummed on. They were on their hands and knees in a dungeon of sorts. All of them were facing the walls about one foot from them. They could turn their heads well enough to see the man on their left and the man on their right, but no better. They did not know how many of them were in here or how long they had been waiting in the dark. There had been whispered conversations, but no one knew anything. They had been brought in blindfolded, one after another, by silent captors over the course of the morning. Several hours in the dark. They had been stripped and strapped into open, box-framed slings that held them horizontal from the waist to the shoulders. Their heads were free to hang. Their arms were straight behind at their sides, shackled at the wrists to their iron frames. The shackles were lined with the same fabric their slings were made of, seat-belt fabric. The slings held them tightly to the tops of their frames and their knees were shackled wide apart to the legs of the frame, about an inch off the floor, and their lower legs out behind them in half-tubes large enough to hold them, shackled at the ankles. They were hanging in the slings but could not move at all. They had been afraid and bewildered before. Now they were terrified.
There was a man shackled and locked in an iron frame tall enough for him to stand up straight on his feet. When he got tired of standing, he let his weight down and hung from his arms. They were held in half-tubes at the top of the frame and shackled down at the elbows and wrists. His legs were shackled wide apart at the knees to the sides of the frame, and his ankles shackled to the frame's legs. He was completely naked, his genitals freshly shaved and when the light came on he had counted 14 other men chained and locked into smaller frames around the outsides of the room, all facing the walls, all naked, and all their genitals freshly shaved. There was a large, grated drain recessed in the floor beneath each one of them. They were all Caucasian as he was. But he didn't look at them for more than 2 seconds.
A Caucasian woman had walked in completely naked and stood surveying them all. No one spoke. Only the two men closest to the door could turn their heads well enough to see her. The last man she looked at was the one standing toward the rear. She could see he was terrified of her, and his flaccid cock, all 9 inches of it, did not twitch, just hung totally limp straight down, circumcised. His balls were the size of jumbo chicken eggs and hung loose a good 4 inches down between his thighs. He was 6 feet 3 inches and saw that she was about 5 feet 10 inches. He had short, wavy brown hair and a scruffy brown goatee, neatly trimmed close to his chin. She saw again that he was beautiful. He saw for the first time that she was beautiful. She had a gorgeous mane of wavy brown hair, and as she put a hand to the wall to kick her flip-flops off, he saw that her hair fell full and fluffy to the center of her back. She was not porcelain white, but not very tan. Her skin was a healthy, light mocha color.
Her breasts were solid D-cups. They did not hang very low, but jiggled and swayed, heavy with fat. They were real. They were perfection. She could have dialed a phone with her nipples. She swung the door shut to a heavy clang without turning her back to him, then started walking and as she approached, she grinned a little. She had huge, emerald eyes and her clit was already as red as her lips and swollen out of its hood. She was clean-shaven down there, too, and her pussy lips were puffy. She had just been fucking someone. He estimated the room to be about 60 by 60 feet, and as she padded toward him on beautiful bare feet with high arches he saw that she lifted weights. Heavy weights. Her upper arms were almost as big as his and he had never in his life seen a woman whose biceps displayed that big blue vein down the center like a man's. She had an 8-pack of abs that he could just barely see when she breathed out. Her thighs were gigantic and rippled muscle all over as she walked. He watched her quads flex up to her abs. They weren't freakishly cut, just massive and even from the front, he could see her calves were huge, too. And yet, she had somehow not lost her breasts with all her strength training. He guessed she weighed 150 lbs and it was all smooth, firm muscle. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. 6 feet 3 inches, about 195 lbs. She had yet to see his cock hard, but if it was 9 inches long and 2 and a half inches wide while totally soft, she estimated it would be at least 13 inches long if he could get it up all the way. She hoped he could do so naturally. If not, he would with the proper cocktail of drugs. She had no idea how thick it would be. She padded up to him and he loved the sound of her feet, but in spite of everything he saw and heard, he was terrified of her and his cock wasn't reacting to any of it. She stopped just in front of him and surveyed his face very calmly with a hint of a smile. Big, brown eyes, a slender nose. She flatly looked down at his dick, cocked her head a bit, then slowly looked up along his 8-pack to his huge, wide chest, over his shoulders and down his thick upper arms to his forearms. His chest hair grew soft and fine in a wide spot in the center almost to his nipples, and down in a slender trail to just above his navel.
She backed up a step and started walking around him without looking up. He lost sight of her and focused on her footsteps. Then he gasped and almost whimpered as she gently placed her hands on his ass cheeks. They were cold but her hands were warm and she caressed him, squeezing as she walked around to his right side, then stopped and squeezed both hands at the top of his right thigh, the quad and hamstring, and kneaded it firmly as she drew her hands down to his knee. She was enjoying the feel of his muscle. Then she slid her left hand back up and cupped his right cheek, pushed it up, and squeezed, rolling her fingers in its softness, then let go and patted it twice. All this time, no one in the room had said a word and he was shocked at how loud the echoes were of her patting him.
She walked around in front of him again with a big smile, not showing her teeth, and whispered, "What is your name?"
He swallowed. "Flynn Fitzherbert." He cleared his throat.
She smiled and now showed her perfect teeth. "How old are you, Flynn?"
"Twenty-six."
She nodded. "I'm 22. My name is Cassandra." Her smile fell sharply away and she turned her back to him, surveying the men on their hands and knees around the room. Flynn immediately looked down and saw the ass of Aphrodite. It was the most astoundingly beautiful ass any woman had ever sported around him. Wide hips and a great, round ass of tight, solid muscle. His cock still did not twitch. He knew full well - they all did - that something very bad was about to happen to every one of them. And that there was absolutely nothing in the world they could do about it.
"Hello, men," she said and this was the first any of them had heard her voice. It was a sonorous contralto. Flynn's heart was speeding up a little. "You are all guilty," she said, "at least of being members of the Resistance. Both FAMD and the House of Ladies concur that this constitutes sedition, and therefore high treason, the punishment for which is castration."
The men all gasped or whimpered or began muttering very quietly under their breaths, but no one spoke up. Flynn's heart and breathing were hastening more. She heard this and turned around. "Calm down. You're last," she whispered, and winked at him. He did calm down, but did not smile. He frowned, confused. She saw that, smirked and turned back to the others.
"There is a clipboard on each of your cages," she said. Flynn noticed them then, looked down, but could not see one on his. She began padding slowly around behind them. They could not see her. "They are dossiers of your crimes. I have been assigned to punish you for them and your punishments will vary according to your crimes." Whimpers got louder as she neared them. "If you are only guilty of sedition your punishment will be castration, and perhaps a quick one." Most of the men were panting now, whimpering, some almost whining like dogs. "If you are guilty of worse crimes, I am authorized to make you wish you did not have testicles." Several men burst into rapid sobs. Flynn could hear them. Her voice had been steadily lowering and now she nearly growled, "And I am exceedingly. Effective. At this!"
He heard sniffles and low, moaning whimpers from every one of them now. He did not whimper because she had told him he would be last, and except for sedition, he knew he was guilty of nothing. The thought of operating as a medic for the Resistance did suddenly fill his gut with a burst of terror, since she had threatened castration, and a dick and balls as gigantic and beautiful as his make a man narcissistic. Take them away and you take away much more than his pride. He looked in mirrors and felt he was the apotheosis of narcissism, even if he hadn't had sex in over a year. A 16-inch long, 4-inch wide dick scares the ladies away. He'd only had sex 4 times, and none of them had taken more than 8 inches before freaking out and telling him to get off. He had never cum in a pussy or ass. He had to content himself with several hundred blowjobs, and his bucketload ejaculations had strangely turned every woman off, not aroused them. He was built like Captain America, just as good-looking as that old actor from almost a century ago, and his narcissism was one of two reasons he was not quite so terrified as he had been before she spoke. His narcissism told him to hope that she wanted sex.
The other reason was that he was the only one shackled in a standing position. He was the only anomaly in the room. She had positioned him so she could face him, but none of the others. He didn't know what she was going to do to him so he thought hopeful thoughts. And what did her wink mean?
She turned and walked back behind him, he heard a scrape, and she returned with a wide, canvas bench in her left hand, strong enough to carry it effortlessly. It was wood and must have weighed 40 pounds but she balanced it on her upturned palm and he opened his mouth in awe at her flexed biceps. She carried a folding chair in the other, set the bench down to her left, behind three men, then walked to the man closest to the door and sat in the chair behind him. She picked up the clipboard. That man was shivering.
"Steve Alexander. 31 years old. 5 feet 10 inches." She read loudly enough for all to hear and her lusty voice echoed around and around. "Hair brown. Eyes brown. Crimes. Sedition, one, rape, one, assault, four, aggravated battery, two, grand theft auto, two, grand larceny, one, petty - Jesus, that's enough!" She tossed the clipboard out of the way. It clattered off the door as she stood and slid the chair away to the same spot and padded around behind him some ten steps in a semi-circle. Steve Alexander was breathing in deep, rapid gasps, and then yelped loud as she snapped her right foot up between his thighs. The smack was as shockingly loud as his yelp and reverberated through two more kicks. She drew her leg back quickly and Flynn saw Alexander squirming in his chains. His sling would not let him move anything. She snapped her leg forward again and drew it back with expert grace. The smack was much louder and Flynn watched his balls bounce. Alexander yelped in a much higher pitch and started sipping little hitches of breath. Her third kick was so powerful it spot-lifted his cage, with him in it, two inches off the floor and he howled. Flynn listened to the room rise around him in whimpers and moaning. The men were thinking of their crimes.
"Before I remove them," she growled like a wild animal, "I'm going to tenderize them! Do you hear me, Steve Alexander?" She unleashed another kick that lifted his cage off the floor. He shrieked and his voice whined down to a tenor whimper. He sounded just like a dog. He groaned and belched. She slammed her foot up between his thighs and felt both his balls flatten across the top of it, against his pelvis. He howled and his hitchy, uncertain breath made the howl break up and skitter. Then he was mewling, drooling, and as she drew her leg back, Flynn saw he was writhing and bucking against his chains as the pain roiled up into his gut. He tilted his head back, straight up, and Flynn listened to him groan up high as the pain welled and welled. His head flopped out of view and he belched again. Flynn heard him spit. It dribbled the floor. He spat again. Just as much dribble.
She padded around between his cage and the next, bent over, grabbed his hair and yanked his face up to hers. "Puke for me!" she seethed, shoved his head down, walked back behind him and Flynn watched the perfection in her kick. She didn't straight-leg it from her hip. She lifted her thigh first until her knee was almost parallel to the floor, then snapped her lower leg out like a spring and smashed Steve Alexander's dangling nuts flat against pelvis again and this time he didn't scream. Flynn heard an initial squeal that cut short and he knew why. Alexander could no longer breathe well enough to make much noise. She drew her leg back and he was convulsing vehemently, his feet twisting inward, toes curled up. Flynn didn't know what the end result of such agony was, but Alexander didn't look like he could take much more.
She didn't give a fuck. He was spitting and spitting and still she swung her foot up and flattened his balls as hard as she could, the cage lifted from the floor, settled, and that was the one that did it. Steve Alexander gasped and Flynn watched his whole body stiffen, back arch, and Steve Alexander vomited the large prison lunch he had eaten some hours ago directly into the drain beneath him. He vomited again, a great heaving, ragged moan of a little food and a lot of stomach acid. He spat and saliva and snot dangled form his face. And then the pain set in. He groaned and writhed as it worsened, but he couldn't breathe well enough now to be loud.
She turned around, facing Flynn for a moment, glanced at his dick, still flaccid, grinned and padded around. "You're probably wondering how much pain I'm going to make your balls cause you before you black out or go into shock and die!" She wasn't sweating. Not a hair out of place. She reminded him of Wonder Woman. Who was that woman who portrayed her in those old movies? Gal Gadot! That was she! But Cassandra looked like Gal Gadot in steroidal beast mode. And impossibly just as beautiful. "That's the bad news, fuckers! You were all injected with the latest cocktail available to prisons for corporal punishment! Three drugs! The first you may think of as a muscle relaxant just for your heart! It prevents your heart rate from surpassing 160! So you won't suffer fibrillations, arrhythmia, or a heart attack! The other two drugs work together in your brain! The first blocks any and all releases of endorphins! Endorphins are natural painkillers, much more powerful than morphine! And you will miss them! The second drug operates in your cerebellum! It prevents the cerebellum from realizing that there is too much pain, too much of a problem with the body! The cerebellum will, thus, NOT shut off your brain! This cocktail is my fucking favorite because of cunts like you! It prohibits you from escaping the agony! You will experience ZERO relief! No matter how I work you the fuck over! How long! Or how badly!"
Flynn smelled Steve Alexander's vomit. She turned back with her hands on her hips to Alexander, still writhing and groaning, lowered her hands and growled as she snapped a ninth kick up between his thighs. She had yet to miss either of them. Every kick flattened them both and this one made him shriek and the shriek died away only a little to a ragged whine, his head flew up, he grunted and shit all over himself, a spray of diarrhea that jetted a foot away to the floor, splattered his thighs, his calves and feet, and she started chuckling, turned and padded up past Flynn, he heard a spigot squeak, and she returned with a hose. Alexander was dry heaving, his whole body visibly waving pain up and down in the sling, as she rinsed him clean and rinsed it into the drain. She walked past Flynn replaced the hose, then returned to Alexander. Nine kicks. All full force. Based on his screams, his vomiting and shitting, Flynn was sure Cassandra's method of castration, at least for Alexander, was going to consist of kicking him until both his balls ruptured. Flynn was wrong.
She set the chair behind him with her left profile to Flynn so he could see Alexander's balls and what she was about to do them. She grabbed them both, swollen almost to the size of Flynn's, and Alexander gasped, his breath cut off, and he keened a thin, weak, high-pitched wail as she squeezed the right one, yanked it down, then slowly let it squirt up out of her grip. He bucked violently as she let it go. She squeezed the left one in her other hand, yanked it down, and slowly let it squirt out of her grip up toward his taint. It looked just like she was milking a cow, except she wasn't squeezing the teats of an udder. She was squeezing his balls and Flynn could see the muscles of her forearms rippling. She was squeezing as hard as she could.
"If you're worried that they're ruptured, Steve Alexander, don't," she growled. She let his left nut squirt out of her grip and he shrieked and started shuddering. "I could kick your naked, dangling balls all day and they wouldn't!" Flynn watched her dig her thumbnail into his right nut, Alexander's dry heaving began again, he let out a giant fart as his body attempted to cope with the hellish agony by voiding his stomach and bowels again, then she slowly let it squirt up and out as he finally found his voice again and let out a long, falsetto wail. It squirted out of her grip and he barked like a little rat dog, then started sobbing in great, rolling heaves. Sobbing because now the pain had finally become overwhelming. When that happens and you have not been injected with whatever cocktail she had described, you mercifully black out. Or your heart stops. Steve Alexander was about to experience only the most horrific mercy she would allow.
She gave both his nuts one final, powerful squeeze each at the same time, digging her nails in on all sides as his wail rose and rose in pitch, not volume, and his shuddering turned to frantic bucking, jingling the chains a little, but he was solidly trapped and as she slowly let them squirt out of her grip, his wail broke into sections of plaintive bleats, exactly the noise a lamb or a goat makes. He jolted hard upward against his bonds and settled back into waves of writhing anguish. He belched and farted a good five times as she stood and walked back toward Flynn. She didn't smile at him, but what he saw in her eyes made him catch his breath as she passed: unbridled malevolence. This woman was sadistic and having the time of her life.
She reappeared and stood a few feet from Flynn with a double-sided dildo and a padded black rubber mat, about 3 inches thick. One end of the dildo, 10 inches long and 3 inches wide, was chrome-plated steel. The other end was 12 inches long, 4 inches wide and made of hard, black rubber. There was a harness fitted to the center, and she began strapping it to her. She looked up at Flynn and slowly pushed the steel end into her pussy. Her eyes never left his as she smoothly pushed it all the way in without hesitation. She winked at him and smiled, then stood and tightened the harness, stretching it and letting it smack back against her beautiful ass. There was a small, concave shaped knob at the hilt of the steel end and she straightened it snugly over her clit.
She returned to Steve Alexander, dropped the mat behind him, walked between the cages and yanked his sweaty head up and Flynn could see the look in her eyes from 30 feet. She glared at Alexander, who whimpered and panted beneath, with vibrant green eyes and a perfect, bright white grin, but that grin said "helpless." That look told Alexander and Flynn that she was cold and unsympathetic to their pleas because their pleas were sexually gratifying her. She placed her hand over his mouth to shut him up and said, "Steve Alexander." It was a growling purr. "Rape. One count." Her eyes and smile widened. Tears were streaming hot over her fingers and Alexander's eyes widened. Then he sniffled and shut them tight. She chuckled, let his head down, walked behind him, adjusted the mat and knelt on it. She flipped a switch through several settings and her steel end of the dildo hummed to life, a bass tone, about the same register Flynn would hum in, and she moaned. Flynn would never know if she had done it deliberately, but she was humming the same tone, just several octaves higher. He saw her ass jiggle. Not long, not really an orgasm, just an initial thank-you hiccup from her pussy.
She pressed the tip of the 12-inch end to Alexander's asshole. He shivered. He knew what was coming. The pain in his balls was still severe, but not quite as bad as the churning misery in his belly. "I could make this a lot worse," she growled and Flynn heard unsteadiness in her voice. Her vibrator was working her good. She waited for one last sniffling whimper from Alexander, and there it was. He didn't disappoint. "Oh. By the way. No lube."
She shoved 4 inches by 4 inches hard into his ass. He yelled but quickly stopped and began panting. It hurt but not as much as he had expected. It was nothing compared to his balls. She gripped the sides of his ass with her nails and shoved another inches in. He howled and his howl subsided to whining bleats, almost squelching whistles. She leaned forward, grabbed both his shoulders and muttered, "Welcome to my world, BITCH!!" and with the last word, shoved the last 4 inches in to a loud, meaty smack. Steve Alexander shrieked high and long with ragged breaks in his voice. It was precisely the sound a comic book or an author of pulp fiction would spell with a variation of "AAAAAIIIIEEEE!!!" Flynn winced for the first time. The last of it quickly trailed off to a weak squeal. With each rapid breath, he squealed weakly. He and Flynn both heard her chortle. Then, instead of pulling out, she wrapped those massive legs around the legs of his cage, curling her calves against his inner thighs, and shove herself as deep as she could, pulling back on his shoulders with all her strength. He shrieked again, much louder than before.
Flynn could hear in her voice that her teeth were clenched. He had a good idea of her facial expression, too. Raging aggression. She was the Alpha Female. She shoved again just as mightily. he shrieked again. He sounded like a very loud, squawking bird echoing for several seconds each time around the room. It was starting to hurt Flynn's ears. She uncurled her lower legs, set them on either side of the drain, pulled out about 5 or 6 inches and Steve Alexander panted and whimpered. He spoke then, "No. Please," very quietly, and Flynn heard her snarl, "HELL yeah..." then grunted and pounded the dildo balls deep again. Alexander shrieked that comic book sound effect eight times, rapidly, much higher, more ragged, and Flynn was shying away from it.
He almost had to close his eyes but he saw Cassandra grind her crotch sideways while buried to the hilt, and he kept his eyes open for that. She was grinding all 12 inches of that dildo in Steve Alexander's rectum, deep in his colon, and she was doing it to keep his screams going. They changed timbre 40 seconds into it, from the squawking of some huge bird to a much more strident ululation, like Tarzan's yell, but shredded, and now far beyond desperate or frantic. Flynn wouldn't understand until she explained a few moments later that if Alexander's brain could not shut off and his body could not die, there was no real respite, no relief, but there was a reckoning, and he had reached it.
She pulled out about 5 or 6 inches and paused to let his screaming slowly subside. Flynn honestly didn't think it would. He had never heard a man make this noise, not from a bullet through the kneecap, a broken femur, nothing. But it did slowly subside, over the course of 90 seconds, a long time to hear it. When Alexander was finally breathing quietly again, Flynn heard what he had been watching for the last several minutes. Cassandra's pussy was streaming juice and it was spattering the tile floor in a puddle the diameter of a basketball. She steadied her feet and Flynn shook his head. He winced ahead of it. She shoved the dildo right back to the hilt and Alexander wailed that awful, shredded Tarzan yell anew, ripped up, rising and falling and rising in pitch, in volume, falling, rising, and then he began to sob in great, retching heaves, full-voiced agony, misery, and sorrow, the sobbing of a child who has just seen his parents die. She ground away in him some more to play with his voice. She was using it like a musical instrument.
Then she pulled out halfway, unwrapped her legs from him, stood and pulled the rest out. She stepped shakily away from him. Flynn knew that walk. She had just had an extraordinarily powerful orgasm. Her face was beautifully flushed and she started laughing uncontrollably as she looked Alexander over. He wasn't whimpering, just giving voice to his panting. Dozens of breaths per minute but it quickly began slowing and Flynn knew full well that could not have been his constitution, his toughness. That was the drug she mentioned keeping his heart calm.
Cassandra unstrapped the dildo, switched it off, and pulled her end out in a long, sucking slurp. Pussy juice flooded out after it, splattering the floor, her feet, her shins. At least a cup of it, maybe a pint, and as it did, she moaned a long, loud, "Oh!" and started laughing again. She looked back at Steve Alexander, writhing and heaving gasps, and purred, "Was it good for you, too, babe?" She snorted some giggles and staggered back past Flynn. He heard her set the dildo down, then metal rattling in a pan. She reappeared with large pliers of some sort. She paused and looked at him. "This is a burdizzo. It's used for gelding livestock." Her pussy was still streaming down both legs.
She brought the chair back behind him, dropped the burdizzo to the floor, then padded around to his head. She pulled him up by his hair with her left hand and said, "Assault! Four counts! Aggravated battery! Two counts!" Then she reared back her right and punched him as hard as she could right across the mouth. He grunted, almost shouted, then groaned. She still held his hair. He wouldn't look back up, so she yanked him up, growled and punched him again, so hard Flynn winced away with his own groan. Facial bones are much harder than fingers and he was sure she had just broken one. He could have sworn he heard some kind of cracking noise, but she didn't shake her hand. She didn't seem to mind. Alexander spat and Flynn heard a tooth tinkle over the tile. She reared back and punched him again just as powerfully as she possibly could and Flynn was honestly unsure if he could punch any harder. He heard a much louder, sharper crack and Steve Alexander screamed for an instant, then shouted, "AH!! Ah!! Ah!! Ah!!" This dwindled into a long groan.
Cassandra walked back around behind him. "Enjoy your soup, fucker. How's that jaw feel?" Without a pause, she strode her left leg high over his ass and straddled him, sat down on his lumbar, reached down and grabbed his balls, one in each hand. They were swollen almost to the size of plums, now, and just as purple. Alexander mewled quietly, shivering as she separated them into her hands and gripped them. She looked up at Flynn with that bright smile. If he had been a sadist who was not at her mercy, he probably would have smiled back. Hers was one of pure joy, elation, not ecstasy. Ecstasy was what she had just enjoyed at the expense of Steve Alexander's colon. Elation was what she was about to enjoy at the final expense of his testicles.
She winked at Flynn, then carefully positioned Alexander's testicles each between the middle and ring fingers of each hand. Then she started squeezing. She didn't hesitate to enjoy the sound of his suffering. This was the beginning of the end of his sex life. It had long since become the beginning of the end of his mental well-being. He started whimpering more loudly. The old familiar hurt was rising inexorably again, but her squeeze was different. His balls were trapped between the muscles of the second and third joints of her fingers and the muscle of the tops of her palms. Everything around them was unyieldingly tight and he felt this immediately. Now he knew this was the end and his retching sobs hastened and increased in volume.
On and on, tighter and tighter, she squeezed. Steve Alexander had perhaps not seen or noted the muscle of her forearms, but Flynn had and he knew she had more than enough strength to go all the way. Testicles are incredibly tough, resilient. Perhaps Nature had made a mistake placing them outside most male animals' bodies, but it had compensated by making them nearly impervious. but they were not impervious and Steve Alexander was discovering this little by little, but fast, steadily. She was now squeezing them with all three joints of all four fingers, the tips carefully rolling into his soft, but gristly organs without her nails. Her nails seated themselves harmlessly in her palms. There would be no sharpness to this. Only dull, merciless pressure. His balls were not flattening out. She was keeping them round, more or less, with her fingers. They were becoming longer, more ovoid. She felt this, and shaped her palms to counter it. She drew her index and little fingers inward, pressing his balls back in, fatter, closer to their normal shape.
Flynn wasn't watching her hands so much as her pussy, flooding juice over Alexander's back, his ass, streaming from both sides of his waist, down both asscheeks, his hamstrings to the backs of his knees, pooling, dripping, streaming and dribbling onto the floor. She looked up at him. Flynn was now so horrified of her bestial wantonness that he dropped his gaze from her beautiful face. Alexander's whimpering had risen as steadily as her pressure. She was in total control of it. She was deciding how much he had to hurt in answer for his crimes. Flynn glanced up at a squawk in Alexander's voice. Cassandra was still glaring at him, eyes wide, filled with delectably rich euphoria. Her smile was slightly open and askew. If she'd been wearing facepaint, he would have thought of her as a female iteration of that clown from the old Stephen King book.
She had squeezed Steve Alexander's balls down to one-third their normal girth. But a tiny bit closer, a micron, an angstrom, that was all her fists had to close, and his balls would pop, and Alexander knew this by feel. She squeezed harder then, and his screaming whine became a screaming, bawling wail again, only now he really was no longer a human being. The agony she was wreaking in his balls had caused his brain to make him something new to science. Something bizarre to Flynn.
His wail rose and fell as before, but was now pure, not ragged or in his chest. It was falsetto, as plaintive and beseeching as ever, but singing clear as a bell, and his voice was now legitimately as perfect as that of a coloratura soprano in a professional opera. Then Flynn saw something that made him heave hard over. He didn't vomit, but he gagged strongly 4 times, then looked again in horrid disbelief. He shook his head but what he saw remained.
Cassandra's grips suddenly completed. All at once, she finished making fists. Her fingers plunged in. Her fists became as small as they were going to become.
Steve Alexander puled. It was all he had left. To him it was a roar, but to the room it was a pule, a weak, soft, bleating cry. His balls had just popped in her grips, the left one first because it was in her strong hand, then his right. Flynn could not hear the sound from his distance, but Cassandra could and lifted her head up and back with a laughing smile. Her hips bucked and bucked. Pussy juice sprayed high, 20 feet across the floor and Flynn knew it was 20 feet because he was good at eyeballing distance. He stood 10 feet from it. She sprayed again, and now she began to yipe in that beautiful contralto. Purring, falsetto squeals, while Steve Alexander bucked and writhed in overwhelming agony. His head lolled in every direction as he tried to get away from it. But there was no escape.
Cassandra bucked and writhed in overwhelming ecstasy as she came and came, wave after wave. Fat spurts of cum rolled out of her vagina to join the others shot into the air. Flynn did not realize it, but their splatters were music to his lust. His cock made its first twitch. Her pussy's smell was deliciously disgusting, intoxicatingly rich and full. He wanted to chug her cum. He wanted to slurp the last of it from her lips.
Steve Alexander's whining, soprano squeal went on and on as she shifted her grips and made sure that his balls were a homogeneous jelly. They were. And she released them. His whining squeal droned on. She took a deep breath and sighed...long.
Then stood high off him. She enjoyed his bucking squirming for a moment. She reached for the chair, sat in it. She leaned over and picked up the burdizzo. Alexander began dry heaving again. He ripped a massive fart and it was a cloud of blood. She burst out laughing. Flynn beheld all this with an air of simple horror. He knew he would be last, and he knew he would not be able to withstand it. None of them would. This dungeon was Hell. She was Satan Herself. And they waited at her mercy. No one was whimpering or moaning or muttering anymore. He noticed this then. No one but Steve Alexander.
She opened the burdizzo, settled it above Alexander's balls, then above his right ball. He didn't feel this. He only felt the still-detonating agony in his balls and the misery ravaging gleefully in his bowels. His brain could not fathom the intensity of it because without the drugs he had been injected with his brain would have shut off a long time ago. Now it was in no-man's land. No one knows what to do in no-man's land. All a mind can do is observe and record. She did not hesitate. She had had her fun with Steve Alexander. There were 14 more men in this room.
She clamped the burdizzo down on Alexander's right spermatic cord. His sack had already swelled to the size of a softball with blood. He would have bled to death in 15 minutes, but death would have been a blessing. He wouldn't have learned anything. Now he was in the process of learning that every crime he had committed was a crime and he had committed them. What little vestige of sanity remained understood that it was sorry. She had made her point. She had won.
He gasped, paused, and started keening again, that sickening, high-pitched note that was no longer an aspect of a voice. It was just a noise. Some sound a goat might make for the same reason. Flynn heard the cord crunch and shut his eyes tight at it, a crunch as strong as that of a celery stick, but there was a popping sound as well, something like a whole head of celery wrapped in rubber bands. The rubber had to pop free and that was Steve Alexander's tunica albuginea releasing its hold from the artery and vein in his right spermatic cord. The tunica albuginea, with which Flynn would become intimately familiar later, was a gristly sheet of pure nerve fiber that wrapped the balls and their cords, all the way up into the abdomen to the spermatic plexus. Cassandra had just crushed Steve Alexander's right spermatic cord, stopping all blood flow and nerve stimulus to that testicle. It no longer caused him pain. But the spermatic cord did, the same pain as his crushed ball.
He no longer made any noise but sips of breath. She orgasmed and Flynn saw that this was because of Alexander's bucking, his writhing, his desperate squirming against his shackles. Flynn had seen women orgasm this many times this quickly, but he had never in his life seen so much cum involved. Cup after cup of it streamed, sprayed, dribbled, flooded out of her, splattering the floor and her feet, the musk so thick in the air that he could taste it now on the back of his tongue with each breath. She had to be dying of thirst.
She clamped down again on his right spermatic cord, above the first crimp. She could have crushed his cord higher first, then lower afterward and this would have spared him some pain, but she had not and Flynn knew why. She wasn't done torturing him. This second crimp made Alexander burst alive with fresh thrashing in his bonds. It seemed impossible to Flynn that he could still have this energy, but he demonstrated it. Alexander made no noise except cavernous panting. His throat was open all the way to his stomach and if there had been anything in it, he would have puked. But he was past this. Flynn dimly considered that what he was witnessing was worse than Hell.
Cassandra released his right spermatic cord, then settled the burdizzo around his left cord and clamped it shut. Alexander yowled only once, a quick, tenor bark. Then he was back to his gasping and dribbling spit. She twisted the burdizzo around to see what she was doing, opened it, pushed it an inch higher and clamped it shut again. Flynn winced at the celery crunch. Steve Alexander shrieked, quite the full-voiced shriek given his condition. She would tell Flynn later that this was because whatever was left of his mind still understood that this fourth and last crunch signalled the end of his nuts, the end of his sex life, the last time he would ever have an orgasm.
She squeezed the burdizzo a little harder to be sure, then opened it, stood, and brought it with her, walking to Flynn. She wasn't going to pass him by, and he shied backward, eyes suddenly wider. She grinned, eyes suddenly wider, stepped face to face with him. And she kissed him. A slathering, slurpy French kiss. He hesitated and backed off at first, but she didn't bite, and when he heard the burdizzo clatter on the floor, he kissed her back, sucked her tongue, she sucked his, wrapped her arms around his back, he felt her jump and then her legs were locked tight around his lumbar. She sucked his tongue out to the root, smacking and slurping at the insides of his cheeks, then his lips, then sucked away from him and looked him in the eyes.
He stood looking into the eyes of an Alpha Female wolf. He was sure of this now. And she confirmed it: "I'm going to make you my bitch!"