Those Who Resisted - Part 2: John Fulp

Cassandra put her hands on Flynn's chest, squeezed his pecs upward and massaged them around his nipples, then unwrapped her legs from him and pushed away with a hop to the floor. She lightly slapped him and smiled as she walked behind him. He heard a door open, shut, and then her chugging. She walked back into view with a large bottle of grape Gatorade upended at her mouth, face tilted to the ceiling and throat rolling down and up. She drank half of it, lowered the bottle and said, "You want some?"

He nodded quickly. He was thirsty but even if he weren't, something told him he was going to need water and electrolytes later. She put the bottle to his lips and he slowly turned up, closed his eyes at the bright light and she stroked his throat as he swallowed. He finished it, about 32 ounces, and she tossed the bottle behind him bouncing on the floor, then walked back to Steve Alexander, still shivering and squirming in agony that refused to end. That part of his brain was possibly the only part still functioning as it was meant to. She picked up the chair and walked to the next man. He was shaking and sniffling in his cage.

She sat and picked up his clipboard and cleared her throat. "John Fulp!" she announced to the room. "18 years old. Five feet six inches. Hair blond. Eyes pale blue. Crimes. Sedition, one. That's it?" She looked down at him. Every movement she made caused his shivering to increase. He sniffed, then swallowed, then coughed several times. He looked to have hit the gym a few times, but not much. A little muscular and very lanky. No fat at all. She flipped the first page of his dossier over and said, "Detailed. Sniper." He shook in his sling through a long pause, and then heard the clipboard clatter to the floor. She stood and padded away to the far end of the room where she had been talking to someone.

She returned past Flynn with a coffee cup in her left hand and something yellow in her right but didn't bother to show him. She sat by John Fulp again, took a deep breath and sighed. "Hmm." She set the cup down behind him, set the yellow thing on his back, and cupped his balls up behind him in her left hand. He whimpered loudly but she only caressed them, both hands gently, warmly covering them on all sides. Average. A pretty rose-pink. Average dick. Circumcised. She tugged them gently and he was so scared she could see his side shaking to match his breathing. He finally worked up the courage or despair to speak. "Please! I'm sorry! I - it was a stupid move! I swear I won't ever do it again! Resistance is fucking stupid, okay!? I'm just a young kid! I'm not - I - I didn't know any better!" He was sniffling. He still had a boy's voice. A pretty, soft tenor. She did not let his balls go. His sniffles turned into frantic whimpers. He wept in a breaking voice, "I'm sorry! I won't do it again! Keep me in prison for the rest of my life!! I understand that! I mean, I deserve it! You don't have to! Please!! Please!! Miss! Please don't crush my balls!! Pleeeease!!!" His voice died away to blubbering. She knew that sound. He was so scared he had sucked his lips in over his teeth and his breath was rattling them.

But she only stroked his balls with her fingers, her palms, all around, tickled his scrotum, slowly slid her fingers up to his taint and kneaded its whole length, from his asshole to his scrotum and down its backside and frontside, fondling his balls. And she got what she wanted. Regardless of his terror, regardless that he had just watched Steve Alexander's face contort through all his Hell - the only man in the room who had seen this - John Fulp's dick had swelled to life and was now rock hard, pointing straight at the floor as she cradled his balls up. She let his balls flop down and his dick sprang up to his belly where it throbbed. "Not a bad dick, John Fulp," she purred. John Fulp was not good at reading tone of voice. He calmed down quite a bit just from those few words. Flynn did not. Flynn had a huge edge. He had seen this woman's eyes. Sex was not the only thing that made her orgasm.

"Too late for genetic enhancement, but a solid seven thick inches. All natural. That impresses me." She paused, then pulled his balls back up and tickled them with her nails, cuddled them, gently stretched his sack, tugging it. His cock was dripping pre-cum now. She could easily get him off just doing this. John Fulp had calmed down very much now. She saw the sudden stillness of his body and laughed a little through her nose. She let his balls drop again and stood, took the yellow thing from his back and walked around between his cage and the next, squatted, giving the next man a view of her ass 3 inches from his nose, a pungent smell of her pussy dripping the floor. John Fulp looked up and met her eyes. What he saw in them told him most of what Flynn knew about her. And John Fulp started shaking again as if he were freezing to death.

She calmly brought up the yellow thing before his eyes and he watched her unfold it. It was a straight razor with a yellow handle. His eyes widened and his rapid whimpering resumed. He looked up into her eyes and she grinned a little wider. What he saw in her eyes made his heart skip two full beats in spite of the drugs he had been given. She was glaring at him but not in rage. What he beheld in them was brightly gleeful, psychopathic malevolence. Then she winked.

She stood and padded back behind him.

"NO!! NO!!!! PLEASE!! JESUS CHRIST! LADY!! I'M SORRY!!! I'M SORRY!!!" Adrenaline was enabling him to speak with good coherence while sobbing at the same time. "LOOK! LOOK! LOOK! LOOK!! I NEVER - I WENT - I ONLY WENT ON THREE OR FOUR ROAMING PATROLS!!!" He was screaming up high and thinly like a girl now. "I NEVER KILLED ANYBODY!!! LADY!! LADY!!!!!" She sat in the chair. "I ONLY FIRED LIKE SIX SHOTS AND I DIDN'T FUCKING HIT ANYTHING!!!" She gently cradled up his balls in her left hand. His cock was so hard now that she could see every single vein. Pre-cum streamed in a long line of slime to a quarter-size pool on the floor.

"FOR CHRIST JESUS'S SAKE!!! FUCK!! LADY!! I'M A VIRGIN!!! ALRIGHT!?!?! I'M A GODDAMN VIRGIN!!!! PLEASE!!! GODDAMMIT!!! PLEASE DON'T CUT MY BALLS OFF!!!" His adrenaline reserves ran out just then and everything else he said quaked and rolled through panting blubbery. "P-p-p-LEASE!!! Don't - don't - NO - NNOO! - NNOO! - I WANT MY BALLS!!! P-P-P-PLEASE!!! JESUS FUCK!! M-M-MAKE THE WHOLE FUCKING PRISON RAPE ME!! ANYTHING!! F-F-FFUCKIN F-FEED ME GLASS!! JUST PLEASE DON'T CUT OFF MY BALLS!!! I DIDN'T KILL ANYONE! I SWEAR TO GOD!!!!!!"

The torture Flynn saw her perform most expertly up to this point was when she spoke during the instant of silence between "I SWEAR TO GOD!!!!!" and whatever John Fulp was about to shout next. As if she had known he would say it. As if she were waiting for him to say those words.

Flynn, with wide eyes and shaking head, bore witness to this exchange:

"I DIDN'T KILL ANYONE! I SWEAR TO GOD!!!!!!"

She quietly purred, "Swear to me," and sliced off John Fulp's balls.

He howled as he felt the first fiery entry of the blade, but in less than half a second the cutting was done. The blade was through and under. The weight of his blood-filled dick swung free and his open mouth of sack trailed after. His dick bopped against his belly. Blood trickled across the floor. 17-year-old virgin John Fulp roared in his dainty tenor voice and the roar reverberated powerfully around the dungeon. All the men's hands were bound too far from their ears so they shied away. His memory played it over in his head and he did not want it to. He had felt a fiery slice, then for only an instant, the fire sparked shockingly electric in his left cord, then in the next instant sparked shockingly electric in his right, then dulled to a searing fiery slice that carried out of his body. That electric, menthol anguish in his cords was overhwelmingly severe but within five seconds was almost gone. What was left was mostly a deep, roasting burn in a straight line across his scrotum.

John Fulp was the right-most victim of this horrible woman. The man to his left had watched her ass leave and John Fulp's face change until now, and now he watched in dismay, disbelief, surreality. This next man had heard the razor blade passing through flesh, the very same sound it would have made passing through a stack of soaking-wet paper. That was the moment the third man winced away, shut his eyes, and now shied from John Fulp's thunderous, adolescent voice.

John Fulp was wailing now, the pitch rising fast from tenor to alto in his chest voice to a softer soprano falsetto. Cassandra stood holding in her left palm his severed balls, sitting half-immersed in blood in the bottom of his severed scrotum, laid the bloody razor open in the chair, then walked around between his cage and the next, squatted, smiled her bright teeth at his guffawing grimace, eyes clenched tight, tears streaming in sheets across his cheeks, bottom lip sucked over his teeth. He wasn't roaring at the height of his falsetto voice in pain or fear. The pain was almost completely gone already. He was roaring in falsetto because the instant the fire finished passing across his scrotum he no longer felt her hand holding his balls. And when his dick flopped back to his belly, he no longer felt the weight of his balls. All he felt down there now was a faint running of fluid.

John Fulp knew certainly that he was a eunuch. A virgin eunuch. He had never had sex. He had never had any kind of sex. And now he never would.

She scrunched up her nose like a rabbit and giggled. She could hear in his weakening falsetto roar why he was crying. Despondent grief. He would never again be able to orgasm. His dick was now a waste of flesh and she chuckled brightly in his face. He heard it and opened his bleary eyes. He could barely discern her shape through his tears. Then he saw her grow larger. His voice stopped. She leaned in, held the top of his cage, and slowly licked her whole tongue across his left eye, licked down his left cheek, swallowed, and then licked his right. He heard a burbly gulp, blinked, and saw her clearly. She blinked him a flirty smile, then pinched his severed sack shut with her right fingers and held it up like a coin purse in front of his eyes.

The entire countenance of his face switched from the disconnected, exhausted interest in why she was there smiling at him to a shocked, dismayed, open-mouthed grimace. His lips drew in and his eyes flooded fresh tears pouring down his face, trickling from his nose, his mouth and his chin, and he screamed a full-voiced, falsetto shatter of great heaves, slowly billowing his voice with his breath, a roiling undulation of sobs. She put her left hand on his head and stroked his hair for a couple seconds, then stood and walked behind him. "Too bad, kiddo."

It took two full minutes for his roaring to dwindle into silent, quaking sorrow filled with tears, but no sound at all. His throat was open as wide as his mouth all the way to his lungs and his face had turned fuschia. He was crying like a little child whose world had come to an end because that is precisely what he was. He sucked in narrow gasps of air and then continued sobbing. His balls were gone. He had never fucked. He had no idea what the inside of a vagina felt like, and now never would.

It was not until he went silent that she resumed. She had plopped his ball sack into the coffee cup near his foot, walked back to Flynn and retrieved the burdizzo, and now sat in the chair waiting. When his sorrow was just heaving silence interspersed with gasps, she spread the maw of his sack wide, reached up in with the burdizzo and settled it around his right cord flush against his pelvis.

He whimpered a little then. He was despondent at his new life: his new life was an absolute absence of sex at an age when that was all he really wanted; and he had never had any. She clamped down. A celery crunch. John Fulp's quiet heaves shuddered up to a soft squeal. He was inhaling. His body jolted in the cage and his lower legs rattled the open tubes they were shackled in. She opened the burdizzo slid it down one inch and clamped it shut again. That horrid crunch made Flynn grit his teeth. John Fulp's keening squeal remained the same. His shuddering remained the same. He didn't feel that one.

She opened the burdizzo and set it up high against his pelvis around his left cord, clamped it shut and he yowled. Flynn sighed away at the sound of Fulp's voice then. That yowling sound he had made was one of pure pain. His desperate horror at now being a eunuch, a virgin eunuch, had just then been disrupted by exquisitely severe agony searing with a minty blaze out of his left spermatic cord.

She opened and slid it down one inch and crunched his cord shut. His bleeding had stopped for the most part. His sack still dripped the floor. She stood and padded past Flynn who, in petrified fear, moved only his eyes, mouth ajar, as he watched her go, and reappeared with a triage staple gun. She sat behind John Fulp, folded in the bloody edges of his sack, then folded them up, pinched it shut with her left fingers and stapled it at the right corner. The grieving sorrow in his voice was interrupted by a weak yelp. She stapled again. Another yelp. And so on until she closed his sack around the bare ends of his spermatic cords. He would bleed for two to three hours, but not much.

Cassandra set the staple gun on the floor, picked up the coffee cup and walked back to Flynn. Her eyes exuded pure, raging vibrance. A fuming, emotionless joy. This woman was in her element and could not possibly be happier. She stooped before him, tipped the cup into her left hand, set the cup on the floor, then stood and held her hand open before him. Flynn saw what was inside a man's scrotum. He saw two bluish-white testicles sitting in the blood at the bottom of John Fulp's nutsack. Cassandra smiled and picked one out by its cord. "I'll eat one. You eat the other."

He gasped...then slowly realized that it would be okay for him to shake his head. He shook his head.

She nodded with a blink and said, "Yes, you will." He slowly exhaled a shaky breath and shivered. He gulped and pleaded with his eyes.

"It's an acquired taste you haven't acquired, but it won't kill you. I want you to chew it up really well before you swallow it. The outer part is called the tunica albuginea and it's like gristle. You can chew it and chew it and chew it, but when the insides burst out, they'll taste like bitter milk. You don't have to eat the skin!" She squeezed the testicles into her right palm then tossed the bottom of John Fulp's scrotum away to the left. Flynn heard it hit the floor. He regarded her as a prey animal in a snare regards its approaching captor. His stomach rumbled. She glanced at it then sighed and said, "If you swallow it whole or spit it out, or if you throw it up, I promise I'll make you VERY sorry." She grinned. He knew she meant it, but she seemed as if she didn't mean anything by it. He got the feeling that punishment was business to her, even if she did enjoy it. If he didn't break her rules, she wouldn't punish him. She took one testicle by the stump of cord and held it in front of his lips. "Open, Flynn."

He took a deep, wincing breath, and finally nodded. Her grin widened. He opened his mouth and she set a human testicle on his tongue. He closed his mouth. "I'll be right here with you."

He tasted coppery blood but nothing else. The testicle rested on his tongue. He did not dare move. She laughed and dropped the other one in her mouth, swished it under her right molars, crunched down and he heard a hideous splashing sound in her mouth. Her ball had popped like a tomato. She chewed it a few times, then opened her mouth so he could see what nut mush looked like. It was light orange, almost like a pureed sweet potato. He didn't expect that. She closed her eyes and swallowed. He shook his head a little and suddenly quivered down to his feet as he watched her throat roll down then up. She licked her lips. The hair of his forearms was on end.

Then she almost sang, "Go ahead and chew it up!" She batted her eyes and giggled.

He felt his throat convulsing in a gag and quickly leaned forward a little to do so. He curled his tongue up to hold the ball on it. He didn't want it to plop against his teeth. "It's going to be disgusting, but you can do it!" He panted through his nose as the nut rested on his tongue. He couldn't taste it.

He shivered. He lurched forward again and gagged. He didn't want to swallow it by accident. The ball rested on his tongue. He closed his eyes, shifted it between his right molars, drew a slow, deep breath, and chomped down. It deformed to about one-third its normal size, then splatted apart like a very tough-walled fruit. Whatever was inside a testicle squirted across his tongue. It was abhorrently bitter. It almost reminded him of Southern Comfort and pure Everclear mixed. He had tried both straight so he could imagine the mixture. Neither tasted good. He gagged, lurched over, scrunched up his face and grunted through his nose.

"Don't spit!" she purred. "Don't puke!" She chuckled as he took another deep breath and then boldly chewed and chewed and chewed, juicy smacking noises muffled by his lips.

"There you go! Swish it around! I want you to really taste it!" His eyes watered but he swished his tongue through the vile, bitter pulp of John Fulp's testicle, and then she said, "Alright, that's enough. Swallow! Take a deep breath first then swallow it as fast as you can!"

He did just that before she finished speaking, and as his food passed over the back of his tongue where the bitter taste buds are, he grimaced and grunted hard. The ground-up, ragged gristle that was John Fulp's testicular wall tickled its way down his esophagus. She frowned as his abs flexed and she quickly turned his mouth straight up at the ceiling and held him steady with both hands. "Keep your mouth shut no matter what happens! It's coming back up but only a little! You just keep swallowing! Do NOT open your mouth!" The gag was so heavy he clenched his eyes shut and tears squirted over his cheeks. He'd gotten it down but it was trying hard to come back up. She pinched his nose shut tight and massaged his throat downward. His Adam's Apple came up just past halfway and he shivered out a high-pitched groan.

Then his stomach finally rumbled and she sighed a grin as his Adam's Apple slowly descended.

It was over. He swallowed four more times but felt no reaction. "Open your mouth!" she purred and he did. He lifted his tongue. There was nothing inside. Flynn Fitzherbert had eaten a man's testicle. He met her eyes and his mouth quivered. He really was about to burst into shrill, whimpery tears. "D'awww!" she said and kissed him, slathering her bitter tongue over his. He didn't gag. His stomach made no noise. She pressed her hands to his cheeks and held him to her and they tasted each other's tongues, their cheeks, their teeth and swished their salivas together until his trembling stilled.

Then she sucked away and gazed into his pretty eyes. She was smiling but what she said came out in a clotted, throaty growl. "Time for Number Three!"

He swallowed and felt thick, slimy mucus coating his throat, thicker and slimier than if he had swallowed raw eggs, and then realized it wasn't mucus. It was why her growl sounded so gargly. Their throats were coated with testicle mash.