They could only stare in shocked silence as he stood there, fat fifteen inch cock jumping with every pound of his heart. Gangly was an understatement. His ribs showed as he hyperventilated. Blocky hands clutching the mic, mouth agape as he look around the stadium, he clearly wasn’t mentally prepared for such exposure. The silence finally ended when he threw his arms out to the sides. Screams of adulation filled the structure. His eyes and mouth closed as he forced control over his breathing. Flexing lean muscles, visible from low body fat as opposed to actual strength, he basked in premature glory until the crowd fell quiet again. Shock subsided, her brain scrambled to make sense of why he even signed up for the games. He looked like the most intense fight he’d ever been in was a screaming match on Xbox Live. Did he know the organizers would give him a novice fighter with a useless weapon? Was that where his confidence came from? Was his dad one of the organizers? She shuttered imagining how that conversation went. All her questions were answered when he put the mic to his beautiful lips, and launched into a hideous diatribe. Condemning the oppressive rule of Chads and Stacys, he screamed for all double digit incels to rise up, that their size filled a loophole in the social order. It became a zealous sermon on how women are slaves to a biological need for monster cock, discounting Iris not obeying Brett as single digits not holding the same power, not even on a quintessential Chad. The admission he was still a virgin came out through gritted teeth, along with memories of countless rejections, each blamed on not making his size known yet. The announcement of a sport for huge cocks was what convinced him of the power in his pants. All the media buzz around his record size before even seeing him further bolstered the delusion. Jaws dropped when he pointed at Gelda, and yelled he wouldn’t need to lift a finger to claim her. It felt like the world stopped spinning when he laid down with his fingers laced behind his head. She finally saw why he only did stretches during training. He lifted his long bony legs into the air, before spreading them wide enough to touch the floor again in a full split. His egg sized balls laid on the mat, heavy with cum. The arm thick fifteen inch shaft looked too huge to be real, and throbbed as it pointed straight toward the sky. Foreskin slid down, letting pooled precum cascade. More steadily flowed out until the whole shaft glistened. It was clearly ready to cum at the slightest touch, even a light breeze threatening to give him an explosive orgasm. No one in the stadium was able to look away from his completely unprotected manhood. He barked orders at her to drop the act and serve her true womanly purpose, submit to godly cock and give him the ultimate pleasure he was entitled to. For a moment, she could do nothing but look down at him. The mysterious charm that snared her thoughts had vanished, revealing the purest form of male entitlement; huge, slimy, and ready for pleasure it didn’t deserve. She leapt into the air, raising the device in gloved hands. The glass tube had been measured to fit him perfectly, and probably would’ve made him shoot if it wasn’t for the thick fifteen inch needle inside, glowing crimson with heat. The tube’s base housed a mechanism similar to a cigar cutter. The whole universe appeared to halt as that instrument of hell was held perfectly vertical in the air, needle ready to plunge down entirely into his urethra. Totally unaware, his eyes were locked on his cock with the expression of a man undertaking an ultimate duty. Expecting to see it ram balls deep into her heavenly sex, he sucked in air, ready to let out an orgasmic roar that would change the world. The thousands in the stadium, and billions streaming the fight, were all turned to stone. Not one had the breath to yell a warning, nor did they have the strength to shift their eyes away. From the blurry edge of his vision, the male fighter saw something red just above the tip of his glorious cock. His mind didn’t even have time to process it. The needle’s searing tip entered his virgin slit, a plume of steam unfurling into the tube. Faster than the blink of eye, his entire cock was skewered down the middle. His scream blew out speakers everywhere. Gelda only heard ringing as she watched. His torso jolted up, letting her see his lips thin and crack as his mouth opened impossibly wide. The glasses shattered into glimmering tears, showing his rolled back eyes go bloodshot. Her own trailed down to the tube, filled with slowly blackening flesh. She finally noticed the mesh lining inside. The technology didn’t just amplify pleasure, it could use pain as well. That, combined with all the extra nerve endings packed in the fifteen incher, all heightened by virgin hypersensitivity, created a hell beyond comprehension. The researchers measuring brainwaves ran from their lab. Meters broke down, sparked, and exploded as his agony reached beyond any system of measure. The cameras cut just as her device did, finally removing her trophy. -One year later- She smiled through the fatigue, determined not to quit before Iris, but decided she could live with being second best after getting slammed against the wall again. They’d trained far past the fighters they were that day, no more relying on tricks or luck. The men rarely used their side of the gym anymore. Aside from watching what the other team was capable of, they chose to train where their talents would remain secret till game day. It only pushed the women to better hone their skills. Iris had gotten her own needle tube, wagering she’d be able to catch a moving target. It even measured nine inches, further proving the woman organizer’s foresight. People who suddenly come into large sums of money tend to have poor spending habits. The other organizers saw that as enough draw to keep winners coming back to compete, but she’d found a hook that pierced much deeper. Ten million dollars could buy a lot of pleasures, but only the game could provide the one that sent those men out of the ring on stretchers. Brett strutted through crowds of fans, signing autographs as if he was on top of it all, but like so many other times, it was just a front. Desperation always glinted in his eyes when he was asked about it during interviews. He, like all the other “winners”, knew he would compete again. It wasn’t just a pleasure to die for. It was one to risk life without any for. Beacon lights cut across the night sky like cosmic swords, harbingers of the next game. Gelda listened carefully to the city below her balcony, not expecting the rumor to be true, but still gripped by curiosity. With his trail stopping cold at hospital discharge papers, there was much speculation over what became of the formally most hung man on earth. Lately, people claimed a thin figure wandered the maze of dark alleys, wailing like an insane wounded animal when the stadium lights showed. She gasped quietly as the tortured howl began, hoarse from what she knew were shredded vocal cords. Looking back into the glow of her apartment, the trophy sat alone on a long shelf. The beast’s living ghost continued howling. Leaning back in her chair under the moon, she smiled, and dreamt of filling that self until the city sounded like a forest full of wolves.