*Easy Targets*

By Hairy-Progress

(Skip to the three asterisks if you don't like lengthy expositions. Skip to the four asterisks if you REALY don't like expositions.)

(Looking back, I think I need to focus more on the action. The castration sort of just comes up in the end like an afterthought.)

  


My name is irrelevant. You didn't come here for my name.

You want something of relevance? Well... alright... Let's see here... Oh, I'm rich. Like, Swiss-Chocolate-rich. That's a compelling start, right? Yeah, I'm unabashedly bougie. I even live in this fantastic high-rise that'd guarantee Patrick Bateman's axe implanted directly in my skull. Assuming, of course, that I'd let him in it at all.

Ever since I quietly separated from my old circle, I've been a recluse. Haven't had a dinner party in ages. Haven't even brought a lady up here for a one-nighter. Not even a girlfriend, if I had one (Proudly single, and that's by choice, thank you very much.)

That's why I'm a little bit surprised when the first thing I see as I enter my domicile is a tan, dark-haired lady in a red dress, just lazily reclining on my expensive couch. Beside her sits a large leather bag.

An intruder? No sign of a break-in as far as I can see.

I didn't pay for this, right? Hmmm... I don't know. I can't tell for sure, what with how wasted I am.

"Hey, lady," I slur out, "Did I pay for you?"

She finally notices me. Her face is stolid; She knows who I am, she's been expecting me. "I suppose you can call it a payment," Is all she replies with.

I can't tell what the double entendre is, nor can I be fucked to find out. So I just awkwardly swing my arms and sidle in. I'm not particularly worried if she's hostile, unless she has a gun; In my stupor, I reason I can handle her size. Besides, I'm slightly enamored by her, and she's definitely putting out some kind of vibe... Maybe this could be a welcome surprise???

"You do not remember me?" I notice a subtle trace of an accent in her voice. Sounds familiar...

"No, I'm sorry. I'm surprised I don't. If I may say, you're quite the looker."

She wanly smiles and gestures to the armchair adjacent to the couch. As if it's **her** home to play host for.

I hesitatingly oblige and get comfortable while she begins making herself a glass of red wine, picking up a bottle that'd been sitting atop the coffee table. A little bit of the stuff sloshes out and stains my immaculate white carpet.

"Oops."

Luckily for her, I'm in the falling phase of being drunk, and falling-phase me is much more benevolent than rising-phase me. I laugh and brush it aside.

"Nothing my cleaners can't handle. So, tell me, why did I invite you here again? Again, I'm really sorry about not remembering you and all, but I'm a pretty busy, 'important' guy," I chuckle, motioning to all of the luxuries I've accumulated in the flat, "As you can see."

She laughs along. Maybe a bit too hard. "Yes, I **can** see that. I can also see that nothing about you has changed since the night my father made the decision to help you."

"Help me?" I inquire. "Sorry, do I owe you and your father money? If that's what you're here for, I've got a checkbook right here in my pocket, ready to go." I keep it there since I'm so used to dealing with plebeians threatening to sue over some of my company's policies and decisions. Throwing a few hundred bucks in their faces with a sympathy-seeking, bull-shit excuse usually calms them down. 'Oh, I'm so sorry!!! I wish I could help you, but with all this inflation, we've been having to make tough budget cuts around the office! I've even had to skimp out on my dental insurance, just to stay financially afloat!'

Little do they know, a few hundred bucks is pocket money to me.

I'm now expecting she's another low-lifer, maybe even a gold digger, but she's already raised her hand in objection. "No, I'm not here for your money. I'm here because... Because you're all I see in my dreams."

Ooh. So this **is** a pleasant surprise.

"We hooked up before?"

Was that a flicker of a grimace?

"Y-yes. We 'hooked up'. It was the same night you asked my father for help. And ohhh, was it **fantastic.** Naturally, I **needed** more. I needed," she paused and slowly drifted her eyes down from my face, "To feel you again. **All** of you."

Fuck, that's pretty hot.

You know what? Now that she's elaborated a bit, I **am** starting to piece together that night. Something about a car and a barn. But it's still mostly a blur.

"Let's start. Now," She implores, gritting her teeth and clenching the folds of her dress.

For once in my life, I'm almost a bit uncertain if I ought to consent or not-

\-Is what I would say if my impulse control weren't so goddamn hijacked by booze.

"Fuck it," I say, "Let's start. Now."

She smiles and nods before rising from her seat, making sure to 'adjust' her dress before proceeding to stalk around the coffee table to my side. Never breaking eye contact with her, I also rise. I'm still seated, though.

Once she gets to me, she kneels so that we're properly face-to-face.

"For the first half of this, I just want you to relax... Let me get you going, then we'll move on to something else."

I nod foolishly and close my eyes.

The needle stings my leg before my lashes have even shut.

\*\*\*

I come to, slightly hungover. I'm nude except for my boxers, bound by arms, ankles, shoulders, and waist to one of the support columns in the apartment. Before me sits the lady in red, flipping through my wallet, bored until she sees I'm up.

"Oh, excellent! I was worried you'd take another hour to wake. I wasn't planning on your already being drunk when I prepped the syringe, so it didn't occur to me you'd be knocked out for so long."

I grumble, head now aching, trying to get a handle on my situation.

She puts my wallet down on the kitchen island beside her and turns to rummage through her black bag. "Oh, by the way, my name is Sara. Feel free to scream it if it makes you feel better."

Handle gotten. This is no longer a pleasant experience. I'm definitely in a predicament now. But I've still got some leverage, as always.

"Hey, lady- Sara I mean," I say, "There's no money in my wallet. It's 2025, nobody carries cash on themselves anymore, everything's all digital. Like I said, I've got plenty of fresh checks in my pocket, if you would just let me-"

"-SHHHHH," she leans forward in a flash and puts her finger to my lips, "No more speaking right now. Like I said, pig, I don't want your filthy money. You can keep it."

**That** is not good news for me. Any criminal who's not in it for money is bound to be in it for something more personal. Either someone has a vendetta for me or this woman is a bona fide psycho. As it stands, both are equally likely. And neither option sees me leaving this building, at least unscathed.

So that's just it then. I've got nothing to use against her. I'm dead.

Instincts kick in, and I start thrashing and pushing against my restraints, desperate for freedom.

"I would hold still if I were you. You could seriously hurt yourself." She points down at my crotch.

My blood runs cold at that. Painfully slow, I tilt my head to get a good look at what she means.

There's a tube running into my boxers. It snakes its way up and over the waist, down my leg, across the floor, up the island, and into a strange, boombox-sized device. The device is, in turn, hooked up by a hose to the kitchen faucet, which is turned off at the moment.

"Come on, where is... Ah, there!"

I look back to see Sara fish out a carton of salt and a mass balance from her bag. She then strolls over to the island and starts setting up her little science experiment, weighing teaspoons of salt on the balance before dumping it all into a capped tank on the mysterious device.

I'm choking back my fear as I ask, "Wh- What is that thing?"

Sara nonchalantly glances over her shoulder and coldly replies, "It's a saline pump. Do you like it? I made it myself, just for tonight."

I'm incredulous. "You hooked my dick up to an IV?"

She giggles. "No, no! Although that might be interesting too... No, I stuck a needle right into your wrinkly scrotum. Think of it like a... basketball pump. But don't worry, there's no air in it, just the fluids."

I think I've heard about this online. Some kind of weird organ inflation kink. Personally, I think I'd find saline breasts more enticing.

"Didn't take you for the deviant-type," I say, trying to bring back the atmosphere.

"Oh, it's not for a kink... well, not **just** for it anyways," Sara replies before flicking a switch on the device, "Pumping your sack up makes it nice and big, fit for bursting," she licks her lips in anticipation, "It also makes them easy targets for me... mhm-hm-hmmm."

Oh.

The pressure doesn't come immediately, but I can feel the tube softly vibrate with the flow of fluid. I don't want to discover what 'easy targets' mean, so naturally, I squirm around, trying to free my hands once more.

Meanwhile, I catch Sara gliding back to me in my peripheral vision. She drops down to a squat right before me and swiftly pulls down my last bit of clothing, my last shred of dignity. I flop out like a prize fisherman's catch.

I stop fidgeting with my bondage for a moment.

Damnit. Why is it that the harder you try, the more a boner wants to rage? Not even flexing my thighs is helping. I'm already at half-mast and, to my chagrin, it's still going.

With increasing force, the vibrations of the tube below are punctuated by each rhythmic twitch as my length continues to rise against my will, pulsing with my life-force.

"Ooh," Sara mocks, taking it in her palm and bouncing it up and down, feeling its heft, "This is quite impressive, actually. Nothing like Damien's. He was honestly pathetic."

*Damien?*

That's the name of one of my close work-buddies. We even attended the same university. While we managed different departments, our paths often collided a few times on the average business day. But I haven't talked to him in months.

\*\*\*\*

"Ah, that's the ticket. Our little buns are coming along quite nicely, wouldn't you agree?"

There's the pressure now. And the weight. It's been building up quietly all this time, but I can't ignore the growing presence anymore.

My balls are plump as plums. Or at least, that's how the saline makes them look. All the wrinkles are gone, as my scrotum stretches out to accommodate the unnatural volume. It doesn't even look like real skin anymore, just a shiny, human water balloon. And yet, the saline pump keeps on chugging, forcing more and more fluid into my sack.

"I wonder if all men wished their testicles were this big," remarks Sara, taking the opportunity to poke me with her fingernail. "Do you boys really fantasize about dragging all this dead weight around with you? Seems kind of like a nuisance. Well, maybe you'd have a harder time raping women. You know, on a farm, the male hogs often have such big balls that they can't even have sex. So we collect their semen ourselves when it's mating season," She grabs hold of my cock and gives me a few violent yanks, "Just. Like. This. See?" Her nose then wrinkles in disgust as she suddenly spits on it. She wipes her mouth and leisurely gets up to be eye-level with me. "You know what? You're not even worthy of a bad handy."

Wait, a farm? What was that about living on a farm?

***SPLATT***

Before I can think longer, I'm assaulted at the speed of light by a knee to the groin. My balls, now practically a pair of small, conjoined breasts, make a 'wet' sound as they are slapped up against my body. I see, in my head, every square millimeter of surface area ripple in slow-motion waves. I feel the impression of her kneecap pressing deep into me, driving through the fluid with furious purpose. And the pain... Somehow, even with all that cushioning, she managed to strike those precious little orbs of mine. I feel that nauseating, dull ache radiating into my abdomen and kidneys as I grit my teeth and allow my legs to buckle.

"Oooooooohhhh... Sara... Sara, **Please.** Don't do that again, I'm **begging** you..."

"Shut the fuck up, pig. You ought to kiss my fucking feet just for the fact that I reserved some of my strength."

She then walks around the column, walks behind me, and, amazingly, starts undoing the knots keeping me tied up to the wooden post.

Quick. I need to formulate a plan.

But as soon as the last knot around my shoulder is undone, I'm struggling not to collapse to the floor, still trying to overcome the shock.

Sara pays me no mind and struts around my fearful form to shut off the machine. Then she pivots to sneer at me.

"Hey, big balls: You know you can take out the needle now, right?"

Hand trembling from shame, I tenderly pull the tube free from my groin, using two fingers from my other hand to hold my fat balls in place. A little bit of saline squirts out, but the cut seals itself.

"Okay," Sara says, spreading her arms, "Now. Try to rape me."

I can't be sure I heard correctly.

"What???"

"Try. To. Rape. Me. Go on. Don't hold anything back. Use any method you'd like against me, any dirty trick. Hit me, kick me, throw me to the floor, punch my fucking boobs in, I don't care. Just do it."

"You're insane," I laugh, "You drug me, tie me up, fill my balls with all this IV shit, and now you're asking me to **rape** you?"

"No. I said '**try'** to rape me." She shifted her feet into some kind of martial arts position, holding her arms up in a karate-chop pose. "Consider it your reward if I don't manage to beat your manhood to a pulp."

"Okay, look, lady," I say, straightening up with confidence, "I'm not gonna fight y-"

"HYAAAAAA!!!"

Sara charges right at me, dress and all. I'm barely able to dodge the first kick as the onslaught begins.

Knowing there's a landline in my master bedroom, my first instinct is to call the police. But as I turn on a heel and start to sprint, I'm taken aback by the unfamiliar weight shifting around between my legs. My balls slap into my inner thigh like giant bell clappers as salty liquid sloshes around inside them, and I can't help but stop for a moment to gawk at the body horror that has befallen me.

I then barely register the bare foot that suddenly appears below my dick as Sara's perfectly shaved and shapely leg *slams* up into my family jewels, soaring upwards like a rocket. Her toes sail up and over the edge of the sack, and in an instant, I feel a set of purple toenails digging sharply into the bottom of my wilted phallus.

***SPLATT***

I tumble forward into a heap on the ground, landing on my chin. But my package, in classic Newtonian fashion, lags behind me like some ridiculous drag-race parachute. It bounces around between my legs, jiggling vigorously, before coming to rest on the floor.

This is beyond humiliating.

"GET UP," Sara screams, "THIS ISN'T OVER FOR YOU YET, ASSHOLE!!!"

I groan, pushing myself onto hands and knees. My massive balls swing from side to side.

"What do you need, huh?" demands Sara, "More motivation? How's this work for you, you fucking **pervert**?!?"

I hear her dress fall to the floor and turn around to see a body rivalled only by Aphrodite; Perfect in every way, crowned by glorious breasts, with perfect, smooth skin, unmarred except for one scar on her left leg- A scar I could never forget.

"It's you..." I whisper.

"Me," she muses, "Yes, me. The daughter of the man who fixed your car? The farmgirl you found in the barn? The one you *left* in that barn?" She advances predatorily, eyes welling with tears, "Do you know what happened to my dear father when he found me that night? Naked, curled up, and sobbing on that filthy haystack? His poor, aged, and weakened heart couldn't stand the sight of me, all used and abused like that." She comes to a halt, planting her feet wide apart so that I have a terrific view of her beckoning womanhood from my vantage point. "He ***dies***, you see? Kaput. So now, because of you, I have to bury two things I will *never* get back: My father and my innocence; My family and my soul. I was forced to live without peace in my mind all these years since.

Unless," She continues, "Unless I can take something of equal importance from you... Then, I think, I will *finally* have my closure. See, I already completed half the job with your friend- He didn't survive his punishment, unfortunately. But I've learned from my mistakes." She grins and gives me a 'Kubrick Stare', "I know just how much damage to give you, and **especially** how much to dole out to your little 'toys',... Just enough to keep you alive."

Despite myself, my hard-on rockets back to full girth.

"Ugh," She retches, "Really? You really are a disgusting creature, you know that?"

Do I even have the resolve to fight her off?

The choice is already made for me, as Sara comes barreling towards me, eyes locked on her target. Her mistake, though, because while she's lost in her tunnel vision, I'm able to twist my foot to the side and trip her. She falls forward, catching herself with her hands at the last moment. In that window, I think fast and lock my legs around her head, trying to force her to the ground.

Grabbing both of my legs, Sara attempts to pry herself free from my hold. But when I expect her to retreat backwards, she instead pushes **forward.** Propelling herself by all four limbs, she plunges further up my legs with determination.

She stares into my soul and taunts, "Hey, pig: How about a blowjob?"

I then watch her, without further warning, engulf my wood like some human catfish sucking on its fish tank.

But unlike a catfish, her teeth are fully bared. They sink into my flesh with the bite force of a voracious hyena, almost piercing my skin in the process. The pain is instant and immense.

Trying to kick her does no good; She's already got my legs well-pinned. I howl like a wounded dog and swat madly at her head, but only catch clumps of hair as she moves along my length for another chomp.

Miraculously, as soon as it comes down, I've mustered the abdominal strength to curl all the way up and finally land a solid, swinging punch, clocking her square across the nose.

Sara moans, reeling back and covering her face. I take advantage of the fact that she's backpedaling away from me and inspect the damage.

Two rough stripes cross my dick in red and purplish, parallel bands. In the space between them, swelling has already started to set in, throbbing in tandem with my racing heartbeat. The whole thing looks like a fat, veiny earthworm. A fat, veiny, *painful* earthworm.

Sara composes herself, wiping a single line of blood off her philtrum and upper lip. She smirks, rubbing her rack with both hands. "Aww. What's-a-matter, big, strong boy? Was my little suck not good enough for you?"

I fume. "**YOU FUCKING** ***BITCH***\*\*!!! You have ANY idea who you're dealing with?\*\*"

"No. but I bet **you** wish you'd known who you were dealing with from the start. Don't worry, though," She says, resuming her karate pose, "I'll make sure you **won't** be able to forget my name this time."

Reluctantly, I stand up again, seeing no other choice. I feel my cow udders swing from side to side. Their weight, pulling me to the earth, is **such** a nuisance.

Like hell I'm gonna fight her in this state and win. I've got a giant fucking punching bag dangling between my legs like scallops of victory on a silver platter. And the hangover isn't helping me either. I'm toast.

*Telephone. Lock myself in the bedroom. Call for help.*

Feigning a charge, I let out my best war cry, stretching my arms out in an attempt to appear intimidating. It's semi-successful, as Sara genuinely doesn't seem to have expected such a turn of bravery from me, her eyebrows raising in surprise. She prepares herself for the attack at the last second, but before she realizes what's happening, I'm already wheeled around, clumsily trotting away as fast as my sandbags will allow me to go. I'd laugh if it wasn't happening to me.

I'm at the closed door to my bedroom when she tackles me from behind, shoving me into the wooden frame. I feel her hand simultaneously reach under my taint and grab my nut-sack... Well, as much as she can fit in her hand, anyway. Her fingernails threaten to pop the skin as she violently yanks down, drawing a girlish squeal from me. She then retracts her claws for a moment, only to slap the ever-living shit out of me, striking my balls and ass for what feels like maybe ten or fifteen times each.

I finally get the doorknob twisted and lurch inside, but there's no time to lock Sara out. I pivot to face her, my cheeks and sack burning where she struck them.

I'm met with the image of Sara swinging her leg back and releasing yet another devastating blow.

With that same practiced precision from before, she once again hits me in *just* the right spot for a debilitating shock to course through my front.

***SPLATT***

My testicles are launched up, only to be yanked back down like a pair of inverse bungee jumpers.

Through my blurry vision, I just barely make her shapely form out as she reaches to put her hands on my shoulders, steadying herself. Breathing in deeply, she knees and kicks my balls, not stopping even when she has to steady *me* to keep me from doubling over in agony. And when I think it's over, she just grabs them again, only this time with enough force to draw blood where her nails pinch and slice at the skin. The sites of incision turn as purple as her polish, marking her territory over the domain of my balls.

We're both screaming now, me for mercy, and her in ecstasy.

***SPLATT***

The kicking resumes, now more earnestly than ever.

Sara's in a frenzy. It's like she's entered a different plane of existence. And the only thing in that dimension that matters is the torture of my cock and balls.

"***HOW ABOUT ANOTHER BLOWJOB, PERV!?!"***

"P l e a s e... D o n ' t" I weakly moan.

But it's not my dick she's after this time. In a scene that could only fit the darkest of corners on the dark web, I look on in horror as Sara homes in on my genitals. With a single bite, she then *rips open* my nut sack.

A mixture of blood and saline starts squirting out like a shitty water feature. Lighting fast, Sara opens her mouth and sucks some of it off before winking at me and smacking her lips.

"*Delicious. Magnifique."*

"You goddam crazy bitch..." is all I can manage.

"You got that right. Oooh, you're all messed up. Here, let me make that feel better for you..."

Punching my bruised and bleeding package is *not* what I could call helping me, but she does it anyway.

I arch my back and wail.

"Still hurting? Oh, you poooor, poor boy... Well, I guess the only thing left to do is finish the 'job', right?"

Now, dear reader... Recall that Sara and I are both nude at this point. We have no pockets. No fanny packs or anything. So, if there was *anywhere* for Sara to stow away a Swiss Army Knife, where might she stuff it? I'll leave that bit up to your imagination.

My eyes widen when I see the flash of glistening stainless steel pass from one of Sara's hands to the other.

"***OH GOD, NO, PLEASE DON'T CASTRATE ME!!! I'LL DO ANYTHING, I PROMISE!!!***"

"Shhhhh... Oh, dear boy... You've already done plenty."

The knife is thrust into the folds of the tear on my scrotum, still leaking saline.

I clench my hands in agony, not even able to scream anymore.

Sticking out her tongue to the side in concentration, Sara methodically works the knife around until she seems to find an angle that pleases her.

"Try to hold still. Brace yourself."

One slice is all it takes for testicle no. 1 to be detached from its chords.

Sara reaches in and frees it from its home, holding it up in the light. It's wet, scintillating, and honestly smaller than I'd ever expect, especially after having to put up with ginormous balls for the past ten minutes.

As if she reads my mind, Sara muses, "So small... So fragile..." She grins, then opens up her mouth, "So **delectable**."

My only consolation as she plops half my manhood down her gullet is that she might get sick from eating raw meat.

I pass out, exhausted from the ordeal.

But like Sara said: This isn't over for me yet... Far from it.

To be continued?