Lowblowtober 8: Broken
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Tamara sighed as she walked into the office. The man inside was quivering, his legs hitched high up in the stirrups as usual. With his thighs spread apart, his genitals were fully exposed to the door, and a few nurses passing by giggled behind her as she gawked at the spectacle before her. She quickly shut the door in a futile attempt to spare the poor man the indignity. What he was about to go through was bad enough.
“Doctor…are they okay?” His voice cracked. His testicles were black and blue, hanging low and asymmetrically between his legs. The left one had dark black semi-circles all over it, a classic bruise from a series of high heel stomps. From the random way they freckled the organ, she could tell this wasn’t consensual, kinky play, but someone aiming to deal as much damage to his reproductive capabilities as she could.
The right testicle…wasn’t even a single shape, but what looked like three loosely connected lumps sagging unevenly inside his paper-thin scrotum. The nurses had shaved his ballsack bald, which judging from the horrendous state of his testicles must have been excruciating. But Dr. Kastratmansen had grown used to the casual incompetence and blase attitude towards testicular structural integrity and masculine pain most of the women in the hospital had.
She always did her best to care for her patients, though. And she was damn good at her job. No matter how much the sight of a soon-to-be-removed pair of testicles turned her one.
“Doctor, please…how bad is it? Is the right one broken?” He was near tears. “I don’t want to lose my ball.”
“Sir, let me take a look,” she said softly, pretending she didn’t already know the answer. She gently walked toward him and reached between his legs, her hand settling on the warm, musky sack that contained whatever was left of his masculinity. Tamara imagined the chaos happening right beneath its surface, the sperm that had already been killed, the swimmers it was still producing already malformed and nearly motionless upon birth…She silently wondered if he’d been hoping to reproduce, and how he’d react to the news she’d have to give him.
“Please…don’t squeeze it.”
“I have to, I’m afraid,” she lied. She knew he was sterile already. She knew she’d have to operate. A quick inspection wouldn’t cause any damage that mattered.
“HNNNNNGGGH!!!” He grasped his bedsheets tightly and squealed as she began her inspection, his sweaty gonads sloshing around queasily beneath her latex glove. She carefully rolled his broken right testicle around, her fingers gently but firmly pressing into the cracks riving the thing, each touch obviously causing him excoriating pain.
There were a few wispy strands of membrane holding the gonad together, but nothing structurally stable enough to hold together even if she stitched him up. Even as she manipulated the gonad as gently as she could, she could feel it unspooling and falling apart, the largest third bifurcating into two more smaller pieces as he shrieked in pain.
“I’m afraid it is broken, sir. Even I can’t save this one.”
“No….no! God, please…Okay. It’s okay. I heard you were the best ball doctor around. If you can’t save it…I guess it’s gone. I’ll be okay. I can still have kids,” he babbled.
“Sir, please hold still. I wouldn’t be so sure; I still need to check your other testicle.”
“My left one is fine,” he said dismissively. “She just stomped on it a few times. It happens to me a lot. When I’m talking to women, they think I’m — AIIIIIIIII GODDAMN! STOP, GOD STOP!!”
Tamara had picked up the swollen left ball in her hand, the swollen purpled-black-spotted thing nearly the size of an orange, and gently pressed her thumbs into two of the horrible mushy divots his unnamed assailant had left behind. She rolled her thumbs around, confirming what she already knew, feeling valuable nutmeat tearing apart beneath her thumbs, her pussy growing damp as she prepared to tell him the honest truth.
“I’m sorry, sir. These puncture wounds are much more serious than you seem to think. You’ve effectively lost all of your reproductive capabilities already.”
“...What?” his voice was ragged, his chest heaving with great gasping gulps.
“You’re sterile, sir. And the trauma in both of your testicles is causing them to degrade rapidly. The pain and damage is only going to get worse if we don’t operate immediately.”
“You…you need to snip off my right one, I know.”
“No, sir. I need to remove both of your testicles. I’m sorry. They’re irreparably broken.” She bit her lip as heat flushed her at the words.
He blinked numbly at her.
“Bilateral orchiectomy,” she enunciated for him, well aware he’d already understood her but relishing the chance to rub it in. She was a professional, and if there had been anything she could’ve done to save his pair, she would’ve…but given that he was already doomed to a life of sexlessness, she didn’t see the harm in enjoying herself as she finished the castration the anonymous other woman had started.
The man began to wail, the pitch growing higher and higher, a wordless elegy for whatever plans of childbearing or sex or manhood he had. Tamara slid her hand beneath her scrubs while he did, her gloved finger quickly finding her twitching clit. His heaving sobs covered up her ecstatic moans as she drenched her panties. Riding out the rest of her orgasm as he screamed to the ceiling for mercy that couldn’t come, she quickly rubbed her hands clean of her juices on his hospital gown and prepared for his life-changing surgery.
