Czech Hunter and the Eagle’s Claw – Part 3

In this cross-over work of fiction, a pornographer uses an ancient Roman ball-busting device on modern victims.

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DISCLAIMER: This is a work of total fiction. I do not know the real Czech Hunter, nor do I imply anything about his relationship with his models.

Czech Hunter and the Eagle’s Claw – Part 3

Emil sat in the dark, his thoughts racing a million miles an hour. Was this still some kind of role play? Was Marek going to return in a few seconds still laughing, then free him? He had a bad feeling that this was no longer a game. He’d wandered like a puppy into tiger’s den.

Folded tightly against his chest, his legs were uncomfortable, aching at the knees. It was fortunate that he still had the flexibility of youth or the position would have been far worse.

He could feel the Marek dildo pushing up inside his asshole, pressed there by his own body weight, constantly fucking him. He adjusted his weight in an effort to ease the pressure. He even had the thought that if he could shift far enough to one side, he could shit it out entirely. But his movement was greatly restricted by the cable connecting his head to the wall.

“Okay, stand up then,” he thought.

He rocked his weight gently forwards so that it was all on his feet, then he tried to lift himself slowly to a crouch. Even if he’d been in superb physical condition, which he wasn’t, it would have been a challenging manoeuvre with his arms tied so tightly behind him, but the second he pressed against the floor, his balls tugged against the inverted humbler pressing against the front of his shins. They were squeezed cruelly tight in his sack, and the pressure of trying to stand pushed the humbler further from his body.

When he was not even three inches from the ground, the crushing sensation in his nuts became unbearable, and he lowered himself back to the floor, grimacing against the deep aching that radiated from his nuts.

He was starting to feel a sense of panic. This position was incredibly confining. He would never have thought about using someone’s nuts to secure them, but now that his testicles were locked into the metal device, he realised how effectively they could be used, in conjunction with the other restraints, to restrict almost any movement, much less an escape.

Emil forced himself to stay calm rather than allowing panic to overwhelm him.

“One step at a time. First, I have to get my nuts free.”

Without the ability to use his hands, he had only one option; he would have to rotate the humbler until it slid back between his thighs. He lifted his right foot off the floor by an inch. The humbler lifted on that side, but it was still pressed against his shins in exactly the same way. Emil had hoped to move the humbler independently of his shins, but the reality of the cords attaching it, sank in. He was never going to be able to slide it past his shins, because it was tied in place to the front of his legs. A sickly feeling of dread knotted the pit of his stomach as he realised how totally he was confined.

He wiggled his arms, exploring to see if there was any possibility of freeing them. They were pulled incredibly tightly together at the elbows behind his back, and again, it was an unsettlingly effective restraint. Just a few tweaks were enough to turn a commonplace, arms-behind-the-back restraint into a position that felt absolutely inescapable.

What other options remained to him? He stared into the darkness, hoping against hope that Marek would return, but the man did not. Emil became increasing aware of the aching in his balls, and his shoulders, and his knees.

His thighs started to cramp. He squirmed, attempting to alleviate it, but each millimetre he was able to extend his legs, came with the devil’s bargain of crushing his nuts harder.

Sitting in the darkness, there was nothing else for him to concentrate on.

He started to scream into the gag, his voice becoming increasingly high-pitched and hysterical. He’d screamed himself hoarse long before morning.

Marek opened the door and entered the room. He walked to the window and rolled up the blinds. Light flooded the room. He looked down at Emil, and the young man looked back at him, a truly pitiful state. His eyes were red rimmed, and snot ran down his nose and mouth.

“Oh wow, dude,” Marek said, “you are a sorry state.”

Emil looked up at him, his eyes pleading, and made a whimpering sound.

“That’s okay, I’m going to take that humbler off you now. I expect you’ve had more than enough of it by now.”

Emil attempted to nod but his movement was restricted by the cable. Marek approached and unclipped it, then he looked down at Emil’s testicles. They formed a large lump, divided down the middle into two ovals pressed tightly against the metal restraint and each other. He took out a phone and took some photos, then Marek reached down and gripped the lump of flesh. It looked like an over-excited dog’s knot. He squeezed the testicles firmly and Emil flinched.

“Yes, perfect. Really sensitive, and a lovely dark purple. If they go black, then they’re dead. That happens to some guys; the ones with high, tight nuts,” Marek said, as though he was merely imparting a piece of trivia.

But Emil instantly picked up on the deeper implication. There had been other guys, and some of them had lost their nuts. This psycho was definitely not just playing games. He looked down at his nuts. Marek’s description had been perfect – in both size and colour, his formerly-average-sized balls now looked just like two large plums with shiny skins.

Marek removed the cord, then opened the two halves of the humbler, allowing Emil’s testicles to swing free. Emil yelped as they fell. Although it was a relief to be free of the pressure, the sudden rush of blood stimulated the nerves and his nuts felt as though they were being electrocuted. He squirmed and fluttered his knees together and apart, as he tried to deal with the new sensation. His nuts gradually regained their colour and the sharp pain subsided, leaving him with the dull ache that had kept him awake all night.

Marek looked between Emil’s thighs, above his testicles, where a withered two-inch slug of a penis lay, the meat shrivelled and withdrawn far into the foreskin. He reached out and bounced the end with the pad of his index finger.

“Awww Emil, your dick is not looking so happy. Just a tiny worm now; not so eager today is it?”

Emil looked down at his maggot. It was shrunken by pain and looked incredibly out of place resting atop his fat testicles, like a tiny bald mole poking its head out of the ground. There was so much Emil wanted to say, but he didn’t think antagonising the man with sarcasm or aggression would improve his chances, and in any case, he was still gagged. He just shook his head curtly.

Marek gripped him by his armpits and lifted him.

“Come on; on your feet. I have something special for you. A present. It’s a copy of something I picked up in Ostia – that’s in Italy.”

Emil frowned. A present? It made no sense. His tortured balls suggested the gift couldn’t be anything good, could it? But was it possible that this was all just sexual roleplay, and Marek had simply taken things too far? Surely not. It was a ridiculous idea, but still Emil felt a glimmer of hope. He sniffled, his upper lip still wet with clear snot.

Marek pulled back a curtain. Behind it stood what looked like a low gymnastic vaulting horse or a gym bench. He pushed Emil towards it, and bent him over it so that he was leaning forwards, with his chest along its top. Then he pulled the teenager’s legs apart, securing them at the knees to the wide legs of the horse. Emil could feel his now heavy, throbbing nuts dangling between his spread thighs, and he felt incredibly vulnerable. Marek pushed his head down on the front of the horse and attached another wire to the gag, holding the young man’s head loosely down, and preventing him from rising from his folded position.

He walked over to the drawer from where he had extracted all of his other toys and gadgets. Emil had learned to dread what was in that drawer, and his trepidation was not misplaced now. The man withdrew an object. He showed it to the immobilised boy. Emil looked up at it.

“This is your present,” Marek said standing in front of him and showing him the device. “Can you guess what it is?”

Emil looked at the object. To him, it looked like two articulated bird talons, half closed, as though they were swooping in to catch a fish or a small rodent. They were made of steel and each one emanated from a metal housing, and they were connected side by side. He frowned, unable to work out their function, although he had a disturbing suspicion that it would interact with his testicles.

Marek held it and allowed the young man to scrutinise it for 30 seconds.

“Well?” he asked.

Emil was still gagged, but even if he hadn’t been, he would not have proffered the idea in his mind. He shrugged slightly and made an “Unnn?” sound, the pitch rising at the end.

Marek grinned. His captives never offered a guess, and he was certain that they were not all lacking in imagination. He correctly assumed that they didn’t want to give him ideas, but he didn’t need their ideas. The device had been designed for one purpose, and one purpose only, to keep slaves under control. To keep them in such a state of agony, that they were barely able to walk, much less countenance escape.

He grinned down at Emil’s face.

“It’s called an Eagle’s Claw. Wealthy Roman’s used it on their male slaves to stop them rebelling. It was invented by a Roman senator called Quintus, but the idea spread, and by 50CE, tens of thousands of male slaves across the empire were wearing them.”

“The talons wrap around your balls. Then they close. The tighter they close, the more it hurts. Slave owners discovered that when you tighten it far enough, slaves lost all will or capacity to fight. I guess you can say, it literally crushes the fight out of them, turning even the toughest, bravest of former warriors into whimpering, trembling kittens without the strength to rebel. I read some historical recollections, and it really is remarkable how fearless Germanic and African and even a rare Samurai warrior could be utterly tamed and subdued simply by crushing their testicles a little. Of course, my dear Emil,” he stroked the curve of Emil’s backside, “you are no savage warrior in the first place, but I can absolutely guarantee that once you are wearing your claw, you will completely lose any thoughts of fighting.”

Emil’s eyes widened. And widened. This was pretty much what he had imagined, but the idea seemed ridiculous. Now that the man had articulated it, the concept became a horrifying reality. His arms were still tightly constrained behind his back, but that didn’t deter him from struggling. He could move his legs, but he couldn’t draw his knees together, nor could he lift his torso from the horse. He yelled into the gag, begging the man not to hurt him; not to use the device. He knew almost immediately that his struggles were simply performative. He was just too well secured, and as he wriggled on the horse, it made his testicles jiggle, and he became painfully aware of how exposed they were. They felt so heavy, swollen from their night’s confinement.

Marek took the claw and walked towards Emil’s rear. The boy redoubled his futile struggling, begging in a rapid-fire, incomprehensible babble into the gag. He tried to turn his head so that he could follow his captor’s progress, but the cable on his head prevented him from turning all the way.

Then he felt Marek’s hands on his balls. Emil whipped his hips from side to side in an effort to make it difficult for Marek to apply the claw. Marek responded by gripping the boy’s enlarged nuts firmly, preventing him from moving. They had lightened from a dark purple colour to a deep crimson. Emil felt the metal claws being pressed against his testicles as the man carefully wrapped them around the swollen organs, pressing them into place from the rear. They were much larger than his enlarged organs, then the right claw started to close, and now the image in his mind switched. The claw was no longer swooping in to pick up a fish, but two eggs. HIS eggs.

Marek used a special key in the rear of the housing to tighten the right claw until it had closed around the right orb like a cage surrounding it on all sides, just far enough to prevent it from jiggling free. Then he moved to the left testicle and repeated the procedure. When that one was also encaged, he released them and appraised his work.

“There you are, both in their own cage like two prisoners!” he said playfully.

He jiggled beneath the cage with his finger tips, making it swing with its two captives. For his part, Emil started to wonder if maybe that was as bad as the cage was going to get. His hope was amplified when the man switched his attention to Emil’s penis.

“I have another present,” he announced, and he showed Emil a metal device like a tiny Jewish skullcap a with a tube sticking out of it.

“You know what this is?”

Emil shook his head.

“It’s a chastity device. It stops your dick getting hard.”

Emil looked at it trying to figure out how it worked. Marek explained.

“The pipe goes into your piss tube, all the way to your bladder. The metal dome pushes your cock head inside your body and this metal ring goes around the top of your scrotum, locking it to the cap. It doesn’t hurt, but you won’t even be able to SEE your helmet, much less play with it, and you won’t be able to control your piss. From now on, you’re going to dribble like an incontinent old dog!”

Emil stared at the device. The dome didn’t even look big enough to entirely cover his helmet. He certainly couldn’t comprehend how it could push his helmet into his body.

Three minutes later, he understood. The transparent PVC pipe, with its smooth steel tip, was deep inside him. He could feel it stretching his urethra uncomfortably. The entire device was pushed into him, burying his penis and glans inside his pubic mound, leaving just the foreskin visible; a withered tiny snout with a shiny chrome dome within. Beneath, his caged testicles hung, suddenly robbed of their lifelong companion.

To his relief, the device was more uncomfortable than painful, but he could hear and feel his piss pouring from the tube onto the tiled floor.

“Ahhh, that’s better. You have a nice boner, but little boys are best not seen,” Marek said.

“Anyway, one last thing…”

He gripped the claw and inserted the key. As he started to tighten it, the geared internals closed the claw. Three “talons” wrapped around the testicle’s narrow circumference, while another opposing pair enfolded its length. The three claws closed, slowly reshaping Emil’s right testicle into a painful sausage. Emil squirmed violently, shouting desperately into the gag, as the aching in his testicle grew.

Then Marek pushed the key deeper so that it engaged a different mechanism, and as he turned it, the longitudinal claws closed, slowly squeezing the ends of the sausage, reshaping the testicle back towards its original form, but far smaller.

When it was once again an ovoid, Marek continued tightening. The pain was so much worse in this direction; more of a sharp stabbing sensation than a crushing feeling, and Emil’s screaming became high pitched and shrill. But no matter how forcefully he struggled, his tethered knees prevented his movements from wrenching his testicle from Marek’s grip.

Emil was crazed with agony. His testicles were already deeply pained from a night pressed against the humbler, but now the right one was being mangled like a car in a crusher. He felt a sharp pain unlike anything he had ever experienced.

Marek continued tightening, heedless of the young man’s pain; no, more than heedless; because of it. He turned the key until the claws had turned the testicle into a lumpen sphere, its contents pulped in order to fit its new form. The scrotum-encased flesh squeezed between the talons like a morbidly obese girl in spandex leggings. It was trying to escape a cage that was half the size of the object it contained. The flesh changed once more from crimson to purple, and the overstretched skin reflected the white lights.

Marek released the testicle, his work on it completed. Emil felt his caged testicles swinging free, but the pressure on that side did not diminish. The claw was locked tight, and would not release its excruciating, crushing grip without using the key.

Emil howled into the gag, almost beyond thought.

“Ayk it oh! Ayk it oh!” he pleaded in a desperate repeating mantra.

Even without hearing the words, Marek knew what the boy would be screaming. The only thing that mattered.

“Take it off, take it off!”

But the man didn’t take it off. He planned to never take it off. The claw entirely robbed his “models” of their spirit; their fight; their will to resist, and moreover, it stole their sense of manhood.

Of course, fucking a boy who considered himself masculine was a big step in that direction, but in a world where college kids were changing their gender almost as a fashion accessory, homosexual boys were almost boringly ordinary. Boys who sold their asses for money, were less so, but boys with invisible dicks and no functional balls were still something special.

Marek gripped the device and closed the left claw until the testicle within was as small and spherical as the right one. Emil screamed himself hoarse once again, and dark yellow urine poured freely from the cap of the chastity device.

Marek stood and slapped the young man on the ass playfully, as though they were lovers, rather than torturer and victim.

“All done!” he declared, as though Emil should be happy at the news. “You’ve joined the ranks of thousands of savage Teutonic and Nubian slaves who were reduced from virile, noble fighters, into timid, trembling slaves who would never breed again.”

Although the speech was designed to humiliate Emil further by emphasising his lack of manhood, Emil was not listening. Only one thing mattered; the claws that were crushing the juice from his testicles.

“I have one more present,” Marek said.

The words barely penetrated Emil’s pain-dominated consciousness, and although they should have induced a deep sense of dread. The only thing occupying his thoughts was a constant screaming of excruciating agony emanating from his testicles, that was as much deep aching torment as stabbing pain.

Marek produced a metal collar with an attached control box. A row of copper contacts lined the inside of the collar.

The man closed it around the boy’s neck, adjusting it at the rear.

“That’s a shock collar,” he said. “It will give you an increasing shock if you go where you’re not supposed to.”

He pressed a button on a remote he had picked up. Emil felt an acute pain in his neck, that grew and grew. He was briefly distracted from the agony in his balls. The neck pain intensified, and Emil felt the veins in his forehead and neck start to bulge. His neck muscles corded and his head started to shake. A deep gurgling groan emanated from his throat as the pain escalated. Then there was only blackness.

When he came around, his arms were freed. He looked around confused for a brief instant, before the pain in his balls reminded where he was and he started to moan into the gag once more.

“The collar has an anti-tamper device,” Marek said, “so if you try to remove it without entering the code first, it will zap you. Not enough to knock you out at first, but enough to cause you a lot of pain. I suggest you don’t touch it.”

He walked alongside the boy, then removed the gag. Emil’s groaning increased in volume.

“You can get up now.”

Emil swiftly rose from the bench, lifting himself up as though he was doing a push up, and looked immediately down at his groin. His penis was no longer visible. All that remained was a pathetic circlet of wrinkled skin surrounding the metal cap like the walls of a tiny volcano. But his penis was not the focus of his attention; his testicles were. They had been crushed back to their normal pre-plum size; all of the fluid that had accumulated overnight, squeezed out like juice from a grape.

He reached down and carefully lifted the claw. Although he didn’t touch the flesh of his testicles at all, the motion sent shocks of agony through them. He grunted and continued to examine the mechanism. The housing was at the back of the device, showing the claws at the front. Wincing, he rotated it upwards far enough to see the rear. There were two small circular keyholes; one on each side. He caught the end of one of the claws with the tip of his finger. The light pressure on his testicle almost made him pass out with pain. He pulled the articulated claw but there was absolutely no give in it; not even at the joints.

“Hardened steel. Even if you got free, they couldn’t cut or saw them off. The only way is with an acetylene torch, and that would roast your nuts. You’ll never get them open without the key.”

Emil grimaced, still groaning and crying.

“But why?!” he asked, unable to comprehend the man’s motivation.

“Why not?”

Emil frowned.

“But why…” he choked on his words, “Why would you want to hurt people?”

“Because I enjoy it. Because knowing that you cannot get a boner; can’t even touch your dick, makes my dick hard. Because seeing young studs like you turned into sexless eunuchs gets me off. Because tough guys are never so tough when their dicks are so tiny that they’re not even visible and their balls are nothing more than pips.”

As the man spoke, Emil’s spirits sank lower and lower. Just the fact that his balls had been so sadistically abused told him that his captor was serious, but hearing how much the man enjoyed hurting him was soul-destroying. What was he even supposed to say in answer to that? The man got OFF on his pain, so what could Emil possibly say that would cause him to rethink?!

Marek walked to the far end of the room and opened a sliding door. It led via an enclosed transition to a large, fully enclosed outdoor garden.

“Come here,” he said.

Emil was struggling to stay on his feet thanks to the pain in his nuts, and seemed to travel down the inside of his legs, turning them to jelly. But he hobbled over, and every step tugged at the cremaster muscles that connected his testicles to his pelvis, causing bolts of pain to shoot through each one. The inside of his thighs trembled.

When he reached the sliding doors, Marek pointed through to the garden beyond.

“From now on, THAT’S where you live. If you come closer to the house than the patio, or you try to climb the walls, you’ll automatically be zapped. I guarantee you, it is literally impossible for you to escape.”

He gave the boy a hard shove between the shoulder blades, and Emil took a few giant stumbling steps to the garden, yelping at the strain on his damaged testicles.

He looked behind him to see a smirking Marek typing on the collar remote.

“The others can tell you the rules.”

Others?!

Emil, turned away and quickly scanned the garden. He realised he was not alone. There were five other guys there, each of them naked, each of them wearing his own claw. They lounged around far from the house at the opposite end of the garden in a morose-looking group. Emil looked at them in horror. How many people had Marek ensnared?! He shuffled over to the group, pain making every step an effort, tears still streaming down his face.

Four of the young men reclined on their sides, their knees wide apart to minimise any contact on their own claws. The fifth lay on his back, knees spread equally wide. Emil could smell the stench of sweat drifting up off them.

One of them looked up.

“Another one. Marek got you too man. He offered you money?”

Emil nodded sorrowfully trying and failing to suppress his tears. He looked between their legs. Every one of their penises was pushed inside, and their testicles were clearly being squeezed into cages that were way too small for them. Their scrotums were dark purple.

“W.. why is he doing this?” Emil asked, struggling to talk.

“Because he’s a sick fuck, and it makes his boner harder to fuck a guy in pain.”

Emil frowned as he considered the answer. The idea of a man who got off on pain was alien to him. Eventually he said, “How long for the pain to stop?”

The young men looked at each other.

“Dude, it never stops. You just kind of learn to live with it.”

Emil looked distraught.

“Never? How long have you been here?”

“I’ve been here 18 months. Vasil arrived four months ago. Bartosz has been here the longest.”

He gestured to the guy laying on his back. He was built like a powerlifter – huge muscles, now flabby; but his testicles were tiny. His was the only circumcised penis, and there was not even so much as a foreskin visible to show that he had ever had a dick.

“How long have you been here?” Emil asked, his voice strained with pain.

He almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Just over five years…”