Czech Hunter and the Eagle’s Claw – Part 4

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 4

BDSM, extreme ball-busting

By dariomindus@hotmail.co.uk www.damnd1.org

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

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 4

Emil couldn’t bear the thought of further conversation for now. Every word was an effort; every movement a pain.

He shuffled away from the group towards the right corner so he could lay alone with his agony and misery.

“Don’t go over there,” Vasil said.

“Why not?” Emil asked, turning to look at the speaker.

“Shit hole. It’s where we all go.”

Emil glanced towards a hole in the earth and frowned. He realised that the others had all been reduced to the level of animals. He turned and headed towards the left corner.

“Here?” he asked, straining to talk through the pain between his legs.

“Yeah man,” Vasil answered.

Emil reached the corner and lowered himself to a sitting position. The movement pulled his abdominal muscles, and they in turn tugged on the cremaster muscles attached to his testicles. Under normal circumstances, the cremasters controlled the rise and fall of his testicles for temperature regulation or protection, but the claw had utterly short-circuited them. With his testicles in that much pain, the muscles wanted to retract them for protection. Indeed, they tried to do so, tugging against the metal that caged them. Paradoxically, this only made the pain worse and the young man winced powerless to prevent his body’s automatic response, locking him into an endless painful cycle.

He sat with his knees open in an effort to alleviate any contact with his testicles. But even the effort of sitting, pulled on his balls, so he carefully reclined on his back in the same position as Bartosz.

Until this day, he’d never experienced truly severe pain in his testicles. A tennis ball had nutted him once. Then it was hard enough for him to open his shorts to check his balls. That made his dick shrivel, but it was absolutely nothing compared to what he was now experiencing. It was a deep, crushing sensation that made him feel as though his nuts were being turned into pulp. The pain was unendurable. He wanted to jump around like a hobgoblin, screaming and raging against the agony, but he instinctively knew that that would only intensify the agony, so instead he lay there motionless, staring up at the lightly clouded blue sky, his vision blurred with tears.

He lay for five hours, intermittently adjusting his position before he realised that his initial choice was the one that minimised his pain, although it was scant comfort. It felt as though the pain was unrelenting. He stared at the sky, trying to distract himself. He could hear the others talking quietly. For now, their conversation was of almost no concern to him. All that mattered, was waiting for the pain to diminish. Surely that guy had been exaggerating when he said the pain never got less? Every pain eventually eased didn’t it? It was just a matter of how long. Emil didn’t know if he could endure the wait until that moment came, but what choice did he have? He could feel his nuts squeezed in the claw, which rested against his gooch. They’d never felt so heavy.

He lay, in a world of his own pain, unconcerned at the moment about anything that was going on around him, and struggling both to breathe, and to control the nausea that accompanied it.

As the day progressed towards mid-afternoon, the guy who had initially spoken to him, walked over slowly with bandy legs, hunched like an old man. Emil turned as he became aware of the approaching man.

“How you doing?” the guy asked, standing to Emil’s side.

“Agony,” was all Emil could manage to say.

“Yeah. Look, my name’s Kazimir. Kaz. What’s yours?”

“Emil.”

“Hey Emil, look I just wanted to let you know there’s water over near the house. It’s in that clay bowl.”

He gestured towards a small terracotta trough that stood on the ground.

“If you want a drink, you have to drink from the bowl. No hands. If Marek sees you using your hands he’ll punish you. He wants us all to live like dogs.”

It was unimportant to Emil. Only one thing starred on his immediate concerns.

“Were you serious about the pain never going away?”

Kazimir looked sad, knowing that his answer would be upsetting to hear.

“Yeah, sorry. That sick fuck tightens the claws a little bit every week. Not a lot; just enough to keep the pain up. Everyone’s nuts are getting smaller. I think Bartosz’s will be gone entirely in a few months.”

Emil grunted struggling to breathe.

“Anyway dude, I guess you wanna be by yourself a bit longer, but if you want to join us, you’re welcome. The distraction helps a little bit.”

“You’re leaking,” Emil said.

Kazimir looked down at the light dribble of dark orange urine falling from Kazimir’s metal cock hood.

“Yeah. We all do. Nothing anyone can do about it.”

At 6pm, Marek appeared on the concrete patio pushing a hostess cart. He unloaded 6 metal dog bowls and placed them on the ground at the edge of the patio, then turned and walked away disinterestedly.

Four of the victims rose to their feet, and hobbling like constipated cowboys, they made their way to the bowls, then dropped to their hands and knees to eat.

Kazimir called to Emil.

“Hey Emil, dinner.”

Emil looked towards the others. He’d not eaten since the morning of the day before.

“I don’t think I can eat.”

“Nah, none of us could. It takes a while.”

“What’s the food?”

“I dunno. Some slop. One day it’s porridge; another shitty dog food. But it’ll keep you alive.”

Emil resisted the urge to say he’d rather be dead, even though it was true in that moment.

“Sounds great but I’ll pass thanks.”

“Do you mind if we share yours?”

“Go ahead.”

Kaz nodded.

“Thanks man.”

His own balls felt like they were in a vice, he limped gingerly to join the others.

As twilight fell, Emil was finally forced to move from his position. Every motion sent bolts of pain through his testicles. Although his night in the humbler had swollen them, the claw had crushed them back down to their normal size, squeezing the fluid that had gathered to protect the initial humbler crush wound.

Emil rose slowly to his feet, excruciatingly aware of the weight dangling between his legs. He reached for and lifted the claw in the hope that taking the weight off would ease the discomfort, but it only made things worse, so he gently lowered it again, allowing the steel double clamp to hang under its own weight.

He crept to the water trough, keeping his knees wide apart to avoid accidentally jostling the claw. He walked with care, moving slowly enough to prevent the claw from swinging. It weighed relatively little, but even the tiniest motion intensified his pain.

Upon reaching the trough, he slowly dropped to his hands and knees, and lapped at the water as he’d seen the others do. The water was heated by the day’s sun; far from refreshing, but at least it slaked his thirst.

When he was done, rather than returning to his location away from the others, he limped towards them.

“You walk like my grandpa,” Vasil said with a skewed smile.

“We all walk like your grandpa,” Bartosz said.

“That’s true,” Vasil said. “Fucking claws.”

“You feeling any better?” Bartosz asked Emil with surprising compassion in his voice.

Emil shook his head.

“Nah, it never goes away, but I was just hoping…”

“How do you live with it all the time?” Emil asked.

His balls were an unending source of pain, and even as he spoke, the agony radiated from between his thighs.

“What choice do we have?” the fifth guy asked. “We can’t get close enough to the walls to escape, and that fucker is protected by the same field. I could maybe tolerate the pain in the collar, but the fucking thing knocks you out long before you can get close to the house or over the walls.”

“Yeah,” Bartosz chimed in. “All we have is endless ball pain as they slowly shrink to nothing.”

Two of the others murmured their agreement.

“I’m sorry Emil, but you’re as fucked as we are now. All you can do is get used to the pain as soon as possible.”

Emil looked bereft at the news.

“So, what do you guys do all day?”

“We just lay around hoping that someone will rescue us,” Bartosz said.

“And you’ve been here five years?” Emil said, with no sarcasm.

“Yeah…” Bartosz confirmed with a sigh.

“And we hope it’s not our turn with Marek and his friends,”

Emil frowned.

“Your turn? What do you mean?”

Three of the guys looked at each other but said nothing.

“Please,” Emil said, “what do you mean?”

After a further pause, Kazimir spoke.

“Did he pay you to let him fuck you?”

Emil’s cheeks turned crimson.

“What do you mean?”

“Dude, there’s no point pretending. That’s how he got all of us. He gave each of us money, first to see out dicks, then to touch. More and more money until he was offering two month’s salary for a fuck. It was hard to turn down.”

Emil looked away.

“Yeah.”

“Anyway,” Kaz continued, “he loves to fuck young guys, and he really gets off on it when we’re in pain.”

“And he’s got a bunch of friends who feel the same way,” Vasil added.