It’s not like is should be a surprise, but it always is. Guys fantasize about it for years. It becomes the focus of all their masturbation. A constant fixation. And yet when it happens it’s always something of a shock. Once they’re roped and gagged, knowing that this is it–that they’re going to be castrated and nothing will stop it, all those years of fantasy seem so pale compared to the heart-pounding reality of the situation.
Will it hurt? Fucking stupid question. Of course it will hurt. Your balls are being cut off! They’re being taken from you by a hunting knife and they’re nothing you can do but steel yourself for the cut.
You’ve wanted it this way. Full force castration. No anesthetics. No pretense of surgical precision, just an alpha male grabbing your sac and taking what is rightfully his.
You’ve been preparing for this moment your whole life. You’ve kept fit, toughened yourself mentally and physically in any number of challenges. But this is what you’ve secretly hungered for. To be taken by force, bound and gagged, legs forcibly opened, crotch exposed, and then brutally castrated by a superior male who will take your balls just for the pleasure of it.
It happens fast. Real trophy hunters don’t fuck around with their prey. You’ve described what you wanted, it was agreed to, and here you are standing at the rendezvous point on a rural road far from town. You’re wearing nothing but boots, a t-shirt, and commando pants, which are straining to contain the iron rod of your erection that you’ve had for most of the day leading up to this. Yeah, your meat knows. You shot your last load as an intact male last night beating off to this fantasy one last time. But now it’s about to become your reality.
Did you hear something? You peer into the darkness. Not sure.
WHAM! You’re knocked to the ground by something big that came up from you from behind somehow. Before you get your wits about you coils of rope have already snared your arms which are being cinched tightly behind your back. A knee is in the small of your back holding you down as a gag is drawn across your still panting mouth. You catch only a glimpse of a thick forearm.
Your still rigid cock is being ground into the dirt as the hogtie is completed. It took less than a minute, and you realize your balls probably have less than a minute left to live.
Your attacker is naked except for a hunting knife which is strapped to his right calf which he starts to reach for.
Oh fuck, this is it. He’s going to castrate me.
With a couple of slices the front of your commando pants are gone and your sex is exposed to him. Your cock is throbbing wildly now and your balls are trying to crawl into your body.
No use. His meaty left hand grabs your sac and pulls hard trapping your balls, which now belong to him.
Time stands still. A glint of steel then fire. A searing pain floods from your crotch to every point of your body. Your body is dumping adrenaline and endorphins into you so fast you don’t even notice you’re ejaculating.
It’s done. As he starts to stand you notice the heavy balls between his legs–the badge of maleness you no longer have. He shows you the trophy, resting it on your gag so you can smell your freshly severed sac and feel the weight of its contents. It’s still very warm.
He picks it up and leaves. He said he’d call 911 for you. You pass out.
A siren rouses you. Two guys–paramedics–approach. “Holy fuck,” one of them says. The pool of blood between your legs is only slightly larger than the pool of cum resting on your belly. Too much for one load, your attacker must have shot too as he took you.
Blinding light as a penlight is pushed to one eye then the other. A fresh wince of pain as a compression bandage is pushed into your crotch.
“He’s in mild shock, but should be OK.”
“OK, buddy, let’s get you more comfortable.”
They cut the rope holding you and massage a numb arm looking for a vein. As soon as an I.V. needle is inserted a squirt of something warms you and reduces the pain.
Fuck, it really happened, you say to yourself, smiling inwardly. Fantasy fulfilled.
You’re loaded into the ambulance and one of the paramedics is in the back with you while the other one drives.
“Don’t worry, buddy, the doc’ll get you sewn back up in no time.”
As the sedation starts to take hold and you’re drifting away he leans closer and you can barely hear him whisper.
“Thanks for the trophy.”