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The testicle-shearing machine

The following is an abbreviated excerpt from a work-in-progress about a middle-aged male reporter and his hot young female assistant who travel to a remote, isolated plantation in the Louisiana bayou country. The plantation is staffed by a group of six-foot-plus amazons.

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He was strapped in tight to the testicle-shearing machine.

She said, “Sorry, boss,” and pushed the button.

He bellowed in agony and vomited over himself and the machine.

Much later, after it had been tanned and decorated, she used his scrotum as a change purse.

8 replies on “The testicle-shearing machine”

Yes, this brief fragment is the climax of a long story I’ve been working on. The story is that a middle-aged male reporter and his hot young female assistant who travel to a remote, isolated plantation in the Louisiana bayou country. The plantation is staffed by a group of six-foot-plus amazons. It’s turned into quite a saga. Not sure if I’ll ever finish it.

Quick and to the point. Reminds me of the urban myth of the golfer who tried to wash his testicles in ball cleaning machine and ripped them off.

Your story reminds me of the urban myth of the golfer who tried to clean his testicles in a ball washing machine and ripped them off. It’s counterintuitive, but I doubt he’d have felt much. He wouldn’t feel his balls once they were gone.

You can do whatever you like with this. I’ve not kept a copy.

His Balls Were Too Big

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