It Pays to Listen

Long time no see, readers! I know it's been a while since I've uploaded anything. Life has been insane, so unfortunately writing has been a bit on the backburner. However, I've been trying to take a few commissions here and there to save money! Feel free to reach out to me on twitter if you want to purchase a story for yourself!

In the mean time, enjoy this short commission I did for a follower. I am always impressed when I read a story that manages to pack a lot of hot details and a fleshed out tale in a quick read, and that's what I tried to do here. Let me know how you think I did! 

Enjoy!

It Pays to Listen

By: Bull2Steer

“I warned you Timothy. Didn’t I warn you what would happen if you fucked around? But you didn’t listen, so now you’re gonna lose em.”

The words were directed at a young man, who had been expertly tied to a steel fence, legs spread wide and bent over a fence. He wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing save for a pair of worn-in work boots, his round ass and genitals displayed openly to the world. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, tears streaming down his face. He was yelling something, but it was muffled by a simple gag made of the stud’s own boxer shorts and duct tape, preventing his pleas from making it out into the world.

“Don’t whine or beg. You knew the price for your mistake; you knew if you kept fucking around I’d take your balls. You don’t deserve ‘em, and we all know it. So, you ready? Ready to lose your precious nuts, Timothy?”

The young buck screamed even harder into his gag.

“Then let’s get started.”

 

 Tim had started on The Ranch a few months prior. He’d moved into the small Montana town after his dad had told him he needed to get a real job and learn how to be an honest man that did an honest day’s work. His pops and the owner were old friends, so he called ahead and set everything up. His boy would get room and board along with a modest paycheck and spend a few months working as a farm hand. The hope was that spending a year doing real work would straighten Tim out, who had a habit of being lazy, smoking, drinking and chasing girls.

Tim, for his part, was a good-looking guy. He had just turned twenty, brimming with youth and a dose of arrogance. He sported thick brown hair, striking hazel eyes and a James Dean look and sense of style that often had girls hitting him up for dates and sex. Overall, Tim was a young man who was used to getting what he wanted without much effort. When his dad told him that he was kicking him out to work on a ranch, he scoffed, confident that his old man was bluffing, or at the very least that he’d cave and bring him back home after a while, once he, “learned his lesson.” Tim figured he’d coast through the new job, doing very little work and find a country girl to bang for a few months, and that would be that. Unfortunately for Tim, his plan didn’t work out too well for him.

When Tim got off the train, he was greeted by his new Boss. He was a large powerful man, sporting a thick beard and the body of a man who’d been doing hard labor from a young age, sturdy and strong. He helped Tim load his bags into the back of his pickup before driving them to The Ranch as he told his new worker what to expect.

“The rules are pretty simple Timothy. Meals are at six in the morning, noon and six at night. If you’re late, you don’t eat. You’ll have a bed made up for you with the rest of the ranch hands, and they’ll train you on all your duties. None of it is very complicated, but it’s hard work; but if you work hard, you’ll earn a fair wage and be treated well. Once the year is up, we’ll ship you back to your daddy, or you can decide then if you want to stay for another season. Sound good?”

Timothy nodded in the same noncommittal way he did with his parents.
“I can’t hear the rocks in your head, boy. You need to say, ‘yes Sir,’ if you understand.”

Tim flashed a look of annoyance but decided not to push it.
“Yes, Sir.” He said with a hint of disdain.

“Good. Part of why you’re hear is because your daddy and I are good friends, and I said I’d help whip you into shape before I sent you back home. Oh, and one last thing. Your old man told me about your habit of hopping from girl to girl. I’ll tell you now. I have a daughter about your age, Annie. She’s a pretty little thing and my pride and joy. You’re to be a gentleman around her, and not try any funny business. If you do anything stupid, I’ll ship you back to your father in a heartbeat, missing a few important bits I guarantee you’ll miss. Do I make myself clear?”

Tim nodded dumbly for a moment before choking out a “Yes Sir.”

Unfortunately for Tim, he didn’t keep his word on anything. He proved to be lazy, rarely getting his work done and pawning it off on the other ranch hands. More damning still was his raging hormones. He spent most of his day flirting with Annie and trying to get in her pants. Had it stopped there, Tim probably could have skirted by for a little while before getting fired. Unfortunately, his charms worked, and he ended up successfully bedding the boss’s daughter. Worse still, he knocked her up, and it didn’t take long for news to get back to Boss. Even then, Tim didn’t understand the trouble he was in. He figured he could just pay for a pill to get rid of the baby, and that he’d be fired and send back home… Her certainly wasn’t expecting it when Boss and several ranch hands surrounded him, stripped him, dragged him out to the stables and tied him to the fence.

Boss slowly walked up to the bound young stud, a silver tool gleaming in one hand. “You were told one thing, boy. Unfortunately, you couldn’t keep your pecker in your pants, and now you’re gonna pay the price for it.”

And with no further fanfare, the large man positioned himself at Tim’s backside, and gave the tool in his hand a firm squeeze. It was an elastrator, a tool for castrating young bulls who weren’t fit to breed. It had four prongs that housed a small, green rubber band. As Boss squeezed its handles, the tool expanded, widening the band just enough to fit a scrotum inside. He grabbed Tim’s sweaty ball bag, giving it a crushing squeeze as he did so, ignoring the screams coming from the young man. He roughly pulled the soon-to-be eunuch’s testicles through the band roughly, before releasing the handles and pulling the tool away with a loud, ‘SNAP,’ sound. This ripped another pained scream out of the failed farmhand. He produced another small green band before loading it on to the elastrator and repeating the process. Tim’s emasculation had begun.

Boss circled back around and grabbed Tim’s face, forcing it upwards so they could lock eyes. “The bands will do their work within an hour or two. At this point I could just leave you be and you’ll be castrated in no time. But you’re not getting off that easy, boy. You see, I’m not the only one you pissed off. You’ve been a lazy bastard around here, pushing your work off onto hard working, real men, and I think it’s time they got their licks in too.” Tim’s eyes widened in fear as he realized his punishment wasn’t over yet.

“Alright boys, he’s all yours. Remember the rules. Just don’t pop them. I want to send Timothy here back with a nice souvenir, so he doesn’t forget his lesson. I left a cooler of beer here. So just relax and enjoy your break boys. You’ve earned it.” And with that, Boss turned and walked back into the house.

Tim’s fellow workers surrounded him before Boss had even made it inside.

They were all smiling cruelly, each of them grabbing a couple Coronas out of the cooler before they set in on him. They farmhands all took turns abusing Tim’s exposed balls. Some of them chose to squeeze the banded nuts as hard as they could, until Tim worried they actually would pop, while other men opted to give him full force punts to his dying scrotum with their cowboy boots. Once all the men had taken a turn, they started over, chugging their beers, laughing and joking with each other while they continued to destroy his nuts. The men beat Tim’s sack until the wailing stud’s testicles were purple and black. It was obvious that even if the bands were removed early, that the ball inside would probably never function properly again. He was going to be steered before his balls had time to finish choking to death in their bag.

A little over two hours passed before Tim finally lost all the feeling in his sack. Once the farmhands realized their victim couldn’t feel the pain they were dishing out, they went inside to fetch Boss, who came out of the house with a knife in one hand, and a phone up to his ear with the other. He slowly made his way to the new steer, casually carrying a conversation on the phone as he did so. As he got closer, Tim could hear the end of the conversation.

“Yeah, sorry Dale. I failed to make a man out of your boy. He fucked Annie pregnant, so I banded him. Yeah, it’s a shame. Apologize to the missus for me too. Looks like you’ll have to adopt if you want to pass on your name. Yeah, I’m just about to snip ‘em off. You’ll have to pick Timothy here up from the airport tomorrow morning.”

Tim started crying into his gag as he realized Boss was talking to his father on the phone, talking about his castration like they were discussing the weather. As the large man got closer, he could make out his pop’s voice on the other end of the call, with words like, “failure,” and, “eunuch,” sticking out.

“Alright Dale, I gotta let you go so I can finish up with the eunuch. Visit? I’d love to. We’ll talk more tomorrow, bye.” Boss said before hanging up and stuffing the phone in his pocket before finally addressing Tim one last time.

“Well Tim, it’s all over for you. Your balls are dead and broken. I can tell the guys really didn’t hold back on your shriveled nuts. If you’d just fucked Annie, I’d have let you off with just a banding, but that’s what you get for being lazy, boy.” Boss said as he once again walked behind the exhausted young man.

“You have a flight home tomorrow, which your daddy paid for to apologize for your pathic work ethic. Don’t try to tell anyone what happened, either. Everyone here will back up my story that you did this to yourself, including your daddy. If you ever try to make trouble or come back here, I’ll slick your dick off. Don’t think I won’t. Only thing left to do is clean up this mess and send you home.”

And without another word, Boss took the knife in one hand, and the dead scrotum in the other. He placed the knife between the two green bands and pulled hard with a mighty tug and sawing motion. Within moments the sack of brutalized balls surrendered and was cut free. Boss tied a cord around them before putting it around Tim’s neck, allowing his heavy balls to hang like a necklace on the defeated ranch hand.

“Oh, and you’re fired.”

Tim’s world went black.

Testicle Festival: Part One

Get ready for my first two part story! 

Our tale follows a young man who travels to a small town to attend a Testicle Festival; a tradition in rural America where a country folk drink, celebrate and eat tons of bull testicles! Our main character may or may not be hoping that he can be more than just a casual observer! Enjoy!

*Please note. Part One does describe the castration of an bull using a burdizzo. This is mostly used to establish erotic tension between two men and set up Part Two, but I wanted to give fair warning.  

Testicle Festival: Part 1

By: Bull2Steer

I must have been some sort of crazy, doing things the way I did. After all, no sane person would travel across several states to a small, redneck town to celebrate something as, “nuts,” as something called a Testicle Festival, and certainly not with the hope of being part of the main event.

 

I had told my friends and family a poorly crafted story about wanting to go on a camping trip to, “get away from it all,” and, “disconnect from technology for a weekend.”  I lied and told everyone I’d be going with a group of old acquaintances from my hometown, and that’d I’d only be gone a couple days and nights. In reality, I’d looked up the dates for this event months prior and gotten the time off of work, even taking a couple days extra off, just in case I got my wish and needed to recover.

Fast forward to me standing in a rowdy crowd of farmers, ranch hands and other salt-of-the-earth types, all of whom were laughing, cheering and drinking heavily. We were all here for the same purpose; to enjoy the annual Testicle Festival, a celebration lasting several days where everyone in town would get together to socialize and chow down on, “Rocky Mountain Oysters,” which was a fancy way to say that we’d all be eating our weight in fresh-cut bull testicles.

 

The organizers of the event promised that the weekend would be, “Fun, Filling and Educational for the Whole Family,” on all of their flyers. The pamphlets were also filled with cheeky lines like, “Hold onto your balls! Live demos! Watch as bulls become steers!”

I found myself at one of these demos, showing up early in my excitement. As the show started, people gathered around a large, gated area with a pacing bull inside. He was a literal ton of solid muscle, walking around his pen, ears flicking in agitation. I couldn’t help but notice the bull’s giant testicles swinging between his legs as he walked. They were roughly the size of coconuts and looked just as dense. There weren’t very many people around the pen yet, so I allowed myself to gaze directly at the heavy sac for several minutes as I imagined what it was like to boast such a heavy pair of balls.

 

As it got closer to showtime, several workers filed into the pen. The bull gave a few plaintiff snorts but didn’t make much of a fuss as the small group of men guided him to the center of the gated area, before securing each of his feet to a few widespread stakes that were spread on a concrete slab.

 

Once this was finished, an older ranch hand, probably in his early 50’s walked up right next to the captive bull. He sported a head of salt and pepper hair, with a matching beard, dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans that were so time worn that the denim had thinned, leaving little of the man’s ample bulge to the imagination. He also wore a pair of heavy work boots and a dusty flannel shirt that was unbuttoned halfway, allowing a peak of his extremely thick chest hair. Despite the greys in his hair and beard, his chest was covered in dense, black fur. His eyes were bright with excitement, and he wore an easy welcoming smile. He was carrying a microphone with him, and he began loudly calling guests over to watch the live, “steering,” of a bull, his voice booming for the crowd, thick with country drawl. As people gathered for the show, he began warming us up with fun facts about adult bulls…

“When a young calf hits maturity, he can pump out about 10 to 20 million sperm cells a week!” Announced the ranch hand with a bright smile. “And once he fully matures in a proud bull, his oysters can pump out as much as 40 to 60 million sperm in that same time!”

“I wish my husband could keep up with that pace!” Came the voice of a loud and clearly drunk woman near the middle of the crowd. We all laughed loudly at the crass joke, except for her husband next to her, who was obviously embarrassed and trying to think up a good defense for his manhood. He couldn’t have been more than 21, barely sprouting a mustache. His adorable face turned beet red, as he became flustered by all the laughter at his manhood. Seeing him blush made the crowd laugh even harder.

The ruggedly handsome host didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, don’t feel bad, young buck! Your boys are going to put in much more work than this fella’ here! After all, he’s about to be steered, and you’re not!” We all laughed even harder at this, including the slightly emasculated young man, whose face went from a look of shame, to one of pride, as he relished that his manhood would be superior to the bull soon.

 

“Now gather around folks, get as close to the gate as you can. You don’t wanna miss a second of this big guy’s last moments as a stud! I took this invitation to heart and got right up next to the edge of the gate, actually standing on the bottom rung of the fence so I could lean over and get a better view.

“Now over the years, castration has been performed in many ways on every form of beast, including goats, horses, bulls and even human males.” Most of the guys in the audience made a show of groaning and covering their bulging crotches. I followed suit, although I was mostly trying to cover the fact that I was starting to get stiff in my jeans. I let out a few fake chuckles with the rest of the men in the crowd, as I took a big swig of my beer to distract myself.

“Now, throughout this weekend, you’ll get the chance to see lots of different methods for steering a bull. If you go to all of our demos this weekend, you’ll see them cut out medically, as well as injected to chemically castrate the animal, and one randomly selected bull will even get his nuts done by an elastrator! For you city folk, that’s a tool that puts a strong rubber band around a pair of balls. It slowly chokes the blood supply out of the male’s sack until it’s ready to be cut off, or in extreme cases just left on till they wither away, and his boys fall off on their own!” He paused for a moment to let the different methods of unmanning sink into his captive audience. Several of the men around me made a show of crossing their legs in sympathy. Meanwhile, I was having a very different response, and I could feel my cock stiffening and twitching in my drawers.

“But right now, folks, I’m going to show you my favorite way to get the job done, the burdizzo.” As he spoke, the ranch hand presented a tool from behind his back, that he had must have slipped into his back beltloops beforehand, holding it high above his head to make sure we could get a good look. The tool was roughly three feet long, and looked like two slim handles that were secured near the top with a screw, leading up to a closed, rounded shape. Eager to play to the crowd and get his point across, he then reached his other hand up and grabbed the other handle, before pulling them apart. Suddenly, the handles separated, and so did the rounded shape at the top. Suddenly, we were all looking at the obvious jaws of a vicious looking clamp.

There were a few gasps from the crowd from those who had never seen the tool before, while most of the locals just chuckled. I heard one gruff male voice say, “damn, the stud’s gonna get clamped? That’s a rough way to get steered.” The blunt description of what was about to happen made my stiffening rod start drooling in my pants. I was so turned on, but also terrified someone would notice. I downed the rest of my beer as I tried to casually adjust myself and the display continued.

 

“Now, it may seem harsh,” the ranch hand continued. “But it’s actually one of the safer methods! This handy tool is easy to use, only takes a few minutes, and presents minimal danger to the bull!”

“Except for his nuts!” Yelled a man in the back. More laughter erupted at the expense of the soon-to-be steer.

“Well, you’re not wrong there, bud! But instead of talking about it, how about I just show you! But I need both hands for that, so I think I need a volunteer! Anyone?”

 

I don’t even remember raising my hand. My mind went completely blank, and the next thing I knew, I was standing right next to the achingly handsome daddy rancher, and the two-thousand-pound bull that was about to be nutted. There was a loud round of applause and encouraging hollers, the onlookers obviously pleased with the crowd participation.

“What a great sport, thanks for the help, stud! Now, all I need you to do is hold the mic right by my face, okay? Don’t move it till I say so. I nodded dumbly, still unaware of how I had found myself in this situation. He flashed me a quick, sly bearded grin as he handed me the mic, and I felt my cock pulse in my jeans again as our eyes locked. To my credit, I followed his direction and kept the microphone pointed as his face as he started working, all the while still addressing the crowd.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, the important thing here is to be thorough. What we want the burdizzo to do is clamp off of the male’s spermatic chords. If you see here, Titus here has nice, thick vas deferens and other chords that lead from the top of his hefty oysters, and lead through his plumbing and connect to his member. I need to make sure I get all of this fella’s chords in one go, because if I miss even a few, he might still be able to breed, and we can’t have that!” As he spoke, I watched in fascination as his strong, thick fingers moved quickly and firmly to move the thick tubes growing from the top of the bull’s fat left testicle. The man had masculine, powerful hands, but his fingers moved with incredible dexterity to manipulate the doomed tissues. Within twenty seconds, he had managed to push all of the hefty nutcords to one side of the bull’s sack. He flashed me another quick grin as he saw me staring.

“Okay now, bud. This is the important part. I need you to hold the mic right up next to his ball. If you can do that for me, you won’t be next for the clamp!” He winked up at me, as the crowd laughed at his lighthearted jab. Meanwhile, I thought I was going to faint from the blood rushing to my cock. I thought I was going to flood my shorts with cum right there. Luckily, I barely managed to keep my composure, and do as I was directed. I gripped the microphone tightly in my sweaty palm as I inched it closer to the bull’s scrotum. The ranch hand suddenly grabbed my wrist and firmly guided it closer, making sure I was positioned correctly, the microphone now mere inches away from the bull’s bundled and trapped ball chords.

“There ya go, bud. Perfect. You get to stay a bull another day!” He laughed. “Now, like I said folks, the burdizzo is one of the more fool-proof methods of castration. Because not only is it safer and more exact than other methods…” He let himself trail off for a moment as he then took the open clamp in one hand and began to position it. After just a couple moments, he had perfectly positioned the tool so that both sides of the jaws were gently closed over the bull’s sensitive sack. It wasn’t enough to damage anything but was enough to keep the chords in place and free up his other hand, which grabbed the bottom handle. He gave the crowd another sly smile. “But you can even hear the results!”

Suddenly, I watched in awe as he slammed the handles shut in a blur. And then I heard it, and because of the microphone I was holding, so did everyone else.

 

*CRUNCH*

The sick, squelching sound of the bull’s nut chords being crunched shut rang out for everyone in the audience. The bull tried to kick in vain as it felt half of its manhood crushed forever. I saw several men reach for their own chords in sympathy, and for some of them, it wasn’t a joke this time. They gasped, momentarily stunned, before gently gripping their own soft ball bags through their jeans, thankful they still had working nuts between their legs.

My brain had gone on overload, barely able to comprehend that I was now rock hard in front of a crowd of people. In my head, I heard the loud crunch echoing in my skull, the audible proof that I’d just watched a testicle die. The hairy stud below me interrupted my thoughts.

 

“And just like that, Titus is half the bull he was! But not time to rest, folks. I need this big guy’s big guys to die. Can’t having a destined steer breeding, can we?” As he said this, I realized that his steely eyes were locked on me, like he was staring directly into my soul. Our eyes locked, his dark grey eyes boring into me as he smiled. I remember trying to convince myself that he couldn’t be talking to me; that I imagined it in my lust. But I kept staring directly into his eyes, unable to break his charming yet assertive gaze.

“You’re doing great, city boy. Just one more ball and you’re all done!” His eyes were still locked on mine as he said, this. He then reached down and presented another burdizzo from the other side of his belt loop. At this point I glanced down and realized that he had just let the other clamp hang off the bull’s doomed nut, they heavy tool swinging from the plump ball bag as it continued its work of killing the testicle in its jaws.

He wasted no time, getting to work on the other side. In a flash, he had the chords of the right ball bundled, and the second burdizzo was positioned, just as the first had been. “One more time, everyone! Listen close as a new steer is born!”

*Crunch*

The sick sound issuing from the bull… I mean steer’s sack repeated as the right nut’s chords were clamped and destroyed. Although I didn’t see the clamp closed this time. The ranch hand’s gaze hadn’t left mine. He’d kept eye contact with me the entire time he finished off the bull. I saw his hand drop discreetly, giving a glancing brush over his bulging crotch, giving it a quick squeeze as his bearded smile widened even further. Suddenly, he stood up and resumed addressing the crowd.

“And that’s how it’s done folks! In a few minutes, Titus’s testicles will fully die on the vine, and the clamps can be removed! After a while, his heavy bull balls will begin to shrivel and die in the bag, and eventually will be absorbed back into his body, and he will live a long, healthy, sexless life!”

There was wild applause at the public castration of the bull. Everyone was cheering for the burly daddy ranch hand who had just proved his manhood over the bull. I may have imagined it, but I thought I could see more than a few men tenting in their pants as they cheered.

“And let’s hear it for our brave volunteer! He did such a great job! Give him a hand!” The crowd continued to holler and cheer for us and the entertaining display.”

My head was swimming from the overstimulation. I knew my imagination had run wild during the display, imagining the ranch hand flirting with me, and threatening my balls while he neutered the bull. I needed to get myself under control and away from all of these people immediately. I took a step forward to leave, before I felt a strong grip on my left shoulder, pulling me backwards. Suddenly, I could feel the ranch hand’s breath on the back of my neck, and he was so close I could feel his beard and mustache tickling my ear. He spoke low, and just loud enough for me to hear, his words masked by the raucous hollers of the crowd.

“There’s no need to be jealous of Titus, boy. We’ll be clamping plenty more chords before this is over.” I felt a gasp catch in my throat. This was more of my imagination, or just a joke at my expense. I tried to come up with a clever rebuttal or laugh it off… but his grip got firmer, as did his tone.

“No need to play coy, son. I’ve been doing this for years. I know a steer when I see one, and you my boy, are a steer.” As he said this, he pressed his body closer to mine as he continued to wave to the crowd and smile. He was so close to me that I could feel his chest hair pressing through the fabric of my shirt. Even more surprising was feeling his enormous bulge pressed against me, and feeling it stiffen to diamond hardness. I felt it stiffen with his heartbeat, the blood pumping steadily to his manhood. After just a few seconds, it felt like a steel club was grinding into my backside.

 

“We both know you need fixed, boy. Even your own cock knows.” He said, glancing at the straining bulge in my own jeans. “I have to clean up Titus’s dead nuts and get him put away. But you’ll meet me right back here in one hour, won’t you?” My cock visibly jumped in response.

“That’s what I thought. See you soon.”

I knew without a doubt that I wasn’t leaving this weekend the same way I came in.