Those Who Resisted - Part 13: Michael Hammond

She smiled at him as he screamed and winked as she set the chair behind him. He stopped and whimpered drool from the right corner of his mouth as she took his clipboard. "Michael Hammond! Thirty years old! Five feet ten inches! Hair blond! Eyes blue! Crimes! Sedition! One! Cannibalism! Numerous! Necrophilia! Numerous!" Flynn scrunched up his nose. She shook her head and turned to him. "Cannibalism! You gotta be all out of beef jerky, man!" Flynn laughed. Then he tried to stop and that made him laugh harder. That made her laugh she flipped the page.

She looked over at Michael Hammond. "Necrophilia! A uniquely human trait! You know, a rat will do a lot of disgusting shit, but it will not fuck a dead rat!" He mumbled his whimpers as his chin quivered. She cleared her throat. "Detailed! Sedition! Armor! Oh, so you were part of a tank crew! Cannibalism! Suspect cut off various parts of dead female soldiers' bodies and consumed them raw!" Flynn shut his eyes and shook his head. "Body parts including but not limited to breasts, buttocks, feet, and vaginas!"

"Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?!" Flynn asked.

Michael Hammond had no idea who said that, but roared, "FUCK YOU!!! THEY WERE ALREADY DEAD!!!"

She lightly kicked his left side. "Hey! Shut up!" Hammond gulped and sniffled down at the floor. "Necrophilia! Suspect engaged in vaginal, anal, and oral sexual congress with dead female soldiers' bodies!"

"Jesus..." Flynn muttered.

She looked over at Hammond and said, "Well, I hope they were still warm!" as she replaced his clipboard.

He whined thin and high, "They were already dead! I didn't hurt anybody!"

"Uh, begging your pardon, you were in a fucking tank! The tank hurt a lot of people!" His voice lowered and he moaned his pants. She stood, walked up and knelt at his head. "Look at me." He breathed deep and looked up. Her eyes were beautifully terrifying and he grimaced, tears streaming over his lips. "Would you like to see the tools I'm going to use to remove those low-hanging nuts of yours?" He spat his tears and tried to say something but it was mumbled gibberish. She bared her beautiful, perfect teeth, opened and chomped them down with a click and widened her eyes.

Michael Hammond's eyes flew much wider, his mouth opened and his lips sucked in, and she chuckled and disappeared behind him. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" he bellowed, the loudest chest-voice yet heard in that dungeon, and she went behind Flynn. "FUCK!!! NOOO!!!!!!! NOOOOO!!!!!! JESUS GODDAMMIT!!! NOOO!!!! GODDAMMIT!!!!!" Flynn felt earplugs twist in again and sighed. She kissed his cheek, walked back to Hammond and scraped the chair aside, the cord of her earplugs draped behind her neck. She stepped back her right leg and Flynn's cock started rising at the sight of her flexing ass.

She snapped her foot forward and smashed Michael Hammond's balls flat across her foot against his crotch. His bellowing shut off into a coughing wheeze. "All done screaming?" she called. He groaned and then gasped into a sudden fluttery shudder of whimpers as her foot smashed them flat as pancakes with a meaty smack. She stepped back and snapped her leg forward again with a grunt and Michael Hammond wailed like a little girl as his cage rose five inches and crashed. She was about to kick again but his trembling deepened and he slowly let out a gurgling stream of shit, eight groaning strains' worth of it into the drain.

Then his moaning returned in hitches of breath as the agony ground up into his belly. He felt warm water on his ass, in his crack, down his sack and legs. He heard the hose drop and she snapped her foot forward again, pounding his balls flat and his cage rose a solid eight inches. Water sprayed up to her face. His whimpering gasps turned falsetto and raced with despair. He pissed into the drain.

"There are four men in a tank crew! Thought you deserved four kicks!"

"There are five men in a tank crew," Flynn said and she turned.

"Really? No kidding!"

He nodded. "The pilot, the main gunner, the loader, and two machine gunners."

She raised her eyebrows and said, "Wow! I didn't know that!" Then she turned with a smile to Hammond. He was groaning loudly and heaved with nausea just as her foot smashed his balls flat again. His cage rose and crashed and he shrieked his panting whimpers, then gagged and retched hard, retched again and again, spitting but not puking. "Ooh!" she squealed. "There's a TON of pain in your belly right now, huh, baby!?

His retching continued and now whining mewls joined it as she sat behind him. She grabbed his balls and yanked them up. His head rose with his mewling and she giggled. "Ready, Michael? I'll start with your right!" His mewling gagged into coughing sputters. He was trying to say something. Then he felt warm breath, her tongue cradle his sack, and she sucked his right nut in, settled it between her molars and closed them until she heard him gasp through his teeth. He whined like a dog and managed one word, "Dddon't!" Then he whimpered faster, higher, faster into a quiet cry of despair as his testicle began to flatten.

Closer. Closer. She guessed it was about half as round as usual when his cry disrupted into sobbing heaves. Then she let up a little and chomped down a little, rapidly biting and releasing it and his weak sobs rose and fell with each bite. She crushed it harder then and held it there, perhaps one-fourth of its normal girth and he shrieked, then shrieked again and his second shriek did not stop as he realized she wasn't letting up. She slid her teeth side to side and his shriek exploded into a ragged bawling wail of gasping pants.

Then she smiled and slowly closed her teeth all the way. Michael Hammond's scrotum did not tear open, but his right nut slowly popped, and as it began to do so, his screeching wail weakened thinner and thinner until it was a keening whine, and then nothing at all. His nut's wall was fracturing with sharp thumps that vibrated her teeth. She closed her eyes and shivered as a toe-curling orgasm slow-burned its way up and over her. She could feel it in her scalp. She felt the fractures ripping wider and his nut's contents began protruding into his sack against her tongue, slowly spreading against her right cheek. When her molars touched, his nut was still mostly round, but then she opened them, resettled it, and slowly squeezed them shut again. This did the trick. The intact areas of the testicular wall of Michael Hammond's right nut burst with strong popping squirts against her teeth, her tongue and cheek, cracking open and collapsing like the bulkheads of a submarine as it sinks.

His cage was rattling and his chains jingled as his bucking writhing scurried all over him like an electric dance. The hairs of his ass and legs stood on end and his head flopped up and down, craning, tilting, twisting to get away from that awful pain. He couldn't take it anymore, and because he had to, his higher brain functions were beginning to erode into a sunken place. Gagging breaths were the only sound in the room until Flynn heard juicy smacking squishes despite his earplugs, and opened his eyes. Cassandra was chewing Michael Hammond's right nut into mush. There was no blood because she had not broken through his scrotum. And then his gagging pants groaned into a raging growl and he flexed stiff as a board from his legs up over his ass and down his back to his head, and puked in a loud, sputtering snarl for ten seconds. Flynn heard dank splashing and dripping, bubbly spits, and then when Hammond was finished, she sucked away from his ball and his coughing gags of breath returned.

"How's it feel, honey? Hmm?" She stroked his shivering ass and squeezed it with a chuckle. She sat with her thighs together and her cum was welling up in her lap. Then she smacked her lips open in a grin and Michael Hammond felt his left nut plop into a warm wet sucking pump. He felt it settle between her left molars and they slowly closed. He managed a final vocalization then, a single mid-voice falsetto howl that wavered weakly for six seconds. He sounded like he was having a nightmare, knew it was a nightmare, and wanted someone to wake him up.

When it stopped, Flynn heard nothing more from him but silent breathing, rapid and shallow. She squeezed her teeth closer, grinding them side to side, front to back, squashed it to one-fourth its girth and started letting up and biting down as she had with the other one. Michael Hammond's body rose and fell with each bite. Then she bit down just hard enough to begin the fractures and let his nut's contents take their time finding the paths of least resistance through his testicular wall. Sharp vibrations against her teeth as his nut began popping, snapping, shattering open all around, slow plucking rips fissuring apart and its contents swelled into his sack across her tongue, against her left cheek.

Her cum began streaming, then pouring over her thighs and down the sides of her ass, and Flynn had not seen it till then. She was cumming so much she had filled the reservoir that was her lap and now it splattered the floor around the chair like an overflowing toilet. Her teeth met, she opened them, resettled his nut, chewed slowly down again and closed her eyes as the last remnants of Michael Hammond's left ball squelched, cracked, thumped and squished flat. Then Flynn heard her juicy smacking again as she chewed it up. She sucked the remains of his right nut in and chomped down hard, ground her teeth in all directions and felt mighty crackles as Hammond's testicular walls rent apart like thick gristle.

Hammond's body began then to rock rapidly up and down, a steady undulation from his ass to his flopping head and Flynn realized what he was seeing. A visual manifestation of agony as it inundated Hammond's whole body, from his bones to his skin, and obliterated his final vestige of sanity.

Then Cassandra squeezed both hands into his ass and pushed back, growling, sawing her incisors left and right, and through his earplugs Flynn heard flesh tearing open, loud and dull, like a zipper but with no metallic timbre. He shut his eyes and tried to put his hands to his ears but couldn't reach. He shivered as the ripping slowly continued. She growled laughter and he opened his eyes. He couldn't help it. He had to see her enjoyment. Blood was spraying her face, up her nose, down her chin and chest. She stood then and her cum splashed hot down her legs, over the floor, into the drain, she kicked the chair over with her calves and shook her head side to side like a dog playing tug of war with its owner, and Michael Hammond's nutsack tore completely free to a ragged snap at the end, she rocked back on her heels and steadied herself. His bluish white cords trailed two inches over her bottom lip.

She turned to Flynn and grinned her eyes fiery bright and he pissed into his drain in wide-eyed horror. She chuckled. A woman sprayed with blood, who looked like she'd been dipped in cum up to her waist, clenching a man's crushed balls and severed scrotum between her bright bared teeth. She appeared as similar to a wolf as he would ever see her again.

She turned like a hellish monster to Michael Hammond, whose undulating agony was already shallowing, calming. She walked around and knelt before him, yanked his head up and his wide, red eyes saw her, but he no longer understood what he was seeing, only that this thing held his manhood between its teeth and that it was what had caused all this anguish seething throughout him. He gazed into its eyes and it chewed his nuts and scrotum several more times, then took a deep breath and gulped everything down at once in a great roll of its throat. Then let his head flop limply under him.

She set the chair behind him again and she had stretched his cords several inches longer by ripping his balls off. She chuckled once, almost a snarl, and set the burdizzo at the ragged end of his left one, crunched it, and Michael Hammond's undulations of agony rocketed back to their steady rapid pace. She crushed each cord six times, working her way up. Once each would have sufficed, but this was part of his punishment and it was her job to make it last as long as possible. She clacked the stapler across his sack.

Perhaps some of these men would learn from their agony and never again break the law. That qualified, in the eyes of the law, as rehabilitation, and prisons were, after all, called Correctional Institutions. Michael Hammond had certainly learned his lesson, but like Steve Alexander, David Andersen, Robert Gentzel, Walter Palmer, Sean Smith, Jarek Partsch, Jesse Edmundson, Joseph Gaines, and Phillip Martin - like all these men who learned their lesson before him - Michael Hammond learned his only a few minutes before his faculties for abstract thought were annihilated, his ability to learn, his very humanity. Now he was a walking ghost.

And the man to Flynn's left, the last to be castrated, would suffer much worse.