nail dagger

Ocean Soldier (Part 1 out of ?)

(A/N): I literally have no excuse for this other than I love mermaid Bucky so

Summary: (Y/N) happens to come across a rather friendly mermaid

Warnings: none?


Originally posted by little-messs

   The sun was just barely rising, the beach was quiet, no birds about squawking, no children running around carrying greasy hot dogs, no music of beach goers, just you, the sunset, and the ocean. With a pleasant sigh you settled down onto one of the docks surrounding the ocean. 

   You pick up a pencil and begin to gently sketch the purple and pink hues of the sky, your pencil gingerly shading along the half orb you had drawn for the sun. You bite your lip in concentration, looking from your paper up to the sky and back down to your paper again. Every so often you’d switch colors, truly wanting to capture the beauty of the sun and sky- 

   A gentle slap of the ocean is what grabs your attention. Sure, waves had been rolling in all day, sloping against the wooden posts if the docks, or against boats or sea cliffs but this one sounded different- sharper perhaps? It was much more clear and concise, more like a smack than anything else. The kind of sounds you got when a fish was squirming to get back in the water. You perk your head up and look around but alas there was nothing to see other than the vast expanse of salty water. That’s when you hear it again- that distinct smacking sound only now it was louder, and perhaps a bit faster than the last smack. It sounded panicked or frenzied if you thought about it.

    You rise from your spot on the dock, looking around the docks and seashore to see where if perhaps there was any animal who had gotten stuck in some Plastic or perhaps just needed some help getting back to sea. Your eyes search along the shore, between the boats, even against the cliffs before circling back around. Your eyes don’t particularly catch on anything but your ears certainly do, the smacking sound comes again and again and again, each slap more panicked than the last and it was loud, much too loud to be far away and that’s when you realized the boats closest to you were so large that you couldn’t see behind them or over them and perhaps whatever creature was stuck was hidden behind one of those.

    You run to the base of the dock and to where the boats attach to the wooden planks and your eyes begin to search, scanning up and down the rows until you spotted something. And that’s when you see it, a gleam of silver in the purple sun, the scales of some fish as it struggles in a fallen net. Shit, you think to yourself as you run towards that particular dock, already dropping to your knees to help wrangle the poor creature free but what you see is most definitely not what you were expecting. Rather than some fish staring back at you with beady eyes you were faced with a man with rather large, beautiful shining blue orbs. 

   You stare at the mans face for what feels like forever before you snap out if your reverie, blinking lazily to clear your thoughts.

    “Oh my god,” you whisper as you suddenly come to terms with the fact that a man had gotten himself tangled in this net. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” The man doesn’t respond, he simply stares back at you with these giant almost pleading puppy dog- esque eyes.  "What happened? How did you fall in?“ You try some more questions but yet again the man doesn’t answer. He doesn’t respond with any words but some strange vibrations rattles the air and it takes you a minute to realize that this man is the one making the noise, a sad, almost depressed little whimper in his throat. "Okay,” you whisper as you lift up chunks of the net attempting to figure out how he was tangled. “Lets get you out of this,” You lift up the net as you pull it towards you but it gets caught on something, something almost triangular but almost soft when you tugged hard enough. 

   The man whimpers, reaching up Through the net to grab at your hands, silently begging you to stop. You comply, immediately stopping the pulling. But rather than focusing on getting the poor Man free your eyes are suddenly glued to something else, his hands. They would have looked like any other ordinary pair of hands if it weren’t for the fact that they were webbed and smooth, giving them a glossy like appearance. His nails came to sharp little points, like tiny little daggers attached to his flesh. You stare at his hands, half tempted to even touch them but suddenly the man starts up with his cries again, that low, depressed throaty noise that had your heart aching.

    “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you whisper, attempting to get back to work. You twist and pull at the net at all sorts of different angles, trying to free the man but each attempt only brought you more whimpers and more squirming. 

   “Shit,” You whisper as you stop struggling against the net, slumping down onto the dock in defeat. The man looks at you with concerned eyes, his sad noises starting back up again. “I- I don’t know how to help,” You mutter weakly, your tone nearly exhausted at this point. The man whimpers some more, his clawed hands reaching to attempt to tear the net away from his body. “Wait- stop,” You sigh as you reach down to grab his hands, trying to stop him from causing any more damage. “You’re gonna cut yourself-” The man becomes more panicked in his movements as you grip his wrist only now he was attempting to yank his grip from your yours rather than the nets. “I’m not gonna hurt you!” You attempt to calm him but it was no use, he was struggling and he was struggling hard. With one hard tug your knees slip on the dock, pulling you close to the waters edge. In fact, you’re just about to let go when the man gives one final tug, pulling you into the water with him. 

   Immediately water fills your lungs and you’re damn sure you scrape your feet along something sharp because the pain shooting into your legs most definitely isn’t normal. You bob back up to the surface, gasping for water as you hack up whatever you had swallowed all the while trying to wipe the water from your eyes. You cough a little as some water bubbles into your throat and out of your mouth, spraying back into the salty abyss. The man goes rigid, staring at you in pure fear and shock, his blue eyes widening in surprise.

   “What the hell?” You deadpan, glaring at him with an angry gaze. “You could have killed me!” The man recoils just a tiny bit, those small whimpers bubbling in his throat again. You sigh as you paddle the water about you gently, keeping you afloat long enough to converse with this mysterious man. “I’m sorry- I get you’re probably stressed being caught in here but I’m just trying to help,” You give him what you hope looks like a sympathetic smile. “Can I try to help with the net?” You ask, gesturing to the offending material. The man looks at you and back to the net and back to you again, biting his lip in thought. 

   You can’t help but notice the way his teeth came to a perfect little point, just like his nails, like tiny daggers buried into his body. Sharp nails, sharp teeth, he wasn’t speaking to you, what the hell was wrong with this guy? But before your anger could bubble again the man nods, squirming just a bit within the water. You give him a grateful little smile as you paddle towards him, stopping just shy of his torso. The closer you got the more you realized just how beautiful this man was, with baby blues and stunningly dark hair, not to mention a strikingly strong jaw line and amazing cheek bones. Even with his strange hands and teeth you couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit attracted to him. 

   “You’re not gonna try to drown me are ya?” You ask only half jokingly, the other half completely meaning the question. The man looks at you with those damn puppy eyes, shaking his head softly. He almost looked offended by the question if you thought about it but you didn’t have time to gawk at his face, you had to help free him from the net. With a determined albeit hesitant smile you reach out to gingerly work the net away from his chest, trying so desperately not to brush your fingers over his milky skin. 

   You gulp as you reach up, slowly but surely freeing his head from the net. It’s then, with your fingers grazing along his neck that you notice something, three small cuts along either side of his neck, pulsating as you moved your fingers along. You can’t help but stare at them, perhaps out of morbid curiosity, your eyes glued to the pink flesh of each cut. If you truly thought about it they actually looked like gills of some sort, just like the ones of fishes your father had brought home all those years ago. The man squirms, making some noise in the back of his throat under your intense gaze. You snap out of your trance again, electing to ignore the strange cuts until you freed the man from the net. 

   “Almost done,” You whisper as you let the top part of the net fall in front of him, all you had to do now was free his legs and- The man reaches down with his own hands- webbed might you add- and rips the remaining net to shreds, nearly ripping it from his legs like some animal. There’s another smack of water and suddenly the man disappears, completely gone after the water calms. You look around, twisting your body to get a good look around but alas you found nothing, not even a trace of the net he’d been confined in. Sure, you thought this was rather strange but you dismissed it as the chill of the freezing water began to set in. You give one last look to the ocean before climbing back onto the dock, shivering within your skin as you meander back to your art supplies. 

   Your clothes had been soiled by the water and you were freezing, the sun was far too high in the sky to sketch now and thus your morning had been slightly ruined. With an unhappy little sigh you bend down and pick up your supplies and shoes before making your way back towards land, shuffling as water pooled from your shorts. 

   You wince as pain spreads throughout your feet and something wet slops below you. You look down, grimacing when you noticed the thick red liquid oozing from the bottom of your feet. Guess you really had cut yourself on something. You mentally curse yourself as you limp towards land, most definitely not looking forward to going home and having to clean your wounds up. Grumbling angrily to yourself you waddle onto the sand, nearly yelling in pain as the sand seeps into your blood. God, is this what you got for saving someone’s life? Next time, you begged the universe to remind you to never help someone out again. You stomp as best as you could to your car, an angry cloud of hate brewing over your head. In fact you were in such a bad mood that you failed to realize a certain man staring at you from a few miles in the sea. 


    The next day you tried the shore again, this time picking a different dock to sit on and sketch from. This time you picked on closer to shore, just to be on the safer side and once you had gotten comfy you began to sketch, hoping to complete your picture today but when you had only been drawing for five minutes you were suddenly interrupted. That telltale smacking sound resounded around you and all of a sudden an almost familiar head of black hair bobs above the water, only the man’s eyes and nose visible. 

   “Have you come to drag me into the water again?” You ask, a hint of smugness to your tone as you look back down to your drawing, completely dismissing the man. The man shakes his head, a look of remorse crossing his only visible features. “Are you ever going to talk to me?” You ask, suddenly setting down you art to look at him. “I saved you, you nearly killed me, and I don’t even know your name,” The man looks up to you then to your pencil and sketch pad. You follow his gaze, your own landing upon the pencil and paper. “Do you want to write it down?” You ask, the man nods and suddenly he bobs from the water, resting his elbows upon the dock as you hand him a piece of paper and the pencil. He quickly jots down a few words before handing the paper back to you. 

   James Buchanan Barnes

   You smile at his choppy hand writing, it was cute if you really looked at it. “James?” You question, looking  at his name again. The man reaches for the pencil and the paper, quickly jotting down a few more words before handing them back to you. 

   I like Bucky better 

   You smile even more, nodding. “Bucky it is then. So uh Bucky-” You test the name on your tongue, allowing the taste of it to settle in. You liked it. “Any reason you’re using up all my paper?” You joke but the look of regret that crosses Bucky’s features has your chuckling coming to a stop. “I’m sorry, I uh- I didn’t mean to offend you or…” You trail off as Bucky grabs the pencil and paper again, proceeding to write out another message. 

   I’m sorry, I can stop using your paper if you’d like me to

  “No, no!” You quickly say, “I was just giving you shit, I really don’t mind,” Bucky looks at you for a moment before looking back at the pencil in his hand. 

    You really don’t?

   “I promise,” You smile at him, hoping the small gesture reassured him. Bucky smiles, a small quirk of his lip is all, but it was a start. “So…you really like the water huh?” You ask, chuckling awkwardly at your own question. Bucky apparently doesn’t seem to notice as he nods, looking down to the water almost fondly. “Even after the whole…” You wave your hand, coughing a bit as you allude to the incident the previous morning. “The whole net thing?” Bucky’s brow creases as he reaches for the paper, quickly jotting something down before handing it back to you. 

   I’m sorry I dragged you in, I was just scared is all

   You smile once more, his words alighting something within your heart. “It’s okay, nothing I couldn’t handle,” Bucky nods, his eyes wandering about the scenery almost lazily when suddenly his eyes land on your bandaged feet. You’d gotten home, cleaned the deep cuts out and went in to get stitches and now here you were again, sitting in the same place that gave you the cuts. Bucky pouts as he reaches out with a webbed finger, gingerly running his nail along the white bandage. 

   “Be careful,” You warn softly, not wishing to startle him. “It’s uh- it’s pretty sore,” Bucky pouts as he reaches out for the paper and pencil again, quickly jotting something down before shoving it towards you. 

   What happened?

   You bite your lip, contemplating whether or not you should tell him what exactly you had done. “Um, I just cut them up a bit, it was a complete accident,” You add, hoping he didn’t suspect you had cut your feet when you fell in. Bucky nods, reaching out again to run his clawed fingers along the bandage. 

   “Buck?” You ask hesitantly, biting your lip as you stare at his hands, his very strange, not at all human like hands. The man hums, a low purring like sound issuing from the back of his throat. “Can I uh- Can I ask a question?” Bucky nods as he pulls away a bit, resting his folded arm on the dock to keep part of his body up out of the water. "What’s with the hands?“ You gesture to his, specifically to the webbing. Bucky looks at his hands, a sudden blush rising to his pale skin. He quickly hides his hands under his arms, hiding his face in the flesh part of his elbow. 

    "I’m sorry,” to attempt to backtrack, already feeling horrible. “I didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed, they’re just different from mine, see?” You hold a hand up, showcasing your short, trimmed nails and most definitely not webbed fingers. Bucky poked his head up a bit, looking at you with uncertain eyes. His piercing gaze then falls to your hand, the blue orbs scrutinizing each finger as he stares. He cocks his head to the side as he studies it, almost with a childlike curiosity.

    He gently shifts his arms, hesitantly pulling his hand out from hiding an slowly but surely raising it to yours. It even felt different, it was slimy, practically clammy against your own but it wasn’t unpleasant. He studies the two hands together, pushing his fingers against yours only to pull them back again, he looks at his webbing and then yours, studying his webbed hands almost distastefully. He then moves onto the nails, studying your small stubby ones and then his long, jagged ones. He hums softly, cocking his head to the other side as he places his fingers between yours, watching the way they only went so far due to his webbing. He was studying you like he’d never seen another human being before and at this point you were starting to think he hadn’t…

Castration Anxiety

“For kali!”
I couldn’t count how many of them there were. The smoke obscured their exact numbers, but the amazons must have numbered in the hundred. I was tied, spread-eagle and naked, to two massive pieces of lumber.

One approached me. She was clearly some kind of leader, by how the others cheered as she stepped forward. She wore nothing but a smile. She was fit as hell, with toned abs connecting her unshaven pussy to her huge, swinging breasts. God, she was hot. I hoped Kali, whoever she was, needed a fertile male to impregnate their leader for another generation.

“For years, Kali has been angry at our lack of male sacrifice. But finally, one comes to us!”

Sacrifice? What the hell is-

OOF

My thoughts fell out of me with my wind, as a huge knee connected with my unprotected nuts. Pain exploded through me, as cheers exploded through the crowd. Had I had control of all of my limbs, I would be on the ground, dryheaving and holding my bruised sac.

“Tonight, we give her what she wants! Tonight, we make one less male in the world”

Oh god, were they going to kill me? I struggled against the vines holding me, but got nowhere.

SPLAT

Her fist connected with my left nut. More nutpain swelled up inside of me, starting at the base of my sac and working its way through my body. I just wanted it to end.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

3 more punches. It seemed like more were joining in the free for all ballbusting, but I sure as hell couldn’t tell. The only thing I could think about was the gut-wrenching pain emanating from my manhood.

THUD

A stomp connected. Somehow I was laying down. What was happening? I was still tied to the wooden X.

“I hope you enjoyed your time among the weaker sex.”

Who said that?
SSSSPLAT

I recognized the sound before I felt the pain. Just before my world exploded in pain, I realized the last stomp had ruptured my left testicle. I felt its remains swishing around in my sac, as feminine hands palpated it, breaking any chunks the stomp may have left intact. If there had been any chance of repair, they were demolishing it.

They were breaking my balls.

“Kali has taken half of his lifeforce! Let us relinquish the rest!”

I don’t know how many more kicks, punches, stomps, and heels followed that one. My right nut had always been a little bigger than my left, so I guess it makes sense that it lasted longer.

Splat!

Of course, my head couldn’t comprehend any of these thoughts.

Crunch!
-
Only one thing occupied my barely conscious mind

Splat!

The fact that a group of amazons, naked and hotter than any woman I’ve ever seen

Squish!

Were going to turn me into a eunuch.

SPPLAT!

And there goes righty.

————————————————–

I woke up drenched in sweat. My alarm read 3:34. I had work in 4 hours, but there was no way I was going back to sleep. I swear, I could still feel the bruises from the nightmare.

————————————————–

I hadn’t really needed a therapist before. I started going to Karen shortly after my divorce, mostly because I needed a pretty face to look at once a week. She had raven black hair, and perky, petite breasts. Her legs went from the floor all the way up to her perfect, toned bubble butt. Lying on her couch, I could usually look up her unprofessionally short miniskirt, and caught a few glimpses of her panties once or twice. In short, she provided an expensive, classy, personal striptease. Not that she knew it, of course. I usually made up some bullshit issue about my parents or childhood or something. Nothing too embarrassing, just convincing enough that I would get a sympathy hug or something.

I certainly didn’t want to tell her that I’d been dreaming about girls removing my testicles in a variety of ways for the past few weeks. I still held out hope she would sleep with me at some point, and no girl wants to fuck a guy with those types of problems. But this had seriously started to interfere with my personal life.

“Anything in particular you want to talk about this week, Jeremy?”

How do I start…

“Karen, what do you know about dreams?”

She giggled, her breasts bouncing wonderfully. I don’t think I’ve ever managed to return from once of these sessions without immediately jerking off.

“Dreams are more significant than most people realize. They can symbolize desires, fears, anxieties, hidden deep within your subconscious. Have you been having some strange ones?”

I was planning on toning down the severity of my dreams. I figured just telling her I was getting beaten up by women was good enough. But as I looked into those almond-brown eyes, I realized I couldn’t possibly lie to her. Maybe she won’t sleep with me, but I need to stop these fucking nightmares.

I told her about the amazons, cheerleaders, nurses, teachers, swim instructors, dominatrices, businessladies, and random women on the street who have been castrating me for weeks. I told her about the vicious ball popping, and how none had been kind enough to leave a solid chunk of manhood floating around in my nocturnally abused sac. I spared no detail, and as I elaborated my surprisingly intricate recollections of these terrors, she seemed to enjoy it.

Maybe enjoy is the wrong term. She just wasn’t giving me the dry heaves and disgusted looks I expected one to give upon hearing story after story about a guy losing his most valued organs in the most painful ways. In fact, a wry smile was forming on her lips, as if she enjoyed hearing my pain. After I finished, she delivered her diagnosis.

“Your case is not as uncommon as you might think. Freud called it ‘castration anxiety’, for obvious reason. There have been numerous studies into treatment, and luckily for you, I did my PhD in this very specific subfield!”

Ah, so she wasn’t some kind of sadist. This stuff was just familiar to her. Relieving, although I wondered what kind of person would voluntarily specialize in hearing first-hand accounts of vicious castration.

“Your case sounds particularly severe, but I’m sure I can help you out. Castration anxiety comes from an internal fear of the feminine …”

She prattled on and on about ids and egos and whatnot. As hot as she was, Karen was no slouch intellectually. Not that I cared; I’d bang the brains out of any girl with an ass like hers. As she went on, I caught a glimpse of her skirt, and felt blood rush to my nether regions.

“So, are you ready? We can start right now!”

“What?”
“I’m going to need you to get completely naked, to start.”

WHOA. In any other case, I might have asked a few questions about what I had just missed, but I knew a come on when I heard one. I practically jumped out of my clothes, and sat on her couch bare-ass naked, awaiting her “treatment”.

She giggled again. “Wow, so eager. Most guys aren’t excited when they hear what’s necessary to cure a severe castration anxiety disorder. I probably won’t even have to tie you down.”

Wait, wha-

CRUNCH

Before I could react, her kneecap connected with my all-too-real nuts. No nightmare. This was real.

SPLAT

A second knee. It’s incredible how much more conscious ballbusting hurts than its unconscious counterpart. Nothing any Amazon ever did to me in my sleep compared to this.

“Like I was saying, I’m not going to castrate you or do any permanent damage of course.”

Well that’s a relief. If only it matched the treatment she was delivering to my nuts. I tried to beg her to stop, or roll out of the way, or do something to prevent another ball-exploding impact, but before I could, her balled up fist connect squarely with the center of my left testicle, jabbing it into my pelvic bone, and releasing an agony I couldn’t describe if I wanted to.

“The purpose of this strategically-applied testicular pain is to make you realize that females can’t castrate you as easily as your subconscious mind thinks. Your balls can take quite a beating, you see.”

I realize she wasn’t drawing back for another hit, and let out a sigh of relief. Then I realized that was because her hand was already firmly on my sac, squeezing the shit out of it. My balls bulged between her fingers, and my eyes bulged out of my head. Her fingernails were digging into the sensitive tissue in the back of my manhood. How could this possibly be helpful to my mental health?

“In college, less than 20% of the males I tried this treatment on suffered a ruptured testicle! And nearly 98% came out with at least one testicle intact! Since you only really need one testicle to do anything with, I can guarantee you’ll be fertile after I’m done with you.”

Through the haze of pain, I could barely comprehend her words.

“Now, for the rapid testicle compressions.”

She wrapped each of her petite hands around one of my testicles, and leaned forward. I could see down her blouse, to the soft, tender breasts housed within. I could imagine a slightly different scenario, with her being the one completely naked, under my control. Rubbing my rock-hard cock against those puppies….

“Oop! That’s not an unusually reaction, nothing to be embarassed about.”

I realized my rock-hard cock was no fantasy. Even though my mind was in incomprehensible pain, some part had managed to realize that a beautiful woman was touching my most sensitive parts.

She stared for a while at my member, a small smile growing on her lips. I hoped it was in admiration, but I knew better. I had never been a particularly “big” guy, with my biggest hard-on coming in generously at 5.5 inches. At least she was professional about it.

“Here we go!”

Her hands rhythmically compressed and uncompressed my nuts. Her nails were like daggers, scratching the tender meat that housed my surely damaged genetic material. How could this not leave permanent damage?

But my eggs were too scrambled for me to voice any of these concerns. I kept staring down her chest, futilely hoping to counteract the pain from my junk with some pleasure. My cock remained marble-hard.

“Aaaand that should be it for today. You can get dressed now. Next week, we’ll try to take it a little further. Remember, you won’t be fully cured until you’re not scared of testicular damage, no matter what kind of abuse you take!”

I tucked my tender balls into my pants. I’m not the kind of guy who wears tight jeans, so I knew my balls had swollen considerably when I couldn’t fit them into my pants without a painful squeeze. As I dressed, Karen watched me, a grin from ear to ear. I guess she must have been proud of herself for her work.

“Oh! One more thing, I almost forgot. You can’t complete your treatment without these!”

She pulled out a small bottle of blue pills and handed them to me. I almost questioned her ability to prescribe medicine as a therapist, but I was too pain-addled to question anything.

“One per day, before you sleep. See you next week!”

That night, I went my first night without any nightmares. Of course, I hardly slept at all, as my huge, black and blue nuts kept me from passing out for more than half an hour without jolting me awake, screaming and clutching my wounded manhood.

The week passed uneventfully. My nuts began to shrink back to their normal size, and I almost was able to walk in a normal manner. I managed to go to work without anyone noticing my malady, so I thought. And, until Tuesday night, I thought I was cured. No nightmares at all!
—————————-

GOOOOOOAAAAAAL

A soccer ball whizzed by my head. A cry of disappointment came from my teammates. As I surveyed the field, I realized I was the only male there. Strange.

“You can’t fucking do anything right! I knew choosing a boy for a goalie was a bad idea!”

Some girl (on my team apparently) was bitching at me about my inability to be a team player or some shit. At least she couldn’t see my eyes behind this goalie mask, as they were firmly fixed on her massive tits. I couldn’t believe she wasn’t wearing a sports bra. Those things were seriously the size of soccer balls themselves.

“Are you even fucking listening to me?”

Ugh, what is she eve-

SLAM

A cleated heel connected with my ballsac. Why didn’t I get a cup as a goalie?

As I fell to the ground, she lifted my legs up and spread them. I tried to resist, but I couldn’t, somehow.

Her foot rested on my busted balls, the tips of her cleats digging into my nuts. A smile curled on her face.

“Maybe these are distracting you. You really think me and the other girls can’t see you ogling us behind your mask? You’re a goalie. You are supposed to block balls, not have them.”

Oh shit.

Her weight shifted, and suddenly her cleats were not gently resting on top of my manhood. They were digging in, crushing my only chance at children.

“This won’t take long, and as soon as I’m done with these, we can get back to the game.”

She giggled. Why weren’t the refs stepping in? I felt my sac splitting where her cleats dug in.

Suddenly, just as I was sure my manhood was going to explode into a familiar sac of goo, she stepped off and bent down. If I were smart, I would have bolted off then. But of course, like an idiot, I sat there and waited for her next move.

She ripped my gear off with unbelievable ease, leaving my mangled nuts and dick uncovered for all to see. When she saw what my manhood had to offer, she broke into a laugh.

“I know some guys are growers, not showers, but that is the most pathetic dick I’ve ever seen! At least you won’t miss getting laid when I finish crushing these.”

I begged her to stop, but it was as pointless as begging the tide to come back in.

She stepped onto my nuts, grinding them into the muddy field. Pain exploded through me.

“Why are you even on a team if you can’t fucking play soccer? Honestly, losing these makes you fit in with team dynamic so much better.”

I looked up her leg. Through her shorts, I saw that she wasn’t wearing underwear. What kind of girl plays soccer commando? In fact, I realized she was completely naked. Had I had an ounce of mental comprehension at this point, this would have tipped me off that I was in a dream.

I stared up at her well-shaven bush, hiding a cute, tight pussy. Those massive DD’s swung ominously, like bells tolling for the end of my manhood. My dick was at its full 4.5 inches (what?! What happened to the last inch? How could I even measure my dick this accurately? Fuck I can’t think about this I’m getting castrated).

“Good. Keep that little thing out of my way. I’ll take care of it after I’m done with your nuts.”

SPLUT! SPLUT!

A last wave of nausea spread through me, and I knew it was done. The spikes on her shoes met with the mud on the other side of my sac. My two balls were now many chunks, and as she ground her heel into my mess of a scrotum, I felt them transform into a fine mush. The all-female crowd cheered.

My cock stayed rock hard the whole time.

————-

I woke up, in the usual sweat. This dream was so real, I could swear I actually could feel bruises on my nuts. Then I realized, I hadn’t finished healing after last week’s “session” with Karen. I squeezed my sac, making sure they were simply bruised and not broken. Surprisingly, my erection hadn’t been part of the dream. It was as hard as it had been during therapy. I realized I hadn’t masturbated since then, due to the pain. I started stroking gently, thinking about the soccer girl’s knockers. But something felt off. It felt…different.

I went to the bathroom and took a look. There was no way this was my imagination. My dick had shrank! I rushed to my desk and grabbed a ruler.

4.5 inches. My dream was right. I needed to go back to Karen and ask what the fuck was happening. Surely this couldn’t be unrelated to the castration anxiety.

———-

“So, any dreams this week?”
I laid on her couch again, naked as the day I was born. This time, she had me strip as soon as I came in. Something about familiarizing my body with a feminine space or some psychobabble.

I noticed this week there were some kind of leather straps attached to the bottom and sides of the couch. I could only imagine what fresh hell she had in store for me.

“Just one, yesterday. Soccer girl with cleats.”

She shook her head. “That doesn’t sound so fun. Did she leave anything in there this time, or was it another total castration?”
“Not a thing.”

She shook her head. “Were you aroused this time?”

I nodded my head slowly. How could she possibly have known that?

“I understand if you’re embarrassed. It’s a common side effect of the pills I gave you. In addition to the reduction in the frequency of the dreams, they make them more…pleasurable.”

Oh yeah. Maybe those damn pills were to blame for my smaller dick.

“Did those pills have any…other side effects?”

Her gaze shifted down to my shrunken cock. Soft at the moment, it barely stood out; I could practically feel it retract farther into me as she stared at it knowingly.

“I assume you’ve been experiencing some… shrinkage?”

I couldn’t bring myself to respond. The humiliation was too great.

“Rest assured, it’s purely temporary. In fact, there have been some reports that males can gain permanent growth after the treatment is complete, up to 1.5 inches above the original size.”

Hot damn! A whole inch and a half? I can’t wait to finish this therapy business.

She must have noticed my reaction. “I figured you’d be pleased. Normally, I don’t prescribe them due to…other issues, but I figured you need all the help you can get in that department.”

I couldn’t believe how blunt she was being. She noticed my offense and quickly changed her tune.

“I mean, from a purely medical standpoint of course. I’m sure the women you sleep with are very satisfied.”

I know she was trying to be professional, but it would have been nice if she had kept from smiling entirely on that last part.

“Anyway, you’re penis isn’t what’s giving us trouble here. We’ve got to focus on your balls again. I’m going to have to strap you in for today’s procedure.”

Before I could protest, she secured the leather straps around my ankles and wrists. I was spread apart, my swollen sack cushioning my shriveled dick, the whole package resting on the cool leather of the couch.

“Today, I figured I’d try making it a little more real.”

“How much realer can it get than jamming your fingers halfway through my nuts?!”

She looked down at me sternly. “You men always exaggerate. I was barely touching them. Anyway, I got my farmhand friend to lend me a little…equipment this week.”

She brought out a massive, metal tool. I would call them pliers, but the end was too broad. I hadn’t been on a farm, but I recognized a castration tool when I saw one. She was going to do it for real. I was going to lose my nuts! I started struggling, trying to get away from this crazy bitch.

“Now now, those restraints aren’t going anywhere. And like I said, I’m not cutting your nuts off for real! You really need to separate fantasy from reality here.”

“In order to show you how fantastical a castration really is, I’m going to get as close to castrating you as possible. I will include verbal enhancement and pressure from the burdizzo, as well as the same testicular pressures and impacts from last week, although with a greater intensity and frequency.”

Not a single word of that sounded remotely pleasant.

“Oh, one last thing.”

She pulled out a ballgag and gagged me. “I know you know this is fake, but you may feel some mild terror at times. Try to keep calm; this will keep you quiet.”

She smiled wickedly. “Now, are you ready for me to cut your balls off?”

She positioned the burdizzo around the top of my sac, squeezing gently enough not to crush anything, but hard enough that I could feel the circulation running out of my nuts.

“Feel those little strings attaching your nuts to your body? Those are called your spermatic cords. The burdizzo is meant to snip them right off. This would be the first time you’re castrated without having your balls converted to a mushy soup first.”

She laughed. “Of course, that’s assuming I DON”T convert them to soup.”

She let go of the horrible thing with one of her hands, and swung her first hard into my nuts. She left the burdizzo clamped around my balls, so they had nowhere to go but into it. I felt them flatten against the hard metal, and then the pain hit me. Tears welled up, and I realized her fist hadn’t left my sac. She was driving it deeper and deeper into my nuts.

Usually, I kept my eyes glued on her chest and ass during therapy. So I guess I never noticed the large, pointy ring on her left ring finger.
I noticed now.

I screamed as loud as I could into the gag. There is no way she was faking this. This was not “Verbal enhancement”. I was not walking out of here the same gender I came in.

Just before I was sure the ring was going to punch through my right nut, she removed her hand. I could feel the indent left on the bottom side of my sac.

“Maybe you deserve a little treat before you lose these little boys forever.”

She smiled that smile again.

“And I do mean little. How often do you get laid anyway? I’m surprised none of the girls you’ve slept with have crushed your tiny balls just for trying to stick your dick in them.”

“But anyway, looks like your sac is pretty full. Maybe I could empty it before I ruin it?”

Was this still part of the roleplay? What the hell was going on? What did this have to do with my nightmares?

Before I could answer, I turned my head over to see the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. Karen had taken her shirt off, and was in the process of removing her bra.

She saw the look on my face, and looked down at my rock-hard cock. “I assume you haven’t been able to masturbate all week after the beating from last Wednesday. Hopefully that means this will go quick. This is just a final orgasm, nothing more. We’re not doing this for your pleasure, after all. It just makes castration easier.”

“That doesn’t mean you have nothing to look forward to, of course. My ex did say I gave fantastic blowjobs.”

Oh my god oh my god. I don’t care if this was for roleplay or whatever, this was the hottest thing that had ever happened to me. She was right about my sex life; my dick may not have been ultra tiny, but I sure as hell wasn’t any good with it.

And it didn’t help that I couldn’t last very…
Last very long in…uh…

Oh god….

Cum sprayed everywhere, before Karen even finished taking off her bra. My dick shot its huge, week-long backlog. The couch, burdizzo, and my chest were covered in my spunk.
Maybe that was it. Maybe the therapy was just making me cum, and we’re done now. I looked at her, hopeful that she would remove the tool constricting my manhood.

Then I saw her face.

“Well, that makes my job easier. At least you managed to miss me.”
She smiled.

“And I would have swallowed to.”

My cock managed a final spurt, hitting the one spot on my belly not covered in manjuice.

“I hope you enjoyed that at much as I enjoyed avoiding it. Say goodbye to your precious balls now.”
She stood up, strapping her bra on before I even got a glimpse of nipple. The burdizzo clamped down again, this time harder than before. I could feel my cords being crushed. My mind screamed in pain as my manhood swelled up.

She stood over me, her high heel pinning my right nut down. High heel?! What kind of therapist wears those?

“I see you’ve taken an interest in my heels. Wore them just for you. How else am I supposed to puncture through the strong Tunica albuginea?”
What the hell was she saying? Was that Latin? It didn’t matter.
The pressure on my nut increased. Had I been more lucid, I would have noticed that the tip of her heel coincided with the indentation left by her ring. I would have figured out that, although my nut could withstand either of those forces, there is no way it could have taken them in rapid succession in the same spot. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to figure that out before she put all her weight onto the testicle.
Even more unfortunately, neither did she.
In my dreams, ruptured testicles happened instantaneously. One minute I was a man, and the next minute only half of one. As her heel skewered my nut, I realized how long a real rupture takes. I could feel the tip going all the way through my poor testicle, and coming out the other side. I saw the expression on her face change from malice to surprise as she realized what she had done.

“OH MY GOD OH MY GOD! THAT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!”

Her mouth formed the perfect “O” in surprise, the same O that had been promised for the most heavenly blowjob. She unstrapped me and removed the ballgag for my mouth, before pulling her phone out and rapidly dialing 911.

In all the pain and terror, I hardly noticed the burdizzo was still clamped around my nuts. I guess there must be some sort of lock or something. Why would someone invent such a cruel device? I feebly batted at it, in an attempt to remove it before my last nut died.

My last nut. That’s all I have now. Just one. Maybe the doctors could fix righty? But even before I thought it, I knew it to be a lie.

Karen saw what I was doing and unhooked the burdizzo. Blood flowed through my crushed right cord, filling up my sac. I lay on the ground, clutching my good ball and the remains of the other.

Karen looked down at me. The shock and horror was gone from her face, and she looked strangely calm, albeit puzzled. “Crushing your ball was supposed to knock you out instantly..,”

A kick connected with my ruined ball. I guess it hadn’t been entirely soup before, because I felt its remains disintegrate in front of her high heel.

Finally, unconsciousness took me.

————
I awoke in a hospital bed. A cute Asian nurse walked in, and a smile broke out on her face as she saw me gain consciousness.

“Look who finally woke up. Do you know the details of your injury yet?”

I tried thinking back…I remember being tied down, a false promise of a blowjob, a ruined opportunity…then, nothing.

“I can’t remember anything. Last I remember was going to a therapy session with Karen…Did she bruise my nuts? What happened?”

The nurse giggled. I’ve never seen an Asian with a rack like that. Her neckline was strangely low too, like she had unbuttoned it on purpose. I could see the top of some massive cleavage peeking out, teasing me. My dick managed a chubby. I took that as a good sign.

“Your remaining testicle is certainly bruised. The right one was crushed completely. We’ve finished removing it and the spermatic cords.”

Oh god…

“You’re still technically a man, but you should be more careful with your remaining nut. Were it to break, you would no longer be able to father children.”

“In addition, with the loss of a testicle, your testosterone production has decreased.”

The smile returned. “What that means is you may find a reduction of size in certain…key regions.”

She didn’t need to elaborate. My dick was getting even smaller. I just hoped the gain from the pills would counteract it.

“Now, let’s see if you can manage an erection for me.”

Without so much as asking my permission, she lifted my hospital gown up and bent over to look at my junk. I could now see down her whole uniform, and her breasts were even more amazing than I imagined. My dick went rock hard.

Then she asked the worst question any man could hear.

“Is..,it fully erect yet?”

I nearly died of embarrassment. Glancing down, I realized I had shrank even more in the short time since my therapy.

“…yes.”

She giggled. “I see.”

She marked something down on her clipboard and walked off, leaving the door open and my half-empty sac exposed to anyone walking down the hall.

A short time later, Karen came to visit. She brought a bouquet.

“I’m SOOOOOOO sorry! Can you ever forgive me?”

She sat down on the chair next to my bed, her breasts tantalizingly exposed.

“No man deserves what happened to you. I’ll make sure you get the very best treatment from now on.”

Despite the circumstances, my cock went rock-hard. She didn’t fail to notice, and gave me a playful smile.

“You know, during the session, I wasn’t lying about the blowjob. Orgasms given by females can help reduce a male’s castration anxiety. I would have really given you one.”

She sighed. “Of course, circumstances prevented it…But who’s to say I can’t make up the favor now?”

In my private moments, I had often thought about how much I would give for a blowjob from Karen. Never had I imagined I would literally give my right nut.

“Let’s get a little privacy, shall we?” She closed the door quietly.

My cock was so rock-hard, it felt like it had gained back a bit of what it had lost. As she bent over to reach my cock, I felt shivers run down my back. Whoever her ex was, he sure was a lucky man. My now-shrunk dick did have one upside: any girl could deep throat me with ease.

With the week’s worth of cum drained, I managed to last a little longer this time. But before too long, I felt that familiar rising, deep within my remaining nut. I was going to cum… oh god….

Footsteps came from down the hall. Karen shot off my dick, a millisecond too soon. The door opened, and the nurse from before was greeted my rock-hard, angry purple, still moist dick, standing a solid 4” above my solitary, deep blue ball.

“You’re free to go, Jeremy. I suggest wearing a cup for the next few weeks, as your left testicle is still fairly bruised and subject to rupture. In addition, please try to refrain from orgasm if possible. A buildup of semen can stimulate the production of testosterone.”

She smiled at my meager manhood. “And you’re really going to need as much of that as you can get.”

I had never been this close to orgasm before for so long. That single smile, and her jutting, soft breasts, were just enough to set me off. I erupted everywhere, my second ruined orgasm. The nurse smiled viciously as I covered myself with milky semen, while Karen looked on in horror.

The nurse waited until I finished to continue talking. “I’ll take care of this mess. Please try to be careful.” She grabbed my solitary ball, rolling it around in the palm of her hand. “Let’s just make one last check for ruptures.” Her small finger prodded into the back and top of my ball, and I grimaced as she found the bruises Karen had left. “We wouldn’t want you losing this one as well.” She let go of it with an unnecessarily vicious yank downwards, and it felt like it was being ripped out by its roots.

“It’s all you have left.”

——–

“No! Aim lower!”

The fencing coach was guiding my opponent, a girl several years my junior. The score was 4-0, my favor, and she clearly needed some help. I didn’t bother listening because I figured I would get the last point with the same ease I scored the first 4.

“En guarde. Ready, Fence!”

She lunged towards me. I parried across, but her blade went lower than usual. She had finally landed a hit.

I looked to see if it was on target.

Her foil was pinned to my right nut. She’s obviously scored, why won’t she move it?

Suddenly, the pain cleared my mind of all these thoughts. I collapsed to the ground, clutching my dear nut for all I was worth. I needed ice. I needed a hospital.

The judge, a cute asian with large tits, bent over me. “Righty’s gone. All you have left is the left one.”

What? It was just one hit. But feeling around my sac, I realized she was right. Through the pain, I realized my right cords ended only in mush. I began to cry.

“Stand back, I’m a nurse.” The judge bent over and grabbed ahold of my sack. “It’s not completely mush, and they might be able to save it if you go in 15, 20 minutes tops.”

I headed for the door, when I felt a hand grab my already-mangled sac and pull it backwards.

“Where do you think you are going? 1 point to opponent. Good hit, keep it up Jenny.”

“I…need to go to the hospital.”

“The bout’s almost over. You can manage.”

I couldn’t believe her cruelty. Her smile was so familiar. Her tits were nearly popping out. What kind of judge wears that uniform?

I hobbled back to the starting line, hoping to god that I would get this last point quickly.

“Ready, fence!”

Of course, she lunged again. This time, I couldn’t even attempt to block. The nutpain racked my entire body.

I felt the blade land, on the only place it could. My left nut took the brunt of the blow, as my right nut disintegrated fully.
POP!

This one was loud. The judge didn’t even need to manhandle me to tell that I was now a eunuch.

“Good point, jenny. Jeremy, you get a black card for bad sportsmanship. It’s unacceptable to crumple on the ground after every point. Jenny, you win! Jeremy, let’s call you an ambulance and finish this sex change.”

I lay on the ground, holding what used to be my sex organs. I hardly even noticed when the judge/nurse kicked my legs apart to stomp on them, finishing the job Jenny had started.
————————————————————————

Another nightmare, of course. I woke up and felt my rockhard cock, now a mere 3.5 inches. I couldn’t wait for these pills to wear off.

But something else was up. My shorts were soaked. Feeling around, I realized I had jizzed all over myself again. I remember bitterly the nurse’s words about testosterone, and how I should avoid orgasm, before drifting off to sleep.

————————————————————————

Wednesday evening. I had stripped as soon as I walked into Karen’s office, even though she didn’t ask me to. It just felt natural.

“Have the nightmares gone away yet?” she inquired hopefully. When I relayed her the tale of the particularly cruel fencing instructor, she look crestfallen.

“Did you have both of your balls in the dream? Before they were ruptured, of course.”

“yeah.”

She laughed. “That must have been nice. Having your other ball back, even if it was only a dream.”

“I guess…It was incredibly painful as usual. There wasn’t much to enjoy about it.”

She returned to her previous stern expression.

“I can’t believe it…That last session should have cured you…”

“Maybe…the rupture ruined the therapy? You weren’t expecting it to happen, right?”

She bit her lip. She wasn’t telling me something.

“You…didn’t meant to pop it, right?”

“Not right then. But I mean…I definitely had to rupture it at some point.”

WHAT?!

“That’s the only way to permanently cure castration anxiety! Get you to the brink of castration. It really makes you grateful for your remaining nut!”

I felt like I was sinking. How could she do this to me?
“So…you popped my nut on purpose?”

“I got a little caught up in the role playing. It was early; usually the popping follows weeks of bruising and kneeing and kicking and whatnot.”

At this point, I’m almost glad she took my nut so early.

“But…there is one other option…”

I listened meekly, still barely grasping the reality of the situation. Karen had purposely driven her heel into my nut hard enough to rupture it. She had made me half a eunuch. How many other men has she half-castrated?

“During your dream last night, you were aroused again?”

I nodded.

“Did you happen to ejaculate during your arousal? I know you have…problems with ejaculation.”

I nodded again. I was hardly even embarrassed of my sexual failings at this point; Karen was used to them.

“I have an idea!”

“As long as it keeps my other nut intact, I’m game for any-“

OOF.

Her knee connected with my ball. How she came off her chair and onto the couch so fast, I’ll never know.

This knee was somehow even more vicious than any from the weeks before. I could literally feel my nut deform beneath her weight, as she pressed it into the couch.

“I’ve been misdiagnosing you all along!”

A fist connected with my sole nugget of manhood, flattening it against the couch beneath.

“You don’t have castration anxiety at all! You have castration anticipation!”

A heel stomped into my mostly-empty sac, and my ball swelled up to fill the space left by its missing brother.

“It’s much rarer. You see, in some men, the psychoanalytical signals are mixed. Rather than being scared of castration, you desire it!”

I tried to explain to her that I most certainly did not desire such a thing, but it’s hard to form words when a

OOF

Another sharp toe jabbed into my ball. I was crying openly, and lay in the fetal position on the floor. Karen stood above me, looking down. From my vantage point, I could see up her skirt, and realized that she was wearing no underwear.

My dick stood rock hard.

“See? Even now, as you know that I’m going to crush your nut, you’re erect! You’ve been wanting this!”

I managed to get to my feet and run to the door. Forget my clothes. This is insane. I don’t want to lose my nut. It’s all I have.

It was locked.

I felt a familiar tug from behind. Karen had my ball in a vice grip, and was pulling with all her might. I couldn’t believe this was happening again.

SMUSH

Her knee came between my buttcheeks, and slammed all of my manhood back up into me.

“You won’t have to worry about your dick anymore either. With your balls gone, sex won’t be an option.”

THUD

Her toe connected with bone. My ball had really gone up inside of me, and gotten trapped. I could feel it swelling against the inside of my inguinal canal. It was going to pop. My own body was going to pop my last ball.

“Oh no you don’t. I’m getting this one.”

She laid me down. I had no control of my body at this point. Once again, my mind had been reduced to a numb nexus of pain.

Her heel stomped on my nut as hard as she could with her heel, leaving a mark on my belly where my nut was hidden. Three more times her foot descended over my hidden testicle, and three more times I experienced more agony than most men feel in their entire lifetime. Finally, the ball popped out, twice as large as it went in.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted this over.

“Why cant…you just….cut it off? You have a burdizzo.”

She paused for a minute. “Y’know, I bet that would be just as effective…”

Mercy. Finally.

“But this is really so much more fun. You think I haven’t noticed you looked up and down my clothes every chance you get?”

I was truly fucked.

SLAM

SLAM

SPLAT

SQUIIIIISHH

My nut gave way to mush, and her heel connected with the floor. A geyser of semen erupted out of my now-useless dick, and I thought back to that blowjob I never got. And never will. My penis lost its last erection, and Karen stood over me. I could see her pussy perfectly now, as her skirt was off. She was rubbing away furiously, like it was the last orgasm she would ever have.

Last orgasm ever. Like she would know what that’s like…

I lay on the floor, crying in pain as she cried out in pleasure to her first orgasm.

“I…castrated you. For real. You’ll never have sex again….”

Another orgasm gripped her, and I passed out.

——————————————————————————

I awoke in a familiar hospital, greeted by a familiar face. My gown was already lifted up, leaving what was left of my genitals visible to anyone once again.

“What a surprise, Mr. Jeremy. It looks like you didn’t bother getting a cup.”

That goddamn nurse again.

“It’s much too late now, of course. Both your testicles are irreparably damaged. You will never have children.”
She giggled like this was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

“Of course, you can adopt. Or pay a real man to fuck your wife. But your genetic line has ended.”

“Not that that little worm would have passed much on to begin with. I’d be surprised if a peashooter like that could even clear the barrel, if you know what I mean.”

She laughed again. “I’m so glad we can joke about it, now that both of your nuts are gone. After all, you can hardly be sensitive about how small it is, now that it’s totally useless.”

She straightened up. “Of course, I’m exaggerating. Many ‘men’ go on to live long and healthy sex lives after losing their nuts! You’re going to need your therapist to write you a prescription for testosterone though. It will allow you to still have erections and orgasms, even if they’re completely pointless.”

I perked up. I didn’t know about that at all!

“Assuming you want to keep your penis, that it. Many men have a full penectomy after sustaining…your type of injury.”

“What? Why would I want that?”

“It’s just…less hassle. Like I said, your penis is…quite small. I frankly don’t see the point keeping it. It’s hardly aesthetically pleasing.”

This was humiliating.

“Yes, I would like to keep my penis. Can I go yet? I need to go talk to my therapist.”

The nurse continued staring at my dick. It really was small now, but it looked a little bigger without my nuts dwarfing it for once.

“Yeah, you can go. No stitched to worry about now, since your whole sack is gone.”
—–

A week went by. No nightmares for once.
—–

I go into Karen’s office. I stay clothed now, and explain to her the situation.

“So I think my castration disorder, whatever it was, is cured. All I need is for you to write me a prescription for testosterone so I can have my sex life back, and we’re done.”

I couldn’t believe I was talking civilly to the woman who had unmanned me. I guess I was thankful, in a way. After all, she had cured me, and if I could still have sex, what more could I want?

She looked up at me, mystified. “Why would you possibly need that prescription for?”

“To…so I can still be a man.”

“Jeremy, you’re no more a man now than I am, and you never will be.”

This was not going well.

“Your desire for castration won’t be fulfilled if you can still have sex and get erections. It’s not about losing your testicles. It’s about losing your manhood. It needs to be permanent. I’m sorry, but I cannot in good conscious approve of something that will bring back a disorder we spent so long curing.”

“But…I’ll be a eunuch…”

“You ARE a eunuch. Look at you! The only piece of your manhood left is that penis.”

She smirked. “And let’s face it, there’s not much left of that after the penis-shrinking pills I gave you.”

“What…”

“You really think there’s a functional drug on the market that grows your dick an inch and a half? Get real. That loss is permanent, just like your balls. I’ll write a recommendation for a penectomy, but that’s the only thing you’ll get from me.”

——————————————
I refused the penectomy. I tried to hang onto the tiny scrap of manhood I had left, but it was shrinking away from me. Literally. Without my balls, my penis shrank to a thimble sized bump above my castration scar. I have to sit down to pee now, and the thought of sex is a long-lost dream.

The castration dreams come back occasionally. I’m thankful when I get them. They’re the only time I can be a man, even if it’s for a short time.
—————————————-

Feedback? I’ve been reading stories on here for a long time, and finally wanted to try my own. I wrote all of this today, and haven’t really edited it or anything, so sorry it got so long, and for grammar errors and stuff.


Is it weird to jack off to your own stuff?

Feysand pickup lines

Feyre: *sparring with Cassian on roof while Rhys watches*

Rhys: *bemused smile, sits on edge of roof* hey Feyre…

Feyre: *sweating while blocking a strike from Cassian* Yes dear?

Rhys: *cleaning nails with dagger* are you a banana?

Feyre:

Cassian:

Rhys: *smirks at their confused expressions* because I find you a-peeling…*cackles loudly*

Feyre: *eye roll*

Cassian: *takes Feyre down with the distraction*

Rhys: *even louder laughing*

Feyre: *winnows directly in front of Rhys and pushes him off roof with satisfied smile* pricks.

Cassian: *speechless, eyes wide, hands up in surrender*

Rhys: *still laughing*

6

She walked screaming out of the white smoke, a black-clad goddess of death, exuding aggressive sex. Her eyes held just a tinge of threat. Her nails, phallic daggers of implied violence. Waist shrunken to a ghastly circumference, her eyebrows archly painted, her long black hair swirling behind and around her, she shocked, titillated, angered, obsessed.

She called herself Vampira.

She introduced every show with a scream, a bloodcurdling extrusion that had to issue out of some cavern too big, dark, and lonely to live inside her impossible 36-17-36 figure. She screamed and looked directly at the camera, a goth Garbo who seized the eye of the audience, refusing to become a simple object of their regard. She seduced them with the offer of a night of B-movies, horror and sci-fi fare, mostly execrable, but seasoned with her spicy sweetness and her undertone of aggression that radiated underneath heavy white pancake make-up.

Nobody could turn off the TV. It was 1954.

Maila Nurmi screamed in a postwar America of chilling optimism, everyday repressions, and awkward silences. She was the child of Finnish immigrants, a runaway in the 30’s who worked as an actor, a model for softcore men’s magazines, and a burlesque dancer. She had a taste for the macabre that led her to delve into the sediment of midcentury America until it yielded its dark treasures. A pin-up model who found herself turned into the 50’s American middle class housewife, she refashioned herself to escape the confines of cultural expectation.

Nurmi had explored the tangled underside of the country since the mid-1940s; an underground gothic land lived beneath the sun- lit world of postwar America. As a young runaway, she performed in a New York horror/burlesque show known as “Spook Scandals” that had called for her to rise out of a coffin and scream. There she had begun to craft the character of Vampira, thinking about how the sexy and the horrific could intertwine, a dance between Eros and Thanatos.

“Dig Me, Vampira” was like nothing that had yet appeared in television’s brief existence. Premiering on April 30, 1954, it became an instant hit in the Los Angeles area. Then things exploded. *****

Vampira quickly reached a larger audience through a Life magazine photo shoot. She appeared on Red Skelton’s popular show alongside Lon Chaney Jr. and Bela Lugosi. She hung out with James Dean and his entourage at Googie’s Restaurant, one of the few late night spots in 1950s Hollywood. She became part of “the night watch,” aspiring actors and directors that hovered around Dean, the strange and beautiful boy from Indiana who had yet to reach superstardom in East of Eden.

Ratings for the Vampira show shot through the roof in the year to come and Nurmi seemed on the verge of major stardom. But KABC cancelled her contract around the time of the death of James Dean. Despite her popularity, Vampira had spun a web of controversy that entangled her and the station. FCC warnings, a lawsuit by a starlet who thought her career had been ruined by the image of Vampira, and, finally, the end of Nurmi’s marriage to Dean Frank Reisner, a blow to the station’s public relations campaign that had attempted to portray her as a normal housewife who liked to play dress-up as a bit of “horrific whimsy.” Dean’s death, or at least the bizarre rumors that surrounded Nurmi in the aftermath of it, represented the final straw.

By the late 1950s her television career was over; she lived with her mother while receiving unemployment benefits. She appeared in the Ed Wood directed Plan 9 from Outer Space that, while later a cult hit, barely had any audience at all in the first years of its existence. True and lasting stardom never came calling again. By the 1960s, Nurmi supported herself as a tile contractor. Stories, patently untrue, circulated of roles in pornographic films. She became a figure of local legend in West Hollywood, part of a cast of peculiar characters who’d once been famous and now were not.

Vampira disappeared. But she thrived in the cultural underground. Maila Nurmi hung out with the punk/metal band the Misfits in the 80s at places like West Hollywood Vinyl Fetish. She also worked on a book she never finished, a memoir of underside of a 50s Hollywood that stayed up late nights at Googies Restaurant, popped pills, and lived off the warm glow of stardom it stalked.

She died, alone, in 2008.

Perhaps this is all that we need know of her story. Perhaps it’s more or less all that can be known. It’s true that her influence has spread far and wide. There may not be a horror convention where her visage doesn’t influence the tattooed seductress cos-players, not a horror host who doesn’t owe something to her camp humor, no mistress of the night anywhere whose ultimate origin point can’t be traced to this runaway, this late night comedian.

Vampira borrowed from many of the ghosts that haunted American culture, elements never before brought together with the kind of sexual energy and threatening cultural pose that Vampira adopted. She described her character as a monster crafted out of the elements of American history, the terrors of the great depression, and the postwar style of the Beats. She raises questions about everything we think we know about the American fifties.

Excerpted from Vampira: Dark Goddess of Horror. Copyright 2014 by W. Scott Poole. Published by Soft Skull Press. All rights reserved. Photos: Collection of the Author

Noir Nocturne Part 1 Chapter 10 There’s No Place Like Home

Mrs. Bartlett led Dougal to the next room and pointed out the bathroom across the hall on the third floor before taking Murtagh and Angus to the attic. “If you find it too hot up here gents, let me know and I’ll bring a fan up. You are welcome to leave the windows open and be watching your heads if you don’t mind. Don’t want to have to pay the clinic for stitches.”

The room had a sharp inclined V roof but there was no chance they would hit their heads on it as it was well up from standing distance. Murtagh decided the woman must be having a laugh. “Is it always this warm than Mrs.?” He asked, tossing his hat onto one of the beds, and shrugging out of his jacket.

“Hah! This ain’t warm, it’s only 8 in the morning! It gets worse over the day and summer. No humidity to speak of though, and coolish at night. You boys let me know if there is anything ya need. I’ve left ya sheets and pillows and see ya have your own blankets. You can come down to the kitchen for coffee when you’re settled. But don’t be thinking I do that every day. Just cause your foreign and all don’t mean I can afford to spoil ya.” She shook her finger at them and left by the steep staircase.

The room held two single beds, a tall chest of drawers, hooks on the finished walls at the foot of each bed and a small round table with two straight backed chairs. The seating area was on the opposite end from the staircase along with trunks of varying sizes. The beds sat on a large round braided rug and tucked flush to the walls. There was no heat source that he could see. It did have double windows at each end though that had no curtains, so a goodish amount of light was being let in.

Angus made his bed and then started to rummage around the trunks. They were locked.

“Dinna break them ya wee bugger, Claire will hae your head. “

“As if tha could stop me.” He chuckled and pulled out his hidden dagger, “tis no great feat picking a lock ya great fool.”

Giving up, Murtagh took his time studying the pictures on the walls. They were the most realistic paintings he had ever seen, preserved somehow under glass. Men and Women in all sorts of fancy dress, standing next to the automobiles or sitting together in various poses. Several of them had To Rhea on them.

He heard someone coming up the steps, snapped his fingers at Angus to get his attention and put his hand behind on his dirk.  

“Murtagh, the light switch for the overhead is here by the steps. See?” Claire said as she stepped into the attic, turning on the light as she came in. “Oh, and you have two floor lamps as well, that’s nice. You pull the cord under the lampshade, like this, see? This metal looking box thing is a radiator, heat comes from it from a boiler in the basement I’m assuming.”

“Jamie, Dougal come up here please. We need to figure out our day and I need to call Father McDaniel as well.” She yelled down the steps. Turning to Angus, she frowned. “And just what are you doing over there? I doubt there is anything in those that you will be wanting or needing.”

Angus rolled his eyes and sat down at the table. “And how would you be knowing that?” He then proceeded to pick his nails with the dagger, while pretending not to care about whatever she was talking about.

Murtagh decided making his bed would give him something to do while Claire planned out their next moves. Jamie and Dougal seemed to be at ease, for now, so all was well there.

“Claire? Are these paintings?” Dougal said, standing with his nose right up to one.

“No, they’re photographs. Likenesses captured on film. You use a gadget called a camera. I can see we may need to take a trip to the library soon or I am going to be spending all my time instructing you on all the marvels of modern science.

I will go to the Clinic tomorrow, so we have time today to find the employment center, the barber, and perhaps a store and donation center for more needed items. You’ll need work clothes once you’re employed. I think it wise if you hide your weapons for now. We may need to pawn a few of them if our money runs out quickly. I think your and Jamie’s guns should bring a good sum Dougal. Collector’s items generally do. Besides, there are better guns now. Semi-Automatics that you don’t have to prime and load a shot at a time.

Not that I am recommending that. No one goes around with swords, dirks or daggers unless they are in the Military. If they are armed, they wear a holster and handgun likely, although switchblade knives exist now. 

Why in the world am I even telling you all this? You can’t just get into fights on the streets. The Police will haul you off to jail in a heartbeat. So, you are all going to have to learn to control your tempers.” She wound down as she sat down on Murtagh’s bed and sighed heavily.

That got their attentions Murtagh thought. Better weapons? She knew them well enough then. Smart to start with that today. His opinion of her went up another notch.

“Weel, how about we go have coffee with Mrs. Bartlett? She said we could, I think.” Angus interjected after tucking his weapons under his mattress. Murtagh noticed he keep the dagger though. “How old do you reckon the fat bessom is?” Angus leered and wiggled his brows at Dougal.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake Angus leave her be, I beg you.” Claire said standing again “Surely there are more important things on your mind!”

Murtagh, Jamie and Dougal exchanged a glance and then turned as one and headed down the steps.

“mmph” said Angus and followed behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamie hardly had time to scrutinize his room before Claire had called him upstairs. It seemed nice enough. It reminded him a bit of a guest room at Lallybroch. His first order of business was to push the beds together. He wasn’t going to give Claire a chance to get used to sleeping without him by her side.

It would have to wait until later though. He saw the layout he wanted instantly and filed it away for reference. There would be time after they had taken care of some more adaption business. He was happy to see that Murtagh seemed comfortable with the arrangements. He probably wanted the room next to him, but likely felt he was close enough to come running if needed.

They left the attic and headed down to the kitchen, taking note of what they could see of the second and first floors of the house. There were several closed doors on the second floor. Jamie’s curious nature had him wanting to open each one of them, but they likely led to rooms with other boarders. He didn’t think Claire or Mrs. Bartlett would appreciate him just heading into them so he took his time on the first floor instead.

To the left of the central staircase was a large seating room. Several comfortable looking chairs and two couches surrounded a wooden cabinet and a fireplace. There was a square table that sat four in once corner and two of the walls were covered in book shelves. The was an odd looking large horn atop another cabinet in one corner.

“Claire what’s that?” he pointed as he pulled her into the room by the elbow.

“Oh, it’s a phonograph. It plays records, which are recorded music or speaking.”

“Recorded? Like writing?”

“Something like that. That other cabinet contains a radio. You can listen to people from all over the world speaking. They tell stories, the news, commentary on the events of the day. There are also musical programs. Mainly it is for entertainment.” She chuckled as she caught the astonished look on his face. “I promise it’s not magic. It’s science.”

“I dinna ken yet if I believe ya or no, but as I believe you to be a woman of her word, and my wife at that, I’ll trust that ye are not making things up to laugh at me.” He stepped back to the hallway, reaching out for her hand as he went.

“Weel, tis easy enough to see that this is a dining room. Table seats twelve. Ye think we will meet the other boarders tonight then? I am a wee bit nervous about that if I’m honest.” He said, feeling like he was rambling on at her.

He felt stupid and sluggish. He knew he wasn’t, and that he was in fact quite clever. His tutors always said he was too bright for his own good and Jenny said it was too much of the Old Fox in his blood. That hurt, thinking of his family, better to push that all down inside for now.

“Are ye two coming or no? The kitchen’s this way.” Dougal said from a doorway across the room. He was frowning in their general direction.

“Aye, just takin our time about it.” Jamie said pulling Claire closer to his side and whispering down into her ear “He thinks he’s still the boss o’ me, ye ken?”

Claire laughed, smiled up at him and rolled her eyes, moving in front of him and turning to face his chest. “Was he ever?” she mouthed up at him with her back to Dougal.

“To hear him tell it, he’s been a Father, Brother, Uncle and Chieftain to me. Ye’ll note he never called himself my friend. The good news is he has no reason to want me dead now that I can see. The bad news is he’s still the same man who wanted it in the first place.” He spoke quietly to her while tucking one of her curls behind her ear.

She placed her hand on his waist, giving it a quick squeeze. “You will know how to handle him here. Just as you knew before. Besides, Murtagh would likely kill him before he got a chance to harm you again. Let’s see if Mrs. Bartlett will extend the coffee invitation to all of us. Then we can head out to the Barber Shop. I do hate that you will have to have your lovely hair chopped off, but am looking forward to seeing you all polished up.” She took up his hand again and crossed to the doorway Dougal had left.

“Aren’t Barbers about medicine? Leeches? Why would he want my hair in a shop?” Jamie shook his head and followed.

I don’t think I could ever love softly.

I want to love all corners and edges,
knives and daggers, broken nails bitten
down till they bleed.

I want to love like Troy blazing, like
Rome collapsing, like kings cast
down from their thrones; the only
way I know to spell love is like this:
W A R N I N G.

I love with trembling arms, scratchy
eyes, chipped teeth - fire, fire, fire.

I ache to chaff myself into fire and
blaze so brightly you can see again -
I do not want to love any other way.

I’m sorry if that’s too much to handle;
fire does, after all, need another fire
to run itself out.

—  Darshana S.“IT’S NOT YOU, IT’S ME”
Satisfy Me

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |  Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

Saeran POV. MM Fantasy AU. Fic Rating: Explicit

Tags thus far: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Rough Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Explicit Language, Derogatory Language, Masturbation

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