The Visigoths Win the Battle
TESTICLES
A brief monologue by a triumphant barbarian, describing what they do to the defeated Roman soldiers to ensure they won\'t have to fight them again.
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The battle was over, but it would be hours before we could rest. With the
surrender of the Romans, we had the laborious and grisly task of removing
their manhood. Almost a hundred grown men, proud men, were lined up before us.
These courageous warriors had been stripped naked, and forced to kneel on all
fours with their legs spread. We raped them, taking their manhood from them by
penetrating them as women - and taking their balls from them.

One by one, we worked our way down the line. Grab their balls firmly, force
entry, and fuck their asses as they blush in humiliation and pain. As we push
in and out of their bodies, we massage their testicles until they loosen and
can be pulled downwards low enough to be easily cut from them with a sharp
knife. The weight of a man's severed balls feels powerful in the palm of the
hand. I can almost feel the verility oozing out of them and flowing up my arm
as I destroy their warrior spirit. There are so many men to sodomize, we work
in shifts. Some men can perform repeatedly, but I take time to reload my vital
essences. Soon the field is littered with severed testicles as we permanantly
end each soldier's family line. I am entering the final soldier, and his balls
are large in my hand as I fondle them gently. They hang low and heavy, draped
by a large proud penis that is truly magnificent. The proud warrior lowers his
head as I thrust in and out of him. I pull his large seed sacks away from his
body, and with a trembling hand, I bring my knife through the small web of
flesh that holds his dearest organs to him and my semen shoots into his
bowels. We scream together, and for a moment a bond is made as he spills his
blood upon me and I spurt my essense into him. His nuts are heavy in my hand,
and I crush the mighty organs with all my might, emptying them as my own
finish emptying.

Finally, our work is done, and we wash our bloody hands as the Romans try to
quench the bleeding between their legs. Most of them will live to return to
their land, docile as sheep for the rest of their lives.

Our tribe instills fear in the hearts of the soldiers. But we know the
consequences should we one day be defeated. A price rests on each of hour
heads, and if taken alive, we would be subjected to a cruel public mutiliation
in the great colliseum. I can only imagine what the emporor would dream up as
a fitting punishment for our gelding of so many of their soldiers.

  

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