The Pleasures of Imagination

[bobov (imported)]

Ah, it's good to be back after one of the most rewarding testicle harvests in years! The men and women of the village gather in their colorful peasant costumes, singing cheery ghoulish songs of castration and carrying great empty wicker baskets. But their baskets won't stay empty. The baskets will soon be overflowing with ruddy bulging ball sacks stained with trickles of bright red blood. Some will be hairy and wrinkled; others will be loose, lush and full; out of some of the sacks a pink testicle may wink coyly. What a treat! The connoisseur can bend over a harvest basket, eyes closed, and inhale deeply, sighing with pleasure at the ripe aroma. It's hard not to plunge your arms up to the elbows in a heavy-laden basket of ball sacks, feeling the balls as they roll and slither, leaking their precious juice onto your probing fingers. All those young men, yielding up their treasures to you. What wealth to caress and taste and smell and fondle! Lean your head back and pluck a plump sack from the basket; hold it up above your mouth like a cluster of sweet grapes and lower it to your licking tongue. The peasants spill their full baskets of balls in a great vat. There, they must be trodden down like grapes to extract the male essence, that exhilarating tang of man found pure only in the balls of virile young men. I leap to the task, shouting with glee, my trousers rolled to the knees, my bare feet already sinking into the lush and fleshy scrotal mounds. Oh, the joy of it! Free of all embarrassment, to be leaping and playing on the fields of balls. Wee! I fling myself in the air to land rump first on the scrotums of an entire first-string football team. I wriggle with delight, tossing balls into the air and letting them bounce on me. Soon, the essence of balls will collect beneath the vats and be ready to be aged in oak barrels for 12 years. The result, Scottish Ball Nectar, is a heady mix. Young peasants, drunk on Ball Nectar go staggering through the village. It's said that neither man nor woman can drink Ball Nectar without multiple orgasms, each more intense than the one before. You can imagine the scenes of revelry at village parties! The young bucks and does of the countryside letting loose their orgasmic cries in the twilight as they loosen their clothes and swill Ball Nectar. It's a testicle jamboree.

Of course, there's less work for the peasants in the testicle harvest than there used to be. Once, teams of peasants bussed to the cities, where, each armed with a small scythe, they had to hunt male office workers, truss them, and swoosh away their young balls before the police could come. Peasants were recognized by their burlap sacks of bulging scrotums and the bloody scythes under their belts. Nowadays, the harvest is simpler. Peasants enter an office tower and spray Pussy Water in the ventilation system. All the young machos, struggling to conceal their erections, try to flee the building, seeking a safe place to whack off. Instead, they're flung into waiting trucks and brought to the Harvest Fields. There, they're stripped and made to straddle a rough bench. In the bench are many scrotal locks in a row - metal holes each big enough to receive one plump scrotum and snap shut, trapping the soft hanging testes. The scrotal locks are so close that the naked men must sit hugging one another. One man throws his arms around the man in front of him, while his own chest is encircled by the arms of the man behind him. The scrotal locks are so close, there's no other way to sit.

The chief peasant tells the men that their balls are about to be taken. Some believe it, many don't. They're invited to get their rocks off one last time before they become eunuchs. Seated as they are, they can rub their cocks against the back or buttocks of the man in front of them. Some of the men are too frightened, but many start to grind and hump, saying "what the hell, a pump is a pump!" They begin to sweat and moan and tremble with passion. The morally strict become indignant, loudly condemning the humping men, but that only eggs them on to wild laughter and orgasmic groans. Soon, the lustful fuckers spend their passion on the twitching backsides of their angry peers. Those in receipt of these last loads consider themselves irremediably soiled. The humiliation is worse than castration.

At last, it's harvest time. Great engines wheel up to which are attached steel pinwheels - gleaming razor-sharp blades, each five feet long, and spinning horizontally. It's a circle of death, a wheel of rotating blades, parallel to the ground, just below the height of the bench beneath which hang the tender testicles. The men are urged to raise their legs for safety onto low rails as the spinning blades near. Then it’s too late. The swirling blades, slick with the blood and sperm of young men, slice away the helpless hanging balls. From each man, there’s a moment of screaming agony as he tenses against his companions, then only quiet sobbing as he rests his head over the shoulder of the man in front of him. The kindly peasants take the now passive men back to their offices. There’s a bumper crop of balls this year.

[caviman001 (imported)]

Can I Be The First To Offer My Balls And Sac To Be The First To Be Harvested And Do So Willingly And Happily

[bobov (imported)]

Much obliged for your generosity! The contents of your sac will help make our Extra Virgin Ball Juice, a deluxe first pressing for connoisseurs. It will be sold in glass bottles shaped like two globes with a crystal shaft, tied with a cute pink ribbon near the head. Your self-sacrifice is an inspiration.

[Dave (imported)]

like Ice Wine

a rare and unusual vintage!!

definately two thumbs up!!!!

[caviman001 (imported)]

anytime just let me know where and when

[A-1 (imported)]

Sounds like fun,

I hope you all have a ball because you will not be having one when it is over.



A-1

[bobov (imported)]

Each donor will receive a brightly colored souvenir beach ball with a smiley face and the words "Now You've Just Got One!" Soccer practice is at 5:00.

[caviman001 (imported)]

The Thought Of Not Having One Or Even Better Not Having Both Balls Sounds Like The Best Type Of Fun That You Could Hope For In 2005