CHARNIVAL - THE DUNK TANK

The Charnival was in town, and Churro was happy to finally get a chance to see it. The tiger had been missing it the last couple years, and this year's occurrence just happened to coincide with the tiger's days off, so he had no reason not to go. His black glossy stripes gleamed in the bright sunshine as he snacked on a deep fried hot dog, snacking on the greasy meat as he swaggered through the crowded venue. People stepped out of his way, as well they should - nobody wanted to get trampled by a powerful, unabashedly masculine tiger like Churro. Well, most people wouldn't. 

The tiger licked his lips clean of the remnants of the chewy hotdog, brain and crotch tingling with the stimulating sounds and scents of the carnival. There was a pleasant aftertaste on his tongue from the tasty snack, a peculiar flavor that reminded him of Kane, his gym buddy that was supposed to have met him here. The zebra was a no-call no-show, and had probably ditched the meet up for some hookup on Grindr. The tiger couldn't blame him. As fun as the Charnival was, and all its tawdry entertainments, it wasn't the kind of place you could really bust a nut at.

"Well hello there!" A voice called out, as a scraggly lion in a purple overcoat and a rumpled tophat waved to get his attention. The lion's voice grated like sandpaper over wood, sharp and distinct, and Churro allowed the carnival barker to hold his attention for a few seconds. The lion held up a crisp $50 bill in one fist, waggling it enticingly. "Mind getting compensated for showing off a bit?"

Churro was always happy to show off. He grinned, folding his arms over his chest. "Fifty bucks? What exactly am I showing off?" He asked, his tail swishing through the air behind him. 

"Everything, of course!" The lion said, then gestured to the right, where a large plastic tank filled with water remained with an empty seat and nobody sitting on it. "It is the Charnival, after all! I couldn't help but notice your..." the lion licked his lips with a sleazy sneer, gesturing now to the bulge between the tiger's thighs, "endowments, and I suspect that you're wielding the most eye-catching hunk of meat here today!"

"Well, flattery will get you everywhere," Churro said, as the tiger sauntered up to the large dunking booth. There was something off about it, something about the setup that seemed strange, but then again, most of the attractions here had a certain 'jury rigged', home-made feel to them. He grasped the metal rungs on the side of the dunk tank, preparing to lift himself up to perch on it. "This is just water in here, right?"

"Of course it is, you think I could afford that much vodka?" the lion asked, swirling his cane between his fingers. He grasped the end of it, and thrust it forward, thumping the two rounded, flesh-like silicone eggs at the end of it against the tiger's mounded groin. "You've gotta strip, first. You want fifty bucks, you gotta show it all."

The tiger licked up over his dark lips with his wide pink tongue, then shrugged and pulled his tight shirt up and over his head. His pecs rolled in a languous stretch, and he heard some of the footsteps on the paved walking trails behind him come to a stop. Who could blame them?
Who could blame them for watching? The tiger's fingers tucked into his shorts, pushing them down corded thighs, his tail slipping through the tail slot and arching over his back. He glanced over his shoulder, catching the onlooker staring at his white furred buttocks as he bent down to undo his shoes. His jockstrap dangled down, bulging with the bulk of the feline's heavy, sagging eggs. Dense and full, they stretched the old cotton to the point that the musky fur of his scrotum prickled through the fabric of the worn jock, creating a fuzzy faux hawk. 

Only for a moment, though, as the tiger stripped that jock down as well. He turned towards the crowd as he lifted his foot out of it, pretending to be shy and bashful as he 'realized' that he was being gawped at. Standing up, he cupped his palms over the thick, dangling length of his soft pink shaft, both hands straining to gather up his prodigious endowments in such a way as to hide them from the admiring group of carnival-goers. 

"Day-yumn, I knew you'd be a packer! Not disappointed!" The lion announced loudly. "That's a beautiful dick you got there, why are you trying to hide it away? You got no need to be shy!" The lion said, as he tapped the tiger on the buttocks with his cane, and pointed towards the ladder. The feline's tail swished slow and predatorial along the ground as he scoped out the shmucks he was gonna fleece out of their cash. "You're here to show off, after all. The more you show off, the more money I'm gonna make." 

Churro chuckled, and then gripped the rungs once more and hauled his handsomely striped body up into the dunk tank. "So what's your name, anyways? I'm Churro," he said, with an air of casual bravado. The air was cool above the still water, and, surprisingly, the seat was mounted on a solid beam of blue-painted wood that crossed over the top of the tank, about three feet above the still water below. He sat down, carefully settling himself over the beam so that his legs hung down, his toes almost skimming the water below. His nuts hung over the front of the wooden beam, hiding some kind of pattern on the beam. There was some kind of dark brown rust rubbing against the backside of his swollen pouch, and as he rubbed at it, it flaked away, drifting down into the water. 

"Mange," the lion said as he climbed up onto the beam behind him. "Just have to secure you in place, to make sure you aren't flailing around when people are chucking balls!" He said, brightly, fingers cold as they encircled the tiger's wrists and pulled them behind his back. "There's a metal loop here, I'm just gonna bind them to it."

"Are you sure that's safe? What if I get dunked? I don't want to dislocate my shoulder," the tiger said, grunting as the rope snagged tightly around his wrists. His biceps tightened, and he was momentarily distracted by a pretty vixen staring longly up at him from over by the queue. He gave her a wink.

"Don't even worry about that, nobody ever triggers the dunk. You'll be fine." Mange gave a conspiratorial wink, as he took the long, loose rope's tassels, and flopped them over the tiger's thighs, from the back. He reached under the beam, grabbing the two loose ends of the velvet fabric and pulled it up and back, latching it to the metal ring as well. The tiger's knees were dragged apart from each other, until they were snug against the beam, his generous endowment allowed to dangle meatily and exposed over the wood. 

Mange reached over, between Churro's thighs, and slid two fingertips under the dangling neck of his scrotum. He lifted the scrotum up and over the side of Churro's dangling shaft, tugging both enough to the side that a metal screw hole was revealed underneath. Then, he pushed a wooden block down, about an inch thick and with a half-moon carved out of the bottom. It pinched down over the root of Churro's cock, pressing it down against his scrotum.

"Bit tight," Churro grunted, as Mange twisted two recessed wooden dials embedded in the block. "Could you loosen it a bit?"

"Nah," the lion said. He reached down and grasped Churro's scrotum, tugging firmly down and dragging them tautly away from the tiger's body. "Need it to be as snug as possible, to keep everything positioned right. Don't worry, it's all part of the fun!"

Churro's dick began to thicken as blood pushed into it but couldn't push back out. The pink flesh darkened and lengthened, slowly rising up from between his legs. Churro's shoulders shifted, his pecs tightening as he instinctively attempted to reach to grip his dick. He wasn't used to getting hard and not at least giving it a stroke, and it was strange to see his pink spire jutting up, proud and alone, without any physical stimulation. 

Mange had hopped down the ladder, and now peered at the tiger's groin, which was eye level with him. The prized assets of the hunky feline were trapped and presented like a helpless, vulnerable offering.

"And now, it's time to make you the star attraction," Mange’s words slithered through the air as he retrieved a thick, chunky red dry erase marker from the ground by the till. He uncorked it, and then leaned over the dunk tank, and jammed the tip of the marker in between the creamy swells of the tiger's twin testicles. Churro twitched in surprise, watching in confusion as the lion squeaked the thick felt marker in deliberate swirls from one ball over to the other. He shivered at the rough strokes, his nuts being pinned back against the wood as the lion adorned the front of his scrote with two wide, rough circles.

"There we go. It's important to give people a target, if they're gonna be chucking baseballs at you." The tiger grunted, his eyes gradually widening with realization as the lion's words settled into his brain.

"W-wait, what do you mean, 'a target'?" Churro asked, as Mange picked up a hard, solid baseball. He lobbed it up his hand, grinning, then turned away, back to the crowd.

"Step right up!" The lion crowed, as he swirled the baseball on the tip of his finger. "Three balls for two bucks!" It was a cheap cost of admission, especially for such a decadent thrill, and the crowd immediately surged up to the booth, eager to participate.

"Me, me! ME!" Exclaimed a short blue kobold, bouncing excitedly and waving an arm over his head.

"Sev! Uh, what are you doing here," Churro said, his testicles attempting to tighten up in his sack. The kobold had been adamant about inviting Churro over for a dinner date earlier in the week, but the tiger had.. forgotten to cancel, and just not shown up. 

"Oh, I think you know! Three balls, PLEASE, mister lion sir!" He slapped two dollars on the counter, and Mange handed him a small pail mounded with baseballs.

"That's more than three!" Churro squeaked, as Sev picked up one of the balls and grinned wickedly. The small draconian male reeled an arm back, and launched it forward, swinging the ball forward with all of his might. The baseball cleaved through the air, before burying itself into the warm, soft, fragrant bullseye in the center of Churro's pouch.
THWACK.
The tiger's balls bulged obscenely out to either side as the baseball briefly settled in between them, and Churro braced for the dunk into the water. There was a splash, the baseball itself dropping down to bob in the still water surface, but Churro remained strapped down to the bench. His eyes watered with the pain that bloomed up from his groin, his stomach clenching down on the remnants of greasy hotdog. He looked at Mange, trying to lock eyes with the lion.

"Mange! Something's wrong!" Churro gasped out, his voice strained. The kobold lined up his second shot, as the tiger squirmed on the bench. His dick waggled, fat balls shimmying tantalizingly back and forth. "I'm still up here, Mange! The machine—it's busted!"

"Is it?" Mange asked, looking out and winking to the crowd as the second ball sailed through the air. 

WHAM!

Churro's masculine pride was rocked as the second nut slammed into his right nut, flattening it against the painted wood that it dangled in front of. Churro tried to curl over, to protect his beautiful nuts, but with his arms and legs pretzel-knotted together with the velvet rope, he was helpless.  Sev's grin was as sharp as shattered glass, all pointed teeth and manic eyes, as he threw the third shot shortly thereafter.

CRUNCH!

Churro’s groans rose like the mournful wail of a wounded beast, echoing off the striped tents of the Charnival, as tendrils of agony coiled up through his abdomen, choking his stomach and rocking his brain with pain. His broad chest heaved, muscles tensed against the cruel restraints, but helpless to deflect, to even shift out of the way, as a fourth and fifth ball slammed into his hefty kitty-makers.

"Maybe next time you'll send me a TEXT, ya JERK!" Sev called out, satisfied. Churro could only groan, his balls feeling heavy and bruised, the sack swollen around the tender orbs trapped inside.

Mange stood to the side, a silent sentinel to the tiger's suffering, his attention drawn away by the sound of coins clinking and the murmur of an eager audience gathering. The scraggly lion remained deaf to Churro's pained calls, his focus on the swelling crowd whose curiosity was piqued by the spectacle of raw masculinity under assault.

Money changed hands, and the next challenger emerged. It was a white furred lion, with an orange mane blazing like a sunset crown around his regal muzzle. He exchanged a knowing glance with Mange, as he was handed a bucket, and the cycle began anew. The lion lined up his shot with deliberate care, one paw outstretched with the baseball clutched between long fingers. Churro's eyes met his, the tiger beseeching the fellow feline to put the balls down, to spare him the misery of the abuse. The lion seemed to enjoy this, his eyes narrowing in a contemptuous smirk. There was no empathy there, merely the excitement for the thrill of conquest.

WHUMPH!
The first billiard ball struck with the precision of an executioner's guillotine, its weight a harbinger of agony as it collided against Churro's swollen left nut. The impact resounded like a mallet against ripe fruit, the force compressing his hefty orb against the unyielding wooden bench, flattening it in a grotesque bulge. The crowd gasped, excited to see what would happen, and a visceral groan of pain erupted from the tiger's throat. It was raw, animalistic, and the sound mingled with the surreal cacophony of the surrounding Charnival attractions.
He was sure he felt something pop. Something crackled or ruptured, he was sure of it. He struggled his legs, trying to break free of his bondage, his toes splashing and skimming against the water underneath him. "Mange, they're gonna BUST my nuts, let me down, I think I'm hurt!"
"Not yet, Not until I've doubled the cost of my expenses! One hundred dollars... two hundred tosses... you can handle that, right? A big strong man like you?"
WHUMPH!
His right nut took the hit this time, slammed into just above the testicle so that the baseball slammed hard into the cord that leaned down to it. Churro flailed, twisting his head and back as the baseball crushed his cord with the force of a donkey's kick. "FUCK!"

Before he could fully process the overwhelming pain, the last sphere followed—a brutal continuation of the assault, a relentless testament to the lion's aim. It crunched into the right nut, properly, the sagging egg flattened so widely that Churro felt the broad girth of it against his inner thigh, just for a moment as it was pancaked flat before reforming.
"Why are you doing this?!" Churro wailed, but the lion only paused for a second or two, turning to peer at Churro over one shoulder. 
"What did you think this was? A DUNK tank?" He laughed, and the crowd laughed with him. Mocking the tiger seemed to inspire the lion, as he turned back to the onlookers. "Guess what, folks! Anyone who pops a 'ball'oon gets a prize!"
"God, no... please... don't do it," He tried to warn the carnival goers, trying to convince them not to ruin him. Every begging whimper only drew more attention to him, as more and more people realized what the booth was for and started digging in pockets and wallets and purses for spare money.
"I want two buckets!" The next contestant, an albino wyvern said. The furry dragon was taller, sleeker than the other contestants, with long and sinuous limbs. He placed a twenty on the table, and gave Mange an appraising look. "Or how about, you let me toss until my arm gets tired?"
"There's quite a queue," the lion countered, gesturing with his wand to the rest of the guests. "I can't give you all the balls you can throat, but I can give you .... ten. Ten balls to pop two balls. You think you can do that?"
"That should be plenty," the wyvern said, as he cracked his long and serpentine neck. He eyed the tiger's swollen, puffy pouch, swelling up from the trauma of the repeated slammings. "I always enjoy the chance to geld a mammal."
Churro's veins raced with a surge of primal terror, shaking his head, his tail trying to curl up to protect himself. His balls sang with pain, his cursed dick still rock hard and oozing precum despite the agony that he was suffering. The damned stocks were forcing it to remain erect! 
"Please!" Churro called out, as the wyvern's clawed hand curled around the first billiard ball. Churro's balls throbbed with his heartbeat, their size and heft now contributing to their imminent destruction. Churro knew he was going to lose his balls, now, he knew the damned wyvern was going to pop them both, and his heart sank as the white-furred drake prepared to strike. "Please..."

The first ball was launched with a grace and savagery that allowed no chance for mercy. Churro realized at that moment that it was not the white, misshapen orb of a stitched leather baseball that the wyvern had thrown, it was the smooth, dense, solid black of a billiard ball. The eight-ball sailed through the carnival air, a harbinger of agony, a missile of destruction that collided with a sickening wet SQUELCH-ing sound into the tiger's left testicle. The huge orb, swollen now with excess seed, the symbol of the tiger's masculinity, burst like over-ripened fruit inside the feline's scrotum.
Churro gaped, as he felt it happen, feeling his testicle implode inwards and then outwards as the force of the unholy missile crushed his nut nearly inside out. He retched, turning his head just to the side so that his puke spilled into the water below, wallowing in the agony and the sensation of permanent, irreparable loss. He didn't care, all he could hear in his head was the sound, the feeling and the sound of his testicle SPLASHING, hunked chunks of nut splattering abruptly into his scrotum and ballooning it outwards. The crowd erupted in cheers, a cacophony of bloodlust and excitement, as Churro let loose a wail that clawed its way from the depths of his soul.
Churro's teary gaze met the cold, unfeeling eyes of the wyvern, and in them, he saw only a reptilian satisfaction, the wyvern's enjoyment of this little game measured by the heft and value of the baubles that he was destroying. Churro realized, then, with a whimper, that the dragon had a second ball clutched in his paw as he prepared for a second shot.
Churro's voice, once the commanding roar of a jock in his prime, was now merely a quivering whisper. "Please," he implored, eyes and cheeks soggy with spilled tears, lips pulled back in a rictus of pain and terror. "Please leave me one. Just one, please!" The words tumbled from him, his pride abandoned as he attempted to barter with the wyvern.
The wyvern put on a show of contemplating the idea, though it was clear that he was enjoying drinking in Churro's please, savoring them as if they were a vintage wine. He hummed, tapping his chin musingly, before drawing back its arm with mechanical precision. It was holding another billiard ball, this one white with a thick maroon stripe across the middle of it. 
"Such sweet music, your begging," the wyvern crooned, the smirk on its maw sharp enough to draw blood. With a snap of its wrist, the billiard ball was unleashed, and Churro tried to brace for an impact that he could not protect himself from.
The billiard landed with a cataclysmic SPLATCH, as the solid ceramic ball plowed clean through the outer shell of the tiger's right testicle, embedding itself fully into the center of the tiger's nut. The mass of inner testicular tubules, ripened and greasy and slick with the juices of its own trauma, was compressed downwards and inwards, before pouring out in a thick, impulsive BURST of splattering seed out through the hole that the billiard had wrought through their protective flesh. The tiger's ball could not handle the assault, and a millisecond later, it failed completely. The billiard, the testicles, and the torn scrotum all tumbled away, torn and splattered free of the tiger's groin, falling into the water below with hot slick wet plaps of water and gooey ooze.
The scrotum, now torn open, poured out the remnants of the shattered left ball after it. A grisly decanting of a white and red gooey slurry of tiger testicle plopped down into the water, the carious junks and viscera of the feline's ruined testicles bobbing and swirling in the water, every bit of his lost balls now plainly on display for the jeering audience to admire. The crowd gasped and then erupted into a frenzy of cheers, their appetites for carnage whetted by the display.
Churro himself could only sob, lamenting the heft and worth that had defined his status as a virile male, now cruelly snatched away.
Then he realized that the wyvern had picked up another ball.
The wyvern had been waiting for Churro to notice. It drank in the pang of panicked fear that pulled at Churro's muzzle, as he squirmed, his thick pink cock wobbling back and forth in the open air. The wyvern nodded, licking his lips as he lined up the shot. "One more... for good measure," it said, enjoying its own malevolence. 
With a flicker of movement, the wyvern released its throw, the billiard ball slicing through the tension-laden atmosphere like a comet destined for destruction. It struck true, a punctuation mark to the sentence of Churro's downfall, and with it, the last vestiges of the tiger's fabled endowment were obliterated.
It had slammed into the very tip of his maleness, right where the straining, fully erect cock had ended. There was a moment, a single moment, where the cue ball was kissing against the very slick soft wet tip of Churro's dick. It was only a single moment, though, and the next moment, it was crushing Churro's cock inwards. The pink flesh accordioned inwards, bulging in rippling straining flesh as the sensitive tool of pleasure was forcibly collapsed inwards. The momentum was far greater than the tiger's flesh's ability to withstand it, and the tiger's cock ruptured, the inner core exploding outwards through the thick skin of his dick itself, three spongey triangular strips of tissue ripping away from each other to allow the ceaseless cue ball to continue its journey. 
Flesh split, and the ball kissed again, this time against the tiger's groin, bumping into the feline's hip bones with a hot crack. It popped back out of his groin. bringing the root of his dick with it. The tissue had somehow managed to stretch, just enough to hold onto the ball, so that as it ricocheted off of Churro's hip bone, it tore the flesh with it. Churro couldn't think, couldn't speak, couldn't even understand what had happened, he merely saw his cock explode, bursting into three long, ragged, ruined pieces, before popping off of his groin and splashing down into the water below.
He was no longer a male. He was no longer... anything. He had lost everything he had, and was completely nullified. For fifty dollars.
Churro passed out.