Temp Work
The fluorescent lights above the QuikMart counter buzzed and flickered across rows of energy drinks and stale pastries. Garras shifted his weight, leaning against a display of lottery tickets as he skimmed over the multitude of cigarette varieties that the gas station offered. His massive black-furred frame barely fit in the cramped space behind the counter that was just slightly below waist height, one clawed finger absently scratching at the worn leather of his eyepatch as the same goddamn country song cycled through the speakers for what had to be the tenth time that hour. The joint he'd smoked an hour ago still had him floating just enough to make the tedium bearable, his remaining eye half-lidded as he looked over the mosaic of green and red boxes.
The night shift at this shithole truck stop was supposed to be easy money. 'All you do is sit behind the counter, sell cigarettes and Red Bull to truckers, maybe deal with the occasional drunk asshole.' Alan had said, when Garras had agreed to cover his shift for him. 'Don't answer the phone and don't make any trouble, I don't want my boss to have any reason to check the security cameras.' It wasn't the worst way Garras had made a hundred bucks... but it was certainly the most boring. He felt over his pockets, wondering if he should burn off that last bit of roach, or if he should just wait it out. He wanted to just cruise through the rest of his shift in a pleasant haze, but something was off. For the last ten minutes or so, he could feel a restless energy crawling under his thick black fur, squirming like like ants. He knew the feeling from his gigs as a bouncer. Someone was coming, and they were looking for a fight.
He heard the roar of the engines a minute or so later. Buzzing hornets drifting off of the darkened highway and circling around the sole splash of light in the desolate, darkened urbanside. This was a commercial service area, and there was no reason for anyone to be in the area this time of night. One by one, the motorcycles kicked off their engines, just outside of the grimy store windows. Figures moved, and Garras could hear short shouts, and some hoarse laughter. He turned around, facing the door, his posture relaxed even as his fingers tightened loosely into fists. 
The doorbell binged cheerfully as a whole fucking herd of bulls, at least a dozen massive bovine forms, stormed into the small convenience store. They jutted out over the shelves as they perused, picking things up, tossing things back and forth. Their leather jackets creaked as they oved, their chains jangling, boots leaving muddy prints on the already-stained linoleum. The stench of whiskey and motorcycle exhaust permeated with their underlying musk of testosterone and sweat. It made Garras' nostrils flare.
Each bull was a monument to masculine excess, broad shoulders and barrel chests and fattened paunches straining against black leather and stained denim. But what really caught Garras' attention was the obscene bulge that each of them carried between their legs. 
Their jeans were stretched tight over packages that defied belief, a sheer mass of concentrated genitals straining casually against taut fabric. Some of them adjusting themselves with casual pride as they swaggered through the aisles, rubbing the underside of tight bulges that had been vibed numb on the road. 
These weren't just 'big males'; they declarations of sexual dominance, aggressively masculine and eager to prove it. Garras held back a smirk. This was going to be fun.
"Well, well, well," one of them called out, a chubbier bull with green plaid and a stained red baseball cap. "Look what we got here, boys. A little teddy bear playing shopkeeper." The laughter that followed was harsh and mocking, punctuated by the crash of a display rack being knocked over as one of the bulls shouldered past it without bothering to look. Bottles of Gatorade scattered across the floor, rolling under shelves and adding to the chaos as the gang spread out like a plague of leather-clad locusts.
Garras watched them through his good eye, saying nothing as they grabbed chips and jerky, cracking open beers they hadn't paid for and leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. His claws flexed against the counter, leaving shallow grooves in the worn surface as one bull swept an entire row of candy bars to the floor with a laugh. Another was pissing in the corner by the Slurpees, his massive cock hanging out of his jeans as he marked territory like the animal he was, steam rising from the puddle as his friends cheered him on.
"You gonna say something, cyclops?" The bull who'd spoken first was leaning against the corner, leering at the bear as he took a chomp out of a Slim Jim. He was massive even by bull standards, his shoulders so broad they seemed to block out the flickering fluorescent lights above. A thick ring pierced his nose, catching the light as he sneered down at Garras. "Gonna call your boss? Maybe the police? Hey, when you cry, do the tears fill up the empty socket before it drools down your face?"
Other bulls had gathered around now, forming a semicircle of leather and muscle that reeked of alcohol and aggression. Their bulges were even more prominent up close, the outline of heavy balls and thick shafts clearly visible through their tight jeans. Some were already half-hard, the excitement of dominating a single lone predator stirring their blood and swelling their members. They knew they had him outnumbered, outmuscled, and cornered in his own workplace.
"Pack of Marlboros," a tattooed bull in a black leather vest and a lot of gold chains said, shouldering past the lead bull demanded and slapping a meaty palm against the counter with a sound like a gunshot. "Red box. And make it snappy, teddy bear. We got places to be and cunts to fuck." The bulls laughed again, the sound ugly and sharp in the confined space. One of them was already grabbing magazines from the rack, tearing pages out and letting them flutter to the floor like confetti.

Garras moved with deliberate slowness, his massive frame unfolding as he reached for the cigarettes above the counter. The bulls watched him with predatory interest, their eyes tracking his movements with puerile excitement. He could feel their anticipation, the way they leaned forward slightly, ready to pounce at the first sign of submission or fear. The pack of Marlboros felt insignificant between his fingers as he set it on the counter between them.
"Twelve fifty," Garras said, his voice a low rumble that barely carried over the continued destruction happening behind the lead bull. His tone was calm, flat, and emotionless, giving nothing away as he waited for payment that everyone knew wasn't coming.
The gold chain bull's grin was all teeth and malice as he shook his head slowly. "Nah, teddy bear. I got something better than money." His hands moved to his belt, thick fingers working at the buckle with practiced ease. The leather slid free with a whisper, followed by the metallic rasp of a zipper being pulled down. "Consider this your lucky night."
Garras already was. He watched, his thin dark lips peeling back from craggy teeth as the bull tugged out two handfuls of nut-sack. The skin was mottled pink and black, stretched taut over the impressive bulk of two fat man balls, and they sagged together with that delicious oval semi-squishiness that all the meat between a hoofer's legs had. The musky scent of male arousal, old piss and sweat-salt mixed with the sour alchohol on his breath as he hefted his balls with both leathered hands
"You know, I figure, getting to look at a real man's nuts... well that's payment enough," the bull sneered, his breath washing over Garras' snout as as he leaned forward and deposited his impressive package directly onto the counter with a heavy, meaty thunk. The sound echoed through the small store, punctuated by the whoops and hollers of his friends as they witnessed their leader's ultimate display of dominance. The heavy orbs spread slightly under their own weight, completely dwarging the pack of cigarettes next to them as they settled against the scarred formica surface.
Garras stared down at the bull's genitals, his single eye taking in every detail of the impressive display. They were undeniably magnificent, in their own way. The bull had the kind of equipment that would make lesser males feel inadequate, and he knew it, and he used it to his advantage. Garras loved that for him. The bear let the silence stretch out like taffy between them, broken only by the continued sounds of destruction from the rest of the gang and the electronic hum of the failing fluorescent lights overhead. Some of the other bulls pressed closer, their own bulges just as packed, just as straining as they witnessed the chubby bull's complete domination of this pathetic ursine store clerk. The bull sneered, putting his hands on his hips, as bull's massive testicles laid on the counter like a challenge made flesh.
"That's right, teddy bear," the bull rumbled, his voice thick with satisfaction as he watched Garras' unwavering stare. "Take a good, long look at what real balls look like. Store it in your spank bank for later. I bet you never seen a pair this impressive before, have you?" 
His friends laughed and jeered, slapping Chubbs on his backs as they savored their moment. One of them was already pulling out his cracked and battered phone, quick to record the bear's total subjugation from this alpha male bull.
The bull's confidence grew with each passing second of silence. The look in the bear's eye wasn't fear or disgust, which was what he was used to seeing when he did this little gimmick. The only alternative to that, that the bull's whiskey-soaked brain figured, was barely contained lust. "Go ahead," he taunted, leaning further, his hips nudging his balls further into the center of the counter until his thighs pressed against the counter's edge. "You know you want to touch them. I can see it in your one eye, you fucking queer."
Garras moved with deliberate slowness, lifting one massive paw and extending it across the counter toward the bull's exposed genitals. The bovine's grin widened as thick-clawed black fingers approached his pride, his breathing growing heavier with anticipation. This was it, of course - the moment of complete submission he'd been waiting for. The bear was gonna idolize his balls, and probably give him a carton of Reds for the privilege. The other bulls could sense it, pressing closer with building excitement as they watched their buddy force yet another pathetic loser to acknowledge his dominance.
"Ah knew you couldn't resist," the bull sneered, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as Garras' fingertips made contact with his testicles. The touch was gentle at first, almost reverent, as the bear's fingers traced over the top of the bull's hefty sack. Fingers slid over the twin eggs, moving towards the neck of the bull's scrote. The bull's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savoring the sensation of being worshipped by an inferior male. "That's it, teddy bear. Show me the respect these balls deserve."
It was a shame his eyes were closed. He should have noticed that Garras wasn't caressing as much as repositioning, as the bear's fingers curled to hook over the top of those nuts and tug them a few inches closer, dragging them out over into the center of the counter. The sound of a zipper cut through the silence, as Garras had used his free paw to undo his own fly with practiced efficiency. The leather slid free, followed by the metallic rasp of his fly being lowered. The bull's confusion deepened as he watched the bear reach into his own pants, his mouth opening to voice another crude taunt.
 He tugged lightly, and then firmly, claws gouging new grooves into the formica. The bull's eyes snapped open, confusion and irritation flickering across his features as he tried to process what was happening. "What the fuck are you doing?"
It turned out that Garras had some balls, too. The bulls stared at the black bear's grizzled sack, the skin worn and calloused like a guitarist's thumb. There was no denying that in size alone the bull's balls were bigger - how could they not be? But there was something about Garras's sack that made the bull's bloated nuts look... fragile. Soft. Squishy. The bear held the neck of his scrotum, and his two fat nuts hung heavy and dark from his fingers. 
They sagged menacingly, just two rounded balls of meat and fat sure but there was something about them that spooked the gathered bulls. They knew, intuitively that these weren't just balls... they were weapons, dense as stone and twice as deadly.
The bull's laughter died in his throat as he stared at the bear's genitals, some primitive part of his brain recognizing the threat even as his conscious mind struggled to process what he was seeing. "What the fuck are those for?" he demanded, his voice cracking slightly as Garras lifted his testicles higher, stretching them out, the neck of his scrote a taut ribbon. Garras held his balls directly above the bull's own, with the same poise and deliberation as an executioner raising his ax.
"You were talking about getting to look at a real man's nuts," Garras repeated, his voice a low rumble that vibrated right through the bones of every bovine present. His single eye fixed on the bull's face, enjoying the dawning realization that, somehow, in someway, the bull had fucked up.  "Payment enough, right?"
The bull's mouth opened to voice a protest, to demand an explanation, to reassert his dominance over this pathetic store clerk who had  was trying to turn the tables on him, but before he could speak, before he could stammer out a single word, Garras brought his balls down like a hammer blow from hell.
The impact was devastating, as flesh collided with flesh. The bull's magnificent testicles, those symbols of his masculine pride that had dominated countless lesser males, simply... ceased to exist. They flattened like overripe fruit, bulging futilely out around the bulk of Garras' nuts as if they could just balloon out for a moment and then bounce Garras' nuts off like a trampoline. Maybe normal nuts that could have happened, but Garras' balls weren't feeling it. Instead, they kept descending, down into the bull's balls, and then through them, and with a wet hot splattering sound, the chubby bull's pride and glory festooned in hot, greasy splatters across the counter in a spray of blood and pulverized tissue. A wet meaty splatter and the thump of Garras' nuts slamming into the counter heralded the devastation, followed by the softer, wet, pathetic sounds of bits and hunks of what had once been the bull's pride landing on the floor on both sides of the counter.
The bull's shriek was inhuman,and he staggered backward, his hooves slipping on the blood-slick floor as his hands flew to his ruined groin, finding nothing but his half-hard dick and a bit of scraggly skin where his manhood had been. The pain hit him then, as all of those obliterated nerves finally got around to telling his brain that they had just been shredded in the equivalent of a shotgun blast. Garras' own testicles remained intact, of course, resting in the center of a pile of shredded meat like dark, foreboding obelists. They were unmarked, unharmed, having obliterated their opponent's impressive package without sustaining so much as a bruise. The bear's single eye glanced down at the mass of destruction with clinical satisfaction, his expression never changing as the bull continued to scream and writhe.

The other bulls stood frozen in shock, their minds struggling to process what they had just witnessed. One of the biggest among them had just been unmanned in a single devastating blow. He was reduced to a whimpering, mewling, retching mess, curled up next to the Doritos display with his bleeding crotch between his paws. It was a good look on him. 	
Garras reached down to the floor next to him, lifting up a beat up old blue Igloo cooler. Garras dropped the cooler onto the counter with casual indifference, his movements unhurried as settled it down into the bloody mess that had used to be a pair of nuts. The plastic container seemed absurdly mundane in the aftermath of such violence, its cheerful blue color a stark contrast to the crimson gore it nestled into. He popped the lid off, letting it fall over the side of the counter with a clatter. There had been a couple sandwiches, some Red Bulls and an apple in there at the beginning of his shift, but now there was just an old plastic ice pack sliding around on the bottom of it. That was okay. He needed the room anyways.
"It's hamburger time, boys," Garras announced, playfully. His lips pulled back in a dark grin that showed off his chipped teeth. The expression was terrifying in its complete lack of humanity, the smile of a creature that had just discovered its favorite prey.
The remaining bulls stared at him in dawning horror, their alcohol-fueled confidence evaporating like morning mist. Their buddy was still whimpering, still clutching at his ruined groin, blood streaming between his fingers as he whined in the fetal position. They looked at each other, trying to suss out the vibe, trying to convince themselves, briefly, that the situation wasn't what they knew deep down it was. They weren't the top alphas here - and they never had been. As one, they began to storm towards the exit, rough-shod hooves squeaking over the linoleum as they tried to fled. But Garras didn't want that. He had already vaulted over the counter, grabbing the lid of the cooler and swinging it like a frisby. It clocked the bull closest to the exit, knocking him just off balance enough to send him careening into arcade game at the front of the door, slamming into it with such force that it rocked back against the wall and then crashed forward on top of him. 
Exit secured. The bulls skidded to a stop, and started running in the opposite direction, scattering and fleeing as Garras swam deftly between them. Garras was sizing them up, slapping baskets, ripping open flies and slicing through belts, stripping the bulls of their suspenders and waistbands. He didn't need to take them all on just yet; he was just as happy with a bit of foreplay first. There were eleven bulls in his domain, and he wanted to know which ones to hit hard and fast, and which ones to have a little fun with.
Bulls stumbled and cursed as their pants were shredded, impressive packages flopping free through the ruined fabric like obscene party favors. They tried to dodge or tried to throw punches, and for the most part the punches, as panicked and hasty as they were, landed to absolutely no effect. 
A lucky elbow cracked against the bear's jaw as Garras peeled the a tan-furred bull's jeans off of his hips like a lobster's shells, and he felt a bit of grit as teeth were smacked hard against each other. Garras made a note to have fun with that one later. For now, he continued shouldering his way through the trapped meat, shredding and ripping until the convenience store had become a display case of bovine virility. The biker's massive cocks and heavy balls swang freely as their owners slipped and skidded around on the floor they themselves had littered with spilled beers and emptied chip bags and torn magazines.
"You sick fuck!" one bull roared, finally turning to face Garras, his enormous genitals slapping with a meaningful sthwap against one thigh as a meaty fist swung at Garras' head. The bull's fur was red, and horns had been cropped to fat short discs similar to Hellboy's, but the similarities ended there. Garras stepped forward and lifted a shoulder, deflecting the punch and reaching down to shake hands with the bull's flaccid dick. He got his fingers around most of the bull's cock and balls, the hot and sweaty flesh slinging bloated into his paw, but that was all he needed. He squeezed, feeling flesh bulging between his thick fingers, and then he squeezed down harder, crushing his fingers into a fist, and suddenly all that flesh was pulping into paste. He twisted his wrist as if he were turning a door handle, and the whole package came, more or less, away in his grip. 
The bull shrieked as bits of what had been his cock oozed out between Garras' fingers and shlapped onto the dirty floor. The bull was used to his size being an advantage, had counted on it, but all that mass had ended up being a fatal liability.
"Dropped something," Garras said, as he punched the bull in the mouth. His fist sank between the bull's jaws and bulged out his cheeks, as Garras inserted the bull's ripped off genitals directly back into his mouth. He pulled his hand back, satisfied as the bull's horrified shriek was so well muffled by all the flesh that was fit so nicely in the bull's throat. 
A glint of metal caught the bear's attention, as a bull thrust a blade towards the bear's ribs from the side. The bull got an inch or so of the shiv in, too, metal squeaking as it scraped against bone and everything, before Garras caught his arm with a gore-slimed wrist. The bear didn't bother to yank the knife back out before he wrenched the bull's arm from his side to his front, causing the tip of the blade to slice open a nice long groove under his pecs. Garras was too busy manhandling the bull's arm, grasping the wrist in one paw and the bull's bicep with the other. 
"Cheater," Garras spat, and then then slammed the arm down into the knee that was coming up to catch it. The socket joint between the two arm bones was pulverized as it was abruptly inverted, the inside of the bull's elbow now becoming the outside as a spray of burst muscle and blood splattered across Garras' chest. Garras pulled his hands apart, and the arm separated at the elbow, the bull hoarsely screaming as he watched half of his arm separate from his body. Garras held the bull's forearm like a club, the bull's detached hand still tightly wrapped around the hilt of the blade in a death grip. 
Garras swung the arm, the knife sluicing through the air before imbedding into the groin of another bovine that was charging towards them. The blade disappeared into the root of the mottled gray bull's fat, flaccid hog, all the way to the hilt. The bull was moving too fast to stop, and Garras didn't try to stop him - just stepped to the side and yanked on the severed forearm like the ripcord of a lawnmower. It didn't take much to pull the knife free, even if pulling it free meant pulling the blade through the rest of the bull's package. There was a pleasant resistance; the bull had had a sturdy package and the dense flesh took a commendable amount of strength to whip through, but in the end, the bull continued with his charge into the front of the Krispy Kreme donut display, but his fat balls fell to the ground with most of the dude's flopping cock.
The first bull was still shrieking about his shattered arm when Garras grabbed him by his flopping balls, the massive orbs filling the bear's paw as he hauled the bull up to his tip-toes by the grip on his nuts.
"Sorry about the misunderstanding. Lemme help you out," Garras growled, his boots bracing against the ground as he twisted, lurching away from the bull and dragging the bovine with him. The bull stumbled, trying to keep up as the bull casually yanked him, twisting and spinning until the bull couldn't keep up, his feet skidding and then legs collapsing. Only the bull didn't fall to the ground; Garras just spun harder, the tension building between his grip on the bull's nuts and the rest of the bull's body. Those dumb testicular cords were used to holding the bull's balls close to his body, and weren't designed to do things the other way around. The bull tore free of his prized heirlooms, his trajectory sending him up over the ruined donut display, and into the big plate glass window that led back out to the parking lot. The castrated bull exploded through the window in a shower of glass and blood, and big, thick shards of glass kept bits of gouged-off pieces of the bull as mementos as the remnants of him flopped bonelessly onto the cold hard rough pavement outside. Garras held up his own mementos; a big, swollen bag of bull balls, ripped clean off during the throw and none the worse for wear. They were plenty nice, but now that they were removed, they were just meat. He appreciate the weight of them in between his fingers, before he tossed them free-style into the waiting cooler on the counter. 
"Two points," the bear muttered, and the remaining bulls hesitated, their alcohol-fueled confidence wavering as the balls hit the bottom of the cooler with a satisfying whumph. Their hesitation was their doom, though, because Garras was already moving, moving towards bulls who were unwilling to move towards him. A shriek from one of the skinny bulls as Garras knocked him down with a jab to his fat snout quickly turned into strangled gargles as Garras' boot turned the greasy brown nut-sack that was flopped ont he ground between his thighs into meat paste. 
"Whoops. Woulda kept those," Garras said, kneeling down and grinning at the bull. "My bad." 

Something slammed into the back of his head, another attack from the side, followed by an explosion of yellow, fruity scented soda splashing down around him. It barely hurt, but it knocked him just slightly off balance, so that when the bull drove a knee into his gut, his lungs deflated in a retching gust from his lips.
If the bull thought the pain was going to weaken him, though, he was stupider than he looked. Garras' felt the swell of something primal in his chest, his muscles clenching with decisive power. The knee to his gut had been a mistake, because it put him in exactly the right position for what came next. The bull stepped forward, looming over him in his red plaid shirt and his carefully bleached, threadbare Levis', the spitting image of what a citybull thinks a lumberjack looked like. The bull had avoided Garras' ripping of the bulges a few minutes, earlier, and his mounded bulge tightly pushed out against the taut denim, all that bull meat constrained and packed into one nice, solid wad. Garras opened his jaws wide, revealing rows of dull, rounded teeth - teeth that didn't need to be sharp, because the muscles of a bear's jaws were amongst the most powerful on earth. The bear let the realization sink in for just long enough to shock the bull, and then lunged forward, and closed his jaws through the jeans and flesh of the bull's bulge. 
The fabric offered no protection against the bear's powerful bite. How could it? Garras' teeth punched through the material like it was tissue paper, sinking deep into the soft flesh beneath. Sank through it, because the soft flesh was as hard to bite through to Garras as a cone of soft serve ice cream. The bear severed the bull's entire package, more or less, with one devastating chomp. Garras let his jaws rest together against his groin, and then twisted his head to the side, revealing the complete and total lack of bulge that now hung between the lumberjack's legs. The tissue separated with little tugging snaps and ripping sounds, and even through the denim, Garras could feel the fat dick give one final, desperate throb against his tongue, the dying nerve impulses and abrupt pressure change sending shudders through the thick shaft.
Garras rolled to his side, the severed genitals still filling his mouth as another bull approached from behind. Without even looking, he drove his powerful legs backward in a donkey kick that caught the bovine square in the groin. Garras didn't need to look; even through the sole of his thick boots, he could feel the sensation of two rounded, rubbery shapes flattening against the bull's own solid hip bones, and splattering into mush. He heard the balls destruct, the wet splurch as insides became outsides, as the hidden scrotum ballooned with the sudden 'rapid unexpected disintegration' of it's precious cargo. It ruptured, and a mostly liquefied pulse of bull nut soup landed in wet and sticky clumps on the ground between his hooves. Seven. Five to go.
The store had become a war zone of broken glass, overturned shelves, and spreading pools of blood. Emasculated bulls were crawling toward the exits, their ruined groins leaving red-slimed slug trails behind him. A fleeing bull in Carhartts stumbled past, slamming into the bull who's nuts Garras had just soupified before realizing that the bear was right there, looking up at him with that predatorial grin. 

Garras' jaws were still full of his previous victim's genitals, the severed cock and balls taking up most of the space in his mouth, and he made a point of gaping it so that the bull could see exactly what was about to happen. Then, he lunged and his jaws clamped down into the tough denim of the bull's overalls. There was no resisting it as he combined this bull's mass with the one he already had, crushing both together. 
Garras didn't care that he was ripping fabric free; sometimes you just ended up eating a bit of the candy wrapper in your mouth, and you just eat it too. The sensation of it was incredible, though. Two sets of testicles, both being crushed together in his mouth, their combined mass creating a hot, salty explosion of gunky snotty mush that exploded down the back of his throat in a hot slimy gush. The texture was perfect, the way they burst and pulped together creating a mixture that was part blood, part seminal fluid, and all masculine essence. He could taste the terror the bull's balls, knew that in that half a second before he lost them the bull's body had tried to retract them up out of safety. Stupid fucking bulls, you can't just show off all that meat and then try to keep it from being scarfed up.
Garras walked past the check out counter and leaned over, spitting the rest of the meat into the cooler, phlegming it over the gathered balls there. Hmm. Wasn't nearly as full as he'd expected it to be. He's losing too much of the merchandise. Easy to fix, though. He reached down and grabbed the leather jacked of a bull who was scampering on hands and knees towards the broken window.
"Where are ya going, buddy?" Garras asked, as he dragged the bull up into the air. The huge bull's weight was negligible, his body twisting and legs kicking as Garras casually held him up in the air. "Aren't ya forgetting something?"
Bear fingers, slick with blood, wrapped around the mottled fat sack swinging between the bull's thighs, and twisted it off as easily as a ripened tomato from the vine. The bull whimpered as he watched his balls being dropped in a fucking cooler with all the relevance of plastic water bottle. 
"My nuts!" The bull whined, but Garras wasn't listening. He was watching two bulls trying to undo the second entrance, the one that was locked after sundown. 
"You ARE nuts, if you thought you were taking those home with you!" Garras said, and then flung the bull through the air, like a softball. The bull slammed into the backs of the other two, smashing their heads through the plate glass of the door. The door swung open, but all three of the bulls collapsed to the ground, squirming and trying to get their feeting as they felt the ground shake beneath Garras' heavy stomps towards them. The black bear was on them in seconds, his claws finding the trapped bulls scrotums with surgical precision. He gave them some pleasant, appraising squeezes, each hand filled with the masculine mass of the two bulls that had come into this podunk gas station to fuck with the bear. They certainly had the balls for it, didn't they? Swollen, heavy, mango sized balls, the kind that you'd write home to Charn about. Yup, they certainly had the balls for it, but as Garras stood back up, the skin stretched, the cords snapped and tore, and the bear walked away from the three of them with two more additions to the cooler. He tossed them on top, the blood-slickened scrotums creating a glistening pile of gore inside the cooler, the screams and dying whimpers of the emasculated bears a pleasant backdrop for the bear's work.
Hmm.
There was something missing. He glanced over his shoulder. Some of the wounded bulls had passed out, or, fuck, maybe they'd died? Curled up and still on the floor. Others had found their way outside, and Garras could hear the diminishing sound of a motorcycle trailing back off towards the highway. Had someone made it back out of the store with balls intact? Garras couldn't believe that. No, twelve pairs had sauntered into the store that evening, and he had taken eleven. There was one left... somewhere. Garras stalked through the store, boots leaving big, heavy red stains that reflected the flickering fluorescent lights above on the floor. 
Come to think of it, Garras knew exactly which balls he hadn't taken yet. He picked up a bottle of Coke from the floor, its plastic surface slippery with condensation and the puke that it had skidded into during the brawl. It felt good in his massive paw as he hefted it, testing its balance before twisting and winging it toward the far corner of the store where the shadows were deepest. The bottle crashed into the darkness with a nice sounding thunmp, and immediately a large shape burst from concealment.
The leader was a pathetic sight compared to his earlier arrogance. His leather jacket was smeared with cobwebs, and splattered with the gore of the balls he had witnessed exploding in front of the register. His face was streaked with tears, his arms pushing blindly in front of him as he enacted a one-man stampede towards the front of the store. Most importantly, his groin was still intact, and the bull's magnificent, meaty package swayed and slapped heavily from thigh to thigh as he stumbled toward the exit.
"Whoa, buddy, not so fast!" Garras rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of inevitability as he moved to intercept the fleeing bull. His claws found the hem of the bovine's jacket, stopping him in his track before dragging him by that same leather back towards the counter. The bull struggled, his superior size meaning nothing against the bear's overwhelming strength, his hooves scrambling for purchase as he was dragged back into the heart of the slaughterhouse.
"Look, bro, it's a misunderstanding," the bull gasped, his voice breaking as he found himself swung around and slammed up against the blood-soaked counter, looking with horror down into the pile of bull nuts in the cooler in front of him. "I'll give you anything. Money! Drugs! Bitches! Dudes??? Whatever you want, man, I don't judge! Just don't-" His words were cut off as Garras cupped the back of the bull's head and stuffed his long snout down into the pool of balls and gore that filled up most of the cooler. The bull's muffled screams were lost in the gore as he tried to turn away, but the bear's grip was implacable, keeping the bull's head mostly submerged as Garras worked to haul his own hefty endowments out into the open.
"Thanks for the offer, but you and your boys already gave me what I wanted," Garras growled, as he stroked along the thick dark spike of his own shaft. He was rock hard; violence had that affect on him, and he loved the scent of fear that filled the air. "Now it's time for the finale."
The bull's eyes widened in terror, his protests bubbling up into the nut goop around him as he felt the bear's hands on his hips, positioning him with the clinical precision of a surgeon. His own impressive package hung heavy between his legs, the massive orbs swaying slightly as Garras adjusted his stance. He shouted something, something that probably meant a lot to him, but Garras silenced him with a single, brutal thrust that drove his cock up inside the bull and drove the air out of the bull's lungs in a rush of agony. The penetration was savage, tearing through the bovine's resistance with the force of a battering ram, the bull's buttocks dimpling inwards before the solid cudgel simply tore its way through it. The bull's scream was inhuman, a sound that seemed to echo from the very depths of his soul as the bear's massive cock split him open.
Garras liked to think that the scream of pain would marinate the nuts that the bull was screaming into. Regardless, the real torture was just beginning. Garras began to move, his heavy testicles swinging forward with luxurious, ponderous splendor. Garras pulled back, then pushed in deeper, crunching the bull's hips against the counter, until he felt the thump of his nuts impacting the back of the bull's larger, bloated, softer testicles. Mmmm. They made a nice soothing pillow, stopping Garras' nuts from slamming into the hard steel of the underside of the counter, and Garras appreciated it. He slammed in harder, his bowling balls swinging with ripening intensity with each stab of his cock up the bull's asschute, and as the bear's rhythm intensified, so did the violence of each strike of his balls against the bull's.
It didn't take long for those over-ripened mangoes to start showing the effect of their repeated battering. Each time Garras' nuts slammed into them, they were flattened against the unyielding counter, the meaty masses distending as they were flattened and smashed. Each impact from Garras' dense orbs sent a shockwave through their tissue, causing them to bulge and distort before snapping back to their original shape, helping to send Garras' nuts away, pushing them further so that they next time Garras swung them forward, they hit the bull's nuts even harder. Dark bruises spread like ink stains across the mottled surface of the bull's eggs, as he tried repeatedly to lift his head out from inside the cooler, but Garras didn't have any need for that. He gripped the bull's throat with his other paw, holding it to make sure that, should the bull do something as foolish as vomit, that the bear could prevent his cooler from being contaminated.
The bull was sobbing, keening, hands sliding across the counter blindly as he searched for something, anything, to help him in his plight. Garras didn't need to hear what the bull was saying, but he let the bull's pleading fuel the intensity of savage rape of the bull's asshole. The sound of flesh striking flesh echoed through the store, as the bear stroke to demolish the bull in every conceivable way.

The bull's testicles were beginning to lose their shape, the repeated impacts misshaping them, restructuring their forms into flattened, concave donuts. What had once been perfectly ovoid orbs of masculine pride were now misshapen masses of bruised tissue, their surface mottled with burst blood vessels and leaking stress fractures. Each strike from Garras' balls drove them harder against the counter's edge with louder and louder whumphs, the sound gradually shifting from solid and rubbery to softer.. more jellied, more liquid-ish. It was only a matter of time, now.
"You know, you and your boys wanted to show me what real balls looked like," Garras growled, his voice thick with exertion and savage satisfaction. "I'm just returning the favor." His pace increased, his own testicles becoming weapons of mass emasculation as they mercilessly pounded into the bull's failing sac. Thwack. Thwatch. Thwackth. The counter edge provided the perfect anvil, each impact driving the bovine's genitals against the unforgiving surface with increasing force.
The bull's sobs had become incoherent, his face pressed deep into the gore of his friend's remains as his own manhood was systematically obliterated. His legs trembled with the effort of staying upright, but Garras' grip kept him in position, held fast for the final act of this brutal theater. The bear's breathing grew heavier, his own climax approaching as the violence reached its crescendo.
"Here they go," Garras taunted, as he felt his nuts churning, tightening and swelling. With a triumphant roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the building, Garras reached his peak. His final thrust was devastating, driving deep into the bull's broken body while his testicles delivered their coup de grace. The impact was devastating, the bull's massive balls finally succumbing to the relentless assault as the bull's scrotum completely yielded, failing catastrophically.
The explosion was spectacular, as the balls were simply pulped into non-existance in a geyser of blood and tissue. The bull's scrotum split like an overripe fruit, its contents spilling outwards and downwards onto the floor in a cascade of liquefied masculinity. Both balls popped, the outer shells simply sundering, the liquified inner contents and what remained of any of the bull's fertile stem cells splooshing against the counter like a bowl of hot spaghetti. Clumps and strands of it struggled to congeal to itself, as if the remnants of what had been were trying to reform themselves in their last few moments of existence. There was no use, though. What had once no doubt been the pride of the bovine species was just chunks of meat scattered across the floor of a discount gas station.

The bull's final scream was lost in the thunder of his own emasculation, his body convulsing as every nerve ending registered the complete destruction of his manhood. He collapsed forward, his face disappearing into the gore as his legs gave out, leaving him suspended only by Garras' grip and the counter's edge. Figured. 'Tough guys' always passed out when they realized that their balls were gone. 
Garras pulled back slowly, savoring the sight of his handiwork. The steer was just another broken toy, his massive frame reduced to a quivering mass of defeated flesh. Garras lifted him up and away from the cooler, and dropped the bovine's boneless body to the floor. 
Twelve. Garras smiled, with satisfaction, as he took in the sight of the massive splatter of nut hunks drooling down the front of the register, and the slurry on the floor between his legs. Yup, that bull had been packing.
Garras reached into his chest pocket, and pulled out the last bit of roach that he had left. His dick dripped, blood and cum drooling from the end of it onto the floor, and as he lit up, he glanced around the destruction. The store was silent except for the steady drip of blood and the soft whimpers of the emasculated bovines.
"Well, fuck this, I'm not cleaning this up," Garras snorted, as he took a drag from his joint. He would need to call his friend, let them know that something had happened. He closed the lid on the cooler, locking it into place. He had no idea if the gas station had security cameras, but if it did, he knew his friend could make a good amount of money if he found a way to smuggle the video onto the internet.
For now, though, the bear's work was done.