Let's Have A Ball!
An unusual advertisement for contestants drew Hooves' attention. In the newspaper, it vaguely described a game show that involved wonderful prices at unspecified personal cost.
Only when he was invited onto the show did he truly understand what he was gambling. Of course, with a show that had a title such as this, it should have been more ominous and somewhat more obvious:
Let's Have A Ball!
Lars Dione easily held the microphone in his hand as he gestured toward the zebra stallion sitting behind the contestant booth.
"Welcome to 'Let's have a ball'. For those new viewers who haven't seen the show before, this is the game show where a randomly selected volunteer contestant gambles in a variety of ever more complicated games. The contestant plays for valuable jewels and prizes while risking his own. So, what is the question on everyone's mind! Will our contestant win the ultimate prize or will we-"
"Have a ball!" The audience cheered, cutting him off.
Hooves shuddered, finally realizing what he could lose by participating in this show. He knew it would involve some kind of humiliation, but never to the degree of something like this.
"Now, for every question you get wrong, the vice firmly surrounding your naked testes on the chair will give them a squeeze, but not harshly enough to do any lasting damage-we leave that job to our challenging games."
He nodded with a comprehending shiver as the slick metal of a small clamp pressed lightly against his sac and threatened to snap shut at any moment like a bear trap.
Lars nodded in his predatory wolfish way, licking a gray muzzle as he coughed lightly to clear his throat; "Now, in the rocky mountains they have a delicacy enjoyed by a few who are brazen enough to try it. What is the name of this dish and where does it come from?"
A countdown started down from ten seconds as the zebra fretfully shuddered all cold in his seat. With three seconds to go, he snapped his hand on the buzzer and immediately shouted out- "Rocky mountain oysters; bull testicles."- and was rewarded by a flashing display on his booth of $50.
"Very good. Next question-what is the name of a human who has had their testicles removed?"
Hooves thought that out briefly, and snapped his hand down again- "Vasectomy!"- and was immediately rewarded-
With a painful crunch of his testicles between the unrelenting power of the merciless cold steel vise.
"Oh, sorry stally-correct answer was eunuch."
Hooves shuddered and stammered from the throbbing pain in his scrotum.
"Next question. What is the cheapest, half-assed way to castrate livestock?"
He thought about it for awhile and buzzed in with a quick answer- "A knife!" -and yelped as his balls were crushed again.
His striped body was covered in sweat and the trembling of uncertain pain as he looked up cautiously into the eyes of the host-and his obvious trouser bulge. "Sorry, stripes. Correct answer was scissors."
Hooves let out a blustering sigh of short-lived relief as the vise unclamped his sac. He shivered as a nearby beep sounded.
"First round is over; now it's time for the first challenge. Today, we will be playing Russian roulette with a shotgun carousel!"
In the next station, Hooves was seated in a certain unusual high chair with his legs separated out of the way, and one sac-covered testicle drawn through a small hole and held out in the cold air like some kind of ornament.
In front of him, six shotguns rotated on a slowly spinning carousel; each mechanically determined to stop and aim exactly at his one exposed testicle and fire.
"In this game, you have a buzzer that will stop the shotgun carousel and hopefully fire an empty chamber. Since this is the first game, we will make this easy and only load one gun. You can spin the carousel one to three times, and stop after the first, but if you want to triple your winnings, you can continue with the game."
Hooves looked at the gleaming metal of the over-under stock shotguns and quivered in apprehension, but strangely, he felt his black cock begin to peek out of his sheathe just the slightest.
"Are we ready for our first spin?"
The zebra pressed the button once and watched the circle of spinning shotguns idle to a gradual halt.
Then one soon fastened metal sights to his prize and fired...
-CLICK-
Hooves sighed, his ball seeming to dance around in joy as his earnings doubled to $100.
"Care for another spin? Double your money with one press of that button!"
Hooves seemed oddly drawn to the red button, even though he just grazed the danger of having his left testicle being blown off like a lone grape from a vine. "Oh no I..." He paused, dazzled by the very idea as his cockhead poked from its hiding place with a sticky little drip of horsejuice.
He pressed the button and waited.
The carousel spun like a wheel of misfortune and when another gun was pointed at his scrotum, it too clicked with a dry chamber even as the zebra watched his score double to $200 as he sighed in relief.
"Care to tempt fate for $300?" The wolf remarked; the front of his pants slightly soaked with wolf sex juice.
Hooves shook his mane emphatically; twice was enough-he already pressed his luck and didn't want to try again.
"Very well; for entertainment purposes, let's get you out of that chair and have you push the button again to see if you scored, or scarred."
The zebra easily dislodged himself from the uncomfortable seat as he pushed the button and stepped away a safe distance.
When the guns spun and stopped again, they clicked empty for a third time, but he felt it wasn't worth the risk anyway.
The second questions round was just as brisk as the first, and Hooves passed the three questions easily, claiming a total score of $350 to his name...but the next challenge was literally a shock to him.
"In this challenge, the electrodes wrapped around your scrotum will discharge if your heartbeat gets too high."
Hooves smiled with confidence; there was nothing that they could do to mess with his heart-he was always calm.
Until!
Scantily clad mares began to dance nakedly in front of him-shaking their butts and tails like harem girls as he watched with a half-erect black cock.
Then he gritted his teeth as he was shocked by the machine for his unregulated lust.
"Oh, and if you get shocked two more times, we'll have the box send a destructive dose of electricity to kill your testicles."
Hooves shuddered, unable to believe the madness going on before him; he saw sexy girls, but could not think about them much lest he raise his heart rate too much.
By crushing his limp member in his hands periodically, he was able to ignore them as he focused only on the sensation of twisting pain.
Not five minutes after his first shock and his cock abuse technique, a sudden loud buzzer sounded which he had never heard before.
"Uh oh! Looks like it's time to 'liquidate his assets'!"
He rose from the chair when beckoned off, confused by this spontaneous announcement.
Soon, Hooves found himself straddled over a sort of round track or carousel like the shotguns, but instead, below him spun three identicle glass pans filled with liquids.
"It's time to go for the gold, or liquidate your assets! You see, Hooves, below you are two pans of water and one filled with sulfuric acid. If chosen poorly, your balls will melt as if they were made from snow."
Hooves looked down at the seemingly ordinary array of dishes and shuddered.
He was mounted securely to a chair with his balls hanging down from a hole in the seat. The machine seemed designed to lift a tray into place and immerse his testicles.
"How do I win this challenge?" Hooves declared, shocked.
Lars pointed at the audience as they pulled out similar remotes from the back of the chairs in front of them. "Win? We don't have audience participation for nothing, and when we say we wanna have a ball, we mean it!"
"However, you still have a chance to win. The audience will vote on what pan soaks your sack, and if they fail, you win the king's ransom in jewels and wonderful prizes."
Hooves could only stare in disbelief as all ultimate control of his most important organs (short of cock) were not even his right to decide.
"Vote on 1 to 3 in the next minute!"
The zebra could only fidget nervously as he waited for the full minute to pass. The seconds ticked like hours as he droned out into a different world; praying he would win the game show and he could be so rich, he could afford therapy to put all this nastiness behind.
Therapy would be nice.
If he won.
In the next ten seconds he saw the circle of glass baking trays slowly spin, and one was stopped before immediately and slowly sliding into position under the dunking chair.
Literally, every second was hell as Hooves waited for the mechanical whirring to stop and the deed to be done or his earnings delivered upon him as promised.
Up along an elevator track came the pan, and as soon as the cool water touched his sack, he realized neither result would happen.
"Oh, that's too bad! Would the audience care to give it another try?"
Hooves stared on in disbelief. "But you said I'd win!" He protested, even as the tray immersed his scrotum in cold water for a good two minutes and finally began to go back down onto the track, whereupon, the wolf host took the tray of water and smashed it on the stage with total disregard for the rules.
"Yes, but this is a very expensive show, and we need to make sure our audience, who paid millions of dollars for tickets, get what they want."
"But-" Hooves began to whine out, tears starting to stream from his eyes from the betrayal.
"Well, since you made it this far, I guess it would be fair to award you with your prize...but we have to see some orbs pop!" Lars declared with emphasized cruelty.
Then the wolf took another one of the pans, dropped some of his hair in, and when nothing happened, he smashed that one on the floor as well. "Now we're ready to play." He sneered, rubbing the front of his tenting jeans.
"Your horrible! Your all horrible!" Hooves snarled out, looking at the last unbroken pan with fear.
"Not as horrible as your nutsack will look in two minutes. Why don't you stop bitching and moaning, and we'll wheel out your prizes?"
Two of the sexy female horses did just that; gold and jewels in two wheelbarrows. He looked on the gathering of wealth in awe. He could buy ten mansions with all that--or a huge underground dungeon for bdsm--
"But what about mares?" Hooves whined out.
"Well, there are testosterone injections for that kind of thing." Lars teased in an apathetic way.
The audience didn't need to choose again, but they did anyway. Hooves watched tentatively as the last pan rotated up into place. Then for the longest moments of his life, the elevator ground up to his scrotum as if trying to tease him with the last minutes that he would remain a true stallion.
As the pan was three inches away from his drooping black balls and rising at a millimeter every four seconds, the wolf smiled at him with that cruel wolfish grin and declared simply; "Are you scared Hooves?"
Hooves didn't know how to respond to a comment like that; it should have been so obvious. "Y-y-yes..." He whined out, crying a little.
"Your really scared?" The wolf growled out, amused.
The pan was only half an inch away. He had ten seconds at the most as a stallion before he was permanently gelded in the most unusual and sadistic of ways.
"Yes! I'm really scared!" Then he lowered his head in disbelief and began to cry. "Your about to fry my peanuts! Why shouldn't I be scared?!"
The pan reached his sack and he felt a sudden warm numbness work into his scrotum. He wondered if the pain was so immediate, that his body was in shock and couldn't register it properly.
Suddenly like electricity, he felt the burning pain of the fluid bathing his balls and writhed helplessly in his chair from the stinging heat and humiliation of having his testicles slowly melted off.
BUT-
Just as he resigned himself to the agony of the acid, the host called his name and laughed. "You shouldn't be."
Hooves looked over, exhausted and submissive from the sensation of his nuts literally being eaten away by what felt like a huge colony of ants.
Lars took the pan out from under the chair with a sudden snap of his paw and smashed it on the ground with a certain confidence in his jowls and a joyous posturing of his canine tail as it curved nimbly at his back.
The chair-like tower suddenly collapsed--as if it had self-destructed but without any explosions. Hooves lay on his back on a pile of metal pieces. He reached his hand down to feel his sack and no sooner did he raise some of the fluid to his muzzle for a taste, did he find out-
"You're on 'Yiff Tactics'! One of your jealous stallion friends put you up to this prank!"
And the fluid was nothing but concentrated pepperspray.
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Special gift for Hooves, for writing awesome kinky castration stories and reading mine.