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Tyron Michaels, former World's Heavyweight Boxing Champion, sits in an armchair in his tiny 3-room apartment jerking off, as he has done at least seven times each day since he was twelve years old. These days, he indulges continuously and incessantly. Occasionally, when he becomes bored with masturbarion, he gets up, throws off his bathrobe, and bends over. Then his caregiver, who is presently reading the newspaper on the other side of the room, comes over and buttfucks him to orgasm. He keeps himself ready for this duty with Viagra. The cock which "Iron Tyron" is stroking and pumping is perpetually stiff, kept so by rigid implants. Below it hangs a bulging scrotum filled with silicone prostheses. These artificial structures replace useless mangled genitalia. There is a TV set in the room, but Tyron never looks at it because he can't understand what he sees on the screen. His short-term memory is limited to approximately one minute. He has no recollection of anything which has happened since his last fight over two years ago.It is impossible for him to carry on a conversation because he can't remember anything which was said over a minute ago.His condition is truly pitiable, but he gets little pity or sympathy from anyone. In his heyday, Iron Tyron Michaels was an exceptionally obnoxious brute with a genius for goading people into a murderous rage. His wife, Gwenne Takens, put up with him for less than a year. Not only was he brutal and abusive, he was impotent even when he still had everything he was born with between his legs. He couldn't perform in bed with his wife, but he sat around the house jerking off all day.Though she may well have suspected the truth, she never mentioned it to anyone, but Iron Tyron was and is as queer as a three dollar bill. He was strictly an anal bottom and never used that big cock of his for anything but jerking off. He was exaggeratedly macho and a great risk-taker. He was into risky sports like skate-boarding, bungee-jumping, and moto-cross. In the gym, no matter whether he was sparring or just working out, he never wore a foul protector or anything but a plain jockstrap, though his sparring partner always wore a Mexican-style foul protector because Iron Tyron was one of the dirtiest fighters in the ring and landed a lot of low blows on his poor sparring partner, Julio Menendez. Far be it from Tyron ever to apologise for fouling his sparring partner. Instead he mocked and jeered at Julio when he staggered around holding his balls after receiving a low blow of such force that even the foul protector couldn't completely protect him against the shock. One day, about five years ago, Julio snapped. Iron Tyron had just delivered a low blow to his groin that actually lifted Julio off the floor. Julio doubled over and puked. Tyron bursted out laughing and shouted "What's wrong, amiga ?" That was the last straw. Julio drew back his right foor and with a scream of rage and hate, kicked Tyron in the balls with everything he could put behind it. It was a devastating blow. The impact smashed Tyron's balls into a useless pulp and squashed his dick against the pubic bone so that it split open. It was Iron Tyron's turn to scream as the crotch of his shorts turned red and blood and jism ran down his thighs. Tyron prided himself on having a very high pain threshold. He could absorb an enormous amount of punishment, but nothing he had ever before experienced was anything like this. The agony exceeded anything he had even imagined. "Unbearable" was much to mild a word to describe it.Tyron screamed like a woman, so loud, in fact, that he became hoarse. He rolled around on the gym floor holding the bloody mess between his legs with both hands screaming and puking simultaneously and, to his extreme humilation, shitted in his shorts Julio, stripped off the Mexican foul protector and, without pausing to gather his street clothes, ran away, horrified by the realization that he had just ruined the World's Heavyweight Champion. Tyron was hospitalized for some five weeks, most of which was devoted to rebuilding his cock around the rigid permanent implants which would keep it erect for the rest of his life. He had rejected the more convenient inflatable implants upon learning that they had to be replaced periodically, each time involving a substantial risk of losing his prick His permanent hard-on could be held up against his belly by a tight T-shirt so that it hardly showed. HRT restored his masculinity and aggressiveness, but the loss of his balls, even though only he and his immediate associates knew of it, gnawed at his self-esteem. He tried to compensate for this by being even more outrageously boastful and obnoxious than before. He alluded more often to his early days as a street fighter and the cruel and gruesome things which he did then, such as stomping on a man's balls while he was down, and driving the bone and cartilege in a man's nose up into his brain, effectively lobotomizing him. And he began to threaten to do these things to the other fighters who faced him. Some of them were intimidated, mostly the third-rate palookas who were lined up between major fights to provide easy vistories. Some of them ignored his bluster. But, there was one fighter whom his bragging infuriated, a short-tempered, red-headed Irishman named Conan Kerry, himself a former street fighter from the mean streets of Dublin. Three years after Iron Tyron's castration by his sparring partner, he and Conan Kerry faced each other in the ring. Tyron had become an even dirtier fighter than before. Now that he had no balls to worry about protecting, he launched more low blows than ever. He taunted Kerry as he concentrated on softening him up by punches to the balls. Of course, Tyron was being penalized for each foul, but , as long as he weakened Kerry, he didn't mind. Tyron told Conan that he was going to ram the bone in his nose up into his brain, in the process calling him a honky. Conan replied "You and what army, nigger ?" Tyron repaid that insult by a particularly blatant punch to the balls . The referee warned Tyron that if he did anything like that again, he'd stop the fight and award the victory to Conan Kerry. Conan was furious. His face was redder than his hair. He delivered a powerful uppercut, not to Tyron's chin, but directly under his nose. Claret spurted as Tyron's nose was obliterated and the cartilege and bone were driven vertically upward into his brain. Tyron fell back unconscious and sank immediately into a deep coma. He was counted out and then rushed to the hospital. The bone and cartilege were removed from the frontal lobe of Tyron Michaels' brain, but the damage was irreparable. And that is why he now sits in his apartment incessantly masturbating. |