“Well, well, it’s about time you woke up, sleepyhead. Now, don’t try and move around too much, those tasers can really pack a wallop, and I’d just as soon not hit you with another jolt. Oh, and I’m sorry about the cable ties around your wrists. I hope they’re not too tight.”

“Well, let’s see, where should we start? Oh, I suppose I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I? That would only be polite, wouldn’t it? And don’t worry, I won’t hold your silence against you, seeing as how I’ve gagged you with your own underwear, and all.”

“My name’s Sara, which it really isn’t, but I suppose you must have some way of labeling me. It’s a thing I’ve noticed about you men, you like to label us: honey, baby, slut, bitch, cunt. I can only guess at what you’re going to label me in a few minutes, huh?”

“Whoa, stallion, simmer down, unless you want me to hit these big old balls of yours with a few thousand more volts. Is that what you want? Here, what if I gently massage them for you? There, I’ve got a good hold on them now, haven’t I? Now, you just settle down, and I’ll keep them nice and warm and safe in my hand, okay?”

“There, that’s better, isn’t it? Now, you just calmly breathe through your nose, and I’ll tell you what’s going on, okay? Firstly, we’re in your car. You probably knew that, but I like to make sure all the bases are covered. I expect you would have liked to get me in the back seat, wouldn’t you? Well, I’ve saved you all that trouble, haven’t I? All that flirtation and small talk and buying a girl drinks, just so she’ll fondle your balls for you, and look, you got your wish, didn’t you?”

“And secondly, if you’ve got any thoughts of someone coming to your rescue, you can pretty much forget about it. Your cell phone is back in the parking lot of that bar, where you were no doubt trying to score with some random babe like me. Is that all women are to you, asshole? Just a collection of holes to fuck?”

“Now, now, don’t worry, baby. Don’t cry. Mama’s here, and your balls are perfectly safe, right here in my hand. Mmm, they do feel good, too. I’ll tell you something, Mister whatever-you-name-is, I can’t tell you how long I’ve loved balls. I mean, there’s just something about handling a heavy pair of balls that just gets my juices flowing, you know what I mean? Here, let me show you.”

“There, a little pussy juice moustache for you. You like? Considering that I’ve got your balls in my hand, I’d advise you to nod your head in the affirmative, dickhead. Yes, I’m glad you like the smell of my pussy. Now, let’s see, where were we? Oh yes, balls. You know it’s funny how much importance you men place on these things. I mean, think about it for a minute. If they were truly a vital part of your anatomy, don’t you think that God would have put them inside of your body? I mean, even if you believe in natural selection, you’d have to admit Nature would have given your babymakers some kind of protection greater than a bag of thin skin, that some psychotic bitch could cut away in the blink of an eye!”

“I’m sorry, baby! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to pull on them so hard, but you have to admit you were getting a little out of control there, weren’t you? But do you see what I mean? A simple pull on your ballbag calms you right down, doesn’t it? And if I were to give them a little squeeze, like so…well, that just takes pretty much all of the fight right out of you, doesn’t it?”

“Now, now, don’t cry. I promise that in a few minutes you won’t be crying over your balls any more. Here, I’ll kiss them and make them all better, how’s that?”

“And there you go, crying again. You know, for someone with testicles you sure do cry an awful lot. Maybe I should…no, not just yet.”

“But it is funny, you men and your balls. I mean, so much of your vocabulary is centered around these things: ‘He doesn’t have the balls to do it’, or, ‘I’ve got the balls in this relationship!’ Can you believe my ex-boyfriend actually said that to me? Trust me when I tell you he doesn’t say it any more.”

“Hmm, from the sound of your grunts it seems as if you want to say something. I suppose you agree with him, don’t you? Because you’ve got the balls, that makes you somehow better than me, doesn’t it?”

“Well, your balls are in my hand, so I guess that makes them mine, doesn’t it? It looks as though I have the balls in this relationship, don’t I?” Don’t I?”

“That’s very good. You just keep nodding. They’re my balls, aren’t they? They’re my big, beautiful nuts. You know, I’ve always found that term funny. Nuts. As though I could crack them. You know, I think I have got a nutcracker in my purse. Do you think it would work?”

“Oh, now, don’t be such a big baby, I was just kidding. I promise to be good to these balls; they are mine, after all. But you have to admit it’s weird. Here I am, balls in hand, the knife I used to cut your clothes away in plain sight, and your dick is as hard as a fencepost. Isn’t that weird? It’s like, at some subconscious level, your dick is in complete and total agreement with me.”

“Oh my, would you look at the time. We really should be getting home, and I’m pretty sure you understand that we doesn’t include you. Now let me just slip a couple of these cable ties onto the sac: one high, one low…and there we go. Make ‘em good and tight…and, slice! There we are, one bag of balls to go!”

“Oh, stop crying, you fucking sissy! Oh, what, you want them back, do you? You want to play Indian giver? Fine, here you go then. Let me just take this gag out, and you can have them! Here, give ‘em a good ball washing, nutsucker! Come on, you fucking faggot, suck ‘em! What’s that? You’re choking? Well, spit ‘em out, then!”

“Well, look at that, pretty good catch, huh? I guess that means they’re legally mine now, aren’t they? National League rules, and all that? Well, it’s been fun, but the balls and I really must scoot. Oh, and I’m taking your wallet with me, in case you get any bright ideas about calling anyone. You never know, I might want a dick to go with these balls.”

“See ya’ round, nutless.”