The Judgment of Chmura (Parts 1, 2)

A pro athlete is punished for his misdeeds.

back to index

The Judgment of Chmura 
by J.D. Hanssen

(This is a work of fiction and no representation of actual events or 
persons is intended or implied.)


Part One:  The Ordeal

"Admit the accused!"  The court sat in hushed silence as the bailiff 
opened the door and four enormous guards led in the tall, 
dark-haired defendant.  Wearing loose-fitting blaze orange prison 
garb,  the prisoner’s massive naked forearms were clasped before him 
and constrained by shackles as were his powerful legs. 

"Mark Chmura," the robed magistrate intoned.  "You have been tried 
and found guilty by the People’s Justice Tribunal of hypocrisy, 
homophobia, rape of a minor, and disgracing Green Bay Packer fans 
worldwide in both word and deed.  Have you anything to say?"

The pro football player stood agape and his brown eyes darted around 
the room. "What the fuck is this!,"  he sputtered.  "Who are you 
people?!!...Where’s my lawyer!!!.."

"Enough!"  The magistrate slammed his gavel to the podium and rose. 
 "The criminal is unrepentant.  Therefore, no mercy shall be shown 
him.  Gag him and bring him forward."

Chmura struggled against the hefty guards who were pushing and 
dragging him to the platform like he was warding off the entire 
Minnesota Vikings defense.  It took steady and determined effort on 
their part to get his arms and legs spread and chained to the twin 
beams of the solid wooden frame so that he stood between them.  

While the guards secured the prisoner, the magistrate descended from 
his podium to the front of the bench and unclasped his robe, letting 
it fall to the floor.  The lights dimmed and a spotlight came up, 
lending a sheen to the polished leather of his disciplinary uniform 
and accenting its metallic studs.  He pulled on a pair of leather 
gloves and picked up the bullwhip laying at the edge of the 
platform.  From 20 paces distant he sharply cracked the tip across 
the pro football player’s chest.  The gagged man responded in grunts 
of muffled outrage.

"Mark Chmura,  on behalf of the aggrieved peoples of the state of 
Wisconsin, I am ordained your Master."  Cheers and applause from the 
audience obscured a second crack of the whip as it lashed across 
Chmura’s massive chest.  

The Master addressed the observers.  "Gentlemen, we have before us a 
vile specimen of humanity."  He slowly walked across the platform to 
face the barefoot, bound man who stood stretched out defiantly in 
front of him.  He roughly seized the prisoner’s rugged jaw and 
turned his head from side to side.  Staring into the man’s startled 
eyes, he said,  "Handsome?...Yes."  He dropped the whip to embrace 
the captive, pressing his crotch tightly against Chmura’s.  Pushing 
down into the orange prison pants he grabbed the athlete’s muscular 
butt cheeks with his gloved hands.  "Hunky?...Indubitably."  The 
crowd snickered as the Master mimed humping motions.  He swept up 
the whip and retreated a few steps, continuing,  "But this piece of 
shit has wantonly abused the natural privileges so richly bestowed 
upon him.   In his present state he is an abomination and a danger 
to society.  His voice lowered as he continued, prophetically:   
"Verily, to whom the gods have given much, much shall be taken 
away."

With another crack of the whip he proclaimed, "Let the Ordeal 
commence!  Call in the boys!"  

The crowd took up the chant:  "Boys! Boys! Boys!"

From the back of the room a door opened and a dozen boys filed in, 
none of whom appeared to be older than 13.  They assembled in front 
of the platform.

"Boys," said the Master, "you represent the youth of America who 
worshipped this man as a hero.  He has betrayed your sacred trust.  
Have you selected your punishments?"

A sandy-haired freckled 13 year old stepped forward.  "Your Honor, 
most of us want to kick him in the balls, but Timmy wants to do 
something else he’s not telling."

The Master squatted at the edge of the stage and said, gently, "Come 
to me, Timmy."

A sweet-faced little blonde who could not have been more than seven 
or eight appeared before him.  He wore white shorts and Chmura 
Packer jersey with the number "89" painted over with a black circle 
and slash.  "I see that you take your responsibility seriously," the 
Master said.  He lowered his head to let the boy whisper into his 
ear.  The Master smiled approvingly.  "You want to pull on his 
peepee?"  The disillusioned lad nodded shyly.  "Why, that’s a 
splendid idea!  A condign punishment indeed!"

The Master lifted the boy onto the stage while directing the guards 
to strip the prisoner, which they proceeded to do with enthusiasm.  
The crowd cheered as scraps of orange cloth fell to the floor, soon 
followed by shreds of a white T-shirt.  When Chmura was reduced to 
his jockstrap the guards, with difficulty, re-secured the near-naked 
athlete to the four iron rings anchored in the floor of the 
platform.  The six foot five, 280-pound football player struggled 
mightily throughout the unshackling and shackling, prompting the 
Master to comment, "What a loss and a pity—that neck injury seems to 
have healed quite well."

With Chmura chained securely to the platform, spread-eagled on his 
back,  the Master escorted Timmy to a seat astride his former hero’s 
broad, hairy chest, with the man’s ample package before him.  He 
called to the boy’s fellow young squad members, "Now, which of you 
Boy Scouts has brought along his pocket knife to help Timmy wreak 
his vengeance?"

Two youths raised their hands and the Master motioned them up to the 
platform beside him.   He pointed to the bulging cloth pouch.  
"Let’s see how quickly you can remove that obstruction."  The boys 
eagerly whipped out their knives and soon tore Chmura’s jock into 
ragged souvenirs which they held aloft to the crowd’s approval.  
"Good work!," said the Master.  "Now, Timmy, you may proceed."

The tow-headed boy giggled nervously into his hands and rubbed them 
together before reaching down gingerly between Chmura’s legs.   
Wide-eyed, he wrapped his little fists around the football player’s 
plump, flaccid penis.  The crowd chuckled as he played with his new 
toy, pulling the fat head to his mouth and kissing it.  A few 
whistles could be heard when the boy stretched the man’s pliant 
appendage to its full length of nearly 12 inches.  He glanced back 
periodically to watch Chmura wince as he yanked and twisted.  

Meanwhile, the other boys were lining up in single file from 
youngest to oldest in front of Chmura, between his outstretched 
legs.  "One kick each," the Master reminded them, "so make it a good 
one."  Little Timmy pulled with all his might on Chmura’s cock to 
lift the stud’s heavy low hangers off the floor while, one by one, 
each of the boys wound up and gave them his best shot.   "I hate you 
Chewy, I hate you!" one declared before slamming his Reebock Avenger 
into the man’s testes.   With every kick to his genitals Chmura 
screamed into the gag and his chest heaved upward.  Timmy was 
getting quite a ride but he rode the bucking bronco like a pro, all 
the while grasping the thick meaty handle for stability.  

By the time the older boys were finished, Chmura’s big balls were 
bruised and visibly swelling.  The muted echo of his gagged screams 
and moans pervaded the courtroom.

"What’s that pretty boy, can’t take the pain?," the Master sneered, 
standing over the whimpering man.  "Perhaps one of our young 
enforcers can quiet you down."

A chestnut-haired lanky youth raised his hand.  "Your Honor, sir, I 
have to pee pretty bad."  "Well done, Steven!" said the Master.  

He directed the guards to restrain the prisoner’s head.  When the 
wooden frame was in place and the leather strap was tightened across 
Chmura’s 23-inch neck, his gag was removed.  Immediately a stream of 
vile profanity poured out of the handsome mouth.  "Fucking 
cocksuckers!! You’ll fry for this!!  Goddamn motherfuck...!!!"

Steven walked behind Chmura’s immobilized head.  He unzipped his 
baggy pants and pulled out his young boycock.  Soon a yellow stream 
aimed accurately at Chmura’s cursing mouth came raining down. The 
foul-mouthed offender began coughing and spitting and finally 
tightly closed his mouth and eyes, helplessly letting the boy’s piss 
wash over his face.  

"That’s better," said the Master.  "And now may we have a round of 
applause for our boys!"  The crowd cheered appreciatively.   Little 
Timmy, who was developing a taste for the spotlight,  jumped atop 
Chmura’s chest waving his hands and then scampered between the man’s 
legs, landing a well-placed kick to each of the swollen testicles.  
The crowd roared. The Master waved a finger.  "That’s cheating, you 
little devil," he said, sending the boy on his way with a spank of 
the bullwhip handle to his bottom.  

The lights came up as the boys left the room and the Master 
announced:  "The court will stand in recess while the prisoner is 
prepared for the Forfeiture and Redemption."



Part Two:  The Forfeiture and Redemption

A festive mood prevailed in the courtroom while Mark Chmura was 
readied for the second phase of his ordeal.  His teeth were fitted 
with a kind of hard plastic guard that kept his jaw from closing 
while leaving his throat accessible and his full, handsome lips 
uncovered.  

A square solid oak table was brought center stage and after the 
naked man was forced up from the floor he was made to lean over it 
and then tightly strapped onto it face down.  His cock and balls 
hung over one side while his chin rested on the opposite edge facing 
the podium.   With his legs spread and his feet secured to the table 
legs, his proud ass stood out prominently. 

The spectators were invited onstage to inspect the prisoner after he 
was securely fastened prone across the table.  Each of them in turn 
grabbed his heavy nutsack, attempting to judge precisely the weight 
of its contents in his hands before recording his hopeful guess with 
the court stenographer.  The swollen state of the bruised gonads 
made the assessments difficult.  

When the last of the men had completed his careful estimation the 
lights in the courtroom came down and the spotlight came up, 
signaling the resumption of proceedings.

 "All rise."  More than a few in attendance rose in more ways than 
one at the sight of the Magistrate cum Master as he entered the 
courtroom.   Naked save for long black leather riding boots and a 
matching cap, he wore a studded leather cockring that kept his huge 
judicial boner at full extension.  Instead of the gavel, he sported 
his official bullwhip and with a crack across the podium onto 
Chmura’s well-muscled back he cried, "Order!"

The Magistrate began to speak in a somber tone. "Gentlemen,  we are 
embarked on a holy ritual of communal vengeance.  While fervently we 
may wish it to be otherwise, it is our solemn duty to administer 
justice so that the karmic order of our society may be restored .  
As is inscribed in this sacred text, ‘if thy right eye offend thee, 
PLUCK IT OUT.’"  He took up the leather-bound book laying before him 
and hurled it at the prisoner, grazing his forehead.

The Master descended from the bench and kicking the Bible aside, 
stood before the involuntarily gaping man.   He rudely grasped 
Chmura’s head by handfuls of his thick dark brown hair and thrust 
his massive 9-inch member past the full, inviting lips, deep into 
the unwilling man’s throat.  In and out, rhythmically.  Faster, with 
righteous fury, ignoring the  strangled choking sounds issuing from 
the captive. In and out. In and out. In and out.  "Oh, yeah, you 
fairy, take it deep," he sighed.  "Just the way you like it, baby." 
 In and out.  In and out 

Suddenly, he withdrew his throbbing member, leaving Chmura panting 
violently for air.  

"Yes!  I believe this man seeks redemption!," the Master declared. 

He leaped onto the table and stood over the prisoner like a 
colossus.  Raising his whip in both hands he thrust his gaze upward 
like his steely hardon.  With eyes tightly closed he exclaimed,  
"Yes, oh Lord, Thy will be done!"  

The Master crouched to kneel on the small of the gasping man’s 
heaving back.   Reaching down he spread the jock stud’s beefy butt 
cheeks, exposing the fur lined puckered pink hole to the attentive 
audience.  The three-time All-Pro tight end’s tight end!  The 
attendant guard proffered  a tub of Vaseline into which the Master 
plunged the whip handle.  Then, guiding it with his finger, his 
carefully worked the end into Chmura’s tight anus.  A guard assisted 
with the insertion, pushing further as the sphincter muscle 
relaxed..  The athlete’s groans turned to something like a scream as 
centimeter by centimeter the whip handle filled his virgin rectum.  
When the last of the handle disappeared the whip hung out of his ass 
like the tail of a monster rat.  

The Master reached down over the shapely ass to seize a length of 
the whip and looped it to snag the dangling nut sack, pulling it 
upward.  With another loop he tightened the tourniquet around the 
captured scrotum and then stretching the line taut, he moved to the 
front of the table where he proceeded to wrap the end around 
Chmura’s neck and tie it tight.

While the Master busied himself at the head of the table all eyes in 
the audience were focused on the rear.  Chmura’s cock, which 
heretofore hung placidly between his legs like a rubber snake, 
became transformed with the pressure of the whip handle on his 
prostate and the constriction of his sack. The limp sausage hardened 
and grew into an imposing shaft approaching a foot in length.  
Pulled up backwards along with the ball sack, the engorged pole 
pointed out like an upside-down cannon toward the excitedly 
whispering onlookers.

The crowd quieted when the Master resumed his position kneeling on 
the prisoner’s back, straddling the line that ran from Chmura’s 
neck, around his balls and terminating deep inside him.  

Pulled up behind his ass, the football player’s big balls gleamed 
plump and juicy in the spotlight like two red plums.

The Master slowly stroked his own unabated hardon with his left hand 
while with his right he fondled the bound testicles, cupping his 
hand in a soft caress as if to savor their ripe fullness.  He then 
lowered his head and one by one took the large shining orbs into his 
mouth, sucking and gently pulling each mouthful while grasping the 
whip tourniquet to draw them out fully in their sack.  

He straightened and started jerking off again while with his right 
hand he slapped and pummeled the tender fruit until he elicited 
fresh groans from the prisoner.  On that cue he issued his command: 
 "Unsheathe the instrument of retribution and redemption!"  The 
attendant guard withdrew from it’s scabbard the six-inch curved 
knife of highly polished steel and handed it to the Master.

He held the knife aloft and the razor-sharp implement glinted in the 
harsh light.  He gazed as if transfixed at the sacrificial offering 
before him and then closed his eyes.  The tension in the room became 
palpable as the seconds ticked by.  Only the soft pleading moans of 
the condemned man punctuated the stillness.

Finally, the Master opened his eyes and while crossing himself, 
knife in hand, he intoned:  "In the name of the father whose 
innocent child you raped, in the name of the sun that leaves no evil 
unconcealed, and in the name of the cold spirit that suffuses our 
resolve to holy retribution, Mark Chmura, I hereby consign your 
organs of generation to oblivion."

Hearing this fateful proclamation, Chmura’s inarticulate grunts 
intensified in alarm and he began desperately to twist and strain 
against his bonds.  His tormentor heedlessly resumed masturbating 
with steadily faster motions.  Resting on Chmura’s ass, his 
knife-wielding right hand sat poised under the stud’s plump balls 
which were jostled and trembling from the futile kicks and thrusts 
of their owner.  A hint of a smile momentarily traced over the 
Master’s mouth when, with a quick turn and upward pull of his wrist, 
he sliced clean through the bound sack,  instantly and permanently 
separating the pro athlete’s big balls from his manly physique. At 
the sight of this barbarous mayhem the Master’s throbbing cock 
exploded, sending wave after wave of cum over Chmura’s ass and his 
severed ballsack  

To our excitement and surprise, the prisoner’s swollen dick burst 
forth as well with an ejaculation of stunning force.  Like lighting 
a fuse, the touch of the knife to the sack launched a cannon shot of 
sperm ejecting in a 6-foot arc, nearly splattering the front row of 
the audience.  Then, suddenly released from its bound companions, 
the heavy pole plunged down.  Chmura cried out in an ecstasy of pain 
and devastation while his long, pulsing shaft involuntarily pumped 
out its copious load of seed—the last it would ever carry—into a 
thick, creamy puddle on the floor.  

The brawny newly-minted eunuch sobbed uncontrollably as the Master 
raised his forfeited jewels aloft in his bloody hands and cried: 
"All praised be the righteous gods of Vengeance!  The court will 
recess in preparation for the Weighing and Bestowal of Honors."