Monthly Meeting of Charn Victims Anonymous (come up with cute name)
Cherry Pickers Club
 
 
Bartender is (bartender from alec story)
 
 
four customers
 
 
1) Bull - got tricked at glory hole (unused)
 
 
 
 
Eight
Eight the racoon swiveled on his barstool, a glass cradled between his slender fingers, as the bull next to him finished recounting the story of his own emasculation. The chuckles rolled off him like thunder, deep and resonant, as he recounted the bizarre glory hole encounter that had left him lighter by two hefty testicles. Eight's dark eyes glinted with mirth, the punchline causing a ripple of genuine amusement through his lithe frame.
"Man, Charn really got you good, huh?" Eight remarked, the corners of his mouth twitching into a knowing grin. Charn always got people good. [Brock]'s laughter subsided into a series of hearty chuckles, and he nodded, absentmindedly patting the flat expanse beneath his zipper where his prodigious balls had once resided.
"Sure did," [Brock] replied, "But hey, no hard feelings. It's a story for the grandcalves, right?"
"Right," Eight agreed, taking a sip from his drink. The cool liquid slid down his throat, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. He canted his head to the side, peering at [Brock] curious. Did he not realize...?
The graying feline bartender, approached, yellow eyes gleaming like mustard gas under the dim lighting of the bar. His tiger stripes rippled over strong forearms as he muddled mint and limes together at the bottom of a deep cup. The tiger gave him a wink, whispering 'be nice' to him, before shoveling ice on top of the muddled rum.
"Care for another round, boys?" Charn asked, voice as dark and smooth as gravy. "Notice your glasses are almost as empty as your jocks are."
"Surrre, but you're paying!" [Brock] said. The bull pushed his empty pint glass across the bar, and the tiger nodded, shaking the rum in with the other ingredients.
"On the house, of course. And you, Eight? I have a mojito with your name on it," the tiger said. He poured the sweet and potent concoction into a tumbler, and handed it to the racoon.
"Oh, I love rum. Delectable. Thank you, Charn," Eight responded, lifting the fresh drink in a salute before turning his gaze back to [Brock], who was side-eyeing him with a smile on his mouth.
"Speaking of which," [Brock] said, slyly, his voice a low rumble, "how did you end up losing your marbles? You still haven't told me your story."
Eight twisted on the barstool, the leather creaking softly as his weight shifted. He was surrounded by other neutered males, some voluntarily, others less so. An air of reminiscence clouded his expression, whiskers twitching slightly as the memory took hold.
"Ah, well, it happened several months back," he said, voice tinged with nostalgia. "I figured it was time for a change, something... permanent." Eight gestured between his legs. "I was made with these, and by all accounts, I should have wanted to keep them. I had been out of my tank for, oh, about a month or so, and-"
"Wait, out of your tank? What does that mean?" [Brock] asked, squinting at the smaller bar patron next to him. "And what do you mean, you were made that way?"
"Oh," Eight gestured a hand dismissively as he tasted his drink. The mint was sharp and herbal and tingled against his tongue, and the sugar coated his throat most excellently. "I'm a clone. Sorry, I thought you knew that."
"I did not," [Brock] said. "What, um, make and model?"
"Pfft. I'm a Ristin clone. 'Model' number eight, if you want to think of things that way. The thing with Ristin clones is, it doesn't matter what genitals they start off with, we just always seem to gravitate towards having a little bit less. And I was feeling that urge. I liked my balls, but more than that, I liked the idea of not having them anymore. So, I hit up Charn here. He's got a 'knack' for this sort of thing, you know?"
"Oh, I think we all know," [Brock] said, tossing back a slug of his beer and wiping the foam from his lips. He rested his chin on his arm, his wide-set eyes reflecting his intrigue about the bandit's unique existence. "But I've never heard of someone hitting Charn up to lose their balls."
"I dunno if he does, or not. But the other Ristins could tell what I was thinking, could feel my urges. They suggested that I reach out to the striped menace, and Charn," Eight continued, casting a sideways glance at the bartender, who merely raised an eyebrow, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between them, "agreed to help me out. He said it would be an honor."
"Oh, I bet it would be," [Brock] urged. He took another swig, as Eight tasted his mojito, and then shook his head. "Tell me, Eight," [Brock] urged, "did he 'take care' of you as good as he did me?"
"Well, I have no complaints. There were some surprises, but I would not have had it any other way. In fact, I enjoyed it so much, I've brought a couple friends of mine here, just for Charn to, ah, take care of. It all started early one Tuesday morning, before the bar had opened for the day. I met Charn here, with the expectations that he would be able to help me with my urges."
[About one month earlier....]
 
 
The dim morning light filtered through the half-closed blinds of the bar, casting strips of gold across the planks of the hardwood floor. The scent of cleaning solution still lingered in the air as Eight sat on the exact same bar-stool he would sit on one month later, as he recounted this day's events to a steer named [Brock]. In front of him, Charn began to lay out the tools of his trade with the precision of a seasoned craftsman. Eight watched with detached curiosity, trying to determine what each of the tools would be used for. Scalpel, well that's obvious. A roll of elastic surgical tubing, he had only seen that used as a cockring before. Some bandages, some scissors, and some toothpaste-tube shaped medicines. Eight's ears twitched, as he heard someone rummaging in the next room over, in the kitchen.
 
 
"Dad, don't you have any food that's already cooked?" Another tiger strolled out of the kitchen. He was sleeker than Charn, his stripes darker and sharper, his cheek ruff a purer white. He was shirtless, scratching at his abs as he looked the raccoon over. "Sup."
 
 
"Just bar nuts," Charn said, cheerfully. He glanced up, seeing the other two males staring at each other, and cleared his throat. "Eight, have you met my son Vorlan? He's just graduated from Phatbuldge University, cum laude, and is summering here before.. whatever's next."
 
 
"Pleasure to meet you, Vorlan," Eight said. Vorlan rolled his eyes. He had somehow manifested a cell phone during the introduction, and leaned against the bar while thumbing through notifications on his phone. His slumping posture radiated the restlessness of youth.
"I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to show Vorlan some of my techniques today. He's not in college anymore, which means he can't get away with fumbling, awkward, bloody castrations under bleacher benches and "Today, you're going to learn something that can't be taught in the sterile halls of academia."
Vorlan looked up, interest piqued despite himself. He watched as Eight, the raccoon whose heavyset frame was propped comfortably against the bar, flashed him a grin that was equal parts daring and nonchalant. It was time for the lesson to begin.
"Hygiene first," Charn intoned, beckoning Vorlan to follow suit as he washed his paws meticulously, scrubbing between each digit. Vorlan mimicked the action, less out of respect for cleanliness than a desire not to earn his father's disapproval. They dried their hands, and Vorlan couldn't resist glancing at Eight, who now reclined on the polished wood surface, the fur on his belly soft and inviting.
"Come closer," Charn instructed, and Vorlan did, his attention captured by the raccoon's exposed sheath, a curious mix of vulnerability and trust displayed before him. Absentmindedly, he dried his paws on the plush fur, fingers lingering longer than necessary, exploring the warmth and texture beneath them. His touch wandered lower, brushing against Eight's full, rounded testicles, which hung heavily, an alluring promise of masculinity and potency.
"Interesting, isn't it?" Charn observed, his voice rich with dark amusement as he watched his son fumble with newfound curiosity.
Eight could feel a thrilling tension rise within him as Vorlan's inexperienced paws toyed with his virility. The sensation was unexpected, startling—a visceral reaction to being handled by a predator. His breath hitched, heartbeats quickened, and he found himself sinking deeper into the sensation, surrendering to the predatory caress that provoked his body to respond with a primal arousal.
"Focus, Vorlan," Charn's reprimand came softly, though it lacked neither authority nor expectation. But Eight was already adrift in the current of raw instinct, his mind clouded by the touch that was coaxing his cock to swell with life.
"Sorry," Vorlan murmured, but there was a glint in his eye now—a spark kindled by the weight of the flesh he cradled in his palm. He glanced at his father, seeking approval or guidance in this most unusual of tutorials.
"Watch closely," Charn said, his gaze never leaving his son, ensuring that every detail of this moment would be etched into Vorlan's memory. As much as this was a ritualistic rite for Eight, it was also an inheritance of knowledge passed down from father to son—a legacy of their lineage, bound by blood and the shared understanding of power.
Eight's thoughts flickered between past and present, the recollection so vivid it was as if he were back on that cool, hard surface, the thrill of exposure tingling across his skin. And even now, as Brock leaned in, eager for more of the tale, Eight felt the shadow of that touch, a ghostly sensation that prompted a secretive smile to dance upon his lips.
 
 
5. Back in the flashback, Charn explains to Eight that they won't be using anesthetic, as it's important for Vorlan to learn how to remove balls without causing pain. Charn guides Vorlan through the process, instructing him to use a scalpel to carefully slice open Eight's scrotum and expose the large balls. Outside of the flashback, [Brock] asks if Eight felt any pain, and Eight confides that he really didn't, it was interesting to watch.
6. Charn clamps the left testicle cord, while Vorlan watches, and then Vorlan clamps the other cord. Charn asks if this is uncomfortable, and Eight confides that it just feels like he has blue balls and needs to cum. Vorlan starts being interested now, not having realized how a male's experience could be adjusted.
7. Charn says that this is the fun part, and using a claw, deftly slices off the left ball. Vorlan gasps and Eight's cock throbs as hard as possible as he sees his ball being held in the tiger's paw.
8. Vorlan tries to mimic the process, but he is clumsy and Eight almost winces. Not wanting to discourage Vorlan, Eight keeps smiling instead, and lies and says he didn't feel a thing.
9. After the procedure is completed, Charn and Vorlan each pick up one of Eight's severed balls, bumping them in a toast before dropping the balls into their mouths and swallowing them whole.
10. The tigers turn their attention to Eight, their eyes filled with lust and desire, making their intentions clear.
10. Back at the bar, Eight finishes his narration, blushing as Charn smirks knowingly at him. [Brock] asks if he had sex with Charn and Vorlan, but Eight just smiles mysteriously.
 
 
 
 
3) Open
 
 
4) Max - proud and bragging about i