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She Rose While They Fell (Patreon)

Published:
2026-02-02 10:19:57
Edited:
2026-09-05 05:00:44
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Stephan

And so here I come to rest, my sweat and blood slicked body piled high upon others of my proud hoplite legion equally dispatched by the swift blades and accurate heels of our Amazon foes. Somewhere far from where my flesh has been piled on this shameful heap of defeat my severed cock lies leaking seed and blood onto the ground. Ironically the thought flashes through my head that I hope that the girl who slew me kept it as her trophy. Fu*k, I was so proud of it!! The battlefield smells of the coppery scent of blood and the sweet smell of man musk and it is littered with the severed manhoods of a hundred men - manhoods that but 10 minutes before stood high in proud formation aching with lust for the loins of those seductive warriors. The air is rendt with the tortured screams and whimpers of dying men , unable in these fading moments of their lives to believe that they are to pass on to the underworld without their cocks and balls. It is as if God Odin himself has been castrated this day along with myself and my brothers in arms. So, so many lost men! Across the battle field I glimpse the vision of Amazons moving with a fierce grace and unerring cold precision as they make quick the work of dispatching us to hades, hitting each man first where it counts, where the pain is most intense and unforgiving. They are angles of death. There are not many of us left standing and all too frequently I can hear a bloodcurdling cry - the unmistakable sound a man makes as he is stunned into defeat by the reduction of his gonads to pulp. And as the newly emasculated soldiers then stumble about like poultry with severed heads, each Amazon deals the death knell blow skewering muscular pectorals on their blades, bringing us to our knees. To my right, I hear another distinctive sound - the high whining whistle of a blade as it flashes through the air. I don't have to actually witness to know what's happening there. It is the terrible sound of the final slice as the Amazon assassin severs her prize from its rightful owner. My chest heaves as my breaths become choked and ragged. Blood pours from the gapping slice her scabbard made in my right pec. Looking down the length of my body with horror I contemplate the fountain of blood spurting into the air from between my legs,keeping time with the increasingly eratic beat of my heart. Contemplating the horror of the emptiness there, I realize with an ironic shock that this was not the kind of pumping I had intended from down there when I first charged into battle fully erect, not a quarter hour ago. As my vision blurs I see two Amazons dragging yet another of my fallen comrades in arms, throwing his 90 kg of muscle on top of me. I pass with the impact of his twitching body dropping onto my chest. And so I have become part of a rotting pile of dickiess muscle beef - a pyramid of fallen pride, lost phalluses and balls and lost masculinity. I'd rather be dead than live without my nuts and so this is for the best. My last thought is to offer up my admiration for the formidable superior fighting skills of the Queen's army.