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Mark's Tuesday torment begins with his ballbusting bulls encircling him, their boots stomping in unison, a symphony of his suffering. The crotch of his tight jeans bulges obscenely, a beacon for their merciless kicks. Each impact sends shockwaves through his loins, his muffled cries fueling their sadistic glee. They toy with him, their boots caressing his crotch, their voices laced with mock concern, promising respite, only to deny it, leaving him a quivering, sobbing mess, desperate for mercy that never comes.