I [f22] came home early from the gym and headed straight to the laundry room to grab my stuff out of the dryer. The house was supposed to be empty. My stepbrother Ryan is four years older than me, 26, usually out with his friends or at the gym himself. But when I pushed the door open, he was there standing right in front of the dryer with my favorite black lace panties wrapped around his cock, stroking fast like his life depended on it.

I froze for a second, then pure disgust hit me. “Ryan, what the actual fuck?!”

He jumped, eyes wide, but he didn’t let go of my panties or stop moving his hand. His face went bright red and he started mumbling, “Emmy… shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be home…” But his cock stayed rock hard, twitching in his fist like it was enjoying the fact that I caught him.

Something twisted in my stomach. Not just anger — this weird mix of shock and power. I stepped closer, still in my sports bra and tiny gym shorts, and glared at him. “You’re jerking off to my dirty panties? That’s so fucking nasty.”

Before I even thought about it, my leg swung up and I kicked him right in the balls. Not super hard, but firm enough that my bare foot connected solidly with his sack. Ryan gasped, his whole body jerking, but instead of doubling over or yelling at me to stop… his cock throbbed even harder. A thick drop of precum leaked out onto my panties.

I stared, mouth open. “Wait… you’re getting harder? What the hell?”

He was breathing fast, still slowly stroking, voice all shaky and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Emmy… I know it’s wrong… I just… fuck, I couldn’t help it.”

The way he said it, all pathetic and desperate while his dick kept pulsing, made something click in my head. I smirked, feeling this sudden rush. “Do you actually like that? Getting caught and kicked in the balls by your fucking stepsister?”

Ryan bit his lip, nodding before he could even think. “Yeah… a little. God, I’m so sorry.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You’re such a freak.” Then I kicked him again, a little harder this time, my foot smacking his balls with a dull thud. His knees buckled slightly but he stayed standing, stroking faster for a second before he forced his hand to slow down like he was trying to behave.

“Ow… fuck… Emmy, I’m really sorry,” he groaned, but his cock was leaking nonstop now, shiny and swollen, veins standing out. He looked so pathetic and turned on at the same time.

I stepped even closer, tilting my head. “Stop stroking for a second. Hands behind your back.”

He obeyed instantly, letting go of his dick. It bobbed there in the air, angry red and dripping. I watched his face as I pulled my leg back and kicked him again…harder. The sound was sharper this time. Ryan moaned loud, his hips jerking forward like he was chasing the pain. No hands, just pure ball-busting.

“Jesus… you really do like this,” I said, half laughing, half fascinated. “Look at you. No touching yourself and you’re still leaking like crazy.”

“I can’t help it,” he whimpered, eyes glassy. “It hurts so good when you do it… please, Emmy…”

That “please” did something to me. I felt this crazy confidence take over. I started kicking him rhythmically Not full force, but steady, deliberate kicks right to his poor swollen balls. Left foot, right foot, alternating while he stood there with his hands behind his back like a good boy, moaning and apologizing between every hit.

“Sorry… fuck… I’m so sorry, Emmy… I know it’s gross… ahh!”

Every kick made his cock jump and leak more. His balls were turning a nice shade of red, tightening up against his body. I kept going, watching his face twist in pain and pleasure, his voice getting higher and more desperate.

“You’re not even allowed to stroke anymore,” I told him sweetly, landing another solid kick that made him groan deep in his throat. “You’re just gonna cum from your little sister busting your balls, aren’t you? That’s how pathetic you are.”

Ryan nodded frantically and tears were pricking the corners of his eyes. “Yes… yes, Emmy… I’m gonna cum… please don’t stop…”

I didn’t. I kicked a little faster, a little sharper, focusing right on that sensitive spot. His whole body started shaking. His cock twitched wildly, untouched, bouncing with every impact. Then suddenly he cried out a broken, humiliated moan and started shooting thick ropes of cum all over the laundry room floor without ever touching himself again. Spurt after spurt while I kept lightly kicking through his orgasm, milking every drop out with my feet.

When he finally stopped cumming, he was panting and his legs were trembling, balls bright red and sore. I lowered my foot and just looked at the mess he made, then back up at his flushed, embarrassed face.

I smiled, wiping a tiny bit of sweat from my forehead. “Well… that was interesting. Guess I know your dirty little secret now, Ryan.”

He could barely speak, still catching his breath. “Emmy… I’m so fucking sorry… but… thank you.”

I laughed softly and turned to finally grab my clothes from the dryer. “Don’t thank me yet. Next time I catch you sniffing my panties, I’m not stopping until you’re crying and begging. Got it?”

He nodded weakly, a shy, satisfied little smile creeping onto his face.

This house just got a whole lot more interesting.

Sasha was excited to finally put her shelves up. She had spent so much time shopping for the perfect ones until she found a set made of multiple planks of wood with a gap in between them so her plants could grow between the shelves. She had hoped her 25 year old, unemployed son would have offered to help but nevertheless she was proud of her handiwork.

All she had left to do was put the final shelf up. If only she remembered where it was. Her wondering was cut short by a yelp from her son’s bedroom.

She rushed in to see him standing in the middle of the room with the shelf held over his crotch. She was less than thrilled to see his testicles sticking out between the planks.

“What has happened here?” She gestured to her naked son’s balls.

“They’re stuck. I just wanted to see if they’d fit. Please help me.” Jay sounded almost as panicked as he looked.

She took hold of the shelf and gave it a hard tug towards her, causing Jay to emit another, higher pitched yelp.

“They’re really in there. You didn’t want to see if your dick would fit too?” She couldn’t help but poke fun a little bit.

“It wouldn’t reach?”

“It wouldn’t reach your balls?”

“Should it?” Jay seemed as confused by the question as Sasha did at the answer.

“Um, Yes. It should reach past your balls.”

She tilted the shelf, ignoring the grunt from Jay, to look at his penis. It couldn’t have been over 2 inches if it even reached that. She tried to make excuses in her head but on such a hot, summer day it looked like that was as big as she could expect it to be.

“Oh, honey.” The disappointment she felt at seeing the size of her son’s penis hit him in a red hot flush. “I’m sorry your mother has to be the one to tell you but you have a very little willy. Your balls should not hang lower than it. No wonder I’ve never seen you with a girl.”

Seeing he was about to argue she pulled on the shelf again to interrupt. “Speaking of balls, let’s get them free.”

She placed a thumb over each testicle and pushed down. Her aim was to squeeze them back through the gap in the planks but Jay’s scream let her know that was not happening.

“Stop! Please, you’ll break them!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic. They can take more than that.” She dug her thumbs in harder to prove her point. She let Jay scream for a few seconds before releasing the pressure. “See. It might hurt but they’ll survive and if you want them free you’re going to have to deal with a bit of pain. Now, close your eyes and brace.”

Jay did as he was told. With his eyes squeezed as tightly shut as they would go, he prayed for his balls to be set free. What he got was an explosion of agony as his mother slammed the bottom of her hand against his balls like she was trying to empty a ketchup bottle.

Three quick but agonizing hits connected with his balls before he threw his hands in front and begged for mercy.

Sasha tried to comfort her son but couldn’t help mix in a little teasing. “It’s okay, sweetie. I know it hurts but it will be over soon. Can you be big and brave for me in the meantime?” She glanced down at his penis and returned her gaze to his eyes with a smirk. “Well…Maybe not so big but you can be brave for me.”

Before he could respond she dragged the shelf – with his balls – to the side of the room and pressed it against the wall. His balls were the only thing between the shelf and the wall. “Get ready. 1…2…3!”

Sasha pushed the shelf into the wall. Instead of going through the gap in the shelf, she only managed to flatten her son’s testicles against the wall. Jay screamed but didn’t have the strength to pull his mother’s arms away. He could only paw at the shelf and beg her to stop.

After the third and weakest “Stop…” Shasha pulled back slightly only to swiftly slam the shelf at the wall. Two slams in quick succession did not free her son’s balls but did succeed in eliciting a light sob.

“Maybe it’s the shape of them…” She tried to grab hold of her son’s balls but Jay threw his hands down to stop her.

“They’ll never be free if you keep stopping me. Would you rather I use tools to cut them out?” She made a snipping motion with her fingers that terrified Jay enough to move his hands.

Sasha still opted to move behind him and pull the shelf through his legs. She hoped Jay didn’t hear her giggle but she found it hard not to find humour in the act of giving her son a wedgie with his own balls. Especially, given how he had been acting lately.

She again grabbed his balls and squeezed and pressed on them. Now that he couldn’t reach her all he could do was squeal and hope she succeeded. His hopes were in vain

She dug her fingers into his balls, trying to mould Jay’s balls to a flatter shape that would fit through the gap. She was clearly less concerned with the threat of them popping than he was but his shrill cries eventually got her to give up.

Leaving the shelf behind him, Sasha moved to face her son and burst out laughing at the sight of him.

“It’s not funny, mom!”

“Oh, but it is a bit. Your pecker looks just like a clit and with your balls tucked away it’s like I have a daughter.” She laughed as she reached into her pocket.

Jay was trying to reach behind to cup his aching balls and before he knew what was going on his mother had snapped a picture of his most shameful moment. He pulled his hands over his penis but far too late.

“Oh, that will be a good one for the next reunion.” She looked up after putting her phone away and saw her crimson faced son with both hands over his crotch. She gave him a quizzical look. “Both hands? You really think you need more than a finger to cover that thing up?”

“Mom!” The word was all he could muster.

“Oh, I’m sorry honey. I’m just teasing. There are girls out there that won’t mind you’ve got a teeny tiny little willy. You’ll laugh about his later.”

She grabbed the shelf and dragged him, hobbling backwards, to his bed and bent him over it. With a firm grip on the shelf, she kicked her slipper off and raised her foot.

“This one will hurt.” She warned and slammed her heel into her son’s balls.

His legs kicked out and he squirmed and squealed like a farm animal but Sasha’s grip on the shelf held him and his balls firmly in place. She stomped again and again. On the fifth stomp she yanked the shelf back and kept pressing down with her heel. Seeing his balls were not yet free she twisted her foot. Instead of working them through the gap she only succeeded in grinding her son’s balls into the hard, unforgiving wood of the shelf.

It was clear that force wasn’t going to work so she released the pressure before she really did break his balls. She fed the shelf back through to the front of her son and let him cradle his nuts as she cradled him.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I know it hurts. I have one last idea.” She said, gently while stroking his hair. “This one shouldn’t hurt.”

She returned to the room with a bottle of baby oil. She stood him up and slathered the oil over her son’s balls before gently massaging them through the gap. Jay’s breathing got deeper, his eyes closed and he couldn’t help but let out a slight moan.

As she heard the sound Shasha let out a disgusted gasp and swiftly swatted his balls with her open hand. “Remember, I’m your mother.” She looked sternly and continued.

Jay bit his lip and managed to stay silent while his mother gently caressed his balls through the gap in the shelf. Her motions worked as the front of his balls went through, quickly followed by the satisfying and pain free release of both his testicles.

Jay looked down in glee at his free, swinging balls.

Sasha looked in disgust at her son’s rock hard cock. Before now she wouldn’t have entertained the idea of her son having the smallest dick she had ever seen, both soft and hard. The sight of his barely 4 inch, throbbing penis brought out her maternal rage and disappointment and she swung the shelf up between his legs. She tried not to use all of her strength to smash her son’s balls with the shelf.

Despite her effort to hold back, the shelf connected with considerable force. The abuse his balls had already taken made them extra sensitive and his excitement at being free meant the blow took him by surprise and Jay crumpled in a whimpering heap immediately.

“That’s for getting a little stiffy over your mother.” She watched him writhe in a mix of sympathy and satisfaction. “I still love you, but don’t let me see those things again or they’ll pay.”

As Jay writhed on the floor, he couldn't help but wonder if his mother had purposely saved the baby oil to use as last resort, to justify her smacking and stomping his nuts.

Disclaimer: These stories are a work of fiction. None of the events depicted have occurred as they are depicted. My wife and I do have a relationship that sometimes incorporates some ballbusting, but these stories are fantasy.

Chapter 22: Monday:  Time with my crush

Monday evening, I was tied tightly to a chair, my wrists and ankles bound securely to the arms and legs. I could squirm and shift a little, but there was nothing I could do to relieve the crushing pressure of the three-bar ball crusher locked around my testicles.

Two bars clamped firmly behind my balls, stretching them out painfully, while the third bar pressed down relentlessly across the middle, flattening and bending my poor nuts around its unyielding edge. The hard plastic dug mercilessly into my tender ball-meat, and so did my wife.

“It looks like the crusher is really having an impact,” my wife said with a smirk. “How do they feel?”

“It’s a nice, relaxing stretch,” I lied. The pain was already intense, but I didn’t want to sound like a whiner.

“Should I tighten it some more?”

“You don’t have the balls!” I barked, forcing a smirk through the agony.

“Ha! You’re right,” she laughed, clearly delighted. She hooked her thumbs into her panties and slid them down her legs, revealing her smooth, bare mound—completely devoid of balls. “I’m so glad I don’t have stupid, ugly balls. Especially ones as naughty as yours. That’s why I don’t spend my evenings with my balls crushed in a vice.” She paused, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Would you mind if I borrow yours for tonight?”

“Sure,” I grunted. “You can have the balls for the evening.”

“Great! Let’s see how this feels.”

She leaned forward and tightened the crusher with a slow, brutal twist. My muscles tensed instantly as fresh waves of pain exploded through my groin.

“How are the balls feeling now?” she asked sweetly.

“Ugh… they feel fine,” I lied through gritted teeth.

She leaned in again and gave the screw another merciless turn. I jerked hard against my bonds, my body instinctively fighting the overwhelming pressure on my poor testicles. Every instinct screamed at me to relieve it, but I forced myself to breathe through the pain. I needed to master my body—for her.

“How are the balls feeling now?” she asked again, her voice playful.

I took three long, shaky breaths before I could answer. “They… hurt.”

“Ha!” she sang with musical delight. “I’m sure they do. But I think they should hurt a little bit more.”

She leaned in once more and tightened the crusher even further. The pressure on my precious orbs was unbearable now. I thrashed and shook violently in the chair.

“Ple… please… loosen it!” I begged pitifully.

My wife put on a theatrically disappointed face. “Don’t ruin our fun.”

“Please! I can’t take it!” I gasped.

“I’m really disappointed,” she sighed. “I thought I married a real man, not a whiny boy. Let’s work together on this. I bet you can take it for just two more minutes.” She looked at my trembling body, then slowly peeled off her top, exposing her full breasts. “Here… I’ll help motivate you.”
She straddled the arm of the chair, planting one foot on the seat between my bound legs. Her warm, wet pussy pressed firmly against my clenched fist as she pushed her breasts into my face.

I loved her breasts. I desperately wanted them—but the crushing agony in my balls dominated every thought. They were bulging obscenely to both sides of the crusher bar in a grotesque, unnatural shape.

“Take it for me,” she whispered, her voice thick with arousal.

I struggled to regain control. Finally, I managed to wrap my lips around her stiff nipple and suck gently. After a moment, I unclenched my fist and slid a finger inside her slick folds. It wasn’t easy—I had to pause every few seconds as fresh bolts of pain tore through me—but my suffering clearly turned her on. Her breathing grew ragged, her hips grinding against my hand. Eventually, her body shuddered with a powerful orgasm.

Satisfied, she stepped back and looked down at me with a radiant smile. “We did it!” Her joy was infectious, and for a brief moment, it almost outweighed the pain. “I’m so proud of you. You’re such a good man for me.”

I soaked up her praise, even as my crushed testicles throbbed mercilessly.

We shared a tender moment—her standing naked before me, glowing with post-orgasmic bliss, while I remained tied helplessly to the chair, fighting not to cry out from the unrelenting torture between my legs.

After the moment passed, she leaned in, kissed me softly on the lips… then reached down and tightened the ball crusher once more.

The spike in pain was immediate and devastating. It was too much. My body convulsed uncontrollably.

My wife glanced down at my shaking form with a satisfied little smile, then casually gathered her clothes. “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be back in about ten minutes to let a little pressure off those balls.”

She turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone to suffer in silence.

Author's Note: I really appreciate feedback. Throw me a comment if you like my writing to let me know what you'd like to see in the future.

Here are the previous chapters.

• Chapter 1 and 2 (Kicking and electrical play)
• Chapter 3 (Kicking and licking)
• Chapter 4 and 5 (Kicking and crushing in a vice)
• Chapter 6 (Hammering and sex)
• Chapter 7 (Execution style weight play and licking)
• Chapter 8 (Caning in stocks)
• Chapter 9 (Kicking)
• Chapter 10 (Crushing)
• Chapter 11 (Kicking)
• Chapter 12 (Hammering)
• Chapter 13 (Cattle Prod)
• Chapter 14 (Kicking)
• Chapter 15 (Leashed pulling, Kicking)
• Chapter 16 (Kicking, Shocking)
• Chapter 17 (Kicking, Caning)
• Chapter 18 (Cock Burning)
• Chapter 19 (Caning)
• Chapter 20 (Caning, Kicking, Taser)
• Chapter 21 (Cock Torture, Ball Kicks)

"You're staring," Lucy giggled. The kitchen was dim, but not enough to hide the way Philip's gaze kept dipping below her collarbones, then snapping back up in guilt. Her breasts weren't large, but they were perfect, with the kind of softness and perkiness that made men drool. Lucy's hair was a tangle of copper waves. Her eyes weren't just green; they were poison. Her lips were a glossy pulp, the kind that left men imagining them wrapped around their cocks. Her waist was not just narrow, but cinched in a way that made her hips flare dramatically. When she turned sideways, the dip between her ribs and pelvis looked like it had been sculpted by a master. Her thighs were weapons, smooth and deceptively soft where they met the curve of her ass. The kind of thighs men fantasized about crushing their heads between. Her legs were long, but not awkwardly so; every inch designed for both elegance and brutality. And her dress was a crime, not because it was a transgression to fashion, but because it made scandal feel inevitable. A slip of black fabric that clung like it had been poured onto her, the hem riding high enough to make every seated position a calculated risk. The neckline plunged just shy of indecent.

***

It hadn't started with desire, not really. At eighteen, Lucy had been the quiet girl in the back of the class. Then came the party at Kevin Brundle's lake house, the one with tons of vodka and the way his older brother's hands had slid under her skirt. She'd expected disgust. Instead, a switch flipped. His fingers gave her that first orgasm that wasn't just pleasure. It was revelation.

By sophomore year, she'd developed a reputation, the kind whispered about between dorm rooms. Boys lined up; she let them in. Lucy didn’t just take control, she stole it. The first time she climbed on top of her partner, pinning his wrists into the mattress as she rode him, it wasn’t just about pleasure. It was about power. His gasp when she dug her nails into his chest wasn’t a sound of pain, it was surrender. And god, she loved it.

The tipping point came during junior year, when her partner had grabbed her throat, thinking he could wrestle control back from her. Lucy’s knee had reacted before her brain did. The low crunch of his balls collapsing under her thigh spoke louder than his moan. And the way his face twisted, not just in agony, but in humiliation, sent a jolt through her so sharp she came untouched. That night, she lay awake trembling, replaying the moment his body had curled inward. The memory alone made her slick between the legs. Lucy didn't realize the moment her cravings shifted, only that the next morning she woke up wet with nothing but the memory of that guy's whimper when her knee connected. Intercourse became secondary, then optional, then irrelevant. The real thrill wasn't penetration; it was watching a man's face contort when her foot grazed his crotch in the library. The way his neck would bob as he tried to laugh it off while sweat beaded on his forehead.

Lucy had learned early that public busting came with complications. The guy's groin in the coffee shop she had slammed her elbow into seemed accidental, but the manager certainly noticed it was intentional. She'd played it off as a reflex, but the way his eyes narrowed told her that excuse wouldn't work twice. Another incident in the campus agora when her foot slipped as she passed a guy walking by earned her a warning from security. She needed something better than plausible deniability; she needed permission. And the flyer was almost too perfect, black ink on neon pink paper screaming GIRLS ONLY above a silhouette of a woman kneeing a man in the groin. Lucy read the words "Self-Defense Essentials" and almost laughed at the understatement. The fine print promised "volunteer male assistants" and "real-world resistance scenarios," which was just polite code for "come crush some balls." She signed up that same afternoon.

The routine settled, and for a while, Lucy was happy. She'd lock her dorm door behind her, she'd drop her gym bag with a low sigh. Her fingers would tremble as she peeled off her leggings, the damp fabric sticking to her thighs where she’d ground her knee into some poor volunteer’s groin during the drills. The instructor had even praised her form. "Perfect follow-through, Lucy! Right into the testicles."

She wouldn't even wait for the shower. Just sprawl across her bed, legs spread, fingers already slick from anticipation. The memories unfolded behind her eyelids, the way one guy had buckled when she’d hammered her elbow into his crotch. The muffled gagging sounds another made when she’d pinned him against the mat and kneed him three times in quick succession. She came violently from just picturing their faces, eyes bulging, mouths stretched in silent screams.

Mondays and Thursdays became sacred. Lucy would leave her last lecture of the day with her stomach already tight and her pulse fluttering in her wrists. The walk to the gymnasium was a ritual. The instructor, a tall sexy woman, would nod as Lucy slipped into the back row, already rolling her shoulders loose. The volunteers, always men, would shuffle in moments later, their faces carefully neutral. Lucy could smell their nerves. She’d lick her lips when the instructor demonstrated her moves, like a swift knee to the groin, and the way the volunteer would moan, his hands instinctively cupping his ruined balls before dropping to his knees. Then Lucy would pair off with whomever looked the most hesitant. She’d let him think he stood a chance, then she’d strike. Her favorite was the back heel kick, her heel connecting with a sadistic thud that sent him to the floor. Sometimes, if the instructor wasn’t watching, she’d lean down and whisper, "Bet you’ll feel that tomorrow." Then she'd go back home and relive every moment in bed. Her fingers would glide over her clit, already swollen from anticipation, as she replayed the sound of her heel crushing his nuts. And by the time her orgasm ripped through her, she'd already be counting down the days until the next session.

***

Philip hadn't meant to linger outside the self-defense class that night, which he didn't even know existed. He had simply forgotten his water bottle at a desk nearby, until he noticed the door ajar and the noises coming from the other side. Curious, he peaked inside the gym to see the self-defense class mid-drill and his entire nervous system lit up at the sight of Lucy mid-kick, her legs tight in her leggings, her bare foot connecting with a volunteer's groin in a fluid motion. The man folded like origami, his agonized groan muffled against the mat. Lucy just watched as he curled around his ruined balls. Philip couldn't look away. His pulse hammered in his throat, not in fear, but in recognition. Because Lucy wasn't just some girl in leggings practicing defense moves, she was delighting in it. Her lips parted, her breath quickened, and her pupils dilated as she watched the man writhe. That was when Philip knew. He had spent years pretending to be normal, suppressing the part of him that ached for pain, for surrender, for the kind of woman who could reduce him to a whimpering mess with a well-placed knee.

Lucy noticed him lingering halfway through the demonstration, a tall, lean guy with dark curls and a startled expression that wasn't quite startled enough. Their eyes locked, and something passed between them, an electric current, a silent understanding. The instructor called for a water break, and Lucy didn't hesitate. She strode out of the room right up to Philip. They exchanged a few casual words before Lucy reached down and grabbed him by the crotch, squeezing hard. Then she noticed his erection slowly growing in his pants. Lucy didn’t invite him, she commanded him. Her fingers tightened just enough to make his cock twitch before she leaned in. "Room 304. Tomorrow at 8." Then she released him and strode back into the gym without glancing back, leaving Philip standing there, hard and wholly hers. He fell in love on the spot.

***

Philip’s fork lingered against his plate, not from nerves, but from the way Lucy’s bare foot teased his bulge beneath the table. The kitchen smelled of garlic and red wine. Lucy twirled pasta around her fork. "So," she said, sucking a stray strand of sauce from her thumb, "you enjoyed watching me wreck those guys, didn’t you?" Her foot pressed harder, and Philip inhaled sharply through his nose. His fork clattered onto his plate as Lucy’s toes curled deliberately around the outline of his cock through his pants. His lips parted, not to answer, but to release the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Lucy’s fork hovered mid-air, a twirl of pasta dangling as she studied Philip’s face, the way his eyelashes fluttered when her toes pressed just a little harder against his erection. "You didn’t answer me," she murmured, tilting her head. "Did you like watching me wreck them?"

Philip’s fingers flexed against the tablecloth. "Yes," he admitted. "It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen."

Lucy dropped her fork with a clink, leaned forward, and rested her chin on her palm. "Tell me why."

Philip swallowed. "Because you weren't doing it for self-defense. You were playing with them. That kick I saw wasn't just efficient, it was vicious. And you liked it when he collapsed." His thigh tensed under the table as Lucy's toes dragged slowly up his shaft.

She grinned. "So you noticed." Her foot lifted, then stomped down lightly, just enough to make him jerk. "What do you like about watching a guy getting kicked in the nuts by a girl?"

"I'm not sure," Philip replied. "Maybe it's the idea that a woman can defeat a man with one simple kick. There’s something humiliating about it. Or maybe it's the idea that a guy could never do that to a girl in return, knowing that she will never truly understand the type of pain she can inflict. It’s unfair. And that makes it arousing. Why do you like kicking men in the nuts?"

Lucy bit her lower lip. "Because it makes me feel powerful. You know what's funny? Men will fight each other, they'll punch, they'll wrestle, but they'll never kick each other in the balls. That's taboo. But a woman? She can do it anytime. And men know it. They know that if she wanted to, she could ruin their balls with one swift hit. That’s why they flinch when a woman raises her knee. Plus, watching a man's hands fly to his crotch to nurse his busted nuts in vain while he moans in pain is so addictive." Her toes flexed against Philip’s erection. "And you know what else is delicious? That you're getting harder the more I talk about crushing balls."

Lucy couldn't wait any longer, the way Philip's cock strained against her foot had her dripping before they'd even left the kitchen. She grabbed his wrist and yanked him up so fast his chair toppled backward with a clatter. "Bedroom. Now," she ordered, already dragging him down the hallway by his belt loop.

Lucy's fingers dug into Philip's waistband the moment they crossed the threshold of her bedroom, shoving him backward until his calves hit the edge of the mattress. She peeled his shirt over his head with a single yank. The fabric caught briefly around his neck, His chest was lean but defined.

Lucy's thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants, her fingers brushing the hard line of his erection straining against the fabric. She tore them down his hips in one sharp motion, letting them pool around his ankles.

His boxers stretched thin over the rigid outline of his cock, the fabric straining at the seams where his erection jutted upward, trapped and throbbing. Every twitch was visible through the thin cotton, the damp spot at the tip where precum had seeped through, proving just how long he’d been holding back. "Look at that," Lucy mused. "A nice, tight package just for me to play with."

Lucy then reached behind her back, the clasp of her dress surrendering quietly. The black fabric slid down her body like oil, pooling at her feet in a shimmering puddle. She stepped out of it, leaving the dress discarded on the floor like a shed skin.

Her underwear was black as liquid shadow, silk so fine it clung to Lucy's hips. The waistband dipped low, accentuating the sharp V of her pelvis, while the fabric slithered between her thighs with a whisper of friction, perfectly matching the black bra that cupped her breasts. The straps were slender, the kind that might snap if pulled too hard. Philip's cock twitched violently against the thin fabric of his boxers. The sight of her black silk clinging to every curve sent a pulse of heat straight to his groin. His erection strained upward, the damp tip pressing obscenely against the cotton.

Lucy didn’t waste time. Her knee came up fast, no teasing, no warning, just a sharp, merciless thrust straight into Philip’s groin. The impact landed hard against his balls, flattening them against the inside of his thighs before recoiling in a wave of agony. Philip’s breath left him in a strangled wheeze, his hands flying down instinctively, but Lucy caught his wrists before he could shield himself. "Nuh-uh," she purred. "You don’t get to protect them. They’re mine now."

Philip’s legs buckled, but Lucy held him upright, her grip iron as his knees trembled. His face twisted, teeth clenched, veins standing out along his neck. The pain was electric, radiating up his stomach in nauseating pulses. And yet, his cock twitched against her thigh, still hard. Lucy grinned. "Oh, you love this, don’t you?" She punctuated her words with another knee, lighter this time, just enough to make him whimper. His hips jerked forward, his erection bobbing obscenely.

Lucy released his wrists just long enough to shove him backward onto the bed. He collapsed onto the mattress with a groan, his legs splaying open in surrender. Lucy climbed over him, her silk-clad pussy pressing against his trapped erection, her weight crushing his groin. "Tell me," she whispered. "Tell me how much it hurts."

"Ouh, my balls," Philip groaned as Lucy ground her sex harder against his groin. His fingers twitched against the sheets with the effort of not grabbing her, not that he could have stopped her if he tried. Lucy's thighs were iron, her weight pinning him effortlessly as she rocked forward.

Lucy leaned down. "You want more?" Her hand slid between them, fingers curling around his balls through the thin fabric of his boxers. She squeezed and his entire body tensed. "Or should I stop?"

"More!" Philip admitted. "I know you wanna bust them!"

Lucy grinned. "Oh, I do."

She adjusted her position between Philip’s legs, leaning further over him. His cock throbbed under her stomach. "You asked for it," she cooed. "Don’t blame me if you can’t walk tomorrow." Her knee drove into his groin with a cruel crunch. Philip moaned loudly, his fingers still clawing at the sheets. Lucy didn’t pause. She pulled back just enough to watch his balls recoil before slamming her knee in again. And again. And again. Each impact sent his testicles flattening against the inside of his thighs before bouncing back, swollen and tender.

"I can't believe how hard you still are," Lucy laughed, her knee slamming into Philip's groin. The fabric of his boxers was damp with precum, clinging to the swollen curve of his testicles as she rocked her thigh against them. His cock twitched beneath her, stubbornly erect despite the abuse. Lucy smirked. "You're really like this, don't you?" She punctuated the question with another sharp thrust of her knee. Philip's hips jerked.

Lucy watched the way Philip's thighs trembled beneath her, not from resistance, but from the effort of keeping his legs spread for her. His cock was a hot, pulsing rod trapped between their bodies, still stubbornly hard even as she drove her knee into his groin over and over. The feeling of his balls bouncing against her thigh sent a jolt of heat straight to her loins. "Keep them open," she ordered, pressing her palm against his chest to pin him down. "I want to feel them flatten every time I knee you."

Philip's groan dissolved into a whimper as Lucy adjusted her angle, her kneecap grinding directly into the swollen curve of his testicles. His hips jerked involuntarily, his cock twitching. Precum soaked through the thin fabric of his boxers, sticking to her skin in slick, glistening streaks.

Lucy didn't slow down. She slammed her knee harder. Each impact sent Philip's balls squishing against her thigh. His fingers clawed at the sheets. "Oh fuck! Lucy—"

Philip's fingers finally tore free from the sheets. His hands flew to Lucy’s waist, gripping her hips with a desperation that bordered on worship as her knee drove into his groin mercilessly. His hips jerked again, his spine arched, and with a low cry, he came, harder than he ever had in his life, his boxers soaking through as his cock pulsed violently between them.

Lucy felt Philip's hips buck beneath her before she saw it, the sudden jerk of his pelvis, the way his fingers dug into her hips. Then the hot, wet pulse as his cock throbbed violently between them, soaking his boxers in sticky white goo. She laughed. "Oh my god," she gasped between giggles, her knee never stopping its merciless rhythm against his groin. "You're cumming from me kneeing you in the balls?! Now that's not something you see every day. I never thought I'd find a guy who gets off to getting his nuts crushed by a girl." She slammed her knee into him again, harder, relishing the way his moan cracked mid-way, his hips twitching wildly as another spurt of cum soaked through the fabric.

Lucy’s knee froze mid-air when she noticed Philip’s cock had stopped twitching beneath her, his hips no longer jerking with each fresh wave of agony. The fabric of his boxers was soaked, half with precum from earlier, half with the thick, pearly sperm of his orgasm now cooling against his skin. She tilted her head, studying his face. "Oh, done already? How do your balls feel?" she teased.

When Philip finally managed to focus on Lucy's face hovering above him, those poison-green eyes, that cruel smirk, he realized he'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life. "I... I think I'm in love with you," he blurted.

Lucy’s smirk deepened into something dangerously close to affection as Philip’s confession hung between them. "Good," she added. "Because you’re mine now." Her hand slid between his legs, fingers curling possessively around his swollen balls through the fabric of his boxers. "And these? These are mine to bust whenever I want." She gave them a sadistic squeeze, relishing the way Philip had just given her the perfect excuse to indulge her cravings daily, no more waiting for self-defense class.

Disclaimer:  These stories are a work of fiction.  All of the characters depicted are at least 18 years old.  None of the events depicted have occurred as they are depicted.  

Previous chapters:

• Chapter 1 (Incest, Discovery, Vice Crushing)

Daddy’s Balls Chapter 2: Hard Balls Thursday

Denise couldn’t get the image of Lizzy’s dad’s balls out of her head. When they were flattened in the vice they were so oddly shaped. Huge in circumference, pale, almost white, but no more than three-quarter inch thick. If that was ‘soft balls’, what could ‘hard balls’ mean? It was scary to be in the orbit of such a weird ritual. The family, unlike any other she had met, was clearly comfortable with the shocking image of Lizzy’s dad naked tied to a coffee table with his testicles flattened.

Lizzy wasn’t interested in having Denise over again after how weird she had been, and how unable to focus on chemistry. But Denise had a plan. She’d kissed Tyson, and implied he could get to 2nd base with her, if he invited her over on Thursday. Tyson was clearly a virgin, and had jumped at the opportunity, but warned Denise that Thursdays are family night, and they would have to play games with his sisters and mom before they could have any alone time.

So now Denise stood on the threshold, the doorway in front of her led to the answer to the mysteries that had plagued her. Tyson’s sweaty palm in hers was pulling her through the doorway after her brief pause. In she went, walking, shoes off in the mud room, coat hung on the coat rack, through the kitchen into the living room. Tyson, now the one not keeping up.

Ruth was sitting on the couch reading a paper, and looked up. “Oh, hi Denise. Did you come to see Lizzy?”

Denise looked at her. A stunningly attractive woman, despite her years. What powers did this woman command to have a husband willing to submit to the agony she had seen only two days prior?

“No. She’s with me. Uh.. we were going to hang out after family night.” Tyson clarifies.

“Tyson, that’s great. I love to see you with a girl, especially a pretty one like Denise here.” She turns to Denise, “Honey, we do family night on Thursday, you are welcome to join us.”

“Sure” Denise says as she tries and fails to play it cool. Anticipation and fear mixing together to give her an otherworldly feeling. “Is tonight ‘hard balls’ or ‘soft balls’?” she asks, hoping that pretending not to know would cover for her intense desire to figure out what-ever ‘hard balls’ meant.

Ruth grins. “It’s ‘hard balls’ tonight honey.” she says, not elaborating. “Now where is that husband of mine?”

Ruth steps to the patio door, and calls out: “John! Are you about ready? We have a guest tonight!”

From outside, Denise hears, “Come on out, I’m almost ready.”

Ruth steps back, and shouts up the stairs. “Girls! Dad is ready for family night.”

“OK Mom” and “Be right down” come from two different voices.

Ruth heads out to the patio, and Denise is tight on her heels eager to solve the mystery.

John is standing pantless just outside. He is pulling on a ball gag, like in movies Denise had seen. John was a scrawny man, with a bushy mustache and a simple jacket, no pants or underwear, and knee length socks that look silly. He wasn’t particularly attractive, and didn’t seem like someone that would have won over Ruth, or produced daughters like Lizzy and April. Maybe it was his ‘magic balls’ Denise thought, and glanced down.

John’s limp penis hung down, but not quite as long as his testicles. Both appeared of average size as well as Denise could tell.

Ball gag in place, John stepped up to a plank of wood that was securely fastened at waist level between two pillars. With a practiced ease, he slid his genitals through a hole in the board, and secured his penis out of the way with some sort of latching mechanism. Then he picked up a small loop sitting on top of the board, and, stretching it, he placed it over his testicles. Then a 2nd loop followed. Now his testicles were tightly bound protruding through the board, and sticking roughly straight out several inches.

Finally, he put his hands to the side. There were cuffs on his wrist, and metal loops protruded upward from the board.

“Alright girls, hook him in.” Ruth ordered.

Lizzy and April each step up to the board, and using a carabiner, clip the shackles to the metal loops. Now John is helpless.

Ruth eyes the situation, and decides that everything is ready, and she steps to a closet, and withdraws a wooden stick about 2 feet long, and ¼ inch thick.

She holds it out to Lizzy, “Youngest goes first”

Lizzy casts an eye at Denise. “Denise is younger.  She is just a freshman. She should go first.”

Ruth holds the stick out to Denise. Denise panics, and takes 2 steps back. “Wha… Wha… What do you want me to do with that?” Stepping back another step she backs into Tyson.

Tyson explains, “We are testing daddy’s ability to make his balls hard. Each person takes 3 swings with the cane. Tonight we have to break 5 canes until we are sure Daddy’s balls are hard enough.”

“But you're a freshman, Too!” Denise exclaims louder than intended. “Why don’t you go first?”

Lizzy looks at Denise, and explains as if it’s a basic concept to a slow pupil. “Tyson has balls. Little boy wussy balls, but still balls. Only those without balls can test balls.”

Ruth tries to hand Denise the stick again. Denise, still terrified, says “No. I can’t. I mean, I can, but I’d prefer to just watch this time.” She looks up at Ruth. “Is that OK?”

“Sure is, sweety” Ruth says, and hands the cane to Lizzy.

Lizzy steps up, and measures her stroke by slowly moving the cane into contact with John’s trapped balls, then she rears back and swings with gusto.  The cane lays a red stripe right across the middle of John’s tightly packaged balls.  

“One” Ruth, April, and Tyson all chant in unison.  Lizzy swings again, and Denise hears a swoosh in the air followed by a thwack as the cane makes contact.  

“Two” the assembled watchers chant.

Swoosh. ThwackDenise marvels at the sounds, and the point of impact, where the cane seems to embed itself briefly into the testicle meat before bouncing away, leaving a clearly visible, angry red welt where it impacted.  

“Three” everyone chants.  Denise tries to chant with them, but is a bit late.

Lizzy eyes her handiwork.  “Still too soft,” she hands the cane off to April.   

As the cane is passed, Denise studies John.  He is in agony.  Thrashing against the immovable piece of wood. Trying desperately to contort his body to find some relief.  His balls are so effectively immobilized that despite his struggles, they remain unmoving displaying the angry red stripes put there by his youngest daughter.

April sizes up her position, and swings.  Swoosh, Thwack.  

“Four”.  This time Denise moves her mouth silently along with the chant.

Swoosh. Thwack. “Five.” Denise joins in quietly—curiosity winning.

Swoosh. Thwack. “Six.” Denise joins full voice, grinning despite herself. “Still jiggling,” April says, hands it on to Ruth.

Ruth authoritatively takes position, and sizes up her swing. 

Swish, crack.  The cane hits the testicles with an obliterating force, and snaps in half.  

“Whoo!” April and Lizzy are cheering.  

“Good Job Daddy, Only took 7 swings before your balls got harder than the cane.” April praises, but it is clear John can’t hear it.  His struggling is desperate, and animalistic, every inch of his wiry frame is trying to find some way to relieve the pain of his man parts.  His sack sags now, purple creeping in from the edges, skin stretched shiny.

Ruth picks up the next—six-and-a-half millimeters. 

“It’s not over?” Denise asks.  

Ruth looks surprised as if that was a particularly stupid question.  “No, honey, of course not.  He’s got to break all 5 canes, and each one is a little thicker than the last.”  

“It started out as only one cane, but every few years, mommy adds another,” Tyson explains helpfully.   

Ruth swings. Swoosh. Thwack. “One.” John's eyes squeeze shut, thighs quiver.

Swoosh. Thwack. “Two.” A sharp hiss—he's breathing ragged.

Lizzy takes over. Swoosh. Thwack. “Three.” Denise is getting in on the chanting with gusto by this point.  Welts darken, stacking.

Swoosh, Thwack.  “Four”

Swoosh, Thwack.  “Five”

“Not hard enough yet.” Lizzy says, as she hands the cane to April.   

Swoosh, Thwack.  “Six”.  A tiny break in the scrotum skin becomes visible, a bright red line against the welted flesh.

“Come on Daddy,” April encourages as she gives the cane to Ruth.  

Swoosh, Thwack.  “Nine”

Swish, crack. The 2nd cane breaks.  April and Lizzy cheer their mom again, while Denise studies the testicles.  Some of the welts have gone from red to black, and many criss cross at this point to create protruding bruises on the cluster of balls.  

John’s energy is clearly waning.  He is pale, and while still struggling, seems to be having difficulty putting in much effort.

“What happens if he passes out?”  Denise asks Ruth, a bit concerned and frightened.  

“Then we wake him up, and keep going,” Ruth says.

“It happens occasionally, sometimes daddy takes little naps,” April adds.

“Here you go mom” Lizzy hands her mom the next cane. seven millimeters.

Ruth swings—Swoosh. Thwack. “One.” John gasps, head snaps back, then she politely hands the cane to her youngest daughter.

Lizzy swings. “Two.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Three.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Four.” His sack compresses flat, rebounds slow.

April. “Five.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Six.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Seven.” Purple deepens, veins bulge. Welts grow up on top of other welts creating a mountain range of pain.

Ruth swings. “Eight.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Nine.”

This is fucked up, Denise thought, even as the grin stayed plastered on her face. Why does hearing them count make my stomach flip in the good way?

Swoosh. Thwack. “Ten.”

Lizzy takes over, lining up, and swings. “Eleven.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Twelve.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Thirteen.”  Then Lizzy hands the cane to her sister.

April Swings. “Fourteen.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Fifteen.”

Swish, crack. When the cane lands, a crack is heard.  Denise inspects the punished ball back looking for signs that the testicles broke, but it was the cane instead.  April holds it up proud that she was the one to administer the final blow.

“Fifteen,” Ruth says, calm. “Not your best, John.”

Denise observes John.  His whole body is shaking uncontrollably. She thinks to herself that testicles must be pretty weird if they can make a man vibrate like a washing machine in a spin cycle loaded with shoes. She has no idea the biology at play here, but it is fascinating, she wants to see more.

Ruth calls the fourth—seven-and-a-half millimeters. “April, finish your set.”

April swings. Swoosh. Thwack. “One.” John twitches hard.

Ruth takes over. “Two.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Three.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Four.”  Ruth hands it to Lizzy who was distracted, and looking at her phone.

Lizzy lines up “Five.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Six.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Seven.”  Then Lizzy gives the cane to April, saying “Beat that sis”

April didn’t see the need to respond with words.  Instead the meaty wet thwack was her response as the cane buried itself into her father’s gonads. 

“Eight.”  the group called out.  Denise realized the chanting made it so much more engaging.  She wondered who came with that, but she didn’t have much time to think because. Swoosh. Thwack.

“Nine!”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Ten.”  

April hands the cane to Ruth.

Ruth swings brutally as if she is trying to cane the board behind john’s balls instead of the balls themselves. “Eleven.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Twelve.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Thirteen.”  

Then it is Lizzy’s turn.. Swoosh. Thwack. 

“Fourteen!”  Denise adds a jubilant tone to her voice as she joins the chant.

Swoosh. Thwack. “Fifteen.”  Streaks of red have appeared from small skin breaks leaking blood.

Swoosh. Thwack. “Sixteen.”

Swish, crack. Lizzy holds up the broken cane to display how she was the one who broke it.

“Sixteen,” April cheers. “Better.”

John was slumped down.  Dangling limply.   The only sign that he was still conscious was the pain spasm after each stroke.  John's shaking had mostly settled down, but his eyes were glazed and his sack was a swollen, veined platter.  A display platform for stacked welts, bruises all sauced in testicle blood..

Denise was amazed.  What was happening was every bit as alien as any lovecraftian horror, and just like those stories she craved more.

Ruth grabs the last cane.  Eight millimeters. Hands it to April saying, “April starts.”

April swings. Swoosh. Thwack. “One.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Two.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Three.”

Then Ruth takes over “Four.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Five.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Six.”

John is barely reacting at all when the cane brutalizes his testicles at this point.  He might be unconscious or even dead.  Denise hoped he wasn’t dead.  

Lizzy sets down her phone to take up the cane Swoosh. Thwack. 

“Seven!” everyone chants.

Swoosh. Thwack. “Eight.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Nine.”  Then she hands the cane to her sister.

April swings, connects with a sickening swap “Ten!”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Eleven.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Twelve.” 

After delivering all 3 strokes of her turn, April spins the cane around, and hands it to her mom, then realizes she got a little bit of her dad’s ball blood on her hand as she does so.  “Ew gross!”  She wipes her hand off on towels that Denise just realized had been there the whole time.  Was it John’s job to lay out towels in case his testicle blood got on his daughters?  That seems insane, but certainly not an escalation from anything else Denise had just witnessed.

Denise lets curiosity and fear overcome social awkwardness.  “Um… Is he dead?”  

Ruth looks at her concerned.  “Oh honey, No.  What kind of people do you think we are that we’d kill a member of our family?”

What kind of people?  Ha!  Denise laughs inside.  What kind of people were they?  They seemed to abuse John’s balls as a matter of routine.  Lizzy is so bored by it, she is scrolling instagram!  What kind of monsters are these people…. And why does Denise want to see more. 

“Ha um. Ha. ha.” Denise laughs unconvincingly.  “Obviously I don’t think… um that you… I mean. That you would kill your husband, but um… He isn’t moving.  Um.. is he maybe unconscious?”  Her voice goes up at the end.

“I don’t think so.” April answers in a way that makes it clear she isn’t fully sure.

Ruth decides actions speak louder than words.  She walks up closer than she has before, and instead of swinging the cane horizontally into the exposed section of John’s testicles that are a bloody mess of welts, she comes up from the bottom, striking a section of ball meat that has mostly escaped abuse to this point. John thrashes from new vectors of pain.  His struggle is weak, but there.

“Thirteen!” April, Lizzy, and Ruth call out.  Tyson looks a little unsure, and Denise is thinking about what that means.  Was there a spot that wakes him up?  What did Ruth just do?  Who are these people?  Denise ponders if she could learn some of Ruth’s tricks.

Ruth swings again from the more traditional angle. Swoosh. Thwack. “Fourteen.”

Swoosh. Thwack. “Fifteen.”

Denise was awestruck.   “How is it that his balls don’t break?” She asks aloud.

Ruth replies, “I’m sure they will some day, but so long as they are able to keep taking the treatments twice a week they are worthy of me.”

“Wow.” Denise says wistfully.

“Daddy has magic balls.  Wussy balls like Tyson’s would have broken years ago.  Isn’t that right Ty?”  Lizzy mocks.

“My balls are going to be just fine when they start taking canings.”  Tyson implores with a sense of doubt creeping into his voice.

April sees an opportunity to gang up on her little brother so says, “Why don’t we make the last cane interesting?  The person who breaks the cane gets to kick little ty-ty in his ballie-wallies 10 times?”

Tyson turns red with embarrassment at the mockery.  

Ruth considers the offer, and deems it fair.  “OK.  Tyson will get 10 kicks from the breaker of the final cane.”

Tyson accepts his fate, but then looks at Denise.  “Mom, would it be OK if Denise competes with the last cane?”

Ruth considers that.  “Of course, Tyson, but only if she wants to, and we will have to up the reward to 20 kicks for the breaker of the cane.”

Fear crosses Tyson’s face, but he looks at Denise, and then back at his mom and nods agreement.

Evaluating her final swing, she turns to Denise. “Your turn, sweetie. Three swings.”

Denise doesn’t realize that she is being addressed, because she is staring at the mass of mangled balls trying to imagine what they looked like at the beginning of the evening.  They don’t even look human any more. 

Ruth steps between Denise and the abused testicles of her husband and says, “Sweety, I think it would be great if you took a turn just to try it out.”    

Denise grabs the cane inspecting it. light, whippy. She swishes it once, then steps in. Swoosh. Thwick. The cane made a little contact.

“Sixteen!” The family cheers her exactly as Ruth promised they would. 

Buoyed by the support, Denise swings harder: Swoosh. Thwack. It doesn’t land on target, instead it deflects from the balls into the board holding them up, and rebounds into the still sensitive underside.  John spasms, a weak cry muffled by the ball gag.  

“Seventeen!” The family cheered her despite her hit not being perfect.

She lines up, determined to not miss again. Swoosh. Thwack, the cane connects solidly, it seems to penetrate a quarter inch into John’s nut meat, and then slowly re-emerge.

The group chants “Eighteen.”, but Denise is staring into the man’s testicles which she had just personally brutalized.  Ruth steps beside her and gently takes the cane from her hand and she steers her to the side, and safety from the next stroke.

With Denise taken care of, Ruth swings with a sharp twist—Swish, crack. Cane breaks.

“Eighteen,” Ruth smiles. “Close, Denise. But I win this round, don’t worry nobody wins their first time up to bat.”

Everyone celebrated except for John who was limp in his bonds, and Tyson who seemed concerned.

Ruth walks over, and starts unbinding her husband, as she works, she calls back “Alright Tyson, mommy gets to kick your balls 20 times. How do you want it? Like a man or like a boy?”

(To Be Continued)

Author's Note: This is a new concept for me. I had a magical journey of discovery into BDSM, and I wanted to tell a story about other people experiencing that journey in a slightly more interesting way. I workshopped many, many ideas, and then ended up on TV Tropes one day on the entry for "But for Me, It Was Tuesday" I hope you enjoy the story. If you do, leave me your thoughts.

100% my own fantasy from my brain. All characters are adults , fictional.

Enjoy! If you like it check my profile for other stories.

Feedback, suggestions and ideas welcome in the comments

***

The graveyard lay shrouded in thick midnight fog, the kind that turned every headstone into a silent accusation.

Lady Eleanor Voss drifted slowly between the leaning stones, her Victorian lace trailing like smoke, when the sharp hiss of spray paint and low, drunken laughter shattered the sacred quiet.

Three college boys, Tyler, Marcus, and Kyle, all nineteen and buzzing from cheep booze, were sprawled near the oldest section. Tyler was tagging a tall marble angel with bright red “FUCK THE DEAD” in dripping letters. Marcus laughed as he sprayed crude cocks and balls across a row of family crypts. Kyle filmed it on his phone, egging them on. “Dude, this is gonna go viral. Cemetery gangsters!”

Lady Eleanor’s glowing eyes narrowed to slits of cold fire. She materialized fully in front of them, beautiful and rotting, her voice cutting through the night like velvet-wrapped steel.

“Vandal little boys playing at being men,” she purred, stepping forward so the mist parted around her.

“Defiling my eternal home with your filthy scribbles and painted pricks. How utterly predictable… and how very punishable.”

The boys froze, paint cans clattering to the grass. Tyler tried to laugh it off. “Whoa, lady, it’s just a joke!”

Spectral chains of frost exploded outward. In seconds all three were slammed onto their backs on the cold ground, legs wrenched wide apart, pants and underwear ripped down to their ankles by invisible hands. Their young cocks and heavy balls lay exposed and vulnerable under the thin moonlight. Lady Eleanor floated between them like a queen surveying conquered territory, her translucent fingers already reaching for the nearest set of balls, Tyler’s.

“Watch each other suffer, little vandals,” she commanded, her silken voice dripping with cruel amusement. “I’m going to teach these worthless sacks exactly what they’re worth for desecrating sacred ground.”

She started with Tyler, cupping his balls firmly in one icy palm while her other hand lazily stroked his cock to unwilling hardness. “Such full, stupid nuts for such stupid boys. Years of jerking off and tagging walls, and never once thinking the dead might answer back.” She squeezed slowly, rolling the tender orbs between her fingers until Tyler gasped and bucked. Then she brought her knee up in a sharp, deliberate ball-bust—once, twice—each impact landing with a meaty thud that made him howl.

Marcus and Kyle stared in horror, struggling against their spectral bonds as Eleanor moved to the spray cans they’d dropped. She picked up Marcus’s can of black paint and shook it with a metallic rattle. “Tools of your crime… now tools of your correction.”

She pressed the cold metal can against Tyler’s balls, rolling it heavily back and forth, crushing them slowly against the ground. Tyler screamed, hips jerking. “Please—fuck—we’re sorry! We’ll clean it up!”

“Too late for sorry,” Eleanor laughed softly. She switched to the rounded nozzle of the can, tapping it rhythmically against his sack—light at first, then harder, each metallic smack sending fresh waves of pain through him while she kept stroking his cock with cruel precision.

“Look at you leaking already. Getting hard while I bust your pathetic boy-balls. What kind of vandal does that?”

She edged him mercilessly, bringing him right to the brink, then switched to Kyle. For him she used the heavy flashlight one of them had dropped—its metal body delivering slow, grinding presses and sharp taps directly onto his balls while she verbally emasculated all three.

“Three big strong boys against one old ghost? Pathetic. Your little pricks are twitching like scared worms. I could crush these sacks flat with my bare hands and leave you all neutered and crying for mommy. Or maybe I’ll take turns popping them one by one while you watch your friends scream.”

Marcus was next.

Eleanor clamped the jaws of a pair of pliers (left by the groundskeeper), around the base of his scrotum, trapping his balls in a vise. Then she used the spray can on the bulging orbs, tapping, rolling, pressing down until Marcus was sobbing and begging, his cock leaking pre-cum despite the agony.

All the while she narrated in that mocking, honeyed tone: “Listen to you three whimper. Real men don’t cry when a woman touches their balls. Real men don’t spray dick pictures on graves. You’re just little boys who need their nuts taught a lesson.”

She forced each of them to the edge repeatedly, stroking, squeezing, busting. making them watch each other’s humiliation.

Tyler came first with a ruined, sobbing orgasm as she slammed the paint can up into his balls mid-spurt, forcing weak, painful dribbles across his stomach.

Kyle followed, then Marcus. each load milked out in humiliating, ball-crushing agony while Eleanor laughed and kept the pressure on their bruised, swollen sacks.

When they were drained and whimpering, purple balls aching and twice their normal size, Lady Eleanor finally released the spectral chains. She hovered over them, eyes glowing with satisfaction but not yet finished.

“Clean every inch of your filth off my stones before dawn,” she ordered, voice soft and deadly. “If I find even one drop of paint left… or catch any of you even thinking about coming back… I won’t stop at bruised balls and ruined orgasms. I’ll rip these worthless little sacks off and grind them to dust beneath my heel. Permanently.”

She drifted backward into the fog, lace swirling, leaving the three boys gasping on the ground, cocks limp, balls throbbing with deep, ugly bruises, hands gingerly cupping their battered manhoods as they stared at each other in traumatized silence.

The spray cans lay scattered and silent. The graffiti still dripped on the stones, waiting for three very sorry vandals to scrub it away before the sun rose… and before Lady Eleanor decided their punishment wasn’t quite over after all.

Disclaimer:  These stories are a work of fiction.  All of the characters depicted are at least 18 years old.  None of the events depicted have occurred as they are depicted.  

Intro: This story concept is based on real tribal "coming of age" ritual's like wearing gloves filled with fire ants, scarification, bungee jumping, or getting whipped at dance parties. You can google those, they are all real. This one obviously isn't, but draws loose inspiration from those.

Previous Chapters

• Chapter 1: My first duel (Tribal, Brutal, M/M)
• Chapter 2: My second duel (Tribal, Brutal, FM/M)

Maiden Duel Chapter 3: The Third Duel

My name is Teeko, and I’m a member of the Sorsac tribe. I woke up the morning after my second duel with my whole body aching—especially my balls, swollen and raw. The sheets clung to me, stiff with dried blood and sweat. I couldn’t move without wincing.

Through the wall, Father’s voice came low and harsh. “That scream—like a girl. The village calls him the best Thulak in years.”

Kael laughed, easy. “Yeah. Everyone’s talking—‘Teeko the girl.’ But he’s our Thulak too.”

A cold weight dropped into my stomach. Thulak. Everyone in the tribe knew the word, though no one ever said it to your face unless you were already finished. It meant the chosen loser—the man mothers picked on purpose because he would scream, bleed, and finally release the handles. The entertainment. The one who never earned a wife. And now my own father and brother were calling me that. The shame burned hotter than the pain in my balls. My family had given up on me.

After the laughter died down, Kael spoke quieter: “Mother, Father, I need moonroot. My wife’s spotting. The Witch says without it, the baby won’t make it. I can't afford it, and I know you can't either, but I was hoping you could help somehow.”

Mom answered steadily: “We will find a way.”

Father grunted. “Focus on your line. Your brother Teeko is just the tribe’s punchline, now, so you must succeed for the family.”

Mom added, softer: “Teeko’s young. He might still prove useful.” But her words sounded thin.

I lay there, face hot. Not just family—the whole village saw me as a fool. 

The next morning, Mom slipped into the room. She sat on the edge of the bed and rested her hand lightly on my knee. “Your father and Kael think you’re weak. The village laughs. The only way back is to prove to everyone tonight—duel for Lira. Endure it. Win it. Show them you’re no Thulak.” She met my eyes. “For us.”

Thulak.  I can’t be a Thulak.  Anything to avoid being a Thulak. “I’ll go.”

The ceremonial ground buzzed. The Old Witch and Lira carried the platter out—Pain-Sticks all wrapped the same, built secret in the woods. They climbed the platform and set it down. The chanting died.

The Witch spoke clearly: “Tonight Lira finishes her thirty days. Remove your clothes, new woman—show what you offer.”

Lira dropped her wrap. She was unattractive, her breasts were mismatched, but her hips were wide for babies. Her appearance gave me hope.

I looked at her and thought: Unattractive girl from a family with a bad reputation, maybe I won’t have competition.

“Men—who would duel?”

I stepped in—limping, chin high. The young trader followed—a soft pudgy man with no hunting prowess. A few others joined as well.

I looked at the trader: Weak man… but from a very wealthy family. If the mother picked him, I had a good chance.

“Seekers—strip. Present honestly.”

We did. Trader’s nuts looked fresh far too round to be a warrior's manhood; mine were bruised and puffy. Murmurs rose from the crowd seeing the state of my testicles.  It was nearly unheard of for a seeker to enter a competition before fully recovered.

The Witch turned to the married women: “Mother—evaluate.”

Lira’s mother moved down the line. She felt arms, touched chests—then grasped balls. When she reached me, she squeezed hard and jerked twice. Pain shot through me. “Still tender. Good.” With the trader, she was gentle. Mom nodded at her—like a deal. I ignored it.

“I choose Teeko and Trader.” Cheers—mocking, but mixed.

We climbed the platform. The Hukineekee closed around our balls—the wooden boards trapping them out front, locked tight. No escape. My hands gripped the handles.

Lira stepped to the altar.

“The Duel begins. Lira—choose.”

She picked me first. She handed me a Pain-Stick—heavy and solid in my grip.

“Gong.” I swung hard. The head thudded into Trader’s testicles. He grunted, knees buckling a little. The crowd hushed.

She took it back and gave him one—same weight, I figured.

“Gong.” Trader swung well. The impact jolted my balls—dull ache spreading through my sack. I held steady.

We traded like that for five rounds. Each gong, I landed solid on his nuts; his yelps grew sharper. When he swung, my testicles took the the pain, already sore, now the pain was much worse, but I remained silent.. Slowly, the chants changed from: "Thulak... Thulak... To  “Teeko… Teeko…” it gave me hope I could win.

Lira smiled—real. “Tougher than they say,” she whispered.

Lira handed me a stick that was a bit lighter than before.  "Gong" I swung and connected.  Bright spots of red blood grew from Traders nuts where the brambles penetrated skin.

"Gong." Trader's return swing seemed to briefly melt into my testicles before a lightning bolt of white pain nearly broke my stoic composure.

My next stick felt heavy. "Gong" I swung, and watched traders nuts flatten, his body tensed at the pan.

Then Lira’s mother flicked her wrist—sharp, deliberate. Lira’s face fell. She hesitated for a heartbeat, then obeyed her mother.

She handed me a light stick. “Gong.” I swung at Trader’s balls, but the head barely brushed them. The blow did almost nothing.

“Gong.” Trader swung heavily. His stick slammed into my already damaged testicles, flattening them against the wooden board. Fresh blood welled up from the reopened scabs and ran down the wood of the Hukineekee.

She gave me another light stick. “Gong.” My swing at Trader’s nuts was weak and useless.

“Gong.” Trader swung hard again. The blow crushed my swollen balls, driving the thorns deeper. I gasped, the sound high and broken.

Light stick again. “Gong.” My swing at Trader’s sack was pathetic.

“Gong.” He hammered my testicles with full force. My balls felt like they had been pulped. Blood ran down the wood of the Hukineekee.

“Gong.” My swing did nothing.

“Gong.” Trader’s heavy stick smashed into my sack once more. My testicles felt destroyed under the impact. I couldn’t stop the scream that tore out of me—shrill and girlish.

“Trader’s turned Teeko into a girl!” someone shouted from the crowd.

“Gong.” I swung the feather stick. It was useless.

“Gong.” A heavy blow landed. My balls felt no longer like my testicles, but rather an aura of pain that inhabited me like a demonic spirit..

“Gong.” I swung.  Pathetic.

“Gong.” Trader slammed my testicles with everything he had. The pain was unbearable.

As yet another useless light stick was pressed into my hand, the truth finally slammed into me. I had seen Lira’s mother give the signal. She had obeyed it instantly. Every stick after that moment had been light for me and heavy for him. The fix had been in from the very beginning. Lira had never been choosing for herself. I was never meant to win. I was only here to bleed and break for the crowd’s amusement. The last spark of hope inside me died.

“Gong.” I swung a feather stick. My swing was hopeless.

“Gong.” Another heavy swing. My balls felt like they were being ground into paste.

I thrashed wildly in the Hukineekee, shame and agony burning through me. My hands slipped from the handles. I had released.

Lira knelt down and kissed Trader’s balls.  Her lips coming away dotted with blood. Her eyes flicked to me once—apologetic—but it was over.

I collapsed onto the platform as the crowd erupted: “Thulak! Thulak! Thulak!”

Jeers and laughter thundered around me.

Back home, I collapsed into bed. Hours later—still dark—I heard them through the wall. Mom to Father and Kael: “Trader couldn’t beat a real man. That’s why we gave them Teeko—he screamed pretty. Trader’s wealth got us the moonroot. Your wife’s safe. The future of our Family is secure.”

Kael laughed softly: “Thanks to the Thulak.”

I hauled myself up—legs shaking, vision blurring—and burst into the room. “You used me?”

Mom turned, her face cold. “Look at you—you can’t even stand. You’re no man. Certainly no son of mine.”

Father said nothing. Kael looked away.

I stumbled out into the night. Rain hit my face. The village lights faded behind me. I wandered the dark edge of the settlement—pain, rage, and nothing left.

Then shadows moved. The Old Witch stepped out from the trees, eyes sharp.

“Lost boy,” she said, grabbing my wrist. “Come. I’ll forge you.”

I didn’t fight.

Author's Note: I appreciate feedback. Leave a comment if you liked this story. Feel free to suggest future ideas.

Disclaimer: These stories are a work of fiction. None of the events depicted have occurred as they are depicted.

Here are the previous chapters.

• Chapter 1 (Planning, Threats)
• Chapter 2 (Punching)
• Chapter 3 (Crushing)
• Chapter 4 (hammering)
• Chapter 5,6,7 (Mallet Hits)

Piggy’s Balls Chapter 8: Don’t Screw This Up

Piggy floated through the next morning on autopilot. His balls ached—deep, swollen throbs that spiked every time he crossed his legs in Chemistry—but he didn't mind. The pain had always been worth it. Popularity with a price, sure, but last night with Jodie was different. She wanted him. Called him boyfriend. Gave him a blowjob. It was real for the first time.

He pushed open the front door after classes. The smell of vanilla body spray and pizza crust hit him first. Alexis was on the couch—tiny black shorts, cropped tank, nipples hard against cotton, leg slung over the arm like she owned the room. She looked up from her phone, eyes flicking to his waddle.

"You're limping like you’ve been recently worked over.  What did you do last night?"

Piggy hesitated. He hadn't planned to spill—Jodie felt like his secret—but Alexis's stare pulled it out anyway. "Jodie. She... she went at 'em with a rubber mallet. Then a blowjob after. Said I'm her boyfriend now. For real."

Alexis blinked calculating. Then a slow grin spread. "Jodie? The loudmouth farm girl? Damn. That's... unexpected." She sat up, patting the cushion beside her. "Come sit. Carefully."

He eased down, sack settling heavy between his thighs—purple-mottled, still fat and smooth. She reached over, gave one ball a gentle roll through his shorts. No squeeze, just checking. "Still intact. Good. You've always been tougher than you look."

Piggy beamed despite the ache. "Yeah. It was... nice. She kissed me."

Alexis nodded, but her eyes went distant—planning. "Hey. I need a favor. Big one."

He straightened. Favors from Alexis always meant girls. More hands, more laughs, more chances to be seen. "Sure, what can I do?"

"Karen's bringing Ash tomorrow. Ash—the quiet one with the dark hair? She's... she's special. I want her. Like, want to jump her bones special. And Karen's her best friend—so if Ash feels safe, if the vibe clicks..." She trailed off, biting her lip. "I need you to be perfect. Not just endure—make it fun. Make 'em laugh. Make Ash forget she's ever been scared of guys."

Piggy's chest puffed. This was his lane: the party favor who kept the party going. "I can do that. Wide smiles, no whining. Whatever she throws."

Alexis leaned in, her voice softer. “I know you can. You’ve done it for me a million times.” She gave his balls another light, almost affectionate pat. “If you nail it, I’ll give you a nice long handjob as a reward. But if you fuck up and ruin the night… well, you know I’ll have to make the last crusher session look gentle by comparison.” Her tone stayed warm, almost pleading. “Mostly though, I’m asking because you’re my bestie. We’re a team. I bring the girls, you keep them entertained and coming back. If tomorrow works? Ash might stick around. And if she touches me while she plays with you… I’ll make sure you get touched too. We both win.”

He swallowed. The foolish hope flickered—maybe this time, Alexis would see him as more than the toy. Maybe she'd finally... But he shoved it down.  He had to be the perfect piggy.

"I won't let you down," he said, quiet but sure. "I'll ice 'em tonight. Keep 'em big, smooth. Ready."

She ruffled his hair—big-sister style—then stood, hips swaying toward the kitchen. "Good boy. And if Jodie texts? Tell her you're busy. I need your head clear. This is our night."

Piggy stayed on the couch, hands cupping his tender sack, heart racing. Tomorrow: Ash, Karen, whatever games they brought. He'd smile through every hit. Take every torture, every slap. Because Alexis was his bestie. And deep down, he hoped she’d reward him nicely.  Either way, he needed the girls she pulled in, to keep alive the chance she'd one day turn those eyes on him alone.

He'd be perfect. Because that's what best friends do.

Piggy’s Balls Chapter 9 – “Red Light, Green Light”

Alexis clapped her hands with a big grin. “Piggy, grab the light.”

Piggy pulled out their familiar red-and-green party lamp and turned it on. The big green bulb glowed.

“Rules are simple. Green light means walk toward him. First girl to reach him and touch his balls wins the round and gets to punch them. If the light turns red and you flinch or move, you lose one item of clothing. Only the losers drink at the end of each round. Socks count tonight.”

Karen bounced excitedly. “This is gonna be so much fun! I can’t wait to punch his balls!”

Ash was silent.

Piggy stood against the wall, completely naked from the waist down, his large smooth shaved balls hanging full and resilient, still unmarked for now.

Round 1. Green light.

The three girls lined up. They started walking. When the light flipped to red, Karen wobbled and, seeing Karen falter, Alexis intentionally took an extra step.

“Losers drink,” Alexis said. Karen pulled off her socks. Alexis peeled off her t-shirt, revealing her sheer mesh bra with her long nipples already poking through the fabric, her athletic torso on full display.

Both girls took a shot.

Meanwhile Ash approached Piggy. She studied his testicles, and then carefully lined up and delivered a punch to his meaty ball bag.

His large smooth balls absorbed the blow with a dull thud, the resilient orbs flattening slightly before springing back, a faint pink flush beginning to spread across the shaved skin.

“Oof. Good one, Ash!” Piggy praised her for hurting his balls.

Round 2. Green light.

Ash tripped on a red light. She kicked off her socks. Alexis intentionally moved slowly to let Karen win one, and took off her bra to stand topless, her medium breasts free and her long nipples stiff and prominent. She was intentionally escalating the moment for the others.

Ash and Alexis drank.

Karen excitedly stepped up to Piggy. She measured the distances, and buried her bony knuckles into his nut meat.

His balls were already starting to feel heavier, the faint pink now deepening to a soft red where her knuckles had landed.

“Oof. Nice swing!” Piggy complimented her, secretly hoping she won more often because she didn’t hit as hard as the others.

Round 3. Green light.

Karen and Ash lost to Alexis. Karen pulled her sweater over her head, revealing her lacy pink bra cradling her small pale breasts. Ash dropped her shorts, showing off her toned, well-muscled legs and cute athletic panties that hugged the curve of her athletic butt.

Karen and Ash drank.

Alexis gestured to the girls with her fist to get their attention, then planted it into Piggy’s sensitive gonads. Piggy bent over and squealed.

Alexis crowed, “That is how you do it girls. Top that if you can.”

Round 4. Green light.

Alexis and Karen got caught. Alexis slid her leggings down, now standing in just her panties and socks, her athletic legs and shaved mound visible beneath the thin mesh fabric of her panties. Karen slid her jeans down, revealing scrawny pale legs that ended in small pink panties.

Alexis and Karen drank.

Ash took her moment to attack Piggy’s balls. She swung brutally, her fist driving deep into his sensitive organs. The meaty impact sounded with a heavy thud, his large smooth balls distorting visibly as the left one compressed flat before rebounding, the shaved skin now blooming a deeper red and beginning to puff outward. Inside, a rolling wave of nausea surged up his gut, hot pulses radiating from the core of each testicle. Ash watched with dark satisfaction as the sack started to swell.

Piggy bent and expelled all the breath from his lungs, forcing out, “Oof… good one,” through gritted teeth.

Ash looked at Alexis, “Was that good enough?”

Alexis smirked back playfully.

Round 5. Green light.

Ash and Karen lost the round. Ash pulled her tank top off, now down to her sports bra and sporty panties, her toned abs flexing as she moved. Karen reached back and unhooked her bra, letting her small pale breasts with puffy pink nipples bounce free, the thin freckles across her chest catching the light.

Ash and Karen drank.

Alexis lined up, and waited until Ash was watching, and then delivered a shocking brutal punch to Piggy’s balls. He fell to all fours, and struggled to breathe.

Alexis taunted Ash, “Think you can top that one?”

Ash looked at Piggy thoughtfully.

Round 6. Green light.

Karen stumbled at a red light. She slipped her panties down her legs and stepped out of them, now completely naked—her narrow thighs pale and freckled, the sculpted triangle of red pubic hair crowning her pronounced outie vagina on full display. Alexis let Ash win, and removed her panties, her shaved vagina visible, but her socks stayed on.

Ash looked her up and down, and said “Nice fashion statement.”

Karen and Alexis drank.

Ash stepped up to Piggy; there was something in her eyes that made Piggy a little afraid. She was a small woman, but athletic. She pulled her fist back, and let fly.

The savage punch landed with a deep, fleshy thwap. Piggy’s large balls distorted dramatically, the orbs flattening and warping around her small fist before slowly rebounding, the balls a vivid angry red that was rapidly darkening toward purple at the impact points, the entire sack swelling heavier and starting to hang lopsided. Inside, a sickening heat bloomed deep in his gut, nausea clawing upward as each testicle pulsed with fresh agony. Ash’s eyes lit with savage satisfaction as she watched the bruising bloom. Piggy was down, struggling with the pain in his sensitive testicles. His smile failed for the first time, but his fetal position hid his fault.

Alexis appraised Ash. “Good swing.” Then prodded Piggy with her toes. “What do you say to Ash, Piggy?”

“Th…Thank you.” Piggy said as he could find enough breath.

Round 7. Green light.

Karen had nothing left to remove, so she joined Piggy at the light. Alexis and Ash tripped each other up, both falling during a red light, Alexis playfully grabbed Ash’s ass as they rolled around on the ground.

“You both lose!” Karen exclaimed.

Ash said, “I shouldn’t win on a disqualification.”

Karen: “Fair enough, but I get a shot at Piggy’s balls.”

Alexis nodded.

Karen took her swing; bony knuckles landed painfully, but nothing compared to what the other girls could deliver. Piggy doubled over anyway. Then he grunted out, “Good one,” as he eyed Karen’s pretty crotch, the sculpted triangle of red pubic hair crowning her pronounced outie vagina.

Round 8. Green light.

Alexis was on a mission, and with her experience she easily beat Ash. Ash shrugged, and pulled her sports bra over her head, revealing her small athletic breasts that sagged in a soft feminine way, complementing her toned abs and the big tattoo running down one leg, the big wooden ear piercings giving her an edgy look. Ash took a drink.

Alexis approached Piggy, who eyed her beautiful body. She prepared for her victory celebration. She paused to say, “Are you ready Piggy?”

Oh shit! Piggy thought. This is going to hurt.

Alexis swung with her full power. She was an artist at delivering testicle pain, and she made this punch a masterpiece. The impact cracked loudly—SMACK—his already bruised and swollen balls compressing violently, the large orbs warping into ugly flattened shapes before they rebounded heavier than before, the purple bruising now spreading across the entire sack, the skin tight and shiny from the rapid swelling. A fresh wave of gut-wrenching nausea exploded upward, the heat inside turning molten as his balls throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Alexis watched with hungry eyes as the sack continued to darken and puff.

Piggy fell to the floor.

The girls watched him squirm about and giggle.

Round 9. Green light.

In the final round Alexis pushed hard but still lost. She pulled off her socks—and stood confidently naked in front of everyone, her athletic body and shaved vagina on full display.

Ash was now the clear winner of the game, still wearing her athletic panties. She stepped back, breathing heavily, eyes dark with excitement.

“This has been fun… but I brought something special.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out the small black stun gun. She clicked it on. A sharp blue arc crackled loudly between the prongs.

“I bought this to protect myself when my drunk boyfriend got rough with me. Instead he took it and used it on me. I’ve always wanted to shock a guy’s balls.”

Ash turned to Alexis. “Alexis… can I use this on Piggy’s balls?”

Alexis’s long nipples were rock-hard, eyes bright. “Sure. Go for it.”

Piggy stared at Alexis, eyes wide and desperately pleading, silently begging her to stop.

Ash pressed the crackling prongs firmly against Piggy’s swollen, purple balls, trigger already depressed.

The stun gun erupted with a vicious CRACKLE-ZAP. Piggy’s body seized violently, every muscle locking as the electricity surged through his battered gonads; the large smooth orbs contracted and twitched uncontrollably, the purple bruising seeming to darken further under the assault while the shaved skin jumped and spasmed. Inside, white-hot fire exploded through his balls and straight into his gut, a searing nausea so intense he felt his stomach try to climb his throat, terror flashing that the current would cook them for good. A raw, high-pitched scream tore out of him as he collapsed to the floor, writhing and wailing in agony, but Ash leaned in to try and keep the stun gun frying his nuts.

Alexis grabbed her, pulling her into a bear hug. Ash released the trigger, tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

Alexis saw her moment, and kissed Ash deeply, as she gently took the stun gun away from her. Kiss finished, she released Ash, who had some of her traditional fire back.

Then Alexis leaned down, and extended the stun gun.

Piggy looked up, voice breaking. “Alexis, please… no more…”

“It’s part of the game,” Alexis said firmly and pressed the stun gun back against his balls. The second jolt hit even harder—CRACKLE-ZAP—his already swollen and deeply purple sac convulsing violently again, the bruised orbs jerking and darkening under the electric burn while the internal fire felt like lightning tearing through tender meat, the nausea doubling until he was sure he would vomit, fear spiking that permanent damage was seconds away. Piggy screamed even louder, thrashing wildly on the floor.

Alexis finally pulled it away and turned to Karen, still holding the stun gun. “Your turn, Karen.”

Karen’s face had gone completely pale. She wrapped her arms around her naked body and took a step back. “No. I’m done. This isn’t fun anymore. I’m out.”

Karen and Ash exchanged uneasy glances. Karen quickly gathered her scattered clothes, her pale freckled body flushed with discomfort, while Ash, still breathing hard, pulled on her things in silence. They dressed in a rush and slipped out the front door without a backward look, the latch clicking shut behind them.

Alone now, Alexis’s playful energy evaporated. Her eyes narrowed, lips curling into a cold, scary smile as she stared down at Piggy’s trembling form on the floor. The room felt heavier, the air thick with unspoken promise. “Those screams are going to cost you tomorrow, Piggy,” she whispered, voice low and dangerous, the ringmaster gone and something far more intense taking her place.

----

Author's Note: I have a full outline for this entire story cycle, so generating future chapters should be fast.

I really appreciate feedback. Throw me a comment if you like my writing to let me know what you'd like to see in the future.

btw just posted my first 2 videos check them out too DMs open

This is a true story and probably how I ended up into ballbusting in the first place.

When I was young probably around 12 or 13 I had 3 younger cousins that were probably around the age of 4 or 5 at the time of this story. Two of them were girls and one was a boy, one of 2 girls was kind of a menace always getting in trouble and smiling while doing it type. But this was my extended family so we didnt live with them but we saw them often on weekends maybe a couple random days in a week.

One night we went to go see the family and on as we walk in the house I do the usual thing of firstly greeting everyone in the house, and since theres people in other rooms and the kitchen or wherever else in the house im still walking around just greeting people. On my way to the kitchen, I was walking through this little passage in between one of the rooms and the kitchen, and these 3 cousins come running to greet and hug me and I'm thinking "oh this is cool they never really seem all that excited when we here so this is nice".

The way they hugged me was one of the cousins was hugging me on each side and then the menace girl cousin was hugging me in the middle like a normal hug, but since they are my younger cousins they are all probably around waste level in terms of my height. So I dont think nothing of the hug until out of the corner of my eye I notice the menace cousin look up at me and then look back down at my groin, and the next thing I know I just feel her grabbing and squeezing the shit out of my balls. She grabbed them, squeezed them and basically tugged on them as well. I couldn't believe what the hell was going on cause she had never done something even close to like this. And I had on satin type material pants too so she had easy access to do whatever she wanted. Thinking back this must have been a planned attack cause the other 2 cousins who were also hugging at the same time were kind of holding me and my arms in place.

I look down to see whats going on and when i saw the menace cousins face she was looking up at me right in ny eyes, with the biggest smile I have ever seen on her face. I look around and see that no one else is even around to help even more evidence this was planned. But I think cause the menace cousin realized that i was kind of defenceless in that moment cause of the other 2 holding me in place, she looked back down at my groin and went for another grab, and squeezed my balls even harder this time. Then after that they all went running away, I came into the kitchen limping. Felt like i could feel my heartbeat in my nuts, but honestly now i think back to this moment with fond memories.

Tags: Ballbusting, Biting, Race Play, CFNM.

It felt like it had all happened so fast. One moment, Cristobal was going 12 mph over the speed limit on the highway, the next moment he was in an ICE detention facility with handcuffs on his wrists and shackles on his ankles.

They’d accused him of being in the country illegally and treated him like a criminal from the moment they set eyes on him. The cops made him wait in his car while they contacted ICE. When the ICE agent arrived, Cristobal tried to show the agent his green card and the agent called it fake without even looking at it and cut it into little pieces. Cristobal couldn’t believe this was really happening to him.

On his fourth night in detention, crammed into a small cell with a dozen other people, a sudden hush fell over the hundreds of detainees as a young female guard with a blonde ponytail started her shift. Other than the prison guard uniform, she looked like she could be a model walking on a runway in Paris or something.

“Violet,” a few people whispered with fear in their voices. “Violet is here. Violet is here!”

“Put your head down,” an older Hispanic man said to Cristobal in Spanish. “Don’t let her see you. Very, very mean this one, and she likes good looking young men like you.”

Cristobal didn’t quite understand what the old man had said. He spoke Portuguese, not Spanish. He looked up instead of down and Violet locked eyes with him immediately. For a moment, he just looked at her in awe. He couldn’t help it. Both of them were very attractive twenty-somethings, but Cristobal was just amazed at how beautiful and sexy she was. Violet opened the cell and pointed at him.

“Get your ass up,” she said. “Let’s go!”

Cristobal looked around, wondering if maybe she was talking to somebody else. Violet stepped into the cell and grabbed him by his shirt.

“Yeah, you, ya dumbfuck. Don’t you hablo English?”

He stood up and followed her as she dragged him by his shirt collar. He was barefoot since they’d taken his shoes and not given him any other footwear in their place. She led him down row after row of cells in the converted warehouse until they turned a corner and entered another wing of cells that apparently were not being used yet.

Violet spun Cristobal around and pushed him back against the bars of an empty cell. She grabbed his hands, lifted them above his head, and cuffed his wrists to a horizontal cross bar.

In a panic, Cristobal asked in Portuguese what she wanted.

“I don’t speak Spanish,” Violet said, not able to tell the difference.

She kicked his legs apart so that his bare feet were about shoulder width apart, then she cuffed his ankles to the vertical bars.

“Please, miss, what do you want with me?” he asked again in Portuguese. “And why? I live here legal—“

His sentence was cut off by Violet standing up and slamming her knee between his legs.

“ARGGGHH!” Cristobal screamed.

He felt his balls crunch against his pelvis. It was the first time anybody had ever hit him there on purpose. He couldn’t believe how intensely painful it was.

“Meus colhóes…” Cristobal moaned. My nuts.

Violet squeezed the sides of Cristobal’s neck in her small, soft hands.

“RRRRR!” Violet growled as she shot her knee up as hard as she could, multiple times. “RRRRR!”

“AH, PORRA! PARE! POR FAVOR, PARE!” Cristobal screamed. Oh, fuck! Stop! Please, stop!

Violet untied the drawstring on Cristobal’s pants and pulled his pants and underwear down to his ankles.

“Damn, boy,” Violet said, looking down at Cristobal’s light brown, uncut cock that was very long and nearly as thick as her forearm.

She reached under his cock and grabbed his heavy, low hanging balls. She gripped them hard. Cristobal groaned.

“Does that hurt your Mexican balls?” Violet asked.

I’m from Brazil, Cristobal thought, but he was more worried about her grasp on his balls than her grasp on geography.

She suddenly squeezed them hard, as hard as she could, crushing one against the other between her fingers. It took Cristobal’s breath away. For a moment, his mouth opened wide but no sound came out.

“Por favor, nunca mais,” he said, barely audible. Please, no more.

Violet squeezed his big, sweaty balls down to the very bottom of his long, veiny ballsack. They were incredibly full since he had not cum for five days. Violet rammed her knee into his trapped nuts multiple times, making him throw his head back against the bars, screaming and groaning with each impact.

“Does that hurt your little balls, you illegal piece of shit?” Violet said, even though he was not “illegal” and his balls weren’t little. She spit in his face. “I should really just cut these things off of you. The way you people multiply like bunnies. But not until I teach you a lesson.”

He had no idea what she was saying. She started slamming her knee into his balls again and he couldn’t take the pain anymore. Balls are tough but it felt like she was going to turn them into mush with her knee. Out of desperation to stop the pain, he head-butted her—hard. Violet was on her ass before she even knew what happened. She rubbed a sore spot on her forehead.

“You … head-butted me? You motherfucker.”

She looked up at Cristobal from below.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” she said, scooting forward on her butt. She leaned back and kicked upwards with her long, strong legs, slamming her boot heels right into his family jewels.

“ARGGGHH!” Cristobal screamed.

She drew her legs back and kicked again and again and again. Cristobal felt like he was going to throw up. The heels of her boots just kept smashing his balls into his perineum over and over and over.

“PARE, PARE, PARE!” he screamed. Stop! Stop! Stop!

Violet got up on her knees, grasping Cristobal behind his calf muscles.

“I’m gonna bite your fucking balls off for that head-butt,” she screamed.

But she was distracted by his big cock in her face and couldn’t help herself. She took Cristobal into her mouth and began to suck his dick, sliding her wet lips up and down along his shaft. She both hated and desired Latinos, so she moaned as she sucked his Latino dick from soft to hard.

“Urggghh,” Cristobal moaned, almost a week’s worth of cum roiling around in his battered balls. He was 9 inches long and rock hard within 30 seconds of violent Violet’s blowjob. He shouldn’t have been hard in this situation, but the cock has a mind of its own and he couldn’t deny that Violet’s tongue felt very good gliding along the underside of his glans.

It wouldn’t feel so good for long. Violet reached around and squeezed his ass cheek with her left hand. That made him want to cum even more. But then she balled her right hand into a fist and delivered a brutal uppercut, right into his already swollen nuts.

“ARGGGH!” Cristobal screamed.

“Do you like when I punch your dirty, Mexican balls?” Violet asked and then she went right back to sucking his dick.

“Mmmmm,” Violet moaned, sucking him harder and faster as she pounded her knuckles into his balls over and over, crushing them against his own body. She squeezed his ass cheek hard, digging her fingernails into the skin.

Beneath his obvious pain, there was another feeling: a mounting pressure in his balls, a fizzy feeling in his stomach, and an urgent throbbing in his big cock.

“Oh meu Deus!” Cristobal moaned, suddenly blasting five days’ worth of nut milk into Violet’s mouth as she punched it out of him. Oh my God!

She kept punching and he continued to cum for about thirty seconds. When he finished, she turned her head and spit his load all over the floor. There was a lot of it. Turning back, she tilted her head and sucked his right nut into her mouth. She looked up into his big, frightened eyes, gave him a wink, and bit down on his nut.

Cristobal let out a high-pitched, embarrassingly feminine scream as she chewed on his right nut, then spit it out and began to chew on his left nut. She went back and forth between each one, chewing and chomping and smiling. His whole body was convulsing, cuffs rattling against the bars while she mangled his empty balls one at a time between her molars.

Finally, she stood up, wiping saliva from around her mouth. “I think I’m gonna make you my special project and do this to you every single night,” she said.

As she turned to walk away, karma turned to meet her. She slipped on Cristobal’s cum, both feet flying into the air. She slammed onto the concrete floor, which happened to be significantly harder than the back of her skull. There was a cracking sound that didn’t sound good at all. Please be dead, Cristobal thought to himself.

Hours and hours passed. Sleep didn’t come easy because of the pain. Nobody found them until the shift change. By that time, his balls were swollen to the size of plums, so big they didn’t fit between his thighs anymore.

Violet was alive but not doing so great. They sent her off to the hospital for a concussion. Cristobal, on the other hand, they just pulled his pants up, not very gently, and dragged him back to his cell. He spent the next three weeks limping around while he healed. It took a long time for the swelling to go down. He desperately wanted OUT of this place, but his court date kept getting postponed without any explanation.

Then one evening, Cristobal was lying in his cell, snoring softly, when he was awoken by a rustling sound as someone pulled his undersized blanket off of his chest. His eyes fluttered open and his blood ran cold. Violet was standing over him, beautiful as ever, even with a large bandage wrapped around her shaved head. She bent over and grabbed his cock and balls with both hands. Cristobal groaned.

“Did you miss me, Mexican?” Violet asked. She squeezed down hard and dragged him out of bed by his cock and balls.

To be continued.

All characters 18+

This is my first story so I am sorry in advance for how bad it is.

It was John's first day at Hope's Peak Academy, and he had wanted to go there forever.

"I can't believe I'm finally here at Hope's Peak Academy."

John started to walk toward the entrance when he saw a girl looking upset. It looked like she was looking for something. John walked up to her.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

The girl looked up at him.

"I lost my hat."

John examined the girl; she was short in stature with reddish hair and wore a cape.

"What's your name?" John asked.

"My name is Himiko."

"Okay, Himiko, I will find your hat for you."

John looked around for the hat, finally finding it a little bit away from the girl.

"Here's your hat back," John said, as he handed it back to the girl.

The girl started to tear up.

"Thank you for finding my hat," she said between cries.

"You're welcome, but there's no need to cry." But before he could finish his sentence, a wave of pain erupted through him; he looked down to see a foot hitting his balls.

A choked gasp was the only noise that left his body as he fell to the ground.

"Leave her alone, you degenerate male."

"Tenko, what are you doing?" Himiko asked.

"I am saving you from this degenerate male."

John slowly got up, still reeling from the pain.

"I think there is some kind of misunderstanding here; I was just helping her find her hat."

Tenko's foot shot up, hitting her target dead center.

John's eyes went cross as an odd noise left his lips.

"You were touching her clothes, you pervert!"

John fell to the ground, cradling his testicles.

"All you men are perverts, but you won't be a man for much longer. "Tenko" lifted her leg all the way back, and then, with all her might, she punted John's balls as hard as she could. John let out a very high-pitched scream as his eyes rolled back in his head. I hope you choke on them," Tenko said. Then, she grabbed Himiko and walked away. John was rushed to the hospital in hopes of saving his balls but it was too late. He was released with a higher voice and a slight limp.