u/VisibleDistrust

This story is a continuation. You can find part one via this link: https://www.reddit.com/r/BallbustingStories/comments/1vyv46g/miss_m%C3%BCllers_method_for_taming_men/

This is a femdom story featuring the following themes: forced nudity, public humiliation, enslavement, castration anxiety and threats of castration, and, of course, ballbusting. It is a work of fiction, and all characters are of legal age. The acts described herein are not recommended for imitation.

Part II

 

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" the tormented cry of a high-pitched male voice echoed through the shed. "Please stop, I can't take it..."

"Oh, come on, Paul!" a merciless female voice retorted. "Aren't you man enough to take repeated blows to the balls? Or is that perhaps exactly the problem—that you *are* a man?"

"Please!" he screamed. "It hurts so bad! I'll do anything you want, just stop hitting me in the balls!"

"Really, Paul? That didn't take long! The moment I first saw you, I knew you were a wimp who didn't have the balls to stand up for himself. It's a good thing you don't have a girlfriend, you'd be embarrassing her terribly right now!" the woman shouted; yet she did actually stop striking the man's testicles with a wooden spoon and let him sink to the ground.

Paul writhed and whimpered on the floor while Miss Müller stood over him, savoring his misery.

"Break's over," she called out. "I've got things to do!" Miss Müller yanked the chain, which was attached to the ring around Paul's scrotum, keeping his testicles captive, to signal that the respite was definitely over.

She had been striking his balls for only five minutes, yet swelling had already caused them to double in size.

"Get out of that ridiculous remnant of your 'businessman' costume," she shouted. "You're not a businessman; you're a slave in training now!"

Trembling, Paul sat up and removed his shirt, tie, and jacket, the only garments he was still wearing.

"Let me go!" he pleaded. "My superiors will come looking for me if I don’t show up tomorrow. You’ll be in huge trouble for kidnapping me! But if you let me go now, no one has to find out! I promise!"

Miss Müller looked down at him. “So, we’re negotiating? Good! At least there’s a bit of fight in you. But I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. Didn’t I tell you there are men who actually pay me to beat and humiliate them? Unlike you, those men get to go home and resume their normal lives. They pay me a lot of money. But that’s not all: they’re in my debt, too, for instance, because I don’t go around telling everyone what they like to have done to them when no one is watching. And some of those men wield considerable influence. Normally, I don’t like that in men, but I tolerate it as long as they use their influence exactly as I see fit, without having any real say in the matter themselves. If I give the word, your name simply ends up on a list of missing persons; no one will seriously look for you, and in a few years, you’ll be nothing more than a ‘cold case’ that no one cares about anymore. Got that, Paul?"

Paul simply wept.

“I said: Got it, Paul!” Miss Müller shouted, yanking the chain again, harder this time. Paul cried out.

“Stand up!” she ordered.

Paul struggled to get to his feet without becoming entangled in the chain attached to his testicles. He panted and looked down at his feet; he dared not find out what would happen if he looked his tormentor straight in the eye.

“Look up and turn your head to the left,” she commanded. Paul did as he was told. “Do you see that? Do you know what that is?” Miss Müller asked.

“It… it looks like a sort of rickshaw,” he finally said, adding, “One that’s pulled by people.”

"Correct!" said Miss Müller. "You rarely see them these days, and some even consider them dehumanizing. It’s a good thing I see it differently, at least when the human in question is a man!"

"Go over there!" she ordered.

Paul hesitated just long enough for Miss Müller to wind up with the spoon and deliver a powerful blow straight to his testicles. Paul howled and collapsed to the ground again.

"You will obey!" she shouted, raising the spoon threateningly once more. Trembling, Paul picked himself up and walked over to the rickshaw.

Although he didn't like the idea at all, he was too afraid not to do what he thought was expected of him. So he took his place between the shafts, where the puller would hold the rickshaw...

“Very good,” said Miss Müller, nodding approvingly. “It looks like you’re actually learning something, or at least trying to. But your posture isn’t quite right yet.”

Paul looked at her uncomprehendingly.

“Do you see those iron shackles at the ends of the shafts? Be so good as to lean forward and secure your right hand.”

The shackles looked old-fashioned, like something from a movie set in the Middle Ages. Reluctantly, Paul leaned forward, slid his right wrist through the shackle, and fastened it with his left hand. A loud click told him it had locked into place.

“Good boy,” Miss Müller remarked. “I’ll help you with the left one.” She took his left hand and secured it to the other shaft.

Only then did Paul notice that the rickshaw had been modified. To keep the passenger seat in the correct position, he had to adopt an uncomfortable posture.

His back formed a straight line, his arms were bent, and he had to grip the ends of the shafts tightly. This position was not only uncomfortable it also would soon cause him severe back pain. Yet this was evidently the very posture Miss Müller demanded of him without a thought for his discomfort, or if she did care, it was only because she took sadistic pleasure in it.

Miss Müller walked around him, stroked his bare back tenderly, and let go of the chain. Then she bent down, picked it up again, and pulled it underneath his butt to fasten it to the passenger seat.

Paul heard her rummaging around somewhere out of sight. Then she came back to him, pulled up a stool, and sat down in front of him so they could talk at eye level.

Miss Müller held up a strange device. It looked like a sort of four-pronged tong, with the prongs inserted through a green rubber ring. Miss Müller opened the tong, and the ring stretched wide.

"Do you have any idea what this is?" she asked. Paul shook his head.

"Well, it’s called an elastrator. It’s used to castrate animals, lambs and kid goats, specifically. The ring is opened as wide as possible and then slipped over the animal’s testicles. When you release the elastrator, the ring snaps back to its original size; it fits so tightly that it cuts off the blood supply. The testicles slowly die off and eventually just fall away. Snap, and they’re gone."

Paul’s eyes widened in horror.

"Please don’t! Please don’t! I’m begging you!" the words tumbled out of him.

"Please don’t do what?" Miss Müller countered.

"Please don’t castrate me!" he cried. "You can’t do this to me! I’m a human being, and you said my balls were needed to keep me in check! Besides, I promised my mother grandchildren, and I haven’t even..."

“You haven’t even… what, Paul? You surely aren’t trying to tell me that you haven’t even had sex, are you?” Miss Müller interrupted, raising an eyebrow. Paul was on the verge of tears. He didn’t know how to proceed. Finally, he simply nodded.

“Oh, Paul,” Miss Müller said softly, stroking his cheek. “Why make such a silly promise, one you can’t keep anyway? You aren’t the kind of man women desire, and there are already enough boring people in the world. No one needs your seed in the big sea of ​​human mediocrity.”

Now he was actually weeping again.

"Please, don't do it! Please, don't do it!" he repeated over and over. "I don't want to... I don't want to lose my balls!"

"Of course you don't," said Miss Müller. "None of you feral men wants something like that to happen to him, not as long as you're chasing your illusion of masculinity. But whether or not you get castrated today really depends on your performance."

"My performance?" he asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"Yes," said Miss Müller. "I have a meeting today with some other women who think just like I do, and you’re going to take me there," she explained.

"I’ll put one of those elastrator bands around your balls. If you manage to get me to the meeting fast enough, the band will be removed and your balls will be safe. If not, it stays on until your balls fall off on their own. Simple as that!"

Paul stared at her in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. Today was supposed to be just an ordinary day at his job, day with a simple task, talking to a tenant about some problem, nothing major, and now he was the prisoner of a madwoman and in danger of losing his manhood forever.

“But how am I supposed to know where to take you?” he finally asked.

“It’s quite simple,” Miss Müller said with a smile. “I’ll steer you! Do you see this long riding crop?” she asked, holding it up. “A tap on your left buttock means you turn right; a tap on your right buttock means you turn left. If I give your testicles a few light taps from below with it, you have to speed up. If I pull on your balls , you have to slow down, and if I give your balls a hard whack from above, you have to stop. Understood?”

Paul’s lips trembled, but he nodded in resignation.

“Fine,” said Miss Müller, ruffling his hair. “Who knows, after this trip, the prospect of being castrated might even start to seem appealing to you. I have known some very manly man who eventually begged me to cut their balls off!”

With a malicious laughter she walked over to his backside, hunkered down and grabbed his testicles. A few seconds later Paul cried out as the elastrator band pulled tight on his scrotum just below the metal ring. This alone was pretty painful.

Miss Müller climbed onto the passenger seat, took the chain in her left hand and pulled until Pauls ball bag was strechted out from under his buttocks as far as it would go. She then pressed a button on a remode and the doors in front of them slid apart.

 

"Giddy up!" yelled Miss Müller and gave Paul's testicles a few light taps from below.

Paul let out a gasp and started running.

They had barely reached the edge of the backyard when he received the first blow to his right buttock and veered to the left. A blow to his left buttock followed as they reached the end of the alley behind the house.

On the main street, his balls were tugged for the first time. Paul was so startled that he nearly fell, an accident that, in all likelihood, would have resulted in him tearing his own testicles clean off. But he managed to steady himself just in time and kept running as fast as he could. Wherever they passed, people stopped and gawked. Some stared in amazement, others laughed and shouted, but no one tried to intervene. They must have taken them for a deeply kinky couple, or perhaps for performance artists. A few men clutched their own crotches in solidarity when they saw what the chain was attached to, and once or twice, someone offered a very tentative greeting. Paul noticed none of this; his thoughts were far too consumed by the pain and the fear for his manhood.

All the while, he took slap after slap to his buttocks and balls, yet he didn't scream too much, as he needed his breath for running.

Eventually, the path led into a maze of particularly winding alleys, and Paul had to endure even more blows.

After a while, they reached the back courtyard of an old, stately villa. Miss Müller steered him straight toward the gate. Then, suddenly, a hard blow struck Paul’s testicles so violent from above he thought they would burst.

His vision went black for a moment, and he let out a pitiful scream. Yet, instinctively, he remained standing. The gate ahead opened, and Miss Müller signaled for him to move forward, urging him on with light slaps against his testicles from below.

Inside, they were greeted by two young women. They wore riding attire paired with corsets that prominently displayed their deep cleavages. Both had blonde hair; one wore a ponytail, the other two braids. They could hardly have been older than twenty-two.

"Good evening, Mistress Müller!" said the girl with the braids. "We’ve been expecting you!"

"Hello, girls!" Miss Müller called out with a warm smile. "I see you’re in charge of the stable work today?"

"Yes, Mistress Müller! We’ll take care of your mount and your carriage."

The other girl reached out to help Miss Müller step down from the passenger seat.

"Is that a new slave?" asked the girl with the braids. "I only captured him an hour ago!" Miss Müller said radiantly. "He woke up this morning believing he was a man in a man’s world and look at him now!"

The girls giggled and put on expressions of mock pity. Paul was too out of breath and in too much pain to say anything.

"Does he have a name?" asked the girl with the ponytail, studying Paul’s face.

Miss Müller shook her head. "Not anymore! You can call him whatever you like, as long as it’s demeaning."

“Cool! We’ll come up with something really nasty,” promised the girl with the ponytail. “Do you have any further instructions regarding this boy?”

“Yes,” Miss Müller replied. “As I said, he was just captured and still needs training, but I don’t want to keep him. Please prepare him for today’s raffle. He’s my entry.”

“All right, Mistress! We’ll take care of it!” said the girl with the braids, grabbing the chain and dragging Paul, rickshaw and all, by his testicles, into the stable.

“Oh, and one more thing!” Miss Müller called after them. “This boy has a elastrator ring around his testicles and is suffering from terrible castration anxiety! You’ll have to sort that out!”

“Oh, we will,” the girls cried, winking at her.

Miss Müller turned her back on them and went inside.

Paul whimpered in fear of what was about to happen to him.

This story is fictional, and all individuals involved are of legal age.

Miss Lydia Müller was a dominatrix of a very special kind.

Not only did she provide a service to men who accepted their submissive nature and willingly subordinated themselves to women, fully aware of their own inferiority to the female sex, but she was also an active member of an organization dedicated to establishing female supremacy throughout society.

She was firmly convinced that all men were inherently submissive and required the guidance of a strong female hand. Men, she believed, were too emotional, irrational, and too driven by instinct to lead, make political decisions, or even look after themselves.

Miss Müller categorized men into three groups: the "Feral Ones," who clung to the illusion that the patriarchy was normal and natural; the "Domesticated Ones," who willingly and fully accepted and embraced their destiny of serving the female cause; and the "Tamed Ones", former Feral Ones who had been captured and whose wills had been broken by women to transform them into obedient slaves.

To her, there was nothing wrong with capturing a feral man and forcibly turning him into a slave. Sure, they might dislike it at first, but being freed from the compulsion to play the role of a strong, dominant, and independent man was better for them, and for society as a whole.

Miss Müller lived in a small, old house in a cozy part of the Old Town, where many similar houses stood side by side and wall to wall. There was both a small front garden and a courtyard behind the house, the latter containing a shelter for her vehicles.

Although the house had a small footprint, it spanned four floors; the top floor housed the punishment room for her clients, while the cellar served as a dungeon for those who still needed to be tamed.

Naturally, her activities did not go unnoticed by the neighbors, who held rather old-fashioned views regarding the relationship between men and women. And even though no one had proof of what exactly she was doing there, the complaints about noise disturbances soon became impossible to ignore.

For this reason, she was expecting a visit today from an employee of the housing association, a Mr. Paul Meier, to discuss the matter over a cup of tea. The time and day had been set at her request.

Miss Müller glanced at the clock above the kitchen door, hoping Mr. Meier would be sensible enough not to arrive too late. Finally, the doorbell rang, and Miss Müller rose from her seat to greet her guest; she was in no hurry, however, for no man was worth that kind of effort.

When she opened the door, she saw a man in a suit standing at the gate of her front garden. He was slender and pale, likely no older than thirty. His brown hair was neatly groomed and parted to the side. He gave the general impression of a dull desk jockey lacking any real assertiveness.

No wonder he was the one who had to carry out this unpleasant task.

"Don't keep a lady waiting, young man!" she called. "Get over here!"

Hesitating, the man turned the knob at the gate and approached the front door.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Miller," he said as he offered his hand. "I'm Mr. Meier."

"It's Miss Müller," she corrected as she shook his hand. "I'm not married and have no intention to change that."

"Of course, ma'am," Meier said with a blush. "I'll call you Miss Muller."

"And I'll just call you Paul," she said. It was not a request, and Mr. Meier was too perplexed to object.

 She led him into the kitchen and asked him to take a seat on a simple wooden chair at a round table. Both the chair and the table were painted light blue. The table was set with a lace cloth and a tea service. Hot steam was already rising from the teapot. A sugar bowl and a biscuit tin completed the setting.

The chair had neither a cushion nor anything else to make it comfortable. In contrast to Mr. Meier’s seating, Miss Müller pulled up a lovely little upholstered armchair and sat down elegantly.

As he felt the hard seat pressing against his soft bottom, Mr. Meier studied Miss Müller from head to toe.

Although she was approaching fifty, she took great care of her appearance and still drew many admiring glances from men when she strolled through the streets. Her jet-black hair was streaked with silver, yet her refined face showed only subtle lines, particularly around her mouth and eyes. She had a slight paunch, though it did not detract from her slender silhouette and was barely noticeable anyway, given her ample bosom. Her attire was elegant and feminine, consisting of a white blouse, a red shawl, and a long, black pleated skirt. She wore short boots with steel toes and soles that clicked menacingly as she walked.

“Well, Paul,” she said, pouring some tea into his cup, “tell me a little about yourself so we can get to know each other before we begin. Is there a little Mrs. Meier waiting for you at home?”

“Um… no, unfortunately not. I actually live alone,” he replied, completely caught off guard by this opening.

“Oh, why not?” Miss Müller pressed. “A handsome young man like you, without even a girlfriend… You aren’t gay, are you?”

Mr. Meier blushed. “I’m a ladies’ man,” he explained, “just a bit overworked and… um… shy.”

“Aha! That explains a lot!” said Miss Müller thoughtfully. “Then I suppose your right hand is your cock’s best friend.”

Mr. Meier stared at her, his face bright red. “Miss Miller! Can we please stop talking about my private life and get down to business?”

"But of course," she said, glancing over the rim of her teacup as she took a sip. She noticed that the slight bulge at his crotch had just become a little more pronounced. "You enjoy being flustered by an elegant lady, my little friend," Miss Müller thought, "even if you might not be aware of it yourself."

“And what are those pesky neighbors complaining about now? I have heard the noise is bothering them?” she asked.

“Um… yes,” replied Mr. Meier, grateful that the conversation was moving back in a predictable direction. “They said they hear dull thuds, banging, and… the screaming and sobbing of men. So, um… naturally, my superiors want to know the cause and how to put a stop to it. Um… may I ask: what exactly do you do here all day?”

“It’s simple!” exclaimed Miss Müller. “I tame men!”

Mr. Meier choked on his tea. “Um… you do what?”

“I tame, discipline, and humiliate men,” said Miss Müller nonchalantly.

“And they… they let you do that to them?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“Of course,” lied Miss Müller. “They actually beg for it and pay me. I’m a professional dominatrix, Paul. That’s how I earn my living; that’s how I pay the rent.”

Mr. Meier stared at her as he processed this information.

“Does that mean you spank grown men’s bare bottoms?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, that too,” said Miss Müller with a smirk. “But I also spank their bollocks. I actually enjoy that much more!”

The mere mention of blows to the testicles was enough to make Mr. Meier cross his legs. “Why?” he breathed.

Miss Müller leaned forward and whispered, “Because it’s more fun and far more effective. A man suffering from testicular pain genuinely fears losing something indispensable to him. Everything else fades into the background; nothing remains but the pain and the fear for his manhood. Such a man will do anything to save his balls, even submit to unconditional obedience. Besides, this allows his testicles to fulfill their true purpose, aside from making babies, of course. Forget all that talk about building testosterone and making men strong and, well, ‘masculine.’ Most men do not use their testicles to make children and are completely unsuited to be fathers, or even mere procreators, anyway. The real reason Mother Nature gave you balls is to provide women with something they can use to control and punish men. Through lust and pain.“

Mr. Meier was sweating so profusely that he had to dab his forehead. Miss Müller watched him with a triumphant look, stretched out her legs, and demonstratively placed one foot on Mr. Meier’s chair, right between his legs. Mr. Meier shifted slightly to get away from it.

"A... a... and is there anything we can do to dampen the noise? Perhaps by installing soundproofing?" he asked hesitantly.

"Look around you! These rooms are cramped enough as it is!" she said matter-of-factly. "No, the neighbors will just have to get used to it, or turn off their hearing aids, or whatever. Besides, the neighbor women would do well to follow my example and hit their husbands in the balls. Every man needs a few solid whacks to the privates now and then to get back on the right track.”

“I… I don’t think my superiors will be satisfied with this outcome,” stammered Mr. Meier.

“Of course not,” said Miss Müller. “They are men, after all. Anyway, would you like some more tea, Paul, before you deliver the bad news?”

Mr. Meier felt he should leave as soon as possible, but he also considered himself a gentleman and didn't want to seem ungrateful, so he said, “Yes, please!”

Miss Müller stood up and lifted the teapot. Mr. Meier held out his cup for a refill. But as Miss Müller tilted the pot, the stream of hot tea shot past the cup and poured directly onto the by-now considerable bulge in Mr. Meier’s crotch.

"Aaaiiee!" he screamed, leaping up from his chair.

"Oops, how clumsy of me," said Miss Müller with a barely concealed grin.

Mr. Meier hopped up and down, trying to soak up the wet patches with a kitchen towel without rubbing the hot liquid in any deeper.

"Stop this nonsense, you silly man!" cried Miss Müller. "Take off your trousers and let some air get to your scalded balls!"

Mr. Meier hurriedly began fumbling with his belt, but Miss Müller pushed his hands aside, undid the buckle, and yanked his trousers and underpants down in one swift motion. The sudden movement caused Mr. Meier to land on his bare butt.

Miss Müller seized the opportunity to remove his shoes and socks and strip the trousers off him completely.

Mr. Meier sat there leaning back, legs splayed and propped up on his arms, breathing heavily as Miss Müller examined his privates. His scrotum was pink and slack, revealing the distinct shape and size of the testicles within.

Miss Müller was quite proud of herself. She had correctly gauged the time the tea needed to cool just enough so that the scald would not be too severe, yet still quite painful. Mr. Meier’s penis was spared the full force of the impact, as it had been in a semi-erect state when the tea struck his crotch. Now, it was limp again.

"Poor boy," murmured Miss Müller. "But don't worry, I have an ointment that will soothe you and help with the healing." She stood up and went to a kitchen cabinet, where she rummaged through a drawer. Then she returned with a small box and knelt down between his legs again.

Mr. Meier couldn't see what Miss Müller was doing because she was leaning too far forward. But finally, he felt something cold against the skin of his scrotum and calmed down a little. "That must be the ointment," he thought, when suddenly there was a click and he felt a tugging sensation on his balls.

Surprised, he leaned his upper body forward to see what was going on down there.

A metal ring with a keyhole encircled his scrotum. The ring was loose enough not to cut off circulation, yet tight enough to press his testicles against the base of the scrotum and pull the skin taut over them. The ring was attached to an iron chain that pulled his captive testicles upward.

Astonished, Mr. Meier looked up and saw Miss Müller towering over him. She held the chain connected to his testicles firmly in her left hand while raising a long wooden spoon threateningly in her right.

"I've got you by the balls, Paul!" she announced.

Mr. Meier tried to push himself up onto his hands and knees in order to break free from this madwoman and escape. But she wouldn't allow it.

Miss Müller gave his testicles a sharp tug, swung her spoon in a swift motion, and struck him right across both testicles!

"Ow!" he cried out and collapsed.

"You aren't going anywhere, Paul," said Miss Müller. "At least, not where you want to go. But we need to hurry; I need your help with something."

With that, she began dragging the sobbing man toward the back door by his testicles, striking them repeatedly in a steady rhythm until she finally hauled him out through the back door.

 

To be continued...

 

It was a hot day in late May when I finally fulfilled a childhood dream and bought a sports convertible, a used yellow Chevrolet Corvette C7. I had saved up for four years and ultimately had to take out an $80,000 loan to afford the car. For an ordinary person like me, that was a massive mountain of debt; practically my entire net worth and my financial future hinged on it. Yet, the certainty of finally being able to call such a car my own made it all worthwhile. 

The very next Friday afternoon, I set out on my first drive, one that was meant to last the entire weekend. I had specifically taken time off work for it. There was hardly another car in sight for miles, and I reveled in the freedom of a road trip across the American plains. At sunset, my C7 rolled into a small town located somewhere between anyhere and nowhere. The town sign bore the peculiar name "Ringing Bells", a name I would never forget. 

It didn’t take long for me to find a bar, the only one in the whole damn town. It was called "Zuzi’s Bell-Ringer," an obvious play on the town’s name. It wasn’t very busy inside at that time of day. A group of locals, mostly middle-aged blue-collar workers and country boys, had settled into the dark corners, watching three women play pool in the middle of the room. 

It was quite a diverse group: a slender Black woman with long, straightened hair, average-sized tits, and a sexy backside in cut-off denim shorts; a curvy Latina with long black curls and large, wonderfully soft tits that any man would love to use as a pillow; and a tall caucasian brunette. She, too, was wearing hot pants that showed off her toned legs, encased in cowboy boots. She also wore a white cowboy hat and a flannel shirt tied just below the bust; this lifted her boobs (a B-cup I guess) slightly and immediately drew my gaze to her cleavage. 

I tore myself away from the sight when I realized I’d been staring longer than was polite, and turned toward the bar. The bartender, a petite Asian woman with an athletic build and a bob haircut, greeted me with a smile and took my order. 

With a freshly poured beer in hand, I sat on a barstool and watched the women's game, while ignoring the locals' curious glances as best I could. In my youth, I was an avid pool player myself. And although I hadn't played for years, I still knew a great deal about the game and had a few tricks up my sleeve. Quietly, I began to size up the women's moves and tactics. 

By my third beer, I got a bit carried away and started commenting on the game out loud and criticized moves I considered poor. At first, the women ignored me, though they kept playing with even greater intensity. 

Eventually, the Black woman had enough of me. She raised her cue, pointed it at me, and snapped, "You think you're the king of the pool table, huh? But do you have the balls to prove it?" 

I feigned total nonchalance and took another sip of beer before replying, "Is that an invitation?" 

"A challenge!" the brunette interjected. 

"You against me," the Black woman declared. 

I grinned and said, "If push comes to shove, I'll take on all of you at once." 

"You're on!" cried the Latina, who was just chalking her cue. 

*Oh man, me and my big mouth*, I thought. But my pride wouldn't let me back down now. So I slid off the stool and grabbed a cue. "What are we playing for?" I asked. "A round of free beer for everyone?" 

"Yeah, that too," said the Black woman. "But let's make it a bit more interesting. Ever heard of strip pool?" 

Now I couldn't suppress my grin. I would have loved to see the three of them in their underwear, but even more so, completely naked. "Sound's great to me!" I said.

"Okay, girls, let's show this guy how it's done! I want to see him drop his pants! Veronica, you break." 

The Latina smiled. "As you wish, Chloe!" 

As soon as the game started, I realized how rusty I had become over the years. Knowing the theory of the game and actually playing it were clearly two completely different things. The girls took turns: first one of them would break, then I would, then the next. 

Veronica, the Latina, went first, followed by Michelle, the Caucasian girl, and finally Chloe, the Black girl and the toughest player of them all. 

I did manage a few pretty good shots, but in the end I lost round after round, and the pile of my belongings on a side table kept growing, while I felt increasingly exposed and humiliated. 

Eventually, my underpants were the only things preserving my dignity. Defeated, I raised my hands and placed my pants on the table. "Okay, girls, you win!" I announced. "Let's just leave it at that!" But Chloe wasn't having it. 

"No way," she said coolly. "Mom didn't raise me to do things by halves. We're playing another round, and then it's time for the big reveal, or is it more of a *little* reveal?" she taunted. 

I blushed. Although I knew my cock measured a respectable seven inches and there was no reason to be ashamed of it, I wasn't exactly keen on exposing it to a room full of strangers. Until then, seeing my cock and balls had been a privilege reserved for doctors and lovers. But since Chloe insisted, and the other two were eyeing me up and down like a piece of meat, eager to see more, I had no choice but to play along. 

So we started another round, and to cut a long story short: I lost! 

Now all eyes were on me, and a nerve-wracking silence filled the room. Chloe stood in front of me, looking at me expectantly. "Drop 'em!" she commanded. 

"Please, Chloe," I pleaded. "Don't do this to me!" But before I could even react, Michelle and Veronica were standing on either side of me; they grabbed the waistband of my underwear and quickly yanked it down to my ankles. My fully erect penis sprang free from the confines of the fabric, and the whole room erupted in uproarious laughter. 

Even though it wasn't actually cold, goosebumps broke out all over my body, and I felt my testicles begin to retract into my lower abdomen, as if sensing danger. 

Chloe, Michelle, Veronica, and pretty much everyone else were staring at my manhood, and I could hear the sound of photos being taken. Chloe grinned at me triumphantly. 

"Nice cock," she remarked. "And circumcised and shaved, too! I like it when a man makes an effort to show off his package!" People started giggling at her words. "You know what? I’m feeling generous today, I’ll give you one more chance to prove yourself. If you win this time, you can get dressed and leave as if nothing happened. If you lose, everything on this table, including your underwear, belongs to us." 

I swallowed hard. That would mean having to drive home naked! An experience I never wanted to have. The crowd grew excited, and everyone cheered. I tried to think clearly. She couldn't be serious, I thought. This was all just a game, a wicked, erotic game. I looked at her. Wasn't there a hint of lust on Chloe's face? Now I was certain she wasn't serious. She’d laugh, let me get dressed, have a drink with her, and maybe, just maybe, we’d end up in bed together. I certainly wouldn't mind. She was hot, and my hard cock was a clear sign of just how ready I was for it. 

"Okay," I said. "One last round, all or nothing!" 

This time, it was just the two of us. Chloe played brilliantly, as always, but I was nervous and tired. At first, she sank one ball after another, while I kept making mistakes. Eventually, though, I pulled myself together, and by the end, we were neck and neck. 

I needed just one good shot, one final, decisive shot, to clinch the victory. The room fell silent again. I leaned over the table and aimed my cue at the last ball. Sweat ran down my face and spine, and I could feel my penis pressing against the billiard table. 

Just as I was about to take the shot, I noticed Veronica at the other end of the table; she was grinning at me. I tried to focus on the ball. *Don't get distracted*, I told myself, *don't get distracted*... I drew back the cue, thrust it forward... and at that moment, Veronica yanked up her top and swung her huge, naked tits right into my line of fire. My cue slipped, missed the ball, and tore a long gash in the table's felt. 

For a few seconds, everyone held their breath. Then, cheers, laughter, and jeers erupted in the room once more. I had lost for good! 

I shouted, "Foul! Foul!" but no one heard or cared about my words. They were all too busy celebrating Chloe's victory over me. Still, I believed it was all just a prank, so I decided to play along, congratulate Chloe in person, and claim a well-deserved reward for having been a good sport. 

It wasn’t easy to get through to her, but a naked man in the middle of a fully clothed crowd draws attention, and so a gap finally opened up for me. 

"Well done, Chloe!" I shouted. "Let me give you a victory kiss now!" 

Without waiting for an answer, I pulled her close and pressed my lips against hers... and at that moment, an agonizing wave of pain exploded right between my legs. 

I groaned and gagged as a hot, stabbing pain shot from my groin straight into my stomach. I doubled over and had the crowd not immediately grabbed me by the arms and hauled me away from Chloe, I would have collapsed to the ground. 

I’d taken a knee to the crotch once before during a schoolyard fight, that had been bad, but this was ten times worse. Back then it had been an accident, but Chloe had put her full strength into it. I could actually feel my testicles being crushed between my pelvis and her kneecap. 

"How dare you!" Chloe screamed, and before I could say a word, the toe of her boot slammed into my balls again with a loud smack. This time, I let out a high-pitched shriek and clamped my legs together to shield my balls from further attacks. Nausea washed over me, and I was certain my balls would be flattened forever after that impact. 

"Hold his legs apart!" Chloe yelled furiously. The people obeyed, leaving my testicles exposed as defenseless targets. Apparently, no one wanted to mess with Chloe when she was angry. "I’m going to teach you a lesson for sexually harassing me, you bastard!" she roared; then she took a running start and landed another direct hit with her foot. 

Chloe was just about to launch another attack on my crotch when Michelle stopped her. "Calm down, Chloe! Leave something for the rest of us to crush, too!" Chloe glared at her friend, but then she smiled and nodded.

Michelle turned toward me, ran over, slid down to the floor, and skidded right up to me until she could ram her elbow hard into my balls. "That’s what you get for staring down my cleavage, you wanker!" 

That was too much for my stomach and Michelle managed to roll aside just in time before I threw up. Everyone backed away, and I sank to the floor, trembling and doubled over in pain. 

Then a splash of liquid hit my face: the bartender had poured a mug of water over my head to wash away the vomit. 

"Looks like our guest is in the mood for some more ball games again, and this time, he’s bringing the balls himself!" she announced. 

Once again, many hands lifted me up and carried me over to the pool table. My whole body went limp, like a doll whose strings had been cut. They lifted my legs until my knees touched my chest, then hoisted me onto the corner of the pool table so that my genitals dangled right over the pocket. 

"No! No! No! Not that!" I stammered when I realized what they had in store for me, but it was no use.

I heard a woman shout, "Look! His balls are trying to retract!" but Veronica took a claw clip from her curly hair and declared, "Not on my watch!" With that, she clamped the clip onto my scrotum, pinching off my spermatic cords and pinning my testicles to the bottom of the sac so there was no escape for them.

Someone laid the balls out on the table, and Chloe, Michelle, Veronica, and even the bartender took turns shooting billiard balls at my testicles. I began to weep uncontrollably like a child, letting out a whimpering "Oww" with every impact of a ball against my testicles.

I don’t remember how long it lasted, but eventually, they lowered me back down to the ground. I huddled there, trying to make myself as small as possible. Shortly after, I heard approaching footsteps and knew I was surrounded by Chloe and her friends.

Someone, most likely Veronica, squatted down, reached between my legs, and grabbed my testicles. She removed the clamp from my ball bag and gave my balls a light tap; which was still enough to make me whimper and tremble, as I was extremely sensitive now. Then Michelle stepped behind me and slammed the metal toe of her cowboy boot hard against my balls. I yelped and actually jumped forward a bit like a frog. "That was fun!" she said. "We should pick up on this some time, don't you think?"

I burried my face in my palms and embraced myself for what ever Chloe was comming up with now. But it seems she wasn't even interested in torturing my poor balls anymore. Instead she walked past me and the three of them approached the table with my things."Let’s see what he’s got on him!" Michelle said. 

"Ooh," Veronica said. "Are those his car keys? Cool! I wonder what the car looks like!" 

My pulse immediately started racing. "No, not my car!" I begged.

But the women didn't even spare me a glance. They cleared everything off the table and marched outside, the car keys jingling in Chloe's hand.

Summoning my last reserves of strength and willpower, I hauled myself up, though I could only crawl rather than walk, and tried to follow them. Outside, the sun had nearly set, but I could see the three of them approaching my C7. 

"Oh, a Chevrolet Corvette C7!" Chloe exclaimed excitedly. "I’ve wanted one of these since I was a little girl! Let’s see what this ride can do!"

Then they carelessly tossed my clothes into the trunk, got in, and started the engine. I managed to get onto my trembling legs and tried to grab hold of the car somehow. But before I could get close enough, they drove off, leaving me to swallow a mouthful of dust.

There I stood, stark naked and with swollen, aching testicles, in a strange town, staring at the spot where, just moments before, my most prized possession, the symbol of all my hopes and dreams, had been. I was completely overwhelmed and unable to grasp what all this meant for me and my future life.

Then a snapping sound echoed through the air, and I felt another sudden, stabbing pain radiating from my balls. 

"Oh no!" I squeaked. "Not again!" I fell to the ground once more and curled up in the fetal position, only to be immediately kicked in the side and rolled onto my back.

Zuzi, the Asian bartender and owner of the bar, towered over me. She was holding a wet towel, the very one she had just used to smack me in the balls from behind.

I lay sprawled on my back, limbs splayed out like a turtle that had landed on its shell. Suddenly, she stomped her right foot onto my unprotected genitals, ground her heel into my big swollen balls, and pressed the sole of her foot against my cock. My howl of pain echoed through the town.

"You can't leave yet," she stated matter-of-factly. "You haven't settled your tab!"

I stared at her speechlessly, as if I didn't know what a tab was.“Let’s see,” she said, picking up a notepad and pencil. “That’s four beers you drank yourself, plus everything consumed at the bar after 8 p.m. today, and on top of that, the ruined pool table... Hmm... let’s say 8,000 dollars, and we’ll call it even.” 

“But, but... I don’t have anything on me!” I stammered. “Those...” I wanted to say “sluts,” but corrected myself just in time to “ladies.” “...stole my clothes, my wallet, my cash, my cards, and even my car!”

The bartender increased the pressure on my testicles, and I howled again.

“No,” she said. “They won it all in a fair bet. In strip pool, the wallet goes into the pot if you leave it in your pocket. And if you leave your car keys in there, the same applies to the car. Those are the rules here.” 

“But, but I really have nothing left to pay with!” I squeaked. 

“Then you’ll just have to work it off!” she said with a cold smile. “You can start right away. And since you can barely walk, you get to scrub the floors today, naked and on all fours! I think I'll keep you naked, that'll draw some more traffic to my bar. People will love making fun of you!"

 

It took me the entire summer to work off my debt at "Zuzi’s Bell-Ringer."

Zuzi forced me to work as a naked waiter and cleaner the whole time.

The guests found it highly amusing; they loved mocking me and threatening to kick or punch me in the balls, and every day I got smacked on my bare backside. They called me "Ass Boy."

Zuzi didn't hold back either; she would lash out at my balls with her towel or spank me whenever she was displeased with me, or simply whenever she felt like it. The constant abuse caused my testicles to turn purple, and they never shrank back to their normal size. It became increasingly difficult for me to get a boner, and eventually, my cock remained permanently limp.

By the time I finally returned to my hometown, I had long since been fired and evicted from my apartment. With no money, no place to stay, and not even any identification, I had no choice but to join the ranks of the homeless beggars. Although I am impotent and most likely sterile, I still get horny. Whenever I see pretty young women who resemble Chloe or one of her friends, I feel my testicles trying to retract, though they never quite manage it, as they have grown too large for that by now.

Sometimes I still have nightmares about Chloe and wake up with aching, throbbing balls.

This story is entirely fiction, and all characters involved are assumed to be of legal age.

Tom, Peter, Steve, Robby, and Karli had been friends since high school and had stayed in touch throughout their college years. Whenever they had time off simultaneously, including during semester breaks, they preferred to spend it together. They passed the time playing sports and games, chatting about their future plans, the girls they were currently smitten with, and who the hottest girls on campus were. 

That year marked the tenth anniversary of their first time hanging out together, and they had decided to celebrate with a special trip across Europe during the summer holidays. At the moment, they were staying with a female farmer in a remote area of northeastern Germany. The region seemed almost deserted; apart from small villages every few miles or the occasional isolated farmhouse, there was hardly anything there. 

Nevertheless, the landscape offered plenty of space and country roads that were perfect for a bicycle tour. Today, they set off on just such a tour, riding used bicycles they had recently discovered and purchased at a small workshop in their holiday town. It was a hot day, and the road was dusty. They were all the more delighted, then, when Steve pointed into the distance at a body of water glittering in the sunlight. Although they hadn't brought any swimwear, skinny-dipping was quite common in Germany, and a cooling dip would certainly do them good on a day like this. 

As they drew closer and paused for a moment to enjoy the peaceful sight of the lake, a utility vehicle pulled up beside them. Inside were two local women, slightly older than the five friends. The driver, a woman with strawberry-blonde curls and freckles, leaned out of the vehicle and called over, "Na, Jungs, wo soll's denn hingehen?" 

"Um... excuse me, ma'am," said Robby. “We don’t speak German! We’re Americans! Right, guys?” he added, nodding to his friends as if his statement needed confirmation. 

“Oh!” said the second woman in the passenger seat, who was tanned and wore her chestnut hair tied back in a ponytail. “In this cas; where are you headed?” 

“Just down to the lake, ma’am,” Tom replied. “You aren’t planning to go swimming in Lake Geldings, are you?” she asked. 

“Actually, yes, we are,” said Tom. “Is there a problem?” 

“Please don’t tell me it’s forbidden!” Karli chimed in. 

“Well,” said the woman at the wheel, “not exactly forbidden, but you might not like it there.” 

“Why not? It looks really beautiful from a distance!” Steve countered. 

“Of course, I’m not your mother,” said the blonde woman. “So it’s not my place to tell you what to do! Just do whatever you want.” 

“Anyway, have fun, boys!” the brunette woman called out with a laugh as her friend stepped on the gas. The five friends looked at each other and shrugged. 

“What was that all about?” said Karli.

Just fifteen minutes later, they reached the shore of Lake Gelding. The lake was largely overgrown with reeds, but the country road led down a slope directly to a gravel beach that provided access to the water. A few weeping willows leaned over the water, dipping their long, leafy branches into it. It seemed as though no one had been there for a long time, for there was hardly any litter among the gravel or in the undergrowth. However, what caught the five friends' attention was a weathered wooden sign with red lettering in German. 

Since Peter was the only one who had thought to install an automatic translation app on his phone for the trip, he took a picture of the sign and read the translation aloud without waiting for the others to ask. "Swimming recommended only for girls and women," he read. "Boys and men are strongly advised to stay away from the water!"

"What the hell!" Robby exclaimed. "That makes absolutely no sense!" 

"True," Steve agreed. "Why would it be okay for girls but not for boys? I don't get it!" 

"Maybe it's supposed to be a place where girls and women can swim in peace, without being watched or harassed by men?" Karli suggested. 

"Don't be ridiculous, man!" Tom said. "This is a public space!"

"Hey, guys! Guys!" Peter called out. "Look! We're not alone!" Everyone’s eyes followed Peter’s finger as he pointed across the lake.

Far out in the water, they spotted milky-white skin and heads with red and blonde hair shimmering in the light. It was a group of three women splashing in the lake, two blondes and a redhead. They were young and obviously naked, for the boys could clearly make out their large, uncovered breasts glistening in the sun. And what breasts they were! Big, round, and firm, straight out of a teenager’s fantasies, with pink or brown nipples. They looked amazingly natural, too. Mesmerized, the boys watched as the girls caressed each other’s breasts, sucked on their nipples, squeezed them, and splashed water at one another.

“Wow!” said Steve. “Check those out!”

“I think I’m in love! Or maybe I’m just horny!” Karli blurted out.

“Look!” cried Tom. “They’re waving at us! They want us to come over!”

Sure enough, the three women were waving in their direction, smiling, and blowing kisses.

“Last one there is a limp-dicked loser!” shouted Peter, hurriedly starting to undress. The others followed suit. Every one of the boys was eager to strip naked and swim over to the bathing beauties as fast as possible. The warning on the sign was all but forgotten.

A desperate scramble for a spot at the ample bosoms ensued. There were only three busty sirens and five sexually aroused men, and none of the guys was in the mood for a threesome involving another man, friend or otherwise. As always when the friends competed in sports, Tom was the fastest. He set his sights directly on the redhead; who waved at him and winked seductively.

Smiling, she spread her arms to welcome him and show off her massive breasts. Tom was so aroused that he didn't even wonder how she managed to keep her upper body above water. Just as he was close enough to touch her, she suddenly submerged. 

Confused, Tom began treading water. He looked down to spot the beautiful redhead. There she was! Right beneath him, but there seemed to be a fish there too, a massive creature, far too big for waters like these. Suddenly, her cold, wet fingers touched Tom’s buttocks. She clung tight and dug her sharp nails deep into his tender flesh, pulling his most intimate area closer to her face. "Am I getting an underwater blowjob?" Tom wondered as he felt something gently caress his scrotum. 

Then, something suddenly gripped his testicles roughly. A sharp pain shot through his groin, and Tom was yanked violently downward by his balls. 

Tom’s head disappeared beneath the surface of the water. With wide, staring eyes, he saw the redhead’s face, contorted into a grimace yet beautiful. Her skin shimmered, covered in countless tiny scales. Her mouth hung wide open, revealing a multitude of needle-sharp teeth, while her long, slender tongue was wrapped around his testicles. Glancing around, he realized the same thing was happening to Peter and Robby. 

The creature’s body tapered into a long, tassel-like fish tail. She, or it, was pulling his balls closer and closer to her mouth. As the mermaid clamped her mouth around the base of his scrotum, a fresh wave of pain shot through Tom. But all of a sudden, she let go again. Tom fought his way back to the surface and scrambled toward the shore as if his life depended on it. On his way, he passed Karli and Steve, who were swimming toward them. 

Tom was too breathless to speak; it was only the unmistakable panic on his face that prompted his friends to turn back. Robby and Peter had also managed to break free from the grasp of the monstrous beauties and were close behind him. But Karli and Steve were once again too slow and fell behind. When Tom turned to check on them, he could just make out them being pulled underwater; yet his panic was too great for him to help them. 

Finally, coughing and gasping for air, he reached the gravel beach and crawled ashore on his hands and knees. Exhausted, he collapsed and struggled for breath. Robby and Peter followed shortly after. And a few minutes later, Karli and Steve also emerged from the lake, no less exhausted and terrified than the others.

“Just look at what’s washed up here!” a woman’s voice announced. “There are five freshly castrated geldings!” 

The five friends looked up in confusion. The two local women from earlier were standing at the top of the slope above and their utility vehicle was parked behind them. 

“Wh... what do you mean?” Peter asked. 

“Just take a look at yourselves!” the brunette laughed. “None of you have your balls anymore! The mermaids of Lake Gelding have gobbled up your manhoods!”

All five jumped up and screamed in shock. Below their penises, exactly where their testicles had once been, there was nothing but a fresh, pink, X-shaped scar. 

"What?" "How?" "This can't be happening!" they cried out in confusion. 

"Yes, it's true!" the strawberry-blonde woman shouted back. "Your days of fucking are over! You've been castrated! You're geldings, muttons, eunuchs!"

Karli was the first to find his voice again. "W... why? Why didn't you tell us this was going to happen?"

"Oh, we did!" said the brunette. "Well, sort of. We just weren't very specific about it." 

"Exactly!" laughed the strawberry-blonde woman. "Why would we have missed out on the pleasure of watching a bunch of stupid young men lose their balls? It's so much fun and never gets old!" 

"That... that's not funny!" Robby cried out. "That's cruel!" He was actually crying now, realizing that he would remain a virgin forever. The women just laughed at his misery. 

"You’ll get used to it. And on the way back, you’ll have plenty of time to come to terms with the fact that you’re a bunch of limp dicked eunuchs with no balls!" 

The mention of the return trip made Tom pay closer attention to his surroundings. "Wait a minute! Where are our bikes and our clothes?"
"Well, we took the liberty of loading everything up," said the brunette, patting the bed of her vehicle. Their bikes were lying there, securely stowed. The five eunuchs stared in disbelief. 

"You can't just leave us behind like this!" Steve cried out in desperation. "It’s miles away, and we’re completely naked!" 

The women just laughed even louder and got into the car. 

"Right!" the strawberry-blonde giggled. "It’s a long way, and we want to make sure everyone knows you don't have any balls anymore!" With that, she started the engine and drove off. 

For a while, the five young eunuchs simply hung their heads and covered their now-useless little penises with their hands. Then, they set off on foot.

 This is entirely fiction, and all characters involved are assumed to be of legal age.

This story was inspired by the first ten minutes of a movie I watched on TV late at night as a teenager. I was too tired to watch the whole film, and I don't remember the title either. I’m not even sure if it actually featured "ballbusting"—I probably just imagined that part—but there was definitely a very humiliating CFNM scene.

Note: This is a purely fictional story, and all characters are over the age of 18. The story deals with the following themes: ballbusting, CFNM, SPH, and castration.

The museum was dark and silent when Bob began his rounds. It was his first day as a night watchman—the start of an exciting new career path. Until recently, he had worked as a copywriter. But after being replaced by AI, he had to find a new source of income. So, he invested his modest savings in retraining and could now call himself a certified security expert. This new job promised to be fundamentally different from his old one: it required more physical activity and—he hoped—more action. The latter, of course, only if something actually happened. For the most part, however, his work consisted of sitting on a chair, watching live feeds from various surveillance cameras on the monitors, and keeping an eye out for alarms. He found the occasional rounds to be almost a welcome change of pace. The corridors and exhibition halls were dimly lit by emergency lighting, and Bob kept his flashlight ready to illuminate the darkest corners. His footsteps echoed deafeningly through the building as he slowly approached the jewelry section.

This was the centerpiece of the current traveling exhibition, which showcased the family treasures of historic royal houses to curious visitors. The showpiece among them was the "Eye of Medusa", a gemstone the size of a chicken egg that shimmered with rainbow colors and had only recently been discovered at an archaeological site in Greece. Historians speculated that it had once been the crown jewel of a royal treasury or a temple. Its value was estimated at over 100 million dollars. The museum director had sternly impressed upon him the need to be especially vigilant, as this particular gemstone could attract unsavory characters. Normally, two security guards should have been on duty, but Bob’s colleague had called in sick at the last minute, and no replacement could be found in time.

Bob checked his work phone again; it was linked to the surveillance system, allowing him to toggle between the feeds from the various cameras. Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass echoed through the corridors. It was coming directly from the jewelry department ahead of him. Bob hesitated. Perhaps he should call for backup right away. On the other hand, he didn't want to risk calling someone unnecessarily, so he decided to assess the situation first. That way, he could tell the police exactly what to expect. Bob slipped his phone back into his pocket and sneaked up to the doorway.

He drew his gun and cautiously held it out in front of him, just in case he needed to defend himself. What Bob saw when he finally reached the entrance to the jewelry section left him speechless. Four women moved through the room with feline grace. They wore skintight catsuits. The fabric of their suits shimmered in the dim light, revealing a metallic honeycomb pattern. Their uniform-like attire made them look like a troupe of stage performers, especially since they all shared the same physique, slender yet with firm buttocks and taut breasts, while their zippers were left partially open, revealing a seductive cleavage.

Their appearance was clearly inspired by comic books and stirred memories of his youth, of the time when Bob loved rubbing his erect member through his pants while gazing at pictures of Catwoman. But unlike Catwoman, these women wore neither masks with cat ears nor high heels. Instead, their heads and faces remained uncovered, and they wore flat shoes. A far more sensible choice, Bob thought to himself, yet they were not a whit less sexy for it. In fact, he felt the blood rush to his loins at the mere sight of them. Even their hairstyles were identical; they wore their hair pulled back tightly into a bun at the nape of the neck, another sensible choice that ensured their hair wouldn't get in the way or snag on anything. They differed only in hair color: one was black-haired, one blonde, one a redhead, and the fourth a brunette. How had they gotten in? Somehow, they must have tampered with the alarm system and the surveillance cameras in this showroom, Bob reasoned. He was clearly dealing with professionals.

Several of the display cases containing jewelry and gemstones were already standing wide open. Now, the intruders were working on the case in the center of the room, the one holding the "Eye of Medusa." Bob prepared himself to intervene. With his gun drawn in his right hand, he took a step back and tried to pull out his work phone with his left. He had just raised the screen to his face and was about to press the dial button when he suddenly felt a sharp, agonizing pain in his crotch. Images of Catwoman swinging her whip and hitting a guard right in the balls flashed through his mind. With a shrill scream, he dropped both the gun and the phone. His knees gave way. Nausea washed over him. Groaning pitifully, Bob slumped to the floor and curled up in the fetal position. Instinctively, he clutched his crotch, feeling his testicles throbbing as if they had a heartbeat of their own. "My balls! My balls!" he whimpered.

“Look who’s come to check on us,” a female voice mocked. “The cavalry!” 

“Infantry,” a second voice corrected. “Cavalry ride horses.” 

“Oh, come on, Malia! Don’t act like such a know-it-all!” Footsteps approached the spot where Bob was writhing in pain. Someone picked up his weapon from the ground and kicked his phone into the darkness. "Anyway, good work, Jenn," the redhead said to someone Bob couldn't see. "You hit him right where it hurts!" 

"Thanks," replied the woman named Jenn. "His legs were spread so wide, he was practically asking for it!" Before he realized what was happening, Bob was lying in the center of a circle formed by the legs of five women.

"Okay," someone said, "but what do we do now, Caitlyn? Didn't you say you’d spiked the guard's drink so he’d call in sick and not show up for work today?" 

"That was the other guy. Our friend here must be the new one!" the redhead replied. 

"Oh, wow!" someone exclaimed. "What a way to impress the bosses on his very first day!" 

All the women laughed, but the laughter was abruptly cut short by another question. "But do you think he had time to call for backup?" 

"Nope," said Jenn. "I kicked him in the balls before he could even make the call." 

"N... no!" Bob protested, coughing. "I... I did call; they're on their way." 

"Stop lying so pathetically, you little shit!" Caitlyn said, kicking him in the kidneys. "You failed!" 

"I can't believe they still hire men for jobs like this. I mean, hello! They’ve got those super-sensitive targets right between their legs! They’re practically made to be kicked and taken down!" 

"Yeah, men would definitely be better off without balls!" someone chimed in. Everyone laughed again—except Bob.

At that moment, Bob lost his composure—and his sense of danger. He’d had enough of the women's mockery and felt an urge to defend his male pride. "We’re stronger than you anyway—precisely because of our balls!" Bob snapped at them. "In a fair fight, you wouldn't stand a chance! You bitches!" The sudden silence made Bob instantly regret his words, but he knew it was too late now. 

"Oh!" said Caitlyn. "Looks like someone’s found their voice again! Do you have the balls to say that to my face now? Get up, loser, and repeat that eye-to-eye!"

Bob didn’t even have time to reply before several pairs of hands grabbed him and hauled him up onto his still-wobbly legs. As he faced the gang’s red-haired leader, he realized the hair was merely a wig intended to disguise her appearance. The gloating smile on her face reminded him of a cat anticipating a game with a mouse. The other women held his arms in a tight grip, leaving him powerless as Caitlyn felt his testicles through the fabric of his trousers. Her long, sharp fingernails sent a stinging sensation through his still-throbbing testicles, even though she applied hardly any pressure. 

"Now, what was it you just said, Mr. ... Bob?" she asked, reading the name tag on his lapel. Bob swallowed hard. 

"Please, please..." he whispered. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!" 

"Oh, really?" Caitlyn said with mock disappointment. "So, those two little nuggets don’t actually contribute to your courage? What a shame." For a moment, she seemed to stare thoughtfully into space, but then she turned back to Bob, wearing the smile he had already learned to fear. "Well, little Bobby, I think you still owe me and the girls an apology for what you said when your common sense was taking a holiday. If your balls don't make you brave, maybe they serve another purpose, something useful for us girls, perhaps? Let's see what you've got to offer! Girls, let go of his arms! He needs them to undress!" Suppressing giggles, the other women released Bob, who stared at Caitlyn in confusion. 

"W... what?" he stammered. Caitlyn took a step back and aimed the muzzle of his own weapon at Bob's face. 

"I said strip!"

“S... strip?” he asked incredulously. 

“You got it the first time—just don’t push her patience!” the woman in the brunette wig interjected. “Be a good boy now and show us your goodies!” the blonde said cheerfully. 

Trembling and hesitating, Bob began to undress. He was overwhelmed by how embarrassing the whole situation was. They had defeated him so easily by simply exploiting his male weak spot, and now he had to strip in front of a whole group of women—something he had never done before, aside from visits to the beach or the public pool. Like many people, Bob was very self-conscious about his body, as he didn’t exactly fit the ideal male physique. He tried to tell himself that this wasn’t about sex at all. It was pure harassment, and he had every right to be nervous about it. Still, he dreaded the women’s judgment. When all his clothes, with the sole exception of his boxers, lay in a messy heap on the floor, Bob finally paused. 

“Who said you were finished?” the redhead called out. 

“Um, please... a little dignity,” he pleaded. But Caytlin shook her head. “Not for you, little Bobby. We want to see everything!”

"Exactly!" Jenn cheered. "Show us where it hurts the most!" 

With a sigh of defeat, Bob pulled down his boxers and stepped out of them. The women grinned as they looked him up and down. Bob hung his head in shame. To his own surprise, his penis was semi-erect, and his testicles, though swollen and still throbbing, looked completely normal and unremarkable. His cock was of average size, and the only notable thing about his testicles was that the left one hung noticeably lower. "At least I don't have a tiny dick," Bob thought to himself. He flinched when he suddenly felt Caitlyn lift his testicles with her bare hand, as if testing their weight, and begin to knead them.

It was a strange sensation having his manhood handled like that; slightly painful, yet somehow pleasurable and very intimate. The gun was passed to Jenn, who held it right against Bob’s temple. 

"Hands behind your back, Bob!" Caitlyn ordered. He obeyed without thinking and felt two of the women behind him grab his wrists. Finally, Caitlyn let go of his testicles and turned her attention to his penis. She held it between two fingers of her right hand, wagged it back and forth like a dog's tail, and then let it slap against his thighs and belly. The women giggled again at this playful display, and Bob turned bright red when he realized he was getting an erection from it.

"Well..." Caitlyn said eventually. "The balls are decent enough, but this cock... I don't know... It’s probably fine for a wank, but it’s a bit too thin to satisfy a lady. What do you think, girls? Personally, I prefer really thick cocks. How about you?" All the women examined Bob’s penis, grimaced in disapproval, and gave a thumbs-down. "Oh..." Caitlyn mocked. "Poor Bobby, so your balls aren't up to the task of sex either! “That leaves us with only one option. But all balls are perfect for that!” she beamed. “Can you guess what it is, Bob?” 

Bob shook his head; he didn’t know what to say. “It’s ballbusting!” Caitlyn exclaimed, and the other women burst into cheers and laughter. Bob’s face went pale, and his cock began to shrink again. 

“You know, in our line of work, we have to bust balls all the time!” the dark-haired woman explained. 

“That’s why we take every opportunity to practice,” Jenn added. 

“So we hope you don’t mind if we use yours for a little session,” the blonde said. 

“As punishment for interrupting us at work!” Caytlin said, looking stern with her arms crossed beneath her breasts.

Without warning, Caitlyn swung her right leg back and snapped it forward. The toe of her shoe struck the underside of Bob’s low-hanging left testicle with great force. Bob screamed, and his knees buckled again. Had two other women not been supporting him, he would have collapsed to the ground. A stabbing pain shot up through his body to his stomach, and he began to retch. With a cry of disgust, the women let go of him, and Bob fell to his hands and knees as he lost the contents of his stomach. 

"Ugh!" said the brunette. "I hate it when they do things like that!" 

"You're right, Malia!" the blonde replied. "Men are disgusting!" 

"Stop making such a mess, you pig!" Malia screamed as her foot slammed into Bob’s balls from behind. Bob howled like a wounded animal, barely managing to keep from falling face-first into his own vomit. He rolled onto his back, only to see the dark-haired woman looming over him and driving her foot straight into his crotch. This time, he let out only a pathetic groan; he simply lacked the breath to scream. He curled back up into the fetal position, but he wasn't allowed to stay that way, for they hauled him back to his feet almost instantly.

When Bob finally dared to open his eyes again, he found himself facing Jenn, the girl who had delivered the first kick to his groin. She struck a kickboxing pose, spun around, and drove her heel into his right testicle. Bob lost consciousness for a moment. He didn't know what was happening down there in his crotch, but he was almost certain that one of his testicles had just ruptured. 

"P-p-please. S-s-stop!" he pleaded. "Not until I’ve had my turn!" One of the women holding him upright swapped places with another, and the blonde stepped into his field of vision. Without further preamble, she crouched in front of Bob, grabbed his scrotum with her right hand, and squeezed his testicles down to the very bottom of the sac. Then she clenched her left hand into a fist and struck. There was nowhere for his testicles to retreat to, and no chance for her to miss her target. She punched once, twice, three times, five times in total and finally, Bob lost consciousness completely.

When Bob snapped his eyes open again, at first he felt nothing but the stabbing pain in his testicles, which drowned out every other sensation. It took a few minutes for him to realize he was strapped to a wooden chair, the very kind the civilian guards sat on in the exhibition rooms during the day. His legs were spread wide, tied to the front legs of the chair. His mouth was gagged with a piece of cloth. All around him, as far as he could see, the display cases were empty; every gemstone and jewel was missing, including the "Eye of Medusa." He tried to resist the urge to look down and see what was left of his manhood. The pain told him something had to be there, but he didn't want to see it. Eventually, however, the urge became too strong, and he looked. His testicles had swollen to an enormous size; they were deformed and unnaturally flat. They looked like one giant bruise. His penis, however, seemed to be fine—it was even semi-erect again. That gave him a glimmer of hope that perhaps not everything was lost after all, and that he might one day be able to have sex again. Bob had no idea how much time had passed, but judging by the dim light, it was still night. Suddenly, he noticed five attractive women in catsuits approaching him with a swaying gait; they carried bulging backpacks.

"Hello, Bobby," Caitlyn greeted him. "It’s good that you’re awake for our big farewell. I’d love to say 'until next time,' but I’m afraid you’re going to get fired over this, so we won’t be seeing each other professionally again. However, the girls and I had so much fun with you that we all wanted to say goodbye and thank you in person. Jenn, you start." 

Jenn, the woman with the white wig, stepped forward. Bob looked at her and watched in horror as she lifted her foot. "Bye, Bobby!" she said cheerfully, planting her foot directly on his testicles and using the chair as a step to pull herself up into the open ventilation shaft above them. The pain was almost unbearable, and Bob whimpered into his gag. 

Then it was Malia’s turn, the brunette. She, too, stepped on his balls and chirped, "Thanks, Bob, you’re sweet!" 

Next was the woman with black hair. She nudged Bob’s penis, now limp again, aside with the toe of her shoe to find a spot on his testicles to step on, saying, "Bye-bye, Bob’s balls!" 

Now it was the blonde’s turn. She stepped in front of him, leaned down until her face was level with his, and whispered, "You know, Bob? Maybe it’s time you learned how to eat pussy!" Then she stepped back, slammed her foot onto his testicles, and pulled herself up. 

Bob sobbed uncontrollably, hoping to lose consciousness again soon. This could only be a nightmare. Through his tears, he saw Caitlyn smiling down at him. With horror, he watched as she raised her leg. It descended gently onto his limp penis, then crushed it between the sole of her foot and the wood of the chair. 

"Chin up, Bob. Your cock won't be getting up for you anyway!" With that, she vanished from his field of vision, and Bob lost consciousness once more.

Epilogue

Two days later, Caitlyn was lounging by her penthouse pool with the morning paper, studying the headline with interest. Splashed across the front page was a heavily edited photo of a naked man, bound and gagged, sitting on a wooden chair in a dark room. Although his face and crotch were pixelated, she would have recognized that pathetic figure anywhere.

"Anything interesting in the paper?" Jenn asked as she stepped outside and joined her friend by the pool. 

"Oh yes, our friend Bobby got his fifteen minutes of fame!" she exclaimed. "It says here that an inexperienced security guard was overpowered and physically abused by a mysterious gang of 'Catwomen.' Because of his failure, the entire 'Family Jewels' exhibition—including the 'Eye of Medusa'—was stolen, and many people lost hundreds of millions of dollars. The man himself suffered severe genital injuries, making an immediate penectomy and bilateral orchiectomy unavoidable."

"Oh!" Jenn cooed. "I’m so happy for Bob! He’ll never have to suffer from aching balls again!" 

"Yes," Caitlyn laughed. "Let’s hope he sees it that way too! It’s a shame he probably won’t be working in the security industry anymore! He’d make such a good security ma... er, security eunuch now!" 

"I wonder what he’ll do now that there’s nothing left between his legs," Jenn mused. 

"Well, he’d be perfect for cleaning public ladies' restrooms," Caitlyn suggested. 

"Exactly!" Jenn agreed. "At least he doesn't pose a sexual threat to women anymore."

As always, this is pure fiction, and all characters are over the age of 18. Disclaimer: This story gets a bit bloody and contains castration.

Charlie was a good boy, perhaps a bit shy, but he would never have said anything even remotely sexist or suggestive, regardless of whether women were present or not. He knew how to conduct himself and felt ashamed of his masturbation habits, even though he was already a young adult living in his first own apartment. Still, he couldn't help but look after pretty women as they walked past him. The sight and contours of their bodies, accentuated by form-fitting clothes, their elegant movements, and the smiles on their faces, even if merely polite, stirred his libido; he would blush, and his cock would get hard. Summer was particularly difficult for Charlie and his throbbing cock. Although he fully understood that women didn't dress that way for men's eyes but rather for comfort, he could barely control himself in the face of all the beautiful young women showing off their charms in skimpy summer attire. As soon as he got home, he had to tear off his clothes and either jerk off or take a cold shower to calm down.

It was too bad that he was too shy and too full of shame to approach a pretty woman without blushing or immediately getting an erection, which ruined his chances of ever getting laid. Yet, he was by no means bad-looking. Charlie was of average build and certainly no muscleman, but he was neither overweight nor too thin, and he had a handsome face. You could say he was in good shape, and he had a respectable set of cock and balls, even his package wasn't extremly huge.

On a fateful summer day, Charlie was out and about in the city center. He had the day off and planned to head to the park to read a new book in the sunshine, and perhaps find some inspiration for his next masturbation session. On his way, he had to wait at a pedestrian crossing. As luck would have it, a particularly attractive young woman was standing right in front of him at that moment. She appeared to be about his age. A long blonde braid cascaded elegantly down her back; her spaghetti-strap top left the lower half of her back exposed, while her skimpy shorts left nothing to the imagination regarding the shape of her round bottom.

Charlie immediately felt his penis stir and wished he could simply step forward and press his hard member between her buttocks. He himself was wearing a T-shirt, knee-length shorts, and sandals; underneath the shorts, he wore rather tight underwear, hoping to keep his penis somewhat in check so that no overly obvious bulge would show in his crotch. But it didn't work. Charlie tried to distract himself by thinking about the tasks awaiting him at work the next day. Yet his gaze kept returning to that beautiful bottom and eventually wandered down the shapely legs underneath. Her calves, in particular, were very well-toned, a clear sign that she exercised regularly or cycled. Charlie was so distracted that he didn't even notice another woman right next to him sizing him up. She was older than him, likely pushing thirty, with shoulder-length black hair and bangs, and her low-cut T-shirt revealed an impressive bust. Her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, making it difficult to tell exactly where she was looking. Charlie only notice the other woman's presence when she suddenly reached for the younger woman's backside and gave her a hard pinch on the bottom.

The young woman let out a shriek and spun around, suddenly finding herself face-to-face with Charlie. Charlie raised his hands in a placating gesture. At first, she glared at him furiously, but then her gaze darted to his crotch, where she spotted the telltale bulge. Before Charlie could even begin to explain, her hand shot to his crotch and clamped firmly onto the bulge. His tight underwear had pressed his testicles into a compact package; the woman’s fingers now grabbed this bundle and squeezed hard. Charlie let out a high-pitched cry of pain as the breath was forced from his lungs; he grew dizzy, his knees buckled, and that single, swift, brutal grab at his testicles brought him to the verge of collapse. Yet her grip on his testicles lasted only about two seconds before she finally let go and delivered a resounding slap across his face. "You pig!" she screamed.

It all happened so fast that Charlie hardly knew whether to clutch his aching testicles or rub his burning cheek. The decision was taken out of his hands when the older woman suddenly stepped up behind him, grabbed his arms, and yanked them back against his spine. "I've got him, Sis!" the dark-haired woman shouted to the blonde. "Now finish him off!" For a split second, the blonde with the ponytail looked confused, but then a malicious grin spread across her face as she realized what the other woman wanted her to do. She grabbed Charlie’s shoulder for leverage and then drove her knee straight into his crotch with full force. Charlie let out a pained groan; the breath had been knocked out of him, leaving him unable to scream. For a moment, his vision went black as his balls were crushed between the woman’s knee and his own pelvis.

But the two women had no intention of leaving it at that. The blonde quickly pulled back her knee and immediately followed up with another strike from the other knee. A veritable barrage of knee strikes rained down on Charlie’s testicles. Charlie was in such agony that he could barely breathe, let alone scream. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and only the woman behind him kept him propped up and upright. He had never imagined that such a level of pain was even possible without losing consciousness. "Oh, please, please... let me pass out—why won't I pass out?" he pleaded silently, unable to utter a word. By now, a crowd had gathered around the scene. It consisted mainly of women cheering on the woman who was delivering the kicks. Charlie heard shouts like "Smash his balls!", "Kick the pervert out of the gene pool!", and "Cut his balls off!" The few men present protectively covered their own genitals with their hands and looked away, hoping not to draw the women's attention—or their wrath to their own balls.

Eventually, the blows to Charlie’s testicles stopped, though the dark-haired woman continued to hold him upright. Charlie’s vision was blurred by tears, and a loud rushing sound in his ears made it difficult to understand what was being said. He felt his shorts and underwear being pulled down—presumably to assess the extent of the injury and administer first aid; at least, that was what Charlie hoped. Then he felt himself being lowered until his bare buttocks touched the concrete, while his upper body rested against someone’s legs. As his legs were pushed aside and spread, he dared to glance at his crotch. Charlie’s testicles looked horrific. They were swollen to the size of lemons and crisscrossed by thick veins, many of which had burst, and his scrotum had turned a blackish-blue color. His penis was barely noticeable; it had shrunk to its smallest possible size and was smeared with blood. Charlie had evidently passed blood and urine without realizing it. Then, a rectangular object was slid into his field of vision. It was the new book Charlie had originally intended to read in the park. He had dropped it the moment his testicles were crushed for the first time. Now, a female foot clad in a sneaker pressed it against his balls. Charlie whinced at the comparatively gentle impact. Someone grabbed his testicles and carefully placed them onto the book.

Only then did Charlie look up. The first thing he saw was breasts. He realized he was looking up at the dark-haired woman and the blonde—the dark-haired one stood behind him, supporting his body with her legs, while the blonde stood in front of him. From this angle, their breasts looked massive, probably a C-cup for the dark-haired woman and a B-cup for the blonde, Charlie estimated. But his thoughts didn't linger there too long, for he noticed the women's faces. They looked amused, but in a malicious way, as if they were relishing the prospect of something terrible happening to someone who deserved it. "I don't deserve this!" Charlie screamed inwardly. "I didn't do anything! I didn't even touch her!" Charlie's self-pity was abruptly interrupted when the blonde took a step back and raised her leg as if to crush an insect. "Oh, no! No! No! No!" Charlie screamed aloud. "Oh, yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" the blonde retorted mockingly. Then she turned, leapt into the air, and drove her heel straight down onto Charlie's poor, already battered testicles. "Aaaiiieee!" Charlie screamed. His testicles were flattened beneath the woman's foot, though the tissue held firm for now. The woman kept the bloody mass that had once been Charlie's testicles pinned firmly beneath her foot. Charlie’s gaze wandered from that foot over to the shapely calf and all the way up to the firm, rounded buttocks where it had all begun. Then, without warning, the woman shifted her entire weight onto that foot—and thus onto Charlie’s balls. The tissue slowly gave way and finally burst. Everything went black for Charlie.

When Charlie came to, he was lying in a hospital bed. He still felt dizzy and had a terrible headache. "Oh," he groaned. "Ah! Look who’s awake, our Mr. Sex Offender!" a female voice announced. Confused, Charlie looked up and saw a nurse standing in the doorway. "Um, what... what happened to me?" Charlie asked, his voice trembling. "Oh, I can tell you that!" the nurse said. "You picked the wrong woman to mess with! You’re really lucky she isn’t pressing charges as she’s convinced you’ve learned your lesson and won’t do it again. Especially after she took away your reasons for doing it." Then she laughed and left the room. Charlie frowned. What did she mean? Acting on a sudden impulse, he pushed back the blanket and lifted his hospital gown. His scrotum still looked awful, and fresh stitches were visible. Carefully, he reached between his legs and examined the sac of skin that had once held his testicles. It was empty.

Charlie had been a good boy, but now he was no longer a boy.

Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and is not based on actual events. Any resemblance of the characters described to real people is purely coincidental.

I’ve always loved summer. Everything is so bright and full of life, and the dreary city routine transforms into a tropical paradise! It’s the time to stop worrying about work or stress and devote yourself entirely to what makes life truly worth living: sex and relaxation.
After all, what I liked best about summer was watching scantily clad female joggers! I loved seeing the muscles in their toned legs move fluidly and watching their round butts—barely covered by hot pants—bounce up and down. And did I mention their tits? The way they swayed up and down and side to side, straining the fabric of their low-cut, sweaty tops. Every day after work, I’d sit on the same bench in the city park, drink a cold beer, watch the girls doing their laps, and gather inspiration for the next time I jerked off at home.

Eventually, just watching wasn't enough anymore. I wanted a better view, especially of their backsides and their firm, tight asses. So, I started running too. That way, I could get really close to them—even smell them or eavesdrop on their conversations. Who knows? Maybe, in time, I’d got to know one of them and manage to bang her if I played my cards right!
I made sure not to wear anything under my shorts, because I loved the feeling of my hard cock swinging back and forth between my thighs and my balls dangling in their sack. Plus, it was a clear signal to the ladies: I’m here for your pleasure and ready for action!

One day in June, I was running behind a particularly cute girl; she wore pigtails and had the hottest ass ever. The crack of her ass looked so inviting that I wanted nothing more than to pull down her pants and fuck her right then and there. But of course, I didn't consider myself a rapist, so I kept a respectful distance—even if it was just to get a better view. Suddenly, two other girls caught up and flanked me on either side. One was a tall blonde with a ponytail and huge tits—a Scandinavian type, I think. The other was a bit shorter, with dark curls and tanned skin—plus a voluptuous bosom I would have loved to bury my face in. I tried not to make it too obvious that I was checking the three girls out, but I simply didn't know where to look without my gaze landing on a butt or a pair of boobs; besides, the distinct bulge in my shorts made it all too clear what was going through my mind.

Then the blonde said to her friend, "Ready, Jaycy?" "You bet!" the other replied. "Okay," said the blonde. "One, two, three!" On "three," both of them grabbed the waistband of my shorts from the sides and yanked them down to my knees. They slid right down to my ankles, and before I knew it, I got tangled up in them and fell face-first into the dirt.
"Gotcha, you pervert!" I heard one of them shout. Before I could even gather myself or get up. The pretty girl who had been running in front of me grabbed my T-shirt and pulled it over my head, blinding me. Then someone grabbed my hands and yanked them upward. There I was, kneeling: arms in the air, head covered, legs spread, and my shorts hanging off just one foot. And then I felt it—the violent impact of a sneaker right into my dangling balls!
The breath was instantly knocked out of me, and I felt dizzy and nauseous. "Direct hit!" one of them cheered—I think it was the one the blonde had called Jaycy. "Let's take him over there, Kelly!" the blonde ordered.

I was hauled up and dragged forward. After stumbling a bit, I took another kick to my poor balls and collapsed again. Then they pulled my shirt off my head, and I could see my surroundings once more. "Let me go, you bitches!" I screamed, but my protest was abruptly cut short when the blonde stuffed my own shorts into my mouth. "Shut up, you pervert!" Jaycy said. I was kneeling in front of a tree. "Wrap his arms around it," the blonde ordered. She was clearly the leader of the trio. "
Aye, Becky!" the other two shouted in unison. My arms were wrapped around the tree and tied together on the other side, while Becky kept a firm grip on my balls to ensure I didn't try anything stupid. Then Jaycy and Kelly came back over and grabbed my feet. They pulled my legs as far apart as possible and used my shoelaces to tie them to objects I couldn't see.

I could neither move nor speak now and was completely at their mercy. "Well, you pervert!" Kelly said. "That’s what you get for staring at my ass!" Her foot slammed into my balls with full force. I whimpered into my shorts and felt stomach acid rising in my throat. Then it was Jayce’s turn. "Want to play with my melons? I’ll play with your balls!" she said.
The impact made me see stars. I noticed that her legs were significantly more toned than Kelly’s. Next came Becky, the tallest and strongest of the trio. "You like hitting on girls while they’re jogging? I’m going to teach you a lesson!" And then the toe of her running shoe struck my balls so hard they were crushed against my pelvis. For a moment, I seriously thought she had broken something. My cock had gone limp long ago, yet with every kick, it bobbed up and down—a mockery of its earlier movements. The girls now took turns kicking my balls from behind. They constantly mocked the way they swung back and forth whenever they were hit. I was surprised I was even still conscious; the pain seemed unbearable, and I feared for my virility. I even prayed to God that this abuse wouldn't leave me impotent.

After a while, I noticed we were attracting an audience, but no one came to my aid. We were surrounded by women, all wearing running gear.
"Hey, isn't that the asshole who’s been spying on us?" one said. "Yeah!" Becky shouted. "We’re just giving him a little attitude adjustment!" "Cool! Can we join in?" "Sure!" Becky agreed. "Kicking balls is pretty exhausting! Give it a try, girls, and bust his nuts!" At that moment, I lost all hope of ever getting an erection again. The women lined up behind me, and each one kicked or struck my poor, battered testicles to her heart's content.
At some point I must have eventually passed out, because the sun was suddenly much lower than before and most women were gone.

"This is taking forever!" I heard Kelly complain. "Well, balls are much tougher than you’d think. They don’t just pop that easily!" Jayce explained.

"Do you think he still can do it?" Kelly wondered. "Probably not," said Becky. "And it’s getting late. Let’s call it a night and go get something to eat!"

"No!" Kelly protested. "That’s not a satisfying ending!"

"And what do you suggest we do instead?" Becky asked. "Stay here until dawn?"

"No! But I have an idea—something I’ve always wanted to do."

I couldn't make out what they said next; apparently, they were whispering to each other. Then I heard them giggling and braced myself for the worst. I felt someone—probably Kelly—touching my aching balls. I could even feel her breath on my bare ass. Then, a searing pain shot from my balls straight to my head. Kelly had grabbed my balls and twisted them. She repeated the motion several times until my spermatic cords were tightly twisted together. The pain nearly made me pass out again. Then I felt her working at the base of my scrotum. And then came another jolt of pain—sharp and sudden, like a cut, but far worse. All three girls started laughing, cheering, and clapping. Once they’d calmed down a bit, Kelly stepped over and squatted down so she was closer to my face. I turned toward her, and she held something up, dangling it right in front of my face.
It was my balls! My damn balls! Still inside their sack. Kelly’s hair was loose, and she had tied one of the pink ribbons that had previously held her pigtails together around the opening of my severed scrotum to keep it closed. The other one was sealing the wound beneath my cock to stop the bleeding, as I later learned. "Thanks for the little souvenir, loser! I’ll take good care of it!" "I hope you have other hobbies besides harassing girls and jerking off," Becky said, "because you won't be interested in that anymore!" "Bye, neutered pig!" Jayce simply said. Then they all walked home laughing, and I passed out again.

 

I don’t know how much time passed before I was finally found by two female police officers—both beautiful women with stern demeanors, yet completely devoid of compassion. I was taken to the hospital and subsequently charged with disturbing the peace, sexual harassment, and indecent exposure. Although charges were also filed for bodily injury, mutilation, and abuse, the matter ultimately came to nothing. In the meantime, I lost my job and had to undergo numerous therapy sessions before I dared to take control of my life again.

A full year later, I finally gathered the courage to enter the park again. I went to an ice cream stand and tried to enjoy an ice cream in the sun once more. In the distance, I spotted a group of attractive young women standing at a high table, chatting. My penis had remained flaccid ever since, yet my libido hadn't vanished completely. At the very least, I remembered how much I had enjoyed masturbating and reaching orgasm at the thought of women like them—and I missed that dearly. Suddenly, one of the girls turned toward me and beamed. I couldn't believe it—it was Kelly!
A handbag hung over her bare shoulder, and she turned it as if to show me something. I dropped my ice cream onto my feet when I realized what it was. Hanging from her handbag was a small, round pouch made of pink leather. It was my balls—still in their sack! She had had them preserved and turned into a keychain. Kelly unhooked it from the bag and held it up so I could see it clearly. Suddenly, Becky and Jayce appeared beside me, and before I could react, they pulled down my pants. Everyone turned to look at me as they saw me standing there half-naked. They laughed and pointed at my shrunken little penis and the scarred area where my balls used to be. People were even taking photos! I was frozen with shock and shame. Suddenly, Becky pulled a pair of scissors from her handbag, opened them, and positioned the blades around my penis. "You don't need that anymore," she said, and cut it off.

Eddy had two secrets: a desire to be humiliated and kicked in the balls by beautiful, elegant women, and a crush on a young businesswoman whose name he didn't even know. She embodied all his sexual fantasies; in his daydreams, he would picture her while pleasuring himself and delivering gentle taps to his testicles—imagining that she was the one doing the tapping. He didn't dare strike his balls any harder, as he didn't want to cause any damage before he had the chance to experience the real thing. It would have been incredibly embarrassing for him if he accidentaly castrated himself or turned himself impotent. He shuddered at the thought of being actually castrated — a fate he considered worse than death!

Eddy had never taken a full-force kick to the groin in his life — aside from minor mishaps, like dropping the remote control on his testicles or taking a hit to the crotch during PE class. For him, it was less about the pain and more about the humiliation of being easily incapacitated by a woman — simply due to a vulnerability in his male anatomy. The thought always made him hard and ready for action.

The first time he caught sight of his crush, Eddy couldn't help but follow her to get a better look. She was slightly shorter than him; she wore her long blonde hair in a severe bun, and glasses with striking, black, rectangular frames sat on her delicate nose. She had a slender figure but a full bust, and a breathtaking backside that was tightly hugged by the short skirt of her business suit. Beneath the skirt, long, shapely legs were revealed, ending in black stilettos. It was obvious that she worked out, and Eddy imagined that a kick from those legs against his testicles would be a mix of heaven and hell on earth. He would have loved to take a photo or video of her to get off on, but he didn't dare. Instead, he tried to follow her unnoticed until she entered a large building that practically reeked of big money.

After this chance encounter, Eddy lurked in the area for a week, hoping to see her again. He succeeded, and in doing so, he noticed certain patterns in her appearances. Eventually, he discovered that she went to a nearby park every day at noon to eat alone. A woman like her surely attracted plenty of unwanted male attention, he reasoned — and not just from him. It was understandable, then, that she needed some time to herself. And she — the mistress of his dirty fantasies — had found the perfect hideaway: a specific bench surrounded by trees and bushes that shielded her from the gaze of passersby. Yet this offered Eddy the ideal hiding spot to watch her and play with his cock and balls while she enjoyed her lunch and crossed her beautiful legs. She had a habit of always keeping the toe of one foot pointed upward. Eddy imagined what it would feel like to rest his balls on the tip of that stiletto and take repeated kicks — without any chance to pull away or protect himself.

 Every now and then, Eddy toyed with the idea of ​​simply approaching her and asking her out on a date like a normal person. Perhaps they would become a couple, and once trust had been established, he could get her to act out his ballbusting fetish with him. Yet, he would quickly dismiss the thought each time. A woman like her wouldn't get involved with a guy like him — someone so obviously beneath her. On the other hand, he reasoned: a woman who not only held her own but actually succeeded in the male-dominated business world must surely have a dominant streak — and perhaps the prospect of kicking a man in the balls without facing any consequences would even appeal to her. He turned this idea over in his mind again and again until he was absolutely convinced that it had to be true.

 

Eventually, Eddy decided he’d had enough of just dreaming about it. He wanted to go all out, take the ultimate risk, and get her to act out his fantasy with him. He’d probably get sued for sexual harassment and might even end up in jail, but he decided it was worth it. Worst-case scenario, she’d simply ignore him without kicking him in the balls — but maybe she’d like it so much that they’d end up becoming a ball-busting couple after all!

 

The day Eddy had chosen as his day of destiny was warm and sunny. For an hour, he had waited in the bushes for his "ball-crushing goddess" — whose name, Veronica Grind, he had learned by eavesdropping on her phone calls. Miss Grind arrived late that day, looking visibly agitated. Perhaps she had been held up by someone, or was coming from difficult negotiations. In any case, Eddy decided to give her some time to calm down and relax before his big moment.

By the time Miss Grind finally finished her lunch and started scrolling through her phone, her mood had improved. She sat there smiling at the screen, humming to herself, and even tapping her foot. That was the moment Eddy decided to emerge from his hiding place. He stepped right in front of her wearing nothing but his boxers. Miss Grind eyed him over the rim of her glasses with a look that betrayed a mixture of surprise, interest, and disdain. A good start, Eddy thought; she didn't scream or immediately run away. Quickly, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and let them slide to the ground, instantly revealing a rock-hard erection. Eddy had a decent cock — not excessively large, but well above average in both length and girth. But the real stars of the show were his balls! He had shaved them completely for the occasion to show off how plump and round they were. Besides, he wanted to look his best for Veronica, in case she actually took a liking to him. But there was no time to flaunce his manhood right under her nose. He had to act fast before she could react or change her pose. A handcuff was attached to his left wrist. Eddy brought his hands behind his back and cuffed them together. Then he dropped to his knees and swung his hips so that his bouncing testicles landed right on the tip of Miss Grind’s upturned shoe. He had practiced this trick at home for days, gaining some more experience with aching balls in the process — an experience that would hopefully prepare him for what was coming next, should his wish come true. Now it was time for his prepared speech.

 

“Please, Miss Grind — I am such a pathetic little pervert, and you are so dignified, beautiful, and proud! Please punish me for making you the focus of my lustful desires! Please kick me in my worthless balls! Make them suffer and destroy them! My testicles belong to you; do whatever you want with me and my balls!”

 

Veronica Grind looked down at the naked creep who had just exposed himself infront of her and ruined her $500 stiletto with his disgusting, sweaty balls. This city seemed to be crawling with such perverts. Her male colleagues and business partners — who eyed her up and down like a piece of meat each day — were bad enough, but this guy really took the cake! Yet he was right! He deserved to be punished! Her rational mind urged her to sue him for every last cent, but another part of her, a much darker one, felt the urge to actually do to him exactly what he was asking her to do. It would certainly be amusing if he tried to report her to the authorities for it.

Veronica pulled her foot back, and Eddy’s testicles sagged, dangling above the ground. She moved her foot as far away from him as possible and Eddy began to fear his plan wasn't going to work. But then Veronica’s foot shot forward. The tip of her stiletto struck Eddy’s left testicle like a bullet. Eddy screamed in shock. The pain was more intense than anything his poor testicles had ever endured before. His stomach cramped, and he fell onto his back. He felt the food rising in his throat and struggled to keep it down. Veronica stood up and kicked his testicles again — this time with her other foot, though she hit the same testicle once more. Eddy groaned and instinctively rolled onto his side, pulling up his legs to shield his testicles. Had his hands not been cuffed together, he would have cupped them protectively around his groin — which was precisely why he had cuffed them in the first place.

"Stop making so much noise," Veronica hissed. "You’re attracting too much attention!"

Eddy grimaced, fighting the urge to vomit, but said nothing. A lot was going through his mind. There was the pain, of course, but also the realization that the actual experience of being kicked in the balls bore no resemblance to his fantasy. This wasn't pleasure; it was sheer torture. But before Eddy could tell Veronica he’d changed his mind — or beg her to stop — she stuffed his boxers into his mouth, rendering him unable to vomit or speak.

Then she rolled him onto his back, grabbed his ankles, and pulled his legs up. Next, she spread them wide. Their eyes met as she looked down at him — as if he were some insect she was about to crush beneath her foot. Eddy’s eyes widened as he realized what she was planning. He tried to plead with her using only his gaze, but all he got in return was a mocking grin. Then Veronica raised her beautiful, shapely leg —  which Eddy had been admiring for so long — and slammed it with full force into his crotch! To Eddy, it felt like a hammer striking his balls. The sole of Veronica’s shoe crushed both his testicles flat against his pelvis. The pain shot straight from his balls to his brain; it felt as though both his brain and his balls were about to explode.

But although his vision briefly went black, Eddy didn't drift into blissful unconsciousness, for another stomp on his testicles snapped him right back to the here and now.

Veronica used him like a stepper at the gym and even worked up a sweat doing so, while Eddy wavered between unconsciousness and painful reality. With every step, his testicles grew more tender and flatter. They were visibly dented, red, and swollen, yet apparently still intact.

Finally, the furious woman paused, while the wretched man curled up on the grass and sobbed into his gag. Veronica’s gaze fell upon the bench and a small rock lying beside it. Her eyes lit up as she had another cruel idea.

She leaned over Eddy, slid her hands between his legs, and grabbed his battered genitals. Using them to haul him back to his feet, she led the trembling man behind the bench. The bench’s backrest consisted of three wooden slats, spaced an inch apart. Veronica wedged Eddy’s cock and balls between two of the slats at one end of the bench. Then she took the rock and slammed it forcefully between the slats, pinning Eddy’s genitals in place. Too weak to stand, Eddy now hung there, his full weight pulling against his genitals as they remained trapped against the bench.

But all that was just the prelude; now the real fun began. At first, Veronica tried punching his testicles, but she soon abandoned this method because she kept hitting the wood beside or beneath them. So, she switched back to stomping on them. In this position, it was much easier for her not only to strike Eddy’s testicles with the flat soles of her shoes but also to drive her pointy heels into them. This left even deeper indentations in the testicular tissue. Veronica studied the marks she had left on Eddy’s now completely misshapen testicles with interest.

"Alright, little man," Veronica said with a mocking smile. "You’ve already made me run over my lunch break. It’s time to finish you off!"

By this point, Eddy was barely conscious. His brain had shut out the pain some time ago — an act of self-preservation. But Veronica neither noticed nor cared. She slipped off her shoes, took them in her hands, and began hammering at Eddy’s testicles with the sharp heels. Each blow left another deep indentation in the testicular tissue.

Eddy stared into the void with wide-open eyes; only his heavy breathing and racing pulse betrayed the immense strain his body was under. Suddenly, Veronica heard a wet, squelching sound. Eddy’s left testicle had been crushed to a pulp and slid out of place. Her right hand and the stiletto heel she held in it were splattered with blood. Had she really just popped his testicle? For a moment, Veronica stared in shock at the mangled gonad, but then a grin spread across her face. This was far too exciting to stop now. She wasn't known do things by halves; so, she raised her hand and aimed the stiletto heel at Eddy’s remaining testicle. The sharp heel pierced into the tissue, and once again, Veronica was rewarded with a squelching sound. Eddy gasped; then the crushed testicle slipped through the wooden slats, and his unconscious body slumped into the grass.

Veronica walked around the bench and checked first Eddy’s pulse and then what was left within his scrotum. It felt very soft and mushy. There was no trace left of a pair of healthy testicles. She wasn't a medical professional, but she was pretty sure those boy parts were beyond saving. Still, she kneaded them vigorously one last time, just to be absolutely certain they were done for. Then she took a hair tie from her handbag and used it to cut off the blood supply to Eddy’s scrotum—right below the base of his penis. Crushing a man’s balls was one thing; letting him die of blood poisoning was something else entirely. Finally, she removed the boxers from his mouth and rolled him into the recovery position. Veronica found Eddy’s clothes in the bushes, along with his wallet, phone, and keys. Inside the wallet were some cash and a few credit cards — not a fortune, but perhaps enough to compensate for the loss of her ruined stilettos and business attire; so, she tucked everything of value into her own handbag. The rest was tied into a tight bundle and tucked under the arm. Let the naked bastard figure out for himself how to get out of this mess, Veronica thought.

 

She didn’t go straight back to the office but headed to her apartment to change. Along the way, she distributed Eddy’s belongings among several public trash cans. She was agitated, but in an aroused sort of way. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. She — a woman — had decided and ensured, all on her own, that this man would never again be able to have sex or make babies. His manhood was destroyed, his sex life ruined! She had been sexually harassed by a man and had actually castrated him for it — and in a rather brutal fashion, too. She was no longer merely a victim; she was accuser, judge, and executioner all rolled into one. Justice had been served today! Veronica felt fantastic. This was true empowerment, a victory for all women! And Veronica knew: if she had the choice, she would do it all over again. To her own shock and excitement, she suddenly realized that she actually wanted to do it again — and that she would get the chance to do so soon enough. After all, there were enough men in the office whose balls were just waiting to be cracked open and mashed by her.