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These are (edited) excerpts from my journal recording events of the weekly meeting of the ballbusters group that I belong to (in every sense of that word). Names have been replaced.
Entry 165 – continued from 164 Several days after that weekly meeting I was at home when the phone rang. I picked it up and only heard some breathing. Now, being known for what I am amongst a large circle of women has its own phenomena, anonymous call being one. However after I said hello, I heard a hesitant feminine voice ask “Jon?” It was little Kelly. She was having second thoughts about her missed opportunity. She really was very anxious about her impending labor, and would do anything to get some relief. I told her to come to next week’s meeting, but she told me that she was due very soon and was afraid she might not make it till then. From her very ripe appearance two days ago, I could believe it. She told me that she could pay me the $60 if she could come over today. I needed the money and I thought that after her performance the other night, she would be a creampuff anyway – in and gone in a few minutes, if that. I told her to come on over. About forty minutes later the bell rang and when I answered it was not only little Kelly but a very graceful looking women she introduced as her mother. She was very tan and sharp featured and wearing the kind of clothes that scream trophy wife. Sandra, her mother, said “I came because this is very odd, and I don’t want anything crazy to happen to my little girl. I told her not to do this, but she is scared silly about this delivery and anything that will make her relaxed will make us all happy”. I told her I couldn’t blame her and invited them both in. Kelly waddled in looking as timid as ever. We went into my living room and I took off my shirt and shoes. As I was dropping my pants Sandra surprised me by telling me to stand on my coffee table and turn around. “I just want Kelly to get what she is paying for” she said, and I could tell she was used to getting her way. I stood up on the low table facing away from her and she commanded me to bend over with my hands on my shins. She’s not a stupid woman, I thought. This gives her excellent access to my testicles and I can’t really defend them in any way. Then, to cap it off she pulled a little jar of Icy-Hot sore muscle cream out of her handbag and began to work it into my sack. “Kelly’s friends told me how this works, and I want to see a very loose scrotum before she starts.” Well, with that Icy-Hot beginning to work, my balls were hanging very low and loose in no time. “Over here Kelly”, she told her daughter. “See how they’re just hanging down like ripe plums? They’re very sensitive and you just need to punch them like we practiced on that pillow.” Great, I thought, she’s been practicing. I still wasn’t too worried after her performance the other night, and as I watched her pull her fist back from between my own legs, I was sure it would be strictly amateur. Imagine my surprise when the first blow felt like she was slicing my bag to pieces. I was too well trained to react when being punished, but I was mentally shocked by the unexpected, sharp pain. The next blow felt even worse, and then, before I lost all conscious reasoning, I spotted the giant wedding ring that she was wearing. It was slicing my scrotum with every left jab that she threw, and the Icy-Hot mix on my skin was making the wounds burn like a brand. I could see from the crazed look on her face that she was really getting into it. She was intense and focused and was landing every blow squarely on both orbs. With how loose my sack was, they were bouncing around, but Kelly would hit them just as they were settling down. She had a rhythm like a boxer hitting a speed bag. I glanced over at her mother, hoping that she would signal her enough, as Kelly didn’t seem likely to stop unless she was dragged off. But I couldn’t catch Sandra’s eye as she was fixated on my scrotum with a glazed expression. She was so intent that I could tell that she wouldn’t help no matter how bad I was bleeding. Finally, as I was afraid I was about to lose consciousness, Kelly missed with a blow and slightly stumbled forward. She reflexively grabbed my sack and held on to steady herself, and that’s when she noticed all the blood that she had been drawing from me. “Oh!” she exclaimed breathlessly, looking at her bloodstained hands, “did I do that?” She didn’t sound remorseful at all, but instead kind of proud and excited. This seemed to break her mother’s hypnotic gaze. She was breathing very hard and said in a horse voice “Good job Kelly, now go out to the car while I pay this man.” Kelly was visibly disappointed that it was over, and I could tell that she would be at next week’s meeting unless she was in delivery stirrups. As Kelly closed the front door, and I sat down on the edge of the table and tried to regain my breath, Sandra pulled out a hundred dollar bill and said “How would you like to keep the change?” I kind of nodded my enthusiasm and she continued “I don’t mind telling you that that got me very excited. I am now so wet that I am worried about staining these Versace pants. Now, it’s my turn. Don’t worry, I just want one shot.” I nodded again, and she was back into her command mode. She told me to get down on all fours and keep my legs spread. “Don’t look at me, look down at the floor.” I did as I was told. She walked up by my head and stepped out of her shoes. I was captivated by her perfectly formed and manicured feet, with pink toenail polish. She turned and walked behind me. In the reflection of the polished wood floor I could she her take two steps just like a football field goal kicker and then the world went gray as she launched her instep right into by testicles. I curled up into the fetal position and could barely focus a few feet in front of me as I saw those finely turned feet walk up into my field of view. I could see that her right instep was covered in the blood from my lacerated scrotum. I tried to speak but couldn’t as she dropped the hundred dollar bill in front of my face, stepped into her shoes and turned and walked away. I knew from experience that I had to get the load out of my rapidly swelling balls, or it would be very bad, but I couldn’t force my hands to quit cupping my testicles in order to even give a few jerks. I passed out right there and when I came to it was already dark and both balls had swollen to the size of kiwis. Normally with the group, if I passed out from ball abuse, they would torture my cock while I was semi-conscious as a punishment. This always made me come and it amused them to see that I wasn’t even awake enough to enjoy it. Often I would come to with the taste of my own spunk in my mouth and no idea of how that happened. Today I had passed out with a full load and it took two days before I could wear pants. I was still swollen and covered with cuts by the time of the next meeting, which only gave them more ideas, but that is another entry. Please let me know how you found this and other Ballbuster Journal entries. I have many more in my journal and can select those that folks find most interesting. Mail to jon_of_morgantown@hotmail.com
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