Ballbusters Journal - Entry 125: Leashed

Entry 125

When I showed up at 7:00, the ladies were already gathered in Mrs. Marsh’s living room and were staring at the doorway separating the living and dining rooms. I noticed that there were two large j-hooks hanging down from the arch. It seems that since we have been meeting at Mrs. Marsh’s house regularly now (several months), the ladies had decided that a more permanent means to secure me was in order. Apparently, Mrs. Marsh told her husband that she needed the hooks as plant hangers. There were two huge, multi-tiered hanging plants set on the floor in the dining room, which were the ostensible reason for what must have seemed to Mr. Marsh as some serious overkill.

Susan announced that some TV show that the group wanted to watch was starting in a few minutes, and commanded me to get undressed. I did, already hard as a rock, and took my place in the doorway. Susan produced a set of wrist restraints and tied me in. Then, the leg spreader was attached. They decided that Mrs. Marsh should have the honor of breaking this new setup in, but as she was stepping back she paused and eyed my genitals. “I don’t know girls, this seems like a special occasion, and I want it to be just right, but they seem a little tight.” The normal solution would have been to put some of their special cream on my scrotum (Ed. Note: they discovered this while experimenting with ways to heat up my sack, it is a mixture of Icy-Hot brand muscle soreness cream and some kind of woman’s facial exfoliant, and it has my balls hanging as low as can be in short order), but that takes some time, so they just pulled out the office ring binder that makes such a perfect ball ring, and clamped it on. My balls were both now held out and exposed no matter how tight my sack would get.

Mrs. Marsh took a grip on my shoulders and said “Now just relax, dear” right as she stepped forward and racked my balls as hard as she could with her knee. I sagged in the restraints and wondered why I hadn’t already hit the floor before my mind came back and I realized I was suspended. For a second I was grateful until I realized that there was no way I could possibly protect myself. Although I was long since trained not to resist, I still felt more vulnerable that ever with the hooks and the leg-spreader. I was wondering who was next when Susan said “Look, our show’s on”, and they retired to the living room to watch TV.

I was glad to see that their show was some mindless mini-series thing and not a special on domestic abuse or rape. Last time one of those was on I took a serious beating and had to call off work the next day. I was starting to relax when the doorbell rang. It was Joan. She started to explain how sorry she was that she was late, but she just painted her house, and she didn’t want to leave poor Doll, her poodle, there with all the fumes, but her sister wasn’t home on the way here, and anyway here she was and is it all right if Doll came in.

So, they are all sitting there watching the show and Doll, high-strung overbred dog that she was, kept jumping up and trying to run off. Joan asked if she could tie Doll’s leash to something in the dining room to get her out of the way, and got up to do so. On her way by me, as I was somewhat blocking the door, she was eying up my nuts. I was sure she was going to take a swing when she stopped and said “I have a better idea” and took the leash and started to try and thread it through my ball ring! The ladies all though this was the greatest idea. Cries of “she’s female, she deserves a shot too” and “we’d neuter him, but we really own him now” rang out. It happened that the ring was too small to hold the leash, so they got a larger one usually used on both my cock and balls. By the time they found that, my balls had pulled up into me all the way. So, they attached the leash to the ring and two of them fished into my sack and pulled a ball apiece down while the third clamped on the ring. Brooke, who held my left ball, gave it a serious squeeze that made me squeel. “That’s for trying to hide” she smirked.

They went back to their TV and Doll tried to follow, with predictable results. As the dog bounced off the end of her run, she tugged on my gonads so hard that I wanted to faint, but reflexes made me arch my back as much as possible to relieve the pressure. The dog’s claws scrabbled on the hardwood floor as it tested the strength of it’s new hitch. I was so humiliated. Here was the lowest form of bitch abusing my balls! The dog sat down, but at the next commercial the ladies baited her. One of them, I think it was Brook, got the bright idea of doing the “fake throw the ball” thing that all dogs will fall for. She would pretend to throw the ball past me so that the dog would sprint between my legs and back towards the kitchen to retrieve it. Stupid poodle that it was, it forgot about the leash every time and pulled my glands so hard that I could feel the cords holding them stretch. Then, they would call her back to them and I would get pulled in the opposite direction. This went on for a bit and then Joan said it was cruel to the dog.

At the next commercial, Joan decided that it wouldn’t be too cruel to Doll if she called her to her in a nice steady tone so that she just kept pulling on her leash like a sled dog. However, as the floor was hardwood, she couldn’t really get a purchase and although it hurt, I thought my nuts would at least stay attached. But, that was too much to ask for as one of them got ingenious enough to go and get the welcome mat from the front hallway. It had a sticky rubber bottom, and so putting it under dolls pulling spot would give her something to really dig in to. I think I started to whimper as they were setting that up, so Joan said to me “I have an idea. I’ll call her, and you call her, and maybe if you call nicely enough, you’ll get to keep those things”. I tried my best “Doll, come here baby”, but it was more of a rasp than a call after all the abuse I’d had. Joan started to call “Hey my little cuddles, come here you”. I desperately croaked “Doll, sit Doll, sit” as she got up and tried to go to “mommie”. I was already all the way forward in the restraints, but I could see my nuts being pulled way out from my body as Doll started . I kept calling “Doll, Doll” in some desperate hope that just hearing her name would at least cause her to pause. I think maybe it did a little as it would let up a bit, for a second or two, but it was a losing battle. I felt funny and thought I must be about to pass out when all of a sudden I could feel myself start to come! I felt the first spurt come on and then Doll pulled so hard that it just stopped. Then I felt another spurt build, then shoot and I could tell that it must have flown with some force. I was crying “Doll, Doll” with tears coming from my eyes as I was shooting out a stream of spunk with my back arched like a contortionist. I think it would have hit the ceiling except that the leash was pulling my cock down to an almost level angle. At any rate I heard through the delirium that was that moment “No, Doll! No!” In what could have been hours, but must have been seconds I looked up and saw first, the leash hanging slack from my scrotum, and then Doll, licking at her foreleg. From the stream of come streaking the floor I could tell that Doll had been on the receiving end of some of my jism. It must have been what broke her simpleminded concentration.

All at once the women started laughing, even Joan. She scornfully said “its bad enough that you get off on a group of women beating on your manhood, but to do that because of a sweet, little dog…you really are pathetic. Take off those wrist restraints, I want him to clean himself off so I don’t get any of _that_ on me. Then I’m going to beat those plums silly.” I did as I was told. They gave me a towel, and I wiped myself off, carefully wringing out my penis as I knew any stray leakage would lead to more punishment, put one of the wrist cuffs on, and let the other be put on. They pulled the ball ring off. Then, they put a gag on me, so I knew I was really in for some punishment. All of the ladies pulled up their seats to watch intently as Joan proceeded to rack me several times. Then she stopped and grabbed both of my balls to see if they were swelling. “Not yet” she said. “You have to give them some time dear” counseled Mrs. Marsh. “Goddamn men, why don’t they ever do what they’re told” Joan hissed as she slapped them side to side with the rhythm of her words. By now, I was completely limp. Joan had been doing this to me for several years, and she knew how to deliver maximum pain. I was in a haze as I felt her hands on my sack yet again. “Ah! Now that’s better. Feel these.” I remember as each of the woman came up and manually inspected my gonads to see how swollen they were. There were murmurs of approval as each got a firsthand feel. Brook wondered aloud if they were more sensitive now, and by way of experimentation gave them a backhand slap. I think my muffled grunt of pain provided the answer.

The group went back to their TV viewing and conversation and then broke up and left as they always do. Mrs. Marsh let me down and told me to clean up the floor before leaving. I was about to put my clothes back on when she said “No, scrub the floor naked because if you don’t do a good job, you know how I express my disapproval”. With my swollen testicles bulging and exposed as I was on my hands and knees scrubbing my spunk off the floor, nothing could have loomed as a bigger threat. Fortunately I must have been doing a decent job because she left to make a phone call and I finished and put on my clothes and left.

Please let me know how you found this report. I have many more entries in my journal and can select those that folks find most interesting. Mail to jon_of_morgantown@hotmail.com