A Week in the Life

 by u/CBTOnly

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

Chapter 1: Tuesday, Welcome Home

I walk through the door into my house, and immediately remove my shoes, pants, and underwear. Then I take my position kneeling with my legs spread.

My wife approaches. She Says: “What day is it?”

“Day 30”

“Do you think you’ll be able to take 16, and see my boobs?

“I’m going to take all 31, and kiss them.”

She rears back, and kicks me in the naked balls. The 1st one is always difficult. My balls are still sore from yesterday, and I always feel unprepared for the 1st one. Still, I take my pain, and don’t collapse. I keep my sensitive testicles pushed forward ready for the next one.

“One”, I say.

Kick. “Two”. Kick. “Three”. Kick. “Four”. Kick. “Five”. Number six catches me at a slightly weird angle, and briefly traps my left ball between her foot, and my leg. “Six” I say with catch in my voice.

My wife offers, “How was your day?” Kick.

“Seven. Good.” Kick. “Eight. I got alot done.” Kick. That one cause my head to spin, and it takes me a second to acknowledge it. “Nine”. She relishes the 10th kick, and puts a bit more force behind it, but it lands as well as such a kick could land on my swollen sensitive balls.

“Ten, How was your day?”.

“It was fine. One of my employees is really annoying.”

Kick, with a little extra for emphasis. “Eleven”.

“She doesn’t keep on top of her emails..”

Kick. “Twelve”. Kick. “Thirteen”.

“They are really piling up”.

Kick. “Fourteen”.

“It just means more work for the rest of us.” She delivers a hard kick, and my legs start to buckle, but I fight back, and manage to hold my position.

“Fifteen.”

She Says: “Oh Honey, you’ve almost made the halfway point, and earned a look at my tits.”

I grunt.

“But you know I’m going to make you earn it.”

“I know”.

“OK, are you ready?”

“ye….” The kick came unexpected. My insides cramp, but I hold position.

“OK, stand up.” she says.

“Alexa set timer for 1 minutes.” I say as I struggle to my feet.

With one had she grabs ahold of my punished balls, and with the other she raises her shirt and bra. And then she starts squeezing. When my balls have been worked this thoroughly, they can’t really handle any sort of squeeze, but I grit my teeth, and accept my reward. I eye her beautiful breasts, paying close attention to my favorite part, the bumps on her aureola. She reaches forward with her other hand, which has the advantage of pressing her breasts together between her arms, and presenting them to me, but the downside is that with one hand on each swollen ball, the squeezing is now unbearable.

I try to claspe my hands behind my back, but the pain overwhelms me, and soon, I’m leaning forward grasping her torso to keep from falling. Thoughts of boobs mostly forgotten, I just try to survive until the Alexa mercifully sounds.

When it does I collapse to the floor.

She looks at me, gives me a second, and then says. “Good job so far, you’ve only got 15 more”.

I struggle back to my knees, and try to mentally prepare myself for what is about to happen. Kick, a soft one, but in the aftermath of the squeezing, my balls are unbelievable sensitive, and I feel my gag reflex respond a bit. I fight it, and hold my position well.

“Seventeen”. Kick. “Eighteen”. Kick, each one now, so mind blowing that the moments stretch to eternity as I try to process the pain.

“Nineteen”. Kick, this one back to normal power after a few lighter sympathy kicks. But now I’ve got my composure back, and am able to process it, and say “Twenty”.

Kick. “Twenty One”. Kick. “Twenty two”. Kick, this one completely takes my breath away. I’m swimming in anguish, but through training I croak out “Twenty three”.

Kick, and that one did it. I hadn’t mentally recovered from the previous one, and wasn’t able to maintain my position, collapsing to the floor, cradling my balls in agony.

My wife leans in and pets me consolingly. “You made it through 24 today. Good job. I’m proud of you.” She gives me a second. “Alright, we’ve still got 7 left, back into position”.

Our policy is that I can get mercy, but my testicles never do. So once we’ve setup a game / punishment / exercise, the only way to end it, is by my testicles experiencing it fully.

So, I gather my wits about me, and take my position back on my knees.

“Ready?”

“Twenty four, I’m rea …” the kick comes. Devastating my poise, and I’m back to rolling around on the floor.

My wife reaches down and pets me, and then says, “Come on, be a big boy. Get back up.”

I do and give the count. “Twenty Five”. Kick.

I collapse again, and my wife chastises me. “You tried to close your legs, and protect those balls.”

I didn’t think that I had, but in addition to the rule that balls never get mercy, we also have a rule that my loving wife is in charge of determining when they have had enough.

“Get up, we are going to have to repeat that one.”

I struggle again to my knees, and do what I can to prepare myself. Kick. I lean forward, but don’t fall all the way to the ground, just put my hands down for balance. I straighten back up, and say “Twenty Six”.

She Says: “You are doing good, just 5 more”.

Kick. “Twenty Seven”.

Kick, and I’m back on the ground rolling around holding my tortured nuts.

“You are so close, get back up”.

I do. “Twenty Eight”.

“You’ve only got 3 left, and you know these are going to be extra hard, right?”

“Yes, I understand. No mercy for the balls”.

Kick. It floors me.

“Get back up or we’ll have to repeat that one.”

I struggle to my knees. “Twenty Nine”. Kick. My head is swimming, I’m barely aware of anything but the pain in my testicles, but my training kicks in, and I croak out “Thirty”

Kick. Once again my world explodes, and I’m rolling around on the ground.

My wife kneels down beside me and pets me, and says. “Great job tonight, now I’m going to go make dinner.” She leans in and kisses me.

I murmur “Thank You”, and then I’m alone.

Eventually, enough of the pain passes, and I’m able to get my feet under me. I put another tally mark on the white board, and go and change out of my work clothes. I put on my lounging clothes, a pair of mesh shorts, and a t-shirt, and then return to help her with dinner.

Chapter 2: Tuesday, The Dishes

After dinner I take care of the dishes since my wife cooked. When I’m done I head into the living room, to find her seated on the couch wearing no pants or underwear with her legs spread to show off her pretty vagina.

At first I’m elated. I love my wife’s body, and I love to look at and touch it, but then I realize what is happening. Beside her on the couch is the cattle prod, and I know that I’ve done something wrong.

She holds it forward, and I do as I’m trained to do. Remove my shorts, and step forward placing my testicles firmly on the prongs. It’s my role to speak 1st.

“I love you”. She pushes the button, and electricity courses into me. In our household, I love yous are usually followed by pain. It's one of the reasons I’m so madly in love with my wife. I stagger back and fall to the floor.

She looks down, and says “Get back into position.”

Having just experienced the shock, the thought of putting my balls back onto the prongs is utterly terrifying. It takes me a moment to summon the courage. I repeat my personal mantra in my head. “They are just testicles, and testicles don’t deserve mercy”.

I thrust forward my torso making good contact with my balls, the fear of the shocks, and the pride in my ability to accept them causes my penis to harden.

I say, “Thank You”. She presses the button. The jolt to my balls drives me back. I step forward for the next shock.

She says. “Do you know what you did?”, and then presses the button.

I collapse again. I feel like I’m well trained, but all of my training, and I’m still not prepared for the cattle prod.

I get back up and return to position, and say “No”. She presses the button flooring me again. Once I’m back into position, she says. “When you loaded the dishwasher, you put the plates in backwards.” And then pushes the button again causing me again to fall, though only to my knees this time.

I take my position again, and say. “I’m sorry” She presses the button again, and again I fall to my knees.

Once I’m back into position, she says, “What do you say?”

I reply, “Thank you for correcting me.”

She smiles and pushes the button this time extending her arm as I pull back to keep contact with my balls just a bit longer. My head spins, and I’m on the floor again.

When I collect myself, and am back into position, she says, “I can tell the cattle prod is hard for you. What do you think it would take to earn some kisses on my pussy?”.

I think about it. It shouldn’t be easy, and it should also be something that extends my training. “I think 2 shocks in a row where I remain standing”.

“OK. Eventually, I’d like to see you taking the prod without pulling back at all, but for today that seems fair. Are you ready?”. I look her in the eyes and nod. She pushes the button. Another punishing shock to my balls scrambles my brain, and before I know it I’m down on the floor.

She looks down at me, and says, “I’d like to see you try that again.” I’m both excited and terrified by the prospect, and rush back into position with my swollen, punished testicles firmly pressed against the prongs of the cattle prod.

“Ready?” she asks. I nod. Another shock hits me, and when the fog clears from my mind, I’m a couple steps back, but still on my feet. “Good Job, now see if you can finish it.” I take my position. She presses the button, and I collapse, unable to take it. “Well, too bad, but I’m glad you tried. Come here and cuddle me.”

I take the seat next to her, both of us still bottomless. She says, “So the cattle prod, is still really hard for you?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what it is, I just can’t prepare myself for the intensity of the shock.” She reaches down, and not gently examines my balls. Instincts tell me to protect them, but testicles don’t deserve mercy, so I don’t.

“They are quite swollen, this evening. Especially lefty.”

“Yeah, one of your kicks really put the hurt on him.”

She asks, “Would you like to stop using the cattle prod?”

“No, of course not, I just need to practice it more, and figure out how to handle it.”

“Do you think it would help if you were immobilized, and I shocked your nuts for several seconds uninterrupted, so you had a chance to get used to it?”

To me that sounds absolutely horrifying, but my fear tells me it would probably be a useful training experience, so I say, “Not sure. We should try it sometime”.

She looks into my eyes, and says “I love you”, and as she does so, her hand on my nuts squeezes down crushing them.

“I love you to.” I struggle to say through the pain, and then she releases my nuts.

“Would you like to rub my pussy while we watch GLOW?”

“Yes.”.

I am the luckiest man on earth.

Chapter 3: Thursday, Home Again.

I enter the house, remove my clothes and take my position kneeling with my naked testicles presented for kicking. My lovely wife comes over and says, "We had to skip yesterday because I worked late, we are going to have to increase the intensity today. I'll let you pick. Do you want to take your kicks banded, shall I prime your balls with 2 minutes of squeezing, or do you want 15 extra kicks?".

I roll over my options. 15 kicks are probably the easiest to deal with, but because they come at the front my chance of earning a look at her boobs is diminished. Banding makes each kick worse as more of the force goes into the ball meat, and less is dissipated as the balls squirm out of the way, but it is probably my best bet to earn a look at her tits.

"Banded, please". I say.

"OK." She reaches into a drawer and hands me a ponytail holder. "Here you go"

I reach down, and efficiently loop it twice around my nuts, trapping them for the remainder of their ordeal.

She say, "what day is it?"

I consult the whiteboard. "Day 32".

"Ok. 33 kicks with a chance at my boobs after 17. Are you ready?"

"Ye…." The 1st kick lands as I respond. With my balls trapped, so much pain is delivered, and I gasp.

"One." I say. Kick, gasp "Two."Kick, gasp "Three". I haven't failed to maintain my position, but the pain is so intense, I'm not able to be conversationally chatty, as I've been training to do. Kick. Deep breath. "Four".

My wife picks up the chatty baton. "How was your day?" Kick.

Through gritted teeth, I says "Five. Good." Kick. "Six, how was…" kick, and I'm on the ground cradling my balls.

My wife looks down on me with a tsks. "a pretty poor showing today. You only made it to 6, and after a full days rest.". She is right. My testicles had a day of rest where they were only brutalized once when she crushed them as I kissed her goodbye on my way to work.

"I'm sorry". I struggle back into position, knowing that my balls still have 27 kicks remaining, and in the bound state that is going to be quite a trial. "Please continue"

She looks at me disapproving. "What did you forget?".

My mind races. "I forgot to count". She reads back and kicks me much more savagely than before. I collapse.

"What do we do when you forget to count?".

From the floor I say, "we start over".

"That is right, now get back into position"

"Oh God" I whine as I take my position. Kick. "One" I grunt.

"What was that?" She say.

I repeat, "one.".

"No before that?"

"I said, 'oh god'"

Kick. "Two." I croak.

She says, "I like that. Ask your goddess for the next one. '' Kick.

"Three. Please goddess kick me." Kick. "Four, please goddess kick me" kick. My nuts are so unbelievably sore right now, and that kick floors me.

I struggle back to my knees. "Five. Thank you goddess" kick, and I'm back on the floor.

"Don't thank me ask me"

I get back to my knees. "Six. Please kick me goddess. '' Kick. "Seven…" I stammer. Kick. It came before I was ready, and instinctively I start to close my legs.

"You weren't able to ask me in time, and you tried to protect your nutsack, so we have to repeat 8, and add a penalty kick". She launches a Savage kick and I go down.

Struggling to my knees I say "penalty, thank you goddess, please kick me goddess."Kick. "Eight. Please kick me goddess. '' Kick "nine. Please kick me goddess." Despite all the abuse my nut meat has taken, I've mentally found a rhythm, finally. Kick. "Ten. I love you" Kick "eleven. thank you." Kick. The testicles are a part of me, but in some way they also aren't. Their pain is something different from pain now, and I can handle it. "Twelve". Kick. "Thirteen". Kick. "Fourteen." Kick. "Fifteen.".

My wife looks into my eyes. "You've demonstrated impressive poise for the last few kicks." Kick.

"Sixteen. Thank You" Kick. "Seventeen."

"If you can handle 3 more with this level of poise, I'll do the last 13 naked." Kick.

"Eighteen". My mind races. I'm two kicks away from a massively desirable prize. Kick. And as I roll around the floor clutching my punished testicles, I realized the mistake. My anticipation for reward allowed me to exit my zen space, and return to the reality of aching nuts.

I climb back to my knees. "Nineteen." Kick, and I'm floored again. Back on my knees. "Twenty". Kick. Down again. Back up, I say "twenty one". Kick. And the cycle repeats with me struggling back into position. "Twenty two". Kick.

While I'm on the floor my wife looks down on me with sympathy in her eyes. Not sympathy for the pain we are imparting into my testicles, but sympathy for my loss of poise. "Honey, it looks like you've lost your poise for the evening." I grunt. "We can do the last 10 immobilized with no counting."

"I love you." I squeak. She reaches down and crushes my balls to acknowledge my love.

"On your back put these on. She reaches into the drawer and removes the leg cuffs. I gingerly affix one to each ankle keenly aware of every movement sending aching pain through my balls.

One my cuffs on on. I spread my legs, and she reaches down, and clips the cuffs to the table leg, and the desk so that my legs are spread wide with my bound, swollen and bruised balls facing her.

"Are you ready?"

Even as much suffering as my balls have endured, I relish the fear of additional pain, and my ability to overcome it. I snark back, "I don't know, are YOU ready".

She smiles down at me, and says. “Since you are immobilized, you don't have to count, but that also means I don't have to give you breaks in between the kicks.”

I enjoyed her smile, and relish the new fear. I snap back. "Do your worst.".

Kick. The world Grey's out. Kick. Maybe another kick my consciousness is fading. Maybe another. There is a break as I come back to myself, and look up.

Standing above me is my goddess fully naked looking glorious. I take a moment to appreciate how the angle shows off her full breasts. "I love you" I say. She smiles. Kick. I fight the pain and the urge to throw my head back. I force my eyes open, and look upon my heavily partner. Kick. Kick. With my balls still bound, and no breaks in between kicks it is too much, and I have to close my eyes. Kick. Kick. Kick. 3 very rapidly. I'm swimming. No longer aware of my surroundings.

With my eyes still closed, it is a tickle on my face that brings me around. She has taken a position kneeling above my head. Facing towards my balls.

She says. "We really worked those nuts over good tonight."She reaches down, and not gently measures their size against her hands. "The are extremely swollen, and cold from being banded so long. Let's celebrate our accomplishments.".

With that she lowers her vagina into place, and I kiss it greedily. I set about licking. She casually fondles my balls using my reaction to adjust my speed, and intensity.

"When I cum, I'm going to squeeze the nuts with all my might.", she warns.

The fear is a thrill, and I accelerate my licks. My world explodes. I don't even really feel the squeeze of my nuts, but I acknowledge it is happening from my zen state. And then it is over. She unbinds my balls and unhooks my cuffs, and heads off to make dinner. I bask in the sensations, and lay there for quite a while.

When I've recovered I do so to find that dinner is waiting, and we sit down to eat, still naked. With the mauling my balls have taken, and the constant aching, I'm not able to summon much of an appetite. But it might be the most romantic dinner of my life.

She is a goddess, and I love her.

Chapter 4: Friday, Light Training

I walk into the house and take my place. Kneeling with my testicles naked and exposed. Ready for kicking. My balls show some bruises from yesterday, and are still a little swollen.

She approaches, and says. "With all of your problems with poise yesterday, plus our successful work hurting those nuts, I thought we could skip today's kicking, and instead do some other poise training. What do you think?"

I think for a bit. My nuts still ache from the day before, but I love my ‘home from work’ kicks, and I don't want to get soft. "I think it's important that the balls don't feel like they deserve mercy. Let's do 10 kicks with no rewards, and then we can play your game after dinner."

She smiles at me and launches a kick into my unprotected nuts.

"One" I say. Kick. "Two". Kick. "Three".

She rears back, and launches a forceful kick, but stops right before contacting my balls. Sure enough, I flinch from the anticipation. She looks at me disapproving, shakes her head and kicks me savagely.

She says, "see that is what I'm talking about. You need to work on your poise. It shouldn’t matter if I'm getting ready to kick. You should only react after being kicked."

"Penalty, I know." Another Savage kick. "Penalty, I'm sorry".

She says, "that's enough penalty kicks. We've got much more in store for the nuts tonight." Kick.

"Four". Kick. "Five". Kick. "Six". Kick, the most painful yet. I grunt "seven". Kick. "Eight". Kick. "Nine." She rears back and attempts to fake me out again, but I don't fall for it this time. I keep my legs spread,and my sensitive nuts undefended against the final kick.

She smiles. "Good job. Maybe you can learn. '' Kick. I was basking too much in her approval, and am not mentally braced for the kick, so I fall to the ground. But quickly pick myself up and grab her into a loving embrace. I start kissing her affectionately. She reaches down and starts crushing my balls. I ignore it for as long as I can, and keep my lips locked on hers. Eventually, after a few seconds mashing my punished gonads, she makes me gasp which detaches our lips.

"I love you" I say, which prompts one more crush, and then I go and change, and we make dinner together.

Chapter 5: Friday, the game.

After dinner, I look at my loving wife and announce that I'm ready for my poise training. She tells me to get out Jinga. I retrieved the small, lightweight, freestanding tv tray. It is fairly rickety, and has 4 bolts facing up with an attached clear plastic plate, and wing nuts that can be used to tighten it.

I place the Jinga set on the tray, and then put my nuts into the crusher, and tighten it until they are secure. Then I setup the Jinga tower and we are ready to play. As always my wife goes 1st. She draws out a piece, and sets it on top then tightens one of the wing nuts.

The challenge for me is that I have to keep my balls perfectly still, no matter how much they are being flattened because any movement will jiggle the table, and make the tower collapses.

I select a piece carefully, and put it on top. 15 pieces later with my already sore balls starting to feel the crush in a big way, my wife screws up and takes a support piece and collapses the tower.

She looks at me sheepishly. "Lucky you", she says and removes her top. I oggle her breasts as she reassembles the tower for another go. There is of course no loosening of any wing nuts, so my balls remain in constant pain.

With the tower reset, she takes a piece, then tightens a nut. I take a piece. She manages her piece, and increased my suffering incrementally. This round is looking quite competitive. Will the tower fall naturally, or will my animal instincts to not have my balls flattened overcome my poise. 9 pieces later I'm barely able to maintain composure as she tights the crusher one more time expanding the sickening feeling in my gut. But I battle on. Unfortunately, the piece I pick starts to slip from my grasp, and in an effort to catch it, I move my balls slightly which causes the tower to fall.

My wife looks at me wryly: “Uh oh.” She tightens down all 4 wing nuts in celebration of her victory. At this point we cross a threshold. My right leg is starting to shake a bit from the effects of my nuts being thoroughly pancaked. I take a deep breath. Given time, the testicles do adjust to the new shapes they are being forced to take, but that adjustment takes time, and the pain never diminishes very much. “Are you ready to put the tower back together?” She asks me.

I’m not sure if I can handle it, but do my best to exert my will over my animal instincts that are begging me to relieve the crushing of my nuts.

She helps me out by picking up all of the pieces off of the floor, and then I start meticulously building the tower one piece at a time. It isn’t normally a task that requires much focus, but when your balls are as flat as mine with constant pressure, it feels like brain surgery. At one point, my leg quivers again, which rocks the table. The tower skews a bit, and 2 pieces near the edge fall to the floor.

She shakes her head. “Are you a man or are you an animal?” It’s an interesting question, because it is the punishments of the outward manifestations of my manhood that are driving me into bestial mindsets.

She continues. “I’d like to see better poise. Afterall, does it really matter how flat those balls are?”

I croak: “I’ll do better”.

She reaches into a box on a shelf, and retrieves 2 black binder clips which she affixes firmly to the head of my semi-erect penis. The pain is significant, but most of my focus is still drawn to the orbs of meat locked inside the clear plastic crusher that are currently failing in a battle against physics to retain their original shape.

I resume work building up the tower as she retrieves the pieces from the floor. Finally the tower is complete, and the quivering of my legs has mostly subsided.

She grins at me: “Are you ready for round 3?” I’m not. Everything I can think of is testicular pain. But, seeing my topless grinning wife, my erection grows a bit. Nothing makes me more excited than the fear of genital pain from an attractive topless woman.

“I’m ready.” I grunt.

She picks her piece, and tightens a wing nut which sets my leg to shaking again, but I control it enough so that nothing on the table moves. My vision is mildly blurry because of the sweat pouring off of me, but I pick and piece and successfully place it on top of the tower. My wife, casually plucks one more piece, and then tightens a nut, which causes the pain from my nuts to engrain itself deeply into my gut. I fear I’m going to vomit.

She can see my struggle. “Just relax. It’s going to be fine. You’ve still got a chance to win. Hang in there.”

Relax is an interesting concept when so much pressure is bearing down on your balls. But I calm my quiver, and successfully remove a piece. Effortlessly, my wife follows suit, and when she tightens down a nut, it is finally too much. My legs both start shaking, and I thrust about, seeking any way to alleviate the crushing of my balls. The tower falls down as I struggle pitifully against the table that is my tormentor.

“Oopsie.” She says, and reaches forward to tighten down all 4 wing nuts one last time. It’s too much, and I can’t control the shaking, and my mind goes fuzzy for a time. When I regained some amount of senses, she is staring me in the eyes.

“Alright, all you have to do is rebuild the tower, and we can be done. Demonstrate that much poise and you will have learned your lesson for tonight.”

It seems like an impossible task, but I love my wife, and I want to please her, so as soon as I can get my legs to stay steady briefly, I reach out with shaking hands and start tower construction. After only a few pieces the shakes return, and I thrash again, toppling all of the pieces back to the floor. She casually reaches over to the shelf, and applies 3 more binder clips to my sensitive cockhead. Then she helps me by retrieving the pieces from the floor, and I determinedly start building again. A minor quiver as I’m almost done, but nothing falls. The balls are adjusting to their new shape which allows me to regain a bit of control. Finally I finish.

“Good Job” she says. You really learned that lesson. I feel like you should have a reward.” Being honest with myself, I am quite proud of accomplishing that feat, but also suffering unbelievably from the crushing.

She looks into my glazed eyes, and says. “I’ll give you a hand job, but if the tower falls at any point, I’m going to tighten the crusher one more time, and leave you to think about it for 10 minutes.“

I look at my lovely topless wife, and stutter: “Seems fair”.

She smiles, reaches to the shelf, and locks my hands behind my back in handcuffs. She unclips the binder clips releasing minor volcanos of pain from the head of my penis. Then she lubricates her hand and gently starts stroking. No matter how gentle she does it, the imprints left from the binders make the head feel like it is getting stabbed with each stroke. However, It doesn’t take long before I’m overcome by orgasmic pleasure. Every fiber of my being makes me feel compelled to thrust forward but I exert rigid control, and keep my legs firm, and my sensitive balls unmoving in the cruel embrace of the vice.

As the orgasmic joy passes, everything changes. My now emptied nuts find the shape they are pressed into inconceivably painful. My wife reaches forward to release them from their suffering, but as soon as she grips the 1st nut, the pain overcomes me. I spasm violently. Unable to keep my feet, I collapse violently to the floor taking the table with me, as I sprawl sideways. Attempting any movement to relieve the pain in my punished orbs. But no succor can be found from the infernal crusher, and the attached table.

“Oh Honey, you did so good. I think you’ve earned relief after that performance, don’t you think?” looking down at me, she realizes I can’t process complex thoughts like that. So she crouches down, and says “Say ‘mercy’, and I’ll let you out”. Another spasm, and I thrash. It’s impossible to dislodge the vice from my nuts without loosening the wing nuts, but my body doesn’t know that, and is trying to fight against it none-the-less. “Say ‘mercy’’ she repeats. A moment of clarity allows me to lock eyes with her, and stare silently for a second and a half before another spasm grips me.

She lets the spasm pass, and then says, “You’ve earned one more tightening. Say ‘I love you’, and I’ll do it.”

I try to collect myself. I know I deserve it. I know my balls betrayed me, and I want to do this the right way, but the pain is mind boggling, and unrelenting. I croak out. “I love…” and am unable to finish. After an infinite amount of time that is probably only seconds to an observer, I regain enough control to try again. “I lo…” and my poise deserts me again. We have found my absolute limit.

She looks at me a moment contemplating, and then abruptly stand up. “Alexa, set alarm for 10 minutes”. Then she walks to the door, and turns the light off as she leaves.

I lay in the dark, my ball meat flattened obscenely in a crusher that doesn’t know the meaning of ‘mercy’, hands cuffed behind my back, completely unable to free myself. 10 minutes might as well be 10,000 years, as seconds pass to eternity. There is no time, only suffering. I shake uncontrollably. The pain coming in waves. Maybe it’s receding, maybe getting worse. Is it longer since my last round of shaking? I don’t know. It really doesn’t matter. All that matters is my pancaked ball meat. Here come the shakes again.

At some point I realize the alarm is ringing. How long has it been doing that? I don’t know. How much longer will I have to wait for her to release me?

The light flashes on, blinding me, as she comes back. She squats down beside my no-longer twitching form, and says. “What is our 1st rule?”

I struggle to say “No Mercy for the balls”.

“That’s right,” she says as she reaches down, and tighten each wing nut once more. I lose any sense of place or time, and when I regain my senses, the crusher has been loosened, and the table cast aside, so that she can sit on the floor, and cradle my head next to her naked chest.

As my awareness returns, I looking into her loving eyes, and say “I love you”. A sense of surprise crosses her face, then pride as she reaches her hand for my mangled testicles.

“I love you, too.” she says, gripping the misshapen nut meat tightly.

I’m the luckiest man in the world.

Chapter 6: Saturday, No Expectations

Because of the extensive mashing my balls had received on Friday, I knew that our Saturday training was going to be difficult. I was both terrified and excited by the prospect. We slept in, and I woke up with sore balls and an erection. Neither of which fully faded that morning.

By mid afternoon, my wife was ready. She asked me to go out and trim the trees so she could get setup. I didn’t know what was coming which thrilled me. I rushed to the task. When I returned, she had a medium sized bottle filled with fabric softener tied to a strap. A 2nd strap beside it on the table, and what was sure to be the star of the afternoon’s entertainment, a series of impact toys ranging from a foam nerf hammer to a small wooden meat tenderizer to a decent sized rubber mallet. I removed my clothes, and then she instructed me to tie my penis out of the way with one strap, and then tie the other one which was already attached to the fabric softener around my nuts.

The fabric softener wasn’t more than 5-10 pounds so whatever happening wasn’t weight training. I tied it to my balls, and the length of the strap allowed it to sit on the ground with a bunch of extra slack.

She reached down, grabbed the fabric softener, and head for the table. But I anticipated her plans, and did my best to hold my position. When I didn’t follow politely, she gave the strap a jerk, causing my erection to pop out of it’s restraints. The pull was hard, and it hurt, but not enough to make me move. At least not yet.

“You know you are making it worse for yourself, don’t you?

“I’m counting on it,” I snarked back.

She looked at me, and then dropped the bottle, and headed aggressively to the table where she sweeps aside all of the toys except for the rubber mallet.

“Now are you ready?” My face had paled somewhat, the mallet was a tad too much even on nuts that didn’t have lingering soreness from the day before, but I had picked my position.

“Not without strong, forceful encouragement.”

She stared me down. Then with no more words exchanged, she picked the fabric softener back up, then grabbed ahold of the strap near the middle pulling slightly. Then she used her other hand to abruptly punch me in the tied and stretched balls.

Over the years I’ve learned how to take a punch to the balls, but the suddenness of this one caused me to bend at the middle, and almost collapse to the floor. She seized on my moment of weakness, to pull with all of her might on the strap which forced me to abruptly bend in the other direction or have my nuts ripped off, as I struggled to keep up as she drug me to the table. She went around to the other side but used her control to direct me to stay on the side across from her, the strap going over the table.

She dropped the bottle on her side of the table which caused my testicles to smack the table top, and then another jerk as the bottle reached the end of its tether. I was properly positioned now with my balls presented on the table being held in place by the strap and the weight of the bottle. I quickly tucked my penis back into the strap that was supposed to control it.

She approved of my position, and then explained what was going to happen: “Yesterday you had trouble keeping the testicles vulnerable to my love kicks. It’s important that you not try to protect them or keep them from me. So we are going to do a little exercise. You are going to count from 3 down to 1, and at 1 I might hit you with the mallet. I might not move at all, or I might try to fake you out. We are going to go until you can demonstrate the ability to keep the balls on the table for 10 blows of the mallet.”

I gasp. “There is no way. The mallet is too intense, I won’t be able to stay in position after a hit.”

She replies. “It’s ok if you move after I’ve hammered the balls. I just don’t want you moving in anticipation. I want the balls to remain nicely in position until the actual pain arrives. Also, since you didn’t trust me, we are now going to 11 blows. It was going to be 2 with each item, but since you’ve been talking back look how much worse it’s gotten.”

I look at her, and think about how much I love this woman. She sees my stare, reaches down and picks up the mallet, and raises it into position to pound my vulnerable testicles.

“I’m ready when you are. Start counting.”

I do. “3..2..1”, the mallet descends and my balls suffer. I reel back, dragging on the strap which pulls me up abruptly as the bottle catches the bottom of the table. My nuts hurt so bad I can’t breath for several seconds. When I catch my breath she is staring at me.

“Put the testicles back in their position.”

It’s even more terrifying now that I have the memory of the mallet fresh in my mind. But I comply.

“3..2..1” She doesn’t move an inch. I expected her to pull that. We both expected I’d be really jumpy after the 1st one made contact, but I’d overcome the fear, and made no effort at all to protect my balls from the threatening hammer.

“Keep counting.” She says. Probably because I was lost in thought celebrating my accomplishment.

“3..2..1” And the hammer descends again. With the position of my balls there is nowhere for them to escape to. All of the kinetic energy of the hammer is imparted to the sensitive ball meat crushing them between the hammer and the hard surface of the wooden table. I go woozy, and start to lose my feet, but grab the table and chairs for support. After a few seconds of recovery, back on to the table go my nuts.

“3..2..1” Another full swing, and another mind blowing contact. The 1st 2 blows have weakened my nuts causing them to become even more sensitive to future punishment. I feel woozy again, and again support myself on the furniture. One I’ve recovered slightly, I start to put my balls back in place, but as she reaches for the mallet again, I lose my nerve. What kind of person willing puts their sensitive testicles onto a table to be hit by a hammer? I take a few seconds to grapple with this, and then reassert that I am indeed that kind of person, and with renewed confidence let my balls settle back in place ready for the next assault.

“3..2..1” Again she does nothing. Again I stay steady thanks to the confidence boost that came as a result of the existential crisis.

“3..2..1” This time the mallet swings down, but pulls up short, never making contact with my balls. The fear is too much, and I try to pull back, then force myself back forward, but it is too late.

My wife shakes her head, and makes a clicking sound, and says, “I’m going to stick a needle in your cockhead for that later. Now get ready for the next one.

I take a deep breath and start counting. “3..2..1” The mallet swings, but again fails to make contact. I’ve centered myself, and have reached a state of mind where I no longer anticipate. “3..2..1” No movement this time. Another fakeout. “3..2..1”, and my counting is gifted with another collision between the mallet and the table with my testicles in between. The rubber on the mallet doesn’t diminish the power of the blows it just decreases surface damage. It’s usual target is wood, not squishy man orbs, and they provide almost no resistance against it, quickly being flattened against the table for a brief instant until I reel back and start wavering on my feet from the pain.

My wife darts around the table, and positions a chair behind me lest I faint. I gladly, and heavily sit down. The strap connecting my balls to the hanging bottle pulls a bit, but the distance I’ve pulled it back isn’t enough to make the bottle catch the edge of the table.

“Oh honey, are you alright?” My wife coos.

I respond, “Fine. Just give me a second.”

“Are you sure you can go on?”

“Yeah. Really, I’m fine. Just feeling a little hammered.”

She doesn’t laugh at the joke, it wasn’t worthy of a laugh. But she does return to her side of the table, and beckon me back into my place.

I stand feigning confidence I don’t actually possess, set my balls to their duty, and start counting. “3..2..1”. Down comes the hammer, and squish go the balls. I sit down with a more natural motion than you’d guess from someone that just had their nuts hit with a hammer. I can’t breath for a bit, then I think I’m going to be sick, then that passes, and I take my place one more time.

Before I can count, my wife asks, “How many has that been?”

Oh shit, I think. Oh crap. I hadn’t really been counting the blows. I can’t handle it if we have to start over.

She sees my unsurity, and offers a gift. “Is it 5 or 6?” It’s a gift and a trap. One of those numbers is probably right. After all, she hasn’t been getting hit in the balls with a hammer, so her head is clear. The blows are so hard, with each one more painful than the last as my nuts swell up. I want to make it through the whole exercise in one session, so I guess favorable.

“6”, I say.

“That is correct.” She lies, though I don’t suspect the lie, and it was a lie of love. “Are you ready?”

It’s a loaded question, but I love the fear it evokes. I nod, and start counting. “3..2..1” She swings down with the hammer, but pulls back leaving my nuts untouched. But my resolve wasn’t sufficient, and I pull back.

“Tisk, tisk, that is another needle in the cock.”

I nod, then count again. “3..2..1” Down comes the hammer landing another ruthless blow to my orbs. I collapse back onto the chair, and reach down to cradle my swollen nut meat. It takes me a bit to catch my breath, and return my balls to the punishment zone.

“3..2..1” She doesn’t move, and neither do I. “3..2..1” Another fakeout. The hammer never makes contact. “3..2..1” boom. Another nut crushing blow. This time I lean forward onto the table instead of falling back. Not sure why. But it takes me some time to collect myself.

She gets impatient. “Come on honey. I’m ready for the balls.”

Struggling through the pain, I set my balls back on the table.

“3..2.” and the hammer hits my nuts unexpectedly. I thrash forward, then fall back onto the chair.

My wife sheepishly says, “oops. Sorry I got impatient. Can you blame me, the testicles are so swollen right now that they make an irresistible target.”

I moan and thrash in unrelenting pain. “Too much” I stutter out.

She looks at me, and then says. “Fine to make it up to you, I’ll do the last 2 naked.” True to her word she removes her clothes.

I rush my recovery so I can take in the view. She catches my eye, then looks down at the spot on the table that is the punishment arena for my balls.

I stand up and take my spot. “3..2..1” A fakeout, but I’m so entranced by the movement of her breasts as the hammer comes down and withdraws that it barely even occurs to me that the hammer could flatten my nuts. “3..2..1” Another fakeout with boob jiggles. “3..2..1” No movement at all as my eyes stray to her pubic region and admire her labia. “3..2..1” The mallet impacts my testicles, and I briefly lose control. I fall back into the chair, then lean sideways trying to retch. Both balls are constant sources of pain, but that impact seems to have focused on the right one which is mimicking my pulse beat in waves of unbelievable pain.

I must have been lost in agony for some time, because she walks over and taps me on the shoulder to get my attention. “Hey you. We aren’t done with the balls yet. One more to go. Act like a man, and get back up”.

“I can’t. It hurts too much. They are too sore. I can’t do it.”

She cradles my head into her breast. “I believe in you.” She say. “You can handle just 1 more”.

“No I can’t. It’s too much pain.”

“What hurts?”

“My balls, they hurt so bad”.

“What do we say when the balls hurt?

She wants me to say, ‘feel proud’ or ‘nothing, because balls don’t deserve mercy’, but I can’t. It is too much, so I just shake my head.

“But I’m enjoying this so much. Here feel” she pulls my hand to her crotch, and I can feel her wetness. “Can you do the last one for me?”

I rotate my head to kiss her nipple, and then look up at her, and say, “1 more to make you happy”.

As I am standing up, she starts taunting me a bit. “What is about to happen?”

I reply, “You are about to hit my balls with the rubber mallet”.

“Is it going to hurt?”

“Yes, it’s going to hurt so badly.”

“Why are you going to let me do it?”

“Because I love you, and balls don’t deserve mercy” I say with more surety in my voice.

My balls are in their place. Setting firmly on a hard table with a strap pulling them forward to present them to the heavy rubber mallet, and I have to do a countdown.

“3..2..1” The hammer falls, and my punished nuts flatten into the table. There is a second when I know it has happened, but the pain hasn’t yet arrived. Then it hits me and I collapse. I squirm in the chair. Oblivious to everything but the agony pulsating from my massively swollen nuts.

“Let me see them” my wife says after a time. I realize she has taken a seat naked on the table in front of me.

I stand up, and offer my nuts to her inspection. Apparently she has unhooked the other end of the band from the fabric softener, but my testicles are still tied. I hold them up to her. She measures the size of my right nut vs her pointer finger. Then she tests it’s consistency by supporting my balls with one hand, and using the thumb of her other hand to apply pressure to them. I cringe from the discomfort, but she uses her hold on the balls to prevent me from squirming away.

“If you can get hard right now, you can fuck me.” she says provocatively. I untie my penis, and try to think sexily about her naked body, but the pain is so great that I can’t quite get there.

But she always knows what to say. “If you can’t get hard, that’s ok, we’ll just do 2 more hits with the hammer, and then you can go down on me.”

Nothing turns me on more than a beautiful topless woman threatening with genital pain, so my member swing to life.

She leans back, and I step up to the table, and enter her, relying on her natural lubrication. Each of my thrusts features enormous pain as the ball meat swings to and fro, but she is quick to orgasm. As she does so, she yanks the cord tied to my nuts. Once satisfied. I pull out, and she spits in her hand, and finishes me off. I always expect that after the level of ball abuse I suffer, my semen is going to turn to blood, but not this time.

When I’m finished. She reaches down and grabs my nuts in both hands.

“Do you love me?” she says.

“Yes”

“No, I want to hear you say it.”

“I love you” I say, and she squeezes my balls tightly causing me to spasm.

“I love you too.”

That evening I ate dinner with 3 needles through my cockhead.

I love this woman.

Chapter 7: Sunday, Paying for My Crimes.

Sunday morning as I was preparing cereal for the wife and I, I spilled a little milk on the counter top. “Oh, sorry” I say, as I clean it up.

She looks me in the eye, and says, “We don’t cry about spilled milk do we? What do we do about spilled milk?”

“Punish the balls”. I say knowingly.

“That’s right” she says with obvious delight. “We will arrange for a punishment this evening, ok?”

“Perfect.” I acknowledge.

Later that evening, I find myself face up on a message table, with wrists shackled together under the table, and my ankles shackled together with a chain that connects them to the shackles on my wrists. I’m not going anywhere, but what concerns me more is metal loop around the base of my purpling nuts that is tied to a rope. The rope connects to a cable that runs through a pulley in a frame over head, then through another pulley suspended over my feet, then down to a bar stool that my wife is ominously setting a 45 lbs weight on. She clips the weight to the cables end, then retrieves a 2nd weight this one only 25 lbs. Clipping that one on as well, she looks at me, and says “Don’t go anywhere”, and briefly leaves the room.

When she returns she has removed her clothes, and is now naked except for a black executioner’s mask covering her face.

“For your crimes this day, you are to be punished. Do you understand?”

“Yes”, I reply

“Your sentence is as follows: You will hang from the balls until punished. Do you accept this sentence.”

“I do.”

She steps to the stool that is supporting the weights, and says, “Do you have any final words before the sentence is carried out.”

I think for a second, and then reply with the best words possible at a time like this. “I love you”.

I can’t see her smile through the hood, but I know it is there. She says, “I love you, too”, then abruptly grabs the legs of the bar stool and pulls it out from under the weights.

As the cord goes tight, my balls are drawn up, then start stretching. I have a fear that they are going to be ripped from me, but abruptly they reach their limit, and with a sickening twap, the cord is tight, and the weight is held entirely by my nut sack.

The initial jerk is the most painful, and fills my head with stars, but the sustained weight prevents my testicles from recovering from the initial blow, and soon there is a deep ache in my nuts that spreads to my guts.

The hysteria passed, I regain enough of my wits to realize that my body, without my say so, has decided to lift my butt about 4 inches above the message table putting me into an uncomfortable stress position.

I struggle to lower myself back to the table, but all the strength is being sapped from me by the pain in my testicles, so all I manage to accomplish is a few twitches that probably look something like the traditional hangman’s dance.

I look over to my wife, who has taken the place of the weights on the bar stool with one hand fondling her pussy, and the other holding an egg timer out to me. It says 4:45… 4:44. So just 5 minutes this time. I steel myself against the pain, and try to enjoy the details of my naked wife, but the pull on my testicles is too great to allow me to focus.

Eventually, I’m able to master myself. I’m no longer struggling against the weights pulling on my balls, I’ve just accepted the pain, and time loses meaning, until the egg timer starts ringing.

My pleading eyes turn to my wife, who theatrically takes her time, turning off the alarm, then moving the bar stool back under the weights, then finally lifting the weights back onto the stool.

I settle back to the table heavily, and realize that I had been hyperventilating somewhat. I calm myself, and look back up at my executioner, who has reset the timer for 5 minutes, and is holding it in front of her towards me.

“The tribunal feels that the balls have not appropriately learned their lesson. The sentence is to be completed again.”

“Oh God.” I mutter.

“Your please of mercy do not move us. If you can’t control yourself, we will be forced to increase the weight.”

I nod.

“Are you ready for the 2nd part of your sentence.”

“I am” I say with forced bravado.

She hits start on the timer, then again lifts the stool. The jerk, this time, is much more severe. The brief respite my balls got made them especially vulnerable for additional punishment, and I have a moment of panic where I start struggling uncontrollably. Fighting unsuccessfully against my bonds.

When the panic has passed, I see that my wife is holding the weights up in the air, so that my nuts aren’t entirely supporting them.

“Are you ready to resume?” she asks, gesturing to the paused timer sitting on the stool.

I nod, and she gently lowers the weights until they are again forcing me to lift up off the table. The metal ring around my balls has a little play allowing it to equalize the pull, but after the 1st round, my testicles are feeling swollen, so in addition to the deep ache, I can feel the skin stretching on the sides of the ring.

My executioner is making a speech about how justice is what keeps our household running so smoothly, but I’m not able to follow it entirely because of the great pull on my manhood. At one point I attempt to mimic an active listener, by echoing the word, “Justice”, but I can’t seem to get enough breath. Seeing me struggle, she aborts her philosophy to step towards me, and puts one hand on my cheek, and the other on my bound, and stretched balls.

“It’s OK.” She coos, and then looks fascinated at the hand on my nuts. “The balls are so cold… They’ve probably gone numb by now, I’ll bet you are hardly feeling this.” To make her point she reaches over and shoves the weights, causing them to bounce a bit and swing. The renewed assault on my testicles is briefly too much, and my entire body tenses up. But then the new pain abates somewhat, and I’m left lingering in a more normal agony.

She gigles at my reaction, and then takes the time, and sets it atop my tightly packed orbs. Then points at it. It reads, “0:26”.

“I want you to count down the last 10 seconds for me.”

“OK.” at the appropriate time, I say, “Ten” only to lose my voice as she flicks my punished nut. Another flick, then I struggle to catch up.

“Eight”. Flick. “Seven”. Flick. “Six”. Flick. “Five”. Flick. Gasp, that one hurt. Flick.

“Three”. Flick. Gasp, “Two” flick, “One” She abruptly grips the nuts and squeezes as the alarm starts blaring.

She turns off the alarm, and gathers the weights back onto the stool.

“You did great.” She says. “That looked like so much fun”.

I think a bit. I do enjoy the punishment of my balls, but this one was quite a struggle because of the stress position. Eventually I respond with, “Our balls feel appropriately punished”

“Do you want to lick my pussy?” She asks.

I nod.

“OK, but it’s going to cost you.”

I nod again.

“First, you don’t get to lick me unless the weights are hanging from the balls. Second, I won’t lift the weights until after I cum. Third, I’m going to shock the balls with the cattle prod when I cum. Does that seem fair?”

“More than fair” I say, acknowledging to myself that I’ve got no idea how it will feel to get shocked in the balls when weights are hanging from them. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating.

She lowers the head support section of the message table, and then, gently this time, lets the weights down off the stool. As before the brief respite made the weight feel much heavier.

She allows me to thrash briefly as she retrieves the dreaded cattle prod, then takes her place in front of my head which has to crane back at an awkward angle to line up. I start licking, but it’s a struggle. I can’t work up a rythem. Thankfully, she is understanding, and reaches forward, attempting to grab my tightly pulled testicles for support, but ending up with the cable instead, as she starts gyrating against my tongue.

I feel her clench, and struggle not to stop as fear rises. Then a sharp stab in my nuts if followed by an involuntary jerk back finally overcoming the weight to rest flat on the table. She struggles through her orgasm, and attempts to keep the prongs of the prod pressed into my ball meat, but is unsuccessful because of the intensity of the spasms we are both feeling. As soon as she recovers from orgasm, she presses the prod back into my nuts, giving me one finishing shock, before walking unsteadily over to remove the weight from my testicles.

We are both too exhausted to care for a few minutes that I’m still shackled to the table. Once I’m unshackled, she tells me to stand with my hands behind my back, as she gingerly, but not gently removes the ring from my swollen ball sack. Once free the skin of my scrotum is tight, and kinda hard to the touch, but it recovers within an hour.

It was a good evening.

Chapter 8: Monday, Time in the Stocks.

Monday after work we had to skip the traditional kicking, because we had dinner plans with my mother who was in town. While eating dinner, I dribbled a bit of soup onto my shirt. My wife saw it, and looked meaningfully into my eyes.

When we returned home, she announced that since I had marked my shirt, we were going to have to mark the balls that evening. So now I was locked firmly in the cock and ball stocks with a white knuckled grip on the top of them as she was caning my sensitive testicles with a medium wooden cane.

Casually, she says, “My sandwich was good tonight.” thwack. The cane connects with my balls sack sending pain up my torso into my brain. I grunt, and she continues: “How was your soup?”

Thwack. Another collision between hard wood and soft testicles.

I grunt then reply: “It was fine…”

Thwack as I’m getting out the last word my balls are hurt, and I accidentally bite my tongue a bit.

She looks down at my punished and trapped genitals, and says: “There is a nice welt right across the middle of the right nut, I’m going to see if I can hit it.”

Swoosh, this time I squeak as the pain reaches me. “Di.. did you hit it?” I stammer out.

Looking down, she says: “Nope. Not Quite.”

Thwack, I see stars, and this one is followed by another cane stroke before I have a chance to recover. Thwack.

“You know wha.. What they say” Thwack, with each stroke, my body’s animal instincts react, and try to pull me away, but my genitals are firmly in place in the stocks with my penis clamped flat against the surface so it doesn’t get in the way and lessen the impact on my nuts.

“No, what do they say?” Swoosh.

“They say…” Thwap. “Ug.. That if at first you don’t succeed” Swish. “Eh. Try, try again”

Thwack. She smiles warmly. Beaming with pride, she says, “Oh, I intended to.”

Thwack, Thwack, Thwack. 3 hard strokes in quick succession leaves my head swimming, and I’m desperately clinging to the stocks with my hands to keep standing, but shaking on my feet from the abuse of my balls.

After a moment for me to regain myself, she resumes with workmanlike dedication. Thwack. Pause. Thwack. Pause. Thwack. I suffer silently for a time. I think to myself that by now, it’s almost certain that my testicles are thoroughly marked, but it’s not really for me to say, or even really call attention to it. So, I just struggle to enjoy the ride.

Thwack. “You know, I don’t think you mom likes me very much.” Swoosh, an extra hard one to punctuate her point and make sure I’m paying attention.

“Ug… No, that’s not true..” Thwack. “Uh.. she likes you.” Tap, because a hit on the bottom perimeter of my swollen ball sack slides off to hit the board that is holding my genitals in place.

Disapprovingly, my wife puts extra power behind the next one, which squarly connects with a sickening thwop on the center of my trapped nuts. The pain overcomes me, and I struggle uncontrollably, but undeterred, she continues the light hearted conversation. “No, I really don’t think she cares for me.”

Thwack. A less powerful blow, but I still haven’t fully recovered from the one before it, and let out a moan.

I try to gather myself to reply, but she has become impatient, and let’s my swollen orbs have another sickening collision with the cane. Swish.

“Pay Attention.” she says. And punctuates it with another Thwack that causes me to desperately grip the genital stocks in an effort to keep my feet under me.

“S...sorry I stammer out”. It’s certainly hard to focus on a conversation with my wife when my already sore testicles are under constant assault, but that is why we train. So we can get better at such things.

I take a deep breath, and force out, “My mom likes you just fi…” Thwack “..ne”. She stares at me for a time, and I take the opportunity to try to calm my shaking, and regain my poise. There is nothing I can do about the pulsing pain in my nuts, but I try to internalize the lesson that the testicular pain isn’t important. The state of my swollen and bruised orbs is a happy thing, and not something to panic about.

My wife leans in. “If your mom likes me so much, why don’t you call her and ask. That way we'll know for sure”

I know immediately the game. She is going to keep caning my nuts as I talk to my mom. It’s a test of my focus and poise.

“OK.” I say. “Would you be so kind as to hand me my phone?”

She grins and does as I’ve asked. Then she takes her position, measure up my gonads for the next cane stroke. Just as I hit dial. Swoosh, and my balls are acquainted with the cane. As the phone rings Thwack. A 2nd ring, and a 2nd thwack.

Then my mother answers. “Hello”

“Hi Mom” Thwap. I take a couple of deep breaths as she responds.

“Hi Son, sounds like you are working out”.

“Yeah….” Swoosh. “Just taking care of a few things around the house.” Thwack. There is silence on the phone which suits me fine as I’m able to recover for a bit.

I resume, “How’d you enjoy dinner with my wife and I?” Thwack.

“Oh, it was great to see you two.” I glance meaningfully at my wife, and she responds with another stroke against my imprisoned orbs. My mom continues “You two have such an interesting relationship.” It’s time for my wife to glance meaningfully back at me. “I never see the two of you fight, or even really argue.”

Thwack. This blow is absorbed mainly by my left testicle, but it stings badly, and I think it might have drawn blood. “Yeah, we have our own way of working things outs”. My wife grins, and then gives me another stroke. Swish. I feel that one deep inside my gut.

My mom says, “I just hope she treats you well.” I look up with a concerned expression, but rather than look back, my wife is in the process of a haymaker swing that plants itself squarely in the center of my gonads, and sends my head spinning so much that I drop the phone, and reach down to try to shield my nuts from additional abuse.

My wife hands me back the phone, and the prys my hand away. Shaking her finger in an admonishing way.

“Son. Are you OK?” I hear as I shakily put the phone back to my ear.

“Yeah mom, sorry, I was taking care of some husband things, and dropped the phone. You know, chores and the like.” Thwack, a merciful stroke that is accompanied by a wave of pain that I can handle easily thanks to my training. “Mom, I can assure you, my wife treats me better than I deserve.” Swish. “She always encourages me to grow and improve.” Thwack. “And each day with her is a new joy.” Swish...smack. This one leaving a lingering sense of agony in my punished ball sack, and I’m rendered briefly speechless.

My mom is dutifully impressed, “That sounds great, son”.

Thwack. “It really is mom.” Swish. “I can’t imagine anything better.” Thwack, I can feel the love passing through the cane into my sensitive man parts moving all the way to my heart.

“Well mom, I best be going. Love you.” Swoosh.

“Love you too, son” I mercifully hang up the phone before a Thwack that causes me to once again grip the stocks for support.

My wife is smiling. She says: “Good recovery there, you are so nice to me.” and then punctuates it with a slashing stroke to my sensitive nut meat. Thwack.

“No..Not as nice… as… you… are… to me.” With my test, complete I’ve relaxed, and resumed shaking from the pain, and forming sentences has become a task.

She takes the compliment, and lets my balls have it one more time. Thwack. Then she says. “They look properly marked now.”

I look down. My trapped testicles are badly swollen, which causes the skin to be pulled a little tighter than normal. My scrotum is mostly black from bruising on the side facing out, but its angry red on the top and sides, and a small spot when the skin broke is oozing blood.. It’s certainly not the worst state my balls have been in, but it’s above average for us.

“Still there is the issue of you attempting to protect the balls from me.” She affects a theatrical frown. “We will have to deal with that tomorrow, don’t you think?”

I nod. Thankful that my gonads will be spared further punishment this evening. She sets me free, and I let out a sigh as my balls struggle to return to their normal position only to be stymied by their increased size, and the sore muscles that have been working overtime for the last hour desperate to retract my testicles, and spare them from the abuse.

My wife reaches forward to inspect them by feel. Then looks expectantly at me. “I love you.” I say.

Her grip tightens to crush the sensitive man orbs, and says, “I love you, too.”

Chapter 9: Tuesday, Arrangements for Atonement (Kicking)

When I arrive home, I remove my clothes, and take my spot kneeling, naked from the waist down with my sensitive testicles thrust forward awaiting their daily training session. My scrotum shows marks from last night’s caning, and my testicles hang a bit lower from the not fully recovered swelling. I consult the chart. 34 training kicks today.

My wife walks over, and hands me a hair tie. “Put this on” she says.

I dutifully comply, looping it twice at the base of my scrotum, forcing my testicles lower in their sac, and cutting off their means of escape from the training that awaits them. Usually, training doesn’t include bondage, but I fucked up royally last night, and attempted to defend my balls after a particularly vicious cane stroke.

As soon as I’ve prepared my balls, and returned to the training position, my wife unleashes a lightning fast kick into my man parts.

“One.” I count, before the pain takes root. This kick was not a warmup, but a full blown, testicle flattening punt. The air leaves my lungs as soon as the word is out of my mouth.

Another kick quickly follows, just as intense as the last, but with no breath. It takes me a second to get enough breath to croak out “Tw…”

The word isn’t all the way out of my mouth before another savage kick collides with my nuts. “Not fast enough, she says”. I arch forward, my animal instincts demanding that I attempt to defend my vulnerable reproductive organs. But I arrest the motion. I know the severity of this training session is because I was unable to restrain the urge to protect my nuts from punishment, and determined to do better.

“Penalty.” I say. Kick. This one traps my left nut against my body, and time slows down somewhat so that the moment of impact seems to linger.

“Three.” I say with a sickening feeling taking root in my stomach.

Kick. “You know I’m very disappointed in you.” My wife chides me as I reel from another solid hit.

“Four…. I know.” Kick. Pain attempts to disorient me, but I struggle against it. “Five… I’m sorry”.

The next kick is a dud. It discharges most of the energy into my leg instead of the targeted testicles.

“Si..” She cuts me off: “No we are repeating that one, because you made me miss.” She sizes up her target, and lands a forceful painful kick in my sensitive nuts.

“Six...uh.” I say, a quiver in my voice as my trapped balls try but fail to squirm away from the point of impact. I can see a grin take hold on her face, an acknowledgement of how successful the last kick was.

Kick. “Seven.”

I’m still processing as the next Kick arrives, but my inability to immediately count is unnoticed because says. “We’ve got to talk about how you can make it up to me.”

“Eight.” I grunt. Kick.

I feel a bit light headed as she continues. “You get as much out of this training as I do, and you let yourself down when you can’t be man enough to let me cane the balls without you getting your hands in the way.”

“Nine”. My head is foggy but I got the jist of what she was saying. “I…” Kick. This one catches my left nut again, and just like before it feels like the moment of impact drags out a bit. As it passes I see that she is looking at me expectantly.

“Ten” I rush out before she can grow impatient.

“I’ve got 3 ideas…” Kick. “for an exercise we can use to get you back on track.

“Eleven.” I say, and try to calm my unsteady gut. Despite the added pain from taking my training kicks banded, I’m fully warmed up now, and better able to process the pain.

“Idea One…” Kick. “You can wear a mill-stone for the rest of the week.”

“Twelve.” I say, struggling to pay attention.

“Idea Two…” Kick. “You can shock the balls 10 times with the cattle prod.”

“Thirteen.” The air is gone from my lungs, but I have enough time to start saying “I don’t think…”

Kick. I’m still up, but my mind briefly loses focus.

Kick. “Too slow, what were you saying”.

“Penalty.” I take a deep breath. “I don’t think I can manage to shock the balls on my own. It hurts too bad, and all my training is accepting pain, I haven’t been properly trained to punish the balls.”

Kick. She grins. “It’s OK.”

“Fourteen.” Kick. My head spins, but the conversation spares me.

She continues: “I’ll hold the prod, and depress the button you just have to push your balls into it, it’s really easy.”

“Fifteen” I grunt out. My balls don’t stop hurting between kicks at this point, it's more like the tide going in and out.

Kick. “Sixteen…” I breathe. “What is the 3rd idea?”

“Idea 3:” Kick. “You can do both.”

“Seventeen.” The flattening of my balls strays from my mind as I consider her proposal. She is looking at me expectantly with a huge grin on her face. I know what she wants. I love her so much, and they are only testicles, so I decide to give it to her. “I pick option 3.”

“Oh, Honey, I’m so proud of you. You took 17 kicks without falling, and earned a look at my boobs, and you picked the option I was most hoping for. Get ready for tits!”

I struggle to my feet. I’m not the most steady. All of the pain in my nuts is messing with my balance a bit. “Alexa, set timer for 1 minute”. I say.

My wife reaches forward and grasps my hurting gonads in one hand, and with her other hand raises up her shirt and bra to expose her breasts. Once her clothing is arranged, she reaches forward with the other hand, taking one ball in each. The move presses her breasts together in a jaw dropping display of female beauty, but then her hands clamp-down with an iron grip, and my soft testicles are compressed in a way that immediately brings tears to my eyes. Roughly, she searches around for particularly sensitive spots, to focus the pressure, and I do my best to enjoy my reward, doing my best to look through the tears, and bleariness of pain to see my wife’s best features.

“Oh honey, they are so cold.” she says as her left thumb presses into a spot on my right nut so sensitive that to avoid falling, I lean forward, and grip her torso for support. I’m silent, unable to breath, and having isolated a weak point that needs toughening up, she sets about maximizing the pressure for the duration of my reward. Fighting with the pain, I start shaking. “I just love when you start shaking with love for me like that.” She says right before the Alexa sounds, and I collapse to the ground in agony.

Curled into a fetal position, I resist cradling my hurting nuts, because I know we aren’t done with training yet.

After a bit, she says, “Spread ‘em”. I comply haltingly. My body doesn’t want to expose my balls to any more punishment, but I master my animal urges, and open my legs allowing my reddening bruised cluster of bound testicles to hang vulnerably.

My wife reaches down and removes the hair tie trapping my balls. I gasp as a different wave of pain hits me as my testicles try to find a more comfortable way to rest only to realize that comfort isn’t possible in their current state.

She says, “You’ve been really good so far today.” She coos with a satisfied grin. “Now get back into position. The balls have 17 more kicks coming.

I take my position on my knees with my legs spread. As my now free testicles sway into place, new agonies touch me. I feel so much more vulnerable than usual. Like we are starting training over on a more fragile set of nuts.

Kick. I didn’t see it coming. It’s well targeted, impacting both fleshy orbs. A more gentle warmup kick, but the motion it causes in my testicles makes me see stars.

“Eighteen.” Kick. I want so bad to cradle my balls to stop their painful swaying, but while my arms start to move, I pull them up short. “Nineteen.” Kick. My wifes foot flattens my balls against my pelvic bone. As the foot recedes, I grunt, and then uncontrollably do a couple pelvic thrusts. As if my body is trying to dodge the kick, but after impacts.

My wife says something, but I’m not able to make out the words as I focus on regaining control. “Twenty”, I say, and am immediately met with a savage kick that causes all of the air to leave my lungs.

“... interrupt me like that!” she is chiding me as I arch forward, putting a hand down for stability, but not quite falling over. “There is absolutely no reason to be rude.” And she punctuates the statement with another hard kick as I haven’t yet fully resumed my position. My stomach cramps, and I lean forward onto a hand again.

“I..i..i…’m ss..ss..sorry. Penalty” I say, struggling for air. When my vision clears, she is offering me the hair tie. I gasp in fear. “Oh, god.. Please n..” then realize what I’m doing in time to shut my mouth before additional transgressions. She considers me briefly, and then rears back to plant another savage kick into my sensitive balls. I couldn’t help it. I saw the kick coming, and anticipating the accompanying pain, my body tries to protect my vulnerable genitals by drawing back. The kick lands painfully, but not so painfully as intended. I struggle to rush an apology. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

But with two infractions in a row, she is having none of it. “Put this on” she pushes the hair tie at me aggressively. I take it, and attempt to comply quickly, but my balls are badly swollen, and every minor touch hurts them. Their diameter is such that I struggle to complete the 2nd loop causing myself significant pain in the effort.

Finally, I achieve the desired results. My ball-sac is a bloated, swollen mess lined unevenly with bruises from last night’s cane strokes. Having only just adapted to their freedom, my testicles are now sending out a series of cramps due to their latest constriction. I know the next kicks will be some of the most severe I’ve ever experienced. My balls are weakened and bruised. They are bound, unable to squirm away from the impact at all, and my wife is angry and disappointed with me for interrupting her, and not taking a kick with adequate poise.

I know so much fear of the impending pain, but the state of my mauled genitals gives me a certain amount of courage. Everything they’ve been subjected to, and I still haven’t gone down yet this evening. I’m proud of that, and draw courage from the pride as I thrust my punished package forward to accept the next agony.

I lock eyes with my wife and she says, “We are going to do 10 penalty kicks. 5 for interrupting me, and 5 more for pulling back. Does that seem fair?”

“Yes.” I say with conviction in my voice. “Thank you.” And then I allow my vision to become unfocused so that I don’t make the mistake I did before and anticipate the next Kick.

When it comes I barely feel it. But the aftermath as my testicles struggle to move about in their bondage, and now my left nut is sending pain pulses timed to the beating of my heart.

“Penalty” I say. Kick. I feel a thunk to the ball meat between my legs, but I control my reaction, and repeat. “Penalty”. Kick. There was no receding of pain between this kick and the last. I wonder if that is because of the bruising. “Penalty” Kick. A deep breath, and then “Penalty.” Kick. Deep breath. “Penalty” Kick. Slightly less on target a new zone of nut-meat explodes in pain, but I manage to hold position. “Penalty.” Kick. Breath. “Penalty”.

She mimes a kick to see if I’m anticipating, but I’m not, and I don’t move at all. Sensitive testicles made as vulnerable as I can to incoming attack. Kick. It hurts, but mostly I feel relief. “Penalty.” Kick. “Penalty.” Kick. Yet again finding a new spot to hurt, but I take the pain, and dutifly reply, “Penalty.” Kick. Deep breath in, then “Penalty”.

When the next kick doesn’t come as expected, I look up to see her staring back at me with a faux outrage hiding a grin. “That was 11 penalty kicks, and we only agreed to 10. Do we need to start over because you can’t count?”

Oh shit. I was able to fortify my composure by making myself less mentally present, but by doing that I lost count. With the state my balls are in? 10 more punishing kicks plus the 14 that still remain in my ordinary training routine….

“It’s OK, lets just complete training.” She says, and then powerfully kicks my bundled man-orbs.

My composure broken by the conversation, I almost lose control and fall over, but I right myself, and say “Twenty-one”. Kick. A hard one that hits the right nut hardest. I struggle for breath, and say “Twenty-two”. Kick. Somehow the exploding pain catches me off guard, and I bite my tongue, and start to reach down to cradle my abused organs, but catch myself and return to position. “Twenty-three”. Kick. I start collapsing forward, but catch myself before I fall. As I’m getting back to my spot, I see a glistening of sweat on my wife’s legs. I’m really making her work tonight.

“Twenty-Four” I count. Kick. Air is driven from my lungs. I’m unable to speak.

My wife says, “You know if you hadn’t screwed up, you’d be caressing my breasts right now. You’d be lavishing kisse on my pretty nipples. But instead, here I am, 10 more training kicks for the balls, just because you couldn’t follow the rules. Think of how unfair that is for both of us!”. She looks at me in grinning indignity, and then unleashes a powerful kick in my trapped balls. “Too Slow!”

I’m kneeling and retching, but still haven’t fallen to the floor. I forgot to count, mesmerized by her descriptive language. Unsteadily, I return to my position. “Penalty”. Kick. More retching, I’m drenched in sweat, and feeling light headed, but struggle into position, and say “Twenty-Five.”

Kick. I feel the impact on both of my nuts of her foot connecting, but I don’t feel the pain. In fact…. I don’t feel anything….

I look up from the floor, there is a cool rag on my forehead, and my wife is looking down at me concerned. “Oh, honey, you passed out, are you OK?” I take an assessment. My nuts hurt badly, with each beat of the heart sending pain from my left testicle, but I try to consider the rest of me. I’m still a little light headed, and I feel hot.

“Just give me a little bit, and we can continue.” I say, searching my memory for what the count was.

“No, it’s OK. We’ll do the last 9 with tomorrow's training. For now, why don’t you take a sip of water, and let’s get that hair tie off.” It's a good compromise. Balls don’t deserve mercy, but I do. She hands me a cup of cold water, and I take a sip as she cautiously inspects my bound nuts.

“I think we are going to have to cut it off” she says completing her inspection with only the most gentle touch to my ball sack which is abnormal for her. “I’ll get the scissors”.

I lever myself to a kneeling position, and try to evaluate the situation. My testicles are swollen grotesquely. A solid mass of nut meat stretching out my scrotum. The left testicle is notably larger than the right which might explain the pings of pain I’m still getting every time my heart beats. My flacid penis sits across the top of the balls, but doesn’t protrude nearly so far as my distended ball bag. The head of my penis only reaches the middle of my swollen nut bundle.

I try to move my nuts to the side to expose the hair tie, but the pain of touching them is too much, and I wait for my wife’s return.

“OK, honey, why don’t you put the balls on the table, so that I can get to the hair tie.”

I nod, and with her guiding me I climb to my feet. Every movement causes little tremors of pain, but I make it to the table, where I set out my balls. When I see her coming towards them with scissors, I feel a moment of unfounded fear.

With the moment passed, I think I don’t need to be afraid, she cares about the balls as much as I do.

Gingerly, she presses down on the ballbag to get the tip of the scissors under the hair tie. After a brief, and painful struggle, she gets the scissors in place and cuts the tie. Despite the elastic, it doesn’t immediately unravel, held in place by the tight skin. She has to reach down, and pull lightly on the end to get it to let go.

The pain that hits me when the tie is released briefly sends my mind away. But I regain my senses quickly, and don’t pass out again.

“OK, honey, you’re all set, why don’t you have a seat, and drink a little more water while I make dinner.”

I comply with her, plopping down onto one of the wooden dining chairs. My descent is too quick, and as my balls contact the hard surface I experience a little more nausea.

I wasn’t able to eat much for dinner, but with desert came the millstone. It was a large round weight. About the size of a bowling ball, and probably around 25 lbs. On the top is a loop, and tied to that is about 4 feet of rope. Enough rope so that the weight isn’t suspended by my testicles, but instead dragged behind me as I move about the house. I towed the stone behind me the rest of the evening until bd.

My wife looked after me all evening, making sure I kept drinking to rehydrate myself. I’m so lucky to have someone who cares about me like that.

Chapter 10: Wednesday, Alone at Home (Crushing)

My wife had an appointment after work, so I beat her home. She texted me “Please take out the trash, and put away your laundry, I’ll be home by 8 PM. As soon as I was in the door I removed my pants and underwear and attached the millstone to my testicles. It pulled painfully on them as I went about my chores donning a robe so that I could wear it into the backyard without passers-by seeing it. Several times during the night, the heavy weight snagged on a corner and brought me up short. As instructed, I gave 3 agonizing jerks to try to free it before I was allowed to make an adjustment to the angle of my movement. Every time that happens, I hope she is watching me on the IP cameras, and approving of my effort.

At about 8 PM. My wife texted again. “It's going to be a late one honey, sorry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

So at 10 PM I went to bed, and fell comfortably asleep. I awoke suddenly to a sharp pain in my testicles. My wife had joined me on the bed, she was nude, but had both hands engaged with my genitals, crushing them in her vice like grip. In my not-fully awake state, I began to struggle, but quickly mastered myself, and like any dutiful husband, I put my hands underneath me, and flattened out my legs to make the crushing of my balls as convenient as possible to my loving wife.

Having skipped that evening’s training, my balls weren’t as sensitive as usual, but my loving wife was persistent, and determined. Her powerful fingers searched out weak points, and she gauged my reaction to determine where to apply the most pressure to toughen up my sensitive orbs. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore, and was unable to keep my hands from plaintively grabbing hers.

As soon as my composure broke, she released my punished nuts, stood up, and produced a pair of handcuffs that she showed to me, as she dangled them from one end. I stood up, and turned my back to her offering my wrists for cuffing. Then once securely cuffed, I sat down on the side of the bed, and maneuvered to the middle of it, genitals up with my hands held secured behind me, under my body.

Now she climbed back onto the bed, and straddled my stomach, with her back to my face, and her hands gripping my balls, but not yet squeezing them. Neither of us had yet spoken a word, and for the first time the silence was apparent. She was planning her next attack carefully. I stole a glance at the clock. 2:20 AM. Then her grip tightened and my agony began anew.

Her strong fingers quickly dug into fragile nut meat, and efficiently located tender spots. It wasn’t long before my composure again broke, and I began struggling. My hands were hopelessly trapped, but my animal instincts begged my stomach muscles to curl into a fetal position. I was unsuccessful at it, the pain had zapped out most of my strength, and her body had my torso pinned in position. My legs likewise tried to curl up to protect my vulnerable organs, but they too had no strength to resist, and were unsuccessful at dislodging her hands from the center of my manhood, and the origin point of my suffering.

This went on for some time. Her hands crushed my testicles, and my body struggled unsuccessfully against her. I was mewling, and begging, unable to cope with the attacks. Eventually my struggles weakened. My mewling ceased. My energy was tapped out, and my ability to remain present faded, and I surrendered to the pain. My wife’s hands eventually tired, but through practice she had learned how to pace herself, how to transition from one grip to the next so that her fingers took a long time to tire out completely. Each new position brought a new wave of agony with an accompanying spasm of ineffectual resistance. Time passed and passed.

“... stop?” She was saying something. Alert to my inattention she used her fingernails to painfully pinch the head of my penis. “I said, ‘Do you want me to stop?’” she repeated.

I was spent, struggling to hold onto consciousness. I tried to speak, but at first it was a grunt, and then a squeak. “Please”.

“OK, I’ll stop for a minute but only if you lick my pussy. And if you stop doing a good job, I’m going right back to playing with the balls.”

I nod. And she pivots around to position her vagina above my face. I focus on catching my breath. Summoning as much energy as possible for my new task. Once she is in position I set to work. Diligently moving my tongue about her feminine folds. Doing my best to stimulate her sensitive parts as she had just stimulated mine.

As I found a rhythm, she started rocking back and forward. Eventually culminating in a powerful orgasm that had her shaking for several moments. Satisfied she rotated back around, and reached down with her left hand to grip my ball bag below my testicles, forcing my nuts upward into a particularly vulnerable position.

Then she said, “That was great. Thank you. I love you.”

I respond, “I love you, too”, and as I do, her right hand descends, sandwiching my hurting nutmeat between the hands she compresses them tightly, spawning uncontrollable agony once again. Then she released me, and we cuddled.

It was a good night.

Chapter 11: Thursday: Training (Hammering, Kicking)

I arrive home from work, and once through the door, I remove my shoes, pants and underwear, and then take my place naked from the waste down, kneeling with my testicles exposed for training.

My wife approaches me, clearly holding something behind her back. “Hi honey.” she says in greeting.

“Hello dear” I reply.

“How many kicks today?” she asks, coyly, with some musicality in her tone.

I consult the chart. “35 training kicks plus 9 penalty kicks because I passed out before we completed the last training session.”

“I think after last night's fun, we can consider the makeup penalty kicks forgiven. But we did skip a whole day of training, and we probably can’t forget that.” She grins

“I agree” I say affably, knowing that whatever behind her back is likely to bring me great pain.

She produces a 1 pound rubber mallet, and swings it experimentally through the air. Then gestures at me, and says, “Show me what you want.”

Want? The mallet is on the verge of too much on the best of occasions. I am gripped by fear. And then I take in her grin, and I realize. Yes, this is what I want, to overcome my fear, and to give her pleasure, so after a moment of indecision, I stand up, grab my scrotum in the middle with my right hand, forcing the balls to the end, and then walk over, to set my tight package of nut meat on the dining room table, waiting for the hammer to fall.

The glow on her face brightens even more, and she practically skips the 2 steps between us, as she takes her position, hovering the mallet over my vulnerable organs. She sizes up her target with a few light practice swings, before letting fly a powerful swing that connects between mallet and table with my left testicle in between. The testicle provides little resistance as it flattens out and absorbs the impact. I reel back, cradling the punished organ. Unsteady on my feet eventually collapsing to the ground.

“Darn!” she says as I’m reeling. “I think that only caught the left one. Right, honey?”

Breath having escaped my lungs, it takes a few tries to affirm, “Yes dear, you are right”.

“Alright then, put righty back on the table, so we can finish tonight's warm ups.”

Fear takes hold. It hurts so bad. Can I really present one vulnerable nut to the hammer? Oh my god, ohmygod, ohmygod.

But my wife doesn’t have time for my crisis of faith or my moment of panic. When I don’t quickly respond, she walks over towards my crumpled form, and pokes me with her foot. “Quit being lazy, we’ve got lots of plans for tonight.”

I struggle to my feet, and gingerly grip my ball bag with my now swollen and pulsating left nut behind my fist, and my so far, mostly undamaged right nut vulnerably forward. I step to the table, and as I’m settling my nut into its place, my wife abruptly raises the mallet into position to strike, and my will crumples. I pull back fearfully, then try to master myself and fail resulting in what must look absurd, with me thrusting as if I’m trying to fuck the air with my right testicle.

“Uh uh uh,” chides my wife. “Are you a real man, or just an immature man-child? You know it’s coming, so don’t waste our time, just take it like a man.”

I finally master myself, and station my ball in it’s spot. My wife tests my resolve with a mock strike, but my mastery is barely sufficient, and my ball doesn’t budge, even if my instincts scream that I should protect my sensitive reproductive organs.

Finally the blow comes. As before the hammer attempts to meet the table, and despite the objection of my right testicle, it almost succeeds, flattening my testicle against the hard surface until it’s moment is finally slowed. I pull back, 2 steps back then straight down I collapse into a fetal position, Briefly I forget to unclamp the fist holding my mangled testicle away from my body, and instead try to comfort it with the other hand. As the shock passes my fingers relax, and both my hands try to sooth my throbbing testicle. Then a wave of nausea hits me, and I awkwardly roll to my knees attempting to wretch, but it’s a false alarm. A few dry heaves, and then again curled on my side.

My wife watches with interest and amusement, with a hand reaching into the crotch of her pants. My voluntary suffering has clearly succeeded in arousing her. She might even have orgasmed from watching my pain, but if so it happened quickly. Because she is back to her personal trainer persona before I’ve recovered.

“Enough loafing.” she says, “I’m ready to start training. 35 kicks with a chance to see tits after 18, and a chance to fondle tits after all 35. And if you are really a man worthy of me, one more hammer blow after the training is done.”

I lever myself into position. My foggy brain, not fully processing all of her words. Her final sentence lands with me at roughly the same time her foot collides painfully with my nuts.

Purely by instinct, I count out, “One.” The kick that follows favors my right nut as I’m panicking at the prospect of another hammer blow after the kicking. I thrust away briefly, but didn't fall to the floor.

After two deep breaths I’m back into position, and say “Two”. Kick, striking slightly behind, allowing my loose balls to dodge a bit to either side. “Three”. Kick, a bit of spittle exits my mouth as I lean forward into an absurd bow. With great effort I straighten back out, and say. “Four”.

My wife says casually, “It was cooler today, don’t you think?”, and then delivers a painful kick that impacts both testicles.

“Uh….yep.” I reply, and then say “Five”.

Another painful kick mechanically follows my count, and as I’m trying to summon the air to count, she says, “Do you think it will rain?”.

“Six… yes it looks like rai….n.” my last word interrupted by a kick that connects on the left hitting both my left thigh, and my swinging testicle.

“Seven… I’m glad the lawn guy ca...me.” Another kick, and it’s almost too much, I nearly sprawl face first onto the ground, but at the last minute I master myself, pushing against the ground with my right arm, as I struggle back into position, and finish my thought. “Came today. I think the grass will be too wet tomorrow. Eight.”

As her foot moves with lightning speed to my vulnerable genitals, she replies, “Yeah, Tony’s been doing a good job this year.”

“Nine.” Kick.

“Way better than the teenagers we hired last year”.

“Ten”. The kick that followed was harder than normal as if she was seeking revenge against the teenagers in my punished balls.

As I’m gathering my wits, she says, “How was your day?”

“Eleven. Good”, I reply shortly before the next kick threatens to floor me. I can no longer tell one ball from the other, so I’m not sure which one it hit, but it hurt dreadfully on my swollen orbs.

“I had a shit day.” She says as I’m working myself back into position.

“Twelve.” Kick, this one mercifully separates my testicles, and they are spared the majority of the impact. “Thirteen. What went wrong?”

Kick, and I lean forward on my hands and knees as she explains. “First I feel like I got no sleep last night.”

“Fourteen”. I say.

“You kept me up waaay too late,” she continues as she increases the force of the next kick for emphasis.

That one was too much, and I can’t keep my legs under me, falling to the ground, desperate to protect my sensitive man parts. Initial panic past, I think through her accusation. I was sound asleep when she got home. She only stayed up extra because she spent an hour or so crushing my testicles. But it’s part of the game. Everything always ends up being the fault of ‘the balls’ one way or another. So I sort of smile to myself.

“Welp, no chance for tits tonight, buster” my goddess says, looming over me. “Now get back up, we’ve still got 20 more before training is done.”

Dutifully, and gingerly I fight my way back into position, and say. “Fifteen”.

Quickly, she responds with another kick that floors me, and then resumes her casual complaining. “My boss is so stupid”.

Back on my knees, I say, “Sixteen.”

She kicks me again, this time letting her foot linger against my nuts rather than withdrawing immediately. “She is always having me do her work.”

“Seventeen”. The kick that follows was no doubt powered by her frustration with her job, because it sent me sprawling face down. “Eighteen. Wha...what does she do all day?” I stammer out as I regain myself.

Kick, it hurts, but I only bow a little as she says, “I don’t know. Talks to people, walks around?”

“Nineteen. Does… does she know how”. Kick, my mind wants to be elsewhere, the pain in my genitals is so great, but part of my training is remaining present. “How much you do for her? Twenty”.

Kick, a solid blow that causes me to have another little bout of retching as the pain overcomes me. “.... with her.”

I missed most of her answer, preoccupied with my testicles, but I struggle to put together a response. “Twenty-one, I’m sure other people see… it”. Interrupted mid-sentence by a kick, I force out the last word before I collapse.

“Yeah, I know.” she says thoughtfully as I writhe about in pain for a second before returning to my knees.

“Twenty-two” Kick, I’m a bit dizzy, but I barely move. “Twenty-Three”, I say weekly. Our conversation briefly at a lull, the next kick comes immediately, sending me to the ground.

As I’m mustering myself, she says, “You barely complained last night, I’m proud of you”

“Twenty-Four, I try to always give you your special time with the balls”.

She smiles, and then kicks my testicles again. “I know, you are sometimes just so sweet.”

“Twenty-Five, You are the sweet… one” Sentence interrupted again, as her foot collides with my sensitive, and at this point badly punished balls.

“I know I am,” she says as she waits for her next opportunity to kick my hanging orbs.

“Twenty-Six”. An extra painful kick, either by design or accident. Either way I see stars, and can’t respond for a second.

Finally, with tears forming in my eyes, I hear her finish a sentence that I missed most of, “... you”.

“Twenty-Seven….” Knowing that I’m expected to say something I awkwardly rush out “I love you.”

Kick, a savage one with acknowledgement of my love. “Oh? “ a bit of confusion in her voice confirming that I hadn’t responded quite right. “I love you too.” she finishes.

“Twenty-eight, I ju...just think I should say it more often”. My scramble brain is struggling to cover so that I don’t upset her, and trigger penalty kicks.

Kick. It sends me retching to the floor, probably a sign that she is onto my game. But she says, “OK then. Tell me you love me after each kick. We’ve only got 6 left.”

Regaining my knees with my voice unsteady, I say: “I love you, Twenty-nine”. The earth shattering kick that follows confirms that she is onto me. With our household rule that “I love you” is followed by genital pain, she is using this as an excuse to punish me for not being fully present as she trains my balls to take a kicking. I’m not sure how long this line of thinking took, because my brain felt like mush, and it was hard to focus on anything but my throbbing nut meat. But it must have taken a bit, because my wife has become a testy.

“Get back up, or we will have to repeat that one.”

Shakily I rise to my knees, and croak out. “I love you. Thirty”. Another savage kick sends me back to a fetal position, but I try to remaster myself quickly, and manage to struggle into a mockery of my normal position, now with my butt resting on my heels, but my legs are dutifully spread allowing my swollen and bruised testicles to rest almost completely on the floor. “I… “ feeling out of breath, words are difficult, “I Love you.” gulp. “Thirty-one”.

Altering her approach to maximize the force into my balls at their new lower position, She includes follow through as she steps past me while imbedding her foot into my exposed organs.

It was a solid hit, but I’m losing my grip on the present, and so muscle memory keeps me rock solid, and I say. “Thirty-two”.

“What? No ‘I love you’ this time?” Have I done something wrong?” she playfully mocks me, before repeating her previous approach and delivery.

The flow broken a bit, I regain some of my awareness a bit, and especially the awareness of the most recent attack on my manhood. I’ve capsized, and am struggling not to cradle my balls defensively. I mutter between heavy breaths. “I’m sorry… You didn’t..do anything wrong.. You are perfect…. I love you, I love you… I love you.”

“I know I’m perfect, now get back into position, I’ve got 2 more perfect kicks for tonight.”

I lever myself upright. I’ve barely got any energy. I’m sweating, and shaking. My testicles feel like boulders…. Boulders resting on my genitals that hurt every time I shift position. Finally In position, I stammer out. “I love yo...you. Thirty-four.”

“Wait, that was 4 ‘I love you’s’, and the last time it was none. Do we need to add some penalty kicks until you can’t get it figured out?”

“No ma'am.” I say. “I’ll get it right”.

“You’d better.” she warns. “If you can’t say ‘I love you’, and count within 7 seconds of this last kick, we are going to have to add some penalty kicks.”

“Ok…” While the word is still in my mouth a savage kick sends me flying. My body doesn’t leave the ground, but my mind briefly transcends my body, leaving it crumpled into a heap. Fighting to return, my testicles a mass of pain, I roll over, grabbing my wife’s ankle, and say with as much stability, and commitment as I can muster, “I love you. Thirty-five.”

I’m breathing heavily, just trying to catch my breath. Meanwhile, when I manage to look up at my wife, she has her hand down her pants, and is considering me with a predator’s gaze.

Eventually, she says, “Well you did it fast enough, but your position was for shit. So we’ve got to do 5 more penalty kicks to help you learn.”

“Oh, no please. Please! They can’t take any more. They hurt too much.”

“I’ll make a compromise with you. If you can give me a better orgasm than last night, then I’ll forgive the 5 penalty kicks. But if I don’t cum as hard as last night, it’s going to be hits with the mallet instead of my gentle and loving kicks. Deal?”

I’m fully terrified. That’s what she wants. She likes the fear. It's why she is no doubt soaking wet right now. But that isn’t really a comfort to me. I know if I disappoint the hammer awaits.

I slide down, rolling to a position face up on the floor as I try to gather my energy.

With great eagerness, my wife stips out of her clothes, and then noticing my position, she says “Uh, ah”, and instead of straddling my face, she pulls out a dining room chair, and slides to the end of it. I have to kneel again to reach her soaking wet pussy with my mouth. My head is still spinning, and I briefly think I’ll topple over, then I secure my position and set to work.

I can tell she is enjoying it, when she starts undulating a bit. Eventually, she throws her head back, and rides out an orgasm.

Still gripped by fear, I try not to interrupt her afterglow. But eventually, I have to know, and I blurt out. “Was it better than last night?”.

“Eh, I’ll let you go on that one, with just one extra hammer blow. 1 to prove you are a real man worthy of me, and 1 to prove that you’ve learned your lesson from training tonight”.

My face pales, I start to form a pitiful tirade, and beg for mercy, when she continues, “But we can do those after dinner. Why don’t you get started on dinner while I take a quick shower.”

She strides off towards her bathroom, before something occurs to her, and she tacks back. “One more thing, do you need help putting this on?” she holds up the strap attached to a chain that leads to a 25 pound millstone that I agreed to wear for a week after I tried to protect my balls after a particularly painful cane stroke during our testicle caning on Monday.

“No, I can manage.” I confirm.

“Oh, I know you can, because you are such a good husband.”

“You're a better wife”. I say with genuine feeling. I love this woman.

Chapter 11: Thursday: Training (Hammering, Kicking)

I arrive home from work, and once through the door, I remove my shoes, pants and underwear, and then take my place naked from the waste down, kneeling with my testicles exposed for training.

My wife approaches me, clearly holding something behind her back. “Hi honey.” she says in greeting.

“Hello dear” I reply.

“How many kicks today?” she asks, coyly, with some musicality in her tone.

I consult the chart. “35 training kicks plus 9 penalty kicks because I passed out before we completed the last training session.”

“I think after last night's fun, we can consider the makeup penalty kicks forgiven. But we did skip a whole day of training, and we probably can’t forget that.” She grins

“I agree” I say affably, knowing that whatever behind her back is likely to bring me great pain.

She produces a 1 pound rubber mallet, and swings it experimentally through the air. Then gestures at me, and says, “Show me what you want.”

Want? The mallet is on the verge of too much on the best of occasions. I am gripped by fear. And then I take in her grin, and I realize. Yes, this is what I want, to overcome my fear, and to give her pleasure, so after a moment of indecision, I stand up, grab my scrotum in the middle with my right hand, ******* the balls to the end, and then walk over, to set my tight package of nut meat on the dining room table, waiting for the hammer to fall.

The glow on her face brightens even more, and she practically skips the 2 steps between us, as she takes her position, hovering the mallet over my vulnerable organs. She sizes up her target with a few light practice swings, before letting fly a powerful swing that connects between mallet and table with my left testicle in between. The testicle provides little resistance as it flattens out and absorbs the impact. I reel back, cradling the punished organ. Unsteady on my feet eventually collapsing to the ground.

“Darn!” she says as I’m reeling. “I think that only caught the left one. Right, honey?”

Breath having escaped my lungs, it takes a few tries to affirm, “Yes dear, you are right”.

“Alright then, put righty back on the table, so we can finish tonight's warm ups.”

Fear takes hold. It hurts so bad. Can I really present one vulnerable nut to the hammer? Oh my god, ohmygod, ohmygod.

But my wife doesn’t have time for my crisis of faith or my moment of panic. When I don’t quickly respond, she walks over towards my crumpled form, and pokes me with her foot. “Quit being lazy, we’ve got lots of plans for tonight.”

I struggle to my feet, and gingerly grip my ball bag with my now swollen and pulsating left nut behind my fist, and my so far, mostly undamaged right nut vulnerably forward. I step to the table, and as I’m settling my nut into its place, my wife abruptly raises the mallet into position to strike, and my will crumples. I pull back fearfully, then try to master myself and fail resulting in what must look absurd, with me thrusting as if I’m trying to fuck the air with my right testicle.

“Uh uh uh,” chides my wife. “Are you a real man, or just an immature man-child? You know it’s coming, so don’t waste our time, just take it like a man.”

I finally master myself, and station my ball in it’s spot. My wife tests my resolve with a mock strike, but my mastery is barely sufficient, and my ball doesn’t budge, even if my instincts scream that I should protect my sensitive reproductive organs.

Finally the blow comes. As before the hammer attempts to meet the table, and despite the objection of my right testicle, it almost succeeds, flattening my testicle against the hard surface until it’s moment is finally slowed. I pull back, 2 steps back then straight down I collapse into a fetal position, Briefly I forget to unclamp the fist holding my mangled testicle away from my body, and instead try to comfort it with the other hand. As the shock passes my fingers relax, and both my hands try to sooth my throbbing testicle. Then a wave of nausea hits me, and I awkwardly roll to my knees attempting to wretch, but it’s a false alarm. A few dry heaves, and then again curled on my side.

My wife watches with interest and amusement, with a hand reaching into the crotch of her pants. My voluntary suffering has clearly succeeded in arousing her. She might even have orgasmed from watching my pain, but if so it happened quickly. Because she is back to her personal trainer persona before I’ve recovered.

“Enough loafing.” she says, “I’m ready to start training. 35 kicks with a chance to see tits after 18, and a chance to fondle tits after all 35. And if you are really a man worthy of me, one more hammer blow after the training is done.”

I lever myself into position. My foggy brain, not fully processing all of her words. Her final sentence lands with me at roughly the same time her foot collides painfully with my nuts.

Purely by instinct, I count out, “One.” The kick that follows favors my right nut as I’m panicking at the prospect of another hammer blow after the kicking. I thrust away briefly, but didn't fall to the floor.

After two deep breaths I’m back into position, and say “Two”. Kick, striking slightly behind, allowing my loose balls to dodge a bit to either side. “Three”. Kick, a bit of spittle exits my mouth as I lean forward into an absurd bow. With great effort I straighten back out, and say. “Four”.

My wife says casually, “It was cooler today, don’t you think?”, and then delivers a painful kick that impacts both testicles.

“Uh….yep.” I reply, and then say “Five”.

Another painful kick mechanically follows my count, and as I’m trying to summon the air to count, she says, “Do you think it will rain?”.

“Six… yes it looks like rai….n.” my last word interrupted by a kick that connects on the left hitting both my left thigh, and my swinging testicle.

“Seven… I’m glad the lawn guy ca...me.” Another kick, and it’s almost too much, I nearly sprawl face first onto the ground, but at the last minute I master myself, pushing against the ground with my right arm, as I struggle back into position, and finish my thought. “Came today. I think the grass will be too wet tomorrow. Eight.”

As her foot moves with lightning speed to my vulnerable genitals, she replies, “Yeah, Tony’s been doing a good job this year.”

“Nine.” Kick.

“Way better than the teenagers we hired last year”.

“Ten”. The kick that followed was harder than normal as if she was seeking revenge against the teenagers in my punished balls.

As I’m gathering my wits, she says, “How was your day?”

“Eleven. Good”, I reply shortly before the next kick threatens to floor me. I can no longer tell one ball from the other, so I’m not sure which one it hit, but it hurt dreadfully on my swollen orbs.

“I had a shit day.” She says as I’m working myself back into position.

“Twelve.” Kick, this one mercifully separates my testicles, and they are spared the majority of the impact. “Thirteen. What went wrong?”

Kick, and I lean forward on my hands and knees as she explains. “First I feel like I got no sleep last night.”

“Fourteen”. I say.

“You kept me up waaay too late,” she continues as she increases the force of the next kick for emphasis.

That one was too much, and I can’t keep my legs under me, falling to the ground, desperate to protect my sensitive man parts. Initial panic past, I think through her accusation. I was sound asleep when she got home. She only stayed up extra because she spent an hour or so crushing my testicles. But it’s part of the game. Everything always ends up being the fault of ‘the balls’ one way or another. So I sort of smile to myself.

“Welp, no chance for tits tonight, buster” my goddess says, looming over me. “Now get back up, we’ve still got 20 more before training is done.”

Dutifully, and gingerly I fight my way back into position, and say. “Fifteen”.

Quickly, she responds with another kick that floors me, and then resumes her casual complaining. “My boss is so stupid”.

Back on my knees, I say, “Sixteen.”

She kicks me again, this time letting her foot linger against my nuts rather than withdrawing immediately. “She is always having me do her work.”

“Seventeen”. The kick that follows was no doubt powered by her frustration with her job, because it sent me sprawling face down. “Eighteen. Wha...what does she do all day?” I stammer out as I regain myself.

Kick, it hurts, but I only bow a little as she says, “I don’t know. Talks to people, walks around?”

“Nineteen. Does… does she know how”. Kick, my mind wants to be elsewhere, the pain in my genitals is so great, but part of my training is remaining present. “How much you do for her? Twenty”.

Kick, a solid blow that causes me to have another little bout of retching as the pain overcomes me. “.... with her.”

I missed most of her answer, preoccupied with my testicles, but I struggle to put together a response. “Twenty-one, I’m sure other people see… it”. Interrupted mid-sentence by a kick, I force out the last word before I collapse.

“Yeah, I know.” she says thoughtfully as I writhe about in pain for a second before returning to my knees.

“Twenty-two” Kick, I’m a bit dizzy, but I barely move. “Twenty-Three”, I say weekly. Our conversation briefly at a lull, the next kick comes immediately, sending me to the ground.

As I’m mustering myself, she says, “You barely complained last night, I’m proud of you”

“Twenty-Four, I try to always give you your special time with the balls”.

She smiles, and then kicks my testicles again. “I know, you are sometimes just so sweet.”

“Twenty-Five, You are the sweet… one” Sentence interrupted again, as her foot collides with my sensitive, and at this point badly punished balls.

“I know I am,” she says as she waits for her next opportunity to kick my hanging orbs.

“Twenty-Six”. An extra painful kick, either by design or accident. Either way I see stars, and can’t respond for a second.

Finally, with tears forming in my eyes, I hear her finish a sentence that I missed most of, “... you”.

“Twenty-Seven….” Knowing that I’m expected to say something I awkwardly rush out “I love you.”

Kick, a savage one with acknowledgement of my love. “Oh? “ a bit of confusion in her voice confirming that I hadn’t responded quite right. “I love you too.” she finishes.

“Twenty-eight, I ju...just think I should say it more often”. My scramble brain is struggling to cover so that I don’t upset her, and trigger penalty kicks.

Kick. It sends me retching to the floor, probably a sign that she is onto my game. But she says, “OK then. Tell me you love me after each kick. We’ve only got 6 left.”

Regaining my knees with my voice unsteady, I say: “I love you, Twenty-nine”. The earth shattering kick that follows confirms that she is onto me. With our household rule that “I love you” is followed by genital pain, she is using this as an excuse to punish me for not being fully present as she trains my balls to take a kicking. I’m not sure how long this line of thinking took, because my brain felt like mush, and it was hard to focus on anything but my throbbing nut meat. But it must have taken a bit, because my wife has become a testy.

“Get back up, or we will have to repeat that one.”

Shakily I rise to my knees, and croak out. “I love you. Thirty”. Another savage kick sends me back to a fetal position, but I try to remaster myself quickly, and manage to struggle into a mockery of my normal position, now with my butt resting on my heels, but my legs are dutifully spread allowing my swollen and bruised testicles to rest almost completely on the floor. “I… “ feeling out of breath, words are difficult, “I Love you.” gulp. “Thirty-one”.

Altering her approach to maximize the force into my balls at their new lower position, She includes follow through as she steps past me while imbedding her foot into my exposed organs.

It was a solid hit, but I’m losing my grip on the present, and so muscle memory keeps me rock solid, and I say. “Thirty-two”.

“What? No ‘I love you’ this time?” Have I done something wrong?” she playfully mocks me, before repeating her previous approach and delivery.

The flow broken a bit, I regain some of my awareness a bit, and especially the awareness of the most recent attack on my manhood. I’ve capsized, and am struggling not to cradle my balls defensively. I mutter between heavy breaths. “I’m sorry… You didn’t..do anything wrong.. You are perfect…. I love you, I love you… I love you.”

“I know I’m perfect, now get back into position, I’ve got 2 more perfect kicks for tonight.”

I lever myself upright. I’ve barely got any energy. I’m sweating, and shaking. My testicles feel like boulders…. Boulders resting on my genitals that hurt every time I shift position. Finally In position, I stammer out. “I love yo...you. Thirty-four.”

“Wait, that was 4 ‘I love you’s’, and the last time it was none. Do we need to add some penalty kicks until you can’t get it figured out?”

“No ma'am.” I say. “I’ll get it right”.

“You’d better.” she warns. “If you can’t say ‘I love you’, and count within 7 seconds of this last kick, we are going to have to add some penalty kicks.”

“Ok…” While the word is still in my mouth a savage kick sends me flying. My body doesn’t leave the ground, but my mind briefly transcends my body, leaving it crumpled into a heap. Fighting to return, my testicles a mass of pain, I roll over, grabbing my wife’s ankle, and say with as much stability, and commitment as I can muster, “I love you. Thirty-five.”

I’m breathing heavily, just trying to catch my breath. Meanwhile, when I manage to look up at my wife, she has her hand down her pants, and is considering me with a predator’s gaze.

Eventually, she says, “Well you did it fast enough, but your position was for shit. So we’ve got to do 5 more penalty kicks to help you learn.”

“Oh, no please. Please! They can’t take any more. They hurt too much.”

“I’ll make a compromise with you. If you can give me a better orgasm than last night, then I’ll forgive the 5 penalty kicks. But if I don’t cum as hard as last night, it’s going to be hits with the mallet instead of my gentle and loving kicks. Deal?”

I’m fully terrified. That’s what she wants. She likes the fear. It's why she is no doubt soaking wet right now. But that isn’t really a comfort to me. I know if I disappoint the hammer awaits.

I slide down, rolling to a position face up on the floor as I try to gather my energy.

With great eagerness, my wife stips out of her clothes, and then noticing my position, she says “Uh, ah”, and instead of straddling my face, she pulls out a dining room chair, and slides to the end of it. I have to kneel again to reach her soaking wet pussy with my mouth. My head is still spinning, and I briefly think I’ll topple over, then I secure my position and set to work.

I can tell she is enjoying it, when she starts undulating a bit. Eventually, she throws her head back, and rides out an orgasm.

Still gripped by fear, I try not to interrupt her afterglow. But eventually, I have to know, and I blurt out. “Was it better than last night?”.

“Eh, I’ll let you go on that one, with just one extra hammer blow. 1 to prove you are a real man worthy of me, and 1 to prove that you’ve learned your lesson from training tonight”.

My face pales, I start to form a pitiful tirade, and beg for mercy, when she continues, “But we can do those after dinner. Why don’t you get started on dinner while I take a quick shower.”

She strides off towards her bathroom, before something occurs to her, and she tacks back. “One more thing, do you need help putting this on?” she holds up the strap attached to a chain that leads to a 25 pound millstone that I agreed to wear for a week after I tried to protect my balls after a particularly painful cane stroke during our testicle caning on Monday.

“No, I can manage.” I confirm.

“Oh, I know you can, because you are such a good husband.”

“You're a better wife”. I say with genuine feeling. I love this woman.

Coda: I enjoy stories of this nature including themes of ballbusting or other extreme S&M activities with consent, power exchange, games, exercises, training, and loving relationships. My all time favorite story is “Busting Bobby’s Balls”

Chapter 12: Thursday: After Dinner Fun (Hammering)

I painfully cooked dinner. Pulling a 25 pound millstone behind me, constantly pulling on my beaten and battered testicles. When my wife returned from her shower, provocatively clad in a loose t-shirt and panties, she took over cooking, and tasked me with setting the table.

This gave my throbbing testicles more opportunities to suffer. With several trips from the kitchen to the dining room resulting in painful pulling sensation as the millstone follows stubbornly. Twice as I rounded the island, the millstone caught on the base of it, and pulled me up short. My reaction as my testicles abruptly stopped moving, but my body struggled to continue provoked my wife to burst into a fit of sexy giggling.

After each such instance, I diligently made 3 attempts, without changing angle or direction to free the millstone by jerking at it with my bound testicles. After completing my 3 jerks, and heard my wife’s angelic laughter, I was able to adjust my angle, and resume my duties.

Once the table was set, and the food cooked. My wife took care to locate the mallet, and place it threateningly in the center of the table like an ornate centerpiece. Between the recently suffered pain, the constant throbbing of my swollen man orbs, and the impending doom of knowing that for desert I was getting 2 hits with the 1 pound rubber mallet, it was hard for me to rally an appetite, so I ate sparingly. My wife was in excellent humor. All smiles, and jokes. She relished my battle against my own fear, and mentioned several times how well she felt like I was progressing in training, and how proud she was of what was going to happen to “the balls” that evening. Once, she reached forward and caressed the handle of the mallet, successfully provoking me to distraction in the middle of a story about work.

When dinner was over, she cleared the plates while I gingerly detached the millstone, and try to psych myself up to handle the upcoming pain. After putting away the plates, she skipped back to the table causing her breasts to jiggle about in her shirt, and driving me to distraction.

“OK,” She Says. “Let’s get this over with so we can get onto tonight’s main event. Put the balls onto the table.”

“Main event?” I ask, not expecting an answer as I grip my scrotum in the middle with one hand, ******* my sensitive nuts to the bottom of their bag, and then setting the tight cluster of badly hurting man parts on the table to await the hammer my wife was gleefully holding.

She ignores me, and continues, “Now don’t you dare vomit, or we’ll have to do the hammer every night until I’m sure you’ve learned.”

She takes a position, sizing up her target. My legs shake with fear and anticipation.

“This one…” She says, “Is to prove to me that you’ve learned your lesson”. With the last word, the mallet comes down sandwiching my delicate balls between it’s powerful momentum, and the unyielding wood of the table below them.

Two steps back, the world dims a bit, then I’m on my knees, then on my side. I’m pitifully grasping my again mangled nuts. I can’t find air, but still I’m moaning. Wining. Pitifully pleading for relief from the pain.

My wife watches my reaction with a hand against the front of her panties. I’m not sure how long she lets me recover, but eventually, she determines that It’s been long enough. “What do you say when I hurt the balls really good like that?”

“Tha...Thank You” I stammer out.

“OK then. One more. This time to prove to me that you man enough to be worthy of me.” She glares intimidatingly. “Stop mewling like a child, get up and let's give the balls what is coming to them.”

I take 2 more deep breaths, and then lever myself to my feet. I’m not fully recovered, but I want so badly to prove that I’m worthy of my loving wife, and to do so, I’m going to let her hit my badly hurting symbols of manhood with a hammer.

Once I’ve gained my feet, I collect my slightly mushy nut meat at the end of my sac, and secure the tender balls in place by gripping my scrotum above them with my right hand. Then I freeze. A crisis of confidence. I’m so terrified. I look down at my tight ball bag, and consider the pain coming from my swollen, and misshapen nuts. I look at my wife. Her left hand is gripping the front of her panties, and her right hand is swinging the hammer about casually.

Catching my gaze, she gestures with the hammer towards the table.

Two more deep breaths, and then I struggle to step forward to the table. I doubt my ability. I battle my fear. Finally, conquering my terror, I set my vulnerable testicles on the table, and wait for the hammer to fall.

Testing my resolve, my wife says cheerfully, “Here it comes”. My body urges me to pull back. To shield my testicles. Anything to protect my reproductive organs from the oncoming pain. My composure breaks, but too late. With my wife’s last word, the hammer descends.

It solidly connects to both nuts, and then tries to meet the table on the other side. The testicles squirm and flatten, and eventually unable to move or change shape any more form a thin wall of compressed male organs, frustrating the hammer in it’s attempt to make contact with the table.

All this happens while I’m watching. I see the ball meat spread out to either side of the hammer head. I see the changing color of the scrotum as powerful ****** cause it to stretch and bulge. I don’t feel it at first.

And then I do, and the feeling consumes me. “Uuuuggggghhhhh”, all of the air whooses from my lungs with an inhuman wail. I’m light headed, but still upright, and I again take two steps back, and then I collapse to my knees.

I stay on my knees, can’t breathe, can’t think. Just kneel there unmoving. Not even feeling anything for a second. My wooziness starts to overcome me, and I remember that my brain needs oxygen, so I struggle to inhale. With my stasis broken, I lean forward onto a chair, and struggle to breath. Hyperventilating, the pain in my testicles returns bringing nausea with it. I don’t know why, but I whine, “They hurt so bad”.

My wife seated at the edge of a chair with her hand now down her panties grins. “What do you say?”.

“Thank….Thank You.” I force out, and then slide further down to the floor, curling partially into a fetal position.

“Don’t spend all night loafing around. We’ve still got plans for the balls tonight. I’ll be waiting for them in the living room… Naked, when you are ready to join me.”

I respond with a whine that is half pleading, and half desiring.

She leaves, taking off her shirt as she goes, and as soon as my head clears enough, I start crawling to follow.

Chapter 13: Thursday: Main Event

I’m on my hands and knees, unable to stand yet after the extensive recent abuse of my testicles. My wife has said, that there is still more in store for them tonight, and I don’t know how they could possibly take more, but she also said she would be waiting naked in the other room, and so I pitifully struggle to crawl towards even more testicle torture.

As I reach the threshold, I lever myself up via the door frame, and struggle to stand. As they move about, my nut-meat returns a bit of nasua, but I make it into standing position, and take 2 unsteady steps into the living room.

My wife waits, naked as promised on the couch. I study her breasts, looking closely at the bumps that surround her nipple. My penis makes an effort to rise which causes more dull pain in my punished ball sac.

“Bring the Balls over here!” She motions with her index finger curling.

I move towards her, hypnotized by her pretty body. As I get close, she moves her arm into my line of sight, obscuring her breast, and as my focus is disrupted, I see the cattle prod in her hand, and involuntarily recoil, and take a sudden step back, causing my heavily swollen balls to sway painfully.

“Oh come on, don’t be a baby.”, she says. “You know you earned this. Time for the balls to pay up.”

Earned it? My mind, not fully sharp after tonight's ordeals, couldn’t figure it out. It didn’t really matter. If she wanted to shock my balls with a cattle prod, she was going to do it, whether I had earned it or not, but still…

“Hurry up, you were the one who asked for this. Don’t drag it out.”

Asked for it? Then I remembered! On monday, after a particularly painful cane stroke I had tried to protect my genitals from her. To make amends, I had agreed, at her urging, to wear a mill stone for a week, and to shock the balls 10 times with the cattle prod. I’ve never done that before! I’ve had my balls shocked many times, but I’ve never been the one to initiate the experience. But now, she is waiting for me, and so I struggle forward.

As I get close she holds out the prod with the prongs at crotch level, and presses and holds the button. “What do you have to say?” She taunts me.

“I’m sorry for defending the balls” I say, and try to overcome my fear, and every animal instinct in my body. It’s a mixed success, I jerk forward awkwardly, and instead of the cattle prod connecting with my balls, it tags my leg. The pain is so much that I flail back and collapse to the floor. As I fall, my punished testicles shift awkwardly, and briefly overtake the shock as the most painful experience.

“.... I’m almost ashamed to be your wife.” I missed the first part of that because of my reaction. “If you miss the balls again, we are going to have to go get the mallet again, aren’t we?”

I force myself to my knees. “I’m ssss..Sorry. It won’t happen again.” I was going to have to make sure of it. In the state my balls were in, another hit from the mallet might be too much.

“Ok then, give the balls a shock.” She presents the prod to me, prongs again at testicle level.

I take 2 deep breaths, and then repeat. “I’m sorry for defending the balls”, as I step forward in a more controlled fashion. I have a moment of crisis as my sensitive man orbs near the terrible prongs, but master it just long enough to make contact.

As soon as the crack hits them, I reel back until I collide with the wall, and then slump to the ground. The cattle prod feels like a stab to the balls mixed with the worst rubber band snap you’ve ever felt. It is so painful. Painful and scary.

My wife is enjoying herself again, tugging playfully on one of her nipples. “Alright, time for number two” she says, and holds up the prod again.

I struggle to my feet. And take 2 steps, and then freeze. I can’t do it. It’s too scary. “Ple.. Please.”

“Come on,” she says. “Are you a man or a little boy? Don’t make me wait all night, give the balls what is coming to them.”

Stung by the playful insult, but frozen in terror, I’m not able to comply. I start babbling, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, then collapse to my knees. The air whooses out of my lungs as throbbing balls flop about painfully. Then I start to sob, and keep mumbling apologies.

My wife sets down the cattle prod, and gets to her feet. She closes the distance, and her gleaming naked form towers over me. She puts a hand on my head, and stands above me silently for a few minutes. Then she leans forward, hands on my shoulder.

She leans in, and says in a whisper. “It’s OK honey. It’s OK, I’ll give you mercy if you ask. Just ask me for mercy.”

I look up in time to see her dangling boobs hanging downward, and am mesmerized as she straightens up, with her boobs now proudly displayed on her chest, nipples pointing upward away from me.

“Just ask.” She repeats from far above me.

I lean in to plant a kiss on her sexy labia, then say “Mercy, please give me mercy.”

“Mercy granted!” she says.

I keep kissing her vagina with love, and thankfulness. She pets my head lovinging.

After a few seconds, she adds. “But we can’t forget about the rules. What are the rules about mercy?”

“Ba….balls don’t deserve mercy.”

“Balls don’t deserve mercy! That’s right!” she praises, as if I’m a star pupil that has finally grasped something for the first time.

My balls are in so much agony. They’ve been hammered, and kicked, and hammered again, then a shock from a cattle prod left a little burn mark that blends in with the bruising. They hurt. More than hurt. They were no longer human gonads, but swollen bags of pain. And now my loving wife wanted to hurt them more.

Finished with my assessment, I again gaze up at my beautiful spouse. Her naked body looming above me, and an eager smile plastered across her face.

Finally, I break my silence. “Rules are Rules”

“Yes!” she exclaims, “Rules are rules! Let’s see; what can we do to finish the exercise for the balls?” She looks upward contemplatively as I oogle her breasts.

“I know!” she says excitedly. “How about you go sit backwards in one of the dining chairs, and dangle the balls out between the slats. I’ll go get some rope!”

She zooms off with a joyful bounce in her step. I gingerly rise off the ground. I start to reach down to cradle my balls as I walk and then think better of it. ‘Balls don’t deserve mercy’ is one of the key tenets of our household, and it feels disrespectful to reduce the pain of walking.

Still, my walk is slow and awkward. As much a stumble as a walk. I move a chair away from the table, and straddle it gingerly. The straight backed chairs are uncomfortable to sit in, at the best of times, but one advantage of the design is that once I’m seated backwards I can pass my balls between two upright slats. I do so, having to move the balls one at a time through the gap because of the significant swelling.

My wife reappears, still naked, holding several lengths of rope. I enjoy the bounce of her breasts as she moves, practically skipping with excitement. First she ties up one end of a rope to the chair, then loops it several times around my balls. Once looped, she shakes the loop violently.

“How are they feeling, honey?” She asks.

My head is thrown back in agony, and it takes me several beats to get breath back into my lungs to respond. “Th-..they hurt.”

“I’m sure they do!” she says, “Just look at them!”

I do, and the bloated ball-sac is now tightly tied. The skin taut from tension, it shows clearly all of the bruises, and discolorations not just from tonight, but likely for several weeks back. My balls aren’t usually allowed to recover, but right now they are a truly miserable sight.

“Looking good, don’t they?” My wife asks as she loops the rope several times around the other side of the chair, then up to a spot at chest level where she loops around again, this time pulling tight to pull up all the slack. Then she motions for me to raise my arms, and I do so as she loops the rope twice around my torso, and the chair, before finally knotting it off.

She then takes a 2nd rope, and builds a quick noose which goes around my balls, then up along the inside of the chair before going out through a decorative hole.

“Hands!” she says, and I offer up my wrists, which she loops around several times, then cinches in the middle with a knot.

Sizing it up, she tries to lift my hands which causes my balls to rise painfully, and I squeak.

Proud of her effort she says, “Excellent. Oh, and feel free to struggle as much as you want!”.

Then she heads off back to the living room, and I watch her attractive hips sway as she moves. When she returns, I start to look at her boobs, and instead my eyes are drawn to the cattle prod held proudly in her hands.

Once back, she pulls a 2nd chair away from the table, and takes a spot on the edge, with her legs spread. Her naked pussy is splayed out, but I can’t pull my eyes away from the cattle prod.

“OK, here is what is going to happen.” she dutifully explains. “I’m going to give those balls the other 9 shocks they earned, and then I’m going to let you watch me masturbate. Sounds good?”

I stare silently at the cattle prod.

“Sounds good to me.” she says when I don’t respond. “Ready for number 2?” Pause “Here it comes!”, and she slowly moves the cattle prod towards my trapped testicles.

I struggle to no avail, just jostling my bound balls which widens her grin even more. Finally the prods come to touch my balls, and I lose all sense of composure.

“What’cha doing?” she asks. “I haven’t even pushed the button yet. Sit still”

I calm my struggles, and wait. And Wait. And wait. Then lightning courses through my testies.

“There you are.” she says, as if she had presented me with a gift. Through my thrashing, I saw her fondling her pussy.

Then she reaches in, and shocks my balls again. The sound of the zap arrives before the pain of it, and I’m lost from reality struggling unsuccessfully to protect my genitals.

“Zap” another shock, and I squirm away a fraction of an inch before the prod finds them again, and again my balls electrocute. She is holding the button down now, trying to keep the prongs against me as she rapidly strokes her clit.

Zap, zap, zap, I’m lost to the world. More animal than man. Shock after shock, uncountable, and unendurable.

Then a scream that isn’t mine, and the cattle prod finally falls away. My wife is arched back in orgasmic bliss, quivering, while I’m still uncontrollably struggling with my bonds reeling from the abuse to my manhood.

After a few seconds we both slouch exhausted. I recover in time to bask in the glow of my wife’s sweaty naked flesh, still quivering from ecstatic aftershocks.

“My god you are sexy tonight.” She says, as she stands up, and then leans in to rub her breasts across my hands, and then my face.

Finally, words return to me. “I love you” I say weakly.

She steps back one step smiling. Then brings the cattle prod one final time against my nuts, as she says. “I love you too.”