Addicted to Busting - Part 1

*The prologue is available here:*
*https://www.reddit.com/r/BallbustingStories/comments/17p8udq/addicted\_to\_busting\_prologue\_credits\_to\_psychofood/*

*I chose to keep each part shorter, in order to provide new content faster, but feel free to give feedback if you rather have longer chapters but, say, every week or so.*


”To Catch a Ballbuster” the low-pitched voice proclaimed ”Is brought to you by ”Tychus’s Freedom -Pills. Your balls, your choice”.
That’s a good reminder, Ed thought to himself and fished a small, black box out of his shirt pocket. Tychus’s was quite a bit more expensive than the generic stuff in orange cylinders from drug stores, but Ed was convinced that the added musk for added manliness had some extra benefits to it.
His beer was only half-empty, and still at a decent temperature as he poured it down his throat. The TV announced yet another victum of a boy being collected by pherries. He had a hard time not thinking about furries each time he heard the phrase, and chuckled loudly. That word had caught on quickly, though, and was the common slang for those addicted to ball pheromones. He chugged the rest of his beer, and made a move as to reach for his coat.
”You do know” a frail voice reminded him, ”that these things take half an hour before they are effective”. The bartender had a nervous demeanour.
”Yeah, so what?” The contrast between their levels of neuroticism was tangiable.
“At least call your wife, so she can pick you up, heh?”
“Dammit it!” He slammed his fist on the counter.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of them people who took the classes, too?” He sneered at the smaller man. Their eyes meet for a few seconds, but the barman faultered first. He nods at the black box.
“Y-you take those, though?” He was answered by a crooked smile.
“These are so that the missus doesn’t get any ideas”. He puts it back in his pocket and leaves a note for the bar keep. Just as Ed is about to leave, he turns to the worrier.
“Hey, this idea with gents-only pubs isn’t that bad. Not that I’m afraid,but - it has this nice, old timey feel to it.”
Outside, the air was dense with mist, as if the rain drops had split into miniscule versions of themselves, stationarily occupying the ether. He started making his way home through the alleys. Men’s only-pub were seldom in the best of areas, since most men still prefered the protective company of their wives. Ed popped the collar of his coat, to shield himself somewhat against the rain.
“It’s not your neck that you should worry about guarding, darling”
Before he had managed to face the voice, in his somewhat intoxicated state, the pointed toe of a boot had made contact with his groin. All air left his lungs and he fell to his knees. Before he had had the chance to stabilise, two pairs of arms gripped his and and a third put a black hood over his head. He could hear aroused panting through his pain. What was more troubling, though, was the distinct sound – one that he knew all to well – of a butterfly knife unfolding. He started struggling, but another two people had grabbed his legs. Another swift kick, with agonising accuracy, hit his right ball dead centre; he could nothing but ragdoll and let his attackers hold him as started weeping for the first time in his adult life.
He barely registred how one of the women the holding his legs started climaxing and wet herself through her underwear and onto his trousers.
“God, it feels so good to hurt his balls” the voice of the first attacker moaned. “Remember, though, girls, we are here for collecting. “
This was a word which Ed knew all too well, and it provided him a second wind. He managed to muster enough adrenaline to fight through the pain, shouting “Fucking pherries, let me go”. He almost got his right arm free, but another two kicks – simultanously hitting each testicle - made him go limp again. All geist left his body.
“Don’t worry, darling. Once we get what we came for, you shall never have to see us again. For, well, obvious reasons."

"No balls, no choice" One of the others imitated an exaggurated bass.
Someone grabbed hold of his package, reaching for her prize.
“Careful, now, dear” their leader admonished her. “We have no use for a cock”.
With a quick flick of the blade, his trousers were ripped open. With a second one, as he realised he would be only half a man for the rest of his life, his ball bag was slit open and had its contents removed. His world went black and the women who had held him started furiously and uninhibitedly pleasuring themselves, adding to the dampness of the night.





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