A Week in the life chapter 4 and 5 (Story)

**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 and 2 are here: [https://www.reddit.com/r/BallBusting/comments/cwek6v/a\_week\_in\_the\_life\_chapter\_1\_and\_2\_story/](https://www.reddit.com/r/BallBusting/comments/cwek6v/a_week_in_the_life_chapter_1_and_2_story/)

Chapter 3 is here: [https://www.reddit.com/r/BallBusting/comments/cxs5tc/a\_week\_in\_the\_life\_chapter\_3\_story/](https://www.reddit.com/r/BallBusting/comments/cxs5tc/a_week_in_the_life_chapter_3_story/)



**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.

​

**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” which can be found here: [https://www.bdsmlibrary.com/stories/story.php?storyid=9143](https://www.bdsmlibrary.com/stories/story.php?storyid=9143)

I would appreciate anyone willing to recommend to me stories of this nature.