A Week in the life chapter 11 (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.

Here are the previous chapters.

* [Chapter 1 and 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/BallBusting/comments/cwek6v/a_week_in_the_life_chapter_1_and_2_story/) (Kicking and electrical play)
* [Chapter 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/BallBusting/comments/cxs5tc/a_week_in_the_life_chapter_3_story/) (Kicking and licking)
* [Chapter 4 and 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/BallBusting/comments/czuziy/a_week_in_the_life_chapter_4_and_5_story/) (Kicking and crushing in a vice)
* [Chapter 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/BallBusting/comments/d3yrq6/a_week_in_the_life_chapter_6_story/) (Hammering and sex)
* [Chapter 7](https://www.reddit.com/r/BallBusting/comments/do0w3p/a_week_in_the_life_chapter_7_story/) (Execution style weight play and licking)
* [Chapter 8](https://www.reddit.com/r/BallBusting/comments/epvzsf/a_week_in_the_life_chapter_8_story/) (Caning in stocks)
* [Chapter 9](https://www.reddit.com/r/BallBusting/comments/fevozj/a_week_in_the_life_chapter_9_story/) (Kicking)
* [Chapter 10](https://www.reddit.com/r/BallBusting/comments/gj9e9a/a_week_in_the_life_chapter_10_story/) (Crushing)

**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.

**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](https://www.bdsmlibrary.com/stories/story.php?storyid=9143)”

If anyone can recommend to me a good story, or suggest an idea for a future chapter, I'd appreciate it.