The noise in the windowless dance studio fell to a hush. The seven women in the Self Defense class looked at their teacher. She smiled.
“So, girls, we have a special treat this week. I know you’re all gotten tired of beating up mannequins, so Cynthia, here, has convinced her son, William, to let us use his naked balls for target practice today. All day long. So that you get a realistic impression of what it’s like to defend yourself against a man.”
All the women cheered and smiled. Their first real, live pair of nuts to practice on. Normally live men were padded up so that they wouldn’t suffer any damage, but this would be different. More authentic.
“So, I want you all to treat him as you would the mannequin. No holds barred, don’t hold back.” Pat turned to Cynthia. “Why don’t you bring him in, dear.” The woman nodded and left the building. She returned with her son in tow. He had brown hair with golden highlights, was about 5’11” and very handsome. He was fully dressed, in jeans and a flannel shirt, and his eyes were covered with a blindfold
“Now girls here are the rules. You are not to converse with Tray here directly and you are not to take off his blindfold. It’s there to prevent him from flinching when you target his balls for damage. It also means he can’t hold any personal grudges if and when you actually destroy his balls. You’ve agreed, Tray, that the destruction of one or both of your testicles is acceptable?”
He smiled and said in a sweet southern voice, “Of course, mamm. I want all these good ladies to feel like they can have their way with my cahones. They can do whatever they want. I don’t mind if they go bust.” Cynthia touched her son’s shoulder with affection.
“Oh, Tray. You’re so brave.”
“It’s nothing, mamma. I’d do anything for you.”
All the women sighed at that. It was so sweet and respectful him.
Pat took charge. “Now young man, let’s see what we have to work with today. Strip!”
“Yes mamm.” Tray smiled and stripped off his shirt. He was smooth, had big pecks, pert nipples and a six-pack. His muscle mass was just right – not too bulky and not too lean. He skin had the glow of a healthy tan.
Next came off his shoes (which Cynthia helped with. It was hard to untie laces without seeing what you’re doing). Then his pants. Underneath them he was wearing white Calvin Klein briefs and his package was ample, to say the least. He didn’t seem abashed though, at undressing before a bunch of strangers. He pulled his briefs down and out plopped his manhood. Heavy, Luscious. Relaxed. His white socks he kept on. As he put it, “The floor is cold, mamm, and I want my balls to make a good target.”
With the blindfold on, the seventeen year old was immune to anticipating attacks and as an added insurance, Pat tied his hands behind his back with a white Karate belt. As almost a natural instinct, the boy spread his legs, squared his shoulders and set his face to “neutral”, so that the women could get on to busting his balls.
“Now,” lectured Pat, “Today’s goal is to see how much abuse a man’s nuts can take until they crumble. It’s important to know exactly how much force it takes to the groin to bring a real male to his knees and how much abuse their eggs can take before cracking. First up, I want some solid hits to his balls. Line up!. That’s it. Now make sure you practice your straight punches. Kneel and drive your fist straight into his groin. See his balls? They’re just dangling there, just hanging there. No protection what-so-ever. It’s a great time to take out your aggressions on a man’s livelyhood.”
The women got into a queue and the first lady, a young brunette stepped forward. In one fluid motion she sank to one knee and punched the young man straight in the nuts, first with her right fist and then with her left in a one-two sequence. The pendulous organs flopped around and Tray “oofed” slightly.
“Excellent! Next up.”
All seven women took shots at his balls, the last in line being Tray’s mom. Despite what one would expect, her hits were the hardest. She really racked her son, and all the women took note. She seemed to be encouraging brutality.
“Next we’ll try Karate chops. Stand with your back to Tray and chop his nuts from behind. First use your right then your left hand as you never know which one you’ll have free to immobilize an attacker with. Keep chopping until you actually hit either one or the other dead on. Splitting the sack will cause very little damage and little reaction. We want to incapacitate the bastard!”
First up was a beautiful 30 year old blond, who stood with her back to Tray. She mentally target his fat left nut and then chopped her left hand into it. The boy shuddered, so she knew her aim was good. She slammed her hand into it again. Then she switched to her right hand and his right ball. She felt the dense bubble as she compressed it into his pelvis. Using a real man was so thrilling!
All the women had their turn on him. Then it was time for the squeezing! “Now remember to really grip his gonads firmly and twist and yank on them if you can. We want to bring that mugger to his knees.”
The woman all had their chance to grope his balls and mutilate them. At one point, Pat shouted to the red-head of the bunch, “You’ve got nails. Use them! Dig them in and see if you can’t puncture his balls. Remember, we’re going to destroy them anyways, so show no mercy.” The buxom red-head did as instructed and tried to pierce his bollocks, and although she didn’t break skin (her nails weren’t long enough), she did manage to leave deep welts. By this time Tray was moaning slightly. His nuts feel bruised and abused, but he kept those muscular thighs spread for them.
“OK. Good. Now, we’re going to do free form, and I want each of you to keep up the pace until you bring Tray here to his knees. Everyone watch, now. OK. Go!”
A fifteen year old curly-haired girl had the first go at him. “HAH!” she yelled as she punched his nuts, then she pulled and yanked his sack towards his knees, then she slapped them repeatedly. This brought the boy to his knees and he gave a little cry.
“Good. Up on your feet again, boy.” Pat hauled him up. “Next!”
The women went at him for an hour, each trying to bring him to his knees. Naturally Cynthia was particularly brutal on her son. There was never any doubt in the South that mother’s owned their sons. Completely. She, along with the other women, were getting hot and turned on by the activity, and they all watched each other, eager to have another go on him. Tray was at the groaning stage, where it got harder and harder to get back up. His nuts were swelling and he was sweating – a thin sexy sheen which coated and accentuated his musculature. He was panting heavily by the time Pat called for a break.
“OK. Have some water, stretch, eat. In our second hour, we’ll work on our knees and kicks.”
All the women were excited and huddled together in the back of the room, sipping glacier water and eating protein bars. Tray meanwhile was on the floor, curled into a ball, trying to control the unending ache in his balls and stomach. His hands were still cuffed together.
“Times up. Back to work. Now kicking isn’t’ something you’ll always have to do on random attackers, as you’ll probably be too close, but burying your foot into a man’s nuts can have endless application in real life. If you’re husband gets abusive. If your sons get out of control. Any man is potential target. Well start with knees. Get right close to Tray and jam your kneecap hard between his legs. Imagine your trying to squish his fat testes. I don’t want you to stop kneeing him until you get both balls, head on.”
Despite the pain, Tray was looking forward to this part. One reason he’d agreed to this situation was he’d always fantasized about getting kneed in the groin, and particularly by his mother, so when his mother was first, and he could smell her familiar perfume, he smiled and spread his legs even wider. WHAM, her knee connected with his balls. Right up into them. They oozed against her hard knee-cap. She savored the sharp intake of breath from her son. That had to hurt. WHAM WHAM WHAM. Cynthia was merciless with her son’s nuts.
Then the rest of the group had their knees between his legs. From the front, from the back. His fat swollen gonads were a wonderful dangling target for them all, and they did their best to incapacitate this would-be attacker. Each enjoyed being so close to a strapping young man, his hard body at their mercy. Thirty minutes of this had him on his knees whimpering like a young dog who’d just been snipped.
“Everyone’s doing fantastic! Simply excellent. OK. The home stretch. In this final phase we’ll practice our kicking. Now, in a normal man a single kick probably wouldn’t ruin him, and therefore is a perfectly legitimate maneuver to use. But we’re here to understand the extremes’ of male behavior, and nothing ruins a man’s day like mangling his manhood. So you’ll take turns in a rotating line to kick this boy’s balls until they give completely. The first person to pop a ball gets this box of Nell Davis’s pecan pralines, the one who completes his emasculation gets this bottle of Biolage’s Volumatherapie shampoo. Ready? Tray, how are you holding up?”
He sounded a bit limp, but was a trooper. “Just fine, mamm,” he mumbled. ”I can’t wait to feel what your ladies have in store for me.” The women clapped at his heroism.
“To make sure he’s supported, I’m going to tie his hands to the ceiling with this pully, and tie his legs to those two rings. We’ll have uninterrupted access to his groin. First though, we’ll have to deal with this.” Pat stroked his half-swollen member until it revived and became hard. It was a healthy eight inches and she taped it to his belly with some scotch tape. No point in having it get in the way. Up went his arms, out when his legs, and soon he dangled in front of them, like some modern day Christ – martyr to the hungry feet of women. His testicles were swollen to twice their normal size and had contracted to either side of his prick, like huge shiny, red lemons. The women lined up. It was go time.
The tall raven-haired girl took first crack at his eggs. She launched a volley of kicks to his nads, burying her shin into them They were so spongy and rubbery, ideal for kicking. Tray was already moaning loudly. After about six or seven brutal kicks, the next woman came up. She aimed her feet and delivered eight or nine toe punts to his nuts. She could feel the orbular nature of them, their springy flesh, and as she was young enough to be a virgin, these were the first testicles she’d ever had access to. It was amazing.
When it was his mother’s turn, she got close to him first and whispered into his ear softly. “I’m going to try and be the one who bursts your first ball. Tell me how much you want me to nut you, son.” She fingered one swollen agate and squeezed it.
“I want you to burst a nut mamma. I’ve always wanted it,” he said in a whimpering voice.
“You’ve always been such a good son.” Cynthia stepped back and let out a kai yell, slamming her foot full force into his left nut. The thing bulged and squished. Again she kicked it and then again. On the fifth kick Tray wailed. “I think it’s gonna go, mamma,” he blubbered.
Cynthia appreciated the encouragement. “Oh, you’re so good to me, son.” Wham. Wham . . . SQUISH. The testicle had ruptured and began to leak its contents.
“Mamma! My ball! My ball!” All the women clapped. Cynthia continued to kick the broken ball. Why leave it whole, after all? It was useless now, anyways. When she stopped she found herself flushed and out of breath. It was such an exciting moment for her, damaging one of her son’s nuts beyond repair.
“I have to go sit down for moment. You all carry on.” The woman went over to a chair too cool off.
“OK, next up. We have one ball to go. You first,” said Pat pointing to the only blond in the group. She took stock of herself and pinched a nipple. It was so exciting to ruin a guy. She aimed carefully and did her best to take out his remaining testicle. It was difficult. The mush from the other ball got in the way, so really she was getting it too. Over the sound of Tray’s blubbering was the heady sound of her foot solidly “thunking” into his last potato. His big fat swollen potato. And with a final kick the blond burst it with a loud “splat” sound, the organ detonated within its sack. All Tray could do was whisper “my balls, my balls” over and over until with a shudder he passed out.
“OK, good job girls. Next week we’ll practice our incapacitating moves again. That’s all. Drive safe.” Pat handed out the prizes and wrapped up the session while Cynthia attended to her broken son and his broken balls.