About ten months ago, I began the slow process of beating my ball sack flat. I started slow, as I am very patient. Initially, I used the back of a spoon, which I thought balanced the weight/size issue well. Twice daily, I smacked my balls between 40-60 times with the spoon. Hard, but certainly not full-strength. I will admit, those first few weeks hurt. Bad. The continuous pounding process caused me great anguish, focused in my lower abdomen. I had tremendous gas pains for hours as a result. After two days, I began urinating blood. I had, however, anticipated this, and did not panic. After four weeks of increasingly more painful urination, I was surprised by a sudden inability to pee. It lasted three days, but despite my lack of urine I continued my nut smacking. By this point I had progressed to a small, decorative brick from my fireplace.
Finally, when I was beginning to lose hope of ever urinating again, I felt a powerful urge to piss. I went to the bathroom, and by God I went into the stall. Slowly, a thick, viscous substance began to ooze out of my penis head. A few weeks before, I had purchased a leather eyeglass case, and I bit down on this, as the pain was excruciating. The substance was an opaque pinkish-white, and it maintained a tube-ish form, much as Play-Doh. A few times, the flow stopped, but a gentle pulling on the emerged end reinvigorated the movement.
After three hours of this slow progress, there was a pressure at the base of my penile shaft. I tugged harder at the substance hanging from my cockhole, and I felt a pop. A bulb formed at the base of my penis, and as I yanked, it moved towards the penis hole. In my eagerness, however, I pulled too hard, and tore off the thin tube hanging (at this point) into the toilet bowl water. There was a small spurt of very dark blood, and then I dropped the substance into the shitter. The bubble was still two-thirds of the way back in my penis. I managed to massage the bulge until it, after much consternation, emerged from my dicktip. It looked like that scene from Total Recall, where Arnold is pulling the tracking device from his nose. Only instead of a nose, it was my schlong, and instead of a tracking device, I can only imagine it was the clumped and smelly remains of my testicles.
After that, it became very easy to pound my nutsack. To date, I have moved on to hammers, and have actually gone through three. I keep the worn nubs of the old hammers in the nut-pounding chamber of my pantry, where I go for the necessary solitude of my business. They are my trophies, and serve to remind me of how far I’ve come. My ballsack is now two feet long and one-and-a-half feet wide. I curl it and fasten it with rubber bands, so I do not have to modify my pants. Five days ago, I rigged a series of safety pins and yarn. The system connects from my nipples to the end of my sack, and from my sack to my asshole. Through a complicated ballet of flexing my chest and contracting my sphincter, I can my move sack move up and down quite rapidly and with considerable force.
One day, I will be at work, and wolves will enter the building. I will drop my pants, squat, and perform the necessary muscular dance. My nutsack will slam against the cold, hard tile of my office, like a beaver’s tail. The sound will be as wet gunfire, and will rebound against the building’s walls and through the air conditioning ducts. Everyone at work will cock their heads to one side, and listen to the smacking, and know that predators are coming. They will hide in bathrooms, and under desks, and in supply closets, and countless lives will be saved.
You are welcome, in advance.