“That would be the ultimate,” I said, “So intense. Like a child having a nightmare that he can’t escape.”

“Maybe, deep down, the child doesn’t want to escape. Maybe it’s a fantasy instead of a nightmare. ” Ron said after pondering my statement.

For all appearances Ron and I were polar opposites. I was a tall, heavy, workingman married to my job, hobbies, and right hand. He was a petite, well-spoken mathematics professor at the local community college and he had a teenage son at home and an ex-wife somewhere. The only thing we had in common was that we both frequented the same tavern, and just like Cheers, after a few years everybody knows your name.

My first indication that we had something else in common occurred when he came into the tavern walking stiffly. “You’re walking a little slowly, Ron,” I commented, just being friendly.

“Just a little sore,” he answered, settling on the stool beside mine. We weren’t really drinking buddies and at that time I didn’t know where he lived or even his last name, but he had to sit somewhere and the stool was vacant. “I was showing my kid some wrestling moves last night and the little asshole elbowed me in the nuts. I shouldn’t say little; Scotty’s fourteen and as tall as me.”

“Ouch!” I commented. “Was it accidental or intentional?”

“Accidental, damn it. Had I thought he did it on purpose I would have nailed him back and gave us both a thrill,” he responded with a slight smile. Hmm, I thought. Maybe we aren’t completely different after all.

The next time the ball-busting topic came up was during the Australian Open. I’m not a big tennis fan but I can watch it if there’s nothing else on the tube. One of the guys took a ball right in the nuts. Most of the guys in the tavern groaned in sympathy, but Ron just said, “Ooh, that was a good one!” I felt the same way.

Most kids go through a ball-busting phase in junior high when no guy’s crotch is safe from attack, and blows are delivered without malice and received without rancor. Your balls make you a man and pain inflicted on them only serves to heighten that awareness, and it’s a badge of honor to be doubled over in agony, hands clutched to your belly. Most kids outgrow this foolishness but some keep at it and we are always on the lookout for ingenious ways to bust ourselves.

Ron leaned close and softly said, “How do you do it?”

I could have played dumb and pretended to not hear him. “Potato in a sock,” I answered. He could have asked me to repeat my answer or pretended that he’d heard something else come out of my mouth, but he just smiled and gave me a thumbs-up gesture.

The next Thursday evening Ron commented that self-busting lacked the element of surprise, and that knowing just when the pop would come and how hard it would be took a lot of the enjoyment out of the experience. He then looked at his watch and said, “Scotty’s with his mother tonight. I guess I’ll go catch a movie or something.”

Ron lived in a large, well kept house out of town. The bed was made and had clean sheets, and the whole house looked incredibly clean for a single dad and a teenage boy and I complimented him on his housekeeping. “A gal comes in twice a week,” he explained.

I agreed that naked was better than clothed and we slowly stripped down. I hadn’t been naked around another guy since my Army days, but nothing about Ron was intimidating. He was a small man and had a small dick and small balls in a nearly hairless sack. My balls were much larger and hung twice as low as his. He preferred being busted from behind and to facilitate this he got on all fours and spread his legs, exposing his nuts like those of a farmyard animal. He asked me to start slowly, with light taps and work up to firmer slaps, and finally, hard punches. He had a good tolerance for pain and he took a lot of abuse before asking me to stop.

I preferred being flat on my back, legs spread, and I wanted him to squeeze and pull on my balls with one hand and thump them with the other. I started getting hard the instant I felt a foreign touch, and after only a few light blows I erupted like a long-dormant volcano. It was an incredible experience and although I had only one orgasm I felt as drained afterwards as if I had fucked all night. The next morning my balls were sore and swollen, and for the first time in over five years I called in sick and missed work.

We played together once a month after that, sometimes at his place and sometimes at mine. We explored and expanded each other’s limits until we were almost perfectly in tune, and we could easily bring each other to orgasm without ever touching our cocks. “What would you consider the ultimate domination?” I asked Ron asked one evening.

“Well, for a basically straight guy like me it would have to involve forced sodomy,” he answered. ‘Basically straight’ meant that despite handling each other’s private parts we had never swapped our slop. “Perhaps I’d be tied across the edge of the bed, legs spread, and some guy with a big dick would mess with my balls and finally fuck me in the ass.” Three weeks later I surprised Ron with the gift of a pair of leather-padded manacles that I’d ordered from a catalogue.

Ron’s ass was incredibly hot and tight, but for all I know they all felt that way. I had pummeled his balls unmercifully, even after he had practically screamed out the password that we’d both agreed would bring things to a halt, and then I’d pounded his ass with an energy that I didn’t know I possessed, with only the thin film of lubricant on the rubber to ease my entry. It wasn’t an act of passion, whatever that might be, and he’d cried out in real, non-theatrical agony and bucked and strained against the manacles as I violated him. He thanked me afterwards, and then asked what my idea of the ultimate humiliation would be.

“A boy’s father has accused me of sodomizing his teenage son,” I replied. “He has tied me ass over teakettle to my bed and has informed me that he’s going to castrate me. He may shave the site of incision and he may paint on some disinfectant, but for sure he applies a tourniquet. Anyway, he picks up the knife and touches it to my bag, then his phone goes off or something like that and he lays the knife down. I hear him leave and know that when he comes back he’ll finish the job, or if he doesn’t come back the tourniquet will do the job instead. That would be the ultimate,” I said. “So intense. Like a child having a nightmare that he can’t escape. Not knowing when the guy will return and release him and end the nightmare.”

“Maybe, deep down, the child doesn’t want to escape. Maybe it’s a fantasy instead of a nightmare.” Ron mused.

A month later I was secured on the end of my bed, feet in the air, knees over my shoulders. A strong strap passed over my waist and around the bed, anchoring me securely. Ropes tied to my knees and ankles ensured that my legs would remain bent and spread apart and the manacles secured my wrists to the headboard. The manacles were wide and well padded, and the soft rope that secured my knees was large enough to not be painful, but I was stretched out so tightly that I couldn’t even move. Ron had thoughtfully placed a pillow under my head so I could see my balls as he worked them over. “How about loosening the ropes a little so that I can move around some?”

“Shut the fuck up, pervert,” Ron replied as if reading from a script. He then gave me another pop in my balls. He had been at it for over a half hour, messing with my balls and telling me he was going to cut my nuts off, and although I was hard as a rock I hadn’t yet come and I was hoping that he’d get to the main event before I popped my cork. He then laid a wet cloth that was so hot it nearly burned on my crotch and left it there while he removed an old fashioned straight razor, just like my dad used to shave with, and a leather strop from the bag he’d brought with him.

Despite the hot cloth I felt my balls involuntarily contract as I watched him sharpen the razor on the strop. “Careful with that thing!” I cautioned as he removed the cloth and laid the edge against the tender skin of my scrotum. He was obviously really getting into this.

“Shut up and hold still,” he said, grabbing my scrotum between his fingers to stretch the skin tight around my balls. It was too much, and I suddenly spewed, sending two week’s accumulation of semen onto my chest. He waited until my convulsions had stopped, then gently drew the razor along the bottom of my ball sack.

“That’s about it for me,” I said. My balls always got really sore and sensitive after my orgasm. “Let’s call it a day.”

“Not quite yet,” he smiled, rinsing the hair off the razor and making another pass. He continued until my entire crotch was as hairless as a newborn baby's$.

“Really, Ron, I mean it. I’m done.” He didn’t even respond. He just extracted a foot-long piece of latex tubing from the bag, stretched it out, and wrapped it several times around my scrotum.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he said, donning his coat. “I’ll be back after a while.” I heard the door close and his car start and pull away, and I wondered if he knew how long the circulation to a guy’s nuts could be cut off without resulting in permanent damage. My balls not only hurt like a bitch, but also had changed from a healthy pink color to an ugly reddish purple. Enough was enough, and I decided then and there that I wouldn’t participate in any more rough stuff. Ron and I could still be friends, but I’d insist that we keep it to a lower level.

I was really starting to get worried when I heard Ron’s car pull up to the house. I heard the creak of the hinges and the slamming of the front door, and then cool air on my bare ass as he opened my bedroom door. He was not alone. A tall gangly kid was with him. “Scotty, is this the man that molested you?”

I was immediately pissed off at Ron. I had never met his son, but exposing a teenager to the perversions of consenting adults was completely uncalled for. The kid’s eyes bulged in disbelief at the size of my cock and balls. His dad was probably the only adult that he’d ever seen naked, and Ron’s genitals were practically infantile compared to mine. “Yes, Dad, it’s him,” Scotty answered.

“Really, Ron.” I didn’t try to hide the disgust I felt. “This has gone far enough.”

Instead of answering me Ron picked up the straight razor and handed it to his son. “Okay, Scotty, if you’re sure he’s the guy.”

Scotty opened the razor and grabbed my balls in his cool hand. “Like this, Dad?” He asked, placing the blade between my bulging testicles. “Or is it better like this?” He pulled my balls downward and placing the edge of the razor against my scrotum below the tourniquet.

“Jesus, Ron. Enough!” I hollered.

Ron ignored me and answered his son’s question. “Either way will work Scotty. It’s your decision.”

In less than a second I went from being a man to a eunuch. Scotty went with the second method and placed my entire severed scrotum on the bed beside me. They both stood there looking at the destruction they’d wrought until Scotty finally gave his dad a disgusted look. “Do you mind?” Teenspeak for Butt Out, Dad, and leave me alone.

“ Sorry Son, take your time. I’ll wait in the car.” Ron answered, stepping from the room and closing the door. Scotty looked at me for a few seconds, the shed his tee shirt and lowered his pants to free his erection. I couldn’t fucking believe it; In addition to castration, I was about to get pronged by a beardless teenage zit factory that was hung like a porn star.

“I guess this just isn’t your day, Mister,” he said, rolling on the condom. Indeed it wasn’t.