BULL BALLS

Chapter 2

There was a male standing there looking down at me.  I put it that way because I didn't look at his face until sometime later.  I didn't know if he was a man or boy, but I did know he was a male.  Hanging between his slightly-spread legs was the biggest sac I'd seen in all our time at the beach, and indeed at any other time in my life.

The thing was very loose, and my first impression was that it was hanging all the way to his knees.  As my eyes focused more closely, I judged it was probably "only" eight inches below his crotch.  That distance, though, made his balls simply beyond my wildest expectations for what a man could have.  The thrill that ran through my chest at that moment is indescribable, and it quickly descended from there to my crotch.  I'm sure if I had been totally nude, the wetness between my legs would have been visible to anyone who cared to look.

I realized that I'd been staring at his balls for a long time, and reluctantly raised my eyes to his face.  I needn't have worried about embarrassing myself by not doing that sooner, because it was obvious he wasn't looking at my face either.  His eyes were locked on my bare breasts, and it was obvious he was a "tit man," as he confessed to me several weeks later.

I'd always been pleased with my breasts, and was glad they were firm and perky.  Although they weren't as big as lots of others, they had a special shape that set them apart.  You see, my nipples are not centered in my breasts.  Rather, they look as if they're on top, although that's misleading.  They're actually just slightly above center, but the contrast with the others around us was striking.  It was that contrast that drew Ted to me, just as it was the contrast of his "low hangers" with the tiny sacs on the other guys that drew me to him.  We seemed to instantly find a match made in Heaven.

He must have realized I was looking at his face then, and had been caught staring at my tits.  He stammered his self introduction, and I then told him my name.  There was never any question about him walking away, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world when he sat down in the sand beside me.  He crossed his legs under him, and sat in what is sometimes called the "lotus" position.  I'll never forget the way he automatically adjusted his balls so he wouldn't sit on them, leaving them spread on the sand in front of him.  I tried to not stare at the things, but just couldn't help myself.  I guess I needn't have worried, though, because he was transfixed by my breasts, which had become even more entrancing to him when I sat up.

You may think it odd that I haven't mentioned his penis.  That's because I simply have no memory of it.  I'm sure other girls would have looked at that part with their first glance, but to me it was of no consequence.  All I cared about was his huge sac, and in my heart of hearts, I knew I'd found my Sir Galahad.  Of course, he wasn't nearly as big as our Brahma bull by that name, but darned close.

We talked constantly and comfortably.  I hadn't known that boys could be so easy to talk to, but with him it just seemed natural.  I learned he was also a student at my college, and by the time we were to leave, I told my friends that I'd be returning with Ted.  They just smiled knowingly, and wished me luck.

I won't bore you with the details of our courtship, other than to say we became lovers less than six weeks after our meeting at the beach.  Our lovemaking was probably different than what other do, though.  He was fascinated by my breasts, and of course I was equally entranced by his balls.  We gravitated to the odd position of him lying on his back, with me kneeling beside him.  He would fondle my tits, and I would return that favor with his balls.  We could spend hours, or so it seemed, doing that, and it always seemed as if the actual fucking was secondary, until we discovered a new position, that is.

I'm sure most people are familiar with the position known as "doggie style," but for the two of us, both still virgins at 22 years old, it took a long time to arrive at that position.  Once we tried it we never went back to any other style.  Again, it just seemed completely natural for me to be on my hands and knees, with him mounting me from the rear.  That way, he could fondle my tits as much as he wanted, and I could reach back between my legs and pull on his sac, loosening and stretching it to its maximum size.  When he finally started pounding his cock into me, his loose balls would slap against my body, sending me over the edge. 

There was another part of our sexual relations that I suppose most people would find odd, but I always thought it was pretty exciting.  When I would get on my hands and knees, Ted would approach me from behind.  Before he initiated sexual intercourse, he would lick my crotch for a long time, and I could tell he really enjoyed doing that.  What made that particular part so arousing for me was that I could hear him breathing deeply of the special scent there, and it always brought to mind what I'd seen and heard when standing at the window in the barn.  I had at long last found the "bull" I'd needed for such a long time.

We were married one week after graduation, and had our honeymoon in central California, because that was close to where our jobs were.  Ted had been hired by an accounting firm, and my job was with a company that researched and manufactured plastic castings and related parts.  We were fortunate to find good-paying jobs in the same region, with relatively short commutes, and soon settled down to a contented life as a married couple.

I think our contentment would have lasted a long time, except for a single incident.  It was a Saturday afternoon, and we were screwing, as we seemed to do at the drop of a hat.  We'd been married about two years, and still seemed to want sex every day, if not more often.  We were in our usual position, but unlike the previous times, were on the floor in our bedroom.  I was on my hands and knees, and Ted had orally serviced and then mounted me from behind, as usual.

I had begun to draw my legs closer together after he entered me, because that allowed his low hangers to slap against them as he thrust in and out.  He seemed to like that better also, because it tightened my pussy, giving his little penis more sensation.

I don't use the term "little" in a mean sense.  It's just that his cock actually was small.  I had never measured it, but based on my experience with graduated test tubes, I guessed it was barely four inches long.  There was apparently some sort of compensation going on when Mother Nature made him, and in return for big balls, he got a small penis.

His smallness was never a problem for me.  As I've tried to explain, my whole sexual experience was directed toward the size of a man's testicles.  Since Ted's were huge, for a man anyway, I really didn't care about his cock.  It was the feel of his sac slapping against my body that caused me to climax, not the size of his dick.  Strange, but true.

To get back to the incident I started to tell you about, let me recap.  We were on the bedroom floor in our usual position.  Ted's butt was "facing" one of the mirrored closet doors, while my head was toward the one across the room, also mirrored.  As he pounded away at me, I looked at the mirror in front of me, seeing the reflection of his backside.  And what I was watching, of course, was his sac as it swayed back and forth in time to his thrusts.

Up until that moment, I'd been pleased with the size of his balls, but when I saw them from that perspective, they somehow looked much smaller than ever before.  The disappointment that produced brought me down from the sexual peak I'd been approaching, and the more I looked at his bag as he fucked me, the smaller it seemed.

He had his orgasm and kept thrusting, trying to get me to join him.  I finally just pulled away, and then sat down on the floor facing him.  He knew something was wrong, and immediately asked me about it.

He was sitting in his familiar lotus position by then, and I looked at his deflating cock, with the filled condom about ready to slip off it.  His balls, which had always seemed so large, looked about half size to me.

Even though they were spread out on the floor, bigger than 99% of the men in the world could ever hope to have, I couldn't help but feel disappointed in them.  That disappointment must have been mirrored in my face, because he kept asking me what was the matter.

Finally I gave in to him, and asked in a soft voice, "Is there any way to make them bigger?"  Since I was looking directly at his sac as I asked that, and since he had known for a long time that I was fascinated with big balls, he understood immediately the meaning of my question.

He said, very seriously, "I don't know, sweetie.  If I knew how to make them grow, I'd do it, because I know it's important to you."

We were quiet then, and finally he asked, "Do you know of anything we could do?"  I didn't, of course, and shook my head in silence.  He was not going to just let it drop, and finally said what was to be the thing that changed the course of our lives.  It was a simple statement, but very important, as he said, "If you can think of anything, I'll do it.  I love you more than anything in the world, and I don't care what it takes, I'll do it."

Contrary to what you're thinking, I didn't immediately engage in a campaign of enlarging his scrotum.  I knew that his sexuality was tied up in that part of his body, and that if it were somehow damaged beyond repair, then he would either lose all interest in sex, or I would lose all interest in him.  In short, it was important that whatever I decided to do, I had to be sure that when all was said and done, his balls would still be in good working order.

I actually considered subjecting him to a regular course of ball whipping, graduating to heavier and heavier instruments.  I was sure that would cause his nuts to swell, but it was the possibility of irreversible damage to that part of his body that kept me from doing that. 

I also knew it wasn't the size of his balls, per se, that was the problem.  His sac was already much larger than needed to contain his testicles, and I guess that's what produced the appearance of them being "low hangers."  No, the problem was that the scrotum was not completely filled.  There seemed to be plenty of capacity in the thing, but that capacity was being wasted.

That line of thinking guided my "research" of our problem, and when I began to search the Internet for information pertaining to scrotal enlargement, I hit paydirt.  Again, I'm sure you're way ahead of me, since you've probably known of "scrotal infusion" for a long time now.  Again, I can only say that I had led a sheltered life, and even the possibility of doing such a thing to a man's equipment had never occurred to me.  That was about to change.

Once I learned the proper term to type in a search engine, I found Websites without end that discussed, detailed, and displayed photos of, all the possibilities.  I read story after story that listed the equipment I'd need to get my husband's sac to grow to a more interesting size.  I saw photograph after photograph of swollen scrotums, of a size beyond my hopes, if not my dreams.  In short, I knew I'd found the answer to our problem.

It somehow never occurred to me to discuss the solution with Ted.  He knew I was disappointed in the size of his sac, and he sincerely wanted it to be larger so it would please me more, and thereby get me interested in sex with him once again.  You see, since that fateful Saturday morning, I had pretty much lost interest in fucking.  We still did it, of course, but now the frequency was more like once a week as opposed to once a day, as it had been before I'd looked in the mirror.

One of the most intriguing sites I found had a series of pictures that illustrated how a man's scrotum had been inflated over a space of several weeks.  The accompanying story detailed all the steps, and the various items used, in stretching his bag from a capacity of 500 ml of saline solution, all the way up to 3000 ml.  The final picture made me so hot that I couldn't stand it, and I had to put my hand down my pants and masturbate.  I knew then that my husband would look like that, and hopefully even bigger, before much more time had passed.

I ordered everything I'd need, again without telling Ted what I was planning.  Whenever he'd ask me if I'd found a solution to his problem, I'd just say, "I'm working on it.  I'll let you know when I find something that'll make you look better."  He was content to let it go at that, but I could sense his desire for the situation to be rectified as soon as possible, so we could go back to our former schedule of daily sex.
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During the time I was waiting for the delivery, another event occurred that I can see in retrospect shaped the course of our future.  It was a pretty simple thing: I missed my second menstrual period in a row, something that had never before happened.  I'd always been regular as clockwork, and the change concerned me enough to make an appointment with a gynecologist.

I was fully prepared to be told I was pregnant, but that wasn't the case.  It was just another in a broad spectrum of "female problems" that we women have to live with.  Luckily a simple injection got my menses back on track, and I counted my lucky stars.

That close call concerned me though, and something the doctor told me led to another change in our sexual relations.

I had mentioned to her that my husband always wore a condom during coitus, since that was supposed to be a foolproof method of contraception.  She said that condoms were the best method available, but were not a sure thing.  According to the information she gave me, they worked successfully 98% of the time, which was much better than anything else.  That 2% chance of error concerned me a lot, maybe more than it should have, I guess, but I just couldn't bear the thought of getting pregnant before we were ready to have children.

That night, I talked to Ted about my concern, and asked him if he'd be willing to try another way of fucking.  By that time, he was so horny he'd have agreed to just about anything in order to reach his orgasm, and he said okay.

I got on my hands and knees on the bed, and told him to get behind me as usual.  He didn't need any instructions to start servicing me with his tongue, and soon I could hear him drawing in deep breaths as he "tested" my pussy juice to see if I was fertile, and ready to be bred.

After several minutes, he reached for the unwrapped condom on the nightstand, in preparation for mounting me as usual.  It was at that time I introduced him to the new way of doing it, by saying, "Don't put it in me, honey.  Just let it slide up and down my crack in back.  If that feels good to you, then we can do it that way so I won't have to worry about getting pregnant.

He must have understood what I wanted, and moved up slightly so his bare cock was in my crack.  I reached back and spread my cheeks so his little tool could feel more friction, and he began pumping away.  It must have felt pretty good to him, because his thrusts were coming faster and faster.

I was also enjoying this changed position, because it moved his sac slightly higher on my body.  Where his balls had slapped against my thighs before, now they hit my pussy.  That felt really good, and just seconds after he climaxed, I joined him.

The only problem was that his bare cock shot his sticky cum all over my butt, and I definitely didn't like that.  I think I said something like, "God, your cum is running down my crack and tickling me like crazy.  Get something to wipe it up."

He didn't have to go very far to find that something.  I realized that whatever he was using was both warm and wet.  Then as I heard him swallowing, I realized just what he was using to clean up his mess.

That method of servicing me seemed to be arousing to both of us.  I loved the feel of his tongue sliding up and down my ass crack, and to give him greater access, I put my head down on the bed and reached back with both hands to spread my cheeks as wide as possible.  Over and over I relived visions of the bulls licking the cows before mounting them.  That Ted also found it arousing was evident in the increasing fervor of his attentions to my crack.  He seemed to especially like to lick the puckered opening, and I have to admit that it felt really good.

That set the pattern for our sexual relations after that point, and it was the only way we ever "fucked" from then on.  He said the feeling of rubbing his bare cock against me was lots better than actually having it inside me while wearing a rubber.  For my part, penetration had never been all that exciting, in any case not nearly as arousing as the feel of his sac slapping against my pussy lips.
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The things I'd ordered were finally delivered, and as I excitedly checked to make sure everything was in the box, my mind was in a furor.  I lovingly examined the needle and tubing, becoming more aroused with every second as I thought of his low hangers filled with as much solution as possible, stretched to unbelievable proportions and hanging to his knees. 

The plastic bags of saline solution, along with all the other things, were placed in readiness in a drawer in the nightstand beside our bed, and the only thing remaining to do was to review the instructions that came with the kit.  They seemed to be very simple, especially for someone like me who had quite a bit of experience with lab equipment.  Of course, I'd never inserted a needle in a man's scrotum, but how hard could it be?

It would be Saturday in two days, and I decided that would be when I'd introduce my husband to the joys of scrotal infusion.  I knew that even with his already big bag, it'd take some time to get him to accept an amount like 4000 ml, which was my goal.  I thought he could easily take 1/4 that amount the first time, and was anxious to see the results.  It promised to be an exciting night.