Ballbusters Anonymous, Wednesday Night Meeting, (Casual Castration) Chapter 1

“One, we admitted we were powerless over ballbusting and that our lives had become unmanageable. Two, came to believe that a pow-”

The droning reading of the steps did little to rouse her from her crazed stupor. She’d been a few days clean, her cells on fire to deliver a kick or elbow to some poor sap’s balls. Holding it all in was unnatural. That was part of the program, about how natural ballbusting is, which makes it one of the hardest things to quit.

“Hi I'm here for th-” the man set in with a sparkly lisp, after peaking his head in through the slightly opened door. Forty sets of lustful hungry eyes bore holes in the seat of his pants, as if by their combined internal wills, he'd telekinetically hover to the center of the room and offer his balls up for sacrifice to their group need.

One of the old timers gave him directions to the gay ballbusters anonymous meeting at the community center across the street.

How do they manage discussing ballbusting in a room full of balls? She wondered, trying to put a lid on her fantasies of rushing the guy outside for a quick knee before leaving these inane meetings once and for all.

“Are there any newcomers in their first thirty days of sobriety who’d care to introduce themselves? This is not meant to embarrass you, but just so that we can get to know you better.”

She raised her almost shaky hand halfway, dropping it quickly.

Eyes fell on her and a silence hovered about the room.

“You're supposed to introduce yourself now.” A woman whispered, a few seats beside her.

“Oh, I’m Zoe, Ballbusterholic, and I have three days, I think.”

“Hi Zoe” the women replied in eerie sync.

“Tonight's chairperson is Tiffany! And with that, I hand the meeting over to you.” The secretary of the meeting said, relaxing into her chair.

Tiffany wore a soft blue business suit, which despite its flat geometry did little to hide her huge watermelon bust.

“Hi I'm Tiffany, and I'm a ballbusting bitch!” she flashed a sharky smile.

The group laughed as she broke protocol by not addressing herself as a Ballbusterholic.

“Hi Tiffany” they offered in sync.

“Before I start I just wanted to say I almost relapsed today.”

The room grew silent and serious.

“I have this employee, he's new and young, and I asked him to do something for me and he did everything so wrong I felt like he was just trying to spite me. He stood in my office smuglike despite his offense, and it took everything I had to not pull his balls out of his trousers and staple them to my desk right there” she stared into the floor, through the floor, into memory. Her face frozen in a grimace.

“Thank you for bearing this with me, it helps to admit it, I know you all can relate.” She began to breathe again, getting back into the rhythm of the group.

Zoe crossed her legs tightly, dizzy with the thought of stapling a young man’s balls to a desk, she clenched her teeth and tried not to get wet.

Tiffany continued, “My story starts when I was a little girl playing with my brother. I saw these dangly things in his underwear and grabbed them trying to pull them away, 'Mine now!’ I screamed at him, thinking he had an extra toy. He curled up and screamed and cried, begging me to stop. I think this next part is where it shows how I was always different, just born this way. But instead of letting go, I squeezed those things harder… I liked how it made me feel to see him like that. To make him like that. Not long after my mom rushed in and I feigned innocence and she taught me all about boys private parts and why not to hurt them, unless you're in danger.”

Zoe was blind with lust and unusually vivid visualizations of the begging crying boy. Her eyes were closed and her brow furrowed.

“For the next few years I was a ballbusting devil. All my mother taught me was: don't get caught.” She gave a toothy grin as her audience smiled and giggled in mutual understanding.

“You know, I'm ashamed to admit it, but I'm honestly shocked my brother’s testicles remained in tact. Any one of the stunts I pulled could've ruptured one or both of his testicles… I just thank God that never happened.”

A small sea of concerned brows sided with her, as Zoe saw through the charade, seeing how secretly delighted and powerful Tiffany felt, especially in implicitly competing with these other women for brutality to testicles.

“What's worse, and what I'm coming to grips with now, is the realization that I wanted to rupture his nuts. Not just one, no no no, none of this 'He can still have kids and have sex’ nonsense. I wanted both of them. Ruined. What kind of sister wants to castrate her own brother?!” She asked, incredulously with a self-deprecating air.

“When it came down to it, that's how I felt about most men my entire life. How, secretly behind each kick, knee, elbow, punch, and every kind of blunt instrument I used to convey testicular harm, was the intention to fully destroy each set of balls.” She relaxed into the table, her humongous breasts squished across it. Half the room shined green with envy.

“I succeeded three times...all in one night… and that's when I hit bottom. It was a typical alleyway mugging, whatever you're picturing, that's it. They weren't expecting my bear mace, and as they writhed on the ground. That's when I did it. I started kicking one over and over. All my rage translating into those kicks. You see, I'd been trying to white knuckle it for a while. I hadn't hurt any balls in months, I was being good. But we all know how when we relapse, we often go to the extreme end of things. It's just how the pendulum swings, as my sponsor says. Anyways, I was kicking him and it felt so good. I didn't want it to stop. I didn't call the police or call for help. I made the rationalization in my head that I just wanted to humiliate them, and that's why I started unbuckling their jeans tugging them down to their ankles. But we all know how our rationalizations work, everything is always so innocent. Once their balls are exposed I keep kicking the one guy, I mean, really kicking him, his balls are bleeding a little. I crouch down and grab them, they're so soft now, and I just squeeze as hard as I can. I watch the flesh conform in my grip as it splurts out besides my fingers. He passes out and I almost do too, it was such a rush! Feeling them squish to mush inbetween my fingers. I didn't even know his name but he's forever changed because of me. The other two muggers were still moaning from the-”

“Ahem!” Coughed the secretary, before interrupting Tiffany fully, “This is a meeting about recovery, sharing our strength and hope. Please hold off on the excessive details of ballbusting. Thank you.”

Zoe was delirious at this point.

“Nutting those three muggers is integral to my story though, I wouldn’t be here without them, but alright.” She turns to the main body of the meeting, “If any of you’d like to hear more just ask me after the meeting!” she chimed.

She continued her story of recovery, sparing the details on the one thing Zoe wanted to hear about.

“The topic of the meeting will be… our small victories. Not the kind we even tell other people, but the kind we acknowledge on our journey. One for me is I showed up tonight even though I was nervous and felt like dodging it. I try to get out of my own way, because coming here keeps me sane and it's where I need to be, Lord knows.”

“Is this a tag meeting?”

Secretary whispers.

“Oh ok. Then I'll tag.. Marissa!”

Marissa was a bronzed viking of a woman, tall, blonde, more than amply endowed by the way she filled her shirt.

“Hi I'm Marissa and I too, am a ball busting bitch!” She grinned the same as Tiffany, though it seemed more feline than sharky.

“As most of you know, I'm a mother of three boys, which has its challenges for any mother, but for one of us.. Those challenges run a bit deeper. Just the other day Ralph broke an old item of furniture my mother left me after she passed, and it was only through the work I’ve done here, in this program, that allowed me to spare his balls. I just left the house, went for a walk. If this happened years ago, when I was younger, I wouldn’t have cared if he’s my son, he would’ve lost a nut from the battering I’d give him. And well, that’s one of my little victories. I didn’t explode, or make him explode” the room softly chuckled, “and that’s what this is about for me. Great topic by the way, I mean, it’s one day at a time, and everything in life worth accomplishing happens one small victory at a time. Anyways, I think I’ll call on.. Grace!” she finished, settling deeper into her seat.

The next woman tagged was a pale skinned brunette with an upturned nose in her late 30s, her thin gray sweater did little to hide her braless torpedo breasts, “I think it's important to talk about what brought us here.” They jiggled as she spoke animatedly, “Even if it's uncomfortable for some of us to hear. Every meeting is different and every story is different, we shouldn't all try to tell the same story. What helps one of us doesn't help all of us. And castration is part of the story that brought me here too. I just don't see how admitting that I skewered my ex-husband’s testicles with a kebab stick, subtracts from any meeting. By the grace of his heart he never pressed charges, but everything had to have come together the way it did to bring me here, now. And I call on.. Ashley.” As she finished talking she folded her arms, squishing her sweatermeat out of her arms way.

Are all the busty women here castrators?! The gray sweatered woman had to have at least EEs when she reigned them into a bra, and Tiffany the speaker, had impossible breasts, probably JJs. Zoe wondered about the others as she glanced at the mass of breasts spread across the room. Apparently her own overfilled C cups were the smallest set in the room!

Lost in thought she hadn't realized Ashley had finished her short turn, and called on the newcomer, which was her.

“Uhh.. okay.. I'm Zoe and I'm a ballbusterholic..”

“Hi Zoe!” they rang, again in unison.

“I'm not as advanced as a lot of you.. I mean the worst thing I did was kick this guy at the mall so hard he puked everywhere. While he was curled up though, I knelt down and grabbed his hands away from his balls and stomped on them a few times. I was so angry I didn't want to stop stomping him. I don't know who he was though or if I ruptured any. I guess it gives me a rush, knowing I might've caused him permanent damage. And that's why I'm here. It got to the point where I needed to do it everyday. I'd go loiter around public places waiting for certain guys to pass by, you know, the ones who you just know aren't gonna tell anybody about it or do anything.. I don't know how much I'm supposed to share. But even guys I liked, when I'm about to give them head.. I just bite their ba-”

“And thank you so much for sharing!” the secretary interjected, a bit too late. As everyone knew what she was going to say.

“And that’s all the time we have for tonight! Great meeting girls! Let’s close with the Lord’s Prayer and I’ll see you all next week!”

That familiar chorus of murmuring enveloped the room as everyone began to stand, encircling the room. As Zoe joined hands with the women next to her, she wondered how much testicular destruction these feminine hands had wrought. She shuddered pleasantly at the thought. She just might enjoy going to these meetings after all.

After the meeting, Zoe rushed over to the chairperson, Tiffany.
"Oh hey, hi, um, great story! I was wondering if you could, you know, um, tell me the rest of the story? You know.. with you and those guys? In the alley?" Zoe spoke quickly and excitedly, hoping for the best.