The Balls of Others: Preparations

This is a one-off story featuring none of the original characters. It's been inspired by all of those whacky TV shows that have been popping up lately, "Silent Library", "The Pain Game" etc. and I hope you'll enjoy it.

This is my first writing effort for two and a half years so I may be a little rusty… I hope you enjoy it anyway. This is just a teaser for a longer story that I will publish on New Year's Day.

Thanks to BBmal and Reginald, hoppie1, thatlansingguy, Zac and many more. Their fantastic stories - very diverse in style and subject - have made me want to grab the pen and contribute at least one more story. Maybe there will be more. I don’t know. We'll see…

Anyway: I wish all of you a very happy new year!

I was sitting at my desk in the control room of the small television station. I had been working in Europe for quite some time, now. Most of the time my work was pretty boring, but today was an exception. I had been working on this show for a few weeks and now we were on the verge of making history: the most daring show on television. I liked that.

The TV station wasn’t on the air, yet. And they wanted to start with a bang. They were going live on the January 1^st – and they had hired me to supervise their headline show. They knew what they were getting when they hired me. I had earned quite a reputation in the last few years, and I was proud of that.

In the past few days there had been ads and bills all over Europe, various spots on Youtube and other clip sites. I had done interviews with all major European magazines, newspapers and online media. And it had happened just like the studio bigwigs had anticipated.

It had created a major controversy: Naked testicles on television? Outrageous! Three young lads willing to bare their balls and risk their manhood to win 10.000 Euro? Inacceptable! Hurting balls for entertainment? Incredible! We were the talk of the town, in fact of all European towns, just like the TV station had planned.

I looked at the studio and smiled.

“What’s up”, my assistant Claas said. He was 25 years old, a good looking Dutchman with reddish blond hair and green eyes. “Something funny?”

“Just admiring the view”, I said, winking at him.

Claas nodded. He was sitting next to me, wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt. He had a surfer’s body, with a muscular upper body and a nice tan. “It’s good to see that everything is coming together at last…”

I nodded and looked at my watch. “Don’t you have to…” I looked at him.

He sighed and cleared his throat. “Yeah, my favourite part of the day”, he deadpanned. He stood and adjusted the bulge in his jeans. He was very well endowed, showing off his big bulge in his tight jeans. I hadn’t chosen him because of his equipment – but I sure didn’t mind that he brought everything that was necessary to be a contestant in one of my shows…

I laughed. “Off you go. Have fun!”

Claas sighed again and muttered, “Getting your nuts crushed on new year’s eve – I can’t believe it…”

“Come on”, I grinned. “Someone has to do the testing. We have to make sure everything works out for the show tomorrow.”

“Nothing beats live television”, Claas smirked.

“Yep. And if everything is okay, you will be home at 6”, I smiled.

Claas cleared his throat again. “Yeah, well, Antje and I…”

“Oh, the baby”, I said, raising my eyebrow. “You are still working on that?”

Claas shrugged. “Tonight’s the night. Antje has texted me. It’s the perfect day for making a baby.”

I bit my lower lip. “Sorry.”

Claas sighed once more. “Well, there will be other nights.”

“Antje will understand”, I said. Knowing Antje, she would be furious if Claas couldn’t perform tonight. Well, that wasn’t my concern.

Claas walked towards the door and turned to me. “Alex”, he started. “Maybe I could…”

I shook my head and smiled. I knew what he was thinking. For the last few days he had been trying to persuade me to fake the screen tests and wear a cup. “We need to see if everything works. Sorry, Claas, no can do.”

The sighing Dutchman left the room and I watched on the screen as he entered the studio, greeting the director who put his hand on his shoulder and talked to him. The director was a young French guy with spiky black hair. I didn’t know how they had found him. He couldn’t be older than 22 and I wondered if he was able to pull this off. But apparently he had the right vision for this kind of thing.

Claas listened, nodding occasionally. When the director stopped talking, Claas raised his eyebrows, sighed again, and opened the fly of his jeans. He took off his shirt, putting on a tight t-shirt with the show’s logo on it. Then he dropped his jeans and took them off along with his tight white boxer briefs, letting his big, juicy plums dangled between his legs.

The director said something, making the guys in the studio laugh, while Claas blushed and smiled sheepishly. Winking at Claas, the director treated him to a quick, hard backhand slap right in his naked danglers. Claas coughed and doubled over, clutching his valuables.

There was a sizzling noise on the PA. Then, it was the director’s voice with the heavy French accent. “Okay, ready for the final rehearsal. Round one: The pool table. Round two: The mouse traps. Round three: The soccer player. Claas’ balls are ready. We are ready to rehearse.”

I watched Claas take his place on the stage, standing behind the pool table, sighing again as he grabbed his balls and put them into the corner pocket. I grinned as I saw him whisper something. I was sure he knew that his sex life would be on hold for a few days. And he knew that Antje would add her share of pain to his testicles once he was home.

A stage hand placed the white ball on the pool table.

Chad blinked.

“Action!” the director shouted.

The stage hand winked at Claas. The camera zoomed in on Claas’ nuts, hanging ripe and vulnerable in the corner pocket. I heard the distinct “clank” as the pool cue made contact with the ball. Then, “splat”, the unmistakable sound of hard, cold, solid plastic against soft, precious, delicate meat. And then, of course, the howl of anguish as the pain travelled from the nerve endings in Claas’ precious meatballs to his brain.

“And again”, the director said on the PA. “Camera angle wasn’t right.”

He knew what he was doing. Tomorrow would be a live show – there was no room for mistakes…