Monday, April 24, 2017

My life as a nutcracker - part 10: Balls, dicks, and CJ (written by David Walker)

This is the tenth part of a wonderful, epic story written by our reader David Walker. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

Previous parts:
Cast of characters
Part 1: I learn how to fight
Part 2: My official introduction to ball busting
Part 3: Vince? OMG!
Part 4: The games people play
Part 5: Practicing the moves, sort of

Part 6: Wear my work boots? Part 7: My first time at the club
Part 8: My first time in the ring
Part 9: I improve steadily

“Hey.  It’s CJ.”

CJ?  CJ never calls me.

“Wanna do some ballbusting?”


“Got somethin’ brewin’ over at Miller’s farm tonight.  I got invited at the garage today and I asked if I could bring you.”

“Why me?” I asked.  Seriously.  Why me?

“You’re gettin’ to be a celebrity.”


“You mean everybody’s gonna wanna kick my nuts?  I don’t think…”

“No, no, young dude.  Nothin’ like that.  Just some fun with the guys.”

“So everybody’s gonna wanna fuck me?”

“Not everybody.”

Did he just…

“Hey, I’ll be over in about 15 minutes.  We can grab somethin’ to eat, if you want.  Oh, and wear your boots.  You never know what’s gonna be on the ground in that field.”

Again with the boots.


We took a back way into the field, a little dirt lane off the county road.  We drove up to a bunch of other trucks and a car or two.  Maybe 15 or 20 guys sitting around a fire or on the truck hoods or tailgates.  I didn’t see any women, which didn’t bother me, except that usually when the future good ol’ boys get together, the future belles of the south are with them.

“CJ!” several people called out, waving hands or caps or cowboy hats.  One guy nearby stood up and walked over to us and gave CJ a really big hug.  CJ returned the hug and they both patted each other’s packages and laughed a little.  The guy gave me a “howdy” nod…I was carrying a couple six packs.

“Hey, guys, come on over here and join the party,” CJ’s hugger said.  We walked toward the gathering.  I saw a table not far from the fire.  “You can put the beer up there,” he said.

I’m not a party guy, probably because I didn’t get invited to many and when I did, I got laughed at and picked on and other shit.  Now I’m with 20 strangers and CJ.  I knew he’d protect me if it came to that, but I still felt really weird being there.

Country music blared out of a couple trucks, all tuned to the same station, fortunately.  I lost track of CJ, which I was afraid was gonna happen.  The man was like magnet:  If a person wanted to get fucked, CJ would, like, draw them to him.  Always.  Anywhere.  It never failed.

Somebody waved a joint in front of me like I was supposed to take a hit.  I did, a good, deep hit in case I wouldn’t get another one, and handed it back to the guy.  I thanked him and then exhaled.

“You’re that new dude at the club, ain’cha?” he asked.  I nodded.  “You’re doin’ all right up there.”  I thanked him.  He let me have another hit.  “I don’t know how you can take all them punches to your balls,” he said.  I kinda prepared myself for a fist to my junk.  “I got kicked down there by a mule one time, a couple years ago.”  I exhaled by coughing.  I wasn’t expecting that.  The thought of a hoof connected to a powerful hind leg of a mean animal that wanted to get rid of you…I couldn’t even…  “Smarted like a sum-bitch for about a week.”  I took one more hit and handed it back to him.  He took it and walked away.

“He tellin’ you about the mule kick?” another guy asked, handing me another joint.  “He’s been tellin’ that story long as I’ve known him.”  I took a good, deep drag.  “Hell, he don’t even live on a farm.”  I started laughing and then coughed like a first-timer.  He looked at me and laughed and walked away, doobie in hand.  I took a beer off the table and popped it open.

“Hear you’re doin’ the judgin’ tonight,” a voice said, coming around to my side.  Judging?  What judging?  This was fuckin’ news to me.  “You probably gonna need a couple o’ them beers before we get started.”
The fuck?  I’m on my way to getting stoned, I find out I’m gonna be judging something, and CJ’s nowhere to be seen.  Great fuckin’ shit.  What am I judging?  Best-looking dick?  Lowest-hanging balls?  Best barf by a drunk country boy?  Where the fuck was CJ?

I looked around, kind of frantically and angrily.  I saw the guy that greeted us walk between two trucks back into the area, CJ right behind him, wiping his mouth with his forearm.  The guy was smiling and CJ smacked him on his ass.  That explains where he was, or at least what he was doing.  The question involving me needed an answer.  Now.

Anger took the place of confusion.  “What the fuck am I judging?” I blurted out, sounding maybe just a little stoned.

“Roshambo,” he answered, oblivious to my anger.  “Competitive roshambo.  And you get to keep time between hits to make sure the bustee is on his feet within a minute of having his balls busted.  He can’t hit the ground on all fours or fall on his ass.  And the buster can do whatever he wants…kick, punch, ram his arm up from behind.”  CJ wagged a finger for emphasis, “but he can’t hold on to the bustee.”  His hand returned to his side.  “Oh, I almost forgot…you get to feel every guy’s nuts to make sure he ain’t wearin’ a cup.”  Was that, like, my pay for this gig?

He started walking away from me, then turned back.  “Where’d you get the weed?”


Most of the guys had taken off their jeans and were in their boxers or tighty whities or cutoffs.  And I have to admit that I did derive a little pleasure from examining their balls.  It was pretty obvious that most of them liked having their balls examined and dick held just a bit.  I had a bare-chested young guy about my age who was scorekeeper and timekeeper.  Nice body, kinda cute face, and I wondered who he was goin’ home with.

Most of the guys were drunk and stoned out of their minds, probably to diminish the pain they were about to feel.  It was going all right until one guy got really defensive about a call I made.  He was the buster and was convinced the bustee fell.  That’s not what I saw and threatened to disqualify him.  He took exception to that and hit me with an out-of-nowhere fist to the jaw.  I staggered back a couple steps.  He lunged at me and put his hands around my throat.  He was choking me and I couldn’t get his hands away.

Then I was no longer in his grip.  CJ snuck up behind him and thrust his arm between the guy’s legs and raised it fast, CJ’s knuckles plowing into my attacker’s balls with one hand; he held a beer in the other.  CJ held onto the jerk’s balls and squeezed.  The guy’s expression turned from rage to pain.  CJ jerked his head to one side, meaning I should get out of the way so he could let go of his balls.  The bustee put his arm around my neck.

“You OK?” he asked.  “I’ve hated that sonuvabitch for years, and just for that reason.  You can’t argue with him, especially when he’s drunk.”  He massaged me neck for a bit.  “I’m glad CJ brought you.  I’ve seen you fight at the club a couple times.  You’re good.”  I smiled a “thank you” to him.

I thought I heard a punch and then another.  The drunk landed a fist in CJ’s gut and another on his jaw.  CJ wasn’t down, but he sure as fuck was dazed.  And the drunk lunged toward me.  He drove an elbow into the bustee, grabbed me by the neck and ass and shoved my forehead into the hood of a truck.  As hard as he threw my head into it, I’m sure I left a dent.  That kinda stunned me.  I mean, if you’re in a fight at the club, you’re not taken by surprise by some enraged drunk.  He resumed walking me somewhere.  I couldn’t make out where he was taking me, but we were getting away from the fire.

It looked like a fence, a white wooden fence.  I couldn’t see right.  As we approached it, I could hear people yelling fairly close behind us.  I had started coming around from the wallop against the truck.  I felt him pull me up by the neck as we approached a fence post.  He kept his hand around my neck as he drove my head into the post.  He did it again.  If he did it any more times, I sure as fuck didn’t know; I’d passed out.  What brought me to was a sting in my balls.  He’d got me inside the fence and was stomping my balls.  Hard.

CJ leapt out of nowhere and pulled him off me.  He threw CJ off him and charged back toward me.  I heard voices yelling, but it wasn’t like at school, they weren’t in a circle tight around me.  What the fuck was going on?

He had his foot up and was ready to drive it into my nuts.  CJ thrust his arm between the guy’s legs and rammed his fist into the drunk’s balls.  CJ also had his other hand on the guy’s neck and tossed him aside so there was no chance his boot would land on me.  CJ looked at me and I nodded that I was OK.  CJ went over to the drunk and kicked the guy’s head into the ground.

“You’re really some sorry-assed drunk, ain’cha Earl?”  CJ raised his boot off the guy’s head.  “What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?  You were wrong, you asshole.  Aaron didn’t hit the ground, but one o’ these days, you sure as shit will.  You want that to be tonight?”  CJ kicked Earl’s ribs.  Earl rolled over.

“Ain’t got no fight with you,” Earl said.  “It’s that faggot punk over there.”  Oh, fuck…that would be me.  “He and that homo Aaron was sidin’ against me.”

“You’re a lyin’ sack o’ shit, you know that?” CJ said, kinda taunting Earl.  CJ began walking toward me when Earl kicked CJ’s leg and sent him sprawling.  I tried to get up but couldn’t.  And the guys outside the fence…they were lookin’ at this like a fight, cheering when CJ kicked Earl, and now cheering when Earl tripped CJ.  What the fuck is goin’ on?

CJ stood facing Earl.  He was too close.  Earl rammed his boot into CJ’s balls.  CJ sank to his knees.  I still couldn’t move.  CJ made a fist and fell forward, aiming it square at Earl’s bulge.  It found home.  Earl rolled to his side and clutched his balls.  CJ stood, swooped down and grabbed an arm.  He yanked on it hard, pulled up with Earl yelping in pain, but it dragged Earl up.  He was still bent at the waist when CJ grabbed the back of his neck and dragged Earl to the fence.  I think it was pretty much what Earl did to me:  CJ threw Earl’s head into the fence post three times, each time with a thud, each one with Earl sinking to the ground.

CJ wasn’t convinced Earl learned a lesson.  He grabbed Earl under his armpits, stood him up against the upper rail, turned him around, and dusted him off.

“What the fuck’re you doin’?”  Earl wanted to know.

“I don’t want your dust on my clothes when I do this.”  CJ grabbed Earl around his waist, lifted him up, and threw Earl nuts-first on his knee.  The guys approved as Earl curled up and fell off CJ’s knee.
I felt myself move.  I rocked from one side to the other and stopped when I was pretty firmly on my side.  I put an arm beside my chest and used that to prop myself up.  I raised myself onto my knees when CJ walked over to me.

“How’re you doin’?” CJ asked.

“I’ve been better.”

CJ fell on top of me, taking me to the ground with him.  Some guy I didn’t recognize gave CJ a kick in the ass.  I had no idea who this person was.  He turned around and yelled, “Hey, Earl!  Get your ass over here!”

Obviously a friend of the drunken Earl.

CJ wasn’t hurt.  He rolled off my body, onto his feet, and stood.  “Oh, fuck.  Of course it’d be you, you little ass wipe.  You’re the big man who attacks from behind.  You’re so fuckin’ brave.”

“Earl!  Get over here!”

“Earl’s passed out, shithead.  He passed out drunk and passed out in pain.  Looks like it’s us two against you.”

“No, that’s not…”

CJ landed a good one to his stomach.  He bent over, which gave CJ the perfect target.  Arms up, he locked his hands and powered them down on this guy’s back.  He fell.  CJ gave him a half-hearted kick in the ribs so he’d stay down.

“I hope you understand that none of this shit was supposed to happen,” CJ said as he pulled me up.

“Oh?” I asked.

The guys returned to their trucks and, I guess, decided the party was over.  The tables were folded up and plopped onto the beds of a couple trucks.  Two guys pissed on the fire, as good a way as any to put it out.  Another guy with a shovel joined them and then covered what was left of the fire with dirt.  And just like that, the place was nearly empty.  Earl was still passed out.  CJ picked up one arm of Earl’s friend and told me to get the other.  We dragged him over beside Earl.  I think he was playin’ possum so CJ wouldn’t hit him again.

We crawled through the space between the fence rails and walked back to CJ’s truck.  CJ put his arm around my neck.

“No, this wasn’t it at all,” he said.  “I’m really fuckin’ sorry all this happened.  I thought it would be this fun thing, and maybe after…you know, we could maybe get to know each other a little better.”

Son of a bitch.

“There are easier ways to get into my pants, you know,” I said to him.  “Besides, your balls are probably too sore for anything tonight.”

“Am I walkin’ funny?” he asked.  “You seem to be pretty level of foot yourself.”


“Why don’t we go down to the landing?  Oh, fuck, why don’t we just go to my apartment?”


Two small rooms, a kitchen off one, the bathroom behind a door in the other one.  It was CJ.  Kinda messy, kinda odd things like a skull lamp shade, a Canadian flag, lots of empty bottles, a widescreen TV, a computer on a table, a stack of newspapers, some clothes that didn’t get put in the laundry bag yet, a couple chairs and a really nice, big bed.

“Beer or weed?” he asked.  “Or both?”

“I can see the appeal of both.”

“Me, too.  Get the bong ready and I’ll get the beers.”

We spent maybe 10 or 15 minutes on the bed, backs to the walls.  We talked some.  I told him about sex with Seth.  He said, very approvingly, that Seth had talked about it a couple times, which made CJ curious.  I have no idea why, but it felt good that Seth told CJ about our sexual encounters.  We had a couple last hits on the bong.  He stuck an arm around my neck.

“I think I should inspect your balls, just to make sure you’re, you know, OK,” he whispered as he unbuttoned my shorts.

“Are you trained to do that?” I asked.

“I inspect cars and trucks.  I think I can probably do OK with balls, too.”

I couldn’t decide whether to try to kiss him or not.  I love kisses in foreplay and even sometimes while fucking, but I couldn’t figure out if CJ was even interested in kissing.  My shorts were down, my cock was up.

“Now, let me take these off,” he said, unbuttoning his jeans.  I helped him pull them down.  “And then I can start the examination.”

“Do you mind if I have a look at your balls.  You know…compare notes.”

He pointed a finger toward me.  “Good idea.”

He caressed my balls in his hand as I wrapped a hand around his.  Warm, nicely big but, I think, not particularly swollen.  I gently massaged them and couldn’t take it any longer and leaned over and licked them, kissed them.  It felt like he was smiling.  I continued to lick and play with his balls.  I moved my head and put my mouth around his cock, ready to give him a much-deserved blow job.  I felt a tug on my nuts.

“No,” he said.  “Sit up.  I haven’t examined you yet.”

I sat up.

“We should probably go into the kitchen.  The light’s better.”

He grabbed my dick and led me to the kitchen.  Kenny used to do that, so it was kind of a nice reminder.  We got into the kitchen and he pulled me face forward to the counter, my dick resting comfortably on it.  CJ stroked it a bit.  Then he raised his hand about shoulder high and brought it down hard, the heel of his hand landing squarely on my hard cock.

“Jesus Christ!” I yelled and turned toward him.

“Sh,” CJ shushed me, finger to lips.  “Neighbors.”

“Fuck the neighbors,” I said a little more quietly.

“Nah.  I’ve seen them.  You wouldn’t want to.”

“Dammit, CJ!  That fuckin’ hurt!”

“No it didn’t.  It just took you by surprise.”  He grabbed my shoulder and dick, spun me so I faced the counter, and did it again.

“Shit!  That does so hurt!”  I was about to turn and head for my clothes.

“Now it’s your turn,” CJ said.  That stopped me.

“Turn?  This is some sort of fuckin’ game?  Smashin’ dicks?”

“Bingo!” he exclaimed.  “It’s hard to explain, so I just like to start.”  The fuck?  “So, it’s your turn.”
I must have looked like an idiot.  It wasn’t computing.

“Think of it as roshambo, only with dicks,” he said, still patient as fuck.  “Use your imagination.  Besides, balls are a lot more fragile than dicks.  Cocks are meant to be played with.”
Well, OK.  “Put it on the counter,” I instructed him.  He complied.  I did a chop I thought landed pretty nicely.  I mean, first time and all.

“Try it again…just harder.”

I did.  He liked it.

“OK.  My turn.”

He grabbed my cock with a fist, yanked it up, and as he sent it smashing to the counter, he released his fist and slammed my cock to the counter with the palm of his hand.  It probably should have hurt, but it was kinda neat.

“You can repeat yourself or use something on me I did to you, and you don’t have to keep it to the kitchen.”
I still wasn’t into it, but I grabbed hold of his shoulders and turned him toward me.  I got down on my knees, held his cock in the palm of one hand and landed a fist on top of it.

“All right.  Young dude’s catchin’ on,” CJ laughed.

He took me to the refrigerator, opened the door, positioned my body to his liking, and then slammed the fridge door on my dick.  Surprise.  And we both started laughing.  I grabbed his cock and pulled him to the oven.  He knew what I wanted to do and got himself in place.  I pulled the oven door all the way down, and then pushed up on it.  Hard.  He yelped and laughed and put a hand around his ample rod.

“Living room,” he said.  He grabbed my dick, I grabbed his, and we walked hand on dick into the living room.

He brought out a piece of plywood.

“On your knees, young man, and put your cock on that table.”

I had to clear some stuff away but did as he said.  He stood behind me and drove the edge of the plywood lengthwise onto my cock.  My turn to gasp.  It took a couple seconds, and then I grabbed his dick and led him into the bathroom.

“On your knees, and pay respects to the throne.”  I put up the seat and placed his dick on the rim of the bowl.  I grabbed both the seat and the lid and threw them down on his cock.  He pulled it out from under the seat and closed his hands around his cock.

“God, that was nice,” he said.  I was sorta hoping he’d had enough.  Obviously, I was wrong.  He stood, grabbed my dick and took me back into the kitchen.

“Cock on the counter,” he ordered.  I did.  He threw a fist into my cock and then ground it into my cock, squished it, rubbed it around, and ended with a chop to the head.  This was getting serious.  It also made me think that a move wasn’t restricted to just one thing.

“You got a hammer?” I asked.

“Have I got a hammer,” he replied, like it was the stupidest question ever.  He opened a drawer and pulled it out.  I took it.

“Cock on the counter,” I said.

He positioned it and put his hands behind his back.  I whacked his cock three times.

“Oh, that was nice,” he said, bringing his hands from behind his back and caressed his cock.  He held one of his hands palm up.  “Like I said, you can repeat something the other guy did, and this is fuckin’ brilliant.  On the counter, please.  Prepare to get hammered.”

I put my hands behind my back.  I didn’t know where to look.  At CJ?  At the hammer?  At my cock?  One.  I heard it.  I felt it.  He paused.  Oh, fuck, he’s going to pound me slowly.  Two.  Pause.  Three.  Ouch.  Not as much pause and it felt like he hit me harder.  Four.  Five, and now there were no pauses and he was wielding that hammer like a crazy carpenter.  I had to pull back at ten.

“That’s the same as falling on the floor,” he remarked, kinda casually.  “Now, on your knees because you’re gonna suck my dick like there’s no tomorrow.  You want some weed?  I want some weed.”

I guess the answer was a given.  I was on my knees when he returned.

“Take a couple hits,” he said.  I did.  After a couple drags, he took it from me.  “Jackson says you punch balls and suck dick like nobody else.  You should prove that.  Now.”

He walked up to my face, doobie hanging from his lips.  He grabbed my head, I opened my mouth.  He let go one of his hands.

“Go for it,” he suggested.

For the life of me, I couldn’t get into it.  And I wanted to.  I mean, good god, this was CJ.  His legendary cock and balls were right in front of me.  How could I not suck off CJ?  But it just wasn’t happening.

“Look, young dude, I know you’ve been through a fuckin’ lot tonight,” CJ said to me, pulling up my chin so I could see him.  “And it’s OK.  Sometimes you just can’t force it.  But do me one favor and then I’ll take you home.  Let’s get over here to the counter.”

We kinda repositioned ourselves.  He leaned against the counter and looked down at me.

“Whomp my balls a good one.”  I did.  “Oooh, that was good.  Can you just suck me off and smash my balls?  Just for a little.  It’s just I know you bust balls real good, I know you like cock.  Just a bit.  I mean, it’s not like I saved your life tonight or anything.”

That made me laugh.  I wrapped a hand around his cock and took it in my mouth.  I pulled it out licked it, and sank a fist into his balls.  I stuck his cock into my mouth and started milking him.  I threw another punch into his balls.  He didn’t flinch and moaned his approval.  For some reason, this was different.  It wasn’t punishment.  It was pleasure, and I was giving pleasure to CJ.  Fuckin’ CJ, for chrissake.

I took his cock out of my mouth, held it, licked it, smacked him hard in the nuts.  I was trying to do both, less with the nuts, more with the cock.  I gave him a couple more lollipop licks and put it back in mouth, rolled my tongue around his, drove a fist into his balls.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered.  “You really do know what the fuck you’re doin’.”

Well, yes, I thought.  I sucked him off for a nice amount of time, punching his balls, taking a nibble at his cock head, and it was fun.  It was relaxed, CJ was getting off on it, I was getting off on it.  I stopped sucking and slowly pulled my mouth off his cock.  Again, a swift one to his nuts.  I ran my stubble over his cock, ran it through my hair, licked the shaft, punched his balls.  We just kept at it.

“A little faster,” he said.  I could taste why.  I did suck him faster, more pressure on my lips, a little harder punch to his nards.  A little faster, a little more pressure, a little harder punch.  He held my head against his crotch as his cum streamed back to my throat.  He shot a bit more.  I planted a fist into his sac and he spurted a little more.

I had sucked off CJ.  And it came together so nicely.

I leaned back on my ankles and looked up at his face.  He had the biggest shit-eatin’ grin.  It was just killer.  He stuck out a hand to get me back on my feet.

“We gotta get you dressed and home,” he said, not entirely enthusiastically.  “You gotta work tomorrow, right?”

“No.  It’s Sunday.”

“Oh, that’s right.  Why don’t you spend the night?  I think we both could use a good cuddle.”  That fuckin’ grin again.  “Or…you know…somethin’.”

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