Art by White Worm: Brett's new job

This is a little story inspired by the pictures below. Make sure to follow @whiteworm10 on twitter and enjoy his amazing art! 

Artwork created by @whiteworm10

When Brett showed up for his new job at the gym he had been looking forward to it. Granted, he wasn’t as young as the other personal trainers, but he was in good shape, and he was highly motivated.

He had spent his teens surfing and smoking weed, and his twenties at various gyms working as a coach or a personal trainer. In his thirties, he had struggled to keep up with the younger guys who flooded the market. They were fitter, and hotter than him, younger versions of the same model.

Now he was almost forty, and he hadn’t expected to get a job at a gym again.

“You won’t be disappointed, Mr. Washington”, he smiled, flashing his pearly white teeth at his new boss who seemed to be more than ten years younger than him.


Mr. Washington nodded slowly. He was a muscular guy with short black hair and a beard. “You’re the speed bag”, he said casually.

Brett smiled. “Awesome, man! I like working with the speed bag.”

Mr. Washington’s eyes narrowed. “I think there’s a misunderstanding. You ARE the speed bag.”

Brett blinked. “I don’t get it.”

***

Five minutes later, Brett got it.

He was dangling from the ceiling, his hands tied behind his back, completely immobilized, bare naked, with a sign hanging around his neck. It said “SPEED BAG” with an arrow pointing down, pointing straight at Brett’s crotch.

Mr. Washington wrapped his hands with the white bandages, getting ready for the first training session. He liked to try out the new speed bags himself. Too many bad experiences. Whimpy white guys puking all over the gym.

He was surrounded by five personal trainers.

“This one looks good”, one of them said. “Better than the others.”

“Nice and saggy”, another one chimed in. “We’ll get a solid couple of hours out of that bag.”

“If you do it right he’ll be good for a month or so”, Mr. Washington said, slipping into his boxing gloves. “Right, white boy?”

“Oh, definitely”, Brett chuckled nervously. “I’ll be good for at least a month or two. You’ll see.”

Mr. Washington and the trainers chuckled.

Brett joined in, but his laughter didn’t sound as cheerful as the other guys’. “Just try it. Go as hard as you can. That bag can take it.” Frankly, he had no idea whether his bag could indeed take it - but he had no choice, he desperately needed this job.

Mr. Washington slammed his fist into the sagging ball sack, making it swing wildly and smack against Brett’s thighs.

Brett howled in agony, and the trainers roared with laughter, some of the cringing in sympathy.

“That was a good one, sir”, Brett whimpered, trying to put up a brave front. “Don’t worry, you can go harder. That bag won’t mind.”

“Don’t you need it?” Mr. Washington chuckled cruelly. “I bet the girls are just dying to get into bed with you, huh?” With that, he punched Brett’s nuts once again as hard as he could, eliciting an anguished wail from him.

“Those times are long gone”, Brett whimpered. “That sack hasn’t seen any action in months.”

“What?” Mr. Washington laughed. “You’re telling me the ladies don’t long for that huge dick of yours?”

The trainers roared with laughter, and Brett chimed in, even though he didn’t get the joke.

Mr. Washington’s fist connected with Brett’s nutsack again and again, and the sound of his boxing gloves meeting Brett’s nuts echoed through the gym.

An hour later, Brett’s ball bag was beet red, bruised and battered, and he had a new job.

***

Artwork created by @whiteworm10

“Good morning, Mr. Washington, sir!“

“Yo, Maurice, everything cool?”

“Hey, Lay-Z, how are ya?”

Brett’s cheerful greetings went without response, but that didn’t bother him. After six weeks on the job, his colleagues had grown used to his cheerful, slightly annoying but basically harmless demeanor. They had learned to ignore him when he entered the gym, heading straight for the staff locker rooms, stripping naked, oiling up his speed bag, and getting in his position for the first training session.

Suspended from the ceiling, his balls dangling between his legs, he passed the time by trying to start a conversation with the trainers.

“Love your new sneakers, Darnell! Where’d you get them?”

“How was your weekend, Maurice? I bet Shauna is walking funny, huh?”

“Did you see the game? The Knicks rocked, right?”

Usually, it didn’t take long until someone walked up to the Brett’s speed bag and started pummeling it – if only to shut him up.

The funny noises Brett made when his nuts were punched were a lot less annoying than his attempts at striking up conversations.

More often than not, a few regulars would gather around the speedbag and try to outdo each other in eliciting the highest note from Brett, making him sing soprano with every punch to his rapidly swelling balls.

Brett’s nuts were constantly bruised and swollen, making them hang even lower than usual, red and bloated, the perfect speed bag for a good, demanding training.

When he went home after a day’s work he usually was a lot less talkative, partly because walking was with a ridiculously swollen ball bag was hard and demanded his full attention, partly because his voice was hoarse from all the screaming.

That was the time for good-natured  jokes and funny quips from Brett’s colleagues.

“Bye, speed bag!”

“Give those nuts a rest. We’ll need them tomorrow!”

“Have fun on your date tonight – just call me if you need any help…”

Brett just smiled and chuckled through the pain and limped past them. Usually, one of them would try to give him a “parting kick” in the nuts, and Brett made it a habit to spread his legs and laugh along with his buddies when the foot met his bloated ballbag – even though he felt like throwing up.

The job didn’t pay a lot, but he didn’t spend have to spend any money on girls anymore which was a huge plus. Brett’s libido was basically non-existent, and his dick hadn’t grown hard in weeks. Sometimes, when he was sitting on the couch, watching TV and examining his black and blue ball bag, Brett wondered whether his dick had actually shrunk a bit. Then again, it didn’t matter much.

***

“Good morning, Mr. Washington, sir!“

“Hey, Lay-Z, how are ya?”

“Yo, Darnell, everything---”

Mr. Washington cleared his throat. “Good morning, Brett.”

Brett raised his eyebrows. “How are you, sir? Is anything the matter?”

“Would you step into my office, please?” Mr. Washington said. The smile on his face made Brett expect the worst.

Mr. Washington didn’t mince his words. Brett was fired. His balls had run their course. They had found a pair of twenty-something twins that would share the job, making sure that there’d be a fresh pair of balls available every day.

Brett was shown a picture, and he had to admit that it was the right decision. They were younger, more attractive, their balls were bigger and the fact that they looked like they were sexually active made it more fun to have a go at their nuts.

“Good choice”, Brett mumbled. “I can’t argue with that.”

Mr. Washington looked at him. “Oh what the hell”, he sighed. “I might have a new job for you. It pays less, it’s outside, and it has longer hours.”

Brett’s face brightened. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it, sir!”

Mr. Washington chuckled, patting Brett’s head. “Looks like I just got myself a brandnew doorbell…”

Artwork created by @whiteworm10