Friday, May 15, 2020

Work buddies (Jordan meets Brandon and Tristan)

Special thanks to Jordan for the idea for this story! If you (yes, I mean you, the one who loves light-hearted stories of fun and pain) would like to meet the Ballbusting Boys and see yourself in a story please read this post for more details.

Artwork created by Champ

Featured in this story: Brandon and Tristan (click for pictures)

The last costumer left around quarter to midnight, and the three young guys manning the night shift at the fast food restaurant knew that they’d spend the remainder of the shift bored out of their minds.

The shift ended at half past one, and very rarely did another costumer show up after midnight. Nevertheless, their boss insisted on keeping the restaurant open instead of closing at midnight. His workers didn’t mind.

Cleaning the deep fryer and the rest of the kitchen took about one hour, so there was half an hour left, and the guys spent it goofing around, joking around and smacking each other in the sack.

Brandon was 21 years old, a handsome Asian-American, with black hair and brown eyes. He was a swimmer with a perfect swimmer’s build, athletic and muscular.

Tristan was skinny and lanky, 19 years old, with dusty blond hair and blue eyes.

Jordan was as old as him, tall and handsome, with curly light brown hair. He was a fun and rowdy guy, just like the other two, and they enjoyed working together.

They were wearing their uniforms, looking a lot more zealous and courteous than they were.

In fact, they had made it a sport to whack each other in the goodie sacks whenever possible.


It had started at the beginning of their shift, when their supervisor had segued from his usual motivational nonsense to a short lecture on the dangers of germs in the milk shake machine.

“My milk shakes are germ free”, Brandon joked, grabbing his crotch with a smirk before leaning against the wall, casually coking his hips.

“Yeah, they are also sperm free”, Tristan dead-panned, playfully smacking Brandon in the nuts with the back of his hand.

Brandon doubled over, groaning and chuckling.

“Let’s hope so”, Jordan chimed in. “Who knows what he’s up to when he’s alone in the kitchen…” He made a lewd masturbation gesture, a huge grin on his face.

Brandon replied with a quick, hard punch to Jordan’s nuts, making him double over and grab his crotch.

The three boys roared with laughter as the supervisor stared at them, slowly shaking his head in disbelief. “Can we focus on---” He tried to steer the conversation back to the things that mattered to him – but it was too late as his juvenile workers had started a bona fide sack tapping fight.

Brandon, Jordan and Tristan were giggling and chuckling as they tried to punch, kick or slap each other in the nuts.

“Guys!” the supervisor said. “Guys!” He let out a sigh. “Guys, I---”

He was rudely interrupted as an errant foot slammed into his crotch, shutting him up instantly.

The boys stopped immediately as their middle-aged boss went white as a sheet.

“Ooops”, Brandon mumbled, trying not to laugh. “That was--- Well---“ His voice trailed off, and a little chuckle escaped his lips. He tried to hide it by clearing his throat and covering his mouth with his hand.

There was a moment of silence. Nobody knew what to say as the supervisor was struggling to remain standing.

His mouth opened. Then it closed again. It opened and closed a few times but no words came out of his mouth.

“Right in the dick”, Tristan inhaled sharply, clicking his tongue. “Are you alright, sir?”

The supervisor let out a wheezing moan.

“Oh dear”, Jordan cringed in sympathy. “That’s gotta hurt.”

Slowly, the supervisor turned and walked out of the room, his hands pressed to his sides, trying to keep his dignity as he disappeared into his tiny office.

As soon as he was gone, the three guys burst out laughing.

“His face!” Tristan cackled. “He looked like he was about to puke any second!”

“I think we fucking ended his family line!” Jordan chimed in, roaring with laughter.

“Ugly bastard shouldn’t have kids anyway”, Brandon quipped with a mean grin.

“Oh yeah?” Tristan laughed. “You think you should?”

Brandon shrugged his shoulders. “Damn right, I---”

Jordan’s foot found Brandon’s crotch, ramming his nuts into his body and making the young Asian-American stud howl in agony.

“Nope”, Jordan grinned. “No kids for you, pal.”

Tristan and Jordan roared with laughter as Brandon writhed in pain, cupping his nuts.


Throughout the day, the boys kept hitting each other in the nuts.

The waist-high counter that separated the lunchroom from the kitchen area was perfect for sneak attacks, and often the nutshots started when there was a line of hot girls waiting for their orders.

Jordan was a preferred victim for his colleagues because his dick had a way of tenting his uniform pants when it grew hard that made it an irresistible target for his buddies.

Jordan was in the middle of serving a hot young couple, the guy wearing a football jersey, the girl showing off her cleavage in a tube top, and Jordan’s dick was half-hard in his pants as he fetched a milk shake for the girl.

When his back was turned, Tristan climbed into the counter and hid there while Jordan fetched a milk shake for a customer. When Jordan returned, Tristan’s fist shot out of the hideout, crunching Jordan’s nuts.

Jordan’s eyes crossed and his cheeks puffed as the pain washed through his body. He let out a wheezing groan and doubled over, cupping his balls with one hand while pushing the milkshake over the counter to the waiting customer.

Tristan came out, straightened his clothes and smiled his brightest smile. “There’s your milkshake”, he said cheerfully. With a wink, he added, “With a handful of crushed nuts on the side…”

The couple snickered and walked away.

“That was nasty”, Jordan croaked. “You got both of them dead-on.”

Tristan balled his fist and looked at it, a proud smile on his face. “Yeah, that’s my most effective weapon.”

“And this is mine”, came a voice from behind Tristan. A split-second later, Brandon’s foot connected with Tristan’s balls from behind, ramming his chicken nuggets into his body.

“Fuck!” Tristan yelped, doubling over and joining Jordan as they both leaned onto the counter to prevent them from collapsing. “Right in the dick!”

Brandon let out a cackling laugh, turning to the next customer in line. “How can I help you, sir?”

Before the customer had a chance to place his order, Tristan drove his elbow into Brandon’s groin, making him moan in pain and double over.

“I don’t think you’ll be serving any milk shakes anytime soon”, Jordan quipped, making everybody laugh.


The nutshots continued throughout the rest of the day, and most of the customers appreciated the entertainment, laughing and chuckling as the boys whacked each other in the meatballs.

One of the regulars, a handsome stud in his early twenties, placed his order with a wide grin on his face. He was familiar with the boys’ antics, and he had a habit of adding fuel to the fire.

Jordan was the one serving him today, and he looked a little dismayed as the customer placed his order.

“The usual”, he said, chuckling. “Double if you take two.”

Jordan let out a sigh. Then he turned to Brandon, put his hands behind his back and closed his eyes. “Do it.”

“As hard as you can”, the customer said with a grin.

“Sure, two kicks in the dick, coming right up”, Brandon said cheerfully before delivering them with the force and the energy of a highly motivated soccer player. His foot connected with Jordan’s nuts twice in rapid succession, making him let out a gurgling grunt.

“Aaaand go”, the customer said, starting the clock.

Jordan collected the order for the customer, moaning in pain as he hobbled back and forth.

It took him just three seconds too long.

“63 seconds”, the customer said, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry. You took it like a champ – but no tip for you today.”

“Maybe tomorrow”, Jordan groaned.

“Maybe tomorrow”, the customer chuckled as he turned to go.


By the end of the shift, they had all slapped and kicked each other in the nuts so often that they had lost count.

Jordan looked at his watch.

There was half an hour to go.

“Game of Seven Sack Taps?” he suggested.

It was a game they often played at the end of a shift. The rules were simple: Whoever got smacked in the nuts seven times was the loser, and he had to endure some sort of punishment from the winners. More often than not, that punishment consisted of more sack taps, making it a highly entertaining game for everybody involved…

Tristan groaned. He reached inside his pants, cupping his balls. “My nuts are killing me.”

“Come on, one game”, Jordan chuckled.

“Just look at them”, Tristan groaned, pulling his balls out of his pants. They were a little red but they didn’t look seriously damaged.

“Well, look at mine”, Jordan countered, following Tristan’s lead and exposing his testicles. They looked far more battered, with a few welts and bruises on the skin of his sack.

“They are smaller”, Brandon said with a grin before slapping them with the back of his hand, making Jordan howl in pain.

Tristan roared with laughter – until Brandon repeated his move on Tristan’s nuts, smacking them with all the force he could muster.

“That’s one for each of you!” Brandon laughed as Tristan and Jordan moaned in pain.

“Hey, the game hasn’t started yet”, Jordan protested, nursing his bare balls with both of his hands.

“Of course it has”, Brandon replied with a laugh. “And here’s tap number two!” He aimed another sack tap at Jordan’s nuts but he managed to raise his knee and prevent any knuckle-to-nut contact.

Instead, he managed to land a smack of his own, leveling the playing field with a picture-perfect sack tap that made Brandon howl in pain.

Quickly, Jordan and Tristan tucked their sacks away again, because naturally a bare ball bag was a serious liability once a game of Seven Sack Taps was in progress.

Tristan shrieked when Brandon landed a blow to his sack, and he screamed even louder when Jordan followed up with another tap. Then it was Brandon’s turn to squeal as Tristan landed a blow to his meat patties.

The sound of sacks getting smacked mixed with laughter and screams and good-natured jokes about ruining each other’s chances of ever fathering children.

They played all over the place, in the kitchen and in the lunchroom, ganging up on each other, only to end an alliance when betrayal meant that a sack could be slapped for their own gain.

Jordan lost the game, but it was a close race. Brandon had five slaps on his scorecard, and Tristan and Jordan both had six, when Brandon landed the winning blow.

It was a spectacular nutshot, delivered with poise and panache. Jordan left himself open for just a second – but that was all Brandon needed to fire a massive salt shaker at Jordan’s balls.

It connected perfectly, making Jordan stop dead in his tracks.

There was a moment of silence that was quickly followed by an ear-piercing shriek, siren-like, the perfect ending for an awesome game.

“Fuck yeah!” Brandon roared, starting a victory dance.

Tristan chimed in as Jordan sank to his knees, cupping his injured balls and howling in agony.

The punishment was swift and harsh: Seven nut kicks from each of the winners.

“Pants down!” Brandon laughed. “We wanna see the goods!”

Jordan let out a miserable sigh as he dropped his pants, revealing his severely swollen testicles.

Fourteen kicks later, they were swollen even more severely, and Jordan was curled up on the floor, moaning and groaning in agony, clutching his battered balls.

“That was fun”, Brandon grinned. “When’s our next shift?”

Tristan looked at the plan. “Tomorrow”, he said with a grin.

Brandon laughed. “Ouch!”

“Ouch indeed”, Jordan chimed in, slowly getting up, cupping his nuts. “I’ll get you back, motherfuckers!”

No comments: