Pseudo-Chinese girl’s self-narrated ball-crushing story (Translated by Grok)
My name is Lan, female, 28 years old. The first time I encountered a man’s private parts was during my university days. That year, I had just turned 19, having gone from a rural high school to the nationally renowned B University. Though not yet 20, my body had already blossomed into a graceful figure, with a slender frame, D-cup breasts, and plump, rounded hips, giving me the appearance of a mature woman. Back then, I had many male suitors, but coming from a small town, my views on sex were quite conservative, so I rejected all their advances. As a result, people started calling me the “unattainable flower.”
Once, the school held a basketball game, and our class heartthrob, Guo Xiao, was on the team. Guo Xiao was the basketball team’s star, tall and handsome, with a chiseled, V-shaped physique, neatly cropped hair, and a scholarly air, almost like a male lead from a TV drama. The game was incredibly thrilling, especially Guo Xiao’s final flying dunk, which set the crowd on fire and earned wild screams from the girls. After the victory, everyone gathered around our basketball star to celebrate. Someone— I don’t know who— came up with a terrible idea to “reward” the hero by having him kiss the class beauty.
I don’t know if it was because I was too popular or not popular enough, but a group of classmates actually agreed and started chanting, “Kiss her! Kiss her!” I didn’t know at the time that Guo Xiao was also one of my admirers. I just felt they were deliberately making things difficult for me, so I turned and walked away, my face dark with anger. But Guo Xiao’s basketball teammates surrounded me, grabbed me, and insisted I couldn’t leave until he kissed me. Then, the basketball hunk, seen by all the girls as a prince charming, swaggered over, his loose basketball shorts revealing a suspicious bulge. Now I was really panicked— truly panicked. I had always been chaste, never even holding a man’s hand, so how could I kiss someone in front of everyone? As the 6’2” heartthrob leaned in with a seductive smile, I steeled myself and raised my foot, delivering a swift kick right to the proud bulge between his legs. In high school, I had trained in long-distance running, so my leg strength was formidable. His thin basketball shorts offered no protection. With a thud, my knee drove into his crotch, striking a hard rod and two round, egg-like objects. Those warm, hefty balls were sent flying, crashing into his pelvic bone, and finally, with nowhere to escape, were crushed flat by my knee. The entire crowd fell silent, everyone staring in shock. Then came a beastly howl. Guo Xiao, the basketball star, clutched his groin with both hands, dropped to his knees with a scream, his handsome face twisted in agony, his proud head pressed to the ground. His size 47 basketball shoes flailed wildly, his muscular, hairy thighs clamped together, and he coughed and retched, a stream of pale yellow bile dripping from his mouth onto the floor.
Watching this muscular guy writhing on the ground, I was stunned. “This tough guy with all those muscles can’t take a single kick? Where’s the wild, masculine energy he had on the court? He got knocked down by the opposing forward earlier and stood right back up, so how is it that one kick from a little woman like me has him rolling on the ground?”
The crumpled heartthrob groaned for a while, his muscular hips thrusting forward slightly, his groin twitching reflexively. Then, clutching his privates in vain, his eyes rolled back, his legs gave a final kick, and he passed out. Seeing something was wrong, his teammates rushed over, shouting his name like they were at a funeral. Some pinched his philtrum, others pressed his pressure points, and one player, right there in public, pulled down his basketball shorts to check his genitals through his underwear. Guo Xiao was wearing light blue tight briefs, the front soaked with white semen, the air thick with the humiliating scent of male hormones. I stole a glance at his crotch— his manhood was impressive, an 18cm penis hanging limply, with a pair of heavy, swollen testicles the size of duck eggs at the base.
After much fuss, the star forward finally showed some response, so the group hurriedly carried him to the infirmary, leaving me standing there in a daze. Later, a senior from the fourth year came to comfort me, saying, “You absolutely can’t touch a man’s balls. They’re the source of a man’s strength, packed with nerves and blood vessels, extremely sensitive to pressure or impact. These athletic guys may act all tough, with muscles like armor, but hit their balls, and they’ll be on their knees begging for mercy. The bigger a man’s testicles, the more fragile they are. The pain of having both crushed could kill a man instantly, and with balls as big as that guy’s, even crushing one could be fatal.”
“W-Would he die from that?” I asked, breaking into a cold sweat. The senior laughed and said, “Young guys’ testicles are elastic, not so easily crushed. An older man’s might not hold up as well. That guy looks so strong, probably never took a hit like that before, so his reaction was intense.” Then, with a teasing grin, she added, “Looks like that was his first time getting kicked there. Did you see how much he ejaculated? You must’ve sent that boy to cloud nine.”
“First time? Cloud nine?” I felt wronged. I genuinely didn’t know! If I had known men’s testicles were so fragile, I would’ve just let him kiss me and avoided all this mess. Later, Guo Xiao was taken to the infirmary, and as the senior predicted, both his testicles were intact, though he had to stay in bed for days. After that, he avoided me like the plague, never mentioning his feelings again. Meanwhile, I seemed to be ostracized. Boys stopped inviting me to class activities, and even the girls whispered behind my back, calling me an “S&M freak” who liked crushing guys’ balls. That’s how I spent my three years in university— in isolation and rumors. After graduation, I stayed in Beijing to work. That year, the job market was brutal. As an English major, I struggled to find a suitable job, so with a senior’s introduction, I started selling insurance. I still remember the company’s slogan: “Ping An Insurance, worry-free for life.” But the insurance industry wasn’t easy. People were eager to chat with a pretty girl, but once they heard I was selling insurance, their faces changed, and by the end of the month, I hadn’t sold a single policy. Just when I was at my wit’s end, I met a fitness coach named Brother Yong. He said he wanted to buy insurance, not just for himself but for all his trainees— a huge deal. I believed him and went to the gym after work to meet him.
To my shock, this rugged, honest-looking man with thick eyebrows turned out to be a predator. Once he lured me to his office, he tried to rape me. I fought back and screamed, but the gym was empty, and no one heard me. The brute slapped me across the face, leaving me dizzy and too weak to cry out. He tore my shirt, exposing my 24-inch pink bra.
Seeing I couldn’t resist, Brother Yong began stripping methodically. First, he took off his yellow tank top, then his black compression pants, leaving only socks and a white thong. Honestly, his physique was impressive— 48-inch pecs bulging, broad, defined shoulders, arms like coiling pythons, a 30-inch chiseled abdomen with no fat, and muscular thighs like they were clad in steel armor. His wheat-colored skin gleamed, a perfect male specimen. I thought, “This is it. I’m done for against such a strong man.” Just as I was about to give up, I caught sight of the massive bulge between his legs. Inside his thong, a thick, dark rod pointed upward, with two goose-egg-sized testicles in a baseball-sized scrotum, barely contained by the tight white fabric, his black shaft almost bursting out. Memories of the past flashed before me, and I fixed my gaze on his massive testicles. By now, Brother Yong was fully aroused, his eyes glued to my chest, his erection straining at a 90-degree angle, nearly tearing his thong. As he lunged at me, I ignored my shame, grabbed his scrotum, and yanked hard. “Ugh, my balls!” he groaned, his muscles tensing, his arms collapsing onto my shoulders, his 80kg weight pressing down. “Oh no, is it not working?” Thinking he wasn’t stopping, I squeezed his testicles harder. In my panic, one slipped out, but I wasn’t letting the other go. With all my strength, I crushed the remaining one. A faint pop sounded in his scrotum, and with a moan, his legs gave out, and he fainted.
I didn’t dare relax, fearing he’d recover. I tore off his thong to find the other testicle. His penis was now limp, like a dead snake, leaking semen from the tip. His once-full scrotum was wrinkled like a walnut, the remaining testicle hiding near his pelvic bone. I pulled it out, gripped it tightly, and with a hard squeeze— pop— it burst too. The unconscious man’s hips jerked, his glutes twitching wildly, his legs kicked, and a stream of yellow fluid shot out from his penis.
It took me a while to calm down. Brother Yong was motionless, his handsome face contorted, mouth agape, eyes bulging, forehead drenched in sweat, white foam dribbling from his mouth, his expression one of shock and defiance. I checked his breathing— he was gone. Terrified, I pulled off his white thong, wiped the semen from my hands, cleaned any fingerprints, and stuffed the semen-soaked thong into my bra before fleeing. Back home, I quit my insurance job and bought a train ticket back to my hometown. Luckily, Brother Yong had planned his assault discreetly, so no one traced me, and I escaped. That white thong remains with me, a constant reminder of that dark incident.
Now, I’m an administrative manager at a listed company. There’s a high-end gym in my office building, and every time I pass by, some cocky, muscular guys try to show off their masculinity. They all end up crying after I grab their privates. A couple even became my devotees, begging me to torment their balls. I’ve grown to enjoy the feeling of crushing them, relishing the power over these strong men’s lives. After all, didn’t God give men testicles for us to crush? Don’t you agree?
