Coach White beamed smugly at the locker room full of nude men. The air was thick with the scent of male sweat and sperm and testicles and manliness. All throughout the room, two dozen pairs of testicles hung from the college boys’ crotches, some small and firm, some bloated and heaving. Some men were cut, some were natural, some shaved bald, some bushy. Joan stared at them all, the owners of some making eye contact with her before blushing. She was the only woman in the locker room, and the only person wearing a stitch of clothing. It was the perfect time for a checkup.
She blew her whistle, catching the attention of every naked man in the room.
“LISTEN UP! WE NEED TO MAKE SURE NONE OF YOU BOYS ARE ABUSING STEROIDS! THIS IS A SURPRISE TESTICULAR INSPECTION. ASSUME THE POSITION AND PREPARE FOR YOUR EXAM!”
Every boyish face went pale, but they scrambled to obey. The college athletes were well aware what the punishment for failing to adequately present their testicles was. The boys who’d disobeyed in the past…didn’t exactly use the men’s locker room anymore.
Each guy found a place against the bench and got on his knees. Bent forward, they pushed their asses up in the air, and dozens of tight knotted boyholes quivered before Joan in the warm dampness of the locker room. Some of them reached a hand between their legs and pulled their testicles down to the base of their ballsacks, then pressed their nuts between their thighs and clamped their legs shut. Joan smiled at their obedience as every testicle was presented, naked and shivering and completely at the mercy of their inspector.
Joan breathed in deep, the heady aroma of dozens of burgeoning sperm sacks surrounding her. She admired the array of manhoods displayed before her, tightly packed or sagging limply or quivering with anxiety.
But there were dozens of testicles for her to inspect, and she couldn’t wait around all day. Joan got to work, rushing forth and grabbing the closest pair presented to her. They belonged to Tyler Johannes, and they were as disappointing as his performance on the swim team had been. Barely the size of olive pits, the two pathetic gonads were surprisingly firm in her grasp, as if they’d already shrivelled up into dead wood. Joan squeezed as hard as she could until she felt them shrink the tiniest bit, their owner letting out a strangled wheeze as he struggled to stay bent over with his legs spread wide apart.
“Stop moving, Tyler. I’m not finished inspecting.” Joan rolled the boy’s nuts around in her fist, putting as much pressure as she could onto one gonad, then the other. He was certainly still fertile, and no boy with as little muscle as he had was using steroids. With one final cruel twist, she let him go. He fell to the floor, gasping, as she moved on to her next victim.
The next man’s balls were huge and dark, nearly the size of peaches and much furrier. Keaton’s scrotum was smooth and wrinkled, his tight butthole flanked by two steel-hard buttocks. Joan stroked his thighs appreciatively, drinking in the sight of the strong, vulnerable man. He looked behind himself, obviously nervous. She cupped his massive examples of masculinity, one in each hand, hefting them at eye level.
They were simply too tempting; she couldn’t help herself. The middle-aged woman leaned forward to plant two gentle kisses on the pair of barely-legal testicles before her.
“Coach White!”
“Quiet. It’s part of the exam. Your balls have…some problem. Let me do my job.”
No going back now. She knew what she wanted to do; he certainly wasn’t in a place to stop her. She kissed the beautiful gonads again, then opened her mouth wide.
“Coach White!”
“I just need to taste them, Keaton.”
He squealed as she struggled to fit his entire scrotum in her mouth, her eyelid twitching with the effort required to open her jaws wide enough.
“They won’t fit!”
“Yss…thhhyy…WLLL!” She sucked as hard as she could, and his massive balls finally made it past her teeth. Inching forward, her eyes watering with effort, she pulled them into her cheeks, their fist-thick cords straining until taut.
Finally, they were in. Inside her mouth, his testicles were salty and alien-feeling. She rolled them around with her tongue, prodding and poking the blood-hot pair of organs. She could practically feel the sperm inside each one teeming and squirming around, alive and desperate beneath her tongue and teeth. She clamped her jaw down, just a fraction of an inch, and felt his nuts flatten out between her teeth. With her mouth clamped onto his balls from behind, his taint and scrotal cords filled her vision, and she could see the latter tense up with pain and panic as she slowly but surely increased the pressure on his two most precious organs.
“MS. WHITE!!!” Something squicked beneath her teeth. Satisfied that she'd just done a bit of permanent damage, she pulled her face back from his crotch, allowing his testicles to pop free of their too-tight prison and slap forward, wet with her saliva. Gasping for breath, she grabbed them one more time, rolling the massive goolies around in her hand while their owner just quivered and moaned in pain.
“Hold still. I’m almost done.” She squeezed his balls hard, keeping her hand on his back to hold him steady. He writhed around, twisting and gasping in pain, but not moving too much for fear of tearing his balls off in her hand. Finally, she was finished. Pulling her hand back, she gave the glistening, flopping pair of testicles a vicious backhand, leaving him whimpering with pain as she moved to the next pair of balls.
“I hope I get that kinda treatment, Ms. White! Can you lick my dick while you’re down there too?” Grant Cocksworth was the most annoying boy on the swimming team. He pushed his ass up in the air, his medium-sized paper white testicles dangling between his thighs. He looked behind him at her, a smug look plastered on his face. His balls were spiderwebbed with thin blue veins, and his cock was uncut, although infuriatingly long. She grimaced.
“Come on, Ms. White. You know you wanna taste my goolies too.”
“He just had…a condition. I needed to inspect it.”
“Yeah, inspect with your tongue!” He catcalled. “What about me, Coach? Anything wrong with my balls?” He waggled his ass back and forth, his nuts swinging pendulously in front of her.
“Actually, I believe there is, Grant.” She grabbed his balls gently, hefting the modest pair back and forth.
“Aw, Coach. I’m just so backed up, you wouldn’t believe it,” he said mockingly. “Couldn’t you just empty them for me? I think I’d swim much better.”
“I agree, Grant. You have a problem with your…aerodynamics. You'd do much better with an empty sack.”
“Huh?” Her sudden shift in tone caught him off guard.
“I know how to help. Let’s smooth these out for you.”
And she squeezed, full force. She kept her fingers apart, so his balls were forced through the gaps, tiny bubbles of nutmeat extruded into pulp as she pressed in as hard as she possibly could with her thumb. Grant’s smug sneer had disappeared, and he yodeled, wall-eyed and incoherent. She squeezed harder. No need to drag this out. He would be just another boy, with just another empty scrotum to help with his…
POP POP
…swimming ability.
Joan felt his balls pop in her hand.
“OoooaahhhAAAHHUUGHH! MY BALLS, MY FUCKING BALLS, WHAT DID YOU DO?!!!? YOU BIIIIITCH!”
Grant spasmed forward. His cock, still trapped behind his thighs, stiffened, then erupted in a spray of lumpy white goo, his final orgasm leaping out of his cock to stain the back of his own thighs.
“Oh god. Save it, my cum…SAVE MY CUM, PLEASE! MY BALLS POPPED…THAT’S MY LAST…MY LAST CHANCE! PLEASE, MS. WHITE!!”
She kept manipulating his scrotum, searching out and destroying each morsel of manhood she could find as he howled and begged. She, of course, made no attempt to preserve what would be his last chance to procreate, his cock continuing to splatter streaks of his lumpy, precious cum onto the bench below.
“Just let me finish milking you. You’ll feel so much better once I’ve taken every drop from you.”
“Ms. White…Please…”
“No more of that, Grant. I’m just doing my job, Grant. And you’ll be just fine without your little gonads, I promise. If you really want to raise children, you can always adopt.”
He hadn’t been the most poorly hung boy in the room, but his testicles were small enough she only needed one hand to finish liquifying them. Her other crept higher, past his ballsack and between his buttcheeks, and then in. She dipped her finger into his twitching asshole and curved it forward, feeling for the fleshy bump of his prostate. When he squealed a final, undignified shriek, and his cock shot an even bigger stripe of lumpy cum than before, she knew she’d found it. Pumping gently at first, then fingerfucking him harder and harder, she milked every drop of his final orgasm out of his broken testicles and quivering prostate, until he was involuntarily thrusting back into her, his body aching for more humiliating pleasure even as her other hand finished crushing what had been his manhood.
She finally finished, and Grant collapsed forward, the weight of his body landing on his painful, mushy scrotum. That last bit of agony proved to be too much; his eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp, falling forward and conking his head on the tile floor with a sharp crack. Both boys on either side of him stared at the eunuch, horrified. The first two boys looked guiltily grateful that they didn’t have to have their nuts popped during inspection. The next boy on her right looked terrified.
“Let’s see what we have here, then.” She wiped her hands off on Grant’s unconscious body, smearing the last few remnants of his lineage onto his body to die off as they dried out. Squatting behind the next freckled, twitching asshole and low-hanging pair of testicles, she prodded the red-furred package with her pen.
“Are they…okay? Are they alright? I promise, I won’t…I won’t be rude like Grant.”
“I know you won’t, Conor.”
He’d always been a wimpy one, his large swollen testicles a baffling conflict with his personality. His dick was sized appropriately, the tiny three-inch member standing up stiffly. Some boys got like that, from the anxiety. And some from the enjoyment. Joan reached between his legs with one hand and gently pulled his rock-hard cock down, bending it downward painfully.
“Coach! Stop, please!”
“It needs to be behind you for inspection, Conor.” She continued pushing his cock down, and the boy arched his back to try to reduce the pressure, pushing his ass higher in the air. His cheeks spread wide apart, and Joan got a perfect view of his hairless bare bottom. From the length of his diminutive cock, his thin muscles, and his lack of pubic hair, Joan suspected the 19-year-old was pretty low on testosterone, for whatever reason.
Still…she could make it even lower. That could be really fun. Although he hadn’t been quite as annoying as Grant, so maybe he didn’t need quite as severe of a hormonal adjustment.
“I’m afraid I see a serious issue here, Conor.” She used one hand to pinch his tiny cock between his legs, and the other to roll and pinch his fat left ball.
“AUGHHH! That stings, Ms. White!”
“It’s medically necessary, I assure you,” she lied, digging her thumb into his epididymis as hard as she could. “Your left testicle is incredibly overactive, and we need to incur some testicular cessation.”
“W…what?”
“Pressure-induced rupture.”
“Rupture?!”
“I’m going to pop your left nut,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Why?! NO!”
“Like I said. Too much testosterone. Far too much, for the kind of man you are.” She pressed harder, her bicep quivering with the effort. His testicle bulged beneath her thumb.
“PLEASE, NOOO! MY BALL, MY BAAWAAAAL! COACH WHITE, PLEASE!!!” He sobbed and cried, but he never left the examination position the entire time, even as his gonad crunched and cracked beneath her efforts. She started stroking his tiny cock with her other hand, her two fingers quivering at his tip.
She had a feeling she wouldn’t need to wait for his nut to shatter for him to begin his final orgasm. The wimpy boy didn’t look like he had much stamina. He proved her right when thirty seconds into her half-hearted rubbing, he twitched and let out a strangled yelp, and hot spunk started to coat her hand. She responded by squeezing even harder with her other hand, changing the angle to increase her leverage, until she felt it flatten out, then suddenly, finally, give way with a wet little squip. Conor let out one last strangled plea for mercy, then went quiet.
Coach White wrenched his cock as far back behind him as she could, the little appendage pointing nearly upwards behind him, and continued pumping his sensitive little cockhead with two fingers as it continued spewing out his unnaturally large cumshot. Her other hand slowly rolled what had been his left testicle around, squeezing and digging in until all the squiggly little mush inside leaked out of his collapsed nutshell, to float loose and useless inside his ballsack.
But she wasn’t finished with the half-man. She could tell the pathetically squealing nineteen-year-old still had a little more semen to surrender for her. She lifted her hand up high and began spanking him, her hand clapping against his buttcheeks thunderously. His crushed scrotum still protruded behind him, and Joan caught it full force, the half-mushy thing flattening beneath her open palm with each blow. He bucked forward, squealing in pain with each wet splat, his cock dutifully blasting his infertile semen onto the bench below in time with her rhythm.
Conor was still barely conscious. She leaned over next to him and whispered in his ear.
“There, there. Go see the nurse and she’ll snip you open and have you fixed right. Don’t worry, you still have the other one.”
Finally, the half-man collapsed onto the bench. Joan moved on to the next heaving set of balls in her lineup. These plums were shrink-wrapped in the tight bald scrotum before her. The boy looked back at her anxiously, obviously wondering if he’d be allowed to keep both, one, or neither of his babymakers.
God, Joan loved her job.