Disclaimer: These stories are a work of fiction. None of the events depicted have occurred as they are depicted. My wife and I do have a relationship that sometimes incorporates some ballbusting, but these stories are fantasy.

Chapter 45: Saturday – The Pressing (Salem Witch Trial Roleplay)

“Honey? Come down to the basement.”

Her voice floated up the stairs, calm but commanding. My stomach tightened instantly. She’d been down there for hours — the occasional scrape of wood and clink of metal drifting up all afternoon. Whatever she was building, it was sure to be bad news for my balls.

I walked down the wooden steps into the cool basement air.

She stood beside a sturdy table in a ridiculous homemade Puritan costume — a long black dress with a high white collar and long sleeves, but the entire front was cut wide open so her heavy breasts hung completely exposed. A large wooden crucifix dangled between them, swinging gently as she moved.

Her accent was never going to win any awards, but she was really committing tonight.

“These wicked balls have been brought before this court on grave charges,” she declared in her strongest attempt at a Puritan accent. “They stand accused of a most foul crime. Did these cowardly balls try to ruin my most excellent day on Friday? Did they seek to protect themselves while I was showing them affection?”

I tried to stay in character, even though my mouth had gone dry. “Aye, Mistress Magistrate. The balls are guilty of that crime. They did try to shield themselves from thy loving attention.”

She nodded solemnly, the crucifix swaying. “And dost thou also confess that thou lovest these balls more than thou lovest thy wife?”

The question hit harder. I swallowed. “Nay, Mistress Magistrate. That I do not confess. I love my wife far more than these pathetic balls.”

She gave a dramatic sigh, clearly pleased with my refusal. “If thou wilt not confess the full truth, then we shall put thee to the test. These sinful orbs shall suffer the ancient judgment of peine forte et dure.”

She pointed to the table. “Place thy sinful scrotum into the stocks.”

I stepped forward, heart hammering. The device was brutally simple and effective. A thick wooden cylinder was bolted firmly to the table, with a wide notch cut into one side. I had to lever myself up, partially climbing the table for my balls to go overtop of the tube, and then my scrotum slid down the notch until they hit the bottom of the cylinder. The cylinder trapped my sack perfectly — my testicles were now completely trapped, unable to pull back out unless I climbed the table again to lift them out of the notch.

My wife moved behind me, grabbed my wrists, and pulled them together. I felt the sharp plastic bite of zip ties as she cinched them tightly behind my back, far too tight for any hope of escape, and with my hands bound, it was now impossible for me to free my balls.

She then lifted the heavy plank with the smaller cylinder attached underneath. With slow, deliberate care, she lowered it so the smaller cylinder slid perfectly down into the larger one like a piston. The moment it made contact with my trapped balls, a heavy, ominous pressure settled onto them.

She stepped back to admire her handiwork, the crucifix swaying between her bare breasts.

“These cowardly balls shall now be pressed,” she announced in her over-the-top Puritan voice, “until thou confessest that thou lovest them more than thy wife. Dost thou wish to confess now, before we begin?”

I shook my head, trying to keep my voice steady. “Nay, Mistress Magistrate. I do not confess.”

She gave a small, satisfied nod, as if she’d been hoping for that answer. Without another word, she picked up the first of the one-kilogram weights and placed it onto the center of the plank. Then the second. Then the third. She continued in silence, one after another, until ten of the heavy weights sat stacked on the plank. The pressure on my trapped balls built steadily, turning from firm to crushing. By the tenth weight, a deep, heavy ache had already settled into my groin.

She stepped back, hands on her hips, looking down at me with mock solemnity. The crucifix swayed between her exposed breasts.

“Dost thou confess now? Dost thou admit that thou lovest these balls more than thy wife?”

I gritted my teeth against the growing pain and forced the words out. “Nay… I do not.”

She smiled, clearly pleased. Then she added one more weight and said, “Very well. If thou wilt not confess, then I shall leave thee here in darkness to contemplate thy sins. I shall return in a number of hours.”

She walked to the stairs, flipped the light switch, and plunged the basement into complete blackness. I heard her footsteps ascend the wooden stairs, followed by the sound of the basement door closing.

It wasn’t that bad yet. My balls ached with a deep, heavy throb that pressed into my gut, but they’d taken worse. Still… how long was she actually going to leave me like this? Eleven kilos wasn’t nothing. What if she got distracted upstairs and forgot about me? The thought made my stomach twist. I tried to count my breaths, but the darkness and the constant pressure made it hard to focus.

The door opened again some time later. The light came on.

She descended the stairs and stood over me, crucifix swaying.

“Dost thou confess now? If so, dinner can be served.”

“Nay,” I answered. “I do not.”

She placed another weight on the stack. The pressure grew noticeably stronger, pushing my balls flatter inside the cylinder. Then the light went out again.

“I shall return in a number of hours.”

My balls were really starting to feel it now — a thick, swollen ache that wouldn’t let up. Every heartbeat made them throb against the unyielding wood. It hurt, but I could still handle it. The real fear was the time. Dinner time? Had she been gone for hours? It felt shorter, but the darkness made everything feel endless. Was she actually going to keep doing this all night?

She returned again. The ache in my balls had grown deeper, more constant.

“Dost thou confess?”

“Nay. I cannot speak a lie before the Mistress Magistrate. I do love my wife much more than the testicles.”

“You sinful ways shall be found out.”

Another weight. The pressure climbed higher. She left me in darkness once more.

“I shall return in a number of hours.”

The weight was really pressing down now. My balls felt hot and compressed, the ache radiating up into my stomach in slow, nauseating waves. How long had it been? It was getting harder to stay still. The uncertainty was almost as bad as the pain.

The fourth time she returned, the ache had settled into a deep, nauseating throb that wouldn’t let up.

“Dost thou confess?”

“Nay… I do not.”

“The night approaches, a night that could be spent in thine bed, or suffering under the weight. Which shall it be?”

“I love my wife. I love her.”

She added the weight and started to walk away.

“Mayhaps you shall be more willing to confess in the morning.”

“Please don’t leave me all night. Please!”

She paused briefly as if considering, then flicked off the lights, walked up the stairs and closed the door, ignoring my ongoing pleas as she did.

The pressure was building into something heavier now, a constant grinding ache that made my stomach churn. My balls felt swollen and tender inside the cylinder. Could I take this all night? Would she really leave me here until morning? Minutes passed. Hours? Impossible to tell.

The light flashed on, blinding me. She was no longer in her Puritan garb, just her pajamas with sheep on them. The pajamas made it feel even more real — she really had gone to bed and gotten back up just to check on me.

The pain was getting harder to ignore. My balls felt hot and flattened, the weight pushing them relentlessly.

“A stirring in my bladder caused a visit to the chamber pot, and I elected to visit thee. Dost thou confess now that thy favor the balls to thine wife?”

“No. I love you so much. You are everything to me. I love you so much more than my testicles. Please let me out.”

“Nay, thou shalt be released until thy confession is stirred.”

She placed the next weight — now fifteen kilos — on my sensitive balls. The pressure surged.

“I shall return before I break my fast to see if you will spare your soul the sins of deception.”

Panic flared in my chest.

“Please,” I begged, voice cracking. “Don’t leave me here overnight. Please, I love you, I’m sorry I tried to protect the testicles, I can’t stay like this until morning.”

She paused, looking down at me with mock concern.

“We can be done right now,” she said, still in that terrible Puritan accent. “All thou needst do is confess that thou lovest these balls more than thy wife.”

I swallowed hard. The pain was bad, but I couldn’t let her believe she wasn’t the most important thing to me.

“Nay,” I whispered. “I do not confess.”

She gave a small, satisfied nod.

“Very well. I shall return in the morning.”

She turned off the light and left me in darkness once more.

She was really going to do it. Leave me here all night. My balls throbbed with a deep, heavy crush under fifteen kilograms, the ache radiating sickeningly through my gut. I loved her for this, but the fear that something could go wrong while I was tied and helpless made my stomach knot tighter than the zip ties on my wrists.

Some time later the door opened again. The light came on.

She was still wearing her soft pajamas, her hair down, the large crucifix now hanging between her breasts even in the casual nightclothes.

“Dost thou confess now?”

“Please let me out.” I begged. “This much time under weights is dangerous.”

“Oh? Do thy balls suffer for thine wickedness?”

“Yes they hurt, they hurt so bad. But maybe hurt them in a different way. I don’t want to lose them. I’ve been in here too long. Let me out!”

“Doest thou assume to command the Magistrate? Does your wickedness know no end?”

“Please I’ll do anything, just let me out.”

“Cease thy babbling, one matter concerns me, and one matter only. Doest thou love thine balls greater than thine love for thine wife?”

“Please don’t make me say it. I love you so much more than my balls, but I want to keep both of them. I don’t want to lose either. Please, the balls could die if I’m left here longer.”

She broke character for a moment, her voice softening. “Don’t worry, I will always protect you, so long as you love me.”

“Please, I love you. I love you so much.”

She added another weight, then turned toward the stairs.

“I shall return in a number of hours.”

The light went out.

The pressure under sixteen kilograms was deep and relentless now. My balls felt swollen and flattened, every heartbeat sending fresh nausea through me. The ache in my balls had grown even heavier, a constant, crushing throb that made it hard to think straight.

She returned again, back in the Puritan dress, breasts exposed, crucifix hanging between them.

I said, “You can’t keep me here forever.”

“True, but I have thee all day, husband,” she said, the Puritan accent still thick. “Thou dost not work until Monday. Dost thou confess to not loving me?”

The ache in my balls had grown even heavier, a constant, crushing throb that made it hard to think straight.

“Nay,” I managed.

She placed yet another weight on the stack, then turned to leave.

“I shall return in a number of hours.”

The basement plunged into darkness once more.

The pressure under seventeen kilograms was a living thing now, a slow, merciless crush that flattened my balls against the bottom of the wooden cylinder. Every heartbeat sent a deep, nauseating throb through them, the ache radiating up into my stomach like I’d been kicked from the inside. My testicles felt swollen, hot, and impossibly tender — like they were being slowly pulped between two unyielding surfaces. I tried to breathe through it, but the pain just kept building, heavier and more constant with every passing minute. The fear was worse than the pain itself. How long had she really been gone this time? Was she actually going to keep coming back like this all day? My mind kept spinning with the possibility that something could go wrong while I was zip-tied and helpless down here, alone in the dark. I loved her for pushing me this far, but the terror that my balls might not survive the night kept clawing at me.

The door opened some time later. The light clicked on.

She came down the stairs still wearing the ridiculous Puritan dress, breasts exposed, crucifix swinging between them. In one hand she held a thick ham-and-cheese sandwich on white bread. She took a big bite as she approached the table, chewing thoughtfully while she looked down at me.

“Dost thou confess now?” she asked around a mouthful of sandwich, still in that over-the-top Puritan accent.

“I love you,” I gasped. It was the only thing I could manage.

She swallowed, gave a small nod, placed another one-kilogram weight on the stack, and turned back toward the stairs without another word.

“I shall return in a number of hours.”

The light went out.

Hopelessness settled over me like the darkness itself. My balls were being crushed under eighteen kilograms now, a constant, grinding agony that made it hard to think of anything else. I was shaking. My legs felt weak after standing here so long with my hands bound behind me. I tried to lock my knees, but they kept threatening to buckle. The pain was deep and relentless, radiating through my gut in sickening waves. I loved her more than anything, but part of me was starting to wonder how much longer I could keep refusing. The uncertainty was eating me alive.

The door opened again. Light flooded the basement.

She was still in the Puritan dress. She walked over slowly and looked down at me, the crucifix swaying gently between her bare breasts.

“Dost thou confess?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I just stared at her, breathing hard through the crushing weight, every muscle trembling.

She studied me for a long moment, then tilted her head.

“I think I may have found thy end,” she said softly, almost to herself. She reached for another weight and placed it on the stack. The fresh pressure made my whole body jerk. I started shaking harder, legs barely holding me up.

She leaned in closer, voice still in character but with that familiar edge of excitement underneath.

“Confess the truth, husband. The only way out of this is to admit that thou lovest these balls more than thy wife.”

I was shaking so badly I could barely speak. The pain was overwhelming now, a deep, flattening crush that made my vision blur at the edges.

“I… I love you so much,” I managed, voice cracking.

She smiled and placed one final weight on the plank. As the piston pressed down even harder, the agony spiked white-hot through my balls. I screamed.

“I love you!”

She looked at me appraisingly for a long moment, then, without a word, swept most of the weights off the plank in one smooth motion. The sudden release of pressure made my knees buckle completely. She caught me, wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug, pressing her bare breasts against my chest. Her lips found mine in a deep, loving kiss.

“You were so good,” she whispered against my mouth, breaking character completely. “Such a good husband. I’m so proud of you. Even when you thought your balls might be finished… you still chose me.”

She reached behind me and cut the zip ties. My arms fell free, aching. Then she helped me climb up onto the table just enough to gently lift my scrotum out of the notch. My balls slid free of the cylinder at last — deeply red, massively swollen, and throbbing with a heavy, flattened ache.

I looked down at them, half-expecting to see them ruined. They were shiny, tight, and incredibly tender, but intact.

She stroked my hair, still holding me close. “How long do you think that was?”

“Twenty-four hours,” I croaked. My throat was raw from the screaming and the long silence.

“Really?  You thought your balls were really being destroyed, and you still didn’t confess.”  She laughed — a bright, delighted sound — clearly thrilled with herself.  “You believed it was twenty-four hours?” She held up her phone so I could see the screen. The time read 5:05 PM.

I shrugged.

She said, “Look at the day”.

The phone said Saturday.  That didn’t seem right.  I had been in the crusher all night. Was she tricking me?  What could this mean?

Then it dawned on me.  It had only been about half an hour.

The mindfuck hit me like a thunderclap. Everything came crashing down at once. I stared at the phone, then up at her, my mouth hanging open in pure awe.

“You… you absolute genius,” I breathed. “The pajamas. The sandwich. The crucifix still around your neck even in your sheep pajamas. The way you came back ‘in the middle of the night’ because you had to pee. The breakfast mention. Changing back into the full Puritan dress just to sell the next visit. The way you kept saying ‘a number of hours’ like it was nothing. You even ate that damn sandwich right in front of me to sell that it was lunchtime… God, every single detail was perfect. You built an entire night and half a Sunday out of nothing but costume changes and props and that terrifyingly calm voice. I really believed it. I thought my balls were going to be destroyed for real. Holy shit… you are terrifying.”

She beamed at me, her eyes sparkling with pure sadistic pride and love. The compliment clearly hit her exactly where she wanted it.

I kept going, still half-dazed. “You planned all of that. You spent hours setting up the stocks this afternoon just so you could watch me lose my mind in thirty minutes. I love you so fucking much.”

She smiled that soft, dangerous, adoring smile and kissed me once more. Then she guided me to sit on the edge of the couch, legs spread, my battered balls hanging heavily between them. She sank slowly to her knees in front of me.

For once, there was no teasing. No threats. No playful cruelty.

She looked up at me with pure affection, brushed a strand of hair from her face, and took me into her warm, wet mouth in one smooth, loving motion. The sensation was overwhelming after everything I had endured. Her tongue moved slowly, reverently, swirling and caressing. She sucked me with long, deep strokes, humming softly around me, her hands resting gently on my thighs. No squeezing. No scratching. Just pure, devoted pleasure.

I groaned, one hand threading carefully through her dark hair. She took her time, worshipping me completely — slow, wet, and perfect. She gave me everything without mixing in a single drop of pain. I lost myself in the heat of her mouth, the gentle suction, the loving way she looked up at me the entire time.

When I finally came, it hit like a freight train. She pulled my dick from her mouth, and sprayed my cum across her beautiful tits, and the absurd crucifix. She milked me gently until I was completely spent, then placed a soft kiss on the head before rising to her feet.

She cupped my face in both hands, eyes shining with pride and love.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Her hand dropped between my legs. She wrapped her fingers around my now-empty, hyper-sensitive balls — still massively swollen and tender from the long pressing — and squeezed.

Hard.

The pain detonated through me like nothing I had ever felt. A raw, crushing agony that made my vision white out. The combination of the extended weights, the sudden relief, and the post-orgasm emptiness made every nerve scream. It felt like she was trying to pulp them completely. My legs gave out instantly. A strangled, broken sound tore out of my throat as I folded forward against her.

“I love you,” she repeated, grinding her thumb deep into the most flattened, aching part of my sack.

The crush was merciless. Worse than any she had ever given me. The deep, pulped ache from the cylinder combined with the raw sensitivity of my drained balls turned the pain into something white-hot and nauseating. I couldn’t even form words — just gasping, whimpering cries against her shoulder while she held me tight with one arm and crushed me with the other.

“I love you… I love you… I love you…”

Each declaration came with another brutal squeeze. Fresh tears rolled down my face. My balls felt like they were being destroyed all over again, only this time the pain cut deeper because I had nothing left to cushion it. And still, through the agony, all I could think was how much I loved her for it.

When she finally released me, I slid down to the floor, curling around my throbbing sack, panting and shaking. She knelt beside me, stroking my hair with the same hand that had just tried to ruin me.

“You really are the best husband,” she murmured tenderly. “My perfect man.”

I could barely speak, but I managed to whisper back:

“I love you too.”

And I meant it with every shattered nerve in my body.

• Chapter 1 and 2: Welcome Home & The Dishes (Kicking and electrical play)
• Chapter 3: Thursday, Home Again (Kicking and licking)
• Chapter 4 and 5: Light Training & The Game (Kicking and crushing in a vice)
• Chapter 6: No Expectations (Hammering and sex)
• Chapter 7: Paying For My Crimes (Execution style weight play and licking)
• Chapter 8: Time in the Stocks (Caning in stocks)
• Chapter 9: Arrangements for Atonement  (Kicking)
• Chapter 10: Alone at Home  (Crushing)
• Chapter 11: Thursday: Training (Kicking)
• Chapter 12: Thursday: After Dinner Fun (Hammering)
• Chapter 13: Thursday: Main Event (Cattle Prod)
• Chapter 14: Training Resumes (Kicking)
• Chapter 15: The Hike (Leashed pulling, Kicking)
• Chapter 16: Setting Up Camp (Kicking, Shocking)
• Chapter 17: Picking My Own Switch (Kicking, Caning)
• Chapter 18: Weenie Roast (Cock Burning)
• Chapter 19: Good Night Beating (Caning)
• Chapter 20: Wake Up and Smell the Bacon (Caning, Kicking, Taser)
• Chapter 21: The Long, Painful Walk Home (Cock Torture, Ball Kicks)
• Chapter 22: Monday, Time with My Crush (Testicle Vice)
• Chapter 23: Tuesday, the Commute Penalty (Kicking)
• Chapter 24: Wednesday, the Mirror Game (Kicking)
• Chapter 25: Thursday, the Gratitude Check (Punching, Cattle Prod)
• Chapter 26: Friday, the Ball Crusher Debate (Needles)
• Chapter 27: The Auction (Ballbusting, Humiliation)
• Chapter 28: Lesson in Immobilization (Whipping, Caning, Cattle Prod)
• Chapter 29: Sunday, Light Training (Variety of Escalating Torture)
• Chapter 30: Monday, Welcome Home(Kicking)
• Chapter 31: Tuesday, Rules are Rules (Kicking)
• Chapter 32: The Chain's Revenge (Beating)
• Chapter 33: An Unfortunate Failure (Recovery)
• Chapter 34: Thursday, Taking the Balls for a Walk (Leashed pulling, Kicking, Punching)
• Chapter 35: The Headmistress (Hairbrush beating)
• Chapter 36: Saturday, First Snow (Kicking)
• Chapter 37: Saturday, the Snow Apology (Cattle Prod)
• Chapter 38: Saturday Evening, the Interrogation (Punching, Vise, Needle, TENS)
• Chapter 39: The Quiet Day (Post-Orgasm Squeezing)
• Chapter 40: Monday, Welcome Home (Kicking)
• Chapter 41: Tuesday, Taking the Balls for a Walk (Leashed Pull, Kicks, Punches)
• Chapter 42: Wednesday, Suspicious Love (Kicking, Psychological Torture)
• Chapter 43: Thursday: Put Your Dick in the Box (Mouse Trap, Cattle Prod)
• Chapter 44: Friday - The Very Good Day (Negotiations, Mallet, Cattle Prod, Kicks)

Author's Note:  My document that I use to store my drafts currently has 60 chapters, and 312 pages of content for this story. It's a pretty significant accomplishment. I hope you are enjoying it, and that I can continue adding chapters.

I love feedback, and would appreciate hearing your thoughts, and suggestions.