The Ball Chair Chronicles

An Office Power Game in Five Days, featuring teasing, dominance, and the ultimate ballbusting women in action.

Day 1 – The Wince

You weren’t new to the office, but it was your first week working in the same corner pod as them.

They shared the L-shaped space next to yours — a magnetic trio of twenty-something women, all way too attractive for the fluorescent lights and plastic desks around them.

Sienna sat center — tall, lean yet curvy, dark waves pulled back into a bun that always came loose by lunch. She had a raspy voice and a laugh that could crack glass. Her blouses were always silk. Her heels — always high.

To her left was Leah, the blonde wild card with sharp eyeliner and legs that never stayed still under her chair. Always chewing gum, always making jokes, always in some kind of cropped blazer or high-slit skirt.

Dani was the quiet one — deep brown skin, almond-shaped eyes, and a body that could’ve been sculpted. She rarely spoke, but when she did, it always landed. She watched everything.

You wouldn’t have guessed it at first glance, but these women weren’t just flirty — they were natural-born ballbusting women, armed with wit, legs, and zero mercy.

You thought they hadn’t noticed you.

That changed the moment you sat down too fast… and your balls didn’t clear the landing.

The shock hit hard — a delayed uppercut straight to your core. Your breath caught, your face twisted — and in that second, you knew.

You opened your eyes to three pairs watching.

Sienna’s mouth twitched. Leah giggled. Dani just raised an eyebrow.

“You good?” Sienna asked, biting the end of her pen.

You nodded. Laughed it off.

But it was too late.They’d seen the wince. And they never forget a wince.

Day 2 – The Group Laugh

You hoped they'd forget.

But women that pretty, that playful, don’t let go of a weakness once they sniff it.

That morning, you took your seat more carefully — gingerly almost — but the cushion was unforgiving, and you still shifted with a slight breathy grunt.

And they heard it.

“Oof, rough landing?” Leah said without looking up from her screen.

“Poor guy’s got fragile cargo,” Sienna added, twirling her coffee stirrer like a baton.

You tried to smile. But then Dani said quietly:

“He flinches like he’s sitting on a grenade.”

And they all burst out laughing.

Full-volume, unapologetic laughter that turned heads across the office. You burned red. Not from pain this time — from exposure.

It wasn’t just office teasing anymore. These were unapologetic, charismatic ballbusting women, and you were their new favorite target.

You stayed silent. But they’d leveled up.

Day 3 – The Boundary

You didn’t want to be the joke anymore.

So when Sienna made another casual jab — something like “Careful, don’t rupture anything” — you turned, voice calm, and said:

“Alright, that’s enough. I’m not playing along.”

The room quieted.

No sarcasm. No smile. Just a line in the sand.

For a second, it worked. Their expressions shifted. Maybe a touch of guilt.Then you sat down… and winced again.

Pain. Bad angle. It got you.

And just like that, all three cracked up again. Louder this time. Relief laughter. Power reset.

Leah was doubled over. Dani was biting her fist.

And Sienna — Sienna leaned back with a satisfied grin and said:

“Oh honey… you might need a helmet, not a chair.”

Day 4 – The Pillow

You didn’t want to come in that morning. You’d thought about it all night. About how each move you made was under their microscope.

But you showed up.

And there she was.

Sienna, standing by your chair, holding something behind her back.

“Got you a little welcome gift,” she purred.

She pulled it out — soft, fluffy… and humiliatingly pink. A full-on plush pillow.

“Figured it might save you from another traumatic sit-down.”

Leah cackled. Dani covered her mouth, eyes wide with glee.

Sienna, the unspoken ringleader of this trio of ballbusting women, seemed to take personal pride in your pain.

You took the pillow slowly. Looked right at Sienna. And said:

“Finally. A woman who supports my balls.”

That hit differently.

This time they laughed — but it was thinner. Less triumphant. More surprised.

Even Sienna blinked, just once.

But then she recovered. Flipped her hair and walked away with a slow smile.

You sat down — carefully — and didn’t flinch.

Small win.

Day 5 – The Line

The air was cooler. Friday vibes. You walked in, pillow under arm like a silent protest flag.

As you approached your desk, she was already there.

Sienna.

Perched on your chair. Casual. Commanding.

She stood as you arrived and held out the pillow like royalty returning a sword.

“You'll need it more than I ever will,” she said — loud enough for Leah and Dani to hear.

The delivery was perfect. The burn, surgical.

They howled.

You stood there, pulse spiking, body rigid. The world seemed to pause.

But you didn’t fold.

You took the pillow. Set it down gently. Sat.

And then you looked at her.

Held her gaze.

And in a low voice, just for her, you said:

“You’re right. Because when I sit down wrong, it hurts.When you do… you’re just jealous of the reaction I get.”

Her lips parted.

She didn’t laugh.

No one did.

This time, you walked away with the last word.

And for the first time all week…

Sienna blushed.

Part 2 — After Hours

It was 7:41 PM.

The office was mostly dark now, except for the glow from a few stray monitors — and hers.

Sienna hadn't left.

You hadn't either. You told yourself it was because of the quarterly report, but if you were honest… it was curiosity. Or maybe pride. Or maybe some itch that hadn’t been scratched all week — not by their teasing, and not by your comebacks either.

She stood at the copy machine now, heels off, blouse untucked, bare feet curled against the gray carpet.

She hadn’t spoken since earlier — since that moment when you flipped the script and made her blush.

But as the copier whirred and she fed it the last page, she turned slightly and said without looking:

“So. You sit better with the pillow now?”

You didn’t answer.

She turned fully, her blouse hanging loose enough to show a hint of the lace underneath. The top two buttons were undone — careless or intentional, you couldn’t tell.

She walked toward your desk.

Slowly.

The room was dead quiet except for the sound of her footsteps now bare against plastic tile.

“You took the teasing like a good boy,” she said. “Didn’t whine. Didn’t bark. I like that.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“You like seeing me in pain?”

“No,” she said, grinning. “I like seeing how far you’ll go to hide it.”

She leaned against your desk, fingers brushing the edge, nails tapping softly.

“You know, we talk about men having balls… but yours are so sensitive, they’ve practically become a workplace hazard.”

She let that linger in the air.

“You should be lucky we haven’t tested the limits.”

You swallowed. She noticed.

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t really kick you,” she said sweetly, then tilted her head.“Unless you ask.”

Her eyes flicked down between your legs, then back to yours.

“Tell me the truth,” she said, stepping closer, voice low now.“Does it… do something to you? Knowing I could drop you to your knees with just one knee of my own?”

You stayed still.

She stepped even closer — now nearly between your legs as you sat.

“I could do it so easily. Just a little pop upward, and suddenly you’re the office legend for a whole new reason.”

You felt your jaw clench.

Not from anger.

From heat.

“You imagine it, don’t you?” she whispered. “That moment. My thigh flexing. Your stomach dropping. That mix of pain and helplessness…”

Her voice dropped to a whisper:

“...and me smiling down at you while you gasp.”

Your hands gripped the sides of the chair — not in fear. In tension. Pure tension.

“Relax,” she said, brushing the edge of your collar with one perfectly manicured finger.“I’m not going to break you.”

She started to turn away, then stopped, leaned in close to your ear, and said:

“Not yet.”

Then she walked off — hips swaying, bare feet silent, scent lingering.

You didn’t move.

Not for a long time.

Part 3 – Her Game, Your Limit

You thought the moment had passed.

She teased. She whispered. She left.

That’s where it should’ve ended.

But the next morning, there it was:

A folded note resting on your pillow — the one she’d “gifted” you days earlier.

Your name written in tight cursive.

You opened it under your desk.

It read:

“You took the jokes. You stayed calm.Let’s see how well you do when you’re the one on edge.Tonight. 6 PM. Storage Room B. Bring your courage.And maybe… a cup.”

— S

Your breath hitched. A joke? A trap? A test?

Either way, at 6 PM, your hand was on the door to Storage B.

You stepped inside.

Dimly lit. Boxes stacked. A faint lavender scent in the air — her perfume.

And there she was.

Sienna.

Perched on a low stack of printer paper, legs crossed, still in her office blouse and skirt — but her heels back on now, dangling lazily from her toes.

She looked up slowly.

“You came,” she said, as if bored. But the smirk gave her away.

She didn’t speak at first. She just watched you close the door.

You nodded once.

“That means we play.”

She stepped forward slowly, circling you like before — but her energy was different tonight. Charged. Humming with something she wasn’t saying.

“Same rules,” she purred. “Hands behind your back. No flinching. No adjusting. No safe words.”

You obeyed.

Your wrists clasped behind your spine, chest exposed, legs slightly apart.

She leaned in close behind you.

“Let’s see what five minutes of imagination does to you.”

She started like before — just words, just whispers.

“Picture me sliding under your desk during a Zoom call… pressing my knee up between your legs, slow enough to make you question if it's happening at all.”

You breathed through your nose. Held steady.

She stepped in front of you now, facing you. Inches away.

“Or maybe we’re in the breakroom. You reach for your mug… and I ‘accidentally’ bump into you. Knee to the boys. Just enough to ruin your entire morning.”

You exhaled tightly. Not a flinch.

“Mmm. Good control,” she said.

She circled again. Her words sharper now.

“But how long can you really hold that tension before something gives?”

Then it happened.

She moved behind you again — too fast. Spun playfully, one heel catching awkwardly on the slick tile.

“Oops—!”

Her leg swung forward — and her knee drove directly up between your thighs.

Contact. Full. Blunt. Terrible.

You doubled instantly.

A bolt of white-hot lightning shot through your gut. Your stomach seized. Your jaw snapped shut so hard your teeth clicked.

Your knees buckled.

The pain bloomed like fire in reverse — a sickening pull inward, like your entire body was collapsing around that one explosive point of contact.

You gasped, mouth open but no air coming in, eyes wide.

One hand shot forward instinctively — too late.

The other gripped the wall.

You didn’t scream. Couldn’t. The breath wasn’t there. Just that tight, awful, wordless croak of a man suddenly destroyed.

Sienna froze.

“Oh my god—”

You dropped to one knee, then both.

Hands braced against cold concrete.

Sweat exploded across your back. Your vision tunneled — black at the edges, your body still in shock, still deciding if it should vomit, cry, or shut down entirely.

Behind you, her heels clicked again.

She crouched beside you, eyes wide.

“I didn’t mean— I slipped. Are you—did that hurt too much?”

You nodded weakly. Or maybe you just twitched.

“Fuck,” she whispered, touching your shoulder. “I was just—oh balls.”

You couldn’t speak. Still couldn’t move. That deep, throbbing nausea bloomed in your stomach — that special kind of agony that radiated from your core outward, spreading ice and fire in equal measure.

“I hit them hard, didn’t I?” she said, softer now.

You finally managed a whisper.

“Dead on.”

She exhaled.

“Jesus. You weren’t kidding when you said they hang low.”

The silence after stretched. She didn’t laugh. Didn’t leave. She sat with you — not touching, just… there.

You breathed. Swallowed. Endured.

Then — finally — you looked up at her. Eyes wet from sheer force, jaw still clenched.

“Guess that was… one strike.”

She blinked. Then — slowly — a crooked smile tugged at her mouth.

“You’re… still in the game?”

Part 3 — Epilogue: Mind Your Balls

You finally stood — barely.

Still hunched. Still breathing like you’d gone twelve rounds in a silent fight.

Sienna kept her eyes on you the whole time, arms folded, one heel cocked behind the other like she wasn’t the reason your nervous system had just rebooted.

“So,” she said, voice syrupy, “how’d it feel?”

You swallowed.

“Like someone folded me in half from the inside out.”

She grinned wide.

“That accurate, huh?”

You didn’t answer — just pressed your hand gently over your groin and exhaled. She watched your palm land there and laughed.

“Careful,” she said, stepping closer, “you might bruise those with too much sympathy.”

Then, as you straightened — just enough to breathe normally again — she leaned in, whispering low against your ear, warm and merciless:

“You know I can do that again, right?”

You blinked.

She smiled sweetly.

“Any time. Any reason.”

Her voice dropped, teasing and full of false innocence.

“So you might wanna stay very mindful of your balls.”

Your heart stuttered.

She winked — slow, smug — then patted you right above your groin so you know she could have just as easily done it a bit lower to give you pain.

“A pink pillow for your pink bruised balls.”

Then she turned and walked away, her heels echoing on the concrete floor.

You stayed frozen.

One hand over your aching boys.