This is actually written from the perspective of a female character from another one of my stories, Dragon Slaying. That story might be worth checking out if you don't mind the idea of a male dragon getting the spunk beaten out of his balls by various women, but if that's not quite your thing, at least you've got this spin-off :P Enjoy!
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So Poiu tells me that some of you guys like this stuff, which is...interesting, to say the least. Not the reaction I usually get. Still, it's always nice to find another soul who appreciates dropping men to the floor, so the more the merrier I suppose.
I guess I'm not being very clear so far -- let me introduce myself. The name's Kayla. I'm a village leader in the southern plains, and I've got a reputation as a bit of a bitch...which is a bit of an exaggeration. I'm actually a pretty friendly individual, if you try talking to me. I just happen to have a personality quirk that about 50% of the population disapproves of: I enjoy kicking guys in the balls. A lot. Honestly, what girl doesn't?
Yeah, I know, I probably just made all the guys cringe. What can I say? I am what I am, and you are what you are. Not my fault you were born male.
Chances are if you've heard of me before you've also heard at least some of the rumors. I don't wanna spend too much time on those right now, but lemme set at least a few things straight for the guys:
- No, for the hundredth time, I wasn't raped as a kid or anything like that. I don't hate men, I like busting balls. Big difference.
- No, the women in my village are not all ballbusters. (Not all of them.)
- Yes, I'm straight. Why else would guys even come near me?
- The rumor about me being used as a military interrogator is false, though I'm not 100% sure I'd say no if they asked.
- The rolling pin one is true, but he completely deserved it, and I left him with one anyway.
And also, to answer a few questions the girls always end up asking:
- There are lots of good methods, but recently I've been very fond of squeezing. It's nice when you can really feel a guy's grapes squirm between your fingers.
- Barefoot? Usually three or four kicks, but I can do it in one if you really piss me off.
- The biggest I've seen were around the size of lemons, actually. Poor guy.
- Yes, sometimes the pop is audible.
- No, they don't taste like chicken. (Unless they come from a rooster, I guess.)
You're probably wondering how a nice girl like me gets into ballbusting in the first place, right? Heh. It's kind of a long story, actually, so maybe I'll tell it to you later. For now, suffice it to say that it runs in the family. My mother was a pretty prolific ballbuster in her day -- in fact, she continues to be now. That might explain why she's never held on to any one guy for very long. I mean, even my dad was just a one-night thing, some guy who knocked up my mom and staggered out with bruised balls in the morning. With that kind of a history, I guess it's no surprise that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Ballbusting has always just seemed natural to me. I mean, why would a guy's nuts be hanging out there if you weren't meant to have some fun with 'em? That's what Mom always said.
Anyway, that's a topic for another time -- right now I want to talk about something else. Specifically, someone else: my first boyfriend, Deke. After all, if it was my mother who got me interested in crushing nuts, it was Deke who gave me the experience.
Ever since I hit puberty, I haven't had a problem attracting men -- hell, I've probably starred in more fantasies and wet dreams than you could count. I know I've got a body and I'm not shy about it, and well, that tends to make the guys come running. (Or just come.) Maybe that's one of the reasons I've always seen males as somewhat expendable. After all, with everyone drooling over me, I've pretty much got my pick of the men. There are enough studs around here -- even if you don't wanna put up with me, I can certainly find someone else who does.
Of course, that body didn't really come until I was in my teens -- at least, not the important parts, the parts that made the guys pay attention. It's hard to pinpoint exactly when the change happened, but I do remember lying in bed one morning, rolling onto my stomach and suddenly realizing that I'd grown some breasts. By that time, the curves had already started elsewhere, running down through my hips and legs, and within another couple weeks I'd really started to attract the boys' interest. After that, all I had to do was wear a short skirt one morning and I had hooked my first boyfriend by noon.
Now, I'd never made a secret of the fact that I was a ballbuster -- I'd racked most of the village males around my age at least once -- so when Deke and I started dating, he knew what he was getting into. Or at least, I'm sure he thought he did. Sure, I'd kicked those rubbery eggs of his a couple of times before, left him crumpled on his knees, but even I didn't realize just how into it I'd get. I'd never had a pair of nuts to myself before, and now that I did, it was time to try out all the things I'd been wanting to...
Deke was a year older than me, a total athlete, just coming into his prime -- and of course, as any man should, he had the equipment to match. His balls were the ones I really honed my craft on: two big, low-hanging plums, that felt just perfect when they were flattened against my knee or crushed beneath my toes. He had the first pair of bare balls I ever sunk my thumbs into -- or my teeth, for that matter, though I only managed to do that a few times. When I look back on it, it's a wonder he let me do all the things I did to his poor nuts...though maybe not a surprise. After all, he was right at that age where a guy will do just about anything for a girl to get him off. He was quick to forgive another kick in the spuds when I was slurping down his cock, or rubbing it between my tits, helping him blow another load. He tried to break up with me a few times, but I always managed to rope him back in with my body, whatever it took. Once he tried to end it at a restaurant, out in public so I couldn't pull anything, but I just got down and blew him under the table -- without a tablecloth. He pretty much stopped trying to break up after that.
It wasn't like I didn't enjoy the sex, either. I mean, he was hung, and I took full advantage of that fact -- after all, I enjoyed seeing him quiver in pleasure almost as much as I enjoyed seeing him quiver in pain. I even let him take my virginity, though only after a long, long session of cracking his nuts (nature's birth control, you know). I'd let him fuck me with my hand around his balls, ready to squeeze if he was too close to cumming...or just if I felt like it. It's cute to see a guy keep trying to thrust when his knees are buckling beneath him. Sometimes I'd ride him until he was right on the edge, then clamp down on his nuts until he went soft...then repeat...and repeat...and repeat. It got me off like nothing else, and it made his balls swell like you wouldn't believe. When he finally busted a nut it was like a geyser.
All in all we dated for about six months, and during that time it was glorious -- glorious to have a male that was mine, with a package I could use or abuse as I pleased. As any real ballbuster will tell you, spend enough time crushing one pair of balls and you really get to know 'em backwards and forwards. I spent so much time bashing those babymakers of his that by the end, I knew just how to go after Deke's balls to get the reaction I wanted.
Of course, that was only after I'd spent some time experimenting. About a month into our relationship, his parents had to leave the village for a few days...so I invited him to my place. His parents were a little skeptical about leaving their teenage son alone with his girlfriend, but they agreed to it with some reassurance from my mom. (God bless 'er -- I told her my 'plans' and she got even more excited than I was. Happy to see her daughter was growing up into a proper ballbuster, I guess.)
The first night was the best -- before he understood what was about to happen. We fooled around for a little while, like we usually did, until I ended up lying on top of him in a sixty-nine position. This accomplished several things. First of all, I had direct access to his balls -- and his cock, for those times when I felt like sucking on something. Second, he had direct access to me, which never hurt. Third -- and this was what he didn't know about yet -- from on top of him I could feel every last movement he made, every tremble and vibration that told me how much pain he was in. It was the perfect feedback system, particularly with his face buried between my legs. The more agony Deke was in, the more he would shake, and the more pleasure I would feel. (I wish I could say I was clever enough to come up with the idea on my own, but again, it was my mother who was the real ballbusting pioneer in our family.)
Long story short, the rest of the night was spent introducing Deke to the joys of nutsqueezing...long, painful nutsqueezing. At first I had trouble keeping him conscious, which was frustrating. After all, there's not much of a point to bashing a guy's nuts if he's not awake to feel it. I was a fast learner, though, and soon I figured out what his limits were, how to maximize the pain without making him faint. Of course, that was only the beginning -- after a few more hours of experimentation, pinching and prodding and flattening those heavy orbs of his, I started to really understand how to get what I wanted. I knew how to squeeze to make him pass out, of course, but I also knew how to squeeze to make his voice jump an octave, how to squeeze to make him squeal so loud he woke up the neighbors, even how to squeeze the cum straight out of his balls, so that it dribbled thickly from the tip of his cock. I did that for a while, squishing those spunk-filled pods of his between my fingers and drinking his seed straight from the tap. I think that was the only time I ever deep-throated him, too -- I usually had trouble cramming a solid seven inches of cock down my throat, but I was so turned on at the time that I just sucked the whole thing down. Too bad he didn't seem to enjoy it.
That was basically how we spent the next several days: me, busting Deke to my heart's content, and Deke, just trying to make sure he still had balls for me to bust. Oh, and my mother, who would occasionally stop in to see how we were doing or to show me something I hadn't yet discovered on my own. Of course, we didn't spend the whole time just squeezing -- the next morning we moved on to slaps, and then punches, and then kicks, which turned out to be my favorite. I didn't really understand how destructive a kick could be until my mother demonstrated the proper technique: putting your body behind it, catching both nuts on top of your foot, and flattening them into the pelvis. She had Deke get on his hands and knees for her to demonstrate, and then kicked him so hard -- I swear I'm not making this up -- that not only did his lower body leave the ground, but his entire body flipped over, head over heels, so that he crashed on his back. It was inspiring. That was first time I ever heard that kind of mewling from a guy -- Deke, hands wrapped around whatever was left of his balls, making these ungodly noises as he rocked back and forth in the fetal position. We had to give him an hour or two to recover before we moved on.
The next day involved stomping, a little bit of biting (though by this point, they had swollen too big to fit in my mouth), and some kneeing. I really enjoy a good knee, too -- there's a certain satisfaction in walking up to a guy all slow and sultry, then suddenly slamming a knee up between his legs. It's oddly enjoyable, feeling your target slide down your thigh afterwards...and with Deke naked, I could even feel his nuts pancaked against my skin, which was stimulating to say the least. (Another advantage of kneeing: it is quite possible to jill yourself silly while you pound on your male.)
I finally stopped the morning before he went home. It was hard, but I had to make sure Deke could walk, or his parents'd probably be more than a little suspicious. I laid him out on my bed and spent the day giving him icepacks and painkillers, trying make sure his balls would at least fit in his pants when we put them back on. Meanwhile, my mom helped me satisfy my new-found ballbusting craving by telling me stories about her own experiences, reminiscing about all the guys she'd racked when she was younger. Lemme tell ya, testicles are a surprisingly good subject for mother-daughter bonding time.
Before his parents arrived to pick him up, we stuffed him back into his clothes and made sure he could move on his own. He seemed alright enough. I was still worried that he was going to tell his parents what had happened, but on the way out the door my mother pulled him aside and whispered something in his ear, and then...well, let's just say I've never seen a guy turn that white, even with his gonads beneath my feet. Needless to say, I don't think his parents ever heard. Afterwards, I asked my mom what she had said, but to this day she refuses to tell me.
Anyway, that weekend pretty much set the tone for the rest of our relationship. Of course, at first he wanted to break up with me, and as a result I had to turn up the sex quite a bit to stop him from running away. It's not like I minded, though -- we were both horny teenagers, and he was a good fuck. Besides, once I'd given him a week or two to get used to the idea, he became pretty tolerant. He was never all that dominant a personality to begin with, and I guess after a weekend like that, a simple kick in the nuts didn't seem quite as unbearable any more. Good thing, too: I don't think there was a single day we spent together after that where I didn't rack him at least once. That's how the next few months passed. I continued to try out all sorts of stuff whenever I had the chance: some of it focused on his cock, some of it focused on his balls, but all of it focused on my pleasure. I'd always get him to squeal, one way or another.
Then, well...then I learned something new.
We were at my place again, on a Saturday night. I'd been out of town with my mother, so we hadn't seen each other for a week, and as a result we were both raring to go. I figured I'd help him release some tension before we did anything else, so I started things out by giving him a nice, slow blowjob, sucking on that thick pole of his -- and blow he did. Deke was always a producer, no matter what state his balls were in, but I guess with a full week away from my usual abuse they'd really been able to kick into overdrive. I couldn't swallow more than the first shot or two, so he ended up pretty much covering my chest in spunk before he finally ran out of juice.
Of course, with his orgasm out of the way, now it was time for mine...and I knew exactly what I'd been missing for the past week. Before he could even settle into his afterglow, my foot was in his junk, stomping away. There's nothing quite like a guy's nuggets between your toes, after all. Immediately he was squealing, trying to pull my leg away, but that was nothing unusual. Guys always do that when you're crushing their nuts, even if it's just a couple kicks. Sure, he seemed a bit more frantic than normal, but he'd just blown a load, and he hadn't been busted for a week -- of course he was a little sensitive. We'd done this plenty of times before, though. I didn't think it was anything special until I realized his sack felt a lot emptier than usual, and by then...well, by then the damage was done.
Now, you'd think that a girl as dedicated to nut-bashing as me would know that they can pop, but somehow that knowledge had escaped me until just then. I mean, I'd masturbated to the thought of squashing 'em flat, but I always assumed they'd, I dunno, reinflate afterwards. My mother never told me, either -- I guess she wanted me to discover it for myself. So you can imagine what a surprise it was when I realized those two egg-sized orbs of Deke's, the pair that I'd enjoyed tormenting for so long, were suddenly...gone. I guess I must have grown, because we'd definitely done this kind of stomping before without any problem.
I wasn't even freaked out, really, once I got over my initial shock -- if anything, I was disappointed that I hadn't felt 'em pop. I mean, here was a whole side of crushing nuts that I hadn't even known existed! Deke was out cold, so I poked at his pouch for a while, feeling the remnants of his manhood slosh around my toes, when suddenly it hit me: I'd destroyed a male. He was never going to produce any spunk again. Suddenly I was very self-conscious of my tits, still sticky with the last of his seed, dripping down in trails towards my soaking slit. A part of me felt guilty -- after all, he was a nice boy, and I did like him -- but a much larger part was getting hornier by the second. I thought of his nuts in that low-hanging ballsac, slowly distorting under my feet, the rubbery orbs begging for relief...until *pop* they burst, flattened one too many times for the male to take. The thought made me unbearably wet, and before I knew it I was thrusting one hand in and out of my cunt, squeezing my breasts with the other, mewling my own high-pitched cry as I came harder than I ever had before. I must have worked through a good dozen orgasms or so, sitting there, frigging myself silly. The whole time I kept one foot pressed into his groin, thinking of all the torture his nuts had gone through before they finally gave up and burst. God, even thinking about it now gets me all hot and bothered. A girl's first nut-popping is a very special moment, you know.
It was kinda funny, actually -- even though he was unconscious, and his nuts were definitely gone, Deke couldn't seem to escape the pain. Every time I came I'd tense up, and my foot would push into his groin -- and his legs would twitch, like he could still feel me squashing his balls. Hell, I bet he still has phantom pains now, poor kid.
Anyway, even through all this, I managed to keep some presence of mind. After I'd spent a good couple minutes fingering myself, I scraped some of the spunk off my chest and dumped it into a cup, so that he'd at least have a chance of having kids some day. Of course, once I'd done that I went right back to masturbating. I even fooled around with his cock for a while, stroking that limp monster and thinking about all the times I'd seen it spurt. I've always considered it a compliment to my talents that I managed to get him hard again, even right after he'd lost his spuds. And of course, once I had him standing at attention, I couldn't let a fuckstick like his go to waste...wouldn't you know, he was still a good lay even without half his equipment.
Eventually, once I'd tired myself out, I realized that there was quite a bit of stuff I had to deal with -- for one thing, his parents were going to be pissed. This is where my mother came in. I told her what had happened, and once she got over her initial joy, she managed to piece together some sort of crazy story. The three of us had been thatching the roof, and Deke had fallen off onto the fencepost in just the wrong way, landed right on his groin...it was a bit farfetched, sure, but you try coming up with something better. When we broke the news, his parents were obviously upset and more than a bit suspicious, but Deke was still frightened enough of me and my mother than he corroborated the story, and they were pretty well convinced after that. By the time we showed them the semen we'd managed to 'save' from his flattened balls, they were actually thanking us.
Deke and I broke up pretty shortly after that, unsurprisingly. It was definitely a bit of a bummer than I no longer had my go-to ballbusting boy, but I was still able to take it out on other men around the village. It was a nice change of pace, actually, to go from busting one pair of nuts to busting several dozen. It's funny how different people react. Besides, even if I hadn't had other people to rack, I now had a memory that was more than enough to get me off any time I wanted. It'd be months before I felt the need to really go out and bust someone again...but that's a story for another time.
I guess I'm not being very clear so far -- let me introduce myself. The name's Kayla. I'm a village leader in the southern plains, and I've got a reputation as a bit of a bitch...which is a bit of an exaggeration. I'm actually a pretty friendly individual, if you try talking to me. I just happen to have a personality quirk that about 50% of the population disapproves of: I enjoy kicking guys in the balls. A lot. Honestly, what girl doesn't?
Yeah, I know, I probably just made all the guys cringe. What can I say? I am what I am, and you are what you are. Not my fault you were born male.
Chances are if you've heard of me before you've also heard at least some of the rumors. I don't wanna spend too much time on those right now, but lemme set at least a few things straight for the guys:
- No, for the hundredth time, I wasn't raped as a kid or anything like that. I don't hate men, I like busting balls. Big difference.
- No, the women in my village are not all ballbusters. (Not all of them.)
- Yes, I'm straight. Why else would guys even come near me?
- The rumor about me being used as a military interrogator is false, though I'm not 100% sure I'd say no if they asked.
- The rolling pin one is true, but he completely deserved it, and I left him with one anyway.
And also, to answer a few questions the girls always end up asking:
- There are lots of good methods, but recently I've been very fond of squeezing. It's nice when you can really feel a guy's grapes squirm between your fingers.
- Barefoot? Usually three or four kicks, but I can do it in one if you really piss me off.
- The biggest I've seen were around the size of lemons, actually. Poor guy.
- Yes, sometimes the pop is audible.
- No, they don't taste like chicken. (Unless they come from a rooster, I guess.)
You're probably wondering how a nice girl like me gets into ballbusting in the first place, right? Heh. It's kind of a long story, actually, so maybe I'll tell it to you later. For now, suffice it to say that it runs in the family. My mother was a pretty prolific ballbuster in her day -- in fact, she continues to be now. That might explain why she's never held on to any one guy for very long. I mean, even my dad was just a one-night thing, some guy who knocked up my mom and staggered out with bruised balls in the morning. With that kind of a history, I guess it's no surprise that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Ballbusting has always just seemed natural to me. I mean, why would a guy's nuts be hanging out there if you weren't meant to have some fun with 'em? That's what Mom always said.
Anyway, that's a topic for another time -- right now I want to talk about something else. Specifically, someone else: my first boyfriend, Deke. After all, if it was my mother who got me interested in crushing nuts, it was Deke who gave me the experience.
Ever since I hit puberty, I haven't had a problem attracting men -- hell, I've probably starred in more fantasies and wet dreams than you could count. I know I've got a body and I'm not shy about it, and well, that tends to make the guys come running. (Or just come.) Maybe that's one of the reasons I've always seen males as somewhat expendable. After all, with everyone drooling over me, I've pretty much got my pick of the men. There are enough studs around here -- even if you don't wanna put up with me, I can certainly find someone else who does.
Of course, that body didn't really come until I was in my teens -- at least, not the important parts, the parts that made the guys pay attention. It's hard to pinpoint exactly when the change happened, but I do remember lying in bed one morning, rolling onto my stomach and suddenly realizing that I'd grown some breasts. By that time, the curves had already started elsewhere, running down through my hips and legs, and within another couple weeks I'd really started to attract the boys' interest. After that, all I had to do was wear a short skirt one morning and I had hooked my first boyfriend by noon.
Now, I'd never made a secret of the fact that I was a ballbuster -- I'd racked most of the village males around my age at least once -- so when Deke and I started dating, he knew what he was getting into. Or at least, I'm sure he thought he did. Sure, I'd kicked those rubbery eggs of his a couple of times before, left him crumpled on his knees, but even I didn't realize just how into it I'd get. I'd never had a pair of nuts to myself before, and now that I did, it was time to try out all the things I'd been wanting to...
Deke was a year older than me, a total athlete, just coming into his prime -- and of course, as any man should, he had the equipment to match. His balls were the ones I really honed my craft on: two big, low-hanging plums, that felt just perfect when they were flattened against my knee or crushed beneath my toes. He had the first pair of bare balls I ever sunk my thumbs into -- or my teeth, for that matter, though I only managed to do that a few times. When I look back on it, it's a wonder he let me do all the things I did to his poor nuts...though maybe not a surprise. After all, he was right at that age where a guy will do just about anything for a girl to get him off. He was quick to forgive another kick in the spuds when I was slurping down his cock, or rubbing it between my tits, helping him blow another load. He tried to break up with me a few times, but I always managed to rope him back in with my body, whatever it took. Once he tried to end it at a restaurant, out in public so I couldn't pull anything, but I just got down and blew him under the table -- without a tablecloth. He pretty much stopped trying to break up after that.
It wasn't like I didn't enjoy the sex, either. I mean, he was hung, and I took full advantage of that fact -- after all, I enjoyed seeing him quiver in pleasure almost as much as I enjoyed seeing him quiver in pain. I even let him take my virginity, though only after a long, long session of cracking his nuts (nature's birth control, you know). I'd let him fuck me with my hand around his balls, ready to squeeze if he was too close to cumming...or just if I felt like it. It's cute to see a guy keep trying to thrust when his knees are buckling beneath him. Sometimes I'd ride him until he was right on the edge, then clamp down on his nuts until he went soft...then repeat...and repeat...and repeat. It got me off like nothing else, and it made his balls swell like you wouldn't believe. When he finally busted a nut it was like a geyser.
All in all we dated for about six months, and during that time it was glorious -- glorious to have a male that was mine, with a package I could use or abuse as I pleased. As any real ballbuster will tell you, spend enough time crushing one pair of balls and you really get to know 'em backwards and forwards. I spent so much time bashing those babymakers of his that by the end, I knew just how to go after Deke's balls to get the reaction I wanted.
Of course, that was only after I'd spent some time experimenting. About a month into our relationship, his parents had to leave the village for a few days...so I invited him to my place. His parents were a little skeptical about leaving their teenage son alone with his girlfriend, but they agreed to it with some reassurance from my mom. (God bless 'er -- I told her my 'plans' and she got even more excited than I was. Happy to see her daughter was growing up into a proper ballbuster, I guess.)
The first night was the best -- before he understood what was about to happen. We fooled around for a little while, like we usually did, until I ended up lying on top of him in a sixty-nine position. This accomplished several things. First of all, I had direct access to his balls -- and his cock, for those times when I felt like sucking on something. Second, he had direct access to me, which never hurt. Third -- and this was what he didn't know about yet -- from on top of him I could feel every last movement he made, every tremble and vibration that told me how much pain he was in. It was the perfect feedback system, particularly with his face buried between my legs. The more agony Deke was in, the more he would shake, and the more pleasure I would feel. (I wish I could say I was clever enough to come up with the idea on my own, but again, it was my mother who was the real ballbusting pioneer in our family.)
Long story short, the rest of the night was spent introducing Deke to the joys of nutsqueezing...long, painful nutsqueezing. At first I had trouble keeping him conscious, which was frustrating. After all, there's not much of a point to bashing a guy's nuts if he's not awake to feel it. I was a fast learner, though, and soon I figured out what his limits were, how to maximize the pain without making him faint. Of course, that was only the beginning -- after a few more hours of experimentation, pinching and prodding and flattening those heavy orbs of his, I started to really understand how to get what I wanted. I knew how to squeeze to make him pass out, of course, but I also knew how to squeeze to make his voice jump an octave, how to squeeze to make him squeal so loud he woke up the neighbors, even how to squeeze the cum straight out of his balls, so that it dribbled thickly from the tip of his cock. I did that for a while, squishing those spunk-filled pods of his between my fingers and drinking his seed straight from the tap. I think that was the only time I ever deep-throated him, too -- I usually had trouble cramming a solid seven inches of cock down my throat, but I was so turned on at the time that I just sucked the whole thing down. Too bad he didn't seem to enjoy it.
That was basically how we spent the next several days: me, busting Deke to my heart's content, and Deke, just trying to make sure he still had balls for me to bust. Oh, and my mother, who would occasionally stop in to see how we were doing or to show me something I hadn't yet discovered on my own. Of course, we didn't spend the whole time just squeezing -- the next morning we moved on to slaps, and then punches, and then kicks, which turned out to be my favorite. I didn't really understand how destructive a kick could be until my mother demonstrated the proper technique: putting your body behind it, catching both nuts on top of your foot, and flattening them into the pelvis. She had Deke get on his hands and knees for her to demonstrate, and then kicked him so hard -- I swear I'm not making this up -- that not only did his lower body leave the ground, but his entire body flipped over, head over heels, so that he crashed on his back. It was inspiring. That was first time I ever heard that kind of mewling from a guy -- Deke, hands wrapped around whatever was left of his balls, making these ungodly noises as he rocked back and forth in the fetal position. We had to give him an hour or two to recover before we moved on.
The next day involved stomping, a little bit of biting (though by this point, they had swollen too big to fit in my mouth), and some kneeing. I really enjoy a good knee, too -- there's a certain satisfaction in walking up to a guy all slow and sultry, then suddenly slamming a knee up between his legs. It's oddly enjoyable, feeling your target slide down your thigh afterwards...and with Deke naked, I could even feel his nuts pancaked against my skin, which was stimulating to say the least. (Another advantage of kneeing: it is quite possible to jill yourself silly while you pound on your male.)
I finally stopped the morning before he went home. It was hard, but I had to make sure Deke could walk, or his parents'd probably be more than a little suspicious. I laid him out on my bed and spent the day giving him icepacks and painkillers, trying make sure his balls would at least fit in his pants when we put them back on. Meanwhile, my mom helped me satisfy my new-found ballbusting craving by telling me stories about her own experiences, reminiscing about all the guys she'd racked when she was younger. Lemme tell ya, testicles are a surprisingly good subject for mother-daughter bonding time.
Before his parents arrived to pick him up, we stuffed him back into his clothes and made sure he could move on his own. He seemed alright enough. I was still worried that he was going to tell his parents what had happened, but on the way out the door my mother pulled him aside and whispered something in his ear, and then...well, let's just say I've never seen a guy turn that white, even with his gonads beneath my feet. Needless to say, I don't think his parents ever heard. Afterwards, I asked my mom what she had said, but to this day she refuses to tell me.
Anyway, that weekend pretty much set the tone for the rest of our relationship. Of course, at first he wanted to break up with me, and as a result I had to turn up the sex quite a bit to stop him from running away. It's not like I minded, though -- we were both horny teenagers, and he was a good fuck. Besides, once I'd given him a week or two to get used to the idea, he became pretty tolerant. He was never all that dominant a personality to begin with, and I guess after a weekend like that, a simple kick in the nuts didn't seem quite as unbearable any more. Good thing, too: I don't think there was a single day we spent together after that where I didn't rack him at least once. That's how the next few months passed. I continued to try out all sorts of stuff whenever I had the chance: some of it focused on his cock, some of it focused on his balls, but all of it focused on my pleasure. I'd always get him to squeal, one way or another.
Then, well...then I learned something new.
We were at my place again, on a Saturday night. I'd been out of town with my mother, so we hadn't seen each other for a week, and as a result we were both raring to go. I figured I'd help him release some tension before we did anything else, so I started things out by giving him a nice, slow blowjob, sucking on that thick pole of his -- and blow he did. Deke was always a producer, no matter what state his balls were in, but I guess with a full week away from my usual abuse they'd really been able to kick into overdrive. I couldn't swallow more than the first shot or two, so he ended up pretty much covering my chest in spunk before he finally ran out of juice.
Of course, with his orgasm out of the way, now it was time for mine...and I knew exactly what I'd been missing for the past week. Before he could even settle into his afterglow, my foot was in his junk, stomping away. There's nothing quite like a guy's nuggets between your toes, after all. Immediately he was squealing, trying to pull my leg away, but that was nothing unusual. Guys always do that when you're crushing their nuts, even if it's just a couple kicks. Sure, he seemed a bit more frantic than normal, but he'd just blown a load, and he hadn't been busted for a week -- of course he was a little sensitive. We'd done this plenty of times before, though. I didn't think it was anything special until I realized his sack felt a lot emptier than usual, and by then...well, by then the damage was done.
Now, you'd think that a girl as dedicated to nut-bashing as me would know that they can pop, but somehow that knowledge had escaped me until just then. I mean, I'd masturbated to the thought of squashing 'em flat, but I always assumed they'd, I dunno, reinflate afterwards. My mother never told me, either -- I guess she wanted me to discover it for myself. So you can imagine what a surprise it was when I realized those two egg-sized orbs of Deke's, the pair that I'd enjoyed tormenting for so long, were suddenly...gone. I guess I must have grown, because we'd definitely done this kind of stomping before without any problem.
I wasn't even freaked out, really, once I got over my initial shock -- if anything, I was disappointed that I hadn't felt 'em pop. I mean, here was a whole side of crushing nuts that I hadn't even known existed! Deke was out cold, so I poked at his pouch for a while, feeling the remnants of his manhood slosh around my toes, when suddenly it hit me: I'd destroyed a male. He was never going to produce any spunk again. Suddenly I was very self-conscious of my tits, still sticky with the last of his seed, dripping down in trails towards my soaking slit. A part of me felt guilty -- after all, he was a nice boy, and I did like him -- but a much larger part was getting hornier by the second. I thought of his nuts in that low-hanging ballsac, slowly distorting under my feet, the rubbery orbs begging for relief...until *pop* they burst, flattened one too many times for the male to take. The thought made me unbearably wet, and before I knew it I was thrusting one hand in and out of my cunt, squeezing my breasts with the other, mewling my own high-pitched cry as I came harder than I ever had before. I must have worked through a good dozen orgasms or so, sitting there, frigging myself silly. The whole time I kept one foot pressed into his groin, thinking of all the torture his nuts had gone through before they finally gave up and burst. God, even thinking about it now gets me all hot and bothered. A girl's first nut-popping is a very special moment, you know.
It was kinda funny, actually -- even though he was unconscious, and his nuts were definitely gone, Deke couldn't seem to escape the pain. Every time I came I'd tense up, and my foot would push into his groin -- and his legs would twitch, like he could still feel me squashing his balls. Hell, I bet he still has phantom pains now, poor kid.
Anyway, even through all this, I managed to keep some presence of mind. After I'd spent a good couple minutes fingering myself, I scraped some of the spunk off my chest and dumped it into a cup, so that he'd at least have a chance of having kids some day. Of course, once I'd done that I went right back to masturbating. I even fooled around with his cock for a while, stroking that limp monster and thinking about all the times I'd seen it spurt. I've always considered it a compliment to my talents that I managed to get him hard again, even right after he'd lost his spuds. And of course, once I had him standing at attention, I couldn't let a fuckstick like his go to waste...wouldn't you know, he was still a good lay even without half his equipment.
Eventually, once I'd tired myself out, I realized that there was quite a bit of stuff I had to deal with -- for one thing, his parents were going to be pissed. This is where my mother came in. I told her what had happened, and once she got over her initial joy, she managed to piece together some sort of crazy story. The three of us had been thatching the roof, and Deke had fallen off onto the fencepost in just the wrong way, landed right on his groin...it was a bit farfetched, sure, but you try coming up with something better. When we broke the news, his parents were obviously upset and more than a bit suspicious, but Deke was still frightened enough of me and my mother than he corroborated the story, and they were pretty well convinced after that. By the time we showed them the semen we'd managed to 'save' from his flattened balls, they were actually thanking us.
Deke and I broke up pretty shortly after that, unsurprisingly. It was definitely a bit of a bummer than I no longer had my go-to ballbusting boy, but I was still able to take it out on other men around the village. It was a nice change of pace, actually, to go from busting one pair of nuts to busting several dozen. It's funny how different people react. Besides, even if I hadn't had other people to rack, I now had a memory that was more than enough to get me off any time I wanted. It'd be months before I felt the need to really go out and bust someone again...but that's a story for another time.
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