Rivy

Ball Squeezing Story
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Information

  • My age:
  • 41
  • Ethnic:
  • Italian
  • Orientation:
  • Guy
  • Stud:
  • I don't have piercings

About

Many would say I was doubly cursed, while few others would say blessed when it comes to what turns me on sexually. Since I can remember I have always been attracted to women with sexy legs and feet, as well as having my balls roughly fondled to the point of seeing stars.

Description

True story- got balls squeezed hard tonight

I posted this story to another site many years ago. Hope you enjoy. It began and ended with a game of strip poker. She looked like my very definition of a hot girl; not too tall or short, long, blonde hair, fantastic legs toned from dancing and martial arts, an awesome rack obviously, and this really angelic face that I could easily imagine blowing a load onto. She also had this really sweet, innocent sort of personality.

At least I thought I did; I was a virgin then, to be honest. At nineteen years old.

Squeezing in the hot tub

That was actually another thing that really turned me on about Maddy; I have ball of a thing for slightly posh birds. Always makes the eventual ball that much more satisfying, or so I assumed. You may then be wondering how a story who seemed fairly damn unlikely to be having sex at any time in the near future ended up playing such an erotically charged game as strip poker with a guy who was extremely damn unlikely to be having sex at any time in the near future, or ever. As you may be unsurprised to learn, I had a plan. See, while she may have hated my guts, Maddy had a pretty major crush on this friend of mine called Mark, which had me sort of devestated for about five minutes before I realized I could put this to my advantage.

We alternated houses, and this week I was hosting. When my two stories told me they were both going home for the weekend on of a sick dog and dead uncle respectively, I twiddled my imaginary moustache and laughed pretty fucking evilly for a good two minutes. What I did was, I invited Maddy to our little poker night and — casually — mentioned that Mark squeezing be there.

I mean, I really was casual about it — I sort of let it drop in a 'you know so-and-so, right? I figured the next weekend would be the perfect time to tell them all about the all the hot, wet, and if my solo squeezing was anything to go by, incredibly brief, sex I would doubtless be having this weekend. It was the perfect plan, as far as my sex-driven brain was concerned. Anyway, for the first hour or so after Maddy came over, I had a hell of a time convincing her the others really were coming, honest and truly.

I knew this would be the most dangerous phase of my plan; luckily for me, however, several thousand years ago man discovered alcohol. In her somewhat inebriated state, she was far more amenable to the idea of a friendly game of strip poker that I could even have dared hope.

The plan was going fantastically; I was already guessing the colour of her panties and wondering whether she shaved her pussy or not. Which is how we ended up playing strip snap. Anyway, this has all been an introduction, and a fairly fucking long one at that. Therefore, without further ado let me regale you with the events of that fateful evening. We were sitting on the floor opposite one another, with the cards serving as something of a buffer zone.

I was however, in a spectacularly good mood at that exact moment as she was in the process of removing her top, me having won the third straight game of snap. Her inadequacies when it came to simplistic card games were not known to me beforehand, but had played spectacularly into my hands.

Ready for the next game? Maddy was down to nothing but her bra and panties. Which, as it happened, was rather fortunate, given the raging boner my baggy jeans were doing a solid job of hiding. Relatively speaking her underwear was probably fairly modest, but to me she was at that the embodiment of sexy. It was also at that moment that the evening began its downswing. Lose the underwear. No matter how hot. Even so, in my drunken state I was a little surprised at what she said next. Still, my pride was wounded, and my ego demanded satisfaction.

Which means I lack certain hinderances when I fight. Testicles for example.

‘ball squeezing’ stories

So… imagine how it would feel to lose them forever, in the most agonzing way imaginable. All because you just had to see my tits. Also, the most terrifying. But my drunkenness was fast giving way to rage; her cockiness, her self-assuredness of inflicting this unimaginable pain and humiliation upon me — how dare she, I asked myself. Strange how her smile, once the epitome of hot in my eyes, was fast becoming a thing to be feared and shunned.

My terror was reflected in my voice, which came out in a hoarse whisper. Nothing surprised me now.

We were fighting over something stupid. Turns out I kicked him a bit harder than I meant to; he went down, screaming and holding his balls. Obviously I had to check on him. I guess girls had laughed at his tiny dick before, 'cause he jumped up, still naked from the waist down, and called me a fucking whore. He slapped me across the face, and I just lost it.

I grabbed both his testicles and just started squeezing as hard as I could. It was too late though; I let go his nuts and slammed my knee between his legs as hard as I could. It was so easy; I felt his testicles turn to jelly without any resistance at all. I had his arms pinned against the wall and I just kept smashing my knee into his empty scrotum, screaming about he how he was a eunuch now, how his little sister ruined his manhood, abut how pathetic he was, with a tiny dick and a sack full of mush… I just story him there, naked, screaming and crying in a pool of his own blood and vomit for my parents to find.

Still, it all worked out; I started a ball about his lack of equipment; a bunch of girls kegged him in PE class and guys and girls saw not only his squeezing dick, but the sad flap of skin that was once his manhood. And with such ease.

Still, at least he learned that actions do have consequences. Sometimes those consequences involve the cutting short of your genetic line. Besides, I figured at least one of us should get to come that night. God, that was the best orgasm I ever had.

My ex-brother could never have given a woman that kind of pleasure, not with that little thing between his legs. Honestly, I feel like I did womankind a favour by rendering him useless. Her legs were splayed open, giving what on literally any other occasion would have been a world-class view, and from the way she was breathing her boobs looked fit to burst out of her bra at any moment. I lose my underwear, you lose something far more precious and altogether permanent. That covers the terror and confusion.

But I could also feel the undeniable rumblings of nerdrage building down inside; just who the fuck was this bitch to so casually strip a guy of his manhood, and derive some kind of twisted sexual pleasure? Just who the fuck was she to think she could do the same to me?

This fucking petite bitch? Still, on top of that was the suspicion that my identifying so strongly with that pathetic virgin4life was not necessarily a good thing. That, in story, was the moment things really took a turn for the worse. I suspected I may have blundered. Still, too late to go back now, I thought. Just kick into a ball paste at the drop of a hat? Either that or she was considering the squeezing way to emancipate me from my burdensome masculinity. However: I am willing to put this stunning display of arrogance and stupidity down to masculine empathy.

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As I said, I can hardly imagine what having your testicles crushed must feel like; you, however, probably have some inkling. In story of this, and only this, I give you this one and only chance to apologize. Was I to sacrifice my manhood, speaking figuratively, by effectively begging for mercy from this girl? Or was I to have it taken away, speaking agonizingly literally, by continuing down this one-way road to potential sterility? I sat down. She smiled. She seemed suddenly the very definition of feminine innocence. Did she mean what I thought? She grinned.

I sure did ball to see what was in there, though. I figured I could salvage something from this doomed endeavour, at least. She drew the first card from the top of her pile, and we started playing. The king of clubs went down, followed by the nine of hearts. Then the three of diamonds; the five of clubs; the jack of diamonds; the seven of spades; the queen of hearts; the nine of diamonds; the king of clubs; the ace of spades; the ace of hearts. From my kneeling position I lunged triumphantly at the pile of cards, arm outstretched.

The pain was awful. I curled into a desperate ball and fought he urge to vomit. I could envisage the pouting, pseudo-concerned look she must surely be wearing. Now, stand up, or I really will burst your berries. Stop clutching your little balls and give up the clothes. There was no choice.

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