Nut Buster

So I’m fucking this guy. He’s sexy. I mean, not balls to the wall handsome or anything, but he met me at the door with a furry bare chest, a pair of furry pecs, and a knowing grin on his scruffy mug. He invited me in. Had a drink ready for me. Said some nice things, right into my ear, with a whisper. He made me laugh. He made me hard.

And this is what he gets for it. He’s in the center of his bed, leaking pre-cum from his erect sausage in every direction. The fitted sheet has come loose from its corners; he’s got those satin linens balled up in his hands as he grips tight to the mattress, trying to grab onto something solid. His mouth is wide open in a rictus of—well, I don’t know what to reckon. Pain or pleasure. Either/or. I don’t really know and don’t really care, because my dick is feeling too good.

That hole of his is wrecked. Gaping. Wide open. He’s so greasy from lube and spit and my juices that little frothy bubbles have formed on his butt cheeks. Whenever I plunge out, I’m looking not only at that hole puckered like a big fish mouth, but at those little bubbles surrounding it. Then I shove back in again with no resistance whatsoever. Just soft, silky, wet flesh. I’ve made him into a pussy molded specifically for my dick.

He’s swearing. Maybe praying. Maybe begging for more. I don’t understand a word he says, though. He’s beyond comprehension, and I’ve got blood rushing in my ears. Every heartbeat sounds like a waterfall coming down on my head. He could be reciting the Gettysburg Address for all I know.

Don’t care. Got to keep the fuck going.

I’m pounding. I’m slamming. I’m slapping his ass. Then I reach down and grab his scrotum. It’s already red and bulging; his nuts are high and tight. Without really thinking about it, I wrap my thumb and index finger around them and give them a gentle tug.

“Fuck yeah!” I hear him yell. Do the neighbors? Possibly. Again, I don’t care. “Dude,” he says. When I pause and let the waterfall’s rush subside a little, I can see his pupils are big. Enormous. Like saucers. “Seriously. The rougher you treat ‘em, the tighter I’ll squeeze.”

“Yeah?” I ask. My eyebrows rise. I want to make sure he knows what he’s in for.

“Yeah.” He’s flashing me that lopsided grin again. Challenging me.

I like a challenge.

So now I’m grabbing onto those nuts while I fuck. I’ve got him on his back, legs high up. I don’t even have to hold him by the ankles—that’s how good he is. He’s giving me full access to those nuts of his. And he’s right—the harder I play with them, the tighter he gets. I squeeze and twist them. He clamps down. It feels good. Feels so damned good. I yank them a little. He clenches. I yank back on them hard. His hole becomes a vise, gripping my inflamed meat so tightly that it nearly makes me shoot.

“Do it,” he says, looking up at me with love in his eyes. “Just fucking use them.”

All right then. I’ve used nuts harder than this, trust me. I pull them out as far as they can go, and then some. His hole constricts. Tight. So damned tight. He could make a diamond out of a fucking charcoal briquette with that kind of muscle action. But I’m not done. My left had is clutching that sac like I’m trying to make it pop, and my right hand hauls off. Slaps them. Once. Twice. Three times. He yells again. Looks up at me with fucking adoration. I let loose with a lot of fast blows to his abused nuts. Fast, but hard. Slap slap slap! Slap slap slap!

The jizz just starts flowing from his dick. His hole feels like it’s trying to squeeze the meat right off of my body as he comes. His own semen is splattering him in the face, on the chest, making those dark blue bedsheets even wetter and more stained than they were before. My load joins it a couple of minutes later, when it leaks out of his ass.

“Christ,” he pants, when we’re panting and lying side by side a minute later. He looks at the ceiling. “I love that so fucking much. Bust my nuts as hard as you want, man. I love it.”

So now I’ve got his number, right? I know exactly where he wants to end up. My job is simply to take him there. And take him there I do in a few minutes, when we’ve both recovered. I’ve got him butt up. Ass wide open. Cummy hole begging for more of my seed. Nuts purple in my fist. I’m slapping them. I’m punching them. The only thing more painful to do to them would be to wear a hobnailed boot and slam down the heel on them.

And the dude is in fucking heaven. He’s begging for more rough treatment. Telling me that no one else has the balls to treat him this way. I’m calling him a dirty faggot, telling him he fucking deserves it, and once again he’s leaking juice and getting close to shooting a second time from the abuse.
Then I reach down with my right hand, under his rib cage, and run my hand through that thick black chest hair he’s got. I give his nipple a pinch. Just a little tweak.

And suddenly, everything shifts. He’s jumping off my cock. Scurrying to the head of the bed and clutching the sheets to him like a wounded virgin. “Christ!” he shrieks in a high treble. “What the fuck are you doing?”

My heart is still thudding away. My cock is rigid. Naked. Exposed. It doesn’t like the cold air. It had a warm home only seconds before. Wha’ happen?

“I mean, Christ!” he’s yelling. “What the fuck’s the matter with you?”

“I tweaked your nipple,” I said, reasonably enough.

“They’re sensitive!” he shouts.

I just stare at him. I mean, this is the guy whose balls were about to burst like a couple of egg-sized water balloons, thirty seconds ago. “They’re sensitive?” I repeat.

“You can’t just go assaulting them like that!”

“I barely tweaked them,” I pointed out. “I mean, it wasn’t hard at all.”

“But they’re sensitive!” He’s still clutching the covers like he’s a Victorian maiden caught in dishabille and I’m a randy satyr from the sylvan woods. A satyr with a particularly sordid reputation.

“Your nipples are sensitive,” I say slowly, “but I can brutalize your nuts any way I want.”

He thinks I’m mocking him. Maybe I am. It just doesn’t make fucking sense. I mean, okay, maybe they’re sensitive, but there’s no need for the outrage and horror. “That’s just the way I’m built. Where’re you going?”

“I’d better get going,” I say. I’m tempted to wipe my hands and cock on his duvet, but I don’t want to hear the shrieking again. I do the gentlemanly thing and pad over to the bathroom, where I wash up briefly in the sink. The water’s cold, but that’s fine. Maybe it’ll deflate my cock—my cock is about five minutes behind the rest of me, still thinking about that warm ass.

He seems to realize his error. “You don’t have to go.”

“I’d better go.”

“Can I get you a drink? We could start over again.” I decline. I’ve got my shirt on, my pants. My socks. Then my shoes. He follows me to the front door, still naked. “I guess I’m sorry if I flew off the handle. You’ll come back, right? Just don’t do it again.”

I smile. “Oh, don't worry. I won’t do it again,” I assure him.

Then I go. I won’t be back. There are always other holes to use.