azurastar
05-01-2010, 06:49 AM
Hey, this story has been knocking around for a few months but its always good to get constructive criticism. Enjoy!
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Perhaps this will sound strange considering what happened but I don’t look back on what happened with any bitterness or anger. Sure I was angry and bitter at the time but I could hardly do anything about it considering the circumstances, and after a while I you just get tired of trying to be angry. I know it’s hard to believe but sometimes I even look back and think the whole episode was one of the most intense and erotic experiences anyone could hope to go through, but time makes you forget pain too.
To begin with I should say that I come from a rather wealthy family, the Wandsworth’s; divorced absentee parents. A mother I never see and a father who expects me to marry well and carry on the family name and an older sister who moonlights as a student studying fashion design at college. Looking back on that band of dilettantes that passed for my family it’s hard to see how Rachel fitted into things. Her family had always been old friends of ours and even though that bond faded into obscurity years ago – the connection between Rachel and the rest of my family did not wane. She was like a younger sibling to my sister, and my sister had my father round her finger.
She was a svelte teenager, two years my senior. She wasn’t drop dead gorgeous but she was pretty. Her face spoke of delicate almost feline features and then there was her hair, a playful hue of red that spilled from her crown down to the middle of her back. Even if she didn’t seem to be very remarkable that image always seemed to linger with people. She was a member of the cheer squad at her college and bizarrely, my babysitter, this peculiar arrangement came about as a result partly because of the aforementioned friendship between our families. It was also out of pleasant charity, my father saw it as a way of contributing to her schooling funds – a good deal all round I suppose. Like I said, she was pretty and even though she was uninteresting it was pleasant having her around. Please understand I didn’t think of her as ‘lower-class’ or below me. I suppose you might say she was the ‘Girl Next Door’ type. I fancied her in the same way that Jocks had secret crushes on girls who were alternative - like so much puerile adolescent fiction. I had absolutely no intention of acting on any of those feelings though, like most guys I was content to thrash such issues out in the privacy of my own bedroom. That said it all came to a head one evening…
* * * * * * * * * *
The whole episode really began in the living room as I was sat watching TV – another inordinately tedious day really and I had no reason to suspect that it would change. My Dad had already left an hour earlier leaving the house empty but for my ‘babysitter’ and me. Rachel walked casually into the room a glance of recognition was exchanged between the two us – which seemed to be all the communication that was necessary.
Then it happened the thing that set everything in motion. She walked across to the far end of the room near the front door and in full view of me she bent over to pick up her gym plimsolls. That was one of the things I really liked about her – all her movements had an exaggeration about them. On this occasion the simple action of leaning over framed her figure perfectly. From those slim legs, accentuated by her white tube socks, to her gorgeous thighs and the vanishing point at which they met – blocked only by her obscenely short cheerleading skirt. The sight of her bending over instantly permeated my thoughts like a drug and even as she nonchalantly left the room I felt the stirrings of a need.
Thinking back to that moment, maybe she put on that little show on purpose to see how I’d react or to goad me but I’ll never know for sure. Either way I soon felt the stiffening of my member and the image Rachel had just treated me to was fresh in my mind. I had no reservations about getting myself off with her in the same house – heck I don’t think I would have been deterred had she had her ear to the wall in the adjacent room. Just like any horny teenager I don’t think the possibility of her walking in on me even occurred. Thus assuming that Rachel was cooped up in my sister’s room I was quickly into my own. I wasted no time throwing myself onto my bed and lying down. I was already too eager for the sensation to think of anything else. The buttons on my trousers bursting open easily as I conjured lascivious images into my mind, starting with the most recent and vivid: Rachel bending over. The familiar hand motions giving the fantasy feeling as my mind’s eye flit from one thought to another: Rachel lying supine on my bed – her legs spread enticingly. Her voice moaning softly in rapture as she responded to my unseen pleasuring.
Suddenly I heard the tell-tale creak of the landing floorboards and the image vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Every muscle in my body seemed to freeze as I listened intently for any sound or movement. Hearing nothing I looked up. Cold talons gripped my heart as I realised that my bedroom door was slightly ajar. My mind played over whether I had completely closed it as I’d come in, but I couldn’t remember.
Before I knew it I was on my feet tiptoeing to my doorway, glancing onto the landing as I buttoned up my jeans. I couldn’t make out any movement as I stared into the gloom, the only light filtering into the hallway coming from beneath the closed door of my sister’s room.
Still jittery with nervous energy I resolved to casually check in on my babysitter. A moment later I was knocking on the door still keenly aware of latent throbbing in my trousers, after a few seconds with no reply I helped myself. “Rachel-” I began but stopped as soon as I realised the room was empty.
I can’t remember which came first the queasy shock or the realisation that a tiny foot had thumped into my crotch from behind me. I looked down in time to see a tube sock clad withdrawing from my groin. Air wheezed out of my lungs the pain welled up and I sank to my knees. My vision blurred from the pain, I turned round to see Rachel smirking down at me, hands on hips.
There was a moment of stunned silence before I regained my voice, too stunned to check my vulgarity “What the fuck Rachel?” I was met with that same disarming smile “I think you know very well…” she said as she quickly covered the short distance between us and placed one toe firmly against my groin. I felt her begin to press uncomfortably down and my hands instinctively grabbed her foot. Remembering myself I summoned some authority into my voice. “Rachel, stop this right now…” her features softened a little and she offered me her hands and I took them. It’s funny how stupid guys can be when offered a chance by women.
As anyone but I could have predicted as soon as I was back on my feet she heaved her knee into my groin. Winded and agonised my ground-ward descent was only stopped by Rachel’s tight embrace. Looking me straight in the eyes she gave me the belated reply: “No.” Again sickening pain welled up in my body as she treated my balls to another helping of her firm thighs and this time she let me fall flat on the floor, crumpling on to my knees before falling backwards.
I was completely bewildered - “Why are you doing this?” I rasped. “You wanna know why?” she asked, a daring edge suddenly entering her voice. I opened and closed my mouth stupidly for a moment – neither ‘yes’ or ‘no’ seemed to be promising replies.
She eyed me for a moment before continuing regardless, “I’ll tell you. Not only do you jerk off to me and anyone I bring round here – which by the way you do none too discretely. But then there’s the wash basket…”
“Oh sh-oufff”, “Shit” she completed for me as she swung her instep into my crotch. It was all I could do to manage to keep drawing breaths; meanwhile Rachel continued, “About 6 weeks ago I started finding sticky stains on the towels, on the sink. Imagine my surprise when I looked in the dirty clothesbasket and even found them on my knickers… even I thought you weren’t that gross but I started keeping an eye on the wash basket anyway. Then one night I find a sticky mess on the panties I’d been wearing that day." she said glowering. "It was only the two of us in the house that night so I doubt it was your dad getting his rocks off in my lingerie” her foot jabbing my nuts again as the malice in her voice grew while I groaned as the cocktail of pain and nausea debilitated me.
The next thing I felt was Rachel’s hands around my waistband, I was too out of it to to resist and before I could raise an arm in protest my pants and boxers had slid down my thighs. A few seconds later and she had them off completely – my manhood flopping painfully as Rachel liberated it from my clothing. Pain raged through my system as I lay prone and exposed but there was no time to recover as Rachel scooped up my legs by the ankles, my balls hanging helplessly at the apex that was created. Then, without a second warning, she began kicking again and again knocking all the air from my lungs as her instep slammed into me, the pain reverberating in my balls as they jangled around.
It was all I could do to stay conscious; I looked up and there was now a predatory look in her eyes as she stared at my nuts and suddenly I was afraid as well as agonised. She changed tack deciding that it would be easier to inflict pain by stamping on my junk. I urged myself to protest, to reason to do anything but before the words reached my mouth she began stamping. Harder and harder each time, not caring whether she hit my balls or not. “This-” stamp “-is for every time-” stamp “-you’ve imagined-” stamp “-fucking me!” I was yelping at every kick – air being pumped in and out of my lungs in time with the rhythm of her feet. Finally her last stamp pinned one my balls underfoot. “Jesus Christ Rachel stop!” I managed to choke out in a hoarse voice that sounded unlike my own. Her face was flushed with effort and adrenaline, as she replied “No. You’ve been fucking me all this time without my permission. Now it’s my turn!” She raised her elegant foot high and then with all the power her toned leg could unleash she stamped down on my balls as though she was trying to smash them straight through my pelvis.
Neither of us realised at first. But then I felt it: a white hot lance of pain to surpass all that had come before and bile ******* its way into my mouth. I choked on it as I started whining uncontrollably at the hurt.
“Oh God, I think you broke one…” I warbled clutching my swelling manhood. Rachel gave no reply at first. Then with great care she brushed away my hands and brought the thinly clad toes of her right foot down on my broken jewel. Her gentle probing ****** an anguished groan from my lungs, “…no, its not broken just ruptured a little – y’know they could probably save it if we took you to hospital right now” she said throwing me a sympathetic look as she continued to play footsie with my nuts.
A wave of relief swelled inside of me as I tried to process what had happened, what was still happening, and then I realised that Rachel hadn’t moved her toes which were still playing sadistic footsie with my manhood. I gasped in anguish as her painful caresses became agressive pokes - I tried to cover my balls as best I could but all I succeeded in doing was landing on my back once more, Rachel pounced and soon enough had her whole foot poised over my crippled orb. "Rachel!?" I looked at her desperately, “Rachel, don’t do this-”. I felt the pain intensify as she leaned on her right foot slightly. “Please I’m begging- urrk” My pleading was brutally cut short as she twisted the pad of her foot like she was snuffing out a cigarette. She brushed a stray lock of auburn hair aside, her attractive features marred slightly by a smirk as she noted with satisfaction, “Almost gone.” Another twist and whatever was left of my ball gave off a terminal ‘pop’ as it burst completely. Pain surged through every fibre of my body overwhelming me and the room began to go fuzzy as I slipped into unconsciousness. Before I did though, I felt a pressure on my chest – Rachel’s knees – and then a voice right next my ear which purred “Now it’s broken”.
* * * * * * * * * *
For those who have never experienced it, regaining consciousness after being knocked out is pretty much the same as waking up, things just happen a little slower. It’s sensations you’re always aware of first even though you can’t actually do anything about them until you’re completely awake – like a hand humorously left in a bucket of water of water while sleeping. In my case it began with an unpleasant tingle before developing into a dull ache that seemed to come in waves from the whole of my lower body. At that point the crushing truth dawned on me; I only had one ball. Suddenly my mind was awash with thoughts and images – all splintered by the pain. Despair at what had happened. The sinking revelation that forevermore I would only have one ball – half a man only.
My vision slowly returned the room was blurry but instantly recognisable: posters on the walls, a ludicrously sized clothes cabinet, a desk and swivel chair. I was still in my sister’s room. Then my sense of smell hit me – my nose and throat were burning. As the room came into focus I realised that I had thrown up on myself. Drops of blood punctuated the rank yellow liquid and the whole foul mess had congealed to my shirt.
Slowly the rest of the room came into focus and there sat Rachel – oblivious to the screaming nerve endings in my body - amongst a large pile of my sister’s shoes. Her tube socks discarded haphazardly on the bed.
She glanced over her shoulder at me as though just remembering I was there as I eased myself into an upright sitting position. “Oh hey, I’m just trying some on – you don’t mind do you?” Considering how many kicks I had been on the receiving end of I ignored the pointless question and whined abjectly.
“My ball…” I began, “Yeah, It’s completely gone,” she said cutting me off with happy nonchalance. “I squashed it a few times while you were *********** just to be sure” she added throwing a wink at me. Between the pain and the lack of comprehension my face must have been a picture – I looked back to her as though she were insane “Why…?” “To halve your libido silly; now which should I try on first d’you think?” she asked gesturing towards the shoes. Barely comprehending I looked worriedly at the many pairs strewn around the room, one pair in particular. Rachel followed my gaze to some mocha coloured cowboy boots in my sister’s cabinet. The unyielding heels shining dangerously in the light. “Relax Danny I won’t be trying those on. Your ball wouldn’t last five kicks from those”. Even in my semi-cogent state this was little consolation since she was putting on an equally hard-looking pair of black leather ankle boots. “Cute… but I can’t work these at all” she observed as she finished zipping them up at the back. “Still they’ll be fun to try out”, she said with a wink. I looked at her in dread “Try out? Please haven’t you done en-ouff” sure enough the hard tip of her boot found my swollen package and once more chased all the air from my lungs. “Oh score!” she exulted, putting her kicking foot en Pointe after her follow through. I rolled over clutching my manhood groaning in abject agony. Wave after wave of nausea rising from my abdomen. I was in no state to do anything but my body was working on automatic as I crawled towards the door on all fours.
I vomited again as my break for freedom came to a crushing halt. A petite weight pinning my bollock to the floor. “Hey we’re no where near done yet mister” condescended my babysitter. I considered trying to scramble loose but then thought better of it. Slowly I rolled over to see that Rachel was now sporting a pair of light pink ballet pumps.
I must have looked pretty horrendous because for a moment even Rachel crinkled her little nose in revulsion, “Come on, don’t ruin this for me...” she complained taking a stride forward and planting her foot on my stomach. “You really do only have yourself to blame Danny…” she noted with conviction, a smile playing over her features. Before I could check myself I was retorting, “I haven’t done a damn thing that justified thi…” I stopped suddenly as a dangerous look flashed across her brilliant blue eyes.
“Really, is that how you see it?” she said as I felt her leaning into her stride slowly ******* the air from my lungs. Her mouth forming a tiny ‘o’ as her foot sank lower into my torso. “You don’t think what you did is insulting, embarrassing or degrading?” Her heel was pushing into my abdomen now. Her smile widened as pain increasingly contorted my features. “You don’t think you deserve to be taught a lesson?” Her pump was now sliding down onto my groin barely centimetres away from its painful destination. I fully expected her to nail me again, but instead I felt a rather different sensation. I looked up to see her eyes alive with mischief as the front of her foot slid up the length of my penis and back down. The familiar motion underwritten only by the fact that the heel of her pump kept kissing the top of my bruised ball as she stroked downwards. “Now are you sure you don’t deserve what I’m doing?” I knew better than to contradict her and kept my trembling mouth closed.
“Good boy. It doesn’t mean we’re through though…” she said, suddenly sliding her foot to settle over my ball. We both looked at each other – there was nothing I could do, I was a spectator once more as she started to lean into my ball extracting a deep warbling moan from me in the process. She smiled “Wow, you can really feel it flattening out!” the sensation of her toes wiggling palpably through the thin material emphasising her point.
She ground away for what seemed like hours, giggling as I squirmed. “Oh calm down little Danny boy”, giving my genitals a playful nudge of the foot as she said ‘little’. “I’m not gonna pop your other ball, just soften it up a little. So that next time you have the urge to jack off and think about me or any of my girlfriends, you’ll think of me busting your balls – sorry – ball and this little soldier will stay soft”.
Before I could think of anything to say to this she had already kicked off the pumps and picked out a pair of scarlet leather kitten heels. Slipping them on she turned my sister’s desk chair to face me and sat - reclining provocatively – with her legs crossed. “What do you think?” she asked, coyly dangling one of the shoes from her toes.
I really should have grasped this reprieve and tried to do something at this point, but the residual pain from losing my first ball was still incredible and it still seemed that I might yet escape this as a man as soon as Rachel tired of her torture. A moment later and my babysitter uncrossed her legs with a flourish and was straight back to squashing my manhood with her new couture. “Uh-oh, looks like we’ve still got some way to go” she cooed regarding my semi-erect member for a moment. Planting her heel over my ball she renewed her torture with vigour leaning forwards then back, applying pressure then releasing it. Each time, the tiny stilettos leaving a more pronounced indentation in my nut. “Of course if these were proper heels I’d only have to lean on em’ a little and ‘POP’, the Wandsworth line would end with you right?” she gushed biting her lip coquettishly. She watched for a moment as my penis shrivelled, a satisfied look playing across her face. Apparently sated she took a step back and put her hands on her hips to indulgently admire her toned legs. “Kitten heels really aren’t my thing – but your sister looks good in them”. She glanced back to me a smile tugging at her lips.
“Y’know just cause you can’t jack off to me anymore don’t go thinking you can carry on doing it to your sister!” I was already white as a sheet from the pain – but if it was possible, any colour left in my face must have drained away when she said that. How on earth could she have known that I’d done that on occasions? I expected her to laugh and ridicule me, but as I met her gaze she looked confused by my reaction.
Then the penny dropped.
She had been joking. I tried to compose my expression but too late. Now she really did know and for a moment she looked as aghast as I felt. The silence broke a moment later; “You’re a fucking pervert Daniel Wandsworth”. Her foot thundered into my ball again and I could only whimper and crawl into the foetal position in response. The shame of that moment was burned into my mind forever.
But it wasn't over yet, cradling my manhood I looked up at Rachel to see her discarding the kitten heels and fishing the cowboy boots out of the cabinet; suddenly I felt my heart sinking with abandon. Drawing haggard breaths I managed to cough out my objection, “But you said-”, “I know what I said!” she interrupted, casually dropping the deadly footwear on the floor in front of her.
Her perfect brow was furrowed with deliberation for a moment as she looked at the boots - her face a mixture of trepidation that belied excitement. Then the moment passed and she plopped – ass first - down on the floor, sliding one slender foot into the right boot and gyrating her ankle to test the fit. “Rachel please, for God’s sake. Look I can change I’ll stop”, I was pleading with my words and with my eyes “I’ll… stop all of it…do whatever you want!” I added in barely coherent desperation. She gave me a knowing - almost sympathetic – look as she picked up the left boot and with a petite heave slipped it snugly onto her other foot. “Hmm”, standing up she posed for a moment, “I think I might steal these Y’know” she noted in self-congratulation. She turned round and posed again, briefly exposing the milky white swell of her ass. She glanced over her shoulder “They’re killer, right?” Had the situation been different I might have agreed.
My mind was elsewhere though, aware only of the angry throb between my legs. “Now how did this go before… oh yes”, even as she chattered in that contrite tone I knew what was going to happen. A small but insistent hand encircled first one ankle then the other, lifting them up to form that ominous V-shape.
You’re probably incredulous as to why a guy couldn’t get out of a situation like this, but my struggles had become pained and feeble – I tried desperately to put some conviction into pulling my legs from her grip. All the while jabbering: “No”, “God please don’t Rachel” but as I lurched and writhed all I succeeded in doing was bouncing my swollen sac against the floor – my reward, a fresh wave of nausea emanating from my remaining bollock.
Rachel flashed me a smile and tutted at my pathetic escape attempt, running the point of her cowboy boot over my nut as she did so, nudging it to the bottom of my swollen sack to better discern it from the mush.
“I’ll tell you what Danny, I said you couldn’t last five kicks didn’t I? Well let’s see…” She raised that beautiful leg up high and I squeezed my eyes tightly shut until they stang. ‘CLAP!’ The heel of the boot connected with the floor like the sound of a firecracker. I waited for the screaming agony but none came – I looked down to where the point of the boot had landed: barely an inch from my scrotum. Rachel’s sonorous laughter taunting my reaction as she swung her foot back for another kick. My hands instinctively tried to cover my swollen lemon and so both digits and ball got crushed together painfully.
“Move your hands…” she pressed. At this point it didn’t really matter if I covered it or not my bollock had swollen to the size of lemon. My head rolled back – I was utterly crushed mentally and physically and my hands fell away in resignation leaving my swollen testis exposed. I felt the dull pressure of the hard boot heel over my nut again, eliciting a squeal rather than a moan. “You know I’m really doing you a favour…” she said throwing me a smug look as I helplessly watched. “Once I’m done you can take up some less perverted hobbies…” she was really enjoying herself now. “Hmmmm, let’s see…” her brow furrowing in mock concentration “You could take up singing! There’s still time to make you into an excellent choirboy!” she mocked biting her bottom lip in anticipation. “How about it Danny, ready to sing some soprano?” A sense of courage filled me as she teased away; inhaling deeply I looked her in the eyes and simply said “Fuck you”.
Smiling at my response she cheerfully lifted her knee up giving me a glimpse of her cherry print cotton panties. The movements were so familiar to the cheerleader as she held the position perfectly, “Come on Dan, hit those high notes for me!” and with that she thrust her cocked athletic leg into my crotch. I didn’t have to wait to realise there was no feint in this kick. My shout of “No-” was swiftly curtailed as her foot smashed my good gonad, pinning it against my pelvic bone.
The unholy wail I heard turned out to be mine, and as Rachel leaned her petite weight into the kick I felt the simultaneous crescendo of the aching pressure in my abdomen and the rush of vomit to my throat. A moment later and Rachel got her wish: I was indeed wailing an octave higher. A shotgun blast of a ‘POP’ seemed to reverberate round the room – although it could well have just been in my head – and the dull ache that had been building was suddenly released. Through the delirium and bright spots in my vision I could make out Rachel, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She was smiling, whooping, and trembling in exultation or arousal – I don’t know which. My mind was awash with images. I thought about the hockey try-outs in the coming week. I thought about how good it would have felt to climax inside Rachel's willing body – forever now a fantasy - then the pain blotted them all out one by one and I sank mercifully into unconsciousness.
* * * * * * * * * *
To this day I still vaguely remember the scene at the hospital. I woke up feeling numb and exhausted, father and sister gathered round the bed conversing with the doctor. They were all acting as though they were in mourning and there was something to mourn – the Wandsworth line had been stamped out; and even though time blurs it all I can still remember one thing with perfect clarity. Rachel standing at the back of the room, looking serene and stealing knowing winks and grins at me as the doctor explained the implications of sterility.
******************
Perhaps this will sound strange considering what happened but I don’t look back on what happened with any bitterness or anger. Sure I was angry and bitter at the time but I could hardly do anything about it considering the circumstances, and after a while I you just get tired of trying to be angry. I know it’s hard to believe but sometimes I even look back and think the whole episode was one of the most intense and erotic experiences anyone could hope to go through, but time makes you forget pain too.
To begin with I should say that I come from a rather wealthy family, the Wandsworth’s; divorced absentee parents. A mother I never see and a father who expects me to marry well and carry on the family name and an older sister who moonlights as a student studying fashion design at college. Looking back on that band of dilettantes that passed for my family it’s hard to see how Rachel fitted into things. Her family had always been old friends of ours and even though that bond faded into obscurity years ago – the connection between Rachel and the rest of my family did not wane. She was like a younger sibling to my sister, and my sister had my father round her finger.
She was a svelte teenager, two years my senior. She wasn’t drop dead gorgeous but she was pretty. Her face spoke of delicate almost feline features and then there was her hair, a playful hue of red that spilled from her crown down to the middle of her back. Even if she didn’t seem to be very remarkable that image always seemed to linger with people. She was a member of the cheer squad at her college and bizarrely, my babysitter, this peculiar arrangement came about as a result partly because of the aforementioned friendship between our families. It was also out of pleasant charity, my father saw it as a way of contributing to her schooling funds – a good deal all round I suppose. Like I said, she was pretty and even though she was uninteresting it was pleasant having her around. Please understand I didn’t think of her as ‘lower-class’ or below me. I suppose you might say she was the ‘Girl Next Door’ type. I fancied her in the same way that Jocks had secret crushes on girls who were alternative - like so much puerile adolescent fiction. I had absolutely no intention of acting on any of those feelings though, like most guys I was content to thrash such issues out in the privacy of my own bedroom. That said it all came to a head one evening…
* * * * * * * * * *
The whole episode really began in the living room as I was sat watching TV – another inordinately tedious day really and I had no reason to suspect that it would change. My Dad had already left an hour earlier leaving the house empty but for my ‘babysitter’ and me. Rachel walked casually into the room a glance of recognition was exchanged between the two us – which seemed to be all the communication that was necessary.
Then it happened the thing that set everything in motion. She walked across to the far end of the room near the front door and in full view of me she bent over to pick up her gym plimsolls. That was one of the things I really liked about her – all her movements had an exaggeration about them. On this occasion the simple action of leaning over framed her figure perfectly. From those slim legs, accentuated by her white tube socks, to her gorgeous thighs and the vanishing point at which they met – blocked only by her obscenely short cheerleading skirt. The sight of her bending over instantly permeated my thoughts like a drug and even as she nonchalantly left the room I felt the stirrings of a need.
Thinking back to that moment, maybe she put on that little show on purpose to see how I’d react or to goad me but I’ll never know for sure. Either way I soon felt the stiffening of my member and the image Rachel had just treated me to was fresh in my mind. I had no reservations about getting myself off with her in the same house – heck I don’t think I would have been deterred had she had her ear to the wall in the adjacent room. Just like any horny teenager I don’t think the possibility of her walking in on me even occurred. Thus assuming that Rachel was cooped up in my sister’s room I was quickly into my own. I wasted no time throwing myself onto my bed and lying down. I was already too eager for the sensation to think of anything else. The buttons on my trousers bursting open easily as I conjured lascivious images into my mind, starting with the most recent and vivid: Rachel bending over. The familiar hand motions giving the fantasy feeling as my mind’s eye flit from one thought to another: Rachel lying supine on my bed – her legs spread enticingly. Her voice moaning softly in rapture as she responded to my unseen pleasuring.
Suddenly I heard the tell-tale creak of the landing floorboards and the image vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Every muscle in my body seemed to freeze as I listened intently for any sound or movement. Hearing nothing I looked up. Cold talons gripped my heart as I realised that my bedroom door was slightly ajar. My mind played over whether I had completely closed it as I’d come in, but I couldn’t remember.
Before I knew it I was on my feet tiptoeing to my doorway, glancing onto the landing as I buttoned up my jeans. I couldn’t make out any movement as I stared into the gloom, the only light filtering into the hallway coming from beneath the closed door of my sister’s room.
Still jittery with nervous energy I resolved to casually check in on my babysitter. A moment later I was knocking on the door still keenly aware of latent throbbing in my trousers, after a few seconds with no reply I helped myself. “Rachel-” I began but stopped as soon as I realised the room was empty.
I can’t remember which came first the queasy shock or the realisation that a tiny foot had thumped into my crotch from behind me. I looked down in time to see a tube sock clad withdrawing from my groin. Air wheezed out of my lungs the pain welled up and I sank to my knees. My vision blurred from the pain, I turned round to see Rachel smirking down at me, hands on hips.
There was a moment of stunned silence before I regained my voice, too stunned to check my vulgarity “What the fuck Rachel?” I was met with that same disarming smile “I think you know very well…” she said as she quickly covered the short distance between us and placed one toe firmly against my groin. I felt her begin to press uncomfortably down and my hands instinctively grabbed her foot. Remembering myself I summoned some authority into my voice. “Rachel, stop this right now…” her features softened a little and she offered me her hands and I took them. It’s funny how stupid guys can be when offered a chance by women.
As anyone but I could have predicted as soon as I was back on my feet she heaved her knee into my groin. Winded and agonised my ground-ward descent was only stopped by Rachel’s tight embrace. Looking me straight in the eyes she gave me the belated reply: “No.” Again sickening pain welled up in my body as she treated my balls to another helping of her firm thighs and this time she let me fall flat on the floor, crumpling on to my knees before falling backwards.
I was completely bewildered - “Why are you doing this?” I rasped. “You wanna know why?” she asked, a daring edge suddenly entering her voice. I opened and closed my mouth stupidly for a moment – neither ‘yes’ or ‘no’ seemed to be promising replies.
She eyed me for a moment before continuing regardless, “I’ll tell you. Not only do you jerk off to me and anyone I bring round here – which by the way you do none too discretely. But then there’s the wash basket…”
“Oh sh-oufff”, “Shit” she completed for me as she swung her instep into my crotch. It was all I could do to manage to keep drawing breaths; meanwhile Rachel continued, “About 6 weeks ago I started finding sticky stains on the towels, on the sink. Imagine my surprise when I looked in the dirty clothesbasket and even found them on my knickers… even I thought you weren’t that gross but I started keeping an eye on the wash basket anyway. Then one night I find a sticky mess on the panties I’d been wearing that day." she said glowering. "It was only the two of us in the house that night so I doubt it was your dad getting his rocks off in my lingerie” her foot jabbing my nuts again as the malice in her voice grew while I groaned as the cocktail of pain and nausea debilitated me.
The next thing I felt was Rachel’s hands around my waistband, I was too out of it to to resist and before I could raise an arm in protest my pants and boxers had slid down my thighs. A few seconds later and she had them off completely – my manhood flopping painfully as Rachel liberated it from my clothing. Pain raged through my system as I lay prone and exposed but there was no time to recover as Rachel scooped up my legs by the ankles, my balls hanging helplessly at the apex that was created. Then, without a second warning, she began kicking again and again knocking all the air from my lungs as her instep slammed into me, the pain reverberating in my balls as they jangled around.
It was all I could do to stay conscious; I looked up and there was now a predatory look in her eyes as she stared at my nuts and suddenly I was afraid as well as agonised. She changed tack deciding that it would be easier to inflict pain by stamping on my junk. I urged myself to protest, to reason to do anything but before the words reached my mouth she began stamping. Harder and harder each time, not caring whether she hit my balls or not. “This-” stamp “-is for every time-” stamp “-you’ve imagined-” stamp “-fucking me!” I was yelping at every kick – air being pumped in and out of my lungs in time with the rhythm of her feet. Finally her last stamp pinned one my balls underfoot. “Jesus Christ Rachel stop!” I managed to choke out in a hoarse voice that sounded unlike my own. Her face was flushed with effort and adrenaline, as she replied “No. You’ve been fucking me all this time without my permission. Now it’s my turn!” She raised her elegant foot high and then with all the power her toned leg could unleash she stamped down on my balls as though she was trying to smash them straight through my pelvis.
Neither of us realised at first. But then I felt it: a white hot lance of pain to surpass all that had come before and bile ******* its way into my mouth. I choked on it as I started whining uncontrollably at the hurt.
“Oh God, I think you broke one…” I warbled clutching my swelling manhood. Rachel gave no reply at first. Then with great care she brushed away my hands and brought the thinly clad toes of her right foot down on my broken jewel. Her gentle probing ****** an anguished groan from my lungs, “…no, its not broken just ruptured a little – y’know they could probably save it if we took you to hospital right now” she said throwing me a sympathetic look as she continued to play footsie with my nuts.
A wave of relief swelled inside of me as I tried to process what had happened, what was still happening, and then I realised that Rachel hadn’t moved her toes which were still playing sadistic footsie with my manhood. I gasped in anguish as her painful caresses became agressive pokes - I tried to cover my balls as best I could but all I succeeded in doing was landing on my back once more, Rachel pounced and soon enough had her whole foot poised over my crippled orb. "Rachel!?" I looked at her desperately, “Rachel, don’t do this-”. I felt the pain intensify as she leaned on her right foot slightly. “Please I’m begging- urrk” My pleading was brutally cut short as she twisted the pad of her foot like she was snuffing out a cigarette. She brushed a stray lock of auburn hair aside, her attractive features marred slightly by a smirk as she noted with satisfaction, “Almost gone.” Another twist and whatever was left of my ball gave off a terminal ‘pop’ as it burst completely. Pain surged through every fibre of my body overwhelming me and the room began to go fuzzy as I slipped into unconsciousness. Before I did though, I felt a pressure on my chest – Rachel’s knees – and then a voice right next my ear which purred “Now it’s broken”.
* * * * * * * * * *
For those who have never experienced it, regaining consciousness after being knocked out is pretty much the same as waking up, things just happen a little slower. It’s sensations you’re always aware of first even though you can’t actually do anything about them until you’re completely awake – like a hand humorously left in a bucket of water of water while sleeping. In my case it began with an unpleasant tingle before developing into a dull ache that seemed to come in waves from the whole of my lower body. At that point the crushing truth dawned on me; I only had one ball. Suddenly my mind was awash with thoughts and images – all splintered by the pain. Despair at what had happened. The sinking revelation that forevermore I would only have one ball – half a man only.
My vision slowly returned the room was blurry but instantly recognisable: posters on the walls, a ludicrously sized clothes cabinet, a desk and swivel chair. I was still in my sister’s room. Then my sense of smell hit me – my nose and throat were burning. As the room came into focus I realised that I had thrown up on myself. Drops of blood punctuated the rank yellow liquid and the whole foul mess had congealed to my shirt.
Slowly the rest of the room came into focus and there sat Rachel – oblivious to the screaming nerve endings in my body - amongst a large pile of my sister’s shoes. Her tube socks discarded haphazardly on the bed.
She glanced over her shoulder at me as though just remembering I was there as I eased myself into an upright sitting position. “Oh hey, I’m just trying some on – you don’t mind do you?” Considering how many kicks I had been on the receiving end of I ignored the pointless question and whined abjectly.
“My ball…” I began, “Yeah, It’s completely gone,” she said cutting me off with happy nonchalance. “I squashed it a few times while you were *********** just to be sure” she added throwing a wink at me. Between the pain and the lack of comprehension my face must have been a picture – I looked back to her as though she were insane “Why…?” “To halve your libido silly; now which should I try on first d’you think?” she asked gesturing towards the shoes. Barely comprehending I looked worriedly at the many pairs strewn around the room, one pair in particular. Rachel followed my gaze to some mocha coloured cowboy boots in my sister’s cabinet. The unyielding heels shining dangerously in the light. “Relax Danny I won’t be trying those on. Your ball wouldn’t last five kicks from those”. Even in my semi-cogent state this was little consolation since she was putting on an equally hard-looking pair of black leather ankle boots. “Cute… but I can’t work these at all” she observed as she finished zipping them up at the back. “Still they’ll be fun to try out”, she said with a wink. I looked at her in dread “Try out? Please haven’t you done en-ouff” sure enough the hard tip of her boot found my swollen package and once more chased all the air from my lungs. “Oh score!” she exulted, putting her kicking foot en Pointe after her follow through. I rolled over clutching my manhood groaning in abject agony. Wave after wave of nausea rising from my abdomen. I was in no state to do anything but my body was working on automatic as I crawled towards the door on all fours.
I vomited again as my break for freedom came to a crushing halt. A petite weight pinning my bollock to the floor. “Hey we’re no where near done yet mister” condescended my babysitter. I considered trying to scramble loose but then thought better of it. Slowly I rolled over to see that Rachel was now sporting a pair of light pink ballet pumps.
I must have looked pretty horrendous because for a moment even Rachel crinkled her little nose in revulsion, “Come on, don’t ruin this for me...” she complained taking a stride forward and planting her foot on my stomach. “You really do only have yourself to blame Danny…” she noted with conviction, a smile playing over her features. Before I could check myself I was retorting, “I haven’t done a damn thing that justified thi…” I stopped suddenly as a dangerous look flashed across her brilliant blue eyes.
“Really, is that how you see it?” she said as I felt her leaning into her stride slowly ******* the air from my lungs. Her mouth forming a tiny ‘o’ as her foot sank lower into my torso. “You don’t think what you did is insulting, embarrassing or degrading?” Her heel was pushing into my abdomen now. Her smile widened as pain increasingly contorted my features. “You don’t think you deserve to be taught a lesson?” Her pump was now sliding down onto my groin barely centimetres away from its painful destination. I fully expected her to nail me again, but instead I felt a rather different sensation. I looked up to see her eyes alive with mischief as the front of her foot slid up the length of my penis and back down. The familiar motion underwritten only by the fact that the heel of her pump kept kissing the top of my bruised ball as she stroked downwards. “Now are you sure you don’t deserve what I’m doing?” I knew better than to contradict her and kept my trembling mouth closed.
“Good boy. It doesn’t mean we’re through though…” she said, suddenly sliding her foot to settle over my ball. We both looked at each other – there was nothing I could do, I was a spectator once more as she started to lean into my ball extracting a deep warbling moan from me in the process. She smiled “Wow, you can really feel it flattening out!” the sensation of her toes wiggling palpably through the thin material emphasising her point.
She ground away for what seemed like hours, giggling as I squirmed. “Oh calm down little Danny boy”, giving my genitals a playful nudge of the foot as she said ‘little’. “I’m not gonna pop your other ball, just soften it up a little. So that next time you have the urge to jack off and think about me or any of my girlfriends, you’ll think of me busting your balls – sorry – ball and this little soldier will stay soft”.
Before I could think of anything to say to this she had already kicked off the pumps and picked out a pair of scarlet leather kitten heels. Slipping them on she turned my sister’s desk chair to face me and sat - reclining provocatively – with her legs crossed. “What do you think?” she asked, coyly dangling one of the shoes from her toes.
I really should have grasped this reprieve and tried to do something at this point, but the residual pain from losing my first ball was still incredible and it still seemed that I might yet escape this as a man as soon as Rachel tired of her torture. A moment later and my babysitter uncrossed her legs with a flourish and was straight back to squashing my manhood with her new couture. “Uh-oh, looks like we’ve still got some way to go” she cooed regarding my semi-erect member for a moment. Planting her heel over my ball she renewed her torture with vigour leaning forwards then back, applying pressure then releasing it. Each time, the tiny stilettos leaving a more pronounced indentation in my nut. “Of course if these were proper heels I’d only have to lean on em’ a little and ‘POP’, the Wandsworth line would end with you right?” she gushed biting her lip coquettishly. She watched for a moment as my penis shrivelled, a satisfied look playing across her face. Apparently sated she took a step back and put her hands on her hips to indulgently admire her toned legs. “Kitten heels really aren’t my thing – but your sister looks good in them”. She glanced back to me a smile tugging at her lips.
“Y’know just cause you can’t jack off to me anymore don’t go thinking you can carry on doing it to your sister!” I was already white as a sheet from the pain – but if it was possible, any colour left in my face must have drained away when she said that. How on earth could she have known that I’d done that on occasions? I expected her to laugh and ridicule me, but as I met her gaze she looked confused by my reaction.
Then the penny dropped.
She had been joking. I tried to compose my expression but too late. Now she really did know and for a moment she looked as aghast as I felt. The silence broke a moment later; “You’re a fucking pervert Daniel Wandsworth”. Her foot thundered into my ball again and I could only whimper and crawl into the foetal position in response. The shame of that moment was burned into my mind forever.
But it wasn't over yet, cradling my manhood I looked up at Rachel to see her discarding the kitten heels and fishing the cowboy boots out of the cabinet; suddenly I felt my heart sinking with abandon. Drawing haggard breaths I managed to cough out my objection, “But you said-”, “I know what I said!” she interrupted, casually dropping the deadly footwear on the floor in front of her.
Her perfect brow was furrowed with deliberation for a moment as she looked at the boots - her face a mixture of trepidation that belied excitement. Then the moment passed and she plopped – ass first - down on the floor, sliding one slender foot into the right boot and gyrating her ankle to test the fit. “Rachel please, for God’s sake. Look I can change I’ll stop”, I was pleading with my words and with my eyes “I’ll… stop all of it…do whatever you want!” I added in barely coherent desperation. She gave me a knowing - almost sympathetic – look as she picked up the left boot and with a petite heave slipped it snugly onto her other foot. “Hmm”, standing up she posed for a moment, “I think I might steal these Y’know” she noted in self-congratulation. She turned round and posed again, briefly exposing the milky white swell of her ass. She glanced over her shoulder “They’re killer, right?” Had the situation been different I might have agreed.
My mind was elsewhere though, aware only of the angry throb between my legs. “Now how did this go before… oh yes”, even as she chattered in that contrite tone I knew what was going to happen. A small but insistent hand encircled first one ankle then the other, lifting them up to form that ominous V-shape.
You’re probably incredulous as to why a guy couldn’t get out of a situation like this, but my struggles had become pained and feeble – I tried desperately to put some conviction into pulling my legs from her grip. All the while jabbering: “No”, “God please don’t Rachel” but as I lurched and writhed all I succeeded in doing was bouncing my swollen sac against the floor – my reward, a fresh wave of nausea emanating from my remaining bollock.
Rachel flashed me a smile and tutted at my pathetic escape attempt, running the point of her cowboy boot over my nut as she did so, nudging it to the bottom of my swollen sack to better discern it from the mush.
“I’ll tell you what Danny, I said you couldn’t last five kicks didn’t I? Well let’s see…” She raised that beautiful leg up high and I squeezed my eyes tightly shut until they stang. ‘CLAP!’ The heel of the boot connected with the floor like the sound of a firecracker. I waited for the screaming agony but none came – I looked down to where the point of the boot had landed: barely an inch from my scrotum. Rachel’s sonorous laughter taunting my reaction as she swung her foot back for another kick. My hands instinctively tried to cover my swollen lemon and so both digits and ball got crushed together painfully.
“Move your hands…” she pressed. At this point it didn’t really matter if I covered it or not my bollock had swollen to the size of lemon. My head rolled back – I was utterly crushed mentally and physically and my hands fell away in resignation leaving my swollen testis exposed. I felt the dull pressure of the hard boot heel over my nut again, eliciting a squeal rather than a moan. “You know I’m really doing you a favour…” she said throwing me a smug look as I helplessly watched. “Once I’m done you can take up some less perverted hobbies…” she was really enjoying herself now. “Hmmmm, let’s see…” her brow furrowing in mock concentration “You could take up singing! There’s still time to make you into an excellent choirboy!” she mocked biting her bottom lip in anticipation. “How about it Danny, ready to sing some soprano?” A sense of courage filled me as she teased away; inhaling deeply I looked her in the eyes and simply said “Fuck you”.
Smiling at my response she cheerfully lifted her knee up giving me a glimpse of her cherry print cotton panties. The movements were so familiar to the cheerleader as she held the position perfectly, “Come on Dan, hit those high notes for me!” and with that she thrust her cocked athletic leg into my crotch. I didn’t have to wait to realise there was no feint in this kick. My shout of “No-” was swiftly curtailed as her foot smashed my good gonad, pinning it against my pelvic bone.
The unholy wail I heard turned out to be mine, and as Rachel leaned her petite weight into the kick I felt the simultaneous crescendo of the aching pressure in my abdomen and the rush of vomit to my throat. A moment later and Rachel got her wish: I was indeed wailing an octave higher. A shotgun blast of a ‘POP’ seemed to reverberate round the room – although it could well have just been in my head – and the dull ache that had been building was suddenly released. Through the delirium and bright spots in my vision I could make out Rachel, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She was smiling, whooping, and trembling in exultation or arousal – I don’t know which. My mind was awash with images. I thought about the hockey try-outs in the coming week. I thought about how good it would have felt to climax inside Rachel's willing body – forever now a fantasy - then the pain blotted them all out one by one and I sank mercifully into unconsciousness.
* * * * * * * * * *
To this day I still vaguely remember the scene at the hospital. I woke up feeling numb and exhausted, father and sister gathered round the bed conversing with the doctor. They were all acting as though they were in mourning and there was something to mourn – the Wandsworth line had been stamped out; and even though time blurs it all I can still remember one thing with perfect clarity. Rachel standing at the back of the room, looking serene and stealing knowing winks and grins at me as the doctor explained the implications of sterility.