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  1. #16
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    Yep, I know destruction ain't everybody's cup of tea – apologies for that! Hope you enjoyed anyway. It might be worth checking out the previous chapter if you'd like some BB that's a little less permanent. The scenario is a bit different (a pre-fight check-up), but it's set in the same universe and centered around the same fighting league.

  2. #17
    Big Supporter Alec Anaconda, A1's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by poiu View Post
    Yep, I know destruction ain't everybody's cup of tea – apologies for that! Hope you enjoyed anyway. It might be worth checking out the previous chapter if you'd like some BB that's a little less permanent. The scenario is a bit different (a pre-fight check-up), but it's set in the same universe and centered around the same fighting league.
    I still got pleasure from “Learning the Ropes,” despite the irreparable damage.
    I also liked the previous chapter, thanks for that.
    When you continue, I do hope the ladies don’t always win!
    Alec Anaconda

    Please click on book covers to read extracts.


    eBooks_by_ALEC_ANACONDA

  3. #18
    Supreme Poster jonoffen's Avatar
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    You stories are fantastic. Thanks for the updates!

  4. #19
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    Hey, just thought I'd add to the thread. I've always been into stories where bb is an accepted part of society (well, even more accepted/encouraged than our reality) so I thought I'd give that a shot. Let me know if you'd want more!

    It was a quiet evening at the Saranash household--Varun and Sophie were sat at the dinner table as their daughter Lacie joined them. They had both been there for some minutes, but each had barely touched their food.
    "Sorry, I was just talking with Madison and it took awhile--" she explained without making eye contact and set to putting food on her plate.
    "Is everything alright with her?" her mother asked, sensing an opportunity to ask about one of Lacie's friends she had actually met.
    "Yeah--well, I mean, her boyfriend basically broke up with her by cheating on her over the weekend--"
    "That's terrible," Varun interjected.
    Lacie did not look up from scooping mashed potatoes onto her plate.
    "She was pretty devastated, but they finally had to see each other at school today and, uh, talked, and now she feels a lot better about it."
    Both parents gave each other a quizzical look as she finally slumped back into her chair and began eating. Sophie widened her eyes and nodded her head toward their teenage daughter, and Varun understood her signal.
    "They just talked it over?" he pressed, carefully.
    Lacie still did not look up.
    "Yep. Hey, so you said I needed to be home tonight because there was a tutor coming or something?" she said, changing the subject.
    "Yes, in a way," her mom answered, "he's going to help you with--"
    "I don't need tutoring," she said with defiance.
    "Well, we've noticed that your GPA has been slipping," said her father.
    "And you don't seem to be enjoying baseball anymore," Sophie added.
    Lacie finally looked up.
    "So he's going to help me with all of my classes AND baseball?" she said with utmost skepticism.
    Before they could answer, the doorbell chimed. Both parents practically leapt from their chairs to get to the door.
    "Just give it a chance," her mom whispered to her as she followed her husband out of the room.
    They opened the door to a young man, barely in his 20s, dressed neatly in a button-down shirt and bearing a small tablet.
    "Hi! Is this the Saraneshes?" he said with an enthusiasm that covered his butchering of the name.
    "Yes it is, are you Brian?" Varun answered, offering his hand.
    Brian awkwardly shifted the tablet to his non-dominant hand to accept the shake.
    "Yeah, and I'm so sorry I'm late--I hadn't realized that I'd forgotten to put an ice pack in the freezer and I had to wait for it to get up to speed."
    "Oh, no need to apologize--I can imagine that must be an essential in your line of work," Varun sympathized. "Please, come in."
    Lacie, who trailed behind, came into the room just as he finished closing the door.
    "Here she is," her father gestured to her, "Lacie, this is Brian from the Department of Public Health."
    "Oh no," Brian clarified, "I work with a small private company called Snips n' Snails--we're not technically affiliated with the DPH, although they often outsource us in special cases."
    Lacie was struck by how professional he sounded, at least for a guy barely a few years older than her. Her eyes unconsciously sized him up.
    "Ah, so that's why the school nurse recommended you," Sophie motioned for her daughter to shake Brian's hand, which Lacie did, with only slight hesitation.
    "Pleased to meet you," she said dutifully, unhappy with what her parents had done to her, but remaining genial for the stranger.
    Brian's training kicked in as he took the opportunity to read the low self-esteem in her hand shake, as well as her general discomfort with his maleness, and he began to mentally adjust his typical therapy spiel--as well as suppress his not-insignificant attraction to her.
    "So," Varun broke in, "is there a place you prefer to, uh, operate for these things?"
    "Any room that's relatively quiet and distraction-free tends to work," Brian responded crisply, flexing his professional air.
    "Although, as close as sound proof as possible is ideal in more, um," he added, giving Lacie a quick second glance, "sensitive cases."
    Sophie gave him a knowing smile. "Yes, and I imagine it helps for your own," she surreptitiously nodded to his crotch, "sensitive cases."
    Brian blushed slightly, betraying his still relative inexperience.
    "You guys can use Lacie's room," she offered, "is that ok, Lacie?"
    "Sure," Lacie responded, annoyed at her mother's presumption, but not so much as to not be intrigued by what this was all about. "Eh, but I've really got to clean up first, if you don't mind."
    "Oh, by all means, there's no rush," Brian granted, hospitably.
    The girl left the three of them in the foyer and they shared a brief uncomfortable silence.
    "So how long have you been doing this?" Varun asked, making conversation, but also genuinely concerned about the qualifications of such a young 'tutor'.
    Brian was used to such skepticism, and bent to brush at some red marks on his pants he had just noticed--they were clustered around his groin.
    "I've been at Snips only about a year now, but I interned at the DPH the summer after my senior year, so I feel like I've been learning the ropes for a while now," he returned.
    "So just two years, then?" Varun pressed, not sure whether he was ready to sign off on a greenhorn being the man to finally help his daughter.
    "Now dear," Sophie cut it, "I seem to remember you barely had three kicks 'under your belt' before you did my session." She said, scolding him playfully.
    She came up from behind him and clasped her arms around his waist in a hug.
    "Hmm," Varun considered.
    "You did Male Vulnerability training, Mr. Saranash?" Brain exclaimed, surprised.
    "That's how we met," Sophie answered, putting her chin over his shoulder, "you did my friend Melanie, remember? And you still had an adorable little limp when I came in."
    "It was the earliest days of the program," he explained, "and things were a lot different then."
    "Not that much different," Sophie added, slyly.
    "Nobody had any idea it would take off the way it did," he pointed at the marks Brian was still wiping at, "is that part of the new standard?"
    "Oh," Brian said, looking up, "no, I mostly work with younger children, and it sometimes helps them understand better if they can draw how all the pieces are arranged--Snips developed these pants specifically for the purpose."
    "That's adorable," Sophie gushed, "I, I really wish we had done something like that with Lacie when she was young."
    "The moment never seemed right," her father cautioned.
    "But we waited too long," Sophie said with some amount of sadness.
    "It's never too late, from what I've seen--even middle-aged housewives have benefited from their first M.V. session," Brian reassured them.
    "Do you mind if I ask why you did not enroll Lacie in any of the free school M.V.'s?" he asked, sensing he would need as much background as possible for this case.
    Varun fielded the question. "Well, like we said, when she was little, the moment never seemed right, and we had always assumed we would give her a brother and she would learn it with him--"
    "That's a very common first exposure," Brian added solemnly.
    "But that never materialized," Varun continued looking vacantly in the distance. Sophie caught Brian's attention and made a knowing gesture down to Varun's ballsac, as though to indicate permanent damage.
    "Oh," Brian exclaimed, not realizing it was meant to be a private communication, "you think you were damaged during your M.V. work?"
    "Huh? Yeah, maybe--they had me doing 50-60 sessions a day, and we had none of the sophisticated recovery techniques you have now, just ole' fashioned ice."
    "Good god!" Brian's knees involuntarily came together thinking about it.
    "I still think we have a lawsuit with the state over the conditions you were working in, honey," she put in, with some righteous anger "that woman was running your balls into the ground."
    "Sophie, I signed about 400 waiver forms--there was a new form for each session, even. Nobody would touch my case."
    "Yeah, CTT was a bigger problem back in the day--today we appoint male department heads, since they tend to be a little more...sympathetic." Brian informed them.
    "So you never signed Lacie up for a class--" he began to clarify.
    "Oh, we signed her up," her mother responded quickly, "but she never went."
    "And then, when she got to high school, where M.V. was an elective, she always opted out," her father added. "We always hoped it would come up in one of her gymnastics classes or in baseball, you know, organically, but apparently it never did."
    "And do you mind if I ask why you never did her M.V. yourself?" Brain asked carefully.
    "I...I guess it felt like our relationship had changed too much," Varun stammered.
    "I understand; there needs to be a certain innocence to it when it's between a father and daughter."
    "Do you think you can help her?" Sophie looked plaintively into Brian's eyes.
    Brian nodded assent. "Yes."
    "Wonderful!" she cried "Well, if you need anything, just text me from the room, and there's a plush throw rug you can lay on--you know, in case she gets you a little too 'good'."
    Lacie had entered the room for that last part and raised her eyebrow quizzically.
    "Um, yeah, the room's ready now, so I guess we can start."
    Both parents gave Brian a thumbs up and he followed Lacie down the hallway to the far end of the house where her room was.
    Inside, it was tidy and unassuming: the walls were lined with academic and athletic achievements--none from the last two years, he noted--and she had set up a stack of books and open notebook on her desk.
    "So I pulled out all the textbooks I've got right now, but I guess Calculus would probably be what I need the most help in, because my teacher is kind of a dick and talks down to me instead of teaching," she looked over with some uncertainty at Brian.
    "So you're a pitcher?" Brian began unexpectedly.
    "Yeah, I mean, I was," Lacie trailed off.
    "Why not anymore?"
    Lacie turned back to her desk and pretended to begin making notes. "Just lost interest."
    Brian sensed her resistance. "Did you know," he said, casually walking over to one of her trophies that depicted a pair of baseballs at the base of giant golden bat, "that they used to have two separate sports--baseball for the boys and another called softball for girls?"
    "'Soft'ball?" she looked over to him.
    "Yeah, it's weird, right?" he said with the trophy in hand. "Although, any team with guys on it is going to have a lot of soft balls anyway, am I right?" he pointed slyly at the two baseballs.
    Lacie surpressed a giggle. He put the trophy down and sat on the edge of her bed.
    She looked him over once more and sighed, then got up with some determination and closed her door.
    "Ok, look, I know why you're here."
    "Why am I here?" he said, knowing from experience that the simple act of articulating the subject is a breakthrough for many clients.
    "You're here to talk to me about balls and stuff," she said impatiently.
    "'Male Vulnerability'," he clarified.
    "Yeah, well, I don't care about guys' junk, ok?" she sat back down in a huff.
    "Ok," Brian backed off, "so what would you like to talk about?"
    "If you're going to tell me anything about guys, why don't you tell me why they act like such aggressive dickholes?" she said, thinking it a rhetorical question.
    Brian pulled the tablet he'd brought into his lap. "Well, in part it's due to testosterone, which is secreted after long chain of biochemical signals that originates in the testicles." He showed her the screen, with an anatomical cartoon flashing the path of testosterone production in the male body.
    "Oh." she said, not expecting his response. Then, regathering, "But girls have testosterone, too."
    "About a tenth--a little aggression is healthy for everyone, but you're right, it can get a bit out of whack for guys sometimes."
    "So all of that is testosterone going straight into their brain?" she motioned to the clusters of white fibers running along the testes and then up to the brain in the animation.
    "No, those are nerve endings, the balls have some of the densest concentrations of nerve endings in the body."
    "So is that how the aggression is switched on and off?" she hypothesized.
    He smiled. "What do you think?"
    She spun in her desk chair away from him and was silent.
    Brian was suddenly unsure as to how to proceed.
    "So, um, have you ever seen it?"
    "Seen what?" she asked, with some annoyance.
    "A guy getting 'switched off'?" he tried, hopefully.
    "My best friend rammed her knee into her ex's balls this morning and he missed his first two classes because he was holding himself on the soccer field, how's that?" she said, going for shock value.
    Brian was slightly taken aback, but knew this was progress.
    "How is your friend?"
    "Well, she was terrible all weekend. She couldn't even eat."
    "And now?" he pressed.
    "Better," Lacie looked him in the eyes, "why, what are you saying?"
    "I'm not saying anything, I just want to see if you've ever noticed a connection between a guy getting hit where it hurts and his level of dickishness immediately before and after."
    "Hmm," Lacie was unmoved.
    "Maybe in baseball?" he prodded, tapping at his tablet.
    Lacie moved to speak, but then bit her tongue, noticing he was engrossed in his search.
    "I don't know if you've seen this one," he said finally, putting the tablet in her lap. His fingers accidentally glanced across her bare thigh in the process, and she had a quiet shudder before focusing on the screen.
    It was a clip from a minor league game, and she had indeed seen it--though, watching it in the presence of a guy made it feel different somehow.
    A fairly renowned female pitcher is on the mound, ahead 0 and 2 to the batter. She bends over to take the chalk bag behind the mound just as the batter is coming back to the plate. He unabashedly wolfwhistles at her curvy backside before going into his stance. She shoots upright, and spins to deliver her pitch--a wild sinker that sinks much lower than the off-guard catcher was anticipating and it skips off the plate and directly up into his gonads, which can be heard through the home plate umpire's mic.
    A warmth grew between Lacie's legs, and she was suddenly glad to have the tablet over her lap. She checked up furtively to see Brian's reaction, and he met her eyes directly and then motioned for her to keep watching.
    The pitcher was now at home plate, trying to pry the sprawled catcher's body off of the ball trapped beneath it, as the runner scrambles for first on his swung strike three. She just barely fails to throw him out, and as he returns to the base, he and the female first baseman exchange words. Then, after whistling at the pitcher a second time as she leans in to get pitch from her backup catcher, the cocky runner takes a wide stance just off the bag, expecting to steal.
    "Too wide," Lacie muttered to herself, and Brian looked up at her just as the first basewoman stelthily snuck an uppercut up between the runner's legs, a split second before the pitcher spun and threw him out.
    "Ring a bell?" he asked, taking back the tablet.
    "Some of the girls were running that play a lot right before I quit," Lacie bit her lower lip, hesitating "the guys never seemed to learn."
    "So it sounds like you're saying that even though all of a sudden all the guys you used to play with have all this muscle, all this strength and speed," he moved the tablet away from his lap, and Lacie noticed the distinct outline of his cock and balls in his specially made pants, "they still have this one thing you can consistently use to level the playing field, to take them back down a peg?"
    He stood up. "Here, get up."
    "What are we going to do?" she asked, with nervous anticipation.
    "What I'm here to do," he pulled her gently by the shoulders until she was directly before him, and stepped his legs apart slightly.
    "Now, you're not a little kid, so I'm not going to bust out the markers and stickers," he prepared himself mentally for the next part, "I'm only going to tell you that in order for me to give you your M.V. certificate, you're required to, and I quote, 'knowingly and voluntarily strike the instructor's testicles with the top of the forefoot with sufficient force to create an involuntary response in the instructor'."
    "Which, I'd like to remind you, is not nearly as much force as you might think," he added quickly with a nervous smile.
    Lacie laughed. "I'd like to have been in the committee where they had to come up with that wording."
    Neither moved or spoke for a moment. "I don't think I'm ready to do that," she finally said, glumly.
    "It's fine," he quickly reassured, "it's all baby steps."
    "Look;" he pointed down, "so you can see that everything is pretty clearly outlined in these--I actually need to be careful about walking around in pubic in these, ha."
    "Now look;" he spread his feet another foot wider, "and try to become aware of the first instinct that comes through you as you see that. What is it?"
    Lacie wasn't sure what he meant by 'first instinct', but she became aware that years of movies and childhood shenanigans had primed her to expect that a nutshot was imminent when a boy stood that way.
    "Umm, that you're 'open' now, I guess?" she ventured a tamed down version of what was in her head.
    "Exactly, so now all you need to do is remember that whenever a man has made himself 'open' this way, he has willingly given you control over the consequences of his behavior."
    Lacie raised an eyebrow.
    "If he behaves like a decent human, his little guys have nothing to fear..." he motioned for her to finish the thought.
    "And if he behaves like a shitstain, his balls could end up in his throat!" she exclaimed.
    'Up in his throat' sent a quick chill down Brian's spine, he who was stood legs splayed before the teenage girl who has just uttered it, but he maintained a professional smile for her, genuinely excited for her progress.
    "Ok, that's all I need to hear;" he said matter-of-factly as he tore away the pants at the breakaway seems, "time for stage 2."
    Lacie was not expecting this, and initially turned her head away as the pants came off. Even after, she avoided looking down, fearing what she might see. When she finally did, she was mildly relieved (as well as disappointed) to see he was in boxer briefs--although highly suggestive ones.
    "These are my balls," he jutted his package forward and his nuts jostled up and down, invitingly, "say 'hi'".
    "Hi," Lacie waved her hand sardonically, "do they talk?" she asked sarcastically.
    "No, but they can have a pretty big effect on the way I do."
    Lacie knew where he was going. "Oh, so you're going to have me hit you while you sing or something?"
    "No, while I count," he said, confusing her.
    "Before you jump balls-deep into your life as a woman with an M.V. certificate, you need to learn some responsibility, some control."
    "You need to recognize that not every situation calls for an 'up in his throat'--sometimes subtlety is the key," he took her hand up to chest level.
    "Now pretend like you're flicking a piece of lint off of someone's sweater," he instructed.
    "Ok," she flicked one finger into the open air.
    "Good, now you're going to get your hand into place, and I'm going to begin counting up to 20. Whenever it feels right, I want you to flick my ball."
    "Either one?" she asked earnestly.
    "Um, sure," he responded, never having gotten asked that before, and let go of her hand.
    "Make sense?" he asked, and she nodded.
    "Ok, One."
    "Two."
    "Three."
    "Four."
    Brian was counting with his eyes aloft, so that he would have no anticipation, no flinch--just as he was trained--but at this point his eyes wandered down to see what Lacie was doing. He had never gotten as far as 'four' without a flick before. She seemed to be deep in thought, staring at his rusting junk.
    "Um, Five."
    "Six."
    "Seven."
    "Eight."
    Brian made a mental note to stop after the next number--she was not ready for this. He relaxed and began to turn over what technique would be a better choice for her. His guard dropped.
    All of a sudden, Lacie's index finger whipped into his left nut and reverberated it to its pulpy innards.
    "N-AAIIII-ne." it came out as a high-pitched whelp.
    He looked down. She looked up, her finger re-primed. "Keep going," she insisted, with a confidence he had not heard to that point.
    "Er, Ten."
    "Eleven."
    Flick. "TWELLLVE!"
    "Thirteen."
    Flick. "F-OHHH-Rteen."
    His ball was already aching. She was hitting the exact same spot.
    "Fifteen."
    Flick. "Sixt-EEE-N!"
    "Seventeen."
    Flick. "E-AIII-HTeen."
    Flick. "N-AAII-Neteen."
    Lacie drew back and swatted the back of her hand across both balls flush. "Tw-UHHHH!"
    Brian went down to his knees.
    "Oh my god, are you alright?" Brian was too much in pain to tell whether she was asking sincerely.
    "Well, I guess that was the point of the exercise, right?" he played off his surprise at how expertly she had maximized the pain from her flicks.
    "I mean, I really could hear how your pitch changed with how hard I did it--so you're saying I should listen to the noises the guy makes to tell how bad he got it?"
    "Uh, kind of--" his eyes tracked up her smooth legs to her short jean shorts and then to her face watching intently at how he nursed himself. Her demeanor had completely changed.
    Despite the protests coming from between his legs, he stood to finish his reply.
    "The big thing is to remember that while every pair of testicles is fragile, everyone has a different pain threshold, and so you need to calibrate your, um, 'justice' to fit not only the crime, but the criminal."
    She nodded solemnly.
    Just as Brian was going to move on to the next 'baby step', however, she snapped out of her thoughtfulness.
    "But don't guys take shots to the nuts all the time?" she declared.
    Brian tried for a diplomatically dismissive response, trying to regain control of the conversation.
    "Well, they do, sure, and not just from weirdly strong fingers," he motioned to her fingers as they drummed across her folded arms expectantly, "waist-high furniture is always a threat, not to mention the horror stories caused by skateboarding, sometimes even sitting down incorrectly is hazardous. But what's most important to remember is..."
    "So why can't I just ask the guy how hard he needs to get hit before I hit him?" she demanded.
    Brian wasn't sure how to respond. "Uh, I guess because guys generally do not want to be hit in the balls?" he ventured, not completely sure now whether she understood the concept.
    "Yes, of course, I know that," she met his eyes with a knowing twinkle meant to convey her understanding, "what I'm saying is, if I ask him how hard he deserves to get hit, then he's going to be ****** to think about it.." she trailed off, expectantly.
    Brian caught her drift. "Oh! So then he's going to be reminded that his balls are at risk, and might stop whatever annoying thing he's doing. You're basically giving a 'verbal threat', which is another tool in your M.V. toolkit, without actually making the threat. That's genius."
    She smirked, seeming genuinely flattered.
    He stopped to consider the possible ramifications of her technique, his right hand stroking his chin, his left involuntarily rubbing his sore left nut through the underwear. She watched him do it with fascination.
    "But...we also need to remember the source of the behavior, Lacie. Many times, the man is going to be fueled by testosterone, and won't be responding rationally, even if you do remind him politely about his vulnerability."
    "Hmm..." she considered.
    "Plus, there is a natural limit to how far verbal threats can go. If you simply threaten too many times and never follow through, you sort of end up with a 'Boy Who Cried Wolf' situation, and the guy will stop taking it seriously."
    "Girl Who Cried Balls." she corrected, slyly.
    Brian did not catch her joke. "No, sorry to say, but sometimes it's necessary to take action to flip his switch."
    She put her hand on his chest gently. She could feel his heart racing. "Don't be sorry. That's actually awesome to hear. I mean, someone is basically giving me permission to kick a boy where it hurts, that's like finding a gift someone forgot to give you a month after your birthday."
    Brian felt like things were crossing a line. "Right. So, speaking of which..."
    She took her hand away and nodded.
    He stepped back two paces. "Ok, so this part kind of has to be done within guidelines, or it won't be official."
    "Ok." She said crisply, cracking her socked toes in anticipation.
    "I will widen my stance and that will be your cue to, on your own time, kick into my testes with the intention to produce an acute involuntary response. This will serve as your acknowledgement of our discussion of male vulnerability."
    Lacie was again amused with the official wording.
    "Um, just some advice," he stammered, knowing that first-timers generally lack the ability to gauge the distance correctly, "you should probably measure out your reach beforehand."
    "Got ya." she said, and she slowly drew her socked foot upward, her leg seeming to her longer and stronger than it ever had before as it neared his plump pouch. She wasn't sure where the instinct came from, but she felt compelled to tease him by dragging out the process as long as possible.
    She sat it just below his fruits, lined up perfectly, and she made a mental note to try to see if she could make them spill out 'by accident' with her kick. Her heart thudded at the thought.
    Then she retraced the arc of her kick backwards. Her thighs glided smoothly across each other and she was suddenly aware of how different, how freeing, it must be not having any 'junk' between your legs. She reveled in the feeling and positioned her foot slightly behind her.
    "Ready." she said.
    "Alright, then, this is your final exam," he said in a faux-official tone, "you'll do fine." He tried a brave smile, but his nervousness came through, and she found it adorable.
    There was no hesitation on her part. Her foot flew into his package. She didn't even pause to consider how much force she was applying. She sought out the feeling of the undersides of his balls against her foot before he gave a squeaky "Eep!" and collapsed in front of her.
    His hands were clasped around his manhood, and he had turned his entire body into a ball rolling at her feet. She did not make any motion to help or comfort him. In his noiseless writhing, he rolled up against her feet and then back off like the surf.
    A few minutes passed this way before Brian regained his senses. "Oof, are you sure that was your first time?" He joked. "That was textbook form--I mean, I should know, since the woman who trained me helped to write the book on M.V., ha," he laughed, thankful that it was all over. He noticed Lacie has begun to walk over to the door.
    "I mean, you usually won't need to pull out such a move except in rare occasions, a kick like that is sort of the 'nuclear option' of groin attacks." Lacie locked the door to her room and turned to him with a strange look in her eye. She pulled off her shorts and kicked them to the side.
    "Well, that's it then. Congratulations, you're now a card-carrying graduate of your first..."
    Lacie was stood over him, rather menacingly.
    "Open your legs." she demanded.
    "Um, hey, Lacie, I'm glad you found your confidence, and I'm super proud of you, but I'm kind of off-the-clock right now and need to heal."
    Her look softened, "Please?" He saw that she was in a vulnerable place herself. Denying her curiosity now might do irrevocable damage. (Her foot might do irrevocable damage, his pain receptors reminded him.)
    She gently nosed her foot between his thighs and coaxed his reluctant legs apart. Then she laid down on top of him, her hands pinning his wrists to the floor.
    "Lacie..." he protested.
    "I grew up hearing it. And my parents would tell the story of how they met with other adults and they thought I didn't understand what they were talking about, but I always knew." Brian felt her knee brush across the top of his balls.
    "And then every time it was their anniversary they would go into their bedroom, and they would turn up the tv real loud, and I knew she was doing that to him." Her warm mound was pressed up against his bare thigh, and she was unconsciously humping.
    "Well, it was a big moment for them," he said, carefully. His cock had reached the point of inevitability and was stiffening.
    "And then I finally saw it," she was faintly panting, "I was coming in from the back yard and my dad was in the kitchen, and then my mom came up from behind him and..."
    He felt her hand cup his balls.
    "I...I...really can't be doing this..." he said, weakly.
    "A lot of girls dream about their wedding day, but I've always dreamed about my wedding night," she looked into his eyes.
    He knew this needed to end. "Lacie, not with me. Not like this."
    "Just a kiss," and her eyes pleaded to him.
    His cock was straining out from the top of his briefs' elastic.
    "Ok, just."
    She leaned in sweetly and they kissed. But it was not just a kiss.
    Brian's eyes widened and her hand began to squeeze the life out of his precious orbs.
    She began to roll them around in her grip while simultaneously rolling her tongue in his mouth. Every time she increased the pressure, he involuntarily leaned deeper into her kiss, which she playfully pretended to interpret as a request for more.
    Her hips were thrusting against his tensing thigh, leaving a wet trail through the cotton.
    Just as Brian felt the beginnings of blacking out from ball pain, an experience he had only had during the mandatory training for his job, she pulled her mouth away and panted a silent orgasm into the ceiling.
    Her grip loosened and Brian rushed to reclaim his mangled manhood, while she stayed on her knees, still lost in her trance.
    She recovered before he did and stood to slip back into her shorts. Someone was trying the doorknob. "Lacie? Brian? How's everything going?" her mother called through the door with some concern.
    Despite the potential legal ramifications of leaving the door locked, Brian was desperate to not be seen in such a humiliating state. He sought out Lacie's eyes, and tried to convey that message.
    She read his message, all too well. To his horror, she unlocked the door and let her mother in.
    "It's great, mom. Brian was a real gentleman." she motioned to him, and the two women's attention on him as he clutched his aching balls felt humiliating. She gave her mom a kiss on the cheek and strutted down the hall.
    "Oh my! Well, looks like you made some progress, ha!" She tossed an ice pack she had brought from the kitchen onto to the floor next to him, seemingly purposefully just out his reach.
    As she turned to leave the room, she called over her shoulder, "Oh, yes, and just a reminder, we booked 6 sessions with Snips, one per week. We weren't sure how many it would take to snap Lacie out her funk. So I guess we'll be seeing you next week," she smirked, and left the room.

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