I’ve known you for 10 years and now I am kicking your balls?

I’ve known you for 10 years and now I am kicking your balls?

By Unknown

*

His name is Tim. We went to the same high school like me back home near Berlin. He was more on the quiet, lanky nerd side , sitting in the back row who always had his nose in a textbook or a game controller. Glasses, floppy dark hair, never said much unless it was about physics or some anime nobody else cared about.

I [F22] barely noticed him then.

Fast forward to last fall: I’m back in Germany for a quick visit between semesters and I’m staying at my parents’ place for a week. We run into each other at the local supermarket and first don’t recognize each other. He’s taller now, still skinny but filled out a little, still awkward as hell. We talk for like five minutes, mostly him stammering about how I “look exactly the same but… better?” and me laughing too loud because I literally cannot give it back to him. He looks just as I imagined him to look getting older.

I end up with his number somehow. Don’t ask me how but I knew I was staying for a week and only spending time with my fam 24/7 didn’t sound like something that would be too fun. So I thought a back up plan for 1 or 2 evenings would be good.

A few texts later which were innocent at first, catching up and he invites me over to his tiny apartment to “play some old games and chill.” I know what he means buuuut I show up anyway. Wearing these black strappy heels I borrowed from my sister (way too high for a casual hangout), tight jeans that hug my ass, and a cropped sweater that shows a sliver of stomach. Hair down, lip gloss, feeling mean and restless. I just like to look good and give some revenge. Not that he did anything mean but you know. The things you do to prove you are doing better than in school.

His place is exactly what you’d expect: messy desk with three monitors, posters of sci-fi shit, a single couch that smells faintly of energy drinks.

He’s nervous, I can immediately tell when we sit down. He’s fidgeting, offering me water like three times. I sit on the couch, cross my legs slow so the heel dangles. He sits next to me, too far away at first. We play some retro fighter game for maybe ten minutes before I get bored.

I turn the controller off. Look at him. “You’re still scared of girls, huh?” He blushes hard, pushes his glasses up. I scoot closer and put one hand on his thigh. He freezes. I can feel him trembling already, knowing very well this might be the first time a girl was over at his apartment and prolly also the first time he’s so close to a girl that isn’t his sister. “Relax,” I say, voice low. “I’m not gonna bite… unless you want me to.”

I don’t know where the meanness comes from. Maybe it’s leftover anger from my ex, maybe it’s just power tripping because he’s so easy to unravel. I push him back against the cushions, straddle his lap. He’s hard instantly . I can feel it through his sweatpants. I grind down once, slow, just to hear him whimper. Then I slide off, stand up, tower over him in those heels.

“Take them off,” I say, nodding at his pants. He hesitates and goes „But Emmy…why??“ I raise one eyebrow. “Now.” He scrambles, pushes them down with his boxers. His cock jumps out. Average, flushed dark and already leaking. Cute haha. Vulnerable. I step between his spread knees, look down at him.

I lift one foot, rest the pointed toe of my heel right on the base of his shaft. Not pressing yet. Just… there. He gasps, eyes wide behind his glasses. “You ever let a girl do this?” I ask. He shakes his head fast. “Me neither,” I admit, quieter. My heart’s hammering – this is new for me too, this edge of cruelty. But seeing him like this, scared and throbbing… it makes my clit pulse. And he looks like it’s exactly the place he wants to be at even though he doesn’t know what’s happening next.

I drag the heel slowly up his length, tracing the vein, letting the sharp point nudge under the head. He hisses, hips jerking up involuntarily. “Stay still,” I snap. He tries. I press down a little harder, still not full weight but just enough that he feels the threat. His balls are drawn up tight. I shift my foot lower, let the sole rest across them. The leather presses into the soft skin. I rock my ankle, gentle at first, grinding the heel into one ball then the other. Damn why does this feel so good. I have all the control over him right now.

“Fuck…Emmy…” His voice cracks. Hands gripping the couch like he’s gonna break it. I can see tears prick his eyes but his cock twitches harder, a fresh bit of pre-cum sliding down. “Does it hurt?” I ask, tilting my head with a slight grin on my face. He nods, then shakes his head, confused. “Good hurt?” Another nod, desperate.

I step up the pressure very slow and deliberate. The heel digs in deeper, flattening his balls against his body. He cries out, sharp and high and his body is curling forward. I don’t let up right away since it feels too good. I twist my ankle a tiny bit, grinding the point right into the center of his already a little blue balls. His whole body shakes, breath coming in ragged pants. “Please—” he chokes out. I’m not sure if it’s stop or more.

I lift my foot off completely. I’m a little afraid he’s getting too hurt. His balls are red, swollen-looking. He’s panting, cock bobbing untouched, dripping steadily now. I step closer and lift the other heel, place it square on his sack again.But this time I lean in and let more of my weight settle. Not crushing since I’m not trying to break him but still enough to make him feel owned. I own him in this moment. He sobs once, real tears slipping down his cheeks, but his hips buck up like he’s chasing the pain.

“You’re leaking so much,” I murmur, almost soft. “You like being my little pain slut, don’t you?” He can’t answer, just whimpers. Okay I really start liking this. I rock the heel again, slow circles, feeling his balls shift and flatten under the pressure. His cock jerks violently , he’s not using his hands, no stroking but then…he cums. Hard. Thick ropes shoot up his stomach, some hitting the hem of his shirt, one landing on my jeans. He’s shaking through it, gasping, tears streaming.

I step back a little shocked but turned on. I cannot deny. I take my heels off slow, drop them on the floor. He’s slumped, wrecked, the cum cooling on his skin and his balls are visible bruised and tender-looking. I feel a rush of shame hit me then: what the fuck did I just do to this sweet nerdy boy? But under it, this dark thrill. My panties are soaked through.

I didn’t stay long after. Kissed his forehead once, told him “good boy,” and left. We never talked about it again. He texted once a week later, just “hey… you okay?” I didn’t reply. Blocked him eventually because the guilt was eating me, but also because every time I thought about doing it again my pussy clenched so hard I had to touch myself.

I still get off to it. Fingers inside me, replaying the way he cried, the way his balls felt under my heel, the way he came untouched from the pain I gave him. I’ve never done anything like it since. No guy has ever let me push that far, and honestly I’m scared to ask. But god… I crave it. That power. That mix of hurting and being wanted so bad it hurts them back.