Ball Busting Tales: December 2020
He fought—and beat—his opponents on the mat, and taught in his studio his amateur, flailing-limbed students, with the same old reckless bravado and impunity. She lead the stretching and taught the absolute beginners while he worked with those with a little experience, practicing kicking and striking techniques, making the most use of momentum during routine flips. She sat on the bench beside him, him still on the floor, hanging over, beaten, defeated, she set the little weight she had down on the bench, and she looked at her watch. She huffed. She began counting the minutes, looked at her watch again at intervals. Within weeks his voice dropped, his muscles grew and little thick black hairs began growing under his arms and just below his navel. She released a little pressure as Mary pushed Chris’ body back down. She’d been finished and was standing outside his private "ball sanctuary," hearing him groan and moan and sigh as he released himself from his protective crotch-casing.
She loved him. She’d been a bit worried over the whole "balls" thing, how it cost him his confidence—even left him depressed there for a bit—but here he was, back to his old glaring, graceful, tutoring self. At her side in one hand hung the two-and-half pound free weight plate she’d gotten and grabbed up from the weight room that she’d hit him with—tapped, she would insist. A metallic ringing CLINK—partially muffled from the cotton covering of the gi of his sleeve as he belatedly tried to block the shot—resounded through the tiles and showery acoustics of the locker room. Down between her Roselyn molding them on the bright room mate. Caught him with his pants down. She pushed down. "You wouldn’t dare cum in your pants that soon would you? " she said, pressing down on the convex end of one big testicle. The young couple walked side by side in matching gis down the hall away from the locker rooms.
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