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The Girl Next Door

"How big are your balls?" Jennifer asked through her open bedroom window, located on the side of her house facing ours. Jennifer, a girl a little younger, but in the same grade as I was, had a friend over to spend the night. I had been playing outside my house when she had called to me through the window. Of course, that hadn't been the first thing she'd said. She'd called me over to the window first.

"Which ball, football or baseball?" I said, pretending ignorance. I knew what balls she was talking about, but, twelve, I knew next to nothing about sex at the time. Oh, I got erections and had heard a few dirty jokes, but this was before the Internet and before R-rated movies. Hell, I didn't even know how babies were made. For some reason, that I even had balls embarrassed me.

"Your other balls," said Jennifer. She and her friend both laughed.

I pretended not to know what she was talking about; but my dick was hard; it knew.

"You want to come in?" Jennifer asked. "If you show us your balls, we'll show you something," she glanced at her friend, "won't we, Susan?"

"Yeah," said Susan, "but he has to show us his balls first and not his footballs or baseballs." More laughter.

"What are you going to show me?" I asked.

"Something I'll bet you've never seen before," said Jennifer. They both laughed again, a typical 12 year-old girl laugh, conspiratorial, implying a shared secret.

"What?" I said again.

"Have you ever seen a girl," she looked down, "down there?"

I hadn't. I guess I'd seen girl babies from time to time when they'd been changed by their mother; I'd seen enough to know girls and boys were different, that girls didn't have a penis or balls, but I'd certainly never seen a twelve year-old girl naked. I hadn't even seen a twelve year-old girl "up there;" I'd never seen a twelve year-old girl's tits; and Jennifer had tits. So did her friend, I guessed, but I was much more interested in seeing Jennifer's. "Can I see your tits?"

Jennifer looked at her friend, who nodded, "But he has to show us his balls first," her friend said.

Neither of them had mentioned my penis. It was as if only balls adorned my crotch. I was aware of my penis, though. As hard as it was, as much as it throbbed, I couldn't help but be aware of it. "What about your parents," I asked.

"They're not home," said Jennifer. "They won't be home for hours."

What a dilemma this presented me. I wanted to see Jennifer's tits -- wanted to see them more than whatever was below her waist -- but I didn't want them to see my balls. I thought balls were ugly, two strange, unnecessary appendages, hanging from my dick. I was ambivalent about my dick. Except that it always got hard now, it had been mostly something to pee through; but I hated my balls. I couldn't understand why boys had them; they just got in the way; and they hurt when they were hit. "Are you coming in?" Jennifer asked.

"Do you promise you'll show me?" I stared at Jennifer's tits pressing against her t-shirt, restrained by the bra she wore, trying to imagine how they'd look bare.

"We promise," they said, almost simultaneously.

Jennifer met me at her back door. I followed her into her bedroom. "This is Susan," she said, introducing her friend. Apparently, she'd already told Susan who I was.

"Hi," I said, glancing at her tits. They weren't much. She had tits and wore a bra, but probably only for show, because other girls her age wore them. Her tits weren't large enough to require one. But it wasn't her tits I wanted to see. I wanted to see Jennifer's. I'd been staring at them through her t-shirts, since I'd moved in next door to her two months before.

They both sat down on Jennifer's bed, "OK," Jennifer said, "show them to us."

"My balls?" My face must have been red; it certainly burned.

"Yes," both girls said.

I fumbled with the buttons. My jeans, Levis, had buttons for the fly, not a zipper. Once they were undone, I hesitated then dropped my jeans, which fell, gathering around my ankles, leaving me clad only in my t-shirt and my white briefs. "Is your thing hard?" Jennifer asked. I nodded. Outlined by my briefs, that was obvious.

"Take them off," said Susan.

I hooked my thumbs in the elastic of my briefs, one thumb at each hip, then pushed down. I didn't want to do it -- didn't really want them to see my balls -- but I wanted to see Jennifer's tits. More than anything, I wanted to see Jennifer's tits. My dick, caught in the elastic at first, sprang free, almost slapping my belly when it did. "Oh, it is hard," Susan said, "but where's his balls? I don't see any balls."

When I glanced down, I didn't see them either. Aroused as I was, my scrotum was tight, my balls, the right one completely withdrawn, hiding beneath the skin alongside my dick, the other barely showing, tight against the other side of it. I'd never seen them like that before; but I'd never stood naked before two girls my age before either. My dick throbbed.

"There's one of them," I said, indicating my right ball.

"Let me touch it," said Jennifer.

"Let me see your tits first. You promised I could see them." She glanced at her friend, nodded, then both of them pulled their t-shirts off over their heads.

"Undo me," Jennifer said to Susan, after her t-shirt was off. Susan did; then she unsnapped Susan's bra. Both girls sat on the bed, their bras unsnapped, but still covering their breasts. "You'll let me touch them if I show you?" Jennifer said.

I nodded. She could have done anything to me, if only she'd take the damned bra the rest of the way off. This close, I wasn't to be denied seeing something I'd wanted to see for the past two months. She slipped her bra off, revealing her breasts. They were beautiful, even more beautiful than I had imagined.

"Now, can I touch them?" she said.

"Can I touch your --" although I didn't name them, I was staring at her breasts, so it was obvious what I meant.

Jennifer nodded, patting the bed beside her. "Take off your shirt and shoes, too," she said.

I pulled off my t-shirt and kicked off my shoes, stepping out of my jeans and briefs when I did. Then, naked, except for white socks, I climbed onto the bed between the two girls. "You can touch mine, too," said Susan, but I barely glanced at hers. Just beginning to bud, they weren't even a handful. Hell, they were barely even a mouthful. Jennifer's though; Jennifer's were definitely a handful.

As Jennifer reached for my ball -- the one not completely withdrawn -- I reached for her tit, touching it at the same time her had brushed my dick. I had my first orgasm. Cum squirted from my dick, most of it landing on my belly, but some of it dripping onto Jennifer's hand; some of it onto her bed. I had no idea what had just happened, thinking I might have cancer or was having a heart attack, so intense, so overwhelming, so unexpected, was the sensation. "Oh," said Susan, her nose turned up in a grimace, "he squirted."

Jennifer's grip on my ball tightened; she squeezed -- hard. "I didn't say you could squirt," she said.

I screamed, bewildered, confused by both the unexpected orgasm and the pain in my ball. They'd been hurt before, but never so much as Jennifer was hurting my right ball just then. Her grip on it was tenacious. My dick, from the recent orgasm and from the pain my ball was experiencing, subsided, and my other ball dropped into view. Susan reached over, grabbing it, handling it no more gently than Jennifer was the other. I was no longer thinking about either the orgasm or Jennifer's tits. Not thinking at all, I was experiencing unbelievable pain, one ball in Jennifer's grip and the other in Susan's.

After what seemed an eternity, they let go. I lay on the bed, curled into a fetal position, clutching at my balls, screaming. "Oh, be quiet, you big baby," said Jennifer.

"It hurts," I said. "Why did you squeeze it."

"Because you squirted all over my hand," she said.

"I -- I didn't mean to," I said. "I don't know what happed." I was still clutching my balls.

"You ejaculated," said Jennifer. "Don't you play with it? Don't you -- " she hesitated, seemingly searching for the right word -- "masturbate," she said.

I didn't know at the time what masturbate meant, so I asked, "What's that?"

"Don't you rub it -- your thing? Haven't you made it squirt before?" Jennifer asked.

I shook my head. Although I was no longer screaming, I still didn't feel much like talking.

"Did you like it -- squirting?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said, "You squeezed my ball as soon as it started. Is it normal? I don't have cancer or something, do I?"

Jennifer looked at Susan. "Boy, he is dumb," Susan said. "He doesn't know anything." Then she said to me, "All boys squirt. It comes from their balls."

"I wonder if he'd squirt, if he didn't have balls," said Jennifer. Then, looking at me, she asked, "Can we cut them off?"

"You want to cut my balls off?" I asked. She looked at Susan; they both nodded. "But it would hurt." It had certainly hurt when they'd squeezed them. But my dick was becoming hard again at the thought of Jennifer cutting them off. I'd never liked them, had I? I'd even thought about cutting them off myself. Wouldn't it be better to let her do it? I didn't even know if I could do it myself.

Jennifer saw that my dick was becoming hard. It stuck out above my hands, still cupped around my balls. Pushing my hands aside, she grabbed hold of the shaft of my dick. "What are you doing?" asked Susan. I was about to ask her the same question.

"I'm going to see if I can make it squirt again," said Jennifer, grabbing my balls with the other hand, while continuing to pump my dick with the first. Again, when I came, she squeezed my balls, mingling the pleasurable sensation of the orgasm with the intense pain of having my balls squeezed. I almost fainted from the commingling of the two sensations.

They didn't cut off my balls that day; I went home with my balls intact, but sore; but I'd been forever changed. For as long as I had balls, I would associate orgasms with pain -- with the pain of having my balls squeezed. Although I jacked off at times without squeezing my balls, it never satisfied me, as it did when I squeezed my balls at the onset of my climax; and doing it myself was never as satisfying as having Jennifer do it; so if at all possible, I let her get me off and squeeze my balls. That was fine with her; she loved torturing my balls.

This had been going on for several months when she said, "I want to cut them off today. Can I?"

"I don't know," I said. It certainly wasn't the first time she'd asked me; usually she asked the same question at the conclusion of each of our sessions. I'd always said, "No," but I had been thinking about it. I wanted her to do it; but I was afraid, fearing not so much the pain -- I'd come to enjoy the pain of having my balls hurt -- but what my parents might say. How does a boy explain to his parents that he let the girl next door cut off his balls?

"I want them," Jennifer said, "They're mine. Your balls belong to me. Say it. Say your balls belong to me." She squeezed them, harder than usual.

I screamed, "They're yours. They belong to you."

"Then let me cut them off," she said. As always, Jennifer sat on the bed, naked from the waist up, but still wearing her shorts. She let me see her tits -- even let me fondle them -- but despite her promises that first day, I'd never seen her naked below the waist. I'd never pushed it -- never got beyond feeling her up and letting her jack me off and squeeze my balls, which satisfied both of us. I never thought about fucking her, possibly because I was too ignorant to know how to do it; besides, it was her tits that turned me on; that and having her jack me off while she squeezed my balls. "Can I cut them off?" she asked for possibly the hundredth time.

When I nodded, she jumped off the bed, running out of the room. I watched her tits bounce as she ran. In a few minutes, she came back, carrying a hunting knife and a coil of rope. "What's the rope for?" I asked.

"So you won't change your mind when I start cutting, I'm going to tie you up first."

I must admit the thought excited me; I was immediately hard. Just think: I'd be tied up and helpless, unable to stop her from cutting them off, even if I changed my mind. "Will you jack me off first?" I'd learned that word from the boys at school.

"Sure," she said. "I'll cut them off when you start to squirt."

"OK." I lay down on the bed, spread eagled across it, as she directed me to do. She tied each arm and leg to a separate bedpost, left for a minute, coming back with a handful of big rubber bands. "What are those for?" I asked.

"I'm going to wrap them around your balls, so you don't bleed so much."

I nodded. "Good idea. You better get a towel or something, too."

"OK," she said, leaving, then coming back with a towel. I lifted my ass, letting her slide the towel underneath it. She folded the towel, doubling the thickness of it beneath my balls. My dick was hard. It was fucking hard. I was so turned on I was afraid I'd squirt before she touched it.

"Will you take off your shorts?" I asked. Suddenly -- if I was about to lose my balls -- I wanted to see more than her tits.

"Sure," she said, "I would have before now, if you'd asked."

"I never really thought about it before," I said, "but if you're going to cut my balls off, I think I'd like for you to be naked, too." I was naked, except for my socks. I never bothered taking them off. She slipped out of her shorts and panties. I saw her snatch, half hidden by dark brown pubic hair, for the first time.

Naked, she crawled onto the bed, the rubber bands in her hand. My dick, hard, was out of the way, so she picked up my balls, threading them through the rubber band, then doubled the rubber band over, threading my balls though the resulting loop, until she could no longer enlarge the next loop enough to fit my balls through it. The band on my balls hurt, but I was use to my balls hurting. I liked for my balls to hurt. She applied two more bands, using the same method. "How's that?" she asked.

"It hurts," I said, "but it's OK." My dick throbbed in anticipation of her rubbing it; but it throbbed even more in anticipation of her cutting off my balls; but she didn't, not right away, anyway. Instead, she scooted forward until she was sitting on my chest, her snatch only inches from my face. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I want you to lick it," she said.

"Lick your -- ?" I wasn't certain what to call it.

"My vagina -- my cunt," she said. "I want you to lick it." Reaching behind her, she squeezed my balls. "Lick it." It wasn't a request. It was an order. I licked, sticking my tongue into her slit, my nose buried in her pubic hair. I could smell as well as taste her, both smell and taste musky, but not unpleasant. "Harder," she said, scooting down some, "lick harder." She pressed her groin into my face. Feeling a little nub above her slit, I licked it.

"Oh -- oh," she said, grinding her crotch into my face. She shuddered, then collapsed on top of me. I had to turn my head to the side in order to breathe.

"What happened?" I asked, when she had recovered somewhat.

"I came," she said.

"I didn't know girls came," I said in my ignorance, glancing down, expecting to see cream oozing from her hole.

"Yeah," she said, "girls cum."

"I don't see any spunk," I said.

"Girls don't cum that way, Silly," she said. "Spunk's for making babies."

"Is that your first time?"

"No, I do it all the time," she said. "I should have let you eat me before. I would have, if I'd known it felt so good. Do you want to fuck me?"

"I -- I don't know how," I said.

She laughed. "Well, it's not like you have to do anything; and you really don't have any choice, do you?" She pulled on one of my arms, testing to see that was was securely tied. It was. Other than raising my ass some and turning my head, I couldn't move. On her hands and knees, she backed down, until her cunt was poised above my dick. I had cum when she did, but my dick was hard again. Taking it in her hand, aligning it with her slit, she lowered herself onto it. "Ow," she said, with a sharp intake of breath, "it's big; it hurts." But, with a wiggle of her hips, it slid inside her. Damn, if felt good, hot, tight, and soft all at once.

She lay across my chest. I could feel her tits against it. "Tell me when you cum," she said. "That's when I'll cut off your balls." Reaching back, she picked up the knife, which lay on the bed beside my hip.

"I'm going to cum," I said, and I was, any minute. I could already feel the pressure in my groin building. Her hot, tight, snatch, was quickly bringing me to orgasm.

"Fuck," she said, " I'm not ready. I'll cut them off on your next one." I came, an intense, pain filled, orgasm, the rubber band hurting my balls as much as her squeezing them would have. Although my soon flaccid dick slid out of her, she continued grinding her crotch into mine until she came. Then, she collapsed across my chest. I could feel her hot breath on my cheek.

"Why didn't we do this before?" I asked.

"I never wanted to do it before," she said. "I never wanted any boy to fuck me; but you're not fucking me. I'm fucking you; and it's your last fuck. That's why I wanted to do it. I wanted to fuck you, then cut off your balls." She reached back for my dick. It was already becoming hard. "I'll jack you off this time and cut them off when you cum," then she added, "Your balls are turning blue. Do they hurt?"

"Yeah," I said.

"But, you like it, don't you?" Again, I nodded. My dick was fully hard by this time. She started pumping it. "When you cum, I'm cutting them off," she said.

I nodded again, almost incapable of speech, aroused as I was by the anticipation of having my balls cut off. It was really going to happen. I wanted it to happen; and she wanted to do it. She was really going to cut off my balls.

I bit my lip, feeling the pressure build again. "Oh, I'm going to cum." Looking down, I saw her pick up the knife. Then, I did cum, the most intense orgasm of my life, better -- and worse at the same time -- than all the others combined; because as soon a I started squirting, she cut off my balls. I screamed. I couldn't keep from screaming. It hurt worse that all the ball squeezing she'd ever done, more than all the ball torture she'd done combined.

I don't know how loudly I screamed, but it must have been loud; she put her hand over my mouth to muffle my screams. It was a good thing neither her parents or mine were home. After a while -- a long while I think -- the pain subsided enough for me to be aware she was holding something up for me to see. It was my balls still mostly in their sac she held in her hand. "Am I bleeding?" I asked.

She glanced back at my crotch. "A little," she said, "not much. The rubber bands are holding. Does it hurt?"

"Yes, it fucking hurts," I said.

"Good," she said.

"Yes," I agreed. It was good that it hurt. Having my balls cut off should hurt. What good would it have been to have them cut off, if it hadn't hurt? All the previous ball torture she'd inflicted on me would have been wasted, if the ultimate ball torture -- cutting them off -- hadn't hurt, and hadn't hurt more than all the previous torture combined.

"I'm going to wash them off," she said. "I want to see what they look like." She left, coming back in a few minutes, both her hand and my balls washed off. "Does it still hurt," she asked.

"Yeah, maybe not as bad," -- it certainly didn't hurt nearly so much as it had when she'd cut them off -- "but it still hurts. Untie me." She cut though the ropes with the still bloody knife. I leaned up, looking at my crotch, at the remnants of my scrotum, an inch of skin pinched tight by rubber bands. A little blood oozed from it. More blood stained the towel between my legs.

"Look," she said, holding up one of my balls she'd taken from its sac. "Look how white they are. I didn't know they were white." She looked at me; and probably seeing something in my face, said, "How do you feel?"

"I think I'm going to pass out," I said. I was feeling woozy. I fainted; when I awoke, she was wiping my face with a wet washcloth.

"Think I should call an ambulance?" she asked.

"I don't want you to get in trouble," I said.

"I'm only twelve," she said, "What can they do? Besides, you asked me to do it. That's what you'll tell them, won't you?"

"Yes, of course." I didn't really want her to call an ambulance; then my parents would find out for sure; but how long could a kid hide no longer having balls from his parents? Summer, I didn't have school to go to for a couple more months, but Mom always took me in for a physical before school started, and the doctor always stuck a finger in my ball sac, telling me to cough. I wonder if he still would -- and where he'd stick his finger -- now I no longer had balls.

I looked at my crotch. Although it had hurt -- and still hurt -- I was glad I'd let Jennifer cut off my balls. I liked how my dick looked, alone, without balls hanging from it. I told Jennifer. "I like it," I said. It looks cool."

"Yeah," Jennifer said. "Balls are gross. I think you look better without them, too. Do you want me to cut this off, too?" she asked, lifting my limp dick.

"No," I said. "I don't want to have to pee like a girl."

"OK," she said, dropping it. "I'm going to call 911."

Turns out, since I said I'd asked Jennifer to cut off my balls, and since a doctor's examination determined I'd fucked her -- we didn't tell anyone she'd fucked me while I'd been tied up -- I ended up with most of the blame for it. I was the one that spent the next couple of months seeing a shrink.

We'd only rented the house next to Jennifer's, so we moved across town. My parents blamed Jennifer; and her parents blamed me; it would have been awkward for us to continue living next door to them. It was just as well, I guess. Even before we moved, Jennifer had a new boyfriend, one that still had balls. More than once I heard screams coming from her bedroom, recognizing the cause of them; only a little while before I'd been making the same sounds.

But, Jennifer was no longer interested in me. I no longer had balls to torture. What fun would I be? Oh, I could still jack off and cum -- they give me testosterone injections -- but it was no longer fun for me, either. I was as addicted to having my balls squeezed as much as Jennifer was to squeezing them. Although I tried hurting myself in other ways when I climaxed, it wasn't the same as hurting my balls. I missed having them for that reason.

Does that mean I regret letting her cut them off? Yes and no. I don't regret letting her cut them off. It was an unbelievable experience, a rush like no orgasm I've had before or since. I just wish I could have regrown them, so she could have cut them off again. That would be my ideal world, one in which a boy could grow balls, have them cut off, then regrow them so he could have them cut off again. I don't so much as miss my balls, as I miss being able to torture them. I like how I look without them, my crotch smooth below my dick.

I wonder when she'll cut off Sam's balls. He's her current boyfriend or victim, depending on one's perspective. Oh, she will cut off his balls. I'm certain of that. It's just a matter of time. I don't feel sorry for Sam, though. I envy him, wishing his balls were attached to my groin, so she could cut them off me. What a rush having my balls cut off was. I just wish I could experience it again and again

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