Confessions of a Ballbusting Lesbian (Part 3)

It was a Monday night and I was sitting in my apartment on the couch drinking a beer and watching TV. It was past 8:00pm and the air conditioning was still running constantly. Phoenix summers suck.

There was a knock at my door. Shit, I wasn’t expecting anyone. I was in a T-shirt and panties.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Paul.”

“Hold on,” I said. He was a guy who lived in the same apartment complex. He and I screwed around sometimes when my girlfriend wasn’t around. She didn’t know about him.

I got up and opened the door wide, not really caring who saw me.

“Hi,” he said, his eyes briefly drifting down to check out my legs. “Just wanted to see what you were up to.”

“Come on in,” I said, returning to my position of semi-recline on the couch. “Help yourself to a Coors.”

“Thanks.” He returned from the kitchen with a beer and settled onto the couch next to me looking at the TV. He was wearing tight jeans that really showed off his package. I thought about how many of those bulges I had kicked and kneed in high school when I used to terrorize guys.

Paul caught me staring at his krotch, and smiled. “Nice panties.”

“Huh?” I forgot I was wearing thongs. From the position I was in, he could see pretty much everything. “You pig!”

“You looked first,” he said. “Pig-ette.” He was trying to provoke me to smack him in the balls. Since puberty I had gotten off on hitting guys where it hurts, but I never knew there were guys who were into it until I met Paul.

We turned back to the television for a few minutes before he broke the silence with a loud pig-like squeal. In an instant, I yanked the cushion out from under my head and swung it in a downward arc to land with a thump between his legs.

I had the pillow back under my head before Paul’s mouth even opened, and I smiled and sipped my beer as he groaned and crumpled forward holding his balls.

“What do you have in that pillow, sand?”

“Close; it’s filled with rice.”

“Ooohhhhhh…..”

I had gotten him good. “Is the pain and heat backing up into your guts?” He nodded. But in spite of his pitiful moaning, I could tell he was aroused. And happy. We channel surfed and chit chatted for a little while, just kicking back.

Then there was a knock at the door again.

“What the fuck, is this Grand Central Station?” I said aloud to myself. “Who is it?”

“Michelle.”

“Oh, shit.” It was my girlfriend. And I was sitting in a T-shirt and thongs drinking beer with some guy. I thought about rushing into the bedroom to throw on some pants, but the delay would really make it look like something was going on, so I just got up and opened the door as I was.

Michelle smiled and opened her mouth, then her eyes caught Paul as he stood up from the couch. Her eyes returned to me, glanced down at my bare legs (just as Paul had done), and then back into my eyes.

“This is Paul, he lives in this complex,” I began.

“Yeah, the guy from the laundry room,” she said.

“Come on in, we’re just drinking beer and watching TV.” I sat back on the couch, and Michelle sat next to me. Paul stood awkwardly for a moment, sat back down as well, though farther away than he had been. We all pretended to watch TV.

Shit.

During the next commercial break, Michelle turned to Paul and asked him what he did and they started chatting. I was feeling relieved that her Mexican temper hadn’t gone off.

Michelle was being very friendly. In fact, a little too friendly. I realized she was flirting with him. That wasn’t a good sign, because she was one of those girls that had a strong hatred for all men. I gave a stern look in Paul’s direction to let him know that things weren’t as good as they looked, but he was oblivious, sucked in by Michelle’s false charm.

“Michelle, can I talk to you for a second?” I said, putting my hand on her arm.

“In a minute,” she said, then turned back to Paul. “So you probably have a girlfriend, huh?”

Paul shook his head. “I’m kinda in the middle of relationships right now.”

“I can’t imagine someone as hot as you being single!” she cooed. “I got it, you must be gay.”

“No!” said Paul, laughing. He was eating this shit up.

“Michelle, can I talk to you for a second?”

“What?” she said, looking at me. I sighed. She turned back to Paul, “you know, both Dana and I are single right now too. You better be careful, or we might end up fighting over you.”

Paul laughed, a light blush showing on his face. “Better be careful, Dana’s a pretty good fighter.”

Oh, shit, Paul.

“Really?” said Michelle, looking at me coyly. “And how do you know this?”

Paul realized his slip too late, and visibly fumbled for a moment before I blurted in “cause I kicked him in the balls.”

“Did she?”

Paul nodded, not sure what to say. Michelle was looking at me now.

“You know me,” I said, “It doesn’t take much for me to give a guy a good punt.”

“What did he do to deserve that?”

“Nothing, really. We got into an argument about whether women fighters could take on male fighters. I told him to try to take me down, and he went down instead. Point proven.”

Michelle looked back at Paul. I couldn’t tell what was on her mind, whether she suspected anything or not.

“You mean SHE kicked YOUR ass?” she finally said to him.

“Well, not exactly. She kicked me somewhere else,” he said laughing.

Her laugh was phoney. “Well, maybe we can share you. I’m smaller than she is, do you think I could kick your ass too?”

I made a warning gesture to Paul, but he didn’t get it. He smiled and looked her over: “Well,…”

Michelle scooted over to him, and put her face up close to his. “Are you afraid of me?” She said, giving him puppy dog eyes.

“No!” he said, laughing. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

I brought my finger across my neck, and mouthed “NO” to him, but he didn’t see me. Michelle got up and stood in the middle of the living room, a cutesey look on her face.

Paul stood up immediately, putting down his beer. He looked eager and exited at the prospect of wrestling with this cute, busty little Mexican girl.

“Michelle, don’t do this,” I said.

“I’m sure he won’t hurt me.”

Paul stood in a wide stance, as if inviting a low blow from her. His organs were so plainly visible in his tight jeans, they practically had a target painted on them.

“Michelle, you don’t need to do this,” I said standing up.

Paul moved in towards her, grabbing her shoulders firmly. He wanted her to kick his nuts, but he would be expecting a friendly kick.

“Paul, no!” I ran forward, but too late. Michelle’s foot went up fast and hard, her hips pivoting into the kick for power. The impact sounded like a textbook dropping on the floor, and Paul’s body jolted from the force of it. She almost lifted him off his feet.

His eyes were wide in shock as he looked at her, but the pain had not registered yet. He stood there dumbly, still holding her shoulders as her leg came back down. Then, like someone had cut the string holding him up, he crumpled to the floor like a sack of bricks. And lay there silent and motionless.

“What the FUCK did you do that for?” I shouted at Michelle as I reached her. I threw a punch at her, but she blocked it easily. My next punch hit her full in the face, and we began scuffling in an all out catfight. She was a better fighter than I was, but I was so filled with rage over what she had done to Paul that I had her backed into a corner shielding herself from my blows.

“Get out,” I finally said, out of breath and out of energy. She left without saying a word.

I walked over to where Paul lay unconscious, and turned him over. “Paul? Paul? Can you hear me? Oh, GOD!” I unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down, tugging his underpants with them. I was expecting his balls to look like bloody pancakes, but instead I saw the opposite:

They had grown as large as lemons!

As I watched in disbelief, they continued swelling, stretching the skin so tightly it shined. His balls now looked like one big balloon, and it looked like it was about to pop right before my eyes! I ran to the freezer and grabbed a handful of ice, put it in a dishtowel, and placed it on his distended sack. It was starting to turn a dark blueish color.

“Hello, 911? I need an ambulance NOW!” Oh, God, Michelle; what have you done?

I stayed in the hospital all night and half the next day. Michelle’s kick had burst both his testes. The doctors sewed the ruptured organs closed, but there was little they could do for the hundreds of tiny tubules that might be damaged inside them. He could still loose one or both of them in the next week, and even if they survived, his ability to father a child might be destroyed. The doctor told me my ice pack was probably the key factor to him even getting this far. I visited Paul frequently in the hospital, and he always smiled sheepishly like he was the one who had fucked up.

He was lucky enough to keep both his balls, though the right one had lost 20% of its original size. It would probably be months before he’d be able to even attempt to jerk off into a plastic container at the fertility clinic to see if he was sterile or not, but he was finally out of the hospital and back around the apartment complex.

I was sure his ballbusting days were behind him, and I wondered if I'd ever feel the urge again.