So, as it turns out, I did write something last week: a third Lizzie story. This one’s about what happens when our heroes are invited to do a ballbusting demo at a local house party. The action in this story is going to be mostly focused on what happens during the demo, and afterward, but I spent over 2000 words building up to it. Here are some of them:
By our third visit to the dungeon, I was walking around naked — thankfully the floors were kept clean — and people were commenting on us, or even talking directly to us. I know a lot of men, especially ones that seemed to identify as dominant, were uncomfortable seeing a man being led around by the balls, but that’s just how it was for Lizzie and me. And if they were uncomfortable just watching us walk around, they must have been positively green to the gills when they saw her bend me over a spanking bench, or put me on a cross, and start punching and slapping my balls.
It didn’t take long for me to start enjoying it. I mean, it hurt — a lot, all the time — but I enjoyed being Lizzie’s good boy, and I was more than pleased that other people got to see our dynamic. We were truly happy together, and this was one way we showed it. I do wish Lizzie had been comfortable enough to sit on my face afterward — I would’ve been fine with it even if she hadn’t taken any clothes off, and I had suggested she wear a skirt long enough to cover my head — but she wasn’t there yet, and had admitted she might never be.
It was okay, though; when we got home, she always comforted me that way, enveloping me in her body and her scent and her taste. Every time.
In addition to the dungeon, we started going to munches and making friends in the local BDSM community. There weren’t a lot of people who led their partners around by the balls, so we kind of stood out, drawing interest not only from dominant women and submissive men but also people who were simply curious about what it felt like.
“It hurts,” I would say. “She’s punching me in the balls.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Because I’m her good boy.” That was all the explanation I needed to give. No, I didn’t strictly like the kind of pain Lizzie delivered to me on a daily basis, but I needed it. I needed her to make me her good boy, and that was how she did it.
“Does it get easier?”
“Not really,” I’d tell people.
As of the time I’m writing this post, I’m still not exactly sure what the demo is going to entail, except that there will definitely be some of Lizzie sitting on her husband’s face. Because that’s just what they do together.