The Little Bitch II: The Dumb Slut

Follows on directly from The Little Bitch – imperative you read in order.

Contains ball-, tit- and cunt-busting, and big tit and slut-shaming themes.

‘Good,’ said Whitney, her eyes twinkling as she slid off my desk and stood. ‘Because you and me are going to the fancy dress party together.’

‘What fancy dress party?’

‘Check you emails,’ she said playfully. ‘And don’t worry about a costume – I’ve got the perfect one for you.’

‘Oh, no,’ I said, suddenly wary.

‘Aw, come on.’ She leant in close to whisper. ‘I’ll let you pick mine.’

The sensation of her hot breath on my ear caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand. With a dry mouth I croaked, ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ she said with a wink before slinking away extra sexily. I watched her sweet, but deadly ass; a huge grin spreading across my face as I imagined the outfits I could squeeze it into.

As soon as she was gone I quickly searched through the hundreds of emails I had accumulated over my two-week absence and finally I found the invitation at the very bottom. It was for the company summer party and it was tonight!


I handed Whitney the bag of items I had picked out for her during my mad dash around the shops on my lunch break. She looked inside and rolled her eyes. ‘Like I didn’t see that coming,’ she scoffed pulling out the tiny beige hot pants and boots. ‘Lara fucking Croft.’

It was the best I could come up with under the circumstances; a no-brainer maybe, but she still kind of hurt my feelings, but it was better than her refusing to wear them; they were extremely small hot pants.

‘And what did you pick me?’ I asked with apprehension. She grinned and lifted a red cape from her backpack. ‘Oh, god,’ I said, feeling my stomach sink. ‘Not…’

A tiny pair of red underpants appeared from the bag to join the cape.

‘Superman,’ confirmed Whitney with relish.

I sagged and moaned, ‘I won’t fit in those pants – my balls are still the size of apples.’

‘Hey, it’s better than the alternative – if I’d have pushed down any harder on that copier lid you could have been an X-man, get it? Ex-man.’

I snatched the scarlet underpants off her whilst she giggled and trudged off miserably toward the toilets to change.


I was still desperately trying to sort my junk into a less obscene package, when Whitney came bursting into the cubicle and put a plastic gun to the back of my head.

‘Hands up, you bloody sod,’ she said doing a characteristically bad American impression of the English upper classes.

I sighed.

‘Do as you’re told or I’ll whack your bloody bollocks with the loo seat.’

My hands went up instinctively.

‘Good chap, now turn around and let me see your todger.’

Again, I did as she said and when she caught a load of the massive bulge barely contained by my pants her eyes went wide and she quickly closed the cubical door behind her.

‘Holy. Shit,’ she gasped, slipping immediately back into Californian.

I was equally impressed by the way she filled out her costume; though she barely made a bump in the cut-off, black tank top I’d bought her, she had the most delicious golden midriff and thighs I’d ever laid eyes on and though maybe a foot sorter than the fictional heroine, she boasted a body to rival Miss Croft’s lithe, toned form.

I myself was filling out the Superman costume quite admirably, more so in one particular place than others and that’s where Whitney’s eyes were fixed unblinkingly.

After a moment to take it all in, she asked, ‘Is that one of your…?’ She trailed off, but was pointing at the plum-sized lump that had slipped out of the pants into the blue tights.

‘Yeah,’ I said uncomfortably.

I pulled the pants down over it best (and carefully) as I could. She watched silently until I had done and then, feeling my eyes back on her snapped out of it and asked, ‘So how do you like my costume?’

‘I love it,’ I said; understating my feelings somewhat.

‘Then why aren’t you showing it then?’ she asked, running her pistol along the obvious, looping length of my Lycra-bound cock until the barrel brushed the mushroom-shaped bulge at the end. Immediately my cock began to stiffen and with frightening consequence; the entire front of my stretchy costume was forced out from my thighs right up to my navel.

Again, Whitney’s eyes were wide with awe. ‘I’ve got to fuck you,’ she said in a distracted whisper.

There was a sudden bang on the door to the men’s toilets.

‘Anyone in there?’ yelled Sian, the shock of hearing her voice causing me to freeze. ‘The coach is leaving now.’

‘We’ll be right there,’ answered Whitney with a devilish grin.

There was stunned silence for a time then the door closed slowly.

‘Whitney?’ I gasped. ‘She’ll know you’re in here with me.’

‘What do you care what she thinks? You’re mine now. And once we find somewhere out of the way at this party…’ she ran her fingers over the camel-toed crotch of her hot pants, ‘…I’ll be yours.’

I struggled to swallow before she pulled my out of the cubical after her.


There were two coaches to take us to the party and fortunately we got on a different one to Sian, which meant I could spend the journey fooling around with Whitney on the back seat without feeling guilty.

The party was held as usual at the boss’ third house and as usual would be an absolute sausage fest, except this time I had Whitney to keep me entertained. And with her in that costume she would be the main attraction meaning I would be the envy of the party… or so I thought because when I stepped off the coach I saw an unusually large crowd of men clamouring around one girl: Sian. And all were clucking noisily and thrusting drinks in her direction and I could see immediately why and while my dick rose, my stomach sank.

Sian was dressed as Lara Croft too.

And fuck me if she didn’t fill out the turquoise tank top to a tee; I could not let Whitney see her. As she stepped off the coach and grabbed her hand and pulled her quickly to one side.

‘Oh, have I found Superman’s only weakness,’ she purred; mistaking my panic for amorousness.

‘Actually, Superman has two weakness,’ I said desperately trying to buy myself some thinking time, ‘kryptonite and magic.’ This didn’t seem to impress her. She opened her mouth to retort, but suddenly attention was caught by something behind me.

Despite such delicate, pixie-like features, Whitney sure could scowl and when I saw her pupils shrink to pinpricks, I knew she’d spotted Sian.

‘That slut!’ she cried in a furious growl. ‘She’s wearing exactly the same fucking costume except, of course, she fucking fills it!’

‘Whitney,’ I said, half-stern, half-pleading. Her tiny hands slammed into my chest. ‘Did you get me the same costume on purpose?’

‘No, Whitney,’ I cried, this time fully pleading. My trembling knees were primed to buckle at any moment from the knee to the nuts I knew inevitable.

Bizarrely, Whitney response was simply to let out a frustrated growl and storm away saying, ‘I need a fucking drink.’

I remained tensed until she had crossed the huge lawn and disappeared into the drinks marquee. Only then did I dare hang my head and sigh with relief. I quickly tensed once more when a soft voice from behind said, ‘Hi.’

I spun around to see Sian smiling angelically despite wearing the most dick-hardening outfit I’d ever laid eyes on.

‘Hi,’ I said back as I thought to myself how Lara Croft’s nipples were never that obvious in that top.

‘Can we talk?’ she asked.

‘Er…’ I tore my eyes from her teats to look around for Whitney who was no where to be seen. I grabbed Sian’s arm and said, ‘Sure,’ leading her at a tit-jiggling pace to the opposite end of the garden.

We sat on two of the many plastic stools that had been scattered about the place and stared at one another; me wantonly; her awkwardly.

Finally, as my eyes were running up her pale thighs toward the clearly visible crease of her camel toe, she spoke. ‘You look well…’ she said, faltering before adding with a downward glace at my visibly rolling nuts, ‘down there.’

In absence of anything else to say, I said, ‘Thanks’ and managed to refrain from complimenting the wellbeing of her own, mouth-watering, crotch.

Next, and even more awkwardly, she asked, ‘Everything still… working?’

I opened my mouth, but Whitney beat me to answer: ‘Everything works just fine, slut. What’s it to you?’

I spun around with guilt written across my face in blinking neons.

Whitney? Hi. She’s just… concerned.’

‘Is she? Well, why don’t we set the slut’s mind at rest?’

‘What? How?’ I squeaked, before Whitney was upon me. She planted one hand in the middle of my chest and with the other she yanked down the front of my pants letting my trouser meat flop out in an explicit avalanche.

Sian looked away immediately, but I caught her peeking out of the corner of her eye as Whitney took hold of my swinging dick and began to work it stiff whilst carelessly thrashing my bollocks into the stool with every stroke.

In spite of the pummelling her tiny knuckles were giving my balls, my cock couldn’t say no to her expert fluffing and in seconds I was at full mast.

‘There,’ Whitney snarled, mercifully halting my testicular bludgeoning to shake my pulsing prick at Sian. ‘Happy now, slut?’

With tears in her eyes, Sian leapt up from her stool and rushed away, holding down her massive tits as she went so to avoid injury.

I, however, knew it would be impossible to avoid injury as Whitney turned to me, boiling with womanly wrath. She snapped my pants hard across my tender balls, forcing one in and one out, and, ignoring my yelp, dragged me behind a nearby tent while I desperately tried to conceal my bobbling ball and solid, slapping meat by wrapping my cape around me.

Behind the tent I started: ‘Whitney, I’m—’ but was quickly silence by Whitney’s deadly knee. She only managed to get the one trapped inside my pants, but she nailed it. The force popped it out of my red briefs to join the other; either side my wilting cock.

My eyes turned inwards to stare at one another and the air from my lungs filled my cheeks until it burst forth from between my lips in a hideous moan. It had been two weeks since the Whitney had tried to end my balls with a photocopier, but instantly the full, mind-blowing agony returned to grip my brain. I sunk low, before my knees gave completely and deposited me on the cool grass. Against my will, my spine began to curl and my hands crept slowly up my thighs until they settled gently around my poor, aching nuts.

‘If I catch you as much as thinking about her again,’ spat Whitney, while I groaned and rocked, ‘you’ll wish I’d crushed your rocks in that copier.’

She squatted down in front of me and I’ll be damned if my eyes didn’t flicker down between her legs to the pale flesh, untouched by sun, which was exposed by the generous gaping of her shorts.

‘That’s it,’ she cooed, noticing my cock regaining its hard. ‘Now fuck me.’

I cursed my unquenchable thirst for cunt; much as I wanted it, I did not want to cum with a freshly busted nut, as for the last fortnight I’d spent as long as an hour sobbing away in the foetal position after every ejaculation.

‘I don’t have a condom,’ came my pathetic excuse.

‘Good,’ said Whitney, turning around, bending over and pulling down her shorts to reveal her hot, pink slit, ‘because I want my scent on your prick.’

I stared at her cunt transfixed and before I knew it I’d sunk my dick in to the hilt.

Pounding her sweet ass was a mixed blessing. While her tight pussy gripped my shaft like a clenched fist, it felt as though a second fist was pummelling my bollocks like a speed bag, as the urgent thrusting had my aching low-hangers slapping painfully against her crotch.

I was lucky at first: my plums would swing true and strike the neatly trimmed triangle of bush and be spared a solid collision against her pubic bone. But as my thrusts became increasingly untamed, so did the swinging of my tender twosome. They bounced like rubbery pinballs off her thighs to crack painfully against the bare flesh either side her tidy muff.

Each bony impact caused my cock to twitch mechanically and push me closer to the verge of cumming deep inside her.

Whitney, who was leant on her elbows staring impassively back between her own legs, must have been monitoring the ominous rise of my comedically swinging nuts because, a few thrusts from climax, she snatched away her cooch and butted me with her ass.

I caught her rear in the chest; a big wet kiss in the centre of my Superman S. Having been knelt over her, the blow sent me toppling back awkwardly on my bended knees. I managed to tense my stomach muscles enough to halt my fall and save my kneecaps from dislocation, but, to prevent me pulling myself upright, Whitney then sat her ass on my groin. A side effect of this was that her dripping slit pressed down on my stiff rod and made it stick out a few inches from between her legs; much to her amusement.

With my arms struggling to prop up our combined weights, there was no way I could stop her when she gripped my solid meat with a tiny hand and said, ‘So this is how it feels to have a dick,’ she mused, before reaching underneath and adding: ‘And this is what it must be like to have nuts.’ Her searching fingers latched onto my swaying orbs and bore down maliciously. Though I knew it was exactly what she wanted, I had no choice but to let out a piteous wail.

‘Huh.’ She shrugged. ‘Guess, I’ll never know what that’s like,’ she concluded with impish glee.

‘Oh, well – better finish you off.’

With one hand gripping my cock and the other my balls ‘finishing me off’ had two very differing connotations. But, in the end, it resulted in both.

Letting my right nut slip free of her grasp, she focused all her womanly wrath on my cum-swollen left nugget and squeezed with every intention of causing its ruin. But as rupture loomed, my cunning bollock fired a countermeasure.

A violent eruption of thick and creamy spunk, unmistakably the result of a popped nut, burst forth from my engorged, purple tip and suddenly my ball gave up any struggle to retain its shape between her crushing fingers.

She shrieked with genuine delight as she watched the contents of my nut squirt from between her legs and land heavily in the grass. Her fingers continued to grip what she assumed was a ruined gonad for several seconds more whilst her cunt slid back and forth over the length of my shaft until its stiffness waned. Then, when she could not longer wring any more pleasure from my limp dick or empty nut, she released them both and stood, only to bend at the waist and proffer her obscene and mocking flaps as she reached down to pull up her shorts.

‘That should make you think twice about lusting after that dumb slut,’ she said, wriggling into the tiny hot pants.

My response was to roll my eyes into the back of my head and topple sideways onto the cool grass.

‘I’m glad you agree,’ she said, before going back to the party.


I lay there writhing and moaning for an agonising eternity; feeling relief beyond words as my crushed left nut swelled back to it original size, then horror as it continued well beyond.

By the time I could open my eyes it was dark and my left nut had swollen to the size of a grapefruit. It filled my previously roomy scrotum to the point where my poor right nut, now insignificant by comparison, was forced to bulge grotesquely through the stretched skin, and, being much more solid than its bloated companion, it dug constantly into the soft, tender meat like a twisting knuckle.

Whilst I lie there, crippled, bemoaning my desperate need for an icepack, my ears were suddenly pricked by approaching female voices. Quickly scooping my junk back into my tights I propped myself up best I could and tried to look drunk rather than ball-busted.

Luckily, the voices reached the corner of the tent and came no closer. I listened carefully and was able to make out it was the waitresses that had been hired to serve at the party. They bitched about the party and the disgusting men, and, just when I was beginning to lose interest and return to wallowing in my own self-pity, one said, ‘Did you see that Tomb Raider slut on the bouncing castle?’

Whitney, I thought sourly; flaunting herself as usual. How did I expect this relationship to last when my girlfriend was not only intent on castrating me, but also an unashamed flirt?

‘I don’t know how she hasn’t given herself a black eye with those flailing melons,’ bitched another, causing me to bolt upright immediately.

Whitney was a lot of things, but in danger of giving herself a black eye she was not.

‘I’d like to know what make of bra she’s got on,’ said a third voice that for some reason didn’t seem to drip with the same resentment as the others. ‘My boobs ache if I go down stairs to quickly.’

‘Well,’ huffed the first, ‘with the amount of alcohol those perverts keeping plying her with, I doubt she’ll notice.’

‘Until tomorrow morning,’ said the second, before adding crudely, ‘and by then I doubt a pair of aching tits will be the worst of her worries, if you know what I mean?’

Apparently they did know what she meant as they all burst into laughter, I, however, didn’t follow, but did get a terrible feeling that Sian might be in dire need of a chaperone.

I climbed to my feet despite the protestations of my nuts and the unwillingness of my knees to work properly. Hobbling and hunched, I staggered out from behind the tent and passed by the waitresses as nonchalant as I could my aching balls would allow.

They took one look at my swollen genitals, framed so spectacularly by my Lycra tights, and burst into fits of laughter.

‘That’s so funny!’ said, one. I recognised her voice as the one who got tit-pain from descending stairs and immediately appreciated why: my eyes, though terror-filled, couldn’t help but lock onto the rapidly jiggling melons that pressed so vigorously against her ill-fitting shirt.

When managed to pass them without further comment, I could not believe my luck. Listening back I heard her say, ‘Maybe that’s what the Tomb Raider girl did – balloon tits,’ and realised, with relief, that they had mistake my severely swollen, and comically mismatching, gonads for novelty inflatables.


I staggered on, across the lawn to the very far corner of the grounds where I found the bouncing castle surrounded by my hooting, cheering, drunken colleagues.

Pushing my way through the mob, I finally saw Sian. I could almost see the alcohol fumes coming off her.

She was leaping around the castle with little care that thirty odd pairs of lusting eyes were locked on her extraordinarily bouncing bombs.

No sooner had I made it to the front than someone let out the howl, ‘Take your top off!’ It was a joke from a drunkard trying his luck, but to my absolute astonishment, rather than shrink away from the catcall, Sian was only happy to oblige.

Her turquoise tank top struck me square in the face, and then slid down my front until it caught on the hard-on straining through my spandex. And rather than removing it, I just watched Sian bounce on in just her bra.

Not that most of her was technically in the bra; during the zeniths of her bounces her hefty milk-monsters somehow achieved weightlessness and rose out of the sturdy cups of her bra to flash a glimpse of the light pink semi-circles that were her coaster-sized areoles.

Between this wondrous sight and the meaty slap of tit-flesh that came every time they crashed back down, I was left overawed and actually found the words ‘And the bra too!’ on the tip of my tongue. I was saved from the shame of yelling it by Sian herself.

She recognised me in the crowd; her bleary eyes lighting up before she began to excitedly beckon me to join her, but despite a few insistent shoves from the men behind me, I sheepishly declined so Sian hopped down off the castle.

This quite displeased the raucous crowd who let up a collective, ‘No!’ as she stumbled toward me.

‘You’re not supposed to talk to me,’ she slurred, running her finger along the ‘S’ of my chest whilst staring up at me with those gorgeous, big, brown eyes.

‘I came to make sure you were all right,’ I said, lost in those innocent eyes.

‘My hero,’ she swooned.

Sarcastically as it turned out because she had come to notice what her tank top had become hooked on. Taking a delicate hold of the garment, she slid it slowly, seductively from around the jutting head of my cock. Then, grabbing me by said jutting head, she led me around the back of the castle.


There was only place to escape prying eyes: my boss’ house, open to allow his guests the use of the toilet. But Sian dragged me right by the bathroom, deeper into the house until she found a darkened room and pulled me inside.

It turned out to be my boss’ home office, and despite the tremendously disheartening sight of Sian pulling back on her tank top, my attention was caught by the photocopier in the corner of the room; I recoiled. Sian noticed and giggled.

‘Don’t worry about that thing,’ she said, then, grinning at me mischievously urged, ‘Close your eyes.’

When I hesitated, she reached awkwardly behind her back and began fiddling with her bra clasp. The resultant tightening of her tank top had me tumescing against my tights, but if I thought her nipples had been apparent through the bra, when it came off I was treated to a sight much more immodest: with her heavy hangers pressing against the taut fabric, I could not only see her protruding teats, I could actually make out every tiny pimple of her huge areole. I watched with awe as, robbed of their support, her youthful but weighty jugs came to settle against her ribcage, sagging only slightly, but spreading out wider to appear somehow even bigger.

‘Go on,’ she urged again. ‘Close them.’ This time I did as I was told.

I heard her tiptoe away and suddenly the copier click into life; its unearthly glow burning through my eyelids as I quite literally reeled in horror.

‘I told you,’ said Sian with warm chuckle, ‘don’t worry about this thing…’ She skipped back to me.

‘Open you eyes.’

I peeled them open to see her beaming with pride whilst held out in front of her was a large photocopy which blew my mind and lubed my cock head enough for it to slip free of its Lycra prison and slap loudly against my stomach; it looked as though she were holding a raunchy X-ray screen to her chest to reveal a large rectangle of naked white flesh.

‘See,’ she said, as I stared wide-eyed and lustful at her carbon-copied rack. ‘Sometimes they can be good.’

But before I had had enough time to take in the breath-taking image, she tossed it aside and with a hungry grin she announced, ‘I want to suck you off,’ before dropping heavily to her knees, taking my tights down with her.

Being so abruptly set loose from such restrictive confines, the explosion of my massively swollen genitals out into the evening air was spectacular.

And whilst my soaring prick, should have been the object of her attention, it was the veiny, bloated mass that was my scrotum which caught her eye.

‘You poor thing,’ she gasped, watching the fat package settle uncomfortably back down against my thighs. ‘They were fine just an hour ago. Did that little bitch do this?’ I nodded sadly. ‘Well, I’m going to make you feel all better.’

Looking up at me with those big, innocent eyes, she parted her succulent lips and lowered her head onto my straining cock.

For a moment I was worried she would taste Whitney’s pussy on me, but, as she began to gorge I got the sense that she was actually enjoying it. So, whilst she slurped away happily, I closed my eyes, let my head loll back and let myself enjoy it too.

Though I could tell she was no expert, Sian’s tongue didn’t fail to impress as it sloshed ravenously around my shaft, oblivious to its newfound taste for cunt, and lapped up every last trace of Whitney’s sweet juices as she swallow more and more of my length.

My prick was probing her tonsils before her licking tongue stopped; only millimetres short of reaching my salty ball-bag. She slid her hot mouth of my dick to compliment breathlessly, ‘You taste so good.’

‘Thanks,’ said Whitney.

It took a moment to register, but by the time I opened my eyes Whitney had yanked Sian’s head back by the ponytail and was scowling straight at me.

‘I guess my crushing your nut didn’t stick,’ she growled.

‘She tried to crush your nuts again?’ gasped Sian; eyebrows pulled high by Whitney’s tugging on her scalp. ‘Why are you going out with her?’

For such a dumb slut, Sian asked quite tricky questions, and I was almost relieved not to have to answer when Whitney rammed Sian’s head forward to deliver a head butt by proxy to my bloated balls.

Sian’s forehead met the thin, sticky skin of my sac with a smack which slapped my weighty swingers backward in time to be caught between my instinctively tensing thighs. As the glowing red grapefruit of a gonad bulged out from between my legs, I let out a pathetic, high-pitched whine and folded in the middle to clutch my plums the best I could.

Seeing me crippled, Whitney turned her ire on Sian who she still gripped by the hair. ‘So you liked the taste of my pussy?’ she asked, balling her tiny fist.

‘Your pussy?’ repeated Sian. She looked up at me, squinting with incomprehension.

I could read her mind: how had the taste of Whitney’s cunt gotten in her mouth? And even though my eyes were busy bulging with pain, they still couldn’t conceal their guilt. With the sickening realisation sinking in, her eyes widened and fell slowly, to stop at my peculiarly flavoursome dick.

Before she could gag with disgust, Whitney punched her square in the mouth and sent her crashing backward.

‘How’d that taste, slut?’ Whitney sneered, looming dangerously over the concussed brunette.

I reached out with one hand and took hold of her shoulder in a feeble attempt to restrain her, but without even a backward glance she gave me a weedy shove which was all it took to send me toppling backwards to land painfully in the sitting position.

My apple-sized left bollock bounced off the carpet tiles with such force that my cock was compelled to release an involuntary squirt, and I let out a long, wavering wail as the warm, sticky mess trickled languidly down my rod, which remained stubbornly stiff after being cheated out of a blowjob.

My distinctive wailing must have caught Whitney’s attention because, suddenly, she was upon me, or, to be more specific, her boot was on my left nut; the massive, red gonad doubtlessly too tempting a target for her to miss.

As the deep rubber tread sunk into my soft nut, I regretted buying her such a sturdy pair boots. The pressure sent up a second squirt, higher this time: a real jet which sprayed her shin to soak quickly into the thick white sock she had pulled high.

‘What do you know?’ she growled. ‘Looks like I found Superman’s only weakness… Oh, I forgot…’ She twisted her boot so that her heel loomed over the smaller right nut which she had just spotted. ‘…Superman has two weaknesses.’

The solid heel mashed my little plum into the ground with ball-ending ferocity. Only the boot’s deep tread and my little nut’s canny ability to distort saved it as the rubbery flesh seeped between the grip of her sole.

Still, it didn’t escape completely intact: a third squirt erupted from my obscenely throbbing cock setting a new distance record; it made it over her sock to arc through the air and set down on her tanned thigh.

Whitney observed the sticky mess coolly.

‘Don’t think that’s going to fool me a second time,’ she said. ‘I can still feel it hiding under there and I’m not going to stop until…’

She fell abruptly silent and all I could hear for a long while was my own desperate whimpers and the gentle squelches of my collapsing testicles.

‘So that’s what it’s been about all this time,’ she said quietly. When I gave her no response she pressed down harder and demanded, ‘Isn’t it?’ Clueless as to what she was referring I prised opened my eyes. She was holding Sian’s imposing photocopy.

I let out a pathetic sob as I envisaged my nuts splitting beneath her boot.

But to my absolute astonishment she instead growled, ‘You have no idea, do you?’ and lifted her foot off my balls.

I was so shocked that she had spared my bollocks that for several seconds I could only stare down at them in wonder. But whilst I watched the deep tread marks slowly fade, Whitney stomped over to Sian and, wrapping her ponytail around her wrist, wrenched her up onto her knees.

‘I hate to break it to you,’ she said, and assuming she still had my undivided attention she pointed at Sian’s wobbling rack, ‘her cans only look this good in a bra.’

‘Nice try, bitch,’ snarled Sian, ‘but I’m not wearing a bra.’

This did make me looked up; I wanted to see the look of dismay on Whitney’s face, but her cruel grin remained.

‘Yeah, right,’ she scoffed incredulously. She reached her hand down towards the bottom of Sian’s top and said, ‘Let’s just take a look, shall we?’

Sian’s eyes went wide before her entire face was obscured by her swiftly upturned tank top.

There was a loud slap as Sian’s hefty jugs crashed back down against her chest and both Whitney and I watched open mouthed as they bumped and jostled against one another, but refused to sag more than a few inches. They were spectacular.

‘No,’ said Whitney in a stunned whisper, but then, suddenly, absolutely convinced, she cried, ‘They’re fake. Ha! They’re so fake!’

She reached down again, but this time she grabbed Sian’s right tit; her small hand only able to hold a fraction of the melon-sized jug at one time. Bearing down hard, Whitney sunk her tiny fingers into the soft, yielding flesh as deep they would go. At no point did they appear to meet any resistance, but what her ruthlessly probing digits did meet in the squishy depths of Sian’s tit was a dense cluster of nerves.

From beneath the upturned tank top, there came a muffled, but blood-curdling shriek, but Whitney was too preoccupied to notice. She shifted her grip from the centre of Sian’s bap to the thick-skinned underside and sunk her fingers in there, but once more she found nothing but nerves.

‘No,’ she whispered; the extent of her growing desperation becoming clear when she switched inexplicably to Sian’s left tit and probed deeper.

When that one also felt kosher she cried, ‘There has to be a scar!’ and literally tore off Sian’s tank top, leaving it in tatters on the floor as she refocused her examination: squeezing the area around the nipple into a tight, bulging bunch in order to study the stretched and shiny skin for signs of tampering.

The experience must have been less than pleasant as it prompted Sian to squeal, ‘Get off me, you little bitch!’

Finding nothing, and growing increasingly vicious, Whitney next yanked the entire tit up high, stretching and folding it backward to inspect the predominantly hidden underside. When she still found nothing she let out a frustrated growl and the hand holding the abused melon began to close, vice-like, until the whitening flesh of Sian’s tit spilled out from between her fingers and caused the teenager to whimper and beg.

‘Let go!’

‘Shut up, slut!’ roared Whitney, pulling her up suddenly by the hair and tit, and marching her over to the copier to throw her into it.

Sian caught the edge of the machine under the ribs and collapsed over the top; her fat melons spreading out wide across the glass.

‘So you like showing off your big tits, huh, slut?’ Whitney yanked Sian’s head back sharply and then slammed down the copier lid. Sian shrieked as her blubbery baps were flattened with a resounding slap! ‘Let’s see how big we can get them.’

You bitch!’ cried Sian.

‘No,’ Whitney snapped suddenly furious, before calming just as quickly to turn and give me a mischievous wink. ‘I’d be a bitch if I did this.’

I could barely bring myself to watch as with Lara-Croft-like athleticism, Whitney vaulted on top the copier to stand directly on top of Sian’s tits.

Sian threw back her head and screamed her lungs raw as eight stone of crazed American babe flattened her rack.

I tried my best to sympathise with Sian, and, seeing as it had been parts of my anatomy beneath that lid only a fortnight ago, it should have been easy, but, as hard as I tried, I couldn’t imagine Sian was suffering anywhere near as much as I did. I could see through the gap that her soft jugs had spread out like dough without difficulty, and even with all of Whitney’s weight upon them, it was impossible to envisage that Sian’s melons, full of sloshing, squishing tit-fat, might suddenly and irreparably rupture.

‘I heard about your show on the bouncing castle,’ yelled Whitney, over the top of Sian’s agonised cries. ‘Shame I missed it – I always enjoy a good bounce.’ She jumped up off the lid and landed back down heavily.

Though logically the last thing she should have done, Sian’s instincts compelled her to recoil from the blinding pain and, as a result, she wrenched powerfully backwards on the two thin slithers of stretching flesh which linked her to the crushed nerve-endings of her monstrously pancaked melons. The resultant scream was ear-splitting, but again, I could only compare it with the sensation of yanking back on two, delicate nut-cords, and I knew which I would rather.

‘You now,’ said Whitney; thoroughly enjoying herself if the damp patch at the crotch of her hot pants was anything to go by, ‘this is so much more fun than crushing a tiny pair of balls – I couldn’t do this to balls.’ She shifted all her weight onto her right foot, then over to her left and back again, gradually building up a ruthless momentum. The sound which escaped from beneath the rocking lid brought to mind the stressing of rubber when squeezing balloons.

This thought led me to picture Sian’s balloons: large, ripe assertions of her supremacy over lesser-endowed females, now being crushed alternately under the slight, yet compelling weight of one such female.

I was horrified, yet at the same time my erection refused to wane.

By the time Whitney tired of tormenting Sian, the girl’s had screams faded to barely audible mewls. Her hands, which had been clawing desperately at the copier lid, now hung limply by her sides and her legs were buckled and hardly supporting her at all.

Whitney brushed back a lock of her fringe and casually tapped the scan with the toe of her boot.

She feigned sympathy, sucking in air as the machine spat out the scene pressed against the glass.

I only caught a glimpse of the horrific image as it slid into the tray, but what I saw chilled me: Sian’s rack filled the page.

Beneath that flimsy plastic lid, her massive tits were spread so wide that they filled up almost every last inch of the scan area and so thin that the course of several thick blue veins were charted with startling clarity.

‘They look fit to burst,’ purred Whitney as she spent a long moment absorbing the image with bloodthirsty delight.

Suddenly her eyes were on me, sparkling with intensity.

‘Now, Superman, tell me…’ She rocked side-to-side, drawing a small moan from Sian. ‘Are you going to save her… or are you going to save yourself?’

She caught my frown of incomprehension and her smile grew.

‘I’m going to crush something tonight and it’s either her tits or your balls.’

My mouth fell open, but nothing came out as I became acutely aware of my huge, hot plums throbbing painful against my protectively cupping palms.

I looked down at the sorry-looking pair and, though I barely recognised them, it had to be said that the pain only emphasised my attachment to them.

Yet, at the same time I yearned for the weeks of pain and torment to finally be over, and deep down I knew that even if I chose my balls over Sian’s tits it was really no guarantee that Whitney wouldn’t rob me of my danglers the moment I told her things were over between us.

‘Balls or tits?’ snapped Whitney, causing me to look up and catch a flash of pure, terrifying craziness in her eyes.

‘Tits,’ I blurted instinctively.

‘Ha!’ scoffed Whitney, ‘I knew her fat tits meant nothing to you.’ And, before I could reconsider, she jumped into the air and plummeted ass-first onto the lid of the copier.

There was a loud clatter of plastic followed by the harrowing hiss of liquid being forced out of a small aperture at speed, and I knew I’d let two huge and perfectly formed examples of womanhood be ruined.

Sian let out a sliver of a scream before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she slumped backward to dangle like a marionette from her crushed baps.

‘Oh, snap!’ said Whitney, quickly reaching out to hit the scan button only to have the copier short fuse with a blinding spark.

Whitney leapt off the machine with a shriek and with her weight no longer preventing their escape, Sian’s flattened jugs slipped quickly out from under the copier lid, spraying milky liquid and flapping wildly after her as she dropped to the ground.

‘Ew!’ cried Whitney, with perverse delight. ‘Was that milk?

She lifted the copier lid to the sound of sloshing.

‘No wonder the copier shorted,’ she enthused. ‘There must be a whole pint here!’ To illustrate the point she let the lid drop down heavily and giggled gleefully as the warm white juice splashed all over her.

I was watching the liquid run down her smooth thighs when I noticed she had extended her leg to prod at the sagging flesh of the Sian’s right tit, which was sprawled across the floor under her armpit.

Sliding the toe of her boot underneath the insensible teenager’s milk monster, she bounced it lightly and looked back at me with a smug grin.

‘How’d you like ’em now, huh?’ she asked, before surprising me by pulling her top off over her head to present me with a pair of dark nipples sat atop barely handful-sized bumps of tit-flesh.

‘Bet you’d rather suck on these, huh… and this…?’

She walked toward me, unfastening her hot pants and once she was right over me she slipped out of them completely to present me with her succulent pussy, spread wide to expose her swollen clit.

‘I know I’ve caused you pain today,’ she said, suddenly apologetic, ‘so it’s only fair you cause me some.’ With her fingers either side parting her flaps, her middle finger drew back on her clit hood to make her stiff nub stand out even more prominently.

‘Suck it as hard as you want – I might scream, but I promise I won’t stop you…’ adding with a sudden, stern glare, ‘…unless you bite, in which case I’ll pop your fucking stones. Got it?’

I nodded fearfully.

‘Good,’ she said happily. ‘Now suck it… bitch.’

I leant slowly toward the pink nub feeling an overwhelming temptation to sink my teeth into it, but a timely nudge from the toe of her boot reminded me of the ease with which she could bring to an end my manhood. So grudgingly, I closed my eyes, pursed my lips and resigned myself to the fact that I would be her bitch for as long as I had balls.

The pungent aroma of her wet cunt had just filled my nostrils when there came a sudden, shocking smack! and I opened my eyes to find myself staring at the bottom of a boot I didn’t recognise.

Recoiling, I could see the boot was protruding from between Whitney’s legs and that Whitney herself was overcome with a pain I did recognise; with her eyebrow raised and quivering with surprise, her eyes and knees turned slowly inward.

The boot vanished as quickly as it had appeared and I was treated to the sadistically satisfying sight of Whitney’s pulverised pussy-lips slowly unfurling after being flattened by the solid shin of her attacker.

There was no sight of her clit at first, it having been mashed into her crotch by the instep of the boot, but millimetre by sorry millimetre it began to resurface, only now looking anything but stiff.

With a delicious strangled moan, Whitney dropped to her knees, but before she could clutch her assaulted nub, a hand reached around underneath her and pinched it cruelly.

Sian’s pale, glistening face appeared over her shoulder.

‘I’m—going to—pop—something—tonight,’ she said, sucking in pained breaths between almost every word. Then came the dreadful ultimatum: ‘His balls… or your clit?’

‘Balls!’ squeaked Whitney, without a moment’s hesitation. Taken aback by the speed of her response, Sian was silent for a long moment.

‘You really are a little bitch, aren’t you?’ she said finally. ‘Well, guess what?’ She leaned in close to growl into Whitney’s ear, ‘So am I.’

I heard a tiny squick, and Whitney’s entire body suddenly and violently convulsed.

She let out a gasp; not one of anguish or violation as I expected, but one of almost orgasmic pleasure. More gasps followed, each deeper and breathier than the last until her eyelids began to flutter and her pupils rolled into the back of her head.

‘Oh!’ she groaned, deeply. ‘Oh!

I watched in awe as her big nipples flushed with blood; engorging until half an inch long and glowing like crimson bulbs. And at the same time the areole around the extending teats puckered and darkened as the suddenly goose-pimpled skin of her little tits tightened and forced her rack into two jutting peaks. Her hips bucked uncontrollably as her fingers fluttered around the source of the overpowering sensation without ever touching it directly. Her face and chest were flushed and glistening, and her inner thighs were drenched with pussy juice as her gasps and moans came fast and wild.

‘Oh, oh, oh, oh!

She froze abruptly. Her head thrown back and lips set in a perfect ‘O’; a statue at the moment of perfect bliss. Then, unchanging, she silently toppled sideways.

‘Well,’ said Sian, regarding Whitney’s lifeless body with distain, ‘at least she got one last orgasm before it popped – I doubt you’ll be as lucky.’ And with that she stomped down on my nuts with her heavy boot.

My otherwise paralysed legs instantly sprang into life, dancing frantically like they were on strings while she leaned in to apply maximum pressure.

As she loomed over me, her big flopping melons hung inches from my face, taunting me. I had thought them ruined, but though still wide and sagging, they had at least regained some of the plumpness of which Whitney’s pounding had robbed them.

Even still, they were no longer as appealing as they had been: flushed pink, pulsing with thick veins and with areoles, previously so close in colour to her skin to be indistinguishable, now a bright crimson.

Quickly though, my attention was redirected to two other pieces of throbbing, red flesh.

Because of its size, my huge left nut bear most of Sian’s weight as, even when crushed to within a sliver of it previous mass, it still prevented her boot from pressing down on my smaller right nut.

I squeaked in horror when I saw that the entire contents of my bloated left nut were forced into a corner of my nut stretched so taut that it was near transparent. In amongst the snaking purple veins, I could almost make out my precious sperm all pressed up against the sides staring anxiously out.

‘You like that?’ asked Sian, strangely, without a trace of malice in voice. I noticed tears in her eyes. ‘You must – why else would you stay with that little bitch?’

I tried to answer, even shake my head, but the agony was all-consuming. It came in unbearable waves throughout which I could only squeeze my eyes shut and pray for a swift end to my suffering. Only when each wave subsided and was replaced by an equally powerful wave of nausea was I able to open my eyes, and each time I did I was met by the awesome sight of Sian’s inexorably swelling jugs.

By the time I felt my left nut reach breaking-point, Sian’s tits had ballooned into almost solid-looking spheres of angry red flesh around which the skin was stretched so taut it shined and pulled every crease and pimple of her big purple areoles smooth.

The pressure building inside those swollen melons must have been immense as beads of milky white liquid dripped from her cherry-sized nipples and splashed over my twitching dick and the top her crushing boot.

Having obviously never pushed a nut to the brink of destruction, Sian didn’t seem to appreciate the significance of my squishy, squirmy orb turning abruptly solid and stationary having reached the limits of its malleability.

I knew whether she meant to or not, a single ounce more of pressure would see me a eunuch.

Sian kept on applying weight regardless.


It must have been the mixture of milk and ball sweat, but there was a sudden squeak and Sian’s boot slipped off my left nut, pinging it safely out of harm’s way as her foot crashed into the ground with an earth-shattering thud!

Unbalanced, the top-heavy teen was sent tumbling forward to engulf my head completely with her massively engorged tits.

The feel of her extremely firm tit-meat against my cheeks was heavenly, but when she abruptly recoiled I assumed the sensation wasn’t as pleasant for her. However, it turned out to be something else that had caused her alarmed gasp.

Slowly, I followed her stunned gaze downward to where she had so urgently withdrawn her foot. My eyes bulged when they came upon a completely flat portion of my scrotum where the imprint of her boot was still shockingly evident.

‘Oh, my god,’ Sian gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘did I just…?’

My eyes flickered desperately around the sac, searching for any trace of my suddenly absent right nut.

‘I felt something… It can’t have… Not that easily.’

I looked up at her; she was paler than I’d ever seen her. I wanted to say something; tell her it was all right: my nuts had survived worse, but the excruciating pain of losing a testicle abruptly overwhelmed me, and every muscle tensed in an attempt to smother the awful gut-wrenching agony.

Then I felt nothing.


I couldn’t have been unconscious long, because when I came round Sian had only just begun to squeeze herself into the tiny tank top she’d been forced to steal from Whitney; not that the young American was in any state to object to the theft: she lay beside me, naked but for her boots, mewling quietly while her tightly shut legs continued to twitch sporadically.

Sian was trying to be very delicate about drawing the top down over her overinflated jubblies, which were by now unnaturally spherical and sat atop her chest, battling for the limited space, like two precariously balanced watermelons.

Each time she tried to cover them, the fabric constricted her aching rack causing her to recoil and unsettle her enormous milk monsters, which reacted like startled puppies: bounding of in opposite directions only to spring back into one another with a wild and weighty clap followed by a shrill shriek of agony.

Only when they had settled back down could Sian tentatively try again, and it was several mesmerising attempts before she finally managed to suppress the pain and pull the tank top down as far as it would go, which turned out to be far short of covering her buoyant zeppelins. The garment was so wholly inadequate that it left a stunning portion of rosy red underboob hanging out completely exposed.

Only when she noticed my cock twitch did Sian realise I had come out of my rupture-induced coma.

‘Oh, thank god: you’re awake!’ and took a hasty step towards me only to pause and wince instantly. She cursed in a pained whisper, wrapping her hands around her rack to suppress its animation.

Dark circles of dampness expanded from where her swollen nubs poked at the stretching fabric.

When her eyes opened again, she finished: ‘I thought you’d be out cold for ages, what with you losing a…’ She circled her finger gingerly at my scrotum, which, despite being only half-filled, was stretched to bursting trying to contain my bloated left bollock. Staring down at my distended sac, it was only then that I became aware of the eerie lack of pain coming from it. All that escaped the numbness was a dull throb.

Sian noticed my concern. ‘I checked while you were sleeping,’ she admitted, before guiltily biting her lip to add: ‘It’s definitely gone – I couldn’t even find the mush.’

It took a while to sink in, but finally I repeated, ‘No mush at all?’

She shook her head cheerlessly. ‘I’m so sorry.’

A lack of mush coupled with my general lack of agony… surely that could mean only one thing!

My fingers were suddenly alive; probing the area around the base of my cock, sinking deeply into the soft flesh until finally they struck upon something which caused me to squeal and kick my legs involuntarily: my right nut was in one piece and safely up inside me!

I looked up at Sian, about to give her the good news when I noticed the overwhelming guilt in her wide, twinkling eyes, and I couldn’t help but take advantage of it.

‘My nut,’ I sobbed wretchedly. ‘My precious nut!’

‘Oh, god – I only meant to scare you!’ she gushed; her fingertips playing across her bottom lip. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Well,’ I said, sniffling for effect, ‘another blowjob might take my mind off the awful agony.’

‘A blowjob?’ she asked, taken aback. ‘Can you even…?’ She glanced down and recoiled a little seeing my cock was already on the rise.

‘Oh,’ she said, stunned. ‘Well, if you think it’ll help… Can you stand?’

I almost scoffed at her ignorance: did she really expect a man with a crushed nut to just jump to his feet? Even in my “merely” ball-busted state it would be a miracle if I could get my legs to work. But, with the promise of another wonderful blowjob spurring me on, I managed to slide myself up the wall onto shaking legs.

At the same time that I was getting to my feet, Sian was gingerly lowering herself to her knees; being careful the whole time not to cause her tits to wobble.

Suddenly a light came on outside the office and next we heard voices.

‘It’s our boss!’ Sian hissed. She grabbed my tights and pulled them up to my knees adding, ‘There’s no time for this – we have to go.’

I nodded to Whitney and found myself asking, ‘What about her?’

Sian stopped abruptly and looked up at me, her dark eyes smouldering with a glare which withered my prick to the size of a cocktail sausage.

‘What about her?’ she demanded, her hot breath on the massive left plum which dangled so defencelessly before her.

I gulped and my cock shrunk further, abandoning my left nut to join the right within the safety of my crotch.

‘N-nothing,’ I stammered.

She glared a little longer before grudgingly pulling my tights up the whole way; though making sure to let the elastic twang me in an extremely tender spot as she did so.

Though both my nuts were remained mostly in tact, the vicious ball-busting I’d received gave me the convincingly pathetic and hunched hobble of the recently ruptured as I was hurriedly dragged out of the back door by Sian.


The fresh air ignited my senses and I instantly went light-headed.

With a beautifully delicate groan, Sian somehow shouldered most of my weight and steered me around the edge of the garden far from the main exit where our drunken colleagues were being shepherded into taxis.

Sian guided me inside a dimly lit marquee and set me down on chair a little too heavily. She winced as I groaned and clutched the nut which had just been forced out from underneath me.

‘Oops,’ she said, her nose wrinkling. ‘Sorry.’

She slipped her hand into the back pocket of her hot pants and retrieved a slim mobile phone.

‘I’ll call us a taxi and we’ll have you out of here in no time.’

Putting the mobile to her ear she turned away from me only to be confronted by the trio of waitresses who had just walked into the marquee mid-conversation.

Taking one look at Sian, the girls stopped in their tracks and fell instantly silent; their wide eyes fixed on Sian’s cartoon-like proportions as their brains tried to rationalise the implausibility of it.

You would have been forgiven for thinking that Sian had stuffed two large balloons up her top had it not been for the way the gigantic melons caused her to stoop under their tremendous weight, but the waitresses no doubt attributed her hunched posture to the effects of alcohol. And though masses of flesh spilled out from beneath her tank top, its red and shiny appearance would have only furthered the balloon assumption.

It took the waitresses several seconds to realise how obviously they were staring. Dropping their gazes abruptly, they hurriedly busied themselves with table clearing.

Unsettled by their stares, Sian decided to continue her phone call at the tent entrance, where, by keeping her back to the girls, she could shelter her tits from further furtive glances.

‘Told you they were balloons,’ hissed the top-heavy waitress, once Sian was out of earshot. The others nodded in wholehearted agreement.

‘Speaking of balloons,’ said leggiest of the girls, thumbing toward where I sat, legs splayed, leaning back limply over my chair. ‘Looks like someone popped one of his.’

The other girls groaned in mock sympathy, before gigging.

The leggy one quickly shushed them, taking something shiny off the tabletop and slyly concealed it behind her back.

‘Watch this,’ she whispered, grinning broadly.

I watched along with the other girls, as with one hand behind her back, the leggy waitress approached: so buoyant with mischief that she seemed to float. I stiffened as I suddenly appreciated her intent.

I tried to wrestle control of my vocal chords and scream ‘it’s not a balloon’, but all I managed was a pitiful yelp, and, before I could summon the strength to defend myself, the waitress thrust out the object in her hand with the bloodthirsty cry of, ‘Pop!’

But the sound the object, a fork, made as it was sunk deep into the centre of my nut was not pop: it was a gristly crunch which caused the girls to grimace.

My attacker’s eyes went wide as she stared down at my skewered nut. Then with a sudden, horrified gasp she pulled back her hand and raced back to her friends, leaving the fork jammed deep in my bollock.

Sian spun around just in time to witness me slide from the chair to my knees, stretching my tights in the process until they split right along the perforation and out popped my naked nut and prick for all to see. Her eyes locked on the sparkling steel handle jutting from what she believed to be my only plum, and, with a terrified sob, she turned and ran.

The three waitresses to whom she entrusted the fate of my nut stared down at me for several seconds with dumb shock, before suddenly regaining their senses and beating the same path as Sian.

I toppled onto my side and promptly passed out.


I came round to the sight of a pair of black boots, white socks and lots of leg.

No sooner had I noticed them as they started to walk down the length of my body one small, pained step at a time until they came level with my crotch and were only just visible from the corner of my eye.

‘Sian?’ I ventured hopefully.

The girl’s toned calves tensed with indignation and I knew immediately it wasn’t Sian. I groaned with despair.


‘Hi, lover,’ she said, her voice aquiver with pain. ‘I’m glad I found you – I’ve something to tell you which might come as quite a blow…’

One of her boots swung suddenly backward into the air only to halt and hang there threateningly while she drew out the torment.

Then, with tremendous relish, she said, ‘You’re dumped.’

Her boot swung down like a battering ram. There was a sickening squelch and I watched the fork shoot across the marquee and settle in the grass before my vision was consumed by darkness.

‘I promise we can still be friends,’ said Whitney with a devilish chuckle.