To me, balls are just two dangling punching bags, waiting for me to drive my full fist into. Hanging in between my slave's legs, I feel as though they are just aching for the pain I wish to drive into them, eager for my to make them swell and bruise. I love playing mind games with this ballbusting slave in particular, the sounds of his whimpers and squirms from the anticipation of it all fueling my sadistic fire within. I draw my fist back and forth in a teasing motion, stopping inches away from his worthless sack, faking a strike just to see him jump in his seat. Such amusement it brings m...

To me, balls are just two dangling punching bags, waiting for me to drive my full fist into. Hanging in between my slave's legs, I feel as though they are just aching for the pain I wish to drive into them, eager for my to make them swell and bruise. I love playing mind games with this ballbusting slave in particular, the sounds of his whimpers and squirms from the anticipation of it all fueling my sadistic fire within. I draw my fist back and forth in a teasing motion, stopping inches away from his worthless sack, faking a strike just to see him jump in his seat. Such amusement it brings me, only to be followed by a direct hit. He attempts in prying his legs closed foolishly, wishing to be a challenge, but I pry them apart as if my arms are the jaws of life, swatting at his thighs and only making my punches stronger each time he tries to hide my punching bags from me. I won't wish to stop, until I see red.