Darren "Dazza" is back for more in part 2...
It's been a while since I wrote part one, but I've finally been inspired to write a m/m follow up to my f/m story Shouldn't Have Said That. There's some important context here, so if you haven't read it before I'd recommend starting here. If you really don't like reading f/m the summary in a nutshell is - Aussie tradie Dazza has been left on the floor of a quiet pub after having his load squeezed from him by a waitress after a bet gone wrong. His mates have left him there but he's just been discovered by his best friend's twisted younger stepbro who has a ballbusting fetish...
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The storm outside The Bushman's Roadhouse had turned into a full-blown howler by the time Dom hauled Dazza's limp, cum-splattered body into the men's room. Rain hammered the tin roof like machine-gun fire, and thunder rumbled through the walls, drowning out any chance of someone stumbling in unannounced. The place was a dive—flickering fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, cracked tiles underfoot, and a single stall with a door that didn't lock properly.
Dom propped the unconscious tradie against the sink, his heart pounding not just from the effort of dragging the bigger bloke but from the rush of what he was about to do. Dom was no stranger to his own twisted fantasies. Back in Brisbane, he'd spent countless nights scrolling through forums and stories about guys getting their nuts wrecked—kicked, crushed, twisted until they blew their load in a mix of agony and ecstasy. He'd jerked off to it more times than he could count, but this? This was real. Dazza, the cocky chippy his step-bro had boasted about being a total lad's lad, was sprawled out like a gift from the fetish gods: shorts around his ankles, grey singlet soaked in sweat and jizz, his black-and-yellow TRADIE boxer briefs all bunched up at the front like a pair of swim trunks might look after being wrung out.
Dazza's balls were just visible poking through the fly—swollen, bruised purple, hanging low and heavy like overripe plums begging for more attention."Fuck me," Dom muttered, his voice barely audible over the storm as he stood perplexed as to what in the hell could have happened to Dazza’s nuts to leave them in that condition. Dom was 19, skinny but toned from half-assed gym sessions, with a city-kid edge—messy black hair, designer sneakers and a perpetual smirk that screamed trouble. He'd come looking for Robbo to drag his lazy ass home, but this was way better. No one around, Dazza out cold... for a sadistic freak like Dom this was the opportunity of a lifetime. He had no idea what could have led Dazza to being left in this predicament, and he wasn’t about to waste time asking questions.
He locked the main door to the men's room—just a flimsy bolt, but it'd buy time—and knelt down beside the passed-out hunk. Dazza stirred slightly, groaning, his stubbled face twisting in pain even in his haze. Dom's cock twitched in his jeans as he reached out, hesitating for a second before cupping Dazza's battered sack through the fabric. Warm, squishy, still pulsing with residual ache. Dazza let out a low *unngh* but didn't wake. Emboldened, Dom tugged the big guy’s boxers down further, exposing his pride and joy. Dazza's dick lolled flaccid against his thigh, spent from the earlier milking, but those nuts... fuck, they were prime targets. Big, meaty orbs, veined and vulnerable. Dom's breath quickened as he wrapped his fingers around the left one, giving it a tentative squeeze.
Dazza's body jerked, a sharp inhale escaping his lips, but his eyes stayed shut. "Shit, you're tough, aren't ya?" Dom whispered, his voice laden with excitement. He squeezed harder, rolling the nut between his thumb and fingers, feeling the give of the tender flesh. Dazza's abs clenched under the sticky singlet, his legs shifting weakly.
Dom couldn’t resist temptation and paused to grab hold of Dazza’s singlet, ripping it off over his arms and shoulder and discarding it. He’d seen Dazza shirtless a couple times before when he’d been hanging out with Robbo on particularly hot days in the backyard, but never like this, never so close. Dazza’s muscular chest was covered in a sheen of sweat, his firm abs glistened in the radiance of the fluorescent light. Dom traced his fingers down Dazza’s taut body, lingering over his washboard stomach as he breathed in the scent of sweat and jizz that emanated from the passed out stud. This would almost have been enough by itself, Dom could have jerked it out right there at the sight - but he knew he had to go further. He let his fingers glide down further, down through Dazza’s mess of pubes, lazily over his cock before settling again on his nuts.
As he did so a booming loud CRACK of thunder echoed through the air, the fluorescent lights gave out and the small restroom was plunged into darkness. Dom reached around in the dark, keeping a hold of Dazza’s left ball as he used his other hand to feel around - grazing his thighs, his abs, his chest, his mighty arms. He couldn’t contain himself any longer and moved his free hand to fumble with his own zipper, fishing around in his baggy checkered boxers and pulling out his hardening cock—average size, but throbbing with anticipation. He stroked himself slowly as he upped the pressure, twisting Dazza's ball like he'd read about in those stories. Slowly but surely his eyes adjusted to the dark and he was able to make out the passed out hunk before him, slumped there lifelessly in the dark. Dom leaned in and gave his left nut a brutal, sharp squeeze.
Dazza's eyes abruptly fluttered open, bleary and confused. "Wha... fuck... Dom? The hell..." he spluttered. The 29-year-old tried to sit up, but a fresh wave of nausea from his wrecked nuts pinned him back. Lightning flashed through the small window, illuminating the scene: Dom grinning down at him, one hand vice-gripping his ball, the other pumping his own dick. "Shh, easy there, big guy," Dom said, his bratty tone turning predatory.
Dazza's face flushed red—part embarrassment, part rage, part lingering pain. "Get the fuck off me, you fuckin faggot," he growled, it was bad enough that he’d had this balls owned by Joy tonight - he wasn’t letting Robbo’s freak stepbro do it too.
Dom shot him a look. He would tolerate a lot, but not that word. “Shouldn’t have said that” he muttered, letting go of his own throbbing shaft to clamp down harder on both of Dazza’s nuts, yanking them upwards by the cords.
"Fuckin hell!" the older jock bellowed, his voice echoing off the tiles, but the storm drowned him out. His body arched, muscles straining—those well-proportioned arms flexing uselessly as he reached out trying to swat away Dom’s hands, but it was no use and Dom just laughed at him. Dom was smaller, but he had leverage, straddling Dazza's thighs to pin him down. The 19-year-old twisted viciously, grinding the two balls in his hands together like he was trying to pop them.
“AAAARRGGHHHH!!!” Dazza screamed, writhing pathetically under Dom’s weight. “YOU FUCKIN CUNT!!”, he was panicking now, there was no way this shit was real. This didn’t happen to guys like him, not at the hands of fuckin weak women and gay guys. And not TWICE in one night!
Dom kept twisting, enjoying the sounds he was forcing Dazza to make. It was clear the big guy was hating this, but Dom didn’t care. This was wilder than any story he’d ever read and it was actually real! He grinned maniacally as he glanced down at Dazza’s beet red face and his increasingly mangled crotch which was undergoing an interesting transformation.
"See? You're gettin' hard Dazza, must mean you like it," Dom taunted, nodding at Dazza's traitorous prick, which was stirring despite the agony. It twitched, lengthening inch by inch, betraying the tough tradie's protests. "Robbo said you're straight as they come bro, but look at this—your dick's beggin' for more." Dazza's mind reeled. This just couldn't be happening. First Joy wrings him dry in front of his mates, now this entitled city prick trying to turn him into a plaything on a piss-stained floor.
But fuck, the pain was mixing with something else—a deep, throbbing ache that shot straight through his groin and up to his stomach from the pressure in his balls. He hated it, but he couldn’t pull his member into line. "Stop... ungh... you fuckin' gay cunt," he spat, but his voice cracked as Dom dug his thumbs in deep, pressing into the core of each nut. Dom leaned in closer, his face inches from Dazza's sweat-drenched one. "Gay? Nah, mate, this is just fun.” He winked, releasing one ball to slap Dazza's hardening cock, making it bounce and eliciting a yelp from the hapless tradie. Then back to squeezing, alternating pressure—hard on the left, then the right, twisting in opposite directions like wringing out a rag.
Dazza's groans turned guttural, his hips bucking involuntarily. "OoOOOOOOOHH... my FUCKin' BALLLLSSSS... you're gonna pop 'em, you fuckin psycho!"
But his dick was at full mast now, 8 inches of throbbing betrayal, pre-cum beading at the tip. Dom stroked it roughly with one hand while keeping the other alternating between Dazza’s trapped orbs, syncing the jerks with the squeezes, building a rhythm that had Dazza's eyes rolling back. "Admit it, Dazza—you want this. Cum for me big boy." Dom's own cock was leaking, close to the edge just from the power trip. Dazza shook his head violently “NO! I’M NOT A FUCKIN FAG!” he screamed as he clenched his eyes shut trying to furiously block out the pain.
Dom decided to change tack, worried the ‘gayness’ of having his dick physically stroked might give enough mental stamina to Dazza to have him hold it together. Instead, he went back to the physical route - forcing the load out by creating no other space for it.
He let go of Dazza’s prick and pancaked his nards flat between his palms, grinding them mercilessly. Dazza screamed bloody murder, but no-one was coming to save him. “FUCK! FUCK YOU YOU LITTLE SHIT!
Dom kept up the pressure, twisting both leftie and rightie against and into each other like they were gonna mould together like playdough. “Oh Dazza, come off it mate. We both know you’re all bark no bite, well at least right now you are” he said, slapping his nuts to prove the point.
Dazza blinked through the pain and let out a miserable groan, he knew Dom was right. FUCK! The little twerp had him by the balls and there was fuck all he could do about it.
Dazza’s cock was bobbing wildly in the air as his balls were meshed together, wrapped around their own cords and squeezed to within an inch of their life. His boys were getting more and more compressed and he began to feel a deeply unsettling sensation building. It was like his cum had nowhere else to go, his chest started heaving, his abs rhythmically flexing, his arms twitching.
In a final flush of searing pain, Dazza's body betrayed him fully. His muscles seized, legs kicking out, back arching off the cold floor. "NOOOOO…. FUCKKKKKK... AAAAGGHH!" A rope of cum shot from his dick, splattering across his already-messy pecs, then another and another, weaker but no less humiliating. He came hard, stars exploding in his vision, the pain peaking into a twisted bliss.
Dom followed suit seconds later, groaning as he blew his load over Dazza's abs, mixing their seed in a sticky mess. He let go, panting, watching the older bloke shudder and gasp. Dazza lay there, broken and spent, glaring up at Dom through half-shut eyes. "You're dead, you little fucker. When Robbo hears—" Dom smirked, zipping up. "Hears what? That his tough mate got nutted twice in one night? Nah, this stays between us. Unless you want the whole town to know how weak your balls are." He reached down and gave Dazza’s sack a final menacing twist that caused the defeated jock to cough and splutter his way through a strained yelp. He tried to splutter out a “fuck you” before passing out on the hard floor for the second time that night.
***
Across the street, Robbo and Kyle were hauling their boxers and shorts back on as they high-fived after tag teaming Joy in her living room (after the bedroom and the kitchen), oblivious to the fucked up carnage that had taken place at the pub. “Fuck bro, Dazza’s gonna be kicking himself that he missed out on this one.” Kyle smirked. “Yeah man, we better go check on him, ay? Get him home before the storm gets any worse.” Robbo replied.
“Hah, yeah - and rub it in his face while we’re at it. Tell him what he missed while he was napping on the floor. Poor cunt.” The pair chuckled before readying themselves to go, thanking Joy again for the root of their lives, with no idea the state they were about to find their mate in…
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By the way, had someone email me who's not from Australia about what I mean when I say "TRADIE" underwear. This is a macho underwear brand that ruthlessly targets blue collar types with a bit of a 'bro' marketing philosophy - they also sell deodorant, shower gel, workwear and have their own line of beer. Their underwear waistbands tend to have a 'hi vis' look to them, just like the stuff a 'tradie' would wear to work. See below
