Uncle Clark — Chapter I

My uncle Clark was an easygoing guy. When I was younger I used to stay at his house a lot in the summers, since he lived in the country and there was a lot for me to do, and it got me out of my parents' hair, and he didn't seem to mind my staying there for weeks on end. Clark wasn't much older than me, actually, but because he had his own place he seemed like a grown up. 

I don't exactly remember how it all started, but I think we used to watch a lot of those movies from the nineties where kids at summer camp always, somehow, ended up kicking some mean adult right in his balls. 

Clark must've noticed I always laughed loudest at these points. "You like that, do ya?"

"They make the funniest faces... like... oof! Oooooohhh..." I couldn't stop laughing.

"Bet you'd like to kick some balls yourself, there, eh movie star?"

"Yeah, now I know how to win a wrestling match with anybody... Squish!"

"Well, look — I'll make you a deal. You get your room cleaned up AND take out the garbage AND wash the truck, and you can kick me in the balls later — got that?"

I was gobsmacked.

"Really?!"

"Yeah, sure, why not. But you gotta do a good job. Don't just pile everything into the closet. And if that truck's not shiny my offer's off the table. Understood?"

You'd better believe my room was the cleanest it's ever been, before or since. 

Clark laughed, watching me comb the house for extra garbage, and huff over the truck in the afternoon sun. He was sitting in the shade on the porch in his shorts and tank top, drinking beer. 

"Looks like I got the best end of this deal," he chuckled. I was sweaty and cranky, but looking over, I could see his chest hair coming out the top of his shirt, and I could see up his shorts... almost to his crotch. I knew it was going to be worth it.

When I finally announced I was done, Clark heaved himself off his chair and marched around the truck, making a big show of inspecting it. He bent over to examine the dust flaps and ran his finger along the side mirror. 

"Very impressive," he said, grinning.

He slapped his thighs on either side of his junk. 

"I guess you're going to be wanting to get your reward, then." I nodded, still barely able to believe this was happening.

"All right," he said, getting on his knees and putting his hands behind his head, "Give me your best shot."

I had seen a lot of those movies, so my best shot was pretty good. Clark didn't go down though — his forehead just creased a bit, and he let out a puff of air, and got a faraway look in his eyes.

"Did I miss?"

"Oh no... you got em." He cringed a bit.

"Can I try again? Doesn't seem like I really got you."

"Believe me, you did. Hurts like hell." But he put his hands behind his head again anyway, and left his thighs open for me. He still had a trace of a smile on.

This time I gave him two in rapid succession, and he did go over, though not in the comic way they do in the movies. I couldn't believe how good it felt to sink my foot into that softness.

He grunted. He seemed to be making an effort not to hold them, instead pressing his hands on his thighs and rocking slightly, doubled over.

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

"Are you kidding me, you little bastard? You're quite the ninja there."

"Come on, it can't be that bad. Let me go again." I was almost bouncing up and down. Again! Again!

"Ok, champ, just give me a minute." He was slowly raising himself again. He stopped and looked at me. "Have you ever got it in the nuts?"

I stammered, "Well, yeah, sure, I must've... I mean..."

Clark smiled, "I see....! Well, I tell you what. I'm gonna give you one little hit — and not as hard as any of the ones you have me — and if you still want to have another go at me after that, have at 'er — K?"

I was a bit nervous, bit I nodded. How bad could it be? I was tough.

"Ok," he said. "I'm not gonna kick you. I'm just gonna give you one little rap, so you know what it feels like. You got it? You remember this, when you kick me again." I nodded again.

With one hand Clark grabbed my balls through my thin shorts (I was glad my semi-hard dick had shrunk a bit in my nervousness) and held them loosely in his palm. He made a fist with his other, and — it's true, I could tell he was being gentle — whapped then once.

He looked up at me, gauging my reaction. For a split second it didn't feel like much, and then.... all the air left the room. It wasn't fun any more. I buckled and held my poor virgin balls, but the feeling just got worse. 

Clark looked kind of alarmed, despite himself, but just watched me and sad nothing. I had never felt anything like it. I was on the ground holding them and whimpering.

For a minute or two it was like this, and then it turned a corner and I started to feel better. Clark stood up and looked down at me. "OK, there, champ?"

I nodded and started to get up, embarrassed.

"Hurts, doesn't it?"

I nodded again, still sensitive.

"You still want to have another go at mine?"

I looked up at him, trying to tell what he was thinking. His face was mostly expressionless, with some traces of concern... but I thought I could see a twinkle in his eye.

I nodded. "Yeah. I do."

He grinned and shook his head. "Attaboy. All right then. There's a few things you're gonna want to know. Give me your hand."

He unzipped, took out his balls and put them in my palm.

"Now give them a little squeeze."

I did, but they slipped out of my grip.

"Now, you see they're pretty wily little bastards. If you want it to really hurt, you've gotta make sure they have nowhere to go. Try again."

I did, this time looping my index finger and thumb around the base to keep the nuts trapped in my grip. I squeezed slowly and watched Clark's brown eyes cloud over, until finally he emitted a little sigh at a pitch higher than he generally spoke. 

"Right," he said, removing my hand and putting his balls back inside his shorts. "If you have them in your hand, it's pretty easy to figure that out. But it's a bit trickier when you're stepping on them through my shorts, or even sometimes when you're kicking, depending on the angle. It's not as easy to land a good kick as it is in the movies."

He lay down in front of me with his legs open, and his hands behind his head. 

"Now: have a go at stepping on them."

I stepped on his crotch and pressed down, but it didn't seem to have much effect, except making him smile that he still knew more than me.

"Exactly — you're actually stepping more on the bottom of my dick, and the balls are escaping below. Take off your shoe so you can really feel what you're working with."

I did, and began to probe his junk with my toes. I could feel the balls slipping away from my pressure. But it didn't take long before I'd found a way to keep them easily trapped against his body. 

"Aha!" he said, and a look something like fear crossed his face, "Now you've got 'em." I had approached somewhat from underneath and was pressing them up toward his belly. "Now you can see why she lifts his legs in the The Beverly Hillbillies."

I took that as a suggestion, lifting his legs by the ankles and, in homage to the movie we'd just watched the night before, I shouted, "The Hickory Nut Crunch!" and stomped down hard into the inviting bulge.

Clark let out a deep grunt, and his face contorted in pain... but he didn't try to take my foot away. So I ground it in, just like she had in the movie. It didn't make that cartoon crunching sound, but it felt amazing. My cock, which had been slowly hardening, sprang to life. Through his thin shorts I could feel the warmth of his manhood, totally in my control. And the look on his face was so sweet.

I kept grinding for a minute until he finally made an alarming, panicked squeaking noise — though it still seemed like he was trying to stop himself from interfering. 

When I took my foot off, he still lay there with his legs open. His hands were pressed against the ground, white-knuckled — not protecting his junk like I'd see in the movies. 

"Hey Clark — you OK man?"

For a second he didn't answer, and I was worried I'd done some serious damage. Then: "You like that, eh?"

I didn't know what to say, until he opened his eyes and looked at me, almost smiling, still sweating and breathing jaggedly and said, "I think you really like it." He glanced at my trousers where I'm sure my hardon was visible, but his eyes didn't linger.

"Yeah," I said under my breath.

"Good," he said. "From now on you don't have to clean anything first. I've needed someone around to do that to me for a long time. You up for it?"

"I... really? Yeah... course."

"I'm asking if you want to hang around here and hurt my balls whenever you want. Yeah?"

"Fuck. Yeah."

"Good," he said. His legs were still open. "Now, why don't put your shoe back on and see if you can find that sweet spot again."

I did as I was told. This time my foot seemed to find the way all on its own. But instead of just pounding away this time, I gauged my pressure application on watching Clark's face. I wanted to go slow and draw it out. I didn't want to make him yelp and have to stop.

I pumped his sensitive area for what seemed like hours but was probably only about ten minutes, until finally after one particularly effective press and slide combo he cried out and jerked away reflexively. 

I watched him roll on the ground, silently holding himself, and I thought I needed to cum or I would die. My cock felt like it was burning a hole through my shorts.

As if he could tell what I was thinking without looking, Clark said through gritted teeth,

"Go ahead and deal with that if you need to. Doesn't bother me."

In relief I pulled it out and jerked off in record time, watching his red face grimace and running my eyes across the hair of his belly where his undershirt rode up. 

When I was done Clark was sitting up, looking remarkably serene. "Let's get some dinner, yeah?"

END OF CHAPTER I