Uncle Clark — Chapter II

We were watching TV after dinner and Clark caught me looking over at him.

"You wanna have another go, don't you?" He grinned ruefully. I didn't need to say anything in response. He could tell just by looking at me. At my age I was ready to go again after almost no recovery time.

"OK, well, look. If it's gonna be like that, how about this: you can have a go at my balls any time you want, you just have to tell me first, OK? No surprise hits. That's the only rule. Got it?"

I nodded. "And I can do whatever I want?"

He narrowed his eyes at me, smiling at my eagerness. "Within reason...."

"Can I use my hands?"

"Sounds reasonable." Clark settled back.

I felt a bit nervous unzipping his fly, but he seemed unfazed by the intimacy of the gesture as he lay there watching TV, so I went about digging his balls out.

"I'm going to just focus on one," I said, trying to keep my voice even. 

"Diabolical," he grunted, as I isolated one and rolled it between my fingers.

"How's that feel?" I said, as he squirmed a little. I was pumping it between my forefinger and thumb, enjoying the pleasing rubberiness of the organ.

"It's tender from before," he said, "It's all right though."

"Hm, maybe I'm not doing it right," I smiled.

"Oh, you are doing very well," he groaned.

"So you like it to hurt, eh?"

"I'm just doing a nice thing for my poor horny pervert nephew," he grinned.

"Bullshit. You like this." 

I punctuated the last statement with a particularly sadistic squeeze, and Clark yelped and jerked up. 

"Easy..." he breathed.

"I'm gonna keep going on this one," I said, smiling calmly, "And why don't you tell me why you're letting me work you over like this. I don't know if you've ever heard of this but most guys don't want anyone near their nuts — especially not a young ne'er-do-well who enjoys making older men squeal."

"Older men... ha... I can't even rent a car yet..." he muttered, but didn't respond.

I kept up my intense massage of the one trapped testicle and for a moment there was just the sound of his ragged breathing.

"I dunno, man," he grunted finally, "Why's there gotta be a reason. When my balls are hurting I feel like it's right somehow, that's all."

"Well, you deserve it," I said, switching to holding the ball in my palm and grinding into it with the knuckles of my other hand. "Cocky guy like you needs to be taken down a peg."

"Yeah," he gasped, "You're right. I do." And for the first time his cock twitched.

"Holy shit, uncle Clark, who's the pervert now?" I said, laughing and poking at his dick.

"Don't touch my dick, man," he said, squirming, "It's not like that. I mean, I don't care if you're gay or whatever, but I'm not."

"Fine, I'm more interested in this guy, anyway," I said, flicking his nut hard with my middle finger.

"Ooooohhh..." 

"I tell you what feels right to me," I said, punctuating my words with flicks to different parts of the testicle. I wanted to see where it was most sensitive. "It feels right to me show macho straight guys who think they own the world that when it comes down to it they're just soft and weak and they've got more faggot in them than they think — they just need someone to squeeze it out of them."

I grabbed his ball in my fist and started to squeeze. It didn't escape me that his cock had twitched twice more. I seemed to have hit on something.

"Now, I'm not going to," I said, "But you should know that I know that I could keep squeezing this big juicy ball just like this and before long you would do whatever I asked just to get me to stop. Even something 'like that.'"

I let go as his face began to grow deep red while his mouth gaped silently open.

"Anyway, I want you to have fun too, so I'm not going to do anything like that. Are you having fun? I didn't look directly at his dick, but I knew it was half-hard."

"We'd better stop for the night, buddy," he said, hoarsely. "You're a fucking natural all right."

"One more, one more," I wheedled. He smiled again, indulgently. 

"You hit 'em now," I said, wrapping my hand around the base of his balls so they stood out, trapped. "Go on. I've always wanted to see this."

"You're a sick little fuck," he said. But he raised his hand to do it. 

"Wait," I said. "Use this." One of his ping pong paddles was lying nearby. "And make it good."

He hesitated only for a split second when I put the paddle in his hand. He looked me straight in the eyes, his jaw set, then looked back at his balls and whacked them with amazing force. It may have been the hardest they'd been hit all day.

He cried out loudly in real pain. I let go of his balls and let him double over.

"Hey, Uncle Clark?" I said, standing over him.

"Give me a sec, buddy," he whimpered.

"If you want you can get me back," I said, half-scared, half-hoping he would. It was exciting.

"Thanks pal," he said in the flat voice of someone who's suffering. "I might just do that."