Someone To Kick In The Balls

Shortly after I tweeted that I wanted to kick someone in the balls all night, mr sore nuts came skipping into the building. I’m sure he had a time of finding of me. Luckily he knew to ask for The Dancer Friday, because otherwise he never would have found me in the packed club.

There were hundreds of people there. Two ballers sat in the VIP area looking rather dejected. A party bus rolled in with 40 people from the local sanitarium. College kids, local constructions workers, the slew of wanna be gang bangers, some bitchy non-stripper women, and the seventy or so dancers and employees that were constantly failing to give a shit about the crowd. They seemed a lost cause to so many of us.

A low profile tong rolled into the VIP area sipping drinks with no labels. Just random unidentified liquor, like it was prohibition. The spokesperson designated to speak to the dancers assured me that the men were all respectable Buddhists. I’m always on guard when someone tells me they are a Buddhist in a sex work situation. It’s almost as if telling a stripper you are Buddhist is code for elitist and unaware, though self-enlightened. One of them tried to finger me.

But then came johnie tough nuts. After the bouncer hunted me down and told me that the lone biker in the corner was looking for me, I headed over not sure if I should expect anything worth my effort of walking the ten steps to where he sat. I wore a hideous blond wig and a neon pant suit. I must have looked like a crack whore from the 1970s. I’m not sure he really thought it was me at first.

“I read your blog and your tweet” he said through his bushy mustache. Feeling me out, hoping that he didn’t get the wrong dancer. “So what can I do for you?” I inquired, “ball kicking, golden showers, face slapping, or something more timid, like a lapdance?” “I came hoping you were serious about the ball kicking” he spat out.

I smiled and leaned into his ear. “How much money do you have and how much pain can you take?” I asked. “Money is not an issue for me and I’m a pretty serious masochist” he said. Getting out his mobile phone he showed me pics of some swollen, bondage bound, pierced, weighted, and cut balls that he assured me belonged to him. I smiled and stood up took his hand and headed to the champagne room.

I explained to the room host that we might be making some painful and silly noises. She looked perplexed. “Tip her” I told the masochist. He put a $50 in her basket and we went to the room furthest in the back.

For the next two hours I kicked, punched, jabbed my heel into his sac. I watched him fall over in pain. I laughed. At some point the host asked if we were alright. “Yes, but if you could send in Jezebel when she is available, we would like to have her play too.” “Of course” said the host, and away she went.

When jezebel arrived we played tug of war with his balls. I used my garter and some rubber bands for some elaborate cock and ball bondage. We kicked and poked. We used body parts to hurt him and then when we were tired I got some props out of my locker. I happened to have a cb3000 in my locker and before he left I locked him in it and told him to return with a thousand dollars in 24 hours if he wanted me to unlock him. His swollen, bloody engorged sack didn’t want to fit in the chastity belt. But I got it in there.

Once he was locked up he started to panic and whimper about his wife. I just laughed. “See you in 24 hours” I said as I turned and left him there in the champagne room to deal with his little world.

I guess I should go to the Cadillac Lounge tonight.

I hope I see you there.

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