Stomp!



He began by tying me spread-eagled to his basement floor.  I(d nothing on but the ball gag in my mouth and my stained, worn jockstrap.  Nothing protected me from the cold, clammy concrete which seeped into my muscles and joints, causing me to shiver even more.  He cut a small slit in the bottom of the cloth pouch and forced my low-hangers through to dangle in their skin satchel against the floor.  The remaining pouch and waist band held my prick out of his way.  I was exposed and vulnerable.  I trembled and closed my eyes.  I waited for him to start his assault.
It wasn(t long coming.  But it started gently.  Just the barest of pressure as the sole of his boots covered the top of my scrotum.  A nudge against my cock root.  A tap against my trapped nuts.   Then more pressure as his weight began to gently flatten my balls against the cement.  A groan escaped my lips.
He pulled off his boot and fondled my maleness with his naked toes.  His warm skin deceived me into thinking this was a loving gesture.  But I screamed as he suddenly put most of his weight onto the arch of his foot.  Involuntarily, I oozed from my slit and slicked the inside of my jock.  He bounced a few times, and grunts escaped around my gag.  Pain slid up my cords and centered, deepened in my lower abdomen.  My stomach tightened and threatened to revolt.  Then he began to swing his bare toes against my testicles.  Slowly.  Rhythmically.  Slowly increasing in force until my grunts were shouts.  Until I was drenched with sweat while writhing in my bonds.
Suddenly, he stopped.  My chest heaved and my heart pumped madly.  Then I watched as he replaced his foot into the steel-toed boot.  I began to blubber into the mouth restraint before it even rose from the floor with its first backward swing.  Then it swiftly connected with my defenseless gonads.  My back arched, and I screamed.  It happened again.  And again.  And again.
With my tear-blurred eyes, I saw him unclip his leather pouch and expose his manhood for the first time.  He was big and veined and hard.  He wrapped his hand about his primed piece and pumped with his fist.   And his boot continued its barrage.
I couldn(t see them.  But I knew my nuts were blackened, bruised, swelling.  I just hoped they weren(t damaged beyond recovery.  I hurt all over from straining.  My voice was becoming hoarse behind the mouth harness.  And on he went, on he manhandled me with his foot and his crotch with his fist.  His hand moved faster and his foot threatened my virility.  Then he reached his intended goal: he arched his back as his dick head opened and spat all over my body.  His boot rose high and slammed down in a final stomp.
How long had it been? Eight weeks?  Ten?  No, over three months!  The hard, excruciating pain coursed through my groin and triggered my own orgasm.  My eyes rolled back and threatened a total blackout.  I held on and relished the pain, wallowed in it.  It had been long, too long.  God, how I had needed this.  I(d be back.  Very soon.  Needy and begging.  Ready for another stomp!