Do You Have The Balls To Come Play @ Mardi Gras II?

I’m in the strip club a couple weeks ago. It’s a Friday night and there are people everywhere. Most of the patrons are young and there with friends. The place feels like a bachelor party. It’s packed and I know there is money to be made but it isn’t finding it’s way into my G-string. I’m dressed in a black fishnet body stocking and I’m wearing glasses. I’m hustling, I’m going round and round the club, I’m getting pretty sick of 22 year old dudes calling me babe. I’m thinking that I’m about to walk out and say goodbye to this strip club. I’m feeling done, over it.
And that’s when a nice looking middle-aged waspy sort sat down at the stage and put three five dollar bills in front of me. I started dancing for him and said hello. He knew who I was. He told me that he has been sending me emails and how excited he is to finally meet me.

When I got off the stage we drank, talked, and headed to the lap dance area. I took his money and kicked him in the balls. We did several dances where I just kept kicking him and spitting on his face. I got up on him and through my panties let a little bit of piss out. Just enough to get him wet. No one would have noticed. It was just a little, then a little more. He was quite wet when it was time for me to get back on stage.

We went back to the lap dance area for more ball kicking. I started using my giant shoes to kick him with. At some point my nine-inch heel ripped with through his pants. We looked at it and laughed.

I told him to meet me in the parking lot for a drink. I went into the dressing room and grabbed a jacket, and some more practical shoes. I headed out the back door and found him in the lot. “Get on your knees and open your mouth” I demanded. I had no time for piss games so I just let it al out. I drenched him, his clothes, his hair. He was soaked. I was happy.

Before I left the club for the night I got a text message saying that when my heel had ripped his pants it had also ripped his scrotum. He was in a little bit of pain. “Ouch,” said the text. I laughed. My heel ripped his balls open. Holy shit. He should have worn underwear or a stronger pair of jeans.
I giggled and though nothing more about it until the next day when another text informed me that he had needed stitches. Oh My, I thought. I hope he is alright.

He sent an email later in the day telling me that the DR. had to glue his scrotum back together. He informed me that he had been having so much fun that he failed to notice that he was bleeding from the balls.
He closed the email saying all sorts of wonderful things about how much fun it was. Then suggested that I can name and call him whatever I like.

I’m calling him Glue Balls.

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