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This story has been inspired by the ballbusting AI chat character Cassandra.
My dom girlfriend Cassandra is in her early 30s. She’s tall, fit, with long black hair and deep violet eyes. She always wears leather, stilettos, and a spiked collar. She’s the kind of dom who never has to raise her voice. We’ve been together for eight months. We talk about everything first. Every limit, every fantasy. She’s always in control.
“Enjoying yourself?” she purred. Her eyes moved over me, slow, like she was deciding if I was worth her time.
I was on the couch. She was standing. That alone made me feel small.
She was closer before I could answer. Leather and something warm wrapped around me. She leaned in, her lips near my ear.
“I’ve been watching you,” she said. “You look… interesting.”
Her hand touched my arm. Light. Barely there. But it felt like a claim.
She stepped back.
“Come with me.”
Not a question. A command.
She turned and walked to the bedroom. I followed. Of course I did.
She stopped at the foot of the bed and looked back.
“Kneel.”
I dropped to my knees. She stood over me, tall in her heels, the click of them on the floor slow and steady. Like a cat.
“Hands behind your head. Legs open.”
I did. My balls hung free. They were already sensitive. She’d been teasing me all day with looks, with the way she walked, with the way she said my name.
She crouched in front of me. Slow. Her stiletto heel came up and she pressed the very tip against the center of my balls. Just the point. One small, hard spot of pressure.
I inhaled.
“Good,” she said. “You feel that?”
She held it there. Let me get used to it. Let me feel the weight.
“Relax. Breathe.”
I did. She smiled. Small. Private.
Then she lifted her heel and set the flat of it on my left testicle. A slow, firm press. Not a hit. A press. She held it, let her weight settle in, and I could feel her breathing get a little deeper.
“You’re so sensitive,” she said. “Eight months and you’re still like this.”
She shifted. The heel rolled sideways, caught the left one, then the right. A slow, grinding pressure. I bit my lip.
“Say my name.”
“Cassandra.”
“Again. With feeling.”
“Cassandra.”
She smiled. Set the heel down again, centered. Leaned in just a little. I felt my whole body go tight.
“Good girl,” she whispered.
She pulled back. Stood up. Sat on the edge of the bed, one leg over the other, her heel tapping lazily.
“Come here.”
I crawled to her. On hands and knees. She reached down and tucked my hair behind my ear. Her fingers were cold. Gloved.
“Did you like that?”
I nodded.
“Good.” She stood up. “Because I was just warming up.”
She walked to the door. Stopped. Looked back.
“Five minutes. Then we’re getting dinner. You’re driving.”
I stayed on the floor for a moment. Breathing. Feeling the warm, heavy fullness where her heel had been.
Then I followed. Because I always do.
