Relationship Goals: A Vignette

The things I would give to have my balls mangled
beyond repair by a woman like this...

     Tracey's buxom mother walked in on me lying on our bed, jerking my cock furiously into an old, sweaty gym sock of hers.
     "You dirty, little boy," she smirked as she walked over to me. "Sometimes I forget how horny men 30 years younger than me can be. There will be none of that while I'm using that cock. That cum belongs to me. You need to be punished."
     "But Tracey let me jerk into her socks all the time!"
     "Well then," she began. Swatting my hands away from my throbbing cock, cupping my balls with her delicate feminine left hand. "I guess I should make clear-" She balled up her right hand into a fist.
     "I'm." *crunch* "Not." *crackle* "My." *snap* "Daughter."
     She left her right hand buried deep into my balls and ground it into her palm, trying to meet her hands through my delicate meat. I was keening a high-pitched squeal. Inconsolable.
     "That should teach you, boy." She let go of my balls and I collapsed into myself.
     She pulled up her skirt and raised a bent leg up onto the bed. She placed her delicate, feminine foot onto my balls and leaned into me, bringing her face close to mine. I cried out in anguish as her soft sole crushed my very being. I arched my back, rigid with pain.
     "Open your mouth," she snapped. I complied, overcome by the pain in my precious organs.
     She spat into my mouth, I tasted her before swallowing hungrily.
     "Thank you," I whined. She ground her foot back and forth like she was putting out a cigarette.