Recently, Amber and I watched one of those “challenge” videos online, and I could tell it immediately set the gears turning in her brain. I’m sure you’ve seen videos like it. Sometimes the guy says he’ll eat a dozen peppers that have been proven to be dangerously high on the Scoville scale. Other times a daredevil proposes to walk barefoot over hot coals. It’s always something outlandish, even a little silly. But it’s never anything you’d commit to lightly.

The video Amber and I saw was definitely geared to adults. Basically, the video’s subject said he would take punishment to his balls. No kicking or anything like that. He proposed sitting crotch-first on some extremely uncomfortable metal whatsit, something that dug right into his junk. Moreover, he said he’d do it for a minimum of one hour.

When I heard this, the first thing I thought was: What if there was a woman involved? I could tell from the look on Amber’s face that my lady had the same idea. We’d been together about two years and had known each other for maybe a year longer than that. We shared a fascination with various kinds of bondage and discipline — especially when administered by a beautiful, cruel woman. Amber — tall and stately with golden hair and a sly, feline smile — certainly fit the bill for me. During our relationship, I had “suffered” much at her hands. I had freezing menthol gel slathered on my nipples, endured inhumanly tight bondage and lengthy spankings. For me, they were all incredible turn-ons, yet I can’t deny they each had an element of challenge to them. In a way, they were not so different from what our online friend was entertaining.

Amber turned to me as the video was ending. In case you’re wondering, the guy’s “challenge” ultimately went badly. He quit after only a few minutes of the whatever-it-was grinding into his nads. Well, I couldn’t blame him. He didn’t have the love of a good — or should I say evil? — woman to cheer him on.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Amber asked with a sly smile.

“I sure am,” I said. “I think we should make a video to show these guys just what kind of competition is out there.”

“Great minds think alike,” Amber replied. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

The next day was Friday. I spent some time looking into the ins and outs of making a simple video and posting it on the platform we usually watched. Meanwhile, Amber bought a stand for her smartphone and a couple of sequined masks to ensure our identities remained private, as well as a few other props. I set up her phone’s video camera, and we were off to the races.

“I’m Mistress Aliya,” Amber said, using her favorite dominatrix name. She looked gorgeous in a sleek black suit. It was something that could have taken her from the boardroom to the dungeon. “And this is my slave, X.”

I was wearing my mask, a thong and nothing else.

“X has agreed to endure pain to his balls to prove his devotion to me,” Amber explained, stroking my head. “This will be the first of several videos documenting his tribulations.” She offered no more information than that. The slight arrogance in her voice pleased us both, I think.

“The first ordeal is by clothespin,” Amber announced. She held aloft a plastic bag filled with spring-hinged wooden clothespins. I think she had gotten them from the hardware store down the street from our apartment. I couldn’t imagine anyone but practicing dommes would have any use for them these days — or maybe housewives looking for something to hold a bag of potato chips shut. Even so, to anyone who knew what she planned on using them for, they were definitely kind of formidable-looking. They were like a bag of little jaws, just waiting to bite down on something tender. I was nervous, but I stood up like a good slave, placed my hands at the small of my back and patiently waited for her to begin.

Amber selected one clothespin and squeezed it open between her thumb and forefinger. A moment later, I felt it clamp down on me through my thong. Amber couldn’t open it wide enough to fit an entire testicle, of course, but it squeezed shut quite easily on a fold of skin as well as the thin material covering it.

Then the thrilling pain blossomed.

The clothespin wasn’t anything that could cause lasting harm. But it did hurt, to a degree that even I found a little startling. Still, I maintained a stoic expression for the camera.

“Do you like it, slave?” Amber purred.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said dutifully. “Please, may I have some more?”

“Of course,” she said. I soon received a second, and then a third clothespin. A fourth followed, then a fifth. Amber arranged the wooden pegs carefully around my balls. When she’d finished, my red-sheathed scrotum was bristling with them. The feeling was indescribable. Even though I was wearing my best utterly impassive look, it took some effort to maintain it.

Amber ran the tips of her long nails lightly over my sac. I gasped loudly, throwing back my head. Maybe I was exaggerating a bit for effect, but not completely. The delicious sensations worked to accent the pain of the clothespins.

I eased myself back onto a pile of pillows, giving myself over completely to the gentle agony of Amber’s fingernails. There was enough pleasure in her actions that I wondered if I’d come from it. Occasionally, Amber would tug on a clothespin or give one a quick flick with her nail, sending a powerful jolt blazing through me. I felt myself trying to build up enough internal momentum to spill my nuts, but concentrating on ecstasy was difficult. I tried to focus on Amber’s body, on her heaving boobs, flat belly, and long legs. But the throbbing pain would impinge on my thoughts, and then I had to start all over again.

I eventually became aware that Amber was bringing the video session to an end. She leaned over the phone, telling our prospective viewers in a sexy purr that part two would be available soon. And that was it. She plucked the clothespins off my junk one by one, making me jerk just a bit with discomfort each time. Then she was caressing and kissing my throbbing balls through my undies. I could very easily have squirted. In fact, I noticed a damp spot slowly darkening the red fabric of the thong as my pre-come flowed freely.

“That was so hot,” she said softly. “Can’t wait for part two.”

I was hoping she would let me come, but she didn’t. I can’t blame her — that would have been too easy.

I had to wait a week for our second performance. We did it on a Friday night again, but I worked late that day and had to rush home. I had no time to think about the video. There was no time to do anything but strip down to my trusty thong and get my ass in front of the camera.

This time, she stretched me out spread-eagle on our bed with my wrists cuffed securely over my head and my legs spread wide. I was probably imagining it, but I felt like my balls were slightly bigger than usual — almost as if they were swelling with simmering sexual energy.

“How do they feel, slave?” she asked, as though reading my thoughts. She leaned over and covered my throbbing balls with her mouth, sucking gently on my sac.

“Good,” I mumbled, shifting my weight on the bed. “Real good.”

“Yeah,” Amber said with a throaty chuckle. “I’ll bet they feel real good, bad boy.”

And then, before I could reply or even think about what was happening, Amber worked her way up my body until her crotch was directly over my nads. Then she slammed herself down, crushing my balls under the weight of her.

Now, when I say crush, I don’t mean she flattened them or anything. But she did use quite a bit of force by pushing down and grinding on my junk. My cock was squeezed between Amber and my belly as she leaned over me, and all it took was a slight movement from her to breathtakingly squash my balls. It was easy to imagine that at any moment my mistress would rise and let my cock spring up, positioning my swollen knob to find a slit in her panties that was just big enough to give it entry and allow us to fuck.

But that didn’t happen. She kept lifting her ass and slamming it down, making me cry out with each new application of pressure. I could tell my reaction was getting Amber excited. Her skin was getting warmer, and I could smell the sweet scent of her perspiration. Meanwhile, my poor balls were paying the price. I imagined them purple and swollen like a pair of slightly overripe plums.

“Oh yeah, you like that. Don’t you, my little piggies?” Amber growled fiercely. It took me a minute to realize she wasn’t speaking to me, but to our future audience. “A couple of you,” she went on, breathing heavily, “told me in the comments that you really wanted to see Slave X here come. I’m sure he agrees with that sentiment. But I think we’d better find a new angle for torturing his poor sac because, honestly, if I keep going on like this, I might just fuck the crap out of him. So, let’s see… ”

With that, Amber stood up on the bed and placed the sole of her shoe on my fabric-covered crotch, positioning it just so. She was wearing a pair of brand-new stilettos, and I could smell the sweet scent of their new leather. I groaned, feeling like I might become a victim of sensory overload, and then, with exquisite slowness, Amber began grinding her foot down on me.

It was good. Oh God, it was good! The pressure was intense. Her heel was positioned perfectly to dig into my balls, and her sole deliciously tormented my cock. The pain, I thought, might become too much. But then suddenly two weeks of denial came to an end, and I was wailing as my balls emptied themselves, soaking my thong and moistening Amber’s sole.

We never made a part three. But we’ve got plans to reboot the series, and when I say reboot, I’m not kidding! Amber just bought a kick-ass pair of boots, and my balls began to ache just from looking at them!