Fuuuuck You /ksg/

Most ponder their existence.

They spend hours, days, months, YEARS contemplating every single thing to try and figure their motivation for being. To figure out what it is exactly that drives them to continue living, what gets them out of bed in the morning, and what keeps them from leaping off the nearest cliff to their death.

Not Misha’s balls.

No, they knew their existence.

Their “existence” was to carry the burden of Misha’s load. The creamy, off-white, slimy textured semen that had been building up for almost a month now, and expanding the shaven (and moisturized) skin taught. The load was almost too much to bear, and it was a testament to their resolve that each movement didn’t cause them to bust open.

Truly they were the strongest things on Earth.

But now… even their hardened resolve was being tested…

Each thrust of Misha’s hips sent them flying, colliding into the pale thighs of the woman she was rutting with, her engorged cock slamming into the poor girl’s pussy as Misha moaned in ecstasy.

“OhhhhmmmmyyyyyyGAAAAAWWWWWWD~!” she moaned, reeling back for another deep plunge.

“M-Misha please! T-That’s too DEEP!” the girl responded, a gasp escaping her mouth quickly afterward when Misha’s rock-hard member dove into her again.

It was as if each pump was in slow motion for them, swinging backwards, then forwards, making another loud slap, this time against the girl’s mound. This is the new target, and each consecutive thrust sends the engorged orbs back to that same spot to make the same rhythmic pounding noise. Misha’s pace starts to increase, causing the slamming increase as well, and the balls start to tighten in fear that they’ll split open from the force.

Then, in an instant, their burden is lifted.

The order is issued, millions of sperm rush out of the confines of her testicles, the proverbial floodgates opened and the deluge filling up the girl’s battered hole.

The balls wipe their imaginary brow, another days work finished, and they slumber in the short respite they’re given, knowing that by tomorrow they’ll be filled again with that strange brew.