Marco Can Learn written by Jimmy

 

Marco Can Learn

 

by Jimmy

 

https://ballbustingboys.blogspot.com/2025/11/a-fathers-loving-lesson-written-by-jimmy.html (Part 1)

The afternoon sun beats down on the water, turning the surface to shimmering diamond dust spraying all around. Marco Gomez, Gino and Jayden's Dad is standing in the gentle ocean beside Will Brady, father to Bill and the adoptive father of Sam Hell, aka the Devil Boy. The two older men glide through the gentle swell, the cool Atlantic a welcome relief from the oppressive heat. Salt stings Marco's eyes and lips, the taste of summer and freedom. Will’s boys are further out, diving through waves, their laughter carrying across the water. Bill’s lean form cuts cleanly through the surf in those faded light blue speedos from his swim team that he wears all the time, stretched tight over a frame that's all wiry athletic frame of his. Sam, a flash of furious red eyes thrashes like a demon in a scrap of underwear that clings transparent when wet, revealing everything, just as he'd intends, loving how he can show off and gather attention from everyone nearby.

“You see that, Marco?” Will says, treading water beside him. He’s a powerful presence even here, salt dripping from his graying temples. He points with his chin toward Bill. “My first born, Bill has got speed, but no discipline. Needs to learn about consequence. And about my authority.” He lets that hang in the humid air for a moment. The real reason that Marco’s really here hangs in the air, and he nurses that private shame; which feels suddenly enormous. Last weekend, his own sons had him on your knees, literally, a painful, humiliating lesson in who was really in charge of your house and made him cum…while also painting his with their own spunk.

“And the other one,” Will continues, nodding toward Sam, who’s just kicked a jet of water directly into Bill's face. Bill yelps, more surprised than hurt. “That one’s all fight. Pure defiance. But defiance can be... redirected. Can be a tool.” Will’s eyes have a glint that Marco has seen before. The glint of a craftsman who knows exactly how to shape the will of other boys. “They think this water makes them free. But they’re still in my house, Marco. On my watch. There are rules everywhere.” He waits, letting the words settle, the distant shriek of the boys providing the only soundtrack. “Ready for your first lesson?”

Marco nods at Will, ready to begin. Will calls out to his sons, “Boys! Come here!”

The boys don’t hesitate, their splashing stopping immediately as their heads turn toward their Dad’s voice. They start swimming back, their movements now obedient, almost mechanical. Bill arrives first, pulling himself out of the water with the easy grace of a seasoned athlete, water sheeting off his lean torso and dripping from the tight fabric of his speedos. Bill’s developing chest muscles puff up, and Marco can see the younger boy trying to show off. He’s still the smallest in the group and his dime sized pink nipples seem to have shrunken to little small hard peaks from his time in the water.

Bill shades his pale blue eyes with his palm, and shows off his smooth armpit as he looks up at his Dad.

 “Yeah?” He breathes hard, his belly rising and falling quick from his time playing in the surf.

“I just wanted to show Marco, something. Now stay still” Will orders and slips beneath the waves.

Bill’s eyes roll, “I bet he is going to try and spook me” Bill says, mirth on his face as he pushes his mops of wet hair out of his face as his Dad swims around him, like a shark readying for an attack.

Sam Hell comes up, his red eyes so disorienting pauses to search Will Brady as he asks “Where is...?”

But Bill yelps, his eyes cross and Marco spots it. Just beneath the surface of the water Will Brady’s hand has his son’s speedo front in hand, and his large fingers seem to be engulfing the kid’s small lump in front of his speedos. The bulge squishes between his spread fingers and he causes Bill to yelp again, just as his eyes start to cross a wave crashes over them all.

When Marco surfaces, he spots Sam Hell at the shore line having ridden in the wave, but Will still has his sons balls in a tight nut claw. Will is standing now next to his son, and Bill is looking up at him as he knees knock together.

“D—Dad?” Bill’s bottom lip quivers, his fingers are wide and squeezing into fists as he splutters and spits out a mouth full of sea water.

“See it’s that easy” explains Will, his hand pulling on and up Bill’s light blue covered pouch just above the water to show off how he is squeezing his own son’s nuts. “Surprise works well.” Will’s grin is wide. “But not always. Sometimes you need to show them you mean business, that you have all the cards.”

The grip on Bill’s testicles tightens, visible even from where Marco floats. Bill’s face contorts, a silent gasp stolen by the wash of another wave. His knees give out completely, and he would have gone under if not for Will’s firm hold on him, a perverse form of support. Will’s other hand now rests on the back of Bill’s neck, a casual display of possession.

“You see, Marco,” Will says, his voice calm and conversational, as if discussing the weather. “You have to make them understand that their body can betray them at any time.  Even from you. And should show how you can punish them…when they need it.” He gives another sharp squeeze. Bill yelps again, a choked, desperate sound. “Or for no reason at all. Sometimes…it’s just for fun.”

Bill’s hands flail uselessly, slapping at the water. His breath comes in ragged, hitching gulps of air. The look in his pale blue eyes is one of pure, shocked betrayal, but beneath it, Marco sees something else. Something like… understanding.

“Can...can I?” Marco asks uncertainly. Coming up next to the father and son, his own hand on Bill’s hip the smooth skin is slightly cool against his touch from the ocean. “You make it look so simple, Will.”

“That’s cause it is. Now go ahead, you try.” Will shifts his hand and places Bill’s testicles in his hand.

Marco marvels at the gift as Bill complains softly, “But Dad...”

“Hush” Will says firmly. “He has to learn,” and then to Marco he says, “Feel them, get to know them. Each boy is different, but they all have that same weak spot. They think they’re tough, they think they’re fast, but right here,” He points to Marco's closed fist. “They are all the same.”

Marco’s fingers close around the small, tender orbs. The sensation is intimate and shocking. He can feel the texture of the thin, wet fabric, the fragile shapes beneath. There’s a strange power thrumming up his arm, a current of control that feels both alien and deeply, shamefully right. Bill whimpers, his entire body tensing against Marco’s grip. The material on the slim speedos is so thin that it feels like he has Bill’s bare testicles in his hand.

“Easy now,” Will murmurs, like a coach teaching a new swing. “Don’t just squeeze. Listen. Feel him respond. You can feel the panic, can’t you? That’s what you want. But you don’t want to break the toy. Just... recalibrate it.”

Marco tightens his fingers, experimentally. Bill’s breath catches, a high-pitched whine escaping his lips. His body jerks, a fish on a hook. “Oh man...” he gasps out, the word swallowed by a wave. “My…ooo…shit, Dad. He’s got…you know. Can we….ugggh, please…”

“Please, what?” Will prompts, his voice still that even, paternal tone. Coaching his son on what to do next, and how to respond accordingly. Bill’s face is a mask of pain and confusion, his big eyes begging as the saltwater drips down his cheeks.

“Please... sir?” he stammers, the honorific clumsy and new on his tongue. He looks from Marco’s face to Will's, seeking guidance, permission.

“Good boy,” Will says, a flicker of approval in his eyes. He looks at Marco. “See? He’s learning. He understands the new rules of the game. Your rules. Now, Marco. Make him do something. Something he doesn’t want to do. A small act of surrender.”

Marco’s mind races, the possibilities dizzying. He looks at Bill’s face, as he puffs out his cheeks, his eyes wide with pain. At the slight, Bill’s athletic body trembling under his touch. The power is absolute. He tightens his grip, not hard enough to damage, just enough to make the point crystal clear. Bill moans out, a sharp, animal sound.

“On your knees, Bill” Marco says, the words feeling strange and powerful in his mouth. “Right here. In the water.”

Bill hesitates, a flicker of defiance in his tearing eyes. Marco doesn’t wait. He squeezes, hard, a swift, sharp shock of pain that buckles Bill's legs. The boy collapses into the water with a splash, sputtering, the sand scraping against his knees. He looks up, utterly submissive. Waiting for the next command.

“And that,” Will says, placing a proud, heavy hand on Marco’s shoulder. “Is how you start.”

The water rushes over them again, covering Bill again as Sam Hell swims up to them, and he glares at Marco. “What is this about...?” The defiance in his voice, the coldness is almost felt and Marco turns to him meeting his unbelievable fierceness in his gaze.

Sam pulls up Bill and he starts to cough, swimming away a little and cupping his small bulge.

Matter-of-factly, Will answers him. “I’m just teaching, Mr. Gomez an important lesson son...that's all.”

Sam Hell turns the glare to Will and Marco must admit as Sam Hell puffs up his chest, the boldness of him might make his reconsider things. Sam Hell almost bumps his chest against Will’s, and he gives the hard look right back at his foster son, eyes him once up and down taking him in. Marco does the same. At seventeen, Sam Hell is one hell of a specimen. His chest is like a man’s, a few dark black nipple hairs are splattered and cling to his pecs from the recent waves, and the trail leading to his belly button and below to the small forest just above his cock. The white underwear does not leave much to the imagination. Sam’s almost manhood impresses Marco, and he can't help but feel his own and knows how much more the older boy measures up. Sam Hell is at half-mast but he growls, low in his throat and the sound seems to extend as he takes in Will Brady right back.

“We are done using Bill. Not for this little game. Swim back to shore, Bill.” Sam Hell says through his teeth.

Bill hesitates only for a moment and is gone. He dives under the water and swims away just like a fish.

“If...if you must, use me as the example. Not Bill, my balls. My devil coins,” Sam corrects, “They are indestructible.”

Marco's eyes widen, surprise on his face. “Really?”

“Yeah, I have been put to the test many times. My coins can take it.” Sam Hell turns to slowly pull down his undies, showing off his scrotum. “I can take it.” Sam Hell seems resolute as he juts his groin out, and Marco frowns uncertain.

“Then...well, what would you suggest now, Will?”

Will answers with hard sideways punch to Sam’s bare balls, his fist hits the scrotum, smashing his devil coins against his left tight and pressing his knuckles deeper into the scrotum until the nuts slip out the sides. Sam Hell grunts, his back dips, just a bit but already in a blink he is back to full height.

“See?” Sam Hell says, his abdomen tightening a little. “I have balls harder than diamonds, that’s why I call them my devil coins.” He looks Marco up and down. “You can try...if you dare.”

Marco is hesitant, the memory of Bill’s easy submission so fresh. But Will gives him a small, sharp nod of encouragement. “Go on. You need to learn about different materials. Not all clay is the same.”

His hand feels clumsy, large. He reaches out, the wet skin of Sam’s scrotum hot against his palm. The testicles inside feel… dense. Solid. Not like Bill's fragile little globes. These are heavy, weighted things, nestled in a loose sack. He closes his fingers around them, more gently this time, testing the heft.

Sam Hell doesn't flinch. He just stares down at Marco's hand, a smirk playing on his lips. “That all you got, Mr. Gomez?”

The challenge is clear. Marco squeezes. He puts real pressure into it, the muscles in his forearm cording. He expects a cry, a whimper, or a collapse. He gets nothing. Sam’s breathing hitches, just for a second. A flicker in those impossible red gleaming eyes. Then the smirk returns, wider this time.

“My turn,” Sam says.

Before Marco can process the words, Sam's own hand darts out, fast as a snake.

Marco’s legs try to close down shop, protect his family jewels but Sam Hell...he is too fast. Sam Hell grabs his front, one nut per hand and when he gets a good feel for Marco’s nutsack and the size of his small balls, he can’t help but give him a pitying look.

“I thought Bill had small balls” Sam Hell smirks and he drives his thumbs straight into Marco's sack penetrating right into the center of his manly, underdeveloped testicles. Marco tenses, his handhold loosening. “You must have noticed when you held them, and more than likely Bill’s sack can still grow…not yours. This is all you are ever going to get.”

“Oh fu—fuck! Will! No...my balls!” Marco grabs his wrists trying to pull Sam Hell off, but he is locked in, legs firmly plants a part and he bares down on the small orbs, the result is like broken eggs and Marco goes to his tip toes and fights back a girlish wail.

Will Brady shakes his head “Come on, man. That’s...” Will sighs and taps Sam Hell’s shoulder. “That’s not the lesson he is here to learn, son. Let go.”

Sam Hell smiles wider, and gives a mean twist before he says “Anything that you say, pops.” Sam Hell loosens his grip until Marco can slip his balls free, but Sam’s thumbs scrape the undersides and Marco drops down to his knees, folding like a kicked metal folding chair and collapses under the next wave crashing over them.

Coming up spluttering he meets Sam Hell’s gaze, and the red fierce eyes meet his own and Marco can't help but cower.

“What lesson is he here for, pops...he certainly needs to learn more than one.”

“That may be...but he needs to learn how to bust a pair of strong balls. You have the strongest that I have ever seen” Will Brady says, and gives Sam's shoulder a tentative and reaffirming squeeze.

“Hell yes,” Sam says and pulls his underwear back up. “We done?”

“Not yet.” Will steps in front of Sam and pushes him back further to the beach, so that the water is at knee level. “Let me know when you are down flailing about like a kicked kitten, Marco. This is how you beat a man’s balls.”

“Devil coins” Sam Hell corrects.

“Heh, if you say so.”

Marco is still on his knees, the surf covering him as he cradles his nuts. The pain is unreal. Marco squeezes his eyes shut as a wave splashes above sending oodles of white foam swirling around the churning sea. He breathes again as he takes the surface and spots the father and son both waiting for him as his fingers are traced around the outline of his junk in his shorts.

“He…got me good” Marco admits, baring his teeth.

Sam Hell chuckles, “Usually I do.”

“He won’t do that again…most likely.” Will Brady waves him over, “Now come on, and give Sam a good kick.”

Marco nods and slowly gets up. The wave around him swirls and foams.

“Bring it” Sam Hell spreads his legs a bit wider in the surf, the wet fabric clinging and Marco watches as Sam Hell shifts his groin, letting out a small, almost excited laugh. “You have to hit them as hard as you can, so I can feel it.”

Marco hesitates, the throbbing in his own groin a sickening reminder of vulnerability. He looks from Sam’s challenging smirk to Will’s calm, expectant face. This is a test. Not of Sam, but of him. Of Marco’s willingness to follow through, to inflict the kind of pain he just endured, even if the target seems impervious. He plants his feet in the sand, the water swirling around his ankles. He draws back his leg, the muscles in his thigh tight with tension.

He aims.

His foot connects with a wet, solid thwack that echoes in the salty air. The impact travels up his leg, a jarring shock. He kicks as hard as he can, putting all his fear and humiliation into the single point of contact.

Sam Hell grunts. It’s a genuine, involuntary sound. For a split second, the smirk vanishes, replaced by a grimace of pure shock.

“Not…bad” Sam Hell admits, as he grits his teeth. Marcos foot is still lodged up in between his legs. Marco can see clearly both of Sam’s balls outlined in either side of his ankle. The usual oval shaped eggs seem to be warped from his assault, as his ankle stays firmly put in Sam’s groin. Marco feels a pulse in Sam’s sack and as he lowers his leg, Marco watches Sam’s nuts reform and slip back down to the bottom of his sack. He isn’t hard, or turned on like his own kids get when they ball bust, however a slight grimace comes from his smirking mouth. Just maybe it’s possible to crack the Devil coins after all.

“That was a good kick” Will says, his approval shining through as he nods. He reaches down, gently rubbing his fingers along Sam Hell’s sack. Sam moves his legs a bit. Widening his stance and giving Will more access. “They appear to be bloating…a bit.”

“Doubtful” Sam grunts, “They must be bigger since the last time you felt them.”

Will Brady laughs, “You think so.”

Marco clears his throat, and the other two look over at him. “Shall I go again?” Marco asks, keen to continue.

Sam Hell doesn’t move, it his eyes seem to widen a bit more as Will suggests, “A good knee is always a good classic option, and remember to grab the shoulders here and here.” Will shows Marco how swinging up his own leg, as he grabs hold of Sam but pausing just before he gets to Sam’s groin.

“Like that” he says low, his eyes locked in on Sam’s.

“Heh, yeah. I guess that would have been a good one.”

“Earth shatteringly so” Will adds. He steps back giving Marco space. “He’s ready…when you are.”

Back at the shore, Bill seems to be recovering a bit and standing at the water’s edge he stands on tippy toes trying to make out what is happening.

“Everything, alright? Sam!” Bill calls, the nervous voice cracks, showing off his adolescence and how unfinished he is with that stage.

“He won’t be soon” Marco grins, placing his hands on Sam Hell’s shoulders. He’s almost as tall as him, and Sam still doesn’t back down as he locks eyes with him. Marco feels the muscles tensing as he rears back his leg, and brings it up just like Will taught him but pausing at Sam’s pouch and giving the sack a slight tap.

“Looks like I’m ready.” He lets his hands drift down to Sam's bare chest, for better leverage, he reasons. “How about you?”

“The question is, Mr. Gomez, are you?” Sam says, as he reaches out and grabs Marco’s own small nut sack through the fabric of his swim trunks. He gives it a light squeeze, and Marco feels his knees go a little weak.

A cold dread washes over Marco, hotter and more immediate than the Atlantic around them. The memory of Sam’s thumbs, the sickening crack, floods back. For a terrifying second, he thinks Sam is about to repeat the performance, to finish the job. His hands, still on Sam’s chest, freeze. The power dynamic has flipped again, violently and without warning.

But Sam’s grip is different this time. It’s not the crushing vise from before. It’s possessive, a statement and one that he is succeeding in making. He holds Marco’s small balls like he holds a pair of dice, ready to roll, jiggling them a bit.

“Let him go, son,” Will's voice cuts through the tension. It’s calm, but there’s an edge of command that's impossible to ignore. “He's still learning.”

“Learning what?” Sam’s smirk returns, a predator showing its teeth. His red eyes hold Marco’s, as his thumbs twitch on the sensitive undersides of Marco’s small walnut sack, his fingers sliding around the pronounced wrinkles, and Marco feels a slight tickle but does not dare laugh.

Marco dry swallows, his hands clinging to Sam’s pecs and feels a slight twitch in his sleepy cock, and both he and Sam notice as it starts to lengthen.

“That all you got?” Sam Hell kids, his eyes full or humor, as one little finger tickles the head. “My pinky is about the same size,” Sam guesses voice quiet as can be. Sam lengthens the digit alongside Marco’s almost fully erect penis. “Maybe…longer, but I’m not sure if this finger is. It’s close though.”

Shame colors Marco’s red, almost the color of Sam’s eyes. Marco’s cheeks burn and he looks downward, trying to peel his eyes off of Sam’s hard knowing stare but then he sees his own erection as well as the slight tent in his swimming shorts. Hardly noticeable if not Sam’s finger curling beneath the ridge of the head. Marco fights the moan, but loses as it sneaks between his teeth.

Will Brady sighs, impatient. “Just knee him already, you don’t want to make a mess in that bathing suit do you?”

“I…” Marco starts, a wave breaks over them and Sam loosens his grip pulling his hands back behind his back, mouth stretching in a cat like grin.

“All yours. You know…if you’re still up for it.” Sam’s eyes find Marco’s erection before snapping up, grin widening. The teen is toying with him, and he knows it.

Marco is done being trifled with, it’s time for that knee. He grabs Sam Hell’s shoulders, the muscles solid as rock beneath his wet skin. He pulls him in close, their chests almost touching, the heat of their bodies a stark contrast to the cool water. He can feel Sam’s breath on his face, a taunting rhythm. He rears back his leg, ignoring the dull throb in his own groin, and drives his knee upward with all the force he can muster from this awkward stance.

It connects with a deep, resonant thud.

This is different from the kick. This is personal. Close. Brutal.

For the first time, the smirk on Sam Hell’s face vanishes completely. His eyes, which had been locked on Marco’s with predatory glee, go wide with a shock of genuine, unexpected pain. A choked, guttural gasp escapes his lips, a sound that has nothing to do with defiance. His entire body goes rigid, and then he jackknifes forward, his forehead thudding against Marco’s shoulder. His hands, which had been clasped by his sides fly out, and almost grab onto his groin, but Marcos knee is already there. Marco’s foot retreats giving the teen space to collect his dented nuggets and peel them off his pelvis where Marco slammed them into. Sam Hell doesn’t grab his crotch, the instinctual act of protection freezing as he lowers his hands.

Sam is still against him, and Marco’s erection pulses against his lower abdomen and he grinds it just a bit into the hard belly, feeling the base of his hip and smiling as leaves a smear there.

“How was that?” Marco asks, but not of Sam…he is looking at Will over his son’s wet head.

“Perfection” Will says, as a wave hits them all and tossing them all off their feet. Marco is up last, Sam is lightly bent, and his back not straight like an arrow before. There is a hesitancy there, and as Marco finds the late teens eyes he does his best to stand upright.

“You are something else kid” Marco says. Will is beside him and he pats his back, clearly impressed from his efforts.

“Looks like you don’t have to practice knees, you are really solid there. I would suggest a good old fashioned knuckle backhand. It’s a new classic, but very efficient.” Will laughs, as he motions for Sam Hell to stand next to Marco facing towards shore, looking straight at Bill who is up to his knees in the water now looking rather anxious as he rubs his hands together.

“Both of you look right at Bill, and Marco you make sure to smack both testicles. He’s wearing white underwear…they should be easy to keep watch on.” Will explains, pointedly using his finger to traces the outline of Sam’s nutsack. Sam takes a breath as he does, and this does not go unnoticed by Will. “You ready, Marco?” he asks.

Marco nods. “Ready.” The word feels good in his mouth. Solid.

Will positions himself behind Sam, a steadying hand on the small of his back, a gesture that looks paternal but is clearly restraining. Sam’s jaw is tight, but he keeps his gaze locked on the distant shore, on the small figure of his brother. He’s presenting himself for it.

Marco moves to stand in front of Sam. He raises his right hand, the water dripping from his fingers. He hesitates for just a fraction of a second, looking at the vulnerable target. The white fabric of Sam’s underwear is almost translucent now, plastered to his skin, the distinct forms of his testicles clearly visible. They don't look like indestructible devil coins right now. They look like… defenseless teenage testicles.

“Do it,” Sam growls, the command low and tight. “Or are you too scared of my unbeatable devil coins.”

That’s all Marco needs. He swings his arm in a short, brutal arc. He doesn’t use a full punch, just a compact backhanded strike, the knuckles of his index and middle fingers leading. The impact is a wet, percussive smack that is somehow more intimate and more violent than the kick or the knee and heard still over the breaking of the surf.

Sam Hell's body convulses. Sam closes his eyes, and groans grabbing his thighs and trying for laugh, but it gets stuck in his throat as he moans. Marco delights at the crack in his armor, as he watches Sam’s nuts swinging back into position. Usually after a nut strike, you don’t get to the see the after math, the guy usually protects his vulnerability. Not Sam. He leaves himself open, but breathing hard.

“That…was…” Sam Hell groans, standing up and doing a good jump, as he puts his hands behind his head. Marco can see his pit hairs, an almost brownish color that shows off his journey to almost becoming a man. He sniffs, and his eyes meet Marco’s “you successively hit both targets. I…felt that. Devil coins are still strong.” Sam tries to put more command in his voice but his legs are closer together than before and Will reaches down his thighs tapping them.

“Wider son. A few more lessons for Marco I think. Unless…you need a break. Bill is right over there” Will points out, as Bill gets closer eyes on his older brother. Will’s words seem to haunt Sam Hell and his grinds his teeth in response.

“You…you okay, Sam. I saw—saw that last bit.” Bill bites his knuckle nervously, his hair drier now and whipping about his head.

“I’m fine. And no, I don’t need to switch. My devil coin’s are ready. Go again.”

Marco whistles “You are something else, kid.”

“My man balls are strong” and Sam Hells dip below, his lashes fluttering as looks right at Marcos bulge. Not hiding his stare in the least. “A lot stronger than yours, I would say.”

Sam Hell smirks, fingers laces behind his head as he looks at Bill and winks.

“Bro” Bill says, and looks concerned.

“You’ve almost done them all. But I would say an uppercut is a good finisher,” Will presents this idea as if everyone would be fine taking an uppercut to the groin.

Sam’s eyes widen once but then a look of peace crosses his face, the worry lines disappearing as fast as they can.

“If Mr. Gomez can even get down on his knees to deliver one, he is old pops,” mocks Sam not bothering to hide his chuckle. Sam moves his hips forward a bit, and his junk quivers. “Think you can take me?” Sam Hell questions, his eyes red as ever as he stares right into Marco’s and tilts his head. “Your son, Jayden…now he is fighter. He’s your youngest right? He’s got better balls than you, much bigger. And his strikes actually hurt me…once.” Sam chuckles, and spits in the water directly in front of Marco.

Marco’s teeth clench and his anger flails, and he decides to hold nothing back on this hit.

Will Brady nods “Show my son what you can do.”

“Come on” Sam Hell’s goads, and spreads his legs wider. "Show me you're not a disappointment to your boy."

The goad about Jayden is the final spark. Marco drops into the surf with a splash, the water swirling around his calves. He kneels, the sand coarse and unforgiving against his skin. It’s a position of supplication, but the intent is anything but. He looks up at the towering figure of Sam Hell, water dripping from the teen's toned abdomen, the defiant smirk still plastered on his face. The sight of those devil coins, outlined and waiting, fills Marco with a cold, clear purpose. He rears back, twisting from the waist, channeling every ounce of resentment, shame, and newfound authority into the tight coil of his body.

His uppercut isn’t just a strike; it’s a detonation.

Marco's fist, knuckles tight and hard, slams upwards into the soft underside of Sam's scrotum with a sickening, wet thump that seems to suck the sound out of the air. There is no question of hitting both targets this time; he feels them compress, flatten against the hard bone of Sam’s pelvis. For a single, crystalline moment, the world is silent.

“Not really an uppercut…more of a punch” Will judges, fingers on his chin as he nods in approval.

No one seems to be paying any attention to him as Sam Hell’s mouth falls open, and Marco leans his muscles strained arm out feeling the kids nuts, squish and mash underneath his closed fist. Marco’s arm is locked into position and he doesn’t move a muscle as the water pulls at the sand underneath his knees, and the rocks find their way into his bony knee caps. Marco doesn’t care, he refuses to give.

Sam Hell blinks twice, and Bill seems to reach out for him wincing at his bulge and Marcos fist splattering his testicles against his hard pelvis. A raged breath that Sam didn’t think he was holding comes out, and he comes undone slumping down to his knees as Marcos fist falls away. He is staring open mouthed at Marco, but not really seeing him. Sam seems to be in outer space as his hands find their way to his groin and he gingerly holds his nuts in a protective grasp.

“Oh fuck” Sam Hell gasps, as a wave of nausea grips him steadily.

Marco smiles, for the first time all day it seems. “Are your ‘Devil coins’ even still there, Sam?” Marco jokes, and stands up, his shadow falling over Sam and he looks down at him this time in triumph.

“Shit” Sam Hell whispers again and then coughs as another wave crashes over them both.

Will Brady laughs, clapping Marco on the back. “See? He’s not so tough after all. Good form, Marco. You broke him.” He looks down at the gasping, groaning teen, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “They’re all breakable. You just have to find the right kind of pressure.”

Sam Hell is on all fours now, retching a bit into the churning water. He tries to push himself up, but his arms tremble and give way, sending him face-first into the foam. His back is a taut arch of agony. Bill rushes forward, wading quickly to his brother's side, his face a mask of worry.

“Sam! Sam, are you okay?” Bill’s hands hover over Sam's back, afraid to touch.

Sam can only shake his head, a small, pathetic gesture. He manages to roll back into all fours with a splash, and glances up at Marco. The look he gives him, the fire within his fearsome red eyes almost makes Marco step back.

Spitting out another mouthful of sea water, he slowly gets to his feet, his underwear now soaked, is pulled down slightly revealing his upside down pyramid shaped pubis of dark hairs. You can almost spot the root of his penis, but Sam ignores that and lowers his hands to his sides.

“I’m not…done yet. My balls—-Devil coins, are not breakable. Neither am I” and he glances at Will defiant. Will steps back leaving Marco to it.

“Clearly he wants another hit, this time the uppercut and you lead with your fist Marco but when you drop to your knees like this” and Will places himself before Sam Hell and rears back sending his fist forward past Sam Hell’s aching junk and slams his muscles arm up and into Sam’s hanging pouch. The hit is light but Sam still feels it, and moans as his balls ricochet in his soaked underpants.

“Fuck.”

Sam Hells voice is quiet, but Will looks up at him, “Sorry about that…don’t mean to jostle the goods.” Will stands up patting Sam on his drenched head. “You are doing just fine son.”

Marco comes up, “I think I got it now.”

“You better” Will chuckles “Don’t know how longer my son will be standing for.”

Sam Hell growls, low in the back of his throat. “The wave hit me…nothing more. I barely felt it.” The brow above Sam crinkles and he lowers his eyes to slits, like laser beams trying to show off how tough he is.

No one appears to believe the Devilboy, and Sam Hell rolls his red eyes giving up the charade. He turns towards to face Marco, but Marco is already coming towards him to attack. The splash comes up Sam’s torso and he looks down just as Marco Gomez’s arm cracks into place, his hard bicep, like a small boulder slams into Sam and sending his devil coins up and into his body. Sam Hell gasps, just as his dick joins his balls smashed against his undersides in one massive hit.

Sam Hell does not even have time to react, below Marco Gomez in a feat of raw strength and power lifts, Sam Hell up into the air. Taken off of his feet and poised on the crutch of Marcos arm, Sam’s balls squish flatter as the older man powers him up and out of the water. Marco grabs the back of Sam Hells wet undies in his other fist, giving his a slight wedgie as they boy kicks feebly to get freed.

Marco holds Sam Hell steady to give him a chance to really feel his own body weight as it smashes against balls, and giving him no space to escape the grapple. Sam Hell’s arms flail, and one of them smacks the water as he tries for balance. His legs go back to be straight and he is no longer bent as Marco’s arm holds him fast, all 180 pounds of him.  Sam Hells balls are crushed into misshapen shapes, keep him in place by the sheer force of Macro’s will. Marco lifts him higher upward, and with all the power of his core he delivers a series of hard, tight jabs to the underside of Sam’s heavy sack that peeks out from between his forcibly spread legs and his bicep. The small lumps that Marco can see are covered in the tight white fabric but it’s almost pink from translucentness of the fabric. The jabs are small but powerful detonations that cause Sam to writhe on every hit.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sounds are wet, ugly. Sam Hell isn’t screaming. He can’t seem to draw the breath for it. His mouth is open in a silent ‘O’ of pure, unadulterated shock. His eyes, once defiant pits of red, are wide and glazed, staring at a sky he can no longer see. The dead weight of the teen is held aloft only by the brutal wedge of Marco’s arm and the crushing pressure on the last remnants of his so-called indestructibility.

Bill whimpers from the shore, a small, wounded sound that is swallowed by the surf. He takes a half step forward as if to intervene, but Will Brady puts a firm, staying hand on his shoulder holding him still.

“He has to learn, Bill,” Will says, his voice quiet, intense. “They all have to learn. Even the ones who think they’re made of something harder. Watch. This is what real power looks like, when you know you have lost.”

Marco gives two final, punishing jabs for good measure, feeling the last bit of resistance in Sam give way as Marco hammers Sam’s testicles up and between the cruch of his body. Sam lets loose a hollowing scream as Marcos arm, wedges the balls there flattened like a steam roller. Then, with a final heave, he shoves Sam away. The teen flies backward, a tangle of limbs, and crashes into the water with a tremendous splash. He disappears beneath the churning surface, leaving behind only a froth of bubbles.

The water seems to still for a moment. Then, Sam Hell breaks the surface, gasping and spluttering. He doesn’t try to stand, on all fours he sucks in gut filled heaping gasps of sea wind as his eyes blink back and finally Sam Hell lets go a roar of pure pain fueled hollering shout filling the air. Sam grabs his nuts, both hands and goes back under as a wave hits him.

“Sam” Bill whispers, in his Dads arms, his tiny arms pushing against Will’s stronger ones holding him tight against him.

Marco wades toward him, the water pulling at his legs. He grabs a Sam beneath the armpits pulling him up. Sam's face is pale, a stark contrast to his dark, soaked hair and he splutters a mix of drool and salt water as he spits down his chin.

“Indestructible…I think not.”

“He’s done right?” Bill asks, as Will clasps him in a backwards hug.

“Almost.”

Will Brady clears his throat and tells Marco sternly. “Now is when you apply that nut claw.”

Sam Hell blink, water clinging to his dark lashes. He gasps again “My coins…”

“Yeah. Not your coins…are mine.” Still holding Sam upright, with one hand—the other shoots into Sam’s underwear and past the full piss tube, the size of his masculine stem fueling Marco’s attack as he latches onto the infamous ‘Devil coins.’ In Marco’s closed first he reflects that the devil coins all together feel more like bloated testicles. Marcos fingers curve inwards, and Sam Hell’s red eyes find Marcos as reality dawns on him and how fucked he really is.

Sam Hell’s eyes start to widen, as Marco drags him in closer, fingers digging into his sensitive armpit. The smell of him, Marco takes in between the ocean air and his nostrils flair as he says “I thought your balls would feel different…but they don’t.” Marco says conversationally, as he gives the testicles a hard squeeze.

Sam Hell gasps, and he swallows, as he whispers “Don’t—”

“Don’t what? You did this to me, Sam. You squeezed my balls until I screamed!”

Marco sinks his fingers into the two orbs and Sam Hell howls. The sound is raw, animalistic. It echoes across the waves, a stark counterpoint to the rhythmic crash of the surf.

“Shhhhh. You’ll scare the fishes.”

“Noo—o! My coins!” Sam Hell shouts, body tensing as his stomach twists. Marco can feel them slipping between each finger as the teen tries to get away, the rugged dense orbs are stronger than Marco thought possible.

“Hold on there, champ…you are a tough one. This is the best part.” Will Brady calls, giving Marco a nod of approval. Bill bites his bottom lip, fingers digging into his Dad’s arms.

“We got to help…”

Will Brady reaches one arm down plucking his son’s sack nuts into his fist and closes it tight. “No son…we get to bear witness. Now hold still.”

“No Dad, not my—-oooh, balls!”

Bills eyes widen and he winces in his Dad’s embrace as he looks on groaning as Sam’s nuts are worked over by Marco. He got him perfectly by his bare balls underwear stretched over Marco’s fist nestled inside.

Marco holds on tight, ignoring the feeble splashing of Sam’s legs. The two orbs in his grasp feel like overripe fruit, their skin stretched taut, their cores betraying Sam as pain, thrums from his nutsack into his abdomen, which tenses which each long pulse of his sack. Marco tightens his grip, a slow, deliberate squeeze.

Sam Hell’s body arches, a silent scream tearing at his throat that only comes out as a strangled wheeze. His hands, which had been slapping weakly at Marco's arm, fall away. They hang uselessly at his sides, trembling. He’s no longer fighting. He’s enduring.

“It’s over when I say it’s over,” Marco whispers, the words meant only for Sam. He applies a little more pressure, grinding his knuckles together, feeling the delicate nuts crushing between his fingers, the bulbous nuts twisting between every hard squishing squeeze. A tremor runs through Sam’s entire frame, a violent shudder that has nothing to do with the cold water. He looks up at Marco, the last embers of defiance in those red eyes finally extinguished, replaced by a dull, pleading void of endless red.

“No…Mr. Gomez…my Devi—balls, my fucking…aaahhhh…ahhh…nuts!” The words are a wet gurgle in his throat, and Marco feels a pulse from his own groin and he pauses his squeezing to feel the heat of it, he’s…Marco looks up at the boy as his cock spasms and he slams his hips into Sam’s bell just above the large man meat of Sam’s and he grits his teeth. He’s going to cum right on the kid.

“Oh fuck” Marco cradles Sam’s nuts now, and his hand in Sam’s armpit clenches him tight as he shuts his eyes feeling the throbs coursing through him. “Oh…not like…this!” Marco shudders, the uncontrollable urge taking over and he opens his eyes looking past Sam, not wanting to meet his gaze as he pounds his small nub of a cock into the small crevice of his belly button, fitting the head of his cock in perfectly as he loses control.

Bill blinks as his nuts are squeezed harder, “Dad…” he tries to remember how to formulate words. “Marco’s he’s….oh shit….” Bill groans. “I think he’s….don’t squeeze, so hard!” Bill moans arching his back against his father’s front.

Will laughs, while Marco holds on, giving Sam’s nuts a hard squeeze to keep him from collapsing as he watches Marco’s hips piston with the wave. “He’s just enjoying the fruits of his labor, son. He’s earned this.”

“Ew!” Bill groans, looking away in embarrassment as his father grinds into his own fist, giving Bill a punishing squeeze and then a release. Will just holds his sons testicles now gently as Bill stops struggling.

“Watch he’s almost finished.”

Sam feels the hot spurt, and he closes his eyes. It is not just the pain now, it is the humiliation of being used, of being the instrument for Marco’s pleasure. The heat spreads across his stomach, a sticky, final declaration of Marco’s victory. He can’t make a sound, as he feels the pulsing seed of Mr. Gomez, a man he has bullied and teased. A man he has now broken. Sam goes limp in Marco’s grasp, the only thing holding him up is Marcos clutching hands.

The waves wash over them both, a cool cleansing rinse that feels like absolution to Marco and like a final, cold insult to Sam. He gasps as Marco releases the nut claw, and the teen sags, his knees buckling. Marco lets him slip into the water, and Sam sinks like a stone, disappearing into the murky green for a terrifying moment before he bobs back to the surface, coughing and retching, a pathetic hard cough. The semen, cling to his belly, and drips from his navel but Sam’s ignoring the white slime and instead aggressively protects his nuts cupping them in both hands.

His devil coins have been used enough for one day.

Will can feel the small pulse in his son’s small sack as he holds Bills nuts in hand, Bill looks grossed out as he watches Marco bend over and lower himself in the water to wash out the semen still stuck in his bathing suit.

“He sure came a lot,” Bill says stating the obvious.

“Yeah he did. He’s a man, son. A real man knows how to mark his territory.”

Marco surfaces, slick and wet and feeling a hundred pounds lighter. He pushes the wet dark hair from his face, the salt stinging his eyes, and looks at the scene before him. Will Brady, standing firm with one hand holding his younger son, the other on his own hip, a look of immense satisfaction on his face. Bill, pale and shell shocked, staring at the spot where Marco had been a moment ago. And Sam Hell, the mighty devilboy, treading water a few feet away, his face a mask of utter defeat. He looks smaller now, stripped of his aura. Just a boy. A boy with very, very sore balls.

“Alright, boys,” Marco says, his voice booming with a new confidence. He wades toward the shore, not even glancing back at Sam. “Let’s pack it in. Day’s over.”

Will finally let’s go of Bill’s balls and the boy sighs in relief, rubbing himself through his shorts.

“Sam! Come on!” Will calls out, not unkindly. “Time to go home.”

Sam looks toward the shore, at the figures on the sand. He hesitates, then begins a slow, painful doggy paddle toward them, each movement a fresh torment. Bill is by his side, swimming with him. He’s a little hard now with all that grappling from his Dad and watching he Sam’s downfall from grace.

“That was…thanks for taking my place, Sam. I owe you one” Bill admits, hand on Sam’s back as they get closer to the shore.

Sam nods solemnly but looks down at the small clear erection in Bills speedos.

“Maybe we should take care of that…before you show it off to everyone on the beach.” Sam says, as he limps over to stand by Bill.

Bill looks confused, but then Sam grabs his cock through his speedos and it dawns on him what he meant. Carefully, Sam pulls Bill back into the ocean, and he slowly spins Bill so that the pair look out at the endless blue. The fire in Sam’s red eyes rekindles a bit as he ignores the deep ache in his scrotum, and the bruises left by Marco and he grasps Bills cock instead, focusing on the hard spike.

“This shouldn’t take too long, you are really hard Bill.” Sam runs his fingers along Bill’s front teasing his nipples and causing Bill to let out small little murmuring gasps.

“Oh yeah…I am, Sam.” Bills cock throbs in Sam’s grasp and he leans back against his older brother. Eyes looking up at him. “You sure took a lot of hits, will your balls—”

“Coins” Sam corrects, the hand on Bills thin chest tweaks a nipple and the boy laughs, and then sighs as Sam’s fingers lower and using a two-handed grip on his already small but firm pecker. Sam starts to tug on Bills small but throbbing stem. Bill moans, a small high-pitched sound of pure pleasure, and Sam’s other arm holds him still as he begins to move with the waves. He doesn’t waste time. His movements are efficient, practiced. Sam is clear that he does not intend to prolong this, but to give Bill a necessary release.

Bill starts breathing faster, and he couldn’t stay silent anymore. As Bill’s orgasm starts to build, a powerful cum begins in his feet and comes up to his groin and dick. Sam methodically keeps pace, jacking Bill off, slowly and gently, as the boy grunts and his eyes flash open his cum squirts up his tummy and onto his chest.

A groan, really loud comes from him just before a wave strike leaving Bill breathless and takes all the evidence away in a sea of foam. Bill’s body starts to shake, as he squirts out four more times, squeaking at each dip of Sam’s fist against his pelvis. Bill would have been heard by everyone on the beach, but the roar of the ocean drowns them out. Sam Hell milks his cock for almost a solid thirty seconds more and stops, just holding him.

When Bill’s breathing settles down, and he lays his head against Sam’s chest, eyes blinking. “That was…so good.” Bill smiles, he can’t help it.

“See? All better,” Sam murmurs after a few moments, as Bill’s body sags against him, and a few small strings of cum are swept away by the tide. Sam gives the softening penis a final squeeze, then releases it. “Now you won’t be embarrassed. Mr. Gomez seems to notice every little detail.”

Bill just nods, breathless, looking a little dazed. He glances over at the shore. Will is already gathering their things, stuffing towels into a bag. Marco is standing there, arms crossed, watching them. Waiting.

“Come on,” Sam says, his voice flat. He starts wading toward the beach again, moving with a stiff, careful gait.

They meet Marco and Will at the edge of the surf. The air is thick with unspoken things. The setting sun casts long, distorted shadows on the wet sand.

“You did well today, Marco,” Will says, clapping him on the shoulder and making sure that his voice carries. “You learned something important, and now you know that you can handle squirrelly little boys.”

Marco just nods, his gaze fixed on Sam. But his eyes also notice Bills deflating small organ just barely bigger than his own, and he smirks.

“I think I’m ready now…to face Gino and Jayden. This time, things will be different.”

“Yes, they will be. You have a new power inside of you” Will Brady says, and then turns to Sam Hell. “You too, son. You learned something today as well. About your own…coins.” He says with a wink. “Sometimes you gotta cash in, to see what they are really worth.” Will Brady lets out a laugh and Sam Hell’s face flushes, not in embarrassment but with a deep, simmering anger that he can’t quite hide. His jaw works, grinding his teeth. Sam can feel the sharpness of his incisors but he says nothing.

Will looks from Sam to Bill and then back to Marco. “A good day’s work. We’ll do this again sometime.” It’s not a question.

Marco nods slowly, his eyes finding Sam Hell’s. “I’d like that.” He holds the gaze, letting the words hang in the air.

Bill fidgets, pulling at the edge of his damp speedos. His nuts need a bit more of space. He looks from Marco’s steady face to Sam’s rigid back. He feels a strange, unfamiliar mix of relief and guilt. Relief that it was Sam, not him, who broke. Guilt for feeling that relief. He shivers, though the evening air is still warm.

Sam Hell finally straightens up as much as he can, a wince barely concealed. The hardness is back in his deep red eyes though, and he clears his throat. “If you need further studies, look here” Sam taps his deep chest. “Not there” he points to Bill. “Remember I have balls of pure strength. Devil coins can make it through anything.” Sam Hell boasts.

Will Brady grabs Sam’s shoulder, eyes on his plump bloated and bruised balls showing off how much he has taken today. The wet material clings to the sagging sack and Will grins. “We can have Mr. Gomez back to practice, if that’s what you want Sam.”

The sun is blocked by the sun for a moment, showing Sam’s worried eyes as they widen. “And I’m sure that with Mr. Gomez here all weekend with us in the beach house…he could benefit from further practice.”

“I’m always willing to practice what I have learned” Marco cracks his knuckles one at a time as they walk up the path to the beach house, Bill wincing at every tiny pop of Marcos knuckles.

“I…” Sam starts but Bill grabs his arm as they get to the door.

“Maybe later, Sam promised me we would watch a new movie that came out. Gotta go!” Bill yanks Sam inside of the dark house, but Sam meets Marco’s eyes once more before the door shuts. And Marco looks more predatory now, than prey.

“Chairs over here” directs Will Brady with a small chuckle.

Following his host, Marco places each one on the designated metal hooks, the satisfying drop of the metal on metal releases a pleasing sound.

“You mean that?” Marco asks Will. “I could…practice on Sam again?”

“He needs a bit of a break. Maybe by Sunday his balls—coins should be ready to work over again. Tomorrow we relax, take it easy. When he least expects it on Sunday, then you pounce. I’ve seen how you take a hit though, Marco. You better be careful with your boys…they might overwhelm you again. Your nuts are small, and rather, well… untrained.” Will Brady pulls back Marcos shorts and pokes around until he spots the wrinkly sack in between the white mesh of his bathing suit.

“Already they look swollen, and a little pink…or are they always that color.”

Marco grumbles something unintelligible, clearly minded about being so exposed.

“Doesn’t matter, not really. Protect what little you have…maybe wear a cup?” Will Brady suggests as he releases Marcos swim trunks and they snap back in place. Marco winces even though, it was not painful. Just a bit of a sting.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Do that. You know Sam though…maybe you should take him up on his offer. Let him hit your balls around…maybe he can toughen yours up.”

“I’ll no…I don’t…that’s not something I wish to pursue.”

Will shrugs. “Good man. Know your limitations. Come on. Let’s get something to drink. It’s been a good day.”

 

 

 

~End