?Today’s FFF comes to us from TR‘s erotic-fan-fic-author-in-residence, Abraxas. No, he didn’t write it; as he’ll be the first to tell you, I won’t run any of his stories because as horrible as they are (and they’re quite horrible, let me assure you), they’re missing a certain level of horror because they are written with the TR audience in mind (if not for them). It’s like knowingly running a crack fic, which I also try to avoid. The real horror is knowing that someone wrote these stories to genuinely arouse, both themselves and others.
Abraxas found this story by Salome Sensei, and I believe it will suit our purposes well. If you’re not a Dragonball Z fan, don’t worry — all you really need to know is that Vegeta is main rival of main character Goku, and that here Vegeta calls him by his original alien/Saiyajin name Kakarotto (actually, these are the Japanese version of these names, so you know the author is a hardcore DBZ fan). So when you read Kakarotto, Vegeta is talking about Goku. Got it? Good. Shall we begin?
Saiyajin balls should reek, Kakarotto.
Shall we immediately move this madness after the jump?
Yes, this is a first-person ode, by Vegeta, to Goku’s testicles and their odor. Did you expect something less submitted by Abraxas?
They should give a rich stink of glorious and untamed power. Worthy
Saiyajin balls summon soldiers to war and lovers to fuck, no matter how
well armored they are. Whether hidden beneath many-layered garments or
bared to the heavens, Saiyajin balls are worthy, compelling,
magnificent. But yours balls, Kakarotto, are pitifiul. You have
third-class berries, light-scented and uncommanding when they should be
heavy, overripe fruit. Lesser warrior of a lesser family, it should not
surprise me that your balls are inferior. And yet, they call to me,
Kakarotto and I must know why. I must.
All this talk of berries and scents makes me wonder if Goku has one of those car pine tree air fresheners hanging around his dick.
Ah, Kakarotto, I watch you bare yourself in the stream, cleaning your
sweaty, hard-muscled body. Cool water drips from your tangled hair,
runs in rivulets down your back, trickles into the crack of your ass.
The chill tightens your balls. They shrink and wrinkle beneath your
lazy cock. I lick my lips. You wash them with casual indifference. My
hands curl into fists. What are you doing? Grip them firmly! Massage
and tug them! Invoke their power! Release the fragrant strength to
compel both ally and enemy! Oh fool, you know nothing, and I will not
stoop to teach you.
Wait a second… if Vegeta really wants Goku’s testicles to smell, shouldn’t he want to Goku to wash them less? Or as softly as possible? This is a major discrepancy here! SIR, I DOUBT THE VERISIMILITUDE OF YOUR TESTICLE-SNIFFING DRAGONBALL Z FAN FIC.
I test you when you are unaware, Kakarotto. In peacetime there is too
little to do, too much talk and too little action. We eat at the same
table. The women serve us, and we let them. My hands slips into my
pants where it cannot be seen. Your woman babbles, oblivious. The
blue-haired vixen senses something, but only vaguely. Her suspicion
hardens my cock. Her shrewd shrewishness lured me to impregnate her.
But never mind. It is your attention I seek. Smell me, fool. Recognize
your Prince. I tug and squeeze. You look into my eyes. I summon you.
I believe Miss Manners would frown on jerking off at dinner and trying to get your ball odor to waft over to the host, but admittedly I’m not that familiar with the rules of decorum.
You tell me I need a bath “or something,” and I laugh openly. The woman
questions you, tells you I showered that morning. I don’t need her to
defend me, but I enjoy your reaction. I smell like “an animal,” do I,
Kakarotto? I step closer, and you sniff my armpit. No, child of the
homeworld who does not know what it means to be Saiyajin, that is not
whence the rich aroma arises. I grip my package and shake it at you.
You tell me to fuck off, and I chuckle again. The dance moves us both,
The dance of the STINKY BALLS
I wake, sweating and shuddering in the night. I sit up, throw off
tangled blankets that lack the warmth of Saiyan furs remembered from
childhood. My mouth is dry; the nightmare lingers. I’m on my knees,
gagged not by Freeza’s hard white fist but by your soft hairy balls,
Kakarotto. Sweet torture! It’s you who should kneel, should lathe my
regal testicles with your subservient, inferior tongue! In dream as in
life, you were born to serve. But my sleeping world has so long been
filled with torment, I should not be surprised. I lick my lips with
For the record, I really want to make some kind of joke equating hairy balls and Dragonballs, but the comparison is so obvious I’m actually kind of stumped. Suggestions in the comments?
“You’re gonna suck my balls,” I growl, a thread of desperation in my
voice as I pin you to the floor of the gravity chamber. The blue-haired
female has left us to our “training,” and I can stand no more. You
cock your head, chuckle, push against my grip. We’re both the worse for
wear, our garments torn and bodies glistening, and your Saiyajin balls
are calling to me. They’re wrong, all wrong, but the need is right. As
I fumble with my belt, you press your luck, throwing me over your head
into the wall with a cockeyed grin.
No wonder Vegeta always loses to Goku — it’s because Vegeta keeps getting distracted and trying to lick Goku’s balls while they fight. Hell, Goku probably turned Super Saiyan purely as a defense mechanism to keep his nuts out of Vegeta’s mouth. Also: How can testicles be considered “wrong”? You know, don’t answer that.
No longer will I allow you and your inferior balls to torment me,
Kakarotto. You can smell my princely superiority, yet you do not bow to
it. I will prove my worthiness and you will confess it. I will show
you what you and your balls could become under my control. I find you,
alone and napping, and act without hesitation. I bind you hard and
release your cock and your twin globes. You protest, struggling, as I
extend a commanding tongue. But I suck you well, and at last you yield.
Together, we share your perfect testicular submission, Kakarotto.
This paragraph is magnificently awful. Two thoughts, though:
? “Inferior Balls”? Good band name. “Perfect Testicular Submission”? GREAT band name.
? So are Goku’s balls “twin globes” or are they berries, Vegeta? MAKE UP YOUR MIND.
Now that’s the story, but author Salome Sensei found his muse when talking about Vegeta’s love of Goku’s balls. Hence he wrote 15 more micro-stories about the subject, based on a variety of standard fan fic themes. I’m not going to cover them all, but here are a select few:
#1 Grow Apart
How long have I lain here in a testicle funk-induced haze, Kakarotto?
How long have my noble Saiyajin nostrils been filled with the sickly
smell of your sac, my lips coated with third-class spunk? No matter. I
will think no further about the loneliness of a prince without a
homeworld and the depths it drove him to. I know what I must do. Yes, I
knelt before you, desperate for a taste of home, but that is over now.
I will reclaim myself and be rid of you. I’ll wipe the grin off your
face for once and for all.
Not coincidentally, I too feel like I’m in a testicle funk-induced haze from reading these. Rather than beat up Goku, I think I’ll just take a long shower, drink bourbon straight from the bottle, and cry a lot.
There is no wrath like a Saiyajin’s wrath, Kakarotto. As my fist
crashes into your jaw, I teach you to respect the honor I do you when I
tongue your filthy balls. As my boot smashes into your back, I remind
you that fucking me can never make you more than a low-grade warrior.
And as my ki soars and blasts of power shoot you down from the sky, I
show you that I am, now and always, your prince. I can’t remove the
taint of this pitiful planet upon you, but I will beat some sense into
“And I’ll teach you to understand the honor I do you when I allow you to teabag me, and lay your balls on my face. What? No, I haven’t looked up the word “honor” in a dictionary. Why do you ask?”
I see you, Kakarotto, crawling back to your woman. So much easier to
face her petty possessiveness than your true destiny as a Saiyajin,
isn’t it? The prince has recognized you, and yet you deny your fate. I
have seen you, lying beneath her as she rides the hard shaft that by
rights belongs to me. She is a feeble lover, and yet you return to her,
time and again. Come, Kakarotto, I know the allure of the female, but I
am not fool enough to lose myself in its swollen folds! Does she lick
your balls, Kakarotto? Does she?
Sadly, the thought that Goku cleans his balls specifically so his wife might lick them never even occurs to the stinky-testicle-obsessed Vegeta. So sad.
Have I not suffered enough, Kakarotto? Made to live as a maniac’s slave
for long, terrible years. Freeza misused me in ways words cannot
express, and my reward is to be a prince without a home or a people,
while the one remaining who should serve me will not. How could I have
expected anything else? Though your scent calls to me – oh precious
Saiyajin balls! – you do not come. I boil with rage and jealousy that
you seem so content while I can never be. Alas, is it perhaps better to
be a third-rate warrior than an unworshipped prince?
“Oh precious Saiyajin balls!” I swear we’re reading the Iliad of Dragonball Z testicle-fetish stories, people.
It is too much. I am lost and feverish, delirious. The gravity is too
dense and my mind misgives. My strength wanes! Is it you, Kakarotto,
sitting on my face in the early mornings, smothering me with the pale
moistness of testicles too sweet to endure? When I startle awake, you
are gone and I am crushed by your absence even more than I was by your
presence. Father, I cry out to you: is it better to be dead than to
endure an empty cosmos, bereft of even one to worship us, even one to
share his Saiyajin balls?
So. Balls, everyone. Balls.
I hear your laugh, Kakarotto, foolish and mocking. I cannot close my
ears to the sound that maddens me. Return, you coward, and face me.
Bring back the balls that belong to me, to your Prince. Let me again
weigh them in my palm, press them with my mighty lips, own them as only
the Saiyajin heir may. I tire of this game, of your inane chuckle that
echoes in my mind. Give me back what is mine my birth, by right, by
command! Accept your place while I still permit it. My tongue will
bear witness to your submission.
It’s like the five stages of grief, except there are like 15 stages, and they’re all about how much Vegeta wants to eat Goku’s balls. Also, I’m the one grieving.
Finally, the epilogue (well, the last paragraph of the epilogue):
Damn you! Damn your blithe, cocky demeanor. Damn your denial of your
heritage. Damn your unwillingness to serve as you were born to serve.
Even here, on my knees, as you rub your stiff, wet cock across my face
and tempt me with the inescapable allure of your treacherous Saiyajin
balls, I damn you, Kakarotto.
Feel free to read the entire Ball Saga beginning here, but I promise you it rarely deviates from its message of how much Vegeta loves Goku’s balls. If you think that this might be a crackfic, I won’t deny that it’s probably supposed to be a bit humorous, but I maintain once someone writes more than a thousand words on an erotic fan fiction topic, they’ve gone past the crackfic stage into some weird places where they’re writing what they truly want. Maybe that first section of the story could’ve been written purely to be funny and weird and depraved, but only a guy who truly loves both Dragonball Z and stinky balls would bother to write 15 more installments. At any rate, if you don’t like it, you get to blame Abraxas this time. And no matter what, we’ll always have the stinky ball dance. ?