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He had waited years for this moment. After endless fan letters, online messages, and scrolling through red carpet appearances, he was finally in the same room as Gal Gadot. Tall, radiant, and every bit the Amazon goddess she was known to be, she stood in a dimly lit private lounge behind a convention stage. She looked tired—her posture tense, brow furrowed, and lips pressed into a flat line.
Still, he couldn't hold back. "Ms. Gal, please—just a few minutes. I'm your biggest fan."
She didn't turn. Her voice came cold and sharp. "Not now."
He took a shaky breath. "I—I've looked up to you for so long. You've inspired me in ways I can't even explain. Just a moment of your time, that's all I ask."
She turned slowly. There was fire in her eyes. Weeks of press, delayed shoots, fake smiles, and pushy people had worn her down to her last thread. And now here was this fan, begging for her time when she couldn't even find five minutes for herself.
"You really won't back off, will you?" she said, stepping forward. Her presence overwhelmed him, the click of her boots against the floor echoing like a warning.
"I just wanted to say thank you… and maybe get a hug, if that's okay, Ms. Gal."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
Then her knee came up—sharp and brutal.
Thud.
He gasped. The pain hit instantly, buckling his legs and forcing a cry from his throat. He dropped slightly, hands instinctively clutching himself. Even through the shock, he felt it—an old, buried desire awaken deep inside.
Gal Gadot had just kneed him in the balls.
"Still think I'm in the mood for hugs?" she asked, voice low.
He looked up at her, breathing hard, flushed with pain and awe. "Ms. Gal… I… I didn't mean to upset you. That just… felt amazing."
She tilted her head slightly, intrigued. "You liked that?"
"I… I've always kind of had a thing for…" He hesitated. "Ballbusting. It's embarrassing, I know."
A smirk tugged at her lip.
Before he could speak again, slap—her foot connected between his legs. He gasped louder this time, a messy blend of a moan and a sob. His body shuddered under the rush of pain, but his eyes never left her.
"You're enjoying this?" she asked, voice almost playful now.
"Yes, Ms. Gal," he said, breath catching. "I can't help it."
She stepped closer, hand slowly reaching out to his crotch. Her fingers closed over him firmly, through the fabric. He flinched.
She squeezed.
"Does that hurt?"
He whimpered. "Y-Yes. But I like it…"
Her grip tightened. He choked out a moan, face red, body trembling under the sharp ache she was delivering so casually.
"I needed a stress ball today," she muttered. "And you're volunteering."
She squeezed again, this time twisting. His knees buckled and a high-pitched gasp escaped him. His breathing was uneven, lost somewhere between torment and bliss.
"Please… don't stop," he whispered.
She didn't.
The next few minutes were a blur of impact—sharp slaps, sudden knees, calculated squeezes. She circled him like a predator, watching his every flinch, every cry. With every hit, he moaned louder, begging for more.
"You're pathetic," she said, grinning. "You're really just here to get your balls broken by your idol."
"Yes, Ms. Gal…" he whispered, panting. "Please… keep going…"
Another kick. Another sharp cry.
She leaned in, hand gently brushing his face as her other palm cupped him again. Slowly, steadily, she applied pressure upward.
"I could do this all day," she said. "You're more satisfying than a punching bag."
He groaned, face twisted in pain and submission. "That's what I'm here for… Use me. Please, Ms. Gal…"
She gave him one final, brutal knee that lifted him slightly off the ground.
He collapsed—moaning, twitching, breathless, but smiling.
She stood over him, arms crossed, eyes fierce. "We're not done. Not until I feel better."
He looked up at her like a worshipper before a goddess. "Yes, Ms. Gal… Anything you want."
Her foot rose again.
And he welcomed it.
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...She gave him one final, brutal knee that lifted him slightly off the ground.
He collapsed—moaning, twitching, breathless, but smiling.
"Uhhhhn… Ms. Gal… th-thank you…" he groaned, face contorted with the aftermath of pleasure and pain.
She let out a short, amused laugh, wiping a bit of sweat from her brow. "Okay, okay—that was fun. You've taken enough. I'm done."
He looked up at her, dazed and red-faced, still moaning softly.
"Alright," she added with a smirk, "you earned it. You can get your hug and a photo now."
His eyes lit up. "Really? Thank you, Ms. Gal. That means everything."
She helped him to his feet—wobbly and sore—and wrapped an arm around his shoulders as he leaned in for a quick hug. The camera clicked, capturing a blurry, euphoric fanboy beside the goddess who had just made his wildest dream a painful, perfect reality.
He stepped back, still clutching himself, but smiling wide. "Goodbye, Ms. Gal. I'll never forget this."
She gave him a mock salute. "Neither will your balls."
He laughed weakly and limped out the door, pain echoing with every step—but happier than he'd ever been in his life.
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