Dude, I don't get you. If you are so against getting busted, why come to a busting forum? Is it because you just don't understand the desire to be busted? But that doesn't make sense either, because your first story caught the essence of what many people here seek, myself included.
So is it a form of self-hatred? Because you know you want it yourself, you try it deride it in order to somehow convince yourself you aren't really into it. I know it is common for people who are gay but grew up in a society that declares it is evil to be gay. They can be the most ardent anti-gay people. As if that would somehow exercise them of their demons.
I think everybody else here would back me up on this when I say there is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting a woman to bust your nuts. I think it means different things to different people. I'm not going to pour my heart out to you and explain the significance to me. You would just deride due to your own insecurity. It will probably be different than your own needs and desires so it wouldn't be helpful anyway. The best I can do is to just suggest stop fighting it. Try it for yourself. It is a beautiful thing. Let yourself enjoy it. Accepting who and what you are and love yourself for it (instead of hating yourself). It will set you free in a way you can not imagine.
Enough sermonizing, please think about it. You will be happier and we will all gain because you will use your talents to write stories promoting busting instead of deriding it.
In the meantime, at least this story was better than the last. You are actually dealing with issues here instead of just insulting. It would have been more powerful without the "tall, gawky" and "flattop" etc. This just distracts from the message. It also revealed your hand too soon. Your hatred was evident so quickly the reader discounted everything else as an attack. Your intended message is never received
I edited your story below. I think it communicates your message better…
"Come on," the man said, a bead of sweat running down his face.
"Lets get started; I paid for thirty minutes here."
"Awright, awright. Just hold yer horses," she said, snappishly, chewing on gum. She sounded and looked like Fran Drescher, but was more realistically built, having a few actual curves to offer underneath her faded gray female executive suit.
They stood opposite each other in the cramped apartment.
It was his turn. "Now, I want multiple shots-remember that. Once you start going, don't stop. I want it all. Gimme all you got."
She raised her eyebrows in disdain, peering up at him, blew a pink bubble over her red lips. "Are you sure about this?"
"Course I'm sure."
"You want multiple? I mean, you're not crazy or nothing, are you? I don't wanna be goin' to jail over hurtin' no crazy man."
His nostrils flared, "Look, I can handle it. I want it. Don't hold back."
She took two steps and was within reach of him. She put her hands up on his shoulders, looking up at him. She looked apprehensive. Like she had experience in this kind of stuff; experience he was apparently lacking.
His jaw muscles clenched tight in his cheeks. His hands hanging at his sides turned into fists. His face peered down at her and something like rage over took it. "Come on!" he urged, "Remember-keep it coming! I can take it! Keep it kicking or I wo-"
His words got cut off as her bony knee thrust up into his groin. He had gone completely silent over this single blow. She went to knee him again but halted it halfway up when she saw the strength; the cocksuredness immediately leave his face. She waited two seconds on one foot, in something like a half-flamingo position, watching him nervously. He looked like a man who's every single possession had just been confiscated and this worried the hell out of her. By the time she went to kick again he was bent over so her knee hit him on the top of the head, the next knee on his shoulder.
"Hey," she complained, "don't make me kick the top of your head. You want a broken neck or what?"
A second later he was on the floor, writhing around like an accordion straw wrapper that someone was dripping carbonated soda on.
She had her hand on one hip, alternately examining the nails on her other hand and peering down at him with a mixture of contempt and pity as he began to make loud soaring groaning noises, like the sound of distant but emphatic ghosts.
"Wait a minute-listen to me for a second. Multiple shots? Listen, you're a MAN, y'silly. I'll take your money anytime you want, but you can't be doin' stuff like that wit balls. Dem balls is sensitive, y'know? Didn't y'momma ever teach you nuttin'?" She blew another bubble and it snapped loudly. "Geez, I could get in some kind o' trouble for this. One shot is enough. That's all you get. I ain’t never killed no man before and I ain't about to yet. I am a lady, no matter whatchoo or anybody tinks."
She waited, stood over him. "So, you gonna pay me or what?”
He could not answer. His scorched pathetic moans continued. It was a flailing fetal ball that she now had to step away from...but not before she reached down, took his wallet, extracted every green bill inside then walked out, high heels clacking.
"Hope I didn't bruise y'manhood too bad, Pete. Nice doin' bidness wit yous. See y'round maybe."
She closed the door behind her. The room went dark for the most part, except for the beam of light shining through the blinds on the suffering, sweating forehead of the guy she'd just left prostrate in one blow.