Ballbusting Challenge

Tale ballbusting Challenge

by Bastige

Her roommate challenges her in order to win his clothes and his pride back. "I'm sick of doing these fucking dishes," my roommate spat, throwing the washcloth on the ground. It made a wet splat. His fists were clenched at his sides. "Are you challenging me?" I asked, languidly raising one eyebrow and looking pointedly at his penis and balls, hanging quivering and exposed between his legs. "Yes," he declared, though I thought I could detect a tremor of hesitation in his voice. "Get your clothes off. Let's go." I shrugged, set down my bag, and started to shrug out of my top and skirt. He was already naked, of course, as he always was in the house. Day in and day out, his penis and balls were never hidden from my sight. Which was kind of amusing to me, but not very erotic; the rule was mostly for his sake, to make him constantly realize his subservient position, and thus remember the arrogance and aggression that had put him there in the first place. He, however, loved seeing me naked. Unfortunately for him, his only chance to do so was when he challenged me, which involved a nude wrestling match. In exchange for getting to see - and feel - my naked body, he had to deal with the near-certainty of painful defeat. Without embarrassment or hesitation, I dropped my bra from my breasts and stepped out of my thong, and began stretching. My body isn't the most athletic in the world, but it is nicely toned, and I'm pretty well-endowed. Naturally, his cock jumped up in the air at the sight of me, as it always did; I knew it would be coming down eventually. Belatedly, he began stretching too, and after a minute we went to the living room and cleared the furniture out from the center. The rules were simple: no holds barred, no breaks until one or the other submits. The loser would have to remain naked when in the house for the next month, and do all apartment chores. At any time after the first week, the loser could challenge the winner to a rematch, with the same terms and conditions. It was this clause, and my roommate's natural cockiness and hotheadedness, that had kept him naked and subservient for three solid months now. And yet he kept coming back for more. Was the man a masochist? Our match began. Naked, we circled each other. He leaned far over, his hips popped back to avoid the surprise kick-to-the-testicles that had dropped him for the count a couple of matches prior within seconds of the start of the fight. He looked a little silly, and I taunted him with the memory of his near-instant defeat. "Good to see you're keeping your balls out of reach of my foot," I chuckled. There was no response he could make, since it was obviously what he was doing, and obviously necessary. He concentrated on beating me, silently looking for an opening. The opening came. He shot forward and took me down, using his wrestler's training to quickly force me to the floor. I twisted to free myself, as I had learned in self-defense class, but he was quick, strong, and in good shape, and in a moment he was on top of me, working to pin my arms and legs. I freed a hand and shot it between his legs to grab his balls, but he twisted and popped his hips up and back, and they were out of my reach. He grabbed my arm and subdued it. I was in real trouble now. My bare breast was against the crook of his arm, and his other arm went right between my legs. It was humiliating, but I couldn't let that distract me from the need to beat him, to put him back in his place. To distract him, I kissed him, on the shoulder, on the neck. Erotically, using my tongue, I kissed and licked him, even as I squirmed to escape his hold. If nothing else, it would distract him, maybe for a critical moment...Sensing victory, he moved his face above mine and kissed me back. I shoved my tongue into his mouth, and he responded by shoving his into mine...and I bit it. Hard, suddenly. He gave a muffled cry and jerked back as blood welled out, and his hold weakend for the instant I needed. I freed my arm and again dove it between his legs. This time, my hand closed around his balls before he could twist to get away. Even as he bucked, just an instant too late, we both knew I had won. But he wasn't giving in just yet. As I began to squeeze, he let out a cry of dismay and started punching me in the head and breasts, frantically trying to make me release my grip. But I'm tougher than that, and I endured his blows and squeezed his testicles for all I was worth. After a moment both his hands went to my wrist, pulling and twisting to try to make me relinquish my grip. His eyes were shut tightly, his face contorted in a rictus of agony. I struggled at first to maintain my grip, but his strength weakened rapidly as the incredible pain battered him. Still futilely clutching my wrist, he threw back his head and emitted a high, terrible wail. "OH GODDDDDDDDDDD!!!!!" he screeched. "AAAAaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAgggghhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!" "Submit!" I grunted. His arms fell back and tears began pouring from his eyes. The wail trailed off to a choked whimper. He lay back, enduring unspeakable agony, still not willing to submit. "Oh God please!" he begged me. "Please let me go! Oh God, please please please!" I squeezed harder. "Submit!" I hissed. Finally, after an eternal thirty seconds or so of torture, he choked out the words: "I submit." I released his balls, and he collapsed, sobbing, broken. I left him there and went to put on my clothes and take care of various chores. His whimpering sobs continued echoing softly from the living room. Sometime in the next half hour, I think he dragged himself to the bathroom and threw up, then dragged himself to his bedroom to be alone with his pain. I gave him two hours to recover, then banged on his door. I had to do it twice before he opened it. He looked like a wreck, his face streaked with tears and the blood from his tongue, his balls red and swollen. I told him to go wash up and meet me in the living room. Still hunched over from the pain, he shuffled obediently to the bathroom. When he finally presented himself to me in the living room, I sat in the armchair (fully clothed now, of course) and had him stand in front of me. "Bend over," I said. "Bring me your face." He did so. There was pain there, and humiliation. He couldn't bring himself to look me quite straight in the eye. I slapped his face with my hand, hard. He flinched, but didn't bring up his hands. Good. "I just slapped your face," I stated coolly. "What are you going to do about it?" "Nothing," he answered softly. "That's right, nothing," I agreed matter-of-factly. "Because I beat you and made you submit. I grabbed your balls and hurt you bad." To my surprise, but not to my displeasure, a tear rolled involuntarily out of his eye and splashed on my blouse. I smiled. "And you know why I did that to you?" I continued. "Because you keep being an aggressive fuckhead and trying to make me submit. As soon as you stop trying to dominate me and beat me, I'll stop kicking the shit out of you." He nodded. "But I don't think I punished you enough for challenging me," I continued, "and so I'm going to kick your balls now. Stand up and spread your legs. A look of fear flashed onto his face. "Please," he begged. "Please don't kick my balls. I submit." "I know you submit," I said. "But I am tired of you challenging me every chance you get. I want to put a stop to it right now, so spread your legs." "Please don't," he begged again, crying. "If you don't straighten up and spread your legs in three seconds," I warned, "I'm going to grab your balls again and squeeze them until you pass out." Instantly, he jumped up to a straight position, his legs widespread, his hands behind his back. His eyes were shut in terror and anticipation. I leaned forward in my chair and took his balls in my hand. Thinking that he hadn't been fast enough and I was going to squeeze him again, he became terrified and started urinating uncontrollably. His piss dribbled down my wrist and onto the floor. Sighing, I got up and went into the kitchen to clean it off, leaving him standing there naked and terrified. When I came back, I wiped the last drops of urine off the tip of his penis, and looked him in his tear-filled eyes. "You just peed," I stated, allowing some amusement to creep into my voice. "I made you so afraid that you peed. What do you think about that?" He said nothing, but his humiliation was written all over his face. "Do you think you're tough? Do you think you're a big manly man? When you just peed in fear all over my arm, and you're standing here waiting for me to kick you in the balls?" "I won't challenge you again," he whimpered. "Please. I'll never challenge you again if you just don't kick me in the balls." "I'm going to kick you in the balls," I declared, "AND you're never going to challenge me again." The look on his face told me he knew it was the truth. Sitting back down in the chair, I lined up my bare foot with the underside of his swollen testicles and took a couple practice kicks. He flinched every time my arch touched his scrotum, and I'm sure if he had had anything left in his bladder it would have come out. When I kicked him, I kicked him somewhat softly, just enough to hurt him a little bit, but not enough to send him back to the floor in agony. He emitted a small squeak and looked at me in fear, wondering if another kick was coming. But I just laughed, and stood up, and kissed him on the mouth. The taste of blood was tangy on my tongue. I took his balls in my hand as I kissed him, and massaged them gently. "You're never going to challenge me again," I said softly. He nodded, but it was unneccessary; we both knew I had spoken the truth. "Lie down on your back," I commanded, smiling, and he did. He kept his legs spread submissively, offering his balls to me should I choose to kick them again. I approved of that. As he watched in amazement from his prone position on the floor, I stripped off my clothes for the second time that day, giving him the first glimpse of my naked body that didn't presage my destruction of his testicles. Of course, he didn't know that, and so he began to quake in fear, even when I knelt down and put my mouth on his penis. In spite of his fear - or maybe because of it - he soon began to get hard, until his cock was sticking straight up like a little tower. Laughing, I straddled him and lowered myself onto his cock, until it was deep inside me. He looked like he didn't know whether to be wild with lust or with terror, as this was something entirely new. Slowly, I undulated my hips, riding him. I bent my face close to his and looked into his eyes. "You're never going to challenge me again," I repeated gently. "Now that I know I've won forever, I can do what I've always wanted to do." "Why..." He stopped, out of breath, as I moved my hips faster. "I didn't want you to dominate me," I explained. "I didn't want a big macho man conquering me with his cock. I wanted this instead. So I had to break you first." Saying this, I kissed him again. He began to shudder, not with pain this time, but with pleasure. "I squeezed your balls until you cried in pain," I recollected. "I slapped you in the face. I made you pee on me in fear. I kicked your balls and you did nothing to try to stop me. Is all that true?" "Yes," he admitted, shame puckering his face. "Yes it is." "Well," I continued, "Assuming you never go back to being a macho man, which I think you won't, my days of busting your balls are done." "Do I still have to be naked all the time?" he asked meekly. I considered this. "No," I decided. "But...you may decide you want to be, anyway." So saying this, I concentrated on making myself orgasm, then on making him orgasm. After he came, he curled up and cradled his busted balls as the orgasm brought him renewed pain. This time, though, I brought him an ice pack and soothed him with kisses as he slowly recovered. That was the last time I had my roommate - or should I say, my husband, which he is now - on the floor, holding his testicles in agony. That was five years ago, and there haven't been any challenges since then. But in case there are...I'm always ready.