Tag Archives: Ballbusting

HOUSE OF CARDS

Take two decks of cards, shuffle them together, and divide them into two piles of 52 cards. Each draw a card and the highest card wins. Even I understood it!
If I win, Mistress Angela said, I will pick a punishment for you. In the unlikely event that you win, you can pick any punishment you like. How’s that?
I smelled a rat, I didn’t like it.
I like it, Mistress, I said with a pokerface.
She won the first three in a row, which resulted into severals kick in the groin, nipple torture and bastinado. Bloody hell, we had just started and I was bruised and battered already. But then I started to win. Not once, not twice, but over and over again. So foot-worship joined the fun, facesitting, ponyplay, ass-worship and much more. I started to love this game.
I’m starting to hate this game, She said with a clear threat in Her voice.
It’s a game of luck, Mistress, I panicked.
She drew a card: three of diamonds. I began to sweat like a waterfall in spring. I drew mine: Queen of hearts. If looks could kill, I would be living in an urn right now.
I’m going to take you to Hell and back for this, She fumed.
So there you have it! No matter how successful, important, populair, rich or victorious you might be; you are, and always will be, a fucking loser.

SCRAMBLED EGGS

The six of us gathered at the park, exactly as Mistress had ordered. She gave each of us a spoon and an egg.
Now, place the spoon in your mouth and the egg in the spoon. Keep your hands behind your back during the race. If you drop the egg, you’re out. The first to reach that tree over there will be the winner. And the winner, numbnuts, is allowed to worship My gorgeous feet!
We looked at each other with murder in our eyes, because Her feet are worth dying for.
Are you ready spoons? GO!!!
I walked slowly, eyes focussed on the egg, wiggling like a duck with a cucumber up its ass. But slave Burt went like a bullet out of a gun. Jesus, the man was in a hurry! I accelerated, but he was hard to keep up with. The others were already way behind us and it was now a neck and neck between me and that rotten egg just ahead of me. We almost sprinted to the finish line, but he was just too fast and he reached the finish line with sixteen lengths to spare over me. May have been seventeen lenghts, eighteen even, but who cares. He was now blessed with the honour of worshipping Her gorgeous feet, while all I could do was suck on my stinking egg.

THE SQUEEZE IS ON

Selma jumped off the couch and I Usain Bolted to the toilet and locked myself in. Now, you have to know that one of my ancestors was in Napoleon’s army during the Russian campaign of 1812. He wrote his last letter from Butkiškė, Lithuania, never to be heard of again. Only the letter survived. His brother fought against Napoleon at Waterloo in 1815 and lived to tell the tale. And here I was, a descendant of these battle-hardened men, cowering in a fucking water loo. I opened the door ajar and waved some toilet paper up and down. Selma told me it was safe to come out. I wasn’t too convinced though, because She could be a mean, brutish, cruel, merciless and barbaric bitch sometimes. But then again, you can’t live in a toilet for the rest of your life, so I opene –
She grabbed me by the balls and twisted them viciously. Like sticking your nuts in a mixer.
Selma-ah-ah-aa. I danced up and down like a frog on a hot plate.
Next time you’ll do as you’re told, won’t you?
Yes, yes, I give you my wo-aaa-ord.
She squeezed even harder and my voice reached the high C. She was more deadly than a demolition squad, no question about it.
Don’t let it happen again, She hissed.
She let go of my balls. I fell down on my knees and sobbed in pain.
My ancestors turned in their graves.

KNEEING

This tiny little GIF is a symphony of beauty and Female power, as far as I’m concerned, and I can watch it endlessly. Which is not difficult, because it’s a GIF and these things go on and on and on about it. But seriously: Miss Belle, one of Britain’s most beautiful models, looking absolutely gorgeous, as always, sexy boots, breathtaking legs; what more can a man ask for? She’s so relaxed, so complete in control, as if it takes no effort at all to make a grown man howl in pain. She’s more powerful than a hurricane with a temper and all it takes is a lovely knee and a fragile scrotum and it’s goodnight Irene. I know, not every knee to the groin is a castrater per se, but when it hits with pinpoint accuracy, you will go down faster than the Titanic.
The last time I got kneed in the groin was at Prague airport, I clearly remember that. The Mistress was so kind to drive me there and She gave me three bye-bye knees to the scrotum in the departure hall. The first one was allright, the second and third made me sound like a castrate on holiday. Nothing beats da power and beauty of a Ladies’ knee, hell no!