Author: [Bastige] Challenges~collected

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Stories in this collection:

The Second Challenge

The Challenge


The Second Challenge
by Bastige
A prequel to "The Challenge"; her roommate chafes at naked servitude and decides to try his luck in combat.

I could see it in my roommate's face whenever he looked at me: the first
time was a fluke, he thought. Our no-holds-barred wrestling match had
ended when I grabbed his balls, forcing him to tap out; it was a move his
high school wrestling experience hadn't prepared him for in the
slightest. And the consequences of what he saw as a lucky, dirty shot
were more severe than he was ready to handle. As per the terms of our
original bet, he was forbidden to wear clothing inside the apartment, and
had to do all of the household chores. My roommate was an arrogant guy, a
real macho dude, which was what had led to our battle in the first place.
Now his nude servitude was grating like crazy on his ego, and he could
barely wait until the mandatory one-week no-challenge period was up and
he could demand a rematch.

When the day came, I decided to pre-empt him. He was scrubbing the floor,
naked of course, looking kind of cute and vulnerable on his hands and
knees. I put on a sexy miniskirt that showed off my long, tan legs to
maximum effect, applied makeup, and went into the kitchen where he was
working. He looked up at me, a mix of lust, shame, and anger on his face.
I smiled sweetly and grabbed a long plastic ladle from the counter.
Reaching down, I tapped it against his balls from behind, making him jump
to his feet, fists clenched.

"What the fuck was that?!" he demanded.

"You know what today is, right?" I asked in a seductive, throaty voice.
"Your one-week period is up. You can stay like this for another three
weeks, or you can challenge me to another match."

He wasted no time. "It's on, let's go," he said, shaking his arms. In his
nude state, his penis shook too, which made me laugh. "OK, whenever
you're ready," I said.

"Right now," he demanded, cocking his head.

I shrugged. "Okey doke." I began stripping off my clothes; as per our
agreement, all matches were to be fought completely naked. It had been my
idea originally, to get his balls in the open, but being the man he is,
my roommate had agreed in an instant. After all, this was his only chance
to see me in my birthday suit, and I must confess that I look just as
gorgeous without my clothes as I do with them on.

Now we were both naked, and the effect on my roommate was noticeable.
Immediately, his cock rose to point at me. I laughed, and did a little
hip-wiggle (I'm not exactly a modest person). I could tell that, despite
his anger over what had happened the past week, he was struggling to
maintain his concentration on the fight. Good, I thought.

We cleared out the living room, as before, and I reiterated the rules of
the match - no holds barred, whoever submits first (or passes out) loses.
The loser would have to be naked and do all chores for a month, and no
rematch challenges were allowed for one week. He agreed to the terms, and
we began our bout, circling each other, looking for an opening. He had
skills and strength on me; all I had was six months of self-defense
class, and the natural vulnerability of his male anatomy. Last time it
had proven enough, but I could always have a bad day. I wasn't very
sanguine about the prospect of me being the naked one around the house,
so I was very concentrated on winning the bout.

He feinted with his left hand and then slapped me in the face with his
left. It stung, and I danced back. He laughed. I tried to slap him back,
but he dodged out of the way. We circled again. I sent a kick at his leg,
and he danced to the side and punched me right in the left breast. Pain
burst in my chest, and I reeled back; that's when he shot out and took me
down, one arm under my arm and around my throat, one arm between my bare
legs. the rough hair of his arm rubbed humiliatingly against my vagina -
why was I noticing that at a time like this? - as he bore me to the
floor.

But my self-defense training took over, and as soon as he took me down I
headbutted him in the temple. He reeled and his grip loosened, and I
wriggled free. I sent a knee up into his midsection, and he grunted and
rolled away. But as I danced back, his hand shot out and grabbed my
ankle, knocking me to the carpet. He scrambled up and let loose with a
vicious kick that caught me right in the small of my back, making me arch
in agony. Now standing over me, he kicked me in the ass. I'm sure he
could have kicked me in the head and finished me then, or broken my ribs,
but part of my roommate's machismo is his desire to subdue a woman
without doing her any damage. That was what had led to his loss in the
first fight, and it looked like his chauvinism was still in effect.

But, chauvinistic or no, he was mad, and determined to make me submit.
Leaning over, he slapped my face once again as I raised my arms to
protect myself. He punched my left breast a second time, sending spasms
of pain throughout my body. I whimpered.

"Do you give up?" he panted. I made no answer, but curled into a fetal
position. He kicked me in the side, not as hard as he could. "Do you give
up?" he repeated.

In answer, I shot my hand out and grabbed his dangling balls.

He leaped back, an instant too late to avoid my grab, and in the process
yanked his balls against my grip. He shouted and frantically grabbed at
my hand, trying to pry my fingers off his manhood. But I knew that this
grip was my only chance of winning the fight, and I instantly squeezed as
hard as I could. His whole body went rigid, and he doubled over,
momentarily stopping his effort to dislodge my hand. I squeezed again,
and he sank to his knees, his hands still clutching uselessly at my arm.

One of his hands shot out and grabbed me by the throat, and my air was
cut off. We both squeezed, pain against asphyxiation. I saw purple spots
dance in front of my eyes. I twisted and pulled his balls with my hand,
kneading them between my fingers, and in response he bellowed in pain.
His grip on my throat weakened, and I peeled his hand away with my free
hand even as I kept the pressure up on his balls. Now he threw back his
head and wailed, a long, ragged, pain-filled cry of desperation. The
first time, he had tapped out without me having to squeeze him this
harshly, but this time he was fighting it to the bitter end. Weakly he
slapped at my face, but I was merciless, the pain still throbbing in my
back and my chest driving me to pay him back tenfold.

Slowly, still wailing desperately at the top of his lungs, he sank from
his knees to his side, and I rolled up and over, keeping close to him,
keeping the pressure on his testicles. I was suddenly afraid I'd rupture
them, so instead of increasing the pressure, I just kept rolling them
around. By now, tears were pouring from his eyes. Why hadn't he submitted
yet?

Suddenly, he convulsed, and I leaned back just in time to mostly avoid
the contents of his stomace, as he puked in agony. He heaved again and
again, whimpering piteously in between. When his stomach was empty, and
our carpet was soaked with rancid vomit, he curled around my hand, his
face frozen in a mask of sheer torture. I squeezed harder once again, and
he gave a choked and hacking scream.

"Give up!" I told him. "For God's sake, give up before you lose your
balls!"

"Oh God, I give up," he sobbed. "Please, I give up."

I released his balls immediately, worried I had hurt him. Too weak even
to writhe, he lay there crying in the pool of his vomit. Still hurting
from the fight, I staggered to the kitchen to clean myself up.

It took my roommate about an hour and a half to get off the floor. I was
seriously worried I'd have to call a hospital, but I examined his balls
and found that they seemed to be intact. When he could move, I cleaned
him up, and helped him to his bed, where he lay sobbing as the pain
continued to torture him. I shook my head in pity, happy I wasn't a male.
Then I went to clean up his puke - technically his job, but he was in no
condition to do it and it had to be done.

My roommate called in sick to work the next day, and was unable to walk
upright for two days after our bout. I did all the chores for him during
this period, in violation of our bet. But I felt guilty for destroying
him so badly. Was there something I could do to make it up to him?

I put this question to him, on the fourth day after our bout, when he
seemed to be completely recovered. He hadn't been talking to me, or even
looking in my direction.

"I'm sorry I had to do that to you," I said sincerely, sitting down next
to him and patting his bare shoulder. "Is there some way I can make it up
to you?"

"First go grow some balls," he suggested, "and then jump spread-eagle
onto a balance beam."

I couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Not gonna happen," I sighed, "But I
have an idea that might be almost as good."

Getting up off the couch, I walked into my bedroom and stripped off all
my clothes. A little shiver ran down the length of my body, and I felt
myself tingling with excitement and nervousness. What the hell did I
think I was doing? But I overcame my momentary hesitation, slipped on my
high heels, and walked back into the living room. His eyes widened to
dinner plates when he saw me walk in naked like that.

"Now don't get any ideas," I cautioned him. "This isn't a regular thing.
You still have to be the naked one for the next month. But I felt so bad
about crushing your nuts like that, I thought you deserved a little
something."

So saying, I turned on some music, and as my roommate watched from the
couch, I danced for him. I'm a good dancer, I go clubbing a lot, so I
knew this was quite a show for him. I was sure he must have mixed
feelings watching me do this, feeling attraction to me but despising me
for brutalizing his manhood. Well, he'd just have to live with the
ambiguity. As I danced, undulating my bare hips and shaking my shoulders
so that my breasts bounced lightly, his dick rose to stand at attention.
I saw his hand move toward it slightly and then stop. I recalled that a
man has extreme pain if he orgasms after getting his balls traumatized,
and I wondered if he was still experiencing that, or if he was just being
polite by not relieving himself. Either way, he watched passively until
the song finished.

Laughing, I walked over to him and leaned down. Reaching my hand between
his legs - noticing that he flinched as I did so - I patted his
still-sore balls with one hand as I let him have one last look down the
long tan length of my nude body.

"I'm sorry," I whispered softly. "Do your balls forgive me?"

"Fuck no," he snorted.

"Well too bad." I smiled sweetly, and then went to put on my clothes,
leaving my roommate breathing hard behind me.

[older]

The Fourth Challenge In a prequel to the story "Challenge", our heroine defeats an earlier challenge by her male roommate

The Fourth Challenge
by Bastige
In a prequel to the story "Challenge", our heroine defeats an earlier challenge by her male roommate

Because I was a little drunk, I decided to tease my roommate. As he
vaccumed the apartment, buck naked as always, I walked behind him.
Whenever his legs would part, I would kick my foot up between them,
trying to catch his balls with my toes. I usually failed to connect, but
each time he would jump in surprise. On those rare occasions when I did
connect, I didn't kick hard at all, certainly not enough to hurt, but he
would still give a little grunt and press his legs together. I would
laugh uproariously, but he would say nothing. A lot had changed since his
early days as a macho man, I thought.

When he was finished vacuuming, I had him fix me a drink, and I sat down
to watch TV. I told him to watch with me.

"I'd rather not," he said, glancing toward his bedroom.

Of course, that decided it. If he'd rather not, I'd rather he did. I told
him as much, and reluctantly he sat down on the couch and pulled up his
knees to conceal his cock and balls. Of course, I didn't approve of that
either. Getting up - wobbling a little out of drunkenness - I fetched a
ball of green yarn from my room and brought it back. As he watched in
apprehension, I cut off a piece about six and a half feet long. I then
advanced on him unsteadily, grinning a huge grin.

"Spread your legs," I told him gleefully.

"Oh, no." He pressed his legs tighter.

"Don't disobey me unless you want to challenge me again," I warned him
with a wagging finger. That put a look of fear into his eyes - as well it
should, since the last three times he had challenged me had seen him
writhing on the ground in pain. Submissively - which was hilarious in a
man of his size and build - he opened his legs to me, exposing his
manhood.

Reaching down, I looped the yarn three times around his scrotum,
tightened the loop, and made a knot, watching his face crumble as his
fears were confirmed. I then tied a loop on the other end, and held this
loop in my hand as I sat down on the recliner.

"I gots yer balls on a leash, boy!" I commented, slurring slightly.

As we watched TV, I would occasionally give little jerks on the yarn,
causing him to jump. Nothing hard, nothing that could hurt him - that was
my rule. Unless he challenged me, he'd be safe from harm...just not from
humiliation. But humiliation was taking its toll, and I watched him grow
angrier and angrier as I bounced his nuts on my string. Finally he could
take it no longer. He grabbed the yarn in his hand.

"Can't you just leave my balls alone?!" he demanded.

In response, I tugged hard enough that the yarn slid painfully through
his grip and jerked a bit on his testicles.

"I could, but I don't wanna," I taunted him. "Are you challenging me?"

He said nothing.

"You shouldn't challenge me," I warned him. "You're doing so well, you
only have two days to go before the month is up!" At the end of the
month, his period of subservience would be over, and he'd be allowed to
put on his clothes and stop being my servant around the apartment.

"Of course, if you challenge me, you'll lose," I continued. "Instead of
that string it'll be my hand on your balls, and you'll be begging to be
where you are now."

That got him. Some deep-seated reservoir of pride burst, and he yanked
the yarn out of my hand, saying "OK, I fucking challenge you then!"

Immediately, grinning like a kid, I jumped up out of the recliner and
started stripping off. He got a knife and cut the yarn off of his balls,
angrily throwing it in the trash. When he got back to the living room, I
was as naked as he was, bouncing on my toes. In spite of himself, he
stared. I don't blame him; my curves are pretty delicious, and I'm in
good shape.

"Do you like my body?" I asked, pushing out my D-cups and doing a little
sexy pose. "Take a good look."

In spite of his anger, his penis began to twitch upward, betraying his
arousal.

"I like your cock," I told him, realizing in the back of my mind that I
was drunk and shouldn't be saying this. "It's too bad I'm going to have
to kill it when I grab your balls."

He walked forward, his cock now fully erect and sticking straight out at
me. I admired its male beauty, and felt a tingle between my own legs. Now
was not the time for this, I thought. He came to stand across from me,
his posture upright, his fists raised. Before, he had tried to wrestle,
taking advantage of his high school wrestling experience. Now he was
going to keep me at arm's length, I thought.

"Are you ready?" I asked.

"Yup," he responded.

"I just have one thing to tell you," I slurred, stumbling toward him,
arms down.

As he waited to hear what I had to say, I recklessly booted him right in
the testicles with my right foot. He was caught completely off guard. He
emitted a sharp shout of pain, then charged forward and sent me sprawling
on the floor with a punch to the face. My head felt like it was on fire,
and I saw stars. But no more punches followed. After a few moments, I
dragged myself painfully to my feet and looked around. My roommate was
lying curled on the floor, his hands around his busted balls, his face
scrunched tight in a rictus of agony. Tears were leaking out of his eyes,
and he was making a tiny strangled whimpering sound.

I stumbled over to him, lights flashing in my head. I squatted down and
looked into his pain-wracked face. "Do you submit?" I asked him groggily.
He nodded, pathetically. I stumbled off to go put on my clothes.

When I came back, fully clothed, holding an ice pack over my black eye,
he was still on the floor, writhing back and forth, hands between his
legs. Dimly, I hoped I hadn't broken anything. I watched him for about
ten minutes as he cried into the carpet. Damn, I thought, I really got
him good. Eventually I went to sit next to him on the floor, trying to
soothe him, running my hands over the curves of his nude body.

"It's OK," I said, "it's OK, it's over."

"You fucking bitch," he breathed softly, face buried in the carpet.

"Yeah..." I felt a pang of remorse. "Guess I am. Here, move your hands."
He was too weak to resist as I moved his hands from his balls and applied
my ice pack to them. He gasped but seemed to feel a bit better. I held
the ice pack over his groin, stroking his face with my other hand.

"That was a good punch," I told him. "I'll have a black eye for a week."

"You can stop taunting me, thanks," he groaned, putting a hand over his
tear-stained face. "Oh God, you fucked my balls up bad."

"Worse than the second time I squeezed them?" I asked, remembering his
pitiful state after that hard-fought battle.

"Fuck, I don't know," he admitted. Putting my free arm under his arm, and
still holding the ice pack to his battered gonads, I helped him to his
feet. He stood, doubled over, catching his breath. I handed the ice pack
to him, and went to get a wet cloth. Coming back, I cleaned off his
tear-stained face. Without realizing what I was doing, I reached down and
wiped his penis. Sadly, it showed none of its earlier friskiness.

What am I doing?, I thought to myself. I must be drunk.

"You were doing so well, too," I said sadly, teasing him a bit to break
the mood I had just inadvertently created. "Now it's a whole month
longer." He made no reply, but staggered to the couch and collapsed
there, breathing heavily.

"Drink?" I asked. He nodded. I fixed us both drinks, and then went to get
my ball of yarn. When I came back with the ball, his face absolutely
crumbled in dismay.

"Oh no," he moaned.

"Don't worry!" I chirped. "It's not going around your balls this time!
They've taken enough for one day."

For the next hour and half, we had a very nice TV-watching session. My
roommate recovered surprisingly quickly from my boot to his nuts, and I
had lots of fun tugging my little piece of yarn and watching his silly
naked penis dance in response.

[older]

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.