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Ballbusting, 440 pictures 1920x0180 (Full HD), completely CFNM, no blood.
Ian Wetherby (He, Him) was one of those powerful men you’ve never heard of. He was Head of Inclusion, Equality & Diversity in the civil service, and as such he was as feared as any boss in the private sector. If he said your department didn’t have enough women in it, you jolly well made some men redundant, and recruited enough women. The same went for ethnic minorities. He had installed gender-neutral toilets, and insisted all the staff add pronouns to their names in their correspondence. He had caused the weekly window cleaner to lose his job, because he “wolf whistled” at a passing woman. Yes, he was greatly feared.
His deputy, Sharon Goole (She, Her), was if anything more authoritarian than he was. Being “liberal” and “progressive”, she didn’t tolerate anyone with “bigoted” views, and they got disciplined for expressing any. She was a well-known campaigner for climate sustainability, minority issues, and peace. Her stance was that if her country disarmed, all the others would follow. At work, she had introduced a vegan menu in the staff restaurant, and had banned beef from all meals served there.
She believed strongly that her country had much to learn from certain foreign countries, and had links to some places that most of her countrymen chose to avoid. Indeed, she and Ian were both about to travel to one of these places for some “information-gathering”. She claimed it was “enlightened” about so many matters (if you ignored the facts that women were stoned if they were accused of adultery, and gays were pushed off tall buildings).
Forgetting climate sustainability for a while, she booked them two business class tickets for the flight there. She had also booked them an hotel which largely catered for important foreign visitors. They had adjoining rooms, with an inter-connecting door, and an exclusive garden area.
Ian didn’t enjoy the flight. Oh true, Sharon was a great colleague and campaigned for all the right things, but what a bore she was! On and on about what was being spent on submarines/missiles/generally the “wrong” things. At the hotel, he made an excuse that he needed to work, and ordered lunch to be sent to his room, while she went to the dining room. (In truth, he couldn’t face another vegan menu, and ordered a steak and a bottle of “Chateau Neuf Du Pape” – the country’s anti-alcohol laws were waived for the hotel).
But the wine, or rather the amount of it, was a mistake. He fell asleep after the meal, but when Sharon went into her room it woke him up. Lying there he couldn’t help thinking about her, having an afternoon nap. But it wasn’t about veganism or inclusivity. No, it was about her tits and arse. They were lovely! He got his phone and tried to work, but it was no good. His thoughts kept returning to that superb body, just one inter-connecting door away.
Just one inter-connecting door away. Naked from his sleep, he tiptoed to it; it opened silently. She lay there in an irresistible black leotard with a belt, that made her look like the sort of comic book heroine who beats up all the “bad guys” – the sort that secretly fascinated him as a boy, and still did. And there was that gorgeous round arse, protruding slightly with the way that she lay.
It was too much. He just had to have that woman. A couple of paces, and he was on her. He turned her onto her back … oh yes, look at those beautiful tits! He felt her slim waist, then positioned himself above her.
Sharon, fully awake, tried to push him away with both hands, but he had the advantage of height and superior strength. He lowered himself towards her; he was almost there for the moment of paradise … red hot, intense pain seared his balls, as her knee struck where it could do the most destruction.
Ian yelped, all lust instantly killed, and lay in the foetal position, clutching his punished balls. He quietly moaned, and didn’t seem to notice Sharon’s hands on his right arm, just above his wrist. But he noticed soon enough when he was swung off the bed, into the air, up and over her, and slammed down on his back. Now she was on his left arm, locking it upwards, before jamming her foot down hard on his balls, with an obscene squelching sound. Her foot didn’t spare his head either, before she took a couple of steps back to look at her boss.
“How are your poor balls?” she asked derisively, before seeming to have a change of heart. “Okay, enough,” she conceded, easing him up, and holding him affectionately. “If you want a little … recreation with me, why not ask?” she coaxed gently, rubbing her left thigh against his manhood. It hurt of course, after what had just happened, but it encouraged him all the same.
Sharon withdrew her leg, but still smiled at Ian, holding him by the shoulders. But she spoilt the romantic picture by suddenly banging her right knee hard into his balls. Ian sank to the floor, whimpering in pain, while Sharon marched out of the room. He heard her return while he was struggling to his knees, but he didn’t dare turn to face her. Instead he felt something cold on his shoulder, then his neck. A gun! She had a bloody gun!
“Get up!” Sharon commanded, keeping the revolver against him. “Now, walk. That’s right, bastard, keep going, out into the garden.
Ian stood, shaking with fear, while she withdrew a few steps, all the while pointing it at him.
“How did you bring that with you?” he asked, his voice quavering.
“I didn’t, idiot, but I knew where to find it when I got here.”
“But you’re a pacifist!” he found himself blurting out, as if that mattered now.
“Not when it comes to my own security. Anyway, I thought you respected women’s rights. Not when it comes to your sleeping colleague, it seems. Now, no more talking, and get down on your knees. Put your hands behind your head.
“Oh Christ, this is it!” Ian thought, while Sharon kept the gun pointing at him, and glared. “She’s going to kill me!”
Instead she put the gun aside, and ordered him to stand, still with his hands behind his head. She maintained the glare, steadied her right leg, and kicked. For a moment, he felt he would rather she had shot him after all, instead of enduring the agony of his balls. His head went back, and he grimaced with the blow.
But she didn’t stop there. She continued the onslaught with her left knee, then her right. In fact she was almost military about it: left-right-left. When she stopped, Ian desperately lashed out with his right fist, but she leant back beyond its reach, and used her long legs on his balls instead. Her bare feet slapped into his balls, one after the other. He struck again with his fist, but it was no more use than the previous attempt, and did nothing to interrupt her devastating assault.
“This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?” she asked nastily, pulling his face into her breasts, and shoving her right knee into his balls. “And who knows? If you’d asked nicely, instead of trying to rape me while I was asleep, you might have got it.”
Ian tried punching her a third time, but she seized his wrist and kicked him in the balls in return. Then she swapped feet. And again. For variation she kicked him karate-style, from the side, if anything getting greater purchase for her foot, before swapping again.
Swap, swap, alternate, alternate, switch, switch. The kicks just kept coming. A nausea of pain engulfed Ian while he endured this nightmare, his face a picture of agony, despair and terror. Hooking her right foot in at his balls, Sharon returned to the karate style, but Ian was oblivious to any type of kick. They were all hideous.
No slouch when it came to self-defence normally, he launched a karate kick himself. If Sharon didn’t have lightning reactions, it would have got her; as it was, she leant to the side and sent her left foot home, as it were, to his balls.
“Normally the shin bone is vulnerable,” she began sadistically, “but you can safely hit it with something soft and squashy,” she told him, demonstrating in the usual place.
She laughed when Ian tried yet another futile punch, and hammered her left foot into his balls. In fact he alternated his punches almost as much as she did her kicks, the only difference being they had no effect. Each time she would respond in her familiar way, usually with a kick, occasionally with a knee.
Ringing the changes, she tried pulling him down by the ears while she slammed a right kick up into his balls. It worked a treat! But then she opted for the more conventional kicks again, like a child returning to its favourite toy after an experimental change.
On the other hand, seeing the ploy with the ears worked so well, she decided to grab his right wrist, while ramming her left knee into his balls. That was just as good. Then she took him by the neck, and forced her right knee into its familiar target. Yep, equally effective!
Improvising now, Sharon tried elbowing him in the neck, while thrusting a knee into his balls. Oh yes, just look at the result! Then it was a return to neck-and-knee. But how about a punch in the face as well as a knee in the balls? Yes, why not? Lovely! Her right fist assaulted his chin, while her left knee did what it was superlative at doing. What about a headlock and knee? What a good idea! Now try jumping at him while you knee him. Impulsively, Ian clasped her while she did it, and it gave her blow even greater force.
Then it was back to conventional knee to the balls, in this case coming into him at an angle. She switched to her right knee, pulling him to her by his arm and neck, for greater effect. This hold, plus her knee up against his balls, were what stopped Ian sinking to the ground. He wondered if the pain would drive him mad.
It was back to left and right swaps, but this time with knees instead of feet. Sharon chose to hold him by his ears again, just to add a little more pain to go with his stricken balls. Then she jumped at him again, clawing his face, while her right knee drove powerfully into his manhood.
Ian landed on his back, and STILL she forced a hostile knee into his battered balls, one knee after the other, until her feet took over. Sitting on the grass, she grabbed his ankles, and fired the sole of her left foot at the target, catching his cock as well. When she stopped, and let go of his ankles, he made a pitiful attempt to get up and escape, but her left foot caught him in the usual place. The force of the kick put him on all fours, so she went in at him from behind.
Ian groaned, and dropped helplessly onto the grass. Writhing in his anguish, he ended up on his back. Sharon went to walk away, with one last push back by her left sole, before she left him hugging himself and sobbing.
The cabin crew had to help Ian onto the plane for the return flight, because he “banged his knee” that morning. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and tried not to shake too much, before thankfully sitting next to Sharon.
“How’s your knee?” she asked, all wide-eyed concern, and he shot her a dirty look. Then, realising they would soon have to work together again, she decided to mention something they both heartily disliked – the country they both worked for (when they weren’t on strike):
“Oh well, back to that damp, grey old island we call home.”
“At least there aren’t any guns under hotel pillows,” he answered, grimly.
“We may not have done much fact finding on this trip, but we certainly discovered a lot about each other - enough to put us both in prison.”
“I know,” he answered, unable to look at her. How do you think it would be if we didn’t say anything about what happened to anyone, and carried on exactly as before?”
“Yes, all right, but with one major difference.”
“No more information-gathering trips together.”