lws8512
03-30-2012, 01:34 PM
Hey all, in my other thread (http://femaledom.com/forum/showthread.php?t=12957&page=15) I mentioned I was working on a new story. Well, it's not done yet, but here are the first 4 pages as a preview. First off, it is MFF/M, although it is in no way gay. It is more of a ballbusting/cuckold thing.
Unlike my previous story, "Busting Bobby's Balls", this one is not unrealistically extreme. It will become fairly hard though by the end of the story. It also starts a little slow, building up to the action, which doesn't actually start until the second page. I hope that is alright.
Anyways, as with all of my forwards, I am going to end it by begging for feedback. Please, please let me know what you think.
Thanks!
Wearing nothing but a robe and tennis shoes, I sit on the couch starring out the picture window of our living room. It’s 1:00pm on a Saturday and I can’t relax, and for good reason. My wife and I are expecting visitors.
What’s happening today started out as an idle fantasy, something that Heather and I had come up with over late night chats in the bedroom. We are admittedly a rather kinky couple. Case and point, we own one of the strongest shock collars on the market, but have never owned a dog.
Still, we thought this fantasy was too wild to explore, even for us. Slowly, however, we began looking for couples on the internet, the other half of the equation. It was always ‘just for fun’ until one day that perfect couple appeared on one of those kink websites. After almost a week of just staring at their profile, we got a little too drunk one night and decided to message them with our fantasy. Much to our surprise, they wrote us back saying they were interested. After two months of nearly daily exchanges, we had made our fantasy theirs. Today they are finally coming over to play.
‘How are you doing, Brad?’ I was so lost in thought that I hadn’t even heard Heather walk into the room.
‘Doing good,’ I reply.
‘You seem nervous,’ she says, sitting down next to me.
‘I am,’ I admit, with a little smile.
‘We don’t have to do this, you know. We can always just politely cancel.’ She says, turning to look me in the eyes.
‘Do you still want to?’ I ask.
‘Well yes, but I’m not the one who is going to…’ she begins.
‘I want to too,’ I say, cutting her off. I take her hand and give it a squeeze. She squeezes back. We stay like that for a minute until we here the noise of a car rumbling up our driveway.
‘Well,’ she says, grinning at me, ‘we had better go greet our guests.’
We step out into our front yard. It’s a warm, breezy day. Sudden gusts of wind blow clouds of dust from the unpaved driveway of our farm house. The black minivan pulls up behind our car at the front of the drive and stops. Out step Mike and Julie.
They are both in their early 30’s, just a little older than Heather and I. It feels strange meeting them in person. All of a sudden, I feel rather shy. I shouldn’t though. In these last couple weeks we have been writing each other almost nonstop about some rather intimate topics. I’ve seen dozens of pictures of both of them, some very interesting ones at that.
We approach and exchanged cheerful, if slightly awkward, greetings. No one goes for a handshake or a hug. From the looks of it, they’re just as nervous as we are.
‘How was the drive?’ I ask. ‘Have any trouble finding the place?’
‘No trouble,’ Julie responds with a friendly smile. ‘The real trouble was getting out of Mike’s parents’ house. They just always want to talk your ear off. And Jake just did not want to be left at his grandparents. He threw a fit when he heard he had to stay overnight.’
I grin at the story of their cantankerous two year old, but it would be hard not to grin while looking at Julie. The woman is some kind of Mediterranean goddess. She is a solid two inches taller than me and has the fit and tan body of a super model.
Mike chuckles, ‘Yeah, he was not a happy camper. But we rented him some of his favorite movies, so he’ll survive.’ The whole time he’s talking he never once glances at me or his own luscious wife, instead his eyes are focused on Heather.
I don’t know if Heather would qualify as a super model, which I’m convinced Julie must have been at some point in her life, but she certainly is a pretty girl. She is the stereotypical cute, blonde girl-next-door. And, add on the fact that she has some pretty hefty melons, and you have a winning combo.
Today is Mike’s lucky day. He isn’t being cruelly ****** to choose between two gorgeous women; he gets them both. I, on the other hand, am getting the short end of the stick. Although, I can’t complain. If getting the short end of the stick didn’t get my rocks off, we wouldn’t all be here now.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Heather asks, as we lead them into the house.
‘Sure,’ responds Mike. The tall, handsome man’s stare has gravitated down to my wife’s ass.
‘Why not, I’ll have one too,’ answers his supermodel wife.
After Heather lists them their choices, they settle on margaritas. She prepares three drinks. Right now, as anxious as I am, I’d love one too, but Heather and I already agreed in advance I shouldn’t drink for safety sake.
Drinks in hand, we lead them through the house and out onto the fenced-in, back patio. On the far end of the patio stands the basketball hoop. Neither Heather or I play. The house just came with it. The realtor told us the sellers’ grandson had loved to play ball.
‘You can have a seat over there, Julie,’ my wife says, motioning towards a set of three foldout lawn-chairs and a small table setup on the thin strip of grass between the wooden fence and the basketball court.
Mike walks over to where his wife is sitting and sets his drink down on the table. He pulls off his tear-away sweatpants. 6’2 and wearing a basketball jersey, he looks like he was made to play ball.
My wife, on the other hand, who has removed her blouse to reveal the black-and-white striped jersey beneath, looks nothing like a referee. This is probably due to the fact her jersey is actually a Halloween custom. It’s also at least two sizes too small, exposing both Heather’s midriff and her meaty jugs. She grabs the cheap, plastic whistle that came with the outfit from her pocket and puts it over her neck.
Everyone else is ready. I begin to feel incredibly nervous. My stomach is churning. It’s going to be my turn soon.
Heather walks to the top of the court with the basketball, and motions Mike and I to join her.
‘Alright then,’ she says, trying to sound official, ‘this is going to be a 1-on-1 game of streetball; winner’s ball.’
‘We are going to play to thirty,’ she continues in the same ridiculously officious voice, her face turning slightly red from silliness of it all.
‘The winner gets...’ she pauses, her face now bright red. ‘The winner gets Julie and myself.’
That will be Mike.
‘The looser,’ she goes on, ‘gets a date with the SL 2200 tennis ball machine.’
And that will be me.
To be fair, I guess anyone could win. However, there are two major things going against me. One, Mike played college basketball, whereas I haven’t touched a basketball since the 6th grade. Two, and even more importantly, Heather is the ref.
By the time Heather starts her next sentence, I’m so nervous I’m practically shaking. ‘Mike here, will be shirts. My husband Brad will be skins.’
With trembling fingers, I fumble with the belt of my robe until I get it undone. I slip the garment off and throw it to the side of the court. I can feel a slight breeze coming from the cracks in the fence as I stand there naked in my tennis shoes. We are now ready to begin the game.
It doesn’t appear like the others want to start just yet though. Mike, Julie, and my own wife are just staring at me. Standing there in front of Mike makes it all the more humiliating. For one, the man is clothed. He also happens to be five inches taller than me. He is muscular where I am scrawny. He is tan, while I am pasty white. He is hairy, whereas I am almost completely hairless thanks to Heather’s ‘scorched-earth’ depilation campaign that she conducted on my upper-body and genitals.
The only impressive, somewhat masculine, thing about me right now is hanging between my legs. Unfortunately, no, it’s not my penis. However, dangling well below my modest prick, are two beefy testicles. Heather calls them my eggs. Not the most imaginative nickname for testicles I know, but for me it’s actually apt. Each one of my now hairless nuts is as big, if not bigger, than a jumbo sized egg. Heather has measured.
‘Holy crap!’ exclaims Mike, breaking the silence. ‘And I thought our dog’s testicles were big.’
‘I know,’ says Julie. Turning to my wife, ‘Are you sure he isn’t part goat? I heard that’s what they look for in award-winners. You’d probably win a prize or something if you entered him in the county fair.’
Now, in all reality, Julie and Brad have already seen pictures of my eggs. They are just mocking me for the sake of being polite guests, and it’s working. I tilt my beat-red face down to find, much to my horror, my cock is growing. I didn’t expected that to happen so soon, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Heather has kept me in chastity for a week in preparation for today. Within fifteen seconds, I am giving Mike a rock-hard, 5-inch salute.
‘How…cute,’ comments Julie, ‘look at his little wee-wee.’ My cock becomes even harder.
‘Looks like the little guy is ready to play,’ adds Mike. I can’t tell if he means me or my penis, but my prick gives a pulsating nod of agreement.
‘I think you right,’ agrees Heather, with a big smile on her face from listening to the degradation of her naked husband. ‘Let’s begin. Mike’s ball.’
No sooner does she hand the ball to Mike then he shouts ‘Check!’ Next thing I know, the basketball flies into my naked gonads with a loud SLAP.
I just stand there with my mouth open as the ball bounces off my thighs and onto the court. My nuts sting a little, but, more than anything, I’m just surprised. Mike gets to the ball in one bounce and keeps driving forward, straight into me. He slams his left forearm into my chest and sends me sprawling to the pavement. I still have the same stupid look on my face as the gravel on the court bites into my ass. Laying on the ground, I watch Mike sink an easy lay-up.
‘Two-nothing!’ Shouts my wife excitedly, as Mike passes her the ball.
Apparently, Mike knocked the fear right out of me. As I pull my gravel-speckled ass off the pavement, all I feel is excitement. I can’t wait to see what happens next.
I square up against Mike at the top of the court. Heather hands him the ball.
‘Aren’t you worried I’m going to check again?’ Mike asks, motioning at my exposed twig and berries.
I just smile and thrust my hips forward a little.
Mike chuckles and shrugs. ‘Ok…Check!’
It takes all my willpower not to reach out and intercept the ball rocketing towards me. The basketball smashes head on into the tip of my cock. While doubled over, I can’t help but think back to the time I jammed my finger playing 5th grade basketball. It’s kind of like that, only in my penis.
Somehow, I manage to pull myself together in time to play a little defense. Still throbbing, my rock-hard shaft wobbles about as I follow Mike down the left side of the court. My nuts swing wildly and slap into my thighs every time I am ****** pivot or lurch to keep up. Still, despite how ridiculous I look, I manage to keep myself between Mike and the basket.
Then, out of nowhere, there is an explosion between my legs. The horrible pain in my eggs causes me to crumple to the ground. I think I hear a whistle, but that might just be in my head.
‘What’s the call, ref?’ I hear Mike ask.
‘Too many balls on the court,’ I hear Heather respond from behind me. She reaches down and pats my aching nuts to emphasize her point.
‘Didn’t even see you there,’ I groan, while she's stooped over me.
‘I know,’ she says with a smile.
‘That will be a two point penalty,’ she declares, standing back up. She then looks back down at me and asks, ‘Shots or kicks, honey?’
I lay there a second without responding. I had totally forgot about the perverse, little penalty system we had come up with. Essentially, I have a two choices. I can let Mike take two shots at the basket, or two shots at my testicles.
‘Kicks,’ I finally answer.
‘Alright, then present yourself at the free throw line,’ she says.
On my hands and knees, I crawl across the court to the free throw line. I get into position on the line, my head on the ground buried in my arms, knees on the court, and my ass high in the air. This is all in order to give Mike a clear shot at my big balls, which, even now, are still hurting quite a bit from Heather’s punting.
I hear Mike come up behind me, and that’s when I begin to feel nervous again...
Unlike my previous story, "Busting Bobby's Balls", this one is not unrealistically extreme. It will become fairly hard though by the end of the story. It also starts a little slow, building up to the action, which doesn't actually start until the second page. I hope that is alright.
Anyways, as with all of my forwards, I am going to end it by begging for feedback. Please, please let me know what you think.
Thanks!
Wearing nothing but a robe and tennis shoes, I sit on the couch starring out the picture window of our living room. It’s 1:00pm on a Saturday and I can’t relax, and for good reason. My wife and I are expecting visitors.
What’s happening today started out as an idle fantasy, something that Heather and I had come up with over late night chats in the bedroom. We are admittedly a rather kinky couple. Case and point, we own one of the strongest shock collars on the market, but have never owned a dog.
Still, we thought this fantasy was too wild to explore, even for us. Slowly, however, we began looking for couples on the internet, the other half of the equation. It was always ‘just for fun’ until one day that perfect couple appeared on one of those kink websites. After almost a week of just staring at their profile, we got a little too drunk one night and decided to message them with our fantasy. Much to our surprise, they wrote us back saying they were interested. After two months of nearly daily exchanges, we had made our fantasy theirs. Today they are finally coming over to play.
‘How are you doing, Brad?’ I was so lost in thought that I hadn’t even heard Heather walk into the room.
‘Doing good,’ I reply.
‘You seem nervous,’ she says, sitting down next to me.
‘I am,’ I admit, with a little smile.
‘We don’t have to do this, you know. We can always just politely cancel.’ She says, turning to look me in the eyes.
‘Do you still want to?’ I ask.
‘Well yes, but I’m not the one who is going to…’ she begins.
‘I want to too,’ I say, cutting her off. I take her hand and give it a squeeze. She squeezes back. We stay like that for a minute until we here the noise of a car rumbling up our driveway.
‘Well,’ she says, grinning at me, ‘we had better go greet our guests.’
We step out into our front yard. It’s a warm, breezy day. Sudden gusts of wind blow clouds of dust from the unpaved driveway of our farm house. The black minivan pulls up behind our car at the front of the drive and stops. Out step Mike and Julie.
They are both in their early 30’s, just a little older than Heather and I. It feels strange meeting them in person. All of a sudden, I feel rather shy. I shouldn’t though. In these last couple weeks we have been writing each other almost nonstop about some rather intimate topics. I’ve seen dozens of pictures of both of them, some very interesting ones at that.
We approach and exchanged cheerful, if slightly awkward, greetings. No one goes for a handshake or a hug. From the looks of it, they’re just as nervous as we are.
‘How was the drive?’ I ask. ‘Have any trouble finding the place?’
‘No trouble,’ Julie responds with a friendly smile. ‘The real trouble was getting out of Mike’s parents’ house. They just always want to talk your ear off. And Jake just did not want to be left at his grandparents. He threw a fit when he heard he had to stay overnight.’
I grin at the story of their cantankerous two year old, but it would be hard not to grin while looking at Julie. The woman is some kind of Mediterranean goddess. She is a solid two inches taller than me and has the fit and tan body of a super model.
Mike chuckles, ‘Yeah, he was not a happy camper. But we rented him some of his favorite movies, so he’ll survive.’ The whole time he’s talking he never once glances at me or his own luscious wife, instead his eyes are focused on Heather.
I don’t know if Heather would qualify as a super model, which I’m convinced Julie must have been at some point in her life, but she certainly is a pretty girl. She is the stereotypical cute, blonde girl-next-door. And, add on the fact that she has some pretty hefty melons, and you have a winning combo.
Today is Mike’s lucky day. He isn’t being cruelly ****** to choose between two gorgeous women; he gets them both. I, on the other hand, am getting the short end of the stick. Although, I can’t complain. If getting the short end of the stick didn’t get my rocks off, we wouldn’t all be here now.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Heather asks, as we lead them into the house.
‘Sure,’ responds Mike. The tall, handsome man’s stare has gravitated down to my wife’s ass.
‘Why not, I’ll have one too,’ answers his supermodel wife.
After Heather lists them their choices, they settle on margaritas. She prepares three drinks. Right now, as anxious as I am, I’d love one too, but Heather and I already agreed in advance I shouldn’t drink for safety sake.
Drinks in hand, we lead them through the house and out onto the fenced-in, back patio. On the far end of the patio stands the basketball hoop. Neither Heather or I play. The house just came with it. The realtor told us the sellers’ grandson had loved to play ball.
‘You can have a seat over there, Julie,’ my wife says, motioning towards a set of three foldout lawn-chairs and a small table setup on the thin strip of grass between the wooden fence and the basketball court.
Mike walks over to where his wife is sitting and sets his drink down on the table. He pulls off his tear-away sweatpants. 6’2 and wearing a basketball jersey, he looks like he was made to play ball.
My wife, on the other hand, who has removed her blouse to reveal the black-and-white striped jersey beneath, looks nothing like a referee. This is probably due to the fact her jersey is actually a Halloween custom. It’s also at least two sizes too small, exposing both Heather’s midriff and her meaty jugs. She grabs the cheap, plastic whistle that came with the outfit from her pocket and puts it over her neck.
Everyone else is ready. I begin to feel incredibly nervous. My stomach is churning. It’s going to be my turn soon.
Heather walks to the top of the court with the basketball, and motions Mike and I to join her.
‘Alright then,’ she says, trying to sound official, ‘this is going to be a 1-on-1 game of streetball; winner’s ball.’
‘We are going to play to thirty,’ she continues in the same ridiculously officious voice, her face turning slightly red from silliness of it all.
‘The winner gets...’ she pauses, her face now bright red. ‘The winner gets Julie and myself.’
That will be Mike.
‘The looser,’ she goes on, ‘gets a date with the SL 2200 tennis ball machine.’
And that will be me.
To be fair, I guess anyone could win. However, there are two major things going against me. One, Mike played college basketball, whereas I haven’t touched a basketball since the 6th grade. Two, and even more importantly, Heather is the ref.
By the time Heather starts her next sentence, I’m so nervous I’m practically shaking. ‘Mike here, will be shirts. My husband Brad will be skins.’
With trembling fingers, I fumble with the belt of my robe until I get it undone. I slip the garment off and throw it to the side of the court. I can feel a slight breeze coming from the cracks in the fence as I stand there naked in my tennis shoes. We are now ready to begin the game.
It doesn’t appear like the others want to start just yet though. Mike, Julie, and my own wife are just staring at me. Standing there in front of Mike makes it all the more humiliating. For one, the man is clothed. He also happens to be five inches taller than me. He is muscular where I am scrawny. He is tan, while I am pasty white. He is hairy, whereas I am almost completely hairless thanks to Heather’s ‘scorched-earth’ depilation campaign that she conducted on my upper-body and genitals.
The only impressive, somewhat masculine, thing about me right now is hanging between my legs. Unfortunately, no, it’s not my penis. However, dangling well below my modest prick, are two beefy testicles. Heather calls them my eggs. Not the most imaginative nickname for testicles I know, but for me it’s actually apt. Each one of my now hairless nuts is as big, if not bigger, than a jumbo sized egg. Heather has measured.
‘Holy crap!’ exclaims Mike, breaking the silence. ‘And I thought our dog’s testicles were big.’
‘I know,’ says Julie. Turning to my wife, ‘Are you sure he isn’t part goat? I heard that’s what they look for in award-winners. You’d probably win a prize or something if you entered him in the county fair.’
Now, in all reality, Julie and Brad have already seen pictures of my eggs. They are just mocking me for the sake of being polite guests, and it’s working. I tilt my beat-red face down to find, much to my horror, my cock is growing. I didn’t expected that to happen so soon, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Heather has kept me in chastity for a week in preparation for today. Within fifteen seconds, I am giving Mike a rock-hard, 5-inch salute.
‘How…cute,’ comments Julie, ‘look at his little wee-wee.’ My cock becomes even harder.
‘Looks like the little guy is ready to play,’ adds Mike. I can’t tell if he means me or my penis, but my prick gives a pulsating nod of agreement.
‘I think you right,’ agrees Heather, with a big smile on her face from listening to the degradation of her naked husband. ‘Let’s begin. Mike’s ball.’
No sooner does she hand the ball to Mike then he shouts ‘Check!’ Next thing I know, the basketball flies into my naked gonads with a loud SLAP.
I just stand there with my mouth open as the ball bounces off my thighs and onto the court. My nuts sting a little, but, more than anything, I’m just surprised. Mike gets to the ball in one bounce and keeps driving forward, straight into me. He slams his left forearm into my chest and sends me sprawling to the pavement. I still have the same stupid look on my face as the gravel on the court bites into my ass. Laying on the ground, I watch Mike sink an easy lay-up.
‘Two-nothing!’ Shouts my wife excitedly, as Mike passes her the ball.
Apparently, Mike knocked the fear right out of me. As I pull my gravel-speckled ass off the pavement, all I feel is excitement. I can’t wait to see what happens next.
I square up against Mike at the top of the court. Heather hands him the ball.
‘Aren’t you worried I’m going to check again?’ Mike asks, motioning at my exposed twig and berries.
I just smile and thrust my hips forward a little.
Mike chuckles and shrugs. ‘Ok…Check!’
It takes all my willpower not to reach out and intercept the ball rocketing towards me. The basketball smashes head on into the tip of my cock. While doubled over, I can’t help but think back to the time I jammed my finger playing 5th grade basketball. It’s kind of like that, only in my penis.
Somehow, I manage to pull myself together in time to play a little defense. Still throbbing, my rock-hard shaft wobbles about as I follow Mike down the left side of the court. My nuts swing wildly and slap into my thighs every time I am ****** pivot or lurch to keep up. Still, despite how ridiculous I look, I manage to keep myself between Mike and the basket.
Then, out of nowhere, there is an explosion between my legs. The horrible pain in my eggs causes me to crumple to the ground. I think I hear a whistle, but that might just be in my head.
‘What’s the call, ref?’ I hear Mike ask.
‘Too many balls on the court,’ I hear Heather respond from behind me. She reaches down and pats my aching nuts to emphasize her point.
‘Didn’t even see you there,’ I groan, while she's stooped over me.
‘I know,’ she says with a smile.
‘That will be a two point penalty,’ she declares, standing back up. She then looks back down at me and asks, ‘Shots or kicks, honey?’
I lay there a second without responding. I had totally forgot about the perverse, little penalty system we had come up with. Essentially, I have a two choices. I can let Mike take two shots at the basket, or two shots at my testicles.
‘Kicks,’ I finally answer.
‘Alright, then present yourself at the free throw line,’ she says.
On my hands and knees, I crawl across the court to the free throw line. I get into position on the line, my head on the ground buried in my arms, knees on the court, and my ass high in the air. This is all in order to give Mike a clear shot at my big balls, which, even now, are still hurting quite a bit from Heather’s punting.
I hear Mike come up behind me, and that’s when I begin to feel nervous again...