Ballbusting Aunt's Triathlon Part 1
Ballbusting Aunt’s Triathlon Part 1
It was the spring of my senior year of high school in 1975 and I was sitting in English Literature class bored out of my mind on a Friday morning, waiting for the call that would lead to one of the most exciting adventures of my young life.
Then, over the classroom public address system, the secretary to the vice principal asked that I be excused from class to report to that office. I got the usual ooohs and ahhs from my classmates who thought I was in for big trouble. What they didn’t know was that in some ways I was.
When I got to the office, there was my Aunt Sandra along with the vice principal. My aunt was a handsome, liberated woman at age 49 – bleached blond, 5-foot-2, buxom, long beautiful legs, a great laugh and a wondreful smile.
She wore a short skirt and high-heeled sandals that showed off her perfect size 6 ½ feet. She was dabbing a tissue to her nose and eyes and appeared worried.
“It seems your father had an accident at home and had to go to the hospital – nothing life threatening – but your aunt is here to take you to him,” the VP said.
I grabbed my aunt by the shoulders and began to comfort her as I left the office to walk her to her car. As we got outside and got clear from the VP’s view, big smiles crossed both of our faces.
“You are in for a ballbusting good time,” Aunt Sandra said through her smile as she reached back and squeezed my package through my slacks.
“You did a good job of selling it to him,” I told my aunt wincing as she released her vice-like grip on my soft spot. “But what if he follows up and calls home to check with my mother?”
“My sister and your father are out running errands all day, so if he calls no one will be at home. (This was an era long before regular people had cellular phones. And we did not own an answering machine.)
“So we are going to my home?” I asked Sandra, getting a hard-on through my slacks as I buckled my seatbelt, eagerly anticipating the pending session.
“No. I have something really special planned for today and we need total privacy. And, by the way, lose the wood or I’ll put your penis in a restraining device. It’s a half-hour ride and you don’t want that thing constrained for that long, do you?”
“No ma’am, I’ll think of baseball scores or something,” I said. (I willed my dick to stay down and somehow kept it flacid for the long ride, but I was horny as hell.)
Aunt Sandra in those days was a deliciously cruel mistress. She tortured me in loving ways and through her mature guidance I came to really enjoy the art of ballbusting and female domination.
She was a domina from the old school 1940s-50s Bette Page era. She loved leather, whips, chains, boots and devices of torture. But she was flexible to deal with the taste of her subs. For example, I have always preferred my mistress dressed in a bikini and barefooted and she obliged.
I, of course , was naked throughout all of our sessions. I loved the CFNM (clothed female, naked male) scenario long before it was fashionable.
Despite her diminutive size, Aunt Sandra also was a skilled catfighter who had humiliated more than her share of rivals with a well-placed kick in the cunt or, her specialty, nipple pinching and twisting. No one could twist a woman’s tits harder than Aunt Sandra. And she feared no woman no matter how big the opponent was.
She once told me how much “I love a good fight.”
After a nearly six-foot-tall, rather muscular neighbor lady scolded me when I was seven and threatened to strike me, Aunt Sandra, who was babysitting me, told me she would handle the matter.
“I’ll just reach under her ratty nightgown and into her panties and the next sound you will hear will be riiiiiiiiiiiiiiip!” Sandra said with a hearty laugh as she went next door.
Two days later, I saw in Aunt Sandra’s laundry basket the neighbor lady’s nightgown and a torn pair of panties. I never doubted for a minute that the then-naked neighbor lady also had lost her pubes to Aunt Sandra in that fight.
How I would have loved to have seen that one-sided catfight, but Sandra would never have allowed that to happen. You’ll understand why a little later.
I will say, however, that neighbor woman never bothered me again and, in fact, would duck into her apartment whenever she saw me or Aunt Sandra outside.
Aunt Sandra’s real expertise – and choice of target – however was much closer to a man’s heart – his cock, nutsack and balls. Sandra could spend hours twisting, pulling, squeezing, kneeing, kicking and otherwise attacking a man’s package and never grow tired of it. I learned that from experience.
All the while, she would smile her wonderfully wicked ear-to-ear grin. And she had a cock-teasingly dasterdly laugh – joyful and nasty and quite sincere. I loved her laugh, especially when she landed an on-target leathery sole against my manhood during a spirited ballbusting session.
I am 51 years old now and have enjoyed several ballbusting mistresses in my lifetime, but none as skilled and who enjoyed it as much as Aunt Sandra.
By the way, before I go further, I should point out that my aunt and I did not consider our relationship incestuous. We never had sex. She never performed fellatio on me. I never went down on her. We never had sexual intercourse. That, we felt, would have been wrong.
Ours was purely a dom-sub relationship. The most we ever did that was sexual was that she masturbated me to climax either with her hand or with her barefoot but only as a conclusion to an act of domination. The orgasm was not so much for my gratification but rather a matter of one party gaining total control over the other.
How this relationship began was interesting.
The previous summer, my aunt and I were alone in my parents’ house and about to go out to the pool when we got into an argument over something she had told me to do but that I had not done. In short, she was right and I was wrong.
At the time, I did not know of her history as a dominatrix. I was simply a sassy teenager acting out. She threatened to “spank my bare ass” if I did not behave. Although I was mortified she would even suggest such a punishment I also was kind of excited about the prospect of being disciplined naked by an older woman.
Then, for reasons I do not know, I pulled off my bathing suit, threw it at her and dared her to spank my bare ass.
Instead of being shocked by my nudity, Aunt Sandra obliged by grabbing my arm, tossing me stomach-first over the back of a recliner, grabbing my cock through my spread legs and blistering my ass with her free bare hand as I flailed about.
I was soon crying, then screaming for her to stop as she put a bright red shine on my virgin white bottom. All the while, her grip on my cock was shocking and embarassing and vice-like. I could not get out of the position she had me in. Then, she used the hand she had been spanking me with to grab my balls and squeeze.
I began begging her for mercy. I could not believe what Aunt Sandra was doing to me. She was actually squeezing my balls and twisting my cock! When she finaly let go, I fell to the floor clutching my sore package and alternately rubbing my blistered butt.
Then, for reasons I don’t know, I grabbed her foot and started kissing it. Then I kissed the sole of the other one. Soon, we were both on the carpeted floor. I was kissing her right foot as she masturbated me to climax with the left.
She held my ankles under her arms, putting me in some sort of wrestling hold in the process. It was to become my favorite position in which to be ****** to climax.
After that, I was hooked on what had happened and told Aunt Sandra I wanted to learn more about the dom-sub lifestyle and asked her to teach me.
Not wanting to risk getting caught by my parents doing such acts in their home, we had many other get-togethers at out-of-town motels where we would spend long, marvelous afternoons with her playfully kicking me in the balls and wrestling – always ending with me worshiping her feet and being forcefully masturbated.
She was always clad in a bikini and barefooted and I partcipated in the nude.
Which brings me to today and the longer-than-usual car ride to a place that was much further out-of-town than for our past sessions. (I figured you could never be too cautious when you were doing what my aunt and I were doing.)
Aunt Sandra paid for the room as I waited in the car, trying to look a lot older than 18. We proceeded to go to a nice secluded cabin in the foothills of a mountanous area. Aunt Sandra told me to get the thing that was in the trunk, bring it in and assemble it in the bedroom before I got undressed.
It was a partially assembled stationary bicycle. I took the pieces into the cabin and, with a wrench, easily assembled it. When I got it mostly done, however, I told Aunt Sandra I could not find the seat. She said not to worry about it.
Sandra was in a two-tone light and dark green leather bikini and was barefooted as she entered the main bedroom from the bathroom. She was just spectacular. She told me it was my turn to get ready.
I went to the bathroom and stripped to my birthday suit and reurned to the bedroom where I was shocked to see Aunt Sandra was not alone.
Sitting on the bed was the woman who I most dispised in the whole world – Olga, a 29-year-old Eastern European immigrant who Sandra had befriended years earlier.
Olga, who was a tenant in my aunt’s apartment complex, was from Romania and spoke English with a heavy, almost Russian-type accent.
I remember that when Olga was babysitting me when I was 13 I got so mad at her I called her a “no-good Commie bitch” and she took a strap to my clothed ass. She was forever getting me in trouble and grounded by my parents for the smallest of infractions. She made life miserable for me whenever possible.
I had learned to keep my distance from her as I matured to manhood. I had not seen her in two years. And now, here she was in a secluded cabin with me and my beloved mistress aunt, wearing a bright pink bikini and also was barefoot.
And, worse yet, I was as naked as the day I was born, hardly the way I wanted to face her in a confrontation where my balls would be at risk.
To be continued ...
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