Hope you enjoy...
A Proper Bulbing - A Story of Female-over-male Revenge
Copyright 2010 by James X. Pendergrass (www.jamespendergrass.com
(Note from James: Thanks to Alana, a beautiful, young, lifestyle Femdom in a major US city, for sharing this story with me)
Hi, my name is Alana. I'm 27, with long, brown hair, 5'7", and a perfect body, thanks to the two hours I spend daily at the exclusive gym down the street from my luxury condo. I've been told by about a million different males, as well as several girlfriends that I have a face to die for. Can you blame me for being confident?
It's easy to stay beautiful when you're in my line of "work." If I was asked to list my job title, I think I'd call myself a Professional Man-ipulator. It's an extremely cushy, well-paying "job" that requires minimal effort and gives me plenty of free time to travel, go shopping, but most importantly tend to my personal grooming. Between the gym and all the skin products I'm able to afford, it's easy staying beautiful.
How did I fall into this profession? It wasn't until my early 20s that I discovered the joys of Female Domination. For a long time, I worked as a waitress. It was a nice restaurant and I wasnít making a bad living, but I felt unfulfilled. Now those feelings of emptiness at the end of a long day are gone. Iíve found my true calling: the humiliation of the male gender. Not all males, mind you. I'm talking about perverted, penis-driven retards also known as "Compulsive Jackoffs," or, my personal favorite, "Walking ATMs."
There is a lot of machine ATMs world today. But for me, there are literally billions. That's because I can make most men do whatever I want whenever I want. Put it this way -- I get dozens of emails from male wimps every day, most of whom I ignore since I don't have time. This leaves me free to focus on the jerkoffs with the fattest wallets (at least until I am done pressing a few of their "buttons" and transferring their $ to my fat bank account -- it's the only thing fat about me).
Here's the way it works: These males work their shitty 9 to 5 jobs. Then they willingly give their money to me. Or, I take it from them. Whichever you prefer.
So you're probably wondering why I have titled this story "A Proper Bulbing." Well, it has to do with scrotums. And when it comes to scrotums, I guess you could say I have a hate/love relationship.
Why do I hate scrotums so much? Scrotums are responsible for many of the world's ills. I'm totally convinced the world would be a much, MUCH better place if men's scrotums were put totally under the control of Women. Any men who still displayed violent tendencies would have their scrotums disciplined with blunt force, or a simple electrical shock, for those ladies who'd rather not touch. Imagine how many fewer wars and how much less violence there would be. But this isn't the only reason I hate scrotums. Imagine having that silly, wrinkled flap of junk hanging off your body! I detest looking at regular scrotums. However, that last sentence deserves an asterisk. That's because I very much enjoy looking at scrotums that have been "treated" properly. What do I mean by that? U shall see.
Why do I love scrotums so much? Because scrotums are part of what makes it so incredibly, amazingly, magically EAZY to control males! That and their stupid penises, of course! Itís a great comfort knowing that all men have these monstrosities sitting between their legs, causing them to do the stupidest, most retarded things imaginable. And knowing that I can control males through their scrotums (and penises) by doing absolutely NOTHING, other than being myself, is the greatest thing about life. It's like God (who is obviously female) decided to give Women the ultimate gift -- a way of dominating the weaker gender by her mere presence. I think about this all the time -- when I'm working out and men are gawking at my spandex-clad body, when I'm walking down the street in my expensive new shoes and a skirt, and of course when I'm totally humiliating the living shit out of males on the internet and raping their bank accounts.
But the "love" is not only about that. Remember I said that I love looking at scrotums when they've been "treated" a certain way? Well, that gets to one of my favorite activity involving men: ballbusting. For me and my girlfriends, kicking scrotum is the most liberating activity in the world. Every girl needs to try it.
For you men out there reading this and feeling yourself weaken -- I have a standard rate for males on my website: $500 and I will come and kick your scrotum with my expensive shoes until you beg for mercy, and your scrotum is inflated to the size of a baseball. In other words, by paying the $500, men agree to submit their scrotums for a brutal kicking that will result in terrible, excessive swelling, or, as I like to call it, "bulbing." I try not to pop their balls, because I'm not psycho or anything (but no promises), which means my goal is to inflict as much damage as humanly possible without rupture.
I should also add that by paying the $500, the male agrees to submit to a clothed-female nude-male photograph session. The photos always take place at the end of the scrotum punishment. I insist upon full-body, fully nude male photos, because I love the look of his face when I've finished um, annihilating (yes, thatís not too strong a word) his genitals. And of course I insist upon a close-up of the scrotum itself. It's so much more pleasing to the eye when it's a deep, enduring red/purple color and swollen to the point where the guy probably won't be able to walk for several days. I love it! Once I have the photographs, it means I basically own the guy. I don't show a photo of his face on my website (unless he pisses me off, or unless he gives his consent), but all the close-ups are on my website. All 476 (and counting) of them. 476 bulbs. Tee hee!
$500 sounds like a lot of money for a male to pay for what is essentially his own destruction, but you wouldnít believe how popular my service is. Since I started my scrotum enlargement program two years ago, I have "processed" 476 scrotums. That's $238,000 for the mathematically challenged amongst you. And that's only part of the revenue I've been generating. Pretty soon I'll have bulbed 500 scrotums! I think I'm going to invite my girlfriends over for #500. Imagine that. Males willingly pay me to mangle their groins. Isn't life wonderful? Talk about absolute power.
This gets me to the story that I want to share with you. It's about a male that I own. I'm particularly proud of this one. Let me explain.
As I mentioned, prior to becoming a Man-ipulator, I was a waitress at a good restaurant in a posh part of down. I made a decent living, but the hours were shitty and I had to put up with Keith. Ah, Keith [snicker].
Keith was, and still is, the floor supervisor at my restaurant. In other words, back when I waited tables, he was my boss. Now, as you will soon see, I'm his boss. Keith is a tall, balding male in his early 30s who used to act as if he was the shit. All the waitresses couldn't stand him. There were several reasons for this: One, he was a total stickler for punctuality. If you were a minute late, you'd be docked two hours pay. Two, any time there was any issue with a customer -- no matter how big a douche bag the customer was -- he would side with the customer and give the wait staff an earful. Three, he made insulting comments to all the waitresses and he often would grope us in ways that made us uncomfortable. Me and my friend, Trina Lin, who also quit and is also now a Man-iupulator, used to get furious about it. We even considered telling the chef and owner, but we realized that d-bag wouldn't do anything about it. So why bother?
Around two and a half years ago, I stumbled upon some Female Domination sites on the Internet. I'm a voracious reader and what I discovered really fascinated me. I knew some Women out there controlled their men but I never realized the extent of the fetish. I shared my findings with Trina and we began experimenting on the side. In absolutely no time, we both had several male clients and we were raking in the dough. Six months after that, we both surprised the fuck out of Keith by quitting on a busy Saturday. We both showed up to work and put on our waitress outfits. Then, just as the first diners were getting seated, we walked up to Keith, handed him our aprons, flipped him the bird and walked out of there. It was awesome! The look on his face was priceless. As we walked out, he shouted, "You'll never work in this town again." We just turned to each other and laughed.
After that, I quickly forgot about Keith as my new career took off. The next couple of years went by. My income skyrocketed and I "work" like, maybe ten hours per week. But can you even really call it work if you're doing what you love to do? I guess it is work in the sense that I have to sort through a million stupid emails from retarded men and make sure I don't cross paths with a dangerous dude. For that reason, I have a bodyguard. I don't pay him anything, since I own his ass. But he's a big, physically powerful guy who worships the ground I walk on and lives right around the corner. Any time I'm doing a session with a new client, he sits in my guest room, ready to pounce if a Walking ATM gives me any trouble. It's nice to know he's there, and he's thrilled to serve me in any way he can.
A few months ago, as I was sorting through all the loser mail I get, one of them stood out. It was the name of my ex-boss and there was an attachment. My heart skipped a beat. Keith?! What did this idiot want? Well, I opened the email and began laughing. Then I spoke with Trina on the telephone and we laughed together for another hour straight. I saved his email. Here it is:
Dear Miss Alana,
It's Keith, your ex-boss. I have been debating whether or not I should send this email but you are so irresistible that I can't help but do it. Let me explain. I know I wasn't very nice to you when you worked at (name of restaurant). And I want to apologize to you deeply and sincerely for that. As it so happens, I'm deeply submissive and a few months ago I stumbled upon your website. I couldn't believe it. The amazingly beautiful Alana, a lifestyle Dominatrix! I was shocked, amazed, and more than a little turned on.
Yes, you guessed it. I'm a totally submissive, pussy-whipped, masturbator.
I can't believe I'm going to send this. Alana, maíam, I need to be punished for the way I treated you. Nothing would be more fitting, I think, than for me to enroll in your Jacktard 101 class, where I'll surely be taught a lesson that I'll never forget. I think this would be fitting revenge for you, for all the times I treated you poorly.
Miss Alana, I'm so sorry again. The truth is that all those times I was bothering you, I secretly fantasized about you humiliating me. I can't tell you how many times I jacked off while imagining myself debasing myself at your feet, and doing stupid things for your entertainment. The day you and Trina quit, while a nightmare at work, was secretly one of my favorite days. I masturbated myself for weeks on end when I thought of the way you flipped me the bird. I couldn't get the image out of my head. Imagine my total delight and amazement when I discovered your website. This is the stuff dreams are made of.
To show you my sincerity, I have attached a photograph of me. Please tuck it away and use it against me. As I said, I intend to enroll in your Jacktard 101 program with your permission.
I opened the photo attachment he sent me. Keith was naked, spread-legged, facing the camera. He held his little (of course) penis in his fingers and had this retarded look on his face. HA HA HA! The best part was his organs themselves. For such a large male, Keith had a pathetic pin-dick, but his scrotum was huge! They made his pin-dick look even smaller than it actually was -- no small feat. I especially love racking big scrotums. Itís like a fun challenge to see how big I can make them. Sometimes I can inflate them to the size of a softball.
I think I stared at the naked photograph for a good five minutes, the smile on my face growing wider and wider. I must have laughed for an hour straight. This was to be my greatest conquest yet.
You're probably wondering what the Jacktard 101 program is, so let me explain. The Jacktard 101 program was a rather ingenious lesson plan I came up with for all those compulsive jacktards out there to jerk off properly and worship me in a way that I like to be worshipped.
Here's how it works: By enrolling in my Jacktard 101 program, the penis pumping puppet agrees to pump his penis (say that ten times fast!) at least once every single day (I know, piece o cake, right?) for 101 consecutive days. For you monkey-spankers out there, it probably sounds like a dream. But there's a catch. In order to "graduate," my students commit to gobbling up their manchowder after every single ejaculation. Can you even imagine? 101 dirty cumloads festering inside the belly of each and every loser that enrolls in the program. It took me approximately 19 minutes to film the Jacktard 101 video and I've sold over 2,000 of them. There are other built in rules in my program. I demand that all my students stare at a photo of me on my website while they jerk it. It's just a simple photo of me in classy, feminine attire staring right at the camera lens. This way, I'm conditioning their brains so they worship me and send me extra tribute.
It's been a remarkably successful program for me, as well as the losers who pay to humiliate themselves. Successful for me because I'm getting rich. Successful for the losers because they get to serve a higher power and humiliate themselves, while pleasuring their stupid penises. According to my calculations, if a dude eats 101 of his own pathetic cumloads he's effectively eaten a gallon of his own jizz! Ha ha. Can you even imagine? If that isn't the complete definition of LOSER, I don't know what is. Jerk your own pathetic penis, and EAT all your slimy splooge -- a gallon of it. If that isn't enough, I make them thank me after they're finished guzzling. "Thanks for the lesson, Miss Alana," they all say.
There's one final segment to my program. Once the loser completes the program, he can download a certificate from my website, which says, "I successfully completed Miss Alana's Jacktard 101 program. I'm a certified cum-eating loser." Ha! Then they email me a photo of themselves holding the certificate with load # 101 festering on their tongues. Now that's total ownership.
That gets me back to Keith. Once I got finished reading his email, and laughing, I threw on my spandex and went to the gym. As I bounced up and down on the Stairmaster, I wondered how I could ensure that Keith suffered the most abject, demoralizing humiliation ever inflicted upon a male. No easy task, right? There are a lot of smart girls out there who have severely exploited males. Millions of women across the world humiliate millions of men every single day. But I know I'm good at this and I was up to the task. I couldn't stop smiling during my workout once I figured out what I was going to do to the complete jackass that made my life a living hell for three years.
After getting home, showering and slipping into shorts and a t-shirt, I sat in front of the computer and constructed an email:
Dear Keith the LOSER,
Hahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah ah! Why am I not surprised to discover youíre an ashamed, closeted, penis jacking pervert?
I will admit you as a student in my Jacktard 101 program under the following added probationary conditions. Because of our history, I'm going to have to insist that you agree to a few additional up front rules. I believe this added structure is necessary to your development as a true worshipping disciple of mine. So, here are my added rules:
1. Each day, before two in the afternoon, you are to film yourself masturbating and email the film to me. But I don't have the time to watch the whole retarded penis-jacking ritual and I don't want your emails jamming my computer. Therefore you are to send me only 30 seconds of edited footage. The 30 seconds will begin with you introducing yourself as Keith The Loser, then a quick snippet of your pathetic ejaculation, then you EATING YOUR CUM, and thanking me PROFUSELY for teaching you another lesson.
2. Each day you are to deposit $10 to my pay pal account. If I'm dissatisfied with your video (AND I WILL WATCH EVERY VIDEO), I will increase the payment to $100 on that day.
3. Any failure to follow my instructions will result in me shutting you off for good. There will be no second chances. You should also know that if I sense any lack of respect, the folks at (my old restaurant) might be getting some new movies in the mail.
Your agreement to My terms will be in the form of a video, sent to Me tomorrow by 2 PM, as well as an initial deposit of $100 (first ten days) to My account.
The next day, like clockwork, Keithís first video came in, I immediately forwarded it to Trina and we watched it while talking on the phone. Both of us couldn't stop laughing. Keith stood there with his legs spread, his crotch sticking out, pumping his spunk into a tissue. The whole time his tongue was hanging out and he was grunting like a freak. He looked right at the camera and gobbled the whole mess down. Then he got on his knees and put his hands up in prayer and started thanking me like a boss who spared his job. What a total triumph! We had oodles of fun watching him make a total jackass of himself for the first week or so. After that, he got boring, so I didn't watch for a while, but one day I checked a few videos to make sure he was in compliance. His "loser-tax" tributes continued to fill my bank account. Of all the losers that send me tribute, I think I've had to do less "work" for Keith than any of them. In light of our history, it's fitting, don't you think? A convenient transfer of wealth from male to Female, from retard to Goddess. It's a unique form of Darwinism.
For load #101, I decided to make a house call. Because of our history, Keith was obviously a special case. This was more than just some random jackass who wanted to be humiliated; this was personal. In light of that, I wanted to have an intimate one-on-one moment with Keith where I could cement my dominance over him in memorable fashion. For that reason, I though the best place to truly embarrass him and hammer home my superiority was in his "private" sanctuary, a.k.a. his bedroom, the site of so many self-administered personal relief massages. By invading his home and shaming him in the way I had selected, it would show him that his body and his life, not to mention his dignity, no longer belonged to him. It belonged to me.
After arranging to visit his condo on a Friday afternoon, I instructed him in an email to leave his front door unlocked and lie on his bed, naked. He was to have tissues and hand lotion in bed with him and he was to masturbate himself to the brink of orgasm. I instructed him to groan continuously so I'd have no trouble finding his bedroom when I arrived. As a final touch, I told him I wanted his legs spread and up in the air and the middle finger of his non-jacking hand to be wedged up his anus. Just so there would be no shenanigans, I told him that people knew of my whereabouts and if he was anything less than ultra-obedient, the tapes of him masturbating would be circulated everywhere.
I dressed in simple attire, jeans, a blouse, booties and a full length jacket. I didn't intend to be there for more than 15 minutes. This wasnít the first time I arranged to walk in on a masturbating loser. I absolutely love to do it. Another technique of mine is to arrive late, so the male is forced to get all pent up and bothered while I take my sweet time and arrive at my leisure.
When I arrived, I took a moment to take my jacket off and check myself in the mirror. I could hear the shameful monkey-spank groans coming from down the hall, so without further delay I headed straight to the source of the perverted groaning sound, an anticipatory smile on my face. I pushed open the door to his bedroom and there was Keith in all his "glory," legs spread and elevated, finger stuck retardedly up his own ass, pumping his penis and groaning. The tissues and lube were next to him on the bed.
"Oh I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" I said, conjuring up my most condescending, feminine voice.
Keith's face turned so red. It's always more satisfying when they get really embarrassed. And in Keithís case, it was with good reason that he was embarrassed. But I wanted to make sure he experienced some real shame. I sat down on the bed next to him and slid my hand beneath his chin, so he had no choice but to face me.
"You should see yourself," I began. "What a disgusting pervert you are! You do realize you've paid me a thousand dollars to feed on your own filthy sperm, right? And now look at you!" I released his chin and slapped him like a pimp slapping his bitch. His face became the picture of shame -- eyes cast downward, cheeks redder than ever. That's what I wanted. ďAbsolutely pathetic,Ē I added.
I'm not in the business of giving males what they want. I'm in the business of giving males what they need. I knew Keith wanted me to watch him masturbate and consume his own ejaculate. He wanted a female audience to fulfill his fantasy. I had something else in mind.
"Okay, I can't stay. I'm meeting a couple of friends at the mall," I lied. "Toss your legs up over your head, so your penis is pointing down at your stupid face."
Once he obeyed, I reached into my handbag and took out his certificate. I flipped it casually in the air and made for the door. "I have no intentions of watching you splooge all over your face. I'm going to go buy a few pairs of designer shoes with your money. Then, tomorrow I'm going to splatter your balls with them. Happy jerking, loser! If you jerk really quickly, I might hear your groans before I leave."
I could hear him grunting as I left the apartment. He obviously wanted me to hear him pleasuring himself. Iím quite sure he gave himself a faggot facial while I was riding the elevator downstairs. But what the fuck do I care? I had exploited him the way I wanted to exploit him and now it was time to go shopping.
Later, when I got home, I wrote him an email:
Dear Keith the LOSER,
Tomorrow (Saturday) is officially "Punishment Day" for you. It's the day I intend to pay you back in full for your childish and unacceptable behavior from the days when I worked at (name of restaurant). As I'm sure you know from your deep infatuation with Me, I specialize in Ballbusting. I assume you have had a chance to review the 100s of pictures of Bulbs on my website. You can expect your scrotum to take on a similar appearance. Make sure you shave your pubes THOROUGHLY the morning before you arrive. I want it smooth. And dipshit, I have to warn you that I'll take absolutely no prisoners. I'm going to knock your stupid nutsack (and the nuts inside your stupid nutsack) into next week. Very few things in life give me more pleasure. The fact that we have a history will only enhance my feeling of determination and my ultimate joy when I do what NEEDS to be done.
Of course you know you will pay me $500 for this necessary attitude adjustment, which you yourself admitted that you so desperately need. When you arrive, I'll lead you into a room, where you are to strip naked and bring your wallet with $500 in it. I'll be waiting in my kitchen. You are to enter, kneel and open your wallet so that I can ceremoniously rape it.
I expect you to arrive at noon. Do not be late.
For all you jerkoffs (and Females) unfamiliar with my practices, let me explain in clinical terms what it means to properly "bulb" a male. When a male suffers trauma to his scrotum, the testicles inevitably swell. As they swell, eventually they force the skin from the scrotum to stretch in such a way that the skin will accommodate the damaged nuts. A properly "bulbed" scrotum takes on a highly comic appearance. For one, it's quite large in size, since testicles tend to swell quite dramatically when punished with the blunt force of Female Footwear. Two, the skin takes on an ultra smooth appearance. This is because, as the gonads undergo trauma, the skin has no choice but to stretch to accommodate them. The result is sort of like what a facelift does to wrinkled skin. Not only that, but a properly bulbed scrotum tends to become almost perfectly circular in appearance. What a wonderful symmetry, and proof that scrotums were meant to be this way. And lastly, the bulb also turns wonderful shades of pink, red, blue, and my personal favorite, purple.
I have a high quality digital SLR camera, and after a successful bulbing, I make sure to take dozens of photographs. Then, I'll analyze the photographs and come up with my favorite one. The photograph is then labeled and archived with the male's name, age, and the date the bulbing took place. My photographs always include a totally flaccid penis in them. There are several reasons for this: One, I find the full image, penis included, very pleasing to the eye. Two, the docile penis offers wonderful perspective on the extent of the damage that was inflicted upon the scrotum. Three, it makes for a highly humiliating image that the bulbed male can always look as a reminder that he was put in his place by the superior gender. I want him to know that he is the victim of Female Power. And when I'm finished with them, they know it.
Prior to Keith's arrival, I had Trina, Lynn and Leslie come over. They're my closest gal pals and all intricately familiar with male humiliation. I had them sit quietly in my kitchen while I answered the front door. Keith looked so embarrassed and this was even before he realized he would have an audience. Without saying a word, I stared him down. "Are you ready for more humiliation?"
"Yes ma'am," he looked almost crestfallen.
"Look me in the eye when I address you!" I gave him three crisp bitch-slaps. "Oh, don't you worry. I'm going to humiliate you alright," I said, before leading him to the room where he was to remove his clothing (and what little dignity he had left). I couldn't help but snicker as he disrobed. He had a little erection and his balls hung there, oblivious to me, their executioner.
Fittingly, I wore all black -- a tight black skirt, a black top, black stockings and black high heels. Trina, who is Asian, looked gorgeous in a white dress with these really cool white leather square-toed boots. The other ladies looked quite lovely as well.
You should have seen Keith's eyes pop out of his head when he walked butt-naked into my kitchen and found himself face-to-face with four clothed Females. He was totally mortified.
Lynn has this great video camera that takes both video and high quality photographs simultaneously. She captured Keith's priceless reaction when he realized his humiliation was going to be much more public than he imagined. The girls all laughed as he stood there stunned. He mumbled something about this not being what he expected.
"Get your naked ass over here and present your wallet to me," I said matter-of-factly.
After I raped Keith's wallet of $500 of his hard-earned money, I made him kneel before us and admit what a compulsive masturbating jackass he truly was. "We've all seen the videos," Lynn added, as his face turned bright red just as it had the day before. We all called him a loser (I have always found that word to be particularly fitting and effective), jackass, compulsive dick-spanking retard, lots of mocking laughter, you get the idea.
Once that was taken care of, it was time to get down to the bulbing. I couldn't wait. All dominant women love to bust nuts. It's just that me and my gal pals take it to another level.
"Time to get underway," I said.
First I had him stand up, legs spread. I told him to present his balls to me and beg me to teach him a lesson. This is a must. It shows the male knows his place and is ready to accept his punishment. It also adds a ceremonial element to the proceedings, which I think is a necessary formalization of a process.
"Mess him up, Alana," said Trina.
I used a chair to brace myself and carefully measured my target, pressing the tip of my pump into Keith's groin.
THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!
In the early stages of a bulbing, it's important to get a lot of kicks in, but the kicks can't be too hard. You want the male to remain on his feet. I used the bridge of my foot, which does a good job of causing blunt trauma without any real risk of rupture. The goal is to get good coverage and make sure both testicles begin the initial swelling process. After each ten kicks, Keith was made to thank me, as well as the other women in attendance. I kicked him maybe a hundred times this way. For the final flurry of kicks, I upped the ante, really snapping my foot with extra force. The second to last kick was enough to put him on the floor, but before he went down I nailed him with a really super kick. This one took some skill because he was falling away. I had to shuffle my feet forward and change my angle. All my work at the gym really paid off, as it made an especially loud thud and sent his genitals flying. Lynn captured the moment perfectly, getting a great shot of his penis pointing straight to the ceiling as my foot battered his nuts. When one analyzes ballbusting photographs, itís amazing the way the nuts contort during an assault. Keith's knees slammed together and his hands came down between his legs in protective (too late) mode. I love watching when they do that. The Women all cheered.
We were off to a good start.
I circled him as he struggled to get his bearings and (I assume) deal with the pain in his stomach. We could see he was already red down there. "Now I want you to get on all fours and face the Women. I'm going to kick you from behind."
I really love kicking scrotum from behind. I admit it gives me a thrill to see that naked ass crack just staring up at me, legs spread like a dog in heat, silly, dangling soon-to-be-bulb, waiting for additional punishment. It gives me a chance to show them how uncivilized they really are. I also love the imagery of my shoe wedged between their ass, as I rock their world. Because it echoes off the floor, each kick makes this nice snapping noise.
Keith was starting to suffer now. I could see him try to cheat his punishment by sliding his knees slowly together and lowering his ass. "Keep your fucking legs spread, ass up!" I warned him, before launching another good ten snappers. I put my hips into the last kick and his ass bounced up into the air. He fell on his side and groaned.
Now we were getting somewhere.
His legs were fastened together and his hands were wedged into his groin, doing their best to protect his prized possessions. It was pure male instinct. Iíd seen it hundreds of times. I knelt down and reached between his legs, gently pushing away his hands, which gave way without too much of a fight. Once I had snaked my hand in there and secured his ever-expanding scrotum, I gave it a firm squeeze and ordered him onto his back. ďSpread your legs nice and wide, loser, so we all have a nice view. Itís inspection time.Ē
After he realized he had no choice but to comply, I began properly inspecting his scrotum, pulling and pinching at the skin. I love the process of ďdamage inspectionĒ during a bulbing because, by the time I check, the scrotum is usually highly sensitive and a simple pinch can result in pain. Keith kept wincing and writhing on the floor. But he kept his legs apart like a good, obedient male should. It was clear I had unencumbered access to Keithís most prized possessions. And I had his respect.
I made sure to stand to one side of Keith so that the other ladies had a nice view of him lying there, genitals lewdly on display. His scrotum had turned a nice pink color and was starting to stretch, but we had a long way to go. After tugging and pinching longer than was necessary, I leaned forward and looked deep into his eyes. "We're not even close to halfway done. Get back into position," I said. Trina laughed.
Once he was back in position, I stood and let him know what I thought about him covering up. "Each time you sprawl on my kitchen floor and grab your dirty organs, it makes me want to kick you even harder," I said. "You know this is what you wanted and we all know it's what you need. So stay PUT-" SNAP....SNAP....SNAP. I began putting my hips into each kick. Now every time I kicked him, Keith's ass bounced pleasingly in the air, but knowing my warning, he gritted his teeth and got back into position.
He was really bouncing up with each kick now. Lynn let out a groan of satisfaction. All of us lifestyle dominatrixes love taking part in a good bulbing. Everything about it is so enjoyable. It's a total display of vaginal power. And we all love watching that male ass bounce in the air.
This time I squealed with pleasure. Keith's sack was now a bigger target and I could feel all that mushy flesh really yield as my foot smashed into it. Keith let out his first real scream and began rolling around my kitchen floor.
I kneeled down and again secured him by the balls. Once he had obeyed my unspoken command by lying on his back and spreading his legs, we all studied his exposed groin. "Looks better, Alana," said Leslie, in that detached, lispy voice of hers. "Progress is being made." Leslie was such a snob.
Determined to make an example of Keith, I conjured up my strictest most no-nonsense tone:
"Get back on your hands and knees. This time I want your ass way up in the air."
SNAP!! SNAP!! SNAP!! Three more good hard kicks. Keith slumped over.
SNAP!! SNAP!! SNAP!!!!!
"Uhhhhhhh!" I added.
SNAP!! SNAP!! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP SNAP SNAP!
I kicked with controlled fury. No sense in rushing the job. Plus, more kicks usually equate to a rounder, firmer bulb. It's important to be thorough and make sure every single cell of testicle ends up swollen.
Again I kneeled down and checked. Keith's scrotum was beginning to resemble a bulb, but it was still too loose for my liking. His nuts had more room to swell. An appropriately bulbed scrotum should cause the male constant pain, because the testicles eventually push against each other as they run out of room. "What do you think, Ladies?" I asked, knowing full well the answer.
"Not there yet," said Leslie.
"Nicely swollen, but not yet an official bulb," added Lynn. ďWe want those nuts pushing up against each other in his sack so heís in perpetual pain.Ē It was as though the girl could read my mind.
ďYes dear, I know what it means to bulb a male,Ē I said.
I pulled a chair between Keithís legs so I could be comfortable. A Woman can't really kick with the bridge of her foot from this position. Itís important to have square-toed shoes with some depth. Fortunately I had my square-toed red shoes at the ready, for just this purpose. Trina handed them to me.
I made him sit up and put my shoes on my feet (an honor) before returning him to the floor. I pressed my shoe up against his sack. Keith's scrotum had grown almost to the size of a baseball now, but it was clear more work was needed to increase his swelling and get the skin suitably tight. I held my shoe against his ball bag and spoke evenly.
"This is the nastiest part of a bulbing. Donít you think, ladies?Ē
"Especially for him," quipped Trina.
I looked down at Keith. "Your testes are swollen pretty good and they have less room to roam around. I won't lie to you. This is going to hurt."
Oh, that felt so good. A perfect shot.
Uhhhhoh yeah. That sound was so delightful. Like a 95 mile-per-hour fastball hitting the catcherís mitt.
The last three were like perfect uppercuts to the jaw. Love the way his shit just went flying. The noises coming out of his mouth were priceless. Iím pretty sure his nuts were beginning to press up against one another, competing for the increasingly limited space.
Something about the feeling of flicking my leg and feeling the male sexual organs yield under blunt force is so incredibly satisfying.
Now the ladies were openly encouraging me. Forgive me for being cruel, but we were almost like wolves fighting over a deer carcass, except more civilized. Keith was whining and begging me to stop. His legs were jerking around. I also noticed that his balls felt a little harder than they had before.
His penis had gone totally limp now. It was dwarfed by his scrotum.
The thrill of Female victory and the agony of male defeat.
I stopped to appraise the situation. I reached down and was barely able to pinch the tiniest wisp of skin. Keith's scrotum was now officially in bulb territory. I could have stopped, but I was having too much fun. And this was personal. It was time to put an exclamation point on this ball kicking:
BOOOOOOOOM! BOOOOOM! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!
That last one caused his bulb to bounce back and forth like a boxer's speed bag. When we reviewed the videotape, I loved Keith's reaction to this particular flurry of kicks. His hands came down, too (late of course) and his knees shot up in the air, his ass wiggling back and forth convulsively as though he'd been hit with a cattle prod (I suspect by that point he would have preferred it). His eyes were bugging out of his head as he tried to comprehend what had just happened to him. I think it's funny how they always grab their crotches, as if that's going to do anything for the pain.
"Move your hands away from your groin, loser. I'm filming," said Lynn. Ah, Lynn. She has such a methodical way of trash talking males.
And what a bulb it was. The last ten kicks or so had an exponential effect on the swelling. Keith's bulb had inflated to the size of a grapefruit. Not only that, it was basically purple! It was almost perfectly round and the skin was stretched so tight that it had this pleasing sheen to it that scrotums get when they've been properly dealt with. The capper was his little peanut of a penis, lying in pathetic flaccid surrender on top of the swollen disaster area.
Keith was now groaning continuously as his bloated balls pushed stupidly against one another and caused him intense pain, a process that Iíve been told lasts for 72 hours. Just imagine that! Long after Iíve completed a bulbing and Iím shopping for expensive clothing, or eating a nice meal, or relaxing comfortably, the guy is wallowing in his own misery, his groin emitting a dull, excruciating ache that incapacitates him and forces him to think of nothing else but me and the enduring pain and humiliation Iíve inflicted upon him.
"Wow Alana, you totally scrambled the shit out of his eggs," remarked Leslie. "If I was at a restaurant and those eggs were served to me I'd send them back because they are overdone.Ē
We all laughed.
"Understatement!" added Lynn. "Hey dumb ass, thank Miss Alana for teaching you an important lesson."
"Thank you, Miss Alana," Keith mumbled, in a hurt voice.
"No, idiot. You didn't hear me," Lynn said. "Say, Ďthank you, Miss Alana, for teaching me an important lesson.í"
Keith quickly did as he was instructed. Males sporting bulbs are always so damn compliant. That's another great thing about my catalogue of bulbs. It features page after page of males with their legs spread, obeying my orders to the letter, and submitting to an incredibly humiliating photograph of his genitals. In other words, my catalogue is effectively a beautiful photographic chronicle of female superiority. Some day I intend to make a fancy book of my favorite photographs, so that Women can feature it on their coffee tables.
"Wait a second," said Trina. She stood, and took one step so she was standing between Keith's legs. "Before it's photo op time, I want to finish him off."
"He's pretty much done I think," said Leslie. "We don't need any ruptures."
"I know what I'm doing, Les," Trina said, giving Leslie a slightly dirty look. "Besides," she added, measuring the huge target she was about to assault. "This is personal."
Trina wore these square toed leather boots, and she just battered Keith's bulb. He cried out in agony and covered up.
"Two more good ones and I'll be satisfied," she said. "Get back into position this very instant, or so help me, I'll visit [name of restaurant] tomorrow and tell everyone about you."
While Keith somehow willed himself back into position (don't ask me how, given the state of his genitals. I suppose it's a testament to the awesome, male-controlling power of the vagina), Trina turned to Leslie again. "No offense, Les, but if you think I'm going to miss an opportunity to punish this pathetic, enflamed sack and the jerkoff itís attached to, you're crazy."
Leslie smiled. "I hear you, girlfriend. It is quite a majestic bulb."
"And it's about to become even more majestic, UNNNNNGH!!" said Leslie as she absolutely racked Keith's nuts. Gosh what a sound her kick made. Keith squealed like a pig and rolled all over my kitchen floor.
"One more and I think you can put this one in the books," said Trina.
I have to admit, Trina looked quite beautiful. I love watching an attractive Woman punish a male almost as much as I love punishing a male myself. And not to stereotype, but Asian Women have such spectacular bodies. Trinaís ass was a gift from the gods. Asian Women are reputed to be such quiet and meek creatures. It made the scene in front of me all the more erotic.
Trina carefully measured her target, as if she really needed to. "Spread your legs as wide as you fucking can," she ordered.
I have to give Keith credit. I don't know how he was able to hang on, but there he was, legs spread compliantly, waiting for one final ignominious assault on the center of his existence. It continuously amazes me how easy it is to control men.
The last kick was just perfect. Trina kicked from a higher angle, projecting her foot at a downward angle. The result was that she was able to drive Keith's bulb back into his ass bone. Talk about a collision! His scrotum had no place to escape, so his swollen balls undoubtedly compressed something awful between the immovable object of his tailbone and the irresistible force of Trinaís remorseless boot. It was the type of kick that ruptures balls and I think all of us feared she had done just that. This would have been really unfortunate, not because we give a shit about Keith or his scrotum, but because the bulb would have been ruined and the photo opportunity lost. Fortunately all she did was turn the color of Keith's bag a deeper, more enduring purple. It was perfect.
"Thank you," I said, hugging Trina. "I think it's the most perfect bulbing I've ever seen."
"I second that," said Leslie.
"And I third that," said Lynn, triggering a wave of triumphant female laughter throughout my kitchen.
Trina laughed. "You did all the work, Alana. I just added a few minor touch-ups."
We made Keith crawl around to each Woman and thank them for being a part of his bulbing. He looked like every bone in his body was in agony. Itís amazing how by punishing just one small part of a male's body that probably weighs less than half a pound, you can basically destroy his entire being.
We made Keith sit spread-legged on the floor while myself and then Trina posed with the bulb. My favorite photo was the one with both of us, sitting on either side of Keith and motioning to his swollen genitals -- a perfect purple sphere with the limp gherkin resting on top. My screensaver features this photograph. We both have such vengeful smiles on our faces. Keith, meanwhile, has this dazed, pained look of utter defeat. You can almost see the devastating effect the bulbing has had on his brain. I can only imagine what it must feel like to have a part of your body Ė the most sensitive area at that Ė turned into such mush.
Lynn made sure to take several dozen photographs of the bulb. Weíre all serious about making sure we get the best visual account of what took place. After we kicked Keithís ass out, we uploaded the photographs and spent a good half hour deciding which would go in the archives. Once we selected our favorites, I documented everything carefully and it went into my bulb file, just another devastated scrotum (albeit a beautiful specimen) among hundreds and hundreds of them.
Sometimes, when Iím bored or pre-menstrual, I like to flip through my files rapid fire. It makes me feel good to see one swollen bulb after another and think of all the men out there and the damage I inflicted upon them. And no, I donít feel the least bit of remorse. Iím giving them what they needed.
Ever since I engineered Keith's bulbing, I've noticed that my bulb portfolio tends to feature shinier bulbs than before, and the purple color is deeper and more enduring. I guess I really push the envelope now. But I think itís a necessary part of training and controlling the male. There is no better way.
As a part of my "service," the defeated male is required to send an email a week after the bulbing to describe their rehabilitation and discuss what the bulbing has done for them emotionally. I'm proud to report that most of them can't leave their apartment for 72 hours. They can't walk. Lots of ice is required and it takes them a lonnnnnnnng time to get back to normal. Their psyches are never quite the same. When I think about that fact, it makes me very happy. I guess you could say I have a purpose.
A week after Keith's bulbing, I received an email from him that brought a smile to my face.
Dear Superior Miss Alana,
It's been a week, and I think I finally will be able to go back to work tomorrow, though I'll have to walk carefully and try not to do too much. The last week has been so educational to me. I think you taught me a valuable lesson about the power of your gender. I'll never look at women the same again. The first three days after you bulbed me was agonizing. I had to lie in bed or on the couch with my legs spread wide apart. But basically it was impossible to move a muscle without feeling this intense pain in my scrotum. Even pain medication was only marginally effective. Because of that, I've been able to think of nothing else but you and what you did to me. I've been icing my genitals constantly. I can't masturbate. Peeing is incredibly painful. Hell, everything is painful.
I am forever indebted to you and live only to serve you. Thank you again for teaching me such a harsh, important lesson.
Keith the Loser