I haven’t always been a ball-breaker. It took years of training and abuse by three older brothers. As the precious baby girl, the apple of dad’s eye, I was always protected. When he died tragically when I was twelve, my life changed. Somehow all the angst in the house seemed to stem my way. I was in a horrible position. The twins, Paul and Tim, took it out on me the worst. It seemed like they just couldn’t get enough of hurting me. I was teased, tormented and shamed through those formative teenage years. First bra, boyfriend, period, you name it, ushered in with my three immature and angry youth brothers.
It all changed when I was about sixteen. The twins were still in high school with me, and Billy just a year out, still living at home with no real direction. I went to a friend’s house. She lived out in the country. She had an obnoxious brother too. Brad was only fifteen though. He was doing the normal, listening in on our conversations, interrupting our phone calls.
Finally Kathy had enough, and said something I didn’t understand to Brad. She said, “Do you want me to put my boots on? Remember last time!” Brad looked straight down at the floor in embarrassment. He kind of shuffled out of the room. Kathy just looked at me and smiled.
“What the hell was that all about?” I asked excitedly. Any magic words that made brothers disappear were good news to me. Kathy chuckled and said to follow her up to her room and she would show me. Once inside she opened a box containing a pair of gleaming black leather cowboy boots. The toes were extremely pointy and covered with metal that looked sharp enough to draw blood. She extracted them from the box along with a pair of black leather gauntlet gloves.
“If I put these on now Brad actually runs from me,” she said.
“Why? And where did you get this stuff?” I asked eagerly. It was then she told me story of the first busting of Brad.
Kathy stood up off her bed and knew today was the day. Brad had humiliated her at school the day before. He was showing off for his dorky pals as usual, when he threw a tampon he had soaked in ketchup at her in the third floor hallway. He made sure to do it in front of a lot of upperclassmen, and potential prom dates for Kathy. She was livid. The school and her father passed little jokes like this one off as Brad being a class cut-up chip off the old block fun-loving guy. Kathy obviously had another perspective.
She dressed in a pair of tight blue jeans, a light cotton button down shirt, and opened the box she had received the week before. She pulled her black leather cowboy boots on. She wasn’t used to such pointy toed boots, as she crammed her foot into the steel tipped black beauties, she remembered the shop clerk telling her they looked like good old fashioned shit kickers. She planned on kicking all right. She put on her black hat, and pulled on her black leather gauntlet gloves. She loved the way the leather of the gloves shined on her hands as she smoothed them over. They were quite tight, leaving lots of dexterity, and had a cuff that came about four inches above the wrist. She stood in front of the mirror and appraised herself. She brought one hand up in front of her and snapped her fingers into her palm, the leather made an audible snap. She held her fist there for a moment, cleared her head and went down the stairs.
Brad was out in the pasture tending one of the new ponies. Kathy swaggered up and swung her leg over the fence and sat down. Brad barely turned took notice of her, which was not that unusual when there wasn’t an audience for his hi-jinx. Before long he hollered, “Well, you don’t look like you dressed to shovel shit. What do you want?”
“Nothing,” she replied, “just to watch you bust your ass.”
“Why don’t you either get a shovel or get moving on?” he huffed.
She hopped down off the fence and strode toward him. He actually backed up a step, because she didn’t usually approach him readily. Something in Brad’s finely honed sense of self-preservation caused him to keep his distance for a moment, but his ego won out and he stepped back towards her with a sneer.
“What?” he asked, leaning on his shovel. She flipped her hand up and knocked his hat off his head in one swift motion. As it flew over his shoulder he turned to pick it up of the ground, before he could even utter the word “bitch” she had a perfect target. He was bent at the waist, in a slight crouch with his feet spread far apart. Kathy pulled back her right leg bending her knee until her shin was parallel to the ground then thrust her leg forward. The stiff new boots kept her foot straight, and the pointed steel toe found its mark, burying itself in Brad’s crotch.
It all happened so fast she had her foot on the ground before she realized she had hit him square, the steel toe of her boot right into both his tender balls. Reflexively Brad’s hands went to his groin; he hit the ground and curled into the fetal position with both hands between his legs.
Kathy stood for a moment in a state of awe. Since she was small, she had feared Brad, he had been her constant tormentor, to see that she could hurt him so badly was an absolutely life changing revelation. As Brad rolled onto his back she gathered herself, and placed her boot into his crotch, firmly.
“Move your hands dipshit!” she spat. Brad replied with a low grumble. She pressed harder, and brought her foot up and smashed it down a couple of times.
“Do you want me to break your fingers too? Move ‘em now or this is going to get a lot worse!”
Brad looked up and into her eyes. Gradually he pulled his hands to his sides, leaving nothing between the hard edged sole of Kathy’s boot and his manhood but a thin layer of denim. She pressed down hard, he began to squeal and his hands went towards her leg. She pulled it away and piston pumped her heavy heel into his balls in a viscous stomping motion. She caught him square in the balls with the very back of her heel. It was like getting hit in the balls with a 90 mph fastball with no cup. Brad made a barely audible scream and doubled into the fetal position.
“Rule one… you don’t touch my boots you stupid bastard!” she hollered. “Actually it would probably be best if you kept your hands of anything and everything I own, but especially my boots. They are my prize possession. See how they gleam and shine, the sun glinting of the pointed steel tipped toes... I can understand how you would want to touch them, but don’t. Don’t touch them or touch me.”
Brad had rolled over onto his knees, his elbows held him up out of the dirt. He had his hands over his face, probably to keep her from seeing him cry. Kathy could hardly contain herself. She had stood her ground and incapacitated her nemesis. She was drunk with satisfaction, but knew now was no time to celebrate. While Brad rubbed his face she saw an opening, better for him to have let her see him cry, and covered his balls with his hands. The outline of his swollen package was clearly visible through his well worn work jeans. Kathy flexed her leather gloved right hand, and reached down between Brad’s legs and seized his balls through his jeans. She pinched his right nut, to his credit; he did not try to seize her arm. He just turned and looked into her face with tears rolling down his cheeks.
“I am glad to see I have your undivided attention. I am only going to say this once. Watch out for me Brad, for the sake of your little guys here, watch out for me... I have suffered your shit for entirely to long, and I am through with it. Any disrespectful act will have consequences!” She pinched down hard for effect.
“Oh, and it would probably be best to keep this little discussion between us. No one wants to hear how your little sister kicked your ass.” She pumped her leather gloved hand one more time, and released his balls. He slumped to the ground in a heap breathing heavily. Kathy brought her gloved hand back in front of her and flexed it a few times, looking at it as if it were and entirely new thing, not even hers. It was a weapon.
Wordlessly, she went back to the house, went upstairs and changed, wiping her boots down as if she were a soldier putting up a gun. She placed them back in their box with her gloves, and put them up on a high shelf in her closet. She heard some rumblings in the house, Brad making his way up to his room and slamming the door. He would be in trouble for not completing his chores. As if he had much choice. He would probably limp for some time. Kathy wondered if he would tell their parents. She changed into some jeans and a t-shirt and headed for the mall. Oh well, if he did tell she could handle it. She felt like she could handle anything right about now.
Part 3: Kathy gets Brad’s attention...
“So that was it?” asked Susan excitedly, “Brad fears you now!”
“No way!” Kathy snorted. “You will learn like I have that boys are not that quick. I mean if you or I had ORGANS outside of our bodies, readily accessible in a physical conflict, wouldn’t we protect them. Not boys, it must be the male ego or something.”
“So how many more times does it take?”
“Oh, I suppose it depends on the boy. You can get them to fear you, but you will never get them to quit pushing you. I mean even my dad gets out of line still... after living with Mom for all these years.”
“Wait… your Mom????”
“Sure, where do you think I learned this stuff?” Kathy asked. “They don’t have ballbusting class at school!”
“Well they should!” Susan huffed. “How did this all happen?”
“Well, I will tell you the same way I told Brad…
Things had been going pretty well for a while; Brad was giving me my space, letting things lie. He had gotten hell from Daddy for not finishing the pasture that day, but had told him that he had pulled a muscle playing on Old Pokey, our oldest roping horse. He laid pretty low and kept quiet around me.
I could almost feel the buildup though, and when we were on family vacation up to the
Except for one morning, Brad must have gotten it into his head he was safe, or maybe his ego just got in the way. However it happened, he somehow forgot about the incident in the field.
I was in the shower and had just lathered up my hair, I never heard the door open, I never heard Brad sneak in, and I certainly never heard him prop himself up on the hamper and I definitely never heard the three gallons of ice water he dumped on me. I just felt it.
Brad scurried like a rodent and made it back to his room and locked the door before I realized what happened.
I was seething, shivering and biding for revenge. I could hear him laughing at me through the door, and I made up my mind right then to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget so soon.
Brad hadn’t totally forgotten the last episode though. He was careful to avoid being alone with me for the rest of our trip, and even after we had been home a week or so, Brad was giving me a wide berth. I saw that I would have to be a little more cunning in my efforts. Especially since this time I intended to teach him a lesson that would border on permanent. When I got through with his balls, I wanted him to be one step away from losing them. I knew I could make him wish he had never been born with them anyway.
So I waited until he was out in the corral, and went and jumped in my car and took off. I had spoken loudly with my mother about spending the day shopping with a friend, so Brad would assume I was gone for the afternoon. Instead I parked in a turnaround by the bike path about a half mile down the road, and then trotted back. I was worried that I would be spotted, but as usual Brad was far too into himself to notice little old me. I snuck in the side door of the house and raced upstairs.
I put my hair up in a pony tail and pulled on a pair of tight jeans. Then I got the box from my top shelf, my black boots still absolutely gleamed, the light caught the polished steel toe and glinted like the edge of a knife. I pulled them on and the reached in for my tight black leather gloves. I pulled on my right glove and smoothed the tight black leather over my skin. I flexed my fingers into a fist. If I could pull it off, they would be wrapped around Brad’s bare balls.
I pulled my other glove on tight, and snuck into Brad’s room. Luckily for me hiding was not going to be much of a problem, since the last time Brad cleaned his room was about the time the house was built. His closet door was permanently wedged open with all his crap, giving me a nice little place to hide.
I stood in place for what seemed like hours, when I finally heard the door slam and the heavy footfalls of work boots trudging up the stairs. Just as I had hoped I heard the bathroom door close, and the shower start to run. I relaxed a bit, and tried to calm myself before the big moment. I knew I wasn’t hidden that well, but I was counting on him being confident in my being gone all day long. If he wasn’t looking for me, he wouldn’t see me. I just knew I had to be perfectly still when he came in. I heard the shower shut off, I tried to relax myself, it seemed like hours, even though I know it was only a few minutes before he came into his room and shut the door. He was naked as a jaybird, a lucky break for me. I could hardly wait for him to turn away from me, but I was patient. I knew if I went at him from the front, he would be able to fight me off. I might get my licks in, but I wanted something a lot more sinister. I wanted to take my time with him, not just get a few quick ones in. I got my break when he put his foot up on the edge of the bed, he was facing away from me and his bare orbs were hanging down beneath his legs. It was perfect, I took two steps out of the closet, he must have heard or sensed something, because he tensed, started to turn, but it was too late.
I reached my right hand out, and made an “O” with my thumb and forefinger around the top of his sack, then I compressed with my other fingers, while twisting and pulling down hard. Brad collapsed in a heap on the bed, and I squeezed hard!
“Hey Bradley...” I said sweetly, “I hope you enjoyed that shower more than I enjoyed that one last week.”
He turned and looked at me with a mixture of terror and surprise. “What do you want you crazy bitch?” he stammered.
“I want you to remember what I told you last time we talked you dumbass,” I said and then dug the tips of my fingers into his left testicle. He cried out in pain.
“I told you not to fuck with me you little asshole, and now I am telling you again, and this time I hope to help you remember a little better.” I gave his balls another 90 degree twist and yanked them back like I was starting an outboard motor. He howled in pain and his hands went to his groin involuntarily, I slapped them away then slapped his balls with my left hand in a kind of clapping motion, rather enjoying the sound of the crack of leather against his bare balls.
“What did I tell you about touching me you little worm? Keep your hands off me and there will be no problems.” I clapped his balls again for emphasis.
“Jesus Christ!” he sobbed. “What do you want from me?”
I applied a little more pressure on his balls, I was enjoying watching my leather gloved fingers work his sac while he whined.
“It was just a joke!” he spat. “I think I am going to puke!”
I rested his balls in my right hand, and tightened up my thumb and forefinger ring, I didn’t want his little ballsies getting away. Then I made the old hitch-hiker sign with my left, and bore down into his right testicle with all my force. It seemed like my thumb was going to go right through his ball into the palm of my hand.
Brad wasn’t just screaming anymore, he was spewing. I had heard it was possible but I didn’t think I could make a guy throw up with just my two little hands. But here we are, with Brad heaving. I had to struggle to hold onto his balls, which means I just squeezed harder until he was lying limp on the bed, a slight moaning told me he hadn’t passed out, yet. Which was good.
“Awake Bradley?” I asked in my sweetest voice. He stirred a little, and for the first time in what seemed like forever I let go of his balls. I pushed him onto the floor and sat down on the bed next to his mess. “Wake up Brad, right now, unless you want more, do you want more?”
His eyes opened, and he looked at me with a healthy mix of hate and fear that could be confused with respect.
“What, you don’t want to talk right now? I do, I want to talk about your punishment. Your punishment for being disrespectful to me.”
“What do you call this?” he asked “I mean if this isn’t my punishment what is?”
“This is called getting your attention, Brad, and I think I have it now. If you disagree maybe we should try some more.” I reached my leather gloved hand out and flexed it in a grabbing motion for emphasis, and went on. “Or maybe you feel like you have had enough. Do I have your attention? I can’t hear you.”
His eyes were trained on my gloved hand. “You got it,” he stammered with wide eyes.
“Okay, now that I have your attention we can talk punishment, I read in a psychology book the most effective punishments are quick and unpleasant, so I have decided to give you three quick kicks to the testicles. It shouldn’t take too long, and my steel-toed boots ought to insure it not being pleasant.”
Brad immediately started to protest, “Jesus I don’t think they can take anymore... I mean fuck, let me go already… Besides, mom is already gonna throw a fit. After you nailed me with those things last time I couldn’t walk right. I could be bedridden. What’s mom gonna say?”
“First off all you should have thought about the last time I nailed you before you fucked with me, second of all we had a nice little story last time everybody believed and I think we can do it again. I will just tell everybody you got sick, heat stroke, flu bad turkey salad whatever, your puking actually helps the story along. Besides mom will have a good idea what happened anyway. Who do you think bought me these boots?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
I could have just planted one in his bare nuts right there, but the fact that he was recovering a bit would make the kicks oh so much sweeter, so I played along. “It means, dumbass, who do you think brought me to the boot store, who do you think taught me the old GTP, Grab-Twist-Pull, that I employed today, who do you think taught me I don’t have to put up with your crap?” I could see it sinking in to him. “Think about it. Remember when mom and dad had the fight about the color she wanted to paint the kitchen then dad mysteriously had an accident?”
“Yeah he limped around for a couple of days” Brad whispered, but I could see the wheels turning in his mind.
“Yeah and the kitchen is blue now isn’t it?”
“Fuck yeah, it is!” I exclaimed. “If you think back, mom always seems to get her way doesn’t she?”
“Yeah,” Brad admitted with his head low.
“So don’t worry about mom, and don’t worry about your precious little balls. I am pretty sure they can take a little more.” I crossed my legs and pointed my booted foot in his direction. “Besides, you are going to get punished one way or another, whether it is now, or when you get home from practice, or if I wear my boots to school and drop kick in the balls in the front hallway. Hell Brad, you have to sleep sometime, do you want to wake up every morning to me wrapping my leather gloved fingers around your hairy ballsack?”
He looked up at me with pain in his eyes, and I went on, “It can be over now, or I can make it last, I can be a real bitch when I want to be Brad. Think about it.”
“Yeah I can see that,” he said snidely.
“Just for that I am going to make sure the steel toe hits home buddy, right in your bare sack. I could have hit you with my ankle… uh-uh… Keep talking and I might kick them through the roof of your mouth. Get on your feet and get ready to limp for a week.”
I knew he didn’t want to, but my little speech about hitting him in public must have worked. I didn’t know whether he would make it up or not. I got up and stood in the center of the room, I playfully rotated my right foot in my boot, trying to keep him focused. I didn’t really think he would just stand there, but I wanted to try, I wanted to look him in the eye while I kicked him in the balls.
Miraculously, he got to his feet, and stood in front of me.
“Spread your legs, and put your hands behind your head like your doing marine sit-ups,” I barked.
I could tell he was very uncomfortable, his stomach was still cramping up, but he did what he was told. When he was up I reared back my right leg and punted like an all-pro. It was so quick he never knew what hit him.
I got him solid, steel toe meets bare balls; it was an absolutely perfect shot. He went down like a bag of rags. He was in the fetal position, clutching himself and dry heaving. It was almost anti-climactic, but I decided to have a little more fun with it. I walked over to the bed and sat down, crossing my legs and bouncing my right boot in the air inches from his head.
“Okay Brad, you have a minute or so and then only two more to go,” I said as perkily as possible.
All of the cockiness seemed to have gone out of him. “I can’t take anymore!” he sobbed.
“Sure you can. I know you can take at least one more to remember me by. I’ll tell you what, if you come over here and kiss my boots, I might let you off with one to grow on and forget all about the other one.”
His look said he couldn’t tell whether I was kidding or not and I was in no mood to wait. “Look, either pucker up or get back on your feet, I think maybe I can rupture one this time!”
I think the “R” word got him moving. He crawled over and tentatively started kissing the toe of my right boot.
“Get it in your mouth a little, feel how hard the toe is, can you taste the metal?” I fed the toe into his mouth, gagging him a bit, “Steel tips, your soft little ballsies don’t have much of a chance do they? Next time you get it in your head to do something stupid, remember this, remember the taste of metal in your mouth. Remember how hard and sharp the steel tips of my boots are, remember how hard and unforgiving my leather covered fingers are, and decide right then if you are willing to accept the consequences of your actions.”
“Now get on your knees and spread your legs, you have one more coming...”