Bruised is the color of my true love's balls!

by Hardie

A macho husband is tamed by his petite wife.

I straddled my husband, looking down at him with affection in my eyes. We had just finished making love on the first night of our honeymoon, and I was very satisfied, and I knew he was!

"This is how it will always be, my darling," I said, gently brushing a curl of hair from my husband's forehead, "me on top, woman dominant, the key to a successful marriage."

He frowned, looking puzzled. His large hands caressed my thighs, sending shivers of pleasure up my spine.

"You on top, woman dominant, how do you mean? Is this some women's lib thing? Hey, I'm sorry, dear, I need to go to the bathroom." I reluctantly let him go. "Won't be long," he said.

I decided to use the delay to my advantage and got my 'special' package from the drawer. Quickly I pulled on the garments it contained, the navy blue cotton gym briefs and the white tee shirt and socks. This was how the girls were dressed in the scrap book I'd found in his flat - in a box of spanking magazines with pictures of 'naughty schoolgirls', with the pictures of girls wearing PE uniform carefully cut out and pasted into a scrap book. This was my husband's fetish, and I was prepared to play along with it - at a price!

His eyes popped when he saw me, and I swear he had an instant erection. One minute it was flopping around, flaccid. The next minute it was thrusting out in a massive statement of throbbing masculinity. Which is fine, but it needs to be controlled - by a woman!

"Wow!" I said, "you like this, don't you?"

"God, yes! You look..."

"Just sit down a minute, dear," I said gently. "We need to talk about something very important."

"Sure," he shrugged. "But make it quick. I can hardly keep my hands off you!"

"OK," I said. "To cut to the bottom line, every marriage needs a dominant partner, and that's going to be me. I call the tune. You dance!"

"Hey," he said, "you serious?" He started to laugh, nervously. "You're having me on, right?"

I stood up and moved in front of him. I could see the lust in his eyes as I posed there, legs apart, hands on hips, breasts thrusting hard against the fabric of my shirt, giving him the full treatment.

"Deadly serious, my dear," I said. "I'm more intelligent than you. I work harder. I'm a better organizer and, if push comes to shove, a better fighter!"

"What!" he exploded. "No way! No way are you a better fighter. Jeez, what is this? C'mon, let's cut the crap and do some serious fucking!"

"No!" I said, smiling sweetly. "You want me to dress like this. You want fucking, then you either accept my dominant role or you fight me to see who is the dominant partner, otherwise, no more dressing up in navy blue knickers and no more sex for you, my dear."

"Hey," he said, puzzled, yet still eyeing me with lust filled eyes, "you really want this, don't you?"

"I do! Either make me submit to you, or you submit to me. What's it to be?"

"OK, if that's the way you want it, then I'll just have to make you submit to me!"

"That's the way I want it. No holds barred. Submission by one of us to end the fight, OK?"

"OK."

"Right," I said, "let's go! C'mon big boy. See if you can beat a woman!" I slapped him across the face, hard, as I jumped up from the bed. "Come and fight!"

...............

I'd set the scene just as my mother told me to. In our household she was the dominant person, my father the submissive. She told me how she'd been a mousy little girl at first, and how my father, seven years older than she was, had refused to accept the responsibilities of marriage, going out 'with the boys' till all hours and never lifting a finger around the house. It became so bad that mum had decided to do something about it. She'd taken courses in aerobics to become really fit and in unarmed combat to learn how to fight.

When she was ready, she'd confronted her errant husband. At five foot three and a hundred and fifteen pounds, she didn't appear to offer much of a challenge, and the six foot, two hundred and forty pound man was very confident he'd soon have his flighty young wife begging for mercy and eager to resume her wifely duties as he interpreted them!

"OK, he was a lot bigger than me," said mum, "and I felt very nervous the first time we squared up to each other. We were both naked and I couldn't take my eyes off his massively muscled shoulders. I had to force myself to focus on the signs of flab around your dad's stomach. Too much drinking and smoking and late nights had made him less than fully fit and he was very slow. I had to take advantage of that, and I did.

At first he treated the whole thing as a bit of a joke. All he wanted to do was lock me in his bear like arms and stop me fighting. But I just kept darting in, hitting him and darting out again. And I soon realized he was too sluggish to stop me.

He began to get angry too late. My little fists had drained quite a lot out of him before he realized he was rapidly losing this battle, and he tried to punch me. Huge haymaker swings; if one had caught me, that would have been that, but I was too quick. It soon became an endurance test. Your dad was trying to pin me down so he could grab me or hit me, and I was hitting him and moving away."

He tired very quickly. His great arms, weighed down with muscle began to droop until he could hardly swing them. I was hitting him at will, smacking my fists into his flabby stomach, punching his face when I doubled him over. I couldn't believe the amount of punishment he took. He was so tough. Or else it was male ego, I suppose. He just didn't want to give in to a woman. Any way, it took me ages to break him.

Of course he had to 'give' in the end. I had him pinned against the wall. His arms hung down uselessly by his side. He was worn out. I reached up and held him by the throat with one hand and smashed my fist into his battered body. I nearly tired myself out. My arms were becoming sore from hitting him and I was becoming desperate, when at last he succumbed.

His trembling legs simply gave way and he slid down the wall to lie beaten at my feet. I straddled his chest and held his face so that he had to look at me. His eyes were almost closed from the hammering I'd given him, but he could see enough."

'Give in,' I said, cocking my fist and threatening to smash it into his bloodied face. He could see I meant it. There was a look of bewilderment in his eyes as if he could not believe that he, a husky, muscular male had been beaten up by a slip of a girl. His slender eighteen-year-old wife had given him the hammering of his life and was asking him to surrender to her!

I could see the anguish in him as he strove to find the courage to resist me further. Then, as I raised my fist higher and his resolve just crumpled. The beating I'd given him, a beating from a girl, had been too much for him to bear. He started to sob, huge racking sobs, which set his mighty body trembling with despair.

I was elated but, at the same time, I felt a little bit sorry for him. Here he was, my all-powerful husband lying crying at my mercy, his will broken, his masculinity destroyed. I, a slip of a girl had cut down a huge hunk of a man and was about to begin the emasculation process that would make him subservient to me for the rest of his life.

And that's the secret of a successful marriage, my girl - woman dominant, man subjugated!"

.............

And now it was my turn. But I didn't intend to go through the same process as my mother. A new generation, a new approach!

Bob towered over me as he got up. There was a look of bewilderment on his handsome face as he rubbed the spot where I'd hit him. Then, almost apologetically, he tried to grab me.

If anything, we were more of a mismatch than my parents had been. I mean, Bob was one gorgeous hunk of male muscle. Six two and two hundred and ten pounds of beef, with no discernible fat! He had wide, muscular shoulders, a thick neck and a chest like a bull. His stomach was well ribbed and his quads bulged from his powerful thighs. This was no flabby lay about. This was one very fit athletic male animal. This was all man!

I was roughly the same build as my mother, maybe a bit slimmer around the hips from the dancing and gymnastics I'd been doing for the last ten of my eighteen years. And from a very early age my mother had taught me how to fight!

However, I'd no intentions of fighting like my mother. I'd found a much better way of subduing a huge, tough male.

As my husband came towards me, his arms outstretched, his big erect cock thrusting forwards like a knight's lance, I kicked him in the balls! Bob's mouth shot open as a keening cry of agonized disbelief escaped from his lips. He clutched his balls. His knees buckled and he started to go down. Moving swiftly, I grabbed his hair and was able to hold him just long enough to smash my knee into my poor husband's handsome face.

There was the crunch of smashed cartilage. Blood spurted, and he collapsed to the floor, one hand on his balls, the other on his face. My plan was working perfectly. I'd rehearsed this scenario many times before luring my poor, unsuspecting husband to his inevitable fate.

Ruthlessly, but knowing it was for his eventual well being, I kicked him in the head several times, making sure he was dazed, half stunned and disorientated, at my mercy.

I had to disable his massively muscled arms. I found the middle finger on the hand protecting his battered face, and pulled it backwards. It was so easy. If he resisted, he got a broken finger. He didn't resist for long. In no time I had his arm twisted up behind his back, his bulging bicep straining, trying to stop me from crippling his mighty limb.

But he had no chance. He had all the strength, but I had all the leverage. He was dazed and hurt. My mind was crystal clear. I forced the powerful male arm up between his shoulder blades and just kept pushing until something gave. He cried out in agony as his limb was rendered useless by his coldly efficient young wife.

I gave him no time to recover. This was not my husband I was fighting. This was one very dangerous, enormously powerful male animal, which I, a slip of a girl, had set out to overwhelm. And the job was nearly done. His resistance, when I set about disabling his other arm, was almost non-existent.

He lay face down, sobs wracking his magnificent body as the pain from my beating ravaged his brain. I sat astride his thighs, reached under his body with one hand and clutched his balls.

"You'd better submit to me, darling," I crooned, "or I'll really have to hurt you, and you know I don't want to do that unless I have to!" I squeezed his balls. "SUBMIT!" I ordered.

"F... f... fuck you," he sobbed defiantly.

My mother told me about the male ego thing, and how that had to be completely overcome before female domination could take place, so I had expected a certain amount of defiance.

But I hadn't expected what happened next. I mean, I had him by the balls, both his arms were disabled and I'd really hurt my poor husband. Yet somehow he managed to summon enough strength to get up. He used his stomach muscles to lift his torso clear of the floor and he twisted sideways, causing me to lose my grip on his balls and send me sliding to the floor. Bob's mighty body threatening to engulf me as he rolled over to try to crush my feeble, female frame into the ground.

Frantically I rolled away, scurrying out of harm's way until I crashed into the wall, slightly winding myself, losing my bearings, needing time to gather myself together again. Luckily, my Herculean husband gave me the time I needed. Because of his damaged arms he was having difficulty struggling to his feet, and my head cleared.

I went for him, a tiny female torpedo exploding ferociously into the male's battleship of a body. Fists swinging, I laced into him. He tried to kick me, but he was going backwards from the ferocity of my assault, and he didn't connect. Instead, he crashed backwards into the wall, where I pinned him like a captured giant butterfly.

Without even thinking about it, I drove my knee up between my devastated husband's thick thighs and smashed it unerringly into his dangling balls.

He screamed like a girl. He wanted to go down, but I wouldn't let him. My blood lust was up. I held my helpless beloved against the wall and smashed into him. Time and again I asked him to submit, but he stubbornly refused. And I must say I was glad. He was so brave. It felt wonderful for me a slender little girl, to be giving a massive, macho, courageous male fighter such a savage beating.

I loved the feeling of my tiny female fist smacking into his hard, male body, pulping muscle as I mercilessly hit him. When an opening occurred I transferred my attack lower down, beating his balls, callously brushing his useless great arms aside and lacing into him until he eventually slumped into unconsciousness and folded up on the floor at my feet.

Chest heaving, elation flooding my mind, I splayed my husband's gorgeous, mightily muscled limbs so that his legs lay wide apart. Then I stood over him as he came round.

He had a full view of the girl of his wildest fantasies. A girl indulging his fetish. A shapely young girl dressed in the clothes, which hit his libido like a sexual sledgehammer. A young girl who had given him the beating of his life and now wanted to hear his submission.

"You'd better submit now, my darling," I said sympathetically, because I did feel some pity for the mighty man I'd laid low. "I don't want to hurt you any more unless I have to… well… just a little bit more!" And, with calculated vehemence, I once more kicked him in the balls, just to make sure!

His whole massive frame rose from the ground as my foot sent shards of agony into his brain, and he began to cry. I could see all the fighting spirit, all the aggression flood from him as he lay at my feet, crying like a baby, beaten by a girl.

Yet he couldn't take his eyes off me. He lay there at my feet, crying with pain and humiliation, and his cock rose into a throbbing tower of uncontrollable erection. Here was his fantasy come true. A girl in navy blue knickers and white top standing victoriously over his broken, naked male body!

"Do you submit?" I asked gently, knowing I'd broken this wonderful, powerful, hunk of male magnificence to my female will.

"I s… s… submit," he said, tears flooding from his eyes, his will power flooding from his muscle laden body. His emasculation had begun!

I stood over my poor defeated husband and raised my arms in triumph. I had beaten him and broken him and could only look forward to training him and subjugating him completely. Married life was going to be so good!