I can also make you turn around, once my cock is dripping with your spit, and I can mount you from behind as I leisurely play with the controls. Which sensation will be most distracting and painful to you? Will it be the pounding of my too-big cock in your very, very tight and sensitive asshole – or will it be the cranking and closing of those plates over your crushed balls?
Hello my corporate slut,
I admit, I can’t help but chuckle when I hear you and your corporate “slut” male friends talking about whom (male or female) in your office is the biggest “ball buster.” It makes me laugh even more, deep down, when I hear these guys refer to you – of all people – as a “ball buster.” If they only knew!
If they only knew that in this relationship, seriously, I am the one who does the ball busting. Literally. And that while I don’t wear the “pants” in this relationship, you don’ either at home – you wear the panties, and the stockings, and the bra sometimes, and even the corset-tight teddy with the sparkles or the high heels that make you walk with your ass sticking out, just begging for attention.
Ball buster. That’s hilarious. I swore to myself a few weeks ago that when I heard that term again, I would have to take some action. And it was at lunch the other day, you probably don’t remember, because the lunch was a blur for you thanks to the vibrating butt plug rammed so deep up your ass.
We were at lunch with your colleague Jenkins, and his tight little girlfriend Sue Ellen with the Texas accent. Sweet girl, but what an airhead. You had this grimace on your face during most of the lunch, because I would go into my purse as if looking for my lipstick and compact, and take a moment to ratchet up the intensity on the egg vibrator nestled deep inside of you.
Then he said it. Jenkins said that your new corporate sales manager out of Atlanta was such a huge ball buster, that two people requested transfer to Orlando. Now how come I remember these details from that lunch, and you probably can only remember how the thong felt riding up your ass, or how the bra strap felt like it was revealing through the crème colored dress shirt you were in. Did you know you were sweating the whole time?
Anyway, the moment I heard the term, I knew that this week I would be paying you a special ‘Akasha’s ball busting” visit. In fact, I had bought the ball buster a week ago just in waiting for this special day. It’s a nut cracker, a clear plastic nut smasher designed to crunch your balls a little at a time, but instead of manually cranking it, I can just turn a knob in my palm. So convenient, so devious.
But the real reason this is so delightfully effective for me is that I can mount into my strap on harness, get you on all fours, and actually direct the deep, thorough sucking of my cock as I leisurely play with the controls, listening to the hum as the plates close in on your testicles and you start to grimace with your mouth wrapped around my shaft.
I will command that you suck my cock like your life – like your balls – depended on it. “Go ahead, you nasty cocksucker,” I will whisper to you. “Use your tongue, feel my dick in your mouth. Worship it. Suck the cum right out of my cock – -do it if you know what’s good for your balls, my little cunt!”
Not sucking hard enough? Crank.
Sucking too deep? Crank crank.
Gagging too loud on my cock? Three cranks. I will order you – I will command you – to suck my cock like your balls depended on it. And trust me, whore, they do!
But really, this is nothing. Because I can also make you turn around, once my cock is dripping with your spit, and I can mount you from behind as I leisurely play with the controls. Which sensation will be most distracting and painful to you? Will it be the pounding of my too-big cock in your very, very tight and sensitive asshole – or will it be the cranking and closing of those plates over your crushed balls?
It might be dangerous, I don’t know. It might be dangerous because I’m not going to be staring right at your balls as they are pressed tight together, flattened like pancakes, turning blue. I won’t see them, and I will have no idea – I may be in the heat of the moment, riding an intense orgasm, and maybe I will accidentally keep turning the crank. I guess I should leave you ungagged, so you can beg me – plead with me – that your balls are about to – well, bust.
That doesn’t mean I won’t stop the long, deep, fluid penetration as my strap on slides with ease in and out of your tight ‘pussy.’ I know that the pain, ironically, will just get you hotter and more excited, and your ass will loosen up as a result. I know you are the kind of deep, nasty, degraded little whore that when you remove yourself from the pain, your eyes shut tight and little sparkles going off in your head, you’ll realize that this pain is what makes you real and whole.
It will be as if I have this insane, intense grip on your balls. You will envision my fist in a leather glove, squeezing, squeezing so tight, as I smile and coo and then sit on your face, and my pussy juices will cascade over your face. Warm, scented moisture – my crotch grinding on your face, my voice ordering you to use your tongue now on my ass, my crack. You will forget the pain at that time and instead lose yourself in the surrender.
Because it is so clear to you that it’s not just that I am a ‘ball buster,’ it’s that I truly own your balls. Just like the rest of you.
Trust me. You will never use that term, or hear that term, without thinking of me. And my thick, black cock.
Affectionately,
Mistress Akasha
