The Second Challenge
by Bastige
A prequel to "The Challenge"; her roommate chafes at naked servitude and decides to try his luck in combat.

I could see it in my roommate's face whenever he looked at me: the first
time was a fluke, he thought. Our no-holds-barred wrestling match had
ended when I grabbed his balls, forcing him to tap out; it was a move his
high school wrestling experience hadn't prepared him for in the
slightest. And the consequences of what he saw as a lucky, dirty shot
were more severe than he was ready to handle. As per the terms of our
original bet, he was forbidden to wear clothing inside the apartment, and
had to do all of the household chores. My roommate was an arrogant guy, a
real macho dude, which was what had led to our battle in the first place.
Now his nude servitude was grating like crazy on his ego, and he could
barely wait until the mandatory one-week no-challenge period was up and
he could demand a rematch.

When the day came, I decided to pre-empt him. He was scrubbing the floor,
naked of course, looking kind of cute and vulnerable on his hands and
knees. I put on a sexy miniskirt that showed off my long, tan legs to
maximum effect, applied makeup, and went into the kitchen where he was
working. He looked up at me, a mix of lust, shame, and anger on his face.
I smiled sweetly and grabbed a long plastic ladle from the counter.
Reaching down, I tapped it against his balls from behind, making him jump
to his feet, fists clenched.

"What the fuck was that?!" he demanded.

"You know what today is, right?" I asked in a seductive, throaty voice.
"Your one-week period is up. You can stay like this for another three
weeks, or you can challenge me to another match."

He wasted no time. "It's on, let's go," he said, shaking his arms. In his
nude state, his penis shook too, which made me laugh. "OK, whenever
you're ready," I said.

"Right now," he demanded, cocking his head.

I shrugged. "Okey doke." I began stripping off my clothes; as per our
agreement, all matches were to be fought completely naked. It had been my
idea originally, to get his balls in the open, but being the man he is,
my roommate had agreed in an instant. After all, this was his only chance
to see me in my birthday suit, and I must confess that I look just as
gorgeous without my clothes as I do with them on.

Now we were both naked, and the effect on my roommate was noticeable.
Immediately, his cock rose to point at me. I laughed, and did a little
hip-wiggle (I'm not exactly a modest person). I could tell that, despite
his anger over what had happened the past week, he was struggling to
maintain his concentration on the fight. Good, I thought.

We cleared out the living room, as before, and I reiterated the rules of
the match - no holds barred, whoever submits first (or passes out) loses.
The loser would have to be naked and do all chores for a month, and no
rematch challenges were allowed for one week. He agreed to the terms, and
we began our bout, circling each other, looking for an opening. He had
skills and strength on me; all I had was six months of self-defense
class, and the natural vulnerability of his male anatomy. Last time it
had proven enough, but I could always have a bad day. I wasn't very
sanguine about the prospect of me being the naked one around the house,
so I was very concentrated on winning the bout.

He feinted with his left hand and then slapped me in the face with his
left. It stung, and I danced back. He laughed. I tried to slap him back,
but he dodged out of the way. We circled again. I sent a kick at his leg,
and he danced to the side and punched me right in the left breast. Pain
burst in my chest, and I reeled back; that's when he shot out and took me
down, one arm under my arm and around my throat, one arm between my bare
legs. the rough hair of his arm rubbed humiliatingly against my vagina -
why was I noticing that at a time like this? - as he bore me to the
floor.

But my self-defense training took over, and as soon as he took me down I
headbutted him in the temple. He reeled and his grip loosened, and I
wriggled free. I sent a knee up into his midsection, and he grunted and
rolled away. But as I danced back, his hand shot out and grabbed my
ankle, knocking me to the carpet. He scrambled up and let loose with a
vicious kick that caught me right in the small of my back, making me arch
in agony. Now standing over me, he kicked me in the ass. I'm sure he
could have kicked me in the head and finished me then, or broken my ribs,
but part of my roommate's machismo is his desire to subdue a woman
without doing her any damage. That was what had led to his loss in the
first fight, and it looked like his chauvinism was still in effect.

But, chauvinistic or no, he was mad, and determined to make me submit.
Leaning over, he slapped my face once again as I raised my arms to
protect myself. He punched my left breast a second time, sending spasms
of pain throughout my body. I whimpered.

"Do you give up?" he panted. I made no answer, but curled into a fetal
position. He kicked me in the side, not as hard as he could. "Do you give
up?" he repeated.

In answer, I shot my hand out and grabbed his dangling balls.

He leaped back, an instant too late to avoid my grab, and in the process
yanked his balls against my grip. He shouted and frantically grabbed at
my hand, trying to pry my fingers off his manhood. But I knew that this
grip was my only chance of winning the fight, and I instantly squeezed as
hard as I could. His whole body went rigid, and he doubled over,
momentarily stopping his effort to dislodge my hand. I squeezed again,
and he sank to his knees, his hands still clutching uselessly at my arm.

One of his hands shot out and grabbed me by the throat, and my air was
cut off. We both squeezed, pain against asphyxiation. I saw purple spots
dance in front of my eyes. I twisted and pulled his balls with my hand,
kneading them between my fingers, and in response he bellowed in pain.
His grip on my throat weakened, and I peeled his hand away with my free
hand even as I kept the pressure up on his balls. Now he threw back his
head and wailed, a long, ragged, pain-filled cry of desperation. The
first time, he had tapped out without me having to squeeze him this
harshly, but this time he was fighting it to the bitter end. Weakly he
slapped at my face, but I was merciless, the pain still throbbing in my
back and my chest driving me to pay him back tenfold.

Slowly, still wailing desperately at the top of his lungs, he sank from
his knees to his side, and I rolled up and over, keeping close to him,
keeping the pressure on his testicles. I was suddenly afraid I'd rupture
them, so instead of increasing the pressure, I just kept rolling them
around. By now, tears were pouring from his eyes. Why hadn't he submitted
yet?

Suddenly, he convulsed, and I leaned back just in time to mostly avoid
the contents of his stomace, as he puked in agony. He heaved again and
again, whimpering piteously in between. When his stomach was empty, and
our carpet was soaked with rancid vomit, he curled around my hand, his
face frozen in a mask of sheer torture. I squeezed harder once again, and
he gave a choked and hacking scream.

"Give up!" I told him. "For God's sake, give up before you lose your
balls!"

"Oh God, I give up," he sobbed. "Please, I give up."

I released his balls immediately, worried I had hurt him. Too weak even
to writhe, he lay there crying in the pool of his vomit. Still hurting
from the fight, I staggered to the kitchen to clean myself up.

It took my roommate about an hour and a half to get off the floor. I was
seriously worried I'd have to call a hospital, but I examined his balls
and found that they seemed to be intact. When he could move, I cleaned
him up, and helped him to his bed, where he lay sobbing as the pain
continued to torture him. I shook my head in pity, happy I wasn't a male.
Then I went to clean up his puke - technically his job, but he was in no
condition to do it and it had to be done.

My roommate called in sick to work the next day, and was unable to walk
upright for two days after our bout. I did all the chores for him during
this period, in violation of our bet. But I felt guilty for destroying
him so badly. Was there something I could do to make it up to him?

I put this question to him, on the fourth day after our bout, when he
seemed to be completely recovered. He hadn't been talking to me, or even
looking in my direction.

"I'm sorry I had to do that to you," I said sincerely, sitting down next
to him and patting his bare shoulder. "Is there some way I can make it up
to you?"

"First go grow some balls," he suggested, "and then jump spread-eagle
onto a balance beam."

I couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Not gonna happen," I sighed, "But I
have an idea that might be almost as good."

Getting up off the couch, I walked into my bedroom and stripped off all
my clothes. A little shiver ran down the length of my body, and I felt
myself tingling with excitement and nervousness. What the hell did I
think I was doing? But I overcame my momentary hesitation, slipped on my
high heels, and walked back into the living room. His eyes widened to
dinner plates when he saw me walk in naked like that.

"Now don't get any ideas," I cautioned him. "This isn't a regular thing.
You still have to be the naked one for the next month. But I felt so bad
about crushing your nuts like that, I thought you deserved a little
something."

So saying, I turned on some music, and as my roommate watched from the
couch, I danced for him. I'm a good dancer, I go clubbing a lot, so I
knew this was quite a show for him. I was sure he must have mixed
feelings watching me do this, feeling attraction to me but despising me
for brutalizing his manhood. Well, he'd just have to live with the
ambiguity. As I danced, undulating my bare hips and shaking my shoulders
so that my breasts bounced lightly, his dick rose to stand at attention.
I saw his hand move toward it slightly and then stop. I recalled that a
man has extreme pain if he orgasms after getting his balls traumatized,
and I wondered if he was still experiencing that, or if he was just being
polite by not relieving himself. Either way, he watched passively until
the song finished.

Laughing, I walked over to him and leaned down. Reaching my hand between
his legs - noticing that he flinched as I did so - I patted his
still-sore balls with one hand as I let him have one last look down the
long tan length of my nude body.

"I'm sorry," I whispered softly. "Do your balls forgive me?"

"Fuck no," he snorted.

"Well too bad." I smiled sweetly, and then went to put on my clothes,
leaving my roommate breathing hard behind me.