Ballbusting, 470 pictures 1920x1080 (FullHD), partially CFNM, no blood.

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"Most male dancers are a pain, my dear," Lady Vivian had told Judy when she first joined the ballet company. "They have inflated egos, many of them are gropers, and some miss important rehearsals, or turn up late repeatedly. They think all they have to do is to arrive for everything to be a success. I had one partner who infuriated me so much, I beat him up."

"You didn’t!" Judy was astonished.

"Certainly I did, the arrogant little squirt! All it took was one punch, and he was flat on his back. I gave him a few slaps to revive him, went through the routine with him, and left him passed out. It was all recorded on CCTV, and some joker made 140 pictures of it and called it Gallery 492, for some reason. Do you know any self-defence?"

"No."

"Well I’d learn some if I were you. The chances are that, sooner or later, you’ll get a groper for a partner. He’ll paw your bum while he lifts you, and give your tits a rub when you spin round. That’s their usual thing. And they think they’re doing you a favour!"

That had been four years ago. Perhaps Judy had been lucky, or perhaps Lady Vivian had a jaundiced view of male dancers, because she had liked nearly all her partners; and if she hadn’t liked one or two it had been simply because she found them boring. The self-defence she had learnt – a bit of rudimentary boxing from her father – had been a waste of time.

Except now she had such a partner, Adrian. It was enough to anger a saint! The rehearsals with the company as a whole were going well, the orchestra had a great conductor who inspired everyone, and the scenery for the performances had been put up. She considered it to be the best "set" she had worked with – street scenes with steps up to some of the houses, patches of woodland in the background, and so on. Everyone was working so hard, and the one thing that dragged it all down for her was her selfish dirty pervert of a partner.

This morning they had arranged to rehearse a particular scene together, to get used to the scenery. Judy brought the music with her and a cd player – the great Adrian couldn’t be expected to do something so menial, she thought bitterly – and set it up to play the movement they would be rehearsing to. 

The moment she slipped off her coat she regretted her decision to wear her favourite red dancing leotard. It was comfortable and flexible to dance in, and she loved it because it showed off her fabulous figure. But with Adrian as a partner in a private rehearsal, she really ought to have worn baggy jeans, a floppy shirt, and trainers (not that they’d be easy to dance in). Oh well, it was too late now, because in he came.

They nodded to each other, and after a bit of polite conversation about traffic jams, weather forecasts and such-like, Judy asked if he was ready to start. She pressed "play" and they began.

"One two three, one two three, yes, that’s good," she said to the rhythm of the music, as they danced. "La la la, turn, la la la turn, lovely! Now with the trumpet you turn me round, then – no!"

Judy stopped dancing and stared at Adrian for a moment, then went over and turned the music off.

"I’m warning you," she stated, trembling with fury, "If you grab my bum or squeeze my tits once more, I’ll make you regret it. Don’t look all innocent! You and I both know what you did. Now, once more from the top."

Being the professional that she was, she overcame her anger and went to work again. They mastered the complicated turns that had eluded them at the previous rehearsal, to her satisfaction. Adrian was a good dancer, she had to admit, and she felt confident with him as a partner. It’s what made her so enraged with him: the fact that it could – and ought – to have been so successful. And there he went again.

Judy stopped dancing. She glared at the smirking Adrian for a moment, and then marched over to the cd player. There was something in that march that gave Adrian a feeling of trepidation. It betrayed undiluted anger, barely under control. She switched the music off, and walked quite slowly back.

"Put your fists up," she told him quietly.

"What?"

"I said, put your fists up."

"You’re mad. Ow!"

Judy’s right fist found its target, homing in on his left jaw. Those lessons with her Dad came instantly back. It was a medium-strength punch, but enough to do a little damage and cause alarm. And Adrian was no fighter, she could see that. He stepped back, confused and disconcerted. It was time to show him that she really meant business. Her left fist thundered against his chin in a power stroke of a straight punch. He fell backwards into a tree, which moved slightly.

"Mind the scenery!" she mockingly admonished him.

"Fuck the scenery!" he shouted in his distress, before wildly attempting to run for it.

But Judy was too quick for him. She seized his right wrist in her left hand, swung him round to face her, and punched him full and hard in his left eye. Astonishingly, she was enjoying herself. Weeks of pent-up anger were suddenly released. Get off by pawing her with his dirty, clumsy hands would he? Well, now it was pay-back time, and she struck his mouth hard with a left hook.

Adrian’s head and upper body lurched to his left. Where Judy was animated by a single desire – revenge – his mind was a tangle of pain, panic, humiliation and helplessness. Meanwhile a right hook from her sent his head spinning in the opposite direction. He could do nothing to prevent the tears which formed and fell freely. Through them he could see that mad hellcat was smiling. Even in his distress he had to admit it was a lovely face. It was mesmerising. It looked into his face now, distracting him from the agonising low stomach punch she now gave him. He coughed and crumpled forward.

Judy remembered what her Dad had told her about following up from a successful punch in the stomach: if your opponent was in the position that Adrian now was, it set him up nicely for an uppercut.

Certainly Adrian’s chin was a tempting target. Judy balled her right fist tightly, drew it back, and fired it at his chin. He shot into the air momentarily, before falling backwards into a house.

"Careful!" Judy continued with her ironic scolding, "It’s Sunday morning, and they’re probably having a lie-in.

"Fuck off!" Adrian sobbed. Now furious at his treatment, he charged at Judy, launching a massive right haymaker. But it had no control, and was simply a desperate attempt at counter-attack. Judy leant out of the way of it, and helped herself to the easy target of his right ribcage when he passed her. Her right fist seemed to burn through his kidney. He clutched at his side, frantically trying to think of some way to escape or at least end this torment.

For her part, Judy had noticed the CCTV cameras around them, and she wondered what she looked like in action, wearing her leotard. It had never occurred to her before that a woman could look sexy while fighting, and she wondered if "some joker" would make pictures of her fight, the way they had with Lady Vivian’s.

With this in mind, she grabbed the still doubled-up Adrian with her left hand by his left shoulder, and moved him round to face her. She now held his chin with her left hand, and balled her right into a fist once more. She drew it back, and smashed a perfect cross at his chin. Remembering the cameras, she held the pose of her punch longer than was strictly necessary, so she could show off her splendid shape in that dazzling leotard.

For his part, Adrian fell backwards into a bus stop, knocking it over. Judy looked on with satisfaction, even forgetting to make a sarcastic comment. She sensed the fight was nearly over, and walked purposefully over to him. She punched him in the mouth. She moved him so that the scenery was behind him, before driving him into it again with a second uppercut.

One more punch should do it. He was swaying, and barely able to stay on his feet. She moved him away from the scenery now, so that nothing was behind him. She took her time, drawing her right fist back slowly … then the victory stroke of one last straight right shot the hapless man off his feet, and he landed unceremoniously on his back, unconscious.

Judy stood over him, fists still clenched. There was no celebration yet, because she had another plan for him when he recovered consciousness. Oh yes! By the time she had finished with him he would never grope another woman.

*****

"Woken up, have we?" Judy asked, some moments later. "Come on, we’ve got a lot to do."

Adrian needed time to collect his thoughts. He was onstage lying on his back, they’d been rehearsing, and he was … naked?

"Where are my tights?" he demanded.

"I took them off you while you were asleep," she answered casually. "So far I’ve attacked various parts of your head and body, but I’ve neglected where you keep your brain," she continued distastefully. "It’s that which makes you grope women, after all. Plus you seem to be one of those men who enjoys getting beaten up by a woman. Look at you!"

To his embarrassment he did indeed have an erection. Yes, it all came back to him now. He put his head in his hand and groaned.

"Instead of feeling sorry for yourself, why not make yourself useful? Put that bus stop back up for a start. The ten-thirty will be here in a minute."

"The beatings are bad enough," he thought to himself, "but the jokes are appalling."

"There, that’s better," Judy looked approvingly at the restored bus stop. "Now, for the music. You’ve danced to Tchaikovsky before?"

Even in his wounded state, Adrian still had his pride as a dancer, and he answered (as best he could through battered lips) "Of course I have."

"Good. I thought the Nutcracker Suite would be suitable. Ah, there we are. Now the man takes the lady like so. Come on!" Adrian did as he was told, and held her as if they were dancing.

"You must forgive me for not referring to you as a gentleman, only I can’t bring myself to do it. Now then, the lady moves herself backwards, arching her back, and the man follows, putting his face closer to her breasts than he ought to, because he’s a pervert. In fact his nose is between them. Meanwhile his left hand secures the lady at her waist, and his right hand is closer to her bottom than it should be. She leans back gracefully, arms stretched out, eases her right thigh up, and … slams it into the man’s nuts.

"Showing the dexterity that comes from her training as a dancer, the lady hops from her left to her right foot, holds the man in the traditional dancing poise, and brings her left knee firmly up into the man’s balls. She now rests for a few bars as the man staggers about, unprofessionally out of time with the music.

"When he has stopped waddling like a duck, the lady resumes the conventional dancing poise with the man, and this time jams her right knee into his balls. She notices an agonised look on his face, and puts it down to a wrong note on the third violin.

"It is essential always to maintain grace and elegance in dance, especially for a lady. You will note the subtle, tapering shape of her right thigh and calf as, her knee bended, she now kicks the man in the balls. The stage lights reflect in her red painted toe nails. She now turns 180 degrees, and the man (as is his habit) holds her by her hips and bottom. She sweeps a ladylike heel upwards smartly into the man’s balls, and he sinks to his knees.

"He can’t stay down there forever, because there is an exacting dance routine to perform. The lady ensures he stands up again, employing the considerable strength that she possesses, and insists he do his duty as the male dancer. She is now leading him, and she has to jump into the air rather than be lifted by him, as he seems to be somewhat indisposed. 

"The man can’t seem to erase his old bad habits though, and as the lady leans backwards again, places his left hand on her pliant breasts. She reminds him of his manners by way of her left knee.

"Another habit of his during dance has always been to rub his manhood against her bottom whenever he gets the chance. The lady now discovers that this can most effectively be discouraged by shooting a heel into his naked nuts.

"The lady’s new-found prowess at punching can be used instead of a knee, thigh or heel against the man’s balls; and occasionally during dance, this may be used for the sake of variety. Likewise, she can employ her elbows.

"On the subject of variety, the lady attacks the man from behind, securing his head and arms in a hold. She can bring her foot, shin or knee into play against the man’s balls this way. After such an assault she finds she no longer needs to secure him, and can just aim a kick in that direction.

"He’s running away! But his injuries hinder his progress, and the lady is faster. One last bombardment from her knee arrests his progress.

"The lady previously demonstrated a bended knee kick. Now she shows the desirable length and curves of her legs by stretching one of them – her right – so that her foot finds its target and punishes it. She repeats this onslaught by seizing the man’s right wrist, and this time propelling her foot at an angle into his balls.  The variations on this theme are several, and the lady works her way through them, now taking both the man’s hands and kicking upwards, next holding his head and bringing her other leg into play.

"Kicks obviously afford more scope for angled attacks than knees or thighs, and the lady now demonstrates a series of these. She balances on her right foot, and shoots obliquely with her left at his groin. 

"Then there are hop-kicks. She’s good at those! See, you kick with one foot, hop to the next, and go in with that one. When these have all been exhausted, she can always return to the curved knee kick, as she does now.

"But the man’s face has gone a grotesque colour. He’s making indecipherable noises, and the lady is alarmed that he might be sick on stage. The movement they were dancing to has come to an end, so she allows him a little time to recover partially.

"With the start of the Waltz of the Flowers, the lady renews her interest in the man’s stalk and petals. She’s given him too much time to recover, because he appears to want to take the initiative. He dares to come at her with his fists raised! How ungrateful, after she gave him a break! Her left foot in the familiar place stops him abruptly. Her right rams home the message.

"The lady is angry that her careful dance routine has been interrupted, and she considers further punishment is necessary. Holding the man by his hair, she drives her right foot into his nuts to remind him that she is now leading the dance. She next kicks at a right-angle. It’s very effective! The man’s neck and head shoot backwards and his mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

"Taking the man’s right wrist in her left hand, the lady at last gives her left leg a go; and her foot makes a smacking sound as it lands against his balls. It seems to sicken him. She now demonstrates that she can kick at angles just as effectively with this foot as with the other.

"The lady plunges to a crouching position, perches on her right foot, and shoots her left foot upwards, hard at its target. The man’s resultant howling presents an ugly crossfire with the music.

"At the other extreme, she now pirouettes on her right foot, and kicks with her left, with her knee bent almost as high up as the man’s chest.

"It seems a long time ago that the lady last used her knee. Moreover a kick wouldn’t work for what she now has in mind. She knows that the man has always desired her, so she decides to employ a little teasing. She professes to be sorry. She makes to kiss the man. He responds instantly. It’s what he’s always wanted! Their arms go around each other, their faces almost meet … and she drives her right knee up – surprise! – into his balls. The hop-kick that she employed previously is now used to swap knee attacks. She discovers that it adds to the effectiveness of the onslaught to bring her elbow down hard into his shoulders, while her knee forces his body upwards. 

"It’s a reminder that synchronisation is everything in dance. So, at the clash of the symbol, the lady both punches the man in the face and knees him in the balls simultaneously. She will repeat this (if the man lasts out) whenever the symbol sounds.

"Remembering how effective it was to bring her elbow down as he knee shot up, she places her left hand on the man’s head while she fires her right knee into his nuts. Next she repeats some of the techniques she used when kicking: she takes both his wrists and slams her left knee into his balls. She hooks her arms around his neck and repeats the blow.

"With her right knee bang against the target, she slaps his face as if he’s been a naughty boy, before hoisting his right leg up precariously high, and employing her knee underneath it at the centre (or epicentre).

"Finding she can do with her knees much of what she did when kicking, the lady pirouettes on her right foot and projects her left knee into the man’s balls. She hops and repeats this action, swapping legs.

"Bang on cue there’s a symbol, and she punches at exactly the right moment!

"The man’s had enough. He tries to ward her off, but she has him by the wrist, and her thigh meets his balls. The lady sniggers as she remembers how he used to rub himself there if he ever got the chance.

"This next one with her right knee hurt more than the others, she can tell. Mind you, she put a lot of power into it. As the strength drains away from him, she seems to gain it. He’s doing ‘Jazz hands’ with the pain.

"Securing him in a headlock, the lady thrusts in hard with her left knee. Now it’s the right one.

"We’re nearing the finale. The lady unleashes a blizzard of attacks, with kicks and knees. She hauls his head down, and launches her knee upwards; she kicks close up, and at extreme range; sideways and point-blank.

"The music is reaching its crescendo. The man is faltering and visibly shaking. The lady powers a devastating right kick at full range. He freezes for a moment, then collapses on his back. As the drums roll deafeningly, she drops down, delivers one last blow with her knee, then leaps to her feet for the final triumphant chord, and victory celebration."