top of page

Update: 05.11.2021

B-701 "The Savage Sergeant"

Gallery size: 180 Full HD pictures

Ballbusting, 180 pictures 1920x1080 (FullHD), completely CFNM, no blood.

Sergeant Jenny Davis was not looking forward to her day. She had to take the fresh Battalion intake for a self-defence class. Mostly, she found them irritating. Their concentration span tended to be very limited: always looking for the next text message, chatting among themselves, or secretly homesick. True, they may be able to vote, and had just entered the Army; but in some ways, an 18 year-old was reluctant to shake off the comfort and security of home (even if they didn’t admit it).

A sergeant could no longer say, "Right lads, I’m your mother now," and get a grim laugh from the recruits, because the sexes were mixed, and she was a woman anyway. The joke only worked among men. Ah well, Jenny sighed, in they came now, noisy as hell.

"All right, all right, settle down," she shouted. "There’s plenty of seating for all of you.  Don’t search for your new best friend to sit next to, just sit down, be quiet and listen. If you have your phones with you, turn them off. Keep all chairs away from the gym floor. I’ll be asking for you to join me individually throughout the morning, to demonstrate moves and so on. Female recruits I expect to have their leotards with them, like the one I’m wearing. No shoes are to worn on the gym floor. Male recruits … I’ll come to that in a minute."

She grinned once they were all seated, and looking at her expectantly.

"Gor dear!" she exclaimed, "You’ve been in the Army a few days, and behave as if you’ve just got back from El Alamein! Now, you know what we’re on about today?"

"Yes," came a general murmur.

"’Yes, sergeant’," she corrected them. "Now, how many of you have some experience in self-defence?"

"Most Saturday nights, sergeant," the Battalion joker told her, to laughter.

"I’m not talking about pub brawling," she answered curtly, "though we won’t altogether discount that style either. But do any of you have a degree of training in wrestling, karate, Taekwondo – "

"Chow Mein, Rhogan Josh …" added the joker.

"You, soldier, what’s your name?" Jenny asked.

"Watson, sergeant."

"Take your shoes off, leave them under your chair, and come here, Watson. NOW!"

"Very well," Jenny began after he had joined her. "You have saved me the trouble of asking for a volunteer, or picking someone to demonstrate moves on. Ok, now take your clothes off."


"Strip, man! What’s the matter with you? You shower with the others, don’t you?"

"Well yes, but …"

"But nothing. Do it."

"Ok soldiers," Jenny addressed them once Watson was naked. "Now he’s finished making a big fuss over a small thing (as the old joke goes), he and I are going to have a little fight. Now, Watson, attack me as you would an adversary on a Saturday night."

It was all rather confused in real time for the recruits to see what happened. Watson had his overhand punch blocked; his face was attacked; then his groin; after that his chest; and then he was flat on his back. There was plenty of anguished noise coming from Watson as well.

"Ok, soldiers," Jenny addressed them, panting slightly, but smiling. "What happened was that Watson came at me with a punch that was all brute force and ignorance. Using a technique known as ‘circles of protection’, I deflected the punch with my left arm, up and over my head. I then held it there with my right hand, and clawed his face with my left. Watson was so preoccupied with what I’d done to his good looks [laughter] that he didn’t notice me raise my right hand, which I brought swiftly down in a palm strike to his groin. Then a good, hefty punch on his chest had him wheezing, and he collapsed. Get up, man, for God’s sake! Ok, now we’ll show them again in slow motion."

So they went through it again, with Jenny providing a running commentary. An observer would have noticed the female recruits sitting up attentively, and the male ones looking decidedly uneasy. Jenny’s description added to this contrast in attitudes:

"A man’s groin is a gift to women, and not just for the old, familiar reason. You’ll notice, when I palm strike the penis and scrotum, how distressed it makes him. You can intensify it by grabbing the testicles as well, like this. It’s why I wanted him to be naked, to illustrate the various points of attack, and we’ll see it more vividly in the next move." Which brought them nicely to just that. 

"Ok Watson … ah bless! Look at him, ladies! Anyone would think he’d never had a woman’s hand round there before. Right, now that your eyes have stopped watering, I want you to grab me from behind. Come on, do it and mean it!"

"Now Watson has me held, as he thinks, securely," Jenny told the class, choosing now to commentate during the demonstration. "By the way, I’m not sure you should have your hand on your instructor’s tits. I mean, I know they’re lovely tits, but you ought to be punished for that. Shouldn’t he, ladies?"

"Yes!" they concurred.

"Very well. Now, although I have very little freedom of movement, I can step back with my left foot. See how that surprises him, as I turn? Now, all I have to do is reach down with my left hand… " 


"… and squeeze. It’s known as ‘squeezing the peach’, for obvious reasons. Personally I think it would be more accurate to call it ‘squeezing the almonds’, but you get the idea. Now, ladies, you have your man just where you want him, and you can take him anywhere!"

Jenny proceeded to walk Watson in a rough circle. One or two of the women clapped their appreciation, while a few of the males went green. At last she let go, to the relief of every man, and even one or two more sensitive women. But it was short-lived. With a left hop, Jenny brought her right foot back in a hook-like movement, and kicked. Watson cried out in pain, as she hit the usual target.

Bringing her foot down, she elbowed sharply, catching him in the mouth. At the same time, she pushed back on his left leg with her strong right thigh. The shock of the blow to the face, coupled with the increasing pressure on his leg threw him off balance, and he fell.

"Did you catch all that?" Jenny asked the class, clearly enjoying herself. They all answered "Yes," but for differing reasons. Some (most of the women) because it was the truth; others (all the men and a couple of women) because they didn’t want to see it all over again, even though they had missed some of it because they were looking the other way.

"Has this ever happened to you on a Saturday night, Watson?" Jenny asked, mocking.

"No," he croaked.

"What, you mean you’ve never been knocked down by a woman before?"

"Only in fun."

"Ah, still the joker I see, even when you’re lying on your back. Well I admire your spirit, if not your stamina. Come on, up you get."

Watson shakily got to his feet, trying not to groan, while Jenny surprised them by kneeling down.

"This next move is called ‘Bowing to Buddha’," she explained. "Are you right-handed, Watson?"


"Good. So, as I’m on my left knee, Watson can kick with his right foot …"

There she was, on one knee, talking to the class. Now by taking her by surprise, Watson hoped to get his revenge. He’d wipe that smugness off her face!

"Oi, sneaky!" cried Jenny, blocking the kick with her left arm. Simultaneously she stepped, slid forward on her knee, and thrust her right elbow down hard on his balls. They were an open target, thanks to his outstretched right leg.

Watson was in despair as the familiar burning, sickening agony radiated from his groin through his whole body. Unfortunately, too, he had managed to anger Jenny, who proceeded to grab, squeeze and twist with her hand, continuing the work of her elbow. He could make no movement, and was completely at her mercy (which she showed no sign of possessing).

Far from it, for she now punched the poor man’s cock with her free hand. Watson thought he was going to be sick, but he dreaded the consequences of that – it would go all over her. Perhaps sensing that he couldn’t withstand any more of this, Jenny changed tack. She swiftly stood up, pushed his face with her left hand, and heaved his left leg with her right, to have him tumbling over on his back.

Maintaining her hold of his left leg by the ankle, Jenny now demonstrated to the class how, with a twist here, or a turn there, she could break his ankle. She stopped short of actually doing it because, she explained, it was cross country running the next day. But she came very close to it, and more. She spun Watson over on his front, holding his ankle at chest height, and demonstrated how you could break your opponent’s leg this way. As it was, Watson was roaring in pain.

To many recruits’ relief, she let him drop onto his front again, but only to kick him in the balls from behind.

"She’s a sadist," whispered a male recruit in the back row, as she obviously enjoyed seeing Watson in the foetal position, clutching his wounded manhood.

"Well that, soldiers, is how to destroy an opponent," Jenny told her class, proceeding to walk away from Watson.

"Don’t do it, pal, don’t do it," murmured the recruit who considered Jenny a sadist. He was concerned because Watson now began to stir and, by the look on his face, was determined on revenge.

"It’s a trick, mate, it’s what she wants you to do." But of course Watson couldn’t hear him. He got up, and took a run at Jenny from behind, reaching for her. She speedily sidestepped, thrust her right heel hard against his left knee, and elbowed him in the face. Pivoting round on her left foot, she next high kicked with her right, and battered his right jaw. 

Watson crashed to the floor, and Jenny pounced. She seized his left arm, and knelt on his shoulder, wrenching the arm savagely, and holding his wrist in the vice of her strong hands.

"Now this is how you can break a wrist," she announced, to howls from Watson. Again, she didn’t quite do it, but her manipulations caused more revulsion for sections of the class.

Maintaining the hold on his wrist, she now sat on his middle, gazing down at him, and mock-questioning with her expression what the matter was. Then she flipped him over onto his front, kept his arm trapped in the crook of her left arm against her breast, and punched the left side of his face.

Whether the punch was so hard, or whether it was the cumulative result of all his suffering at Jenny’s hands (and feet), Watson passed out.

"So, does anyone else feel like playing the joker before we continue?" she asked them after celebrating her "win". "No? Ok, now who’s going to be next?"

bottom of page