Message-ID: <27839asstr$976623005@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <kali_mother@yahoo.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <20001212035827.31162.qmail@web11404.mail.yahoo.com> From: Brighid Cerridwen <kali_mother@yahoo.com> MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Subject: {ASSM} Revenge, Pt. 1 (MF, MM, Fdom, bd, fist, cbt, best, mutilation) Date: Tue, 12 Dec 2000 07:10:05 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/27839> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, english Revenge of a Modern Day Fury by Mother Kali There were some with interests similar to hers who considered themselves hobbyists. Others preferred the term afficionado. Still others fancied themselves masters of the universe. Those looking in from the outside tended simply to call them monsters. But Glennis believed that she was, in fact, a Fury--an ancient force, magically reincarnated into the modern world of technology and secrets. There was no other way she could explain her life. In the beginning, she'd been humble, even downtrodden. Lightning wasn't supposed to strike twice, but when it did, it had to mean something. Winning a fortune at Powerball and then investing in the right tech stocks, two of the darkest horses, had catapulted her into that gravity-free space of wealth that was beyond everyone's touch. She could do whatever she wanted, and she couldn't help but believe that this was exactly as it was supposed to be. And what she wanted was retribution. It was the raison d'etre of a Fury, after all. She could never quite fathom the other hobbyists or afficionados or whatever they called themselves and their taste for exploiting the weak, the innocent and the helpless. Where was the challenge in that? Anyone could lure a child off a playground with the promise of a puppy or an ice cream cone. Runaways would trust the first person to offer them a decent meal and a chance to break into modeling. It was hardly sporting. And, besides, Glennis had a feeling for the little people. She'd been one of them herself once upon a time. But to hunt and capture and break the guilty and the powerful--now that was work a person could be proud of. It was an art, a true calling. Half the time, she didn't even undertake it for the profit, simply for the satisfaction. A Fury liked to admire her own handiwork. She heard about cases where retribution was needed through various channels--letters to the foundation she ran and referrals from colleagues and articles in the newspaper. She could spot an injustice seemingly from half way around the world. Furies could see things other people couldn't. There had been the doctor, or butcher as she preferred to call him, who had made quite a profitable living off plastic surgery procedures he wasn't qualified to perform. Things went wrong more than a few times, but the powerful doctor's lobby always managed to protect him, until he finally ended up killing a woman during what should have been a routine liposuction. Her husband sued, but the doctor's high-priced attorneys convinced the jury that the doctor could not possibly have foreseen what would happen. They made it seem as if it were the dead woman's fault, as if *she* somehow should have known better, that her death was the price for her vanity. It was the kind of reasoning that did not sit well with Glennis. Since his abduction, the doctor had become one of her star attractions. He had broken easily, as the guilty invariably did. He now serviced an enthusiastic and growing clientele who enjoyed performing medical procedures on him. In a typical day on the job, he received enemas and had catheters inserted into his penis. He would lie on his own examining table that Glennis had removed from his office, with his legs in stirrups as his "doctors" probed his anus using a very large speculum. The photographs and videos were hot sellers. But Glennis had decided that the perfect comeuppance for someone who had no respect for women's bodies would be to give him one of his own, so he could learn the proper reverence, firsthand. The traffic from the net cast of his silicone breast implants had nearly crashed the server. She couldn't imagine what sort of crowd the doctor's castration and the creation of his female genitalia would bring in. The proceeds from the doctor's performances had been channeled through the foundation to the dead woman's grief-stricken husband, a sizeable grant with which he planned to begin an advocacy group to enact stricter legislation governing the cosmetic surgery industry. Glennis was pleased to have helped with the cause in her own small way. One of the foundation's other current projects was helping a group of Guatemalan women begin new lives in the States. They had originally been lured into the country by a wealthy American heiress who had promised them good jobs and green cards. When they arrived, they were beaten and held against their will, put to work in inhumane conditions in a sugar refining factory. After their long shifts, they were expected to sexually accommodate their male co-workers. One young woman tried to escape, to return home to her fiancee and her family. She had been caught, and the rich American woman had cut off the girl's breast in punishment, maiming her as a lesson to the other women. Eventually, the authorities had discovered what was going on and had liberated the Guatemalan women. However, their rich American slaver managed to wriggle her way out of any legal action. Thankfully, Glennis did not need the law in order to deliver justice. She had the woman kidnapped and brought to her compound, where she compelled her to work as a prostitute, giving blow jobs to busloads of men brought in from all over the area, letting her have a taste of her own medicine, so to speak. Of course, the woman tried to escape, and that gave Glennis the perfect chance to serve up the same kind of justice this spoiled socialite had shown the Guatemalan girl she'd mutilated. The netcast of her cliterectomy surpassed even the doctor's breast implants in generating revenue. The before and after photographs and videos were also doing quite well, not to mention that the woman had built up quite a large clientele of regular customers. Many men and not a few women were willing to pay a considerable fee for the novelty of being serviced by a circumcised female slave. All that money had enabled the foundation to offer a generous stipend to the Guatemalan immigrants, who were now happily settled with their families out in California. It was the kind of charitable endeavor that Glennis took great pride in. Of course, not all her work was purely altruistic. She indulged in the occasional personal project. After all, she had been one of the little people once upon a time. Wrongs had certainly been committed against her. She was not above seeking retribution for them. When she looked back on her life, it amazed her that she had ever been so young and so very defenseless. She'd first come to the city when she was barely eighteen, just out of school. She'd taken a job, the only one she could find, as a secretary in an investment bank. Everywhere around her, there had been people making millions of dollars--and that was just before lunch--while she barely scraped by on the poverty wages they paid employees at her level. Her boss had been very well aware of her desperate financial situation, and instead of trying to help with a raise or a bonus, he had played on it to coerce certain favors out of her, threatening her job if she didn't go along with him. Last year, she had sold him to a wealthy Asian industrialist whom he had cheated in some business dealing. She hadn't inquired what the man planned to do with his acquisition. But it was well known he had a recreational interest in creating certain rather imaginative tableaux, a sort of performance art, he liked to think of it, although others would most certainly have called it torture. Now, at this point in her career as a Fury, she had but one last personal grudge to avenge. His name was James. Back in the old days, when her lack of funds had grown quite critical, she'd asked some of the other secretaries in her office what they did to get by. They had told her about a club where she could go to make extra money, if she didn't mind having sex with strangers. Glennis had been rather innocent for her age, and she'd only ever done it with her mouth, to appease demanding boyfriends without having to get their greedy hands all over her. Not that she was saving herself, exactly. But it did seem like the first time ought to be treated with at least as much respect as a fine bottle of wine or the good china. It should be kept for something that at least resembled a special occasion. Although the other secretaries assured her that men would happily pay for her mouth, she still put it off for the longest time. Eventually, though, she really did need the money. And she figured it couldn't be any worse than what she did for her boss, the furtive blow jobs delivered beneath his desk. At least, she'd be well paid for her trouble for a change. So one Friday night, she put on some red lipstick and her nicest dress, which was kind of sad, actually, looking back on it now. It looked like something you'd wear to a church social, hardly the thing to drum up business. Back then, she had really not understood the kind of power a woman had or how to wield it. When she arrived at the place where the other secretaries had directed her, it was hardly a "club." Dreary, grimy dive of a bar was really more descriptive. She went inside anyway. It wasn't a particularly large room, and everyone stared at her as she stood in the doorway. She blushed and hurried over to the bar. She perched on a stool and ordered a drink, a Manhattan, because that's what her mother always drank, before the habit rotted her liver and put her in an early grave. She just hoped they wouldn't ask for I.D. "Hey, there, Bright Eyes," a man said and sat down on the stool next to her. He wasn't ugly, exactly, just sort of old and in ill repair. His hair was slicked back to cover a bald spot, and he smiled crookedly to try to hide a missing tooth. It wasn't very successful. "Hello," she said, primly, sipping delicately from the high ball glass, trying not to look at him too closely. "You come here often?" he asked. She shook her head. "First time." He slung a beefy arm across her shoulders. "You looking for a little company? You on the clock, so to speak?" "I-- Uh--" "What do you say, sweetheart? Can I get a date?" She calculated the bills in her head. She stared at the man's missing tooth. She slid off the bar stool and started to back away. "Sorry," she said, and then turned and ran. Happily, there was a back way out. She pushed through the heavy metal door into the alleyway and stopped for a moment to breathe in deeply. The air tasted like relief, like freedom. The alley led back to the street, but before she could head for it, a hand grabbed her by the shoulder and whirled her around. "Where do you think you're going, Miss?" The man was tall, so tall he towered over her, unnerving her, making her feel far more slight and helpless than she ever had in her life. He had close cropped dark hair, military style, and an armed forces build, strong but lithe. He looked like he could slog through the muck all day and still have the strength to break the enemy in half with his bare hands. "I was just leaving," she stuttered, staring up at him, her eyes large and scared. He put his hand into his coat pocket, and her heart pounded violently. He pulled out what looked like a leather wallet. "Oh, no. You see, I changed my mind. I'm not--" He flipped it open, and she saw the badge. "Detective Henderson, Vice. You're under arrest for solicitation." "Please. No! I didn't. I swear!" "No? I suppose you just like your men old and a little rough around the edges. I'm not stupid, Miss. I'm going to have to run you downtown." She shook her head desperately. "There must be something else. I've never been in trouble before." "Well..." "Please," she begged. "I'd need your complete cooperation." "Anything." He smiled, and it surprised her with its lasciviousness. "That's more like it," he said. She swallowed hard. "What do you want?" "Open your blouse," he demanded. "Let me see your tits." "No, I-- You don't understand." He took a step toward her, crowding her space. "What I understand is that you said you'd cooperate. Now, do you want to stay out of jail or what?" She nodded, trying not to cry. "Then open your blouse." She hesitantly complied, her hands shaking as she undid the buttons. "The bra, too," he prompted. She unhooked it, and her breasts sprang free. The air felt cool on her sensitive skin, and her nipples hardened. "Gorgeous." His hands closed around her breasts. "Tits that just beg to be held." She couldn't help trembling. Her nipples were so hard they hurt. She blushed furiously. He laughed at her. "Hey, why *not* enjoy it, right? Why fight the inevitable?" She blushed harder, even more humiliated. She was about to ask him if she could go now when he suddenly lifted her and pressed her back against the wall. She could feel his biceps flexing beneath his leather jacket as he boosted her up above his waist. He was so large and strong it was as if he were lifting a rag doll. She felt his hand fumbling between their bodies and realized with a flash of panic that he was opening his fly. He didn't even bother to take off her panties. He just pushed them aside and shoved inside her, before she could beg him not to, before she could even get out the words to tell him that she was a virgin. She cried out as he began to move inside her. He was so large, and it hurt so much. "Shut up!" he warned. But she couldn't stop crying. She pressed her face into his jacket to muffle the sounds, breathing in the dark leather and the scent of her own tears. He pressed her back more heavily against the wall. "Lock your legs around my waist." She hesitated. "Do it!" he ordered. She numbly obeyed. He buried his face in her hair. "You're so tight. So good." "Please!" He laughed in her ear. "Is that what you want, sweetheart? You want me to please you?" She sobbed. "Hold on!" he commanded. And she knew there was no use resisting, so she did as he told her and tightened her grip on his shoulders. He slid a hand between their bodies and began to work her with his thumb, a wiggling motion that sent sparks all the way up her spine, unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She dug her nails into the leather of his jacket. "That's it, baby," he crooned in her ear. "Give it up. Let go. Come for me. Come with me." Between his dick and his hand, her body was flying apart. "Oh, yeah. Yeah," he moaned and began to thrust more urgently. Her belly tightened, and the heat shot through her. She banged her head back against the hard brick and came violently. And as her vision went dark, she could feel him surging forward, climaxing in short, sharp spurts. When she came to, he had his hands under her bottom, supporting her weight. He was breathing heavily against her shoulder. "That was great," he said, still panting. And then he kissed her softly behind the ear. "God, you're beautiful." She tightened her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. She was sore and in shock and more than a little afraid he might do it again. But he was still her first, despite the circumstances. And she couldn't hate him outright. He kissed her throat and smiled. "You're such a sweet little whore," he said, and then he laughed. He pulled out of her and lowered her to the ground. Her knees were so weak she would have fallen if she hadn't grabbed for the wall. "From now on, you can turn tricks here whenever you want. Nobody will bother you, including me. I only collect once." Then he turned and walked back down the alley, chuckling to himself, leaving her there with his come and her own blood running down her thighs. *** (end Part One) __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Yahoo! Shopping - Thousands of Stores. Millions of Products. http://shopping.yahoo.com/ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+