Vengeance: Chapter 1

Background: There is a very attractive yet arrogant exchange student in my college from the UK. She tried to flirt with my boyfriend but when he opposed her advances and explained he was taken, she lost it and kneed him in the balls and stomped him. His swelling lasted for over a day. All of this happened in my absence, and I got incredibly defensive and decided to confront this bitch alone; this is the beginning of the scuffle between us. Enjoy ;)

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She stands, facing me, unsuspecting yet aggravated. But I am no less provoked. My eyes catch the gaze of my friend behind her, who intercepts my message. Hastily, she moves behind my opponent and her hands steady at the figure's waist. In a flash, her hands yank down my opponent's skirt, revealing her shapely thighs and the lower end of her narrow waist, curving outwards and leading to her wide and defined hips. Faint tan lines are visible on the upper end of her thighs and on her waist, but more distinct ones are seen on the outline of her panties, seemingly highlighting my target. A cruel smirk creeps across my face as I focus my gaze on her genitals.

Probably startled by the chilly sensation on her lower body, she starts to clamp her legs inwards and her head tilts downwards to view her fallen garments. My smile widens as I realise my accomplice was nimble enough to avoid detection. However, I sense my opportunity and I pull my right leg back. I have it proned, but I notice my victim's attention is in her disrobing rather than on me. I wait until her head tilts back up and her gaze meets mine again. I produce a giggle and point at her exposed nethers to take attention away from my accomplice.

The taunt is effective. Her typically sly and confident cobalt eyes are now burning in fury and I detect her past annoyance has now transformed her face into a vessel that carries only rage and hate. The iron is hot. I will my right foot forward, ahead of its primed position. My leg arcs upwards, away from my figure and the curve ends abruptly when the knuckles of my feet bludgeon her vulnerable womanhood. The iron has been struck. I am able to infer that I was, like always, on target, given the rapid reflexive action of her knees and arms to collapse inwards.

Once her brain registers the damage, her upper body jerks forward and she lets out an audible gasp; the rest of her breath is caught in her throat. Music to my ears. Her face vividly displays the transition from anger to horror and her eyes lose their sharpness, instead begging for pity. I notice the ripple of her flesh along her thighs and I viciously drive my foot further into her cavity. It feels satisfying to know that the future of my opponent's fertility is cradled in my hands, or rather my feet. The interior feels soft and my feet do not pain me.

Although I find solace in the fact that I have probably turned her womanhood into mush, I can't help but feel upset. Mind you, I have no pity for this horrible excuse of a woman. I simply fear I will not be able to take advantage of her vulnerability again. Thus I retract my foot, now firmly implanted between her legs, and leave her to nurse herself in the hopes I have left enough intact to have the joy of abusing it again.

Her hands instantly fly to her groin to cup her most vulnerable regions and she bends forward from her hip, giving me a generous view of her cleavage. Her perfect breasts are round, full, and perky, and would make any man drool by mere sight. An idea floats up in my head and I think to undress her, giving a treat to all the male spectators, many of whom she has abused. My mind returns to reality where I see her knees crumble and her head move downwards. The rest of her body, no longer supported by her legs, drops to the ground like a fallen titan, causing her breasts to bounce enticingly as impact is made between her and the pavement. Tears well up in her eyes and they sparkle pitifully, as if they were yelling at me, "How could you, you heartless bitch?"

Her abdomen rotates to the side and pivots downwards, leaving her to lie on the ground, writhing in pain. "Bollocks", she croaks weakly to herself. In frustration, no doubt. But I still find it absurd that she may be imagining organs far more fragile than her own to console her own pain. Is she imagining what it would be like to own a set of testicles? Is she still comparing her own pain to others? Is she still sitting on her high horse, consoling her own pain and finding amusement on the basis that someone could be having it worse? Recalling her mistreatment of my boyfriend, I am filled with malice. It is decided: I'm going to strip her and leave her on the campus. I motion to my friend who is approvingly spectating the ordeal, to assist me. We both crouch near her back and grab the back of her blouse.

On my command, our hands separate and a crisp *RIP* is produced. Her low cut top is now in tatters and she is left in only her undergarments. The remains of the cloth are pulled away and tossed by my companion. Our victim fusses and moans, but her voice is too weak to intimidate and her arms are busy tending to a more pressing matter. My next goal is to remove her bra. I set my sights on the clasp on her back and in one fluid motion I unhook the binding and also removing the cups from her breasts and pushing the straps down her arms. Knowing what to do next, my accomplice turns her body from her side to face me and separates my victim's arms from her precious bundle. I do the honors of stepping forward, onto the surface now exposed to me, and her body springs up from its passive position. A high pitched wail is produced but its strength diminishes as I shift more of my weight onto her crotch.

Before her arms can fixate on the urgency, I grab her bra straps, now dangling from her forearms, and yank them towards me, pulling the entire garment off her chest. My accomplice and I admire the view: her long blonde hair, normally smooth and shiny, now lies in an entangled mess behind her head; her long, skinny legs are clamped shut, contrary to her usual policy; the flirtatious and arrogant essence on her face has now bean replaced by dread for her fertility and health, as well as confusion on how she was to solve this situation - so much that she was unaware of the great deal we had done after the most painful event in her life; her well toned midriff, often bared to attract attention, is now twitching and writhing in response to the unexpected development her body has had; and her breasts, unchanged as ever, lie peacefully on her chest. I can't help but feel disappointed such ample, elegant assets were not put to better use. Would be a shame, if something were to... happen to them...

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Although this is based on a true story, some elements of our fight are exaggerated and moved around. Please tell me if any of you like/dislike the excerpt and if I should upload the rest of the fight too! I fear this may be too edgy though... o.O