wormee
05-05-2003, 10:34 AM
Punch, punch, punch. My supposedly delicate fist smashes into his face. I feel his nose give way, the cartilage snapping, breaking, blooding pouring over my curled up fingers. His blood. Another punch and it splatters, red rain spraying in the air. Landing on his shirt, his face, my fist.
Is he bothered getting his ass kicked by a woman, a girl? I’m no threat, right? I’m just a sweet helpless girl. I wouldn’t hurt a fly. Yeah right. I’d smash a fly as easily as I’m smashing this guy. Is he bothered? I think he’s got other things on his mind right now. Like trying to maintain his balance as I bash his face in. I feel something soft and squishy. It will be swollen shut tomorrow. My knuckle has just connected with his eye. I love it.
He can’t keep his balance and falls to the ground. He is bigger than I am. He should have been able to handle me easily. But he can’t. I laugh. I love it. But now he is on the ground, and I am still standing on my own two feet, towering above him in my new spiked heeled boots. Now he is so much smaller than me, crawling on the ground like a worm waiting to be stepped on. I indulge him, though I’m sure he’d much prefer it if I didn’t. I step on him. I step on him hard, stomping my boot down onto his groin. He screams. I’m sure he’s never screamed like that before. I’m sure he’s never met the likes of me before.
I draw my foot back, my thin heel scraping his sac as I do. He quickly winces in pain, moans, cries, wails. I smile, a cruel sick smile that lets him know just how much I’m enjoying his pain.
My boot comes forward, a thundering kick right in his balls, my pointy toe driven in all the way up to his stomach. He gasps, tries to curl up in a fetal position, but my boot is in the way. He clutches at in, a hopeless grab made from desperation, reflex. How dare he touch my new boots? He’ll pay for that. (Damn I’m really getting into this)
More kicks to his body, my leather clad toe sinking into his stomach, smashing into ribs, colliding with his head. I wonder if he sees stars? I stomp down on him, savage vicious stomps. I want to break something. I want to break him. Stomp, stomp stomp. I try to cave in his head. Crush his fingers under my heel. Any minute now and his ribs will give in.
I’m tired now. This has been quite a work out. I stare down at him, lying on the ground, a broken, bloody mess. How many bones have I broken? How many liters of blood have I spilled? He lies on the ground, helpless, as helpless as he thought I would be if he’d gotten his way in the first place. Maybe now he’ll learn to never hit a lady.
I place my boot on the side of his head, pinning it in place, a victory pose. He is finished. I have finished him. He is weak and I am strong. So I step on his head for symbolism. I wonder if he understands that.
I move my other boot up to his lips. “Lick,” I command. His tongue stays in his mouth. “Lick!” I command, more stern. Still he does not comply. I stomp on his head once more, not enough to crush his skull, but enough to warn him that I can, so he’d better start obeying me. His tongue comes out, slowly, hesitantly. He licks at the smooth black leather, washing away all the dirt and grime. I smile. He is defeated and humiliated.
“Lick the soles, too,” I tell him, rocking back on my heel and lifting my boot up just far enough for him to get his tongue under. He fearfully obeys, terrified about what I will do to him next.
I quickly pull my boot away stamp down on his tongue with my heel. I catch it on the first shot, pinning it to the cold hard asphalt below. I grind it in, putting all my weight into it, all my aggression. I feel it give way beneath me, ground into nothing. He squirms in agony, trying to pull away, trying to scream, but I have him at my mercy, and I have no mercy. Finally I lift up my heel and take a look. His tongue has been skewered, massacred. He’ll never be able to talk right again.
I place my left boot next to his face. “Now lick the other one,” I say in a soft tone. I don’t threaten, I don’t command. I just state. He looks up at me with pleading tearing eyes. I lift my boot off the ground, ready to stomp down. He gets the message right away and quickly licks my boot. I put it back down to the ground. He cringes as he licks, his tongue still sore, and it hurts the more it washes over my leather-clad foot.
I don’t care.
Is he bothered getting his ass kicked by a woman, a girl? I’m no threat, right? I’m just a sweet helpless girl. I wouldn’t hurt a fly. Yeah right. I’d smash a fly as easily as I’m smashing this guy. Is he bothered? I think he’s got other things on his mind right now. Like trying to maintain his balance as I bash his face in. I feel something soft and squishy. It will be swollen shut tomorrow. My knuckle has just connected with his eye. I love it.
He can’t keep his balance and falls to the ground. He is bigger than I am. He should have been able to handle me easily. But he can’t. I laugh. I love it. But now he is on the ground, and I am still standing on my own two feet, towering above him in my new spiked heeled boots. Now he is so much smaller than me, crawling on the ground like a worm waiting to be stepped on. I indulge him, though I’m sure he’d much prefer it if I didn’t. I step on him. I step on him hard, stomping my boot down onto his groin. He screams. I’m sure he’s never screamed like that before. I’m sure he’s never met the likes of me before.
I draw my foot back, my thin heel scraping his sac as I do. He quickly winces in pain, moans, cries, wails. I smile, a cruel sick smile that lets him know just how much I’m enjoying his pain.
My boot comes forward, a thundering kick right in his balls, my pointy toe driven in all the way up to his stomach. He gasps, tries to curl up in a fetal position, but my boot is in the way. He clutches at in, a hopeless grab made from desperation, reflex. How dare he touch my new boots? He’ll pay for that. (Damn I’m really getting into this)
More kicks to his body, my leather clad toe sinking into his stomach, smashing into ribs, colliding with his head. I wonder if he sees stars? I stomp down on him, savage vicious stomps. I want to break something. I want to break him. Stomp, stomp stomp. I try to cave in his head. Crush his fingers under my heel. Any minute now and his ribs will give in.
I’m tired now. This has been quite a work out. I stare down at him, lying on the ground, a broken, bloody mess. How many bones have I broken? How many liters of blood have I spilled? He lies on the ground, helpless, as helpless as he thought I would be if he’d gotten his way in the first place. Maybe now he’ll learn to never hit a lady.
I place my boot on the side of his head, pinning it in place, a victory pose. He is finished. I have finished him. He is weak and I am strong. So I step on his head for symbolism. I wonder if he understands that.
I move my other boot up to his lips. “Lick,” I command. His tongue stays in his mouth. “Lick!” I command, more stern. Still he does not comply. I stomp on his head once more, not enough to crush his skull, but enough to warn him that I can, so he’d better start obeying me. His tongue comes out, slowly, hesitantly. He licks at the smooth black leather, washing away all the dirt and grime. I smile. He is defeated and humiliated.
“Lick the soles, too,” I tell him, rocking back on my heel and lifting my boot up just far enough for him to get his tongue under. He fearfully obeys, terrified about what I will do to him next.
I quickly pull my boot away stamp down on his tongue with my heel. I catch it on the first shot, pinning it to the cold hard asphalt below. I grind it in, putting all my weight into it, all my aggression. I feel it give way beneath me, ground into nothing. He squirms in agony, trying to pull away, trying to scream, but I have him at my mercy, and I have no mercy. Finally I lift up my heel and take a look. His tongue has been skewered, massacred. He’ll never be able to talk right again.
I place my left boot next to his face. “Now lick the other one,” I say in a soft tone. I don’t threaten, I don’t command. I just state. He looks up at me with pleading tearing eyes. I lift my boot off the ground, ready to stomp down. He gets the message right away and quickly licks my boot. I put it back down to the ground. He cringes as he licks, his tongue still sore, and it hurts the more it washes over my leather-clad foot.
I don’t care.