Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Mult, Violent, .
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A woman finds Karate leads her into a new dimension of sexuality and pleasure.
She loved walking down dark streets. The eerie shadows, the tingling of icy sweat in her groin, wondering, wondering. Would it be tonight?
Her mind drifted, lazily contemplating how she came to this strange place in her life. When her husband died, leaving her with a teenage daughter and a small income, she had been lost in grief and dismay for several months. Find a conventional job, remarry one of the guys who kept chasing her, become a prostitute, all kinds of strange, unfocused ideas occurred to her. But as some degree of sanity slowly returned, she ended up focusing on a return to the karate training she had pursued when she was young, before her marriage and child.
The hard work getting her body back in shape, feeling her mind clear as both the improved conditioning and clearer thinking helped her settle down, led her to do the sensible things that resulted in this night. It was really her only perversion. She had avoided any romantic entanglements, concentrating instead on advancing her martial arts skills, and enjoying her proficiency at them. She knew she was sublimating sexual need in the physical effort, but in the circumstances, was comfortable with her choices.
After a year, she had moved in with her younger sister, who had her large house with plenty of room for she and Debbie. Selling her own duplex had given her a measure of financial independence, and Constance didn't seem to mind the intrusion. She and her husband of six years, Steven Brown, had no children, and there was a tension between them even before the extra strain of two permanent houseguests. Constance wouldn't talk about it, but it probably had to do with sex. So many things did.
Victoria Pleasance had been a knockout since she was eleven years old. Her slim body had always been shapely, and when she discovered a talent for fighting at fourteen, the training had made her body even more attractive, even though she covered it and bound her large tits. The loose pajama's hid her voluptuous charms, and her conservative upbringing kept her from ever enjoying sex. Until she got married.
Men had always pursued her, but the shy, equally conservative John Pleasance had lured her with his diffident affection. They had met in church, and courted in a very old fashioned way. He had never even touched her breasts until they were engaged. On their honeymoon night, he had been amazingly tender, breaking her cherry gently with his fingers, then asking for nothing more than her hand on his cock as he masturbated, staring at her nude body.
But they ended up with an amazingly good sexlife. The second night he had gotten her to orgasm twice, once with his mouth in her cunt, and then with his stiff member deep inside her, her clitoris seeming to have a life of its own separate from her inhibited mind. It turned out he had had a very wild youth, and reformed after some trouble in College. Even the months of her pregancy had included fantastic pleasure as she experienced the wonders of sexual bliss. When he died, falling from a skyscraper his firm was building, she had felt vaguely that it was a punishment for their secret passionate enjoyment.
So she pulled her long auburn hair back in a tight bun, left her pretty, round eyes and wide mouth plain, and returned to a staid style of dressing. The three classes daily she taught to brown belts, afternoons and evenings, gave her some added income, and the only temptation she felt was the single class that had some men in it. The body contact always reminded her of John, but she was formidable in her ability to throw even large men around, and the occasional contact with their bodies was tolerable.
The first fight had been a surprise. On a warm summer evening, one of the guys in her class had waylaid her on the street as she walked home. A big strong bear of a man, he had assumed he could overpower her without the formalized rules the classes involved. But he didn't know nearly enough. She tossed him around easily, finally smashing his head against a wall of the dark alley. As she stood over his broken frame that night, breathing hard, she had an orgasm.
As she massaged her body, feeling the waves of pleasure roil her groin, she gave him one last kick. It was even better than with John. Mastery, domination, thrilling enjoyment of her skill, and a little sadistic excitement in his pain threw her into a euphoric trance. Her pussy creamed hard, and she smelled the familiar sexual perfume overpowering the sweat. Her tall body reverberated with the experience.
Since then, she had made subtle changes in her appearance for the mixed class, wearing a push up bra instead of the tight binding, letting her blouse gape open a little, and she would apply a little mascara and lipstick when she went too long without an attack. Sometimes it would be someone from other classes. But it was amazingly easy to induce their aggression, as though they wanted to assert their masculinity in spite of knowing she was the most accomplished woman in the dojo.
And she found herself stretching out the adventures, letting them see her flopping tits, rubbing her foaming cunt on bruised skin as she hurt them, letting her hair loose and wild. The thrill of inflicting damage on their unskilled bodies, of easily overcoming their stronger frames, and the final groans of pain always gave her those thrilling cums. When she eventually relaxed beside her daughter in their large king sized bed, still tingling from the experience, she wondered where it was leading. But it became a compulsion, too good to abandon.
So tonight as she walked home in her usual leisurely way, the familiar tension in her stomach returned, even though she had no reason to expect an attack. She never really did, and that was half the fun. The surprise. The sudden adrenalin rush. The blooming explosion from her pussy. She smiled, and swung her hips in the heavy pants she wore on this cool fall evening. C'mon fellas.
Vicky always walked the same route home. There were several good spots a potential attacker might choose, and she was coming up on one now. Her heart jumped slightly. A white panel van was parked near a wide alley, and she had had a couple of guys try her there. Maybe tonight. She resisted the feeling of excitement building quickly in her groin. You could never be sure.
Then a man appeared from the mouth of the alley. He wasn't that big, maybe a little taller than she was, but looked very trim. He was in black, tight fitting pants and a jersey, and wore a Ninja style mask over his face. She let the surge of pleasure wash over her. Yes, oh yes, tonight. Her pussy already felt wet.
He stood there as she approached. This was new, the mask and the waiting, showing himself. A challenge. As though he knew what she wanted, what got her off. Confident he didn't have to drag her in there, that she would accept the challenge. A familiar feeling of being surrounded by a bubble of privacy came over her, as though they were alone in the world. She felt a savage smile on her face. Shrugging off the cardigan sweater, she hurried toward him.
He backed into the darkness as she approached. Momentarily, her excitement wavered. He wasn't trying to overpower her, to rape her. He seemed to be looking for a fight, not a fuck. This was new. Maybe one of the men had broken their silence and told someone about their beating at her hands. Then her resolve strengthened. If he wanted a fight, she was ready. What other motive could he have?
As she entered the mouth of the long dark tunnel, he was standing midway back, in a prepared position. She glanced behind her. Was it a trap? Were there more men? She heard his voice. "There is only me." It was a baritone, calm statement. Confident. Slightly arrogant. She particularly liked the arrogant ones. But better be careful.
She loosened her hair from its bun, shaking it out. Then she got into her slight crouch, one leg forward, and started shuffling toward him. His arms came up in a boxer's position, but the bent legs showed some training. She feinted with a leg, seeing his position turn away, and launched a deadly kick with the other leg, that always got the ribs, starting the process of robbing him of oxygen. Then he would be an easy target.
But the man saw that coming, leaped, and planted a flat foot right in her solar plexus. She felt the breath leave her body with a whoosh, even as she twisted away. She danced backwards, gasping to regain her wind. He didn't follow to take advantage of his momentary success, but waited in the same position, as she fought the panic, the haze in her eyes, and the light head. It took a minute for her to get back to breathing again.
Okay, so he knew what he was doing. She knew she could get away, with her back still to the street, but now she was mad. And her groin's flaring need was even more than normal. A worthy foe. Bringing this one down would be really fun. She came back to the attack. As she did a spin, losing sight of him for a moment, planning to fake a short kick to the head, then close and get him in his stomach with the heel of her hand, she felt him sweep her legs out from under her, and as she went down, his fist slammed down on that same spot, just below her ribs, and she saw stars.
He had hit her hard. Her head was spinning, she was gasping, and she felt herself dragged quickly to the van, thrown inside, and the doors close. It was dark. As she tried to suck in air, her hands were suddenly stretched and handcuffed, and her legs tied with something. She felt it digging into her ankles. The man moved silently up front and started the motor. As she felt the gears mesh and the vehicle lurch forward, she heard his voice again. "You may scream, but no one can hear."
She gasped to get some air, and as her head cleared, looked around. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that foam covered everything, which would practically soundproof the van. His voice had come through a small opening in the front which was now closed. She struggled with her arms and legs, but was effectively immobilized. She was lying with her head forward in one corner, and her legs were fastened to the rear. Relax, she commanded herself. Get control back. Concentrate.
They drove for ten minutes, and she found the bonds on her legs were loosening, and was near getting out of them when the van stopped. She realized they must be in the dark, remote park that bordered the river. Many rapes occurred there, and there had been talk of closing it, but it was very popular during the day. The back doors opened and she heard a chuckle when he discovered she had almost freed herself. She watched him closely as he freed her legs, then her hands. As she jerked a knee up toward his head, he ducked expertly and lept from the van. She scrambled out after him.
They were in a little glade, deep in the park. No one would be near. But she could run, get away. He wasn't trying to stop her, just standing there in his prepared position again. She rubbed her wrists, waiting a few moments to be sure there was circulation. Their eyes were locked together. Her pussy was radiating thrills outwards, as they began circling slowly in the moonlit glade. It was like a sexual dance to her, part of a ritual, a mating ritual. She had to get off, one way or another. It was crazy, but oh god, how exciting.
He feinted with a leg, and she realized he was testing her reflexes and responses. Then in a flash he caught her with a well aimed foot to her ribs. More oxygen deprivation, and she could feel it having an effect on her ability to think. She caught him a glancing blow to the hip as a counterpunch, but knew it wouldn't do any damage. Even before she could regain her balance, he closed and flipped her over his prone body to land hard on her back.
Her breath whooshed out, and the red haze was back. He was straddling her, and efficiently stripped her tee shirt off, and ripped the bra away. His eyes were wide behind the mask, staring as her big tits pushed out, the nipples already hard with tension. She felt hands on them, callused but firm, and for just a moment she arched to their touch. Then she aimed a chop at his neck, but he did an amazing backflip out of the way, landing on his feet. As she stared, he stripped off the black sweatshirt.
His chest was firm and hairless, muscles taut with strain, very handsome looking. His skin gleamed with a light sheen of sweat. Her mind was slowly clearing as she struggled to her feet. Crazy feelings were alternating through her. Hurt me, fuck me, strip me. She dimly realized she couldn't beat him now, she had lost too much energy, and he was almost fresh. She should run. But instead, she tried to dance around, getting back some breath, making herself move and flex. Her upper body was bare, and she found herself preening her breasts at him, even as she plotted another move.
She did a spin, far enough away so he couldn't take advantage of it, then a barrel roll with both feet aimed at his chest. One of her feet caught a shoulder, but then a chop hit her main neck artery, and she collapsed, defenseless now. Her mind was almost dark, still with some stars blinking. She felt him rip off her shoes, her pants, and then the panties, revealing her hairy, oozing twat. She was completely nude, stretched out on the ground. Far away, she felt her pussy creaming.
Her body was starting to protest its pain. Get out of here, run, protect yourself from any more damage. She tried getting her feet under her, and managed to get on her knees. She looked up and saw him standing there naked in front of her. His cock was standing straight out from his naked, hairless groin. Well built legs and narrow hips. Her ideal man, a perfect fighter. She stared at him, letting a little more life crawl back into her, preparing one more effort. But at the same time, tingling with desire.
One of her legs shot out, aimed at a kneecap. He slipped it and grabbed her foot, twisting it over so she was spread wide. He fell on top of her, one hand on her throat, and she felt fingers and a thumb squeezing the big arteries, making her again hurtle into semi-consciousness. He eased the pressure before she went out, and she felt his firm body pressed to hers, and his hips against her abdomen. With her last bit of strength, she ripped off the mask.
He had a handsome face with a slight oriental cast, and coal black hair, rumpled from being wrapped up. The big eyes were bright, and a little smile made him seem like a lover, not an antagonist. His other hand reached between them, and suddenly she felt something in her wet cunt. He was watching her closely. She beat at his head with her fists, but he squeezed her neck gently, and the strength left her again. A sigh escaped her. Her hands beat weakly on his strong shoulders.
It was his cock, sinking slowly into her, and as it did, she groaned with a savage, wild mixture of pain, defeat, surrender, and passion. The tube kept sliding into her, and she felt her hips hump up to his thrust without any conscious effort on her part. As he made firm contact with her clit, jolts of sensation shot into her belly. Her hands formed claws on his back, and she pulled him to her. His mouth closed on her lips, wide open, tongue penetrating her, and she abandoned herself to his rape.
He pulled his prick out, then stuffed it back inside her creaming cunthole with a violence that drew a small squeal of pleasure. Her whole body was keening with vibrating sensation, their sweat and her juice's musky smell creating a sensual perfume. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and he broke the kiss, crooning to her. "Magnificent, magnificent woman. Victoria, Victoria."
She whispered with tremors of weakness in her voice "You bastard, fuck me, you son of a bitch. Goddamnit, oh goddamn it. Rape me, ream me, oooooh." She was lost in a euphoric sense of being conquered, taken, beaten, used. He began slowly fucking in and out, his turgid meat touching every inch of her welcoming vaginal tunnel, thrills filling her mind. Her legs helped him sink into her, and she writhed up to the rampaging lust of his marauding member.
It had been three years since she had felt the wonderful filling of her pussy by a cock. Even though she had had orgasms, she realized as he pistoned into her how much she had missed, how she had suppressed her need. The slow building up of tension, the keening flush of pleasure, the heat radiating from her clitty. Her arms and legs gripped him, her body straining uncontrollably to press harder and harder to his firm, rapacious flesh. His body felt so good on top of her, writhing with his fucking prick, drawing her outside her being into a soaring void of fulfillment. She could feel it coming, the wonderful release, approaching slowly.
She grabbed his hair and pulled his head away, staring with open mouthed lust into his face. He seemed surprised at their passionate coupling, even though she could see the pleasure in his eyes. He's as amazed as I am, she thought, as she pulled his face back to lock her lips frantically to his, her tongue seeking his with wild abandon. "God, god, god" she gasped.
There was still pain as he thrust more frantically, his large tube touching every fiber of her cunt, seeming to capture her whole being. She realized she would have a few bruises, but the whole sense of a fight lost mixed with rising sensation in a strange, fantastic combination of mental surrender and driving need. His mouth on hers was groaning, and she knew he must be feeling something like she had felt with her defeated victims, and the whole sense of him possessing her was increased by knowing how he felt.
"I'm gonna cum for you, damn you. Oh fill me, fuck me, rape me, take me aaaaaaaaaaah." She felt the cliff coming, the hanging on the edge, the slower, violently explosive completion so near, so welcome, so desired. He was spasming violently, as out of control as she was, and his face raised to stare with wide eyed glee at her own open mouthed want. "You bastard, you fucker, you son of a bitch, oh yeahhhhhhhhh."
His cock was driving faster and faster. Her climax was blooming slowly, extraordinarily powerfully, better than the orgasms when she won. Heat was radiating out of her surging tunnel, from the tingling love button spasming from the base of his cock, from the depths of her pussy nipping at his surging tool. "Aaaaaaagh, yeahhhhh." The peak carried higher than any she could remember, violence and fury driving it incredibly. Her hips were humping with frantic attempts to make it wilder and wilder.
She soared on and on. She felt both their bodies were one animal, an instrument to produce this crushing pleasure, this exploding orgasm. In the midst of her release, she felt his jism spurting inside her, and heard his grunting as each shot filled her ovaries, the heat adding to her experience. Her arms and legs flexed as hard as she could, pulling him into her, wrapping herself around his cock. It kept moving, keeping her excited.
It was such an intense completion it ended almost with a whoosh, like her blackouts in response to his blows. Vicky's arms and legs weakened, and she collapsed from her embrace of him, as her mind spun into semi-consciousness. Her head was twisting slowly, feeling him softening inside her from a long distance away. Then he was gone, too suddenly, too quickly.
She was back in the van, and they were moving. After five minutes, she realized her clothes were in a pile beside her, and langorously pulled them on. Just as she started to plot an escape, the van stopped, and the doors opened. He was dressed, and had the mask back on. "You are a block from home, Victoria." Christ, he knew where she lived. She considered an attack, but decided against it, her body's lassitude and euphoria no match for his skill at this point. Another time, another place. Better prepared.
She scrambled weakly out, standing on shaky legs, as he closed the doors, got in the van and drove away, not even looking at her. She watched as the white truck faded from her sight around the corner, and started for home.
Peter Farrell's mind whirled as he drove away. From a light hearted payback for the woman's beating of his friend and officemate, to an intense, erotic experience unlike any he had ever known, the evening had not gone anything like his expectation. The morning two weeks ago when Jack had come to work bruised and lousy looking came back to him.
They both were employed in a brokerage house on the currency trading desk. They had become good buddies over the two years they had been working together, Peter's calm, unflappable style a sharp contrast to Jack's excitable, volatile personality. They had quickly developed an efficient relationship, freely using their different styles to dazzle the many arbitrageurs who tried to exploit their firm's large positions in asian money. Their success had earned them a strong reputation in the small world of strange exchange driven by world trends and impulsive reaction to crisis.
He felt an almost fatherly sense of protection for Jack. The night he first saw Peter fight two guys trying to mug them as they walked home with dates, Jack had been so impressed he had enrolled in Karate classes at the local dojo. Peter had counseled him to be careful of getting too confident after just a few months of immersion in the martial arts, but Jack's usual enthusiasm made him reckless. He kept wanting to try Peter, but that wouldn't have been fair. He had worried that Jack would do something stupid after he won a couple of matches with other neophytes, and of course he eventually did.
"What did you do now, Jack? You look like shit."
The big, florid Irishman looked sheepish, and it took a while to worm the story out of him. "She's such a turn on, Pete. Gives you little hints of her tits and that firm butt, then won't go out with anyone. I figured, what the hell, get her in an alley, maybe strip her, bring her down to size a bit."
"Never knew what hit you, huh Jack. I told you it takes a lifetime to be really good, a few months can't prepare you for somebody who's really into it." Jack shrugged the way he always did when caught in a weak moment.
"But the funny thing is, she makes it easy. Walks home through the projects, doesn't hurry. When I pulled her into the dark, she just went along. And I swear to you she was getting off when I was laying there bleeding. Thinking about it, it seems to me she lured me there. None of the guys have said anything, but I think she's done it to some of them too. A couple of them look sheepish around her, and she gives them shit in front of everybody, and they don't do anything." He admitted it was his fault, but kept insisting she was looking for trouble.
They had access to a lot of data networks, and checked her out. Victoria Pleasance. Thirty five. "Looks like twenty." Widowed, one kid. Lives with her sister. Independent income, but not huge. Big in karate when she was young, got back into it when her husband died. A couple of pictures in the newspaper files with her husband showed a gorgeous woman, but Jack mumbled "Dresses down now. Like a librarian. Maybe she's a dyke."
It didn't make sense to him. She must be good, and the idea of luring victims went against all the training and morality. Jack gave up his lessons, and Peter was disappointed that this woman had caused that. He got more and more curious the more they learned, and finally decided that if she was pulling some sort of vengeance thing, it might be fun to teach her a lesson. There were few enough chances to exercise his lifelong devotion to the oriental training his mother had given him.
The whole night had been like a conquest. Her long, beautiful hair as she fought. That fantastic body, big firm breasts wobbling seductively, the well developed, long slim legs so powerful and yet so attractive, the fierce sensuality of her face. He had gone from a playful demonstration that she wasn't superwoman to a primitive desire to dominate her. His own feelings had surprised him, the sexual excitement overcoming his calm exercise of his physical ability.
It hadn't been rape, though he imagined she might have thought so. Jack was right, she had wanted the fight, wanted to get off. His passion went against everything he had been trained to feel, but captured him in a whirl of erotic need. He remembered her preening her nakedness at him toward the end, as though the fight was pure carnality. In spite of himself, he recalled what he had said. Magnificent. It was true.
She could have gotten the license plate, traced it to the customer he had borrowed it from, led the police to him. But he didn't think so. She had enjoyed it too much, though in a perverse way. He'd give it a couple of days to be sure, but knew he would try it again. He thought she would be waiting.
As Vicky bathed, massaging her bruised body, the evening flooded her with wonder. She had never thought there was anything wrong with her little adventures, they always came after her, right? But she realized there was something wrong after the intense fuck she had just enjoyed so much. And she also realized she was hoping to try him again. Win or lose, she had never cum that hard, that well. He was so good, such a good fighter, such a good lover. He must shave his pubic hair, she thought, what an interesting idea.
But in the morning, all she felt was the pain, soreness, and defeat. Sitting in the big kitchen drinking coffee with Connie, she felt down, depressed. "What's wrong, Vicky? You look like the world's ending."
"Oh I got hurt a little last night, Con. Some guy got overenthusiastic."
Her sister hissed in exasperation. "It's such an ugly place. That heavy incense smell covering up the sweat. I can't believe you like it. It must be fun to kick some macho ass, but is it worth it? Ugh."
Debbie came skipping down the stairs, and Vicky noticed again the swell of her daughter's breasts under the tight sweater, the trim hips outlined by a miniskirt. She had developed her mother's sexy body in just the last few months. Well, I've succeeded in keeping her from being inhibited like me, she thought. Maybe too well. "Do you have to flaunt it, Deb. I mean, really."
As the young blond leaned down to kiss her cheek, she responded "It's just the style, Mom. The boys all know you'll kick their ass if they touch me."
"Deborah, stop talking like that."
Giggling delightedly, the girl got herself a cup of coffee. She was growing like a weed, blooming into womanhood. Vicky shook her head as the pretty face shone with enthusiasm for the day. Their relationship was one part love, one part competition. Connie chuckled at the little byplay, though Vicky had always detected some jealousy over her pretty child. "You know it isn't nice to defy your mom, Deb. And with her, it's dangerous." They both liked kidding her about her karate ability. Vicky wasn't sure what she'd do if someone ever hurt Debbie, but she liked the sense of being a threat to anyone who got too fresh with her daughter.
She felt they got along pretty well, but had never really talked about sex. That was mostly because of Vicky, since Debbie seemed very naturally comfortable about how boys ogled her, and was always good about coming home on time when she went out. "One of the guys who takes classes with you wants to take me out Friday, Mom. Jimmy Lester. He says I look like you. Can I stay out till midnight?"
As the two women watched the teen skip down to catch the bus, they both shook their heads. "God she's growing up fast, Vicky. In just two years, she's turned into a beautiful girl." Connie sighed. "You're lucky to have her."
Vicky took Connie's hand. "No luck on that front, Con? Is that a bruise on your arm?"
Connie jerked her hand away. "It's nothing Vicky. Please don't neb."
They sat in silence. Connie's pretty face was a little wan. Hit a nerve, thought Vicky. As she peeled some fruit, and finished a light breakfast, the silence grew heavy. I should confront her, be a good older sister. But I'm no source of wisdom. Just got raped, or something. Want more. Beat up and loving it. She sighed with mild despair. Where was all this going?