Chapter 1

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.