WARNING: THIS STORY IS EXTREMELY OFFENSIVE TO AMERICANS!

Kathy was somber, furious, depressed, rabid, haunted, and tormented at the rape, torture, and murder of her teenage daughter. After two months, the police still hadn't solved the murder. That Monday evening in September, she called her husband from her office overlooking the Statue of Liberty and told him that she had to work late. Her senior management position occasionally did require her to work late, but she would just take a room at the Hilton across the street on those occasions rather than taking the LIRR home late at night. So, to maintain her alibi, she rented a room that she would not be using and then headed north.

So she planned her revenge and she waited. She stood by an alley on 23rd street, gun in hand. A Saturday Night Special, it turned out, was easier to obtain than she had expected.

It was quiet at 3:00 AM. Most of the action was in midtown or farther south. A few people walked by, but they weren't right. She ignored women, either alone or in groups. Likewise, old men were spared. Young men in groups were most common, some even came on to her as she stood there glaring at them walking past her.

Finally, a lone young man came walking down the sidewalk. Looking unthreatening as they come, he was wearing a Star Trek tee-shirt under a light blue jacket, with a pair of khaki Dockers, and white sneakers. He smiled at her as he walked past, unusual for New York at any time, but especially late at night on a deserted street. She was prepared with a number of retorts for whatever come-on he might say to her, but he just nodded at her as he walked past and continued down the street. She almost let him go, too, but he was perfect. He was also the first young lone guy to walk past in the hours that she had been waiting. She fondled her gun and followed him. She caught up with him after a few steps and jabbed the gun in his back. "Stop right there, you bastard."

"What?" is all he could say.

"You heard me, fucker."

"Is this a hold up? Uhm, my wallet's in my back pocket. Just take it and go, okay?"

"This isn't a fucking hold up you idiot." She grabbed the back of his jacket and turned him around, and walked him back into the alley.

"Take off your clothes."

"What?"

The gun trembled in her hand pointed at his face as she shouted, "Now!"

He undressed before her, dropping his clothes in a pile at his feet.

"Lay down. On your back. Come on!"

He lay down on his back as she commanded. "Please don't hurt me. I've got forty some bucks, a credit card, and a return train ticket to Jersey. Just don't shoot me, please."

"Shut up and listen. I've got my gun on you so don't do anything stupid."

"Okay," he whimpered.

Holding her gun with one hand, she loosened her belt with the other and let her pants fall, exposing her bare ass. She kicked them off from around her feet and stepped directly over his head, straddling it, facing his feet. Then she sat. She placed her full weight on his face with her legs spread out in front of her. Her pussy was over his mouth, and his nose was jammed up her asshole. "Lick my cunt, you bastard. Make me come."

Kathy felt his tongue licking her pussy. It felt awful. She felt like it was he who was raping her, rather than the reverse.

The situation immediately reminded her of a diversity program given at her office last week. One feminist speaker told the gathering that the definition of sexual harassment is determined by how the victim feels, not by the intent of the male perpetrators. If a woman feels that a sexist cartoon in a male colleague's office is sexual harassment, then, by definition, it is sexual harassment. Or if a woman who overhears a sexist joke in passing through a hallway feels it to be sexual harassment, then that too is sexual harassment.

By the same logic, since she felt that this man was raping her, then he was indeed guilty of rape and she should feel no remorse for what she was about to do to him.

A different speaker had said that when crimes occur, especially against women, all men share the guilt. So this bastard is as guilty of murdering her daughter as any other.

"Make me come, you fucking bastard!"

She felt his tongue poking her clit now. He started swirling it with his tongue. He continued, on and on, swirl after swirl. At last, she felt the tension building up in her loins. Then he stopped licking and his body just started bucking.

"Hey! Either I come, our you die of suffocation!" She was practically shouting.

He continued swirling. It wasn't long before she felt the tension return. A moment later, she came. She felt her pussy get wet as she was bouncing on his face. She almost dropped her gun being that the sensation was so intense.

After a moment, she wound down and sighed. She leaned back to let him catch his breath, and the force of air exploding from his mouth sent a chill through her pussy. She let him gasp a few times before she leaned forward, pressing her pussy against his mouth again.

She had been standing on that street for hours, not daring to leave so she wouldn't miss her perfect victim. She had had to pee for a while, and now she realized that her bladder was feeling like it was about to burst. Yet, she couldn't abandon her victim now to find a restroom, or even pee against the wall while he got away, or worse, grab her. She had no choice. She relaxed her muscles and let her piss flow into his mouth. She sucked in her breath and emptied her bursting-full bladder forcefully and without pause.

"You're a dead man if you spit out any of my water!" Then she leaned back to let him swallow and take another breath. She felt him gulp it down and gasp for breath again.

Before he could speak again, she leaned forward, put her gun in her vest pocket, and grabbed his dick with her left hand. It was hard as a rock. With her right hand, she pressed the fingernail of her index finger to the hole at the end of his dick and pushed it in. He started bucking under her again while blood oozed out of his dick as she wiggled and slid her long fingernail deep into the hole. Then she let go of his dick with her left hand, grabbed his ball sack, and squeezed with all her might. Then she squeezed a little harder. Then harder still. She could feel her face turning red at the force she was using to squeeze his balls. She could squeeze no harder, so she just sat like that for a minute or two, squeezing his balls and with her fingernail up his dick.