by Jimp based on an idea by DK with input from Karate2hose & Stefano

40+ years ago

Claudine was in the kitchen preparing the family meal. Although a successful investigative journalist, she did not neglect her duties as a wife and mother. She loved her husband and her two children, Henri and Marie, putting their happiness first meant everything. Today was her wedding anniversary and after the kids had gone to bed she was looking forward to a romantic time with Jacques. To perk his interest her short golden hair had been styled, a soft touch of mascara and eye liner enhanced her slender blue eyes, and her thin lipped mouth glossed with pale pink lipstick. A smart white blouse covered her lean upper torso, daringly thin enough to give Jacques a saucy glimpse of the frilly white bra beneath. A pleated mini skirt of brown silk with a golden floral patten was worn over a pair of high-sheen sheer tan coloured pantyhose that she knew he would enjoying removing. Completing her gift were a pair of calve-hugging knee-length black leather boots. Are you a Karate expert? the salesman had asked. No, why? she replied to the unusual query. I thought the only women brave enough to wear leather skirts or kinky boots in public were black belts, or so it seems on TV he chuckled. She laughed for the young wife was a very calm and peaceful lady who had nothing to do with violence. The only exercise she did were some light aerobics to keep her slender body lithe and firm for hubby.

The sound of a key in the front door and the squeals of kids running into the house signalled that her family were home and she stepped into the hall to greet them. Before Jacques could close the door, he is flung forwards as four big burly masked men slam into it from behind. Her mind goes numb with shock as two of them scoop up her kids. Jacques steps forward to save them but a third thug spun around quickly on one heel and high-kicked him right in face. She screamed as the thug beat him bloody with martial arts kicks. Poor Jacques didn’t have a chance as the brute, surprisingly nimble and flexible for such a big heavy-set man, kicked him bloody with an ease that was almost balletic. With a final kick that launched him half-way up the wall, her beloved collapsed to the floor a ruined man. Claudine ran for the telephone but screamed as big hands seized her from behind. Holding her tight against his body, the 4th thug’s hands slid to her chest then ripped open the blouse. Your wife has nice tits he taunted while pulling up her bra to feel her breasts and thrusting his crotch against her backside. Throwing her to the floor, the mini-skirt ended up around her waist showing her long slim legs clad in shiny sheer tan nylon. Wow! That’s a welcome sight he leered before unzipping his trousers and unleashing his enormous trouser sword. “The gift of Mahishasura to the faithful” he declared enjoying the fear in her eyes.

Heroic Jacques tried to get to his feet but was dropped in an instant by a spinning back kick. The monster laughed as he ripped the nylon away from her crotch like wrapping paper until a flailing foot caught his jaw. Bitch has got a kick like a mule he snarled at the cowering woman trying to back away. Scared, she kicked again but he caught her foot and twisted it forcing her to her hands and knees where he violated her from behind. They left her sobbing on the floor as they carried away her family.

The tape came the next day. Watching with a rising sense of dread, two masked men brought out Jacques, his face so badly swollen and bruised he was barely recognisable. Stretching out his arms between them, a third man slammed powerful kicks into his body that sounded like tenderizing meat. The others restrain him as he is blasted from his feet with each kick. The monster laughed while spinning and delivering showy kicks to emphasise his fighting prowess. His huge manhood stretched his shorts, aroused by his own deeds. Each loud terrible kick sent Jacques flying back with blood pouring from every orifice. With a loud roar, the beast spun around before kicking his leg vertical driving the sole of his foot into Jacques’ jaw so hard that it separates his skull from his neck. The horror did not stop there as the evil immoral monsters gave her children a similar beating and execution with no compassion or consideration of their tender age. Driven into a hysterical screaming fit, her neighbours finally called The Gendarme.

Present day

My name is Jim Priest and recently I have been gathering evidence against The Moroccan, a master criminal working for the Global Elite putting him above the reach of the law although not beyond that of the French female vigilante group, The Pantyhose Society. I discovered he worked for an extremely wealthy aristocrat Count Dupont, a diplomat in an exotic country with the obligatory eye-watering salary paid by the taxpayers and tax exemptions. However Madame Michelle, the leader of The Society, suspected it was his wife Countess Claudine who was the real driving force. She also suggested I might find interesting a painting the Countess owned called The Immaculate One.

Research revealed that rather than a privileged background Claudine came from a well-to-do middle-class family, married young and had two kids. Yet she still had time to build a successful journalistic career. Microfiche copies of her articles showed a series of fearless expos s against organised crime resulting in several high profile arrests and successful convictions gaining my admiration. Her final piece mentioned an investigation into the murder of a prominent pro-democracy activist clumsily hushed by the authorities leaving clues pointing to a shadowy Global organisation. Hiding behind a smoke screen of bureaucracy and institutional corruption, there were unbelievable levels of personal wealth and exemption from the law. She wrote that she was close to uncovering the identities of those responsible and no amount of wealth would protect them from public outrage. The reports of the kidnapping and brutal murder of her family were shocking but the lack of any Police investigation and the end of a promising career was criminal. This echoed my own experience of how the establishment moved to protect The Moroccan from any form of justice. There the trail went cold with no record of her until she married the Count.

With help from Madame Michelle I managed to infiltrate the domestic workforce at her massive luxurious ch teau. Getting a clean security background check from Madame Julia, the Society’s inside woman in The Gendarme, however took a lot of persuading. Oh Monsieur English private dick. Keep your mouth shut, your French is appalling the snooty young woman advised as we parted.

With such an enormous house and large workforce I was sure that the Countess, even if she were home, wouldn’t notice me. Mingling with the cleaning team I kept my head down and did nothing to draw attention to myself, flitting between rooms dusting as I went while looking at the paintings of which there were many. Finally one stood out from the others. Set in a large ornate gold-gilt frame and positioned above a grand fireplace, it had an Eastern feel out of place among the more traditional artwork of ancestors, royalty or imaginative ruins. In a scene depicting the rugged exposed slopes of forested mountainside before an ancient temple was a bloody battlefield. Centre-place strode a beautiful woman, her long black hair unrestrained and dishevelled, her body naked strong and buxom. Her appearance is fierce with black skin, eyes deep red and wide with rage, her mouth set in a manic grimace with a long red tongue lolling. Around her neck is a garland of skulls with a crown of broken bones upon her head. This terrible vision stood in a classic dance pose with one leg raised bent at the knee out to one side and flexing a big muscled calve. Ten arms were raised from her strong dancer’s body, each held a different weapon bloodied on the men laying strewn around her while the remains of an army fled in terror.

Before I could sneak a few photos on my phone a strident female voice rang out loud and clear Everyone out now! Not you Mister Priest. Looking around a mature lady of grace and bearing had entered the room and was looking right at me. If you wanted to see my painting you only had need ask, not join my staff. Caught like a rabbit in the headlights I stood still as she glided towards me. Average height, although her slim build made her seem taller, Claudine had a sophisticated aloof beauty. Alert slender blue eyes beneath arched eyebrows study me atop a broad prominent nose while a wide thin-lipped mouth with glossy pink lipstick push up pinched cheeks making the creases that line her face all the more noticeable. Whitish blonde hair fading to silver is worn high on her forehead with an off-centre parting before sweeping stylishly away curling around the ears and ending clear of her shoulders. Fairly unadorned, other than by moderate sized rounded pendant earrings and a gold chain necklace, the wrinkles around the forehead, chin, throat and hands indicated her age.

Did you really think that I would not recognise you from the self-defence class for upper class ladies? she asked [PANTYHOSE#4]. A smart tailored red half-length jacket fell to the top of her slim hips over a frilly white blouse and secured by a single large button on a rounded-neck yoke. She placed her hands upon her hips emphasising a nice bust and slim figure before slipping to her skirt. To my surprise the hem rose from her knees a fraction. So Jim. I may call you Jim? she queried with a snobbish tone as I tried not to stare at the length of slim shins backed by slender shapely calves clad in sheer high-sheen tan-coloured nylons.

With a demure smile the hem slid higher exposing a good couple of inches of thigh. I see you are admiring my shoes she said before I could look away, keeping my attention on her legs. They are from Ferragamo. Rather pricey but I think they are worth it and the decoration at the front is rather feminine I think you agree To me they just looked like narrow slip-on women’s shoes and highly polished like a black mirror. Just in front of where her lovely arched feet slipped into each shoe there was a large golden buckle threaded with a wide black bow. Maybe I’m getting older but I prefer the middle-height heels she smiled as the hem crept higher exposing surprisingly beautiful thighs. Was she coming onto me? It seemed unlikely yet despite her age she had a stylish attractiveness and undeniably sensational legs. I found myself mesmerised by the slowly lengthening expanse of long slender flawless legs. Realising that they were befuddling my senses, I forced myself to look at her face which was grinning smugly.

The painting I began trying to regain control of the conversation. My concentration was broken by the refined lady perching on the edge of an antique sideboard causing the hem to rise again along with my temperature and the stiffness in my groin. She really had a great pair of legs and knew how to use them. The Immaculate One she declared as if giving an art lecture. The meaning of the name of Anahita, the Old Persian/Iranian divinity of the waters; associated with fertility, healing and wisdom. The Lady of the Lions, the great virginal-wanton-motherly-warrior goddess she explained. But then you probably knew that from your involvement with the translation of those old texts she smiled while stretching an eye-watering expanse of nylon-sheathed leg. Note how the artist obviously had never been to India or seen a real jungle so painted it like a European forest she chuckled. Anahita? I’d never seen her depicted like that I tore my eyes from her legs to look at the manic nude killer in the midst of a bloodbath. Examine the background she replied, pleased I was taking an interest.

I looked closer and saw that in front of the distant temple were dusky maidens in red saris celebrating in victory. The temple of Anahita and the original sisterhood I observed. And in their midst? the noble woman gave an encouraging smile then crossed her lovely legs making it hard to concentrate. In among the celebrating women was ... Another Anahita? But how? I exclaimed in surprise, trying not to stare at the shapely legs of the prim and proper lady as she stretched them out before me. The duality of the Warrior Goddess is common in ancient legends she seemed more like a snooty school teacher although one with hot legs. Anahita becomes so enraged and filled with battle-lust she literally becomes another person. She leant forwards in excitement As your professor friend noted in his translations, there is a great similarity to the tales of the Hindu Goddess Durga Who defeated the Demon Lord I replied. She nodded first of the 10 manifestations of Durga is Kali the destroyer often considered the kindest and most loving of all the goddesses. Regarded as the mother of the whole Universe and a great protector I remembered Lady Helen and her friend, Kate [JIMP#51 & 52] having shrines to Kali that had caused me to suspect a sub-cult within the Sisterhood.

The Countess got to her feet and turned her back allowing me to observe an hour-glass figure and nicely shaped calves; slender with a hint of hardness that flexed into sexy double downward arrow heads as she reached for an elaborately carved antique wooden box upon the mantelpiece. Opening the lid she beckoned me to look inside. As I stood next to her I could smell the subtle scent of expensive perfume. Beneath a piece of glass I saw a yellowing paper scroll. This rare document is from the temple and purports to be the actual text documenting that episode she nodded to the painting. So you let slip the numbers 9546 to Madame Michelle mentioning that I had the means to decode it I felt smug having worked that out. No. It was not encoded and was translated many years ago. She closed the lid and placed the box on the sideboard then sat once more on the edge with a quizzical knowledgeable smirk. “A great war was waged between the Demons who recruited human men to fight on their behalf in reward for Mahishasura’s gift of a penis of great length, girth and virility The rasp of nylon upon nylon as her legs uncrossed and recrossed was irresistible to my eyes. The smile on her face confirmed that was precisely the desired effect. “The Gods likewise recruited men with promise of great wealth and power. These two great armies waged a bloody war with no regards to the innocent bystanders trapped between which both sides slaughtered with no compassion. The Goddess became so angry she darkened with rage and literally became another person who slaughtered the warring armies. Once more she caught me looking as she re-crossed her legs. Although a murderous destroyer on the battlefield, the Dark Goddess gained the people’s love by weeping for the murdered innocents. Her boon to the grieving was restoration of the original human lifespan by removal of the cancer gene the Gods used to control us. Those digits are the key to her gift but what that means I do not know So what became of the gift? I asked intrigued What becomes of all good things in life that could benefit ordinary people? she said bitterly It is claimed by the elite and kept secret from the masses