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From: "S Jacobin" <jacobin_11111794@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Kat Fighter [1/5] (mf ff)
Date: Wed, 21 Aug 2002 07:10:03 -0400
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   Kat Fighter
   Jacobin
   jacobin_11111794@hotmail.com


   Boring Stuff

   Standard disclaimers regarding sexually explicit material apply. The good 
reader is reminded in particular that works of fiction often neglect 
real-world risks and consequences which should be taken into consideration 
in any re-creation or work-inspired acts.

   This is my fifth work of this kind. It's also likely to change 
substantially as I re-write it, so hints on how to get these from Word to 
ASSM with formatting relatively intact, feedback or requests to continue (or 
stop, even) are particularly appreciated at jacobin_11111794@hotmail.com

   You can find my other stories at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/jacobin/www

   This work is copyright (c) 2002 by the author. You may download and keep 
copies for your personal use as long as the author's byline, disclaimer, 
e-mail address, and these four paragraphs remain on the copies. Posting to 
newsgroups or on websites (with the specific exception of www.asstr-mirror.org) is 
not permitted unless you have my express written or email consent, and then 
only as long as no money is charged for access and the author's byline, 
disclaimer, e-mail address, and these four paragraphs remain on the story. 
Please respect my work as much as I've tried to respect the reader.

   -- Jacobin


   Part One: Re-Enter the Kat

   Katherine Connors was tall, lean, and a fighter. She competed on her high 
school's Open Style Martial Arts team. No one called it anything but 
fighting. It had seemed weird to Katherine when she'd first moved to View a 
decade ago, a town of maybe 4,000 in northeast Oregon among national park 
reserves and farms. Moving from suburban softball and soccer leagues to find 
a set of unpopulated counties in the rural Northwest participating in 
organized, ranked brawling had been disconcerting, but after nearly two 
years participating, it was just another turn in the year, with softball, 
track, volleyball. Fighting, like Judo (but not Rifle) wasn't NCAA 
sanctioned, wouldn't win her scholarships, but Katherine took to it early 
and had been ranked 15th in the county before she tore a ligament and broke 
her kneecap badly when an opponent swept Kat's left leg as Kat attempted an 
ill-advised crescent kick.

   Katherine was starting to stretch her knee for herself for the first time 
coming out of rehab, skipping rope in her garage. Katherine felt like 
celebrating, the hits of the plastic rope firecrackers in the empty garage, 
tools and shelves around her as she worked. Kat stood six feet under the 
rafters as she caught the rope on one foot, stumbling. She was a striker, 
her face a lean parabola from blunt chin to thin, curving cheeks and her 
tall forehead, her black hair in a pony tail, her lips thin and level, her 
blue eyes light and unimpressed.

   The day before school started and the first practices, her knee felt 
great, and when she started to relax, easily bouncing on the balls of her 
feet, it felt good to grin, the muscle movements coming back to her after 
months of frowning. In the mirror, she looked good, her blue eyes alive 
again, flashing in the sun beaming through the side windows, sweat on her 
forehead, the deepening wet stain on the grey sports bra, and with each hot, 
dusty breath Katherine felt stronger. She started to work double-time, 
feeling warm joy spread from her quick heart.

   Mike (unrated, not a fighter) stood in the doorway to the house, taller 
than Katherine and strikingly handsome in a manufactured, chain-clothing 
store way, square-jawed, dimpled, short nosed, easy to imagine in his 
baseball jersey, his minor-league contract already signed. His smile 
revealed his perfect teeth.
   "Don't push it too far," he said.
   "Let yourself in, Mike," Katherine replied. "Parents aren't home."
   Mike raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
   "Yup," Katherine replied, coming back to normal time. "This feels so 
good, I can't believe it." She started to do cross-overs.
   "You know what else would feel good?"
   Katherine stopped jumping, and looked at Mike, hands on hips, rope 
dangling. She sighed. "All right, come on, then."
   They almost skipped down the hall to Kat's bedroom, where Kat sat down on 
the bed, facing Mike, undid his shorts and let them drop to his ankles, 
exposing his hairy thighs and his gravity-defying erection. Kat started to 
stroke it. It was, as Katherine had once told Lisa, a perfect blow-me size, 
like a particularly long sucker, with an in-line head, not much of a lip 
between shaft and head at all. It wasn't large, but Kat had grown 
particularly fond of it. She put a hand around the base and ran it up 
slowly.
   "What'd you want, exactly?" she asked, grinning up at him.
   "That's just fine," Mike said.
   Katherine stroked him slowly, amused at his growing and obvious 
discomfort.
   "That's it?"
   "Keep going," Mike said.
   Kat managed to shrug while she kept moving her hand up and down, finally 
taking a firm grasp to jerk him harder.
   "Better that way?"
   Mike nodded. Katherine worked him harder, leaning forward to get close to 
the deep red head of his penis, holding there.
   "Nothing else?" She stuck out her tongue to lick, barely, the underside 
of his head, causing his whole length to jump in response. Katherine 
returned to stroking.
   "You're cute when you're anxious," she said.
   "Please?" Mike asked.
   Katherine smiled and took just the head of his penis across her lips, 
out, and then back.
   "Yeah?" she asked.
   He just moaned.
   Katherine kept on, moving farther and farther down with each bob of her 
head. Mike started to push further in, and Katherine regained her grip at 
the base of his dick, slowing him down. He was already breathing hard, 
tossing his head back, and Kat decided not to prolong things, moving her 
lips over his head quickly while stroking him in time. He groaned loudly and 
pushed against Katherine's restraining grip, twitching as he came in her 
mouth. Katherine kept on him a little, gentler, getting the last string, and 
then looked up at Mike's satisfied face and licked her lips.
   "That better?" she asked.
   He nodded, dumbly. "Do you, uh, want me to...?"
   Katherine smiled and shook her head. "No, not now. Later, maybe." She 
pulled his shorts back up and patted the bed next to her. "Sit."
   Mike sat cross-legged next to her.
   "We going out later?" Katherine asked.
   "I don't know."
   "You got work?"
   "Yeah. And stuff."
   Katherine watched his eyes dart around her. "What's going on?"
   "We should talk about something," Mike said.
   "Talk about what?" Katherine asked, wary.
   "Well, here's the thing. I'm going to be doing two sports when school 
starts, and I'm going to have to be studying real hard to get a decent score 
on the SATs or I won't get a scholarship, and I'm going to be working, too, 
so I don't know if I'm going to have time--"
   Katherine went cold and she looked away from him at the Run Lola Run 
poster over his right shoulder. When she looked back, Mike was still there.
   "What?" she said. "What the hell?"
   "I just mean I don't know that I can give you the time a relationship 
needs, okay?"
   Katherine stared at him.
   "I can't even believe this. You are.. this is... Get out, get out of my 
room."
   "It's not that--"
   "Would you fucking get out already?"
   "You know, that's part of your problem -- you're a real bitch sometimes." 
Mike sneered as he walked out of the room, as if this had all been 
Katherine's fault.
   Katherine stared at the wall straight ahead of her. Her parents would be 
home in a couple of hours. It would probably be best to fess up that Mike 
had dumped her, because bringing it up right afterwards would allow her to 
cut short conversation. She would not, of course, mention that Mike had 
gotten off one last time before he'd dumped her. Katherine would need to 
brush her teeth before then, too, and the nausea came over her suddenly and 
Kat threw up into the bed-side thrash can, over and over, tears running down 
her face as she kept on vomiting until there was nothing left to push back 
out. Katherine was still heaving as she walked the plastic sack of trash and 
stomach contents out to the cans, as if her body would not accept that there 
was nothing left of him to reject anymore. Katherine used the nastiest 
mouthwash in the house, her dad's straight Listerine, and as she brushed her 
teeth between rinses she started to plan again.
   Kat's face in the mirror was hard and red again, the same way she'd 
looked when she'd been told how long it would be before the knee brace came 
off.

   The next day, Katherine stopped on her way to school to pick up her best 
friend, Lisa, ranked #8, who was dressed for practice in dumpy Whitman 
College sweats. Lisa was a good sidekick to Katherine, shorter, her build 
stockier, breasts defining the sweatshirt, her fair Finnish face open and 
honest, framed by stringy, long blonde hair of eight shades. Where Kat 
looked like a swimmer, a volleyball player, Lisa gave the impression she 
might be looking forward to state trials in weight lifting. And where 
Katherine was weak with people, Lisa was observant, empathetic, and strong.
   On the step of her house, Lisa stopped, regarding Katherine oddly in the 
pale pre-dawn light.
   "You look down, Kat," Lisa said.
   "Mike dumped me."
   "Oh, I'm sorry," Lisa said. "You okay?"
   "He made sure we had sex before he told me."
   Lisa rolled her eyes and stamped her foot loudly. "Fuck!" She shook her 
head. "Oh, Kat, I am so sorry." She stepped up and gave Katherine a tight 
hug and let go. "Come on, walk and talk."
   Katherine told her everything, and Lisa listened, made sympathetic 
noises, and swore at the right time. By the time they arrived at school 
barely ten minutes later, Katherine had already started to feel better.

   The dead soccer field still gleamed with dew as they walked out from the 
locker rooms. The Women's Open instructor, Ms. Atin, stood in the morning 
sun, smiling as the girls walked out.
   "Good to see you again, Kat," Atin said.
   "And it's good to see you again, Ms. Atin," Katherine said, walking onto 
the field.
   Due to the nature of the sport, Atin ran a style-neutral program for the 
whole team, short conditioning practices and drills before school and longer 
scrimmage matches in the afternoon. The girls were expected to pick styles 
on their own or take straight karate from Atin herself two nights a week and 
weekends. Lisa was her prize student, and Atin smiled at her as the two 
walked by.

   Kat felt good on the field, doing their stretches, their long tae kwon do 
drills. She could feel the moves start to return to her, muscle memory 
stirring as she warmed in the cool air.

   Even in the half-speed practice, Katherine was overmatched. Her partner, 
Terry Mendoza, #50, put a straight punch into Katherine's right eye as 
Katherine missed an easy block. Terry apologized, fussed over it, and they 
resumed. Katherine missed the same block, stepping straight forward into 
Terry's fist again, same eye, same glancing blow off the orbital bone, and 
Katherine had to go back to the locker room to have the school nurse, a 
nervous student teacher of 27, cut the bruise open with wobbly hands and 
drain it.

   When the squad started to trickle back in, Katherine was still icing her 
eye with a gigantic cold pack, sitting on the cloth director's chair in the 
locker room office. Terry was first in, finding Katherine almost 
immediately, apologizing all at once, Katherine waving her off.
   "I didn't think you'd come forward, I tried to pull it," Terry said, 
looking like she might cry. "I'm sorry, and on your first day back..."
   Katherine shook her head slowly.
   "My fault," Katherine said. "I'm out of practice, is all." She held out a 
hand for Terry, who shook. There was an elaborate snake tattooed on the 
inside of Terry's right wrist. "You're faster than I remember."
   Terry smiled. "Let me know if you want to practice to catch up or 
anything, okay? It's great to see you back."
   Katherine nodded, and Terry walked off for the lockers.
   "Lemme see," Lisa asked, an evil grin on her face. Kelley pulled the cold 
pack off for a moment.
   "Holy shit, Kat, that's the nastiest shiner I've ever seen." Lisa 
blinked. "Wow!" She started to laugh. "It's so bad."
   "Leave me to my misery, please," Kat said. "Or shoot me."
   "It's not that bad," Lisa said, trying to maintain a straight face. "No 
one will notice." She giggled and walked off, looking back to laugh again.
   Lisa was bumped aside as she was distracted by women coming towards the 
office, concern thin on their tan faces. They ignored Lisa and stopped just 
short of the office.
   It was Suzette, ranked #2, and her friends. Suzette was a warm smile and 
a cold, calculating girl, her athletic build concealing a political mind and 
keen sense for weakness. She wore short skirts, all the better to manipulate 
with, and tight, stomach-revealing tops. She had once been suspended for a 
week for a series of illegal neck punches that had knocked Kat down, taking 
her out before that week's meet. Katherine had accepted Suzette's apology at 
the time. Katherine's low-varsity slot for the next match had gone to one of 
Suzette's friends, who in turn got to put a letter on her jacket.
   "Oh, Katy, I heard about Mike. Look, this is going to sound weird, but do 
you mind if I go out with him?"
   Katherine stopped and tried to remain composed.
   One of the advantages to a populace well trained to beat on each other is 
that it rarely occurs - both sides are well aware of the potential damage a 
real fight could do.
   "Be my guest," Katherine replied. "I think you'll find his calendar's all 
booked up, though."
   Suzette gave Katherine a look of mock shock. "Really? I just saw him with 
the freshman Simmons girl last night!" She almost lost her composure, barely 
stifling a laugh. "Must have been someone else who looked just like Mike. Oh 
well. See you around?"
   She didn't wait for a response but flounced off, her friends giggling 
behind her.

   Katherine put her casuals on alone and, holding the pack to her eye, 
lurched down the halls to her first class, through the packs of the Latino 
children, sons and daughters of farm laborers, many skirting the school 
dress code prohibiting gang colors (the tract housing of the laborers was 
rife with corner-to-corner gangs at night, Lisa's dad and grandfather both 
fighting losing battles against poverty, today's arrest next month's absent 
parent), the little clumps of white farm and store-owner children, the 
progressive mixed ethnic spread of the government fish, wildlife, and forest 
workers, and the goat-ropers of all walks, wearing their cowboy hats and 
boots as they stepped gingerly around the poorer kids who looked at them 
with an eye on resale value.
   They all stared at Kat.
   Her 20th Century History teacher did a double-take but made no comment, 
instead passing out the syllabus and class policy packet. Katherine paid him 
no mind, instead replaying the hits over and over in her mind. Terry was 
fast, but not so fast that she should have gotten through. Katherine had 
reacted clumsily, her reactions not even the simple, fast karate Mrs. Atin 
had taught her last year.
   Katherine set it up in her head again, watched the blow come. What was 
the correct reaction? She mapped out two, saw two more, sketched them out on 
her notepad. Her stick figures were terrible.
   "We'll be exploring the time leading up to the 20th Century," the teacher 
said. "And then we'll move from there."
   Katherine tuned him back out. There was no need to pay attention: 20th 
Century History would be the same material as Western Civilization, as 
United States History, as World History. Katherine started to play out the 
four moves, looking for the advantage. Her eye hurt behind the numbing cold, 
her arm hurt from holding the ice pack up. Katherine could feel the bruise 
still, trying to swell up, the ache starting already. Four responses, and 
she'd stepped right into the blow like a fool. Twice.

   "You know what the worst part about today is?" Katherine asked Lisa. Lisa 
sat on the bed with Katherine, paging idly through the sheaf of first-day 
handouts. In the background, a CD played.
   "What's that?"
   Katherine sighed. "Normally after a day like this, I'd call Mike up and 
see if he could come over, or I could come over there, and then later, I'd 
feel like I was valued, and even if he forgot to compliment me, or hold me 
afterwards, I'd have let go of all this tension. Now what?"
   Lisa looked over her handouts. "Kat, if you haven't figured this out 
yourself, you can always just help yourself."
   Katherine waved her off. "It's not the same. It's nice enough, but if 
getting laid one way or the other gets me to no stress, then doing it myself 
only gets me to half-stress. If that. It's so much better with someone. 
Right?"
   Lisa put down her handouts. "Sure, Kat. So for chrissake, Kat, go out and 
pick up some guy."
   "No," Katherine said. "No way. I don't want to think about what I'd catch 
in this town."
   "All right, then, I'll help you out."
   Katherine started and blinked. "What?"
   "One time," Lisa said. "I'll help you get off, because I feel sorry for 
you today." Lisa was smiling.
   "Are you serious?" Katherine asked.
   "Do you seriously need the relief?"
   Katherine felt the ache of her deep bruise, the tension on her skin, the 
tightness of nipples against the cotton t-shirt, the warmth across her 
chest, her thighs.
   "Yes," Katherine said. Lisa nodded and got her feet out from under her. 
"I do. But I don't..."
   "Does it make a difference if it's my hands or some guy's? My mouth or 
some guy's?" Lisa shrugged. "It's like it doesn't matter if it's a guy or a 
girl giving some guy head, right? Only difference is that we're just more 
practical, not as hung up."
   Lisa crawled on all fours up the bed. "More adaptable. Now relax, this'll 
take no time at all."
   "I'm worried," Katherine said, but she lifted her hips off the sheets at 
Lisa's touch so her shorts could be slipped off. Lisa laid down on her side 
next to Katherine and rubbed Katherine's stomach gently, the lightest touch.
   "It's just between friends," Lisa said, slipping her hand down 
Katherine's stomach to her pubic mound. Katherine jumped.
   "Relax, just relax," Lisa soothed. She slipped two fingers down along 
Katherine's damp lips. "You are dying for this, aren't you? Here." Lisa 
pushed both fingers in, curling them back.
   "Ah," Katherine said.
   "Yeah? Good." Lisa pulled them out, ran the tips of fingers up again, not 
touching skin at all, just brushing hairs, and Katherine trembled under her. 
Lisa ran a slow circle around the clit, Katherine breathing hard next to 
her, and then tweaked it softly and moved down to push both fingers back in.
   "Yes," Katherine said.
   "Yeah?" Lisa worked them in and out. They were both well-lubricated with 
Katherine's juice, and as Katherine moaned Lisa increased the pace until, 
barely a minute later, Katherine bit her lip to stifle a yell and her whole 
body jumped once, twice, and then again. Katherine looked as if she was 
about to cry or cry out and then released a great sigh of relief and smiled. 
Lisa withdrew her fingers and set her hand on Katherine's stomach.
   "You feel better?" Lisa asked.
   "Yes."
   "More relaxed?"
   "Definitely." Katherine turned her head to face Lisa. "You're pretty good 
at that."
   Lisa smiled. "Plenty of practice with myself." She shifted on the bed. 
"Speaking of which, can you help me out now, or..."
   Katherine started. "Oh! I... I don't know."
   "It's okay," Lisa said, rolling onto her back and pulling her own shorts 
down. She put her right hand - the one she'd been using on Katherine - to 
her own pussy and started to grind her soft clit against her palm. Lisa 
groaned, eyes closed. Katherine watched, still breathing hard. Lisa's other 
hand pulled her shirt and bra up, baring her taunt, apple-like breasts, and 
then holding onto an erect nipple as she started to work herself faster.
   Katherine leaned over slowly and kissed Lisa's open, tense right nipple. 
Lisa moaned and put her hand on Katherine's cheek. Watching Lisa's fingers 
work, Kat ran her hand down, her touch not as subtle but the effect not 
lost, and Lisa took it and guided it down to take her own hand's place.
   Lisa started to come almost immediately, squeaking into Katherine's 
shoulder, trying not to make too much noise. When she'd stopped squeaking, 
she put her arm around Katherine and awkwardly hugged her.
   "I'm sorry about Mike, Katherine," she said. "I'm sorry about your eye 
and your knee and about everything."
   "I'm all right," Kat replied.
   Lisa stood up, smoothly hopped back into her shorts, pulled her bra 
forward and back down, adjusted her shirt, and looked into the full-length 
mirror on the door.
   "I look okay?"
   "You do that before?" Katherine asked, looking at Lisa appraisingly.
   "Here's the thing," Lisa said. "I'm lazy. Finding a guy who's not 
carrying crabs or something, not a jerk, it's hard, or maybe you're just 
between guys -- you can reach an understanding, find a way to get what you 
need the other way. It's necessity, like."
   "Uh huh." Katherine arched an eyebrow. "So you have, then."
   "Yes," Lisa sighed. "One girl, for a while. But not in a long time." She 
looked at Katherine, head to one side, imploringly. "Look, it's just between 
us, I understand where you coming from, there's no need to do a lot of 
soul-searching and hand-wringing and whatever now, okay? Now what do you 
want to do tonight?"
   "Something bad," Katherine said.
   "Are you on time delay or what?"
   "No, I want to steal something."
   Lisa's eyes lit up. "You don't say."

   Lisa's dad had once told her as he slumped at the dinner table with a 
beer in hand that the hardest crimes to solve were the fast ones, where 
there's no planning, no prep work, and no one talks before or after because 
no one knows anything -- all there is is the crime, by itself: a missing 
car, a shot Papa bleeding on someone's lawn, a store on fire.
   Katherine, wearing a baseball cap with her hair tied back, gloves on both 
hands, walked up to the back door of Mike's house, tore the screen door 
open, the flimsy lock breaking off and dropping onto the step, twisted. 
Katherine turned the doorknob and they both were standing inside the house.
   "Nicely done," Lisa said. "Let's hurry."
   Katherine jogged down yesterday's manufactured home to Mike's room, to 
his bookcase, filled with taped copies of NFL Films and a complete ten-year 
archive of Sports Illustrated filed by date, and stole his good videos: all 
the Bruce Lee, all the Jet Li, Jackie Chan, dropped into Lisa's backpack, 
and they were back out the door in under a minute, walking calmly back along 
the alley.
   Lisa started to whistle merrily.
   "I think that's pushing it," Katherine said. Lisa stopped.
   "Sorry."
   They returned to Kat's and dumped the videos out onto the 
still-a-little-damp bed, both keeping away from incidental bed-or-each-other 
contact, and Kat picked one from the pile. They sat out in the living room, 
watching Bruce Lee mess stupid motherfuckers up something good. Katherine 
watched intently, her eyes trying to follow Lee's hands.
   "I've always wanted to be that quick."
   "You are that quick," Lisa said. "I've seen you do that. But mostly you 
just stand there and get socked." Lisa started to laugh, and Katherine 
socked her in the face with a pillow. Lisa took the pillow away. "So what 
are you going to do for training? You going to come back to me and Mrs. 
Atin? Study a killing style?"
   "No," Katherine said. "I think I'm going to do something different."
   "Yeah, what's that?"
   "I'm going to see Jack," Katherine said. Lisa made a low whistle. 
Katherine smiled. "Oh, yes, that Jack."



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