This is my story, so don't pretend it's not. Ask for permission if you want to post it somewhere else, please.

Story contains:
Violence; non-consensual / reluctance; f/f (lesbianism); femsub/femdom; humiliation

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To whoever might read this...

   I'd always hated her. I'd been waiting for this chance, a real fight. A deathmatch. I wanted to snap her neck, to put it bluntly, and watch her eyes dim. The fight had gone as planned--She'd been trained to a fine point, and I could almost see Death himself creeping up on her. I could see his scythe swinging, gashing through that slutty little white cotton blouse she wore. I'm surprised I'd managed to go this long without vomiting, every kick she threw gave me a long look at her panty-clad crotch.

   Her pretty little face mocked me, her young, firm figure only served to stir my hatred. "I'm still solid!" I thought to myself in an attempt to console my jealousy, but I had to resort to utilizing the envy. It boiled and boiled until I snapped and... I almost regret it... I felt the need to make her last moments of life as horrible as... as she deserved it!

    Opportunity opened its glorious doors, and I drove my palm into her stomach. She doubled over in pain, and in that split second unreaction, I dashed behind her and rammed my shoulders into her lower back. She howled when she suddenly stumbled forward, and I finished the sequence with two palms aimed directly beneath her shoulder blades. A raspy inhalation was my signal as she dropped to her knees and slid forward to lay face down.

   Keeping suit, I placed the heel of my thick workboot onto the battered area of her back and let the weight of my leg rest on her. She pushed up, and tried the old 'roll over and grab the foot' technique she probably learned from her brother. The idiot was met with a heel to her chest, landing between her breasts to slightly crack her sternum... I was going easy, if she died now I wouldn't get to judge her properly.

   I stood back with a sneer and watched her stumble to her feet like a newborn calf. Obviously having lost herself in the pain, she threw a double-fisted punch to try to catch my stomach and liver. The weakness caused by her pain left me to easily grab a hold of her wrists and lift the shorter girl up into the air buy her arms. I spit in her face... Something I wouldn't have done to any other enemy. She gave me puppy-dog eyes, and whimpered like the cowering moron she was. I held her like that for a moment, and uttered a slight 'heh heh' when my saliva dripped onto her lips and she twitched, reflexively licking at it and cringing immediately.

   This little cat-and-mouse game had stirred in me a transcendant emotion. An emotion so powerful, it can only be described as a combination of all similar emotions: Hatred, jealosy, lust, and that wicked feeling you get when you see the fear in the eyes of a foe who's on the butt-end of a backbreaker. That is what I could see in her now. I wanted to see more... I wanted to see sheer horror, unequivocal pain...

   I let go of her, and she dropped. Before she landed on the ground, though, my knee came up. I'm famous in the fighting world for my knees... I've collapsed entire ripcages. People describe seeing someone hit with my knee as an atrocity, something that no human should ever lay eyes on. This knee landed directly between her legs, her little skirt flaring up and a hoarse gasp catching her lungs.

   She'd wrapped her legs around my thigh reflexively, and began to cough while hanging in midair, suspended by my knee in the air. I remained with that one leg off of the ground as she leaned forward, her forehead on my shoulder as she tried to push up and off my leg, hindered by her wracking coughs and sobs. I could smell sweat and some cosmetics in her hair, and it only served to press my berserking forward.

   I grabbed her head and tilted it back, and spit directly on her mouth. In her hysteria, she swallowed my saliva and choked a little when the thought got to her. With a domineering smirk, I gave her an ominous, although rhetorical, question, "Can you take five more hits, slut?" I could hear a laughing in the back of my mind, a laughing that answered my question. No.

   Taking hold of her shoulders, I dropped down onto one knee while pressing her down with all of my might. Knee cracked against cunt once again, and once again she turned into a quivering mass of... there are no words to describe how disgusting she is. Her response was odd, this time, she simply went limp while still held upright, now hanging with her feet draped on the floor. I grinned... I'd seen this before, and I've heard first-hand accounts of the raw pain that it can cause.

   To put it simply, she pissed. She pissed in her little-girl panties, and all over my knee. In retrospect, I find it important to note that the pissing isn't what made me feel how I felt... it was knowing how it made her feel. How did it make me feel? Nearly orgasmic. I showed only a tiny fraction of my anger when I yelled, "You filthy SLUT!" and grabbed her hair, flinging her face down on the ground.

   As she feebly tried to stand, her ass swayed in the air, her skirt fallen forward and her pissy panties displayed for my sadistic pleasure. I lifted a boot and let it sit on her ass, keeping her from standing at all, and asked, "Looks to me like the little slut's horny, panties all wet and her ass in the air. Hm?" She shook her head no, desperately, while trying to crawl away from my boot. I shoved her forward a little and kneeled behind her. I pulled her panties to the side and shoved two fingers into her tight cunt... Tight? Yes, it surprised me, a slut like this still tight...

   Before that fully registered, though, I'd noticed that she really was wet... it made me angry. Very angry. I tried to reason with myself, thinking it was a side effect of the brutalization I gave her privates. Finally agreeing with that consolation, I took a hold of one of the nunchaku strapped to her shins and brought a single stick up, quickly replacing my fingers with the longer, and definitely thicker, tool. She sobbed, crying for me to stop like a little pansy.

   I untied her ranking belt from her waist and used it to tie her wrists behind her back. I tied them tight... tight enough to strain her shoulders and force her to press her breasts against the floor... though, they were protected by her cotton blouse. I followed the binding by taking her second set of nunchaku and, using my other hand to pry open her womanhood, pushed one stick in next to the first. Her? She howled, quite frankly, the pain making her writhe and twist in front of me, her sex squeezing to get the two cylinders of wood out of her--To no avail.

   Pondering her ass, and the two sticks dangling by chains from her stretched (and throbbing) cunt, I came to a quick decision. Losing all sense of compassion for her immediately on the act, I pulled her panties further aside to reveal the entrance to her anus... it looked virginal, if my memory serves, but that didn't become apparent to me until much later. As you can guess, I harshly pressed both of the nunchaku flails into her asshole, and subsequently revelled in the tears it brought to her eyes. I replaced her panties over the two instruments and patted her bottom, before standing up.

   A few steps and I was in front of her. She looked up at me with the most pitiful, pleading eyes I've ever seen... and I've seen a lot. I couldn't stand the sight, and set my heavy boot on the side of her head, pressing it against the floor. I began giving her a lecture on modesty... and telling her that this was punishment for mixing her sluttish desires with the purest of arts. My lecture, though, didn't seem to teach much, as the little whore turned her head at an awkward angle and kissed the sole of my boot, muttering something in agreement.

   She seemed more moronic and laschivious than ever, and it served my evil well. I lifted my boot enough for her to move her head a bit, and ordered her to clean it for me. Her little red tongue slithered around the heel, a look of grace covering her features. I can't believe she could enjoy something like that... but as she throughly cleaned every tread of my boot from heel to toe, I began to.

   Setting my boot back to the floor, I told her to stand. After nearly a half minute of struggling through her various obstacles... The pain, the lack of hands to use, and the hardwood nunchaku stretching her most delicate holes... She finally managed to stand. I spit on her face... again, and again, and again... until her entire face was covered in my saliva. Her face was more a picture of wonder than anything else, and I do believe she had something to fear...

   I grabbed a hold of her ankles with both hands and gave a sharp shoulder to her ribs, knocking her back... onto her ass. The twin nunchakus drove deeper, instantly, and she screamed. The scream was deafening, piercing, and most of all, irritating. Fed up with the noise, I stuffed three fingers into her mouth far enough to make her gag. As any true whore would, she began to lecherously suck on my fingers, pretending they were something phallic I suppose, and I tormented her by thrusting them quickly against the back of her throat until she coughed. The shock of her cough was emphasized by a devious slap across her face...

   "So you like to suck things, cunt?" I asked, another rhetorical question, as I reached into her panties and gave a tug on one set of nunchaku, managing to pull it out after a particularly harsh pull. I brought one flail up, and held the nectar-soaked end up between our faces. She leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the tip, and sucked downward, tasting herself... most likely not the first time. I scowled at her pitiful attempt to appease me and lift the nunchaku's axis, aiming it down at her throat.

   Ah, glee. Glee is what I felt when she fearfully shook her head 'no.' It's too bad I not only didn't feel compassion for her... but seeing her in pain made me feel GOOD. Pain reflected in her eyes, and I could almost feel it myself from the squeals as I forced the thick wood down her throat. After a satisfactory amount of her feminine juices had soaked from the wood into her mouth and throat, I drew it out... only slow enough to keep her alive. She coughed blood onto my robe and fell forward, face first on my lap as I sat on my knees in front of her.

   I stroked the back of her head, then grabbed her ponytail and yanked up... hard enough to reveal her face to me, and I showed her the other half of the nunchaku... the half that had been up her ass. I laughed at the fearful look in her eyes, but I thought that a torture like that would serve to disgust me as much as her... so I passed, and tossed her prized weapon into the corner.

   "Do you like to orgasm, cunt?" She nodded yes. "Would you like to orgasm now, cunt?" She nodded yes. "Then go ahead... but I'm not going to help. Instead, I think I'll... Oh, I think I'll give you those four hits I owe you." My nonchalant attitude made her quiver like the wire of a violin. I stood up, leaving her kneeling in front of me. I gave her a few commands... and stood to the side to watch her. My theory was that forcing her to humiliate herself was in itself a form of torture... and it had the same effects on me as before.

   She dragged her tongue across the floor, cleaning the grit as per my order. After each lap at the wooden boards, she gave them a kiss. I could see humiliation just like this worked perfectly on her, and nectar gushed into her panties. During her orgasm, I gave her a swift kick to the abdomen. A heel to her hips... A downward punch the her shoudler blades, between her bound arms... and a snapkick, landing straight on her perinium and tossing her forward across the floor. She wiggled, writhed, sobbed, and tongued the floor all at once.

   I was surpised by the immense puddle growing beneath her, every bit of pent-up juice inside of her emptying onto the floor. After the mental fog in the air had cleared, and noticed a tingling... I pressed my palm against the front of my robe, and I could tell... I'd had an orgasm, but I didn't remember it. I ordered the snivelling nothing on the floor to clean the entire ring floor.

   When I returned from my little walk, I came to meet my arm-tied adversary still busy at her work. A sticky film covered her lips and chin, proof she'd cleaned up the mess she'd made... but I walked in in the midst of another orgasm. The nunchaku inside of her and the humiliating scenery probably triggered many orgasms in the many hours I'd been gone.

   Her tongue was raw, enough to make her cry and sob each time she took a lap at the floor... but it continued to arouse her.

I will end this story here, and leave you with a bit of wisdom. Battle is about power, and the most true form of power is will. Will does not manifest itself in murder, in pride, or in honour. Will manifests itself in domination of mind, and body. This is the true power of my martial art.

   - Anonymous Xun Hui Quan adept.



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The darkest thing to ever be birthed in my mind. For the curious: Xun Hui Quan is a self-invented martial art I practice, and a philosophy written by a female 'student' of mine inspired the story, and is shown in the 'bit of wisdom' at the end.


If you want to request a story, or if you want to request a story for my sake (I really need the practice, and your ideas might help me overcome my intense disability to think for myself) please e-mail me at Haelodesangre at hotmail dot com. I'm sorry it wasn't smut!