Please note: this story contains graphic and disturbing explicit content.
An Eye for an Eye
Ducking down into the shadows, she
watched intently as her quarry moved clumsily from the door of the bar to his
car.
Tonight was the night.
She had stalked him for weeks now, each
day donning a black turtleneck and slacks and slipping through the shadows like
a modern-day ninja.
She had come to feel agile, lithe,
and potent. It was almost a shame that
this fantasy life that she had adopted, an approximation of that of some
acrobatic cat burglar or sexy super heroine, had to finally come to an end.
*****
Although she was sure that he was
too drunk to notice her, she remained cautious, following a safe distance
behind his weaving car.
When she pulled up at his house, a
location she had survielled for hours on end over the past few weeks, he was
still fumbling with his keys.
Without hesitation, she pulled up to
the curb, cut off the engine, and emerged from her car.
She approached with a swagger of
confidence.
He didn't recognize her. That was hardly surprising.
She batted her eyelashes at him. It was that easy. The door swung open, and he eagerly invited
her in, happily bewildered, baffled by his own good luck and what he could only
assume was his personal charm.
*****
His intoxication had ensured that
she had the upper hand. But, now that
she had him tied up, she would wait for him to regain his sobriety. She wanted him to have the full experience,
and to remember every second of it.
Seven years ago, when they were both
in college, they had gone out on a single date together, and he had raped
her. Seven years. The time necessary for the human body to
replace every one of its cells. She was
an entirely new person now. Every cell
had regenerated stronger -- like the bionic version of who she had been. She was made of steel now, impervious. She was the aggressor.
Her prey had been successfully
captured; he was hopelessly ensnared, struggling futilely, impotently.
She smirked at him openly as he
contorted helplessly against his bonds.
She was going to enjoy their second
date.
*****
She cut his pants and boxers off of
him with kitchen shears, exposing the pale, vulnerable flesh of his lower
body.
He was confused. Was this a home invasion? Or was this just some hardcore S&M
scenario?
He wracked his clouded brain for a
clue. How had they met again? Had a safe word passed between them? Had he given her some indication that he wanted to be tied up?
Her hands were cold. Her fingers roughly clasped his spongy member,
stretching it out as far as it would go; when she released, it instinctively
shrunk from her, trying to hide from the stimulation.
"That hurts." he tried to
say through the rag stuffed in his mouth.
"What's that?" she asked,
raising her eyebrows. "Are you
trying to tell me that you don't like that?"
He nodded his head
emphatically. He was feeling extremely
uncomfortable and wanted this situation to end as soon as possible.
"Good." she said, flicking
his balls.
"Mmmphh." he complained.
"It hurt a lot more than that
when you raped me." she said.
His eyes grew wide.
"I was torn up down there for a
long time. It was agony every time I had
to urinate."
Terror was creeping into his face
with the slow realization that, although the victim here, he was actually the
guilty party. His memories of college
were mostly a blur of frat parties, but he remembered a couple of times that he
had let things get a bit out of hand.
There had been a few times he had gotten laid when the girl wasn't
entirely willing. In retrospect, he
wasn't proud of those incidents, but he had dismissed them. But now one of those indiscretions was
apparently coming back to haunt him.
"Call me a vigilante." she
said. "I'm here to deliver
retribution. Don't worry, it shouldn't
hurt for more than a week or so."
She clasped his penis in her hand and
squeezed as tightly as she could, smiling as he squirmed, areas of his member
bulging unnaturally, like silly putty, out from her clenched fist.
Then she released him and lifted her
skirt, exposing her genitals to him. She
was not wearing undergarments.
He arched an eyebrow in
confusion. Was she really planning to rebuke
him with sex? That didn't seem like much
of a punishment to him. He wanted to
laugh in spite of his physical discomfort.
*****
She had planned the revenge rape in
her mind for years now. She knew
first-hand that he was guilty, and now she would render her verdict against
him. She intended to brutalize him just
as he had brutalized her. It was
justice, an eye for an eye. How was it
any different from sentencing a murderer to death? She was his electric chair, his lethal
injection.
Flinging over the chair to which she
had tied him, it fell to the floor heavily, his head bouncing against the
living room floor as it hit.
He let out a muffled cry of alarm and
pain.
"Oh, stop your
whimpering." she said. Then she
withdrew a handgun from her purse.
Tears were involuntarily beginning
to stream from his eyes.
She placed the gun to his head and
told him "I'm going to remove your gag.
If you scream or even speak, I'll kill you. Do you understand?"
Pitifully, he nodded.
She pulled the rag from his mouth
and tossed it aside.
The gun still pressed to his temple,
she said "I want you to eat me. Eat
me, and eat me good. You'd better make
me cum."
Then she climbed over him, straddling
his face. With one hand, she shoved his
face into her pussy while she held the gun to his head with the other hand.
This was the sex that he deserved --
sex as humiliation. She listened to him choke
and splutter as he licked, sucked, and penetrated her with his tongue.
It had nothing to do with
desire. It was about power. Control.
Revenge. She felt her vagina
shudder as she came, the orgasm setting off a series of involuntary
contractions that ran through her nether regions.
She pushed his face further into
her, willing him to drink her juices, the abundance of wetness produced by her
orgasm. A cold snicker caught in her
throat as she listened to him gag, suffocating on her, unable to breathe.
She loosened her grip, pushing his
face back. He inhaled deeply, audibly
sucking in air.
She lifted herself off of his face
and then moved to his genitals, raking her nails coarsely over the soft flesh
of his thighs, then digging a fingernail directly into his urethra.
He gasped, cutting short a scream as
he remembered the gun she still held upon him.
"Somehow, I just don't think
you're going to get hard for me." she said, pulling at his flaccid member. "That's okay. These things happen."
"So I guess I'll just give you
a little hand job and call it a day."
She withdrew a square of sandpaper
from her purse and proceeded to use it as an abrasive masturbatory tube. He stifled
his screams as best he could as all of the skin was scraped from his genitals.
After he passed out, she untied him and
left. She was not worried that he would
find her. She was sure that he didn't
even remember her name.
*****
Her life had been building to this crescendo
for a long time. But now that she had
finally accomplished her goal, she felt strangely empty and deflated. It was over, and she no longer had a goal toward
which to work. Moreover, she no longer felt
sure that justice had been done.
She had convinced herself that
brutality could be justified in retaliation.
But it hadn't made it any less ugly.
Now that it was done and could not be taken back, a terrible flickering
of realization was growing in her mind -- that she had not actually empowered
herself, but only revealed herself as tragically, irrevocably damaged.
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