Just Desserts Served by Bare Female Feet
By Jack
A beautiful, barefooted woman beats a crime lord within an inch of his life!


"Don't beat me up, bitch!" WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!!! My bare feet did such a
number on his face. All he could do was roll around on the ground and bawl
like a baby. But I wasn't done. Not by a long shot.

"Wha.. wha?" was all he could blubber, as I pulled Arthur Ray Jackson up from
the floor by his lapels. I'm sure he could see the look in my eye, which said
he was a long way from the end of his barefooted ass- kicking by me, a
self-appointed ministress of justice. I could certainly see the look in his
eye, one I was very used to by now: absolute fear. Which is strange, since I
would never, EVER kill another human being, and yet people like him will do it
without a second thought. To kill another human being is an evil I would never
even dream of doing ... using my female bare feet to beat the living shit out
of a criminal is a far more satisfying and morally defensible way to take care
of badguys.

Let me explain. My name is Jessica Alperto, and I am the worst thing that ever
happened to crime. I'm trained as a dancer, but I've found my new calling
using my bare dancer's feet to kick badguys into the worst possible pain they
could imagine. And I'm loving it. Not to say that I'm new to administering
barefooted justice to badguys ... In my 23 years of existence on this planet,
I have beaten the shit out of exactly 59 assholes who more than had it coming.
Just call it a gift, I hadn't taken any sort of martial art or physical combat
class until I was 10. By that time, every bully in town was terrified that I
might catch him in the act of harassing somebody and earn the soleful justice
of my tough calloused feet. The first fight I won was against a 5th grade
bully when I was 6 years old. He was twice my size, but it didn't matter; my
fists gave him two black eyes, a broken nose, and several missing teeth, while
my feet kicked him twice in the balls. Other recipients of my fists have
included three escaped cons that tried to rape me when I was 15. They spent
six weeks in intensive care, plus the next five years in prison. A shame they
didn't return for a rematch. It never ceases to amaze me that many of my
opponents have done exactly that, and received exactly the same results.

Before I give you the impression that I am a bully or a thug, let me clarify.
I feel that God has gifted with this ability, and I will only use it for
self-defense, teaching, or justice. There are times when I have defended
myself or others from harm, there are times when I have felt that a little
butt-kicking by a pretty girl might teach an important lesson to someone whose
parents had not given then the proper education, and then there are times when
my fists and feet have been agents of well-deserved justice. The first two
situations do not usually result in much than a black eye, a bloody nose, and
wounded pride for my opponents; justice, however, is always enormously painful
for the criminal receiving his just desserts. I keep in mind exactly what and
how much pain the person has meted out, and I condense every ounce in return
into the course of about ten minutes. My rules are simple ... I do not start
fights, but I finish them, leaving my opponent or opponents in exactly the
final state which they deserve (sometimes this means a little wounded pride,
sometimes it means six months of physical therapy). I never use my skills if
another solution would be better; I hate bullies with every fiber of my being,
and there is nothing that would disgust me more than if I became one. I know
there is a very fine line between ass-kicking heroine and thug, and I pray
every day that I stay on the right side of the line. That said, I feel
confident that there is not one punch I have thrown that was not sorely
deserved. Not only have I never lost a fight, I have never even come remotely
close to losing. I believe very strongly in karma. If my ass- kicking feet
were ever used for a purpose other than good, I would no doubt become the one
lying on the ground at the end of the fight. (Not that my scuffles could
really be called fights. Whether they are finished in seconds or drawn out to
fifteen unbearable minutes, they are entirely one- sided with no chance of
success or even a successful blow scored by my recipient.)

My personal favorite rule of all, though, is 100% absolute bare feet. I have
not worn a pair of shoes, socks, pantyhose, or any other sole- encumbering
item during one fight in my life. As a result, I remain connected to the
earth, I feel the justice as my foot crashes into the monster it is
destroying, I look really sexy, and I have more fun than is humanly deserved.
God has gifted me in so many ways: a wonderful circle of family and friends,
the joy of dance, a loving soul, and a totally killer smile (if I do say so
myself). I also making a point of giving myself gifts that every woman should
give herself: I eat right, keep in shape, give love as freely as I want it
given to me (that does not mean sex, boys, keep your minds out of the gutter!)
But the one gift I thank the Lord for every day is my heightened nerve endings
in my feet. No, really! Everyone has nerve endings in their feet, and women's
are innately so much more sensitive than men's (which is why I cannot
understand why every woman in the world doesn't kick off their shoes and socks
and run around in full barefooted regalia every second of every day, but I'll
digress. I guess shoes have their place, but nothing beats my trusty bare
feet!) When I was a little girl, my parents took me into a doctor to find out
why it was that I found anything constraining my feet to actually be painful,
and he determined that I had the single most receptive nerve endings in my
soles that he had ever seen! Well, maybe wearing shoes isn't exactly painful,
but it's the thought that I am even having to miss a few minutes of the
absolutely gorgeous heaven of being barefoot that I cannot stand.

You may laugh at my unyielding gratitude toward God's gifts, but sometimes we
simply have to accept when the Almighty has singled us out. Just three weeks
ago, two things happened which put me in the situation I am now. One was that
I received an extremely lucrative position with a touring dance company which
gives me a month-long break every four months for our bodies and soles to
recover. The other is that I just won $53 million playing the lottery.
Actually, what happened was I walked into a convenience store when a masked
man with a sawed-off shotgun burst in and tried to rob the place. Well, he got
a little too close to me with his gun turned, and ... well, I hope his new
prison has an excellent medical facility because he'll probably be in it for
about six weeks. Out of gratitude, the manager gave me free lottery tickets
for two months and said I would be the one exception for his No Shoes, No
service policy. I'd never played the lottery before, but the very fist week, I
won the biggest jackpot the state has seen in ten years. So, now I have my
situation ... for two months, I am Jessica Alperto, barefoot dancer
extraordinaire, and then during my down time, well ... surely there must be a
reason that I have been given all this.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! He was bawling now. Arthur Ray Jackson,
the kingpin of all crime, drug, and murderous activity for 100 miles was
crying uncontrollably and he'd given up caring about it. "P- please!" he
begged. "Please don't hurt me anymore!" Tears flowed like Niagra.

I looked at him in mock confusion. "But why not, Arthur?" SLAP! SLAP! "You
don't stop hurting other people when they beg you?" SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Slapping
may not seem like much of a punishment, but it is actually an essential tool
in a justice ministress' arsenal. You see, by this point, he has seen every
one of his million dollar bodyguards be reduced to piles of broken bones by me
hands and feet. While he was handcuffed to his desk, he watched a beautiful
barefooted Latina kick, punch, and chop every one of his accountants,
scientists, and technicians into so much fluff. And then I locked all the
doors, ensured that his security cameras were recording this event, and
uncuffed him. He had already peed and shat himself in terror, which may have
been the closest thing to a defense he was able to offer. I then gave him two
minutes to attack me with absolutely no response on my part.

Let me pause a moment to say that BARE FEET ROCK! I love going barefooted
every second of ever day. God be praised for his brilliant invention. And then
thanks again for giving me magic bare feet with which I can sense so much and
inflict so much pain on the scum of humanity. Over a 24 hour period two bare
Latina feet have demolished exactly 27 men who will spend the next several
decades in prison, and the next several months in hospital beds. God isn't
just good, he's a fucking genius.

OK, so the two minutes. He blustered about he was going to kick my fucking ass
and then fuck me silly. After about 45 seconds of throwing punches that came
nowhere near their targets, he broke down crying. I guess my laughing at him
got his male ego back, so now he tried some kind of karate kicking
demonstration, which, again, had no possibility of remotely touching me. At
least this was funny, though. With 30 seconds left, he collapsed to the floor,
winded and wheezing.

"Thirty seconds, Arthur. And then my board-breaking hands and beautiful bare
feet are going to take their sweet time beating you into a bloody pulp."

"GODDAMN YOU, YOU SPIC BITCH! I'M GONNA CUT YOU IN TWO!" he yelled at the top
of his lungs. He dug into the pockets of one of his unconscious guards and
fished out a switchblade knife. Sweat poured down his face as he waved the
knife frantically. Whether that sweat was from fear or just being out of
shape, I didn't know or care.

"25, 24," I said, calmly methodically, padding ever closer to him, avoiding
his ridiculous attacks with an almost bored lack of effort. "How does it feel
knowing that a 23-year-old barefoot Cubano ballerina bitch has turned your
15-year, multimillion-dollar criminal empire into shit using just her brain,
her brawn, and a computer. Well, actually, the most brilliant computer mind in
the world was a freshman in college when I was a senior, and he's always been
grateful for me beating up some frat boys who tried to stuff him in a
dumpster."

He flailed the knife again. All air. And his time was running out.

"Just two weeks of planning. $45 for the motel room last night where I lured
seven of your security guards and beat them into unconsciousness. I then woke
each one of them up individually and beat them into unconsciousness again. But
that's nothing ... compared to the slow, methodical 15-minute ass-whooping
that I am going to give to you in exactly 5, 4,--"

"DIE, CUNT!!!!" he yelled, charging at me with his knife.

"Time's up! Hiiiiiiii-yaaaaaaaaaaah!"

CCCCCRRRRRRAAAAASSSSSHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

There are great moments in every woman's life. I have had so many wonderful
moments of which I am immeasurably proud. But this, the moment when Jessica
Jesus Alperto jumped into the air, stretched out her leg and fired the most
perfect flying kick ever executed into the jaw of a man who had been
responsible for the deaths of so many police officers and drug addicts over
the last fifteen years ... well, I think that is the moment of which I am most
proud.

Arthur Ray Jackson's head snapped around, and then his entire body went
hurtling through the air, coming to stop only when the front half of his body
was actually stuck inside of his office wall. That was a first. I have never
kicked somebody so that they are stuck in a wall. Still, it was probably the
first moment of hope he had in our little clash; maybe I would just leave him
there and not break every other bone in his body. As he felt my very strong
arms pulling him out of his new hole, I guess that pipedream vanished.

I stood smiling at Arthur Ray Jackson. Here, one of the FBI's 10 most wanted
criminals was staring at me with a broken jaw and a body covered in wood
splinters and plaster, absolute mortal terror covering his face, piss and shit
all over the lower half of his body, and somehow I couldn't help wondering how
it was that this guy had been the terror of the Southeastern United States for
the last fifteen years. Not that it mattered.

"Please. I've got money. More money than you could ever dream. I'll give you
anything you want"""

"HIIIIIII-YAAAAAAAH"

CRRRAAAAACCCKKKK!!!!!!

"Aaaaaaaaaah!"

SMMMAAAASSSHHH!!!!! Another flying kick, another tough calloused sole slamming
into the other side of his face, me pulling him out of yet another wall.

I pulled him to face me. I have oh so many bullies, rapists, serial killers,
and other sleazebags look at me in terror, but I have never seen it so
absolutely acute as it was in the eyes of Arthur Ray Jackson.

"No more ... please ... " He begged as best he could with that broken jaw.
Looking at him with a combination of amusement and disgust, I calmly leaned
back on my left leg and lifted my right.

"Rest assured, Arthur, I would never in a million years dream of killing
another human being. However, I think that the appropriate punishment for you,
sir would be if my right foot kicked you so much and so hard that not even
your mother would recognize you." And with that ... WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! My
right foot proceeded to kick him silly.

After that, the slapping.

And there he was, a bawling, bloody wreck, crying before me.

"Look at me, Arthur," I said quietly. Once his black eyes were looking my
direction, I said, "Arthur, you have devoted your entire life to selfishness,
evil, misery, and destruction. The havoc you have wreaked is almost
immeasurable. That is why it has been my distinct privilege to beat you and
every single one of the people who has helped you into the worst pain you
could possibly imagine. Now, if you would please, pick up that phone, dial
911, and ask the police to come to this house and cart you and every single
one of your employees off to prison for the rest of your natural lives. Or me
and my fun feet can give you even more pain, suffering, and humiliation."

When the police entered the room less than fifteen minutes later, they stared
in awe at a seemingly impossible sight. Every one of Arthur Ray Jackson's men,
including three ex-Navy SEALS, lay unconscious with faces covered in blood and
bruises. His computers were all printing out his transactions, and the big man
himself lay in a huddled mass on the floor, crying uncontrollably. As the
police entered, Arthur Ray Jackson sprang up off the floor, ran to the police
and literally slammed the cuffs on his own wrists.

"I'll confess to anything you want, I'll admit every single thing I've ever
done, but please get this barefooted bitch away from me for the rest of my
life!" And he continued to bawl.

The cops then looked in awe. Sitting barefooted on the table, wriggling her
toes, grinning from ear-to-ear was quite possibly one of the cutest, sexiest
women on the face of the planet. Ad all Jessica Jesus Alperto had to say was:

"What took you guys so long?"