Tables Turned with Bare Feet
By Jack
Two college girls lure a pair of rapists and give them what they deserve.


On June 14, 2007, Whitmore University sophomore Juliana Jackson turned the
tables on a pair of serial rapists, getting them to confess willingly on
camera about their various exploits, as well as threatening to rape and kill
her. This evidence put the two men behind bars for the next 25 years. Once she
had the evidence she needed, she informed the two men that their actions had
been videotaped and that she could legally beat both of them into bloody pulps
and claim self-defense, which is exactly what she proceeded to do. You see,
Juliana was a women's self-defense instructor, and her best friend was a video
whiz (as well as a two-fisted fighting whirlwind!) Together these heroes not
only captured two of the most repugnant criminals to plague the area in years,
but also saw to it that the men received a two-fisted, barefooted, totally
one-sided beating which left both of them in the worst pain of their lives.
This is that story.

"It's OK! You're going to be OK!" Security Officer Marks held the screaming
girl in his arms trying to calm her down. "Nobody's going to hurt you!"

The girl's hysteria was calming, but her terror was still evident. "It's the
rapist! The one who attacked all those girls!"

The rapes had been the only story on the news for the last month. Five had
occurred over the last two years, but the one last week had been the breaking
point. Students started leaving campus, and genuine terror was in the air.

"What are you doing out here like that?" asked Officer Marks. The girl was
probably 19 or 20. Gorgeous, there was no denying that. She was tiny, about
5'2", seemed a little drunk, scared out of her mind. Dressed like your typical
sorority girl on a Friday night looking to get laid, except ...

"Where are your shoes? Cute feet. Had to admit that.

A bit of personal pride shown through her terror. "Guys like it when I go
barefoot."

Officer Marks nodded and smiled. "You're perfect." The girl looked at him with
a combination of flattery and bewilderment, until Marks handcuffed her wrists
behind her back and put a knife to her throat.

A scream was trying to make it out of her throat, but Marks shook his head.
"You don't want to do that. This knife might slip." Then he turned to the
woods. "You can come out now!"

With that, a tall, thin figure clothed only in black emerged from the woods. A
mask over his face, tight black apparel, black boots, and a shiny knife in
hand. Terrifying.

"Oh, my God!" breathed the girl. "He's the Whitmore rapist?"

Officer Marks seethed. "Not just him. Two heads are better than one. And
anyone looks the same in that outfit." Marks turned to the Whitmore Rapist.
"Good thing you had back-up tonight, huh?"

"What can I say? The barefooted bitch can run."

The girl shrugged, smiled. "Ran track. Third fastest girl in the state. Always
run barefooted. Keeps you in touch with the ground and it's a lot more fun."

The Rapist gingerly dabbed his nose. In the moonlight, the blood was barely
visible against the black ski mask. "And she broke my nose."

The girl smiled a bit more. "I teach women's self defense. Always fight
barefooted. That way you can really feel the damage you're doing to your
opponent. That's so much more fun!" By now she had a pride-filled, spunky grin
on her face.

"Well, the fun's over, barefooted bitch. You're about to get raped, then
killed."

Suddenly, the color went out of the girl's face. "But, ... you guys don't
really ... kill..?"

Marks shook his head. "First time for everything, but this is the first time
one of us has screwed up, and now you've seen my face."

The girl blanched in terror, then turned cautiously to her other assailant.
"And what about his face? I mean, if you're going to kill me, I want to know
who the big scary rapist is ... that I kicked the shit out of!" The girl burst
out giggling.

The rapist stormed forward, his 6'2" frame, towering over the girl, and he
stripped his mask from face. Both the girl and Officer Marks laughed
hysterically. The rapist only got angrier.

"Whitfield, you can't try to be intimidating by showing off the fact that a
girl half your size gave you a broken nose!" Marks laughed.

The girl's eyes widened. "Whitfield Carlson! You're the son of the President
of the University! Why would you be doing something like this?"

Whitfield smiled. "It's a total rush. And I love beating the shit out of
bitches like you!"

Marks rolled his eyes. "Only you didn't! She beat the shit out of you! I don't
know how we're going to explain that tomorrow."

The girl smiled. "Well, I think I can save you two douchebags the trouble. The
rapists are Security Officer Marks and the University President's son. Are you
getting this, Kristi?"

"Every word!" And with that, another 5'2" barefooted dreamboat popped out of
the woods, although her tomboyish haircut, sardonic smirk, and thriftstore
threads made her more the sci-fi geek wetdream than her fratboy target
partner.

"What the fuck?" yelled the two rapists.

"Well," said the sorority girl, "my name's Juliana, and my roommate/new best
friend over there with the camera is Kristi ... "

Kristi waved while still holding the camera.

" ... she is kind of the video guru for this school, and you guys have managed
to confess and threaten me with rape and murder on camera, so I'd say you're
pretty much going to jail for the rest of your lives!" Juliana grinned
confidently up at her quarry.

The two men looked at each other in total disbelief. Had they really just been
smeared by two barefooted bitches. "Oh, you poor boys!" mocked Juliana. "My
Psychology 101 class says that rapists become psychopathically misogynistic,
because they need to prove intellectual and physical superiority to women."

Marks looked over at that tomboy with the camera. Smug-ass bitch was laughing
her ass off.

"So the fact that you've just been intellectually asskicked by two girls half
your size has got to be particularly galling to two limpdicks like you."
Juliana was pushing their psychotic buttons perfectly. That university son
looked like he was about to cry. If Juliana could just push the two a little
further, she and Kristi would be justified in making them both cry ... from a
whole lot of pain! "Maybe if the two of you will come along with us like 'good
wittle boys', you won't have to get physically asskicked by us, too!" Officer
Marks looked ready to explode. Juliana knew she'd done it.

"Get that cunt with the camera and destroy them both!" exploded Marks. "I'll
kill this bitch!" And with that Marks whipped the taser from his belt, only to
have a well-tended but very tough female sole kick it from his hand into the
woods. Then this 110-lb. bitch who was half his size proceeded to take that
same prized sole and kick him once, twice, three times across the face with
it. Marks' eyes welled with tears as he could tell that most of his front
teeth were now loosened, his lips would be busted, his nose was probably
broken, too, and that left eye would be swollen black by morning. Still, he
didn't have long to think about that. Juliana put previously mentioned sole on
the ground and used the other to see how far Mark's fat belly could be pushed
inward by a woman capable of breaking boards with her bare feet. Pretty far.

Juliana stood back while Security Officer marks puked up the last non-jail-
produced pizza he would ever eat.

Whitfield Carson had lived a life of privilege ever since birth. He was raised
with every opportunity, and grew up with that air of entitlement that can be
the downfall of so many of privilege. Whitfield's indiscretions, beating up on
smaller kids, impregnating girls who would then be pressured into abortions,
were kept hidden. But you can't blame the parents. His younger brother would
one day become a Senator, while his 15-year-old sister would be so impressed
by Juliana and Kristi that she started taking female self-defense classes and
would later become a barefooted crimefighter like her two heroes (much later,
she would become a two-term President, establish world peace, and beat the
living shit out of eight warmongering lobbyists on the floor of the Senate
with the two greatest weapons ever created, bare female feet). Whitfield,
though had two passions ... beating weaker people into pulps and raping
beautiful women who could not get legal recompense against him because of his
father's wealth and power. Still, though, Whitfield was a follower. It was a
lowly, unimportant security guard whose bitterness and hatred of both women
and decency had led him into this serial rapist thing. Which was about to lead
him into 25 years in prison. And six weeks of eating out of a straw.

The three obvious things about Kristi were the bare feet, which started pretty
much from birth, the way she drove guys crazy, even those who wouldn't
normally like a "dork", and the god-given gift of fisticuffs which had been
bestowed upon her. Growing up in an orphanage, she quickly learned how to take
care of herself, and anybody who messed with her friends. Seeing her natural
skills and inherent need for justice, the nuns signed her up for boxing
classes, where she soon became an undefeated champion and embarrassment for a
lot of male egos.

When college started, she first bristled at her sorority girl roommate, until
she realized that Juliana was a kindred spirit in the barefooted ass- whooping
of badguys (and in so many other ways.) Kristi joined Juliana's self-defense
class, all the while finding little errands of butt-kicking justice for the
two of them. However, it was Juliana who had roped Kristi into this endeavor.
Juliana took her to meet the rapists' victims and told her the plan for how to
lure the rapists into the open. Now, there was a 220-pound man running
straight toward her with a knife he wanted to plunge into her chest. Kristi
smiled knowing he would spend the rest of his life in prison plagued by
nightmares of her attractive feet kicking him into a six-week body cast
followed by 25 years of prison.

"Camera, Owen!" cried Kristi, throwing her A/V equipment toward the woods.
Suddenly, a scrawny video geek popped out of the woods, caught the camera, and
continued filming. Three more A/V guys with cameras stepped out of the woods
to film the worst 5 minutes of these two men's lives.

"Hiiiiiii-yaaaa!" Kristi leapt into the air, chambered her right leg, and
fired it right into the jaw of Whitfield Carson. (It was that visual image of
Kristi's leather-tough sole flying toward him and blotting out everything else
that would cause him to wake up screaming for the next 25 years.) With a
crack, Whitfield's jaw broke, and even screaming in pain had him screaming in
pain.

Kristi looked down mockingly at the big man lying on the ground, holding his
jaw, and bawling like a baby. "Ooooh, look at the big tough badass. He's
crying because the girl half his size is going to beat him to a bloody pulp
and there's not a thing he can do about it!"

"Frrrrk yrrrrr!" was the best Whitfield could manage as he stood up and
charged for the last time. Kristi shrugged. It worked before, why not do it
again. As she leapt into the air, she bent back her toes and spread them,
letting the ball of her left foot collide into the nose of Whitfield.
CRACK!!!! Now he had a broken nose, broken jaw, and totally broken spirit.

"P-please!" he begged. 'I've hrrd rnrrgh! Plrrrrse no more!" His face was
soaked in tears and blood."

Kristi pulled a list out of her back pocket. "Hmmm. This is a list of injuries
that your victims had ... broken jaw, check. Broken nose, check."

With that, Whitfield turned to run, but a hand on his belt kept him from
going. So he turned around and started throwing punches as hard as he could.
But all they touched was air. After a minute, he just broke down crying again.
"Whyyyyyy????" he begged. "Whyy are you beating the shit out of me!"

Kristi read from her list: "Eyes swollen shut." Kristi's fists flew like
pistons. In five seconds, 21 punches closed his eyes for three weeks. "Massive
internal bleeding." One foot cracked the right ribs, another cracked the left.
That same foot made his solar plexus scream.

"And this is for being a rapist." Kristi kicked him in the balls, then
mercifully punched him out cold. Whitfield emerged from his body cast six
weeks later.

Juliana waited politely while Marks finished puking. "Are you done yet?" she
asked sweetly, " because I still want to beat you into unimaginable pain and
then call the cops and the paramedics to take you away.

Since he was still wretching up some pepperoni, Juliana glanced over to see
how Kristi was doing. She was doing fine at speedbagging Whitfield's eyes into
puffy blackness.

"Oh, finally," said Juliana. "I was getting bored." Marks threw a huge punch
at Juliana, which she easily sidestepped. Marks swung again. "All air, bitch,"
she teased him.

For the next few minutes, Juliana thought it would be fair to let Marks have a
chance to touch her without her distracting him with any attacks from her.
Besides, she wanted to humiliate him verbally. Hollis, her mentor in
barefooted female ass-kicking had explained that the ass-kicking should fit
the crime. If a guy is making unwarranted moves, a knee to the groin or right
hook might get him to back off. (If not, that's his problem.) A drunk guy
perhaps should be subdued with an arm lock until he sobers. But the true
villains of the world deserved thorough ass-kickings both physically and
spiritually.

"I'm so excited about the exposure that you two are going to bring to the
women's self-defense movement." SWOOSH! SWOOSH! DODGE! DODGE! And then she
continued: "I mean, your mugshots with you two beaten to a pulp will be all
over the news. My self-defense instructor keeps a scrapbook of every
criminal's mugshot that she or one of her students beats to a pulp. Those
things are hilarious!" Two more failed punches from Marks. "I'm gonna go on
news shows, late night TV. Tell everybody how I lured you guys out, got you to
confess on camera, then provoked you into attacking me so that I had the legal
right to beat you senseless."

Marks was going crazy. This bitch with her arms cuffed behind her back was
bobbing and weaving from his attacks effortlessly, all the while chatting like
a ... something.

"And do you know how many girls this will get into self-defense class.
Hopefully, it'll also spur female barefootedness." She dodged another flurry.
"That's so important to me. I think women can achieve so much more when their
feet are free. I wear flip-flops or sandals when I have to, but I think that
actual sole-confining shoes look like things that are screaming. Do you know
what I mean?"

And with that, Marks did something he thought he would never do: he broke down
crying. "Stop! Stop! Please! I admit it, we raped five girls and beat them up
so badly they were I the hospital for weeks! Why won't you stand still? You've
got your arms behind your back and I can't touch you! I just want to go to
prison and die!" And he continued bawling on the grass.

Juliana took the time to step over her handcuffs so that her hands were in the
front. Then she gently held his lapel and lifted him to standing. "But you
beat six girls beyond recognition and left them to die. And now I'm going to
do the same to you."

"Jessica Hartford." Juliana swung a roundhouse kick that sent him into the
arms of Kristi.

"Amy Wilson," said Kristi seriously, and barraged him with more fists than she
could count. The last one sent him reeling toward Juliana.

"Carrie Soames." OOF! UGH! EE! AAH! CRACK!

"Mary Trang" AH! EE! OOH! AAH! WAAAH!

"Katie Jones" "No more please, I'll-" WHACK, CRACK, OOF, UGH, NYAH!"

"Jane Cort." "Please, God!" Juliana kicked him in the balls, than once in the
face.

The next morning, two men were in bodycasts and the video was the hottest
download in You tube history. Juliana and Kristi did Letterman and Larry King
in bare feet while Marks and Whitfield did 25 years in orange jumpers. Women's
self-defense spiked. Women's shoe sales plummeted as the "barefoot woman"
movement flourished.

And Kristi and Juliana lived long fruitful lives, remaining best friends all
the while.