Taking out the Trash in Bare Feet, Episode 3
by Jack
Two barefooted sisters beat the badguys senseless!

"Hey, buddy, you know where the Barefoot Motel is?"  The large, well-built
man glowered from the cab of his SUV.
      "Sure," said the gas station attendant.  "It's up about a half a mile
on the right."  Off the satisfied grumbles of the men in the SUV, he added,
"I hope you don't have any trouble with those sisters, now."
      "Why do you say that?" the man in the SUV chuckled.  There were three
other big, tough guys in the van with him ...   and a scrawny, bespectacled guy
in the passenger seat.
      "Well," said the attendant a bit ruefully, "I love them to death, as
does pretty much everyone in this town, but ... " a moment of shame passed over
the attendant's face, "well, back in high school, I was a bit of a bully.
Until Catherine taught me the error of my ways ...  with her fists.  Those
three sisters are beautiful women inside and out.  They will do anything to
help a person in need, and they are the finest people I know.  But they are
also the three toughest fighters I have ever known, and they have very
strong beliefs in right and wrong.  And if you commit that wrong in front
of them, you are going to get the worst beating of your life!"

As the SUV drove away, all five professional killers were laughing
hysterically.  "That fool got his ass whooped by some barefooted bitch!"
      The smaller man spoke up:  "Apparently, she also beat Carb and Jones
senseless, threw them in their car, and pushed that car down a hill into a
lake ...   Look!"
      Off to the left, a car could be seen half-submerged in a lake.  The
men in the SUV laughed harder.  "Who is this bitch?"
      "I dunno," spoke one of the men in back, "but they say that these
girls are totally fuckworthy."  Everyone in the SUV started highfiving.
      "Darkhorse doesn't stand for people who get in his way," the smaller
man spoke.  "Obviously, we can't use guns around the kid, but even if he's
not there, we want this bitch beaten senseless, raped, and her hotel burned
to the ground.  If any of these sisters are there, you can do the same to
them.  It's probably overkill sending four trained killers like you guys,
but anyone who fucks with Darkhorse gets overkill!"
      The four men laughed.  "Ex-CIA, ex-Marine, former Navy SEAL, and ex-
LAPD," said the driver, then he looked to the smaller man, "and a full-tilt
psychopath.   "We'll give that bitch a night to remember!"  He didn't know
how right he was.  It's not often that a 22-year-old woman who believes
passionately in combating evil gets to beat five evil murderers into bloody
pulps.

Bare feet.  God's greatest gift, as far as Catherine was concerned.  She
sat crosslegged on the swing in front of the Barefoot Motel, calmly rubbing
lotion on the soles of her eternally exposed feet.  Hey, these were her
favorite pair of shoes and her favorite weapons, so she wanted to keep them
looking good.
      "Look, Tara," she said into her cell phone, "your two little sisters
have gotten themselves into a bit of an adventure.  If you can find the
time, you might want to come back home for a few days.  I'd hate to beat
the snot out of a bunch of trained killers and have you miss out on it."
Almost on cue, a pair of headlights became visible coming over the hill.
"Oh, well," shrugged Catherine, "looks like my bare feet will get all the
fun."
      The SUV came to a halt and out climbed four big tough badasses and
one scrawny pencil-pusher.  A girl sat on the porch with a large tablecloth
covering the picnic table next to her and a white puffy bag at her bare
feet.  "Well, well, well," said the scrawny one, "you must be the bitch
we're gonna fuck!"  The other four cheered gleefully.
      Catherine was definitely a strong-looking young woman, sort of a corn-
fed Midwestern type, but not one of these five chauvinists could believe
she'd beaten the living shit out of two experienced killers earlier today.
If they could have read the smile on her face, they would have known it
meant that she was looking forward to the ass-whooping of five more total
sleazebags.
      "Hmm, you boys are certainly not what a woman wants gracing her front
lawn on a lovely spring night.  Still, I try to be friendly.  If you'd like
a room, I run a clean motel.  If you boys would like a drink, play a round
of cards or pool, I'd be happy to wipe the floor with you in the game of
your choice.  If you're looking for trouble, I'd suggest you go someplace
else, unless you want to get the worst beating of your life from a
barefooted babe who can outfight you, outthink you, or out-anything-else
you without even trying hard."
      The four men laughed.  They'd toppled governments, murdered word
leaders, and raped every type of women on the planet.  How could this
little redneck be a match for them?
      The scrawny fellow pulled out a gun.  "I believe you have something
of ours.  A certain 12-year-old boy who is the most bizarre freak of nature
this world has ever seen.  Not that I give a shit.  My boss wants to poke
him, prod him, get every ounce of military value out him, then carve him
into little pieces.  But he can do whatever he wants, so long as he pays me
lots of money to fuck little bitches like you who get in his way."  His
four followers all laughed uproariously.
      "Wow", nodded Catherine, "you're a really tough-talking little
pipsqueak.  I wonder how tough you'll be without four big meatheads and a
gun to protect you from one little barefooted country girl."
      Again, the four meatheads laughed, although this time at their
leader.  His face turned red and he cocked his gun.  "Fuck you, cunt!  I'm
gonna fuck you until you bleed!"
      Catherine smiled.  "You sure you're not the one who's gonna bleed?
You sure look like a virgin to me!"  This time there was uproarious
laughter from the four thugs.
      "Fuck you!"  he cried, pulling the trigger repeatedly.  Nothing
happened, though.  No bullets, no gunshots.
      Catherine nodded.  "Yeah, I bet that's probably what it's like when
you try to fuck, too!"  The four men were almost falling down, crying tears
as they laughed.
      "I'll kill you, cunt!" he yelled, and charged forward.  Catherine
shrugged; this was too easy. She took two steps, placed one tough bare foot
on the rail of the porch and launched into a flying kick.  Her ass-kicking
sole collided with the punk's face and landed him flat on the ground with a
broken nose spewing blood.  His four followers were now seated on the hood
of the car watching this embarrassingly one-sided ass-kicking (more like
demolishing) like it was public entertainment.
      He hopped up, hands outstretched.  "I don't need a knife to kill you,
cunt!"
      "Wait! Wait!"  suddenly a 12-year-old kid named Ricky ran out of the
office, pleading, "She's my best friend!  Don't kill her!"
      Catherine took him in her arms.  "Ricky, it's OK."
      "No, no" he was bawling.  "That's Mr. Kill!  He's psychotic!  And
these are four of the highest paid mercenaries in the world!  They'll kill
you if I don't go with them.
      Mr. Kill nodded.  "Let him come with us.  And we'll let you live.
After we buy a room and gangfuck you!"
      Catherine shot out another tough barefoot kick to the face, which
left Mr. Kill on the ground, crying like a baby.  His followers were
laughing their asses off.
      "He tried to shoot me, but you stopped him, didn't you?"  Ricky
nodded.  Catherine held him tight.  "Oh, baby, you are not a freak, you are
a miracle.  I know what that's like to be abused by someone who has power
over you.  My father was the biggest crimelord in the entire southeast and
he ran this town.  On my oldest sister Tara's 13th birthday, he murdered my
mother in front of me and my two sisters when I was ten, to show that he
had power over us.  Then he said each one of us would be sex slaves to his
business partners when we turned 13.  My sister Tara was raped by one of
his partners that night, but she swore that wouldn't happen to me and
Kristi.  So she talked to anyone who knew how to fight and learned what she
could from them.  The next business partner who tried to rape her got
beaten to a pulp by a 13-year-old girl.  From then on out, nobody tried to
rape her again.  And she taught me and my sister.  She made us go
barefooted every chance we could.  Going barefoot makes a woman free and
alive, but also strong and committed to justice.  On her 15th birthday,
Tara Kristi, and I took off our shoes and socks for the last time and beat
my father and ten of his biggest crime buddies into intensive care.  That
was the greatest day of my life.  We turned them in, ratted them out, and
sent them to prison for the rest of their lives.  Kristi is a computer
genius, so she provided transactions of all his criminal dealings.  We also
testified to the murder of our mother.  He got so furious in the courtroom
that he charged Tara.  The judge ordered the bailiff not to interfere.  On
live television, a 40-year-old crime lord who had ruled this town for 15
years was slowly, methodically, and humiliatingly beaten senseless on live
TV.  From then on out, my sister raised us and made us swear to go
barefooted and fight for justice.  Right now, she's sheriff of the next
town over, and those tough feet have kicked crime's ass over there.  My
little sister has cleaned up her school by making bullying a very unhealthy
lifestyle.  And me, well, running this motel pays the bills for me and
Kristi, but I have barefootedly beaten up child abusers, serial killers,
drug dealers, and all around assholes, and right now, I'm going make Mr.
Kill require medical attention for pretty much the rest of his life."
      Catherine stood proud, fists at the ready.  "Mr. Kill, unlike you, I
would never take another life.  But I take great pleasure in turning human
monsters into human hamburger.  You have trespassed on my land, spoken to a
lady in a manner I will not tolerate, fired a gun at me, and threatened a
12-year-old boy who is also my friend.  Therefore, a 22-year-old untrained
woman will use her calloused soles to give you exactly what you deserve.
In the next five minutes, you are going to receive two black eyes, two fat
lips, two pulverized testicles, the removal of most of your front teeth,
multiple broken bones, and more pain than you can possibly imagine.  We can
start when you're ready."
      Ricky stood back proudly.  Although he was a peace psychic, born
hating violence, born with the ability to stop guns and other complex
weapons of war from being used within 500 feet of him, he also realized
that this woman was as much a gift to the universe as he was, and that God
had created her and her sisters' bare feet to kick snarling, gloating evil
into unrecognizable pulp.  These five evil men would spend the next six
months in traction, and the rest of their lives in mortal terror of
barefoot female justice, and that's just what they deserved.  "Kick the
shit out of him," Ricky smiled.
      Catherine held up her right sole and flexed her toes. "With
pleasure."
      Mr. Kill had raped, tortured, murdered, and brutalized at least 300
people in his lifetime.  And at this moment, he realized, all of that evil
was about to be paid back to him by two of the most beautiful bare feet in
God's creation.  So, he did the only sensible thing; he turned and ran.
      "Please," he begged his four henchmen, "please don't let her kill
me!"
      Catherine smiled, "I think Mr. Kill oughta be renamed Mr.
Chickenshit!"  She and Ricky laughed hysterically. Then she noticed that
the four men had each removed a torch from the car and were lighting them
afire.
      "Oh, my God," cried Catherine, mock-horrified, "you're going to burn
down my motel!"
      "That's right, cunt!"  laughed the biggest thug.  "Then we're going
to fuck you and kill you.  Then the kid goes back to experimenting.  What
do you think of that?"
      Catherine rolled her eyes.  Her sarcasm had obviously been lost on
these fools. Why were thugs always so stupid?  Oh, well.  Time to talk to
an intelligent, handsome male.
      "How'd you know they'd try to burn the motel down?  You are, like,
totally psychic!"  giggled Catherine.
      Now it was Ricky's turn to roll his eyes.  "No, they're just really
unimaginative, so it's easy to guess what they're going to do."
      Catherine nodded.  "Guys, this is your last chance.  Get out of here
now, I'll even let you take Mr. Shit, or else each one of you is going to
have bare female soles deliver to you unbearable pain and severe bone
structure rearrangement!"  She turned to Ricky.  "What do you think they're
going to do?"
      Ricky smiled.  "I hope they're as stupid as I think they are and they
actually try to fight you.  And then you'll give four of the most evil men
alive a stone cold butt-whooping!"
      Catherine nodded.  "I hope so, too!"
      The four thugs laughed.  It was the last laugh any of them would have
for a very long time.  "You really think you can take us alone, cunt?'
      Catherine smiled.  "Yes, but that doesn't matter, since I'm not
alone.  Kristi, hit 'em!"
      Suddenly, Kristi, a 6-ft blonde barefooted 18-year-old babe, stepped
out from behind the motel with a huge hose in hand.  She turned the valve
and an enormous channel of water sprayed right at the four trespassers,
dousing their torches.  Catherine and Ricky laughed.
      "Round 2!" yelled Catherine, whipping the tablecloth off the table
next to her, revealing several pies .  Kristi also wheeled a table out,
which appeared to be covered with more pies.  "Get 'em!"
      These men had been attacked with all sorts of weapons, but never
pies.  Yet here they were, soaked to the core, and suddenly deluged by an
onslaught of cream pies.  Both Kristi and Catherine had been the best
pitchers in the state on their high school baseball teams (and had beaten
up many opposing team members who had tried to get revenge for their
creamings at the hands of barefooted babe pitchers who could throw 95mph).
Once Catherine and Kristin had finished their piethrows, every single pie
had landed spot on, and these four badass thugs were staggering around like
fools covered in pie entrails.
      "GET THESE COUNTRY BITCHES!" cried the leader.
      "Round 3!" called out Kristin.
      "Hell, yes!" responded Catherine.  Both girl picked up a white bag in
each hand and stepped into the fray.  Four bags were swung with skill and
speed.  The thugs stood no chance.  With every hit, feathers exploded upon
the men.  Little did they know, glue had been an ingredient in those pies.
Now the sight of four lumbering thugs menacing two beautifully barefooted
women and a boy was traded for two skilled female warriors thoroughly
outclassing four lumbering oafs who looked like 6-foot chickens.
      Catherine, Kristin, and Ricky all stood back and laughed
uproariously.  These previously cocky fools now looked like idiots. "So
what are these guys' asshole credentials, Ricky?" asked Kristin.
      "Olaf claims to have raped over 30 women, Larry murders cops who
stand up to drug dealers, Heinrich and Oswald work security at sweatshops
with 12-year-old kids, usually killing any one who won't work."
      "Well, then," smiled Kristin, "my bare feet are about to administer a
whole lot of justice."
      "BAREFOOTIN'!" cheered the two female warriors as they leapt into
action.  Kristin's outstretched right sole slammed into the jaw of Oswald,
breaking it.  "That's the last time you'll yell orders at a sweatshop,"
mocked Kristin.  "MMM-rrgh-uhh-AAAAH!" said Oswald.  A right cross from
Kristin sent Heinrich into dreamland.
      "hi-ya!" called out Catherine.  Catherine was a mere 5'6" in her
always bare feet, but she shot that right bare foot, toes bent back, up
into the nose of Larry, causing a geyser of blood.  That leg rechambered,
and the same ass-kicking foot which had brought justice to so many thudded
into Olaf's throat.  Within seconds, the two babes' bare feet (and one bare
fist) had one thug lying on the ground unconscious, one moaning from a
broken jaw, one holding a demolished nose, and one coughing wildly.  "Well,
boys," grinned Kristin, "multiply this by a factor of fifteen and that's
how much pain you'll be feeling once we're done!"
      "Biitch!" or something like that said the broken-jawed Oswald.  He
swung fist after fist, but hit nothing.  This high school bitch was even
laughing at him. He couldn't take it.  He'd beaten people to death with his
fists, but she was making him look foolish. Finally, he tried a kick.
Kristin caught his leg in mid-swing and looked down amused at his
undefended crotch. "no, no, please!"  "I can break boards with my feet.and
fire off five kicks per second."
      With that Kristin's foot flew repeatedly back and forth.  It took
Oswald a moment to realize that she hadn't kicked him at all.  Oswald
pissed himself in fear and fainted.  In order to dodge the piss, Kristin
shot her right foot up into the air and set it under his jaw. She slapped
him back and forth with that foot until he was awake.  Oswald looked at her
in sheer terror.
      "My new friend Ricky is a psychic, did you know that?" she asked.
"He's showing me every crime you've ever committed right now in my head.
You've murdered and raped men women, and children; you've beaten
defenseless people into bloody pulps and now I'm gonna do the same to you!"
Still standing on just her left bare foot and holding his leg in her arm,
Kristin right-kicked him twice, blackening both eyes, chopped him hard in
the ribs, breaking several.  She stomped hard on his foot, causing him to
howl in pain, then fall to the ground.  She still had his leg in her grasp,
so the temptation was too much.  "Don't have kids!" she said grimly, then
drove her bare foot right into his groin, creating a loud howl.  "And shut
up!"  She kicked Oswald right in the broken jaw.  He was out cold.  His jaw
was wired shut for a very long time.  And he was not able to have kids.
      Heinrich rose groggily to his feet.  He swung a punch at Kristin.  It
didn't even come close. Kristin fired ten into his face.  Heinrich now
looked like a blubbering piece of hamburger.  "P-please," he begged, "don't
hit me again!"
      Kristin paused, a cockeyed smile on her face.  "Why not?"
      Heinrich would say anything to stop the pain.  "I'll tell you where
Agent Darkhorse is staying!  There's an old abandoned farm out on Rte. 7.
He's only got 10 more men!"
      Kristin smiled.  "Thanks.  I believe the deal was that I wouldn't hit
you."  Slowly and inexorably, the dirt-covered bare sole of her right foot
lifted.  Heinrich's eyes widened in terror.  In less than five seconds,
Kristin broke several ribs, knocked out several teeth, shattered a kneecap,
and kicked his dick.  Heinrich's bodycast came off about eight weeks later.
 He, too, never had kids.
      Catherine figured Larry's busted nose would incapacitate for a
little, so she turned her attention to Olaf.  One punch in the gut doubled
him over. A punch to the face landed him back against the SUV, eyes glazed.
 Two rapid kicks to his kneecaps sent Olaf to his knees.  The kick to his
balls basically made him oblivious to the world through all the pain.
Catherine's last facekick gave him unconsciousness; his final exhale before
collapsing blew a lot of broken teeth out of his mouth.
      Larry grabbed two knives out of his belt and whirled them expertly.
"Now, you die, cunt!"  he yelled.  Didn't do him any good, though.
Catherine grabbed both arms in her hands and kneed him in the balls.  She
followed by slamming her forehead into his face.  Catherine smiled proudly
as another badguy spewed broken teeth.  Then she twisted his arms sharply;
the knives fell as he screamed again.
      Catherine pulled back her fist menacingly.  Larry looked at her in
sheer terror.  "P-please!  You've knocked out my teeth.  Just leave me
alone!  I can't take it!"  And he started bawling uncontrollably.
      Catherine put her finger on his chin and gently pushed her eyes up to
meet his.  "I have a little rule," she said.  "Murderers and rapists
deserve to be beaten up so badly that their mother can't recognize them.  I
think you need another round."  WHACK!  CRACK!  THWOK! FOOT!  FIST!
      Larry would be unconscious for several hours and in pain for several
weeks.

"Please turn over, please turn over!"  Mr. Kill frantically tried to start
the SUV.  why wouldn't it start.  then he looked up and saw Ricky standing
in front of the car with one hand on it.  "Let me go, please!"  begged Mr.
Kill, but Ricky just shook his head.
      Suddenly, there was a loud thump at the side window.  One of those
tough soles had slammed against it.  WHAM!  Another dirty, calloused sole
thudded against the passenger window.  Both ladies were successful on their
second attempts, and two bare feet came flying through the windows,
Catherine's sole was the driver's side one, and that was the one that
collided with Mr. Kill's jaw.  Stars swirled around his head, even more so
as Catherine grabbed him and bodily hauled him out of the SUV.
      "No wait, please!"  he held up his hands.  "I know the legit
government agent who you can take the peace psychic to.  He's not corrupt,
I promise!"
      Catherine's fist halted in midair.  Then ricky laid his hands on Mr.
Kill.  "Agent Joseph Wills, cell number 204-625-2197.  As far as kill
knows, the guy's legit."
      Catherine turned to Kill.  "Then I guess you have nothing to bargain
with."  PUNCH!  Kill staggered back into the waiting arms of Kristin.
"Lucky you, getting serviced by two such beautiful sisters!" PUNCH!  He
staggered again.
      Catherine's bare sole kicked him into unconsciousness.

Catherine, Kristin, and Ricky hugged each other and cheered.
      "They don't look so scary now!"  Ricky laughed.  Then he thought,
"What do we do with them?"
      Kristin grinned.  "Call the cops.  Our local sheriff is nice,
handsome, educated and totally in love with Catherine.  If she had half a
brain, she'd run off with him!"
      Ricky turned to Catherine, grinning.
      Catherine blushed.  "Call this agent and arrange a meeting.  Kristi,
go home and do your homework.  Ricky and I will cal the cops and have them
pick these guys up, then we'll meet the agent tomorrow."
      Ricky and Kristin were still looking at her.  "You really think the
sheriff likes me?"