Karen's  Journal, page 1:  Rick
by CommonSwift, nmercenary@hotmail.com
Rick's attempts to overpower Karen are thwarted by skilled feet and fists.


NOTE:  Karen posted a series of stories to this web site under the 
collective title `When a Girl Beats Up a Guy'.  They are true stories, 
real encounters of combat involving one very normal sized woman.  
Although Karen does not possess the 250 lb. mass or 25 inch biceps of a 
Valkyrie, the men who attack her lie bruised and beaten just the same.  
This story is neither true nor real.  While the details or her home life 
are authentic because she shared them with me, the story line is my own 
fabrication.  It is written in tribute to Karen for showing us that 
reality can be as powerful as fantasy. 




"What do you know about this guy?"  Ruthie's voice carried a certain 
impatience. It was as though everyone existed to answer her questions. 

"What does he know about me?"  Karen finished putting in her earrings; 
not an easy task on the telephone.  Her voice was soft and friendly with 
no hint of sarcasm. 

"That's not the same thing, and you know it."  Ruthie was a friend.  Her 
caution was motivated by concern.  "You picked this guy up at the 
airport?" 

Karen resisted the urge to disagree.  "I was going off duty.  He only 
saw me briefly and asked me to dinner at the Imperial Hotel downtown."  
It was autumn, 1993. Karen was 33 years old and had been a flight 
attendant for about nine years. "And he asked me if I would prefer going 
there myself so all of our time together would be in public."  She 
checked the delicate gold necklace to be sure it was centered.  "I 
thought that was very considerate."  She leaned forward to fasten the 
straps on her elegant high heeled shoes.  They slipped on smoothly over 
transparent black hose. 

"Imperial . . . that's pretty nice." Even Ruthie was enticeable.  "But 
who's to say this guy isn't another one of your bums?" 

Karen chose to remain silent a moment.  She bristled at the suggestion 
of HER bums. It had been about four years since her beating and rape in 
Chicago, since her decision to work-out seriously and learn how to fight 
so that no one would do that to her again. She had also decided to date 
only men who were her size or smaller.  Because of her rigorous 
training, unless they were thickly muscled or highly developed, she 
could hold her own against them.  The encounter with Tom was last year.  
She had proven her point.  At 5'10" Karen was a formidable foe. 

Ruthie knew that she had stepped over the line.  "And you know how these 
guys are. All they care about is looks.  They judge you like a slab of 
meat and don't care a twit about anything else." 

Karen checked herself  in the full length mirror.  Her short black dress 
was sleeveless with a halter neck  She was standing in profile and 
noticed the graceful S curves along the back of her thighs and calves.  
"Well, you know, Ruth,"  she imagined Ruthie wearing this dress with her 
short stumpy legs, "that's something we all have to deal with, isn't 
it?" 

"I don't know.  I wish you'd at least have taken him up on the offer to 
drive to the hotel yourself."  Ruthie knew her influence had ended. 

"I did just that."  Karen was checking her purse, shuttling items in and 
out. 

"Oh.  Well, that's good."  She was finally running on empty.  "Have a 
good time, I suppose.  Let me know what happened." 

"I will, thanks.  Good-bye, Ruthie."  Karen waited for her response and 
hung up the phone.  She was in the living room of her town house and 
walked to the mirror in the foyer to get a good close look.  Rick lived 
here in town.  He had just returned from a business trip when he asked 
her out.  He had a certain smoothness;  assured but modest.  She liked 
that.  Her make-up was complete and her brown hair fell to her 
shoulders.  She was ready.  Would Rick be ready for her? 
 
As soon as Karen stepped into the room she saw him seated at the bar.  
He was dressed in an expertly tailored navy blue suit, crisp bright-
white shirt, patterned russet tie and fine black leather shoes.  He sat 
there in a rakish pose, one foot on the rung of the stool, the other 
straight out and a bit to the side.  His meticulous short black hair set 
off a most interesting face.  Although rugged and chiseled, it also 
displayed intelligence and refinement, a combination that instantly 
melted her. 

Because he was clearly keeping watch, he noticed her quickly.  She 
forced her face to remain as it was, but inside she was celebrating his 
reaction.  He was decidedly impressed, his deadly serious expression 
broadcasting the great lust and yearning he felt.  She knew all to well 
the delicious pangs tugging at his abdomen right now. He quickly 
splattered a smile on his face and stood.  He was shorter than she, but 
not by much.  Clearly, her heels made the difference. 

She approached him slowly, gracefully.  "Hi, Rick.  I finally made it."  
She used her soft, soothing, overwhelming feminine voice, the one that 
was sure to rip him up inside. 

His voice cracked ever so slightly as he spoke.  He cleared his throat 
quickly. "Hello, Karen.  I'm glad you're here.  You look wonderful."  
There was a brief awkward pause as though he wanted to tell her that at 
least five more times.  "Our table should be ready.  Would you like 
dinner?" 

"I think I'd like that very much, thank you."  He took her hand and led 
her to a huge finely appointed dining room that was a catacomb of nooks 
and alcoves.  Each table seemed to be private and separated from all the 
rest. 

Dinner went extremely well.  They soon relaxed and enjoyed each other's 
company. Karen related a few humorous moments from her more tense in-
flight experiences. Her head tilted from side to side and her hands 
formed explicit pictures as she spoke. He laughed  in appreciation and 
added little side comments that caused her to laugh. 

He told of a few lost moments in his life when he didn't know where to 
turn next. Karen listened intently, staring at him in knowing empathy.  
They played a little word game and giggled so much they seemed out of 
place.  He asked her to join him at his apartment.  It was very close to 
the hotel.  Walking would take less time than driving. She instantly 
accepted.  He was pleased. 

His building was strikingly modern with very few perpendicular lines.  A 
procession of small, waist-high lights illuminated the curving path to 
his front door.  When inside he led her to a large living room with 
overstuffed black leather furniture.  He took her coat and asked her to 
sit on the couch.  She nestled into the incredibly soft, comfortable 
surface as he hung her coat in the closet.  He quickly returned and sat 
next to her. 

As soon as they were both on the couch the magic began.  He leaned to 
her, watching her beautiful face grow in his vision, a face that was 
anticipating his kiss with a look of great want.  Her lips were soft and 
inviting.  He wallowed in their warmth and smoothness, amazed by their 
ability to draw him to full, clanging hardness.  She could feel his wet 
kiss all the way to her toes.  It settled in on her like a dominant 
presence, something to yield to, cling to.  He did nothing with his 
hand, it  went to her breast by its own will.  She moaned with 
gratitude, her kiss becoming more animated.  His heart raced.  He had 
wanted to fondle her breasts since he first saw her, hoping she wouldn't 
object, and here she was thanking him for it, wanting more.  He sat 
there beside her, kissing her, not being able to stop, feeling her 
respond to his touch with  small movements and soft gasping sounds;  
feeling her nipples harden under her bra. The heady delight of Karen's 
lush presence was beginning to torture Rick.  It seemed so inadequate to 
perch next to her, erection pushing against his pants, He felt a strong 
need to be intertwined with her, contacting every bit of her he possibly 
could, losing himself in her incredible flesh.  If only she could 
understand the craving that gored through him.  

Just then she stirred and began lifting herself towards him.  "I'm 
sorry, I know this is gross,"  her soft voice was music in the night, 
"but I must do this."  Rick watched in rapt amazement as she slipped her 
leg over him to kneel on the couch, straddling the mini-mountain of his 
clothed cock.  He could sense her breath coming in short, urgent bursts.  
He looked down to see her short dress span the distance between her legs 
and throw seductive curved shadows on the fine nylon creaminess of her 
inner thighs. She was only inches above the straining head of his cock 
which was now held immobile by the tightly stretched fabric.  She moved 
very close to him  placing her silken breasts directly in his face.  The 
soft, smooth fullness, the erotic shape and the scent of her body drove 
him crazy.  He became fully intoxicated by this overdose of femininity. 

She sank downward, in tiny bits, spreading her knees gently every few 
moments, teasing him, causing him to wonder if she would stop.  Then she 
ended his doubts by dropping slightly again.  Her slow descent was also 
torture;  but a delicious kind of torture, sweet and filled with 
anticipation.  Once again their lips were inseparable, their tongues 
caressing in a seductive dance. 

Finally Karen's body settled onto his raging erection.  He delighted in 
how good she felt, how rewarded he had become.  She began to slide 
herself, slowly, sensuously back and forth across the clothed head of 
his engorged cock.  He wanted  so badly to have a mirror behind her so 
he could watch what she was doing.  Her back curled as she moved  her 
pelvis close and then arched as she moved away, being careful not to 
give in to the temptation to quicken her pace.  Her arched back showed 
off the sexy roundness of her ass, with her dress smoothing and 
stretching at the very top of her thighs.  But it was her curled back, 
as she moved forward, that showed how much she enjoyed the moment.  It 
betrayed her great craving. 

To Rick's surprise, he took delight in the fact that they were separated 
by boxers, slacks, pantyhose and briefs.  She contacted him in exactly 
the right location with exactly the right pressure and delicious 
movement.  He knew that if they were suddenly naked he would slip 
directly and completely into her.  Even now, through all the clothing, 
he could feel that he was penetrating her slightly.  She seemed to flow 
delectably around him, his granite erection fueled by the soft mewls of 
pleasure pulsing from her throat. 

And then the phone rang. 

Karen made it obvious that she had every intention of ignoring it 
completely.  She continued her slow symphony of pleasure.  Her 
concentration was interrupted by Rick's frustrated voice.  "I . . . uh . 
. .  I've . . .   got to answer  . . . .that."  He couldn't believe he 
was actually saying those words.  Neither could he believe that he 
allowed her to rise up and move away, silently, while he turned to talk 
on the dumb old, silly old, stupid old, dumb old telephone.  At least, 
that's the impression he gave.  And, as the conversation continued she 
could tell by his face that the evening was over. 

As Karen walked back to the hotel  and her car she felt a certain 
exhilaration. A smile danced constantly on her face and there was a 
spring in her step.  She kept replaying in her mind the moment when he 
realized that he couldn't be with her anymore tonight.  She kept 
replaying how horribly disappointed he was.  It was the ultimate 
torture.  "He wants me,"  she said softly into the night air.  "He wants 
me very, very badly."  She wasn't really upset by tonight's abrupt 
ending.  A second date would be no problem. 

After Rick apologized profusely for having to end the evening because he 
was needed so desperately right this very minute, and after he 
apologized profusely for not being able to walk her back to the hotel;  
and after he clambered hurriedly into the bathroom to change and after 
Karen closed the door behind her,  he returned slowly to the living 
room.  He stood for a moment in the silence, lit a cigarette, and sat on 
the couch in deep thought.  He continued this way for some time without 
moving as the smoke curled silently upward. 

"Hello, class act, how are you?"  Rick's voice was bright and cheerful.  
This was it. And so soon. 

"Oh, I'm just fine, thank you.  How's Bernie?"  Karen wedged the 
telephone on her shoulder as she hung clothing in her spacious closet. 

"That's good.  Real funny.  Thanks a lot."  Karen's giggling encouraged 
his sarcasm. She enjoyed reminding him that Bernie was the only one in 
his firm with the clout to cause him trouble.  Karen continued swirling 
and hanging and turning and smiling, finding time to talk with her 
hands, keeping the conversation free and easy with her charm and 
pleasant voice.  She wore a short knit skirt that had been a favorite, 
but was no longer on the A list.  It still seemed a bit elegant for 
chores, but that's all right.  Her high heeled sandals weren't really 
high and she wore no hose.  It worked as a slumming outfit after all. 

This was, indeed, it.  He asked her for another date with a very loud 
unspoken please, please in his voice.  He promised no more 
interruptions.  She eagerly accepted. Now he was really cheerful.  
They'd go back to the Imperial, to a different restaurant, less formal, 
and catch a live comedy show there.  Then another walk to his apartment 
to "pick up where they left off," as it were.  Both were pleased that he 
asked, both were pleased that she accepted.  It was a fine day. 

Smiling, Karen hung up the phone.  She bounced down the steps and sat on 
the couch for no particular reason and leaned back, her arms straight 
out to the sides along the tops of the cushions.  Her well-toned, 
shapely legs stretched straight forward, feet crossed, with the hem of 
her skirt draped across her upper thighs, defining, shaping, and giving 
dimension to her smooth skin.  She looked down at her legs and decided 
that this would be a good time for an extra workout.  Why not?  Rick 
would surely appreciate whatever benefit she derived from this.  She 
hurried through the dining room to the kitchen.  In fact, it would be a 
good time to exercise while still wearing this cute little skirt.  She 
opened the door in the kitchen. The stairway slanted downward to the 
basement and her heavy bag, speed bag, bench and weights.  She tugged 
and played briefly with the hem line.  Yes.  This will be fine.  What a 
great way to feel like a  woman.  She began descending the steps to 
where her equipment waited in the 
 darkness. 


Rick hung up the phone and finished placing the items he had just 
purchased into a heavy wooden box.  Then he smiled and pushed the box 
into his bedroom. 

Karen was ready.  One last look in the mirror.  The teal skirt she wore 
was probably the shortest she owned, at least six inches above her knee.  
It was definitely the tightest. She topped it with a wide black belt and 
huge circular gold buckle.  Her white silk blouse drew tightly across 
her tummy and hung loosely on her shoulders.  The long puff sleeves 
billowed over wide cuffs that clenched her wrists.  The large collar 
stood open, unbuttoned far enough to reveal stunning cleavage.  a fine 
gold chain necklace and coordinated earrings added refinement.  At least 
they gave someone an excuse to stare at her chest.  Her no-nonsense 
black pumps, slender, very high, pointed toes, no straps, formed and 
shaped her legs erotically.  Her legs were also smoothed and toned by 
fine sheer-to-the waist panty hose.  Her brown hair fell perfectly to 
her shoulders, framing her face and accentuating the glisten in her 
eyes.  It was an incredible sight that returned her gaze in the mirror.  
He didn't stand a chance. 


The dinner was, again, memorable.  The room was so different they 
couldn't imagine being in the same building.  The show was hilarious 
with biting, edgy humor.  It had an erotic effect on the audience.  
Neither Rick nor Karen escaped this influence. In her mind, it took 
forever for Rick to reclaim their coats.  The brief walk to his place 
was a marathon.  Yeah, yeah, she'd do the couch thing, but his bed is 
where she really belonged.  Let's not fritter away too much time getting 
there. 

But something was wrong.  Rick had a straining, overly full erection, 
spooky in its dimension ever since they walked in the door.  Yet he 
seemed preoccupied.  He wasn't into their love making, it was almost a 
distraction.  She reached over to caress and rub his enormous cock, 
trying to force a reaction from him.  It worked, but in an unexpected 
way.  "Let's sit on the floor,"  he spoke eagerly with bright eyes. 

"What?"  What's this now, what's happening. 

"Right here in front of the couch, it will be fun."  He bounced quickly 
into the narrow space between the sofa and large, heavy coffee table, 
knees up, resting his forearms on them.  "Come on, you can do it." 


"For heavens sakes."  Karen slid dumbly beside him, curled up, not 
wanting to mash the toes of her shoes against the base of the table. 

"You don't look comfortable."  He couldn't believe she wasn't having a 
rousing time. 

"Looks aren't always deceiving, Rick."  She didn't even attempt a smile. 

"Well, put your legs on top of the table,"  he flopped his feet quickly 
onto the broad expanse of polished wood.  "Like this."  Karen did the 
same thing, but the results were far, far different.  Her skirt was now 
high on her thighs both of which stretched upward in front of her as she 
sat on the floor.  They were long enough to raise her knees slightly 
above the table.  Because of that, the backs of her shoes rested on the 
wooden surface, but not her calves.  They weren't flattened and 
misshapen by the table top, but rather were given more curves by the 
extreme downward flex of her ankles.  Rick could only stare.  What an 
erotic sight.  Sensing this, Karen raised one leg slightly higher than 
the other to increase the effect.  Maybe this will get a rise out of 
him. 

Indeed, it did. 

Rick immediately sprang to his feet and scurried around to the other 
side of the table. Then he placed both hands on the wooden edge and 
pushed with all his might.  The huge table slid in on Karen, pinning her 
to the front of the couch.  She was folded in half, her knees crammed 
against her shoulders, her calves bobbing ineffectually up and down on 
the table top.  "What are you--OWW.  Ouch, Rick that hurts."  Her eyes 
glared in disbelief.  "What are you doing?"  

He leaned forward and spoke slowly and clearly.  "Wait right there.  
I'll be back in just a minute or two."  With that he turned and 
literally pranced into the bedroom. 

Karen bellowed after him.  "Hey.  Hey, get back here, you bastard!"  She 
was more angry than hurt.  And just a little frightened.  She had no 
leverage and was unable to generate any force in any direction.  Arms 
and legs both were pretty much worthless. Straining backward did no 
good.  So this is where she'd gotten to.  Thinking of the pleasure of 
being in Rick's bed had led, somehow,  to her being mousetrapped in the 
living room while Rick was in the bedroom, alone. 

Before long he emerged, wearing two items of clothing:  his shirt, 
completely unbuttoned and hanging open, and boxer shorts which did 
nothing to hide his prominent erection.  He was also dragging a wooden 
box behind him.  He slid it clear of the doorway, then let it rest and 
looked down into its contents.  "Nice get-up. Really cute.  Now pry this 
thing away from me!"  If Karen had any patience previously, it had all 
vanished. 

"I was worried the first time you were here."  Rick's voice brought 
instant chills.  She had never heard it before.  It was dark and 
ruthless.  "I knew you were the one." He circled behind the box.  "I 
wanted you.  But I wasn't ready for you.  I didn't know how much longer 
I could stall."  Stall?  Karen was stricken.  That whole lovely, 
maddening, delicious scene from her last visit here was fraudulent?  
"See I didn't have everything I needed.  Some items had been broken or 
destroyed, others lost."  He knew that if he explained, all would be 
clear.  "So when the moron who does my lawn and sidewalks called with 
some stupid problem, I used it as an emergency to . . . end . . . our 
time together."  He looked up at her and smiled.  "I knew you'd be 
back." 

"Well, hey.  What girl wouldn't look forward to this."  Karen's bravado 
was beginning to crack.  Her fear was evident, ever so slightly. 

"But now I'm ready."  He leaned into the box and pulled out two chrome 
spreader bars about three feet long with shackles near each end and a 
nasty, painful-looking leather and chain head  harness with a built in 
gag.  "Ready for anything."  He held them up for her to see. 

"There's no way I'm going to let you use those things on me."  Her voice 
was level and dead serious.  "I don't mess with perversion, or with sick 
people." 

He dropped the items back into the box with a loud clang.  "There's lots 
more."  A scary smile spread across his face.  Karen remembered her 
training.  Stay calm and wait for an opening.  It steeled her, kept her 
alert. 

"You stupid fool.  You could have enjoyed yourself with me all night, 
all week, whenever and wherever you wanted.  Now you get nothing." 

"But you see, I couldn't have you.  I wasn't ready."  He reached down 
into the box again.  "Now I can enjoy you . . . endlessly." 

"Not without a fight, you can't."  Karen watched him closely, waiting 
for her chance. 

He pulled a rather attractive camera from his box.  "This is a Polaroid.  
A special one. It's the centerpiece of my toys.  It does a good job of 
close-ups."  He walked toward her.  "After you're held firmly in 
position.  A number of positions, actually."  He held the camera up for 
her to see.  "You will have the privilege of contributing to my  photo 
collection of various body parts." 

Karen filled with white hot resentment.  She thought of the cookbook 
high on the shelf in her kitchen.  She thought of the drawing of the 
side of beef with the different cuts marked off by dotted lines and 
identified by arrows.  Various body parts indeed. 

Rick didn't want to truss her up here, while she was pinned to the 
floor.  His joy came from gradually binding a free being, bit by bit.  
Her opening had arrived.  He placed the camera on the table and began to 
pull it away from Karen to free her. At best, she'd try to run away.  He 
was ready for her.  But he wasn't ready for her athleticism, for the 
quickness honed by her constant workouts.  Before he finished pulling, 
she raised herself up using her left foot on the tabletop and both 
elbows on the couch.  In an instant, she shot her right foot out in a 
vicious kick.  She struck the camera, sending it  skittering across the 
table and onto the floor.  He began to watch it fly, but the point of 
her stiletto heel gouged into his abdomen, just above his hip bone. He 
yelped in pain and leaned forward for support.  She was on him in an 
instant, driving her knee into his crotch.  He twisted at the last 
moment.  Instead, her knee ripped into the large muscle of his thigh.  
Again he howled and grabbed for her to subdue this wildcat before she 
hurt him. 

She drove her elbow into his rib cage, forcing the air from his lungs 
and dropping him to the floor.  But, as he fell, he brought her with 
him.  The two rolled and bumped and twisted on the floor.  Even though 
injured slightly, his superior strength held sway and she was unable to 
gain advantage or push him away. 

She needed to be on her feet, but he became an octopus, pulling her 
down, refusing to let her out of his grip.  He was trying to force her 
underneath him, using his weight and strength to confine her, render her 
attacks useless.  She continued to struggle, waiting for an opening.  He 
misjudged her intent and spun the wrong way to grab her which opened up 
distance between them.  Lying on her side, she launched a straight kick 
with her top leg.  The point of her shoe smashed his knee just below the 
kneecap. He screamed and reached for this stinging pain in his leg.  She 
stood quickly and smashed the same knee with a side kick.  Another male 
howl pierced the air.  He rose, with difficulty, to face her.  She fired 
a kick into his side, which landed just under the elbow he drew there to 
block it. 

His anger grew as her attacks became more successful.  The distance 
between them was his enemy as her kicks were too fast and too accurate 
to thwart.  He charged at her, intent on splattering her against the 
wall.  She sidestepped just enough to avoid the full impact of 
collision.  He had charged so desperately and so wholeheartedly that he 
was unable to avoid smacking into the wall himself.  He twisted at the 
last moment to let his shoulder absorb the blow. 

Again she was on him, turned him to face her, grabbed his shirt and 
began bashing the back of his head against the wall.  He used the same 
tactic, twisting so that his shoulder took the impact instead of his 
skull.  He shot his arm out at her, knocking her away. She was furious 
that he could do this and she could not.  Her attempts to push him aside 
simply failed. 

She ran directly at him.  He moved into position, ready to end this 
right now. She stopped short and kicked out, low and hard.  Her foot 
landed on his kidney causing a contortion of  pain.  She kicked the same 
spot a second time.  As he bent backwards in reaction, she stepped in 
close and smashed his sternum with her elbow.  He toppled backward and 
fell.  Quickly, she sat straddling his chest, pinning each arm with a 
knee between his shoulders and elbows. 

This was the opening she wanted, the chance to turn the tables.  Now 
Karen would be in charge.  She began punching his face.  Her fists were 
hard and fast.  She knew how to deliver a punch and worked diligently on 
her heavy bag and speed bag.  She needed to strike quickly now because 
he still had the strength to overturn her. 

Her concern was merited.  Although the injuries to his sides and hips 
and knees prevented him from bucking her away, he was still able to send 
her on a wild ride, disrupting her rhythm and aim.  She avoided the 
temptation to just keep flailing away into the air.  She punched him 
only when she knew her fists would strike his face. And that seemed to 
be too seldom.  All they drew from him were angry little grunts that 
seemed to increase his resolve to fight back.  She had learned to 
generate punching power from torque, a difficult thing to do from a 
seated position. 

She launched a right jab into his nose.  She felt it crumble beneath her 
fist and blood flowed freely.  Quickly she punched the same spot.  A 
vicious shot to his mouth brought pain to her hand and a dull crunching 
noise.  Hopefully they were not the same event, rather different events 
that were very close together. 

Karen didn't notice it at first, but the fight was changing.  His twists 
and bucks were becoming weaker, more feeble.  His grunts had changed to 
shouts;  cries that told of pain and fear.  Her fists were bringing him 
down.  She was able to slow down now, to choose her punches carefully, 
to make each one as accurate and painful as possible. 

As she switched from punching his eye sockets to his jaw, the shouts 
changed to low moans of agony and the only movement under her was his 
legs and feet flinching and kicking each time her fist connected  The 
fight was over.  She had beaten him.  He had nothing left.  But she 
wasn't stopping.  He needed to feel more. 
   
As her fist began to fire downward toward the bloody pulp of his face, 
Rick stopped it by shouting out a miserable, "Ooohhh!"  He fought to 
regain his breath and speak again.  "That's enough."  His words were 
pathetic and tortured.  They proclaimed the misery her punches had 
brought him. 

"Oh?"  Karen lowered her hand, but it remained curled into a fist.  "Are 
we begging? How interesting."  She settled back onto his chest.  "Please 
continue." 

"My . . . I . . ."  Rick seemed caught in a confusing trap, wanting to 
say so much and also wanting to say nothing.  "My face . . . my face 
hurts . . . bad."  He took a few embarrassed breaths, unable to maintain 
eye contact with her.  "Real bad.  Please stop . . . don't hit me . . 
.don't hit me again. . . . I can't . . . take it." 

"Do you really want me to stop?"  Karen felt greatly empowered by this 
little confession and couldn't help rubbing it in. 

"Oh, please . . . make it go away."  His breathing increased, sensing a 
slight glimmer of hope.  "It's . . . you're . . . it's too much.  
Please." 

"Is the weak little girl too much for the big strong man?"  Her pouting 
mouth and baby voice continued to mock him. 

"Yes . . . yes, she is."  He had no pride left and he didn't care.  All 
he cared about was stopping her fists. 

Karen smiled, tilted her head as if considering, smiled some more, 
tilted again, then looked directly into his eyes.  She stopped smiling.  
"I'm going to knock you out, Rick.  It's the only way to end this." 

She watched the change click-clack through his mind.  O.K.  He would 
deal with this. If it was inevitable, he would face it like a man.  No 
more begging, no more humiliation. Wind up and sock it to me, bitch.  
That's what his face said.  Then she stood up where she was, her feet on 
either side of his chest.  Rick's breath drew in sharply. No matter what 
had happened, she was still beautiful, still sexy, still affecting his 
sex drive.  And what a view he had at the moment!  Her shapely legs 
seemed to go on forever, and he could see them well beyond the hem of 
her skirt.  Because of the dim lighting in the room he could see only 
shadows where her thighs came together.  The sight was still 
breathtaking.  There was the wide expanse of her skirt over her hips, 
then a sudden, almost immediate slimming to her waist, those curves 
being greatly exaggerated by his angle of vision.  He could see only the 
upper portion of her face and hair.  The rest was obscured by her full, 
round breasts.  God, she was lovely. 

But it was when she said, "All right, Rick, get up," and reached down to 
grab his collar that his `brave boy' image crumbled.  She tried pulling 
him up with both hands but his dead weight refused to move.  She stepped 
to one side of him and used his arm for leverage.  Now the fear gripped 
him.  He knew what would happen when she finally got him upright.  He 
knew exactly what would happen.  She would punch him again.  Panic took 
over.  Instead of attacking her, he took to resisting and pleading and 
being constantly alert to cover up, protecting his face as much as 
possible if she started hitting.  All this made for a rather 
unmanageable package.  And a noisy one. As she continued to help him to 
his feet, he squirmed and twisted.  His foot slipped from under him and 
a knee bashed onto the floor.  He yelped and complained and continued 
begging.  She tried pulling from his armpits.  He quickly lost his 
balance and pitched forward against her, grabbing her around her thighs 
with both hands, unable to enjoy the erotic feel and form of her legs.  
She pulled hair and shirt and arm and skin and shouted encouragement, to 
which he shouted objection and pleading and continued to thump and 
resist.  But little by little this exhausting scene began to go Karen's 
way.  Not only was Rick being pulled upward, she was becoming angry by 
the maddening process and he didn't know what she'd do next.  Perhaps it 
was best to cooperate.  That's what his mind said.  But his body had 
felt the punches and he still found it easy to resist.  He marveled at 
how she didn't have the strength to pull him up easily and yet all of 
her blows hurt so much. 

Finally, it was finished.  She held him by the collar, steadying, 
repositioning, preparing for the final punch, the strike that would 
separate him from consciousness. Now that she was standing up, Karen 
knew for the first time that she was unstoppable.  Now she could 
generate the torque needed to deliver that last, devastating punch.  She 
couldn't wait.  She probably would have engaged in a bit of macha 
strutting, but she was much too occupied with keeping him upright.  
Rick's feet were thudding against the floor as he tried to maintain 
equilibrium, his pleas for mercy punctuated by coughs and groans and 
unintelligible sounds. 

She made sure he was watching her through the one eye that wasn't closed 
completely.  Then she drew back her fist, slowly.  "O.K., Ricky," she 
was talking to a little boy at a photo studio, "watch the birdie."  The 
twisting began in her legs, was magnified by her hips and accelerated by 
her shoulders.  Then the ball of knuckles that was Karen's fist exploded 
through Rick's cheekbone  sending a fearsome CRACK echoing through the 
room.  His head spun violently and his mouth opened to blast a roar of 
agony.  Instead, his body flinched and he dropped like a stone, 
completely unconscious.  Suddenly, all was silent. 

Karen stood motionless for a moment, then the heavy breathing of 
exertion overtook her. Before long she was back to normal, oxygen 
replenished, adrenaline spent, poise returned.  She circled around the 
awkwardly sprawled form to Rick's head.  Now it was time to leave, to 
get out of here and put all of this behind her.  It was while she looked 
down at him that she noticed the blood on her hands.  His blood.  There 
were splatters and smears on her luxurious white blouse and teal skirt 
as well.  Hm. Perhaps she could salvage her clothing, perhaps not.  But 
her hands?  She could take care of them right now.  

As she entered the small bathroom off the dining room, her heels clacked 
on the tile floor.  They seemed incredibly noisy in the deafening 
silence.  As she washed her hands she noticed small gashes along two of  
the knuckles of her right hand.  So, not all of the blood belonged to 
Rick.  `Got to stop punching people directly in the mouth' she thought.  
Then she smiled at herself in the mirror.  `Nah.  Broken teeth really 
take the fight out of a man.'  She was pleasantly surprised to see that 
her face was untouched.  Aside from her cut knuckles it seemed that 
tousled hair and smeared make-up were the only real souvenirs of this 
encounter.  Considering what her knuckles had done to him, she came out 
of this unscathed. 

Once again standing over Rick she noticed how uncomfortable he looked.  
Twisted and gnarled on the floor, he lay like so much discarded trash.  
It wasn't that she had any concern for his comfort.  She had, after all, 
knocked him out.  But this seemed . . . obscene, somehow.  Karen moved 
into the darkness of his bedroom.  After pulling a pillow from his bed 
she returned and placed it on the floor next to him.  She hoisted both 
his feet, one under each arm and walked backwards, pulling him until he 
straightened out.  Then she slid his arms into position by his side, 
lifted his head by the hair and placed the pillow underneath. 

"There, now isn't that better?"  She took his silence as agreement.  He 
almost looked cute nestled into the crisp white softness.  Except for 
his black eyes, of course.  And crooked nose.  And purple bruises.  And 
swathes of blood.  And split lips with accompanying tooth fragment.  
Well . . .  serene.  Yes serene was a better word than cute, definitely 
more appropriate.  Although, such a face scrambled by pain didn't quite 
add up to serene.  Finally she settled on sleeping;  sleeping and 
breathing. 

Now she was leaving--until she noticed the infamous wooden box near the 
corner like a crouching beast.  Examining its contents, she found a 
variety of hideous implements and straps and harnesses;  contrivances of 
what was, certainly, a sick mind.  Then Karen noticed the camera lying 
on the floor.  It seemed to be in working order.  The layout was simple 
and straight forward.  She took only a few moments to figure out the 
operation of it. 

While holding the Polaroid in her right hand, she curled her left hand 
into a fist in front of the lens and snapped the shutter.  The camera 
handed her a picture with a precise mechanical whir.  Not bad.  
Switching hands was a bit more tricky.  But she had the first offering 
as a guide and was able to position her clenched right fist so that her 
knuckles were directly "facing" the camera. 

Holding the pictures, she squatted by his sleeping body.  "Well, Rick, 
it would seem you won after all."  She dropped the photos onto his 
stomach.  "Here are the pictures you wanted of my various body parts."  
Then, gently, she tucked the corners  of both photos under the elastic 
waist band of his boxer shorts.  "Hope you like them.  Of course, I 
probably shouldn't have washed off the blood."  Karen stood and walked 
away.  She couldn't resist taking one more picture--a close-up of his 
battered face. She carefully placed the camera on a shelf with the last 
photo still protruding from it. She thought of it as a nice final 
surprise. 

Then Karen smoothed her skirt, fluffed a few whisps of hair with her 
thumb and forefinger, gathered her purse and coat and left without 
comment . . . without looking back. 

As she walked along the row of streetlights to her car, Karen searched 
her mind for a reason.  Why had she knocked him out?  Clearly he was 
beaten and much humiliated.  Wasn't she being just a little like him by 
continuing her punching?  And she had so much hope for him.  He was so 
handsome . . .  so much fun.  As she pondered, a couple approached.  The 
woman, short and slender with dark hair and eyes, held her coat closed 
around her neck with one hand, the other thrust stiffly into a pocket.  
Her eyes, streaked with tears and unblinking, glared straight forward. 
The frozen mask of her face fought vainly to conceal emotion.  She 
walked quickly, stabbing the sidewalk with her heels.  The man walked 
alongside, constantly turning to face her, shouting insults.  He spoke 
of her ignorance, stupidity, and carelessness, spitting words as though 
they sickened him. 

As they bolted past Karen, she spun around and took a step towards them, 
her hands clenched at her side.  Then she thought of Rick sleeping 
soundly.  `No, it was good I knocked him out.' she thought.  `It was 
necessary'.  She watched the couple move away, the clamor subsiding to 
silence.  She relaxed her hands.  This wasn't her fight.  If she did 
intervene the woman would probably tell her to mind her own business.  
Karen turned into the night breeze and continued on, a crooked smile 
crossing her lovely face.  Her fight was over . . . and Rick was on his 
living room floor having fist-shaped nightmares.  What in the world was 
she going to say to Ruth?