Max and Martine or Another Way to Love
Noël Burch  nburch@wanadoo.fr
A French black belt nurse captures and “treats” a rapist. 


Max was an habitual offender.

One who had never been caught.

And who had already raped nine women.

Yet at 22, Max was handsome enough. He had no problem attracting women in the
usual way. The trouble was that Max was impotent. His erection always left him
at the critical moment.

Except when he rapes a woman.

It had taken some time for him to figure this out, and during his late teens,
his love affairs - a series of pitiful, humiliating failures - had ruined his
existence. He’d started to drink and nearly lost his job with the Post Office.

Max was a simple sort: it had never occurred on him he might get help. He kept
pretty much to himself and had no friends to advise him.

But all this changed the day he discovered, almost by accident that first
time, the "curative" virtues of rape. Suddenly, Max was a new man. Not only
had he stopped drinking but he felt more at ease with himself, his work
improved, his supervisor rated him more highly and he could even hope for a
promotion.

True, he sometimes felt sorry he could never so much as consider a permanent
relationship with a woman who could give him children, for example. But he was
resigned to his solitude and his career in rape now that he had regained a
certain equilibrium.

So whenever he could no longer bear to gaze upon all those bitches with
mini-skirts and bare knees, tight leggings that moulded firm buttocks or
see-through blouses over bare breasts, Max resorted to the only therapy he
knew and began skulking through the narrow streets of the old city after dusk,
when the whole sleepy town was watching television.

It was child’s play, really. All he had to do was find a coach door leading to
an ancient courtyard that had been left unlocked, as they often were, hide in
the shadows of the deserted entry and wait for an appropriate victim to pass
(Max was the patient sort, he could wait for hours). He would wait until a
woman he fancied had passed his hiding place, then slip up behind her, put his
muscular arm around her neck (Max weighed 180 lbs. for 5 ft. 10) and press
against her throat the blade of the knife he always carried in his pocket.

And boy were they scared! Most of the girls started to shake, begging him not
to hurt them, promising to do anything he wanted so long as he didn’t hurt
them! After that, it was easy to drag them into the courtyard and there...

Sometimes they were so scared they even co-operated actively...

When he had his orgasm, he left them crying on the ground and got the hell out
of there with a proud feeling of victory thrilling through his brutish mind.

And so that evening, once again, Max stood in wait.

He’d a chosen a particularly dark coach-doorway and had managed to wedge the
heavy oak door with a stone so it would remain open as he walked his victim
through the opening without his having to push it back: after that, a passing
kick would dislodge the stone and insure his "privacy": Max had the technique
down pat.

It was already two in the morning. Max had seen couples go by, older women or,
women he was not attracted to - indeed, as Max became a seasoned rapist, he
began to pick and choose. This evening, however, he had been waiting longer
than usual... and promised to make his victim pay for it.

Now he heard them : confident footsteps, quick but not hasty, coming his way.
Something told him this was it. Soon the glow of the streetlight revealed his
prey.

She was in her early thirties and she was a peach! Skin tight Lycra pants
clung to her perfect legs and ass; she wore ankle-boots with square heels and
heavy soles according to the fashion of the day. A well-cut leather jacket was
pulled taut over full breasts and light brown shoulder-length hair was held in
place by a head-band. Max’s future victim also wore short dark leather gloves,
for it was a chilly evening.

Max drew back, took out his knife, silently opened the blade and stood waiting
while the woman passed by.

Stepping out noiselessly on his basketball shoes, he caught up with her,
wrapped his arm around her head, jerked her to him and pressed his knife to
the exposed throat - the dull edge of the blade, Max was always careful not to
take chances : "Don’t move or I’ll cut your throat! Do as I say and you won’t
get hurt." Max had pronounced those exact words so many times now that they
were part of his routine.

The woman a gave a little shout of surprise, the way they all did, probably
terrified as the rest of them. But right away, Max sensed that this one was
different: she didn’t whimper or beg, she remained totally silent, and when he
began pulling her towards the coach door, she seemed unusually compliant.

"Maybe the bitch likes it this way!" he said to himself.

Unresisting, she went through the doorway ahead of him and let him guide her
towards an especially dark corner of the courtyard which he had spotted
earlier. He had begun to think this was going to be easy, too easy perhaps to
excite him, to keep his erection up till he came. He began whispering dirty
insults in her ear so she would struggle a little and excite him.

But she remained inert in his arms.

It was not until he lowered the knife and was about to spin the woman around
as he already done nine times in two years, before putting her on the ground,
gently if possible, by force if necessary - that a totally unforeseen event
sent Max hurtling into a nightmare.

The woman suddenly bent forward so that her hard, round buttocks rammed into
his swollen testicles; at the same time she seized the knife-hand wrist and
the collar of his coat with dainty gloved fingers that turned out to be
unexpectedly wiry and strong, Before Max knew what was happening to him, his
feet had left the ground and he was flying spectacularly over his would-be
victim’s shoulder.

Th impat of his body on the cobbles was excruciating. Max screamed from the
sudden pain in his tail-bone, which he thought must be broken. But he was
vaguely aware that the woman - and the word judoka crossed his mind - had
deliberately held on to his wrist and coat to prevent his skull from cracking
on the stone. So shaken was he by his dramatic fall that he was unable to
resist the moves that followed and he soon found himself helplessly pinned to
the ground, his wrist trapped vice-like under the woman’s armpit, his elbow
jammed hard against a muscular black-clad thigh. The woman was kneeling beside
him, one gloved hand gripping his collar with a twisting grip, her forearm
crushing his Adam’s apple : there was a pungent smell of leather in his
nostrils. Max had been rendered helpless by " snip of a girl" and the
humiliation was almost as intense as the pain.

For the first time since they "met", the woman spoke: "You’ve done this
before, haven’t you? You’ve raped other women?"

He didn’t dare reply. But the pressure on his arm increased ; it felt as if
his elbow was going to snap: he cried out in pain... but not too loud, for
fear someone would find him in this embarrassing position. After all, in the
eyes of the law, he was the one who was in the wrong and he knew it.

"Well?"

"Yes..."

"How many?"

His reluctance to answer made the pain in his elbow unbearable again.

"Bitch! You’re breaking my arm!"

"How many?" She leaned forward, and her forearm crushed his Adam’s : he could
scarcely breath.

"Nine..." he managed to gasp.

"Well, little man, you need help! And I’m just the one to give it to you."

Whereupon, she released him. Max was surprised but he wasn’t slow to react.
Immediately, he grappled with his judo-wise nemesis. He was out for revenge :
the bitch had taken him by surprise, but if he could just use his superior
weight and strength he could get the best of her easily enough... There
followed a confused struggle in which Max even managed to roll the compact
female body off of his, get on top of her and pin her wrists : he felt
confident now he could get away from this tricky bitch. And he raised his fist
to punch her. But suddenly he realised that her lovely legs had snaked around
his waist, and were now squeezing his kidneys in a powerful scissors. He
tugged at the punishing legs with both hands, desperately trying to relieve
the awful pressure, hardly aware that her quick gloved hands had seized his
collar in a formidable cross-hand grip, her hard little fists rolled into his
neck, burrowing past the tendons, squeezing the arteries with terrific force :
he felt faint, a red veil descended in his mind: what had happened? He’d had
her pinned under his full weight, he’d had her where he wanted her, and now...

From far, far away, as if he were under an anaesthetic, he heard her voice :
"Time for beddy-by, little man..." The dizzy feeling grew worse, his head felt
as if it were about to burst, and then suddenly he was falling into
blackness...

Martine released her hold as soon as she knew her attacker was unconscious.
She had no intention of killing him, though she could have done so easily with
that judo choke-hold and her first instinct had perhaps been to execute her
attacker, so revolted had she been by his confession.

But she had something else in mind, something she had been fantasising about
for years. She slipped out from under dead weight of her aggressor and kneeled
beside him. From the purse she wore on a strap around at her waist she drew a
small metal object, - ratcheted steel circles hinged to a rigid frame. She
drew the man’s arms behind him and there was a faint click as she locked his
thumbs firmly into the miniature cuffs. The pain roused the young man to
consciousness.

As soon as he realised his situation, he said in a resigned tone of voice:

"So you’re a lady cop?"

"Not at all, I’m a registered nurse... My name is Martine and I hold a second
degree Black belt in judo. So you see it was a mistake attacking me. But I’m
not one to hold a grudge, I’m going to take care of you, I’m going to take you
to the hospital and give you the help you need. What’s your name?"

"..."

"Now watch out or I’ll hurt you again..." and the gloved fingers squeezed a
muscle at the base of his neck, not too hard, but hard enough to make her
point...

"OK, OK!... My name’s Max".

"OK, Max, now stand up."

The young man did not however obey quickly enough to suit Martine. With thumb
and forefinger, she seized the short hairs around his temple in a twisting
grip and easily levered him to his feet, whimpering and cursing her
tormentress.

Still holding his hair twisted between her fingers - a trick taught her by a
prison matron who had been her lover and which she knew to be very painful -
Martine led her thumb-cuffed captive out of the courtyard and on to the
deserted sidewalk. Luckily enough, when the young rapist had made the mistake
of jumping her, she had been almost home. Consequently, the car she did not
normally use in town, was waiting nearby.

However, when her "patient" - was finally lying on the back seat of her little
Renault, Martine had a moment’s hesitation. Did she really have a right to do
this?

Then, having decided the man deserved everything he had coming to him, and
that right now his only other option was years of prison, she hit him : just
one sharp blow with the edge of her hand under his left ear and he passed out
again with barely a whimper. She removed one glove and felt his pulse: for a
man who has just been knocked out for the second time in ten minutes, the beat
seemed normal enough. Safe in the knowledge he would sleep long enough for her
to carry out the first part of her plan, she slid behind the wheel and started
the engine.

The hospital where Martine worked was located in an industrial suburb of this
town in Eastern France, scarcely a quarter of an hour’s drive from her flat in
the centre.

She drove slowly into the parking lot reserved for the personnel, using her
magnetic card to raise the wooden boom. She parked near a seldom-used side
entrance. She glanced at her "patient" who was beginning to show signs of
life. She rummaged in the glove compartment and found a roll of tape and a
large surgical bandage in its sterile wrapper. With the tape, she quickly
bound the knees and ankles of her attacker, who was only just beginning to
come to. Removing the bandage from the crystal paper wrapping, she stuffed it
into his unresisting mouth and taped it in place. Finally, she took a blanket
from the trunk and threw it over the groggy man lying on the back floor of the
car.

Satisfied with her precautions, she locked the car and headed for the lighted
entrance where a neon sign flashed "URGENCES".

The man on duty at the door absent-mindedly greeted a familiar face and went
back to his crossword puzzle.

Martine hurried to the nurse’s locker-room on the first floor: although she
did not go back on duty until 6 AM, in three hours time, she had to put on her
uniform to be able to move about the hospital freely and accomplish what she
had to do that night.

In front of her open locker, Martine shed gloves, fashionable ankle-boots,
leather jacket and Lycra leggings. Her tanned body, toned and hardened by
fifteen years of regular dojo practice, glistened softly in the locker-room
mirror. With a touch of narcissism which she secretly cultivated, Martine
admired her perfect shape before slipping into her work clothes.

While the white uniform and head-dress were perfectly in keeping with hospital
regulations, the tennis shoes she wore were not - but such departures from the
rules were tolerated here in the name of individual freedom. On the other
hand, Martine often wondered roguishly what her superiors would say if they
knew that what appeared to be sober white tights were in reality very sexy
"garter-tights", picked up in a sex-shop on the rue Saint-Denis in Paris -
where she had also bought the kinky thumb-cuffs -, cut out inside of the
thighs leaving her sex broadly exposed (Martine never wore panties).

For in fact, this model nurse was also a "swinger", always on the look-out for
any opportunity that might arise during working hours to assuage an almost
unlimited sexual appetite with attractive colleagues... or patients. The
appearance of "poor Max" in her life was a windfall whose full potential she
glimpsed as yet only vaguely. But her excitement was rising by the second,
stirred as much by the thought of her handsome young prisoner as by her
awareness of the risks she was about to run.

At this hour, it was an easy matter to move about the hospital without
encountering a soul. In any case, outside of her own service
(gastro-enterology), which Martine studiously avoided, who was to know that
this nurse in uniform had no business being there?

In an examination room, she scooped up a hypodermic needle in its wrapper, a
couple of glass vials, an elastic tourniquet, some cotton wool, a small bottle
of alcohol and a pair of white latex gloves, which all went into a plastic
bag. In a ground floor corridor, she found an abandoned wheelchair and pushed
it ahead of her as she made her way to the side door ear which she had parked
her car.

Max still lay as she had left him, though his legs were moving feebly under
the blanket. Getting him out of the car and into the chair raised at first,
until it occurred to Martine to grab him by the thumb-cuffs and the back of
his collar : pulling up on his arms and his neck she caused him considerable
pain so that he rose to his knees , and half fell from the car. She stood him
on his feet and spun him around. As she sat him in the wheelchair she passed
cuffed arms over the padded back of the chair, so that he was a prisoner of
the chair as surely as though he had been tied to it. Finally, she threw the
blanket over the helpless man : from afar, he would look like a patient being
hurried to some emergency treatment. Which was of course perfectly true, she
thought to herself with a smile.

Of course, her subterfuge would not stand up to close inspection and she
prayed she wouldn’t run into anyone on the way to the staff elevator.

Her prayer was granted: there was not a soul about.

When the elevator door slid shut behind her, Martine breathed a sight of
relief and pressed the button to the second basement, which she knew would be
utterly deserted at this hour.

Her final destination was a small stock-room at the end of a dusty hallway
which had remained inexplicably empty as long as she could remember. During a
torrid affair with a young intern, who had left for a private practice the
year before, Martine and made a duplicate key.

The room measured three meters by four and was entirely empty save for a small
mattress, spirited away from hospital stores for her games with the intern and
which she had never bothered to put back.

She levered her prisoner out of the chair, lay him on his back and took the
gag out of his mouth. The man seemed to hesitate: should he shout for help and
let someone find him in this embarrassing situation, or...

Martine read his thoughts: "Shout all you like, there’s nobody to hear you
down here at night, and during the day, you’ll be asleep..."

"You dirty cunt! I’ll get ya for this! You’ve no right do this!"

"And what gives you the right to stick your pecker into women uninvited?" she
said calmly pulling on the latex gloves, which crackled pleasantly to her
ears.

"Mother-fucking bitch! You got me with a trick! Just take these things off my
thumbs and I’ll beat the shit out o’ you! I’ll show you what a man is!"

Martine gave him a little smile, hesitated, revised her plans. Laying the
hypodermic and the vial on the wheelchair she removed her head-dress and hung
it on the back of chair. Then, like a stripper - or a female wrestler
disrobing - she undid one by one the buttons of her uniform and deposited it
on th chair as well. Still without a word, she leaned down, rolled her
prisoner on his side as she had done with so many patients over the years,
took a pin from her hair and pressed a spring on the thumb-cuffs. There was a
click and Max’s hands were free. With a tiny pen-knife on her key-ring, she
cut the tape around the young man’s knees and ankles.

Then she stood up and backed away, rubber-clad hands on hips, wearing only
bra, cutaway tights and tennis shoes. She flexed her knees, her planted wide
apart, exposing her lips to the man on the floor.

"This was what you wanted back there," she said softy, "so come and get it".

A black belt since the age of 18, Martine had long ago become aware that
defeating a man one on one was her favourite prelude to sex. She often managed
to start a fight, by playful taunts or by surprise, with the many lovers she
had had. But never perhaps had the prospect of an erotic confrontation excited
her so much, no doubt because of the bizarre circumstances she had created and
the simple, sick mind inside that beautiful body before her. She could feel
her love-juices flowing more generously than usual.

Max didn’t know what to think. But the last thing on his mind was sex : all he
wanted was to get away from this crazy woman who’d managed to get him locked
up in this basement and seemed to have something nasty in mind for him. As he
sat rubbing his thumbs and ankles to get the circulation back, he was tried to
get his mind around the situation... He was, after all, a hell of a lot bigger
and stronger than she was. OK, so she knew a little judo, but shit, she was
just a girl! He stood up and took a step towards where she stood between him
and the door, with that superior smile on her face.

Max done a bit of boxing when he was younger. So he was betting on a quick
knock-out, not give her time for one of her judo tricks, that was the way...
Without warning (he thought) Max threw a quick right hook, aimed at the frail
little jaw.

But unbelievably, he missed: his fist lashed out into thin air, for the
scantily clad nurse, quick as a cat on her sneakers, had slid under the blow
and close against his chest, grabbed his lapels with both hands: "You’re very
predictable" Max she murmured.

A deft, unexpected movement of her leg, and both of his were swept right out
from under him. They fell together, but Martine’s fall was softened by her
opponent’s body, while he felt the full hardness of the concrete floor. He
screamed with pain and rage.

"Slut! You hurt me again!"

"Max, you’re really going to have to learn to watch your vocabulary"., she
observed. She arched her hips scientifically and her slender body rolled
agilely to one side.

Mat-work was Martine’s speciality and she had scored many a point with it in
her competition days. It was also the kind of fighting that excited her the
most. Her opponent struggled helplessly beneath her, and she was filled with
an intimate pleasure, feeling the power she had over him: she applied a series
of painful grips in fluid succession, forestalling each of his ripostes as if
playing with a child, frustrating at will each attempt to push her away, to
escape her; he was like a trapped animal, totally unable to avoid the
complicated neck and arm-lock which now paralysed him completely. For the
second time that night, she dug her knuckles into his carotid artery: she
could render him unconscious in seconds if she wished.

But then the slender amazon thought better of it and relaxed her knock-out
pressure before it took effect.

"Had enough?" she whispered into his ear. Martine was in wonderful shape, she
scarcely felt the exertion. Max grunted his submission and she leapt to her
feet, legs spread, hands on hips. "OK, now on your knees and make me come with
your tongue! Do it!".

If there was one thing Max’s confused mind found horrifying, it was the idea
of bringing his mouth into contact with a woman’s sex: that hairy, gooey
orifice struck him as the most revolting thing in the world, however great the
pleasure it could provide as a receptacle for his penis.

"Phwaa," he said instinctively and the exclamation did not fall on deaf ears.

"Aha, so that’s the way it is," said his lovely conqueror. Well, little man I
can see you need some training!" and with that she let her full weight drop on
him, crushing the bottom of his rib-cage with her knee and knocking the wind
out of him. Before he could think of defending himself, her cool, smooth
surgeon’s fingers had trapped his left hand, quickly folded it back an under
in an awkward-looking lock from which he knew instantly there was no escape.
Martine rose to her feet with the grace of dancer and Max found himself
obliged to sit, rise, and finally drop to his knees : the diabolical grip gave
her complete control over his body. The pain in his clamped wrist - combined
with pain in the back of his hand where her thumbs must have been deliberating
pressing on some delicate nerve - was so intense that it deprived him
completely of his willpower : never in his life had he felt so helpless. Now
the moist vagina was close his mouth and he dared not turn away.

" Stick out your tongue and lick me... all around the lips, first... Slowly,
gently, the way I tell you and where I tell you... Otherwise, you’re going to
have a very bad sprain, do you hear me?"

She relaxed her hold and the two-fold pain diminished. Max, although he felt
quite sick to his stomach, knew he did not want to endure it again and
moistened his tongue preparatory to executing the strange nurse’s orders.
Though her grip now felt relaxed, almost gentle, each time his ministrations
were felt to be lacking, her hands would contract and an incomparable pain
shoot up his captive arm: "Higher, lower, harder, softer" she would correct
him.

He had moved on to the clitoris now, which was swelling under his tongue.

Martine’s voice grew increasingly hoarse, her instructions increasingly
laconic. A plan was starting to form in Max’s brain which almost made him
forget the disgust he felt. His tormentress was obviously about to come, and
she couldn’t very well pull any judo on him while she was getting off her
rocks! All he had to do was wait for the right moment, butt her in the stomach
and run for the door. And he concentrated on his loathsome task, as much too
avoid the punishment the woman could inflict on him with her diabolical grip
as to make good his escape.

Martine was of course prepared for the moment when she would want to lose
control over her body. Actually, she thought she could probably keep the man
under control throughout her orgasm, but it would certainly spoil the fun!.
Thus, as she sensed the supreme pleasure welling, she shifted her grip to a
one-hand thumb-lock and form a rigid sabre-hand with her smooth white fingers.

Martine had long ago learned to translate her orgasms into the energy of
violence. Before Max had even realised that the woman’s pleasure had started
to overflow, she had struck her unwilling body-servant a sharp crack on the
exposed bridge of his nose, then released his hand altogether and leaned back
against the wall and shut her eyes while a long low wail of pleasure passed
her lips.

When she finally opened her eyes, Max was writhing on the ground, pressing his
hands to his face. The blow she had just dealt him could have been fatal, she
knew, driving the splintered bones of his nose into the brain. But even in the
throes of pleasure, which in fact multiplied her sadistic impulses, as several
passing lovers could attest) Martine was quite able to dose her "atemis". This
passing lover would feel better in a few minutes, she judged, but with a very
bad headache. Fortunately, it was his bedtime anyway.

As she filled the hypo, Martine thought back on what had gone before: this was
the first time she had ever used a jujitsu hold on someone while wearing the
rubber gloves of her profession. It had taught her that not only did the latex
make a like that grip more effective but was also sensually satisfying in some
mysterious way. She promised to try it again sometime.

When Martine stooped over her "patient" to drag him back to his mattress, he
was in no condition to resist her: the pain and dizziness caused by her
striking a vital nerve centre would keep him helpless for a while. Yet when
she took his arm and rolled up his sleeve, he struggled feebly and tried to
pull away "Now how can I inject this if you won’t hold still", she murmured
half to herself, and squatting by the mattress, she caught his wrist under her
armpit and locked his elbow across her thigh. A whine of pain and the armed
stopped moving. She tightened the tourniquet and probed for the vein. Martine
was as skilled in her profession as in several combat sports, but this was the
first time, she mused, that she had used judo to give an injection!

"There now, you’re going to go to sleep like a good boy and the pain will go
away..." She released the tourniquet, emptied the hypodermic into the captive
arm, caressing the handsome boy’s glistening forehead were cool smooth hand.
When she drew over him the blanket that had served to hide his capture, he was
already breathing heavily. She put on her uniform and gathered up her
equipment. What was she to do with the wheelchair? She decided to leave it
here. No one would notice it was gone and besides, it might come in handy
again. She turned out the light and locked the door behind her.

Martine knew that the dose of Valium she had administered to her prisoner
would keep him out for a good fifteen hours, he shouldn’t wake up until she
had finished her next shift and could deal with him at her pleasure.

After a copious breakfast in a nearby café - the calories compensating
somewhat for the sleepless night - Martine went on duty at 6 AM: thermometers,
charts, medicaments, briefing session, doctors’ rounds...

But all through her tasks, she thought about Max, sleeping beneath her feet,
and felt a heady excitement like none she had known before.

At 3 PM, she went off duty. She had already collected a stock of needles,
Valium and rubber gloves. Instead of leaving her uniform in the locker-room
after her shower, she stuffed it into her sports bag and took it to her car.

She needed a few hours sleep before going back to Max. She intended to take
advantage of his somnolent state when he emerged from the Valium: that was
always an interesting sexual moment, and Martine had profited by it on more
than one occasion with handsome patients who were more or less consenting.

She went back to her tiny two-room flat in the centre of town, made a few
sandwiches for the night ahead and lay down fully clothed on her bed.

When she awoke, she looked at her watch and cried out in annoyance. Already 8
P.M.! She was so exhausted, she’d forgotten to set the alarm. The Valium would
have worn off by now. She stuffed the sandwiches and material into her bag and
hurried down to her car.

As she slipped the key into lock on the door to Max’s "cell", Martine was on
her guard: her "patient" was bound to be wide awake.

When she had opened the door and switched on the overhead light, he looked to
be still asleep under the blanket she had left him. But something strange
about the shape on the mattress made her wary enough to sway sharply to the
side before fully realising she had been fooled. The heavy blow from a metal
object - later identified as a stirrup from that damned wheel-chair! - glanced
painfully off her shoulder, putting her off balance so that a forceful shove
sufficed to knocked her off her feet. She heard footsteps scampering down the
hall: her prisoner was getting away.

That was out of the question, she thought to herself, sprang to her feet and
was out of the room just in time to see Max round a corner and vanish from
sight: She smiled with relief and loped after him at a leisurely pace, for she
knew he was heading for a dead end.

And indeed, having turned the same corridor, Martine saw the young man
struggling with a heavy wire gate that barred his way. He wore only his
drawers and shoes and Martine realised he had used his other clothes to make
dummy that had fooled her. She took the time to reflect that he really had a
lovely body and felt growing excitement at the prospect of dominating him
again in hand-to-hand combat.

"You took a wrong turn, Max, you won’t get away from me like that.."

Max turned around. He looked like a beast at bay. He was obviously still
fighting off the effects of the drug and Martine said to herself that this
escape attempt revealed unexpected courage.

She walked slowly towards the half-naked man, a faint smile playing about her
lips.

As if in a dream, Max watched the pretty nurse walking towards him, crouching
slightly, perfectly balanced on her delicate white tennis shoes. He uttered a
hoarse cry and rushed her, more in the hope of bulling his way past than of
actually grappling with the bitch, he had no illusions left on that score. He
had no desire to have her throw him again... not to mention the debilitating
cobwebs that still clouded his brain.

He thought he heard her sigh : "Oh, poor Max..."

The woman in white stepped deliberately into his path. When he reached her, he
threw all his weight forward like a rugby linesman and was gratified at to
find that she did not resist at all but stepped back before his powerful rush.
Her wiry fingers clamped into his biceps in a way that hurt him badly and she
was falling backward. He realised now she was deliberately accompanying his
movement with consequences that were proving disastrous for him. As he pitched
forward in what seemed like slow motion, she a leg and planted a rubber sole
squarely on his pubis. Carried forward by his own momentum, Max was no longer
in control of his body: Martine was rolling onto her back now and her leg shot
up like a piston. Her white skirt fell around her thighs and as his feet left
the ground he glimpsed her pubic hair above the white cut-out pantyhose. He
did a terrifying forward somersault and fell heavily onto his back for the
third time since he had met this formidable judo expert.

He began to scream : "Help! Somebody help me!" but his voice sounded weak to
his ears.

A delicate scent of perfumed soap filled his nostrils, the starch uniform
rustled: the woman was moving behind him where he could not see her. "Max, oh
Max, I told you no one could hear you down here. Now you’re coming with me."
His arms were pulled up behind him into one of those vicious holds of which
his jailer seemed to have an inexhaustible repertoire. Effortlessly, she
forced him to his feet and marched him down the hallway. And suddenly he
abandoned himself to her skills, he felt terribly drowsy and had lost the will
to fight : she was "only a girl" but she was too much for him.

He heard the metal door swing shut behind them, no doubt she had done that
with her foot, for she still maintained her grip, not applying it so hard as to
hurt him, but he sensed that at the slightest sign of resistance she could
break both his arms. At length, she laid him gently down on the mattress.

His back still hurt terribly from his fall and he just lay there. The woman
stood looking down at him with a strange expression on her face. Without a
word, she began to undo the buttons up the front of her dress to reveal her
sex, which she began to stroke with one finger.

After a few seconds, she squatted again and still touching herself between the
legs, reached out and started to pull down Max’s underpants. Embarrassed by
this forward behaviour from a woman, Max tried almost instinctively to push
her away, but she reminded him who was in command by giving the skin between
his thumb and forefinger a sharp twisting pinch. The pain was intense; he
squealed and withdrew his hand. "I know lots of ways to hurt a man Max, and
don’t you forget it!". She removed the cloth that veiled his private parts,
lay her hand on the flaccid member and began expertly teasing the base of the
foreskin with the tip of one nail. Max closed his eyes. He was still groggy
and his back hurt badly... but what this perverted nurse was doing to him was
not unpleasant.

Soon Martine felt the handsome dick begin to stir beneath her fingers: she
wrapped her hand around it and gently, slowly, began to move it up and down,
sliding the skin back and forth over the muscles of the stiffening member. She
was a past mistress at such manipulations and had often, against all the rules
of her profession, brought comfort to patients too weak for more active forms
of love-making.

Which was not of course the case with Max. Martine was very excited by her
latest triumph over male muscles - she loved to perform the circle throw she
had just executed, and the "come-along" hold was speciality of hers, a
ju-jitsu manoeuvre she had sometimes used to restrain agitated patients
without hurting them. Martine straddled the prostrate man and slipped his
stiff member into her moist sex.

Almost immediately, however, she felt it go limp. And the truth dawned on her.

"So that’s why? That’s why you rape girls? Otherwise you can’t keep it up, is
that it?"

To her surprise, tears flowed from under Max’s closed eyelids.

She stroked his cheek, stood up without a word, sat down beside him, took his
cock in her hand and began her manipulations once again, stroking his chest
with the other. When the member was stiff again, she leaned forward and licked
it delicately. Max began to moan.

"You like that?"

"..."

"Of course you do, everyone does."

After all the pain she had inflicted on this boy, whom she was beginning to
feel sorry for, Martine had only one idea, for the moment : give him the
pleasure that apparently had eluded him all his life. In the long run,
perhaps, even cure his impotence.

It took a long time to bring him off, his cock would continually go soft
again. In the meantime, Martine kept herself excited with one finger, thinking
all the while of the absolute power her knowledge of judo gave her over this
handsome male body.

Max finally managed to come, but Martine judged his orgasm to be superficial.
Hers was long and deep as usual, but, also as usual, she immediately wanted to
have another. She normally gave her partners little rest, for she had tricks
to revive their passion.

Today, however, she wanted to think about the problems of this man who now
really was her patient.

Max was still awake but keeping his eyes shut - out of embarrassment, perhaps.
He did, however, take the sandwich that she put into his hand.

Between mouthfuls, he asked her, in a submissive tone of voice that excited
the young woman: "Will you let me go now?"

Martine noted that instead of the contemptuous "tu" he had used before, he now
used the respectful "vous."

"No, Max, you’re going to stay here...Otherwise, you’ll rape more women...
women who don’t know how to defend themselves."

"Even if I promise not to?"

"I don’t trust you, it’s something you can’t help ..."

"But you can’t keep me here forever..."

"I can keep you here as long as I please... I want to cure you... When you
leave here, I want you to be able to make love just like everyone else..."

A note of hope appeared in Max’s voice as he looked up at the woman who had
become "his" nurse.

"You could do that?"

"I can try."

"I’ll lose my job..."

"You’re going to tell me where you work and I’ll send them a doctor’s
certificate... I can do that, I have considerable influence with one or two of
the interns here... Have another sandwich."

She offered him a Gauloise from the packet she had bought earlier. Though she
herself seldom smoked - and never inhaled - she lit up to keep him company.

"Listen, please let me go... I’ll come back every day if you want, and you can
take care of me... But I can’t live in this place, I don’t want to be put to
sleep like that, it’s not funny!"

"Do you think it was funny for the women you raped? But you don’t understand
things like that, you’re too damned stupid." Martine was deliberately working
herself into a cold fury, not only because it excited her, but because she had
a new idea.

"This isn’t just a sick-room, you know, it’s a punishment cell! I’ll be right
back!" She jumped lightly to her feet, picked up the steel stirrup Max had
tried to bash her with and wheeled the chair out of the room.

The more she thought about her idea, the more excited it made her. She went up
to the third floor and waited in the empty visitors’ room until a buzzer
sounded somewhere and the night nurse padded off down the hall in response to
a patient’s call. Martine’s tennis shoes made no a sound at all when she in
turn hurried across the grey plastic floor-covering and into the nurses’ room,
where she foraged around in open cabinet until she found what she was looking
for : an enormous vaginal douche nozzle. She also grabbed up a tube of
lubricant and was just leaving the ward when she heard the nurse’s footfall
returning.

Max had put on his shirt and trousers and was trying to think of some way to
overcome the terrible amazon who was keeping him a prisoner here... for how
long? Of course she was good-looking enough and now she seemed to want to lay
him... But aside from how humiliating the whole situation was, Max had such
bad memories of "normal" sex that he dreaded it even more than he dreamed of
it... OK, she promised to cure him... But could she do it? He’d liked what she
did to his cock and he’d even come, sort of... but it was nothing compared to
the pleasures of rape...

He had reached this point in his reflections when he heard the key in the
door, which immediately opened. Martine entered and began to pull on a fresh
pair of rubber gloves: they snapped and crackled ominously. Max began to worry: 
what was she going to do to him now?

"Nobody told you to put your trousers back on... Off with them right now!" she
said in a tone that was half playful, half threatening. She took a black
plastic instrument out of her pocket and began to smear it with some sort of
grease from a tube, rubbing it up and down in her white gloved hand with a
deliberately suggestive movement.

"What‘re you going to do with that?" he asked.

"Give you a taste f your own medicine," she answered pleasantly.

"Oh no you don’t, I’m no queer!"

"Now, now, who’s to say? Come on, pull your pants down and be quick about it."
Martine conveyed the impression that she was enjoying this little game more
and more.

Max had backed up against the wall: he really didn’t want to fight with this
woman, the cement floor was just too hard and his tailbone still hurt a lot
from the last time she’d thrown him. But he refused to take off his pants and
let her get that thing in her hand inside his bowels.

"Max, you are going to have to learn obey... Have you forgotten what I can do
to you?" She slipped the nozzle into her pocket and suddenly she was on him.
His shirt collar became a vice at his throat, he couldn’t breathe. She began
by manoeuvring him around the room, controlling his body so easily he could
scarcely believe what was happening to him. It brought back dim memories of a
judo match on TV...The contestants walk each other around like this Not daring
to raise a hand to her knowing it would be hopeless, he offered only passive -
and perfectly useless - resistance.

Unexpectedly, she squatted and thrust her hand between his legs, clapping him
hard on his sore tail-bone and dumping him unceremoniously on the mattress.
Now she seized his flailing his ankles and trapped them under her armpits :
"Try and get out of this one, little man" she said softly as she planted the
sole of a tennis shoe squarely on his genitals. He squealed, more from fear
than pain because for now she was only playing with him : "Hmm she said,
stroking his limp sex through the cloth with her foot, " you’ll have to do
better than that tonight!" He tried to pull away her leg but now she squatted
and buried her knee in his groin, and this time the pain hit him and he felt
weak again. She unbuckled his belt, stood up as she whipped his trousers and
underwear around his thighs. She shifted to another hold, as paralysing as the
last one : squatting again, she pulled his calf across her thigh and locked it
there, gripping his foot in such a way that her thumb dug into a nerve in the
ankle bone. He squealed helplessly again.

With her free hand, she drew forth the dreaded nozzle ad without further ado
slipped it firmly and sharply up his ass. Max screamed like a wounded animal:
he was sure he was going to split down the middle. Martine pushed the
instrument in up to the hilt, then began probing towards the pubis. The pain
in his ankle had been drowned by the agony in his anus and now an even greater
pain, absolutely unbearable, was developing. He thrashed about, tried to break
the leg-lock, knew it was impossible.

"You don’t like it when I tickle your prostate like that, do you Max?"

"Stop, stop, you’re hurting me, I can’t take any more of this pain, please
stop!"

Martine saw that Max was crying. It was a matter of indifference to her now,
the man’s inability to understand the sufferings he had forced on others made
her beside herself with anger.

But then she noticed something else. Max had a hard-on, and a splendid one at
that. She wondered if it was a purely reflexive response to the treatment she
was inflicting on his prostate or whether she had found the "open sesame" to
his dark personality.

"Well, well, it looks like your having fun all the same, Max..."

And leaving the splayed nozzle deep in his rectum, she lifted the white skirt
of her uniform, straddled the man and took his sex inside her. But then
immediately she reached back and down between his legs, seized the protruding
plastic again and started probing her "patient’s" insides.

In the twinkling of an eye, Max’s agony turned to ecstasy. And after a few
seconds, Martine’s excitation reached equally dizzy heights. She grasped his
collar with crossed hands, and rolled over with him so that now he was on top
and could control his movements. This was the position he had had in her that
night - so long ago it seemed - when he had tried to rape her, but now Max
knew that the hands holding his collar so firmly could put him to sleep in an
instant.

He acquitted himself nicely of his manly task for several long minutes: each
time his erection would starte to fail, Martine increased her stranglehold
with astonishing results.

They came almost together, and this time Martine knew that Max had really got
off his rocks.

Lying under his broad chest, she whispered : "Well, little man, looks as if
we’ve found the key to your dreams."

Max spent another day under Valium, Martine was still wary

When he woke up again - the dose had not been so strong as the first - he
found his pretty private nurse sitting by his side, ready for action, wearing
only a bra, her cut-out tights, tennis shoes and rubber gloves. He climbed to
his feet stark naked and smiled at her: he knew what she wanted. He pretended
to attack her playfully, ready for he knew not what riposte: Martine seemed to
flow past him and around him and suddenly he was paralysed by a combination
arm- lock and choke-hold from behind: as she frog-marched him around the
little room, she whispered mockingly in his ear : " Helpless as a baby, aren’t
you? Now you know not all women are weak and afraid, you can’t do a thing I
don’t want to you to do, now can you?" and she cut off his air for a second.

She pushed and pulled him off balance, tripping him so he fell on the
mattress, where they immediately began to make violent love. She was careful
to insert a lubricated rubber finger into his ass-hole at critical moments,
clamped on a few wrist-locks and neck-holds when she was dissatisfied with his
performance, or pretended to be, and at the moment of their monumental orgasm
brought him to the edge of unconsciousness with one of those powerful
sleeper-holds which she executed so perfectly.

Not once did Max lose his hard-on and his orgasm was of an intensity he had
never known.

The story has a happy ending. Max and Martine moved in together, each carrying
on with their jobs. Max was well-appreciates by his supervisors and Martine is
by hers. Sometimes they like to meet in that little room in the hospital
basement and remember the good times they had there. Sometimes they even play
the "rapist raped" in a deserted courtyard in the old part of the city at one
o’clock in the morning.

The fact is that Max never raped anyone again... But we cannot be certain that
Martine never again took advantage of opportunities that might arose in the
course of her working day because, as was mentioned earlier, her sexual
appetite is quite insatiable.

THE END

AUTHOR’S NOTE : This is the first of a series of four stories about Martine
(the character and her passions are based on a real-life black belt nurse,
though the stories are pure fiction) originally written in French and
available in that language on my "bookshelf" with Diana the Valkyrie. The
readers of Legwatchers should enjoy them more, I think and I will translate
more if there is a reader response.