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From: zzzeit@aol.com (Zzzeit)
Subject: Marissa (F/m CBT)
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   The following story deals explicitly with violence and sex.  If you have not
yet reached the age of majority in your jurisdiction, or if you do not wish to
read about violent sex, please do not read any further.  

   The following story may be reproduced in any medium with or without
alterations (but the author cannot and does not purport to waive any legal
restrictions on such reproduction insofar as such reproduction is prohibited by
the penal code of your state/nation).  The author waives any and all copyright
protection of the following material (titled "Marissa"), but does not waive
such protection as it applies to his/her other original works, unless so noted
therein.

MARISSA (from the First Times series)

	I don't believe in stereotypical cock-and-ball torture.  It's too ritualized,
too unnatural -- using straps, buckles, snaps, elastics, and so on -- they're
too much of a hassle for me.  You might accuse me of being lazy, but that's not
it: I think all the accoutrements of stereotypical CBT dignify the penis (and
the man) too much, and derate the natural strength of the dom.  No doubt it
makes men feel flattered, but that's never been one of my aims.  If he gets the
notion that I need all that torture equipment to be deadly, that undermines my
power.  Anyway, it's untrue.
	I don't consider every example of inflicting pain on a man by striking his
groin CBT.  Torture denotes inflicting pain as a means of having some influence
over someone, or for the sheer pleasure of it.  Sometimes women strike men's
reproductive organs in self- defense or by accident.  Let me give you an
example.
	When I was thirteen I was already more mature than most girls my age.  I was
developing breasts quickly; I already had quite a womanly chest, and a shapely
form to go with it.  The boys my age were immensely confused about their sexual
identity and responded to my maturation in bizarre, uncivilized ways.  There
was a group of three boys in particular who were incredibly obnoxious and
frequently taunted me.  We lived on the same street, and would all get off the
bus together and walk to our respective houses.  Those thirty yards from the
bus stop to my house were sheer hell.
	The breaking point came when one of the boys -- Tommy -- began making some
obscene gestures at me with his tongue.  I made some comment -- I don't
remember the exact form of it -- suggesting that his sexual insecurities were
rooted in his awareness of having a dwarf cock.  Tommy blanched.  His friends
went silent.  His face suddenly filled up with blood, then he rushed up to me,
shoved my back against a tree, and slapped my face: first one side, then the
other.  I felt tears spilling out of my eyes; the sides of my face stung.  It
all seemed hazy and unreal, like it wasn't happening; like it was some strange
nightmare.  I was so terribly afraid of what he was going to do, I think I must
have had adrenaline surging through me, sort of paralyzing my mind.  
	Bad as it was, it got worse: Tommy spit on my face -- some of his saliva even
got into my eyes, causing me to blink hard -- and then he reached out and
clutched at my breasts.  He didn't carress them, didn't stroke them: he
squeezed them hard, and they hurt.  
	"How does it feel, cunt?  Hm?  Your pussy getting wet?"
	By this point I was crying.  Almost sobbing.  And he revelled in his sense of
power.  
	"I asked is your pussy getting wet, goddam you.  You want me to stick my cock
into it?  Hm?  You want me to do this..."
	He shoved one of his index fingers into my gasping mouth then began rapidly
sliding it in and out.  I think I was so afraid -- though, in reality, I had no
reason to be -- that I would have tolerated even this.  If Tommy had done
nothing more, I would've let him walk away and I would've probably kept quiet
about the whole thing out of fear of repurcussions from him and his friends at
school.  But instead, he took it a step further.  While he was pronging my
mouth with his finger, he reached down and began sliding his other hand up my
skirt.  And that's as far as he got.
	As I said, the whle scene appeared unreal.  My reaction to that took no
thought at all -- it was like an unconscious reflex.  I shoved his hand away
with my forearm, moved forward slightly, then snapped my knee up into his
crotch.  It was a powerful, hard blow, and Tommy collapsed onto the ground and
began yowling and clutching desperately at the core of his malenesss.  I stared
down at him for a moment -- still not thinking, just mindless with rage -- and
kicked him some more.  I kicked at his hands covering his balls; I kicked his
chest; I stepped around him, then kicked at his anus ferociousy.  Now he was
crying in addition to wailing, but I wasn't satisfied.  I began kicking his
face.  
	And that's when one of his buddies -- they were both standing right there the
whole time, stunned -- rushed over to his defense.  Note well: neither of
Tommy's buddies had rushed over to MY defense, or had even spoken a word to
deter their sadistic, fucked- up friend.  But now this guy -- Jeff, I think --
rushed over to try to shove me away.  He didn't succeed.  When he came within
reach, my foot launched out and -- in what I now have perfected and call a
flying jump kick -- I nailed him between the legs.  He too sank to the ground. 
Another male hero, fallen: the two of them heaped on the grass, lamenting their
crushed nuts.  Jeff was in a foetal position, which gave me a nice shot at his
asshole: my foot found it like a bull's eye, and the blow shook his body.  He
yelled out a prolonged nonsense syllable, and I briefly did him some more
damage, before noticing the third guy -- Tony -- running off.  Men.  They're so
courageous.
	I had a therapeutic time with the two boys I had taken down.  I thought since
Jeff had intruded when I was trying to kick Tommy in the head, I ought to kick
Jeff in the head.  I did, and -- quite accidentally -- I knocked him out with
the first blow.  This left Tommy.  He had loosened up a little, so I was able
to land a good blow to his solar plexus, which left him completely breathless. 
He  seemed really drained, really weak: I was able to pin him down on his back
pretty easily, then I sat on his face and faced down at his groin.  I pushed
his legs apart, assuring him I'd kill right then and there if he resisted me. 
Sitting comfortably on his gasping face, I unbuckled his pants, pushed them
down along with his boxers, and exposed his manhood.  
	His penis was about four inches, very flaccid, and uncircumcised.  His scrotum
was loose; the heat from him gripping them had relaxed them.  I peeled down his
foreskin, gripped his glans hard, then pulled his penis firmly toward me.  I
held it in that position with my left hand -- leaving his scrotum fully visible
-- then raised my fist high in the air -- triumphant, mighty -- then swung it
down like a sledge hammer against his balls.  His legs sort of flew out; his
body rocked; his fingers leapt back over his endangered male seeds; his face,
under my pussy, began making desperate sounds.  I hissed at him to shut up, or
I'd cut his throat.  I tugged hard at his penis and pumped his stomach with my
fist a few times, telling him to move his hand away.  When he did, I slammed
his nuts again.  And the pattern repeated several times: it was like Lucy
pulling the football away from Charlie Brown, causing him to fly in the air and
land flat on his back, winded and humiliated.  That, it seems to me, symbolizes
the essence of the female/male relationship when it's practised right.
	Right before I stopped mauling Tommy, I got a funny impulse.  I changed my
position: I positioned my pussy instead of on his face, on top of his penis.  I
rubbed my clitoris against his embattled male organs.  I stroked my pussy upon
his smashed balls.  I felt myself shudder with orgasm, then I left. 
	But that wasn't quite the end of the experience.  You see, I now had to get
Tony.  I sincerely believed that he should have stopped his friend from
sexually harrassing me.  By doing nothing, he was partly responsible.  
	I saw him at school a few times every day, but I didn't want to randomly
assault him.  I didn't want to get caught, for one thing.  But I soon found an
ideal opportunity for revenge.  We, along with a couple of other students, were
still in one of the school corridors after the period bell rang, and -- to my
delight -- Tony dashed into the boy's room.  After the other people cleared out
of the hall, I slipped into the boy's room after Tony.  
	I found him standing in front of a urinal, facing the wall.  As I stepped up
quickly behind him, I noticed that he had undone his button fly jeans, rather
than just a zipper.  This made things easier as I pressed against him, reached
around and grabbed his testicles.  
	"Remember me?"  
	"Marissa!  No, no...don't!"
	I squeezed him as hard as I could, even driving my nails into his balls.  I
found myself liking his balls as I hurt them; they were big, solid balls; firm
and good-feeling.  
	"Why shouldn't I?"  I tugged his testicles sharply outwards, then down, then
up, then down again.  I began jerking them around wildly, while Tony began
crying in my arms.  I stepped back, turned him around, threw him back against
the wall, then rammed my knee into his groin.  Tony fell forward onto his knees
and began sobbing.  His hands reached down under him to hold his balls; his
cheek was pressed against the tile floor.  I knew with him bawling like that it
was only a matter of time before someone walking by came in to investigate, so
I had to act fast.  I kneeled behind him, pulled his pants down further, yanked
his boxers down from my ass cheeks, then took a thick outliner pen, and impaled
his ass with it.  It was hard to get it in with the cap on, so I took that off
and then managed to shove the pen into him.  I figured this was sufficient
torture for the boy (or at least, it was all I felt I could get away with given
the circumstances).  Before getting up and leaving, I reached around Tony one
more time, and gripped his large balls one more time.  I was amazed -- I was
thrilled -- at how easy it was to use these to gain total dominace over men.  I
know now that there are countless other ways -- many more subtle and lasting,
certainly -- but none easier, more dictatorial.  I gave his nuts a final
squeeze, then left him in a broken mass on the floor.  I remember as I opened
the door to leave, I turned back and said -- casually, as if to a friend --
"Okay, bye, Tony!"


   Comments to the author are welcomed.


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