The Little Bully Destroys Her Victim's Father

[dirksneath]

I think you'll like the ending.

[mixfightor]

I know I will. I've liked every part along the way.

[iceman75]

I have not always been a fan of violence and snuff in stories, but I guess in this case, with the description at the level where it is, and the fact that Jennifer is so strong for being as young and small bodied as she is, that it makes up for my usual aversions.

[dirksneath]

Part 10

As soon as they were inside, the evil child kicked the door shut with a bare foot, then continued to hold him in a bear hug, although she wasn't able to lift him all the way off the floor, due to the difference in height, nor were her arms long enough to include his arms in the hug. Her arms were not nearly as powerful as her legs, but she was still able to cause pain, especially since his ribs had not had time to heel, so he was soon screaming in pain.

After a few moments, she dropped her arms, punched him in the stomach, and grabbed him by the hair and started to pull him back across the kitchen. He positioned himself so that he could stomp her bare feet, but the child mostly ignored it and continued pulling him toward the living room, dragging him to what he knew would be the final struggle, the fight for his very life, and this time there would be no phone call from her parents to interrupt her brutal torture and complete destruction of the man. She had turned her phone off after calling him.

He stopped, determined she was not going to push him any further, and wrapped his arms around her neck as he pushed back. After a few seconds they locked up, pushing against each other, as adrenaline seemed to give the man the extra strength to keep the girl from using her the ability to bull him back into the living room to continue her destruction of him. They wrestled standing up, the man getting a boost to his confidence as he held his own, but after a few moments, the girl once again showed her incredible strength by pushing him back, albeit a few inches at a time. The girl was still stronger, and eventually won this contest of strength just as she had won all the others.

She released him, but not for long. She forced him to his knees, then positioned herself behind him and looped her arms under his armpits, then placed her hands behind his head, trapping him in a full nelson. She started pulling him back toward the living room, but found it difficult with the full nelson, so she released him, then quickly wrapped on arm across his throat from behind and continued dragging him toward the living room and what she intended to be his doom. Once again, no matter what the desperate man did, the girl won. She always won. The situation was hopeless, completely hopeless.

Once they reached the living room, the girl threw him down and planted a shapely bare foot on his chest and pushed hard enough to cause more pain to his ribs, then fell on him. They wrestled briefly with the little girl coming out on top.. She didn't intend to stay there for long anyway. Instead, she scooted forward, then raised her crotch and planted it on his face. It was time to begin the slow process of killing him. She had destroyed him in every other way. Now was the time for the final destruction.

She then laced her fingers behind his neck and pulled his face deeper into her groin, then removed one hand and pinched his nostrils shut so that he couldn't breathe through his broken nose. It hurt like hell, but not enough for him to pass out. He thrashed up and down and shifted one way and then the other, trying to dislodge his little killer, but she rode him like a bronco rider, maintaining her position until she was ready for her next move.

“Don't worry,” she said, as the man continued his desperate struggle. “It'll all be over soon.” Then she rolled, taking him with her. She released his nostrils and wrapped her deadly legs around his neck, crossing her right leg over her left leg as she pulled her right bare foot back for maximum pressure, trapping him in a figure four neck scissor. She considered applying it from the rear with one leg being across his throat instead of his neck, as that would be better for slow strangulation, but she wanted to be able to look into his eyes as she killed him. She figured this way would take longer, but that was good, as she wanted him to die as slowly as possible.

She gazed deeply into his pleading, tear filled eyes, saw his begging, trembling lips as he mouthed the word please. She slowly shook her head in reply, letting him know there would be no mercy this time. She pulled her foot back even harder, wanting to cause pain as well as slow suffocation.

She rolled back and forth, then released her foot and applied a more conventional neck scissor and shook his trapped head, never losing eye contact with him. He closed his eyes so that she could no longer look into them, so she used her fingers to pry his eyelids open, as she wanted him to look at her face whether he wanted to or not. The cruel child was determined to make his suffering as horrible as possible while making his demise as entertaining for herself as she could.

She concentrated on the slow demise of the lowly male victim she held between her legs as she alternated between squeezing as hard as she could and relaxing, allowing him a few breaths before bearing down on him again...and again...and again. There was a part of her that knew she needed to finish him off and get out, as the little brat the wormy little man called out to for help might tell her parents, and they might call the police. But she didn't care. She was having too much fun torturing him, listening to him beg, that is, when he could, and watching the fear in his eyes when he couldn't for lack of air.

Just for fun, she released him and rolled over on her stomach on top of the man, reached behind her and grabbed his hair and pulled him into a reverse neck scissor, pulling his nose into the butt crack of her leotard as she crushed him with her thighs. “Smell my butt while I crush your butt,” she said, giggling. He struggled, but as always was unable to extricate his neck from her humiliating and painful leg grip. She held him this way for several minutes.


She liked to imagine herself as an Amazon princess warrior, having led her tribe of what this little man would call barefoot, half naked little savages against a bunch of men, cowering inside a fortress the young warriors had successfully breached. She had found the leader, cringing in a hidey-hole, and was now destroying him with her powerful legs while the other Amazons were tearing apart the other men. It was one of her favorite fantasies, and with this lowly worm she had come closer to acting it out than she ever had, and she wasn't going to stop now.

After a few minutes, she got bored and released him, rolling over and straddling his chest before sliding up for another the face straddle, once again clenching his nose with her fingers to minimize as much as possible his ability to breathe. The man thrashed around, desperate to free himself so that he could breathe. She raised up briefly, allowing the poor man a single gulp of air before slamming her crotch back down on his face, once again depriving him of the ability to breathe. He somehow struggled to his knees, then his feet, although the girl did not try to stop him.

He staggered around for a few seconds as the little killer coiled her legs around his head, then fell forward and down onto the floor. The girl grabbed his hair so that when she came crashing down on the floor, even though she lost her leg grip on the man, she still had a hold of his hair so that when he tried to roll away, all she had to do was pull him back in, lock her legs around his head once again, and go back to squeezing and crushing the desperate man, who began to realize that unless a miracle happened, he was going to die, very slowly and in great pain and agony. The fall caused immense pain to his ribs, and he almost passed out, which would have given him a temporary respite from the agony his little tormentor was subjecting him to.

The little girl soon grew bored again, and once again rolled him over on his back and reverted to the face straddle, clenching his nose again so he couldn't breathe. The man silently prayed, not for rescue, but for death, as he was convinced that was the only thing that would relieve his suffering, which was more than he could bear. Once again the child's eyes locked onto his, and she gazed into his terrified eyes. He knew he was looking into the face of pure evil, even if she was just an eleven-year-old girl.

She changed positions often, so she released his nose, grabbed him by the hair and rolled, clenching his head tightly with her bare thighs as she shook him, continuing to roll him from one side to the other. He held onto her legs, terrified that she was going to break his neck, but as the same time hoping that she would so his suffering would end. After about thirty seconds, she pulled him back in so that she could once again sit on his face, letting him breathe a few seconds before once more trapping his nostrils with her clenching fingers.

Mr Strickland was soon lapsing into unconsciousness, only to be allowed to breathe so the girl could once again terrify him by cutting off his air and doing it all over again. This went on for about fifteen minutes. She occasionally let go of his nose and grabbed his hair while bouncing up and down on his face and going, “Wheeee!” like a little girl on a carnival ride. Then she pinched his nostrils and smothered him again. He passed out, then she let him breathe before taking him out again...and again...and again...

Then she rolled over and clamped her legs around his neck again. She was on her back with her victim on his stomach, neck clenched tightly between her thighs as she shook him while crushing his neck so hard he once more couldn't breathe. He didn't know if he was going to die between her legs or with her on his face, but it was going to be suffocation that killed him, of that he was certain. With that in mind, he passed out again, wondering if this would be the last time, if he would never wake up. If so, at least he would never have to experience the stare of her cold eyes while she choked him with her legs or suffocated him with her crotch.

He came to and the process was repeated, only this time she changed positions again, face straddling and smothering him as he prayed that this would be it, that he would not wake up when she knocked him out again, as he couldn't stand it any more. He had said or at least thought that countless times since the first time he had been forced to fight her, and it was not the first time he had wanted to die. He just hoped and silently prayed it would be the last. God, please, let it be the last. In a few minutes he went out like a light again.

The man come to and heard the sound of approaching sirens. The girl heard it to, and decided she still had time to kill him before he could be rescued, so she bore down on him, still sitting on his face, making sure he couldn't breathe, then realized there wasn't time to suffocate him to death, so she clenched her legs around his neck, grabbed two handfuls of his hair and started jerking his head one way and then the other in an attempt to break his neck.

“Die you son of a bitch,” she said, as she squeezed her legs even harder. “Fucking die, die, DIE!” By then the man was determined to live, as he did not want to get so close to being rescued only to have the vicious little girl take him out at the last minute. He alternated between holding onto her legs and punching them, knowing he couldn't inflict pain on her but hoping to somehow distract her long enough to keep her from killing him. She twisted his head as hard as she could to one side, concentrating on putting as much pressure on him that way instead of jerking his head from side to side. The sirens were deafening by now, and then there was the sound of people on the steps of the house, someone yelling “Police!”

The pressure she was putting on his neck by twisting it was horrendous. He knew if she didn't stop, she'd break it, which, of course, was what she was trying to do. It hurt like hell. He responded by grabbing her wrists, trying to pull her arms back the other way, but they didn't budge. She kept up the pressure with no letup. His face was twisted in pain.

“Oh my God...” he said. “Oh my God...”

The man passed out just as two police officers tackled the little girl in an attempt to free him and pull her off of him. They had to struggle with the girl and even request assistance from a third officer to get her to release him. They could see what was happening, but couldn't believe it. A little girl in what they thought was a one piece swim suit had his neck firmly clenched between her legs and was trying to break his neck by twisting it to one side. It looked like she was pulling his head to the point where it would soon be facing completely backwards, but they knew the man's neck would snap like a twig before then, and they had to stop that from happening, but it wasn't easy, as the girl was so strong. She was incredibly strong. Even when they finally pulled her arms away, they had to wrestle with her to get her to release her leg grip on him. It was a wrestling match between three police officers and one eleven-year-old girl, and for awhile she was actually winning.

When he came to, the paramedics were working on him and the police had subdued the child, who was now in handcuffs as they read her rights to her. Red and blue lights from outside the home were flashing onto the walls inside as the girl, who was just a few short minutes, maybe seconds, away from being a murderer, was taken out.

As the paramedics carried him out behind the police and the girl, she turned to him, staring at him with the most hateful look he had ever seen, and said, “You think this is over, but it's not. It's not over, you asshole, wormy son of a bitch. I'll get you. I'll get you GOOD,”as she continued struggling against the police officers, all of whom were still in shock over the incredible power of this obviously insane little girl. Then she calmed down, and in a lower tone of voice said three words he would never forget: “We're not done.”

As he was put in the ambulance, he saw that dozens of neighbors had gathered round on both sides of the street to watch the commotion. The barefooted little strawberry blonde stood in front of her parents across the street, and though he wasn't certain until later, he knew she had told her parents about him calling out to her for help. He didn't know how long it took her to tell them, or why it seemed to take so long for help to arrive, but better late than never, or better than waiting just a few more minutes or seconds when it might have been too late.

He knew that a snobby upper middle class couple had decided after about an hour the other night to call Jennifer's parents rather than the police, and only then because of concern for her, although he was the one calling for help. Whether they actually saved his life that night or just saved him from being even more severely injured than he already was, at least they had finally done something.

This evening, the neighbors he looked down on the way the Sheffield's neighbors had looked down on him, saved his life, his fucking life. He tried to at least nod his head when he saw them to show his gratitude, but could not, as his would be assassin had injured his neck while trying to break it. He would thank them later, and even though it hurt like hell because of his broken ribs, he accepted a hug from the little strawberry blonde, although he secretly hoped to never again accept any embrace, even one of affection, from a little girl.

The neighbors told him they had once worked for the Sheffields. Ironically, even though they ignored their own yard, they had a lawn care service. They said he refused to pay them, even though they had performed the work just as he had requested. They supposedly missed a few spots, but would always believe he was just looking for an excuse not to pay. They remembered the Sheffield girl sitting at the pool as they worked, refusing to let their daughter come into the pool area just to stick her feet in the water. “We don't allow white trash in our pool,” she had told the little girl. Like everyone else in town, they knew about Mr Strickland's report to the police, and even though they had initially laughed about it, not believing that the girl, mean as she was, could be strong enough to beat up a grown man, they weren't laughing now.

Mr Strickland was admitted to the hospital, where he spent the first night in intensive care and was finally released three days later. His injuries healed fairly quickly, although he had to wear a neck brace for a few days, and his ribs took longer to heal. He attempted to give a two week notice to his boss, who insisted he stay on and work from home until he could find a job elsewhere, which he was able to do in less than a week. He obtained a better job in Freeport, a town on the coast about a hundred miles away.

Ms Sheffield wanted the family to go into counseling because of all they had endured, but Mr Sheffield and Bobby resisted, saying they were too embarrassed to discuss the cause of their family's distress. Ms Strickland attended for a few weeks and Mr Strickland attended a couple of sessions in which they discussed trust issues related to some of the lies he had told her at the beginning of their ordeal, but he refused to discuss the specifics, which, of course, included the fact that he had been beaten to within an inch of his life by an eleven-year-old girl, nor did he want it brought to his attention.

Mr Sheffield was able to get Jennifer's charges reduced to simple assault, and she pleaded guilty and received what Mr Strickland thought was an outrageously light sentence of only three months in a juvenile detention facility, followed by juvenile probation, which would last until she was seventeen. She did not return home, however, as her parents enrolled her in a boarding school, which is what is sometimes described as foster care for the rich. Mr Strickland didn't know that the boarding school was only thirty miles up the coast from his new home.

The new job, though it involved additional responsibilities and the stress that always accompanies them, was great, and Mr Strickland had more promotional opportunities than he had every had with his old job. The cost of living was higher where they now lived, so they could not afford to buy a home, but the family was able to find a nice three bedroom apartment in a complex with a swimming pool, which both Bobby and Ms Strickland loved.

Mr Strickland still had some occasional difficulties breathing through his nose due to the injury, and had some pain in his rib cage for several months, but overall his physical injuries healed nicely. It was the emotional pain that stayed with him, which is one reason Ms Strickland tried to get him to accept counseling. He got through most days okay, but the nights were a different story.

Mr Strickland was never able to get through the night without it being haunted by Jennifer Sheffield. He replayed the fights in his dreams, the pain, the little girl slowly suffocating him with her legs, his attempts to escape, only to be caught and subjected to more punishment by the brutal little girl.

He replayed the end of the first fight, in which he told her he'd do anything to keep her from beating up his son again, and the smile that spread slowly across her face as she challenged him to come over and fight her again the following week. His dreams often included the phone calls, in which she excitedly told him all the things she would do to him the next time she got her hands on him and made him fight. The nightmares of the second fight, so much worse than even the first, in which he was certain she was going to kill him, especially during the long, brutal leg scissor toward the end, often caused him to wake up in a cold sweat.

And of course his dreams of the third and final fight, in which she was actually determined to kill him, and almost did, with her bare legs and the face straddle as she kept him from breathing while she crushed and smothered him, left him trembling in wet sheets as he awakened tossing and turning, sometimes saying “No, please don't, please stop, I don't want to die...” The terrible pain she had caused him that last time, especially after the injured ribs and broken nose inflicted on him during the first and second fights, all of it caused him to awaken in sheer stark terror, and made him fear the night and the horrible memories that it would bring.

But the worst of all, the one that caused him not just to awaken, but to scream in the night, was the last thing she had said as the police took her out in handcuffs, her bare feet softly padding out the door as she looked over her shoulder at him. It wasn't so much her screaming that she would get him and get him GOOD, although he replayed that almost every night, too. It was her final words, the ones she delivered in a lower but more menacing tone of voice that haunted him most. As she had exited the home and into what he hoped and prayed would be a future in which she never harmed him or his family again, one in which he hopefully would never see or hear from her again, she said the three words, delivered in almost a whisper, that stayed with him and terrified him more than all the things she had done and threatened to do:

We're not done!


On the six month anniversary of their move into the new apartment, Mr Strickland stopped at the local supermarket on his way home from work and purchased eight T-bone steaks and various other makings for a nice dinner. They had planned a little celebration and had invited their closest neighbors, a nice couple with a daughter two years younger than Bobby. He and the girl had become very good friends, and she was the closest he had ever come to having a girlfriend. Mr Strickland loved to tease him about her, which he hated, of course.

The dinner was scheduled for around 8ish, giving them a couple of hours to prepare. As he entered the apartment, putting the groceries on the counter, he was whistling the song End of the Road by Boyz II Men, which had been his and Molly's favorite song when they were dating. He thought it was a fitting song for his end of the road with Jennifer Sheffield, except for the nightmares, of course.

Molly was sitting on the sofa in the living room while Bobby stood across from her, arms crossed as he glared at his dad, then stomped out of the house, slamming the door. Molly's eyes were red. She had obviously been crying.

“What...What's wrong?” he asked. Molly pointed at the dining room table. Bobby had gone outside to get the mail a few moments earlier, and there were the usual coupons and sale papers, along with solicitations from companies offering bill consolidation loans, and an envelope addressed to Robert Strickland, Sr, on top.

“I can't take any more,” Molly said, then followed Bobby out the door, slamming it even harder. He ran after her, opening the door and calling out to her, “Molly. Please, come back.”

He started to call out to her again as she continued walking toward her car, but stopped, knowing it wouldn't do any good, and not wanting nosy neighbors to see and hear him. Mr Strickland went back inside and closed the door, making sure to lock it. In a few seconds he heard her starting the Fiesta, then the sound of the engine faded as she drove away.

The envelope had a return address of some school in the town of Manchester, frighteningly close to Freeport. At the top was the name Jennifer Sheffield. His fingers trembled as he opened it. Enclosed was a party invitation with colorful balloons and party hats, the date, time and location of the party, and a personal note that read: "Robert darling, I have missed you so much. That place they put me in after our last date was so awful, but I've been out now for three months. My new school is almost as bad, but I'll be with my parents for a few days to celebrate my 12th birthday! Can you believe it? Daddy says I'm growing up so fast that he'll soon be having to beat the boys away with a baseball bat. I told him if I don't like the boys I can beat them WITHOUT a bat. I'm sure you agree, Ha! Ha! Ha!

"We're having a party at my parents' condo on the beach and guess where it is? IT'S IN FREEPORT JUST A FEW MILES FROM WHERE YOU LIVE! If you can't make it, please don't be sad. I will still pay you a visit, I promise, as we are going to be here several days. I have a new bikini, and it's totally teenie-weenie!!! I can hardly WAIT for you to see me in it. I'll wear it just for you, along with some new tangerine polish for my toenails that I can't WAIT for you to taste. In case you CAN make it to the party, I'm sending you an email with directions. I can hardly WAIT to see you and get my hands on you and take up where we left off. I might even come see you before the party, probably a lot sooner than you think! See? I TOLD you we're not done!!! Love and kisses from your favorite barefoot half naked little savage, J."

He immediately checked his email, and sure enough, there was one from her with directions to her dad's condo. That sick little bitch had not only found where he lived, she had even somehow gotten his email address. He had gone to great lengths to make everything as private as possible, but nothing seemed impossible for that rich, psychotic little bitch. Nothing.

Suddenly the phone rang. A few seconds later he heard the rattling of the doorknob in the kitchen.



The End … or it it?

[mixfightor]

Damn, that was good. I can see why you said I would like it.

I'm glad Jennifer didn't succeed in killing him. Robert became as important to the story as she was over its length, which can be a rare thing in a mixed wrestling story. Often the guy is just a generic placeholder, a role you feel could be filled by almost any man. In this story we were invited to care about Robert Strickland Sr as he struggled in almost impossible situations. The twist at the end was very well done and I am glad you left the story open for a return to it in the future.

I can't thank you enough for this fantastic story, mate. At times I wanted to read the whole thing in one sitting but the slow burn as you released parts little by little actually added gravitas to what evolved into a powerful struggle between two well described and fully realised characters.

[dirksneath]

I love to shock, and I do like for the victims to die, or at least come as close as possible, which is why the girls in The Little Serial Killers will probably always kill their victims as cruelly as possible. Even the ones who survive in my stories probably won't if there is a sequel. I wanted to do something a little different in this one, however. I wanted to create a male character with whom people could empathize, so that the readers would sort of cringe every time that phone rang and instead of just wanting her to hurt him as much as possible during the fight scenes, I wanted them to feel for the guy and even pull for him in those brief scenes in which he was actually winning. (But at the same time, I wanted them to look forward to the scenes where she wrapped her legs around him and said, "I got you now. I got you GOOD.") I also wanted them to hope for his survival in those last two fights and be relieved when they saw that he lived. In short, your reaction was pretty much what I wanted.

I wanted something both shocking and different for the ending. At first, I was going to end it where the cops were taking her out and she told him, "We're not done." Then when I posted the first installment, the story ended when his nightmares were being described, and he woke up screaming when he dreamed of those final words from her. I didn't add this ending until about three days ago.

And so he survives - or does he? You can't really know, as the reader assumes that's her on the phone, calling from right outside his door as she tries to open it, and that she'll once again kick the door in with a bare foot and take up where she left off, in which case he probably wouldn't be fortunate enough to survive this time. His final destruction would be more painful and agonizing than the one she would have inflicted on him had the neighbors not called the police, and definitely longer and slower, as I have a tendency to want to top what has gone before. I doubt I'll write a final chapter, as I want the reader to decide what happens. Who knows? It might just be the neighbors coming over early to see if they can help prepare that dinner to which they've been invited. But you don't believe that, do you? No, you don't believe that at all.

[dirksneath]

Thanks to everyone for all the positive responses and constructive criticism. for anyone who hasn't read the final installment because you just assumed Jennifer killed Robert, just remember that things are not always as they appear. Thanks again.

[kendawg]

Wow you certainly achieved what you were attempt with me. What a well written story. I really liked the attention to detail with your descriptions that had me gasping. For me I hated Jennifer and was rooting for Mr. Strickland to just survive. And in a mixed wrestling story that’s very unusual for me.

Reading and comprehension is not one of my best things and reading long stories is very difficult for me, but the way you release it and the way it was told was great for me.

Again I just want to thank you for keeping me entertained, I’m not sure a murder in a mixed match is my thing but this one was probably one of my favorite stories that I’ve read on the forum. I hope you can write a new saga without anybody having to be killed.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Five out of five stars from me

[dirksneath]

Thank you for your kind comments, kendawg. I like for my stories to be suspense thrillers, not that I consider myself to be on a level with various popular writers of that genre, but as with all suspense thrillers, the stories will usually have somebody die, even if it's not the major character. If not, someone will at least come close, or as in this case, leave the reader thinking it's about to happen, as it's not likely that it's a neighbor outside Robert Strickland's door, and it's also not likely that he'll be saved by someone calling her parents or the police.

I'm almost ready to post my next story, which is a sequel to my first story, The Old Man and Jaycee. It's finished, I'm just proof reading, editing, and as usual, adding stuff. I won't comment on whether anyone gets killed, but I will say there are several characters, and maybe one or two get killed, maybe they don't. Thanks again for reading and commenting.

[webassasin]

I have finished the story last night.
Was thinking the girl who was trying to kill the man with her legs.
I hate her with all my power,even though she is not real.
Can you post a photo of an example of what the little devil could look like?